One year in the life of Mb

I was inspired after reading a post from Sexy, Single and Celibate to think about my own 2008, and all that has come and gone since I sat here at my desk 1 year ago. Shall we:

January saw me welcome a new person into my life, my roommate Sexy Leksy, a chic Chicago native, who would quickly become a face I looked forwarded to seeing at the end of a long work day. Her desire to kick back with a glass of wine and movie was an immediate indicator that we'd be both roommates and friends. Of course, I also paid an immediate visit to the original roommie, Spoogy, who was living the high life in NYC. We rocked Manhattan's restaurants, bars, and shops as we gossiped and schemed about what 2008 would bring.

introducing, the new roommie

February kicked off with Athanasty's organization of First Friday in Philadelphia, a mini monthly tradition that would continue over thru year. There were multiple birthday bashes for my many Februbaby friends as well as the best Superbowl party I've ever been to. A handful of the usual suspects also trekked to Baltimore for the National Tattoo Convention where we each walked away with tiny brands to remember the day.

In March I welcomed friends to my remodeled apartment and to meet the newly acquired roommate. Even Spoogy and K traveled from NYC and ATL respectively. We sprinkled March with outings to the Drag Brunch at Perry's and dancing late nights at Nolan's Bar (RIP). We celebrated Jigg's and SuziQ birthday on the second floor of Adam's Mill and began making Sunday Fundays a regular weekly event.

April opened with another First Friday that I ducked out of early in order to attend my first race of the year--The Cherry Blossom Ten Miler. Four months of training paid off. I successfully completed all ten miles and got an ankle tattoo later in the month to commemorate the achievement.

obvi a pre-run pic since i'm still standing

May was busy with random hip hop classes with Athanasty, an aquarium adventure for Buntz to see her beloved Australian marine friends, and an annual trip to Miami with a handful of the ladies. Tans completed Law School which was of course celebrated in the usual clam jam fashion--a night full of dancing and tasty bevs. I checked out the Artomatic exhibit in DC and then headed up north for The Eagles concert with Super Dad.

clearly related

The month of June was a chaotic one indeed. Every weekend was jam packed with events between the Tom's Run Relay, reunion with old friends in Florida, birthday celebrations, and more trips out of town. Buntz and I celebrated our joint birthday weekend together with extravagant party favors. Sashes, beads, and guitar shaped bubble blowers should be at every celebration.

July was no slower. The Fourth had all the girls at Buntz's beach house for nearly 5 days. It's amazing how ten females can still tolerate one another after sharing a bathroom for that long. Athanasty's birthday weekend brought the crew together for dancing, tubing, and of course the release of The Dark Knight. July was also be the month that Fatty, my long time best friend growing up, traveled down to DC to go ski diving with me.

you can plan to "praying mantis" when you dive, but at 5,000ft you soon forget

The final true month of summer, August, was as warm and exciting as the others before it. Shoe's birthday weekend brought our friends together for a wild and memorable bar crawl in the form of beer golf (drinking the par at each bar). I decided to finally become more proactive in my quest for better health and joined a local gym, which has proven to be most rewarding. At the end of August, I traveled to ATL to attend K's bachelorette party and catch up with my soon-to-be-married southern bell.

heyyy birthday guyyy

September housed fun events like Adam's Morgan Day, a tupper wear party with my favorite ladies, an adventure race with Tans, and lots of preparation for my COMPS exam which was only a month away.

In October, I was on an emotional roller coaster. K's wedding at the beginning of the month had me shmoopy and girly with thoughts of true love. The Girl Talk concert had me hyped on adrenaline as I danced the night away with Shoe. C and I shared excitement and beers (as well as defeat) when we hit our first Redskins game of the season. A few of the ladies and I experienced an overall sense of accomplishment after taking part in a 5k race to raise attention for suicide prevention. And then of course there was exam day, the most nerve wracking and frightening experience of my life which not only ended positively but also got me a sexy little shout out on DCblogs. The month ended with the most glorious celebration on the planet-- Halloween-- where the crew and I dressed as Clue Characters. Even at the end of an exciting 2008, October remains my favorite month of the year.

Zsa zsa came to visit in November. It was her first experience meeting all of my friends, and methinks it went as smoothly as smooth can be when you have a FOB mother and a handful of kooky best friends. We attended a Cirque du Soleil show and dined fancily around the district. The rest of the month featured happy hours and outings with the usual suspects as well as a low key Thanksgiving feast with my brother in DC. A new tradition was started, and I'm looking forward to more District Turkey Days to come. Most importantly, November marked the beginning of change to come with historical election of President Obama, a night I will never forget.

Closing out December, I most happily remember receiving an official letter indicating that I completed by Masters Degree. Through the month I celebrated both in New York and DC with family and friends, making toasts and promises for better things to come with my newly acquired knowledge. The clams and I got together for our own holiday celebration, which featured copious tasty bevs and delicious homemade dishes. C and I attended our second Redskins game of the year. It was colder but much more victorious. I traveled to see my parents in NJ for the holidays and spent five wonderful days catching up with family and friends. I reconnected with the faces that made my childhood bearable and remembered that as much I hate the garden state there are a few people still there that I would take a bullet for.

So, on the eve of a new year, I'm very thankful for the wonderful memories I have to hold on to from this past year. I'm even more thankful that although there was some heartache, stress, frustration, etc. (as to be expected) the good still outweighed the bad, leaving me equipped to handle another exciting year to come in the Life of Mb.

Happy New Year bbs!!

Artist of the Week (week 61)

I knew who Kings of Leon were from their shaggy beards and long biblical hair. Apparently the boys have cleaned up their exteriors a bit and put out a new album entitled "Only by the night." I would have never picked up the album if it wasn't for my high school friend Kevi whom I hadn't seen in years. This past Christmas we caught up over a few beers. In the car ride home he played this track for me and I instantly new I would love the album. Check out "Use Somebody." Thanks Kevi.

The Other Rock Star in the Family: Take 13

My brother is relocating to Tokyo in March for an indefinite period of time. This morning he emails me:

So I'm wikipedia'ing japanese baseball and I decided to be a Yomiuri Giants fan. The season starts March 20, 2 days after I get there. Superpsyched.

They are the only team who plays in Tokyo, so I figured it would be most convenient to be a fan. I hope they're not the Red Sox of japanese baseball.

minutes later, another email:

Just wikipedia'd the Giants. They are the "Yankees of the Japanese Baseball League" I can live with that.

The sleep texter strikes again

I am infamous for babble-texting in my sleep. While all of my friends have received cryptic indecipherable messages from me on more than one occasion, no one is more familiar with this strange behavior of mine than Shoe.

Case in point, last night at 12:08am
Nice. Well rest up. I'll calch up with she real deal latter. Good fight

A possible '09 resolution of mine should be to put my cell phone on silent and just sleep thru late night texts to save some face.

Artist of the Week (week 60)

In my search for new holiday music I came across this Amy Winehouse sound-alike. Gabriella Cilmi is still under-aged, boys, so while she is smokin hot and emits a sultry sexy voice, keep it in your pants. Check it out bbs, and stay warm this winter.

pardon this tangent

Not so good:
1. It's dark when I go to work in the morning
2. Working on Christmas Eve
3. Paper cuts
4. Heavy suitcases
5. It's dark when I leave work in the evening

Totally Awesome:
1. Casual day today (I'm wearing black jeans and faux-uggs~glorious)
2. Metallic Brown nail polish
3. Seeing my family and friends for the holiday
4. Wii
5. Putang Pie

The Other Rock Star in the Family: Take 12

an email from the lil bro (Background, we tease Zsa zsa for not being able to text. She puts periods between words instead of spaces. We assumed that she didn't know how to text properly. Zab works with Zsa zsa when he's not in school. Consequently they exchange emails throughout the work day. Zab also had to take off work last Friday to get his driver's license renewed with our dad.) --


Remember when Mom texted us that one time and.it.looked.like.this? Maybe mom just has trouble with punctuation. Here's an email she just sent me through our [insert Zsa zsa's company name here] email:

[Zab],dad is not able to locate his debit card,he just found out,he thinks it was misplaced or lost last Saturday during the driver license hoopla.can you,please check your wallet to see maybe you have it.thanks.

So Polish.

Accidental Overdose

I went for a 4.5 mile run up in Adams Morgan yesterday. My run was no different than ones before it except that by mile 2 I felt excruciating knee pain. I blamed the pain on cold weather and a former knee injury (I broke my knee cap in karate class--story better saved for another time) and decided to run through it. By the time I got to the bar to meet Buntz for a late drink I could barely bend the damn thing. Taking advice from various sources, I decided to purchase a tube of Bengay on my way home last night. I took a shower and dried off normally. Instead of applying Aveeno body lotion to my legs like I usually would, I first applied to dollops of Bengay to both knees to soothe the pain. The cream took effect immediately which was a welcomed relief. I then continued with my regular grooming which included towel drying my hair, brushing my teeth and applying face moisturizer and body lotion where appropriate. About a minute after my routine was complete I felt a sensation I've never felt before. Out of no where, my entire body started to feel tingly and numb.

Dummy. I forgot to wash the Bengay off my hands thoroughly before applying lotion to the rest of my body.

The mixed feeling of icy-burning tingles felt like a high I've never experienced in my life. I laid down in bed hoping that the feeling would go away soon, but of course it did not. I laid beneath my covers shaking from extreme heat and Arctic coolness. When I finally did fall asleep my dreams were decorated with bright colors and hallucinations. I remember at one point waking up and finding myself covered in an enormous amount of drool no doubt a result from my dream about a room filled with fantastically frosted cupcakes and cookies.

As of this morning, Bengay rests in my medicine cabinet with a "Use Sparingly and Wash Hands Thoroughly After Application" sticky note.

Clam Jam Christmas

Recapping Guyyy-Christmas with Shoe was important, but equally as significant, and if not more entertaining, is the Christmas potluck I shared with my favorite ladies- sometimes referred to as the pony express or the clam jam.

Given the state of the economy, the girls and I agreed that buying & exchanging gifts with everyone would be fairly ridiculous and bank breaking for sure. Instead, we spawned the phenom idea to have a potluck party followed by a debaucherous night on the town. Every lady was tasked with a dish to accompany the giant turkey to be prepared at my apartment by C. In addition to the food, there was an abundance of desserts and of course, bubbly.

buntz's choco-pretzel snack was a panty dropper

For our viewing pleasure, Love Actually was playing (on repeat) on cable, so we gathered around TV and stuffed ourselves with Turkey, mac n cheese, spinach, and entirely too much salami and mozzarella as we poked fun at our beloved holiday movie.

We've decided these things are wrong about the movie:

1. When the boss asks his secretary if she has a 6 foot tall bf. They are in the UK. He would have asked in meters.

2. Falling in love without speaking the same language. While it's cute and romantical and stuff, we agreed that realistically, communication is what leads to love. We won't hold the cute effort against the film tho.

3. I at first was disturbed by the age difference between Kiera Knightly and her husband. Athanasty informed me that they were close in age and that I shouldn't let our earlier movie in the night, Bend It Like Beckham, lead me to believe that Kiera is forever 18 years old. But we are all unhappy with Kiera's decision to kiss her husband's bff after the note card scene. The scene was perfect. No need to ruin it with an inappropriate kiss.

4. Prime Minister Hugh Grant's secretary is not fat. Period.

5. I'm sorry but no one in their right mind would answer a ringing cell phone when the opportunity to make delicious animal love to Xerxes is a strong possibility.

There were other faults with the film, but decidedly it remains a favorite among the clams....well, maybe not for Val. She couldn't get over the young step son with a crush on a girl twice his size. "He looks like a coyote," I think was Val's conclusion.

gewwwwww, tear.

The clam jam potluck was followed by a very wastey excursion to Lucky Bar which has suddenly replaced Disney world as the happiest place on earth....if you're in your early 20s, intoxicated, with a group of your best friends, and wearing your dancing heels. We rocked out to our favorite hip hop hits that the 12-year child DJ spun all night (did he have that disease which doesn't allow you to age?) which only welcomed a horrific hang over the next morning. Nothing cures a hangover like I.H.O.P. brunch. And by cure I of course mean- vom everything out until you no longer have the spins and can sleep.

poor buntz. she will forever be remembered as "salami pits," because we will never allow her to forget.

Guyyy-Christmas

The holidays are all about spending time with the ones you love. Well, since I've left my native state of NJ, oh about 6.5 years ago, my love base has grown. Now holidays are sprinkled with trashy happy hours with coworkers, gift exchanges and parties with friends and lesser acquaintances and of course a looong celebration with the family.

Drinks with the coworkers was scratched off the list last week. The clam jam Christmas party pot luck went down this past week, with all participants contributing to an amazing feast that left us in food comas. And with a train ticket in my hand to visit family on Wednesday night, I can say that I'm nearing the end of my scheduled holiday celebrations. But there is one, mildly ridiculous, Christmas story I'd like to share to those of you who are 1) in a relationship, 2) have someone in your life that, at the sound of his/her name, makes you think "Murphy's Law," 3) or simply like stories about when-everything-falls-apart. I promise this has a nice ending though.

Although this is technically not our first Christmas together, this year is the first year Shoe and I decided to have a Christmas together. We would do the whole gift exchange Christmassy dinner bit. We would call it Guyy-Christmas because while some couples have shmoopy nicknames for each other like "honey" and "baby," we refer to each other, both in public and in private, as "Guy." "Hey guy, what are you doing?" Or "What do you want for dinner, guy?" Or the ever infamous, "Guyyy (drawn out in a bad NJ accent) I'm wastey." Hence, Guyyy-Christmas.

With all the other holiday festivities, in addition to late nights at work for both of us, finding a date for Guyyy-Christmas was hard. With few options available we agreed to this past Friday, the night before Shoe would leave to visit family in California for ten days.

The night before our intended celebration, Shoe texted me that he's been scheming all week and finally managed to get off work early on Friday. Because I had the day off, this would mean we could actually have dinner at normal-people hours instead of around 10pm like we normally do given our work schedules. I went to sleep excited for Guyyy-Christmas, completely forgetting that Shoe, bless his heart, is a walking case of Murphy's Law.

Things started to go wrong on Friday when I got a call at 2pm. "Hey guyyy, my office called and they need me to get a contract signed this afternoon. It shouldn't take to long. I should be home around 5pm." I didn't stress right away because 5pm was still early for dinner. But when a second phone call at 4:30 came in telling me, "I'm sorry guyyy, the client is late. I'm still waiting," I realized that things were slowly going to unravel, especially since Shoe also informed me that his phone was about to die, so there would be no way for us to communicate until he returned home later to charge it. I continued to sit pretty, busying myself with gift-wrapping, hot chocolate, and The Nightmare Before Christmas. A third call, from an unknown number, comes in around 530pm. "Guyyy frustrated sigh, I got a flat tire. Can you call my roommate and tell him I'm at 14th and Florida and to bring an auto kit? I need some help." Of course. I'm not surprised. These bouts of unluckiness strike him fairly often. I calmly call his roommate who as always screens my call and doesn't respond to me until an hour later saying that he's out and can't help.

Luckily, in that time I've already recruited my bestie, C, to come to the rescue. She treks to Shoe's location and calls me when she's found him, but unf she's unable to help. She advises him to call AAA, but he insists that they would be of no service since his mazda requires a special key of some sort to remove the bolts on the wheel. Unsurprisingly, Shoe cannot locate this tool. We think fast and remember that his best friend Deb, who so happened to be working downtown at the time of the incident, also drives a Mazda and might be able to lend her key in assistance. C and Shoe jump in C's ride, and pick me up since I live not too far from the bar where Deb was working.

Deb of course is incredibly amused by Shoe's story and informs him that each Mazda has a special key for loosening the bolts on the tire. She lets him borrow her key which is located in her glove box. She recommends that if hers doesn't work, he should better inspect his glove box. With Deb's special tire changing device in hand, we drive back to Shoe's car and try to remove the bolts with no luck. He finally checks his glove box, something that probably would have reconciled the problem hours earlier, and of course finds the magic tool to all his problems. Feeling the fool, Shoe laughs it off as he loosens the bolts on his tire and changes the flat. I thank C for being a big trooper and lending her help before she speeds off into the night. By the time the tire is changed, it is 9pm, and just about normal time for us to be eating dinner. So much for special planning.

I restrain myself from nagging Shoe about getting a phone carger for his cell phone since I can see that he is disappointed that the night didn't go according to plan. Normally I am the one who stresses when plans fall through, but Christmas is his favorite holiday and he had wanted our first celebration, Guyyy-Christmas, to go smoothly. "What's wrong guyyy?" I ask, trying to break the tension.

"Guyyy, I'm sorry. I really wanted this to go well. And, on top of all this, I didn't wrap your present yet, so you can't come inside until I wrap it cause I bought really nice paper and a bow." I smile to stifle a laugh. How is it that this regularly unprepared goof is still the guy I prefer to be around even when shit hits the fan? I volunteer to pick up food for dinner at the local GIANT while he runs home and quickly wraps my gift. Two hours later we are dining on home made pizza and watching Hancock when Shoe pauses the movie and pulls out three beautifully wrapped gifts from his closet. "Merry Christmas Guyyy." It may not have gone according to plan, and it may be a weird way to start a tradition, but my first Guyyy Christmas was definitely an unforgettable one. Even after everything that could have gone wrong, did (and I say that loosely knowing that it could have been a googleplex worse) I still wouldn't have changed a thing.

The Other Rock Star in the Family: Take 11

My brother is home for the semester break at college. It's blizzarding like the end of the world where our parents live and clearly travel in the area is not advised. Zabumafu still manages to manipulate my parents into allowing him to borrow their car to attend a concert in New York City.

He texts me at 945pm last night:

"By the way I said I was seeing wolf parade because mom and dad wouldn't like wu tang. So if you talk to them remember... Wolf Parade."

I later find out he also told them the concert was in New Brunswick instead of NYC (they would never let him drive their benz into the city in the middle of the night). Liar liar pants on fire. This child gets away with murder. I'm not mad, I'm just jealous.

Elf Yourself

A bizillion thanks to Athanasty for creating this amazing holiday video. Elf yourself bbs, and spread the Christmas cheer.

http://elfyourself.jibjab.com/view/FPL1UAzozuvdoGgrY49K

Funny, but you can't tell me and C apart very well in the dance. Guess we really are sisters like some people assume.

Always Check Your Kid's Homework

Note sent to the teacher the next school day with 1st grader...

Sorry, Ms. James. That's NOT me pole dancing onstage in a strip joint! I work at Home Depot and that's me selling a shovel.

(signed)
Mrs. Smith

The shortest book review: Sundays at Tiffany's

Book Title: Sundays at Tiffany's

Author: James Patterson in collaboration with Gabrielle Charbonnet

Days needed to complete read: 1





The good: A very quick romantic read with a lovable heroine and hero. The opening chapters are heartwarming, leaving the reader in great anticipation for what's to come.

The bad: The gimmick of love through unexplainable supernatural phenomenons was a success for the Time Traveler's Wife. Here, not so much. It's nearly impossible to get over the fact that the hero is an IMAGINARY FRIEND. The love and the emotions shared between the couple is evident but the explanation for their coming together is underdeveloped.

The verdict: If you have 6 hours of travel on a train, air plane, or bus this holiday season, this book is worth your time because you are guaranteed to finish it in that time period. If you like suspense and sitting on edge, then this book is also for you because you will continue to read chapter to chapter hoping for some kind of breakthrough in the plot. If you hate being sorely disappointed by plot holes, then you want to pass on this one. The overall story, while positively touching, is very far fetched and not thoroughly developed. Something else to keep in mind- this is a modern day romance. I prefer timeless tales that are more arbitrary in timeline. While this didn't affect my overall opinion of the book, the authors relied heavily on brand names and label dropping, which contemporary readers may appreciate.

Artist of the Week (week 60)

This group is being featured as Artist of the Week for no other reason besides the fact that last night C and I randomly took a hip hop class offered at our gym. The instructor, a petite girl with a giant gangsta attitude, taught us four eight-count steps to this latest single from the Pussy Cat Dolls. Whatcha think about that?

Slap these parents

Tans just shared an article with me about parents in NJ (red flag) who are stark raving mad about the fact that their son was denied a birthday cake at the local grocery store. Why, might you ask would a local vendor deny a child his/her sugary goodness on the day of his/her birth? Well, unfortunately for the spawn of these two morons, the child's parents gave him the name Adolph Hitler Campbell at birth. You can read all about it here.

After throwing up in my mouth a bit, I've decided to find an ounce of humor in this situation by compiling a list of other bad ideas for naming a child. Feel free to add:

1. Alrich Ames, Benedict Arnold, or any other person notorious for committing treason against the US

2. Harry Dick (immature, really)

3. Ed Gein, Jeffrey Dahmer, John Wayne Gacy or any other serial killer

4. Pontius Pilot (ridic)

5. Tamerlane, Joseph Stalin, Pol Pot, or any historic or contemporary foreign militant leader that arguably had a slight case of psychosis with a dash of bigotry and misogyny

6. Mary Surratt, Lee Harvey Oswald, or any other assassin.

7. Satan Lucifer (no excuse even if you pronounce it like Miroslav Satan from the Pittsburgh Penguins)

8. any name of a famous terrorist (I know, I know "Blind Shiek" rolls off the tongue so well, but I don't care)

9. James Warren Jones or any other name of a famous cult leader

10. Plaxico Burress (cause with a name like that your bound to do dumb things)

Bow down to the spaghetti and meatballs

How I have never heard of this???? The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster!!! If this wiki article doesn't make you pee yourself, then you should go to your doctor and make sure your kidneys still work.

I personally like the letter from a concerned citizen: "If there is a god and he's intelligent, then I would guess he has a sense of humor." And the Eight I'd Rather You Didn'ts is quite possibly the best pick me up I've had all week. Thank you Midwesterners with a sense of humor.

My (very own) Little Pony (sort of)

I went for a 4 mile run last Friday, starting along my usual path which begins at the border of Chinatown/Shaw and heads north into Columbia Heights before looping back. At the northern most point of my route, right around 18th and Columbia Ave, I decided to change my regular routine and instead ran south along 18th Street towards Dupont. Along the way I spotted something I rarely see in DC- a second hand store.

Correction, I've seen them before and either they are 1) in Georgetown and insanely marked up to be even more offensively expensive than the stuff they try to sell you at Urban Outfitters or 2) they are junky thrift stores that don't offer anything more attractive than moo moos and sweater socks. Obviously I was skeptical of this one, but I decided to peak in.

Second Affair Consignment Shop* (or SACS as I now prefer to call it since it's almost as good as the real SAKS) was immediately impressive. A wicker basket on center display carried multicolored pashminas, a great Christmas gift this season. Also featured next to those luxury scarves were fancy gloves (I found a Ralph Lauren black leathers, but passed on them since I already own a nice pair of gloves), bangles (my weakness), and purses upthewazoo. I started sifting through the purses, mostly out of curiosity. I've been in the market for an everyday purse which is hard to come by these days. I found a beautiful vintage Chanel black and tan leather bag at the reasonable price of $65. Although the purse really wasn't my type (actually Athanasty, I left it there for you- hurry go get it), its presence was encouraging so I kept scoping the scene, feeling my spidey sense tell me that something purrrrfect for me must be in SACS....and that's when I saw it:

hello, i'm gorgeous

I gently placed my hands around the bag and lifted it up for the cashier to see. "Is this pony?" She asked me to bring it closer for a better look. At the counter she inspected the bag and informed me that yes, this bag is authentic pony fur for the bargain price of $30! ZOMG!! I immediately offered her my debit card to pay for the transaction which included my new purse as well as a few knick-knack Xmas gifts.

Walking home, I cradled my precious bag under my arm, occasionally petting it, while texting the pony express about my discovery. We (and by we, I mostly mean me- they just humor my stupidity) have this ridiculous obsession for all that is pony after a wild adventure in NYC that introduced us to pony fur interior decorating. I snapped a picture and blast text it to the pony express. I've always wanted a pony as a little girl. Dreams really do come true.

*Second Affair Consignment Shop is run by Barbara Sanders, one of the loveliest women I've met in the district, and caters to ladies apparel. The store is located at 1904 18th Street NW. You can also reach SACS by calling 202-265-1829.

Because "being sick" or "stuck in traffic" is just not creative enough

After over 16 hours of straight business travel yesterday, I. am. beat. I considered calling out this morning, or at least concocting a clever excuse for coming in late in order to grab a few extra hours of rest. Sadly, the frat boys have set the ridiculous standard that all excuses for tardiness and absence must be borderline TMI or wildly ludicrous, rendering simple excuses like "I overslept" as inadequate bullshit. have used the wildest excuses, rendering even the simplest excuse absolute bullshit.

Classic excuses include:

1. Being severely emotionally distraught from a fight with the mother-in-law (which is impossible since all the frat boys have plastic hearts).

2. Having explosive diarrhea.

3. Dealing with child, wife, or mother-in-law's explosive diarrhea.

4. Dealing with dog's explosive diarrhea.

5. Preventing dog from eating cat.

6. Preventing dog from eating cat's explosive diarrhea.

7. Suffering from hernia pains.

8. Having invasive hernia surgery (of course will full details).

9. Butt pimples (when you drive a motorcycle to work, these can stand in your way).

10. Waking up still drunk and thus unable to drive. Safety first.

I should have just sent my boss this picture and said "Me have downs today. Sorry. No can work."

Instead, I am here.

Then how did you make hot pockets?

Trunky is one of the frat boys that likes to tease me most about my age (I'm the youngest in the office by farrr). At the ripe age of 37 he sent me the following email...

When I was a kid, adults used to bore me to tears with their tedious diatribes about how hard things were. When they were grow ing up; what with walking Twenty-five miles to school every morning uphill... barefoot. BOTH ways yadda, yadda, yadda. And I remember promising myself that when I grew up, there was no way in hell I was going to lay a bunch of crap like that on kids about how hard I had it and how easy they've got it!

But now that I'm over the ripe old age of thirty, I can't help but look around and notice the youth of today. You've got it so easy! I mean, compared to my childhood, you live in a damn Utopia! And I hate to say it but you kids today you don't know how good you've got it!

I mean, when I was a kid we didn't have The Internet. If we wanted to know something, We had to go to the damn library and look it up ourselves, in the card catalogue!!

There was no email!! We had to actually write somebody a letter, with a pen!Then you had to walk all the way across the street and put it in the mailbox and it would take like a week to get there! Stamps were 10 cents! Child Protective Services didn't care if our parents beat us. As a matter of fact, the parents of all my friends also had permission to kick our ass! No where was safe!

There were no MP3' s or Napsters! You wanted to steal music, you had to hitchhike to the damn record store and shoplift it yourself! Or you had to wait around all day to tape it off the radio and the DJ'd usually talk over the beginning and @#*% it all up! There were no CD players! We had tape decks in our car.We'd play our favorite tape and 'eject' it when finished and the tape would come undone. Cause that's how we rolled dig?

We didn't have fancy crap like Call Waiting! If you were on the phone and somebody else called they got a busy signal, that's it! And we didn't have fancy Caller ID either! When the phone rang, you had no idea who it was! It could be your school, your mom, your boss, your Bookie, your drug dealer, a collections agent, you just didn't know!!! You had to pick it up and take your chances.

We didn't have any fancy Sony Playstation video games with high-resolution 3-D graphics! We had the Atari 2600! With games like Space Invaders' and 'asteroids'. Your guy was a little square! You actually had to use your imagination!! And there were no multiple levels or screens, it was just one screen forever! And you could never win. The game just kept getting harder and harder and faster and faster until you died! Just like LIFE!

You had to use a little book called a TV Guide to find out what was on! You were screwed when it came to channel surfing! You had to get off your ass and walk over to the TV to change the channel! There was no Cartoon Network either! You could only get cartoons on Saturday Morning. Do you hear what I'm saying!?! We had to wait ALL WEEK for cartoons, you spoiled little rat-bastards! And we didn't have microwaves, if we wanted to heat something up we had to use the stove ... Imagine that!

Seriously, there was a time when Microwaves didn't exist? Holy shit, my mind has been blown...

It's beginning to look a lot like Xmas

I was going to keep this a secret from the blogosphere but after it received resounding support from my amazing friends, I decided I need to post it here.....

I present to you, my charlie brown Christmas Tree:

don't hate just cause you didn't think to do 3rd grade crayon art work
on the wall of your apartment

Inked Photo 32

Epic Fail- eBay style

After reading K's blog post on fan gear for Christmas, I decided to browse eBay for something special for the Shoe man. I have all the items, large and small, that I wanted to get him for the holiday, but I've been scheming the perfect way to present them to him. When I found a Chicago Bears Stocking I thought I hit the jackpot. Shoe is for some awful reason a huge Bears fan, and for $2.99 I thought it would be a nice holder for his gifts.

Well bbs, let me tell you- it is imperative that you read the entire eBay product description when bidding this holiday season. I was so excited about the find that I overlooked the tiny fact that items in photo may appear larger than they really are. My amazing Christmas stocking turned out to be a wonky sock that might fit a fat baby's foot. Last night when he picked me up to play pool at a local Billiards hall (yay for Thursdates), I completely broke down and told him of my auction faux pas. He roared with laughter since this is a classic absentminded Mb mistake.

Guess I'll have to think of another gift wrapping idea. Suggestions?

Consider the "Mmm, Bop"

If you've read past posts about the frat boys that work in my office, you know that every day presents a surprise with them. Today's surprise involved the resurfacing of a hit single from my childhood, "Mmm Bop," by Hanson.

Trunky had a song stuck in his head and, I'm assuming, the only way for him to get rid of it was to play "Mmm Bop" on youtube for everyone to hear. I belted out the lyrics along with the middle Hanson, receiving mocking praises from Trunky. "I can't believe you know the lyrics." Um, when you're going through puberty and believe the world hates you as much as you hate it, you remember everything that goes on around you, including taunts by classmates, mean criticisms from your parents, and lyrics to songs. Through natural osmosis I absorbed any and all lyrics from the 90s pop era. Anyway, I digress.....

Listening to "Mmm Bop" play this morning, I asked the frat boys, "Consider the 'Mmm Bop'?" Kimmel reflected on this song's potential meaning and underlying contribution to society. He emailed me the following:

Clearly this song is an expression of existential angst.

Let's look at the lyrics:

You have so many relationships in this life
Only one or two will last
You're going through all this pain and strife
Then you turn your back and they're gone so fast
And they're gone so fast

The first verse appears to lay the classic groundwork of a crisis of faith in the vein of the "Footprints" metaphor - only in this case the question remains; during the toughest parts of my journey, when I look down and see only one set of footprints, was I really riding on God's back...like we're playing chicken with the upcoming unknown...or was it only me trudging slowly over wet sand?

So hold on the ones who really care
In the end they'll be the only ones there
When you get old and start losing your hair
Can you tell me who will still care?
Can you tell me who will still care?

The second verse delves more deeply into the subject. Is there some omnipresent power gently steering us through the treacherous waters of our travels that will lovingly accept us back to Garden of Eden despite our flaws and faults? Are these decisions ours to make while a stern patriarch glares down from above in judgment marking notes in His ledger to ultimately decide whether we shall ultimately rise to the gates of St. Peter, or be banished to the fires of Hades? Or, are we completely alone with no guidance, no reprimand, and no consequence with nothing to look forward to at the end of our lives other than incontinence and an abrupt end?

Mmm bop, ba duba dop
Ba du bop, ba duba dop
Ba du bop, ba duba dop
Ba du

"Mmm bop, ba duba dop" indeed, Hanson brothers. What else can we say? Shall we kneel to accept the body and blood of Christ? Shall we pray the rosary? Shall we bow to face Mecca? Shall we seek the Way, Nirvana, the state of Brahma? Shall we dance to create and destroy along with Krishna? Do we worship at the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster? What else is there to say other than "Mmm bop?" It is a mantra of nothing, and knowing nothing is everything.

In an mmm bop, they're gone
Plant a seed, plant a flower, plant a rose
You can plant any one of those
Keep planting to find out which one grows
It's a secret no one knows
It's a secret no one knows
No one knows

The third verse reverberates with inner turmoil and angst of the unknown, yet contrasts with the hope of flowers - a rebirth. How it will end up? No one knows...might as well say "um bop." It also speaks of the dissonance within the band itself. When one casts one's seed carelessly, one may be surprised and terrified of the crop it yields. This is a warning pointing directly to Zach, aka the "evil Hanson." I can barely gaze upon his face without shuddering.

The shortest book review: The Red Tent

Book Title: The Red Tent

Author: Anita Diamant

Days needed to complete read: 3

The good: Historically, the book is accurate and the author deserves praise for her vast Biblical knowledge as well as research into ancient geography and anthropology. The book is a gripping read. The main character, Dinah, tells the story of her mothers as it was before her birth leading up to her own death. A reader should expect to develop a connection and love of the main character as her story evolves from a light-hearted child's story to a heartbreaking memory of an aging woman.

The bad: Those who follow the Bible to a "T," beware. This read, while accurate offers a controversial view on the "rape of Dinah," Genesis Chapter 34. The author strictly focuses on this tragedy in Genesis and does not elaborate on the other quarrels that occurred among the sons of Jacob after the siege on Shechem. The reader, unless better verse in Biblical text, may be left with the feeling that the "rape of Dinah" was the single or underlying cause of the feud among the sons of Jacob. Also, those who fear complications of childbirth beware. The skills of midwifery are discussed in great detail. The author states that complications and death at birth are rare, but she suggest otherwise through numerous tales of women and babies dying at childbed.

The verdict: If you are a fan (like me) of historical criticisms or different points of view on religion (specifically, the feminist perspective here) than this is the a Biblical fiction for you. The reader is introduced to interesting characters that each have their own special impact on the upbringing and development of Dinah's character. It is also a heartwarming story about motherhood that provides the reader with an often overlooked view on the contributions of women in the B.C. era.

Spotted Around Town: Take 7

renegade peach colored ("lucky") taxi, parking garage @ 19th and k streets, nw d.c.

cash cab, mangoes, and mini back packs

I love me some game shows, especially the kind that make your brains work. Like Jeopardy. And Family Feud. And of course Cash Cab!!

he wreaks of useless knowledge

Cash Cab is one of my favorite shows. I actually plan to be in the gym and in front of a TV with my tiny head phones plugged in so that I can watch Ben Bailey mess with New York tourists and natives alike. Yesterday C and I arranged a gym date that fortunately coincided with the show's airing. We took up post on treadmills next to each other, set our personalized TV screens to Discovery Channel, and began our work outs- both the physical and mental kind.

What I learned from our gym session is that 1) C and I would make bank on the show. A father and son brought home $950 with two strikes under their belts. C and I knew the answers to the questions they got wrong. We totally would have walked away with six figures to split. 2) I will, in the future, only flag down taxis in NYC if they look like the elusive Cash Cab. Actually, this isn't the first time I've declared such a silly quest. This past weekend while visiting my college roommate in NYC, I kept my eyes open for the Cash Cab. While waiting in front of her apartment building to be let in, I noticed a similar looking taxi and approached it to peer in and see if Mr. Bailey was in fact the driver. He wasn't, but had he been you can most certainly believe that I would have hopped in and requested a 100+ block trip down to Battery Park.

After our blasting our muscles and brains, C and I phoned up my brother for a mini adventure to Mr. Yogato, the maker of all that is wonderful on our planet- froyo. We invited Zab because he was still a (gasp) froyo virgin. Although busy with finals, Zab agreed. At Yogato's the chick at the counter asked him if he wanted 10% off his purchase by wearing a stamp on his forehead. Thinking the stamp would be something simple and straight forward (a smiley face? a star?) he obliged, leaving me with a wonderful photo opp....

mr. yogato wuzzz here

I ordered the usual, an original soft with blackberries and raspberries topped off with pancake syrup and cinnamon. I've been told this sounds borderline insane (pancake syrup?), but remember whose blog you're reading before you judge. Zab opted for mangoes on top of his first ever froyo cup. They tasted nasty (we both agreed) and tainted his experience. Luckily he's a good sport and will give Mr. Yogato another chance.

C and I parted with Zab and then headed to the infamous McFadden's where we were meeting the usual suspects for a late happy hour. At the bar Buntz let out a hearty laughed and poked fun at my leather mini book bag. "Did you bust that out of the 6th grade?" Um, yes unfortunately in fact I did. See, I've been in the market for an everyday purse (attention Santa) which is hard to find as ladies know. It needs to be practical- functional, large enough to hold all your goods but not to big to make you look like a pack rat. Since you'll be using it everyday, you need it to match with your entire wardrobe.

ol' bessie does the trick

I've had no luck acquiring one in recent weeks. Everything is either too small, not the right shape or color, or simply fugly to all hell. So instead of forking over dough for a purse I'm less than in love with, I busted out my old reliable leather mini backpack. I don't expect to make some sort of fashion statement or grand comeback for this accessory, but I will not deny that it is one of my beloved possessions. As I explained this to Buntz as she continued to point and laugh. "Seriously tho, it's made out of leather."

Buntz's jokes at my accessory were hardly offensive. I think the more surprising jab at my fashion sense came from the dorky GW undergrad that my roommate, SexyLeksy, made small talk with. When she introduced me, he looked me up and down and with a confused and mildly disgusted look said, "Um are you an athlete or do you just like to dress like that?"

give me a break, i just came from the gym

Really guy?? "I'm a 24 year old with a gym membership, is that okay?" I left him standing at the bar in his fraternity gear, surrounded by other undergraduate harlots sporting their clubbing's finest. Girls, did we really used to dress up for dive bars when we were younger?

Artist of the Week (week 59)

On Friday of last week, Spoogy and I were (window) shopping around the busy streets of New York City when we wandered into one of many H&Ms and heard this song playing on the store's speaker system. I instantly loved it's catchiness even if I could barely decipher the lyrics. In regular Mb fashion, I made a note in my cellphone "find daylight song," and the next day my internet search led me to Matt and Kim, a funky duo from Brooklyn who created an adorable video for their equally adorable song. Check it out.

The shortest book review: The Diving Bell and The Butterfly

I like sprinkling topical posts- think "as columns are to newspapers"- throughout my blog. There is the weekly update of Artist of the Week to the evermore random misadventures of my boss's daughter in The Baby Chronicles or asinine commentary by my younger brother, The Other Rock Star. These are only a few of the topical posts; there's too many to mention, but if you're a regular reader I'm sure you could name more than me.

Anywho, I've decided to launch another topical post section, dedicated to all you book worms out there. I lurve a good read, and especially because I am no longer enrolled in graduate classes (holla at the recent grad) I have a lot of extra time to devour books. In fact, I've complete three books in the past two weeks, so I might as well offer a quick (and I promise, quick) review of various paperbacks (and the occasional hardcover if I'm not feeling stingy) as I complete them.

So let's test drive this beast:

Book Title: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Author: Jean-Dominique Bauby

Days needed to complete read: 2 (a five hour bus ride one day, and about one the next evening before bed)





The good: It's a short and true story told by the man who experienced it first hand. Babuy suffered from Locked-In syndrome until his death. He wrote the story using a specially crafted form of communication- the blinking of his left eye. Bauby takes you through a series of sort chapters that cover blips of his life, pre and post the stroke that left him in his paralyzed state. I personally liked some of the creepy foreshadowing that Bauby alluded to in his memories.

The bad: I was disappointed to not learn more about Bauby as a person. He only reflected on a few, occasionally superficial, episodes of his life pre Locked-In syndrome. I didn't even realize he was separated from his wife until the second to last chapter. Also, if you don't like works composed of letters, short stories, or disconnected chapters, you may not enjoy this one. Bauby's reflections and observations are presented in a stream of conscious. If he's thinking about it, he tells you, whether or not it has anything to do with the preceding chapter.

The verdict: It's worth your time for the mere fact that this man wrote this autobiography through such a unique mode of communication. When I caught myself wishing that Bauby had elaborated more, I quickly stopped myself. It's a miracle the man shared even a sentence of his horrific experience.

My Dad the Superhero

The generation of my parents is so much more self sufficient than me and my fellow generation Y-ers. My friends will share stories of home-made schemes our parents concocted to fix leaky pipes or re-route electricity through our homes, while we struggle with the simple task of changing a flat tire. SuziQ and I often question if the ability to "help ones self" is a skill developed over time, an inherited chromosome, or merely a magical phenomenon that occurs once you pop out children (i.e. mommy magic).

I was reminded how skilled and resourceful my parents are, particularly my dad (who from now on in the blogosphere will be referred to as Super Dad) after visiting them this weekend. Super Dad picked me up from the bus stop early Saturday morning and drove me back to my parents' house, all the while filling me in on the latest drama surrounding our family dog, Mickey.

About a year ago, we noticed a small lump developing on Mickey's side just behind the shoulder of the front left leg. Over time it grew to the size of a softball. These types of growths are common in dogs, especially German Shepherds (Mickey is half Shepherd, half slutty mixed bitch); although they are malignant, surgery is highly discouraged since it's an essential death ticket for the animal. Two weeks ago, Super Dad was in the kitchen when Mickey walked in, covered from snout to tail in blood. Believing that the dog somehow impaled herself, Super Dad rushes her to the vet's office to learn that, either from internal or external pressure, the tumor broke the skin and was now a giant open wound. The vet shaved Mickey's fur and gave her a poor excuse for a bandage which of course fell off by the time Super Dad returned home with her. Annoyed with the vet's inability to properly bandage Mickey, Super Dad took matters into his own hands.

First, he devised a way to dress the wound to allow for maximum healing time with sufficient protection. He located some kind of Sheetrock adhesive wrap (yes the kind you use on drywall) and nonstick gauze pads to mummify Mickey's torso. This seemed to work for an hour or two, until Mickey grew sick of the restrictive bandage and tore it off. Super Dad then tried wrapping multile bandages more elaborately around her torso and behind her legs so that she appeared to be wearing a straight jacket, but of course my mischeivious dog Houdinied her way out of that as well. Frustrated but not yet defeated, Super Dad finally had a breakthrough. He knew Mickey needed to be bandaged but needed something that wasn't restrictive yet provided enough padding so that she wouldn't accidentally open the wound if she touched it. And thus was born the sweater vest.

Super Dad told me about the sweater vest during our car ride on Saturday. When I arrived at my parents' house, I quickly ran inside to find my wounded dog. What a sight.

Mickey proudly sported her sweater vest as if it was her own skin. She was free to move without getting tangled up in loose bandages, and the cushioning around the torso protected her when she bumped into chairs or people's legs, which often happens. I asked Super Dad how in the world he created the sweater vest, and to my dismay he revealed that he grabbed an old pair of boxers and some of my stuffed animals, removed their padding, and hit the sowing machine.

I am too lazy to even repair a lost button on my winter coat, but my dad is currently designing a winter line of sweater vests to keep Mickey cushioned while her wound heals.

Other projects Super Dad has completed over the years:

1. Designing and building several champion cub scout go-carts that shamed other 10 year-olds in the early 90s.

2. Restoring a chandelier from the early 1900s to hang (curiously out of place) in my parents' kitchen.

3. Taking apart and putting together leaf blowers, chain saws, lawn mowers, etc. to make them harder, better, faster stronger.

4. Highlighting my hair for the better part of my high school years. And might I add, I looked fly.

5. Building me a bookshelf my freshman year of college after he was disappointed to learn that I had no place for my growing personal library. Does anyone remember this white monstrosity that dangerously leaned over my bed? LOLs. That's my dad.

The First Time I Ever Got Lost As A Kid

I hate when I don't know where I am. I am immediately irritated when I'm lost or trying to decipher directions. But being "annoyed" because I've lost my way is a lot better than how I used to feel when I was a kid who randomly wandered away from her parents and suddenly found herself alone in a strange place.

Knowing that I suffer from some pretty intense anxiety, it's probably not all that surprising that when I got anxious or nervous as a child I pretty much immediately started crying. What you probably didn't know, tho, is that my pee urgency would increase exponentially. It would be like suddenly my bladder was five times larger than by body and needed relief immediately. I've learned to control my pee urges as an adult under pressure (pun intended, even if it was lame). But as a kid, it was much harder.

I remember going to Jamesway (did ya'll have those?) with my mom and wandering with her as she checked for new hand towels or bathroom soaps. I would always tell her, "I'll be right back, I just want to check something," as I'd sneak away to the Barbie isle. I would literally sit in the middle of the isle, amazed at the floor to ceiling stack of Barbie Dolls that seemed gargantuan compared to my little 7 year old self. I'd probably sit there for only a few minutes before I came to and realized, crap, I need to find Zsa zsa. Most of the time I was able to locate her not too far from where I left her, but I remember the first time when I thought I was, gulp, lost in a store as a kid. We were in the infamous Jamesway and I must have been gone longer than my usual few minutes. I swear to Buddha that I searched the store up and back and still could not find Zsa zsa. Panic sank in and suddenly I was crying and fighting the urge to pee all over myself at the same time. Running to the customer service counter with an awkward scissor-leg gallop, I told the lady at the register that I lost my mom and could she pretty please with a cherry on top page her to the front (at least I was a resourceful kid).

The lady made the announcement and within minutes, Zsa zsa appeared, annoyed and slightly embarrassed to be "that lady who lost her kid." I on the other hand was extremely relieved (well, only after my mom shuttled me into the restroom to stop me from doing the pee pee dance) and very amazed at how effective this system was. I get lost. I page mom. Mom comes running. I am safe. Suddenly the world isn't so big, bad, and scary.

pee pee dance stick figure on the unisex bathroom door

Well of course, I abused the system shortly after figuring it out. Sometimes, after wandering away, I'd be too lazy to find Zsa zsa on my own, so rather than do laps around the store, I'd walk to the same customer service counter, page her, and make her find me. This worked, oh, maybe three or four times before Zsa zsa figured me out and decided to plot revenge. This brings me to the second time I, double gulp, thought I was lost in a store. I was mesmerized by Barbie when I finally snapped back to reality and realized, shit shit (yes I knew that word at 7), I've been gone too long. I started jogging to find Zsa zsa, but when I didn't immediately spot her, I went up to customer service. The friendly lady at the register paged my mom and waited patiently with me at the front for her arrival. When five minutes passed and Zsa zsa was no where to be found, the nice lady paged her again. Another five minutes, but still no Zsa zsa. I should have noticed something was fishy when the lady at the register was too calm for someone potentially dealing with a lost child. She said, "I'm sure she'll be here soon," before leaving me to sit at the benches near check out while she went back to her job. I must have waited hours!!!....okay, really, probably only ten more minutes, but when your bladder is ready to blow like Vesuvius, seconds feel like ions....before Zsa zsa pulled up to the check out line with her cart full of items as if nothing happened. She happily paid for her purchase and then zipped past me saying, "It's time to go darling."

W?T?F?

I immediately broke into tears again, tempted to get back at her by peeing all over the damn store I yelled, "I paged you!! I was lost!!!"

"And I found you," she said, "I knew where you'd wait."

I never pulled that shit again. And luckily Zsa zsa didn't have to call the store in advance and warn the customer service lady about a mischievous little girl doing the pee pee dance, claiming she lost her mother.

Bad Santa

Erm, has anyone seen this?

click on image to make it larger for better reading

Hilarious. Thank you to K for sending this to me.

Artist of the Week (week 58)

Cuuuuuuute. One of my favorite songs of all times (psh, so I have a dozen or so) is Romeo and Juliet. For all you non-classic rock lovers, think of the scene in Empire Records when Mark is dusting around the store but is mesmerized by a ballerina wearing headphones. He catches her foot, before offering it a quick peck and dusting it off. Anyway...Romeo and Juliet was playing in the background.

Brandon Flowers and the other geniuses behind The Killers decided to cover Romeo and Juliet. In this vid, they open with an excellent acknowledgement to the original song by the legendary Dire Straits. Brandon's right, who knew they were from England? Quel surprise!

Ice Cream Wars

Shoe and I are facing two dilemmas that most of the American population is dealing with right now. We are trying to be smart with money and we are trying to eat better. It's always good to not be alone in financial or weight loss efforts. I'm the kind of person who sticks to resolutions better with someone pushing me along the way. For example, I work harder at the gym when C goes with me. (I also get more money back on my taxes if she helps me file them; it's awesome having one of your besties as your financial adviser).

Shoe and I obviously spend a significant amount of time together, and if you know us, about 85% of our time together is spent scheming what to eat. Since meeting him, I've been reintroduced to the sinful amazingness that is Peking Express on 14th Street. In return, I've shown him the sugary perfection that is Birthday Cake Ice Cream (thanks Anna, for introducing it to me in Atlanta). We're both terrible. The problem with being fiscally responsible and health conscious is that the two really don't match up. Some argue that if you have less money, you're spending less on food and are therefore going lose weight. But that's not the point. Shoe isn't on a manorexic mission and I've had a long love affair with food that simply cannot be broken. So we're stuck deciding between the Wendy's dollar menu to save a buck or a healthy salmon and asparagus entree in sacrifice of gas money for the week.

the best ice cream on the planet. if you disagree, you're dumb and we can't be friends.

I have to say that for the last month or so we've been fairly successful at our mission to save (money) and lose (weight) at the same time. Thanks to Shoe, I've memorized two or three fabulous recipes for the most delicious yet healthy home made pizzas (the margherita makes me drool thinking about it). We've incorporated sweet potatoes into our meals to give them a sassy and satisfying twist (sweet potato fajitas: cheap and scrumptious). I've even learned to take chicken to places it's never gone (lasagna, omelets, and more).

But still, whenever we stroll down the frozen isle in Giant, I flash Shoe my puppy eyes and ever so gently ask him if he's in the mood for ice cream. I'm a suckerrrrrr for ice cream. I believe this is Zsa zsa's fault. She always had a gallon of vanilla ice cream on hand, whether it was for adding a dollop to her morning coffee or dropping a spoonful onto apple pie....which was normally her breakfast (see where my sweet tooth comes from). If there is one thing I love in this world, it is ice cream, so naturally my heart cracks a little every time Shoe puts his foot down and says, "No guyyyy, we can't." I know he's saying no because it's in my best interest, and I'm past the point of throwing tantrums when I can't get what I want (it never worked with Zsa zsa; she'd just pretend that she suddenly forgot how to speak English and refuse to communicate with me, leaving me frustrated and defeated). But I've never given up on trying to break him down into purchasing ice cream every time we are in the grocery store. When we walk down the frozen isle, I flip on my hypnotic eyes to send him signals. "Ice cream Nazi. You will obey me. You will buy me B&J's Chunky Monkey and then grovel before me as I devour this heavenly treat, because I am wonderful and so is ice cream." Generally, he looks at me and says, "Guyyyy, don't look at me like that. Grab some frozen veggies and let's roll." Ugh.

Last night, I arrived at the Columbia Heights metro and hopped into Shoe's car for a seemingly normal night at his house. We drove to his place and walked into his house, just like any regular night, and headed towards the kitchen to grab a glass of water each. That's when I noticed the CVS bag in his hand. With a devilish look he revealed a tub of Edy's Chocolate and Peanut Butter Cup Blast purchased just before he picked me up at the metro. ZOMG! As he prepared the bowl I silently thanked Baby Jesus for Shoe's tiny breakdown in will power constant thoughtfulness. When the bowl of ice cream came, so did I.

For Services Rendered

Have you ever wondered what the purpose is of the for/memo line on the bottom left hand corner of check?

that's what she said

I took a business elective in high school that taught me how to balance my check book and obtain lines of credit, among many other financially related things. The class informed me that the for/memo line on a check is normally for referencing an account number so that the receiver of the check can easily track the line of credit to be paid. The rest of the time the for/memo line is for the check writer's reference so that when the check is cashed, the originator can identify what the payment was for when the check is cleared and return to his/her possession.

What's my point in telling you this? Well bbs, ever since I found out what the for/memo line meant, I've been making a bold mockery of it. I write ludicrous references on this line. For example, when I got C a parking ticket last month, I wrote her a check for $250 with a reference to "stupid effing parking fine." When my cousin purchased two tickets for me to see The Eagles in Concert, I wrote "do work son" in the for/memo line in reference to her favorite show, "Rob and Big." I usually write silly phrases (Joe the Plumber tax evasion fee) or inside jokes (gay puppy love) on this line, so pay attention friends. My humor sometimes runs under the radar, but it is always there.

I found out I was not alone in my random use of the for/memo line last week when Buntz provided me with a reimbursement check for the Katy Perry concert tickets I purchased for the gang. As I went to cash the check, I noticed that she put a tiny heart on the for/memo line. I smiled at our like minds.

What do you put on the for/memo line??

On being a city girl...

Although I grew up in suburban NJ, anyone from that area knows that burbs outside of NYC are nothing like your typical American suburbs. Streets are still well lit. There are crowds of ppl out and about at all hours of the day/night. The population is diverse. Need I say more?

By default, I've always considered myself a "city girl" despite the suburban heritage. This weekend's adventure in Davidsonville, Maryland confirmed that I am without a doubt a city girl- and there are just some things a city girl can't do....and many amazing things that she can. Let's recap:

SuziQ hit me up on Saturday afternoon while I was baking cookies with my brother. She asked if we wanted to join her in a little adventure to Travis's house. Having the most random yet phenomenal experience last time, I petitioned my brother and he eagerly agreed to join in on the fun. Luckily C left me her car this weekend while she was visiting family for the holiday. So we hopped in the silver bullet and made our way out on Route 50.

We met Travis and his posse at a steak house in Edgewater, Maryland before following him back to his home in Davidsonville. Here's where the list of what city girls (or at least THIS city girl) can and cannot do begins...

1. City girls cannot follow people when driving. City girls would much rather follow written directions, oral instructions from a passenger, or a GPS (even a temperamental one like C's Horatio). THIS city girl is already a nervous bad driver. To make matters worse, I had to follow another car along winding poorly paved roads in the middle of no where for several miles. The fact that there were only three or four street lamps along the way makes this city girl extra fearful that a mass mob of zombies was waiting to attack our car at the next turn.

2. City girls can and love to drink. This is especially problematic when THIS city girl is called on to designated driver duties. As a responsible city girl who borrowed her friends car for the night doesn't want to endanger anyone, I drank earlier in the evening but promptly cut myself off well before departure. This was an exceptional challenge. I expect a gold star or a cookie for my efforts.

3. City girls can be extremely artsy. They possess natural born talents to create masterpieces via paint, oils, and sometimes even magic marker. SuziQ just so happens to be this kind of city girl, and she wasted no time displaying her artistic ability by drawing all over the guests.

suziq drawing a moustache in the style of a dirty sanchez

4. City girls can be overly adventurous. City girls have adopted faux names and personalities to work our way into parties. We've concocted some of the greatest schemes and pranks to rock the towns we own. We will even agree to ride ATV's with semi-intoxicated professional X-gamers, knowing that of the particular gentlemen we are holding onto for dear life broke his own back only four months ago.

5. City girls cannot drive ATVs. That is all.

6. City girls can be immensely entertaining. Sometimes the humor comes from the city girl who opts to ride the tricycle down the skate ramp while the big boys opt for more daring modes of transportation (like dirt bikes and skate boards). Sometimes city girls provide laughter because they have secretly mastered acrobatic pole dancing routines. Either way, city girls make the boys LOL.

conquering mountains

and breaking hearts

7. City girls cannot be expected to "choose" to play in mud. City girls are phenomenal sports. A city girl will wear a smile from ear to ear and cheer as loudly as her gentleman companion as he whips her around on a four-wheeler creating donuts in a giant muddy field. The city girl will not complain. The city girl will be a big girl. But the city girl would never "choose" to muddy her Nine West Taupe knee high boots. I'm just sayin'.

such a cute good little sport

8. And finally, the city girl can rally. Even after the dirtiest of experiences, such as a muddy ATV off-road trip, a city girl will diligently remove all filth from her life, pick up where she left off and move on to the next social adventure. In our case, we cleaned off poor SuziQ, dressed her up in her finest clubbing attire and high tailed it back to the city for a night of dancing and boozing in our element.

All hail the city girls. Rare and wonderful.