Monday, February 28, 2011

Horses are fun, y'all.

Yesterday I went horseback riding for the first time ever!  It was so fun and that first statement was a lie.  I went once as a child, but I was so young, I recall little to nothing about the experience.  So, I could have put a quarter into one of those grocery store amusement parks and had the same experience as far as my memory is concerned.

Me riding a horse!
Unfortunately, it is nothing like the movies.  I never actually saw True Grit, but based on all the clips I saw at last night’s Oscars (snore), my experience was very different.  First of all, there weren’t any guns whatsoever.  While the idea of hunting the horses sounds awesome, we just rode them... Also, I don’t think that guy from Tron named his horse Mary-Kate. 

Yes, in my recent attempts to completely run that joke into the ground due to my obsession with, I renamed the male horse Bouke (pronounced BOCA like Spanish for mouth or those gross veggie burgers).  I turned this proud animal into the butt of my joke and a female billionaire twin.

Also, in my attempts to be horseback chic, my pants were highly nonfunctional.  And by ‘nonfunctional’ I mean ‘too tight.’  When Mary-Kate got up to a good trot, it felt like I was actively being kicked in the nuts.

A real picture of me actually riding a horse.
It was quite possibly one of the best Sunday afternoon outings of ever.  I felt British and totes stately as I regally rode my horse and adjusted my junk.  And to one up the Brits, instead of tea, we went to Sonic and I had a giant tub of Dr. Pepper their new Chicago Hot Dog that changed my life.  If these are a ‘limited time’ item, I will be beside myself… crying and licking the empty hot dog wrapper I fished out of the garbage…

I winded down from my horse high by watching Valentine's Day with my roommate.  I made it through the scenes with forced emotion that try to make audiences cry just to cry and was so proud of myself.  Then, *SPOLER ALERT* the last scene with Julia Roberts made men cry so hard it looked like I was trying to eat my own lips.  I was not mentally prepared for that closing storyline.  Cheating husband?  Yes. Empty house?  Probably.  But, they served up a cafeteria steam-tray full of sappy, and I went back for seconds...

Friday, February 25, 2011

Microwaves + Tiaras

So, my coworkers as a whole are disgusting.  This was documented with this post.  It appears our microwaves gave up, most likely from too much splattered spaghetti, millions of Hot Pockets, and whatever evil person who deserves to be shot in the face or publicly spanked for heating up fish every day.

Now, we have two brand new microwaves in our break room.  I particularly love them, because they are super reflective and at just the right height to see how my butt looks in whatever I'm wearing that day.

But it turns out, my employer has very little faith in my and my coworkers' competence. That, or they don't believe any of us has ever operated a microwave before....

This will be filthy and practically destroyed in 2-4 months...
On a completely unrelated and somewhat marginally more interesting note, I had a dream I was in a beauty pageant last night.  

My competition: the "IT" girl from my high school.  She was like Regina George, but sweeter than a My Little Pony! As you can imagine it made hating her particularly difficult...

Anyway, I beat her.  I claimed my tiara, roses, and sash.  I gave the 'I won, you suck' hug to 'IT' girl.  While this was a dream come true and probably the highlight of my imaginary life, I was rudely awoken by my alarm before I even had a chance to do my victory walk down the runway... I don't even think I got to do my happy tears composed crying... 

Turns out, drawing a tiara is totes difficult.  Cut + paste: easy breezy.
To add insult to injury, I have very real feeling dreams (no matter how ridiculous or awesome, they feel real!)  I woke up and began looking for my tiara.  I found three, but none of them were the one I was crowned with last night, and then I realized it was a dream...

PS - I am secretly, completely, unadulteradely in love with Very Mary Kate, and will probably be her for Halloween this year.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011


I was crazy bored the yesterday at work, and naturally I was on facebook.  I decided it was my new life goal to get 100 'pokes' by day's end.  A few of my friends played along and they kindly 'poked' me out of the kindness of their bored hearts if for no other reason but to entertain me.

Only the last names have been edited out, because I feel my
awesomeness would elicit a lot of stalkers. So I have to be careful.

I went from 13 to to 22 in about an hour and my campaign for attention/entertainment was slowing down.  As I walked past my friend and coworker's desk, I saw a note on her cube saying she was participating in the Susan G. Komen for the Cure.

I decided to add a dash of beneficence to my utter nonsense.  I also wanted to give a purpose to probably the least functional/interesting/understood features of any website ever.  Seriously, WHAT IS A 'POKE'?!

So, I re-updated my status:

So, people got to 'pokin.'  By the next morning, I had 108 'pokes' and happily made my donation for my friend's great cause.  Also, it turns out people who aren't even your friend can 'poke' you!  Weird/unsettling/awesome!

One of my amazing friends (who is a survivor himself) found it in his heart to not only 'poke' me for my cause, but also made a MATCHING DONATION!  

This exercise in attention turned good cause was particularly special, because I reached my goal today which is also my mom's birthday!  She battled breast cancer, herself in 2000.  And later passed away from bone cancer in 2009.  She was an amazing woman, wife, friend, and mother (even though she almost left me in a Wal-Mart).

So, thank you to everyone who 'poked' me and everyone involved with Susan G. Komen for the Cure.  I feel like Oprah, but not as obnoxious and with far less influence and fewer financial resources.

If you would like to also donate to my friend Samantha's participation in Susan G. Komen, please click here! Do it. Do it for boobies!  For boobies that are big, small, different sizes, and even the ones that have awkward looking nipples... O.o

UPDATE: My friend has already pointed out that in all of my statuses, updates, etc. I spelled Komen 'KomAn."  I swear I checked the spelling repeatedly on the website multiple times.  I'm too retarded to see it and reproduce it correctly, but luckily not so retarded that I donated to the wrong cause.  Apparently, is some sort of sailing festival website.

PS - It is interesting to find that out of my 600 ish friends I got about 90 'pokes.' (The push over the 100 came from friends of friends who helped with the campaign).  So, it appears 5 our of 6 of my friends either hate boobies or have hidden me from their News Feeds LONG AGO.  I'm fairly certain it was the latter.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

It's all downhill from here...

Yesterday marked the 25th Birthday of The Legend Of Zelda game franchise.  To say this made me feel super old is an understatement.

I mean, I didn't actively play video games until years later, but they were a huge part of my childhood.  I'm only 25, so the extent of my gaming began with the Super Nintendo.  I peaked with the Nintendo 64 and ever since then, I feel indescribably mentally challenged every time I pick up a controller and randomly mash buttons like a retarded monkey on a typewriter.

My friend has a Wii, an X-Box 360, and a PlayStation 3 and he continually reminds me that 12 year olds can and do play these games better than me anytime I try to 'play' Halo or Mario Galaxy of whatever.  For some reason, the sour combination of my mental capabilities and hand-eye coordination does not allow me to do much on this new generation of gaming consoles but feel seriously outdated with a splash of short bus.

Speaking of my recent 'Damn! I feel old' moments, I was watching Easy A.  This is a hilarious comedy that if you haven't yet, you need to watch immediately after reading this.  Seriously.  Any way, it is a high school comedy that has a flash back to these kids in middle school playing Seven Minutes In Heaven.  The song in the background, "Don't Cha" by the Pussycat Dolls.  I remember dancing like a schizophrenic mental patient who is actively weaseling his way out of straight jacket to this song in college...

Then while watching Glee, Rachel has a moment where she is trying to find her birth mother and does some research and says she was born in 1994.  I realized I was well into my childhood at this point in Rachel's life... And realized that the show that I have devoted many a Tuesday night and iTunes gift card to, might not exactly be age appropriate... Then again, my adoration for Taylor Swift and affinity for my niece's American Girl dolls probably means that ship has definitely sailed!

So, is this my turning point?  My work out partner is constantly telling me that you peak at 25 and in front of me are days full of much harsher hangovers, more time in the gym, less time eating Taco Cabana at 3 AM, and all sorts of other horrible things that come with adulthood.

My friend even reminded me that everything that happened in the 90s (the peak of my childhood) was over 20 years ago.  20 YEARS!  It took me about 15 minutes to process/verify the math of this statement, and then I logged onto the Google to find the nearest Furr's Family Dining location as it was nearing 4:28 and I was getting hungry...

SIDE NOTE: I may paint the picture that I grew up in abject poverty, and in order to save money, my parents definitely lied about we could or could not 'technically' afford.  By some unbelievable Christmas miracle, my brother and I got a Nintendo 64 while it was still relevant!  Beating The Legend Of Zelda: The Ocarina Of Time was probably the most important day of my young adult life.  Take that, first kiss and puberty!!!

Friday, February 18, 2011

cause they're so delicious!

OK.  I'm not gonna lie.  I'm completely phoning in today's post.  In my defense, I did draw these at some point when I was bored and hungry at work. These are taken from the archives of my Mobile Uploads on facebook.  I think these are hilarious for God knows why.

Whoever said not to play with your food is a damned fool because this 'art' entertained me for hours. So, thought I would share it here.

This was my 1st creation ever.  Don't worry!  They get even more awesome.
This one is a bit morbid, but death is a part of life. (PS - My grandmother
taught me  how to draw awesome 3D houses like the on in this scene.)
My completely shameless rip off of one of the most hilarious jokes in 'Finding Nemo'
and a less obvious other pop culture reference I hope some/most of you get.
I got real with this business, y'all. 
This was my most thought out and final Goldfish art piece.  I ran out of inspiration,
and by 'inspiration', I mean my 2 pound carton of Goldfish I kept at my desk... 

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

best friend betrayal

Since my job has me chained to a desk for a majority of my days, I have to find ways to entertain myself.  I'm not gonna pretend anything to the contrary... facebook owns me.  I am constantly commenting on my friends' statuses, pictures, or wall posts faster and more frequently than any person ever should.

This stalker level activity is born out of boredom.  Imagine attending a silent auction where the only things up for bid are sets of NPR Commemorative Plates... that you can't afford!  This scenario would be somewhat more entertaining than my job.

Therefore, when people friend me, they probably don't realize that I will destroy their news feeds and will aggressively comment all over their pages if they post anything relatively interesting and/or phrase a post that serves as an unintentional lead-in to an inappropriate joke...

I have probably been hidden from so many news feeds, it isn't even a number than anyone short of a child math prodigy could calculate.  (And, yes, it has to be a child).

Considering my 40 hour a week dedication to facebook, this is the closest thing I have to a serious long-term relationship.  So, you can imagine my shock and horror that this site, that I have put more time and energy into than most real people I know, doesn't know me in the slightest...

I mean aside from the fact that they are rubbing in the fact that I am single, not once, but twice, they are then turning around and disparaging me further because I may or may not be addicted to Valium.

Believe you me, if I had halitosis and was so desperately single I was turning to 'local girls' who look like B-Team fluffers for 80s porn stars, I would most definitely NOT be trying to stop my Valium addiction...

Also, what are reproductive rights?  I don't wanna get political, but is our government running around kicking random women in the ovaries in attempts to take away their right to get knocked up?

More importantly, is there an opposing campaign that is stopping poor, stupid, or ugly women from reproducing?  Because, that is a cause worth fighting for!

However, knows me a little too well... Recent recommendations include: whey protein powder, Blender Bottles (in REALLY cute/flamboyant colors), Sex And The City: The Movie (Deluxe Edition), Silly Bandz, a cookbook dedicated entirely to pies, and this beautiful little gem:

PS - I already own Bacon Salt, but if you wanna buy me that hot pink Blender Bottle, I'm totally OK with that.  And, if you are ever in Dallas, eat at Fireside Pies.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Childhood Trauma: Part VII - A pox on Valentine's

With the exception of last year’s special day with a few of my favorite single friends, 8+ bottles of champagne, and one prescription strength pain killer (from my wisdom teeth surgery), I have never had a great Valentine’s Day.

Don’t worry, this isn’t one of those posts that are all “I’m single and hate the world because the world is reminding me I’m alone and will probably be eaten by my pet cat when I choke on take-out Chinese food in my late 40s.”  That kind of noise is overdone and, not to mention, counterproductive. 

Newsflash! Lonely singles, is your solution to being single really bitterness?  That’s like masking the smell of a #2 by peeing on a burning tire.

Anyway, my string of unfortunate/mediocre Valentines began with bum bum BUUM… my parents

Like most people with kids like me, you need a break and/or ADHD medication.  So, before Kindergarten, I was part of a day care program called ‘Mother’s Day Out.’  I stress the term ‘day care’ because I don’t think it was preschool where any type of learning was involved.  Hence, my sub-genius status.  Thanks, mom and dad!

It was our annual Valentine’s Party.  It was my first non-church related party I was invited to.  Since it was day care, I’m 99% sure it was mandatory to invite everyone, but I felt special nonetheless.

I was excited because I was certain I would find the love of my life at said party or, at the very least, be able to eat my weight in heart-shaped sweets and chocolate. 

A few days before the party, I was stricken with chicken pox and my mother refused to let me attend the party because they were contagious.  The fact that I probably got them at this crack house day care or that I would be helping all the other kids not get it as adults which I read on the Internets (so it must be true) can cause permanent vision problems, shingles, and infertility.  

So, I was going to fall in love AND be a whatever the good kind of Typhoid Mary would be...  They probably would have renamed the day care after me. 

Alas!  All my dreams were crushed, and it has taken me 20 years to enjoy a Valentine's day.  I also hate chocolate as an adult and can now trace that little quirk back to this party.

On the plus side, I do have a chicken pox scar on my forehead that I think is cute.  So, we’ll call this traumatic childhood experience a wash.

PS - Since it is Valentine's Day, I am praying that someone will get my a musical card so I can do this all next weekend:

Friday, February 11, 2011

Babies + Barneys

Life is full of new experiences.  Last Sunday, I had the pleasure of attending my very first baby shower of ever. 

It was just like in the movies: crust-less finger sandwiches, the present unveiling, and most importantly, cocktails!  Unlike the rest of the guests (and the rest of humanity), I was disappointed there weren’t stupid baby shower games I hear people complaining about all the time…

Although well behaved, there were a few kids in attendance.  And if you aren’t a niece/ nephew of mine or ethnic and obese, I have very little interest in strangers’ children.  In attempts to deal with the presence of the kids and resist eating my weight in cream puffs, I decided to start drinking heavily.

Those birds were homemade (& remind me of Twitter)
and on the right are the evil cream puffs...
My face was just developing a nice red glow when I began thinking about babies and the benefits of being one.  There are many things that are socially acceptable if and only when you are a baby.  Like looking like a miniature Michelin Man, being carried while maintaining a 0% blood alcohol content level, and crapping your own pants.

Which is a great segue way into one of the greatest/horrifying stories I have ever heard in my life.  My friend, who also attended the same party, was at Barneys earlier that day shopping for a baby shower gift when something went awry…

He was already in the bathroom (peeing at the urinal), and he had to relieve himself.  Thinking it was just gas, he went for it and ended up crapping his pants. 

It was very Sex And The City: The Movie!  Except… he didn’t have Montezuma’s Revenge and he was in a Barneys mens bathroom and not a beautiful, secluded Mexican resort… So, never mind, it was nothing like that.

Anyway, he went to the stall, removed his underwear, left it there, and strolled out with his head held high.

I wasn’t as shocked to hear the story as I was shocked he was telling it in the first place. I mean, this is the kind of crap you take to your grave or, at the very least, your death bed.  You tell your hilarious sharting story, and then with one fist in the air, whimper the words ‘avenge me.’  And then you’re dead.

MORAL(S) OF THE STORY: Baby showers are surprisingly awesome and NEVER. TRUST. A FART.

PS – There are no pictures/drawings because, I mean, you read the story.  Bleck! 

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

UPDATED: Snow Day 2.0

I FINALLY got my Snow Day I complained about not getting last week.  I was stranded and unable to move my car out of its parking spot. So, I decided to make lemonade out of life's lemons with some other friends who were not able to make it to their offices either.

Turns out, snow is awesome.  However, it is only awesome for like 20 minutes.  And then you realize that you would really like to feel your fingers again and that snowball that was thrown at you is melting and water is slowly creeping towards your butt crack at an alarming speed.

My friends and I frolicked, took pictures, had a snowball fight, attempted to build a snowman, and helped push 3 cars out of their parking spots.

The fun was actually stretched out to longer than 20 minutes because we also drank out in the middle of Lee Park.  Yes, this could possibly be illegal or frowned upon by the authorities.

In efforts to be law abiding citizens and avoid hypothermia, we opted to leave the park.  So, we finished our beers and made our way for some much needed day drinking.

The moral of the story is that playing in the snow isn't as fun as drinking indoors while it is snowing in the middle of the day.  I was also extremely proud of my snow day outfit.  I called it 'snow chic' so many times, my friend, Josh, wanted to bury me alive in snow.

I realize I am off my normal posting schedule, and this as pointless as an episode of "How I Met Your Mother." So, I will try to get back to my below-average level posts instead of this absolute garbage.  I actually wanted to post about how much Glee sucks now, but I think everyone has received that memo a couple episodes back.

I will say, this show has officially 'jumped the shark.'  I got over the fact that this school has a ridiculous fine arts budget that rivals most major universities and they put on spectacular musical numbers with little to no rehearsal time.  I was able to get over this and chalk it up to TV magic.  But, isn't this show supposed to be somewhat based in a neighborhood close to reality?

Everything that happened during the Post Super Bowl episode was ridiculously over the top and would never happen in real life.  Reboot yourselves, Glee.  Be more like the Daniel Craig James Bond and less like the Pierce Brosnan 007.  Stretch reality, not molest it.

SIDE NOTE: As a frequent performer, I understand getting stage fright.  So, can everyone please leave Christina Aguilera alone about flubbing 2 words.  Because, she can actually sing! Let's all direct this anger at Fergie who screamed into her microphone like a hyena with Tourettes and apparently got a sex change!

UPDATE: I totally forgot to post this pic.  Look familiar, y'all?!

Thursday, February 3, 2011

You can't pirate eye a baby.

Other than the fact that I’m almost to the point where I need to find a 2nd job to support my borderline functional alcoholism and obsession with online shopping, I have figured out that I am nowhere near ready to have a child.

Having your own child is nothing like babysitting.  You can’t just put the kid in a closet and drink until his or her parents come home.  Also, they are horrible at drinking games.  Have you tried taking a shot out of a sippy cup?  It is slow, painful, and burny.  Also, I don’t think it is considering ‘good parenting’ to have to pirate eye your baby when you get home from the bar…

I used to think I was a very caring person full of innate paternal tendencies and other soft squishy feelings.  But then, I realized I was wrong.  My feelings of parental inadequacy are only further validated by my overwhelming selfishness. 

I gave away a dog because it was too much of a burden to drive 15 miles hungover at 6 AM every Saturday and Sunday to walk and feed said dog.  Also, as of last night, I have successfully killed just about every house plant I have ever owned, including a cactus…

When it comes to emergencies, I am as equally if not more ill equipped.  My friend had a dinner party, and decided it would be a good idea to give a malfunctioning crème brûlée torch to another of our frequently malfunctioning friends.  As you can imagine, the entire sink was engulfed in flames. 

Holy butane, Batman! 

Before the screams and panic even started, I simply turned around and walked away.  Luckily, the fire starter successfully put the fire out and then immediately started the first two steps of “Stop, Drop, + Roll” (regardless of the fact that he was NOT on fire.)

I’m pretty sure I would be a better parent than him at least.

But, I’m only moderately certain I would be a better parent than this lady:

But the jury is still out on this hypothetical…

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Snow Day!

Or not.  I am working.

I dreamed of calling in with the voicemail: "Sorry, I will not be coming into work today.  My personal safety and desire to make snow angels far outweighs my dedication to my job and/or this company." 

However, I decided to brave the roads and go to the office.

In all honesty, the roads aren't bad at all.  It's the Texas drivers that transform all major highways into major a**-hole death traps.  As much as I bag on my parents (in hyperbolic humor), my dad was smart enough to wake me up early the first time it iced after I started driving.  He made me drive around with him for 15-20 minutes so I could learn how to handle the ice, turning into spins, etc.

Little did he know, after school that day, I took my trusty Jeep Cherokee to a K-Mart parking lot and practiced donuts for a good hour before I got Tilt-A-Whirl sick and went to Sonic for a Route 44 and a Marlboro Light.

My logic was: if turning into the spin will stop you, turning away while gassing it means fun fun fun!

While I'm being a grown up and chained to my desk for the next 8 hours, a lot of my friends felt the need to text me informing me that their bosses called for a 'Snow Day' and they will be at home.  I hate them and hope they get frostbite in their face.  Also, I have been at work for an hour and neither of my managers are here nor people who I know for a fact live within 5 minutes of our office.  They can all eat my poo.

So, while I toil away and try act like I'm moderately motivated to work today, I'll really be looking and waiting for pedestrians to slip and fall in the parking lot outside the window by my desk.

SIDE NOTE: My dad was kind of perturbed about my last post about my parents' negligence.  For the record, my parents were amazing.  My siblings and I (especially me, I'm their favorite and they tell me all the time), filled their life with joy and were nothing but a continued blessing that enriched their lives blah blah blah. Also, he was upset because he thought people who didn't know my parents or the reality would believe me.  

I assured him, that anyone stupid enough to take my emotional embellishments seriously are probably too stupid to even work a computer.  I will say, the facts are there!  Those are NOT fabricated...just dramatized.  

If you think my parents were horrible people because they never bought me a Lunchable, sodas at McDonalds, or name brand anything, that's your call and I can't stop you.

UPDATE: Since I am stuck at work today and most of you are not, I think you should make it up to me and buy me all of the T-Shirts from this store: