A WORK IN PROGRESS/UPDATING AS IT HAPPENS

After drinking really expensive scotch:

"It's like if a briquette had a rectum and you licked it."

* * *

"Fanny in England means vagina."

"So why does it mean butt here? How did we get that so screwed up?"

"Knickers means underwear."

"No, that's bloomers. No wait. Those are those things with the elastic around the knee women used to wear under their dresses."

"And those were underwear."

"Roomy underwear!"

"What? You don't like roomy underwear?"

"I do! Heh. Wouldn't it be funny if I just dropped trow and was wearing bloomers?"

* * *

"You know what would make you feel better, Matt? If A had some scotch."

"But I don't want any scotch."

"But look at it. It likes you. It doesn't swirl like that for just anybody."

"It's trying to seduce you."

* * *

"Ohh! What if you soaked a steak in the scotch?!"

"It would no longer exist."

* * *

"Okay, what are you doing? I'm bored."

"We're sitting around talking about UFC and how my sister shamed me."

"Um.. yeah.. fun."

"Well, if you come over you have to drink scotch."

"DEAL. Wait. Let me ask Not Girlfriend."

"Oh my God, you're whipped!"

* * *

"It tastes like they distilled a tire fire."

* * *

"You should pet my fuzzy thing."

AND BINGO WAS HIS NAME-O

Tonight I skipped working out to go to the grocery store. This seemed like a good idea, particularly because the ingredients used in the last four meals I've "made" myself consist of bread in varying degrees of toastedness and peanutbutter.

There may even have been jelly used on one occasion but, alas, that too was in short supply.

So to the grocery store I went for the first time in numerous days (10. Ish.) and oh. I was a greedy little shit. I got just over $100 in groceries. Guess how much I paid? Just over $1. NO, I DIDN'T STEAL IT.

You see, this weekend my work had a really boring employee picnic. At said picnic there was BINGO and I did my damnedest to make my Grandma proud. At the picnic I won an envelope full of gift certificates to Krogers and while they were probably supposed to go to more than one person, their loss was my gain.

God, this post is going no where fast.

BUT! I did find out that Zanarans black beans and rice is some tasty shit. Even if it did pass it's use by date a couple of months ago.

Uch. Alright, I'm bailing now before this can get any worse. Maybe you should suggest topics again. Like "most embarrassing moment" or "first kiss" or "when can I take you out for a romantic rendezvous". Yup.

ISH

Friends, family, and stalkers. Dear, sweet, gentle reader(s) of my blog, I need your help to prove a point.

A good few of you have already weighed in on this debate but alas, it still rages. You see, the Distraction, he has this pesky little belief that is WRONGWRONGWRONG. And I, being the good and gracious person that I am, want to rub his nose in it.

The Distraction believes to the very fiber of his being that if he tells me he'll be somewhere at, oh lets say 11:30, and then throws an "ish" onto the end, that gives him leeway to be upwards of 40 M-I-N-U-T-E-S late. FOURTY. Four. Zero. I ascertain that "ish" equals 20 minutes, tops. Twenty. Two. Zero. As in HALF of what he thinks it should mean.

And that, dear reader, is where you come in. How much time does "ish" really give you?

Also, the Distraction has started to tell me that UFC is fake (WHICH IT SO TOTALLY IS NOT) because he likes watching me snivel and whine about it and also, he's an asshole. And now I have to go take a nap so I'm in a (somewhat) pleasant mood when he comes over to hang out after he gets off work tonight.

FOR MICHAEL DIAL 001# NOW ON YOUR TOUCH TONE PHONE

As fate would have it, I owe Michael a blog entry. Among other things. And, truth be told, a blog entry from me is like sexual favors because one mention on this bad boy and the lady friends will be lining up DOWN THE BLOCK, that is the sort of clout I have around up this joint.

Word.

And you know what potential lady friends of Michael the Great, the Stud, the MAN? It is a well known fact that smart is the new sexy and the Man? He has brains out the ass. He probably qualifies for MENSA but don't let that fool you. He's not one of those assholes who has to prove himself to others by talking down to them. No, no, the man is suave. He's smooth like butter without the greasy feel.

And easy on the eyes! He's tall and lean, like a love machine and Michael the Magnificent has a face that could launch a thousand ships, which, lets be honest, wars have been started over less ladies. But fret not. The man has time for all of his new beautiful girlfriends. Able to satisfy ALL of his charges with just enough time left over for cuddles and talking about his feelings.

And does he ever have feelings. He's open and sweet and caring and he'll make you feel like a queen.

Did I mention he's loaded? Oh, don't you let that grad school persona fool you. He's recently come into a multi-billion dollar inheritance and he would love nothing more than to spend the money on you and saving the penguins.

His tears cure cancer and he can stop global warming with his smile. The sun shines because Michael the Luxurious says it should be so.

And he could be yours for the low, low price of five easy payments of $19.99 each.

REINVENTING BRAND LOYALTY

I want to marry whoever came up with this website. I have not laughed this hard in a long, long time.

NOTE: This is NOT work appropriate. That means you, dear sister.

LONG STORY SHORT, I HURT MY FOOT

It is not unusual for me to drop things. My keys mostly but I've branched out. I've even dropped things like my cell phone, cups, eggs, and knives and usually quite close to my beloved tootsies. Yet, despite quite the list of sharp and/or dangerous falling within a hair's-breath of my feet, I am thankfully without scarring or a pronounced limp.

This is because as a sort of necessity against my own apparent lack of coordination, I, subconsiously, have developed a defense mechanism against such folly. I'm a very freaking quick to get my foot the hell out of the way. Seriously, though. It's almost comical to watch me kick the impending victim my leg out of the way the instant something begins to slip from my grasp.

Unfortunately, I found out on Thursday, I apparently have to be watching it fall to beget the required reaction.

Now close your eyes and come on a magical journey with me through time to Thursday morning as I was all naked and wet in the shower. The water cascaded down in thick, steamy streams as I lathered my hair as is my wont. Having had AT LEAST 15 years experience taking showers, it isn't common that something as trivial as soap gets in my eyes, nor did it this day because I closed them. "Go you", you might be saying to yourself (either that or "big freaking deal") but alas that was only the first is a not-so-long line of cause and effect.

It was about the time that I shut my eyes tight that I discovered I had not the significant amount of lather in my hair. So I reached out, clumsy and blind to grab at the shampoo.

Yeah, I knocked my conditioner off the shelf. Demon bottle landed TIP DOWN on the top of my innocent foot, causing a slight welt and a bruise that I have since developed the annoying habit of knocking into with my other foot while I sleep.

I know you all think I have this rough and tough exterior and that I could probably take a bullet without so much as flinching, but it's just not true (and really, this super hero worshipping has got to stop). I whined and whimpered like the sissy little girl I am and I even created this LONG ASS BLOG ENTRY over something as dumb as dropping something on my foot. While I was naked. In the shower.

What? Why are you looking at me that way? Ew. Stop it. STOP LEERING AT ME! WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THAT IS OKAY BEHAVIOR BEFITTING OF A LADY?!!! Why are you laughing? Stop laughing!!!

Pervs.

LAME BUT UPDATED

My apartment is FAH-REE-ZING. Why don't you turn on the heat you suggest? Because my heat is connected to the whole building so the landlord has to do it and he informed me Wednesday that on Thursday they would either turn it on for the year or DETERMINE IF IT NEEDED REPLACED.

Blink. Blink, blink.

And now I ask you, why was this not done BEFORE it got to be 41 degress IN MY APARTMENT?! My appendages might FREEZE. OFF.

WTF, dude?!

Oh, also, one of the screws that holds my toilet seat on is broken.

* * *

Last night my buddy's wife was making us all cake when his brother showed up and spewed this little gem: "Oh, you want that butter soft? I'll make it soft for you.... You won't still want it."


And then later, this one: "I gave you a perfectly good tag line and--"

"It was dirty!"

(Shocked, gapping-mouthed silence) "It was dirty?! Coming from you?! You're one towel away from becoming a pornographer!"


Asshole. I used a pink heart to cover up his cash and prizes, too.

* * *

This made me giggle. I heart the hat.

MAKING THE RIGHT CHOICE FOR RIGHT NOW

I'm giving up men.

Not entirely, mind you. I'm thinking a month to start off with. Because as much as I want to be okay with things, I'm not completely okay. And I know I will be but right now? All of this? It makes me angry. And it makes me frustrated and I feel hurt and yeah, even used.

Part of it might be hormonal. Actually, you know what? Yes. Yes, I can guarantee you part of this is hormonal, which bahh. WE'VE BEEN OVER THIS.

I think the biggest thing driving this decision is that I haven't been making the best choices for ME, right now, at this moment. And they haven't been BAD choices, just not the right ones or the best ones, and I'm emotionally drained from being angry at the outcome and angry with the people involved.

So for now I'm retreating, rallying the troups, regrouping for another charge. Because it's the smart thing to do. And it's the right thing to do. But it really sucks to do because temptation is an ugly bitch, and god am I tempted.


(On the plus side, I'm actually allowing myself to get angry rather than hiding how I feel and letting it fester and infect me until it presents itself as depression, so... go me.)

AND THE WEINER IS...

Michael!

You realize that with the w(e)inn(er)ing of my contest, you will be blessed with good luck and lots of amorous, pert women who will litter your bed with conquests?

OR

The OTHER great prizes you were promised for participating which are (in order of importance):

1. My love and adoration


2. Use of tagline on THIS VERY BLOG for the rest of THIS VERY MONTH


3. A nice entry written about you (that doesn't involve the earnings of college moneys in raunchy ways) that you can print and frame and hang on your wall so people realize you are friends with ME


4. An autographed dollar in the shape of an armadillo

All of which will happen later. Except the tagline usage, which is actually already happening. See: above.


So, yay Michael and thank you everyone else for playing along! For those of you distraught about not winning, there shall be more games later. Because I'm an attention whore.

IT WASN'T A DATE

We crept through the haunted house (themed with clowns, which, ew) with obnoxious 3D glasses that made the Distraction look like a lame superhero. I was so intent on making my way through the warped mirrors I didn't notice the Distraction mouthing to the creature sneaking up behind us to get me.

I screamed bloody murder, startling the older women ahead of us, before doubling over into a fit of giggles.

Those same older women also laughed at me for saying, and I quote, "Hold my hand, goddamnit," to the Distraction about halfway through. Right about the same time we were accosted by a CREEPY-ASS CLOWN, and I am not a fan of the clown in the BEST of circumstances, thankyouverymuch.

I also clung to the back of the Distraction's shirt as we felt our way through a choking, smoke-filled shack where he almost whacked his head on, well, a decapitated head hanging from the ceiling.

Ohhh! And there was definately the having of the cotton candy. Which he paid for.

But it wasn't a date. I asked.

"No." He glanced quickly in my direction. "Yes? I don't know! WHY DO GIRLS ALWAYS HAVE TO LABEL EVERYTHING?!"

I laughed maniacally, "Well, I have to know, because if it IS a date, it would be a first date, and that means I can't put out."

He eyed me suspiciously.

I punched my leg in self-righteous indignation. "It's the PRINCIPLE of the thing," I declared. "Besides, that would make me a whore."

I think it was about that time he realized I was kidding.

He looked at me, a bemused smile on his face. "So you can put out if it's not a date?"

I laughed.

"Yup," he said, "definately not a date."



The coolest thing I saw all night was a skeleton doing a keg-stand while his decomposed buddy bonged a beer out of a spine. HIGH CLASS.

ICKY-CREEP-OUT-FREAK-OUT

Yeah, yeah. I know I said I was going to leave the TAGLINE post up until Friday but I LIED! I realize you're shocked and appalled but I'm fairly convinced you'll get the hell over it.

Now, many, many, many, as in most if not all of you are WELL aware that I am easily startled. So easily, it isn't really even a challenge. So easily, YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO BE TRYING. So easily that if you MERELY STANDING where I do not expect you to be, I WILL scream and do my icky-creep-out-freak-out, which may or may not involve jumping in the air and the flailing of arms and legs because, when I'm startled, I seem to lose control of fine muscle movements and SPASM. It's an awesome party trick. See: Back when I was in the old house, and Eric and I used to hang out a lot more than we do now, he was talking to me in my bedroom before I kicked him out so I could change. Like any NORMAL PERSON would, I assumed he WENT THE HELL DOWNSTAIRS AND WAS NOT GOING TO JUMP OUT AT ME UNEXPECTEDLY (even though after the fact, I'm fairly certain I could HEAR HIM OUT THERE).

He jumped out and then collapsed to the ground as I screamed BLOODY EFFING MURDER and swung my shoes into his chest.

It's a shame they weren't heels.

Ahh, but here's the rub. I actually LIKE being startled. It's a jolt to my system, it gets the juices flowing, it makes me feel alive in a way that normal life just doesn't. And.. it's funny, which you know I'm all for.

And that, my dear reader(s), is why I'm so bloody, freaking excited. Not only is this wonderly delicious month the month of ghoulish horrors, when it's permissible and sometimes even encouraged to creep and scare and lose your shit, but tomorrow night the Distraction and I are going to the Halloween Haunt at Kings Island. Roller coasters and haunted houses all rolled into one and delivered to me in the shimmering darkness and (hopefully) crisp chill of a brilliant October night.

I am nearly orgasmic with excitement.

TAGLINE

EDIT: This post isn't going away until Friday so you might at well leave me a comment. Particularly if you ever have or ever want to call yourself my friend again. I'm looking at you and it isn't pretty.


Hi kids. You see my new masthead? The one where Jennith is viciously attacking me with what appears to be blood dripping down her face?

That so totally happened.

Now, you also see that blue box across the bottom of the masthead? That is where the tagline should go. The one I can't think of, so I'm asking for suggestions because I'm not thrilled with the one I came up with. So I'm taking requests and I will unceremoniously choose the winner on FRIDAY.

And the winner will win nothing but my love and adoration and I'll use the winner's tagline in the masthead you see above and I will write a VERY nice entry about how much this person means to me and how my life would be a worthless void without then and some other meaningless dribble. SO SEND IN YOUR ENTRIES TODAY! IN THE COMMENT SECTION!

Woo!


EDIT: In case you were wondering, if you DON'T play along, I'll cry. And besides, those prizes? ARE AMAZING! You would rue the day you didn't enter this FREE contest and win those totally awesome, cooler-than-cool prizes. Did I mention this contest is FREE? Ohhh! Ohh! AND! And if the winner lives in Cincinnati, I WILL BUY THEM LUNCH. And if the winner doesn't live in Cincinnati I will... send them a dollar in the shape of an armadillo? Autographed?

I WANT MORE ENTRIES THAN TWO!!! And for the two who have already entered, I LOVE YOU!!!! XOXOXOX!!!

TAKE A HINT ALREADY

Allow me to make a suggestion.

If you're looking to find yourself a distraction, might I recommend one who doesn't work 70+ hours a week? Because then, when he doesn't call when he says he will or is stupid enough to believe that you DON'T want to be invited out because you'd rather play a VIDEO GAME? (even one as cool as Guitar Hero), you'll know for absolute sure it's because he might not be all that interested, DESPITE all the flirtation and other less than subtle signs that you may want to cling to.

And to think, after our conversation on Friday, I thought we were making progress. Damn dude. No wonder your ex-girlfriend bailed out of this.

But it isn't all for broke. Last night, for the first time in almost a year, I went to an event my fraternity (Yes, I was a member of a fraternity. I've also been the best man in a wedding. AND THAT MAKES ME MORE OF A MAN THAN YOU.) and one of my brothers spent nearly the entirety of the evening hitting on me, only to yell after me as I was leaving, "If things don't work out with that 70 hour a week guy, you let me know because I'm only taking 13 credit hours so I'll have plenty of time for you."

Which is sweet, really, but I'm just not interested. No. No, really. I prefer my men to be helpless causes.

Around midnight I called 70 hour guy to tell him of my evening thinking he was still at work BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT HE TOLD ME HE WOULD BE DOING, only to find he was drunk at a bar and not really into taking my hints to invite me along.

Moron. Unfortunately, I'm not sure who is the bigger one though, him or me.

MEDICINE HEAD? YOU SHOULD HAVE TAKEN SUDAFED

Not that this will come as a surprise to most of you but I think I'm sick in the head.

No. Really. I think I have a sinus infection. The simple act of breathing has become laborious. Only one of my nostrils is working. When I'm lucky. And it wheezes. I sound like a sad, pathetic kazoo. You don't want to know what I coughed up this morning.

And the thing is, I PREDICTED THIS. From the very instantaneous moment I got my first noseful of overly chlorinated, yet disturbingly sludgy water I KNEW. But did I let that prevent me from swimming in the freaking freezing water and probably dropping my core body temperature dangerously low before some genius decided to check to see if the INDOOR POOL was heated?

Of course not.

AND did getting a second and then a THIRD noseful of questionable water prevent me from attacking the boys just to get an indian rug burn and one U-G-L-Y ass bruise, which... happens to... be on my ass?

Yeah, definately not.

Am I dumb enough to hope this goes away on it's own?

Yes. Yes, I am.

Bring on the cherry flavored NyQuil (What?! Sudafed makes me jittery).

GUITAR HERO II

I've been postponing writing this entry. It isn't something that happens to a girl every day. I mean sure, we all hope it will happen. Most of us day dream about it since the time we are little girls though, really, you can never truely plan for this day.

You see, gentle reader, I... am in love.

And his name is Guitar Hero II.

Our relationship had quite the rocky start. At first, I was hesitant. I didn't want to join in. I didn't want to be judged because of my lack of experience. You see, I'm not every good at coordinating my hands and Guitar Hero can be a cruel master. I knew deep in my soul that I couldn't stand his scorn should I fail to satisfy his every expectation.

And lo. I was right. That first night I attempted to please Guitar Hero was a disaster! I only made it part of the way through before being booed and mocked. I think there might even have been some crying and gnashing of teeth and I swore I would never touch his smooth, plastic casing and colorful, rainbow buttons again.

But, thankfully, that was not to be.

Friday, Guitar Hero and I ran into each other at a party. It was awkward at first. Particularly since he was hitting on everyone there. A player if ever there was one, that guy will do it with ANYONE. When I walked in I was determined to stick to my guns. I wasn't going to go down that route with Guitar Hero again. But then the peer pressure started and I had a couple drinks and my will power and morals went out the window.

Again, it wasn't good.

I fumbled, miserably, and didn't make it through before a repeat of my first time. But this time, rather than hanging my head in shame, it lit a spark of something deep within me and I decided I would be the one to change Guitar Hero's ways. I would be the one to win him.

I tried again and failed. And finally, on my forth attempt, I DID IT! Not well, mind you, but I could tell Guitar Hero respected my gut and determination. He even was so bold as to ask me back the next day to play. For hours. Despite Guitar Hero's roommate leaving and HAVING TO LEAVE A KEY BEHIND SO I COULD LOCK UP AFTER MYSELF.

I mean, it must be love. I can't stop thinking about him. I long for him throughout the day. I think I might even dream about touching his velvety keys. It pains me to not call him because that would totally give me away and I don't want to crowd him and scare him away. I'm even seriously considering having him move in with me even though he doesn't have a job and couldn't help me pay the rent.

But I NEED him. Okay, and maybe you don't understand. Maybe you think I'm moving too fast. Obviously, you've never been in love or you would STOP JUDGING ME!

I think Guitar Hero's roommate might read this. If you do, tell him to call me. XOXO!

IT'LL ONLY BE UP A WEEK... IF HE'S LUCKY

"I used duct tape across the top of my screen so I wouldn't have to look at your new masthead. That was just mean. I don't know how I'm going to get that tape off now."


I still hold to the conviction that he asked for it.

THE EVOLUTION OF A PROJECT

4.5 weeks before due date:
"Put these two massive projects on your to-do list. They both need to be done in 4 weeks."


3.5 weeks before due date:
"Take off one of those massive projects. We're going to save it until January."


2.5 weeks before due date:
"My bad. Put that project back on your to-do list. How are you coming with that other massive project?"


2 weeks before due date:
"Remember that project I had you remove but then we added it back on? I need three or four examples. Tomorrow. Oh, and I'm sure you have plenty of time to add two more massive projects to your list along with all the other little things you are required to do every week."

"Ohhh. Yeah. That other pain in the butt project you work on regularly is due now too, isn't it? It's due in four weeks? Make it two. What? Why would you think I hate you?"

ATTEMPT THREE AT THIS STUPID POST

I need a distraction. I need something, someone maybe, possibly, perhaps to keep my mind off of things.

I also say that knowing full well that I am not ready for a new relationship.

A distraction, I just need someone to go through the motions with me. Someone to think about, and yeah, maybe obsess over a little bit. Someone willing to make just a little bit of an effort, enough to keep me interested but not enough to be anything other than just that. Something fun that will keep my mind off of other things because yes. I decided, finally, in what may turn out to be not all that long ago, that I'm done. I'm over it. I'm moving on because this isn't healthy for either of us and I'm not helping by sticking around. And deep down, I KNOW this is the best thing for both of us. And I know now, having looked back on it with a clarity that wasn't there a few months ago, that we were broken and we were tattered despite my best attempts to think otherwise.

We weren't ready. We may never be.

I know all of that. I know it and I believe it. But then my favorite memory slips into my morning coffee and it gets under my skin. And it chafes and clings uncomfortably and I know I reek of it because I can feel it seeping out of my pores.

But I know. This isn't where either of us need to be or should be or any of the other psycho babble bullshit that people spout. But that doesn't make me any less lonely. Knowing doesn't make this any easier when I get like this, when my mind wanders despite my best attempts to thwart it.

I miss Man Friend.

I can't tell you the exact reasons because that is a memory I just don't want to share. I know I'll get better and I know in a couple days this feeling will pass. I know in a little while I won't feel so lonely.

It would just be really helpful if I had a good distraction because the one I thought I might have isn't working out so hot.


EDIT: Okay, it might be working out a little better now. Maybe. We'll see.

NOT AN ATYPICAL PHONE CONVERSATION

Me: "So what are you doing tonight?"

Asshole Friend: "Oh shit. I forget I need to call you about stuff."

Me: "... You people suck."

CONVERSATIONS WITH COWORKERS, PART DEUCE

"Bastard! How does it feel being the first person I've ever hit THAT I WORK WITH?!"

'You aren't supposed to hit coworkers. Didn't you watch the video?"

"Hit ON. I'm not supposed to hit on coworkers."

* * *

"Do you even know what my title is?"

"I know what we call you when you're not around."

"Harsh!"

"Come on! You walked right into that!"

* * *

"So how is your son?"

"... My son? What?"

"You know, he's 26. Lives in Alaska. Needs a good woman."

"Oh, ohhh. My son. He's good. He'll be home for Christmas."

"Really? So are you going to invite me to your family Christmas party?"

"Oh, definately."

* * *

"Did you get my text..?"

"7 a.m.!"

"Wait. What?"

"You texted me at 7 A. M.!"

((maniacal cackling))

"I picked up the phone and looked at the time and YELLED AT MY PHONE so that it might send the message back to you saying I cannot receive text messages until AT LEAST 8 a.m."

((choking giggles))

"My roommate even asked me who the hell I was talking to because 7 a.m.! I was all curling up hugging my pillow. You know what it's like to be hugging your pillow? I was all nice and warm and ASLEEP."

((chortle)) "I was eating breakfast."

"I wasn't!"

"Hah. I won't do it again."

"I'm texting you at 6 tomorrow!!!"



It will have been worth it.

* * *

I sent the link to my bloggity to a sort of, not really family member who I LOVE because she likes to be mean and catty with me but I only get to see her at special events which makes me sad in my pants (I may or may not have stolen that saying (number 30)). She wrote me back to tell me I'm not right. And that MADE ME PROUD.