I turned 27 on Saturday. Twenty-six was a pretty great year, so I was reluctant to let go of it, but all of my friends turned 27 like big girls, so I suppose it was inevitable for me.
First, I got my toes did, courtesy of my dear friends Heather and Emily. My favorite part of the pedicure experience was the massage chair that massaged me right up the butt crack. That lasted about two seconds before I turned it off. Can you tell which foot is mine? Hint: It's the one with the E.T. finger-like second toe. Next, I got my hair did, courtesy of my amazing friend Lez. Our conversation went something like this:
Me: I want something cute, but that looks like I could've done it myself if I had any skillz. Lez: Ok. Me: Also, I don't want it to look like I'm going to a wedding. Lez: Ok. Me: Also, I brought baby's breath to pin in my hair. Lez: Blink blink. Me: I'm just kidding. If I ever come to you and say, 'I have an occasion that definitely calls for baby's breath in my hair', please stop me. Lez: Ok.
Lez will probably kill me for making her sound like a monosyllabic non-conversationalist, when really she has mad hair skillz. And no offense to anyone who has worn baby's breath in their hair. And now, please to enjoy some glamour shots of my girl's night out to P.F. Changs.
My new roommates, Des and Tiffany.
My old roommate, Heather; Emilee, and Des
Me, Henefir, Nicole, and Yanaj - who came into town last minute and gave me the best birthday surprise ever.
Yanaj moved back to Seattle just a few days before my surgery last summer,
so she had yet to see the new and improved me in person. The first time she saw me, she burst out with, "Your BOOBS are HUGE!". Thank you, Yanaj, that was exactly the reaction I was going for.
My other old roommates, Jeff and Jackson.
On the left = Not Hispanic. On the right = Totally Hispanic. Take notes. Learn to tell the difference.
That's all I'm saying.
The whole crew. Thank you to everyone who made my birthday so much fun!
When I came into work today, I was thrilled to find a wrapped present sitting at my desk, with a note that said, "Happy Birthday Bone Junior!" Of course I was stoked because my birthday isn't until tomorrow, but who doesn't like getting presents early?
It was in the shape of a bottle and I was so excited until I tore off the paper to find this: Naturally, my response was to drop the bottle and scream, and also pee a little. What a great way to start off my birthday weekend. And yes, that thing is alive.
Words cannot describe how much I wish this was real...and how I laughed so hard there were tears coming down my cheeks. Please to enjoy the manifestation of my wildest fantasy.
Before...I'm the dark one, just in case there was any confusion. When pictured amongst those two, I used to have to say, "I'm the one with the smallest boobs;" Not anymore, suckas! Now all of our boobs are of equal value, even though Erin's look ginormous here.
And, after! It's sassy chic!
My friend G knew that I had anxiety about cutting off my long hair, which I loved but which was starting to look really dead, heavy, and fried. After I sent her this picture, she said, "Are you feeling less sexy with short hair?" And I said, "No, but I feel less sexy when I see the look on my face in that picture." Ugh.
If there is anyone out there who actually GETS the Raquel Welch wig line joke, kudos. I'm talking to you Yanaj and Nicole.
Previous Post Follow Up: The motorcycle shop hasn't made a decision yet, but told me to call back early next week...keep your fingers crossed! That job will be blogging GOLD!
Things have been crazy hectic - I finally moved into a permanent place and I'm loving it; although my first night there was spent alternating between laying in front of the toilet and dry heaving/drooling/spitting/burping into the toilet, as I was unexpectedly hit with a horrible bout of either the stomach flu or food poisoning - whatever it was, it pretty much put me out of commission for the entire weekend.
Seriously, can I just take a second to talk about how throwing up is THE ABSOLUTE WORST. When I'm sick to my stomach, my thoughts go to dramatic places. As I was laying on the floor of my new bathroom, all I could think was, "There is absolutely no way I can ever go through child birth." I was honestly thinking about how miserable it must be to be pregnant and nauseus, let alone passing a child through your vagina. It makes me shudder just thinking about it. I don't think I'm cut out for it.
Anyway, ever since my last post, nothing very interesting has happened for me to blog about. Until yesterday, when I went to a job interview that seriously was like something out of a movie. I applied to be an executive assistant at a motorcycle shop that has just opened up, and I knew it was going to be an adventure when the owner, Tony, responded to my email with, "COME TODAT FOR INTERVIEW." Yup, spelled like that and everything. I read the email in a Russian accent cause that just seemed to make sense.
But Tony was far from Russian. Picture a big, bald Italian guy from Jersey, cause that's exactly what he was. Gold chains, gold rings on every finger, thick Jersey accent - the works. He was the epitome of the Italian mob guy.
I sat down across from him and tried to keep a straight face as he fired off questions in what was perhaps the most non-PC, most sexist interview I've ever sat through. It's hard to make his Jersey accent and mannerisms come across through typing it, but try to imagine...
Tony: So, where yuh from? What's yous nationalty?
Me: My grandmother was Lebanese. Most people think I'm Italian or Hispanic.
Tony: Yeeah yeeah, I was gonna say cuz yous got that...uh....(eyes staring blatantly at my chest) uh, darker coloring. So, I gotta be straight with yuh, this is a motorcycle shop, so yuh gotta be comftuble wit swearing and such, I mean, you'll be workin with a buncha guys, so can yuh handle that? Cuz yuh know, I gotta be all careful about yous girls that come in here, yuh know what I'm sayin? If a guy swears, its no big deal, but if a girl swears, yuh know what yuh call it?
Me: Encouragement?
Tony: Hah. Funny. Yous funny. I like that. No, if a girl swears yuh call it $3.99 a minute.
Me: nervous laughter. Well, I've been working in construction for the past 3 1/2 years, so I'm pretty used to that kind of thing.
Tony: Good, good. The otha thing yuh gotta know is that it costs me a hellava lot more money to hire a female, insurance-wise, because of yuh plumbin'.
Me:Blink. Blink.
Tony: I mean, a guy costs me practically NUTHIN to insure, but YOU, I mean, even if yuh got yuh tubes tied, God forbidja get knocked up, and it costs me an extra five hundred bucks a month, yuh know what I'm sayin?
Me: Um, ok.
Tony: So yous got a husband? Kids? Cuz I hate dealin with that crap. I mean, come on, husbands calling fifty times a day, kids hurtin their knees, what am I supposed to do about that? I'm tryin to run a business heyah.
Me: Nope, just me.
Tony: Good, good. So basically you'd be doin all my paperwork and billing, that kinda thing. I just hired this girl to work the clothing counter - sexy little thing, that's what sells clothes, yuh know? I don't care how she gets it done, just sell the clothes, yuh know what I'm sayin?
At that point, Tony noticed that one of his workers, another burly stereotypical Italian guy had just walked in with an armload of bags. And I kid you not about the conversation that took place.
Tony: RONNIE! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!
Ronnie: What's up, boss?
Tony: Where tha HELL have yuh been fuh three ow-uhs?
Ronnie: Gettin yuh stuff, boss!
Tony: Really. Cuz I think you've been dickin' around for the past three ow-uhs, wastin my time.
Ronnie: No, boss, I hada go to Best Buy to get yuh stuff, then I hada go to For Every Body - -
Tony: What the hell is For Every Body?
Ronnie: It's a store, boss, yuh told me to get gift baskets and stuff. I gotcha CAYNdles and BEAYskets, whaddaya want from me?
Tony: Fine. Next time if yuh gonna be gone for three ow-uhs, yuh call me, yous understaynd?
Ronnie: Sure, boss. Now are yuh done chewin my ass in front of dis girl?
Yep, I was still just sitting there. Staring straight ahead, pretending not to notice these two huge Italian guys arguing over candles and gift baskets. I took that opportunity to introduce myself to Ronnie and shook his hand.
Ronnie: Hey, how yuh doin?
Tony: Hey get tha hell outta my office! She's MY executive assistant, not YOURS!
Ronnie: Aright, aright, nice ta meetcha.
I'm not even joking.
Tony: Dat guy, geez. He's got this twenty-two year old girl, right, and he told her that he's thirty years old. THIRTY, you believe that?
Me: Does she believe him?
Tony: HE thinks she does! ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Aright, so I really needta get a girl in here who can kick these guys asses, yuh know what I'm sayin? Yuh gotta have a thick skin and stick yuh foot up they ass if yuh need to.
Me: I'm very comfortable with that.
Tony: Good, good. Aright, aright, well yous doin good, no ones been in this office as long as you have.
Me: Great.
Seriously the best job interview I've ever been on. All I know now is that if working there is half as entertaining as interviewing there, as Liz Lemon says, I want to go to there.
Last Friday night, I got to experience something that totally brought my amazing year of fulfilling dreams full circle. For one night only, Vanilla Ice and MC Hammer appeared in concert together...in Utah. Yeah, I don't get it either. Why Utah of all places to start the revolution? But the point is that they were HERE! And I was THERE!
Yes, I'm slightly embarrassed for myself, but not because I went to the concert. I'm embarrassed for myself because after all these years, I still found myself strangely attracted to Vanilla Ice. As Lady says, it's because he's so angular.
I'm also slightly embarrassed for myself because throughout the course of the night, I got both my butt and my vagina smacked in the course of three seconds and by the same guy...my date. But more about that later.
Sadly, Vanilla Ice pretty much sucked because he spent almost all his time singing his "new" stuff; and by "new", I mean the "heavy metal screaming into the mic crap he wrote while he was high on ecstasy in the mid 90's". The whole time I kept thinking, come on dude, no one wants to hear anything except Ice Ice Baby. And hey, maybe a little ninja rap. [I'm not kidding when I tell you that I made my dad take me to the Ninja Turtles 2 movie for the sole reason that Vanilla Ice was in it. I still don't really understand why he was in it, but hey, any guy that can roll his pelvis like that is OK with me.]
Even if he sucked, he still looked hot and let me tell you, when he finally did "Ice Ice Baby", we went wild. It was freaking hilarious. And then, as if things couldn't have gotten any better, HE DID THE NINJA RAP! That's about the point when I made wateh and clapped my hands with glee.
Back to the butt/vag smack, because I know that's what you're all really interested in hearing about.
There are certain songs that, when played, bring out a side of us that we usually keep hidden. My song is "Tootsie Roll", and my "side" is the ghetto-drop-down-and-get-your-eagle-on side. I know, I know. But don't act like you don't have a song and corresponding side, ok? I'm talking to you, Erin. You and your booty dance. Don't judge me.
So before the concert actually started, the music playing was an awesome soundtrack from the early to mid 90's. I'm talking about classics like "Shoop" that really take you back to fifth grade. My friend Melissa and I were singing and dancing when "Tootsie Roll" came on, and then we really started singing and dancing. Her brother Shane was my date and he was standing behind me. Shane and I have been out a few times, but I don't think he was prepared for what he saw when I started to "Dip, baby, dip!" along to the song.
I gotta give Shane credit because what was he supposed to do other than start smacking my butt? When in Rome, right? Unfortunately, I wasn't prepared for him to join in and when I felt the butt smacking, I didn't know who was doing it, and within a split second, I whirled around as he continued the smacking motion, and by the time I was facing him, he was mid smack, and it was too late to stop the momentum. Hence the vag smack.
I was listening to the radio on my way home from work today and the DJ was holding a contest for Fallout Boy concert tickets. The first person to call in with a Haiku about Fallout Boy would win the tickets. Easy enough.
The first two callers didn't even know what a Haiku was. The DJ mocked them incessantly and so did I because who doesn't know what a Haiku is?
The third caller got on the air and proceeded to have a conversation with the DJ about the correct format for a Haiku.
Caller: Is it three-six-three?
DJ: No, it's six-four-six!
Caller: Are you sure? I thought it was six-three-six.
DJ: No, come on man, everyone know's a Haiku is six-four-six! Now, go! Haiku!
Caller: Ok....I like Fallout Boy...they're great...refrigerator.
DJ: Great! You win the tickets!
Blink. Blink. What? Are you kidding me? Even if a Haiku was six-four-six, that caller didn't even come close! Refrigerator?? I was not going to stand for this.
It took two straight minutes of ringing before the DJ answered.
DJ: Hello! X-96!
Bone Junior: Um, hi? I just wanted to tell you that a Haiku is actually five-seven-five...so, yeeeeah.
DJ: Oh! Really! Great! That's funny!
Bone Junior: So can I get some Fallout Boy tickets because I was right?
DJ: Well, I'll be doing the contest same time tomorrow so you have twenty-four hours to think of a good Haiku and call back!
Bone Junior: Hmph. What's really funny is how you were making fun of the callers who didn't know what a Haiku was and here you didn't even know what a real Haiku was.
DJ: Oh! Great! Dontcha just love hypocrisy and double standards!
Bone Junior: Hmph.
DJ: Great! Well, thanks for the call!
Less than a minute later, I heard my call broadcast over the radio. Hearing myself, I wanted to reach through the radio and slap myself for being so pompous.
Still, I was right and he was wrong. And anyone who was listening to X-96 at 5:15 pm knows it now too.
With the construction industry slowing down, I've been keeping my eyes open for job openings in the area. I've been going through a very rigorous interview process with one agency - I'm talking three rounds of interviews, testing, and a fifty-page background check. The applicant pool has been narrowed down from 80 to 5, and I'm still in the running. Needless to say, I wanted to make a good impression on these potential employers.
So a few weeks ago, when I got a random email from someone I didn't know, I started to sweat a little. Please to enjoy the fruits of my blog - here's the email I got from a girl named Aubrey:
"Randomly awkward comment alert:
I work [at the place that's been interviewing you]. I have also been blog stalking you for a while now. (I am friends with a girl whose cousin knows your sister in PA...who also happens to work here. anyway.)
We were talking today about the possible candidates for our new job posting and who interviewed with our chief and captain, and I caught the last of the conversation of "...her last name is [Bone]..." so I tuned in, and they said your first name, and I was all, HEY I know her!
So, naturally they asked how I know you and what I thought about you. It was really awkward when I had to admit to everyone that okay, I don't ACTUALLY know you, but, erm, I blog stalk you. So it's sort of the same. just creepier.
Who knows, maybe you can have MY job when they let me go for mental health issues.
P.S. also, when they asked what I thought about you, the only 2 things that popped into my mind were a. boob job and b. she really likes batman and Elvis.
no worries. My brain worked faster than my mouth and neither of these were actually brought up."
Thank goodness I'd read this email before going back in to meet with them, otherwise I probably would've peed myself when the captain said, "Oh, one of our girls here reads your blog!"
So thanks for your email, Aubrey - it made me laugh out loud. And thanks for not telling the chief and captain that what stands out most about me is the boob job - because I already told them about Elvis.
Last night at the treatment center, we were making these Dr. Seuss "Get To Know You" books with the kids. The books were really cute - you did things like measure the kid's height, trace their hand, draw their favorite animal, stuff like that.
I started to get a little bored with my own book. Please to enjoy.
"Dearest Valentine: I just wanted to give you this token of appreciation...to totally make everybody around you jealous...and warm your Friday the 13th and Valentine's Day. Your Physician, Dr. Mookie Love"
I don't think it's any coincidence that the same year I get my new "assets" is the first year I've gotten flowers from two different guys for Valentine's Day. It's nice to see my investments finally paying off.
Today I spent hours sitting in the Sprint store trying to exchange / fix two of our work cell phones. As hour three was beginning, I found myself engaged in shallow chit chat with an old man who had come in to buy a charger. I made a comment about how long I'd been sitting there, what a pain it was to have to be there, and he chuckled and said, "The only thing worse is going to the dentist!"
Now, of all the possible friendly, polite quips I could have responded with, for some reason, I found myself blurting out, "OR the gynecologist!"
People, I swear you could hear crickets chirping. The only other sound was my nervous too-loud laughter. Poor old man just stared at me with a shocked look on his face. Poor Sprint reps just stared at me like I was a crazy person.
Today, I don't blame them. It's already been a long week.
After a heart breaking loss last weekend, I've just about recovered and am almost feeling back to normal. And by "normal" I mean "there's been so much going on that I haven't had time to get my bearings."
First, say hello to my new niece, Benjamin Button. I mean, Nano. She's just a teeny little thing, but she's one of the cutest little old men I've ever seen. Seriously, look at that wrinkled forehead. Bone Senior's delivery story is one for the books.
The same day that Nano was born, I "found out" that I will be moving out by February 1. Out of respect for certain people who read my blog, I will tread lightly here, but I am moving against my will and not happily. I have loved living in this place for the last 2 1/2 years, it's been absolutely perfect, it's a convenient location, the past roommates have been great... until the most recent one (let's call her Judas) moved in in October and decided to take the place all for herself.
What really gets my goat about this situation is that when the owner's gave me notice to move out, I asked Judas if she knew why they were having me move out, and she looked me right in the face and said she had absolutely no idea. After several phone calls and emails to the owners, I finally found out that they were having me move because Judas had offered to rent out the entire place herself, and the owner's could make more money.
After this information came to light, I confronted Judas. As I stood there asking her if she still didn't know why they were asking me to move, and she looked at me again and again said she had no idea, I felt myself reverting back to my inner ghetto-self and started bobbing my head and raising my voice. All I needed was big hoop earrings to complete the hoochie mama image.
When I told her that I knew she'd offered to rent the whole place, she just stared at me like a deer in the headlights and responded with, "Oh....I didn't even think of that." At which point I could no longer restrain my ghetto-self, and believe I used the phrase, "Why you gotta play me like this???" I know. I know.
Suffice it also to say that I am not about to make this transition easy for her, seeing as how she had no interest in being up front with me about the circumstances. I'm only shoveling the half of the driveway that I use, and I'm taking the shovel with me when I go. I also currently have half-packed boxes strewn and stacked all over the place, and they'll stay there until the absolute last second. I'm not afraid to be a big baby about this.
Despite the situation, I have a place to go and I'm actually excited to see how it will all turn out. The process of packing and sorting and throwing stuff out has been emotional. I've taken two car loads of stuff to DI, and found myself in somewhat of a grabbing match with the mexican worker sorting the donations. The scuffle finally ended with me in tears and the mexican triumphantly walking away with one of my prized possessions.
You can't appreciate it from the picture, but that is a giant head talking Rocky toy. You push the button and he says different phrases from the movie, and every so often he breaks into the Rocky theme song and punches and stuff. I've had him for a few years now, and it really broke my heart to get rid of him. I was desperately trying to convey the amazingness to the mexican by pushing the button over and over, but I don't think he truly appreciated Rocky. Somebody is going to see Rocky on the shelf and be like, "What?? JACKPOT!!!" Logistically, it was just time for me to set him free and let him bring joy to someone else's heart. Along with the following items: I knew both my Tickle Me Elmo's had to go when they sounded like idling truck engines and laughed in super slow motion, like they were of the devil. This is Ask Me Eeyore. He's like a talking Magic 8-ball - you ask him a question and he gives you a somber answer. I got rid of him because for years I've been asking him if my boobs would ever get bigger, and he always gave me some variation of the answer,"Dream on." Guess I showed him. And this is my Batman grappling hook. There are no words to sum up its awesomeness, but I just don't have much to grapple these days. And so it too had to go.
In other news, this is a banner year for the Oscar nominations as far as I'm concerned. I have only seen ONE of the films nominated for Best Picture. ONE! You know its been an off year when I'm so far out of the movie loop.
I have lots of catching up to do - there are seventeen nominated films that I haven't seen (not including foreign film, documentary feature, documentary short subject, live action short film and animated short film because who really sees those?) And there's only one category in which I've seen all the nominated films: Visual Effects (The Dark Knight, Benjamin Button, and Iron Man). So once I get set up in the new place, I probably won't come out of my room for days because I'll be watching as many movies as possible so I can clean house at my annual Oscar party.
That just about sums it up for me and my eventful week. See you at the movies.
Does anyone want to drive to Phoenix with me this weekend? My plan is to skulk around the stadium in my new favorite t-shirt, sighing heavily and making sad puppy dog eyes until some rich old guy takes pity on me and invites me up to his box suite to watch the Eagles win the NFC Championship.
Either that, or park my car in front of the stadium, put on a green bikini and clear high heels and start washing my car while eating a huge Carls Jr. burger, a la that old Paris Hilton commercial. Although I don't think that would warrant the desired effect...people would probably think I was some kind of promotional exhibit, and not in a good way. But with my uncanny wit and creativity, I'm sure I can find a way to at least get on the Jumbotron. Tune in Sunday at 3pm Eastern...
... and I'm not just talking about the Eagles making the playoffs, although that was a miracle all in itself. But as they say...I promise that's not just a gratuitous shot of my bazoombas, its a gratuitous shot of the awesome t-shirt my brother-in-law gave me for Christmas. But no matter how I tried to take the picture, it always came out looking like a gratuitous shot of my bazoombas. Enjoy.
The real Christmas miracle actually happened on Christmas morning when I opened a different gift from my brother-in-law. It felt like a book, and when I opened it, it was a book. A book called Your Pregnancy and Birth, which caused quite the ruckus among my family.
Step-sister: "You're PREGNANT??" Step-mother: "Well, we always want more grandkids!" Grandmother: Nervous laughter. "Well! I don't know if that's good news or bad news!" Step-sister: "You're PREGNANT!!??" Father: Extremely not amused. Brother-in-law: Extremely amused. Bone Senior: In the bathroom.
The Christmas miracle being, of course, that I was rendered speechless. And also had to spend the remainder of my time at home convincing my father that I was not, in fact, pregnant. I'm pretty sure it's going to take another nine months and the absence of a baby to convince him.
In other holiday news, I cleaned up once again as the world's coolest aunt. Behold the latest crop of onesies for Li'l Mil: And behold the greatest pillow case ever made, given to my good friend G: I call it my Matt Damon picture. Merry 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.)
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:
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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
Next, I got my hair did, courtesy of my amazing friend Lez. Our conversation went something like this:
And now, please to enjoy some glamour shots of my girl's night out to P.F. Changs.
My new roommates, Des and Tiffany.
My old roommate, Heather; Emilee, and Des
My other old roommates, Jeff and Jackson.
The whole crew. Thank you to everyone who made my birthday so much fun!
Naturally, my response was to drop the bottle and scream, and also pee a little. What a great way to start off my birthday weekend. And yes, that thing is alive.
