Satan's Stockings

I have come to believe that stockings are the invention of communists and/or the devil. They are a method of torture, and only serve to ruin the day of the wearer-and quite possibly those around them.

When I wear stockings, which is hardly ever because I hate them more than I hate this Miley Cyrus, one of two things inevitably occurs:

1. They run the instant I attempt to pull them up past my too chunky thighs. And they run in a place where I can’t hide the run, like right down the ENTIRE back of my leg. This makes me want to scream because it means that the money I spent on them might as well have been flushed straight down the nearest toilet.

2. About 3 hours into the day, the elastic in the waistband starts giving. This means that the rest of the day will involve the stockings riding down until the crotch is closer to my knees than to Vangelina Jolie, and/or that I’ll be tugging at them while doing awkward moves to get them up where they belong.

Today happens to be a stocking day. Guess what? The waistband is shot AND I have a huge run down the front of my leg. The issues with the wasitband have caused me to walk funny all day, so it looks like I spent last night making sweet love to some stallion. Which I did not. The run makes it seem as though I spent too much time on my knees at lunch time. Which I did not.

Damn you, hosiery industry. I hate you.

way to go CNN

There’s something wrong with our society when a gorilla getting a colonoscopy warrants a headline on CNN. Really, what the hell is going on with CNN lately? Yesterday they had not one, but two postings of just such a story. I was halfway tempted to read the story, until I remembered that

I couldn’t care less
I have a life to lead

Fine, go ahead and put up some lame stories. Who am I to judge? Oh wait, that’s right, I’m Miss Judgey Judge A Lot. But wait, there’s more. Over the weekend, while I was shirking my domestic responsibilities, I stumbled up on this:


I think I pulled something because of how hard I was laughing. They meant Betty Boop, not Betty Boob.

Way to go, CNN copy editors!! Can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings! Oh please tell me that they have a story about a stolen truck full of peens/pens. A girl can dream…

We're being invadede by white blobs!!

http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/living/2008/09/25/dnt.ghostly.images.on.tape.kshb

My thoughts are it could be:

1) Vaporized testosterone floating around, it’s a gym after all.

2) The ghost of Christmas past took a wrong turn and ended up in Kanasas.

3) Nothing exciting.

I’m leaning heavily towards 3.

What I'm watching this TV Season

With Gossip Girl making it's season debut last week the new fall season has officially arrived Let's find out what I’ll will be watching this season.

Mondays:

8:00: Gossip Girl & Chuck

8:30: How I Met Your Mother

9:00: Nothing

10:00 The Bachelor/ette

Show That Intrigues Me: Worst Week

We start with a log jam on Mondays at 8:00. With my VCR only equipped to handle one show at once what will happen from 8:00 - 9:00 when Gossip Girl, Chuck, and How I Met Your Mother premiere? Will I have to drop a show? Will I watch a few episodes online? Will I be forced to get a life? Should I give reading a try? Why do I get that creepy feeling about being in my mid-twenties and watching a show about high schoolers.

Chuck leapfrogged Pushing Daisies to become my favorite new show out of last years fall lineup. The affable Chuck (played by Zachary Levi) seamlessly changes gears from dramatic to comedic better than any actor not named John Krasinski on television today. Creator Josh Schwartz plans to emphasize a more serialized story telling approach this year and shy away from the close ended stories that served short term rather than long term goals last season. It's like he is fusing The OC with 24 with just a hint of Three's Company. And that my friends is entitled Television Nirvana.

How I Met Your Mother appears to be the odd man out in this Ménage à trois of a television dalliance I got going on but luckily I will catch up with the gang from MacLaren's on the internet.

Worst Week is based on a BBC show Worst Week of my Life. It stars Kurtwood "Don't call me Red" Smith of That 70's Show fame. I might give this show a try but it probably won't be until a random Saturday when I'm bored and I've run out of random episodes of Torchwood on BBC America to watch.


Tuesdays:

9:00: Fringe

10:00: Law & Order SVU

Show That Intrigues Me: The New 90210


Wednesdays:

8:00: Pushing Daisies

9:00: Private Practice

10:00 Dirty Sexy Money

Show That Intrigues Me: Dirty Sexy Money

A lot is going on in TV land on Wednesdays.

Thursdays:

8:00: My Name Is Earl

9:00: The Office, 30 Rock, Grey's Anatomy

10:00: It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, Burn Notice

Dance That Intrigues Me: The Mamba

Thursday night is my favorite television night of the week because it showcases my three favorite comedies on television: The Office, 30 Rock, and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. The Office left us on the highest of high notes with their season four finale "Goodbye Toby". It was an instant Office classic and paved the way for a slew of fresh story lines for season five. It's Always Sunny enjoyed its finest season to date last year and much like a fine wine continues to get better with age. It's Always Sunny not only boasts a truly original comedic idiom but it also shares the "Most underrated half hour on television" moniker with Flight of the Conchords. With season four episode titles like "Dennis Reynolds: An Erotic Life" and "Sweet Dee has a Heart Attack" we should except more of the same ingenious yet refreshingly simplistic comedy we have come to expect from the gang at Paddy's Pub.

Fridays:

9:00: Psych

Old Board Game That Intrigues Me: Mouse Trap. That really is the craziest trap I've ever seen..
Saturdays:

11:30: Saturday Night Live

Member of the hit show Full House That Intrigues Me: Steve

This cast has been together long enough that I expect this to be an all time great year for SNL.

Sundays:

8:30: The Family Guy

9:00 Mad Men

10:00: Entourage

Random Fact Of The Day That Intrigues Me: Eating grapes do not help you to obtain superpowers

This day used to be reserved for The Family Guy but I think I'm done with Homer and the gang. I'm sure I'll still catch the occasional repeat but it's no longer "Must See TV" for this guy. What I am excited for is the fifth season of Dexter. I caught up seasons 4 this summer and holy appletini they were great!


Programs that I will watch when they come back mid-season: Scrubs, Medium, LOST, Flight of the Conchords

Sophomore shows I added to faves list from last year: Chuck, Gossip Girl, Private Practice, Pushing Daisies

New shows I plan to watch this year: Fringe

Show that got canceled and I promptly forgot that it ever existed: October Road

Best line from October Road that was meant to be serious but had me laughing hysterically: "I think you forgot what side of October Road you belong on"

Old show that was canceled before its time that you should buy on DVD: Undeclared

Shows I might start catching up on: Dexter

Second year show I am most excited about returning: Chuck

Runner up for favorite returning show: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Favorite Returning Show: The Office, 30 Rock

Are there any shows that I missed? What else should I be watching? What did you do this weekend? Am I asking too many questions? Do you want to start an alliance with me? Have a great week party people! As always this has been Sandy wishing you Champagne wishes and caviar dreams or in my case gummy bear wishes and Snapple dreams. Have a great day!

Snapple (the drink not a person) if you are reading this that was called a plug. Please send me some of your delicious self. Thank you.

I blame Gordon Gecko...

Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke and Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson warned congressional leaders of a dire economic future if the $700 billion Wall Street bailout isn't approved quickly.

Here are some of their predictions:

-A credit crunch for business and consumers.
-The American economy could grind to a halt.
-A crazed madman from outer space will destroy the earth with a single laser beam.
-Blood will rain from the sky.
-Locust will cover the ground, every crop and every tree.
-Firebreathing hellhounds will crawl from the San Andreas fault and devour children everywhere.
-Giant armies of Robot Nazis will control entire cities, crushing everything in their path.
-Everyone will be ritualistically sodomized.
-God will throw lightening bolts at every man, woman and child until all are dead.
-The undead will feast on the living.
-The human race will gradually devolve into a species of mole people living underground as flames destroy the earth above.
-A Jesus-like madman will lead a massive doomsday cult into power.
-Everyone will die.

The $700 billion Wall Street bailout is mind boggling and difficult to comprehend. To better understand this number, I offer these simple comparisons:

-$700 billion can buy about 140 billion Squirmle toys.
-Imagine every person on Earth receiving a check for about $116.65.
-Or every American getting $2,333.
-With $700 billion, you could buy all the following countries: Niue, Tuvalu, Kiribati, Anguilla, São Tomé and Príncipe, The Marshall Islands, Palau, The Cook Islands, Tonga, Micronesia, Dominica, American Samoa, Guinea-Bissau, The Solomon Islands, Samoa, Comoros, Vanuatu, East Timor, Saint Kitts and Nevis, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Grenada and the Northern Mariana Islands.
-Or you could just buy Chad. Or combine Lichtenstein and Malawi.
-You also could bargain for Madagascar.
-You could buy seven Iraqs with $700 billion.
-Instead of bailing out Wall Street, you could buy 650 new Yankee Stadiums.
-If you lined up $700 billion end to end, it would stretch to the sun and burn.
-$700 billion would weigh about 210,000,000,000 pounds.
-You could wrap $700 billion around the equator 8,000 times. But someone might take it.
-You could buy just under 700 stealth bombers with $700 billion.
-With $700 billion, you could buy 24,137,931,034 Thanksgiving sweaters on eBay for $29 each. You would still have about $14 left over.
-You could also buy 155,555,555,555 matching Thanksgiving sweaters for your 7,000,000,000 American Girl dolls.
-With $700 billion, you could give two Wii's and a couple games to everyone in North America.
-If you like baseball - you could buy premium season ticket seats for the Seattle Mariners for the next 160 million years

Dear Random Black Kid Giving Me the Stinkeye in an Online Ad for Life Insurance,

You've got a lot to learn about the world, son. If you start caring about every little thing, like whether complete strangers have life insurance, you're not going to have enough time to focus on what's really important: you. You've got to really run over yourself with a fine-tooth comb - and don't skip the naughty bits, either, because there are usually a lot of creatures there that can only be caught by a fine-tooth comb or fire, and trust me, you're going to want to take option 1 there.

Anyway, after years of narcissism, you may finally be where I am now: far too self-involved to ever love another human being. And that helps you streamline your life process so that you don't waste a lot of time on other people, worrying about whether they've got life insurance or not, or frankly, caring whether they live or die.

You've got a lot of growing up to do, sir. Just make sure you quit eye-effing strangers like me about trivial crap, or you won't live long enough to do it. I'm not the type to hold a grudge, because once again, time spent thinking about other people is always time wasted, but most other folks aren't so enlightened.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go serenade me with a love song I wrote for myself.

Sincerely,
Me

WHAT?!!!??

Clay Aiken is gay.

Yep, I just found out this morning. I had no clue. Now what? How do I pick up the pieces and move on? Yeesh.

There are a lot of celebrities out there that are gay that no one realizes.

Elton John for one. Liberace was gay also. Ellen Degeneres? Gay. George Michael, perhaps thought of as the world’s manliest man - is also gay. KD Lang? Vegetarian. And gay.

How about Chuck Norris? Gay. Steven Segal? Likes Asian boys. Jon Bon Jovi occasionally has his anus entered by gentlemen. No biggie.

In fact, I’m pretty sure EVERY celebrity is gay. Do you think John Wayne swaggered like that because he was tough? No, he swaggered like that in his movies because the previous night before filming was spent frolicking with dark Italian men in vats full of pink jello.

I for one prefer it that way. I wish more people were gay, maybe smoking would still be acceptable in restaurants if more gay people owned them. Public washrooms might be a lot cleaner, and if more city mayors were gay, there would probably be a lot more flowers in public places. And more flowers in public places means that it’s a lot easier for me to get my mom a bouquet for mother’s day.

Also, every gay person I’ve met has been pretty awesome and chillax (LOVE YOU AE). I bet spilling a cup of coffee on a gay person’s brand new carpet is nothing to them compared to them telling their father that he’s probably never going to have grandchildren. I’m pretty sure that coming out of the closet has a big way of putting trivial issues into perspective.

I bet Jesus was gay. Who did he surround himself with? A bunch of men. Did he get married? Nope, he never even had a girlfriend as far as we know. If he were straight, for SURE the Bible would be full of quotes like, “My brothers, I decree that last night thouest truly did bang twelve hot Sodomites in El Casa de Awesomness,” or, “Take a wild guess which Son of God got a B.J. during the sermon on the mount? THIS Son of God, Amen!”

Jesus made water into wine for God’s sakes - if he were straight he would have made water into Budweiser or whiskey. He also walked everywhere, if he were a heterosexual he probably would have drove a big massive truck from place to place, preaching and firing “Christianity Rocks” t-shirts from a big air cannon mounted in the back.

Also when Jesus came back from the dead, the first thing he did was carry on his mission. If he were a straight guy, he would have probably given up on the whole preaching business and went and worked on his restored Trans Am in the garage instead. Cause a straight guy would rather do anything than walk around talking to strange people and improving himself, especially when pain of death may be involved.

Anyways, that’s about all I have to say about gay people for right

It's My Birthday

It's true. One year closer to Death. Yay for me.

If you really care, you'll send me a some e-card

Or, buy me this

"Really? you're saying to yourself, "I didn't know you were a DJ!" I'm not, but I think I would be good at it and it would look good in my bedroom - you know, that mystical place where I make the magic happen.**

In honour*** of me getting older, here's a list of things I've noticed about me that I am old-ish. Warning: I know most of you think I shit rainbows and butterflies (and you'd be right), but the following list ain't pretty. But really, it shows how much I love you that I can share so much about me, right?

There was a time when I didn't understand half of what the hell was happening on MTV. Now, I don't get half the shit that happens on VH-1.

I no longer remember anything that happened in high school.**** Granted, this is likely due to the systematic voluntary willingness to forget it, but still...

True story: I was driving from Seattle to Tacoma a few weeks ago and heard a lovely song on the radio and thought "Hmm, I kinda like this and the voice sounds familiar but I can't place it." It turned out to be CELINE DION, people. Celine fucking Dion!!!!

A hangover, when I get them, now last about a month. I'm still recovering from shit I did in April.

And can someone please once and for all tell me what the hell a Hollaback Girl is? Is it a good thing or a bad thing? If I was young, I would know such things.

I'm contemplating not dressing up for Halloween this year.

** And by "magic" I of course mean eating Dick's Delux Burger while watching HGTV and Bravo on Friday & Saturday nights, talking to my John Cusack voodo doll, and crying myself to sleep. But only sometimes.

*** It's my birthday and if I want to pretend I am a subject of the Queen, I will.

**** Aside from the occassional flashback of beratement and belittlement from teachers and classmates, of course.

I'll have the spicy tuna roll...

The other night I had a conversation with one my friends in Boise. We were discussing our ex's. The conversation first started out by discussing how bad they were for us and soon escaliated to their gross and disgusting habits. Well I think my friend had the best story of them all.

Let's call her Skanky, she’s epitomizes klassy with a k. I never really liked her and knew she was gross after the 2nd time I met her. He liked her, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt. You may think that I’m just being harsh, or jealous of this girl, but you are very wrong. This girl could have been crowned queen of the trailer park. She would have received her very own rhinestone tiara with a big fat K for Klassy (not classy) in the middle. Let me highlight for you why she is such a dirty skank (WARNING: I hope you're not eating sushi while you read this)


My friend, let's call him Jay, used to live in a 2 bedroom apartment and he had the master suite. The suite was set up with a bathroom that had the toilet and shower, however, the sink was located in the bedroom (between the bathroom and the closet). On the random occasion where they would “make the sweet love”, she would ask him to go down on her. If he said yes, which he usually would, she would jump out of bed, throw her leg up on the sink, and splash water on her naughty bits, then she’d run back to bed. I understand the idea of being clean, but I’m pretty sure that most partners don’t want to see us “cleansing” ourselves in such a matter (am I wrong here?). Anyway, on one occasion, she asked him if she “smelled”. He was honest and said that she could be cleaner. Her response was (wait for it), “If you order tuna, you’re going to get tuna.” Klassy.

Skank didn’t like to be alone, not even when she went to the bathroom. In the event that nature called, she would go into the bathroom, leave the door open and ask Un-boyfriend to talk with her-even if she was dropping the kids off at the pool (so to speak). One day when she was through, she asked him if he had a coat hanger. When he asked her why, she told him that “it” wouldn’t flush. Not only did he give her the coat hanger, but he had to help her shove “it” down the toilet. Klassy. If you ask me, people should live their entire lives without ever having to help someone else get “it” to flush down the toilet.

Sadly, their relationship ended. That’s another story unto itself, we’ll save it for a rainy day. The next time I'm in Boise and we go out for sushi, I'll remind him that “if you order tuna, you’re going to get tuna.” He'll never order it.

what an adult text message conversation looks like

My equally sharpwitted gal pal CF and I text messaging while watching the Olympic track events:



CF: Guess what Walter Dix's middle name is?

ME: Harry

CF: No, silly. It's Gottabigone. Betch didn't know he was Italian.

ME: I thought he was Jewish...Walter Bignblack Dix

CF: Huh, maybe you're right

ME: It's actually Sockinshortz!

CF: Ah you kill me!



There is nothing like giving ethnic names to athlete's wangs to show your support to the US Olympic team!

Potential Mood Killers

Many women out there have a number of irrational fears about men and how picky they are. I've heard plenty of my girlfriends say things like, "If you don't put on your pants and leave now, I'm going to press charges." Other, less litigious women say things like, "I wanted to invite him back home, but my house is such a mess!" To which men say: "Do you have boobs? Then he won't notice."

However, there are a few things that are dealbreakers. Here are a list of things – in increasing order – that might kill the mood, were you bringing some dude over to your place for the 8 second pantsless rodeo.

- Piles of dirty laundry
- Precious Moments figurines
- Above-ground swimming pool*
- More than 4 cats
- Shrieking wraiths indicating place was built on ancient Indian burial ground
- More than 8 cats
- Bookshelf with Eat Pray Love on it
- Guy in a gimp mask chained to the radiator
- Creepy collage of pictures of the guy you've invited over with his eyes scratched out in every picture
- Basement dungeon
- House-encompassing collection of porcelain dolls arranged in strange patterns, like pentagrams - Pile of dead hobos
- First-floor dungeon**
- Your angry, gun-wielding husband
- Your angrier, knife-wielding ex-husband
- Freezer full of internal organs/heads- Freezer with room for one more set of organs/severed head

* "Hi, White. Have you met Trash? You guys would be great together."
**When you're too lazy to hide your dungeon underground, you're trouble.

speedos

You know what’s special about the Olympics? All those boys with hot, cut, well defined bodies in a tiny banana hammock. Thank you world for making the Speedo and providing us with a venue to stare at specimens who actually belong in them.

I’ve watched a couple of Olympic events, funny how they all involve men and some sort of water sport. I do enjoy reading up on the results of the swimming competitions. Mainly because of the pictures that accompany the articles.


Also, I’m a Michael Phelps fan. Sure, he had a creepy Fu Manchu mustache a little bit ago, but that’s gone now. And his face leaves a lot to be desired, but that’s something you’d never see if he was hitting it from behind. I’ll just dream of putting a paper bag over his head and then have my way with him.


Last night I decided to take a break from watching the Olympics to watch the last DVD of Mad Men Season 1. If you haven’t seen this show, put it on your netflix queue. It’s well-written, beautiful cast and of course the clothes! I kept waiting for Darren Stevens to pop up and ask someone to go for a two-martini lunch or the McMahon and Tate special. Anyway, my gal pal CF asked me if I caught the men’s synchronized diving event. I said no and she went on to say I missed out on the hottie Cuban-born Canadian diver. So I of course dropped the proposal I was working on to Google “Cuban born Canadian diver” and much to my delight I found Arturo Miranda. Get ready to fill your spank bank.







Damn you Mad Men! How did I miss this? One look at his body can make just about any girl run like Niagara Falls. Unlike Michael Phelps, having to stare at his jacked teeth and almost-mono brow would cause even Niagara Falls to dry up like the Sahara Dessert. With that being said, I present to you, the new and improved Olympic Gold Medal Winner, Michael Phelps!

Apparently I'm Asian

A trip to Sephora is in my future

Things that make summer awesome:


· Lounging around/near the water with friends, food and cold beers;
· Awesome flowy sundresses and skirts;
· Flip flops;
· Sunshine until 8 p.m.


Things that make summer suck:


· Forgetting to bring your make up bag inside from your car and returning to find your makeup and brushes coated with a light slimy layer of lipgloss because your MAC palette melted into a shiny soup of gunk

When I grow up

There are many things in my life that remind me that I am getting older and (slowly!!) approaching my Golden Years:

1) People who were born in 1990 are turning 18 this year. They have been driving for 2 years and can vote. (I was a sophomore in high school in 1990. That seems like FOREVER ago. I had a perm and pinned my pants. Neither were a good idea.)

2) My gray hair recently seems hell-bent on conquering the entire area of my head thus making me go to the salon more often. (Thank goodness I don't dye my hair blue ... yet.)

3) I make an "oof" sound when I stand up. And several joints make tree-snapping/cracking noises. (And I ALWAYS comment on it like it's the first time it's ever happened.)
And finally...

4) I realize that I own many age-inappropriate things that weren't so age-inappropriate a few years ago. Like hoodies, stuffed animals (all doggies!) and... the latest track titled "When I Grow Up" from The Pussycat Dolls on iTunes.*

*For those of you unfamiliar with the song which would be anybody who A) is over 18 and B) sane, please take a gander at the video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gvcpb4_7ZQ

"When I Grow Up" is at best described as "stupid and incredibly catchy like an STD." You don't want to own it, but eventually you got it and there's nothing you can do about it. Even the free clinic can't help you on this one. This is what you get for paying 99 cents. However, I digress...
When listening to this (insipid) song, I realized that I'm old (but refined) because the chorus makes me blush. Said chorus is as follows (as best I can tell from listening to the lyrics with my old-ass ears that have a ring in them from too many days blasting my Madonna on my Walk-man back in the day):

When I grow up!
I want to be famous! I want to be a star! I want to be in movies!
When I grow up!
I wanna see the world! Drive nice cars! I want to have boobies!
When I grow up!
Be on TV! People know me! Be in magazines!
When I grow up!
Fresh and clean! Number one chick when I step out on the scene!

BAHH! So many issues!!

1) "Boobies" is one of my least favorite words. Just typing it sends me into a snit-fit. It's ranks right up there with "hump" and "apps" (short for appetizers). So every time I hear them sing the "B" word, I blush and sing, "I wanna see the world! Drive nice cars! I want to have LALALLALAA!"

2) "Fresh and clean"? Really? That's a goal from when you were a child? Were you raised in a barn or did the lyricist see one too many Summer's Eve commercials growing up?

3) This NEED to be famous. Why? I like being able to go outside without being mobbed. I like that I can buy tampons and nobody is around to report it to Perez Hilton. (He would so draw mean cartoony on me too! I know how he rolls!)

Pussycat Dolls, why have you glamorized paparazi attention? You're just wishing crazy people into your life and face it, your personal assistant is going to have to spend A LOT of time down at the courthouse filing restraining orders for you. Really? Is this the life you want for your personal assistant, Pussycat Dolls? IS IT? Sheesh.

(And just for the record, I know, that A) I enjoy writing lists and overuse them in blogs and B) that I'm a butterscotch away from a stint at a nursing home. I understand this!)

I can assure you that NONE of these lyrics were what I was thinking when I was growing up. NOT EVEN CLOSE. I was way too nerdy and scared of... well, everything. My lyrics would have gone more like this:

When I grow up!
I'll be 18! Wanna go to college! I want an excellent GPA!
When I grow up!
I want to have an apartment! Live in a city! Never date a hole-of-A!
When I grow up!
Write for TV! Eat bacon all the time! Wear lots of hoodies!
When I grow up!
Organized and clean! And labels on all my goodies!

See? Very different from what these "dolls" were thinking when they were kids. Very different. (I couldn't rhyme "Be Mrs. Ralph Macchio" in there or I would have included that...)
I can only imagine what the dreams of our youngsters are today. I have a feeling that this might close:

When I grow up!
I wanna retire at 18! Skip a degree! I wanna live without smog!
When I grow up!
I wanna hybrid car that flies! I want a really bitchin' breast aug!
When I grow up!
Paris will be Queen! Nicole VP! Brad Pitt will be the First Man!
When I grow up!
Be a billionaire! Countless things to wear! Cancer free tan!

Anybody want to share a villa at an assisted living community with me? All I ask is that you I) clean up after yourself, II) don't steal my hoodies and III) bring your own butterscotches. OOOF! (Wow, did an oak fall over or what?)

Sigh...

OH MY GOD!


That's all I have to say about that.

online dating

Here’s a hint.

If you are closer in age to my father than you are to me? I’m not going to date you.
My stated age range on match.com is 27-40. If you are 53? You are well outside that range.

Sending me a wink won’t change my mind. Seriously.

Get a clue.

Cold Stone

I went to Cold Stone after work today and came to a conclusion: the singing has to stop.

Whenever you tip them, one yells, “Hey guys, we got a tip!” and they all break into song. It is very, very uncomfortable. The last time I was there it wasn’t a big deal, because when I tipped them the place was packed with people and there were a lot of Cold Stone workers behind the counter singing, so I just got the hell out of there and let the crowd deal with the song. But when I went today, there were only three employees working and myself and another woman in the store. So when I got my ice cream I tipped and sure enough, the three employees started singing. I didn’t know if I was supposed to sit there and listen to them sing or what, but I got the hell out of there and let the other customer deal with it. Very, very uncomfortable.

The sad thing is that I don’t think I can tip these guys anymore. I mean, I really want to - what with them giving me a delicious and over-sized ice cream treat - but I can’t take that singing. And I feel like if I tried to tip the guy but said something like, “You don’t have to sing”, it would turn into some Larry David-esque episode with him calling me out on it and saying, “What? You don’t like our cheerful singing?” and then a customer saying, “Yeah - what’s wrong with you?” and then some hot guy saying, “She’s just bitter because she’s fat!” But unlike Larry David, I would grab a fucking chair and hit the fucker who called me fat and would scream “You fucking douchebag! I will kill you and shit on your grave! I will shit on your fucking grave in front of your family and your pets! I was on TV! Do you know who the fuck I am! I have a blog! I have a fucking blog!”.

I am sensitive about my weight. So sorry, no more tips.

I have joined the gym. I figured it was time, as I went ahead and spent about $200 in preparation for joining the gym (I-Pod with requisite arm-band, gym clothes, new pair of sneakers, some vitamins, etc). In my short time there I have learned many things, which is good because I have probably ten days before I quit. The five that immediately come to mind are:

1) There is nothing good about working out. Any way you cut it, working out stinks. Pedaling on a bike for forty-five minutes that is going nowhere is just plain stupid. And afterwards, the feeling of, “Great - I just did thirty minutes on the treadmill” pales in comparison to the following feelings: “My god, this ice cream is delicious” or “Holy shit I can’t believe I am this fucking high” or “I never knew Southern Comfort tastes this good.” Waking up the next morning and not being to raise your arms above your shoulders because you are sure that they are hemorrhaging is not good. Being in a room with a bunch of sweaty people breathing heavily who smell bad is not good. Expending energy in the hopes of fitting into the societal model of “attractiveness” and developing an inferiority complex in the process is not good. Spending $50 per month for all this is the worst of all.

2) To work out is to waste everything our species has worked toward for millions of years. Fundamentally, when you work out, you are doing something physically taxing that you are not required to do. Can you imagine trying to explain working out to someone from the past? “So, let me get this straight - you’re going to take this really heavy weight and keep lifting it, over and over again. Then you are going to get on this machine and run, though you are not running anywhere. And no one is forcing you to do this with the threat of physical punishment, starvation, or torture. Am I missing something? Because it sounds kind of stupid to me.”

Human beings have evolved to this point in time mentally so that we do not have to make our bodies work as hard as our ancestors did, because our brains are much more advanced. For example, no longer do we need to spend hours hunting for our food in the hot sun, fighting off big-ass fucking tigers and other monsters, because Festival Mexicano will bring it to your door and it will be delicious (and reasonably priced). I needn’t get too into details of evolution (mostly because I don’t really know what I’m talking about), but when we force ourselves and our bodies to perform such equally strenuous and unnecessary activities, it is an affront to evolution, and, as such, to God Almighty Himself. [I know that the theory of evolution and the Judeo-Christian story of creation don’t exacly mesh, but the point is you don’t want to piss off God]

3) A good thing about the gym is that it’s totally ok to be really sweaty. This is especially great for someone like me, who sweats while breathing, sleeping and showering. One caveat: you have to find the right sweat balance between, “Wow that guys looks like she had a good workout” or “Jesus, someone should call the paramedics for that fat ass - is she turning blue?” I have not been able to find this balance, as evidenced by the looks of pity, concern, and alarm when I stumble off the exercise bike and into the locker room, gasping for air and weeping.

4) I just do not like right at the gym. Meaning, I really stick out, or at least I really don’t fit in. Everyone there is either: 1) in really good shape; 2) in really bad shape; or 3) old. There aren’t really many husky, early 30’s gals there. Or maybe they go at other times, like 2am, when no one is there to watch them struggle with a machine, get up and walk around the machine to try to figure out exactly what the machine is supposed to do, sit down and try the machine again, then finally walk away from the machine in disgust and shame.

5) There are many hot guys at the gym. I don’t know - I guess I always thought that sexy guys grew on trees, but apparently they have to work hard to look good. Who knew? Well, I now know that the gym is crawling with attractive sweaty guys who would like nothing less to be approached by a sweating, panting girl named Sandy hitting on them with her “sure-fire” jokes about retards and the homeless. Just sit on your lil’ bike and watch Fatty - don’t talk them, because they really don’t care that you’re “funny” or that “family is the most important thing” to you. You are chubby - please go away and take your smell with you.

That’s all I can think of for now. I’m sure I’ll be adding to this as time passes and I continue to embarrass myself in new and exciting ways in front of people who view me with disdain because I occasionally throw back a ten-pack of soft tacos.

I know this is a little hokey, but it is kind of fun to have $3 Trillion to play around with. I managed to pick up:

http://3trillion.org/carts/64934
Housing for America's homeless
New clothing, shoes, coats, and school supplies for ten million children
Universal health care for every American

and I finished repairing the damage done by Katrina.

And I haven't even spent half of my money yet!

What would you guys get?

Try it HERE.

Like throwing a hot dog down a hallway...

The mother has a mullet. Please, someone from TLC, give the poor Duggar woman a makeover. That would be a huge money making show. I am sure millions would tune in. Get her looking less matronly. She looked normal and attractive when they started out, now it’s Little House on the Prairie with a hint of Nascar. Yet a makeover may cause more Diggley Duggars, Jim Bob might just go crazy with his willy. Bang, bang, bang. I digress.

She looks brainwashed. It takes about two years for your internal organs to get back into their cozy natural state after pregnancy. She has been pregnant ten years of her life. Right now her spleen is probably floating near her armpit and her liver on her knee.

The Duggar family of Hicksville Arkansas are expecting their 18th child! And you know what? This beastly woman will likely get knocked up again! It gets easier as it goes, as now the 3rd eldest child has a newborn to take care of, as he gets home schooled in the art of child rearing.

…Birth control - just do it, or don’t do IT, get it?

a polygamy poem

Oh sister wife, dear sister wife

I’m so sorry about your flat hairdo

Yes, you may have a sexy unibrow

But my hair is six inches closer to God than you!

Oh sister wife, dear sister wife

I pray you’ll still go to heaven

Even though you’ve only birthed two girls

While I’ve given our husband seven!

Now don’t be thinking that you are the most pious

Just because you shun the tweezers

As we all know, Little House on the Prarie dresses

And Aqua Net are the best God pleasers.

Oh sister wife, dear sister wife

Be strong, now don’t get weepy

You know we’ll get our children back

Even though people think we’re creepy.

Don’t you fret dear sister wife

The Lord shall hear our prayer

I’ve also asked Him especially

To help you achieve some high and poofy hair.

These media people are such devils

But from everything I can glean

It will be fine, just keep your trap shut

about how we married dear Husband at thirteen.

If Horton Lived in My Neighborhood.

Horton Hears a Leaf Blower

Horton Hears a Car Alarm

Horton Hears a Teenager, Who Apparently Doesn't Believe in Car Mufflers, Driving Way Too Damn Fast

Horton Hears an Ambulance

Horton Hopes It's for the Teenager

Horton Hears a Basketball Bouncing

Horton Always Hears a Basketball Bouncing

Horton Hears a Basketball Bouncing So Fucking Much That Horton Now Feels Like she's Living in a Real-Life Version of Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart"

Horton Hears an Inner Voice Telling Her to Grab the Basketball

Horton Hears a 30 something Woman Sprinting Down the Street Desperately Clutching Onto the Basketball and Laughing Maniacally

Horton Hears the Basketball Being Angrily Stuffed Down the Neighborhood Storm Drain

Horton Hears Rumors of a Lawsuit

The Facebook

It only took me about a year and a half, but I’m finally into Facebook.


I shouldn’t say that I’m into it - I may not be aging very gracefully or getting very mature, but I’m a little conscious about the fact that I’m almost 33 years old and actively using social networking sites made for teenagers and college kids. But fuck it.


The fundamental problem with Facebook is that by default everyone is private - you have to go out of your way to make your profile available for public viewing. I ask, therefore, how is one supposed to stalk members of the opposite sex without befriending them first? This was the best part of MySpace, which I’m visiting less and less, seeing as I’ve stalking pretty much everyone possible on that social networking site.


And when I think about it, I can’t explain the allure of Facebook at all, except to say that it’s different and new (to me - I’ve had an account for two years but only recently it seems like my long-lost friends and some of you have been hitting me up for friend requests, thus drawing me in). At any rate, if nothing else, it’s another way to pass the time at work. And I guess it’s a good thing that it’s harder to stalk on there than on MySpace.


(I guess.)

Cereal Goodness

Our society is not shy about using the word "genius" to describe those of marginal talent or flashes-in-the-pan, often neglecting the true geniuses among us. The good people at Honey Bunches of Oats have been producing delicious cereals for a number of years, starting with their original Honey Roasted variety, which still stands up as an amazing cereal. In the last year or two, they introduced Cinnamon Honey Bunches of Oats and I was so moved that I wrote that all of you must try it, but only if you’re interested in life-changing cereals that make you appreciate yourself, others and the earth more.



But just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, recently the geniuses at HBoO have come out with a new cereal: Chocolate Honey Bunches of Oats. After my initial excitement subsided, I became skeptical: would this be an instance of too much of a good thing? I love HBoO and I love chocolatey cereal, but I also love having sex and pooping and wouldn’t necessarily combine them (I don’t think).



Well, leave your worries at the door, my friends - this cereal is the balls. It has the crunch, texture and sweetness of the original HBoO with only a slight (but glorious) chocolatey taste. But the best part - the chocolate cereal milk left over. Wow. Seriously, once more - Wow.



I tip my hat to the good people at HBoO, true geniuses. They took a delicious cereal in their original and improved upon it in the cinnamon incarnation, then improved upon it again with the chocolate incarnation. The only possible way they can improve on the chocolate cereal is "New Honey Bunches of Oats - With Real Diamonds!" It just can’t get much better.

I saw this online the other day and laughed out loud.

Poor girl didn't know she was going to be running for president someday... otherwise I'm sure she would have rethought that outfit. I'll try not to let it make me question her judgement, and I rest happy knowing that she probably has someone to dress her these days.

I can't judge really, though, because if I ever run for president, I'm sure some rather awkward pictures of me will surface. I'm thinking in particular of a rather bad haircut my dad gave me that looked like a mullet, which I have yet to be brave enough to post on here. I should really just get it all out in the open, but I like to pretend like that 6 months of my life never happened.

oops

I didn't mean to be gone for so long. I was working trying to get a few dozen work projects under control. I guess my real life kinda overshadowed my preferred internet identity for a while, but look out because I'm coming back full force, like the super hero I am.

I need a witness

There are Jehovah’s witnesses knocking on my door right now. I happened to peek out my window about 2 minutes before they knocked. I saw a bible. I knew they were coming for me. I’m not going down there right now, the whole thought of having to deal with their questions bores me to tears. Plus I’m not wearing any pants. If only I had the courage to walk down there and open the door in just my shirt on. And then we could have this conversation:

Me: Good morning. Can I help you?
Them: Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your lord and savior?

Me: Have I done what? Look, you’re not trying to sell me something, are you? Because I’m not buying.
Them: No, we’re not selling anything. We’re giving away the message of Jesus Christ and his all embracing love and power.

Me: Jesus who? Wait. Are you guys here for some political campaign? Because I have already told you people that I’m not endorsing your candidate.
Them: No, were’ here about Jesus.

Me: Cheezits? I don’t have any cheezits.
Them: Not cheezits, Jesus. You know, from the Good Book [showing bible]?

Me: I already have one of those. I never use it. It’s so much easier to just find telephone numbers on line now. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go put some pants on.

Sorry your mom blew up Ricky...

Am I wrong or did I just see Ricky from Better Off Dead in the audience on American Idol tonight?

I'm not making a bad joke, I really do think that is the same actor...

Here's a recent, absurd video of him from mor recent times:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PHcgDbAoTbc

to aid in the comparison. Prove me wrong! And, yes, I watch American Idol. That Cook kid is going to take it all, I tell you!

You know it’s been too long since you got any when any of the following occur:

- You are attracted to someone that is selling hot dogs and peanuts at the pier.
- You are attracted to someone and think, “Hey, denim shorts on a man are bad, but he doesn’t look so bad.”
- You consider slipping your number to someone you meet in the in your parking garage.
- When your friend tries to set you up with someone and you ask him what he looks like, you think it’s okay when she/he says, “Well, I’d give him a 5 on a scale of 1 to 10, but he does own his own house and he loves animals.”
- You can’t remember where you put your razor because you stopped shaving your legs since no one ever sees them.
- The phrase “good time” makes you think of staying at home on a Friday night and eating a pint of ice cream in your bed while watching episodes of the Bachelor online.

It’s time, kids. Mama’s got needs.

we all make bad choices

Tonight, one of mine includes watching The Bride of Chucky. It just happens to be on and sometimes cheesy lame ass movies are my thing. It’s pretty bad, kids. Promise me you won’t watch it. Bad acting, bad dialogue, and bad special effects. And let us not forget the romantic love scene between 2 dolls. It’s not quite as bold as the one from Team America World Police, but in a way it’s even funnier. For example, when Chuck is telling Tiffany (his “girlfriend”) that he’s “starting to feel like Pinnochio.” Really? Someone wrote this? And someone thougtht it would be a good idea to make a movie out of it?

Quite possibly one of my favorite things about this pile of crap is that Katherine Heigl is in it.
I don’t particularly care for her, and it makes me happy to know that she made a bad decision way back when. How come no one ever mentions that when they’re interviewing her?
Let me leave you with this wonderful quote: “Take it from me. Plastic is no substitute for a nice hunk of wood.”

This year marks the 50th birthday of the 64 box of Crayola Crayons. As a “special present” to the public, Crayola has introduced several new colors-all of which have been named by kids. The new colors have cheesy names like “Awesome”, “Giving Tree”, “Famous”, “Fun in the Sun”, “Best Friends”, “Super Happy”, “Happy Ever After”, and “Bear Hug”. I don’t know about you, but those names make me want to puke, just a little bit.

What happened to the names that are more representative of today’s youth? Names like “Daddy Drinks too Much”, “I Have 2 Mommies”, and “Latch Key”? Now that’s what I’d like to see! Of course, those colors would not be representative of my box (BWAHAHAHA!! I said box!). Here, for your eyes only (and the eyes of anyone else that happens to stumble upon the post) I present you with the 2008 Ihavenoinnermonologue Colors:

Boozy Vegas Silver

Muffin TopPink

Clap Having Jezebel: Red like the sores she gives you.

Online Dating: This is the same pukey green color my face turns to turn after reading too many of the profiles.

Single & 32: Aw, this one is blue-just like me.

Phoenix Airport

There truly were some wonderful sites at gate 22 of the Phoenix International Airport. After an hour of sitting and waiting around just so I could sit on my bum for another three hours on route back to Seattle from a girls weekend in Vegas. Riddle me that. I have to fly south to go north? I should have boozed it up to pass the time, but figured that I’d have a hard time keeping all the alcohol done on a flight Let’s take this opportunity to thank the fine people who run the airport for maintaining the temperature at a balmy 10 degrees Farenheit and for playing awful country music the whole entire time.

At least there was a lot of stuff to see. . .

There was a power walker in her kelly green too short pants who passed me 5 times.

A 50-some-year-old woman who sat next to me and who was trying to talk to Marla on her red razr phone. The call kept disconnecting and she’d yell, “Marla?! Marla??” into the phone, take it away from here ear and look at it with a very bewildered look on her face, then put it back up to her ear to yell “Marla!” all over again. The phone started ringing and it was disturbing to hear that “Bodies” (by Drowning Pool) was her ringtone. “Marla? Is that you? I lost you.” Then the whole cycle would start all over again as the call was dropped once again. This left me wondering who the hell names their kid Marla.

A douchebag executive with his clip on suspenders yelling stupid stuff into his blue tooth. It very much sounded like, “Look at me! I’m so important! I have clip on suspenders and a blue tooth! Look at me! My mother didn’t hold me enough when I was a baby!”

Yay! A man with a mullet, hammer pants and an “Ultimate Cardnials Fan!” fanny pack. And can it actually be? Yes! He had a wedding ring. How’s that possible? Wonder what Mrs. Ultimate Cardnials Fan looks like. Perhaps she was the one in the 2 sizes too small Nascar t-shirt that accentuated her muffin top.

Hey! Look there! It’s short fat Vince Vaughn in a too snug suit. Not a good fashion choice for him.

Holy Mary Mother of hot! Check out that fox in the perfectly fitted shirt. Mama likey!

By far the most disturbing nightmare inducing sight was a woman in a royal blue terry cloth sweat suit. 2 words to describe her: camel toe.

I'm thinking of printing these and passing them out in Vegas next week.

I Have No Inner Monologue presents...

I have a question: who the hell is Tyler Perry?

I mean, I know who he is, because when I was watching episodes of SVU on TBS, I constantly see commercials for his sitcom, in which he plays a half-dozen characters. It looks hilarious (sarcasm, much of it), and appears to be filled with the characters laughing at each other and then there’s a lot of threats to throw different people of the house. Recently he had a movie out called "Why Did I Get Married?" and ads were placed all over town. And now he’s got another movie coming out, "Meet the Browns," with ads everywhere as well. Seattle officially has Tyler Perry fever.

What’s most impressive about all these ads and commercials is that they’re prefaced with "Tyler Perry Presents…" Do you know how much of a badass you have to be in Hollywood to get that line on or above a tv show or movie? The answer: extremely, extremely badass. Just-below-God badass. I-swim-around-in-a-room-piled-high-with-gold-like-Scrooge-McDuck-only-he’s-my-fucking-butler-because-I-can-afford-him badass. And yet I, as an average 33 year old Hispanic female and have absolutely no familiarity at all with Tyler Perry. And then I read this from wikipedia:

"Perry produces a television show titled Tyler Perry’s House of Payne, which follows a working-class, African-American household with three generations of family within it. The show seeks to illustrate struggles with faith and love, as well as showing how to coexist with the generation gap. The show ran briefly in Spring 2006 as a 10 show pilot. After a successful pilot run, Perry signed a $200 million dollar 100 episode deal with TBS." (bold added)

In summary, I’m going to drop all you white jerks and focus on cultivating my African-American household-based humor. If Tyler Perry can get $200 million, I can probably squeeze $20,000 out of someone, which would make me 1/10,000th as good as him. I’m totally, totally ok with that.

I want some chips but I am not hungry. What to do? What to do? As I decide what to do about it, I have this strange internal monologue going on between the part of me that wants the salty yum yums and the part of me that doesn’t want to be a fat little piggy.

The chips would be salty and delicious.
The fat that would be added to your hips-not delicious.

Yet, getting up out of this chair and walking down the stairs is exercise, right? Plus typing this post will help me burn at least 4 calories.
And that still isn’t going to help you burn off the calories from inhaling all those Grandma Utz chips yesterday. You pig. Can’t you say no to chips just for one day??

Mmm. . .salty chips.
Mmm. . .back fat.

Maybe I’ll get some french fries. With ketchup.
But you’re not hungry.

And yet I still want them.
And do you still want your muffin top? Because if you do, by all means, go get some fries.

Maybe I’ll have a muffin. Nope, I want something salty.
You don’t want chips. You are not hungry.

No, I’m not hungry, but I want them.
How about some self esteem? Do you want that?

Does it taste like chips and/or french fries?
Fine, go and eat stuff that’s bad for you and has zero nutritional value-unless you consider going up a size to be nutritional value.

I believe I will.
Pig.

I hate myself.
You should eat something to make you feel better.

Good idea. Feelings are delicious! Especially when they’re covered in salt and ketchup!

How could I forget that it’s St. Patrick’s Day weekend? Hello! Perfect excuse to booze it up and get all hungover. Magical and festive times. My girlfriend, Courtney Flaherty, just invited me to get see her perform with her dance troup on Sunday afternoon at an Irish Ceili. Can’t wait!

Bring on the Irish Car Bombs!

I wonder if this is from the Lord of the Rings extended cut?

Damn, nature, you sexy!

The Brave One

At the coffee shop near my house there is a "community journal" that asks a generic question on a daily basis and invites the coffee shop patrons to answer in participation. The other day the question was "Who do you think will win the Oscar for Best Picture?" to which the lone written answer was Hairspray, a film which wasn't even in the running, which I guess says a lot about my neighborhood. So while I waited for my tea to brew, I decided to flip through the journal to read the previous questions and answers to see if they were equally inspiring. That's when I came across the question "What is the bravest thing you've ever done?" The answers from those participating went something like this:

- Had a kid
- Had a baby
- Went to college
- Bought a car
- Had a baby
- Had a baby
- Had a kid
- Had a baby
- Wore a sleeveless dress
- Had a baby

I instantly felt bad for the obviously fat-armed participant who mustered up the guts to wear a sleeveless dress, because if that was indeed the bravest thing she's ever done then she either has the most boring life ever or mutant shoulders. I suppose it could have been written by a man, and that's where the bravery part comes in. I dunno.

But I was a little confused about why having a kid was suddenly and ubiquitously considered a "brave" thing to do. I can concede that raising a kid can be a lot of work and is in some cases a sincerely selfless act, but I hardly think that succumbing to the innate biological imperative to reproduce - an imperative that 95% of the rest of the population also succumbs to - can be considered "brave". If that's the case, then we may as well hand out medals to everyone who is brave enough to breathe oxygen and walk on two feet.

But then I started to feel judgmental about those self-important babymakers, mostly because I couldn't instantly think of anything I've done that could seriously be considered braver than locking yourself into that lifetime commitment of having a kid. The results after I sat down to write my own bravery list were less than impressive:

- Figured out how to ride the Seattle Metro Bus system
- Walked home drunk through the Seattle ghetto at 3am
- Moved to Seattle by myself
- Approached a celebrity in an Eyeglass Store
- Ate foie gras
- Um... ran a half marathon?

Lame indeed. But what really counts as being "brave" these days anyway? Combat in Iraq? Skydiving? Cold Water Rescue? The Iditarod? If that's what it takes to be considered brave then you can count me out. And in that case, I guess it's a good thing to actively lower the standards for what can and cannot be labeled as a brave act. So let's give it up for those brave babymakers:



Hip Hip Hooray!

Brilliant

M. Night has a new movie coming out and from the looks of it, this may be the biggest comedy of 2008. I think its great that he's decided to go away from his usual thrillers and try to follow in the footsteps of Judd Apatow.I just keep watching this trailer over and over, maybe its a spoof movie like "Meet the Spartans" since Mark Wahlberg sounds like he's reading off of a cue card. What am I saying?! He probably can't read. Hopefully the 5 seconds of "Smell the fart acting" that he does (starting at 1:42) will silence all those people that herald him as the greatest actor of our generation.

Bear with me...I'm on a V-day kick.

I don't pretend to be an expert in many walks of life. Parallel parking, wine and cheese pairings, John Cusack trivia, hypothetical fights between 18th century poets and famous 1980's rockers, these are things I excel in. But you can bet your bottom dollar that just as Brian Adams would kick the crap out of William Wordsmith I am an expert on avoiding all things Valentine's day. (It should be noted that I Googled 18th century poets because if you've ever met me in real life or have ever read this blog before you could probably deduce that I don't know all that much about poetry, I mean I know that words rhyme, sometimes. That sort of rhymed...right? But imagine my delight when I saw that there was a poet named William Wordsmith. WILLIAM WORDSMITH...and he was a poet! Anyone? That just made my day. Who knew history could take time out from its busy schedule of being pretentiously pointless and unbearably tiresome to pencil in some hilarity to its regularly scheduled programming of "Blah Blah Boring" and "...And This Guy Died").

So back to my point: I hate history. Wait that's not it. Let me pop some Ritalin like Popeye pops his spinach (Note to self: Look up pop on an online thesaurus to avoid such a poorly constructed sentence in the future. Also buy milk.)

Valentines day is a day for love, togetherness, and spending endless amounts of money to justify your love for another human being...for some of us. For the rest of us it is a big fat reminder that we are yet again alone and are heading for a lifetime membership of the "Crazy old people with cats club." As snarky and sarcastic as that sentence sounds, I'm not bitter. Weird huh? I know what you are thinking, you're thinking, "Sandy how can you not hate Valentines Day? The holiday that has always found you perpetually alone and the day that came right after your sad breakup that led to you setting the record for most times playing the song, "All out of Love" by Air Supply in a two week period? And to that I reply...hmm. Actually you bring up a very valid point hypothetical question from my alter ego that future psychiatrists will diagnose as a cry for help. But we are not here to talk about me, even though it is my blog and I probably have a mountain of problems we could really get to the core of today...right...helping people. The greater good. Gottcha. Let's do this...list style, because let’s face it, any other style results in about three hundred words that go nowhere near the point. It's the way I roll...

Single People:

How To Deal With...Other Couples: Do you ever see happy couples walking down the street holding hands and sort of wish that a pile of bricks or an Acme anvil (stop watching 1990's cartoons before writing Sandy, this is your last warning) will fall on their heads? Umm... I don't either. Sure these couples look like they are having fun, but remember this; when those couples are off spending romantic nights engaging in tickle fights and acrobatic sex you will have more free time to read a book, catch up on old reruns of Perfect Strangers, and learn a marketable skill (refrigeration repair is a growing industry...I'm just saying). Advantage...Single people.

Chocolate Hearts and Fat Naked Angels with Bows and Arrows Everywhere: Candy makes you fat and Cupid probably has diabetes. Sorry to burst your bubble happy couples. Advantage...Single people and anyone who isn't a menacing historical figment that shoots people with arrows. Arrows kill people Cupid. Rent Robin Hood.

Family Members Asking You About Holiday Plans: Caller ID.

Being Alone: Are you really alone? Think about it. People have friends, pets, Chia Pets, those little digital pets that were all the rage seven years ago, life is good people. Sure you might not have a Valentine this year, well guess what, 89% of all attractive, healthy, and awesome people are single and that is a fact. So cut loose, Footloose, and have a girls night out with all of your friends. Have a few drinks, unwind, and head on down to a neighborhood bar.

Couples:

How To Deal With...SHUT UP AND STOP COMPLAINING.

Have you ever teared up while watching the classic "Say Anything" alone during Valentine's Day 06? Have you? ANSWER ME!!!

Moving on...Worst comes to worst, I'll be your Valentine America. I'm sort of cute looking, I can cook, write, and sort of be your perfect soul mate. If you are a man between the ages of eighteen and sixty seven and you've said to yourself, "If only I could find a great caring, funny, cute gal...but taken down a notch or two" then you are in luck!

Remember, some people use Valentine's Day as a motivational tool to better their life and make some positive changes, that could be you! Or binge drink...either or. Just remember it's never too late to turn it all around. Sure you don't have a Valentine this year but I have a sneaky suspicion that all eight of you that read my blog will have one next year. And if not you can follow the advice my mother always use to give to me before she would tuck me in at night, "Sandy there is always prostitution." Just kidding, love you mom! Oh and remember that William Wordsmith dude I was talking about earlier, well he had an incestuous relationship with his sister and died alone.

Happy Valentine's Day Earth!!!

XOXO Sandy

One of my not-so favorite holidays is upon us. This Thursday couples everywhere will celebrate being together, while those of us that are single will weep into our bottomless glasses of wine. For the past several years I had hoped to share Valentine’s Day with that very special someone, sadly, he is still hiding from me so I’m destined to spend it alone. Usually I have excellent plans to fall back on, but this year for some reason, I’ve got squat. If I were a single guy I know exactly what I’d need for a perfect night: 6 pack of beer, porn and ESPN. We single girls are more complex than that.

In an effort to ensure that I don’t cry myself to sleep after consuming an entire quart of Dryer’s Slow Churned Cookies & Cream ice cream and a bottle of champagne, I’m gonna plan something fun. Now, which of these 4 will I go for:

Option #1: Perhaps I will choose to make Ryan Reynolds my Valentine. We can get to know one another over a bucket of buttered popcorn or way too much Coca Cola. He is dreamy and I would like to mount him like the stallion that he is.

Option #2: I suck it up and order myself some flowers and write something fabulous on the card like, “Hey there Top Single! You rock my world!” Then when they arrive at work, I’ll pretend I have no idea who sent the flowers to me and everyone will think I have a dreamy secret admirer. Then I’ll go home, order some pizza, and watch Bridget Jones’ Diary (for the bagillionth time).

Option #3: I take a half day from work. Spend the afternoon at the Seattle Art Museum. On the way home I can pick up some (notice I said ”some” and not “one”) cupcakes from Cupcake Royale and some take out from Tup Tim Thai. Then I can go home and watch some action flick where people get blown up and no one makes out.

Option #4: I mope around all day and roll my eyes when other people get flowers at work. After work, I immediately put on my pajamas and crawl into bed getting out only for the Dryer’s Slow Churned Cookies & Cream ice cream and to refill my glass of champagne. Pop in Terms of Endearment and weep the whole night long while checking my cellphone every 15 minutes in hopes that I get an invite for a last minute date.

Decisions, decisions. . .

To the smoking hot guy I saw and overheard in the cafeteria:

When you said you were skilled in ironing I wanted to jump over the 6 people sitting between us and land in your lap. I’ll pretend to ignore that you mentioned your wife and 2 small children. I know you just talk about them to make me jealous. It’s working, sailor.

In a riveting conversation with a friend yesterday, and we began pondering a very important matter. Do muffin tops have flavors?

We think they do and we went ahead and decided upon clapberry and watersmellin. Now, mine personally would be sunshine and roses, but that’s not funny. Not even a little bit. Instead, I’m going to go with a spicier more Mexican theme (seeing as how I’m Mexican and all). My muffin top flavor is Sin-namon Man-go. There you have it.

What’s your muffin top flavor?

You will never in a million years guess who wrote to me. NOT EVER!! Go ahead, take a guess then keep on reading. Bet you anything you’ll guess wrong. . .

Okay, are you ready for it?? I just got an email from my cervix. That’s right, you read it right, my cervix. Take that for skilled, bitches! My fun bits are literate!! Okay, okay, so maybe it was really my new Gynecologist office writing to me pretending it was my cervix and reminding me of my appointment next week but still. It’s not often that I get an email at work that is cervix related. Nor is it often that the words “vagina” and “clitoris” are in my emails.

Today’s a special day, kids. My cervix has graduated from grade school. I might have to take it out on the town and treat it to a good time.

What seemed like a good decision this morning is making me want to pass out and die. I can’t breathe in these jeans. Seriously, the button is digging into my skin and I’m starting to get lightheaded. It’s possible that the button will leave a permanent mark. How on earth am I going to explain that the next time I get naked? I’m not sure if I’ll make it much longer in these pants.
Last month I started to kick up the fitness/eating well routine. Things have been going pretty well and I was convinced that I had slimmed down enough to squeeze my fat lower half into my size 12 jeans that have been living in a shopping bag in my closet for 5 months. Sure, I’m wearing Spanx* and have a bit of a muffin top, but still-I can fit into them and they actually zip. With the muffin top being camouflaged, I’m convinced that it looks like the jeans fit. Then again, maybe I’m delusional because the pants are cutting off my circulation and I’m not getting enough oxygen.

Here’s a fashion tip from me: if it hurts and you can’t breathe, avoid it at all costs.

*For those of you that have never heard of Spanx, let me give you a little explanation. They are the most marvelous invention ever created-even better than white bread. They’re like footless pantyhose that suck in all your wobbly bits. You wear them under clothes (that you probably shouldn’t be wearing because you’re too fat) and help keep everything in place. I love Spanx. Oh, and never ever wear them if there’s any chance that you might hook up with someone. Nothing ruins the moment like all your junk being released into the night. Trust me, the boys will run. Also Target has a lower cost version, Assets, made by the same woman behind Spanx.

I know that they like to say they do things "big" in Texas, but there still has to be a point where common sense makes one reconsider certain outlandish ideas, such as having a life-size wedding cake made of yourself:[read all about it]












I'm not sure which is worse: her actual wedding dress which looks like she barfed up potpourri all over the front of herself, or the fact that she had it immortalized in frosting.I think the most telling image is the one where the groom is shoved into the background, forced to peer impishly over the bride's shoulder in a desperate attempt to be noticed, as if he's lucky even to be included in the photograph. It's not hard to tell who's wearing the pants in that relationship.
Yay for Texas.

Finally the church admits that Jesus loved nailin' them broads...





*cue rimshot*