Notes From The Bathroom Stall

Why I Want To Hate Tim Tebow

2009-10-12T19:45:00.000-04:00

As a University of Alabama graduate, my loyalties obviously lie with the Tide. I love all things crimson and white. I get chills when I hear the mumbling voice of The Bear during pregame festivities at Bryant-Denny.

When a jealous LSU fan once tried to tell me that Nick Saban is a son-of-a-bitch, my response was, “Maybe so, but he’s OUR son-of-a-bitch now!”

I can even cheer for Auburn when they’re playing anyone but UA. I have always believed that I should pull for the other teams in the state in which I live, and Auburn is no exception. I won’t go as far as to yell a hearty “War Eagle”, but I will definitely let out a whoop when Auburn scores against LSU or Tennessee.

Because I am a ferocious Bama fan, and even a tiny bit of an Auburn fan, what I am going to say here might come as a surprise, and to some, may even be viewed as the worst kind of blasphemy.

I desperately want to hate Tim Tebow.

But I can’t.

The kid is just too flawless. With his behemoth size, quick, agile moves, and bionic arm, Tebow is quite the specimen to behold. There always seems to be a glowing, angelic light that follows him around like a distorted football-esque halo.

Let’s review some basic facts, lifted and paraphrased from the Tim Tebow Wikipedia page:

He was the first college football player to both rush and pass for 20 touchdowns in a single season and was the first sophomore in history to win the Heisman Trophy. That one statement is just the beginning of all of the football related highlights to be found about Florida’s favorite QB.

His personal life does nothing to refute his Golden Child status.

Tebow is the son of missionaries and was even born in the Philippines, where his parents were serving in 1987. He was homeschooled by his mother because she wanted him to be in a Christian environment. For the past three offseasons, he has spent his summers in the Philippines assisting with his father’s orphanage and doing missionary work.

He is a self-proclaimed virgin and is saving himself for marriage. Tim has also never been a part of any scandal, or been in the media for anything other than being Mr. Wonderful.
And, let’s face it: The man is just too cute for words. His muscles don’t hurt him either.

I am constantly looking for any excuse to criticize The Chosen One, but it almost always backfires.

Tebow will throw an interception, then single-handedly bulldoze his way to the end zone on Florida’s next offensive drive.

He cried on national television when the Gators fell to Ole Miss last year. Boo hoo. Some people probably thought, “What a baby! Grow up! Get over it!”. But wait – the University of Florida has created a plaque with his emotional speech engraved in it, forever immortalizing his words.

The kid hasn’t even graduated yet, and he’s already got a plaque.

There are many other examples I could site as ways that Tebow has managed to spoil my taunting phone calls to friends that are Florida fans. I can barely get the “Nana-nana-boo boo” phrases out of my mouth before I am forced to eat my words.

So I must ask: How can someone be THIS amazing?!?

My conclusion:

Tim Tebow is an alien.

This is the only logical explanation. No regular human being on the planet can even compare to the other-worldly qualities of Timmy the Magnificent.

The light that shines out of Tebow’s butt must be a homing device placed inside him during a South Park style probe before he was sent to Earth to be the Football Spy for Planet X.

Yes. That must be it.

As much as I want to hate Tim Tebow for being so freakin’ perfect...

I just can’t.

Girls and Football

2009-10-05T18:37:00.003-04:00

In the south, football, particularly of the college variety, is a way of life. Children are raised to say “Go Dawgs!”, “Roll Tide!”, and “War Eagle!” before they can walk, and although it usually sounds like baby jibberish, parents shriek with joy when their little one utters those battle cries. Saturdays are Football Days, complete with football shaped serving trays, official team napkins and licensed plastic Solo cups. Every living object, be it adult, child, or canine, is decked out in full-on team apparel from the moment they wake up on a Football Day until long after the official time has run out in the late West Coast game.

Everyone here loves football, even the women. This is a fact that most southern men very much enjoy – he can watch all the games he wants on Saturdays in the fall without catching flack from his girlfriend or wife, because she is likely right there watching the games with him.

However, most women are like me: we’ll nod and smile as you chatter on about coverage and points spreads, all the while wondering if the mini pizza rolls we’re cramming down our throats have mini calories as well. We all want our men to believe that we are equally as into the games as they are, because it’s fun to be included and we enjoy the general atmosphere and excitement as the games are played.

Let me take a few minutes to let you in on a few little secrets…but don’t tell your wife I told you.

Secret One: She doesn’t care jack-squat about the Cal-UCLA game.
Every single one of the girls I asked said that they really love and get behind ONE team, and that team’s game is the one they really want to watch. Will they watch the highlights on SportsCenter and cheer like mad if the evil USC empire falls victim to Washington? Absolutely. We all want to see the Trojans go down, don’t we? But as far as sitting on the couch watching the game and getting excited about a school we don’t really follow…yeah…that doesn’t really happen.

Secret Two: She’s more concerned with looking cute in her new houndstooth dress than discussing types of defenses.
Women always want to look attractive, and Game Day is no exception. Showing our support for the team goes far beyond holding a shaker and yelling at the game. Your woman likely has an outfit planned for the game long before you’ve filled out your Pick ‘Em sheets, and these outfits include everything from shoes and bags to earrings, bracelets and even hairbands or sunglasses. For example, my standard football outfit is a crimson shirt, jeans, Alabama flip-flops, red sunglasses, ”A” logo earrings, a houndstooth bracelet, and a crimson seatbelt purse. (Don’t know what that is? Sigh. You’re such a man. Google it). Women can talk all day about clothes and shoes…but discussing Monty Kiffin’s Tampa defense and whether or not it will be able to stop Alabama’s offense in 3rd and long situations? I wouldn’t bet on it. (Oh – and it won’t, by the way. The Tide is gonna roll over the Vols the 3rd Saturday in October…mark my words).

Secret Three: She thinks you look like a dumbass in your full game day gear.
Those bright red pants you wore around The Hill in Athens back in your fraternity days at UGA just don’t cut it anymore. The orange and blue horizontally-striped sweater that matches those God-awful Auburn cheerleader outfits only manages to showcase your beer belly and not your love of the Tigers. And those bright purple and gold beads you wear around your neck while hanging out in Death Valley should be taken from you and given to a five year old. Please gentlemen, I beg of you: stick to polos or t-shirts, with regular jeans or khakis or something equally as socially acceptable. If you wouldn’t wear it out to the mall on a normal day, don’t think that you can get away with it just because it happens to be a game day. Because you can’t.

Secret Four: Why She REALLY Likes College Game Day
Does your woman get up early on Saturdays to make you a great breakfast and then sit with you in front of the TV to watch GameDayLive on ESPN? My guess is no. But if she does enjoy watching GameDay, I can tell you that she’s probably not really interested in hearing about the player from Indiana who’s overcome adversity to be the starting defensive back… She is totally checking out how hot Kirk Herbstreit looks in those tailor-made suits.
We like to give you a lot of crap about drooling over Erin Andrews as she does the sideline reports, but we’re equally as piggish when it comes to our love of Kirk. He may be a stuck up jerk in real life, but we don’t care; he always looks so pretty on TV.

Secret Five: We Want to Be Included
Your girl may act like she doesn’t care much for football, or as though she’s perfectly okay with you disappearing for several hours to your closest Buffalo Wild Wings to check out the game with your buddies. Who knows-she might REALLY be okay with it. But I know from experience that even though I can’t go toe-to-toe with your walking Stat-Quoting buddy, I’d sure like to feel like you want me there with you. (And yes, you all have at least one of those annoying friends. If you can’t think of who it is in your group, it’s probably you). It’s always nice to feel included and wanted, so the next time you are planning something you think she might want to go to, ASK her. Even if she doesn’t end up going, I guarantee she’ll appreciate the invite.

Now that you have a little bit of insight into the mind of a woman regarding this football season, hopefully you can spend more time in front of the TV watching the game and a little less time in the doghouse.

How Dirty Dancing Ruined My Love Life

2009-10-04T17:55:00.002-04:00

I was 10 years old the first time I saw the movie Dirty Dancing. I, like so many women, fell head over heels in love—with the movie, with the soundtrack, and most definitely with Patrick Swayze. I loved that movie so much that when I couldn't sleep at night I used to recite the movie in my head line by line.

That was the summer of 1963, when everybody called me Baby, and it didn't occur to me to mind. That was before President Kennedy was shot, before the Beatles came, when I couldn't wait to join the Peace Corps, and I thought I'd never find a guy as great as my dad. That was the summer we went to Kellerman's.

When the 20th anniversary of the film rolled around in 2007 it was finally time to admit what I had long known: Dirty Dancing ruined my love life.

I'm not sure how one movie could so deeply affect me. Maybe it was because I saw the movie when I was young and impressionable, or maybe it's just that I watched the film so often that my VHS copy actually broke in the VCR. The lessons I learned about love in the summer of 1994 set me up for some massive disappointments later in life. Happily, as a well-adjusted, twentysomething woman, I've learned not to believe the romantic myths of my youth.

Movie Myth: The Bad Boy Really Isn't That Bad
It doesn't matter how many articles we read or quizzes we take, women always seem to fall for the bad boy. More often than not they break our hearts, except in Dirty Dancing. In this case, Johnny Castle acts tough because no one has ever really loved him. He's had to fight for everything he has, until Baby trips into his life. She respects him and believes in him, and he pays her back by giving her the best summer of her life. Before the film is over, we find out that he's honest, loyal and a hopeless romantic.

Truth Time:
This never happens. Men don't change who they are just to be with you. I know, I know, the film's message was that people are more than outside appearances, and Johnny Castle was never really a bad boy. But this subtlety was lost on my decade-old mind. I thought that I could bring out my bad boy crushes' soft, vulnerable inner self. The truth is, your love can't change him. You know all of this and, thanks to some ex-boyfriends, I know this.

Movie Myth: You Don't Have To Be Pretty To Get The Guy
Little sister Baby may be smart, but what she really wants is to be pretty like her big sister Lisa. Of course she's surprised that Johnny even notices her—no one ever does. Everyone wants Johnny, but in the end all he wants is Baby. He could have the rich cougar or any of the staff, but he chooses the ugly duckling and his love transforms her into a swan.

Truth Time:
Um, have you ever tried online dating? Don't tell me that looks aren't important. I've actually seeing a profile that proudly announced that "If you are a fat chick or wear glasses don't bother leaving a message." It's lovely to think that love is blind, but it rarely works out that way.

Movie Myth: You Will Become A Woman In An Instant
Feeling awkward and unsure of yourself? Just sign up for the intensive dance training at Kellerman's! With each lesson your confidence will grow and your outfits will become skimpier. Once you're self-assured and sexy, you'll be able to stand up to your overprotective parents. They'll be mad at first, but ultimately they'll respect you. More importantly they'll realize you're a woman now and they'll totally stop bothering you about your curfew.

Truth Time:
Remember puberty? It was terrible. Bad skin, bad hair, growth spurts, incredibly awkward first kisses and crying at the school dance. We all went through that period where, to paraphrase the insightful Britney Spears, we weren't girls but we were not yet women. It took time to find out how to flirt, what we liked and how to be sexy. Sometimes we had help (thank you Judy Blume's Forever) and sometimes we had to figure it out for ourselves. Even if our breasts could suddenly appear over the summer, it certainly took longer than 3 months to become a sexy, confident woman. Some days I'm not even sure I'm there yet.

Movie Myth: Your First Time Will Be Perfect
Baby truly leads a charmed life. She's daddy's little girl, her family appears to have money, and she's going to college in the fall. Why shouldn't her luck extend to losing her virginity to a summer romance? Baby barges into Johnny's house declaring her feelings. Naturally, Johnny finds this incredibly sexy and puts on some steamy music. They dance, they kiss, and she wakes up smiling from ear-to-ear in the morning.

Truth Time:
Did this happen to anyone? Man or woman? If your first time was even remotely like the one in the movie then please leave a comment and let me know about it. For the most part, the first time you had sex was probably somewhat painful, extremely awkward and over really, really quickly.

I could keep going:
Opposites attract, love conquers all, your family will accept your boyfriend.

Sometimes I wish I had never seen Dirty Dancing. I wish my mother had realized that the movie was way too mature for a 10 year old. Or maybe it could have been animated, at least then I would have known that none of it was real. Instead I fell under the movie's spell and all its clichéd glory.

But that's the secret of the movie. It's the ultimate in wish fulfillment. Nothing in that movie happens in real life, but for two hours we can escape to a world where anything is possible: You can be smart and sexy. You can be tough and sensitive. The same lies about love that messed me up as a kid provide escape for me as an adult. In that way, Dirty Dancing is just like a bad boy. No matter how imperfect it is, or how many lies it tells me, I stop flipping channels whenever I see Patrick Swayze dance across the screen.

I always fall for the film.

Florida Should Be Embarrassed....

2009-08-25T22:02:00.000-04:00

U.S. Congresswoman Corrine Brown from Florida gradulates the University of Florida Gatas on their third national tyla, second tyla under Corch Irvin Meyers. This is what she had intended to say:

David After the Dentist

2009-08-25T22:00:00.002-04:00

When David left the dentist all strung out on kid-loopy-drugs, David's dad did the rational thing that all fathers would do:
He pulled out the video camera and recorded it.

Because I Said So, That's Why

2009-08-25T21:44:00.002-04:00

(Note to the reader: the following does not necessarily reflect the direct thoughts of the author, but rather the thoughts and advice of others that has been imposed on the author or her friends at various stages of life: preschool and elementary school, middle and early high school, late high school, and college. In fact, the author was often in trouble for NOT following these guidelines).

Good: adjective; having the right or desirable qualities; proper; well-behaved.

Eat your vegetables. Biting people is not nice. When playing on the monkey bars, wear pants. Always answer when spoken to, but try not to talk too much. Never burp. Share. Hold hands when crossing the street. Cats and small dogs are good pets. It is okay to cry, but do not whine. Do not beat up the boys down the street, even when you are playing Batgirl and they are the Joker and Mr. Freeze. Play with Barbies instead of GI Joes. The stove is hot. It is okay to climb the magnolia tree, but do not climb onto the roof. Keep your eye on the ball. Wearing a dirty Braves baseball cap is not allowed in church. Try not to worry about the boys being short; they will grow…eventually. Sometimes pets run away; that is just part of life. Scrape the dirt off your shoes when coming into the house after rolling down the front lawn. The names of body parts do not make good names for pets. Red Kool-Aid plus white carpet equals one big mess. Football is for boys and dance is for girls. It does not matter if you want to play football, you must take dance. Why? Because I said so, that’s why.

You are not allowed to date until you are at least fifteen. Ditch the glasses and start wearing contacts. Fix your hair in some way other than a ponytail. It is okay to wear dresses and skirts to school. There is a thing as too much eye shadow. If you are not captain of the dance team, it is okay, as long as you are on the squad. Cell phones are not necessary until you start to drive. Start watching your weight now; it is easier to keep from gaining it in the first place than it is to lose it later. Do not pop pimples with your fingernails. Sometimes friends move away; that is just part of life. Never call boys. Ever. Britney Spears is not a good role model. If you dress like her, you will be grounded. If you curse, you will be grounded. If you continue to use that tone of voice with me, young lady, you will be grounded. Basically, you can be grounded at any time for any reason. Why? Because I said so, that’s why.

Always look your best; you never know who you might see. Suck in, push out! Never accept a date without at least forty-eight hours notice. Be home by the stroke of midnight or you will suddenly turn into a poor seventeen year old without a car. Don’t date just one boy. Explore your options and have fun. You must go to church even if it is Super Bowl Sunday. When you have a boyfriend, do not forget your friends. Cross your legs when sitting down. Try not to lose your cell phone. A friend is someone who knows you are a good egg, even though he knows you’re slightly cracked. Second place is just the first loser. Sometimes the boy you love will go away; that is just part of life. You must participate in Beauty Walk because it is something that all senior girls do, so do not argue. Make good grades to get into a good college. No, you may not go to Party State University. Why? Because I said so, that’s why.

Always appear to be available, but never be available. The Rec Center is a great place to meet guys and avoid the Freshman Fifteen at the same time. Place schoolwork first and partying sec…er…on second thought, do not party at all. If you do, you will suddenly turn into a penniless, apartment-less, car-less nineteen year old living at home and attending UAB (known among the Birmingham teenagers as the dreaded U Are Back). If the boys have not grown taller by now, chances are, they will never grow. If you want the rainbow, you have to put up with the rain. College is not simply a place to man-hunt. Good friends will support you through thick and thin. Family will always be there when you need them. Work hard. Try hard. Play hard. Study hard. Don’t screw up. Take to heart the “Three P’s”: Pride, Perfection, and Professionalism. Take pride in everything you do, work on each task until it has reached utmost perfection, and always act with professionalism. Be patient and everything will turn out the way it should. Sometimes friends pass away; that is just part of life. God never shuts a door without opening a window. Do not let your past dictate who you are, but let it be part of who you will become. Cherish every beautiful moment. Come home to visit sometimes. Always remember that if you think today is the end of the world, cheer up; it’s already tomorrow in Australia. Kiss your mama and daddy every chance you get. Be strong yet feminine, demanding but also sweet, fun yet self-controlled. Be proud of being a woman.

Why? Because I said so, that’s why.

Skinny Bitch?

2009-08-15T02:10:00.001-04:00

So…. I started a modified version of the Skinny Bitch diet yesterday.

For anyone who doesn’t know about it, Skinny Bitch is a book written by Rory Freedman and Kim Barnouin. The tagline is “For girls who want to stop eating crap and start looking fabulous”.
Well, I want to stop eating crap. And I want to start looking fabulous.

This seems easy enough.

But Skinny Bitch promotes an all vegan diet – no animal by-products at all. No meat, no dairy. The book provides good reasons for this way of life; everything from the health benefits to the prevention of animal cruelty.

I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t really care about the whole animal cruelty thing. It’s not PC to say that, but I figure humans are at the top of the food chain for a reason, and that allows us to eat whatever the !@#$ we want: cows, chickens, pigs, etc. included.
HOWEVER – I really really really really want the whole “start looking fabulous” thing, and I’ll try most anything if I think I could lose some weight, so I’m giving it a whirl. Not going entirely vegan, but leaning more towards the vegetarian side. I bought meatless meatballs (sounds yummy, right?) and veggie nuggets that replace chicken nuggets. I’m eating a ton of fruit (complex carbs, people!), and trying to avoid sugar, caffeine, sodas, etc.

I’m not really sure if the diet is doing any good yet. I guess I’ll have to wait a while and see how it goes.

My biggest problem with it all is that I LOVE to eat. I like food. I like the way it tastes, I like feeling full; I like everything about it. And right now, I’m STARRRRRVING.

I’m not really feeling like a Skinny Bitch yet.

Hungry Bitch certainly would be an appropriate moniker.

Fairy Dust

2009-04-08T11:58:00.005-04:00

By now, I'm pretty sure the word is OUT (ha) that Adam Lambert is pink tights and fairy-dust flaming gay.

For most of us, this was relatively obvious early on.

The last time I was visiting my parents' house, I tuned in to Idol on Michael Jackson night.
My dad wandered through the living room, took one look at Adam on the screen and said
"And his boyfriend's name is...??"

Pictures have since surfaced of Adam in drag, making out with other scarily pretty men.

I really couldn't care less where the guy gets his kicks...or whatever...because there is no denying that this boy can SING.

In this (non-professional, so don't get all worked up about the videography) clip, he sings a version of Gnarles Barkley's "Crazy", one of my top 10 All Time Favorite Songs. Though his outfit, blown-out hair, and makeup leave something to be desired, Adam completely nails the song, and even manages to do some, uh, interesting dance moves at the same time.

However, please note that the choreographer and casting directors should be taken out back and shot for the stupid moves and terrible backup dancers.

Comments? Thoughts?

Australia

2009-04-01T13:50:00.002-04:00

I am having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

You know the kind. Like in the book about 9 year old Alexander.

The type of day where all of Murphy's Laws seem to be fulfilled, and everything that can go wrong, does.

Alexander believes the cure for all his problems is to move to Australia.
At this point, I'm checking Expedia for cheap plane fares.

I'm pretty sure my cat ate my hamster.

I could stop there, because just that statement alone is enough for most people to fully understand the day I'm having.

I got home from rehearsal at the dance studio this morning to discover my hamster's cage knocked over on the floor. And the gate part of the cage was wide open.
I started digging around in all the bedding and hamster crap....

No hamster.

My cat, Aubrey, was laying stretched out on the back of the couch. Normally this wouldn't be cause for alarm, as Aubrey is the world's laziest and possibly fattest cat, so all she does is lay around.

But this time she was licking her paws.

Ewww.

I put two and two together and figured out that she had likely decided to forgo the Purina breakfast I had set out for her in favor of a more "lively" meal.

My cute little hamster is now going to be fertilizing the lawn.

I'm also on week three of a rather strict diet and exercise program. I hate it.

What I want more than anything in the world is a HUGE cheeseburger, topped with every imaginable condiment and add-on, and sprinkled with lots of fatty goodness.

Mmmm.

I danced a hole in my favorite pair of jazz shoes this morning while practicing.
My abs are sore from working out last night.
My neighbor's geyser-style fountain is still running at top speed making me have to pee.
I have to do laundry so I can go out of town tomorrow, again.
AND
I can't figure out 67-Across in my new crossword puzzle book.

Okay, bags are packed.

G'day mate.

Reconciliation

2009-03-31T23:44:00.003-04:00

I'm not Catholic, but my two best friends are. They were just talking about going to church tomorrow for Reconciliation, a Catholic thing they do every year during lent.

Basically, it's like a church-wide Confession Mass, in which people go and confess to the priest and then go to Mass to pray.

I informed my friends that I'm quite pleased with the fact that because I'm Protestant, I don't have to confess my sins to anyone but God. Which is good, because I'm pretty sure the Priest would drop the Bible if I ever went to a real confession...

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

I lusted after Jason Lewis' Greek god-like body and reveled in his hotness.

I gluttonessly stuffed my fat ass with Oreos this afternoon while slothing about on the couch and watching the Ellen show on TV.

I was wrathful when my kid pooped on herself for the 9859348439th time and envied my friends with actual lives.

I was greedy when I stole the last Popsicle from the freezer before anyone else could get to it, and I took pride in the fact that I did absolutely nothing productive today.

For this, I ask forgiveness."

2009-03-30T21:44:00.002-04:00

This afternoon, I decided to go into downtown Atlanta
because I had a few hours free and wanted to spend them all in my car.

I know everyone who lives here or has ever been here or has even HEARD of Atlanta knows the horrors of rush hour traffic. I know it's not anything surprising.

What is surprising is that despite the overload of vehicles traveling the major roads and interstates at all hours of the day and night, Atlanta area radio and televisions still do traffic reports.

I'm beginning to wonder why they even bother.

Every time they break to a traffic report, it takes a good 5 minutes to complete, and that's if they're talking at lightning speed, like the disclaimer at the end of a law firm commercial.

In the same way that the weather man in San Diego can deliver the exact same weather report every day....

"75 and sunny. Back to you Steve" ...

Atlanta stations can just deliver the same traffic report each day:

"There's a crash...uh...everywhere.
There's a stalled car on...umm...every major highway.
There's construction crews slowing things down...

...eh... oh f*** it.

If you're leaving your house, be prepared to sit in traffic. The end."

Certified 7

2009-03-21T23:01:00.001-04:00

Anyone who knows me is aware of my obsession with stand-up comedy.

I love it. I DVR it on Comedy Central. I go to comedy clubs all the time.

Dwayne Perkins has a bit in his act where he discusses the need for "Certified Hotness Numbers". As in, everyone goes to a Number Agency and receives his or her "Certified Hotness Number" - One through Ten.

(One being "fug-ugly-swamp donkey", and Ten being "Most Beautiful Human Being On Earth").

Once you're assigned your number, you're then given a card to prove your hotness level.

For example, you could be a certified Seven. Which would mean that you could reasonably date a Six, Seven, or Eight. Anything much above your own number, and you truly aren't in that person's league. Anything much below your own number, and you have a right to have a bit of an attitude with someone not of your hotness standing ("Oh, you're a three? Well...I'm a seven. That's right - you're lucky to be out with a seven like me.")

One might think that this is wrong, because it objectifies men and women, and also gives them a number based on looks.

After today, however, I think it's an awesome idea.

I was at a store in my hometown buying a birthday card for a friend. I had on a well-worn t-shirt, gym shorts, and flip flops that have been mistaken by my cat for a chew toy. I wore no makeup, and my hair was pulled back in a not-quite-ponytail mess. And of course, I have to run into...

...an ex-boyfriend.

THUS, I spend the latter part of my trip studying the ugly white floor tiles in an attempt to hide underneath my mess of hair. I finally check out, unnoticed by the ex (who looks EXACTLY the same, down to the hairstyle), and make my way to my car. As I'm taking my cart back to the cart-corral, I hear "HEY M!" in that familiar, deep voice.

Now, had I been carrying my certified number, I could have busted it out and said "Hey! Great to see you! Oh...this? No....I haven't gone way-downhill. While I do have a little more ba-donk-a-donk and significantly more boobs thanks to childbirth, I'm not a two, I'm a seven. No seriously, here's my number card. See - certified Seven."

Instead, I had to grin, make excuses, pretend to be "thrilled to see you", and duck into my car as soon as possible, trying to put this horrible experience out of my mind.

Therefore,

It is my belief that Dwayne Perkins is on to something.
I'm now completely in favor having Certified Number cards, for moments just like these.

Stupid

2009-03-09T09:23:00.000-04:00

I heard a story on the radio this morning that irked me.

A man in ATL got mad at his wife for not getting up and making his breakfast. So the man decided to get back at her by calling her office and making a bomb threat. The threat caused five office buildings to be evacuated and made a huge mess downtown.

The part that got me was that the wife worked at a call center.
Which means that all calls going into the office are recorded.

The husband was, of course, arrested and charged with one count of falsly reporting a bomb and one count of disturbing the peace.

Am I the only one that wishes he could also be charged with Stupid?

I mean, number one, making the threat because his wife didn't make him breakfast?! Are you kidding me?? Grab a Pop Tart and move on, Buster. And secondly, calling a CALL CENTER and making a bomb threat???

This guy totally deserves to be slapped with two counts of Stupid.
I'm calling my Congressman.

Can't Buy Me Love

2009-03-01T22:35:00.001-05:00

I hate the phrase "Money can't buy happiness".

That's ridiculous.

If you hit the lottery and win fifty million dollars, I figure you can at least afford to make the people you don't like UN-happy.

And that's gotta feel GREAT!

I'd have a fantastic time!

I'd do stuff like show up at an ex-boyfriend's birthday party...

...and give him a $10 gift certificate.

And then a $100,000 CAKE.

I'd say

"I didn't know if you wanted cash, but I figured, who doesn't like chocolate?"

Enjoy.

Roughing It

2009-02-27T09:41:00.001-05:00

I am not, what you would say, "outdoorsy".

I don't DO camping. I think fishing is grotesquely boring. And hiking only reminds me that I am missing some very important cartilage in my knees.

My idea of Roughing It is a Motel 6.

So when the idea of a weekend long camping trip in North Carolina with my old Raleigh buddies was suggested, I promptly declined.

I have seen entirely too many movies that start off with an innocent camping trip and end up with a face-t0-face meeting between said campers and a machete-weilding Jason Voorhees.

Umm...no thank you.

The Good, The Bad, and the Fugly

2009-02-26T21:05:00.000-05:00

Because I have been battling the Plague for the past few days, I have been unable to give you my two cents about Wednesday night's AI performances.

I actually didn't get to see them live. The doctor I went to gave me some awesome meds that put me into a deep sleep, in which I dreamed I was flying around the world in a rocket ship powered by Skittles. Wicked.

But never fear - I have TiVo.

So without further ado, here are my oh-so-important notes about the second round of the Top 36 groupings.

The Good
Allison Iraheta - Sang "Alone" by Heart. This 16 year old picked the PERFECT song for her voice. I thought she was just fantastic. It's about time AI had a rocker-ish chick who can actually sing.
Kris Allen - Sang "Man in the Mirror" by Michael Jackson. Personally, I think all MJ songs should be off-limits on this show. HOWEVER - I really liked Kris' performance! He put a fresh twist on an already great song. His voice was clear, controlled, and he didn't hold anything back.
Adam Lambert - Sang "Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones. I honestly don't give a rat's ass what or how this guy sings - he's so rocker-hot that I'd have voted for him just to get to stare at him some more. Besides, he's been in Wicked on Broadway, which makes him badass by default. He also reminds me of Jason Marchant from Virgos Merlot/Red Halo.

The Bad
Everyone else.

The Fugly
Nick Mitchell - This guy is so weird that I can't even stand to watch him sing. His voice sucks. He should never, ever, EVER have sung "And I Am Telling You". Hated it.

I'm definitely stoked for next week, with Lil Rounds and Scott MacIntyre in the running.
Here's hoping they do better than 75% of the contestants this week, or AI just might as well hand over the title to Danny Gokey tomorrow.

Teen Idol

2009-02-25T18:40:00.001-05:00

Today, my best friend wrote a memoir recounting her unrequited love for Taylor Hanson back in the 90s.

This has lead me to compile a list of my Top Teen Idols of the 90s. These are the guys who's pictures I ravenously tore out of magazines and spent hours writing fan mail to them that was never answered.

In No Particular Order:

Devon Sawa.
The first Fan Letter I ever wrote was to Devon Sawa. I had seen him in Little Giants, Now and Then, and for 10 minutes in the movie Casper. I was completely smitten. Then he did "Night of the Twisters" and so down the toilet goes his career.

Brad Renfro.
I fell for Brad when he played that fiesty kid in The Client opposite Susan Sarandon and Tommy Lee Jones. Then I loved him in the little-known movie The Cure, and again in Disney's Tom and Huck. I was disappointed when Brad began taking harder-hitting roles in films such as Sleepers and Apt Pupil. Apparently he was disappointed too, because he began doing drugs to escape his own reality. Eventually he escaped it completely, because he died of a heroin overdose in 2008. My heart broke a little that day.

Taylor Hanson.
I played Middle of Nowhere so much that I actually broke the disc and had to buy another copy. It was my dream to someday marry Taylor. Instead, he met a girl backstage at a concert in Atlanta and the proceeded to break every girl in America's heart by marrying and producing offspring with her. Tramp.

Jonathan Taylor Thomas.
I had that EXACT Milk ad stuck on my bathroom door for about 2 years. The boy was a bazillionaire early in life simply because he was cute. He was mobbed whenever he went out in public, and people tuned in to Home Improvement every Tuesday night to see what trouble Randy would get into next.

Jared Leto.
I mostly liked Jared because I adored My So Called Life. And his eyes. I now enjoy his music with the band 30 Seconds to Mars ("The Fantasy"?? Oh yes), and even though he has a penchant for black eyeliner, he's still hot.

Nick Carter. I now realize what a moron this guy is, but back in the early early Backstreet Boys days, I thought he was simply marvelous. Maybe it was the rushing water falling over his body in the "Quit Playing Games With My Heart" or his mad dancing skills in "Everybody (Backstreet's Back) that attracted me to him.
It certainly wasn't his speaking voice.
It's so high and squeaky he sounds like Alvin the Chipmunk on helium.

New Kids on the Block.
I can't pick just one. I PLASTERED my room with NKOTB stuff. I owned the dolls. I had CDs and posters and books and trading cards and movies. Oh, how many nights did I spend dreaming about Donnie, Danny, Joey, Jon, and Jordan....

Paul Walker.
Sadly, I made the mistake of watching Paul Walker on some talk show one night and realized that it was a good thing he's pretty...because he certainly is an idiot.

And last but not least, Jason Lewis.

I know he wasn't a 90's Teen Heartthrob. But he did do an episode of 90210 in '97.
And I never pass up a chance to mention him. So there.

Dancing Queen

2009-02-24T20:19:00.001-05:00

There is nothing like working out your frustrations by...well...working out.

Last night, I was particularly annoyed with some happenings at work. I decided to try and relax by attending some dance classes at the most kick-ass dance studio in Atlanta.

First, I took a partner stretching class. No big deal really, except that I was paired with a guy who was extremely hot, albeit extremely gay. (At least I knew he wasn't checking out my ass when we were doing certain stretches...)

I then ventured into my favorite area of dancing - pop/hip-hop style. I took a Music Video class that incorporated moves from popular videos from the likes of Beyonce and Britney.

I'm freaking all over it - just wait til the next time I'm out with my friends and start busting a wicked "Single Ladies" move. Which, by the way, no white girl on earth can do without looking like a derranged psychopath.

Very few things are as theraputic as taking a class where the stereo is blaring a Chili Peppers song and the teacher screams out

"Forget the steps - just dance the sh*t out of it!!!"

I highly recommend it.

For your amusement: Fat Boy dances to Single Ladies

Boobies, Boobies, Everywhere...

2009-02-20T08:55:00.000-05:00

Last night I took my 2 year old to Chuck-E-Cheese. I obviously had a hankering for pizza topped with boogers, or was just under the dillusion that we'd go and have an uneventful experience.

If you've ever taken a child to Chuck-E-Cheese, you know that it is impossible to have an uneventful experience there. You always see something you don't want to see (kids digging for gold, and I don't mean in an arcade game), hear something you don't want to hear (JOHNNY! If you don't come back here this instant I'm gonna go outside and beat your butt so hard you won't be able to sit down for a month!), or have to deal with the children of other parents who are too lazy to stay with their own offspring to ensure that they don't aggrevate other customers.

My "dinner" last night included all of the above, and a new element: I saw a woman walking around the arcade area while openly breastfeeding her baby. Yep, you read that right. She was walking with one boob hanging completely out of her shirt while a kid latched on and went to town.

I was no longer hungry for the rest of my pizza.

Now, before anyone starts screaming at me, yes, I realize that babies have to eat and that breastfeeding is a source of nourishment for a child. I get that. But I do not get why women feel the need to impose their ta-tas on other people. (And, please note, it's never the Heidi Klum's of the world who are exposing their boobies). Why do these women refuse to cover themselves while they breastfeed?

My friend Jessica saw a boob in church one day when a lady on the FRONT PEW of the sanctuary was nursing her kid, and it launched a similar discussion.

However, the lady at Chuck-E-Cheese was doing it in a RESTAURANT where people were EATING. I mean, it's a crappy pizza joint surrounded with kids, so most of the adults there are already nauseated. There's only one place where boobs and food go together, and that's Hooters.

There are people who claim that openly breastfeeding is a human right because it's natural.

Well, so is masterbating.

But if you saw someone do THAT at Chuck-E-Cheese, I'm pretty sure he'd go the way of the PeeWee Hermans of the world and end up in jail for indecent exposure.

Women need to realize that NO ONE wants to see them go all Janet Jackson and pop out their breasts in public! Use a blanket, buy a Hooter Hider (yep, it's a real thing; Google it), or for God's sake, go to the bathroom and do it.

Just don't assume that everyone in the world wants to see your boobies.

I mean, unless you're Heidi Klum, and then everyone in the world probably DOES want to see your boobies.

But that's a different story entirely.

Tatianna Del Toro

2009-02-11T14:40:00.000-05:00

Tatianna del Toro is a contestant on this season's American Idol.

I cannot stand her for the following 5 reasons:

1) She sings when she's supposed to shut up
2) She whines
3) She begs
4) She nearly had a hysterical breakdown when she thought she was cut last night
5) She laughs like this:

Will someone please smack this girl?

Hard?

2009 Grammys

2009-02-10T19:11:00.001-05:00

* Keith Urban’s wrist tattoo is almost as badass as his guitar skills.

* Carrie Underwood never ceases to amaze me. Great voice, great legs, great backup – oh no wait, the backup was ENTIRELY too loud and overpowered her voice. Minus two points.

* Chris Martin may be able to sing, but he looks like he’s playing a game of Twister by himself…in other words, he’s rediculously awkward… on stage when performing.

* Justin Timberlake truly is bringing sexyback, all by his well-dressed self. That black-on-black tux with the satin finish and Prada shoes?? I’m all over it.

* Who the hell is Duffy and who on earth thought it would be a good idea to have her sing ANY lines from Bridge Over Troubled Water with Al Green? That person should be fired.

* Kid Rock needs to stick to angry-rock songs a la “Bawitdaba” and “So Hot”. He does not need to do political-esque or country stuff. People are only interested in him because they didn’t know White Trash could get that famous for something other than MyBigFatRedneckWedding.

* The Taylor Swift/Miley Cyrus thing pretty much sucked. Though, I’m sure that once they get in the studio and their voices get overproduced and overprocessed, the song will sound much better. They should use the same producers that Faith Hill does, because those guys work magic. (Seriously. If you’ve never heard Faith Hill live, don’t).

* Robert Plant and Allison Krauss beat out Justin Timberlake, Madonna, Timbaland, Rhianna, Maroon 5, Jordin Sparks, Chris Brown, John Mayer and Alicia Keyes??? And THEN won Record of the Year AND THEN won Album of the Year??????

Will someone please tell me HOW????

* It looked like Kanye had been cruising through Michael Jackson’s closet. What was up with that silver sequined jacket?

* Though Neil Diamond spoke more of the words than he sang, “Sweet Caroline” is still one of my favorite songs of all-time, and hands-down one of the best Bar Sing-a-Long songs in the History of Drunkenness.

* The point of pants is to cover your ass, yes?

Someone needs to relay this fact to Lil Wayne. He was “busting a sag” to such an extreme that his ass (clad in white boxers) was completely exposed. I mean, if the pants are not covering you up, why not just forgo them and wear only the boxers? If I ever meet Lil Wayne, I will have to resist the urge to duct-tape his pants up in the correct place.

Here's Your Sign

2009-02-06T09:13:00.001-05:00

You know how Bill Engvall does his "Here's Your Sign" bit, about when people say or do stupid things? (If you don't, you seriously need to YouTube it). This one actually happened to me.

Last week, there was some really bad weather that passed through our area. A rather large tree in our front yard fell over and would require a tree-removal service to come and, well, remove it.

I called the company and got stuck talking with what may possibly be the world's dumbest receptionist.

Receptionist: "Where is the tree?"
Me: "In the front yard."
R: "Okay, well we will come out and look at it and then give you an estimate. Will you be home?"
Me: "I doubt it. Just call me back with the estimate."
R: (confused) "Well...umm....we only give the estimates to you at the time we come out."
Me: "Huh? I'm not going to wait around all day for some guy to come drive by my house to simply stare out his truck window at the tree in my front yard. Do I really have to be home for this??"
R: (long pause) "Umm. I don't know. Let me put you on hold."

So she puts me on hold for 5 minutes while she figures out that, in fact, I do not have to be home to receive the estimate. She gets back on the line and ACTUALLY SAYS:

"Okay, we can do that. Do you have a mailbox?"

WHAT? Do I have a MAILBOX? Are you kidding me?

So I reply:

"No, we don't have a mailbox. The mailman just drives by every day and throws the mail out of the truck and onto the grass."

And the girl ACTUALLY SAYS.................

"Really??"

I hung up and called another tree service.

Friggin Moron.

Fargos

2009-02-03T11:49:00.001-05:00

I am have a serious case of the Fargos today.

It's an illness. Really.

Okay, so not really. But it's definitely not a fun feeling.

In case you don't know, the Fargos are when you feel or look anything like Frances McDormand's character in the movie Fargo. Never seen it? Here's a picture.

Pretty bad, huh?

If you are having a "bad face day" and feel like crap to go with it, you're probably having a case of the Fargos.

I'll write again soon, maybe when I have a case of the Hawaiis.

Granny's Pearls of Wisdom

2009-01-23T23:08:00.000-05:00

I was walking through Walmart yesterday, not looking for anything in particular. I was mainly trying to kill time and find something interesting to do in the hour I had left before I had to pick my daughter up from pre-school.

Just cruising through my local store is entertainment in itself; you should see all the classy-types that go there.

I was checking out some new makeup in the cosmetics area when a young girl (maybe 20?) walked by me with what appeared to be her mother and grandmother.

I would estimate that the girl was 5 months pregnant, given that her breasts were already very full but her ass had not yet reached it's full-fat pregnancy level.

The girl, I'll call her Jenny, was complaining about EVERYTHING.

"My feet hurt. They're swollen."

"My stomach hurts from where it's stretching."

"The smell of that CoverGirl makeup is making me sick."

And so on and so forth.

Jenny's mom says, "Now honey, you're going to be fine. Remember that all of that will go away in a few months and then you'll have that beautiful baby to hold."

Great thought from Mom there.

(I decided it probably wasn't a good time for me to speak up and say that even though the swelling and stomachache and DogNose would go away, there would be plenty of new things to complain about post-baby. Like the fact that most women end up with a stomach that resembles a Shar-Pei rather than a human torso).

Even with Mom's great efforts, Jenny went about her complaining.

"My back hurts."
"I have a headache."
"I'm hungry."
"Now I'm dizzy."

Granny, who's been hunched over her walker and trying to ignore the complaining girl, finally looks up.

She hobbles over to Jenny, taps her on the shoulder and says,

"You think it's bad now??
Just wait til you start peeing when you laugh!"

Hot vs. Not

2009-01-21T14:43:00.000-05:00

HOT ................ NOT

Guys who play guitar...vs...Guys who play Guitar Hero

Jason Lewis.....vs....Jason Lee

Professional baseball players...vs...Professional bowlers

Nine Inch Nails albums......vs......Kenny G albums

Some sexy tattoos........vs.........Tattoos of cartoon characters

Soldiers........vs.........Soulja Boy

Guys who can dance.....vs.....Guys who Dance Like a White Guy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2HiuCaaQhxg

Hugh Jackman........vs.......Hugh Hefner

NASCAR drivers......vs......Monster Truck drivers

Rock N Republic jeans.......vs......Guys in girls' jeans

God Bless America

2009-01-20T21:32:00.000-05:00

This evening I went to an event sponsored by the Veterans of Foreign Wars. I was there primarily to mingle and flirt with soldiers who are on leave or who have just returned from Iraq.

I had a fabulous time. I was asked to sign posters and pose for pictures. I even autographed the back of one guy's bald head.

What was even cooler is that these guys have been gone sooo long that they didn't even realize that

I'm not famous.

I love soldiers.

Rock N Roll

2009-01-20T21:21:00.000-05:00

Few moments in life can make a parent prouder than when they glance over their shoulder in the car to see their 2 year old headbanging to AC/DC.

This is exactly what happened to me this afternoon.

I turned on my iPod and was blasting some tunes on the way to the Post Office, because I'm cool like that. In between air-drumming on the steering wheel, I caught a glimpse of movement in the backseat. When I turned around, my 2 1/2 year old daughter was ROCKIN OUT to "Highway to Hell".

Am I a good mom or what?

I Judge You When You Use Poor Grammar

2009-01-18T16:16:00.000-05:00

It amazes me how many people get all wigged out over grammar and spelling. To me, this is as easy as breathing.

But you're not me.

Maybe you're great at bowling, which I can't seem to do for the life of me.

But then again, I have no desire to bowl. I'm sure that if I put my mind to it, I could be a professional bowler.

It's this kind of mind-set that contributes to my fabulousness.

Where was I?

Oh yeah - grammar.

I am the type of person that shudders in horror upon hearing phrases such as "The reason I did it is because..." The reason is not because of anything. Instead, the correct phrase would be "The reason is that I am madly in love with Jason Lewis and think he's the finest man on the planet."

So instead of correcting people (which I don't like to do, because it makes them feel stupid and makes me feel like an ass), I am going to touch on a few of my Grammar Pet Peeves right here, right now.

1) Nauseous
Guess what? When someone says "I'm nauseous", they are really saying "I'm disgusting", NOT "I feel sick".
Nauseous means Sickening, Disgusting, or Capable of causing Nausea. So unless you look like the love child of Steve Buscimi and Sarah Jessica Parker or have spent the day rolling in a pile of pig crap, YOU CANNOT BE NAUSEOUS. If you feel sick, you are simply Nauseated.

2) Done vs. Finished
Done = cooked. Finished = complete.
When you are through eating, please do not say "I'm done" unless you've just been shoved into the oven and baked at *350.

3) Irregardless
This one is simple. Irregardless is not a word. No exceptions.

4) Supposebly
Watch the Friends episode called "The One Where Heckles Dies", #203. The correct spelling and pronunciation of this word is "Supposedly" with a D, not a B.

5) Me To
You to where??
Please go back to 3rd grade and review the homophones "To, Two, and Too".
To = direction. Ex: I'm going TO the Iron Horse.
Two = number. Ex: Hugh Hefner always has at least TWO slu- I mean, girls, with him.
Too = also. Ex: You have some Xanex? I would like some Xanex TOO, please.

Now that you can speak and write correctly, we can be friends again.

I live in the South for a reason

2009-01-16T13:23:00.000-05:00

and that reason is so I don't have to deal with huge winter coats and cold weather.

Okay, so there's more to it than that, but I do happen to enjoy the warm temperatures and thus refuse to live anywhere north of the Mason-Dixon line.

Global warming, global-schmarming.

It's 14 degrees outside today.

And not in, say, Pittsburgh, where one might expect a 14 degree reading on the thermometer.

Oh no.

It's 14 degrees - that's 18 degrees BELOW freezing - in ATLANTA.

That's MINUS 10 degrees Celsius.

If temperatures like THAT don't prove that global warming is crap, I don't know what will.

She Rocks It Like the Naughty Wicked Witch of the West

2009-01-15T13:48:00.000-05:00

Boom Boom Boom...flashing lights...hot music...

Yeah that's what I envision when I listen to Britney Spears' new song "Circus": a strip club. The song would be perfect for a dancer (don't call them strippers - they get mad...) at a club on the Vegas strip. One of those clubs with multiple stages and several dancers "entertaining" their clientele. Songs like this fascinate me. I happen to enjoy a good strip-club-song.

My friend Jack, a photographer with a loft-studio, just installed a "collapsable pole" (aka: stripper pole) in his studio. He claims that it's good for everything from dance shoots to fireman-themes, but he can't fool me.

I know it's a stripper pole.

When I saw the pictures of the pole, I sent him a message expressing my thoughts on the issue, and the fact that his installing the pole didn't surprise me one bit. And he responded with "You know you want to take a spin on it, don't ya?"

DUH! Of COURSE I do!

I think that every female secretly wants to try out the awesome stripper skills she's got planned out in her head. Not that many women would admit that; it's one of those "secret shame" or "guilty pleasure" things.
But let's face it, who doesn't want to feel wanted and sexy??

So, in the event that I find myself in a situation where spinning around on a pole in my underwear and platform shoes becomes necessary, I have reserved two songs for my show:
"Use Me" by Hinder and
"Something in Your Mouth" by Nickelback.
Say what you want about Nickelback and the poser-rock style they have, that song (and, in fact, the entire Dark Horse album - which I am also reserving for my stripper career since "Shaking Hands" and "Next Go Round" are also OHMYGOD) - is freaking hot.
So there.

I'm pretty sure I could rock those songs on a stage; the moves I practice in front of my bathroom mirror are SMOKIN'. In my head, I'm totally awesome.
And I'm not ashamed to admit it. ;)

Called in Well

2009-01-12T13:53:00.000-05:00

I called in Well to work today.

That's right - I didn't call in sick; I called in well.

My boss hates excuses with a ferocious passion. He doesn't let us explain why we won't be at work that day, in an effort to keep things honest and easy in the workplace. Which is nice, because I didn't have to call in and say "I'm...uh...(cough cough)...uh....sick....today so I won't be...uh....making it to work...". I just said "Hey E - won't be in today. If you could send me the notes from the MindsetATL meeting, I'll look them over and send back my thoughts later." And he simply said "No problem."

How awesome is that?

The sky is a perfect, gorgeous blue. The temperature is comfortable for jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt (specifically my oh-so-stylish Eric Staal jersey, which I happen to be rockin' today). And, though I had a meeting to discuss a show we're doing in March, I just couldn't handle being cooped up in an office downtown when the weather outside is fantastic and my mental state is equally just as good. =)

"How can I be expected to handle school on a day like this?" ~ Ferris Bueller.

Well said, Ferris. Well said.

Shhhh.....I'm Hiding from the Crazy People....

2009-01-07T09:54:00.000-05:00

I found out last night via instant messenger conversation that I had a stalker in high school.

I mean, other than the three I already knew about. This one was a Secret Stalker. And it surprised the hell out of me...

A guy that I was friends with for 2 years in high school (my freshman/sophomore years, his junior/senior) and I were talking last night on AIM about the Good Ole Days at our alma mater. Oddly enough, we both admitted now, 10 years after the fact, that we had mutual crushes on one another. I was taken by his charm and witt, and he thought I was (apparently) adorable. =)

We even went on a semi-date once: the two of us and two of our friends got together and went out to eat and then to a local park. We had a good time, and it seems that both of us were interested in the other, but since neither of us made any sort of move, we just let it go.

He tells me last night that one time he -- get this -- was out relatively late one night, picked up something to eat at a fast-food joint, and then didn't want to go home...

so he came over to my house, pulled into the driveway....

and sat there and ate his dinner.

**This totally cracks me up and is close to being on par with the Canadian guy who internet-stalked me last year, claiming that he was the father of my child (no way, no how, nuh-uh...not only was he NASTY but OH YEAH - I'd NEVER MET HIM).**

But ANYWAY -

I was most pleased to discover that my friend had at one time stalked me without my knowledge.

I've always wanted a Secret Stalker!

Means I'm doing something worthy of being stalked. =P

What Not To Wear

2009-01-05T21:19:00.001-05:00

We all want to act like we don't judge people based on looks, but let's face it. We do.

It might not be right and it definitely isn't PC, but it's something that we allllll do - even if it's subconscious. You don't have to admit it - we already know it's true.

2 Examples:

Location: At the mall.
Scene 1: You see a guy. He's wearing ripped jeans, his shirt is crumpled, his hair doesn't look brushed, and he's got about a week's worth of untamed forest growing on his face. Do you think "Wow, he looks like a nice, upstanding gentleman. I'd like to have a cup of coffee with him"? No. You think one of two things: 1) Homeless or 2)Sloppy = lazy.

Scene 2: You spot a chick in a short skirt, with long hair that was at one time a dark brown and has now been dyed a white blonde color with red streaks running through it. She's wearing too much makeup, a low-cut top exposing boobs she no doubt paid good money for, and she's got on heels that make her 6 1/2 feet tall. Do you think "Ya know, that's the type of girl I'd like to take home to Mama" ? Not even close. You're likely to catch yourself thinking 1)Slut or 2) I think I've seen her swinging from a pole at Fannie's Cabaret Gentleman's Lounge. (Yep- it really exists).

There are other people we make snap judgements about:
*the guy wearing straightleg hemmed jeans, a nice button down with a sweater vest and perfectly polished shoes MUST be gay.
*the chick in all black with a face the shade of white-out and bright red lips is totally a freak.
*the guy with the mullet must be an idiot.
*that dude with more piercings than Travis Barker and more tattoos than Tommy Lee is someone Daddy DEFINITELY wouldn't approve of.
*the very overweight girl in the food court is obviously lazy and has no will-power.
*the guy wearing the SeanJohn shirt, South Pole jeans, and diamond studs is a complete thug.

Now, we all know that these judgements are definitely not always true - the SeanJohn guy could be a record exec, the guy with the tats just might be more successful than most people, and the guy you'd swear was gay might just have good taste in clothing.

So while I was sitting at the mall today having some of these exact thoughts about people I saw walking past, (Carrie Bradshaw moment here, folks) "I couldn't help but think..."

These people really get out of bed in the morning,
go to their closets,
pick out those clothes,
then stand in front of the mirror when ready to leave and actually think

"Oh yeah. I look Gooood."

Think about that the next time you're in a public place with a wide variety of people.
Remember that each of them left the house that day having made a choice as to the clothes they wear, the accessories they choose, and the way they fix their hair.

On that note, I'd like to introduce you to someone. I (discreetly) took this picture of a kid I saw at a McDonalds two weeks ago. Notice the dyed blonde mullet, earring, and chain necklace over the NASCAR t-shirt.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet the real life Joe Dirt.

Connoisseur?

2009-01-05T09:31:00.000-05:00

My friend Adrienne claims to be a connoisseur.
Not of wine, not of fine arts...but of men.

I think she was just searching for a fancy word for "slut", but that's beside the point.

Adrienne enjoys men the way that I enjoy the shoe department at Neiman Marcus, or the way some people enjoy things like Broadway or the Ballet. She says that she is simply doing Research. She wants to meet a man who is 1) successful 2)funny and 3) great in bed. And, in her defense, there really IS only one way to find out #3. Thus, she is a serial dater. She goes on dates with loads of men, hoping to check off all three items on her list. You'd be surprised how difficult it is to actually find someone who meets all of her criteria.

Last night, Adrienne and I met for dinner at a restaurant downtown. Not just any restaurant - it figures that she would pick a place where you might end up captured by a paparazzo and land in the pages of In Touch. Of course, no one would be taking pictures of either of us, but we could potentially be seen just over Fergie's left shoulder as she was exiting with her fiance. Or we might be "unidentified friends" who were chatting it up with Andre 3000 of the band Outkast. (We don't really know him. He was asking which way the bathroom was and Adrienne turned it into an interview. Surprise, surprise).

While we were standing in the lobby of the restaurant waiting to be seated, Adrienne starts telling me that she's swearing off men, because she's bored with them and wants to focus on her work for now. I tell her that I think that's an excellent idea...if nothing else, it might give her mattress springs a much-needed rest.

Anyway, after about 3 minutes of standing around, we were greeted by one of the most beautiful men we'd ever seen. Nope - he wasn't famous, or there for a top-notch business meeting. He was a host/server. We learned that his name was Nathan, and he flashed us a thousand-watt smile, revealing dimples in both cheeks, as he lead us to our table, "a nice, quiet table near the back, by a window". (Window tables are reserved for the Nobodies, because the Somebodies don't want to have people taking pictures of them while they're shoving sushi in their mouths).

Nathan wasn't just good-looking: he was HOT. SCORCHING HOT. He had blonde (highlighted) hair that was cut pretty short, but long enough on top to get that "I spent 40 minutes getting my hair to look like I only spent 40 seconds fixing it" coif. He had one small, silver earring in each ear, and a tribal-style tattoo peeking out from under his uniformed white shirt. He was simply stunning.

So why, oh why, was this Adonis working as a server? Simple: he's an Aspiring Entertainer. Actor, to be specific. AE's are everywhere in this town, much like in New York or LA. Every waiter, barista, parking attendant, stripper, and bartender is an AE, whether it's singing, acting, dancing, modeling, or comedic standup. Everyone is hoping to be "discovered" and raised from their crappy studio apartment and Volkswaggon Beetle to the glorious mansions and Bentley's of the Rich and Famous.

Just like every other AE I've ever met, Nathan was indeed a walking, talking resume'. He quoted lines from a few low-budget, local commercials he'd been in, did a monologue from a D-list play, and kept flashing that perfect, "I had braces for six years" smile so much I thought it might trip the circuit breakers.

And, as with most AEs I've had the pleasure of chatting with, it took me all of 10 seconds to realize that I was completely superfluous to the conversation. I couldn't get a word in edgewise: Nathan could have been talking to a wall, and it wouldn't have made a difference. He would have kept right on reciting, trying to impress with the hope of landing some sort of secret job we were unknowingly interviewing him for (or at the very least, get laid. By Adrienne. Not me.)

I finally gave up and continued perusing my menu, while Adrienne intently listened to him ramble on. He finally took our orders and left, but continued to "check on us" every two minutes throughout our entire meal, making it near impossible for us to discuss the event we were actually there to plan. After what seemed like hours, we were finally finished (with the food, not the work. That would just have to wait). We stood up to leave, and I watched Adrienne slip her card into Nathan's perfectly manicured hand (gay, maybe?), saying "Call me, anytime."

I threw up in my mouth a little bit just then.

On the way home, Adrienne called me so that we could chat until we got to our respective dwellings, each about 30 minutes north of downtown.

In the middle of our convo, her call-waiting beeps.
"Hang on a sec, let me see who this is," she says.
I'm left on hold for 4 minutes and 22 seconds. Just as I was about to hang up, she switches back over:
A: "That was HIM!"
Me: "Him who?"
A: "Nathan! The waiter!"
Me: "Already? Damn, he works fast."
A: "Yeah, no kidding! He wants to go on a date Friday night!"
Me: (Okay, so he's not gay). "I thought you were swearing off men to concentrate on work?"
A: "Did I say that?"
Me: "Yup."
A: "Oh. Well. Whatever. He wants me to meet him at the restaurant Friday after work."
Me: "Where are you going to go?"
A: "I'm don't really care; hopefully he'll lead me to another quiet table, but this time away from the window and in the back of his bedroom."

I just sighed.
Some things never change.

Notes from the Bathroom Stall

2009-01-02T17:18:00.000-05:00

Isn't technology wonderful?

Since it seems that my new hobby these days is peeing, I've decided to turn what used to be a complete waste of time into something of (limited) productivity.

I will now be setting up a spare laptop equipped with WiFi in the downstairs bathroom at my house, so that I can share my randomness with you at will. Yep. Straight from the bathroom.