badest man in the whole damn town

My dad referred to me as a "he" the other day. I guess it's not that bad considering he once called my sister dennis. we don't even know a dennis. i always told myself i was the son chas never had. in fact, they took me out early expecting me to be a 12 pound boy. sorry to disappoint, chas. call me a he all you want.

one time i had a horrible headache and we didn't have any medicine in the house. chas said he found a first aid kit while cleaning in the basement. i asked how old it was. he said brand new. the medicine expired before i was born.

speaking of mistaken identities, i've been tempted to look up the man whose white mini-van i accidentally stole my freshman year. if anyone remembers the poor unfortunate mans name, let me know. i bet he's still wondering how his ride went from heritage lot to so-ho. sucker.

calling all hawties! if you're interested in being my date to aprox. 3,000 weddings, please apply via facebook message. on second thought, screw the application. the only requirement is that you do not consider a dress shirt tucked into basketball shorts "fancy clothes". i am an equal opportunity employer.

people constantly tell me how short i am. im an easy going gal, so i don't offend when you call me a munchkin, short fry or midget. but, please! it is never ok to tell someone they are shorter than danny divito. pure heartbreak. the unforgivable sin. (for the record, i am two inches taller and much more attractive. he is, however, damn good in its always sunny. to that, i will never compare.)

my parents bought a karaoke machine at a rummage sale. life is good when you find your 62 year old father singing about two counts behind to bad,bad leroy brown. he still has a long way to go, but i am very excited for when he is ready to preform lady gaga's bad romance. tickets will be sold. popcorn will be popped. biggest show to hit the valley in years. look out.

goodbye, my little cabbage.

people say they miss my blog. sorry about that. 12 hours of sleep is very important to me.

i have a job. that's all i'll say for now.

yesterday on my way to said job, i saw the single greatest thing in the world: a man jogging wearing an entirely denim outfit. everyone knows how much i like jean on jean (especially when the washes are the same) but add that to uncomfortable physical activity and you have brought jean on jean to a whole new level. i will never forget 5/12/2011. thank you denim jogger.

my beverage consumption is up by at least 50%. my adult beverage consumption is down by at least 90%, unless you are like ann malmquist and consider coffee an adult beverage. if that's the case, i'll go ahead and say i drink a butt-load of coffee.

speaking of butt-loads, what does that mean? is a butt some sort of measuring tool? shouldn't we say colon-load? i won't argue about it too much, as it is a staple in my vocab, but you'll never see me measuring out ingredients for cookies using my butt...that is for sure.

adios, ma petit chou.

bowel movement blockage

you know you're living a productive life when you spend a majority of the afternoon researching breast reduction surgery. i was interested and ok with everything until the line "your surgeon will take a photograph of your breasts". i am not that kind of girl!

i most likely shouldn't share things like that with you, but, i don't know who "you" are, so i don't care. (I do care though, if you are a practicing surgeon who would be willing to take on a "pro-bono case .)

i had a traumatic experience yesterday. my dog came in looking highly uncomfortable and unable to sit. upon further investigation i discovered a bowel movement had become trapped and hard in a jumble of hair. because of this "blockage" he was unable to produce more. there were tears, rubber gloves, emergency baths and a quick butt-hair cut. i am happy to report that after a sleepless night, the tail is wagging again.

my dad just came into our computer room to proof read my latest and greatest cover-letter. what makes this moment special? he's wearing his C-PAP machine.

i've stopped wearing deodorant. the only reason being that i can't find mine. ok, even when i know where it is, i don't use it. too much effort, not enough results. i'm all about results.

melted jesus

He has risen! Risen, indeed. Unless of course you are eating a resurrection roll. then He has been consumed. consumed, indeed.

let's be frank for a minute. resurrection rolls: delicious and a little bit disturbing. c'monn kids. let's stuff a marshmallow in a dinner roll and pretend it's jesus. then bake it at 350 degrees for 15 minutes and eat it up.

to be fair, i certainly do "remember Him" when i eat this bread.

i'm feeding my dog nerds, you'd better come out and pound me

my oldest sister is currently in the process of sending some dead fish from her lab to france. she is struggling with the customs forms. my middle sister has just finished her final exams in law school and is starting to prepare for the multi-state bar. i am finishing the second disc of mad men and feeding my dog nerds.

i know feeding a dog nerds isn't healthy, but it is so cute.

i woke up this morning thinking about artwork in coffee shops. ok, unknown artist from some liberal arts college. sure, i'll pay 500 bucks for a 8 x 10 acrylic attempt at cubism. who needs an art dealer when you have your local coffee shop?

i used to hate coffee. i remember buying a white chocolate mocha from marketplace and having to buy a snickers in the vending machine to melt in it because it tasted "like poop". my oh my. time and taste buds have certainly changed. it could have been my 17 hour work days with high schoolers, but man...my stained teeth do love the warm acidic buzz i get from that smooth cup of liquid beans.

old people always comment on my teeth. "OH MY! they are so big and beautiful!" "what perfect big teeth!" "you have such lovely teeth." pretty much the only physical compliment i get, but it reminds me of a story.

one day my sister was working in the medical center. let's get one thing straight. this sister does not share my ample bosom. with that being said...as she was working, a man walked by and did a double take. "oh my god! they're so big!" she was uncomfortable as he continued. "are they real? they are huge!" as she shrunk back she gained the courage what he was talking about. "you're canines! they're so big!" good one, man at the medical center.

personal

SWF seeks M.

extreme knowledge in all things minutia & ability to win all trivia games is highly desired. personal hygiene not expected. prefer those fashioned in crew neck sweatshirts and corduroy pants. ability to comment on how cute dogs are is a plus. humor appreciated, as is the knowledge that quoting dumb & dumber, tommy boy and wedding crashers is not humor. fans of public radio and television programs, james taylor, john denver and other 60-something singer songwriters given special consideration. no polos, gelled hair or lady gaga fans, please.

please submit a short and personal cover letter, resume and an 8x10 glossy picture of yourself (including your body) to be considered.

breast strokes in shallow bandaids

some things bring me back to a very magical time of my life. freshman year of high school. i'd like to recount some of them for you now.

i heard a strokes song today and i flashed to playing "this is it" on repeat while we floated in an above ground pool on jon street in neenah. When I say we, i refer to the dynamic duo of roxanne ashton agusta patty butler and myself. (her discovering that she had 3 middle names is still a highlight of my life).

i have never in my life participated in more innocent shenanigans than in that time. prank calling gym teachers was old news, so we called KISS FM when their recording device was broken and said something inappropriate about Nelly liking little boys in our best "candy man" voice. don't worry, we have an audio tape recording of the DJ giving us a stern talking to.

i don't think i was ever cooler than i was that year. staying late after school with a tape recorder, pretending we had to do interviews for a class was a wonderful excuse to mingle with the odd assortment of individuals left after the bells rang in the menagerie that was neenah high school. magic players, STAND members, unfortunate teachers (and that hot boy who didn't shower much).

riding the bus and buying a bag of regular and cool ranch doritos, watching requiem for a dream, little big man, or say anything at least once a week was required. some days we'd skip the movie and lay on the floor listening to the strokes, or radiohead...maybe a james taylor album for good measure instead.

we made our own morbid music videos to alanis and rescued a litter of bunnies found where the above ground pool was being put. slowly they all died--lt. dan, simon birch, and others named for their maladies. one was released into the wild...we'll never know if that one made it.

we strapped her cats into her paralyzed brothers stair machine. and i learned about the "real world" from that machine and the brother that used it. her mother was usually naked when i'd come over. perhaps in the company of some interesting fellow she met at an AA meeting.

we both failed CPR certification due to our inability to preform rescue breaths without making our dummies talk to our poor mister kreiger. he hated us, but i made him smile once. he got me back by making me practice strokes on the pool deck, among dirty bandaids.

i peed in my pants at least 8 times because of her. one time in my choir dress, alone on the bus. i have never laughed so hard in my life. except for maybe the drunk ewoks on the today show video. that is good.

my dad said we were kindred spirits. two peas in an "unromantic pod". she's off living the life of a vagabond on the west coast and i'm living the life of a vegetable in my parents home. our pod is stretched, but i'd like to think we're still peas.

coming soon: my personal ad and a reflection on a 6 year relationship. these posts may or may not be related.