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.

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 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.).

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.

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.

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.