Thursday, July 31, 2008


Words that I have, in the past, used to describe myself: "Dainty" and "delicate".

Words that often times follow immediately upon me calling myself either "dainty" or "delicate": "Shut the hell up" and "asshole".

Tuesday, July 29, 2008


This weekend, Adam's youngest brother joined us for broomball. He'd never played before and, while he did a good job, it was certainly nice to not be the only one to crash and burn. Repeatedly. Afterward, we gathered around the day-old stink of fast food and discussed the game. It was about this time that Adam turned to me and announced, "We need to work on your backhand."

I retorted, "We need to work on my ball handling skills, period."

Adam's brother then collapsed into a fit of giggles. BECAUSE HE'S 12. Also, a boy BUT MOSTLY 12. (ED. NOTE: And by 12 I mean 22.)

Wednesday, July 23, 2008


"Oh, and he gave me a back massage without me even having to ask."

"You realize those are meant to lead to other things, don't you?"

"Why, whatever do you mean mother?"

"I take it you know exactly what I mean by "other things" then?"


The city I live in, while not very big, has a downtown district that is undergoing revitalization. This has included the redesigning of an intersection to allow for traffic turning in all directions, updates to utility lines, sidewalk and road improvements, and a brand spanking new, brick-paved plaza that will only be utilized by skateboarders because this city refuses to invest in alternative means of youth entertainment (ie-a skate park).

I know all of this for several reasons, not the least of which being I LIVE "DOWNTOWN" (if you can seriously even call it that).

This week they began the final stages of paving the roadways they've had torn up for over a year. I understand that. I expect delays, but whoever is responsible for giving the go ahead to pave the main intersection THROUGH downtown during morning rush hour should be stripped down to his dingy, old tighty whiteys and PUBLICLY FLOGGED.

Also, I tore a hole in the back of my brown corduroy jacket that was hanging on the back of my chair when I sat down and yanked it (with my butt) across the corner of said chair.

I am unhappy about that as well. Must watch HGTV and stare at color chips to feel better (though I did promise Adam I would only make him paint the walls of the kitchen this weekend which will take us all of three hours tops, and that's if we move at a glacial pace. The cabinets I shall save for another day, though we did have a conversation last night that went something like this:
"Remember how I said the cabinets could stay white? I'm beginning to think they might look better in a soft cream."

"Of course you are."


Monday, July 21, 2008


Last night I played broomball for the third time ever. For those of you who were like me a few mere months ago and are unaware of exactly what broomball is, essentially, it's played on ice like hockey but with special shoes and a rubber ball instead of a puck. Granted, there are several other differences but for all intents and purposes, that pretty well describes it.

With that being said, I think now might be an appropriate time to remind you that I don't have good balance.

Oh sure. I know I fooled you what with all that delicate and dainty footwork I perform every time I trip over my own two feet just by walking down the street, the same fancy footwork that usually prevents me from falling flat on my ass, the same fancy footwork that does not work so well when on ice.


I fell. A lot. I fell so frequently people stopped bothering to ask if I was alright. That was until I slammed into the boards with my shoulder. They asked that time.

Adam suggested that I wouldn't slam into the boards if I stayed on my feet. But see, the flaw in that logic would be I WOULD NEED TO STAY ON MY FEET, which, if you've been following along AT ALL, you would know I'm not very good at doing. Because I fall. A lot.

But despite all that, I am having fun, so much so I told Adam I wish we could play more than once a week, and I am getting slightly better each time I play. Case in point, last night I had my very first assist (wherein I helped someone score a goal). It was for the other team, but I hold firm that, at this point, an assist is an assist and you just need to shut the hell up about.

This means you, Adam. Also: Tiff, Michael, Barnes, and anyone else who might make fun of me about it. I'M LEARNING BY DOING. Learning by doing.

Thursday, July 17, 2008


If you're leaving work and talking to your sister quite candidly on the phone, I recommend looking around to see if there are any other coworkers also leaving work that might hear you say something dirty (and.. monthly) out your open car window.

Something like: "It traversed my butt crack."


I may not have known, but I knew. I knew when I kept waking myself up 5 minutes before my alarm. I knew when I got up 10 minutes earlier than normal and, by the time I sat down to eat breakfast, was running 10 minutes late. And I knew when I spilled my entire glass of chocolate milk across my table, down the wall, under my computer, over my bills just as I was supposed to be leaving that I was going to cry today.

In the last two days, I have been surprised with two major, due-immediately projects dumped in my lap with no warning, not to mention the ad project I am currently working on that is due TODAY and I have ABSOLUTELY NO DIRECTION other than "Ehh. I'm not sure I like what your doing here. Why don't you try something else?" WHAT?! LIKE WHAT?! WHAT THE F*CK DO YOU WANT ME TO DO YOU CRAZY PSYCHO BITCH?! OH MY FREAKING GOD. I cannot read your mind! I can't! I am not capable.

I left for lunch today at 11:30 like I always do. By that time, I'd already cried in furious frustration. Twice. I'd already locked myself in the bathroom and silently screamed into the wall. I'd already taken one of my failed attempts, balled it up in my fists, and torn it into bitty bits while having a bloody f*cking conniption at my desk.

At this rate, they'll be lucky if I come back.

Monday, July 14, 2008


Last Thursday evening I took Guinness to his very first obedience lesson at PetsMart and here is what I learned:

  • Just because they recommend squirt bottles as a method of discipline (a rather effective one given your dog is on a leash and can't scamper away when he sees you reaching for it), does not mean they carry squirt bottles. Which is stupid.

  • If I show Guinn a treat and bring it up between my eyes to establish eye contact enough times, I will have dreams about doing the same thing to a human child. A blond, human child. A blond, human child who also happens to be named Guinness. And in my dream I will wonder how big of an asshole some parent had to be to name their blond, human child Guinness.

Then, Friday evening I had to drive down to Clifton for the second time in one week, which put me in a foul mood, to a meeting I didn't really want to attend because it was in Clifton and since I didn't want Guinn to be alone all night I asked Adam to puppysit. He was kind enough to oblige even though I turned out to be a snippy, snarky, PMS-y bitch who got mad and annoyed at something that I had no good reason to get mad and annoyed about, while the whole time he was calm and perfectly reasonable.

Because I'm a bitch.

But you got that part, I'm sure.

While I was gone at the meeting I didn't really want to be at, I texted Adam to ask if he would run to the store just up the street and pick me up some sweet tea. He agreed because, of course he agreed. I was being unreasonable. Why would he not agree? And I learned something:

  • If I ask Adam to get me sweet tea after being snippy and snarky, he will go to two different stores and pick up four different kinds (if they don't have my favorite kind) which will then make me feel quite guilty for being unreasonable.

  • He'll also pick up two squirt bottles for disciplining Guinness that I will later find sitting on the dining room table and his thoughtfulness will make me feel like a real asshole.

  • When I then apologize and comment how I feel like aforementioned asshole, he'll grin wickedly at me and say, "that's the point." And then I'll call him a dirty name, which I won't feel the slightest bit guilty about.

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Monday, July 07, 2008


Today, my wonderful, beautiful, delightful sister turned old.

Now, to be perfectly fair, she already was old, I'm just trying to be nice.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TIFF!!!! LOVE YOU!!!! Check is in the mail!

Also, later, as a special birthday treat, I have Guinness stories (who just rolled over onto his squeak toy and scared the hell out of himself). And, if Adam gets off his butt and sends me those pictures like I requested, Guinness pictures.

* * * * *

This weekend was a weekend of introductions. Adam was introduced to my parents, I was introduced to his parents, Guinness was introduced to (not my) family farm.

Um, yeah.

Now, to his credit, Guinness was wonderfully well-behaved. So well behaved, in fact, that we decided to try letting him off leash while at Adam's parents so he could play and wrestle with Beau (Adam's brother's dog), something he did with gusto. And it was while he was off-leash that we tested him, see, by calling him and praising him when he came. We even attempted this feat at a local playground and he came to me every time he was called (if you count coming into the general vicinity, which I do).

I'm sure a number of you can see where this is going. Try not to ruin it for the slower members of the audience.

While at the family farm the following day, the dogs were again going at it, this time around the pond and we thought that since Guinn had done so well the previous day off-leash that we would reward him for such good behavior. And at first, all was well. And at first, he and Beau wrestled and splashed and Beau body-checked Guinn into the pond (hilarious). And then they started playing chase. And then Guinn got distracted.

I should also maybe mention at this point that Adam's grandpa, the proprietor of the family farm, raises horses. Horses that, while quite friendly (or maybe because they were so friendly) scared the shit out of Guinness.

It might also have been their size.

But here's the thing. Guinness, while certainly not purebred, is a herding breed, and he has show an affinity for such activities by attempting to herd certain things. Namely people, bicycles, and golf carts. So when Guinness saw those horses running, he decided he had to put a stop to it. So he ran, barking like a fool at the horse in front of the herd, who happened to be the largest of the four, who happened to slow down at the sight and sounds of the crazy barking dog.

It was about the time that Guinness reached the herd and the largest of the horses looked down at him while still running in a trot that Guinness realized them sumbitches are BIG.

So he did what came naturally to a yellow-bellied bully. He tucked his tail firmly between his legs and booked it into the barn.

Where the goose was. And the goose... he was a more manageable size.

To be fair, Guinness, apparently, is not the only dog to have ever chased this goose and he did only manage to sniff at it before one of the kids grabbed ahold of him, but needless to say, he is not allowed off-leash at the farm anymore.

And his is not amused.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008


"Just so you know, I don't read your blog when I see it's just quotes."

"... Okay."

Tuesday, July 01, 2008


It looks as if Guinness is humiliated to even be associated with me. Little bastard.

Noooo. He'd much rather play with his best friend, Adam.

And apparently become demonic.


Since I started my dating career, I've been in several (2) long-distance relationships, and by "long-distance" I mean "only on the weekend, more than an hours drive, filling my gas tank up at least twice just to make it through the weekend" sort of distance. In both of these relationships, for some reason, without fail, be it my charming disposition or my ever-present need to please (shut up), it always ended up that I became the one doing most of, if not all of, the driving, an event that often times totaled 6 to 8 hours in the car. Every weekend.

Now, I'm going to level with you, dear interwebs. I am only so nice and giving and willing to please without there being some sort of reciprocation, so, naturally, after a month or two of doing all of the damn driving, I would become quietly resentful and angry. And, being a girl and struggling with my need to please, I wouldn't mention it. No. Better to let it fester and wallow until it blew up into something big and ugly, all the while hoping he would GET IT and say, "You know what? You've been doing all this for me, let me willingly drive down there for you."

That never happened.

So you'll imagine my surprise, dear interwebs, when I asked Adam if he wanted me to drive down to his place this evening and his response back was that he would drive tonight. Because I drove all weekend. Because I'll be driving all this weekend, too. And I had steeled myself. I was already vaguely annoyed at the thought of even more driving after all the driving I've been doing, but had told myself that it was okay, just this week and then I would tell him to pick up the slack after this holiday weekend was over.

But I don't have to. Because he's doing it willingly, because he noticed, because he wants to be fair. And I know it's something small. And I know it's something silly. And I know it's not the end of the world, but that response back meant so very much to me.