Miss Amanda decided to go out of town this weekend and leave me on my own. I was all hopped up on Lady Gaga and caffeine when I decided to go out on Friday night. The following is extracted from the text conversation she and I had:
7:45 pm Me (before I went out): The entire apartment smells like chocolate and it's weirding me out!
10:47 pm Amanda (hours later- she took her sweet time writing me back): Chocolate? Why???
10:47 pm Me: I have * timor (this is supposed to say "i have a tumor", obviously.)
10:48 pm Amanda: Oh...I see...
10:50 pm Me: I'm tips
10:51 pm Amanda: You don't say...
10:56 pm Me: 11s3
10:56 pm Amanda: 143!!! (which is what i was TRYING to say...)
11:05 pm Me: Onje four therwe
11:06 pm Amanda: Let's stick to numerical signs. Lobster!
11:07 pm Me: Let's stick to looooooooovvvvvvveeeeee!!!! (suddenly coherent?)
11:07 pm Amanda: You love me!!!!
11:08 pm Me: I wanna marry your sweet ass! (wow, full sentence!)
11:09 pm Amanda: Well, you haven't asked me!
11:10 pm Me: Whstecvert (aaaaaaaaand, we're back.)
Monday, November 8, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
A Little Clearing Things up
As Amanda mentioned before, we live together and work together. Now, since we blog together, I guess that makes us triple co-bloggers, or something... either way, we often operate in the same plane of thought (train of thought??? why has the English language suddenly escaped me?), which makes her a great friend and just banter-buddy in general.
Amanda has been kind enough to describe the Ninja Mission on which we embarked, and subsequently, this has left me with a sour taste in my mouth regarding WB. It was, however, one of the most fun Monday nights I've had in a long time, and we have learned that our bladders (namely Amanda's) do not sustain adrenalin situations very well.
Sooooooooooo, since we work together and WB works here as well, there is generally ample opportunity to joke about him. Sometimes, we try to keep track of funny things that happen to us throughout our work day so we can blog about them later. I have a little note on my phone entitled "sorority" (speaking of which, have we explained the name of this blog?? Another time, stay focused) and I was reading them off to Amanda the other day and they consisted of the following:
- WB's lame hair
- starting a blog called wbhowihatetheeletmecounttheways.blogspot.com and posting a pic of WB's dumb hair (but I will spare you because I don't want anyone to commit suicide over how ridiculous his hair has been lately. Tragic though, really)
- amber thinks she's from the future
- ninja mission
- Amanda and I fantasizing about quitting our jobs Jerry McGuire style
- me throwing a hawaiian girl at WB's face
- Amanda Pee Pants (this is actually seperate from the ninja mission bladder issues)
- Amanda started a rumor that I have a lazy eye
- Riki Tiki Timbo
Since Amanda has already been kind enough to describe our ninja mission, I'm going to go ahead and try to tackle WB's hair- which could be an entire post itself, but I'll try to keep it short (I wish WB would do the same- heyo!)
Basically, Senor Work Boyfriend came back from Hawaii with a freakishly dark tan and his locks all aglazed. Amanda put it best when she said, "Under no circumstances should one slick one's hair in any way." And yet, he continues to do so. He has this thick, dark, wavy-ish hair, so because he's slicking it back, it's kinda starting to do this Johnny Bravo thing:
So, there's that.
When I suggested we start a blog called wbhowihatetheeletmecounttheways.blogspot.com, Amanda offered to covertly take a picture of his hair and post it, but I had to draw the line somewhere, readers, because I care about you and I don't want to find out that you had cannonballed off an overpass or slit your wrists in the bathtub. You're welcome.
Honestly? It's kind of never-ending. I was sorting through packages with Amanda and WB had received a small package from a Financial Company and I scoffed and dropped it with the other packages while Amanda shook her head in disgust and said, "It's probably a whore." Man, I love her. This, in turn, reminded me that WB got a present for me in Hawaii, but he hasn't given it to me. I said, "I really hope WB gives me that gift so I can chuck it back in his face and tell him to save his money so he can buy himself a clue!" (For some reason, I find this to be an incredibly cutting insult because I heard a girl say that to this rich girl we went to high school with and I remember sitting in pre-calc and sucking in air really quickly like 'oooh, buuuuurrrn!') Amanda was like, "You know he got you a thong or a threesome or something." And then we discussed how awkward, yet satisfying it would be to throw a Hawaiian girl right at his face.
Amanda has been kind enough to describe the Ninja Mission on which we embarked, and subsequently, this has left me with a sour taste in my mouth regarding WB. It was, however, one of the most fun Monday nights I've had in a long time, and we have learned that our bladders (namely Amanda's) do not sustain adrenalin situations very well.
Sooooooooooo, since we work together and WB works here as well, there is generally ample opportunity to joke about him. Sometimes, we try to keep track of funny things that happen to us throughout our work day so we can blog about them later. I have a little note on my phone entitled "sorority" (speaking of which, have we explained the name of this blog?? Another time, stay focused) and I was reading them off to Amanda the other day and they consisted of the following:
- WB's lame hair
- starting a blog called wbhowihatetheeletmecounttheways.blogspot.com and posting a pic of WB's dumb hair (but I will spare you because I don't want anyone to commit suicide over how ridiculous his hair has been lately. Tragic though, really)
- amber thinks she's from the future
- ninja mission
- Amanda and I fantasizing about quitting our jobs Jerry McGuire style
- me throwing a hawaiian girl at WB's face
- Amanda Pee Pants (this is actually seperate from the ninja mission bladder issues)
- Amanda started a rumor that I have a lazy eye
- Riki Tiki Timbo
Since Amanda has already been kind enough to describe our ninja mission, I'm going to go ahead and try to tackle WB's hair- which could be an entire post itself, but I'll try to keep it short (I wish WB would do the same- heyo!)
Basically, Senor Work Boyfriend came back from Hawaii with a freakishly dark tan and his locks all aglazed. Amanda put it best when she said, "Under no circumstances should one slick one's hair in any way." And yet, he continues to do so. He has this thick, dark, wavy-ish hair, so because he's slicking it back, it's kinda starting to do this Johnny Bravo thing:
So, there's that.
When I suggested we start a blog called wbhowihatetheeletmecounttheways.blogspot.com, Amanda offered to covertly take a picture of his hair and post it, but I had to draw the line somewhere, readers, because I care about you and I don't want to find out that you had cannonballed off an overpass or slit your wrists in the bathtub. You're welcome.
Honestly? It's kind of never-ending. I was sorting through packages with Amanda and WB had received a small package from a Financial Company and I scoffed and dropped it with the other packages while Amanda shook her head in disgust and said, "It's probably a whore." Man, I love her. This, in turn, reminded me that WB got a present for me in Hawaii, but he hasn't given it to me. I said, "I really hope WB gives me that gift so I can chuck it back in his face and tell him to save his money so he can buy himself a clue!" (For some reason, I find this to be an incredibly cutting insult because I heard a girl say that to this rich girl we went to high school with and I remember sitting in pre-calc and sucking in air really quickly like 'oooh, buuuuurrrn!') Amanda was like, "You know he got you a thong or a threesome or something." And then we discussed how awkward, yet satisfying it would be to throw a Hawaiian girl right at his face.
Friday, August 27, 2010
I'm going to name my kids Ashley and Whitney. No I'm not. That's disgusting.
I love THIS!!!!!
Now. On to other news.
So.... Christine and I recently delighted in what can only be called a NINJA MISSION.
Backstory: Soooo.... Christine's WB (work boyfriend) was in Hawaii on extended vacation. When in Rome, you know. While away he texted Christine every day all "Ohhh I can't wait to see you," "I got you this great present," "Schmoozey schmoozey," "I'm oozing with charm and suave wit." So Christine was like "yeah I think I MIGHT go to WB's tonight, maybe, maybe not" but it was obvious that homegirl had somewhat planned to go to his house. However, when he got back he mysterioussssssly had other things "planned" and couldn't hang out. I don't buy it, ya slick haired weasel. And I said as much.
Christine: I wish we could like see what he's really doing.
Me: Uhhh we can.
Christine: ???
Me: Yeah. We go to his house. Put some feelers out. See whats up...
Christine: Are you inferring that we STALK him?
Me: I'm inferring that we...go for a drive, make some turns, see where life takes us. In secret.
Christine: Isn't that a little psycho?
Me: I don't see where this is going. Are we going or not?
Christine: Obviously.
So. We naturally immediately dressed in all black. And got her camera with the zoomy lens thing. We hopped on the freeway, blasting Paramore, trying to talk over it... Of course. Christine was emphatic, emphatic I tell you, that we wouldn't find anything. "This is silly. He is probably asleep. He probably hasn't texted me because he's so busy being a standup guy that it just slipped his mind that we had plans to hang out tonight." Yeah. And cats are good pets, Christine. As we were nearing his house, I started getting antsy. I was straight cracked out. On excitement and suspense of it all.
Me: What if he comes outside??
Chrsitine: Act like you lost your dog!
Me: He knows me!!
Christine: Well say he has fast legs and loves the mountain air.
Me: Ok. But I'm gonna pee.
Christine: Where??
Me: Right here!! Pull over!! I'm leaking!!
So, Christine OF COURSE doesn't pull over so I can take care of the bladder issue. Something about it being illegal. Whatever. It was pitch black. I don't even think a cop can fault a girl for needing to go when she needs to go. It's science. Yeah so I'm on the verge of bursting... but I think Christine would say the point is that when we drove by his house there was a car in the driveway!! Not HIS car. A girl car. Yes. A car that no self-respecting male would drive. At first I thought it made sense that it was WB's car but my roomie assured me its not his. Well. That has yet to be proven. But anyway. We park a reasonable distance away, down the street and on the other side of course. Next, we take some quick breathers and I try my luck again at getting the go ahead to pee on the neighbor's grass. But alas, she is still opposed. You know how when you play hide and seek and the moment you find the most deluxe hiding spot a girl can dream of, you have to pee! It's like some sort of switch your brain flips to mess with you at the most inopportune moment. That's messed up man. For cereal. Yeah so we get out of the car and sneak, ever sooooo slowly and gingerly to his front yard. Like we're literally in his front yard, 20 feet from his bedroom window. I felt fine about it but Christine was a bit jumpy. We decide to look in the car just to confirm someone's suspicions about it being a female's car. But dang it. We didn't bring a flashlight!! How could we forget that!! After I had sidled up along the car like I'm totally Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible. I'm in his front yard for hecks sake and I have no flashlight? What kind of ninjas are we. Ninjas always have flashlights. But really. What would we have done with flashlights? We were laughing too hard to hold them steady anyway. I think we would have put on some sort of attention drawing light show before we actually found out anything.
Needless to say, we didn't find out any juicy info from the car. But we were lead to infer that the car belonged to a ladyfriend of WB's and thats fine. Just as we suspected. Juuuuuuuust as we suspected. Uh huh. UH. HUH.
I can't wait for another opportunity to be a ninja. I love my black pants. I think they sell those bright colored flashlights at Sev too. Score.
Thus begins the saga of a mutual hate, if you will, of WB.
Now. On to other news.
So.... Christine and I recently delighted in what can only be called a NINJA MISSION.
Backstory: Soooo.... Christine's WB (work boyfriend) was in Hawaii on extended vacation. When in Rome, you know. While away he texted Christine every day all "Ohhh I can't wait to see you," "I got you this great present," "Schmoozey schmoozey," "I'm oozing with charm and suave wit." So Christine was like "yeah I think I MIGHT go to WB's tonight, maybe, maybe not" but it was obvious that homegirl had somewhat planned to go to his house. However, when he got back he mysterioussssssly had other things "planned" and couldn't hang out. I don't buy it, ya slick haired weasel. And I said as much.
Christine: I wish we could like see what he's really doing.
Me: Uhhh we can.
Christine: ???
Me: Yeah. We go to his house. Put some feelers out. See whats up...
Christine: Are you inferring that we STALK him?
Me: I'm inferring that we...go for a drive, make some turns, see where life takes us. In secret.
Christine: Isn't that a little psycho?
Me: I don't see where this is going. Are we going or not?
Christine: Obviously.
So. We naturally immediately dressed in all black. And got her camera with the zoomy lens thing. We hopped on the freeway, blasting Paramore, trying to talk over it... Of course. Christine was emphatic, emphatic I tell you, that we wouldn't find anything. "This is silly. He is probably asleep. He probably hasn't texted me because he's so busy being a standup guy that it just slipped his mind that we had plans to hang out tonight." Yeah. And cats are good pets, Christine. As we were nearing his house, I started getting antsy. I was straight cracked out. On excitement and suspense of it all.
Me: What if he comes outside??
Chrsitine: Act like you lost your dog!
Me: He knows me!!
Christine: Well say he has fast legs and loves the mountain air.
Me: Ok. But I'm gonna pee.
Christine: Where??
Me: Right here!! Pull over!! I'm leaking!!
So, Christine OF COURSE doesn't pull over so I can take care of the bladder issue. Something about it being illegal. Whatever. It was pitch black. I don't even think a cop can fault a girl for needing to go when she needs to go. It's science. Yeah so I'm on the verge of bursting... but I think Christine would say the point is that when we drove by his house there was a car in the driveway!! Not HIS car. A girl car. Yes. A car that no self-respecting male would drive. At first I thought it made sense that it was WB's car but my roomie assured me its not his. Well. That has yet to be proven. But anyway. We park a reasonable distance away, down the street and on the other side of course. Next, we take some quick breathers and I try my luck again at getting the go ahead to pee on the neighbor's grass. But alas, she is still opposed. You know how when you play hide and seek and the moment you find the most deluxe hiding spot a girl can dream of, you have to pee! It's like some sort of switch your brain flips to mess with you at the most inopportune moment. That's messed up man. For cereal. Yeah so we get out of the car and sneak, ever sooooo slowly and gingerly to his front yard. Like we're literally in his front yard, 20 feet from his bedroom window. I felt fine about it but Christine was a bit jumpy. We decide to look in the car just to confirm someone's suspicions about it being a female's car. But dang it. We didn't bring a flashlight!! How could we forget that!! After I had sidled up along the car like I'm totally Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible. I'm in his front yard for hecks sake and I have no flashlight? What kind of ninjas are we. Ninjas always have flashlights. But really. What would we have done with flashlights? We were laughing too hard to hold them steady anyway. I think we would have put on some sort of attention drawing light show before we actually found out anything.
Needless to say, we didn't find out any juicy info from the car. But we were lead to infer that the car belonged to a ladyfriend of WB's and thats fine. Just as we suspected. Juuuuuuuust as we suspected. Uh huh. UH. HUH.
I can't wait for another opportunity to be a ninja. I love my black pants. I think they sell those bright colored flashlights at Sev too. Score.
Thus begins the saga of a mutual hate, if you will, of WB.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
I'll do my best Velociraptor impression
Conversations Amanda and I had today, at work, in passing:
Christine: Hey, let's create online personas and become youtube sensations
Amanda: K, but I wanna be a rapper.
Christine: No, I was gonna be a rapper.
Amanda: I'm not doing it unless I can be a rapper.
Christine: FINE. I'll be a wacky German.
----------------------------
This is while we were discussing which clients we would choose as boyfriends based on varying characteristics, ie. bald, voluntarily bald, mormon, fed-ex guy, etc.
Christine: Okay, but can you actually imagine breaking up a happy home?
Amanda: Ugh. NO. I'm busy, I got things to do. Hustlers gotta hustle.
Christine: Word. But seriously! I don't care who it is- that's just wrong. Even if it was Brad Pitt. I'd be like "No, Brad. No. Cut it out with your persistent kisses and kindly remove yourself from my penthouse loft with bamboo flooring."
Amanda: Oooh, bamboo! Very nice!
Christine: Hey, let's create online personas and become youtube sensations
Amanda: K, but I wanna be a rapper.
Christine: No, I was gonna be a rapper.
Amanda: I'm not doing it unless I can be a rapper.
Christine: FINE. I'll be a wacky German.
----------------------------
This is while we were discussing which clients we would choose as boyfriends based on varying characteristics, ie. bald, voluntarily bald, mormon, fed-ex guy, etc.
Christine: Okay, but can you actually imagine breaking up a happy home?
Amanda: Ugh. NO. I'm busy, I got things to do. Hustlers gotta hustle.
Christine: Word. But seriously! I don't care who it is- that's just wrong. Even if it was Brad Pitt. I'd be like "No, Brad. No. Cut it out with your persistent kisses and kindly remove yourself from my penthouse loft with bamboo flooring."
Amanda: Oooh, bamboo! Very nice!
Friday, August 6, 2010
Oh Thursday night, you Saucey Wench
Actual Conversation Amanda and I had yesterday:
Me: Are you gonna give blood at the blood drive tomorrow?
Amanda: Helllllll no, are you?
Me: Of course! The world needs blood. You should too.
Amanda: No way. I'll pass out. I'll freak out. I'll start hyperventilating.
Me: What if you're a rare blood type?
Amanda: I don't give a seanvote.
Me: Well, they're giving away a flat screen TV and we could really use one! Come on, come on come on comeoncomeoncomeon.
Amanda: No. Case closed.
Me: SIIIIIIIIIGH. Fine, I'll just have to donate my life-giving blood twice. I'll be saving widows and orphans if you need me...
Actual Conversation Amanda and I had this morning:
Amanda: So, you giving blood today or what?
Me: Nah.
Amanda: Ohhhhh? Why not, you were all about it yesterday.
Me: Was I? That doesn't sound like me.
Amanda: yessssssssssssss, so why no blood now?
Me: wellllllllllllllll... I just don't think my blood would be any good today.
Amanda: What do you mean?
Me: I just don't want to have to ask the phlebotomist if it's cool to give blood when I did 4 shots of tequila and had 3 beers last night.
Amanda: Good call.
Me: Are you gonna give blood at the blood drive tomorrow?
Amanda: Helllllll no, are you?
Me: Of course! The world needs blood. You should too.
Amanda: No way. I'll pass out. I'll freak out. I'll start hyperventilating.
Me: What if you're a rare blood type?
Amanda: I don't give a seanvote.
Me: Well, they're giving away a flat screen TV and we could really use one! Come on, come on come on comeoncomeoncomeon.
Amanda: No. Case closed.
Me: SIIIIIIIIIGH. Fine, I'll just have to donate my life-giving blood twice. I'll be saving widows and orphans if you need me...
Actual Conversation Amanda and I had this morning:
Amanda: So, you giving blood today or what?
Me: Nah.
Amanda: Ohhhhh? Why not, you were all about it yesterday.
Me: Was I? That doesn't sound like me.
Amanda: yessssssssssssss, so why no blood now?
Me: wellllllllllllllll... I just don't think my blood would be any good today.
Amanda: What do you mean?
Me: I just don't want to have to ask the phlebotomist if it's cool to give blood when I did 4 shots of tequila and had 3 beers last night.
Amanda: Good call.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
This is my life, y'all.
So that moderately boring date I went on? The one that I was trying to get out of and then was fairly neutral about the result? Yeah. Well, yesterday that fool cruised off the elevator and into the lobby of my place of work on a razor scooter. Let me repeat that- RAZOR SCOOTER. Random dude I went out with. In my lobby. On a scooter made for a 7 year old. Right. So, that was awkward. What am I even supposed to say? "Nice ride" ? "Good to see you again" ??? Because, I assure you, it was not good to see him again, especially not with what was he was rollin' in on. This isn't really going anywhere-- this is just an aside, by the way.
So, last night, as I was making my delicious dinner by warming up a Lean Cuisine Pepperoni Pizza and cutting up some veggies, I was thinking about how much I've grown since I first moved into my own place. I mean, I used to exclusively eat Lean Pockets and ice cream for crying out loud, and I never used an iron, but now I TOTALLY iron my clothes if they're out-of-control wrinkly. And veggies!?!?! Psh! Who am I?? My mother??? I sometimes go to bed at a responsible hour, I do my laundry fairly regularly, I have a pretty good handle on dishes, and I only eat ice cream as a meal on rare occasions. I guess this is me as a grown up. BASK.
Then this morning I totally got goosebumps listening to the new Justin Beiber song and realized that I'm basically an 11-year-old with a job.
Meow, Justin. Me. Yow.
Updated: I just watched this video AGAIN with Amanda, and besides almost peeing our pants with excitement, I totally got full-body goosebumps again. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME??
So, last night, as I was making my delicious dinner by warming up a Lean Cuisine Pepperoni Pizza and cutting up some veggies, I was thinking about how much I've grown since I first moved into my own place. I mean, I used to exclusively eat Lean Pockets and ice cream for crying out loud, and I never used an iron, but now I TOTALLY iron my clothes if they're out-of-control wrinkly. And veggies!?!?! Psh! Who am I?? My mother??? I sometimes go to bed at a responsible hour, I do my laundry fairly regularly, I have a pretty good handle on dishes, and I only eat ice cream as a meal on rare occasions. I guess this is me as a grown up. BASK.
Then this morning I totally got goosebumps listening to the new Justin Beiber song and realized that I'm basically an 11-year-old with a job.
Meow, Justin. Me. Yow.
Updated: I just watched this video AGAIN with Amanda, and besides almost peeing our pants with excitement, I totally got full-body goosebumps again. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME??
Friday, July 30, 2010
Because I needed more Blog Fodder and I'm dangerously close to turning into a cat lady
So I agreed to go on a date last night. The details of this dude's identity are not important, what's important is: I could not have been less excited about this date.
He asked me to dinner for Friday night and I switched it to Thursday night because I already KNEW that dinner with this guy on a Friday night would be a perfectly good waste of a weekend evening. So Thursday night it was. He text me Thursday morning to make sure I was still game. I wanted to hurl myself off the top of the building where I work.
He text me some lame joke. I immediately started texting all my friends to see what else was going on that evening: "Hey, what's up? Doing anything? Watching Big Brother marathons? ANYTHING??"
Somehow all my friends were doing literally nothing. One of my friends was down to hang out, but he doesn't even own a TV and didn't feel like going anywhere, so I eventually decided that a free dinner was better than lying around on my friends couch, counting ceiling tiles.
I took a nap and was woken by Amanda and Andrew loudly *ahem* karaoke-ing in the living room. I guess they didn't realize I was still there. I didn't know what day it was or what was going on, all I knew was that Amanda wanted her eyebrows plucked and my hair was a mess.
So there I am, eyebrows in hand when I get a call from this guy saying he's in my parking lot, a-ready and waiting. I threw on a sub-par outfit and grabbed my keys.
Internet, I can honestly say that was the highlight of my evening. Nothing else to report. I was home by 9:30, Amanda was watching some show about midget chocolatiers that live in Salt Lake (we're gonna try to get on the show using Amanda's wedding as a decoy), and I flossed, brushed, washed and went to bed. It was the squarest of square nights and I'm not even mormom! Why am I even writing this post??? Oh yeah, Amanda's mom (our only reader) decided she wanted to know more about my love life.
Well, THERE LAURIE. Are you happy now? The only good news I have, currently, is that it's Friday and there is a party in Sugarhouse tonight. And we all know- ain't no party like a sugarhouse party because a sugarhouse party has boutique beer and compost piles....hmmm, it flowed better in my head.
He asked me to dinner for Friday night and I switched it to Thursday night because I already KNEW that dinner with this guy on a Friday night would be a perfectly good waste of a weekend evening. So Thursday night it was. He text me Thursday morning to make sure I was still game. I wanted to hurl myself off the top of the building where I work.
He text me some lame joke. I immediately started texting all my friends to see what else was going on that evening: "Hey, what's up? Doing anything? Watching Big Brother marathons? ANYTHING??"
Somehow all my friends were doing literally nothing. One of my friends was down to hang out, but he doesn't even own a TV and didn't feel like going anywhere, so I eventually decided that a free dinner was better than lying around on my friends couch, counting ceiling tiles.
I took a nap and was woken by Amanda and Andrew loudly *ahem* karaoke-ing in the living room. I guess they didn't realize I was still there. I didn't know what day it was or what was going on, all I knew was that Amanda wanted her eyebrows plucked and my hair was a mess.
So there I am, eyebrows in hand when I get a call from this guy saying he's in my parking lot, a-ready and waiting. I threw on a sub-par outfit and grabbed my keys.
Internet, I can honestly say that was the highlight of my evening. Nothing else to report. I was home by 9:30, Amanda was watching some show about midget chocolatiers that live in Salt Lake (we're gonna try to get on the show using Amanda's wedding as a decoy), and I flossed, brushed, washed and went to bed. It was the squarest of square nights and I'm not even mormom! Why am I even writing this post??? Oh yeah, Amanda's mom (our only reader) decided she wanted to know more about my love life.
Well, THERE LAURIE. Are you happy now? The only good news I have, currently, is that it's Friday and there is a party in Sugarhouse tonight. And we all know- ain't no party like a sugarhouse party because a sugarhouse party has boutique beer and compost piles....hmmm, it flowed better in my head.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
I just got a bird of paradise to the eye
You know those times when you're so extremely nervous/anxious/stressed out about an impending event that you have to talk yourself down from a ledge? That's me today. And for the past week. And for the next 2 weeks. I've got this THING coming up and it decides my whole life. No joke. Yes, I'm exaggerating but its not your THING so that's none of your business, really. The THING is the class I'm currently in. I either get a pass or a fail and it's majorly stressing me out bro! I'm being evaluated on this and that and then they give me a green light or a red light. No yellow, work on this or that. Just straight up red or green. Ugh. Frenchrick.
I don't know why I'm being so angsty about it. It's not THAT big of a deal you say but it totally is!! What if I don't pass! I'll be homeless within a week! I'll smell and have buggy hair and Christine will totally diss me at work cause she doesn't want the other employees (there are none...?) to know she knows me or that we used to be roommates and spend 3s Company time together. And my mom will disown me cause she doesn't like the homeless. And my sister really likes clothes and mine will probably be ripped. And my other sister won't ever let me see the babies cause I might give them scabes or the Hep. Hephep islands in the sun... I'm worried.
And I know to the naked eye it won't be the end of the world but I'm scared that it is. Things were going juuuuuust great for the first time in a lo... ever, actually. I've got some shit together finally. It's nice. This whole school Masters degree thing is/was really gonna seal the deal. But if they find my skills inadequate, I'm so outta there. And then I'll cry. I don't even cry that much anymore you guys! I don't even cry at Match.com commercials anymore! You know someone's havin a rough go of it when Leigh and whatever his new wife's name is make you cry. Gay! Those 2 probably aren't even married. They've probably never even met before that day of filming! However, if that is the case, that's some good casting. They have chemistry. Just kidding, I never cried.
But anyway, (no s, see what I did there?) I'm just super stressed out about it. And my life will be in shambles if I don't pass this THING. So whatever. I might just turn to turning tricks on State. That wouldn't be so bad. I could at least do it in Draper or something? I don't know. *sigh*
I don't know why I'm being so angsty about it. It's not THAT big of a deal you say but it totally is!! What if I don't pass! I'll be homeless within a week! I'll smell and have buggy hair and Christine will totally diss me at work cause she doesn't want the other employees (there are none...?) to know she knows me or that we used to be roommates and spend 3s Company time together. And my mom will disown me cause she doesn't like the homeless. And my sister really likes clothes and mine will probably be ripped. And my other sister won't ever let me see the babies cause I might give them scabes or the Hep. Hephep islands in the sun... I'm worried.
And I know to the naked eye it won't be the end of the world but I'm scared that it is. Things were going juuuuuust great for the first time in a lo... ever, actually. I've got some shit together finally. It's nice. This whole school Masters degree thing is/was really gonna seal the deal. But if they find my skills inadequate, I'm so outta there. And then I'll cry. I don't even cry that much anymore you guys! I don't even cry at Match.com commercials anymore! You know someone's havin a rough go of it when Leigh and whatever his new wife's name is make you cry. Gay! Those 2 probably aren't even married. They've probably never even met before that day of filming! However, if that is the case, that's some good casting. They have chemistry. Just kidding, I never cried.
But anyway, (no s, see what I did there?) I'm just super stressed out about it. And my life will be in shambles if I don't pass this THING. So whatever. I might just turn to turning tricks on State. That wouldn't be so bad. I could at least do it in Draper or something? I don't know. *sigh*
Monday, July 26, 2010
I want to punch you in the head but in a good way.
You know who I'm tired of? Uncle Cracker. He disgusts me. Dude. You're trying too hard. No one likes you. No has ever liked you. Kenny Chesney did a song with you out of desperation because he too is a disgusting human being. Revolting. Now you think you've gone country? That ranks you with the Jewels of the world. If that's where you wanna be in life, alright. But do it somewhere else and outside of the range of my ears. Please. No one has successfully gone country but Darius Rucker and he is welcome because he's good and I like him. You, Cracker, are not welcome. Furthermore, what kind of a name is Uncle Cracker. A disgusting one if you ask me. Child molesterish and you are not welcome on my radio!
Now. Second order of business. Danielle Staub. Christine and I have determined that we would rather be trapped in a box for 29 hrs with Kelly Bensimone than Danielle. And that's saying alot. Danielle is super paranoid. Like clinically paranoid. I'm pretty sure she genuinely thinks the other ladies are going to kill her in her sleep. But why? Because Teresa caused a minor upset with the table in Season 1 and the ladies gossip about you? Well excuse me. Have you ever met an Italian lady? I know you claim to be one but lets take a closer look at this. She has a major attitude, a temper, and yells alot. Duh. What do you thaaaank!! Get over it. Stop playing the victim and focus on making sure your poor kids don't turn out like you. That is a better use of your time. The paranoia has got to go. You bore me. That being said, I just think that if i was stuck in a box with her, she'd have ME convinced that I want to kill her in nothing flat. That'd be weird. I'd rather hang out with the unicorn lover Kelly than crazylegs Danielle. Under no circumstances would I hang out with Bethenny (Who spells their name that way, anyway?? It's bullshit.).
Now. Second order of business. Danielle Staub. Christine and I have determined that we would rather be trapped in a box for 29 hrs with Kelly Bensimone than Danielle. And that's saying alot. Danielle is super paranoid. Like clinically paranoid. I'm pretty sure she genuinely thinks the other ladies are going to kill her in her sleep. But why? Because Teresa caused a minor upset with the table in Season 1 and the ladies gossip about you? Well excuse me. Have you ever met an Italian lady? I know you claim to be one but lets take a closer look at this. She has a major attitude, a temper, and yells alot. Duh. What do you thaaaank!! Get over it. Stop playing the victim and focus on making sure your poor kids don't turn out like you. That is a better use of your time. The paranoia has got to go. You bore me. That being said, I just think that if i was stuck in a box with her, she'd have ME convinced that I want to kill her in nothing flat. That'd be weird. I'd rather hang out with the unicorn lover Kelly than crazylegs Danielle. Under no circumstances would I hang out with Bethenny (Who spells their name that way, anyway?? It's bullshit.).
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
What uppppp Salt Laaaaake!
Yeah. Thats right. Sounds gangster huh. I would just like to point out that I am opposed to the use of "gangsta" in white conversations. Seeing as I'm painfully white, I am not allowed to use "gangsta" so I go with "gangster" and the meaning is implied. But apparently Lady Gaga has a song called "Papah Gangsta"??? Um. Isn't she like an Italian from Manhattan or something? She can't say that either. She's like Nelly Furtado. Tryin tooooo hard sister.
I'm thinking that I should have been born a rapper. Like straight from the womb, dropping sick beats and blowing a whistle from Day 1. Isn't that how Eminem started? I'm witty enough for it... but maybe not musically inclined enough... Or am i? You tell me America! (Mom and Christine)
So... whats the deal with half names? Ie. Kimber. Brynn. Jay. (I knew a guy in high school named J. Thats it. Like Men In Black style. Who does that??) Why would you name your kid something that is like a half thought? Kimber...ly? Did your pen run out? Did you have a brain spasm? I once forgot how to spell held on a spelling test in 4th grade so I improvised and wrote helled. Smart right? Yeah so if 4th grade me can come up with something, there is no reason for there to be kids named Kimber and Brynn and J. And seriously. Is that the BEST you could do? You want your kid to go through life with a messed up half name? That seems like neglect. I'd find it hard to believe my mom even wanted me if my name was Kimber. I feel bad for Kimbers.
Everyone send Christine good thoughts cause she is about to go out on a date with a baby. To sushi. Babies don't like sushi. I'm confused.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Famous Last Words, Bad Decisions and Sage Advice
I feel like the theme of my life lately has been "famous last words." Not as in actual famous last words that dying people whisper to weeping family members or heroically on the battlefield. No, I'm talking about the much less noble instances where you say "I'm only staying for one drink" but it ends up turning into 12 drinks, a trip to a different county and watching the sunrise from a rock star's patio (legit true story). Or how I convinced Amanda to let me give her a bikini wax last night by bribing her with promises of tequila, a new episode of Real Housewives of New Jersey and a painless experience. (Sucka!)
My month held many "what's the worst that could happen?"s, mostly in conjuction with this guy I started dating, the same guy of "I'm only staying for one drink" fame. I knew the whole thing was probably a bad idea from the get-go, but I had never actually dated someone I knew I shouldn't, and figured "What's the worst that could happen?" Well, internet, let me tell you- there were 3 fun filled weeks that ended abruptly in flames consisting of his angry grandmother, 2 screaming children, an argument in the driveway that could rival the whitest of white trash scenarios on COPS, appearances from several of his unstable exes and a secret life revealed. For the first time in a looooong time, I was speechless. LIKE WHOAH SPEECHLESS. And then I realized one of the biggest reasons why it was a bad idea in the first place- the dude works 100 feet away from me. That's right, I think I may have created my own personal brand of hell. I get to see an ex everyday for the rest of my days. Ah, well. Summer Fling 2010- so glad I got *that* out of the way, and without any prison tattoos or unwanted pregnancies. Score. I think.
My dad called today at work to see how I was and I told him the whole story- how this guy seemed great, even though something didn't seem quite right, how I decided to go for it anyway, how everything seemed all moonbeams and butterflies, and how quickly everything seemed the opposite of great, how I am actually now pretty ok with the whole thing, and how work isn't as bad as I thought it would be. My dad totally understood and was even encouraging- saying that everyone needs to do stupid things to get them out of their system and that I've always done things "right" so he's not worried about me, and then he said something that I think was sweet, wise and should probably be worked into the lyrics of the next Lady Gaga ditty. He said "Christine, I want you to know- you're not a trophy wife, you're not a plaything, and you don't need to wait in line for ANY guy- you're a maneater." And then we high-fived over the phone across two states and I got a little misty because EVERY girl should have someone say this to them and know that it's true.
AAAAAND OH. Em. Gee. As I type this, the cute Justin Beiber-esque window washer that I have been making eyes at all day came in to my office and asked me out.
STILL GOT IT.
My month held many "what's the worst that could happen?"s, mostly in conjuction with this guy I started dating, the same guy of "I'm only staying for one drink" fame. I knew the whole thing was probably a bad idea from the get-go, but I had never actually dated someone I knew I shouldn't, and figured "What's the worst that could happen?" Well, internet, let me tell you- there were 3 fun filled weeks that ended abruptly in flames consisting of his angry grandmother, 2 screaming children, an argument in the driveway that could rival the whitest of white trash scenarios on COPS, appearances from several of his unstable exes and a secret life revealed. For the first time in a looooong time, I was speechless. LIKE WHOAH SPEECHLESS. And then I realized one of the biggest reasons why it was a bad idea in the first place- the dude works 100 feet away from me. That's right, I think I may have created my own personal brand of hell. I get to see an ex everyday for the rest of my days. Ah, well. Summer Fling 2010- so glad I got *that* out of the way, and without any prison tattoos or unwanted pregnancies. Score. I think.
My dad called today at work to see how I was and I told him the whole story- how this guy seemed great, even though something didn't seem quite right, how I decided to go for it anyway, how everything seemed all moonbeams and butterflies, and how quickly everything seemed the opposite of great, how I am actually now pretty ok with the whole thing, and how work isn't as bad as I thought it would be. My dad totally understood and was even encouraging- saying that everyone needs to do stupid things to get them out of their system and that I've always done things "right" so he's not worried about me, and then he said something that I think was sweet, wise and should probably be worked into the lyrics of the next Lady Gaga ditty. He said "Christine, I want you to know- you're not a trophy wife, you're not a plaything, and you don't need to wait in line for ANY guy- you're a maneater." And then we high-fived over the phone across two states and I got a little misty because EVERY girl should have someone say this to them and know that it's true.
AAAAAND OH. Em. Gee. As I type this, the cute Justin Beiber-esque window washer that I have been making eyes at all day came in to my office and asked me out.
STILL GOT IT.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Duhhhhh! What'd you thaaaaank?
Alrighty. I'm Amanda and this is our new blog. I have a fabulous co-blogger, Christine, who doubles as my roommate. And my boss. Meaning... she triples as my co-author... or something... I don't know where to go with that.
Anyway, I figure I'll tell you the story of our meeting and subsequent love affair. Everyone loves love affairs. So... there we are in 6th grade, hung over, eye liner awry, looks of shame and regret on our faces... wait that was yesterday. No for reals. There we are in 6th grade in our sophisticatedly baggy jeans, Roxy shirts, and gangly as shit (Christine more so than me), listening to Eagle Eye Cherry and No Doubt. Christine: Hey Manda, do you want to join my cliquey group of 3 other equally cliquey gangly girls? Me: No. Yes. And the rest is history.
We've been pals for a whiiile but then a shorter while ago we both, independently mind you!!, decided to move back to the state of our fateful meeting and subsequent love affair and.... LIVE TOGETHER!! Yeehaa party time. Now, contrary to what you want to believe, we like the men. Not the ladies. So. Just putting that out there.
The point of this is... we've been pals for longer than you can even remember. And its fun.
Side note: So there we are, watching Police Women of Memphis in our snug cozy homey awesome little apartment on the east side (if you live on the west side you're ghetto and we are only friends cause you serve some purpose for me), when what to our wondering eyes should appear but a super white trash lady with a busted nose and bloodied up knee. Cute little Arica (Yeah, with an A? Why? E is way more fun to write and it looks better in cursive. And even though Yahoo says cursive is dying out and we need to teach it to our kids more than ever, I think cursive is the shit. Its so much easier to write and it makes you look a bazillion times more sophisticated than printing. Any old fool or baby can print. But how many can cursive? Well. I can. So. There's that.) is trying to get the full story out of this true treasure of southern America and she says "So then you fell down?" This lady, with no respect for the badge and years of physical training and gender stereotyped horror Arica has undergone as a woman police officer, says "Duh! What do you thaaaaank??" (think, if you don't speak Tennessee) Arica just smiled like this lady didn't just TRY to bitch slap her with hurtful words. Had that lady been on my watch, she would have been in for a world of hurt. Things would have gone down in a whole other fashion. And that means violence. Police brutality. I don't like mouth off-ers. Lady! I am here to help you with your alleged bout of domestic violence. And you find it prudent to sass me? Uhh. Is your brain in that whacked up knee of yours? Sweet little Arica just laughed it off as if she didn't care, like cops are supposed to do. Guess that's why I'm not a cop. That and the stuff they make you do and wear... polyester TROUSERS?? No. Taser?? Yes. I would have hauled that lady off to jail for contempt of court! Yeah contempt. of. court.
Anyway, I figure I'll tell you the story of our meeting and subsequent love affair. Everyone loves love affairs. So... there we are in 6th grade, hung over, eye liner awry, looks of shame and regret on our faces... wait that was yesterday. No for reals. There we are in 6th grade in our sophisticatedly baggy jeans, Roxy shirts, and gangly as shit (Christine more so than me), listening to Eagle Eye Cherry and No Doubt. Christine: Hey Manda, do you want to join my cliquey group of 3 other equally cliquey gangly girls? Me: No. Yes. And the rest is history.
We've been pals for a whiiile but then a shorter while ago we both, independently mind you!!, decided to move back to the state of our fateful meeting and subsequent love affair and.... LIVE TOGETHER!! Yeehaa party time. Now, contrary to what you want to believe, we like the men. Not the ladies. So. Just putting that out there.
The point of this is... we've been pals for longer than you can even remember. And its fun.
Side note: So there we are, watching Police Women of Memphis in our snug cozy homey awesome little apartment on the east side (if you live on the west side you're ghetto and we are only friends cause you serve some purpose for me), when what to our wondering eyes should appear but a super white trash lady with a busted nose and bloodied up knee. Cute little Arica (Yeah, with an A? Why? E is way more fun to write and it looks better in cursive. And even though Yahoo says cursive is dying out and we need to teach it to our kids more than ever, I think cursive is the shit. Its so much easier to write and it makes you look a bazillion times more sophisticated than printing. Any old fool or baby can print. But how many can cursive? Well. I can. So. There's that.) is trying to get the full story out of this true treasure of southern America and she says "So then you fell down?" This lady, with no respect for the badge and years of physical training and gender stereotyped horror Arica has undergone as a woman police officer, says "Duh! What do you thaaaaank??" (think, if you don't speak Tennessee) Arica just smiled like this lady didn't just TRY to bitch slap her with hurtful words. Had that lady been on my watch, she would have been in for a world of hurt. Things would have gone down in a whole other fashion. And that means violence. Police brutality. I don't like mouth off-ers. Lady! I am here to help you with your alleged bout of domestic violence. And you find it prudent to sass me? Uhh. Is your brain in that whacked up knee of yours? Sweet little Arica just laughed it off as if she didn't care, like cops are supposed to do. Guess that's why I'm not a cop. That and the stuff they make you do and wear... polyester TROUSERS?? No. Taser?? Yes. I would have hauled that lady off to jail for contempt of court! Yeah contempt. of. court.
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