Don't get sad this Valentine's Day

Hi.

Hello.

Happy Valentine's Day to you.

Oh. You hate Valentine's Day, you say. It drives you into a deep, powerful depression? Is it because you're lonely? Hate crowds? Allergic to roses?

Well, I"m here to tell you, on this beautiful holiday (with promotional considerations from Hallmark, Russell Stover and the Olive Garden)(because isn't that where people go for romantic dates?)(I need to get out more), that it's closing time for your pity party -- you don't have to go home, but you CAN'T STAY HERE FEELING SORRY FOR YOURSELF.

Feel sorry for Charlie Sheen instead.

Sure, you might not have a boyfriend, girlfriend or husband. Or maybe you're the only person in your office who didn't recieve $50 roses delivered straight to your cubicle. But it could be worse.

You could have recently been rushed to the hospital after smoking and snorting a briefcase full of coke while partying in the room in your mansion dubbed the "Porn Room" with -- surprise, surprise -- porn stars. Then you could have been released from the hospital into "in-home rehab", which I'm sorry, sounds pretend.

And the porn stars look down and pity you.

And you could have just finalized your third divorce in 15 years.

And the only real success you've had since the 80s, a TV show that's inexplicably popular, could be cancelled because you can't get your crap together.

And when somebody Googles you, these searches could come up:

In 0.12 seconds, Google could pull up a search presuming you're dead. And on any given day, that could be 60% true.

So this year, don't get sad face about this wonderful day, this tribute to true love. Call someone and tell them you love them, then embrace the fact that you aren't Charlie Sheen.

There's always a table open at the Olive Garden.

Lower. No, Lower.

Yesterday I had a OB appointment.

I'm 27 weeks pregnant and it was time for the dreaded glucose screening. And then they were going to give me a shot of some antibodies because I have Rh negative blood and my blood might fight with my baby's blood? SCIENCE. And while I was there, they were going to recheck my blood pressure (which ALWAYS goes up right before my appointment because I have white coat syndrome and am terrified of doctors). So it makes sense they would be rechecking my blood pressure when I have all those other things to worry about. (And by "makes sense", I mean "makes not once tiny lick of sense".)

The glucose screening wasn't as bad as people wanted me to think. It tasted a lot like fruit punch. But you guys, they are NOT kidding around about the test times. I was to take the medicine an hour before my appointment, EXACTLY, and then let them know when I got there what time I took the medicine so they could test me IMMEDIATELY. I got to my appointment about 20 minutes early because I was so terrified of it messing up.

Everything went fine, blood pressure was normal (after taking it 3 times), but then it was time for the shot. I don't do shots. I have been known to pass out when I LOOK at a needle. This isn't just for medicine, either. When I got my ears pierced at 8 or 9 I passed out. So after 30 years, I know the drill. The nurse told me the injection went into my hip, so I laid on my side and pulled my jeans down a little. She said, "actually, just a little lower." I pulled them lower. "Actually, looowweer...." I pulled lower. "Actually, this goes right into your buttcheek," she said. So there I am, laying there trying not to have an anxiety attack over this needle. My buttcheek is just hanging out saying "Oh hello! Wow, I didn't expect to be out of my underpants today, this is a lovely surprise, OH WAIT WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME???"

And when it was over, I got a Tweety bird band-aid. It was like my badge of honor.

When was the last time you had to get a shot at the doctor's office? Was it in your cheek? Do you get panic-y around needles?  Want to read more about my baby, cause it's here on my baby blog.

HUMMER TIME

Having a baby on the way has apparently awoken a part in Hubby's brain that has long been dormant, a part that loves Matchbox cars and video games. Maybe it's the eager anticipation of having a little boy to pal around with, or maybe it's that having a baby is a BIG FREAKING DEAL and he wants to get all the immature out of his system in the next 4 months, but all I know is that we've spent more time in Toys R Us lately than any two so-far childless adults should.

As an aside before I get into this story, I want to buy this for my son when he's older:

That, my friends, is a mudpie maker. It comes with a real, working sink and mixer. JUST ADD DIRT. I think it's the most evil genius thing I've ever seen in my entire life.  I want him to mix and serve mud pies in a REAL way, and I won't even mind cleaning him up because it's just that cute to me.

We were there Saturday to buy a changing table pad and apparently it was also a Christmas in July sale AND we had a 20% off coupon (or two, apparently) and the wait was just too much for him. Hubby needed a radio-controlled car and he needed it in the WORST way. He hadn't mentioned an RC car at all before, like ever in our 5 years together, but according to him, he had a burning desire to drive a tiny car 2000 ft and back and nothing else would do.

We had a "discussion" at Toys R Us about it. He picked up a "Cars" themed RC car and said, "This would be perfect for our son." I was all, our son doesn't even weigh a pound yet. I hardly think this is the appropriate toy for him. He countered by saying that this type of toy would probably last for awhile and that our baby would just LOVE IT! It was $25. I suggested all the things that would be a better use of $25.

He walked to the next aisle and saw an even better RC vehicle that was $30. Hubby thought long and hard about it and then asked what I thought. I told him that if I was mad about a $25 RC car, why would I think a $30 RC car would be better? It was a humongous yellow Hummer, and he said it looked sturdier and would last longer. Although I still had a hard time figuring out why he needed it, I said "WHATEVER", threw down the changing pad and walked to the bathroom. I was hoping he'd make the "smart decision" to not buy it when I met him at the car, but there it was in all it's yellow glory, hanging out in the back seat of the car.

A car in the back of a car. Who would have thunk it?

The batteries needed to charge for 8 hours before he could play with it. He took it from the box, left the box in the kitchen for cats to play in, and "parallel parked" it next to the TV. We waited and waited and waited. Around 9 PM he looks at the dog and says, "Truffles....only 2 more hours...get excited!" And I asked why we were supposed to be excited?

He looked at me with a smirk and said, "It's HUMMER TIME" and then proceeded to hum the tune of Hammer Time and it was probably the best moment of my whole week and totally worth that $30.

So it gets charged up and he has the BEST time driving that son of a beast around the house. Of course the dog hates it with a white, hot passion and will bark incessantly at it and the cats are scared out of their wits. But who cares when there is a tiny vehicle to drive around? He drove it across the living room and into our bedroom and back, did a few donuts, rammed into my shoes and then parallel parked it again for the night.

Sunday he took it out on the open road. Imagine an RC car cruising down the street with a grown-ass man behind the controls and try not to laugh. He brought it back in the house and harassed our animals with it until the battery died. He had to manually parallel park it and I had to resist the urge to make a "Hummer Parking Only" sign.

Monday evening I was getting ready for bed when I heard the telltale buzz of the Hummer coming to greet me. I thought Hubby would be right there in the dining room, wheeling away, but it was just the lone Hummer, staring at me with it's creepy headlights. I looked into the living room and Hubby was sitting on his lappy pretending like he didn't drive it.

And I have to say it made me laugh. A lot.

Is this what I have to look forward to when my son is old enough to play with Hubby?

Annie is almost like an action flick

So, have you been wondering where Amanda is? No, I didn't jet off to Bora Bora to date three guys because 1) I'm married 2) I'm not a fame seeking whore and 3) I work for a non-profit. That's definitely not where I've been. I know you're all missing my delightful recap, but the truth is I just didn't have it in me to watch it on my birthday because it sucks the energy right out of my body. I watched the Bachelorette online with my pal JP and I saved our conversation and will post it maybe this weekend. It's good times.

I'm here tonight to drop off some funnies from my dear Husband. The scene: I was sleepy when I got home from work after eating way too much at lunch at the Pizza Hut lunch buffet. After struggling through a pizza coma all afternoon, I needed a resty-poo. When I woke up we went to McDonalds for dinner because my baby? He loves him some Filet of Fish sandwiches. What the heck? What kind of baby did I make? At any rate, after naps I tend to suffer from a little foggy brain, probably exacerbated by all these hormones.

While we're there, the following conversation occurs regarding, hands down, my favorite movie of all time, 1982's Annie, staring Eileen Quinn and the incomparable Albert Finney as Daddy Warbucks.

Me: Davey [Sister's husband] watched Annie with Sis.
Hub: *snickers*
Me: What? He did!
Hub: Yeah...right.
Me: Why wont' you watch with me?
Hub: I don't think I'll like it.
Me: I watch stuff with you that I don't like! Besides, Davey liked it! He said he liked the car chases!
Hub: Car chases, I'm so sure.
Me: *getting angry* What if my only dream in life is for you to watch Annie with me????
Hub: Then I'd say you have a sad life, if that's your biggest dream.
Me: *sigh* [pause] But there *are* car chases.
Hub: *laughs at me*
Me: And thievery and kidnapping. And helicopters. It's veerrrry exciting!
Hub: *head in his hands*
Me: You know what it's like? It's like that movie Taken. *wiggles eyebrows expectantly*
Hub: I'm going to Tweet that you just said Annie is anything like Taken.

So he's not only funny, but he puts up with my nonsense. I think he deserves a medal.

Have you seen Annie? Isn't it the best? On a scale of  1 to 10, how close is it to being like Taken?

It's been awhile -- wanna hear some work stories?

My team has access to the production studio at work, which is much less impressive than it sounds, although the most wonderful, cool, dark and quiet room you'll ever see in your life. Don't think I haven't thought long and hard about napping there on occasion. Anyway, we do some video editing and podcasting there. Our studio is located within a suite that holds our call center, an impressive 5 employees strong. That's right -- we're so awesome we only need 5 people in our call center. 

I was editing some video yesterday and when I walked out one of our call center employees whispers to me to come over to her desk. She's a really nice lady, a little older, always so happy and positive. We work in the same department but not really with one another, but I knew OF her. So I head over to her desk and have the following conversation:

Her: Let me ask you something. Don't you get mad at me, now. [places her hand on my belly] Are you pregnant?

Me: Yes!

Her: I knew it. You're having a girl, aren't you? [as she continues to rub my belly]

Me: Actually no, a boy. We just found out last week.

Her: That's just so wonderful! [tone change to angry] Did that big tall girl have her baby yet?????

Me: [taken aback] um, well, I don't know. Maybe? 

Two things: my belly is not that big, so touching it at this point is still a little more in my personal space than I care for an almost stranger to be. I mean when the baby gets bigger, maybe. But right now, I'll take my belly untouched, please. Also? I don't know what girl she's talking about. Like no clue whatsoever. It was a strange transaction.

_________________________________________

Our little intern, bless his heart, he's 21 years old. It's just precious. I love 21 year olds because they are still filled with goodness and wonder and positivity. They still think liberal arts is a good, strong choice. They like things such as napping and doing projects and going out to bars. They have time for all that stuff.

I gave him a project to help me with this summer -- taking photos of some nurses for our website. He came in with the photos and he's all, look how they all posed and stuff for me. They were really friendly. Another coworker teased him about giving the girls his number and he said, "naw, they were older." Older. Guess what's older to a 21 year old? TWENTY-FIVE. Yeah, the ripe old age of 25. Over the hill, certainly. I mean after the metabolism starts to slow it's all over. 

We all enjoy our intern.

__________________________________________

Not really work related, but since this blog is turning out pretty random anyway, here goes. In the past two weeks, we've had one almost fatal lightening strike in the area and one not really close to be fatal but still scary anyway alligator attack.

The alligator attack was on a researcher who was snorkeling in a river about 30 minutes south of where I live. The alligator was all, Oh, my food delivery is here NOM. And the guy was apparently big and strong and wrassled him off. The guy got a bite on his neck and some cuts and bruises but was OK and would make a full recovery. The alligator was murdered by the Fish and Wildlife people. Let's be clear here -- if you were in your living room and a some terriyaki chicken wings just sauntered in like they owned the placed, kicked up their drummettes and sat a spell, you'd bite them...right? Same with this gator. Dude was swimming in his house! And I'm sure he smelled delicious.  So whatever, I'm over it now but there was a hot second where I was sitting here with tears in my eyes after I found out the alligator was shot.


These two things together make Florida seem like the most terrifying place on the planet.

How many inches is your personal space bubble? How much do you enjoy interns and/or 21 year olds? Are you scared of Florida?

The Bachelorette: Episode Three - How to not get a rose

It's been one week since we looked at Ali, threw our arms in the air and said she's crazy. That's a Barenaked Ladies reference. I just Googled them to see if they had any other songs but this one because it's been over 10 years since they were last relevant and I couldn't remember. The second link TO THEIR OFFICIAL SITE says the following:

Don't miss Barenaked Ladies tonight featured during a special date in the third episode of The Bachelorette, airing TONIGHT at 8/7 Central on ABC. ...

Awww...how sad. How appropriate.

Chris Harrison kicks off the show by waking up the guys to tell them about the first date. Frank is wearing an ironic tee that says "Cultured & Experienced" because that's definitely what the contestants are usually known for...culture. Roberto snags the first date and of course he does. Sisterfriend has it bad for Roberto already. Some guy whose name I don't know says Ali doesn't know his name, and well, that doesn't really bode well for him, does it? I think he leaves later in the episode, but I'm not sure. Because I don't know him.

As the guys prepare for an afternoon by the pool as kept men, Ali arrives just in time to catch the local 10 am Dbag Junction helicopter. For someone who claims to hate flying so much, Ali sure does a lot of it. I guess it's just a job hazard but really, who thinks she's just saying that so she can cuddle with guys? Raise your hands. Methinks Ali is a cuddle slut. The heli drops them off on some random rooftop in LA and Ali explains that lunch is on a second rooftop across from the one where they landed. Um, guys? I think they dropped you off in the wrong place. Oh, wait, no, this is just the obligatory "bungee/high wire date that means the person will be in the top 3, at least". Listen, ain't no lunch good enough for me to walk across a tightrope.

Meanwhile, back at the Junction, it's burgers and beer for the non-Robertos. They are sitting around talking about who is there for Ali and who is not. I call Jonathan "Ty". I dont' know if there is a Ty or not. Oh, show!

Celebrity Urban Circus continues as Roberto and Ali risk their lives for what has to now be a cold, stale meal. Halfway across, Roberto stops her and kisses her and she almost falls in the process but it's OK because of [sparkly pink puffy hearts and angels and a heavenly glow] LOVE.

Here's Ali's priority list:

• LOVE
• her career
• living to see another day. 

They finally climb across and watch the sunset, and as he's waxing poetic about how special this moment is to him, as Robertos are wont to do, Ali gives him the sideways glance of a girl who is really into a guy. Way to give it away, you realize there are 30 production people around you capturing that moment. But I do have to say, it looked really genuine and a little sweet.

Because it would be against the laws of nature for me to think highly of Ali for more than 30 seconds, we cut to the next scene where they are somehow dressed in fancy date night clothes and eating. I thought the only way over was the tightrope, and now they have suddenly found a way into the building to change and get gussied up. I'd be all, "there is an entrance to this building from the floor and you made me walk across a tightrope. Shenanigans!"

The camera pans over to show us a pile of pillow and blankets and candles where Ali and Roberto promptly get to the making out and dry humping portion of the evening. What a weird date. It's typical in the form, but odd because it takes place on the roof of a building. I mean they are making out two feet from where they ate.

Back at Hangover Central, USA, the guys find their group date card says, "Come Rock My World - Ali". Oh goodie, I bet it will be some really popular, relevant band! But instead they get Barenaked Ladies. Hi. 1998 called, they want their adult contemporary group back. The boys get in a van and are driven to an abandoned ghetto looking area in LA where they will be murdered, then this show will REALLY get exciting! But instead of certain death, they find Barenaked Ladies just rockin' away. The boys feign interest -- one says he's "always" wanted to see them. My hubby says Barenaked Ladies are stoked because it's their biggest gig in 8 years.

Their job today, should they chose to accept, is to star in a video for the group's new song. They each draw straws for scenes with Ali. Weatherman gets a scene in which he gets to make out hardcore with her and is literally terrified, like shaking and sweating terrified. And he also cries. It's bad, you guys. Then she has a scene with Kurt, whoever he is, and they roll around making out and dry humping in a bed while she wears lingere. It's supposed to be fake but looks pretty real from where I'm sitting. ABC? It's only 8:45. Let's cool it with the continuous dry humping. The director yells cut and there is no cutting in that bed, if you know what I mean. It makes the other guys so uncomfortable that they all leave. Congrats, Kurt! You just mortified a group of people with no ethics, morals or shame! It's a first for this show!

Later they go to a "wrap party" on another rooftop bar with hot tub. Frank connects with Kurt over their mutual connection with Ali. So many connections going on here. Weatherman tries to explain his lack of balls and makes things even more awkward. The other guys jostle for time with her. Kurt gets in the hot tub with Ali, but the rest of the guys jump in and ruin their special moment. Why aren't there anthropologists on the set studying this behavior? It's fascinating. Like gorillas in the wild, except less civilized.

Back at the Junction, the guys find out Hunter will be going on the next one-on-one. Again, who? I wish I cared enough to learn their names. Hunter is dunzo. I can tell before he even leaves the Junction. He says it's the most important thing that has happened to him. EVER [pregnant pause]...on this show. But before we get to that, the big drama we were promised begins to unfold.

Justin "Rated R", the professional wrestler who is currently hobbling around on crutches, decides he needs -- nay, DESERVES -- some one-on-one time with Ali. He decides to begin his suicide mission to hike, on crutches, up some rocky slopes to her casa on the hill. There are several shots of him navigating around, asking locals where Ali lives (creepy!), climbing through ditches and across busy streets. It's your classic ill-conceived plan. They show Ali being interviewed and him gimping up behind her. She pretends like she's shocked and honored that he would risk his life to spend a few moments with her. They look at some pictures of his family and talk about his Daddy issues, as in, he doesn't' have one and wants to be a Daddy. He wants to win a reality show TV contest so he can prove he's a better man than his father? That seems about right.

Anyway, Justin's escapades are cutting into Ali's one-on-one date time with Hunter. Which doesnt 'matter because Hunter sucks a little for Ali. They go to her house, and Ali is wearing, like, jeans and flip flops and doesn't bother to brush her weave at all. Nice of her to dress up for this shindig.  He grills approximately four pounds of hamburger and a package of hot dogs while discussing how he'd gladly leave his job and stay home and take care of their hypothetical children. Ali looks terrified. They slide into the hot tub/ infinity pool where they discuss the hot tub/infinity pool. Then there is some awkward silence, then he kisses her shoulder. Ouch, Hunter. Good luck in the future, bud.

Later they sit by a fire, eating again because apparently their hypothetical children ate all that grilled meat and left them hungry, and Hunter spots the rose and says, "Theeerrreeee's a roooooossseeee!" with a sneaky smile. She says, yeah, about that. You're not getting this rose. Then she drops the "just friends" bomb and it explodes all over Hunter's sad little face.

The boys at the Junction then watch as the Grim Reaper of the Bach House carries away Hunter's bags. Some guys cheer. Craig R continues to get wasted on his 40 oz.

Next is elimination party night. Frank continues his one man crazy person show by creeping on Kurt about how much they love Ali. Frank did not learn "sharing" skills in kindergarten. Ew, how gross is it that they share her? Sometimes I forget that's what's happening on this show. Steve, who I believe has never gotten a date, plans his own date with a throw rug and some candles and an unopened bottle of champagne. He says if she wasnt' goign to take him on a date, he'd take her. And Lord, what a terrible date. She has to first get down on the ground in a huge ball gown, then he can't open the bottle. Listen, buddy, if you're unable to open booze, you're not right for Ali. She needs that in a man.

Later, while talking with Roberto, Ali lets it drop that Justin came to visit her. Roberto shares this with the guys and they go on a mission to find pitchforks and torches so they can attack Justin. They all have a little squabble like 8th grade girls fighting over lipgloss, then Justin goes out to the lanai and cries a little, and by cry, I mean he blinked really hard and rubbed his lower eye just like he had a real tear.

Here are my thoughts on Justin: I almost felt sorry for him earlier when he was talking about his Dad. Obviously, editing comes into play very heavily on this show, and I believe the producers are trying to get us to feel sorry for him. But honestly, he's a professional wrestler which is just an actor with a terrible manager. There has to be something going on if every single guy in the house hates him passionately. So I think we're going to see more from him soon and I think he's just as bad as all the guys think he is.

Chris announces the rose ceremony and Chris L, Chris N, Jesse (who was wearing a demin t-shirt because he really does only have one suit, I guess), Ty, Kasey, Craig, Frank, Weatherman, Kurt and Justin all get roses.

This one was a snoozer so just be thankful you can read about it in less than 10 minutes instead of watching for 2 hours.

Did you watch? Who is your favorite? Did you think it was a little on the boring side?
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If you can't trust the History channel, who CAN you trust?

Hubby and I are sort of history nerds. Well actually he's mostly a history nerd but I don't mind it. He has a Master's Degree in history so he sort of has to love it. And love it he does. I am not lying when I tell you we have a room in our home dedicated to the Civil War, complete with the cute little hats they wore, postcards, a calendar, blue and gray painted stripes and some rocks we stole from a Civil War battlefield one time.

We've also been to Gettysburg a bunch. It's fun, you should go. And take pictures  like this:

The rock was very heavy. Also: people died here.

Anyways. Hubby always finds these interesting shows on the History Channel and records them for us to watch during dinner because YES we eat in front of the TV and don't you dare get all judgey about it. He saw an ad for a program during the NCAA tournament (I know, weirdest ad placement EVER) called America: A History of Us and he got super jazzed. The premiere came on two weeks ago and of course we recorded it.

Like I said, he's much more into history than I am and gets all pretentious about it like he knows more than the History Channel, AS IF. So when we started this really slick-rick show, what with the fancy computer graphics, good acting and celebrities adding their commentary, he was a little skeptical. I mean really, what does Sheryl Crow have to add to the story of the American Revolution, hmm? (Answer: a lot. She's surprisingly insightful.) He kept saying, "I....I just don't know if that's accurate." and "Wait. How is Jay Z qualified to talk about Jamestown?" but I figured it was legit for the following reasons:

1. It was sponsored by Bank of America.
2. It aired on the History Channel.
3. They quoted Jimmy Wales, co-founder of Wikipedia.

But then even I started wondering if what I was watching was *actually* the story of America. It started when they talked about the Alamo and were all, "people died! *wah wah wah* But we eventually got Texas!" Um, excuse me, wasn't there some more information in between? No? Jimmy Wales said it wasn't important? Oh, ok then.

Then they were all, "one upon a time there was this poor little guy whose Mom died of milk sickness and then he moved from Kentucky to Illinois and built himself a log cabin, the trailer homes of that time period, [I swear to God they said that, verbatim] and then he grew up and split  hundreds of thousands of one foot logs in half while his Dad watched" and then made me wait to find out who it was when I could have totally gone to Wikipedia and typed in "Illinois" and "milk sickness" and KNEW it was Abraham Lincoln.

But this show jumped the shark when a few minutes later they said Abraham Lincoln used to sail down the Mississippi on a raft selling fruit and he basically discovered steam engines. Really? Really. Come on. I was born during the day but not yesterday. I searched up and down all through the Abraham Lincoln bio on Wikipedia and there is no mention of his steamboat inventing days, so I call shenanigans.

THEN Puff Daddy is all, yeah, Abraham Lincoln is a hero because being an American and working hard is in his DNA. And I said, "what do you know from working hard? You hired someone to hold an umbrella over your head when the sun is out. I hardly call that work."

So now I'm looking at this program with a somewhat critical eye, because they may or may not be feeding me bullcrap wrapped in real history. And it's DELIGHTFUL so I guess I like the taste of historical bullcrap. Right now we are just getting in to the Civil War days, which I'm sure they will make sound as glamorous as possible.

America, I love you, but  we need to have a little talk. Just because you want it doesn't mean you can just take it. Early America was like a little child. They were all, "well if you're going to tax us then we'll just throw all our tea in the harbor, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO NOW?" or "This land has belonged to you for hundreds of years but we put a flag here SO IT'S OURS NOW, NA NA NA POO POO." I don't question that part because I know it happened.  I just kept saying, "Why did Americans have to do these things? I hate Americans!" Like, good job, History Channel, you just made me ashamed to be an American for like, 2 hours.

I think -- maybe -- the whole miniseries is just a subliminal message to open a Bank of America credit card and go search for stuff on Wikipedia. Speaking of which, if you need me I'll be slipping down the black hole that is Wikipedia searches.

The most unproductive office ever

It's story time, people! Gather round as I spin a tale about days of yore.

Once upon a time, I graduated from college and couldn't find a job to save my life, so I decided to spend another two years under the tutelage of some wonderfully pretentious and brilliant professors getting my Master's Degree in Bullcrap Communications.

As that hood was placed carefully around my neck by my favorite professor who once said Detroit should just be nuked because there was nothing worthwhile there and also once called Asian cuisine "oriental food", and who also smoked in the non-smoking building and really didn't give a crap, I was filled with pride. I did it! I am a Master! Fortune is surely on my way! Employers will be banging at my door! I mean, they are probably waiting in the bushes right now to attack me with employment  contracts.


After an amazing back-yard party to celebrate with JP, the hood that was such a source of joy to me became like a noose of reality, strangling me with responsibility. I needed a job, and STAT.


I had an interview at our local newspaper for an advertising sales job. While the job offered barely less as a base salary than I was making at Victoria's Secret, it made up for it in commissions. And I was the health accounts rep so it was like I walked around with dollar signs in my eyes for almost a year. You guys know how much money hospitals spend on advertising? I do.

 For all y'all West Virginians, you're welcome for making your hospital stays as expensive as possible!


Anyway, almost a  year went by and the luster of all that money wore off when I began realizing making sales goals gives me panic attacks. Meanwhile, I was working with an advertising agency rep whose client was in the health care industry. JP had worked for this company in college as a -- secretary, I'd call it? So I sort of knew him through her.


One day I had a brilliant idea. I could come work for them instead of the newspaper! Wouldn't that be great? I could write their copy and design stuff and do account management! And maybe even do some sales! I had a lot of contacts from the paper, maybe I could bring in some new people!


They liked the idea and I came on board. There were only three of us then: the owner, the designer and me. It was a Web design agency trying to put on some big-girl panties and do some real advertising. How did that pan out? I'll let you decide. Here are a few key facts:

• The designer spent almost every working hour on a football message board. Like on the regular.
• I was always pulled into ridiculous projects that were a waste of everyone's time and money: i.e. coming up with ideas for a marketing plan for a NASCAR team.
• They tried to start a NASCAR team.
• There would be days I was the only person around for hours. Sometimes days.
• More attention was paid to the coffee than the design work.
• Beer 30 was a regular occurrence. It didn't necessarily have to happen on a Friday, either.
• We went to Chilis almost every single day of the week and it was on the company's dime. 
• At one point we were working with this vendor/contractor type guy who said BRICK IT UP without a hint of irony. He worked in our office for literally months.
• There may or may not have been a full-on fantasy football draft that happened in the conference room. (There was).
• One time I was given my paycheck and told that I shouldn't cash it until a few days later. You know, until some stuff clears.
• The phrase "hook me up with a favor for this Web site" may or may not have been thrown around.

Then there was the time when Bossman decided he wanted to become a rock star. Rock legend, if you will. He wanted to ROCK. That's in all caps and maybe with a little emphasis. He purchased an electric guitar and brought it into the office with the tiniest speaker ever to enhance music. It was like the kind you get to hook up your iPod. 

Our Web developer was also a musician, but a legitimate one. Like, he really knew how to play the guitar and had a little garage band. He was really good. So of course, how could Bossman resist the opportunity to learn a little something about those golden strings from a real guitarist? I'm not going to pretend there weren't some jam sessions going on in that office.

*phone rings*

Me: Hi, thanks for calling our design place, this is Amanda.

[waaahhh whawhwahwahwa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh] <- phonetic electric guitar, just go with it

Client: This is Mr. Important Client person calling about a Web site.

[[waaahhh whawhwahwahwa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh]

Me: Oh, hello Mr. Important Client, how are you today? I just got your --

[waaahhh whawhwahwahwa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh]

Me: -- content finished and --

[waaahhh whawhwahwahwa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh]

Me: -- I think you'll really --

[waaahhh whawhwahwahwa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh]

Client: Is that....a guitar?

Sometimes the heavens would part and the stars would align and there would be Beer 30 AND a jam session. There was a special name for those days: 4 o'clock rock. Or 3 o'clock rock. Or 2 o'clock rock. Whatevs.

Sadly, this company and I parted ways and I haven't really heard from them once. But every once and awhile, I'll hear a sad guitar riff from a 1980's power ballad and shed a single tear for my former employers.

The one where you all adopt cats from me

Monday night I had the weirdest dream and I just remembered what it was. It was so bizarre that I thought I'd throw it out there for you guys to analyze.

Hubby and I owned one of those beach stores, like you know the touristy shops that sell shells and hermit crabs and obscenely overpriced bathing suits? There is one of them in St. Augustine Beach and we stop there all the time to just look at the junk. But the dream store was all tiki hutty and cool.

In my dream we LIVED at the store. Like there was an upstairs part of it and that's where we lived, and there was a restaurant attached somehow that was a cross between a Captain D's and a Perkins.  So let's get this straight: home upstairs, beach shop downstairs, Captain D/Perkins attached. The restaurant has nothing to do with the rest of the dream, I just knew it was there.

So I'm dream cleaning the store one minute and the next minute I'm carrying in a whole box full of cats in all sizes and colors, and I put them under one of the clothes racks, but the clothes racks were all the way down to the floor. When I was little I loved hiding inside the racks that held long clothes. It was like a little tent or something. But that's what it was like in my dream -- a tent for dozens of cats. I guess I was trying to hide them?

Anyway, I was desperate to find homes for all these kittens because I knew I couldn't keep them all. I wasn't afraid they would get out from under the clothing rack. I frantically started making calls to see if people would take them and got a lot of response FROM MY BLOG FRIENDS. Like all y'all came to my beach shop and left with a kitten. And you took all the mixed color kittens, all the orange and gray tabbies, calicos, and white kitties, but left all the black ones. How could you. Black cats are beautiful, mysterious, wonderful creatures.You're all dead to me.

Then the weirdest thing of all, there was one cat that was pink with a white face and I said "Surferwife would freaking LOVE this pink cat! It's a strawberry cat!" and I swear to God dream-me said it was a strawberry cat. So Hubby was all "Who do you know that surfs?" and I said, "DUH Monique, but she doesn't surf, she's just married to a surfer" and I took off with my pink cat in a box to find her.

Now, I'm a dedicated Surferwife reader, but I don't' know if she likes cats and I also don't' know how she feels about the color pink.

Some things I can piece together from this dream:

• I may have too many cats
• I need to take a trip to the beach STAT
• I play Farmville far too often because the cat looked just like a Farmville pink cow, except it was a cat
• Lay off the guac before bed, sisterfriend
• I read too many blogs

I feel like Dorthy in the Wizard of Oz...."and YOU were there! And YOU were there!" and I'm pointing at all y'all out there in the Interwebs when I say that. I freaking love you guys. And cats. And Farmville. And the beach.

Any thoughts on this bizarro world dream?
Image via

Our Disney Sports Weekend (Volume 2): Econo Lodge ain't playing

I'm sure you've all been waiting eagerly to hear the next installment of my Disney Sports Weekend story, so I'll go back to Saturday evening before I got famous.

We usually don't stay overnight at Disney because I work for a not-for-profit and my husband works for a Christian school, so his riches are in Heaven and mine are invested back into our community (i.e. we're poor people). So when we do, it's crucial that we stay at some really fine cheap establishments. I usually just go on Expedia or wherever and choose the lowest price in the area.We've stayed at some dooseys, let me tell you. And this particular Econo Lodge was, like, $30 bucks a night with tax. Listen, beggars can't be choosers.

We drove out of the sparkly, happy fairyland of the Disney resort area and into Kissimmie where unscrupulous people try to sell you time-shares, steal all your money with fake tickets and cheap t-shirts, and con you into taking their "high speed transportation" (read: van) to Disney although it takes 4 years to get there. But look! They feed you a continental breakfast before you go, HOW NICE OF THEM.

Hubby pulled into the Econo Lodge parking lot and the sign blinked  "CLEAN CLEAN CLEAN!" and also "COMPUTERS IN EVERY ROOM!"  Hubby said, "This place doesn't look like we'll get murdered too hard here." and I said, "yeah, and it's clean. And there are computers?"

You know a place is super-classy when you see the little bullet-proof glass window for all check-ins after 10 pm. I love those places. It makes me feel very safe and secure and not at all like I need to keep pepper-spray under my pillow.

Anyway, we found out upon check in that there were indeed computers in every room and we could access them for the low, low cost of $2.95 per night. I'm thinking, no way is there a computer in that room, they must have their crazy pants on or something. I mean let's refer back for a moment to the bullet-proof glass check-in and then consider that crack addicts looking for something to steal and sell for their next fix know there are computers in every room BECAUSE IT'S ON THE GIANT FLASHING SIGN. So there really was no way I wouldn't get murdered in my sleep that night if there was, in fact, a computer in my room.

And damned if there wasn't a computer in our freaking room. Like a full-on desktop computer bolted to the desk.

We surveyed the room and I said, "it doesn't look too dirty at all!" because that was the high standard by which I was judging this room. "Look! There is a bed and a toilet and a shower! We can definitely sleep and poop and wash our bodies in this room!" NEVERMIND the coaxial on the TV was from the stone ages and therefore no longer worked and we had to call to get it fixed. The guy who answered the "fix it" line asked if we wanted a credit or for him to fix it. Yes, a credit on basically nothing. Actually I wish I would have taken the credit to be honest.

We dropped our bags off and then went to this lovely wing place, which turned out to be a Hooters knock off. The perky little hostess came up to us and I think we were both so shocked at her lack of pants that we were all, "yes, a table for 2 please" like it was the nicest fancy place on the planet. Honestly, I feel a little uncomfortable with so much boob and butt-cheek showing. I don't frequent Hooters, I mean more power to those little ladies and I'm not all "Shameful!" and clutching my pearls or anything. It's just not my kind of place. But we were hungry and already there and Hubby and I both had a ton of pity for our waitress and her fake eyelashes and nails and one-size-too-small boyshorts. He said he felt a little weird being a faux-Hooters as a married man (that means I have him securely wrapped around my little finger.) The food wasn't that bad, actually.

It was called Ker's Winghouse (and here is Ker, the founder, not creepy AT ALL), and it was like Hooters' not-so-pretty-or-talented-sister-who-acts-slutty-to-make-up-for-it. There was so much nakedness framed on the walls of this joint. And they had the most terrible slogan: "Need we say more!" -- written just like that. Firstly, yes, please do say more because that slogan makes no sense to me. Secondly, why is there an exclamation mark, because isn't that a question? "Need we say more? Please answer yes or no." That bothered me a lot.

Well after dinner we went back to the hotel and delighted in the fact that all our things were still in the room and there were no dead bodies! And as I'm getting my bathroom bag from the desk, I notice this sign:

So basically, if you take anything, even by accident, they will charge you for it. Because in the real world, pillows are worth that much, as are the faded bedspreads from 1992. P.S. Who would take a hotel bedspread? That's nasty on so many different levels. Econo Lodge isn't even messing around, y'all. They are serious as a heart attack about their white washcloths and towels.

There is also this:

Um, you guys....IT'S A LAMINATED MENU. I mean it would probably cost 50 cents to copy a new one and laminate it because you know if they have computers in every room, they must have a laminating machine up in that Econo Lodge. But conversely, who roaming God's green pastures would steal a hotel menu? I wonder if there is a charge associated with it...

In the morning we mosey downstairs for our free, continental breakfast. Now ponder for a second in your brains what continental breakfast means to you. Toast, pastry and juice, or eggs, bacon and gravy? If it's the latter, I'm sorry friend, but you're in for a long life of disappointment.

Toast, generic-city-USA pastries and juice were on the menu. But of course, this older lady was talking Hubby's ear off about everything under the sun and at one point says, "This really isn't much of a breakfast, is it? Tsk-tsk." and Hubby and I looked at each other like, "Really? You expected more than this when a night's lodging and breakfast is less than one meal at Ker's Winghouse?" (I told you -- LONG LIFE OF DISAPPOINTMENT!)

Tomorrow or maybe Saturday, I'll share Volume 3 of this epic weekend trip. This one will be very picture heavy and not so many words.

The super creepy world of Toddlers and Tiaras

My quest to find  the best reality/trainwreck shows has introduced me to some real doosies.

There's the Real Housewives of Orange County, wherein no part of their bodies are real; What Not to Wear, wherein the snarky hosts pick apart some unsuspecting frumpy Momma and give her a complex; Policewomen of Broward County, wherein the lady cops are badass; 18 19 Kids and Counting, wherein some freakshow parents are raising a cult of creepy kids; and Super Nanny, wherein parents who probably don't have any business raising kids are taught how to raise their kids.

Image via

And then there is Toddlers&Tiaras, part of the lineup on ratings whore juggernaut, TLC, and it's not-quite-as-good counterpart, Little Miss Perfect (found on WE).

So, T&T documents the detail in which these girls go to win cash and prizes, not limited to crowns with ridiculous amounts of , trophies taller than them and puppies. Yes, puppies.

But in the super sub-specialty of this show, there is this particular episode featuring the WV Walk of Fame that was so terrifyingly awesome, I had to take detailed notes so I could write about it, and my words will NOT do it justice; I suggest you all run right to your DVRS and search for the WV Walk of Fame episode of T&T.

I keep wanting to call it the WV Walk of Shame, but that's about 10-12 years too soon for these girls.

Each show follows two or three girls. The one I'd like to talk about is named Jayla. Jayla, how can I say this in the most PC way possible. I can't. Jayla's Dad, Dwayne, I'm 99.9999999% sure this pageant dad is gay, although he's married to Jayla's Mom. But Dad loves him some glitz pageant,  y'all.

Here is a video of Jayla's Dad.

"My husband does her routines. It's just a Dad and Daughter thing, I guess," Jayla's Mom says with all the enthusiasm of a person headed in for a root canal.

Dwayne gets down to this pageant business. First, they make a stop at the dress maker to check on her super-fancy dress. "It looks just like we drawed it [sic] Jayla!" Indeed!

After they get home, Jayla practices with a little help from Dwayne, who is sashaying, sassy walking and pouting right along with Jayla. Then, they bond a little more during the spray tan session with Dwayne's personally owned spray  tanning gun. He says that tanning makes them look leaner and healthier. Because, come on, nobody likes a porky looking 6-year-old child. And what's healthier than the illusion of skin cancer? NOTHING.

"Jayla, YOU'LL BE DARK!!!!" (Sir, please put down the spray gun.)

Later, at the pageant, Dwayne is there to cheer on his little girl, but lest you think he's nothing but a selfless, supportive father, his real motive shines through when he puts the crown she won on his own head and said, "Look, Jayla, I'm wearing your CRROOWWWNNN!!"


Some other gems from this episode:

• A mom said she spent $3000 on a dress for her daughter. The daughter just likes the sparkles.
• This pageant has all ages, including tiny babies who came right out of the womb and were dressed in a pink sparkly gown; their hobbies include: being carried and trying to hold their heads up (I presume, because what else do babies do?)
• Jayla's hobby is  "helping her daddy to make her a fashion diva".
•  One mom says: "she's not fake when she does this, it's all her." Oh you mean other than the fake hair and teeth and lashes?
•  The pageant director says:  "The problem with red carpet wear isn't with the child, it's with the mom. You can't just go out to Walmart and buy something. That's not what the judges are looking for." So, something classier then? Like Target?
• Jayla later is crying her eyes out because she's tired and hungry and Dwayne says that it's been stressful and fun. FUN?
•  Everyone at this pageant gets a crown and trophy and no money. 
•  One little girl has a stage name, Tootie. She honest-to-God has a split personality and also talks about Tootie in the 3rd person, like it's someone else. She says: "I get to be perfect. I LOVE to be perfect." and  "Tootie won 10 grand. They're a lot of pretty girls in the world and they can't all win. Unless they are Tootie." Well that's just a mental breakdown waiting to happen after the first bad grade she gets in high school or college.

I swear these little girls are prettier than me. Where's my fake nails and spray tan and hairdresser? Life is so unfair.

Kidney Stones are my worst enemy and other ER stories

If you follow me on  Twitter, you might have noticed that I was at the ER for a good part of 8 hours on Thursday night. I'm here to tell you the two following truths:

1. Kidney stones are an evil affliction that Mother Nature came up with on "one of those days" just to get back at the human race for doing whatever it was that pissed her off that day. Mother Nature needs an attitude adjustment.
2. You will find all manner of people in an ER after 9 pm, most of whom have no business being in the ER.

This was Hubby's second bout with the 'stones in a year, and now we're calling him Stony. We laugh so we don't cry. I've never had them nor do I want to, but from what he tells me, they are extremely painful, maybe even more so than anything else known to man including but not limited to breaking bones and childbirth (to which I say, on behalf of all women who have experienced childbirth, "THE HECK IT'S MORE PAINFUL THAN CHILDBIRTH" - presumably).

He was fine at 6:30 pm and then suddenly it hit him -- intense pain in his side, nausea, diarrhea, vomiting. We waited an hour and a half and around 8:45 decided a trip to the ER was in the cards, if for nothing else than for the pain. I mean, there's nothing that can be done about kidney stones except just let them ease on down and out. 

We rushed to the ER. Well, OK, it was more of a leisurely drive to the ER because I took what I thought would be the shortcut, but we hit every. single. light on the street. While Hubby was taking another trip to the bathroom, I checked in with the volunteer manning the desk.

Me: Hi, I just brought my husband in. He has terrible kidney stones and is in a lot of pain. I wanted to go ahead and check in while he's in the restroom.
Desk Lady: You have to register with the nurse at the cart.

Wait, what? Cart? Like a coffee cart? Or a storage cart? Apparently, yes, the first check-in station is with a triage nurse sitting at a little cart with a computer. Cart Nurse wrote Hubby's name on one of those phone message pads, handed it back to me, and asked me to check back in with Desk Lady.

An hour later, he got his vitals checked.

Two hours later, we got to the triage room.

During our two hour wait, we got to know some really lovely people, including the lady in a wheelchair who kept making pretend phone calls and had been waiting since 3 pm and was ready to go home without being examined; the lady who wandered around wrapped in a blanket and asked when she could get her pain medicine because she was in some kind of unidentifiable pain (but not so intense that she couldn't walk around and talk on her cell phone); and the kind fellow who kept asking the triage nurse not only how long the wait would be, but who would pay for his visit (great question, sir, great question indeed).

And let me mention the shoe situation up in that ER. It was like a slipper factory exploded. Or like the whole waiting room was on Oprah and she was giving away slippers, (and YOU get some slippers! and YOU get some slippers! and YOU get some slippers!). Or as if the only way to get into heaven is if you were wearing slippers. I'm pretty sure the only people wearing actual shoes with soles were me, Hubby, Desk Lady and Cart Nurse.

Four hours later, Hubby ran to the restroom in a hurry and in so much pain he couldn't stand up straight. He passed the stone in the restroom.

Four and a half hours later, we got a room with a view. Of the TV. If you tilt your head and scoot the curtains around a little bit.

Five hours later, he gets some pain medicine (finally).

Five and a half hours later, the first doc (a resident) came to see him.

Six hours later, the admissions lady came around to ask if I'd like to pay today, be billed later, or have it deducted from my paycheck.

Six hours and 15 minutes later, the attending physician came by to check on him. She ordered a CT scan.

Six hours and 30 minutes later, he gets a CT scan.

Seven hours and 30 minutes later, the CT scan comes back negative, but he's given pain medicine and sent home.

During our time in the room, we overheard a couple interesting stories. One lady came in with what she explained as a "bruised coccyc" but it turned out to be a rectal cyst. It got very quiet when the hot doctor snapped his gloves for a rectal exam.

Then another lady came in with abdominal pain and vaginal bleeding.

Nurse: Do you think it could be your period?
Lady: No.
Nurse: When was your last period?
Lady: January 4.
Nurse: !? So. It's February 4. Which is 31 days from your last period. So it COULD be your period, right?

Then he continued to explain how a menstrual cycle works. To an adult woman. Who presented to the ER for CRAMPS.

Y'all, I couldn't make this up.