T.I.L.T. - Things I Love Tuesday

I started working on this post yesterday, when it actually was Tuesday. Deal with it. And, actually there was only one thing I really loved about Tuesday...

Fighting the man and winning. Back in August, my poor windshield was absolutely destroyed as a result of humongous construction trucks doing work on the freeway. After four months of phone calls, incident reports, insurance records, and a very strongly worded letter, the contractor finally agreed to replace my windshield. This is a huge victory for me, because over the past four months of litigation, no one believed in me. Everyone told me this was a lost cause, that I was wasting my time, that the contractor would basically tell me to go jump in a lake. To which I usually shouted, "This might be a losing battle, but I'm NOT GOING DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT!" And I'm pretty sure I actually did shout that, while shaking my fist, at least once.

What everyone seemed to forget was that I usually get my way. As Yanaj once counseled the teenager behind the counter of the water ice place here (who wanted to charge me fifty cents to add a ribbon of chocolate syrup to the vanilla custard. FIFTY CENTS!), "You might as well save yourself the time of arguing with her, because she's gonna get what she wants anyway." And four months later, I have a brand new windshield. A small victory for the little guy.

In other news, I was able to enjoy a weekend in Seattle for Yanaj's wedding. It was a whirlwind 72 hours, filled with rain, thunder, lightning, more rain, and Yanaj's wedding. Please to enjoy.

Let's start with the gifts I bestowed upon Yanaj, shall we?

The ENTIRE SET OF ROCKY DVD'S! Also, I don't know why Nicole is flipping the bird...
Sexual position of the day book. My favorite is called The Ottoman Bottoman.

I think the title says it all.

Me eating lasagna for the first time in seventeen years.

See, Yanaj? I really DID eat your stupid lasagna.

The three old roommates.

Nicole introduced me to "threading". Surprisingly painless, despite how the picture looks.

Yanaj and Paul

Emily, me, Yanaj, Nicole

Nicole, me, Emily

And this is absolutely my favorite picture from the whole weekend. Because no one looks good and I think all of our faces are hilarious. And yes, Paul is wearing spats.

Happy Birthday, Lady!

Wow, so it's really been a month since I posted last? I need to start making more interesting things happen to me, or else make the things that happen to me sound blog worthy.

But enough about me and my uninspiring life. Today is my BFF Lady's birthday, and I think it's only fitting that I take a moment to honor her.

Lady and I have known each other since tenth grade, and we kept in touch after high school, but we didn't really become close until the summer after my third year at college. I say "my third year" and not "my junior year" because it took me six years to graduate college. Shut up.

That summer, I'd moved back home with my parents and my second night there I was already going stir crazy. So I looked up old friends and Lady happened to be available. We went to the Strawberry Festival, and fate took its course.

She ended up getting me a job where she worked, and staged a fake engagement for me at the end of the summer when it was time for me to go back to school. Literally. I'd been hired under the assumption that I would be long-term, and since I needed the job, neither of us spoke up that I'd only be there for about two months. So when August came, she invented a fake boyfriend for me (Marco?), helped me pick out a fake ring from Walmart, and even sent me roses to work the day I announced that I would be moving to Arizona to join my rich fiance.

Yes, I'm serious. And everyone totally bought it.

But one of my favorite memories of Lady is our road trip to Memphis in August 2006. She wasn't even an Elvis fan, but she was up for anything, so we drove like a million hours from Philadelphia to Memphis to attend the official Elvis week festivities. It was hands down the best vacation of my life, and mostly because of Lady. Ok, it was like 50% Elvis, 50% Lady.

We made so many memories that week, and our stories have never ceased to make me laugh. The one I love to tell the most is how on the drive down there, we decided to use fake names for the whole time we were in Memphis. We spent hours, literally hours picking out names. Lady wanted her first name to be James, and we concluded that a female with a masculine name like 'James' definitely needed an extremely feminine last name to balance it out.

Once we reached that consensus, we spent a few minutes bouncing ideas off each other. Flowers? Cloud? No, no no. There was a pregnant pause as we both considered feminine options. And that's when Lady said the two phrases that still, to this day, make me pee a little.

Lady: James Fallopian Tube? James NuvaRing?

In the end, she went with Vader. James Vader. And spent the entire week correcting drunk hicks who kept asking, "James Spader? Like James Spader the actor?"

And every now and again, I get a text from Lady that says, "James NuvaRing".

And that is why I love her.

Happy Birthday, Lady! I wish I could be there to see you in all your mink-wrapped, leopard-skin gloved glory.

A Gmail Chat Between Friends

Bone Junior: I'm typing up our agenda for the meeting tomorrow and under my name I put, "Who was the more worthy opponent for Rocky: Apollo Creed or Ivan Drago?" That's my discussion item.

Yanaj: I think that's a good one to start off with. You should prepare some charts/graphs defending each contender.

Bone Junior: I think that Apollo's latent homosexuality puts him miles ahead.

Yanaj: That's true. Because he has to fight not only the man, but the stereotype.

Bone Junior: Truer words were never spoken.

And that's why I love Yanaj.

I Think I'm Going to Like it Here

What a crazy week! I started my new job last week, then spent most of the weekend catching up on sleep. Being at work at 7:30 am is an adjustment for me. I'm surprised they still want me to work there, given what a pleasant morning person I am. And by "pleasant morning person", I mean "don't speak to me until I've been awake for at least an hour and have Diet Pepsi in my system." Just ask anyone who's had the play-sure of living with me (Yanaj, Nicole, Bone Senior) or carpooling to work with me in the wee hours of the morning (Yanaj), or has had to wake up early for a baby shower with me (Erin). I'm sure they could tell wonderful tales of how much fun it is to be around me before 8 am.

Disirregardless of the schedule, the new job seems to be working out well so far. I was really sad to leave the construction company - I told everyone I didn't know what I would do, going to a job where I wasn't harassed on a daily basis, or where I wasn't given live spiders as gifts. Or where my floor mat wasn't nailed to the floor, upside down. Or where fake rats weren't put in my coat pocket. I had no idea what that kind of work experience would be like. I knew I would miss it though.

I got used to wearing jeans every day, and my Eagles jersey every Friday during football season. And now I have to dress up for work. Ugh. That in itself has proven to be an interesting topic of conversation at the new office.

My first day there, I was introduced to the girl who sits next to me. Her blog name will be...Victoria. You'll understand why in a minute.

I knew right away that I'd really like Victoria and that she'd be fun to work with. She's younger than me, probably 21-22, super cute, super friendly, and more than willing to give me the scoop on all the older ladies in the office. The first thing she said to me was, "Part of your job is to look at my outfit every day, and tell me if it's too short, too tight, or too low, okay?" Hmmm. Ok. Her comment got us on the subject of the office dress code, which spurred an interesting conversation.

Victoria: Everything I wear is either from Banana Republic or Victoria's Secret. Everything.

Bone Junior: Oh. Everything I wear is either from Ross or TJ Maxx.

Victoria: (Pause. Awkward smile.) Oh. You'll really get along with Carly then. She never pays full price for anything.

Blink. Blink.

This is when I paused and tried to figure out if her comment was really an underhanded insult. I hadn't met Carly yet, but I prayed that she wasn't some frumpy, dumpy, homely lady in a denim jumper or something. Luckily, Carly turned out to be very cute and dressed almost exactly like me. Score.

The next day, Victoria was wearing sky-high stiletto heels that were adorable, so I complimented her. 

Victoria: Thanks! They're Marc Jacobs. They were like, three hundred dollars.

Bone Junior: (Pointing to my new, black on black zebra striped flats) Do you like my shoes?

Victoria: Yeah! They're really cute!

Bone Junior: Thanks! They're Miley Cyrus. I got them from Wal-Mart for ten dollars.

I'm not even kidding. I was wearing Miley Cyrus shoes. And I don't even care because they're cute, and even better, they really were only ten dollars. Victoria told me that her entire outfit cost her over six hundred dollars. Mine cost less than twenty, altogether. 

Yes, I'm cheap and I'm proud of it. And I think I'm really going to like working next to Victoria. I need some new blog material.

Return

So, I'm alive.

It's been over a month since I've posted, and you'd think that I have a really good excuse for not posting, or at least some really exciting story about my travels or....something. Sadly, I do not. What I do have are tales of job hunting, interviews, wedding receptions, more interviews, even MORE interviews, and about a million rejection letters - which all arrived on the exact same day.

It's been a rough month. Let's recap.

Jobs applied for: roughly one million
Interviews: about thirty
Second interviews: probably ten
Rejection letters: do the math, minus one.
Friends who got engaged: 2
Best friends who got engaged: 1
Friends who got married: 4
Receptions I attended looking super hot to make up for the fact that I'm still single: 3
Friends who had a baby: 1
Friends who got pregnant: 2

New jobs accepted: 1

So there's the silver lining.

Grandmas Usually Like Me So Much

Last weekend, I went to a bridal shower for my good friend Nicole. Each guest was given a theme to follow for their gifts, and they were all "First's". First fight, first adventure, first spring cleaning, things like that. Naturally, I was assigned "First Night." Cake. I had this one in the bag.

I went shopping for some lingerie and found some really cute stuff. Nothing super scandalous; just teeny tiny bright pink thongs, a lacy black see thru neglige, and a zebra striped teddy with matching thong. Also I found a book of "365 Sexual Positions" and a bottle of chocolate syrup. I This was all fun stuff, but let's be honest; it could have been a LOT worse.

At the shower, the other person who'd been assigned First Night was this girl Jazz. Jazz is married to one of the supers that Nicole and I work with; and as much as I love Nicole, I was really glad that Jazz was at the shower to keep me company. The rest of the guests were grandmas, great aunts, third cousins...you get the idea. Pretty much all old ladies. Jazz and I sat in our chairs, just waiting for the moment when Nicole would open our gifts and die of embarassment.

So my gifts were pretty tame. Jazz, on the other hand? Pretty much went all out. She made this red silk bag out of an old prom dress and filled it with goodies - all of which were individually wrapped so that Nicole couldn't just look in the bag without pulling anything out. Brilliant, Jazz.

When Nicole started to open our gifts, I was more focused on the Grandma's than on Nicole. Because they? Were not amused. Especially when Nicole started slowly unwrapping a whip...then handcuffs... then lube...THEN a vibrating penis ring from Jazz's bag. Of course, Jazz and I were dying...but poor Nicole was mortified.

Afterwards, one particular Grandma came up to me, patted me on the shoulder and said, "You girls are cute." Pregnant pause, then a click of the tongue. "Disgusting...but cute." Exit Grandma, stage left. Cut to Bone Junior with mouth agape.

What! I have never been called disgusting by a Grandma before. I didn't know what to do except laugh. But seriously, she was offended? IT'S A BRIDAL SHOWER!! If I ever get married, I'll be offended if I DON'T get those kinds of gifts! Isn't that the whole point? Seriously.

Apparently after we left, Grandma went up to Nicole and said, "I don't think you should be running around with those girls." Well, it's not the first time I've been referred to as a bad influence - just the first time by a Grandma.

I wish I'd left the shower in a grand manner, a la Gloriana's mom. "Bye, Douchebags!" Oh well; see you at the wedding, Grandma!

God Help the Twelve-Year-Old Who Tries to Ruin My Movie

A few weeks ago, I went to see the new Transformers movie with my good friends Erin & Ryan. Two years ago, we'd all gone to see the first Transformers together, so it was only fitting that we make a tradition out of it.

The tickets were bought days ahead of time and we were able to reserve one of the sections of four seats off to the side. As the previews were starting, we noticed that there were six kids squished into the row of four seats in front of us. They'd put up the arm rests and squeezed their prepubescent bums into the too-small space. They'd probably bought their tickets late and could only find four seats all together, but they decided to buck the system and sit together anyway. They were already annoying me.

About halfway through the movie, the two boys in the seat directly in front of me started getting really obnoxious. One of them was purposely popping and snapping his gum with his mouth wide open so that it was making an incredibly loud noise. He'd pop, his stupid gaggle of geese would laugh, he'd pop again, they'd laugh again, lather, rinse, repeat. You get the idea. And you can probably picture the smoke that was starting to come out of my nose and ears.

Erin and I kept exchanging annoyed glances. I finally turned to her and hissed, "If he pops his gum One. More. Time. I am going to kick his seat so hard he won't know what hit him!"

I swear, no more than three seconds passed before the ass hat popped his gum again. And I also swear to you that I don't know what came over me in those next seconds. It was like something took over my body, and I physically reacted before my brain even had time to process what happened.

After I heard the final pop, both of my legs involuntarily cocked, bringing my knees all the way back to my chest before releasing the wrath of Bone Junior on to the back of the kid's seat. I kicked him so hard that he went forward out of his seat with a whiplash-like fury of momentum.

The best part was that I watched the whole thing as if it were in slow motion. The kid's dark silhouette being thrust forward against the bright light of the movie screen. He was like one of those crash test dummies getting rear-ended. It was a thing of beauty. It's just too bad he didn't choke on his gum. I also wish that he'd been holding a bag of popcorn, because to see popcorn flying through the air would have been golden.

The next best part was that Erin and I started laughing, and none of the kids even dared to turn around and face me. That's the power of taking a stand against obnoxious movie goers.

Feliz Cumplianos, Amigas!

Happy Birthday to my dear, dear friend, Heather. Today, she is thirty, flirty and thriving! Please tell me SOMEONE knows what movie that is from...and Happy Birthday to my dear, dear friend Andi! She is twenty-eight? I think? She is great with child and looks amazing.

Heather and I met in August 2001 when I moved into Southridge Apartments and she was already living there. That year of living together was adventurous to say the least. I literally have hours and hours of video footage of Heather and me doing pranks. Or, mostly me doing pranks to Heather. Like the time I set up the camera across from her bed, and I hid in her bed FOREVER waiting for her to come to bed. Seriously, I waited, squished down between the bed and the wall. Forever. Then when she came into the room, she totally didn't even react to me jumping up and scaring her. Totally anticlimatic.

Now that I think about it, a lot of my pranks have turned out that way. Just ask Yanaj. One time, I hung a life sized Elvis cardboard cutout from her ceiling, thinking that she'd freak out when she turned the light on because OH MY GOSH THERE'S A MAN IN A GOLD SUIT HOLDING A GUITAR HANGING FROM MY CEILING but no. Nothing. She just sighed and said, "Oh, Bone Junior!"

Then there was the time when I hid in Yanaj's closet, waiting for her to come back from the bathroom so I could jump out and scare her. At the time, Yanaj had a curtain covering her closet, so there I sat, crouched behind the curtain (which I was able to see through), waiting...and waiting...and waiting. When she finally came out of the bathroom, I was all ready to pounce, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand then she started taking her clothes off.

My eyes were squeezed shut as I contemplated what to do. Do I jump out and scare her now, when she's half undressed and then she'll think I was sitting there watching her get undressed which is totally creepy, and which I totally wasn't doing. And she'd totally be embarassed if she thought I'd seen her half naked (which she totally shouldn't be embarassed about because Yanaj once saw my entire bare ass reflected in a mirror by accident.) Or do I just sit and wait until she leaves the room and not even tell her I was in there, but then I wasted a totally good scare!!

I think eventually she left the room and I snuck out without her knowing. I'm sure I told her about it later though. It's just one more story for the books of Yanaj and Bone Junior.

So what started out as a celebratory birthday post for two of my friends has turned into a post about me. Hey, it's my blog. Happy birthday, Heather & Andi!

I Haven't Even Been In The Sun That Much; Or, Racial Profiling At It's Finest

Late Saturday night, I was driving home through some back neighborhoods when I saw the familiar flashing of police lights in my rear view mirror. But this time, I had no idea why I was being pulled over.

I put on my best innocent face and smile, prepared to plead my case to the officer as he approached my window...and started speaking Spanish to me. My face fell as I struggled to comprehend what was going on, and I managed to spit out, "I don't speak Spanish!!!"

The officer laughed and said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I'm just used to seeing Mexicans driving these kinds of cars."

Yeah.

It took a few seconds for all the racial profiling and underhanded snarky innuendos (in YOUR end-os!) to sink in. I gritted my teeth and gripped my steering wheel. It took everything in my power to restrain myself from hurling stereotypes at HIM.

It's a good thing he let me off with a warning (for not using my turn signal) or else I'd be crying foul in a court room.

The really sad thing is that I haven't even been in the sun that much this year. My tanorexia has been severely impacted by the rainy weather, as this is the first week temperatures have even hit the 80's.

I plan to spend all weekend at the pool, so that next time I get pulled over, I won't feel so bad about being called Mexican...again.

Philadelphia: Come For Your Family; Stay Because Nothing Ever Leaves the Philadelphia Airport On Time

Talk about writer's block. I haven't had anything interesting to write about in forever! To put your minds at ease, yes, Samuel was returned safe and sound after I complied with the kidnapper's demands. He was left in a paper bag under a tree...and I still haven't taken him out of the bag yet.

In other news, I just got back from a trip to Philadelphia, hence the title of this post. It was a blast to see my family and cruise around with Lady in her new convertible. It was not such a blast to spend an extra five hours in the Philadelphia airport, waiting to board the plane, and then another two hours sitting on the runway because we were number eight million in line for takeoff. All I had to eat was a box of Peanut Butter Kandy Kakes - which, let's face it, are delicious and like manna from heaven - but even Tastykakes get tiresome after a few hours.

You know what never gets tiresome? People-watching at the Philadelphia airport. Luckily, no one approached me and advised me to stop eating frozen yogurt. Because if anyone had told me to stop licking my Tastykake wrappers, I was in no mood (as evidenced by the half dozen tearful phone calls to Bone Senior.)

Maybe the travel experience back to Utah put me in a sour mood, but I haven't been happy since I've been back. I think it's time to move.

Operation: Save Samuel

There are three things I love: surprises, practical jokes, and my car. When I went out to my car at lunch, I realized that someone had managed to combine all three. The following letter was left on my windshield:

Ransom Note

To whom it may concern:

I have your beloved Samuel...

He is being treated nicely well, now that we have broken his spirit...(he is healing quite nicely).

He will be returned to you once you have met our demands:

- $3,849.96 in unmarked bills and / or coins (or a can of Western Family Toffee Peanuts and a 32 oz. Diet Pepsi, you choose)

- To be delivered at 9:00 am Thursday morning

- To be left in a brown paper bag (not plastic, they are filling up our landfills) under the tree on the north side of the north entrance to the Canyon River Office Building

- Take your cell phone with you. As soon as the delivery has been made you will receive a phone call telling you what to do from there.

Once these demands have been met, you will be instructed on where you can reunite with your creepy friend. Failure to execute these simple tasks will result in the untimely death and disappearance of Samuel...or I'll just cut his hair off.

Yours truly,

Noneofyourbusinesssssssssssss


So. We have a conundrum. Vote to tell me what I should do!

In Your Face, Lady Doctor

So it's that time of year again...time to visit the Lady Doctor. It was this time last year when My Lady Doctor made the comment that broke the camel's back and sealed the deal on my decision to get new bazoombas.

Don't remember that story? Allow me to refresh you. I laid on the table for the breast exam, closed my eyes and opened my robe, as per usual; when My New (at that time) Lady Doctor exclaimed, "Oh! It's a good thing you have such small breasts! It makes my job so much easier!"

Fast forward to the present, and I have a whole new story for you.

Usually when I visit the Lady Doctor, I wrap that tiny paper robe / lap cover around me as tight as I possibly can, which usually results in several rips and tears in unflattering places. I try to cover every inch of my body, especially my tiny boobs. I was more comfortable unveiling my downtown bonanza than my boobs, so when the time came for the breast exam, I closed my eyes and made a sad sighing sound, never making eye contact with the doctor. It was the most mortifying two minutes of the year for me.

THIS year, I didn't even try to tie the robe closed. When the Lady Doctor came in, she asked how I'd been since last year, and I said, "Well! Remember how last year you told me that it was a good thing my breasts were so small??"

And then, in the fashion of My Big Fat Greek Wedding - you know, the part when the sister unveils her bridesmaid dress and whips her coat open with a flourish and everyone gasps? Yeah; that was me. Except I was whipping open a paper robe and unveiling ginormous bazoombas instead of a bridesmaid dress. I may have even punctuated it with a "Wah-POW!" noise, I'm not sure. In any case, Lady Doctor's eyes got wide and she nodded in approval, "Nice!"

The rest of the appointment was pretty uneventful, because really, where do you go after a show like that? I think I made my point.

Sometimes You Just Go For It

Friday was our marketing director's last day at work, so we all chipped in to get a massive, seven-pound chocolate-chocolate-chocolate cake from Costco. I loaded the cake into my car and headed back to work, and several minutes later, I noticed a questionable brown smear on my right palm.

Hmmm.

You're probably thinking, why would a brown smear on my palm give me pause, but think about it. I know I had to think about it. What if, just what if I assumed it was chocolate, licked it, and it turned out I had made a horrible mistake?

I didn't have anything handy to wipe it on, and besides, if it was chocolate, I didn't want to waste it by wiping it on a napkin or something. But what if it wasn't chocolate...

I seriously debated for a long time about this. Several factors came into play: when did I go to the bathroom last? (Before lunch, so at least two hours ago). Did I wash my hands? (yes, but it's possible I just did the quick once-over rinse and missed a spot). Is it possible I'd been going around with a poo smear on my hand for nearly two hours? (possible). How many other countless things had I touched in the last two hours that I could have potentially smeared poo/chocolate on? (clothes, face, hair - a quick body scan yielded no stray stains). Did I dare just go for it and lick my palm so that I wouldn't risk wasting chocolate? (not just yes, but hell yes).

I brought my palm to my face and smelled. No odor indicating one way or the other. Hmmm. I closed my eyes and tentatively stuck out the tip of my tongue, knowing full well what I risked to lose here.

I can't describe the relief I felt when I tasted chocolate. I swear my heart stopped and then skipped a beat in those seconds leading up to Chocolate Realization. Because let's be honest, it could have gone either way.

Then I went to town licking all up on my hand. I hope I was entertaining for the people in the car next to me.

Spread the Word

Okay everybody out there in the blogger world...that includes any blog stalkers that I may have...this is a very special post and I want you listen up, or should I say read up. I'd like you to meet my friend Julia and her husband Brett. (I know Julia through my good friend Erin, and I have basically plagerized this post from Erin's blog. Even though I stole Erin's words, I feel exactly the same as she does about Julia and Brett. One luv.)They have been married for 6 years now, and have been wanting to be parents for almost as long. Right now they are trying to adopt, and so far haven't been blessed with a baby...they're trying to get the word out to as many people as possible. So, if you know of someone, or know of someone who may know someone, tell them you found the perfect family for a little baby to be loved in, to be snuggled, to be played with, and to grow up with the best mom and dad a kid could ask for.

They have so much love to give, and if something doesn't happen soon, I'll have no choice but to get knocked up and give them MY baby just because they want this so badly and are so deserving of a sweet, Mexican-looking child. And you know me - I'll do it.

If you know anyone considering adoption please pass their information along:

http://www.parentprofiles.com/profiles/db24166.html

http://www.providentliving.org/ses/birthmother/viewsingleprofile/0,12272,2133-1-10088,00.html

https://beta.itsaboutlove.org/ial/profiles/21629485/ourMessage.jsf

www.juliaandbrett.blogspot.com

Feliz Cumpleanos

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!

Thanks Jim, It's Exactly What I Always Wanted

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.

Jib Jab: Where All My Wildest Dreams Come True

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.

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

In Which My Hair Does Not Look Like Something From the Raquel Welch Wig Line

I decided to finally cut my hair.

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!

Be Careful What You Wish For

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.

I Admit It; I Love Vanilla Ice

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.

Does that count as getting to second base?

In Which I Become A Snotty Haiku Know-It-All

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.

Totally worth it.

It's a Small World After All

I hope you have that song stuck in your head now.

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.

Get to Know Me - UPDATED

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.







I hope you enjoyed getting to know me, and here is the inspiration for my Trogdor bird.

In Which I Become Slightly Less Bitter

"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.

Surprise!

Happy early Valentine's Day to me...The best part? They're purple, I didn't buy them for myself, and they didn't come from one of my girlfriends...

My Valentine's Day Mantra

Sometimes I Don't Know Why I Do the Things I Do

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.

Let's Recap

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.

Any Takers?

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...

How Fitting

We just switched to a new payroll company, and from the looks of my first pay stub, I think I'm going to like them...

It's A Christmas Miracle

... 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!