Sheldon

So, the Boy Toy had his first child last week. The next one should be coming in the next couple of months. I have checked to see if he knows what causes babies and what one might do to prevent any future spread. Apparently he does, but questions why girls get pregnant so easily. I tried to explain about reproduction and the fact that 18 year olds will be far more furtile than 35 year olds, but I think I lost him at ovary (further proof that birth control should be mandatory in some cases). Anyway, Boy Toy had is own bouncing baby boy named Sheldon. I immediately said "ride me Big Sheldon." I got some looks and feel that perhaps that was not the right occasion for that particular quote. Let's hope humping and bumping really isn't this Sheldon's thing. That gene pool might need to shrink a bit.

Throw down in R-town

So, last night was very exciting. I was peacefully sitting in my living room watching Grey’s Anatomy when all of a sudden there was a Ruckus outside. People were running down the stairs screaming, “Someone is stealing my car! Stop! That’s my car! Call 911!” I hear shouting about someone having a gun. I am a bit frightened. I peak outside of my door as I am on the phone with the police. I see what appears to the slowest getaway EVER. A maroon Taurus is moving VERY SLOWLY down the road as a Cadillac is bumping them from behind. My apartment manager takes off in her little Neon and cuts them off about a block away. People are grabbing lawn furniture and running after the thieves. There is much yelling and mayhem. I hear shouts about “I own that car” and “I have a receipt.” Finally, the cops appear. Shouting continues. Three police cars show up. I still have no real idea what is going on. I am trying to listen through the window, like the noisy girl that I am, but am unable to make out the details.

As I was leaving the apartment this morning, I saw my apartment manager and asked her what happened. Apparently, it was a repossession gone terribly wrong. The repo guys had pushed the Taurus out of the parking lot and used the Caddy to push it to its destination. But who pushes a car to the repo man? You should have a tow truck. And uniforms. The guys didn’t even show their repo papers when everyone thought they were stealing the car. Sounds pretty messed up to me. I would question if these guys were even really on a real repossession or if they were just stealing the car that they were supposed to be taking back. Shady.

The car was not in the parking lot this morning. I don’t know if it is all straightened out or not.

I Must Look Like An Ant To You

There are two types of people in this world: those that drive Vehicles Of unnecessary Size (VOUS's) and those that don't. VOUS's include all those gigantic SUV's, trucks, Hummers, 18-wheelers, etc. Apparently, the destination of any given VOUS is far superior to that of a non-VOUS. This can be evidenced by the carefree manner in which VOUS's cut off, pull out in front off, almost hit, and basically just ignore the existence of non-VOUS's. The lack of consideration is not even limited to automobiles; it also extends to pedestrians, animals and curbs (though curbs don't really have a destination so much as just a location). At such towering heights the rest of us are left to feel like helpless ants in the shadow of the giant VOUS's.

For example, today, I was exiting a store. Before I stepped off the sidewalk, I looked both ways. A VOUS was about 20 yards away and headed toward me. This seemed to be a safe distance for crossing, so I proceeded toward my car. As I was about halfway across, now directly in front of the VOUS, the driver punched the gas and came barreling before me, completely oblivious to me as she spoke on her cell phone. Apparently, she had somewhere that was far more important that some pedestrian attempting to scramble out of the way of certain death while wearing too high heels.

When you ask a VOUS driver why they choose such a ginormous vehicle, you get responses varying from I like being off the ground to I need the extra room. You need a tank to ride in comfort? What? Growing up, the majority of the families I knew simply had a sedan or at most a minivan to cart around their kids. Two kids and their stuff seemed to fit into a 1985 Oldsmobile Cutlass with room to spare. Now I know that America is suffering a bit of an obesity problem, but have children gotten so large that only a tank can accommodate them? What sort of equipment is do kids have to take to practices now? And why do you need to be four feet off the ground to feel safe? What are you hoping to see? What were you missing out on in the vehicle that was only a few feet off the ground?

The lack of consideration doesn't seem to be limited to other drivers, pedestrians and static structures on the roads. These behemoths are also greedily chugging away at the world's ever diminishing oil supplies. Without any thought to conservation or the future, manufacturers keep turning out larger and grander VOUS's so that everyone can take part in the fun. Want the grandeur of a Hummer but can't afford a sticker price higher than the gross domestic product of a small nation, well look at the H3. Well, for less than the cost of an Ivy league education, everyone can have their very own little gas guzzler. Really, is that what the world needs? Instead of channeling the energy, research and resources into coming up with alternative fuels, the auto makers give us another HUMMER? SERIOUSLY? At least some companies are coming out with more or better hybrid cars. I think this is excellent. But what kind of hybrids are being demanded? More VOUS? Perhaps the VOUS are just a further example of our society's overindulgence. What about just getting a smaller car? If drivers as a whole practice restraint and conservation, perhaps oil would not have such power over us. Wars are being fought over it. Politicians are elected because of it. Entire cities brought to their knees without it. How about demanding something better? We expect our computers to be smaller, faster, more efficient AND cheaper. Why not the same of our cars?

If the entitlement and the waste of the VOUS's weren't enough to turn your stomach, what about the way that the VOUS destroys even the most basic of reading abilities. Don't believe me? Check out a parking lot. Look in the area CLEARLY labeled "Compact Cars Only." I am sure you will find more than one VOUS sprawled out over a space or two. It is truly tragic. How sad that this giant has robbed its owners of their literacy. Tragic. You know what I want to do when I see this? I want to take my keys and carve COMPACT CARS ONLY into the side of the violator. One day, I will. One day, I will be driving around, fruitlessly searching for a parking place. I will see a Ram 1500 with tires towering over me, and I will snap. I will hurl myself at the shiny tank and in a psychotic fit begin chiseling my message.

And so, the great war of MAV vs the VOUS's has begun. If it is the last thing I ever do, I will defeat these monsters. Just like the dinosaurs, the VOUS's will be wiped out.

I Can't Get Enough Of This Pic

HasselHOT if you ask me!

Rent!

I'm very excited about this movie too!

Caption This

But business is boring!!!!

I was just thinking about going back to school the other day, then I happened up on this quiz.

You Should Get a MBA (Masters of Business Administration)

You're a self starter with a drive for success. You'd make a great entrepreneur.

What Advanced Degree Should You Get?

Medicine

I am sick. For this, I blame the elephants that live in the apartment above me. Because of their complete and total lack of consideration for their fellow tenants, I have been unable to get a good night's sleep for almost three weeks. I am constantly tired which leads to grumpiness which leads to the Dark Side. Wait, no, that's wrong. What the tiredness really leads to is sickness. Yes. I am officially sick. I have been battling a cold for over a week now. There have been casualties on both sides. It is a brutal, ugly fight, let me tell you. While I am well armed, my defense is really lacking. For that, I only have myself to blame. I don't take medicine. I just don't think about it, really. I will cough and cough and cough. When my throat feels like it might bleed, I will finally suck down some Robitussin. But not before. I don't remember to take my Tylenol Cold and Sinus. The only way that you can really get me to take my medicine like a good girl is if it has some added benefit besides fighting my infection. If, for instance, the medicine will knock me out in mere moments, I am more than willing to take it. If the pill might make me feel especially, um, happy, I will pop it. But for the most part, I just ignore my symptoms.

What is my problem? Why do I do this? I know the Robitussin will make me feel better. I know the Tylenol will help my runny nose. I know the Advil will get rid of my headache. Why don't I take pills and such like I should? Why am I so stubborn?

The L Word - Season 3

Oh my God! I just saw some snippets from Season 3 of The L Word. It looks awesome. And Shane? Looks HOT! Can't wait. I must find out when the new season starts. Why is this information being kept from me? Damn you, Showtime! I need my L Word!

I Am Not A Gymnist Despite Moments Of Delusion - Number Two Fall

I am a bit delusional. In my mind, I can do a lot of things that in reality I can't. I can't sing. I can't swim a mile. I can't make cornbread. And most of all, I can't do hand springs.

But I should be able to! I can do backbends. Even today, as out of shape as I am. It is my special trick. I can just bend over backwards then stand right back up.

So, the summer of 1992 (I think that is right), I got really into the Olympics. Especially gymnastics. This was the summer of Kerri Strugg and the Dominics. They made it look so easy. I became confinced that I could do flips too. One night at the pool, I decided to test my theory. My plan was to do a backbend on the diving board then flipping over. I figured my landing wouldn't really be a big deal since I would just be hitting water. Also, I could do cartwheels and front handspring-like things off the diving board. Why would this be so hard?

With great confidence, I walked to the end of the diving board and did a backbend. All I need to do was kick my feet over. No problem, right? So I attempted this. As soon as my weight moved to my arms, one of them crumpled. I sort of slid of the side of the very rough diving board, scratching my back and arm quite badly. Somehow I curved to the side or something in my fall because I also hit my head on the side of the pool.

After reading all of these stories, it is a little surprising I have made it this long with no major injuries. The combination of showing off and being injury prone will probably kill me one day.

It's An Old Putt Putt Injury

Putt Putt is a dangerous sport. They don't tell you this, but it is. This is the story of my putt putt injury and my Number 1 Best Fall.

One spring day in Austin, Amanda, Z-Ho and I decided to play a little putt putt golf at Peter Pan Putt Putt. It is the best minature golf in the city. It has these really old fiberglass statues that make for endless jokes and inappropriate pictures. Another great thing about Peter Pan? It's BYOB. Oh yes. Drunk Putt Putt. One thing you should know about the Austin crowd: they drink. A lot. We believe that most things are far more fun with a few drinks in you. This belief extends to putt putt.

We procured some cherry limeades from Sonic and added a liberal amount of Bicardi Limon (we could have brought a cooler as we usually did, but then you just have to drag it around the whole time, something drunk girls don't really like to do). By the time we finally made it to the Peter Pan, we were already a little buzzed. We get out clubs and balls and head out. We are having a great time and have horrible scores. About halfway through, I putted a little too vigorously, and my ball bounced off the green and went rolling down a hill. So, I went to retrieve it. As I was stepping over this little metal barrier thing on the green, the heel of my boot got caught. I fell down the hill. Due to my inebriation and surprise, I was unable to catch myself very well so I just sort of landed, legs splayed and drink spilt, down the hill of the Peter Pan Putt Putt Golf Range. This would have been embarrassing enough, but I also managed to throw my back out.

Try going to the doctor to procure some Vicodin with the explanation of you hurt yourself playing putt putt. I am sure I went on some funny injury list.

So, that my friends, is my greatest fall ever. It has everything: injuries, alcohol, boots, tripping and klutziness on my part.

The Newest Megalomaniacal Over Lord

I know that I am probably not authorized to label people MOL, but I do believe my nephew Reese is a MOL in training. So I receive an email from his mom today. It was a list of songs he wanted me to download and burn for him. He had written the songs down. Then he had his mother scan them and email the list to me. How great is that! He is the ruler of his little world, and we are here to serve. Genius!

Survival Tip

If you are ever kidnapped and put in the trunk of a car, you should bust out the tail light from the inside of the trunk and stick your hand through the hole to wave down traffic. Your kidnappers will not be able to see you doing this, but those behind might and hopefully will alert the authorities.

It's always good to know these sorts of things.

Stairs

My office has a beautiful curved staircase in the front entryway. Every time I have to walk down those stairs, I think how mortifying it would be to fall down them. There I would be sprawled out in front of the lobby doors, all bloody and bruised.

But that didn't happen. I fell down the back stairs. Somehow I caught the heel of my shoe on the cuff of my pants, then in slow motion, I fell, then slid, down the stairs. Luckily no one could see me. I didn't know whether I should laugh or cry. It hurt so bad, but was so funny. I managed to skin my left forearm, right hand, both knees and shins. I also cut my right big toe.

Things like this don't happen to normal people. This is one of my top 5 worst/funniest falls. However, I do not own rights to the funniest fall. YayCoffee does. Perhaps her next post will detail it. You know which one I am talking about.

My hand really hurts, so I am going to stop typing now.

Hotmail's a Tricky Bugger

Sometimes, I feel too much time has passed since my last email. Depending on what programs are being run and using my sound card, I might not hear the New Mail sound. And, my messenger program has been known to not notify me of new emails if it is feeling particularly persnickety that day. So, this means that periodically, I will pull up the Hotmail window to see if any new messages have arrived unbeknownst to me. Usually there is nothing new. But every now and then, Hotmail and the messenger program will join together to mess with my mind. As soon as I leave the page, the New Mail sound will go off. I will return to the page, but Hotmail will decide to hold my new message hostage. I will click on Inbox. It only shows the previous new (now old) message as new. But it isn't. I just checked it. I will click on the Mail tab. This will often fix the problem and display my new message. Sometimes, however, I will show an even older "new" message. I will open these old "new" message and attempt to go to the next message. But it doesn't work. I am either dumped back into the non-new message displaying Inbox or will get taken to my top message (which happens to be from February). That's not the next new message! After much fighting and trickery on my part, I will finally get my new message. Quite an ordeal!

Hotmail is a tricky bugger, and I am an obsessive email checker. One day, Hotmail will probably be the death of me. If

Stuck

One summer, long ago, I was swimming a the Pineland City Pool. I was probably about 12. I don' t think I was in junior high yet. My friend Becky was there, too. The two of us filled our summer days diving for quarters and seeing who could swim the farthest on one breath. My mother managed the pool during those summer months, and I spent almost every day in the clear, chlorinated water. I was as much a fixture at that pool as the lifeguard stand or the curvy water slide. Most people paid little attention to me. I could swim better than most of the lifeguards, so I received little supervision. If I were underwater for minutes at a time, no one was worried. They would just assume I was attempting to set a new record.

On this particular day, Becky and I were daring each other to attempt death defying, potentially painful feats. It was only half an hour before closing, and I had already executed an intentional belly flop, held my breath for 2 minutes and walked across the bottom of the deep end of the pool. We were running out of things to do. Becky had just finished doing a flip without holding her nose. After she had finished coughing up all the water she had inhaled, she said she had a great idea for my next dare. I had to sit on the drain of the pool for 15 seconds.

What Becky didn't know is that just that morning, I had heard my mom say that she was turning the pumps off. I took this to mean that obviously, the drain would not be working. Becky did not have this insider's knowledge, and I didn't share it with her. I accepted the dare with absolutely no fear.

Down I swam to the bottom of the pool. I noticed that the cover was off the drain, some one had snuck in to the pool earlier in the week and managed to break it. But since the drain was not working anyway, I knew I had nothing to worry about. I moved into a sitting position and took my place on the drain.

Then the strangest thing happened. The drain latched onto my bottom and was holding me captive under the water. I began to panic. The drain was supposed to be off. I wasn't supposed to be sucking. I tried with no success to push myself off the drain. People continued to swim around me and jump over me. They assumed I was just goofing around. I began to panic. Where were the lifeguards? My life was obviously in need of guarding. I was certain that I could hear Becky laughing at me above the water. What was I going to do? Would I die down here in the bottom of the pool? What would everyone say? Would my mom be too mad at me to give me a nice funeral? Would she bury me in my itchy Easter dress?

Just when I had accepted my imminent, watery demise, I had a moment of clarity. I wedged my fingers between my bottom and the drain, managing to break the seal of the suction. I was free. I pushed off the bottom of the pool and swam as fast as I could to the surface where Becky was waiting with a slightly worried look. I burst out of the water, gasping for air. Then, I burst into tears and swore I would never play with Becky again. Ever. (We were friends again the next day) As angry as I was at her for her attempted murder of me, I was greatly relieved to be alive. I got out of the pool and wrapped myself in a fluffy towel and waited for closing time to finally arrive.

After I showered and went to my room, hoping to forget this horrible day had ever happened, I saw something the likes of which I had never seen. A dark purple ring circled my bottom. I had my very first hickey. On. My. Butt. I was mortified and very confused (I didn't know what a hickey was or how one was created). I was too afraid of getting into trouble to show my mom. So, I stayed home for the next week until the evidence of the dare gone horribly wrong had vanished. For the next few years, I was still wary of that drain, careful never to go too close. But still, to this day, I cannot turn down a good dare.

Alarm Clock

I am 28 years old. I have been waking up to an alarm clock for at least 15 of those years. But every morning, I am surprised. I sit up in bed confused, my brain screaming, what is that sound?!?!?! After several moments, I will finally recognize that once again, my alarm clock has awaken me and I must hit it to make the noise go away.

Every morning, it is a complete surprise. Will I ever remember?

Like a Little Gift from Heaven

I overslept this morning. A nap yesterday threw my sleep schedule completely off. I was quite tired as I rushed out the door. I did take a moment to take a deep breath of fall air, enjoying the coolness in my lungs. I decided that I should really treat myself to a latte this morning to celebrate the pleasant weather. But I was running late. All the Starbucks near me would be incredibly crowded. As I turned the corner by my apartment and pulled my car to the stop sign, I was still debating whether I should take the time to get a pumpkin spice latte or just head on to work and take a quick trip later in the morning. Then I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. A man was holding a large sign that read FREE COFFEE. Even better, a woman was standing next to the man. In the womans hands was a tray filled with free lattes. Free, piping hot lattes. They weren't pumpkin, but they were free. It gets even better. Taped to my free, large latte that the man brought to my car window was a coupon for another free drink from Boba Latte, the coffeeshop behind my apartment. How great is that?

Reasons why East Richardson is cool:

1. Boba Latte gives out free coffees and has free wifi.
2. Afgan Bakery has great Turkish coffee, and I can access my wireless network from there. Plus, they have hookahs.
3. Bar is within walking distance from my apartment and has awesome Sunday drink specials.
4. Lollicup has some of the best bubble tea I have ever tasted. Also within walking distance.
5. Richardson Square Mall is not nearly as overcrowded as other malls. It has Dillards, Old Navy, Barnes & Noble and Target. What more do you really need?

Tipping Rant

I just read that Jennifer Aniston left less than a $4.00 tip on an almost $60 bill. This is just ridiculous. Bad tippers need to be summarily beaten in the streets in my opinion. Here is the thing, you tip your server. End of story. If there are extenuating circumstance, that is one thing, but for the most part, you tip. Always. And you tip accurately. This number would be between 15-20%. Twenty is the easiest.

Here is how you do it. You take a look at the last number on your bill. Now, multiply that number by 2. Yes. By 2. Now, move the decimal one place to the left. That is your tip. Got a $20 tab? Your tip is $4. 85 dollar tab? 17 dollar tip. It is really easy. If this high level math is too much for you, check your cell phone. I bet it has a calculator. You can type the numbers in there and calculate your tip. It's so easy!

Servers work really hard for not a lot of money. It is a job that provides the best pay for the most flexible hours. Really, you might think that these people make plenty of money, but they don't. They make about two dollars an hour without tips. Eating in restaurants is a choice. You are choosing to go to an establishment that will prepare and serve your food so you don't have to do it. They will even clean your dishes for you. And for this service, YOU TIP! Servers put up with a lot of shit. They split your meals. They give you separate checks. They refill glasses of soda that you suck down in under a minute. Whenever you request something special to your dish like holding the garlic, they receive a great deal of grief from the kitchen staff. But they do it to make you happy. Also, they are working to make several other tables with others such as yourself happy. They ask the kitchen to make macaroni and cheese for your sweet angel even though you are in a five star Italian restaurant. They locate ketchup for your salmon. They find you a different table on the other side of the restaurant because the one you were originally taken to was too close to the kitchen and you don't like the smell of pepper. They do this all without complaint. The only thing they ask in turn is that you pay them for their services.

Poor tipping is unacceptable. If you can't afford to tip accurately, then don't go to a restaurant, or at the very least, get your food to go. And if you make 10 million dollars per movie, then leave the correct tip. In fact, considering that the poor kid you just screwed over on the tip is the person you are hoping will go and see your steaming pile of shit you call a movie, you should tip more. Your rich friends aren't paying your salary. That kid is. And you can't part with a $10 bill? You suck, Rachel Green!