What The Fuck

What The Fuck is about the only thing I can think of to name this post.

I am so glad I am illiterate when it comes to most of the Television type pop-culture of today.

So I was heating up my lunch at work today, and the TV in the break room was on. This commercial was on for Halls Cough drops.

Towards the end it said something like, "Half the carbs of regular Halls!!" or no carbs, hell I can't remember as I was picking my chin up off the floor. They also said something about how you could now have Halls Cough drops and not worry about the carbs.

Ok, this is wrong on so many levels. It is wrong on every fucking level that there possible can be.

I mean give me a fucking break?? You have to be on like death's door to eat one of those things anyway. Dogs won't even eat them. I know they won't.

My Mom was like the freakin' cheerleader for the Halls Mentolyptus Corporation. One little cough and out came the purse, which always always always had Halls Cough Drops.

She'd force you to suck on one of these things, which was just horrible. Even the cherry ones tasted like ass. I'd always try and get the dog to eat them, and she never would. Considered the gross as stuff dogs will eat and/or lick, that isn't saying much for these things.

So pretty much you have to be hacking up a lung to put one of these things in your mouth. If you are that sick, are you going to wonder "Hmmm, I wonder how many carbs are in this thing?" Fuck no, you are just going to want to stop coughing.

How many carbs could possibly be in a Halls Cough Drop anyway??

It makes me wonder though....Does tylenol have carbs? What about my pain reliever of choice, Excedrine? When I have a headache, I don't care if it has 2,000 calories in it if it makes it just go the fuck away.

I'm so glad I never had to do Atkins. I'm so glad I don't watch TV very much.

I'm pretty sure that low carb Halls is one of the seven signs. We are all doomed...

Monday Promises...

I promise. New Entry Monday. Much Inspiration Going On With Script. Must Put Energy There. Stay Tuned....

Dis and Dat

My friend sent me this email today:

Thought for the day .......

There is more money being spent on breast implants and Viagra today than on Alzheimer's research. This means that by 2040, there should be a large elderly population with perky
boobs and huge erections and absolutely no recollection of what to do with them.

Unfortunately this one is kind of true? I will nevah! understand why people get breast implants. Nevah! The boobage is heavy, the boobage distracts from all other areas (like your face), and the boobage tends to make people see you as a sexual object with no brain.

Then again, I've had the boobage for quite awhile, and I might feel differently if I had no boobage.

There is one thing that they missed, and that is there will be a the large population of females that will have former back tattoos that are now down on their ass...lol

I also got this one from another friend:

Question: If you could live forever, would you and why? Answer: "I would not live forever, because we should not live forever, because if we were supposed to live forever, then we would live forever, but we cannot live forever, which is why I would not live forever,"
--Miss Alabama in the 1994 Miss USA contest.


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"Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world, I can't help but cry. I mean I'd love to be skinny like that, but not with all those flie! s and death and stuff."
--Mariah Carey
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"Smoking kills. If you're killed, you've lost a very important part of your life,"
--Brooke Shields, during an interview to become Spokesperson for federal anti-smoking campaign.
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"I've never had major knee surgery on any other part of my body,"
--Winston Bennett, University of Kentucky basketball forward.
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"Outside of the killings, Washington has one of the lowest crime rates in
the country,"
--Mayor Marion Barry, Washington, DC.
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"I'm not going to have some reporters pawing through our papers. We are the president."
--Hillary Clinton commenting on the release of subpoenaed documents.
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"That lowdown scoundrel deserves to be kicked to death by a jackass, and I'm just the one to do it,"
--A congressional candidate in Texas.
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"Half this game is ninety percent mental."
--Philadelphia Phillies manager, Danny Ozark
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"It isn't pollution that's harming the environment. It's the impurities in our air and water that are doing it."
--Al Gore, Vice President
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"I love California. I practically grew up in Phoenix."
--Dan Quayle
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" It's no exaggeration to say that the undecideds could go one way or
another"
--George Bush, US President
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"We've got to pause and ask ourselves: How much clean air do we need?"
--Lee Iacocca
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"I was provided with additional input that was radically different from the
truth. I assisted in furthering that version."
--Colonel Oliver North, from his Iran-Contra testimony.
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"The word "genius" isn't applicable in football. A genius is a guy like
Norman Einstein."
--Joe Theisman, NFL football quarterback &sports analyst.
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"We don't necessarily discriminate. We simply exclude certain types of
people."
--Colonel Gerald Wellman, ROTC Instructor.
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"If we don't succeed, we run the risk of failure."
--Bill Clinton, President
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"We are ready for an unforeseen event that may or may not occur."
--Al Gore, VP
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"Traditionally, most of Australia's imports come from overseas."
--Keppel Enderbery
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"Your food stamps will be stopped effective March 1992 because we received notice that you passed away.. May God bless you. You may reapply if there is a change in your circumstances."
--Department of Social Services, Greenville, South Carolina
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"If somebody has a bad heart, they can plug this jack in at night as they
go to bed and it will monitor their heart throughout the night. And the
next morning, when they wake up dead, there'll be a record."
--Mark S. Fowler, FCC Chairman

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Ok, so I know this post blows, and that I'm coping some stupid chain email again. Work has been absolutely crazy this week, crazier then normal, which is bad. I've been coming home and just crashing instead of putting up the blog posts I wrote on my break at work, which would be awful hard to do since I haven't got a break at work this week.

Hopefully I'll return this weekend with an absolutely wonderful post about some insane thing I have done in my lifetime....Stay tuned...

What a shame

So last night I was reading the Sun Times. It had an article about Ruby Tuesday's, that you can read here.

What a sad, sad article. The gist of it is RT cut their portion sizes last year because they wanted to act a bit more responsibly. We hear all the time about the Evile™ restaurants that are making us fat. They decided to actually do something and make their portion sizes more "normal".

This outraged people, and they were inundated with phone calls, letters, and emails.

So now they are going back to their super sized portions.

When, oh when will people learn? There is no pill that will make you skinny. You can eat all vegetables or all meat for as long as you like, it will not make you skinny. Well, it might make you skinny in the short term, but as soon as you start eating again it you will gain it all back plus some, because you haven't learned shit about how to eat.

It's simple math, folks. If you burn more calories then you eat, you will lose weight. If you eat more calories then you burn, you will gain weight. If you eat the same amount of calories that you burn, you will stay the same.

One of the things that really struck me about this article was people said they complained because eating out was supposed to be a "treat".

When I was little, eating out was a treat. Going out to eat was reserved for birthdays, anniversaries, or good report cards. I'd say at most we ate out once a month, but it was probably more like every other month.

People eat out for every meal now. It is no longer a "treat". Take out, fast food, and gas station crap are now meal staples. If you are going to eat out like that, you damn well better eat smaller portion sizes.

This is truly disappointing.

Don't You Just Hate It

Don't you just hate it when someone knows you, and you have no fucking clue who they are? You are to embarrassed to say anything, and you don't want to hurt their feelings by not remembering them, but in the meantime you just search the archives of your mind trying to figure out who the hell they are.

This happened to me today with the Direct TV dude.

My nephew informed me that my satellite hasn't worked for like 4 days, so I called in Direct TV to check it out.

"Kelly!" he exclaimed as I opened the door. "I knew it was you when I saw the address!"

Who the hell is this guy? I can't remember ever seeing him before. Fuck.

"Uh, hi..." was about all I could stammer out. Ok, so he knew me, and he knew my address. Fuck again.

So he comes in and is working on my Direct TV box thingy. It seems to be fine, so he thinks the cord thingy came loose from the dish on my roof. He goes outside to check it, and I start making frantic calls.

I call R, as she knows everything about me. "What does he look like?" she asks. "About 6'2, brown hair. Good looking in an Affleck kind of way. Nice jawbone." "Did you go out with him maybe? What's his name?" she asks.

Hell, maybe I did and he didn't like open a door for me so I never went out with him again. He hasn't told me his name yet either, so I'm screwed on that end.

Fuck, he's coming back inside. His description isn't ringing any bells with R, so she is of no help.

He comes in and flops down on my couch. "Man I had some good times here," he says.

Ok, so I didn't date him, because if I had "good times" with him, I'd remember that.

But shit, he's been here, had "good times", and is talking to me like an old friend. Did I really used to drink that much or what?

"Do you ever talk to Bob?" he asks. Ahhh haa! A clue. That would be my ex boyfriend Satan.

This is making a bit more sense, as when I was with Satan we used to have some huge ass parties.

I feel a bit more at ease now because perhaps I'm not losing my mind, and he was one of the random people that floated through. "No, I don't talk to him anymore," I tell him.

"That's good. You were way to good for him. Sandy and I always used to say that."

Breakthrough!

Sandy, friend of Satan, had a boyfriend that was in the Military. Came home sporadically. Came to a couple of parties with her, but we didn't see him much.

His name was....His name was...

Sam.

Sam was the Direct TV** dude. Sam, the nice guy with the great smile that was always sober even though the rest of us were totally wrecked. Sam the boyfriend that treated his girlfriend like she was a queen.

"Are you still with Sandy?" I ask. "Yep, we're getting married in a couple of months."

Fuck. Wouldn't ya know it. I got a sweet, nice, sober Afflecker in my living room and he's about to get married.

Oh well, no biggie. I suppose I would have remembered his name if I thought he was that great...

**Yes, I know Direct TV is one word and all that jazz, but I'm becoming increasingly aware of what certain words do to your search engine hits...

My Brother, the Toy

Growing up, my brother was my favorite toy. Nearly 4 years older then me, he could do all the things I wanted to do, but was to young. Unless of course, I went with him.

As our Mother had a career once we were in school, my brother was taken to the task of watching me once he was old enough. Technically my sister, who is 8 years older, had that task, but she was usually to busy with her own deal to worry about me, so she let me do whatever I wanted. This left big brother in charge.

I grew up in a neighborhood where most of the kids were my brother's age and were boys. I came in handy when they needed just one more to make two football teams (I learned how to run real fucking fast) or someone small.

As a kid, wintertime was probably my favorite season. My Dad, who grew up in poverty, liked to have all the toys he never had as a child, which meant we had all the toys he never had as a child.

Snow Mobiles, three-wheelers-if it had a motor, we had it. The one problem was we were not allowed to touch these things unless my Dad was present. It was that, or we could buy our own.

My parents were real big on that whole 'you will learn to work for the things you want' dealio. Winter in Chicago was a Capitalist Kid's dream. From snow shoveling to my greatest idea, personalized homemade snow sculptures (who could turn down a 7 year old offering to build a unique snow sculpture in their yard for a few bucks?), we made money hand over fist with one goal: To buy our own snowmobiles.

My Dad had made the generous offer to pay half of it if we could earn half. This was usually the deal if we wanted something big, and they probably thought we wouldn't have the attention span to earn that kind of money.

They so should have known better...We did come up with half the money in a year, and we did buy ourselves our very own snowmobiles.

As I've gotten older, I have outgrown the whole toy phase. I've been able to do this because my brother hasn't, so I can just go play with his toys...lol

That horrid, crappy snow storm we got this weekend wouldn't have had any redeeming qualities if it weren't for my brother, who still has all the snowmobiles and four wheelers and fun stuff.

Once I got my bearings from the drive home from hell, I was so ready to try his new snowmobiles. He bought two, so that his wife and kids could go along with him, but they are wussies with a capital "W".

I had my 12 year old niece on the back of one of them, and as I reached 10 MPH she started crying hysterically, saying I was going to fast. My sis-in-law likes to take one of them out, but she thinks 10 MPH is a bit fast too.

Shiiiiaat. How did these people get in our family? Too fast is, ummm, 80 maybe?

So we dumped their asses off at home and took off. Thankfully my brother lives in a more rural area then I do, and he has trails and fields behind his house. We spent the next four hours having the time of our lives.

As we pulled into his house around 5 in the morning, some of his neighbors were already out shoveling snow. WTF? Anyway, my brother "white washed" me, and I proceeded to nail him right in the face with the most awesome snowball ever, the one that I had made before we left so that it would be real nice and hard.

We plumeled (how the fuck do you spell plumeled?) each other while his neighbors just kind of watched, probably wondering why a 38 year old man and a 34 year old woman were acting like 10 year olds in the front yard.

Acting like a 10 year old is totally where it's at, dude. I hope I never grow up, and I really hope my brother never grows up...

Memorial

Today we lost one of the greats. Johnny Carson was more then a comedian, an interviewer, and a celebrity. For many people, he was an inspiration.

When I was a small child, my parents were convinced that I was deathly afraid of the dark. That fact couldn't have been further from the truth, but I played it up to my advantage so that I could do one thing: Watch The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.

You see, my parents had a TV in their bedroom. Every night the door would close for awhile (ewww), and I would patiently wait for it to open again so that I could go in there with my blanket and pillow and "sleep" on the floor.

"There's a monster in my closet!!!" I would demand. My Dad would always get up and check, showing me that there was in fact no monster in my closet. "He must be under the bed!!" No, no monster there.

Then I'd break out the batting eyelashes and a couple of tears if necessary. Yes, I was a manipulative little fuck.

He couldn't resist that, so they'd let me make a pallet on the floor. After a couple of weeks of this exercise, they just let me come in and sleep on their floor.

They'd fall asleep immediately. I'd creep to the TV and turn in to Channel 5, usually just in time for Johnny's monologue.

Probably not something a 5 year old should be watching, but as far as I can tell it didn't dement me too much. I'd lay there watching the celebrities and the skits and listen to the jokes. At 11:30 pm I'd creep back to my bed and go to sleep.

When I got to be about 7 I figured out I could just go in the family room and watch it as my parents for some odd reason were dead to the world at this time (double eww).

I would interview the neighborhood kids and write little skits for them to perform in. I would carry my tape player around and record their responses. I would do interviews from Niagara Falls (complete with toilet flushes) and other exotic locations.

My parents learned about my Johnny Carson obsession when I was in high school, when I finally came clean about what I was really afraid of at that tender young age: Missing the opening monologue. My Mom swears that he is the reason why my face is so expressive. Years of watching him at such a tender age must have had quite an influence on me.

So Mr. Carson, where ever you are, thank you for the entertainment you gave me during my lifetime. Thank you for inspiring my creative side, and more then likely being the reason why I like to write so much.

It is truly a sad, sad day....

I'm Alive!!

Yes, I made it home from work in one piece. The odds of that happening were very slim about 7 hours ago, but I have once again beaten those odds.

You see, it's a freakin' blizzard here. Well, it was a freakin' blizzard here last night.

I knew it was going to get bad, so I drove to my brother's house to meet some of the guys from work who would be my chauffeurs for the evening. Ah the benefits of being a spoiled brat.

They ended up letting us off work at about 9:00 last night instead of the usual 4 in the morning for the line people, 5:30 for me. It was half way decent for about 10 minutes, meaning you could actually see where the road wasn't.

Then all hell broke loose. Wind, oh the wind....You couldn't see 5 feet in front of you. It was snowing like a bitch, and I had Rambo for a chauffeur.

"Can you even see????" I kept asking him. "Oh, we're fine..." he'd say with all confidence. Fuck-n-a he couldn't see. I finally just closed my eyes, because I was afraid I'd stroke out if I watched anymore.

It took us 3 hours to go what normally takes 25 minutes...

I would have kissed the ground when I finally got out of that big honkin' F-350, except the snow was up to my ass, so I would have had to of dived in to find it.

My brother insisted I stay there instead of driving the remaining 15 minutes, which after that ride I didn't put up much of a fight.

The one good thing about my brother is he is a "toy" man. Snow mobiles, four-wheelers, you name it, he has it. We spent the remainder of the night actually glad that it had dumped about 15 inches of snow on the south side of Chicago.

So I've just now made it to my house, cold, wet, and tired. All this snow mobiling has reminded me of the fun to be had during the winter, and a story just may be coming out later tonight/early tomorrow morning.

For now, I'm going to sleep, glad to be home in one piece, glad to have a brother that reminded me that there was a time when 15 inches of snow was an absolute dream...

Blog Cheat

So it's Friday morning, I just got off work from Thursday, and I'm really not up to a blog post.

In it's place, I'm cheating and putting one of those annoying ass chain letters you get in your email from that person that sends you all those annoying ass chain letters.

Don't worry, if you don't copy and paste and put it in my comments you won't get bad luck for 25 years or anything. I took that part out, so it must make it ok...lol

1. What time is it : 6:20 PM

2. Name as it appears on birth certificate: Kelly Jean Umm I don't think so

3. Nicknames: kj, Kel

4. Piercing: Ears

6. Eye color: Dark Brown

7. Place of birth: Chicago, IL

8. Favorite foods: Pizza & Salad

9. Ever been to Africa: No

10. Ever been toilet papering: Yes

11. Love someone so much it made you cry: Yes

12. Been in a car accident: Serial Car Crasher

13. Croutons or bacon bits: Pffft...Both

14. Favorite day of the week: Sunday

15. Favorite restaurants: Princess Cafe, Gino's

16. Favorite flower: Daisy

17. Favorite sport to watch: Football

18. Favorite drink: Anything frozen with an umbrella

19. Favorite ice Cream: New York Super Fudge Chunk. Ben & Jerry's. It's the devil.

20. Disney or Warner Brothers: Warner Bros.

21. Favorite fast food restaurant: Subway

22. What color is your bedroom carpet: White

23. How many times did you fail your driver's test: None

24. Before this one, from whom did you get your last e-mail: R

25. Which store would you choose to Max out your credit card: I don't have credit cards...

26. What do you do most often when you are bored: Bored? Oh how I wish for a time when I am bored...

27. Bedtime: 7 amish

28. Who will respond to this e-mail (umm blog thingy) the quickest: Princessr9

29. Who is the person you sent this to that is least likely to respond:
Zero Man

30. Who are you most curious about their responses to this questionnaire?
Poppy, Annie, Princessr9

31. Favorite TV shows: Does the news count, because that's about all I watch on TV..

32. Last person you went to dinner with: Jack

33. Ford or Chevy? FORD!!!

34. What are you listening to right now? Brian Setzer Orchestra

35. Favorite color: Pink

36. Any pets? 2 Cats, just one cat away from crazy cat lady status.

37. How many tattoos do you have: 0. I'd love to get a shamrock, but I'm a chicken shit.

38. Time you finished this e-mail (ummm blog thing): 6:27

39. Which came first...God or Evolution? God

Kelly the Extortionist

So I'm talking to my brother last night. I wasn't paying attention to him as I was reading Poppy's blog, and her drive to give everyone deserving a Tall Poppy name.

I had posted some of the suggestions for my Tall Poppy name from people on my blog, and through email. There was Blonde Poppy. Bobette the Builder Poppy. Barbie Poppy. Michele suggested Raving Poppy.

"Are you listening to me?" he asked. "Ummm yeeah, well no, not really," I told him.

So I explained in a half assed kind of way that I was picking out my Poppy name.

"You should be Extortion Poppy," he said through years of bitterness.

Don't you just hate it when shit you did when you were like 6 comes back and bites you in the ass?

You see, as a child I was "precocious". That's what my Mom called it, but probably most people would say I was a freakin' brat. I had too much brain power for a small child, and was way too good at figuring people out at a young age.

My brother is 4 years older then me, and my sister is 8 years older then me. I was also rather street smart very young, as one must be to survive as the baby with siblings so much older.

Our Elementary School was within walking distance, so we were "walkers". It was my brother's responsibility to get me to school on time, as I had a tendency to dawdle and basically fuck off on the way to school. In kindergarten my Mom took me, but when I went to 1st grade she started working again, thus leaving my getting to school or lack there of in my fifth grade brother's hands.

Needless to say, this was not an easy task for my Mom, much less a fifth grader.

So after the first couple of notes came home saying how many days I was tardy, my brother got the old talking to about responsibility and he was the older brother and he was in charge and he was the one that was to be sure I made it to school on time.

If I didn't get to school on time, there would be consequences on his part, and consequences were not good at my house. Now consequences didn't equal child abuse, but sometimes a good whippin' would have been better then what they did. If we were grounded, we were grounded. No nothing. Or, we would have to do book reports. As a result, I had my college reading list done by 7th grade.

But I digress. My brother decided to rise to the challenge and get me to school on time, so that he could see daylight that year. We did good for about 2 weeks, as he just started leaving a good 20 minutes early in case I was "distracted" on the way to school. It usually ended up with him giving me a piggy back ride/race the last couple of blocks to school to make it on time.

So my parents were happy that he was taking his responsibility seriously, and my teachers were happy that I was getting to school on time. Everything was going all fine and dandy and then something bad happened.

I couldn't find my lunch money when we were about half way to school one day.

"I need to go get my lunch money," I told him. "You can just charge it. COME ON."

I sat my ass down on the curb. "I need my luuuuuuunch mooooooooney," I wailed. So, being the responsible older brother, he gave me his. Oh I so smelled the panic on him.

When I got to school, I realized that my lunch money had just made it's way down to the bottom of my Sean Cassidy book bag. Hey, now I had extra lunch money....The wheels started turning in my little brain.

The next day, once we were away from my house, I sat my ass on the curb again. "What are you doing???" he asked. "I'm not moving till you give me your lunch money."

And on and on it went. He gave me his lunch money every day. We even got to where we didn't have to leave early. If I didn't dawdle and got to school on time, I'd get his lunch money. Seemed like a fair deal to me.

It didn't, however, seem like a fair deal to the school. You see, my brother didn't skip lunch or pack one even though he knew that I was going to extort his lunch money. He just charged it.

Needless to say the parental units were not happy when they got the note saying how my brother had charged his lunch for a month and a half and could they have their money please?

The gig was up. My brother, being the little bitch that he was, told on me. My parents demanded to know where all the money was, and being the good little saver that I am it was all in a very stuffed piggy bank. I knew I couldn't put it in my savings account as my parents would question where it came from.

My God, I was the anti-Christ.

I think this is when I kind of lost my innocent little baby status. I think this is when my parents realized what a freakin' monster they had on their hands.

So the consequences were doled out on me, and my parents figured if I was smart enough to extort $22.50 from my brother, I was smart enough to get my happy ass to school on time.

This taught me a valuable lesson. Never extort money from someone that isn't smart enough to have a back-up plan...

So I stopped extorting money from him (lunch money anyway, but this post is already to long as it is), and now had the responsibility to get myself to school.

Since I was only 6, I don't think I should be labeled as "Extortion Poppy". I'm leaning more towards Michele's pick, "Raving Poppy". Don't tell my brother though. I think it may ease some of this traumatic childhood memories to think I'm getting a cosmic payback for taking advantage of him so many years ago...

Bad Hair Month

This totally cannot be. It is inconceivable.

My damn hair stylist had her baby 2 weeks early.

Where the hell does this leave me?

Without a hair stylist.

I heart my hair stylist. I really, really heart my hair stylist. She goes to seminars in New York and Paris to learn all the new tricks of the trade. She always makes sure that my hair is up to the minute fresh, and the color just right.

She's going to be off for 6 weeks.

SIX WEEKS!

Now for all you men out there that aren't quite getting this, think of my hair stylist as your remote control, and that you will not have your remote control for 6 weeks.

Now you might understand my panic.

I had it all planned out. I was going to get my "white" hair touched up this weekend, and get a real good cut that would last the 6 weeks she was off on maternity leave.

This kid is fucking pissing me off already...

You have to understand my relationship with my hair. I with all audacity and arrogance will say that I have like the best hair in the world.

It is wavy, so it can go curly or straight with relative ease. I don't even need hair spray for fuck's sake, and it is thick. I have enough hair for like 3 people. It just stays however I do it. My hair even looks awesome after a long night's sleep.

It's naturally blonde, heading towards the Marilyn Monroe blonde type as I uhh get older. My hair stylist professionally weaves three different colors to avoid me looking like some bad 80's hair band dude.

It has always looked good. When I was fat, it looked good. When I was a dorky looking little kid it looked good. People stop me on the street and say, "Damn your hair is beautiful."

I've went to the same hair stylist since 1997. I've had one person touch my hair since then, and the chick fucked it up.

I want my hair stylist back! We had a plan man...We're the same age, and were both single. She was a bit wilder then I, but we pledged buck the system and be wild and crazy single girls until we aged and became wild and crazy old cat ladies.

She then met this really cool guy, got married, got prego, and now has had said baby.

Oh the betrayal!

Fun with Tampons

A tampon commercial has brought back some rather sweet memories for me. Sounds weird, yes I know...

I'm TV Challenged. I barely watch it except for a few staples, so commercials are something I usually don't see. During the Star Jones fiasco, I saw a commercial that brought a smile to my face.

It was that cheesy one that had the Meatloaf song "Anything for Love" playing in the background, and it showed a guy folding underwear in a laundromat, doing yoga, and buying tampons while dealing with a price check.

I was visiting my ex boyfriend in Cali when he was my boyfriend, and we were going to take his boat out. Much to my dismay, the womanly curse had started a couple of days early, and I didn't have anything appropriate for a bikini...

We stopped at a local Walmart, and to my surprise he came in with me even though he knew what I was getting. He stared in awe at all the different selections in the feminine hygiene department.

There were a few women that looked a bit uneasy to have a man in the isle picking up boxes and saying "How about these?" I located the Teen ones that I use, and as we were walking out of the isle he spotted what a man would think would be the ultimate tampon: The Super.

"Look at these!!" he shouted. "More power!" he said as he made Tim Allen Arrgg Arrgg Arrgg noises.

People were starting to look as I said, "Honey, put those back. They are to big for me."

"Yeah they are...Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr," he proclaimed while making outrageous tiger noises and swinging me around.

It's too bad we had too many things that caused us to spontaneously combust, because it sure is rare to find a man that makes tampon shopping a fun experience, oh yes it is...

MLK

Happy Martin Day!

He had a dream that isn't yet realized, but what he did for mankind is nothing short of miraculous.

And the Winner Is...

Not Star Jones. Star Jones ruined my Woman's Playoffs.

Star Jones. Sucks. Ass.

What a freakin' disappointment. What was an even bigger disappointment was seeing that I could get the Joan and Melissa show, when I thought I couldn't because I have Direct TV.

I thought my fellow Fashion Watchers were going to kill me after we put up with 1 hour and 45 minutes of Star saying "Absolutely" to every damn thing. That and "I'm not supposed to gush but..." to EVERYONE. Every time. Annoying as hell.

Fuck me running...

I think the actual stars know that Star. Sucks. Ass. too because a whole bunch of them didn't talk to her. We saw more stars in the last 15 minutes of the Joan and Melissa show then the whole 1 hour and 45 minutes of nails going down the chalk board that was Star Jones.

We had to watch aftershows to see most of the dresses. There was no Nicole, no Halle...No Charlize and no Renee on the E! coverage. I don't know if these people were on the Joan and Melissa show, but the usual suspects usually are.

I will also blame Ms. Jones if I gain 5 pounds because the anxiety of missing all the good shit resulted in me eating way more pizza and ice cream and cookies then I normally would.

It didn't turn out all bad, as the awards show was quite entertaining, and much better then most shows in the past. It was much more loose, much more free or sumfin.

As we sat there screaming "BOTOX" at the people's faces that didn't move while they smiled and laughed their way through their acceptance speeches, I made a mental list of my favs of the night.

Jennifer Garner looked absolutely stunning in a racy red number that showed off her well defined back. If I was bi-curious, I'd do her.

Halle. Oh Halle. That color on her. The one shoulder deal. She is possibly the hottest woman to ever live. If I was bi-curious, I'd do her.

Terri Hatcher gets double points for a really fucking cool dress and a very humble acceptance speech. You can't help but love someone that says "I was a has-been," during their speech. She gets points off for the immobile forehead though, and if I was bi-curious and had a couple of drinks, I'd probably do her.

Nicole. Loved the color, hated the peacock strap-thing. My friend R loved it though, so maybe I'm just not into the whole exotic animals as clothing thing. If I were bi-curious, I don't think I'd do her. Too skinny. I think I'd like my women with some curves..

Scarlett Johansson was totally stunning as well. She picked a great pastel color that went perfect with her hair. She also wasn't spilling out of her dress like she has a tendency to do, and it just looked so much more classy. Yep, I'd do her if I were bi-curious.

Hillary Swank gave me the worst case of Dress Envy of the night. If I were to go and could pick any dress to wear, it would be hers. Totally fabulous. Yeah, yeah, I'd do her too.

Damn I'm a huzzy....

Dresses that didn't impress? Natalie Portman, Cate Blanchett, and Merle Streep. Natalie and Cate took some risks though, and that is cool in itself. If I were bi-curious, I wouldn't do any of them. My bitch would be lookin' good...

People that I would do just from looking at them with no change in my sexual orientation: Julian McMahon was hott with 2 t's. Smokin' hot. I mean, fine.

Ummm...Where there other men there besides Mr. Nip/Tuck himself? I'm not sure. I don't think any of us noticed anyone else after seeing him during his god awful interview with Bridezilla. We just kind of sat their with our mouths open in a chocolate/pizza induces hormonal haze after seeing him.

My best friend R was disappointed that Matt Damon wasn't there (or we didn't see him, thanks a lot Ms. Jones) because he is her "freebie". You know, when married women make that deal with their husband that if the opportunity ever presents itself that they are allowed? I'm single. Everyone is my freebie. lol

Leo looked pretty good, but his hair was like plastered down. Hair is an important factor in my do-ability rating scale. What the hell, don't these people hire people to make them look good? His hair stylists needs to pick another profession..

Did I tell you how hott Julian looked?

I must admit that I'd do Mr. Scorsese just because I'd hope maybe some of his genius would rub off on me. Hey, that's why God invented the dark, right?

So even with the Jones fiasco and missing the main reason we get together, a good time was still had by all. I may or may not go into more detail at a later time, but it is now time for me to go to sleep and have wonderful dreams about Julian if I'm lucky.

Damn, is 34 to old to have a crush on a star?

Yet Another one

Yes, there is another blog traffic generator out there.



I've only tried it once, so sign up at your own risk! It seems purty cool though, won lots of credits so far like the early days of Blog Explosion..

Playoffs Tonight

Yes, the playoffs are tonight. Is it football? Baseball? Hockey?

No, it's the Golden GLobes.

Yes, I said Golden Globes, and for a lot of women, these are the playoffs leading to the Oscars. The Oscars are our Superbowl.

I've watched the Oscars with a boyfriend once. He tried to turn the channel during a commercial, and my eyes flashed red, horns jutted out of my head, and fire balls came out of my mouth.

"Don't you dare turn that channel," I said as my head spun around 6 times.

"But it's a commercial? Ok...Ok...I'll turn it back," he said, obviously fearing for his life.

You never let them have the remote, because once they start channel surfing they sometimes have a hard time getting back to the beach.

So most of the other years a couple of my closest girlfriends and I watch The Playoffs (Golden Globes) and The Superbowl (Oscars) together. It is much safer for the men in our lives this way.

Now I'll admit that the whole award's show thing has went down the tubes lately, but we have something that makes up for it. Coverage of the red carpet, which is what we want to see anyway. The dresses. The hair. The bling.

Last year we saw Charlize Theron score a touchdown with her beautiful peach dress, and our mouth's were agape as we stared in shock as the ever popular Nicole Kidman came strutting down the red carpet is some horrid flapper costume, complete with gold sequence. It's so not like Nicole to fumble. What a let down.

J-Lo recovered from the Affleck injury and glided down the red carpet in a beautiful goddess of a dress, but was stuck on the 5 yard line with boring hair that looked like how I do mine when I'm going to clean.

As we pondered how high Scarlet Johnason's breasts could get, why Barbara Streisand had on a huge fur coat in Southern Cali, and if Diane Keaton knew it was past 1977, we bonded in a way women can only bond while revealing in expensive designer dresses and jewelry. We cheered a slimmed-down Queen Lahtifa, who was the MVP that year for sure.

So tonight this year's playoffs begin. My friend's R and H are coming over, along with my niece. We'll laugh, we'll cry. We'll wonder what the hell Bjork is going to wear this year.

We won't be jealous, oh no we won't, because we'll realize that while they are incredibly rich, famous, and are wearing dresses that cost as much as our vehicles, they can't sit on the couch like us eating ice cream and pizza. Oh, and cookies and chips.

There might even be a couple of margaritas or some other similar fruity, frozen, girly drinks involved. We shall sit in our track pants with our hair in ponytails, watching this spectacle and consuming more calories in one night then most of these celebs eat in one week.

I heart the Woman's playoff season...

This Post Blows

So you see those people all the time on the Internet. The ones that go to blogs or chat rooms or whatever and tell the people that participate in these kinds of things that they have no life and/or friends and are pathetic.

It always leaves me shaking my head, because if you really examine this who is more pathetic? The people that allegedly have no life and/or friends, or the one that more then likely has no life and/or friends and goes to point out to other people that they have no life and/or friends?

I'm tired. I think it's sleepy time now.

GrrrrBrrrr

Yes, Chicago is in a deep freeze right now.

Yes, I am going to bitch and whine and pout.

Yes, I know I live in Chicago and winters suck here, but yes, I'm still going to bitch, whine, and pout.

First of all, Gus Openshaw twisted and bent our minds all night long with one of his little puzzles, and now he expects us to find a cure for chicken pox tomorrow. Sheesh.

Then the temperature dropped like 50 kabillion degrees, my truck door froze shut, and it took the big teamster dude forever to get it open.

Guess I should have watched the weather and not washed my truck yesterday, eh?

God I hate the winter...The good news is the lottery in Illinois is up to like 110 million or something, and once I win, I'm never, ever going to be in snow or be cold again.

Can I get an Amen?

On Being Stalked..

I've heard many people say they are being "Stalked" on the Internet.

Even though a semi-scary thing happened to me with an Internet "Stalker", I still snort when I hear this.

Dude, you so don't know what it means unless they have showed up where you work.

It is really easy to get lax about who you are on the Internet. Now when this happened to me I was way more paranoid them I am now.

At the time I didn't think I was being obvious about who I was or giving out any clues for someone to out who I was.

You have no idea how easily someone can do that if they are psychotic enough to pay close attention to everything you say.

It was before I had ever met a single person off the net, and didn't have any pictures up.

The key to his whole finding me deal was my car at the time. It was pink, and I used to joke about the "Barbie Mobile" in chat all the time. I also said where I worked in a round the bout kind of way. I said I built cars. It doesn't exactly take a rocket scientist to figure out where in Chicago builds cars, considering there is only one place.

Now where I work has a parking lot bigger then say a mall's parking lot. It still isn't exactly hard to drive up and down the isles looking for a pink car, which is exactly what he did.

Most "normal" people wouldn't do this I'm sure, and he definitely wasn't "normal".

He had professed his undying love to me, even though he had never met me, and even though I already had a boyfriend. All I had ever done was just chat with my friends in the room, but I guess that was enough for him to decide we should be together.

So one day while leaving work I notice this car behind me. I kind of got one of those bad feelings I always listen to in the pit of my stomach.

Eh, it was probably someone from work, right? We had all just got out at the same time. None the less, I took a different road then I normally do when going home.

The car stayed right behind me.

So I took a different road, and a different road....He kept following me.

Now my car may have been pink, but it had some punch to it. At this point I decided I needed to loose this ass and get my butt home.

As I sped up the car sped up. I was now in a town where I knew the cops really well, considering the Chief of Police was my nephew's Godfather.

I called them on my cell phone, and told them the situation. Within minutes a cop was pulling him over for speeding, and I got the hell out of dodge.

The chief called me back after I got home, and he said the police asked him if he was following me. The guy had played stupid, but I now knew his name and where he lived.

I got an email that night from a made up hotmail account that said something to the fact of I'd better not call the police on him again, and that he knew what I looked like and where to find me.

Fuck me running.

Now I know there are perfectly legal ways to deal with a situation like this. You can file a restraining order and other things, but I also knew that these things don't mean shit or do shit from past experiences unfortunately.

The next day at work I gathered up some of my teamster buddies and told them what was going on. We took a back way out of the plant, and walked from the back of the parking lot until I spotted that early 1980's piece of shit car that had been following me the day before parked a couple of rows past my car.

They went and had a little "talk" with him while I'll drove out of the parking lot.

Teamsters have a unique way of "talking". That's probably about all I should say about that....

The stalker, by the time he was able to drive, was then met at his apartment by my brother and boyfriend.

That pretty much took care of him, but I was pretty paranoid for awhile after that. He never tried to follow me again, and pretty much stayed out of the chat room I administrated.

Now you all might be thinking that "talking" to this guy was not the right thing to do, and that there are legal steps to follow for these kinds of issues.

As someone who has went through the legal steps for these kinds of issues I only have one thing to say:

Fuck the legal steps to these types of issues. You get a piece of paper that says they have to stay away from you. What are you going to do, throw it at them? I'm sure that'd be a really big help.

You also might be thinking that for someone who has experienced this kind of thing it is rather unusual that I would still write on the Internet and For F*ck's Sake! even have my picture up on my blog.

My answer to this is a two parter.

First of all, if someone is that deranged they will find you no matter how you try to camouflage your true identity. I always was very paranoid about net stuff, and I said way less then most people, but I was still found by some crazy ass. Actually, he probably wasn't all that crazy or a few teamsters, a brother, and a boyfriend wouldn't have stopped him.

Second of all, I will not live my life in fear. I will not let someone take away my basic rights as an American citizen, freedom.

I've been stalked by a real! live! person before this Internet dude, and it is not fun. That very well be the understatement of the year, but I refuse to give it anymore meaning then that. You have no idea what it can do to you, how it affects your life.

This is why when the Internet dude situation came about, I fought back in full force to make sure it would never happen again.

So if someone wishes to stalk me from the Net now, go for it. I will fuck you back ten times harder and fight for my right to live freely.

You will go through ten times more hell then you put me through.

I always say that I'm half tree-hugger half conservative. I guess this is my conservative side saying, "I will fuck you, oh yes I will!"

There is a positive note on this whole experience. I did get two really kick ass ideas for scripts out of the whole deal.

One is a real mind fuck of a horror script that I can't wait to write one day.

Freddy Krugar? Total wimp compared to what I have in mind...

Chat Shenanigans

I've talked about my love/hate relationship with the net before here at FFS I, but Rubber Dee Duckie (I know that's Rance's page but RDD is at the helm right now) inspired me over at Mindsay to tell you folks a bit about when I was a chat room admin.

It just doesn't get more fucked up then that-being a chat room admin.

Most people on the net know where you are. Not literally, like your address, but they know your puter address-your IP. This makes it rather humorous when people would go into the chat room and talk to their self.

Example:

Janet4u: Hi HotGuy69, how are you?

HotGuy69: I'm cool J. Are you still as hot as ever?

Janet4u: Oh stop it HotGuy69, I'm not that hot.

HotGuy69: Yes you are! You are the hottest girl I've ever seen.

Now I'd be sitting back fully aware that Janet4u and HotGuy69 were the exact same people.

You can't get this kind of entertainment anywhere.

One of my most favorite, favorite things that happened while I was working for them was this one couple who had just fell head over heels in love while chatting. They had never met in person, but made a huge deal about how meaningful their chats and phone conversations were.

They were finally going to meet, and the chat room held it's collective breath after hearing them profess their love over and over for a month.

The next morning, I had an email from the girl, we'll call her chatchick.

Dear kj,

Something needs to be done about chatguy. He is spreading vicious lies throughout the chat room, and he needs to be banned.

He said he was 6' tall and relatively decent looking. He's really 5'6 and bald.

You must put a stop to these lies.

Sincerely,

chatchick

Now as I was pondering the theory of love being blind, another email popped up in my inbox from chatguy.

Dear kj,

Chatchick deceived me and everyone in the chat room. Her picture she has looks nothing like her. She is at least 60 pounds bigger then that picture, but she describes herself as "curvy".

I think she should be banned for lying to everyone. We don't need that kind of shit in our chat room.

Thank you,

chatguy

I swear to you all-I can't make shit up this good. I was sure they were playing a joke on me, but umm nope, they sure weren't. It proceeded to get real ugly as they went in chat and ripped each other apart and told each other's deep, dark secrets: He was bald and short, and she was fat.

You would have thought that any reasonably intelligent person would have realized her picture was from like 1985. She had big circle earrings on and a V-neck sweater with a tank top under it. If that wasn't enough, the big hair with wings and the fact that she looked 15 should have given it away.

But no, he was convinced that she looked like that, and she just believed what he said about himself.

God I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall during that date.

I guess love is blind on the Internet, just not when you meet in person?

I've never understood the whole love thing by chatting. Maybe I'm cynical, I dunno. Maybe I've just seen too many chatchicks and chatguys that were so desperate for love they just went for it.

Now friends, I can see that. I've made many good friends from chatting, and through blogging. That is so different though.

I'm tired and it's been a long day, so I'm gonna cut this off here. Tomorrow I'll tell you all about my Internet Stalker.

Yes, he did stalk me on the net, always going in the chat room when I was there, trying to hack my puter, all that good stuff that net stalkers do. He also found me in real life just by small things I said in the room, which is scary as hell....

Until tomorrow...

The "New" Adult

I read a rather disturbing piece in the Chicago Sun Times today about the "New" Adulthood age.

They claim the new adult age is 26. This is the age when people are moving out of their parent's homes.

What the fuck?

I don't know if it's lack of sleep, or if I'm just being a techno-tard today, but I cannot find the article on their website.

Trust me, you may not want to read it.

The jist of it was these late twenty-somethings talking about how they just moved right back in with Mommy and Daddy after college. They talk about how it is a waste to pay for things like rent! and power! and all that other good stuff adults do once they become responsible members of society.

Another part that was even more disturbing then that was how some of the emailed things like essays back to their parents from college so they could edit them.

Ummm...Ummm...

Run for the hills folks, it's the seventh sign. I'm at a loss for words...

I moved out of my parents house when I was 18. I didn't have a bad relationship with my parents at all. We got along swimmingly, but with my sister moving back in, and the realization that they were going to make me pay rent, I figured hell if I was going to do that I'd rather be on my own.

It was such an exciting time in my life, being on my own for the first time. I could go where I wanted, do what I wanted, and live how I wanted. I'm not going to kid you and say I didn't struggle, because there were many, many struggles involved, but all of that made me the self-sufficient person that I am today. I'm a survivor bay-bay.

They tried to weigh the good with the bad on this subject, but I found it hard to find good. It talked about how these "kids" go into the work place and expect their bosses to act like their Mom or something.

My God I weep for the future...

Blogger Book Deals

I know of two bloggers who now have books coming out in April. There's Gus Openshaw and now Pound#! has a site up for her new book.

Now a lot of us have read Gus's adventures over at the Whale Killing Journal. The humorous writing found there pretty much guarantees that his book will keep you in stitches.

Pound#!'s book will more then likely hit a note with most women, even those that do not need to lose weight. The title, "I'm Not the New Me" says it all, and most women have or have had problems with their body image.

So besides these two, what do we have to look forward to from our fellow bloggers? Perhaps a look into the life of a frazzled father? Perhaps a guide to being a Tall Poppy?

Maybe even a awfully commercial movie from the likes of yours truly?

Yeah, I said awfully commercial. My ex, The Director, read part of my first screenplay. "It's awfully commercial, isn't it?" he said.

Well I suppose it is. So what? "I just expected something totally different from someone that can recite "The History of the World Part I," he reasoned.

He assured me that it is funny, and that it would probably have Hollywood clamoring once I did a nice clean-up job on it.

I really hate passive-aggressive compliments.

Fucker.

Hell, he's not supposed to be talking to me anyway. Wifey-poo would probably have a mental breakdown if she knew he was talking to the Anti-Christ (his mom's pet name for me).

It's a comedy of course, and the jist of it is a man uses a secret identity on the Internet to know the inner most feelings of a woman he has just started dating.

I only sent him like the first 40 pages, and after his backhanded compliment he goes, "When are you doing to send me more? Does he get caught? Do the end up together?"

Ha! I'm so going to make him wait.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah. The whole phenom of bloggers getting book deals. It really would be great if we, as a blogging community, supported these bloggers that had broken through that barrior and actually got signed. We need to make these publishers sit up and take notice of the power that is the blogosphere.

The best part? You can pre-order Gus's book and Wendy's Book.

What are you waiting for? Let's show some support people!

Kelly the Riveter

So isn't Cherry the best? I no longer look like white trash. I've found out my old Christmas template has even been nominated for an an award. Not the kind of award most people would like to be nominated for, but I still think it's funny as hell.

She totally encompassed exactly what I wanted for my new blog design. You like?

I've always identified with good old Rosie over there, not just because I work in the automotive industry.

My Grandmother used to speak fondly of the picture, and had it prominently displayed in her restaurants. She would always talk about how the government came out with that to talk women into getting out and working while all the men were at war, encouraging them that even though they were women, "They could do it!"

This statement was usually met with a snort by her. Then she would always say in that raspy-Demi Moore like voice, "Then when the war was over they promptly told women to get their ass back in the kitchen. No man tells me where my ass goes."

I really hearted my Grandma, and if you are watching from up above or where ever, this blog design is for you.

Oh, and no one tells me where my ass goes either.

Rate a Date

I just may get kicked out of the women's club for writing this post.

Yes, I am going to tell all you men out there what exactly goes through a woman's mind when she goes out on a date.

It starts way before we ever actually go on the date. We are already judging your ass. For real.

Our friends give us the 3rd degree. Where did you meet him? What does he do? Is he cute? As you get older questions like Has he been married? Does he have kids? Does he have a house? are added into the mix.

For the record, Party, lawyer, yes, no, no, and yes.

The lawyer part had visions of financial security dancing in my friend's heads, but I really don't care about that stuff. Having a job is definitely a plus, but being rich is not a necessity when it comes to me. I make my own money, thank you very much.

So our friends and possibly us are already judging your ass before you even pull in the driveway.

Nice, eh? So the cuteness, employed-ness, and lack of children already has him at a 10 out of 10.

The night of the date can be a bit stressful as you try to decide what to wear. The black dress? Too sexy. The Cardigan with kahkis? Not sexy enough and too informal for where you are going.

The red cashmere sweater that fits just right with the red and black mini skirt? Perfecto. I've learned in my 34 years on this Earth a well placed sweater that looks very touchable and showing a little leg is far more sexy to men then any revealing/slutty type outfit.

Hair? Down with loose curls. Makeup? Just enough so that you don't know it's there. Shoes? Oooooh shoes, glorious shoes. How tall is he? 6'2. Yay! Heels are in order. Black ones. Maybe boots, yeah boots that go to the knee.

It time to for him to pick me up, let the rating begin! He's starting at a 10, but the grading curve on a first date is pretty harsh since you know they'll be on their best behavior.

It is now 5 minutes past when he is supposed to pick me up. He is knocked down to a 4 for being late.

He shows up 6 minutes late, and is now down to a 3. He apologizes for being late, as he was trying to find your favorite flower (daisies), which he did. This knocks him back up to a 7 for paying attention and remembering something said over two months ago. As we leave he holds my arm as I walk down the front stairs and opens the car door for me.

Back up to a 9.

He has chosen a really good restaurant that is more of an experience then just dining. Unfortunately no extra points are awarded to him for this as they already were included in the original score of 10.

Conversation is good, and he is rather entertaining. He's slowly working his way back up to a 9.5 as we have a drink while we wait for our table. Then he orders another drink.

Then another.

Hmmm.

7.5, and I'm wondering if I'm even going to get in a car with him when it's time to leave.

Our table is finally ready and we go and sit down. The restaurant has a European feel to it, as the tables are close together and it doesn't have the wide open space feel that most Americans enjoy.

No ordering is necessary, as this place has only one thing you can order. It's all Fondue, and the funny thing is one of my scripts has a date set in this type of restaurant.

The thing about this restaurant is it is an all night deal with cooking each course yourself, and a pretty good place to go to get to know someone. It could either be a dream or a nightmare for a first date, depending how well you get along.


The first course, cheese and bread and fruit arrives soon after we sit down, and he asks if I'd like some wine.

Now I've had one martini, and he's had three. I suggest we look over the list before we decide, and when the server walks away, I tell him that if he drinks much more I'm not getting in a car with him.

I'm pretty sure by the look on his face that if he was rating me I went down to a 4, but I really didn't fucking care.

"Oh, you don't have anything to worry about, I drive fine when I'm drinking."

Slid right on down to a 5 with that little statement. I'm pretty sure he realized this by the look on my face, so we decide to have one glass of wine instead of a bottle.

We start talking about movies, which is what originally attracted me to him when we first met, as he is a huge movie buff. I'm just breaking into my imitation of the French soldier in Monty Python's Holy Grail (I'm French. Why do think I have this outrageous accent, you silly king.) when his cell phone rings.

He answers it, and starts to have a conversation (4.5). Fortunately for me, the people that are sitting next to us start laughing at my French soldier imitation, and we start talking.

They are really cool fucking people. Unfortunately, they are already on desert and are about to leave. He finishes his conversation with someone from work? (who the hell gets calls from someone at work on a Saturday night?) and I introduce him to my new friends Linda and Dave.

Our main course arrives as Linda gives me her email address. We say goodbye to them, and he sits there smiling and shaking his head.

"Do you always just meet complete strangers when you go out and make new friends?" he asks. "Doesn't everybody?" I ask.

I guess not.

So by the time we are done cooking and eating our filet mignon and shrimp I've learned a couple of things about my date.

He has the same tastes as me in movies. 6. He works a lot and doesn't mind if the person he is dating works a lot. 7.

Then he's just got to go there. "I can't believe someone hasn't married you yet."

Oh no he di'int.

There is no statement in this world that can be directed in my direction that annoys me more then this one.

In my head I'm going through the whole 'maybe I don't want to get married you chauvinistic pig' speech but I just say, "Perhaps I haven't found anyone worthy of that honor?" instead.

He smiles and seems to like this answer as he is downgraded back to a 4.

I think the martinis and wine are starting to affect him, as he's talking a bit louder now and is getting just a bit more bold.

"You're really hot. That sweater has been driving me nuts all night," he tells me. Why isn't he just the Rico Suave. At least my sweater theory has panned out. "Ummm, thanks..." I say with just a hint of sarcasm. "I love a woman that can accept a compliment!" He's really slipping from the 4 and should be at a 3.5.

God get me out of here...

He's eating pretty heartily, so I'm hoping that will sober him up before I end up having to drive us home. I'm pretty disinterested by now, and I wish Dave and Linda had stayed longer. It would take a miracle for him to move back up the scale now.

The miracle didn't come, and after desert had arrived, he did the impossible. He slipped down to a 2.

Desert is chocolate with strawberries, cake, and pineapple. Now this man knows I'm diabetic. I put some of the fruit on my plate without dipping them in the chocolate first, to which he replied, "Oh don't get shy on me now. I hate when women won't eat how they normally do when they are on a date."

What the fuck is that??

We get done (finally!) and leave the restaurant. He wants to know if I want to go back to his house to watch a movie. Uhhh no. Definitely no. I tell him that I have a lot to do tomorrow, so that I better just go home.

So we trek the 30 minutes back to my house, with him animatedly talking about his job, him, his job, and then him again.

He's still firmly planted at a 2, and I'm wondering how the hell I'm going to break this to him, since he seems to think everything went really well.

We pull into my driveway, and I decided the best thing to do was to drop the F-bomb.

No, not the F-word, the F-bomb. "Thank you for dinner, it was really good. I really hope we can become friends.

Yeah, I was in no mood to play around. I said the friends word right up front, which made his face twitch for just a second.

He got out, and walked me to my door. A smile broke out over his face as he said, "So you want to play hard to get? I can go along with that."

Again. What the fuck?? I was so stunned by that one that I didn't notice he was going in for the goodnight kiss, and he caught me off guard.

It was one of those kisses were you feel like you were assaulted more then kissed. I'm surprised he has the tip of his tongue left. I'm sure the acid in my stomach should have ate it up, with how far he shoved it down my throat.

I wrangled myself away from him as soon as I could, got in the house, and privately thanked God it was over. He ended up with the worst score ever given to a guy-a 1.

So I guess the negative side of me could say that it sucked that we didn't get along and that he was an a-hole, but the positive must win out. I had a great dinner, and made two new friends.

It was so worth it, even with the cleaning of my esophagus. I even got a laugh this morning when I listened to my messages and had one from him saying what a good time he had and did I have any plans for next week?

My God how can someone be that clueless? And people wonder why I don't like to date....

Weekend Update

So it's the weekend...and I have the weekend off...

Amazing!

The most amazing part of it is I may have to only work one weekend a month now.

What the hell will I do with myself?

Well tonight I have a date. Yes, a real! live! date.

Fuck.

It's been like forever since I went on a date. Like I can't remember when the last time I went on a date.

October? No, I think it was September. In this post I actually lament that I'll soon have the time to actually date.

Why would anyone do that? Because, dear readers, I like being alone better then being with someone.

Yes, there have been the few exceptions in there, but all in all it's just so hard.

In case you haven't noticed yet, I'm not exactly your normal girl.

This guy seems pretty cool though. I met him at a Halloween party, and I've been working so much that any hooking up was out of the question.

The man does have patience, I'll give him that.

So I'm just going to go out and have fun.

In other news, Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston have broken up. Coincidence? I think not.

Loose Lips Sink Ships

So my mate Gus Openshaw has a book deal, and the book is coming out in April.

How fucking cool is that?

I've known for awhile, but kept quiet until Mr. Openshaw made the announcement himself.

Do you know how hard it is for me to keep quiet, especially about something as exciting as one of our fellow bloggers getting a book deal? They say loose lips sink ships, and with how ascared I am of sharks, I wasn't about to sink nothing.

Pirates of Pensacola by Keith Thompson (this must be the dude Gus said checked the spelling and stuff) is now available for Pre-order over at Amazon.com. I say we all show some Blogger love and Pre-order this sucker so that we show the publishing world just how strong this whole blogging community is.

Are You a Weed?

A line from Tall Poppy Diaries

"A few years ago, a group of girlfriends and I were discussing why many women feel obligated to cut down other women who are perfectly nice but who have distinguished themselves in such a way that they "stand out from the crowd". ....

My friend, Laura, spoke up and said: "My friend Karen lived in Australia for a while. She told me that in Australia they call high-achievers 'Tall Poppies'.When you have a poppy field, it's most desirable for all of the poppies to be the same height. The entire field of poppies looks better when they appearto be all the same. So if one poppy grows taller than the other poppies around it, they just chop it down so that it doesn't make the rest of the poppies don't look bad. It really is the same way with people. When someone achieves too much and 'grows too tall', it seems like their peers feel obligated to try to knock that person down...."

The Pink Poppster is now going over the 10 qualities all Tall Poppy's should have over at her site.

This should be required reading for every woman...Don't be a weed...They suck and make people sneeze.

Spoiled Ripe

Some may say that the men in my life spoil me rotten. I'd say they spoil me ripe, as I don't think I've quite gotten to the rotten stage. Yet.

So where did this come from? Well, we are experiencing a bit of snowfall and ice as my last posts laments. I reeeeally didn't want to drive to work today, and my brother certainly knows how I feel about driving in ice.

A couple of years ago I wrecked my Explorer Sport Trac on ice. I did $28,000 damage to a truck that was only worth $16,000. I would blame the other bastard for the accident except that whooopsie, I was the only one involved.

That takes talent.

Anyway, I am still a bit gun shy as it was not a pretty accident bouncing between guard rails. So my brother calls me up and says he'll take me to work and pick me up.

Waaa. It's that sweet?

So he comes to my house, and as he gets here the college guys that live next door are finishing shoveling my driveway. "You pay someone to shovel?" he asks me. "No, they just do it because they are nice."

My brother rolls his eyes and say, "You are sooooooo spoiled."

"Am not!" I say to the man that came to my house to drive me to work and is getting up at the butt crack off dawn to pick me up.

"Am too!" he tells me as I have a death grip on the grab handle in the headliner.

God I hate this slick shit.

So I think about this as I'm walking to my office. Am I really that spoiled and don't even know it?

I get to my office, and I start reading my email. I pull out my Yuppie Meal on wheels, and discover that I have a tangerine in my lunch.

Uck. I hate peeling citrus-y things because then your fingers smell all citrus-y.

The manager of our QC department knows this, so when he sees the tangerine, he comes over, peels it for me, and pulls the sections apart, all without me saying a word.

Ok, so maybe I'm a little bit spoiled.

I finish my lunch, and head down to the end of the line for start up. The incoming quality inspector comes by and brings me my cup of coffee, two splenda's, fat free cream of course.

Umm..yeah.

So all day I'm noting these random acts of spoilage. The repairman that brought me my fav bottled water. The stock guy that picked me up on his cart because he heard me get called to the other side of the plant on the radio. The inspector that brought me in some sugar free chocolate.

I wonder how long I've been spoiled like this, and I decide to share my thoughts with The Old Irish Bastard.

"Since birth," is his answer. "No I haven't," I say, and he tells me, as only he can, "There is a real thin line between being really naive and really fucking dumb. I don't think you are really fucking dumb, and I don't think you are really naive."

I heart this man.

Then I feel like I've been an ungrateful bitch. I mean, all these people spoiling me, and I haven't noticed? So The Old Irish Bastard, in is infinite wisdom, tells me, "But I bet you spoil them all back just as bad."

Ahhh. Now this is true. I do love spoiling people, and I do it with great frequency.

So I'm spoiled ripe, and I love every minute of it. I also spoil other people ripe, and I think I love that even more.

Full Fledged Panic

That's what was about to set in when I heard the weather reports for Tuesday and Wednesday here in the greater Chicago area.

My truck wasn't done on Monday, and they were hoping to have it done by Tuesday afternoon.

Now I had finally bugged the holy shit out of my brother enough that he just gave me his wife's car to use until mine was done. The eased some of my fears, but when I heard of the snow that was coming, the panic set in again.

Snow. Little car. Bad. Very, very bad.

You see, I bought my first SUV back in 1998. We experienced a freak snow storm that March that paralyzed the area with a couple of inches of ice at first, and then a ton of snow.

At the time, my only form of transportation was the crap death trap mobile I talked about a couple of posts down. It isn't exactly good in snow, and I was trapped at my house.

With no power.

With no land line phone.

With a cat and a dog.

Then, to make matters worse, I discovered the hard way that if you have a well you do indeed need electricity to get more water.

Why don't they teach you this shit in high school instead of like trig?

Anyway, I was stuck, no water, and I was getting cold. Ok, so it was still like 64 degrees in my house, but I am a cold person that doesn't have a whole lot of personal insulation.

My parental units called my cell phone to see if I was ok and to rub in the fact that it was 70 degrees where they live. They must have felt a bit guilty because they called my brother and he in turn called me and said he'd come get me.

"Ok, give me a minute though, I have to get all the dog and cat stuff together."

He was not having that. He said they had to stay here, so I told him to go fuck himself.

I knew that he would eventually cave and feel bad and come get us, which he did of course. I was not going to leave a 90 pound lab to her devices for God knows how long locked up in a house. The cat would be pissed off if we left her, so she would be going along for the ride too.

In the meantime, I decided I better have a Plan B in place in case the guilt didn't wear on him right away. I decided to walk to the little store down the street from me and see if they had any water or food, as I seemed to not have any food either.

Yeah, I'm a real prepared person as you can tell.

What to wear while walking in a freak blizzard? I didn't exactly have anything appropriate. Boots, yeah I should wear boots. Fortunately, I did have boots, but unfortunately they all had like at least 4 inch heals on them.

I decided on the chunky healed ones, as they would probably be safer then the spiked healed ones.

I got out my faux fur, hat, two pairs of gloves, and my 4 inch heal chunky boots.

My dog was excited as hell and loves the snow, so I got her leash to take her with me. I walked a whole 20 feet before I started bitching to the dog. I'm kind of surprised I lasted that long.

My God was it cold! The wind was blowing my faux fur hat off, snow was hitting me in the face, and my chunky heals kept getting stuck in the snow filled street/yard hell you couldn't tell where you were walking.

This. Sucked.

So like two days later (25 minutes) I get to the little Mom and Pop store I try to frequent as often as I can to support the little guy business.

They were fucking closed.

Where the fuck where they? They couldn't have went anywhere, as it was in the middle of the afternoon.

The bastards has deserted us. I don't care if they are like 85 years old, they are still bastards.

I turned around to take my cold, tired, and pissed off ass back home. I bitched and complained to my dog. I can just imagine if anyone was peering out their window. Here I was, in this full length faux fur coat, and hat, with very elegant boots that went up to my knee. I was talking to a dog that was playfully running circles around me, as I had abandoned the whole leash thing after about 40 feet into my journey.

Then my cell phone rings. It's my brother, and he feels bad. I decide to really capitalize on this so I tell him I'm out in the blizzard trying to find food and water so that I don't die or something.

I tell him how it's like being Laura Ingalls in the book "Little House on the Prairie" except I don't have a fucking pump so I don't have no fucking water, and some big dude named Manly probably isn't going to come save my ass when I fall down in the fucking blizzard and I'll probably die a horrible, cold, frozen death.

So my brother was at my house before I managed to get back by walking.

I soon learned that I was better off freezing at my house with no food or water, as his then two year old daughter decided that this would probably be a good time to get the chicken pox and was quite the cranky camper.

My sis-in-law wasn't to thrilled to have my animals there, the oldest kid was being a total brat because the youngest was getting attention, and the youngest was screaming and basically would not shut the fuck up.

Starving, dehydrating, and dying a horrible, frozen, cold death was looking kind of nice at this point...

Power was still not on Day 2 of the blizzard, and I had a patented Kelly Fit™ to go home. I just couldn't take it anymore.

My brother argued back and forth about how he had a fireplace and food, but the horrible, frozen, cold death was beckoning me above the screams of the children and his wife.

He finally caved (as he always does), and took me back home. That's when I saw it. The most beautiful thing I have ever saw in my entire life.

My little doorbell button was glowing. Glowing! This means there must be electricity here!

So I get out of his truck and fail miserably when I try to do a cartwheel in the deep snow in my front yard. No worries though, because I had heat! I had water! I had electricity!

Shit. My brother wanted heat! and water! and electricity!

So just when I thought I had broken out of hell, it followed me over to my house, where it stayed for 2 more days until the power came back on at their house.

Fucking karma...

I vowed to myself that I would never be in that predicament again. I would have a big 4x4 something that would take me to Florida if it ever snowed like that again.

I scrimped and saved and bought my beautiful freedom giving SUV that next fall, and I haven't ever been stuck since.

Until these damn reports and my lack of 4x4-ness.

To make a long story even longer, my truck did end up getting fixed, we did end up getting dumped on, and we are supposed to be dumped on some more tomorrow.

And I shall be fine, because both nieces have now had chicken pox, I don't have a dog anymore, and since then I have bought myself a freakin' generator.

Blonde-Boobage Phenomenon

Today I went back to work.

It sucked. That whole raving about me being bored? I take it all back.

'nuff said.

So I'm surfing and reading some of my fav blogs, when I see over at Rance's Site they have a guest blogger. It's Colin from The Real World Hawaii.

Bletch. Not because of Colin, but because of the chick that was in it-Amaya.

It's not really Amaya's fault either. It is the fault of something I like to call the Blonde-Boobage Phenomenon.

Blonde-Boobage Phenomenon happens when you have blonde hair and are decently to well endowed. People have this weird need to associate you with another blonde that is decently to well endowed.

My experience with Blonde-Boobage Phenomenon started when that movie "Milk Money" with Melanie Griffith came out. All I heard was, "You look just like Melanie Griffith!!"

Now the funny thing about Blonde-Boobage Phenomenon is all people can really see is the blonde hair and the breasts. You may very well not look one ounce like the other blonde/boobage person, but as long as the blonde/boobage is in place they will say you look like them. Blonde-Boobage Phenomenon, in other words, causes selective blindness.

I'm convinced that hearing is kept in place, as my voice is a whole lot like Melanie Griffith's voice.

Next was Pamela Anderson in her Tool Time days. "You look just like that girl on Home Improvement!" These comparisons stopped as soon as she moved up to Baywatch status, as I'm sure she was then totally out of the Blonde-Boobage Phenomenon league.

Just so you know, I don't look anything like Melanie Griffith or Pamela Anderson.

The whole Blonde-Boobage Phenomenon was almost debunked when for awhile in the mid-90's I would hear, "You look just like Gwen Stefani!"

Gwen Stefani doesn't have boobage. Wait just a minute, this doesn't fit the rules...

I chalked it up to the fact that we were in a boobage shortage at the time, so they just picked another semi-famous (at that time anyway) blonde to compare my ass to.

For me though, The Mother of All Blonde-Boobage Phenomenon was with that Amaya chick from The Real World.

I hadn't seen The Real World in God, probably 8 years when the Hawaii version came out. Everywhere I went I was getting these, "You look just like Amaya! No! You really do!!"

Who the fuck was Amaya? I had no freakin' (foreskin) clue.

People were so insistent on it that it took the Blonde-Boobage Phenomenon to a new level. People I didn't even know would say, "You look just like Amaya!"

So I decided to take my pop culturally challenged ass to the task and find out just who this Amaya person was.

Dude, I so don't look like Amaya. The boobage is pretty close, the hair at the time was pretty close, but in terms of the face, I just didn't see it.

It continued. On and on and on while that damn sorry excuse for a TV show aired.

It got really annoying. Real fast. I would like be in the mall and people would tell me that I looked like Amaya. Complete and total strangers would just walk up to me and tell me that.

I was never so freakin' (foreskin) glad when a show went off the air and another batch of reality people faded into the distant past.

So who do I share the Blonde-Boobage Phenomenon with now? Every once in awhile I'll get Jessica Simpson, Christina Aguleria or however the hell you spell her name, and I actually got a Nicolette Sheridan reference the other day, which sent me running to the mirror to make sure my face was still able to move.

I know, I know. This should all be rather flattering, being compared to famous people. If I actually looked like them it might be, but since I full well know they are just looking at the hair and certain parts of my anatomy, the whole Blonde-Boobage Phenomenon is not really flattering in the least bit.

If I had to pick who I look the most like? I'd say Gwen, but I have Amaya's smile.

Oh God, make it stop....

White Trash

So yeah, here I am looking all white trash with my Christmas lights still up on my blog after New Year's Day.

Here's the deal. When I went on vacation, I had a couple of options.

1. I could redesign my blog, and make all new graphics. I've had this concept playing in my head, and I know what I want. The bad thing about this is I would be obsessed with it and work on it constantly until it met with my approval.

I also must admit that my coding skills suck ass right now as I have been doing more on the graphic end at work for quite awhile now. Use it or lose it.

So my whole concept thing would have eaten me alive until I had it done. Which would have taken forever, and my whole vacation would have end up being spent on sprucing up the place for after New Year's Day.

2. I could hire someone to do it for me. These seems kind of weak, considering a lot of it is what I actually do for a living. I checked out all the different blog designers sites, then I looked at the individual designer's work.

Then I found Cherry's portfolio. I really liked the stuff she had done in the past, and I figured she would be a good match for what I had envisioned for my blog.

So I ended up going with option #2, so that I could have a fun-filled 9 days off without getting all wrapped up in stuff I do every day for work.

It was a good choice, but Cherry is a bit busy so it may be a little bit before she can get to my blog. I have all the old code and graphics for my site at work, and I shall risk looking like white trash before I step one foot into the hell hole before I have to go there.

Which is tomorrow, by the way. Or today, depending on your outlook. Yes, I'm back to the daily 5:30 pm to 5:30 am grind.

That. Really. Sucks.

But then it kind of doesn't.

Here's the deal. I'm a worker. Yes, I've done major work around my house and accomplished a lot with my writing.

I'm bored.

It may be the fact that everyone I know works, so during the day there isn't shit to do. I met some friends for lunch a couple of the days, but other then that daytime hours got real long.

You can only clean so much, and when you have tastes like mine, you really can only shop so much before you are in big trouble. Throw in the fact that I hate hate hate going into any store between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and you have some really boring days.

When you live a schedule like I do, you become really efficient at doing things. I brush my teeth in the shower. I put a load of laundry in to wash when I go to sleep, and in the dryer when I wake up. I do my daily exercise while the clothes are drying, and the coffee is making while I'm being tortured I mean running on the treadmill.

Every single one of my bills comes directly out of my paycheck, and every paycheck goes directly into my bank account.

I clean one room a day, so that I never have to have a major cleaning day. I write my blog posts on my lunch hour at work, and I upload them when I get home.

When you are gone 13-14 hours a day, you learn to use every single minute that you have.

So when I wasn't gone those 13-14 hours a day, what the hell was there to do when I pretty much to accomplish all those daily tasks in just a few hours?

What I did do was catch up on some pop culture things. I'm an imbecile when it comes to most pop culture type things. I've never seen the Apprentice or Desperate Housewives. I don't know what star is dating who, or who is marrying who.

After catching up on all that crap, I figured I was way fucking better off just not knowing.

One of my favorite things about my vacation was I did get caught up with some movies I wanted to see.

I saw the stink bomb that is "Ocean's 12", the surprisingly wonderful "The Aviator", and I rented a ton of other movies, namely "Open Water" (thanks a lot Tad). If my phobias about the ocean from when I was a little kid were subsiding, they are totally back in full force mode.

It was really good , but man did it mind fuck you. Like my mind wasn't fucked enough to begin with.

I also got to reconnect with some people I really missed. I have tons of friends, or acquaintances would probably be a better word, but my true friends, the ones I would trust with my life, the circle of soul mates...Those friends I got to have some serious quality time with, and that was just wonderful.

I went to some great parties, spent time with the nieces and nephews, avoided my sister, scrubbed the grout in my ceramic tile, got my cats into the vet, and went to the dreaded dentist.

After all this, the cleaning, the friends, the family, the running around, I am still bored.

I need to work. I need to feel productive. I think my parents implanted some kind of chip in my head to make me this way. It was either them or the government.

So back to work I go tomorrow, and while I'll whine and bitch and moan and complain, it is still just a tiny little bit nice to go back and fight the battles that is automobile manufacturing.

It's All About Me!

On my secret squirrel blog (you want the addy, email me) I declared 2005 would be the year of me. This is the only resolution I am making this year. Proving that GTMA The Zero Boss has declared the same thing.

I decided to start early, and put the brakes on any thought of me working over the holiday season. I took the full 9 days off, much to the chargin of my inferiors Opps I meant superiors at work.

Well, it's really hard to start out with this being all about me when the last two days of my vacation heavily rely on a 20 year old with a low rider. Everyone else I know is going to New Year's parties, and that is the last thing I want to do after Friday night. That, and I hate going to parties and getting stuck, only to leave when the person you went with says they're ready. Bletch.

Being a holiday weekend, I couldn't get my SUV in anywhere. I called, I begged, I pleaded. Why the hell are they called answering machines when they don't answer back??

So I'm stuck. Yesterday I took down the Christmas decorations. That took all of a half hour considering the cats used the tree for a jungle gym and slowly but surely would knock each ornament off.

I'm bored bored bored bored bored. I caught up on my pop culture illiteracy watching E! and Vh1. The world truly is going to hell, isn't it?

Then I read some blogs, and I found this interesting post over at Rance's blog. In a nutshell it's about how The Apocalypse is coming because Martha Stewart lost a decorating contest to fellow jailers.

Dude, that is the funniest shit I've read in a long time. Martha Stewart lost a decorating contest to fellow jailers. I have to say it one more time. Martha Stewart lost a decorating contest to fellow jailers.

Ok, I'm done now.

Here was my comment on this post:

Oh you know Martha will come back. American people just loves to knock celebrities off their pedestal, teach them a lesson in humility, and then build them back up.

That is, unless you are a child star. Then your F*cked.

Even though I think Martha is the Anti-Christ, I do have to give her props for giving me one of my

favorite. come-backs. ever.

Nephew: "Aunt Kelly, what's for dinner?"

Me: "What do I look like, Martha freakin' Stewart?"

There is another sign you might have missed RDD. Vince Neil, of legendary Motley Crue fame, is doing an "Extreme Makeover" deal for VH1.

Vince Neil, for f*ck's sake! The drinking, drugging, womanizing front man from the 80's is having an Extreme Makeover???

There are three possible reasons for why this disturbs me so greatly:

1. It is a sign of the Apocalypse.

2. I'm in a parallel universe.

3. I'm totally stuck in the 80's, trying desperately to cling to my youth.

I'm really, really hoping it is not #3.

That is all.

I learned about this Vince Neil Extreme Makeover Extravaganza on Vh1. Am I not the only one who is disturbed by this? Ok, so the Martha thing is funny as hell, and I'm hoping that maybe they'll have like an Ex-Con Living show out of it. But Vince Neil? Vince Neil, the golden boy of heavy metal, getting an extreme makeover???

This is scary shit my friends.

My taste in music was always a bit more advanced then my age since my brother was 4 years older then me. I worshipped KISS at 4 years old. I learned about motley Crue when I was probably like 11, and I've hearted them ever since.

They were rebellious hell raisers that didn't give a shit about what society thought. My brother and I were pretty much given free reign when it came to music, as my parent's didn't want to "censor" our "creative outlets". Having tree hugger parents come in handy every once in awhile.

That, and we were real careful not to play "Shout at the Devil" where they could hear it. It didn't matter though, because I'm pretty sure they had fine tuned their songs to where no one over 21 could understand what they were saying.

"What did he just say?" my Dad would always ask. "Ten seconds to go" I'd reply with a couple of innocent blinks of the big brown eyes, instead of the real lyrics, Ten seconds to love. My Dad would just shake his head, probably feeling old and remembering when his parents told him Elvis was Satan.

So why does this scare me so bad my friends? If someone that basically has always given a big fuck you to society is worried and getting an extreme makeover, what the hell is next?

My curiosity and boredom got the better of me, and I watched the show. At least he didn't get botox. I watched in horror as his face was sliced and diced.

My God how could people get that stuff done after seeing what they do to you?? Maybe I'll feel differently once I start getting a little wrinkle here, a little sag there, but as of right now, there's no fucking way!

So like Rubber Duckie over at Rance's, I'm convinced The Apocalypse is coming.

Great. Fucking great. Just when I decide to make 2005 The Year About Me The fucking Apocalypse has to happen...

Did you know you could vote for me once a day?:Snarkiest Blog I'll probably get bored posting this little line, so just try to remember it...lol