I guess they ran out of donuts

I set time aside today to take my dogs to the grooming spa. Yes, a spa. Have you seen pictures of my dogs??? Good, then you understand how it might be plausible that they require a spa for grooming services.

I park my car in an open spot in front of the establishment and go inside to retrieve my spoiled little darlings, as their primping has been completed. I come out with the furry children, and as I'm putting them in their car seats, i.e. their crate in the backseat, a cop stops, blocks my car, and puts on his lights. Oh for Christ sake....what the fuck does he want??

Cop: "Hello, Ma'am. How are you doing today?"

Me: "Good, and yourself?"

Cop: "Good, do you have a handicapped sticker for your car to park here?"

Me (perplexed as to why he would ask me this): "Um, no...why would I need one to park here?"

Cop: "Because this is a handicapped spot"

Me: (curiously looking around for ANY signage communicating this point): "Oh wow! I'm sorry about that. Didn't know. Usually there are signs posted in front of the spot and on the actual spot to signify it being a handicapped spot."

Cop: "It's a handicapped spot. Are you aware there is a $500 fine for parking here when you are clearly not handicapped?"

Me (still looking for a fucking handicapped sign.....STILL unsuccessful....and now I'm secretly wondering if this guy is heavily medicated): "Yes, sir. I'm sure there's quite a hefty fine for parking in a spot illegally. You see, though, there are no signs posted to that effect. It appears we have a slightly problem. Hmmmmm....."

Cop (smiles and nods in agreement): "Are you leaving now?"

Me: "Yes, sir, I am. Just came to get my dogs and now I'm leaving."

Cop: (smiles in a much creepier manner than the first time) "Ok, then. I'll let you off with a warning this time. Have a nice day."

Me: "Um, thanks. That's sweet of you. You too!"

Meanwhile.....I'm still looking for this handicapped sign, and slightly offended this wacked out cop didn't share whatever the fuck it is he's on...not that I would accept said offer. I don't do those sort of things, but still...manners and such....just saying.

Even Cupid must have a sense of humor

***Disclaimer: This date occurred several months ago, but I waited the courtesy few months after the guy got the hint (that I wasn't interested) to share this little gem. Even I have a heart.***

I'll keep the back story short and sweet. This guy and I meet online. He lives in Kingstowne, he's 36, and he's a Marine. He's cute, witty, and I have a good feeling about this one (clearly short lived). We keep communication to emailing, gchatting, and the phone for about 2 weeks prior to the first date.

We meet at Coastal Flats, which is near me. I get my way and he drives to me, and I'm glad he does. I would have been pretty fucking bitter if I drove to Kingstowne for what is about to transpire. Just saying. I am waiting outside, and he walks up to me. Ok....I embrace online photos don't always look 100% like the person.....but come on!!!!!

In his pictures, he looked like a tall Tom Cruise (old school, hot Tom...not batshit crazy, jumping on couches Tom). Naturally, I'm thinking he'll be hot in person....but no. He approaches me, and looks as if he had lost 50 lbs. He looks ridiculously skinny....like sickly skinny....like concentration camp skinny.....like coked out Lindsay Lohan skinny....like one of the Olsen twins skinny....like if it had ever come to us getting naked and comparing how many of our ribs were showing, he'd be the clear winner skinny. Awkward.

To top this off, he's wearing exceptionally dorky glasses. Ok look, I have glasses too. I wear them to read. I'm not judging the need for glasses. I think, however, if you aren't wearing glasses in ANY of your pictures online, perhaps it's a bad idea to wear them on a first date.

Anywho, after the hug hello, we go inside to get a table. I was smart and called ahead because I was starving. I give the hostess my name and they tell us to step to the side and wait a few minutes while they get our table ready. While we're waiting, he's trying to make jokes about waiting for things. I can tell he's really nervous. He starts telling this random, yet disturbing, story about when he was little and how he and his family were waiting in line for an amusement park ride or something....how the outside is a line but when you get inside, it's a bigger line to get to the actual ride....something to that effect. In order to avoid waiting in line forever, he and his brothers would get to the front by.....ok...I need to stop and ensure you aren't eating, as this will prompt an immediate gag reflex.....we good? Ok then.....

Marine Man: "My brothers and I would smear poop on our faces so our dad would have to rush us to the front of the line and pretend it was an emergency, and then we'd get on the ride faster"

Me: "Did that just happen? Did you really just say that? Out loud? (internal thought: WHAT THE FUCK?!?!!?)

Marine Man: "What? It tastes like chicken!"

I'm pretty sure he is kidding, but still. Not a funny joke to make.....ever. He says this on a first date. Again, this is a first date, and we're in public. God hates me.

We are now being sat at our table. I'm pretty speechless at this point. He starts asking me about my birthday trip to Vegas, so I figure telling a few Vegas stories is harmless. He gets a salad with his meal. At this point, I deduct that he is not accustomed to eating in nice places. I embrace Coastal Flats is not the Ritz, but you get the gist. He is eating in a pretty sloppy manner, all the while making comments like "do I have something in my teeth...I get so self conscious about eating in front of people". I get the drunken ribeye, because I'm at least going to get a nice steak out of this train wreck of a situation. While we're eating, he brings up the movie we are supposed to go see at the theatre right across the street. I access my iPhone to look up movie times, despite how horribly this is going thus far. I do so for purely selfish reasons....I want to see the movie. You understand. While I'm looking up movie times on my phone, Marine Man takes his phone out and takes a picture of me.

Me: "Really?!?!"

Marine Man: "Yeh...."

Me: "Did you really just take a picture of me at the dinner table? Look, I'm not photogenic. Can you delete that please?"

Marine Man: "You're beautiful, and very photogenic" (Ok. Pay attention, gentlemen. That's not complimentary...that's just fucking creepy)

After he pays the bill, we walk around outside because the movie doesn't start for another 45 minutes or so. It starts to rain while we're walking past the second store, yet he doesn't seem bothered by it. Perfect, weird and waterproof. Score. Ummmm, have I mentioned I have naturally curly hair? WTF! What woman wants to walk around in the rain, anyway?? A few minutes later of walking around in the rain, and he finally suggests this.....

Marine Man: "I know you probably don't want to drive around or you might feel weird, but do you want to drive around for a bit in my car?"

Me: "Nope, sure don't. Why don't we get out of the rain and go back to the bar and I'll get us drinks...how about that??" (if ever I needed a martini....sigh...)

He agrees, we head back to Coastal Flats, and I order myself two martinis at a time. As he is drinking his beer, I'm already halfway done with my second martini. Evidently, I drink heavily in the company of fuckwits. I honestly don't remember how we got on the subject of pets, but he asks me what kind of dogs I had while growing up. I respond that I had a Doberman Pinscher and Springer Spaniel.

Marine Man: "Wow...a German dog... a Jew with a German dog...you don't see that very often!"

Me: "Excuse me?" (seriously?!?!!?!?)

Marine Man: "Yeh...a Jew with a German dog...just not something that happens everyday..." (not at all realizing the landmine he's just thrown himself on)

Me: "And?? Actually I have no idea what one has to do with the other...."

Marine Man: (tries his best to explain how there are no German Jews in existence anymore, though I cannot remember this particular quotable item...I may have zoned out at this point)

Me: "Sooo you're saying there are no German Jews in existence? Seriously? This, coming from someone in the military? Guess they just teach you to point and shoot, and then skip the rest of the other stuff, huh?"

Marine Man: "Well, yeh. Weren't they all killed off?" (I wish I could make this shit up. He really thought this)

Me: (laughs in his face for a few minutes) "Uh no...you're kidding me, right?"

Right before I'm about to publicly humiliate/belittle him, he decides it's best to transition back to being overly complimentary.....because I didn't hear him the 8th fucking time. He goes on about how pretty I am, how I have princess features, and that I have "Disney princess eyes". Really, what do you say to that after being told you emulate a cartoon character. Thanks doesn't quite suffice. Just my opinion.

It is FINALLY time for the movie. And yes, I have already told myself a thousand and one times to just ditch him and go see the movie another time with someone else. I have also already told myself a thousand and one times to see this nightmare thru to the end. The nightmare wins. Who is surprised by this? Anyone???

Shockingly enough, there are no issues in the movie. Of course, movies typically require that there be silence...so this could be the reason why. After the movie, we are walking out and he has the audacity to ask, "so what do you want to do now?"

Me: "Um call it a night....definitely call it a night." (for some reason he's still walking alongside me....ummmmmmmmmmm)

Me: (stopping in the street at this point, mainly because I'm uncomfortable with him knowing what kind of car I drive) "Ok so...is your car over here or what?" (praying he'd get the hint. Sadly, he didn't)

Marine Man: "No, my car is way over there (points to the far away parking lot...this is my nightmare). I was just figuring I'd walk you to your car...is that like me stalking you or something? Should I not do that?"

Me: "Oh no, that's fine. I'm a big girl....PLENTY of lighting in the lot...I'll be totally fine...you can walk to your car from here, no worries..."

Marine Man: "Oh, ok. Well, thanks for meeting me out. I had an amazing time and you're beautiful, and I hope we can do this again and I'll text you tomorrow!"

Me: "Right. Thanks for dinner and the movie....ok cool, see ya!" (is the end near???)

The following day's text goes a little something like, "I really enjoyed meeting up with you last night! You're even prettier in person. I'd like to take you out again if you concur. Happy Saturday!!"

I cannot fathom how the poor guy thought this date went well at all. I seriously can't. I now refer to him as that poor guy because Operation Avoid/Ignore/Pretend you're dead and/or got a new phone number commenced VERY shortly thereafter. You would too if you were me. Don't judge.

Where was Justin Timberlake for MY wardrobe malfunction???

It's a gorgeous day outside. Clear blue skies. The sun is shining and the pool is beckoning. On top of it all, I have already secured a fabulous raft for only $5. Best. Investment. Ever.

My friends and I inflate said raft and take it for a test drive in the pool. My neighbor decides he wants to play with it too. After flipping me over, he steals it. Naturally, being the spiteful bitch I am, I decide I'm going to flip him over....only I can't do so unless I swim underneath the damn thing and jump up to flip him over. Ohhhhhhh, I've totally got this in the bag.

My neighbor had invited this super cute coworker of his, who of course is watching the whole time and is on board with me getting my revenge. So there I go....diving underneath to follow thru with my vengeful plot. Little do I know, my bikini bottoms have other plans. They are the type that tie on both sides.....and then evidently don't stay tied.....right. Let's discuss how it feels to be bottomless and essentially skinny dipping in a public pool.....in the middle of the day....with friends, strangers, and yes....little children around to bear witness to the mother of all wardrobe malfunctions. Fucking perfect.

In hindsight, I probably should have been as quiet as possible when getting my girlfriend's attention to come help me tie my bottoms back on my ass. I probably shouldn't have been flailing my arms about in attempts to cover myself with free appendages. But seriously.....what the fuck would you do??!?!!? Well, I'll tell you what I do....I scream, curse, and then proceed to screech in a very high pitched tone, "Candace come heeeeeeeeeeeeeere!!!!!!!!!"

Everyone is laughing too hard for anyone to immediately come to my rescue. Asshats. My friend finally comes and helps this very, very naked girl tie her bottoms back on...thanks friend. Thanks a heap. I then look around, and the lifeguards are laughing hysterically while everyone else seems to be emulating the awkward deer caught in headlights look combined with the crickets chirping silence as well. Swell. I suppose I shouldn't be that surprised by the reaction. Had I seen some stranger's naked ass with bikini bottoms in hand, all the while screaming her fucking head off.....I'd be a little shaken up too.

Truth be told, I'm still waiting for the police to come to my door on grounds of indecent exposure, public nudity, drunk in public, or to otherwise peg me as a flasher Franny. So far so good. If anyone is able to locate my dignity, however, please alert me at once. Thank you, kindly.

Kidnapping a la Ulta

So I think I am going to get sushi. I think I am going to finally eat something today (i.e. stuff my face) then go home and run. Little do I know my friend has other plans.

"Oh my Goooooooooooood there is an Ulta right near here!!!" (delivered in a high pitched, very excited tone)

"A what??" (oh fuck.....)

"An Ulta!!! We are so going there after this! I need a new .....um....you'll see....it's a surprise!" (her vocals now resemble that of a cartoon character)

"What the hell is this? You need a new what? Is this some kind of container store? Jesus...." (fuck fuck fuck)

She drove. I have no choice in the matter. I am essentially being kidnapped, and driven down the street to this store. We get there, and it is NOT a container store....but the fucking mecca of womanly products. The only stuff they didn't have? Um....tampons. I think. Could have used some of those.....but anywho...the rest of this stuff?

Ok...who really needs a $179 flat iron? How about a $300 wet-to-dry one? No? Anyone? Does anyone seriously pay $57 for an extremely modest bottle of shampoo? Screw that....my grocery store hair supplies work just fine, thanks.

How about the 1 oz bottle of dry shampoo for $10. Yes....1 oz for $10. Are you fucking kidding me? Ok....well we find a cheaper brand and I end up buying that...but it's dry shampoo. C'mon. I mean after seeing Heidi Montag shamelessly plug that shit on that I'm a Fuckwit in a Rainforest, Get Me Outta Here show....I know I have to try this stuff once I see it.

The rest of this stuff in the store....let's just say I feel like less of a woman for not getting hyperactively orgasmic about all of the things on display. The 347 colors of nail polish. The different kinds of $200 ointments and creams for wrinkles, eye puffiness, dark circles, cellulite, and all the other "I hate myself when I look in the mirror so this should do the trick" solutions on the shelf. This is extremely overwhelming.

There is, however, one other item I see that I genuinely do need. Ok look....I have naturally curly hair. I have not yet embraced this. I choose to straighten it everyday. Don't judge. Well, because I've been straightening it for....hell.....it's been YEARS.....I clearly need to upgrade my falt iron to something that doesn't look like it came from the Flintstones era. Seriously...my friend definitely comments that my flat iron looks like it was manufactured before she was born. She might be right. Slightly embarrassing, right?

Ok so we're about to head to the registers.....ok well...I am. My friend is STILL looking for more items to purchase. She might have a serious problem with this place. Is there an Ulta support group open anywhere? She may require this....

Dawn's total purchase amount = $47.26

Dawn's friend's total purchase amount = $70.44

The woman asks me if I want one of those frequent shopper cards. Evidently, you get discounts and whatnot on things....for every $50 or $100 you spend, you get a free lipstick or something....a free box of tampons maybe.....oh wait. No. They don't sell those. FAIL.

Ok ok...I'm sure you're wondering about this dry shampoo fad. Well, of course, I try it as soon as I get home and I am now a believer. It actually works. There is no need, however, to buy the "I need to be a trust fund baby to afford this" crap...the cheap stuff works just fine ladies and gents! Just saying.

Modest Dose of Logic

So just to be clear......

We need oxygen to breathe.

We breathe to live.

Trees contribute to our oxygen intake.

Trees are cut down to make cigarettes.

Cigarettes interfere with one's ability to breathe.

Cigarettes cause cancer.

Cancer causes death.

Fewer trees lead to less oxygen output, which eventually leads to the demise of humans.

More cigarettes lead to more cancer cases, which eventually leads to the demise of humans.

As the demand for cigarettes increases, the supply of trees decreases.

Um......stupid question. Why do people smoke cigarettes again?

The Water Bra Phenomenon

Ever had coupled off friends that spend every waking minute together, and if they find time to detach themselves from their partner's hip, they can be found calling, texting, or otherwise posting love notes on their partner's Facebook wall or via private message? Does it ever make you wonder why they feel the need to do this? We all know it's not healthy. To be 100% enmeshed in each other's lives, to not possess one's own identity anymore, definitely begs the question.....why do it if you know it's maladaptive?

Ever had that friend, male or female, that buys flashy cars, clothes, etc in order to keep up with the Jones'.....but that friend is living paycheck to paycheck? He or she drives around in that BMW or Mercedes wearing that amazing new Juicy Couture outfit, complete with the latest Prada or Coach bag.....all the while swimming in debt.

What about the people who purchase McMansions.....the 9 bedroom, 8.5 bathroom, brick-front house with 5 attached garages in the super swanky neighborhood? They can barely afford their mortgages, but dammit, they will at least act as if they can on simple status principle. Who will ever figure it out, they think.

Overcompensation is a pesky little bitch. We all do it from time to time, for a number of reasons, but these aforementioned examples are definitely some of the more common observations, I'd say. For those of you who have yet to take anything resembling an introductory psychology class, overcompensation is when one attempts to cover up weaknesses or feelings of inadequacy in a life area through a drive toward excellence in another.

This reminds me of those water bras that are advertised on TV. On the outside, to some, the relationship and/or possessions might look amazing...but when you get rid of all the fluff...you will typically find nothing there of substance. If you think about it for a few minutes, I'm sure you can identify with these observations you have probably seen in others, or maybe even yourself.

Historically speaking, human beings need to engage in self-reflection from time to time. This can then lead to self-awareness, which lends itself to the potential for change towards more positive behaviors. This is how we evolve as better people. Embrace it, learn from it, then move on from it. Just saying.

Old shoes. New shoes.

New shoes. Buying new running shoes. Finally getting up the nerve to replace the old ones.

The old shoes are so comfortable. So much easier. You know they fit. You don't even have to untie them. You slip them on with ease. When you run in them, you hardly even feel like you're wearing shoes. It's that effortless. You don't have to try. You don't have to feel. You can just relax. You know what you're getting with the old shoes. Sure, there's a tear in the interior fabric.....the soles are worn down so much there is virtually no traction left.....but you still refuse to look for something else. Something different that doesn't end up injuring your knees or back any further.

So you finally make the jump to the new. The new shoes. They are unfamiliar, and slightly uncomfortable at first, a little awkward with respect to running. Costly, too. They squeak on the treadmill. The old shoes never would have done that. The new shoes are a little unpredictable right now. You're not sure if your feet will hate you later. You're not sure how you feel about the new shoes. You know you need to replace the old shoes with the new shoes, but you liked predictable. What you see is what you get with the old shoes, where the new shoes.....you have no idea what you're in store for.....and this might scare you a little. But it's a good thing....these new shoes. No more back pain. Fewer knee issues....and maybe even less calluses from running. You don't need pesky foot pain. Go with the new shoes. You'll soon forget all about the old shoes, as you're able to run farther with the new shoes anyway.

Ok, so who still thinks I'm talking about shoes? :)

Surviving an Afternoon with My Mother

The blessed Beverly Hills event is coming up fast, and some of us have not yet found the appropriate wardrobe for the brunches, parties, et al. My mother emails me a few days ago to suggest we go shopping for dresses today. I have yet to find what I need, so I figure why not..what would go wrong? The following is just a few prized moments of the afternoon.

Lunch prior to dress shopping. We are sat and patiently (ok, one of us is) awaiting our server to come greet us and take our order. Mom is getting antsy, naturally. I know you're shocked.

Mom: "Where is our server??? Do they serve regular hamburgers here? I don't want cheese or bacon." (It's a fucking Applebees. I'm pretty sure they have burgers. Just saying)

Me: "Mom it's Applebees. I'm pretty sure they have burgers and you can leave off whatever you like."

The server finally comes to greet us and take our order. We both order burgers and I order a side salad to come before my burger. This does not happen, however I am not surprised by this. But we'll get to that in a little bit.

Mom: "Where is the server?? This place has the worst service ever!"

Me: "You wanted to come here, Mom. What did you expect from this place? Really."

Mom (5 minutes later): "Did our server die???? What is taking him so long?!?!"

The server finally comes with our food, bringing my salad and burger at the same time. Thanks, asshat, for living up to my expectations.

We eat, pay, then head to the mall. Oh, the mall......did I mention I loathe shopping in department stores? They annoy me. They make me itch. I try to avoid them. My mother, however, decides that we need to park near Lord & Taylor because we are clearly going to be spending the better part of the afternoon there. FML.

So we're in Lord & Taylor, looking for dresses for both her and myself. I, of course, found very little, while my mother was picking several different options to try on. She ended up liking none, then asked if there was a petite section (we are both petite, don't judge). The woman informs there that there is a petite section, but the section we were just in for the last hour (seriously, a fucking hour in one store....shoot me) is where all of the dresses are typically organized.

My mother decides the previous section isn't good enough so we must go to the petite section so she can search for more options. Nevermind the fact that there are no dresses in that petite section. As we walk thru the purse section, we see a man holding a purse. The woman he was with already has her own, so the whole "he's being a gentleman and holding it for her" excuse cannot be used in this scenario. Sorry.

Mom (loudly, no inside voices uses here): "Did you see that man with a purse?!?!?!"

Me (didn't even bother to turn around to address her): "Yes, Mom. Everyone saw. And now everyone just heard you yell that, so thanks."

Mom: "Oh, no one heard me!!! It's fine!" (Uh huh......)

We are now in the petite section, and there is maybe one dress, and it is far from appropriate for where we are going. Waste of time. So we go back downstairs to head towards the mall area. As we are riding the escalator down (to where we originally were!!!), my mother feels the need to comment on an observation of hers.

Mom: "You know, Dawn, I've always noticed how no one that works in a Lord & Taylor speaks English. Have you noticed that?"

Me: "Nope, don't pay attention. Sorry." (Really just attempting to stop this conversation from progressing, quite unsuccessfully I might add)

Mom: "Well, yeah. I mean they are always really nice, but I just notice that they never speak English that well."

Me: "..................................." (crickets chirping)

Did that really just happen? Yes, yes it did. Fantastic.

The rest of the afternoon is filled with things like "No, Mom, put that down", "No, Mom, you are not wearing that crap", "Really, Mom?", "What the hell were you thinking when you even bothered to bring that to me?", "Mom, I love you, but if you wear that shit, we are not related while we're there." I eventually stop even saying anything and just start giving the "REALLY??? FOR FUCK SAKE!!" look. She soon catches on and starts searching for things that are more.....we'll go with normal and in this fashion era.

We end up finding dresses that are appropriate for both the Friday and Saturday functions while we are there, so we can FINALLY be done with shopping and leave. We're driving home and she starts the usual navigation flip outs. You don't know what navigation flip outs are? Oh, here you go.....

Mom (driving): "Quick! Tell me where to go!! Where do I go???? Where do I turn???"

Me (in a calm voice): "Mom, you go back the same way you came. Logical, no?"

Mom (who, might I add, has driven in the area countless times!!!): "I don't know! You have to tell me!!!"

Me (rolling my eyes): "Ok, turn left then right at the light."

Mom: "Ok, where do I go after that left?" (she completely ignores the second part of the directions)

Me: "Right at the light, like I just told you, then left onto (insert street name here)."

Mom: "Where is that?!?! I don't know where that is! You have to tell me!!" (seriously?????)

Me (I lose it): "Oh my freaking Lord, Mom. You have GOT to pay more attention when you drive! I tell you a street name, you need to open your eyes and see that street name at the light. Or pull over and let me drive. Seriously."

She neither pulls over to let me drive nor does she stop with the step-by-step nagging/demanding/requesting of directions back to my house. I am now treating myself to a nice Advil/bottled water cocktail, as a result. Wow. Just wow. Had I known she needed fucking GPS to venture 1.5 miles away from my house, I would have offered to drive. Live and learn.

Lesson learned from this trip: Have a martini, or 4, prior to dress shopping with my mother. It might make time cruise/fly at a faster rate.....and it might render me more agreeable with respect to her...um...fashion choices, driving behavior, and overall demeanor with people. Just saying.

Jersey Shore hair: Not just a fad, but a failure

We've all seen the infamous cast mates of The Jersey Shore. No? Live that sheltered life under a rock? Ok, turn on MTV and you might find a reality show about a group of young twenty somethings staying in a beach house on the Jersey shore.

This future of America...oh boy are they train wrecks. From the trasherrific clothing they wear to the heinous things they say to the way they wear their hair. It even comes equipped with names. Yes, they have come up with names of things they do (GTL anyone??)....and the hair is no exception.

Ladies first! "The Poof" - This is done by taking a section of your hair and creating a bump in front of your head. Not a subtle one, either. The more dramatic the better. This way no one will think twice before assuming you are trying to bring a hairdo back from the 90's, and quite unsuccessfully at that. Please note ladies, just because you see some dumb slut doing it on TV, it doesn't give you license to practice this on your own hair. Ok ok....Halloween is an exception. I'll give you Halloween. And only if you're trying to perfect that Snookie costume. Don't forget to include the whining while you're at it. It clearly worked wonders for her. If your outing doesn't fall on October 31st or a party affiliated with said holiday, however, then just refrain please. You look fucking ridiculous and no one has the heart to tell you. Trust me.

Male version of douche bag fashion! "The Blowout" - This is done by growing your hair out a little bit then literally blow drying your hair in such a way that it sticks up everywhere. You may even use hair gel to get it to stick out everywhere, as seen in the photo I have provided. This unsuspecting Pauly D understudy shown in the photo to the left (iPhone came through once again!) did a fabulous job with his blowout. By fabulous, I mean this idiot managed to get his hair to look somewhat like a helmet with all the hair gel he used. If this doesn't get the panties dropping, perhaps the double ear piercings might? Seriously, who thinks this is a good look? Anybody? Bueller?? Bueller?? Didn't think so.

So, to recap, if you choose to follow a reality TV show and the infamous fads they've created, perhaps you should consult your hair stylist first. I pray that your stylist, at the very least, can be honest with you and ensure you don't end up looking like you belong on Tool Academy. Just saying.

Alias (No, not of the Jennifer Garner persuasion)

Aliases. We all have them, for one scenario or another. Work, life, bar scene when you don't want to give out your real name for fear of someone finding you via the World Wide Web of Sketchy Mcgees. Maybe you're a rapper and your real name is Murray Goldstein, and you don't want to regress to those ugly childhood years when you were teased for constantly having to tote around that awful yamaka on your head....so you change your name to Mr. Big Stuff, because you've gotta live up to THAT stereotype.

One of my favorites is the obligatory stripper alias. Candy, Daisy, Peaches, or that infamous combination of your childhood pet and street name. Frisky Stonewall. Nice, right? Because, clearly sharing that your real name is Tiffany as opposed to Muffin Glenforest is going to do wonders for your tip share, ladies. Wait, do strippers have to share their tips? What if one is more skilled in her trade than the other? Experience, seniority.....ok, ok...I'm getting off track here.

I have been known to use an alias when out at a bar. I've used the same one for the past several years. I don't even know why I do it, it's just something I do when out at a bar with friends. A guy will come up, ask my name, and I will respond with a name other than my own. My friends have caught on to this and some have even used an alias just to be funny (read: obnoxious, bitchy, guarded, jaded?) as well. Clearly, the guy doesn't pick up on the fact that we are giving fake names, but I'm pretty sure he gets some idea that we have no interest in him when we turn around in the other direction after giving said alias. I embrace that simply telling the poor guy we're not interested would suffice just as well, but answering with "Megan", then turning around, as opposed to answering with "not interested" seems to be less effort on my part. Right?

Hmmmmm this brings me to the current task at hand. I will be venturing to Vegas relatively soon, and I'm told I need a Vegas name. Sarcastic bitch is already taken, and I will probably fancy something slightly more inviting, anyway. Suggestions welcome. Just saying.

Catharsis is underrated

He taught me how to play tennis and racquetball. I think I still have my tennis racquet, though I haven't even attempted to play in years.

He used to take me to Chuck E Cheese and let me ride the ponies every time before we went inside to play for hours. It's amazing how I can still remember my favorite games, and that damn electronic show!

He is responsible for my heartfelt love of Salt N Vinegar chips. He tricked me into trying one, told me it was a regular chip. Well played.

Horseback riding, 4-wheeling, deer hunting (ok I didn't participate in this, but they did this on the 4-wheel so I went along sometimes), and I got to go collect the eggs from the chicken coop and pecans all over the farm, taught me how to fish. Yep, he made me bait my own hook after showing me twice.

I have a memory of him teaching me how to ride my bike on the farm. Grass was probably better cushion than the rest of the kids with concrete, but I could have done without falling on some pecan shells. Just saying.

Easter egg hunts. I usually won. Hmmmm I now wonder if this was rigged.

Roller skating parties. Pretty sure he taught me how to backwards skate. A skill every Southern little girl must possess if she's going to make it in the world.

THE most obscene water fights ever at Jill's house. You would think her house flooded something awful, but no. It was just us deciding to use buckets, hoses, large bowls and cups, all inside the house to further drench each other. I can neither confirm no deny how much this may have depreciated the house's value, but did it matter at the time? Nope.

Being woken up in the morning at 5am by a cow poking his head in the window and screaming at the top of my lungs as a result. Ok, this, I don't necessarily miss. But, a memory, nonetheless.

Macaroni Jesus necklaces. He would take me to church with that religious girlfriend of his and I would come out of Sunday school with pasta necklaces that said "I LOVE JESUS". Those sure pissed my mom off when I brought them home, but man was I crafty with those things.

Learning a jackknife dive. He was tall, so he could clearly master this far better than a child could...but at least he tried. I think I achieved perfect form maybe once. Such is life.

When Titanic came out, he took me to see it. During certain parts, I heard sobbing. When I looked over, he was definitely the one crying. Definitely memorable, if you knew him.

These are the happy memories I have of him. Sure, he was nowhere near a perfect father, or husband. Doesn't alter these happy memories, though. Had I possessed the strength to get up and share these memories with family and friends at his funeral, I would have. Better late than never, I always say.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

I heart hot water

Of all the things I might take for granted, hot water is definitely high up on that list. You never know how much you appreciate something until you go without it for a day and a half. Seriously.

It's Wednesday evening. I'm doing my usual run on my treadmill. After my run, I usually jump in the shower before bed.....because who really wants to sleep in their own post-run sweat? Not me, that's for sure. I typically turn on the shower a few seconds/minutes prior to getting in to ensure it's hot. Not out of the ordinary, right? So, I undress and get in the shower for what I expect to be a refreshing, yet relaxing, hot shower. What I got was nothing of the sort.

If you heard a woman yelling obscenities that you may or may not have heard before around 7pm, Wednesday night.....yes, that would be yours truly. It was sort of along the same lines of Steve Carell's reaction in 40 Year Old Virgin when he's getting waxed and he yells random obscenities from the discomfort, except my freezing cold shower was rather unexpected and the obscenities I was yelling had little to do with fucking Kelly Clarkson. But I digress.

About 20 seconds into this freezing shower, I can't take it any longer and jump out. There I am.....still somewhat unclean from my run and the general day's filth, soaking wet, and freezing my ever loving ass off. Fucking fantastic. At this point, I'm wondering if my roommate had a similar experience before he went to work. I text him and sure enough....response back is "coldest shower ever". Great. Damn you hot water heater, damn you!

I immediately flip out and call the gas company's emergency number:

Responder: "Hello [Gas company name here], what is your emergency?"

The irrational version of me: "Hi there. Um, so I have no hot water and just took a freezing cold shower. Well half of one because it's that freaking cold. I need this fixed IMMEDIATELY! I can't go to work without showering! Please help me!"

Responder: "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down."

The irrational version of me: "But I have no hot water! I can't go to sleep all dirty and gross! I just ran 3.5 miles on my treadmill and I'm sweaty and gross and cold and wet and miserable. Please do something!"

Responder: "Ma'am, I can't do anything about those things right now."

She goes on to ask me questions and it is then determined that my hot water heater isn't even gas related, as I have an electric one. Oops? My bad. Probably should have checked that before I went batshit crazy on the poor woman.

After I do this, I'm on Facebook and I see my realtor online and message him about my problem...because he is my personal Mr. Online Fix-it.....naturally. I wonder if he knew this was part of the job when he agreed to show me houses. Hmmmm. Anyway, he is now getting me to test a bunch of different things and it is then determined that I need to call a plumber. Awesome. So the next day, I phone the plumbing company he suggests and they offer same day service. Score! I heart same day service......but anywho, back to the plumber and my hot water issue. The plumber comes out, fixes the issue, I write a check, and then FINALLY get to take a hot shower. Victory!

So...lessons learned from this situation, you ask?

1) Always test the shower BEFORE running. This way, you're not stuck sleeping in grossness. It's not fun, I assure you. And if you are even slightly OCD....it's fucking miserable!

2) Taking a page from Little House on the Praire and heating up water on the stove and using it to bathe is maybe a better option than just not doing anything. In my defense, though, I was too busy flipping out and being the crazy female homeowner to come to this conclusion at the appropriate time. Hindsight people, hindsight.

3) My realtor rocks. No, seriously. Not only did he help me diagnose the problem, but he bought me a new warranty so it's covered should this ever happen again. If anyone is in the market for some real estate, he's your guy. His wife is pretty cool too, but I doubt she could help you with a home.

4) Who knew some plumbers actually wear a belt? I sure didn't. There was no crack involved yesterday. Very pleasantly surprising, I must say. I was half expecting a guy to show up in oversized jeans that were a tad too low and a ratty shirt with the company logo on it. What I got was a gentleman professionally dressed in khakis and a button down shirt. It's the little things, ya'll.

5) This is probably the most important realization of them all....and that is, my love for hot water. Evidently, I need it to thrive. If I don't have hot water for showers, I turn into this rabid cave woman whom you may not want to be around. You'll feel sorry for me. You'll pity me, but you really should think twice before coming near me. Don't screw with my hot water. Just saying.

Bitchassness 101: Class is in session

This is really for any individuals who deem it necessary to spew homophobic hatred, as well as any other small-minded gems. Below are a few guidelines so that you may be more effective. Afterall, what else are you going to do with your free time while working the french fry line?

1) Do not, I repeat do not, make any attempt to further your education beyond middle or high school....and high school might even be pushing it. If you are currently enrolled in college courses, drop them immediately. You do not want to run the risk of actually obtaining access to other viewpoints other than your own. Once more, you could really do without the enlightenment.

2) Try to learn as many one or two syllable slurs as possible, such as fag, faggot, or homo. Limit this to two syllables, though, as you don't want to hurt yourself. Try to make an effort with broadening your slur vocabulary, so that you don't sound like a broken record when trying to purposely offend an innocent bystander. Your vocabulary probably isn't that expansive at this point anyway, so trust me when I say there will be room.

3) Refrain from befriending strangers. You do not want to run the risk of learning new ways of thinking from a new friend. Plus, you'll need your old friends to constantly reaffirm your viewpoints so that you don't start to doubt yourself. You see, Mr. Homophobia, most individuals that share in your hatred are often suffering from deep rooted insecurities that stem from childhood when their friend's popularity surpassed their own as a result of the friend being smarter, better looking, and most likely better dressed. Clearly, it's not all your fault.

4) Do not EVER seek therapy. This is a crucial keypoint in the thriving of your homophobic behavior. If you ever consult a therapist, you will undoubtedly learn that you are still in a current state of hate for homosexuals and everything they stand before because you are desperately trying to project your own latent homosexual feelings and tendencies onto others. Rest assured, this will not bode well for you.

5) If you come across someone that isn't already aware of your idiocy, and he or she actually sleeps with you.....please please please, for the love of God, use protection. That's all this world needs, is another you.....or worse, multiple yous. Yikes. Perhaps 1 of your 5 friends could offer a condom, or better yet, a loan so you can get sterilized. Nothing like an act of permanence to contribute towards the greater good of society.

Please note that it is never a wise move to openly broadcast your homophobic sickness (though thankfully, not contagious) to the world. You never know who is bearing witness and might promptly schedule a well deserved ass kicking as a result. Just saying.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled program on not being a human being. Asshats.

Karaoke: Not a sober sport

Birthdays, birthdays, birthdays. Seriously, my friends' parents must have joined a procreation pact or something. We are out for a girlfriend's birthday a few nights ago at a favorite sushi restaurant of ours.....eating, enjoying the eating, discussing how much more we want to eat, etc. We are eaters, if you haven't already picked up on this.

Anywho, a friend of ours is apparently in charge of this karaoke event there Tuesday nights. No, he doesn't own his own company, nor does he have the karaoke equipment. He really just runs the show that is karaoke, wherever he goes. And believe me when I say, whenever he and a few choice other friends of mine partake in karaoke activity....you will usually find me running the other way. Usually. Not on this night in question, however. Nope.

There are maybe 10-15 folks in the restaurant when the karaoke starts. Once this event is underway, that population dwindles down to about 5. Um, there are 5 people in our group. Yep, the restaurant goers pulled a Dawn and now it's just us. Fabulous. And really, what better way to wish my dear friend a happy birthday than to torture her ears? So we all take turns singing. Some do solos, while some refuse to sing alone and require at least one other person present if she is going to go anywhere near a mic. Can anyone guess who I'm referring to? Oh yes, me.

I am not like those folks you see on American Idol who show up in chicken suits, demanding to be heard, and end up sounding like a kitten being drowned in acid. Well, at least I'm not wearing a chicken suit and making demands. The rest is up for interpretation, I suppose. Seriously though, I readily admit I am no Glee contender. Sober self-awareness can be a beautiful thing sometimes, but I digress.

So this guy walks in who ends up knowing the "karaoke host", which is our friend, naturally. Yup, this would make him the 6th person in the restaurant, not including the staff. He immediately jumps up to the mic and is preparing to sing some Bryan Adams. Bold choice. I heart Bryan Adams, and I am not ashamed to admit this. I had all of his cassette tapes, including the Robinhood soundtrack. Love it.

Anyway, Mr. Friend has no idea what the lyrics are, despite them being on the screen for him to follow along. Some of us are desperately trying to assist with the song, albeit from afar. My friends catch on that I know every fucking word to the song and start yelling for me to go help him. It's Bryan Adams. Of course I'm going to help out in efforts that don't include butchering a masterpiece. Had I known they were going to capture video footage of this, I probably would not have done so......which brings me to, yet another, lessons learned piece.

Lessons learned:

1) When a certain friend is invited anywhere we go, always prepare for the slight chance karaoke will somehow make its entrance into the evening.
2) Start carrying a flask. Maybe. Ok really, this could be applicable to most situations, could it not??
3) When in public, perhaps it is best to NOT openly adore 90's pop stars.
4) Always always always apologize to everyone's ears before and after every song. It's just better that way. Setting expectations and whatnot.
5) Purchase one or more rounds for any and all listeners before every song? Drunk and tone deaf never tasted so good.

Please note that I embrace there are those who treat karaoke as a weekly hobby. These lessons are not necessarily for you. If you sound like that kitten being drowned in acid.....well, perhaps you should heed my advice, as well as rethink your hobby options. Just saying.

You know your musical career has ended when.....

This past Saturday, a group of girlfriends and I got together and ventured to DC to see Grease at the National Theatre. We decided to grab lunch in the city before the show, complete with some potent adult beverages. Had I known what we were in for towards the end of the show, I would have actually finished my extra large martini.......and promptly ordered another.

First, I would like to point out that Grease may seem like a show you can take your children to, but I assure you it is not. We learned this before the show was about to start, actually. Vince Fontaine's character was on stage "entertaining" the crowd with his greetings and one liners, complete with dirty language and naughty sarcasm. At one point, when he was doing the whole "where are you from" game with people in the audience, someone shouted out "Manassas!"

He took this....and ran...all the way to the third act of the show. During the sock hop/dance contest scene where Vince Fontaine and Marty were making out and got caught by the principal, Fontaine's character blurted out "wait! this is legal in Manassas!". He must have previously educated himself on the latest news story regarding criminal activity between an adult and a minor.....but I digress.

There were several other sexual innuendos threaded throughout the show. They clearly prompted laughter for 80% of the audience, while the other 20% (the kids) were left confused and looking to their parents for clarification. We got to witness this first hand when the two 8 year olds sitting directly in front of us would constantly glance at Mom with the "um we don't get it" looks. Shame on Mom for not educating little Susie on what a gang bang is.

The star of the show was supposed to be Taylor Hicks, as he was plastered all over the website and had the longest biographical note in the program. Let's not forget he also won American Idol a few seasons ago. I still can't believe Chris Daughtry didn't win, but whatever. Back to Taylor Hicks, the highlight of the afternoon.....seemingly. His part was the character of Teen Angel....and yes, I grasp that he was far too old to play any other character in the show.

I have to ask, though......was it absolutely necessary to stage his entrance the way they did? He came out of a fucking ice cream cone, suspended in mid-air, in the most sparkly suit I have ever seen on a heterosexual male. I can't make this stuff up, really. An ice cream cone. A fucking ice cream cone. Oh, and clearly there was enough room in that thing for his damn harmonica. Seriously, did the original version have the guy using other instruments besides his voice? Didn't think so. Way to keep to the script, Taylor. My two friends beside me and I were trying to control our laughter, but it was absolutely impossible. It was as if we were listening to Robin Williams and his obscene stand-up routine (love him)....but no, we were watching an American Idol hasbeen come out of a frozen treat, belting out Grease lyrics. It was so priceless, words cannot describe. Nothing could top the hilarity of this moment....well, until the finale, that is.

Just when we thought it was over, Taylor Hicks came storming out on stage with his guitar and harmonica and sang a song. Evidently, it was a song from his CD that was just released and he was, of course, selling this CD out in the lobby. This was supposed to entice the audience to make the purchase, naturally. It did no such thing. As we were walking out of the lobby we kept hearing people shout "if you purchase Taylor Hicks' new CD, he'll autograph it for free!" Are you serious? No really, you've got to be fucking kidding me. Not only is he charging actual American dollars for his musical "talent", but he thinks his personal signature is worth something other than a smile?

Shut the hell up, Taylor Hicks. No really, just stop talking. And singing. And take off that ridiculous sparkly suit. No more Soul Patrol for you, sweetheart. I do hope you enjoyed my grabbing your ass, however, albeit through the window. Just saying.

Uno. Dos. Tres. FAIL.

It's Saturday night. Some friends and I have coordinated a fun birthday evening in honor of a close friend of ours, dinner at a Brazilian steakhouse and dancing afterwards. What can go wrong, right?

I had previously called and made a reservation at the restaurant for 7:00pm, for 9 people. The birthday girl's husband also made the same call so we are absolutely sure we won't have to wait....because we are that hungry. You see, in order to properly prepare for a Brazilian steakhouse visit, one must pseudo starve himself/herself for most of the day prior to ensure ample meat consumption. It's in the carnivore handbook, I assure you.

We all start arriving prior to our 7pm reservation, as we should. Once I arrive, I check in with the hostess to let her know our party is present. There is one problem, however, and that would be the lack of hostess present to communicate this. Hmmmmmm, slightly odd, no? It is now approximately 7:15pm, there is a crowd accumulating in the lobby area to either put their name down or check in with the hostess just as I am attempting to do......but still, no hostess to be found. There is a rather large gentleman standing next to me who is growing significantly more frustrated with this situation as time passes, as he arrived before we did and also has a reservation. I must point out that it's just not good for business to keep a large, hungry male waiting. Every restaurant should know better.

A few minutes pass and finally, someone resembling an employee comes to the front to greet us. Yes, that's right. Almost a half hour without any communication from a restaurant employee. She asks how many are in the party and I tell her we have 9 for a reservation at 7pm (It is now 7:20 or so). She says something under her breath, albeit not in English, and then walks away again. At this point, I notice what I can only assume is their reservation book...but only because the large guy standing next to me keeps pointing at it furiously. I glance at the book and notice that our reservation is nowhere to be found in this book. So, to recap, a large group of people waiting around...no hostess to help....manager is currently nonexistent....our party is waiting and has been for over a half hour at this point....and we have a reservation that was called in not once, but twice and hasn't even been documented. Fucking fantastic. Oh, did I mention we were all pretty hungry at this point????? But nevermind that.

Several minutes later, I see what we now have identified as the manager walking by with food. Not for us, though. Bitch. It's for a table that has already been seated. She is playing waitress while her hostess has permanently disappeared (should we notify the authorities of her abduction??), which isn't that uncommon for a restaurant manager. I will go out on a limb, though, and say that it is pretty abnormal for the cook to come out and attempt to play hostess.....in another language. I shit you not. This guy comes out of the kitchen and starts trying to talk to us....in Spanish. Ok, maybe he is the bus boy, but the point is he has no idea what he is doing.

He starts talking to me in VERY broken English. I can somewhat gather that he was trying to tell me "3 more minutos....4 more minutos"....ok I get it. You can count. Fabulous. Now go clear off a table so we can fucking eat, thank you. Anywho, his wait quote keeps increasing every time he comes back. Finally, I decide that I've had enough and go into hungry bitch mode. I interrupt him with "ok sweetheart you've been saying 3 or 4 or 5 minutos for the past 20 minutes and now you're saying another 15? How about no! Let's do this. You tell me where you plan to seat us and I'll go check on the table myself"...which is precisely what I proceed to do. He points to the table and tries to explain they are getting up in 5 minutes. I decide to walk over while he's still talking to look at the table. The people are still eating and no bill has been placed on the table yet. Um, como se dice "5 minutes my ass" in Espanol? Really.

I come back to the counter and tell the cook/bus boy/makeshift manager/fuckwit that it will be at least another 15-20 minutes before the table even gets up so it would be in his best interests not to lie to me again. He walks away with a defeated look upon his face, as he should. Some of the individuals behind me are now giving me verbal kudos for what I have just done.

The phone is now ringing off the hook at the counter. Still no hostess. Still no manager, and no one else in sight to field these calls. I am hungry, pissed, and dumbfounded at the lack of organization and management in the restaurant, so I sort of maybe kind of make an executive decision to pick up the phone and then hang it up a few times. Ok, look....if the restaurant cannot handle the already full lobby of pissed off patrons, they clearly cannot handle potential ones either. Evidently, this action appeals to the masses and I am now getting high fives from total strangers. Cool, I guess. High fives are nice sometimes, but I'd prefer to be eating.

It is 7:50pm at this point. We have now been waiting for over an hour for a reservation we already have. Seriously. WTF!!! As a group, we decide that any food is better than waiting around for piss poor service, so the birthday girl's husband starts calling around to nearby establishments hoping to get one that will accommodate a party of 9 on short notice....and no, the McDonald's across the street is not what we are going for at this point. Sorry. He finds one....a nearby upscale-ish sushi/seafood buffet. SUCCESS!! We don't even bother letting anyone know we're leaving, because really...who would we tell but our new equally as irate acquaintances??

We leave and vow never to return to this particular establishment ever again. There is one problem with this, however. Another friend has already planned to celebrate his birthday here, albeit at another location, next month. Suffice to say, there are several of us that are secretly praying he changes the venue of said celebration so as to prevent Clusterfuck II: Return to Famishment City. Just saying.

Run-in with Channel 7 News. Swell.

Ok. It's the Snowpocalypse 2010. We get it. There is a shitload of snow outside. So much so that it has now prompted Channel 7 News to set up shop at the gas station by my house. That's right....we're famous, by virtue of precipitation. Fantastic.

So my friend and I decide that we are officially done with our cabin fever status, and that we're going to venture out into the end of the world that is Northern Virginia. I don't know about you, but I'm damn glad I made that grocery store trip the night before the avalanche to get all pertinent items......toilet paper, eggs, ingredients for chili, and then several other things that have absolutely nothing to do with surviving a snow storm. Please tell me how 3 kinds of potato chips and 2 kinds of popcorn help anybody with the impending weather, except me of course......but I digress.

Back to the previously mentioned gas station. I am there pumping gas because I'm an idiot and didn't feel like traveling to another gas station the day it started snowing. You see...this particular gas station's machines all of a sudden stopped working that day. Naturally, this enraged a few folks. This anger really just prompted laziness within me and I drove home that day, sans a full tank of gas in my car, which brings me back to tonight. While pumping gas, my friend and I see the Channel 7 News truck and the guys outside. I ask them if they have reports on the latest road conditions. The guy doing the reporting replies that they are doing that now, while the cameraman stays mute. He's clearly preoccupied.

Before I know it, Mr. News Reporter Guy is walking closer to me with Mr. Camera Guy following closely behind. They are now essentially keeping me company while I pump gas? Awesome. He asks me how old I am. Evidently, I look way younger than 29. "When you're 50, you're going to look 30. That's a good thing, trust me!", Mr. News Reporter Guy says to me. How sweet is he? Really. I know you can already guess what happens next. You will see some highlights below of how his little "so what are the roads like" interview goes down, none of which involves my friend because she absolutely refuses to get outside of the car:

Mr. News Reporter Guy: "So how are the roads?"

Me: "The roads are really bad. We got stuck getting out of my driveway!"

Mr. News Reporter Guy (already smirking, borderline laughing): "So then why didn't you stay home?"

Me: "Oh. Cabin fever like no other. There isn't enough beer, wine, or liquor to cure that so we're going to get some wings!"

Mr. News Reporter Guy (laughing at my ridiculous response but manages to pull it together for this next question): "What kinds of things have you witnessed so far with the roads?"

Me: "Well, we took a picture of a snow plow getting stuck on the way to Wegmans."

Mr. News Reporter Guy (really trying to put on a serious face at this point. I'm clearly NOT helping with this effort): "So you went out in this yesterday too? In a car that's not even 4-wheel drive?"

Me: "Well our neighbor has 4-wheel drive so we were all good!"

I also should point out that at one point during the interview I say "damn" then correct myself midway, but it is already too late. Mr. News Reporter Guy is already laughing and says we have to start that question over again. Oops. My mouth tends to get me in trouble sometimes. Of course, when I'm on national television, there is no exception to this rule. Although.....I'm sort of wishing otherwise. Ok, only slightly. Just saying.

Mr. No F***ing Way

Okay. Let's suspend reality for a few minutes and pretend that Mr. Right can be found in a bar, grocery store, in a boutique, or maybe at the gym. Now that you have also rendered yourself dizzy from nodding at all of these options, I'm going to confess that I am one of the millions who signed up for one of those online dating sites. I did this a few months ago, secretly hoping to be swept off my feet, albeit electronically. Clearly this did not happen. Anywho, I have since cancelled the subscription due to being inundated with creeptastic emails and receiving winks from individuals who perhaps would be better off trying to get a date from my mom....because they are closer in age.

Evidently, despite my cancelling said subscription, I still get these emails and winks. I assume this is because my subscription has not yet expired. I think I need to learn how to hide my profile prior to this magical expiration date, but I digress. I suppose it's nice to feel the love, and what girl doesn't love attention? Seriously....but this kind of attention, I could really do without.

So last night, I'm playing the delete game with all of these emails and winks, when a combo wild card caught my attention. I use the term combo wild card, because this individual not only winks at me, but decides to send me an email immediately following said wink. Ok, you're interested...I get it. No need to beat me over the head with it. The thing that catches my attention is the subject line of the email: "PRINCESS!"......ok, so this guy gets points for this tactic. The capital letters would get anyone's attention, but the "princess" identifier definitely lures any girl in....so I open this one before deleting it.....and this is what the rest of it said:

"PRINCESS!

Friday night, I'm cooking you a fantastic dinner at my place in Arlington (Courthouse/Clarendon Area). Non-negotiable my love! :)"

I don't even know where to begin with this. Ok, well let's start with the fact that there has been zero communication up until this email he sent me last night. So no talking at all, yet he already plans to cook someone dinner? No. Non-negotiable? Ok, he doesn't know me....clearly he isn't aware that as soon as you start making demands like that, I start zoning out and not paying attention, much like a guy would. Sigh....I finally understand. But wait....."my love"????? Seriously??? I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

At this point, I can't NOT go to his profile to see what other wackjob qualities this guy has that makes him completely unsuitable for a date with me. SWEET JESUS I HIT THE MOTHERLOAD! Not only is this guy creepier than a serial killer in a tutu, but he does not pay attention to criteria. Oh, this definitely calls for a list....a comparison list, if you will....

1) He's 40 years old. I believe my criteria was 29-37 years old. I realize this is only a 3 year discrepancy, but if you are 40 years old and still perusing online for a date because you don't yet have a wife....do I really need to elaborate on this one? Nonetheless, I call this one a major red flag.
2) He's 5'6" tall. My criteria fancied a gentleman 5'11" or taller. I heart my heels and I like my men a lot taller than me. So, if I'm 5'3" and I'm wearing high heels.....you do the math with that one sweetheart.
3) He lives with "family"????? Oh please, like I need to even state what my criteria is on this one?!?!?! This is NOT Frank the Entertainer's basement, and we are not on VH1. Next.
4) He attended "some college". My criteria required AT LEAST a Bachelor's degree. I have a Master's degree, so naturally I'm going to want to date someone who is well educated. Sort of a no-brainer, yes?
5) His occupation is listed as "other". Ok, let me get this straight.....there are probably 20-30 options that encompass something close to what most people do for a living, yet he can't seem to find one that fits? What the hell does he do? Or does he even have a job? I'm voting for the latter option here. Veto, please.
6) His physical description is "more to love". I'm 5'3" and probably 115-120 lbs. Clearly, I'm a pretty petite girl. I'm not going to comment on this one any further, as you can probably see where I'm going with it.
Icing on the cake!!!) So that email he wrote? Yeh....that is definitely his headliner. IT WASN'T EVEN ORIGINAL! How rude! The only original part of it was the fact that he called me Princess!?!??!

So to recap, this guy is completely unoriginal, short, old, fat, uneducated, most likely unemployed, and seemingly living with mom and dad. Perfect match. Just saying.

LOST.....you can say that again!

Never in my life have I followed a TV series where missing one season has rendered me completely clueless......until now. Thank you, LOST producers, for THAT. Really. I love to hate this show for confusing me, and I hate that I love this show even when it frustrates me to my inner core. The black smoke, two John Lockes, a bomb that was a few inches away and didn't instantly kill Julia, Jack not recognizing the other characters on the damn plane, and for fuck sake how many "Others" are there!!! Can we get some name tags for those people PLEASE!!! I am not expecting for the groups to sit Indian-style and sing Kumbaya, but c'mon let's come up with some identifiers, thanks.

And don't get me started on some of the amazing (really I'm kidding with this) acting abilities. How is it that characters are supposed to act like they are mourning another character's death, but somehow end up sounding like they are in deep throws of passion with a dead person in their arms? I mean seriously.....sad v. orgasmic. You'd think this wouldn't be too difficult, but Sawyer never really seems to nail this task. Acting 101. Sawyer, I've secured a special spot in the front of the class for you.

So someone clear this one up for me, because I haven't gotten around to catching myself up quite yet (is it even possible with this show?).....Jack and Kate were a hot, steamy item....hmmm they'd make beautiful kids wouldn't they? Their kid, McSavage might be a nice match for McDreamy and McWhiney's kid, no?? Ok so Jack and Kate were an item, then Kate and Sawyer were gettin' busy. Now Sawyer and Julia are doin' the deed....ok were...guess she's dead now...or is she? Eh, maybe he's into that. How's that for an awkward love triangle?!?!

I wonder how this show will wrap up......I can't even begin to guess at this point. I do know that I'll be a loyal follower until the bitter end. I've had my ups and downs with the show...but I'll stick it out for better or worse. I promise. Whoever said I had a fear of commitment was seriously mistaken. Just saying.

WTF, Mother Nature. WTF.

Dearest Mother Nature,

Do you have a physical address that I might be able to deliver some Midol to, perhaps? I'm just wondering, you see, because it appears you've had a serious case of PMS lately. Might I also add that you are really pissing people off with this indecisive behavior. Warm, cold, rain, snow....make up your f***ing mind! But please, for the love of God.......NO MORE SNOW!

Has it completely escaped your attention that some of us are in a line of work that does not allow for "snow days"? It is during these days that I wish I were a teacher, student of some sort again, and yes, even a government employee....or hell, even an 18 year old again so I'm not paying for shit yet....sigh....oh and by the way, the snow is getting progressively worse outside.....aggressive, even. I'm going to wake up at 4:30am to 3 feet of snow awaiting my shovel love again. I can feel it. Swell. WTF.

The D.O.A. challenge: FAIL

Some people worship God. I have been known to do this from time to time as well, but I'm a much more loyal worshipper of....the chicken wing. Three dollar cafe, Buffalo Wild Wings, Hooters, Buffalo Wing University...praying never tasted so good. Really.

I recently ventured to a local spot to get some wing praying in with some fellow worshippers. The hours were very...happy, if you will. This particular spot is evidently known for their D.O.A. challenge. Yes, that stands for Dead On Arrival, if memory serves me correctly. That's how hot these wings are supposed to be.....they are supposed to make you wish you were dead. Another friend and I had never sampled these delectable death wish drummettes, so we figured we would live on the edge during this particular hour of smiles.

Well, the company we keep usually knows the management staff of wherever we go in some way, shape, or form. We decided to utilize this connection and ask if we could just try one wing, rather than a basket of 6. Clearly that would be overwhelming. After we ordered the wings, our other friends started with their warning deliveries....."Don't do it!"..."Your taste buds will be messed up for at least 3 days!"...."Leave these stupid challenges to us guys!"....and my personal favorite....."The sauce actually has mace in it!"....wait a minute....hold on....the sauce has mace in it?!?!?!? Now that is just uncalled for! Why would someone mix mace in a buffalo wing sauce anyway?

Based on this new information, my equally as adventurous girlfriend and I decided to downgrade our order from the D.O.A. wing to a french fry lightly dipped in the D.O.A. sauce. It came. We tried it. It kicked our asses. It was heinous and I will never be trying that particular buffalo wing sauce, or challenge, ever again. I learned a valuable lesson on this day, one that will undoubtedly serve me well for years to come: Leave the gross food challenges to the guys. We girls can't hang. We bow to thee. And don't forget to pass the water. Thanks.

Dating 101

We've all been on dates.....good dates, bad dates, and then those dates that make you ponder why you didn't just stay home with a pizza and a movie rental instead. Maybe some of my dates had an off night. Maybe they didn't know any better.....or maybe, just maybe, they needed someone to give them blunt, uncomfortably honest, dating tips. I'm not saying girls are completely blameless. There are hundreds of movies and TV shows that reflect otherwise. I, however, do not go on dates with girls....so I can only speak to dating guys, and therefore can only provide said tips to the male persuasion. Sorry girls.

Gentlemen, do NOT repeat the following behaviors. Please note, these are in no particular order of importance:

1) While we are out to dinner with my friends, do not make anti-child comments such as "wow you have 2 kids? That's an investment you won't ever get a return on....well for at least 18 years I'm guessing". You already know my friends have kids and you saying this makes them feel awkward, makes you look like an idiot, and makes me wonder why I invited you in the first place.

2) Try to resist the urge to chew with your mouth open or burp at the table. It's disgusting and it makes me wonder if you lied about being raised in an upscale neighborhood and were actually, in fact, raised in a barn.

3) Do not invite me out to dinner and then at the very end when you ask for the bill, look at me and ask if we are splitting it, citing that I make more than you so it's only fair. Really?!?! Sooooo just so we're clear....YOU invite ME out. YOU pick the swanky restaurant, and now YOU can't afford to pay? Would you have still asked me to split the bill had we gone to Chili's? Because trust me.....I would still have dodged your calls. If you invite a girl to dinner, you pay....the whole bill. I thought everyone knew this one??

4) When we are at a bar, dancing with other friends, do not pull me away from my friends with the claim "you've been dancing with them long enough". This will not bode well for you, as I will laugh at your heinous dancing attempts, then go back to dancing with my friends shortly thereafter.

5) Do not pressure me to drink on our date. I will request we sit at the bar, make friends with the bartender, and I'll be secretly drinking diet soda while you're drinking a double on the rocks with each round. You'll get hammered, hopefully get sick, and I'll leave with another guy who can clearly hold his liquor better than you. Peer pressure...it will NOT be your best friend, I assure you.

6) Do not brag about getting valet parking the entire night, please. We met at Tysons Corner mall, where there are several parking garages, and clearly there is ample parking. You're not classy, you're just stupid. Thanks for playing.

7) Do not make me wait for you to primp for our date. You're a guy. You should be spending way less time on your hair than I do. If this is not the case, we've got more issues than you getting a second date out of me.

8) Do not call me, text me, email me, gchat me, facebook me, and instant message me within one day. Yes, that is 6 attempts at communication. This not only renders me no longer interested and officially scared off from responding again......it makes me seriously consider getting a restraining order.

9) Do not proposition me for sex on a first date...and when I turn you down and give you a look like you've completely lost your mind, do not then proceed to make fun of me and compare me to a middle schooler...as in "Oh c'mon it's not like we're in middle school!" Do I REALLY need to elaborate with this one???

10) Do not call me man or dude when you interact with me. I am not your man. I am not your dude. The last time I checked, I had boobs and a vagina. When we are discussing something and you address me as man or dude, it makes me wonder if you are gay, stupid, or a not so fabulous combination of gay and stupid. Just saying.

The Sweaty Medley

Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen. We're discussing sweat today....because last night that was all I could think about....well, for the most part. I am here to tell you....I was sweating in places I never knew existed. My heart felt as though it was about to beat out of my chest at any moment. I moved my body and contorted in ways I have never experienced before. Then, once I thought I was the master of my domain....I hear "change position". You might presume this to be the most demanding sexual partner one has ever had, but no. Sexual healing this was not. This was my first ever Bikram yoga class.

Yes, that's right. A packed room full of sweaty bodies, wearing next to nothing, in 105 degree temps.....doing yoga poses for an hour and a half. Did I mention people were wearing next to nothing? Yes, even the men. I went with a friend of mine who does this activity at least once a month. I wish my yoga goddess friend had forewarned me of this, among other things....but we'll get to that in just a few. So we went in and set our mats down in preparation for class to start. Class began with breathing exercises.....not too traumatizing right? Well, it wouldn't be if I didn't have Meatloaf performing yoga right beside me. Yes, Meatloaf....the long haired one-hit wonder.....I would do anything for looooooove, but I won't do that!......but I digress. So we were doing these breathing exercises....and Meatloaf is grunting. Yes, grunting, during his breathing. Charming.

So the breathing portion was over with and we were then getting into the actual yoga poses. We were twisting our bodies in such ways that should probably be illegal in some countries (actually, wait..they probably are now that I think about it). The room was getting hotter and hotter and we were all becoming drenched in our own sweat, which is probably an exceptionally attractive image. Yes, I'm aware. One of my favorite parts about this sweating was that my shirt, my Nike dry fit shirt that I usually run in, was becoming soaked in my sweat.....but everywhere except my boobs. Yes, that's correct.....drenched everywhere, but two white dry circles on my shirt. Thank you for THAT little gem, Nike!

Now because we were all sweating so profusely at this point in the class, those who have long hair and had made the unfortunate move not to pull it back.....AHEM MEATLOAF!!!....yes these folks were now flinging sweat from their hair when they move.....onto those alongside them. My friend and I were both victims of this, sadly. As if this was not offensive enough, evidently a few folks thought it appropriate to pass gas....out loud....and please let me remind you at this time that we were in a packed room that was at least 105 degrees. At this point my friend and I shot each other looks in disbelief. Did that seriously just happen? Yes...yes it did. I'm still trying to understand why they didn't just leave the room, or at the very least, excuse themselves. You think you've had uncomfortable situations? Well.....welcome to ours.

Don't get me wrong. I'm glad I tried this Bikram yoga thing at least once. I've never done yoga before and my yoga goddess friend usually enjoys it, so I figured why not try something new. It did serve a purpose....it's really good cardio, and I suppose it would be a good stress reliever had the aforementioned trauma not taken place. As for doing it again right away, I think I'll stick to my running routine and massage therapy....thanks. Just saying.

They bowl. I judge. It works.

I don't know how to break this to you, but I don't bowl. I don't like to bowl, and I enjoy being in bowling alleys even less.....so imagine my surprise when I am invited to go bowling and drink with a small group of friends....and I accept this invitation. I figure, what do a few hours out hurt....and the promise of hot man candy to gawk at doesn't hurt either. So I go, with absolutely no intention of bowling. Evidently, the person in charge of planning this whole night neglected to check about leagues and such, so we must now wait in the bar area. Fine with me.....vodka soda with 2 lemons please. Apparently my drink order makes me stick out like a sore thumb, as everyone else is consuming mass quantities of beer. Well, I don't like beer. I'm a liquor and wine girl, and I absolutely refuse to order a glass of wine in a bowling alley. So liquor it is.

The wait is over and it's now time to head to the lanes. Thank you Jesus. There is a group who is definitely there to bowl, and then there is a smaller group of us who are there to....well, sample the spirits of the fine establishment. We are chatting amongst ourselves when I see someone in a red shirt walk by a few times and look at me......Oh my God I know that guy. We both realize that we know each other (well I'm guessing he realized this before I did) so I just blurt out "ok where do I know you from? Or is it more where do I hate you from? Help me out here?" He tells me we used to work together years ago.....then it hits me. Chili's when I was in grad school years ago. So then my mind starts wandering....or judging, as it were. He goes from being a server at Chili's.....to working at a bowling alley. Does anyone else find this rather odd? I'm not suggesting that a serving position at Chili's is the least bit prestigious, but I'm sure you can sense where I'm going with this. I go up to the concession stand to order some food (shocker, I know) and here comes Mr. Chili's. He initiates conversation and I waste no time in asking him what happened to his former job. He explains that he wanted to be in management. Hmmmmmmm. Server at Chili's vs. Manager at a bowling alley. Is this a lateral move or.......? I'm at a loss. Either way, he decides he's going to comp our food I just ordered, which was really nice of him so I thank him, naturally. While he's telling the employee behind the bar to comp our food, I can't help but notice the guy's name tag. The employee is Hispanic, and his name is German. Yup, German. I'll leave the over analysis to you on that one.

Our food arrives, and however questionable it appears....I, of course, eat it anyway. I am paying for this life decision today, but nevermind that. While we are devouring our pseudo chili nachos and french fries, I immediately notice the arrival of some new lane neighbors. They bear a slight resemblance to some cast members from a new MTV reality show. The Jersey Shore....maybe you've heard of it. They walk over to the neighboring lane, with drinks already in hand. I believe they also possess their own bowling balls. Clearly this is not their first time. The Situation's understudy is wearing jeans and a t-shirt that appears to be a tad too snug for his body type, and then there is the hat cocked sideways....because would you really expect anything less from The Situation? Snooki's stand-in is wearing leggings with Ed Hardy written down the side of the legs. Really....Ed Hardy??? I had my iPhone with me at the time (it always serves me well).......I will attempt to post the photo of this shortly. It is truly amazing.

So what have I learned from last night, you ask? Well, a few things.....

1) Don't trust your friends when they promise you hot man candy only to lure you out with them. It's a trap and the hot man candy that is promised could end up being a guy that is already engaged with a 2 month old infant. Seriously. Don't fall for it.
2) Don't ever frequent bowling alleys. Ever. And if you must partake in bowling activity, stick to Wii bowling in the comfort of your own home. It's way less....traumatic?
3) Always be nice to your co-workers, as you never know where your paths might cross again. You could be hungry and they could manage a bowling alley and give you free food for your kindness. This is huge.
4) Always always always bring your iPhone with you, wherever you go. And please remember to charge it beforehand. You never know what kind of treasures you will want to document for later use. Just saying.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.....not so much?

I always look forward to the infamous chore of grocery shopping. It's not that I'm a soccer mom and this is one of the few treasures that rescue me from chaos. It's not because I love engaging in grocery cart races with.....well, that cute stranger on aisle 9. And it's definitely not because honeycrisp apples are finally on sale at $1.29/lb (because really....there are far more intriguing things that tickle my fancy than produce, I assure you). It's the tail end of the whole grocery shopping experience that usually results in a smile upon my face.....that pivotal moment when the cashier has rung everything up, collected my payment, and printed out my receipt...this is the moment when he or she makes a valiant effort at pronouncing my full name. Please note it's not my first name that tends to painfully confuse others, but my last name that typically elicits such a frustrated look upon the clerk's face that he or she might rather go help with the self-checkout line (seriously, I do NOT envy these folks) than risk verbally mutilating the 4 syllables at the bottom of the paper that personally identify yours truly. I think my favorite part of this especially awkward exchange is when the individual attempts this difficult task but then just gives up and hands me my bags, essentially admitting defeat. A special thank you to the parental units for this gem. I sincerely appreciate it. Really.

Child Abuse: It's everyone's problem....

I was talking with a friend this morning and we were simply discussing our mornings, when she turned my attention towards something ripped straight out of news headlines. Evidently, she and her husband are friends with a woman whose child recently passed away. They initially reported the death as SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome). The child was 9 months old. As if this isn't sad enough, the woman now has to relive her pain thanks to her husband, who is now being arrested for child abuse and murder. He is being accused of shaking their infant, which resulted in his death.

This story makes me think of all the times I've seen, heard or read about child abuse, and it further validates my theory that individuals should have to take a test before they are allowed to be parents. We must take tests for most other things, but why not for bringing a life into this world and taking proper care of it? We have to take a written and driving test in order to obtain a license, and we do the same with operating heavy machinery. We must pass exams and demonstrate adequate knowledge in order to be considered suitable for applying said knowledge in a place of work. Most jobs require experience, or an abundance of education, yet the most important job requires nothing more than a viable egg and a sexual release? You've got to be kidding me.

Now, I embrace the fact that not everyone may agree with me on this, and this might be deemed somewhat of a dicey topic.....but this is my blog and I'm able to write about pretty much whatever I want...so if you don't like it...stop reading. Imagine, just for a few minutes, if there was some law implemented where we would have to take a test before becoming parents. With this, I envision a ripple effect of positive outcomes. A significant amount of individuals would most likely fail this test, thus resulting in less births per year. Less births per year plus more competent parents would probably yield a negative correlation involving that pesky foster care issue we have in America (negative correlation: as the number of competent parents increase, the number of children in foster care decrease). If the budget for foster care and money allotted for other services related to child abuse could be tweaked, then this would mean more money elsewhere.....like cancer and/or other types of important research, for example....or GASP!....perhaps even education pertaining to parenthood and childhood development BEFORE individuals have kids. I also wonder if this would provide some relief within the already overcrowded courts pertaining to family law, or even lend itself to more effective laws that actually hold parents accountable moving forward........before it's too late for another child? Just saying.