Thursday, April 30, 2009

Miss Yvonne Meets Captain Carl: The Finale

You can read part 2 here...but don't feel like you have to because I'm sure you'd be able to figure out what's going on pretty quickly because I know y'all are smart peoples.

I just realized today is the last day of April and I haven't finished my love story yet. So here it is....I was going to write one more chapter after this detailing all the crazy awesome sex we had, but there are only 30 days in April, so it wasn't meant to be. Don't be sad. I'm sure you'll get over it in time.

Okay, so I finally agreed to a first date with this guy I met online. I hadn't been on a first date since high school....can you believe that? That's crazy, huh? I dated the same jerk for six years....from my senior year until I was 23 years old. And then I didn't date for two years straight because my head was all messed up. Needless to say, I was very nervous about this date. Terrified. Horrified. Petrified even.

So to help myself relax on the big day, I decided not to eat anything and drink a few glasses of wine. That way I'd be tipsy AND non-bloaty. I'm a genius, right?

About two hours before our date, I poured my first glass of wine and downed it in a couple of gulps. Then I poured another glass. Then I drank it and poured a third, which I took up to the shower with me. So I sipped my wine while I waited for the water to heat up, then jumped into the shower and took my sweet time getting ready. I was feeling pretty tingly by this time, so I was enjoying my preparations. I even sang a few songs while washing my hair.

And then things got ugly.

Apparently it's not a good idea to drink and then hang out in a wet bathtub, because I just about broke my leg that day. Towards the end of my shower, I slipped and fell. And I don't mean I kind of lost my footing and slipped around a bit. Both of my feet came out from under me and down I went on my ass. I managed to grab the shower curtain on my way down......and rather than hold me up or slow my fall, it came down on top of me along with the shower rod, which hit me in the forehead. So there I am, sitting in the tub with a shower curtain over me and water going everywhere because the shower was still on. One leg was hanging out of the tub and my right hip was already throbbing. I laughed hysterically for about 10 minutes and then crawled out of the bathtub. By the time I finished doing my hair and makeup, my arms and legs were covered in bruises. I shrugged it off and figured they would just add to my mystique. Kind of like how track marks make a hooker look all exotic and interesting.

So I finished another glass of wine before walking out the door to meet my date at a restaurant....and yes, I probably should not have been driving after four glasses of wine. Don't judge, yo. I was extra careful and drove slow and did a lot of gesturing out my window to tell people they should go around me. Plus I was wearing night vision goggles and it wasn't even dark out yet, so I was actually overly safe. More than necessary, totally extreme safe. What I'm saying is I should totally get an award for my amazing safety skills.

We had agreed to meet in the bar and luckily it was a Wednesday night, so it wasn't too busy. I walked in and there was only one guy at the bar, and he was holding a huge glass of beer and had a big smile on his face. I figured this was my guy, so I did this weird finger wave with my pointer finger that I had never done before in my life and walked over to him. His face was flushed and he looked nervous and relieved to see me. I said something brilliant like "Heyyyy, you!" and then gave him a sloppy drunk girl hug.

We got a table right away and I ordered a beer and a huge platter of enchiladas. Damn, that pre-date wine drinking really came in handy, y'all. I never ate much on first dates and was always nervous and shy....but this night I ate like a 21 year old frat guy, drank like a sorority girl and conversed the shit out of him. And we had the BEST time. For reals. We talked and ate and laughed and talked and drank and talked and talked and talked. The only weird thing was how he kept winking at me. Every time I would make eye contact with him, he'd wink. "Here's a picture of my kids"....wink. "I love to travel"....wink. Always with the winking. I figured he was either really bad at flirting or he had a tic.

So the date started at 7pm and at 11pm I looked around the restaurant and realized they were closing and we were the only ones still there. The bus boys were putting chairs up on top of all the other tables. We had been so absorbed in each other that we never noticed. It was straight out of an 80's romantic comedy movie starring Molly Ringwald and that dude....shit, what's his name....you know, the guy with the hair and he always wore those clothes? That guy.

Once we realized the time, we left the restaurant and he walked me to my car. Then he politely told the weird homeless man that wandered up to us where he could cross under the highway to get to the restaurants on the other side that were still open. And then we hugged goodbye and went our separate ways.

And we never saw each other ever again.

Just kidding.

We saw each other again the next weekend and I totally put out on the second date.

The End.

P.S. Turns out it wasn't a tic.....Captain Carl winks when he's nervous.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

The Two Whitest Girls On The Planet

Today's email conversation between my sister (let's call her Lizard) and me....

Me: Did you meet your boyfriend's son this weekend?

Lizard: Don't know when that will happen. He's waiting for the perfect time and it will be one big love fest or something. I just don't understand why he makes such a big deal out of things. Why can't he act like Mel Gibson and just parade me around for the paparazzi already?

Me: He should totally be parading you for the paparazzi by now. Wait, I don't think there are paparazzi in Chicago. But he should at least take you to a taping of Oprah or something.

Lizard: You know my girl Oprah would be all "what's up with that" and "you got to do right by your girl, she stood by you all this time, you fool."

Me: Huh, I didn't know Oprah was your girl. I think you might be confusing her with Tyra. It seems like Tyra would say "fool" more than Oprah. Hey hook me up, yo! I could use some free stuff from the O. Also, I want to hear her say "my va-jay-jay is painin" in person.

Lizard: Oh no you di'ent - I could NEVER confuse my girl O with that big cheese Ty Ty Baby or whatever she is calling her fierce self these days. O only says "fool" with her closest gal pals - you must not be one if you didn't know that.

Me: You just said "di'ent" and "gal pals" in the same paragraph.

Lizard: I'm just keepin' it real.

Me: We are the whitest girls on the whole planet.

Lizard: True dat.


Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Super Extreme Power Protein Strength!

The Kiddo has been a driving fool the last two days...he's mastered the stick shift (that's what she said) and has received permission to drive the Explorer all by his lonesome. So of course, he's finding every reason under the sun to go drive somewhere, come back and go drive again. Today after school, he drove to his friend Pothead Peter's house to workout, then came home, then went to the grocery store, then came home, then left again and then came home again. Who knew everyday life required so much driving, yo?

So yeah, the working out thing. He's decided he's not ripped enough. The boy has a six pack and no body fat. But yes, he's a skinny little fucker so I guess I can understand why he wants to bulk up. Or whatever. So the apartment complex Pothead Peter lives in with his mom has a workout room with weights. So the plan as of today is for the Kiddo to go over there everyday after school and get ripped. Hopefully that isn't code for "smoke a lot of dope" because hello? The Captain and I didn't give Pothead Peter his nickname for nothin', people.

So after their awesome workout, the Kiddo came home with his arms all veiny from pumping tons of iron and announced he was going to start drinking protein shakes to speed up the bulking process. Hence the trip to the grocery store...where he bought milk, bananas and strawberries. He brought all that home and then left again to visit a supplement store called Max Muscle (I'm not even kidding about that name) to pick up some protein powder.

He leaves and the Captain and I have a good laugh because that is why God gave us the ability to have children....so we have someone to laugh at on a daily basis and also to give us an excuse as to why we lose our hair and/or get fat.

The Kiddo returns with a huge four pound plastic container of protein powder. It's called something like MaximumSuperPowerStrengtheningAndAlsoMakingYourDickBiggerProtein Powder!!! with a zillion exclamation points after it.

Captain Carl and I stare at him for a few moments and then the Captain is all "What the hell???" and the Kiddo is all "The dude totally tried to sell me more crap but I told him no way, man" and the Captain is all "How much did you pay for that, son?" and the Kiddo is all "Like fifty dollars" and I was all "Please tell me you did not pay that much for powder" and the Kiddo is all blinky and silent and the Captain is all "They didn't have a smaller size?" and the Kiddo is all "Ummm, no?" and I was all "Boy, they saw you coming a mile away" and the Kiddo is all "But I got a free magazine!".

Turns out the boy paid $59.99 for this powder....the boy who has no job yet....the boy who said he understood that he was going to have to be careful with his money now because he has to help pay for his car insurance and save up for college.

sigh

So the Kiddo goes upstairs to do his homework and I pick up his free magazine and shockingly it has a scantily clad woman on the cover looking all hot and buff and totally into you. So I'm looking at it and I say to the Captain "Guess what's on the cover?" and the Captain says "Probably a bunch of guys in tight t-shirts giving each other high fives" and I was all "No, that's on page five".

Then the Captain read the ingredients on the tub o' insta-muscles and it's basically just dehydrated milk protein or something like that....something you could get at Whole Foods for half that price most likely. But Captain Carl says this powder is obviously way better because it probably causes you to do spontaneous chest bumps and tear your shirt off in an amazing show of masculinity when you use it.

I'm looking forward to all the money rolling in when the Kiddo gets his gig with the WWE.

Monday, April 27, 2009

I Know You Are But What Am I?

This is for my blog friend, PLO, who's been having a rough time lately.

Hey Paula, remember when you sent me this letter?


I know you do, because you took the time to draw Pee Wee wonderfulness on the envelope. All for me.

And remember how you not only sent me this fantastic envelope, but you also put these trading cards inside it?


I know you do, because when I told you I never had any you sent me some from your own collection even though we only knew each other through our blogs.


Remember how I said months ago I was going to post pictures of what you sent me and I never did? I know you do. But I bet you don't know how I'm pretty glad I waited all this time to do it, because now I can hopefully cheer you up a little bit while your spirits might be down and your heart might be hurting.




So here you go, girly...my very late thank you post for one of the sweetest things anyone I barely know has ever done for me.

P.S. I know you are but what am I?

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Hot Damn, I'm On Fire!

Y'ALL!

I won again! I won the giveaway over at Lulu's Sandbar! That's two....count 'em...TWO wins in ONE WEEK. Dudes, I never win anything...ever. This is crazy, yo.

I'm so happy, I could dance around outside in my jammies, like my niece does.

Work it, Miss Thing.

La alaaaa lllaaaaa leee laaa!!!

Hey, go over and check out Lulu's blog and then skip on over to her etsy shop. She's super talented and has great stuff.

P.S. I was going through some old pics and found one I took of Captain Carl peeing next to an outhouse. Yep, next to it...not in it. The man's not right in the head, people.


For your viewing pleasure...


He's got his hands in his pockets.
Show off.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

I Got The Pimp Fist


We went to my sister's on Sunday and the Kiddo drove. I cowered in the backseat whimpering and randomly shouting out things that seemed helpful in my brain but came out sounding more like "Gah!" and "Ooooh watch out!" and "That's too close!". This is why I never get to ride in the front when the Kiddo drives.

So there we are, traveling down the highway.

Me: Okay Kiddo, you are getting just a tad bit too close to that car in front of you.

Captain Carl: He's fine, be quiet.

Me: I'm trying to help him because his father is obviously not paying attention.

Captain Carl: I know exactly what he's doing, I'm watching him.

Me: That's weird, because I could swear you were looking out the side window just now.

Captain Carl: I'm not going to stare at him for the whole hour drive over.

Me: That is exactly what you should be doing!

Captain Carl: Pipe down back there.

Me: Don't tell me what to do, you're not the boss of me.

Captain Carl: Uh, I am the boss of you as a matter of fact. You even said so in our vows.

Me: Did not.

Captain Carl: Did so.

Me: Did not infinity.

Captain Carl: You said you would obey me.

Me: Your mom can obey me.

Captain Carl: *sigh*

Me: That's right! You've got nothin'!

Captain Carl: Settle down there, Edith.

Me: Kiddo, you are 7 miles over the speed limit! Slow down!

Captain Carl: That's it...you're getting the pimp fist.



The Kiddo: Would you guys shut up already?

We're just your average all-American family, aren't we?



Just Confirmed: I Am Indeed A Winner

So there's this blog that I love that everyone should be reading. Steam Me Up, Kid talks about children writing erotica and bruised vagina plates and accidental panty flash and her stupid Nana and you might think all those things sound terrible but you would be wrong about that, my friend. Because they are awesome and hilarious and she pretty much makes me laugh so hard my eyes leak and sometimes a little bit of pee comes out. She also invented the word "congratuscrotum" which is complete genius and if she wasn't so cool I would totally be jealous that she came up with it before me.

If you are not following her blog yet, go there and do it now. I am sending you blog brainwaves right this very minute and I'm also doing that scary pointy finger and squinty eye thing at you to make you think I'm controlling your mind which I totally am. So go follow SMU, Kid and also pick me up a cheeseburger while you're out, huh?

And yeah, I just won a giveaway over there and no that is not why I am pimping SMU's blog. It's a total coincidence. Geesh.

And now I'm off to do my happy time dance while I celebrate my total domination of the SMU completely random drawing giveaway.

la la laaaa!

Monday, April 20, 2009

Why I Almost Punched My Husband In The Nards Today







Every. Single. Time.

This Is A Public Service Announcement

Listen up people....this is important shit.

The Kiddo got his driver's license last week. Yesterday he received his very own vehicle in which to drive himself to school, work and all future drug deals.

Ack!

If you live anywhere in the DFW area I strongly suggest you steer clear of any and all late 90's white Ford Explorers for at least six months.

My sister gave it to him because she loves him and she's a big softy and also because she apparently hates me. Because now? I pretty much spend all my waking hours worrying about him out there alone, driving his own car that has a stick shift, for pete's sake. I mean, why couldn't his first car be small and automatic and without wheels or an engine? That would feel so much safer to me and I'm sure he would have just as much fun pretend driving it while he's sitting in the driveway as he will frolicking all over who the hell knows where in this death contraption my sister gave to him.

Hold on a sec, would ya?

gasp!

Okay, so maybe I'm having a teensy little problem letting him grow up. Oh how I long for the days when all I had to worry about was if the Kiddo was having safe sex. Now I have to worry about him having safe sex while driving in his new car ala The Fast & The Furious. I've never seen that movie, but it seems like the kind that would have fast manual transmission driving combined with teenage sex. Wait, maybe not teenage sex just grown up sex...because if it had teenage sex, the "furious" part would reference when the teenage boy's parents find out he knocked up his slutty girlfriend in the driver's seat of his Grandma's Buick and let's face it, there would be no "fast" because hello? he's driving a Buick.

Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah, my son and his sexmobile. Good times.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Sunday Morning Hangover


I woke up early this morning with a hangover. A screwdriver hangover, to be exact. Captain Carl and I went to a jazz club last night and it was fantastic. Tiny place, amazing live jazz music and a lot of drinking.

We were supposed to go to Worky's Paparazzi party, but I decided to be a shitty friend and skip it. I know....I suck. But today is our 6th anniversary and I really wanted to be alone with the Captain last night to celebrate. So that's what we did, and I got drunk off three screwdrivers. In my defense, they were really strong...but yeah, I'm a lightweight. I'm pretty sure I started quoting Pee Wee's Big Adventure on the walk back to the car.

There are things about me you wouldn't understand....things you couldn't understand....things you shouldn't understand.



We got home around 1am after a stop at Whataburger for some grease...which is what Captain Carl said I needed when I realized how tipsy I was after we left the club. There's just nothing like a cheeseburger at 1am, right? I had forgotten how good they tasted.

So I was planning on sleeping in this morning. I woke up at 8:30, which is not nearly late enough for my taste. But my head was pounding and I had cotton mouth, so I got up. I decided to open a window and enjoy the birds singing before everyone else in my boarding house woke up.

Just me and the puke monsters...listening to the birds and feeling the cool morning breeze.



I need some Advil.

Friday, April 17, 2009

I'm Swagging The Crap Out Of This Party!

My friend Worky invited the Captain and me to his birthday party this weekend. Worky is gay and is all kinds of fabulous and I heart him to death because I've always wanted a gay boyfriend and even though we aren't all that tight, I decided that he was as close I was getting to one since Kurt ignored me when I asked him to be mine. Whatever Kurt,I'm totally karate chopping you in my mind.

Anyway, so Worky sent me an email last week asking me to come to his birthday party that he's throwing for himself, which is kind of weird and self-centered but that's okay because I let the gays get away with more social faux pas than everyone else on account of all the gay-marriage-is-illegal stuff...I figure they could use the break and I'm pretty much all about helping out people who are discriminated against who can also give me bitchin' fashion advice.

So I told the Captain about the party last weekend and he said sure, why not, so I emailed Worky back and said yes. And then the invitation came in the mail.

Holy Rupert Everett, that invitation was so gay it practical yelled "bitch please!" when I opened it. It's got a black border with pretty silver swirly thingies on it and the middle is white with a silver border. Well color me fancy, Reba! And it says "You are invited to attend the star studded event of Worky's Birthday" and then proceeds to tell the when and where and all that business. And then it says "Theme for the party is 'Paparazzi' so dress to impress. Guests are encouraged to wear black, turquoise or silver." It also mentions that there will be a turquoise carpet for photo ops upon arrival. Included in the envelope are two VIP passes that say we should bring them to the party"for a chance to win swag". Holy shit, people! Swag!

So now I'm all excited and jumpy and clappy when I showed it to Captain Carl because hello! this party sounds so fun and girly! The Captain reads the invitation, looks up at me with one eyebrow cocked and says "Oh hell no". I ignore his comment and start talking about what I'm going to wear and what I can find in his closet for him to wear and that's when the Captain grabbed my arm and said "I am not wearing anything turquoise". Party pooper. So I tell him "That's okay, you can just wear one of your plaid shirts and you go can as a Bear. I'm sure all of Worky's friends will love you."

Yeah, he didn't like that idea either. But he said he'll still go with me since he's a good guy and he remembers how Worky drove all the way out to the sticks to our house for our Christmas party last year. Hurrah! I'm totally making him listen to Mariah Carey on the drive over to help us get in the mood.

I found a sweater in my closet that is black and silver and I'm trying to convince the Captain to wear it to the party but he keeps saying "that's your sweater, I can't wear that" and I keep telling him "trust me, you'll fit right in" and then he looks at me all worried and then I laugh and then he gives me the finger and then I say "You kiss your mother with that mouth?" and then he says "That doesn't even make sense" and then I say"Your mom doesn't even make sense! Boo-ya!"

I'm pretty much a genius at comebacks.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Paranoid Much?

I've mentioned before that I have a little anxiety problem. And by "little" I mean "crippling and completely irrational". Every morning when I park my car at work, I have a mini panic attack over where my keys are located. I'm completely paranoid that I'm going to lose them. So each morning when I arrive at work, I have this completely psychotic ritual I have to go through before I can walk into the building.

First I open my car door and before I get out, I lock the car and put my keys in my purse. Then I gather up everything else I'm taking in with me - lunch, book, etc. - and then I have to put it all down again and search my purse to make sure my keys are actually in there. And because I have one of those bottomless pit mom purses, the keys always fall to the bottom and I spend about a minute freaking out while I frantically search for them. I pull out mints and gum and old receipts and throw them on the passenger seat. So at this point, I'm sitting in my car with one leg hanging out the door and screaming "where the fuck are you, motherfuckers???" . Luckily for me, I get to work early and most of the time there's no one around to hear me. When I finally locate them, I take a second to close my eyes and take a deep breathe and then I usually say to my keys "I'm going to kill you" in my best Clint Eastwood voice because I figure intimidation is the only way to keep my keys in line. Finally, I gather up all my things again, get out of the car and shut the door. I can usually make it the rest of the day without checking for the keys again, but some days are worse than others and on those days I check several times.

So obviously I have a problem. I know this. Most days it's under control and I feel normal. But then there are some days when I think it would be a good idea to have a psychiatrist on speed dial and a prescription for xanax ready and waiting for me at the pharmacy. Yesterday was one of those days.

The Kiddo got his driver's license. He's 17, we made him wait a whole extra year to get it and I'm glad we did. I just don't think he would have been ready to be driving on his own at 16. But we couldn't hold out any longer and Captain Carl took him yesterday to get his license. So last night I got home from work and the Kiddo is putting his key to our car on his new key chain. I know this is a big moment in his life, so I try to forget that our monthly insurance payment just doubled and ask him if he's excited. Of course he says yes and then he sits there watching tv and jangling his keys in his pocket and twirling them on his finger and generally looking happy.

Then the Captain walks in, hands the Kiddo some cash and says "Why don't you take a drive and get yourself something to eat?" My ears start ringing and I stare at the Captain like he's just grown a third eye on his forehead and I feel the anxiety rushing through my body. The Kiddo looks startled, like he can't believe what his dad just said to him. The Captain turns to me and he's all "Is that okay with you?" and I'm all "Ummmm" and he's all "Yes or no" and I'm all "ummm okay" and he's all "Just tell me yes or no" and I'm all "okay" and he's all "Is that a yes?" and I'm all "It's an okay" and he's all "What the hell does that mean?" and I'm all "It means that's as close to me saying yes as you are gonna get right now".

And so the Kiddo happily bounces out the door as I yell after him "Wear your seat belt!" and "Don't forget to check the speed limits!" and "Please don't kill anyone!". Then the Captain and I decide to order chinese and it takes us five tries to dial the number correctly and after we do, the Captain tells me to stand there with him while he orders to make sure he doesn't order the wrong thing. Then he hangs up and we stare at each other for about 2 minutes and contemplate the fact that our child is driving our car somewhere all by himself. Then we both wander off in a daze.

So while he's gone, I pretty much just sit on the couch and listen. I have supersonic hearing and can usually hear when someone on our street slams a car door or when someone is walking up our sidewalk. So for 45 minutes, I'm listening for the boy. 30 minutes into my listening, the chinese food is delivered so I spend the next 15 minutes listening and chewing. Then I hear a car door and I wait for the Kiddo to walk in. He doesn't. But because of my mad hearing skills, I know the car door was slammed in our driveway. So I start freaking out....I think maybe he hit our Jeep or worse, the renters car, and he's standing out there trying to decide how he's going to tell us. Or maybe he had an accident and he's out there assessing the damage and figuring out a way to hide it from us with maybe a tree limb or some dirt. What I don't realize is that while I'm thinking this, I had a spoonful of chicken fried rice halfway to my mouth and my head is cocked to the side. The Captain asks me "Are you okay?" and I try to fake it and say "Yeah, why?" and he just rolls his eyes and that's when I notice my spoon and my head tilt.

Then the Kiddo finally walks in all casual and twirling his keys and I ask him if everything went okay and he says yeah, it's cool. And that should have been the end of my anxiety, but I held on to it the rest of the night and then I woke up early this morning and thought there was a midget standing in the corner of our bedroom but then I realized it was just the vacuum.

I know...I'm working on it, okay?

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Miss Yvonne Meets Captain Carl: Part 2

You can read the first part of what some people are saying is "A Love Story For The Ages" and what most everyone else is saying is "Okay If You Like That Kind Of Thing" here.....

Okay, so there I am...single in a new city and kind of bored and also really tired of hanging out with my 7 year old niece every Saturday night. She was cute and all, but there are only so many episodes of Pokemon I can watch before I want to shoot myself in the face. So I decided to check out the Yahoo personals one more time before moving on to picking up strange men in bars/churches.

I used a completely different user name and changed up my profile a bit. Again, most of the ads were sorely lacking in both originality and personality. But I did find one that interested me. It was written like a movie trailer and it started out "In a world torn apart by terrible personal ads..." and ended with "If you only date one person this year, make it someone really good looking. But if you date two people this year, let me be the second one."

Hmmmm....this ad sounded really familiar to me. Kind of like something the last guy who disappeared on me would write. But there was no way it could be the same person. He had a different user name and there were literally hundreds of men in the Dallas area on Yahoo personals. So I figured it was safe and I sent him an email.

He responded and this time I asked more questions about him....like what he did for a living, his marital status, if he had kids or any venereal diseases. You know, stuff you ask on first dates usually. Turns out he was an IT nerd, divorced, and had two kids but no VD. He also asked to talk to me on the phone. I strung him along for another week before agreeing to call him"sometime".

I know, stupid right? The whole point of personal ads are to meet someone in person and there I was, freaking out over a phone call. I wouldn't have blamed the guy for checking out and moving on to someone more agreeable and slutty. But I guess there was something he liked about me, because he stuck around and told me he would wait patiently until I was ready to talk. I'd like to say it was my witty email banter, but it was probably because I told him I had huge boobs.

So we continued emailing for awhile longer and eventually I got up the nerve to call him. We talked for four hours the first night and before he hung up, he said "Goodnight, darlin' ". That was pretty much all it took to make my girly parts tingle. What? I hadn't had sex in two years people....two years! Plus no one in Minnesota says darlin' ....that's a southern thing and it sure was fun having a man call me that.

So for a couple of weeks, we talked on the phone almost every night. During one of our conversation, he said something that rung a bell in my head and at that moment, I knew. He WAS that guy that I first emailed....the guy with the used car ad. The guy that stopped emailing me without an explanation. So I got a little pissed off and asked him why the hell he did that and why did he decide he liked me now. He said he had no idea I was that girl because my user name had changed this time (like his) and we never exchanged real names the first time around. Then he oh so nicely gave me the reason why he stopped emailing...

He thought I was a lesbian. For reals. Apparently he was being an internet personal ad man-whore the first time around and confused me with one of his other email conquests.....a woman who sent him a picture of herself looking all butch and scary. Somehow he forgot who sent the picture and decided it was me.

Okay, so I decided I could forgive him for that....we were really getting along well this time around and dudes! What are the fucking odds that I would find this guy twice! Especially since we had both changed our user names. That's some crazy shit right there. Obviously we were destined to meet. And since he fucked that up the first time, we were getting a second chance. I had to meet this guy in person.

And so we planned our first official date.

....to be continued, bitches!

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

A Toasty Tag


Prosy tagged me yesterday and I kind of hate those things, but she's super cool and awesome so I'm going to go ahead and do it. Also, apologies to my super sweet bloggy friend Tracey because I'm pretty sure she tagged me once on this one before and I totally forgot to do it. So I'm doing it for both of you girls today. That's what she said.

I can't remember what I'm being tagged to do now....I should probably go over to Prosy's blog and double check before I do something stupid here. Meh, too lazy. Maybe I'll make up my own.....like listing 10 things you hate about America. Hmmmm...I don't know. That seems a bit unpatriotic. And I'm all about being proud of my country. I'm pretty much the Lee Greenwood of pre-cougars with all my proudness over here. I mean, I drove to work in a lame Ford Taurus today. How much more American can you get than that?

Holy crap, I think I just invented the term pre-cougar. What? You've never heard it before right? That means I invented it so shut up. I am too young to be a full-on cougar but yet too old to date 21 year old men....so I am a pre-cougar. Not that I ever would date a 21 year old man, because there is one renting a room in my house right this very minute and he reminds me daily how gross and assholey they are at that age. Plus I'm married....which is also important but does not negate my pre-cougar status. Just to clarify. Rawr.

Okay I just re-read Prosy's post and turns out I just have to list 10 things about myself, which is kind of anti-climactic if you were waiting to see the top 10 un-American statements I was about to make. But you would have been disappointed anyway, because I don't have 10 things I hate about American since I love my country and it's purple mountains majesty and fruited plains and stars and stripes forever, amen.

Now on to my list!

1. I am a terrible cook but a great baker. I make the best chocolate chip cookies on the planet and I will send you some if you ask nicely.

2. Remember when I said I would send you cookies? Yeah, I totally lied. Sorry, I do that sometimes.

3. When I first moved to Texas, I decided I was going to be landscape designer. Even though I hate bugs and physical labor and sweating and heat. I didn't think that one through enough, clearly.

4. I love to watch Lifetime movies, especially if they are based on a romance novel. I dvr them and then on Sundays I will cover up with a blanket, eat popcorn and watch them on the couch. Sorry Captain Carl.

5. I don't like to watch movies that I know are going to make me cry or worry. Nothing with animals or children being abused or dying. I want comedy or big explosions or robots or outer space. I do love true crime TV shows, especially if they involve murder. Bonus points if it's about a serial killer. What can I say? I'm an enigma, wrapped up in a puzzle, inside of a riddle.

6. When I was three years old, I called vaginas "tinkers". That's about all there is to say about that.

7. I should probably be on anti-anxiety medication. I know everyone worries, but I've pretty much made it a full-time occupation. I have trouble sleeping because I can't stop thinking about losing my parents or my job or my house or etc etc etc. I am like the Michael Phelps of worry. I don't even know what that means.

8. I'm writing this blog entry in a word document at work and my boss just came up behind me and read the words "vaginas" and "tinkers" out loud. That's the best thing that's happened to me all day.

9. I can't park a car to save my life. I always end up crooked or getting too close to one of the lines or bouncing my tires off the front concrete barrier thing. I failed my first driving test when I was 16 because I couldn't parallel or diagonal park, and I haven't parallel parked since I passed my second driving test the week after that. I find that parking skills are highly overrated. I mean, it's not like parking is as important as, say blowjobs or card shuffling. Both of which I can do quite well, thankyouverymuch.

10. I do two great impressions: The Ladies Man and Edith Bunker.

So there you go....now you know a little more about me and you will probably start calling vaginas "tinkers" from now on. You're welcome.

Oh right, I'm supposed to tag other people....ummmmm, I'm going to pick some of my newer bloggy friends. You know, spread the tag love around a little bit. Solanaceae, erin, Dana's Brain, lana, and Trixie Buxom....you're up. Do it, don't do it, fart in my general direction....whatever you want. The ball's in your court.

hee hee, I said balls.



Sunday, April 12, 2009

Turns Out I Am Totally Crafty

So here's an update for you. We're still broke. This week my Dad turns 72 and I can't afford to buy him a big screen TV like my sister is going to do. So instead I decided I would try making a homemade present for him, because that's way more meaningful than a stupid big screen TV anyway and also because if I WAS going to buy a big screen TV, I would buy it for myself.

I got this brilliant idea to make my Dad's birthday card with pretty papers and a copy of a picture of him when he was a kid. So I stopped at Hobby Lobby on Friday and picked up some stuff, found one of my favorite pics of my Dad as a young 'un on the farm and got down to business.

Dudes, I think I've found my true calling in life.

I'm a photographer and that feeds my inner creativity most days. But I had no idea that I have a future in greeting card sales! I'm totally Etsy-ing the shit out of these things!

Here's my Dad's card. You can tell it's his card because the word "dad" is on it. I'm a genius at pointing out the obvious.


Cute as hell, right? My Dad is gonna eat this up with a freakin' spoon. He's gonna totally forget about the peanut butter cookies I didn't send this year like I usually do because I got wrapped up in gluing together this card and forgot to bake the cookies and shut up already, I'll send him the cookies for Father's Day, okay?

Here's a closeup of my Dad on his 5th birthday back in 1942.


He still smiles like that. I miss my Dad. He and my Mom live in Arizona and I hardly ever see them these days.

sniff


Anyway, I was still feeling crafty after I finished Dad's card, so I went ahead and made my Mother's Day card for next month. Because I'm an overachiever, so stop hatin', yo.

My mom is the one on the far left.


I wrote on the inside of the card "Everything I know about sexin' it up I learned from you." Because we're sentimental like that.

I think she was about 15 years old when this picture was taken. She was in love with Elvis Presley and wore poodle skirts and bright red lipstick. Look at her feet...yep, she also wore saddle shoes.


I miss my Mom too.

sniffle


So I need y'all to tell me if they think I could sell this stuff. Because Miss Yvonne needs a new pair of shoes and I just paid the mortgage, so I either sell these cards or I make do with one of the 84 pairs of shoes I already have.

Times are tough, people.

Friday, April 10, 2009

Makeup Sex And A Little Farting

That's a hot blog title, huh? My apologies in advance to all you pervs out there...there really isn't much in here about either of those things. Now go ahead and leave me a dirty comment....it'll save me the trouble of reading my soft-core porn book before bed tonight (I'll tell y'all about the book another time).

Captain Carl and I had a fight today. He went out to pick up some pizzas for dinner and while he was gone, Emo came over and begged me to let the Kiddo go to the mall. See, the Kiddo has been grounded for quite awhile do to some stupid choices and behavior a few weeks ago. He's been on total social lock down.

Emo is his best friend and knows he can come and go at our house as he pleases. So he strolled in today while I was doing dishes and his first tactic was to tell me "I'm here to kidnap your son and take him to the mall because it's not cool you won't let him go out". I just laughed and kept doing the dishes. Then the Kiddo suggested that Emo should try being sweet to me instead. And apparently Emo's idea of being sweet is to rub my shoulders inappropriately and say "Hey sweetie, how's about you let me take your kid to the mall, hmm?" I'm not even kidding. The Kiddo looked appalled and said "Dude, I said be sweet, not hit on her!"

I told Emo that I am way too old for him and I'm not really into boys that wear elbow-length striped knit gloves with the fingers cut off (would you expect anything less from a kid we call Emo?). Then because I am kind of a pushover, I made a deal with the Kiddo. I told him he could go to the mall in exchange for physical labor in the garden tomorrow. I was pretty sure Captain Carl wouldn't agree with me on this, but I did it anyway. Did I mention I'm a pushover?

Yep, the Captain was pissed when he got home for not discussing it with him first. After some arguing back and forth, I told the Captain in a huff that from now I would run everything by him and I was wrong for making a decision all by my little old self. Then I stopped talking.

The Captain stewed for about 30 minutes and then came over and got all huggy and kissy and apologized. I win!

Okay, I apologized too...and then the Captain said he loved me and I said I loved him and then he whispered in my ear "Now we can totally have hot makeup sex, right?" and I started giggling which made my boobs bounce and then the Captain starting tapping on them like they were bongo drums, which made him start giggling so then we're both giggling and then he farted.

We are soooo romantic. And totally mature. Obviously.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Come On In Serial Killers!

You know how when you come home from wherever you've been and after you shut the door, you lock it? Yeah, our roommates don't do that. They like to come home from flying kites or skipping through a field of wildflowers or whatever the fuck they do and leave the door unlocked between the hours of 1am and 5:30am. Way to make it easy for a serial killer to come in and kill me in my sleep, jerks. They might as well leave a big sign on the door that says "Don't have a key? No problem! Come on in! Feel free to rape and pillage to your hearts content!" And I know the Captain and I would be the only ones murdered because we sleep on the first floor and they are upstairs and will be able to hear my screams and escape before the serial killer can get to them which proves that Billy Joel was right when he said only the good die young and it's still rock and roll to me.

For awhile they were leaving the door unlocked when they left the house too, but that has stopped since I put a little sticky note next to the door that says "Hey a-holes, how about you lock up when you leave so all the burglars in the tri-county area can't get in and steal our crap, huh?" and then I drew a little arrow pointing towards the deadbolt. They picked up my subtle hinting fairly quickly, but I guess I need to put another sticky note right below that one that says "Also, it might kind of be important that the door is locked when you are INSIDE the house too. Just sayin'. Think about it." because I guess the first note didn't imply that locking the door is good from both sides. These are things I figured were common sense for people who drive cars and pay rent and write papers about stem cell research, but I guess not.

I think I need to email one of you with my blog login and password, so that you can update everyone after I've been murdered with an "Avenge Miss Yvonne's Death!" post, and then everyone will go all vigilante and form an angry virtual mob. I'm not really sure what a virtual mob can do....but this is not for me to worry about. Because I'll be dead. So it'll be up to you guys.

There is some good news though. Kool Aid got a retail job this week. This means that she is getting out on a somewhat regular basis now. Unfortunately, that leaves Eco Nazi alone and he spends all that time wandering aimlessly around our house. Dude seriously needs to get out because that's just not healthy and also because I want to shank him every time he walks in the room. I'm serious....Captain Carl gets all flinchy and nervous looking whenever I pick up a steak knife these days. He says he'd rather I didn't go to jail because he's really not into conjugal visits but I think it's because there wouldn't be anyone here to do his laundry if I did.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Unemployment Is An Asshole

Dear Unemployment,

You suck.

You know how Captain Carl and I sometimes talk about how great it would be to not have jobs? Yeah, we meant that would be great only if we were rich and could afford not to work. It wasn't an open invitation addressed to you and I really don't appreciate you moving into our house and setting up camp like you own the place.

You, Unemployment, are an asshole. A grade-A, first class asshole. One of the biggest assholes I've ever met.

If you were a comedian you would be Andrew Dice Clay and you would tell that stupid hickory dickory dock joke constantly until someone punched you in the face.

If you were a body part, you would be that tooth that is always sensitive to cold. Or maybe you would be that ingrown toenail that just won't heal so you have to go to the podiatrist and listen to him prattle on about how awesome his kid and his pool is while he's lancing off half your toe.

If you were a family member, you'd be Captain Carl's Uncle JP who got fired for surfing porn on the job as a school principle.

Way to be a jerk, Unemployment.

Thanks for coming over and hanging out at our house for months at a time. Thanks for making Captain Carl feel depressed and thanks for making me worry even more than I did already. And thanks especially for forcing us to either sell our house or take in renters. That one turned out to be really fun, Unemployment.

You're like that guy at work that talks on his speakerphone all day and thinks everyone wants to hear about how he got "so wasted" the night before. Nobody likes that douche bag and nobody likes you, Unemployment.

And what's up with the millions of relatives you have all over this country, wreaking havoc on families just like ours? Some of your brothers are making people lose their homes and cars and that's just not cool, Unemployment. What would your mama say if she knew what you were doing?

You should be ashamed of yourself, Unemployment.

You know what really pisses me off about you, Unemployment? That you found it necessary to come stay with us twice in the last three years. I mean, I know we're awesome and super fun people but there is just no good reason why you couldn't have gone somewhere else the second time. Like maybe to Captain Carl's ex-wife's house because if there's anybody that deserves to hang out with you, it's her.

But despite all that, I'd be willing to forgive you if you did one little thing for us. Go away. Go far far away to a place where you can't hurt us ever again and send your stepsister, Employment, over to live with us instead. Employment never talks back and is always willing to pitch in around the house. Employment would even help us kick out the renters. I love Employment....she's way cooler than you.

Sincerely,
Miss Yvonne

P.S. One more thing, Unemployment. Go fuck yourself.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

A Mullet & A Cow On The Lam

I went to visit my in-laws over the weekend. Captain Carl's parents are former real-life hippies who drop the f-bomb and pinch each other in the ass and tell great stories about when my Captain was a little boy. Plus they cook for me when I go see them, so they are pretty much the total package as far as in-laws go.

My mother-in-law (let's call her June...as in Cleaver) asked me to come because she thought I needed to get away from the renters for a weekend. So I happily drove 3 hours to their house on Saturday morning, all set to relax and do nothing and probably nap a lot.

Yeah, that didn't happen. June had a long list of shit she wanted to do while I was there.....she quickly rattled off everything she had planned for us the minute I walked in the door. Mani/pedi's after lunch, then shopping, then off to the Lions' club for hamburgers and then live bluegrass music. All I wanted to do was take a nap, but I figured I better not say so since I was at that very moment stuffing my face full of the lunch they had prepared for me. So I just nodded and chewed and every once in awhile would say "sounds good" through a mouth full of biscuits and ham.

Did I mention my in-laws live in the country? I grew up in the country. I graduated from high school with 32 classmates and I lived in town but only two blocks away from a corn field. But that was in Minnesota and now I'm in Texas. That might be good to keep in mind while reading this....it helps explain the whole Lions' club and bluegrass music thing.

Anyway, I finished my lunch and I left with June to get our mani/pedi's. We splurged and got 10 minute foot massages and I tried really hard to relax and shut my mind off. Turns out I suck at relaxing, because I kept sitting up and looking around and wondering how much longer I had left of my massage and why the hell is that fat girl over there wearing a tube top? And then I looked over at June and she's complete passed out. Everyone in the place was more relaxed than me. Even the little Asian guy rubbing June's feet looked more relaxed than me. So instead of feeling refreshed and pampered when we left, I felt annoyed with myself and anxious because I didn't want to smudge my manicure.

Then it was off to meet my father-in-law (we'll call him Ward) at the Lions' club for huge hamburgers and onion rings, which were being fried by an alarmingly large bald man wearing overalls. I'm pretty sure his name was Bubba. He kept taking off his cap and wiping his sweaty forehead with a rag he kept in his back pocket. How could a burger cooked under those conditions be anything less than extraordinary?

After we ate, we moved to the next room to listen to some bluegrass music being played be a married couple from Germany on banjos. I know...I was confused by this too. Apparently Germans really like Texas and cowboys and shit like that. And it was fun for the first 20 minutes....but the next 90 minutes were a little rough for me. We were sitting on metal folding chairs and let me tell you, waterboarding has nothing on those hard motherfuckers. They should have used those chairs at Guantanamo Bay...those sons of bitches would have cleared up a lot of shit in no time flat.

And the worst part about it was I only saw one mullet in the whole place. A building full of redneck baptists and only one mullet. That's like a crime against nature....or comedy. And the one person that did have a mullet was a woman. A woman wearing a t-shirt that said Johnny Cash and old school Reebok high tops that were unlaced. There were plenty of shockingly old people there....I'm talking walking-with-a-cane-wearing-two-hearing-aides-dragging-an-oxygen-bottle old. I can make fun of most everything, but I'm sorry I just can't make fun of old people. Unless they are mean and have no teeth, and I didn't see any of those. So all I had to keep my hilarious mind occupied was one lady with a mullet and a couple of banjo-playing Germans, and you can only tell yourself so many "your mom had a mullet" jokes before you get bored and start thinking about how numb your ass is from sitting in that damn chair.

Much to my ass's relief, we eventually left and I had almost fallen asleep on the ride home when something really exciting happened. There was a cow standing on the side of the road that had apparently escaped from his fenced pasture. Finally my weekend was fixin' to get interesting! So Ward picks up his cell and calls someone and I hear him say "Yes I'm calling to report a cow on the side of highway 6, just past farm road 3381. Yes, same cow as the one I reported last night and it's in the exact same spot."

The car is completely silent for a moment and then I'm all "Who the hell do you call to report a cow on the loose?" and Ward is all "911" and I'm all "Ha ha, no really who do you call?" and he's all "I'm serious, I called 911" and I'm all "What the hell is 911 going to do about a cow running away from home?" and he's all "That cow is a menace to drivers, he could walk into the road and someone could hit him and cows aren't like deer, they won't flip over the top of your car, they'll come right in your windshield" and that's when I realized I've been living in the city too long because this was no longer common sense to me.

So that was my Saturday....I bet that cow was totally pissed off that the same asshole called the cops on him twice in two days.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Miss Yvonne Meets Captain Carl: Part 1

April is Anniversary month for the Captain and me. We'll be married six years on the 19th, and have been together nine years total. After I posted my engagement story last month, I had several (three!) requests to tell the story of how Captain Carl and I met. And because I love to talk about myself and secretly want to be just like The Pioneer Woman only dirtier, I decided to post our story in installments. Get ready for a mildly entertaining story that will go on and on until I'm tired of writing about it. You're totally excited about this, I can feel it. Or maybe you just have indigestion. Meh, whichever.

I moved to Texas from Minnesota in 1999, and yes we did party like it was the current year, just as Prince predicted. One of my sister's lived in Dallas and had extended an open invitation to come stay with her after my almost-marriage fell apart. I spent two years debating what to do with my life, then I got over myself and figured why the hell not? and moved down here.

A few months later, a friend from back home came down for a visit. She was right in the middle of dating a guy she met online. This was back before eharmony and matchdotcom existed and internet dating was still a relatively new and novel idea. This friend was very adventurous and insisted that I try it. So I set up a profile on Yahoo personals - it was free back then - and I went shopping. Yeah, the losers were flying fast and furious on the old interwebs. I had no idea so many men enjoyed long walks on the beach at sunset and romantic dinners by candlelight.....I'm pretty sure there were a few pina colada references thrown in there too. Boring. It was like they all copied text out of a book titled "How To Say What Women Want To Hear, And Get Laid Every Time". I was fast losing my interest in looking for a date.

But then there was an ad that caught my eye. It was different. It was funny. It was well written. It had correct grammar and spelling! The guy who wrote it had turned his ad into a used car advertisement, and it was brilliant. "One owner, low mileage, reliable, no rust." Here was a man with a sense of humor, who probably wasn't taking this online dating thing too seriously.

He was the only person that I emailed. No one else interested me. I was crazy nervous once I sent my message. He could be a psycho serial killer! He could be a deranged identity thief! He could be a sex maniac! Wait, that last one wouldn't be so bad...

He wrote back quickly and we began an email friendship. I never gave him my real name, we never spoke on the phone. I was so scared that he could be a raving lunatic, I kept all identifying details about myself a secret. We didn't even have pictures of each other. Neither of us owned a digital camera because it was totally like the dark ages back then, so we had to settle for physical description of ourselves in words only.

He was so funny and I got excited about him very quickly. And then he stopped writing back. Just like that, he disappeared. I waited several days after my last email before sending another one....I didn't want to seem desperate. But he didn't reply to the next one either. And because I'm not an idiot, I gave up. He obviously lost interest and since I didn't even know his real name, there was no point in asking him why.

So for a few weeks, I logged onto Yahoo and checked out the new ads. Nobody caught my eye....nobody was as funny as he was. And so I quit looking. Until two months later, when I decided to try one more time.

...to be continued.

You can hardly wait to read more, right?

Friday, April 3, 2009

My Kid Is In A Band Gang

I'm talking about a high school band. That has gangs. Two gangs to be exact.

According to the Kiddo, some of the boys in band decided to start a gang because apparently even nerds want to be ballers. Spit-blowing, scale-playing super-nerd ballers, yo.

These two gangs are called...are you ready for this? The Bendettas and the Valentines. I'm not even kidding. So the Bendettas, which is the "gang" our brilliant son is a member of, wear blue shirts. Guess what color shirts the Valentines wear? Yep, they wear red.

It's not really clear what the real purpose is of these two gangs, except that once in awhile each gang will wear their "colors" to school and the Bendettas will slick their hair back ala the Italian mob. I'm not sure what the Valentines do with their hair, but I imagine it's equally awesome.

So picture this terrifying scene: Four band nerds wearing blue polo shirts and khaki pants with slicked back hair, walking down the hallway. Coming from the other direction are four different band nerds wearing red polo shirts and khakis. Everyone moves out of the way because they know a band war is fixin' to start. The eight nerds face off outside the band hall with fierce expressions on their pimply faces. A member from each side enters the empty space between each gang. From somewhere in the depths of the band hall, the "Beat It" instrumental begins to play on a french horn and the the nerds begin to circle each other. One of them pulls out a flute and the other a clarinet. A vicious play-off begins....

It's enough to make the hair stand up on the back of your neck, right?

So we asked the Kiddo tonight after his jazz band concert how someone gets invited to be in one of the uber-dork gangs. He said "Well first you have to be good" and I'm assuming he means good at playing your horn and not good at fitting in and making friends...because let's face it, we're talking about band kids here. And then he said "Then you have to steal a mascot". Apparently each section of the band has a stuffed animal mascot, and the gang members spend a lot of their time stealing them from each other. You know, just like the Crips and the Bloods.

I'm about ready to call in the local gang task force.

Captain Carl's Favorite Game

The Captain is an avid reader and has a huge............vocabulary. Ahhh ha ha, you thought I was going to say something else there, right? Dirty.

He loves to use his huge vocab against me (that's what she said) by throwing words I've never heard of into a conversation. If I ask him what it means, he tells me to Google it and then laughs hysterically when he sees the look of horror on my face after I do. This is his favorite trick to play on me.

Last night the word was "felching".

I'm warning you now....if you don't already know what felching is, do not Google it if you are easily offended or at work. Seriously.

See? You can't say I didn't warn you, people.

The word he used before that one was "blumpkin".

Blech.

I'm not stupid, so I know when the Captain is playing this trick on me. The reason it keeps working is because he knows I can't stand not knowing what the words mean and he refuses to tell me so I'm forced to look it up and be grossed out. But I always get back at him by jumping on him and twisting his nipples because he says he can't stand when I do that (but come on, I know he loves it because all men love that, right?). Either that, or I sing "My Humps" by Fergie to him over and over, which sounds like it would be really funny and awesome, but for some reason the Captain hates it. He says it's because he can only hear me sing "Ima get get get get you drunk get you love drunk off my humps" so many times before he wants to jump off the roof, which I totally don't get because those lyrics are pretty much like a window into my soul and I would think he'd like a glimpse in there once in a while, but apparently not.

Some of you might be wondering how in the hell Captain Carl knows what the meaning of these words are in the first place. He said to tell you that your mom showed him.

hee hee

P.S. Thanks to my buddy Houston, who emailed me last night and told me to go to bed and buy pop tarts. I love it when people do what I say.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

I Have A New Weapon And It's Name Is Saliva

I'm tired today. I got in my car this morning and the next thing I knew, I was in the parking garage at work. I have no recollection of how I got there. I was probably teleported without my consent. Or maybe I'm just so tired that I risked hundreds of innocent people's lives by driving while half asleep. Do you ever do that? Sometimes I will zone out while I'm driving and my eyes will go out of focus for a second and I'm all "whoa, I'm totally out of focus up in here!" and then I realize that could be dangerous so I decide to re-focus and have you ever tried to do that? It's super hard, especially when you start focusing and everything starts to get all sharp and pointy and harsh and you would really rather be unfocused and how hard is it really to drive in a Monet painting anyway? I'm thinking not very and it's way more relaxing. I hate when society tells me I have to be in focus all the time and paying attention....fuck you, society.

I just yawned a really huge yawn and sprayed myself and my keyboard with my own saliva. That's gross and yet kind of awesome when you think about it. If I could figure out how to do that on purpose, I could totally use it as a weapon to defend myself. Like when the guy who never washes his hands at my office moves in for a high five, I could just yawn and spray him with spit and also I would make a terrifying noise when I do it, like "Squeeee!!. I bet I would never have to high five him ever again.

There is a box next to the fax in our copy room that says "Fax Conformations". Really? I had no idea there was a need for this. Is there a contingency of rogue faxes out there needing to be corraled and conformed? And conformed to what? Collated copies? Laminated pages? Seriously, this is shit I need to know. Also, has anyone seen the fax confirmations box? Because I have a bunch that need to go in there.

P.S. Someone please email me at 9:15pm central standard time tonight and tell me to go to bed. Because apparently I need to be saved from myself as I cannot manage to crawl under the sheets until after 10:30. Also, when you email me? Remind me to buy Pop Tarts.
Thanks, bitch.