Getting Back On The Workout Train February 27, 2009

So, my life will *hopefully* be a little less super busy for the rest of the semester. Rifle season is over, midterms have passed and I’ve just got a few more big projects to complete before graduation. The waters have calmed. I’m putting my proverbial sunglasses on and floating down the river of life in a polka dot inner tube. Starting first with 9 days spent exploring Paris, Rome, Florence and Milan…I leave tomorrow!

Since I’ve been crazy busy, I’ve neglected my gym membership. This not only makes my frugal side cringe, but it’s done some damage to my body. I’ve always been a pretty active person. I was always involved in sports growing up, and I logged thousands of hours on my trampoline in the back yard. My body starts to ache if I don’t use it. Those aches? They’ve been screaming at me for weeks now. So I’ve started to get back into the swing of things. I’m back in the gym. I bought the 30 Day Shred (dear Jillian, don’t hurt me). I’m remembering what it feels like to use my abs. It’s nice to be back.

And I’d be lying if I said my return to the village of WorkOutVille wasn’t spurred a little bit by the following information:

HE BOUGHT A RING!

(It hasn’t happened yet…but it will…soon. SQUEE!)

Awardy-Wards February 26, 2009

First I’d like to thank the academy…

Daisy awarded me this fancy Honest Scrap award that I’ve seen on many o’bloggers page! Woot! Some people think I’m cool! Thanks Dais!

Because I’m a good bloggy buddy I’m passing it along as per the conditions of the award. I give it to…you. Any and all of you. Because awards should be like the candy from a big pinata; everyone gets a tootsie roll and some sweet tarts and a chance to beat the hell out of a paper mache ghost.

As per the award and it’s committee, I will also carry out my sentence to tell you 7 honest things about me. Ready…set…go!

1. I just ate two cookies and drank a Yeungling, or as it’s referred to in these here parts, “lager.” Cookies at night make me feel like an old lady. Beer with my cookies makes me feel like the old lady I want to be.
2. Earlier I spent a good five minutes trying to drown a bug. I also tried to poison it with dish detergent. It did not die. I ended up flushing it, but because I didn’t see it go down I’m a little weary of using my toilet.
3.Today I ate my yogurt out of a martini glass. It was awesome.
4. I can’t see The Boy for another two weeks and that makes me all kinds of sad inside. Big time.
5. I’m traveling internationally with a group for spring break. We leave Friday. I have yet to even start to pack. I don’t even know our itinerary.
6. I’m composing 5 different resumes to send out when I begin Job Search ‘09. Possible areas of employment: teaching, administration, publishing, marketing, Other. I’m glad The Boy has a fancy pants job. He might have to support my ass for a while until I find something more respectable than Chik-a-fil.
7. I have eaten an entire half gallon of ice cream in a sitting. Not recently, and not ever again, but I have done it.

Your turn.

Yes, my seven honest things were written a few nights ago. Don’t hate.

When I’m Old Wednesday February 25, 2009

When I’m old I will use the “good” china for take out.

We’ve Got A Kitten Problem February 23, 2009

At the height of the Sneaky Little Bastard Saga I had a dream about vermin. In my dream I was talking to my mother about how we had mice in our apartment (which was fact in non-dreamland) and then I go on to complain about the rat infestation as well (not real). But in my dream I’m not that concerned about disease carrying rodents, no, I tell my mother, “I could deal with the mice and rats, but all these damn kittens are awful! I keep stepping on them! They’re everywhere!”

Apparently kittens are the new vermin. The new cute, cuddly, vermin.

Actually I think I’d enjoy being covered in kittens. I don’t think it’s physically possible to be upset in any way if I was surrounded by cuddly balls of fluff and awkwardness.

Business Idea #432: Covered in Kittens: A unique therapeutic experience
Tag line: “You’ll be totally smitten with Covered in Kittens!

I think it’d do well.

V-Day in DC February 22, 2009

As promised, the valentines day weekend post.

Friday the 13th I hop in my little Ava Aveo and took off for D.C. The drive started fine. I had cookies and diet coke and my in dash gps and my ipod. I looked nice. I was excited to see my love and have a glorious weekend in the city. Cut to 7pm when I’m lost in shady-area DC cursing my gps and thanking my lucky stars that I have mobile internet and google maps. Seriously, google maps have saved me SO many times. I get lost and google map my way back to civilization, and it helps get me out of ridiculous traffic jams on 95. Anyway, I was a bit perturbed after getting lost and matters were not made better by the fact that I could not for the life of me find the street the hotel was on. I drove by it 3 times before I realized my mistake and eventually just listened to my patient, patient boyfriend direct me to the hotel. I get cranky and upset when I’m lost and it was almost 9 and I was hungry and out of diet coke and I may have been just a tiny bit snappy with him. Thankfully he puts up with my Shaba The Toddler stages quite well.

After hugs and giving my keys to the valet I calmed down and we ordered Chinese and drank wine and things were hunky dory. We exchanged cards at midnight, he surprised me with a huge box of chocolate and sexy time was had.

The next day we had a blast exploring museums. We took pictures on the capital green and got directions by eavesdropping on other tourists conversations. We went to the American History museum and took a look at the ruby slippers and Julia Child’s kitchen and The Boy held my hand as we walked around, NOT under, the scary giant whale suspended from the ceiling of the natural history museum. Whales should never be above me. Ever. Birds, sure. Planes and rockets like those at the Air and Space museum, totally fine. Whales don’t fly. Anyway, we all know that I’m a’scared of whales and big fishies so I’m moving on.

Cue moment number 1 that made me want to melt: The Boy turns to me after we’ve spent the last ten minutes watching the antics of tiny little Indian children toddle and smile and be ridiculously cute and says, “We need to leave before I have to knock you up.” Maybe not the Shelley or Byron you were expecting, but I swooned. There’s just something about a guy who wants to give you babies that makes me all sqeee-y inside.

After a day full of museums and pictures and metro-riding ( I love the metro something fierce,) we went back to hotel for sexy time and our routine Figure Out Where We Want To Eat Via The Google Maps ‘Places Nearby’ Feature. What did people do before Google? Seriously. Google, when you take over the internet I will not be sad. So anyway we found a little brew pub to try out and of course because it was DC and Valentine’s Day and President’s Day weekend there were a bazillion people/student groups/teenybobber athletes around and we had to wait to get seated.
After spending some of our wait sitting on a bench outside making fun of diners and pedestrians we venture back inside.

This is when I see her. Cat woman. She is dressed in a red crushed velvet dress and matching scrunchie, hat with a feature in it annnnddd she has a cat nose and whiskers drawn on her face. !!! Why?! The Boy then pointed out to me that Cat woman has a bunch of friends…and a lot of her male companions are wearing leather pants. Stay with me, it gets better. After we get seated and enjoy some beers and southwest egg rolls (which are my new favorite thing) Cat Woman and some of her posse are seated next to us. On the other side of the both sits Leather pants Man and his wife, Blondie, and a brunette wearing fishnets and Hooker Barbie eye makeup.

After Leather Pants Man kisses Blondie, Brunette starts jacking off his thumb…and grabbing his crotch….and rubbing his leg….and I detail this all to The Boy in a play by play as he is unfortunately seated with his back to the hilarity. I assumed that Brunette was hired for the evening, but later The Boy caught a glimpse of one of their name tags and a post-dinner google search resulted in this reality: They were members of a witches coven meetup. Which in of itself is fine, whatev, I think pagans are kinda cool….but the wacky antics paired with the wiccan thing just made me feel like I was in the middle of a sitcom.

Valentines Day night was spent as it should be. There was lingerie which took way too long to put on, hampered by the fact that I had 4 beers and a glass of wine. The Boy actually called out to me from the bedroom a few times, to make sure I hadn’t passed out in the shower or hung myself with a garter belt. Jerkface. Pretty takes time. After the sexytime he expressed his apologizes and made it know it was worth the wait.

Sunday I insisted The Boy and I go to Mark’s Kitchen because I’ve been dreaming of banana pancakes since 2007 and then we traveled out to the airport to see the other space-y museum. We also hung out with some celebs made of wax. Celebrities, as a whole, are very short people.  Sunday we had Italian and wine and more wine..and more wine…and watched Blazzing Saddles and had sexy time and hated that the next morning meant we had to leave.

We went our separate ways after eating awesome bagel cheeseburgers in Georgetown and I swear it gets harder every time.

Even if he does refuse to smile in pictures.

For Brandy February 18, 2009

I asked him.

He said he’d “Definitely” marry you.

You’re welcome.

More photos and a longish weekend up date soon! There’s talk about threesomes (not me)! And showers (me, but no pictures!)

I miss having an internet life. Sad face.

I Will Not Wear A Red Hat And Dress In Purple February 17, 2009

Midterm week has eaten my soul and there is far too much stuff I need to accomplish in the next two weeks. Therefore, like any sane person, I’ve decided it’s the perfect time to update my blog with something completely silly: What I Want To Do When I’m Old List….or just older….than I am now….this could very well mean I’ll do something on this list next week.

Go white. Dye my hair bright purple.
Talk very loudly in public
Own a ridiculous bedazzled, bejeweled and be-everythinged sweater/sweatshirt for every holiday. Including Arbor Day, Ground Hog Daily, Talk Like A Pirate Day, and Veteran’s Day.
Exclaim, “Well, I never!” at odd times, like when someone says “Hello.”
Keep a collection of dating/relationship advice books in my bathroom as reading material.
Check out the same library book continually for a year. Make sure said book is under 100 pages.
Make up an “So You’re An Senior Citizen” guide booklet to reference periodically. There will be chapters titled “How To Tip Your Waitress Inappropriately,” “Where to Find Polyester Baby Blue Slacks,” “Appropriate Senior Hair Styles,” and “Official Old Person Vernacular.” Read said booklet in public with one of three pairs of reading glasses on beaded necklace glasses holder thingy.
Have a collection of “babushkas” or handkerchiefs used for the sole purpose of protecting the Old Person hairdo.
Develop an addiction to toast. And scotch.
Have a pet squirrel.
Learn to identify trees and flowers. Or just be able to fake it well enough to fool people.
Wrap everything in three shopping bags. Wrap with three rubber bands. Forget what was wrapped.
Purchase a granny bag. Keep bag full of napkins, antibacterial wipes and salt.
Decide to drive my age at all times.
Shake a cane at things.
Insist on being called Madame.
Switch my perfume to Red Door.
Wear every color of eyeshadow imaginable.
Refer to anyone under 30 as a “whippersnapper.”
Water ski.
Collect something ridiculous, like temporary tattoos or bubble gum machine jewelry.
Wear sequins at least once a week.

Now I’m a’gonna get my Productive Pants on, stay tuned for a V-day weekend update.

And she knew she was loved February 12, 2009

That feeling would come out of nowhere. It could creep out of her corners when she wasn’t looking and sucker punch her in the gut. It was never really gone, oh no, it was just huddled in a cranny somewhere while she dealt with real life. That feeling would hit her with a solid softness, washing over her in what she imagined as a rose-colored frosting. Sometimes it would hit her while she was washing dishes.  She be standing in front of the sink, up to her elbows in bubbles and bits of broccoli and she’d soak in that feeling long after the dish was rubbed clean. Sometimes it would overtake her as she walked down the stairs in her work place. She’d feel it climb into her body in the millisecond between the twelfth and thirteenth step, threatening to knock her off balance as she firmly gripped the railing. Sometimes it came and stayed for hours. That feeling, like an emotional orgasm she couldn’t shake. Her face became flushed and her eyes bright as strangers smirked at her, their imaginations creating perverse explanations for her windswept hair. Sometimes it sparked and faded suddenly, forced out by a phone call or a red light or an email marked ‘high importance.’ At night she’d fall asleep in it, that feeling, it’s initial force subdued into a warmth not unlike her grandmother’s afghan. In the morning, after she shook the sleep from her eyes, it would force her out of bed; humming it’s way through her morning routine like a radiator’s purr. That feeling would come out of nowhere. It would come out of everywhere.

And she knew she was loved

I’m off to spend a glorious valentine’s weekend with The Boy in DC! May you all enjoy your V-Day, either with someone you love or doing something you love! If nothing else, eat something heart shaped and pink!

Terms of Endearment February 12, 2009

The Boy and I call each other very lovely names on occasion.

I have taken to calling him bunnyface. Or sexypants. Sometimes Jerkfaceboyfriend. On occasion I’ll call him Sir Fartsalot or Jerkface McGee. Sometimes I vary it up and call him love or boyfriendface.

He has called me: Stinky, Stankbutt, Girlfriendpantsheadfacebutt,  Girl That I Adore, Love, Hunny, and Smelly.

The fact that I let him call me Stankbutt proves I love him.

Fail Fail Fail Fail February 11, 2009

Guess what Internets?

Shaba is mad.

Her damn kids let her down AGAIN last night. Not only did the little screw ups not win the regular season, but they totally choked in the tournament! Gah! Full of FAIL. Shaba hates losing. Hates it.

You know what else Shaba hates? Do you? She hates mornings. Mornings should die a slow painful death at the hand of Chuck Norris. (Obviously Chuck would only require one hand to kill mornings….Shaba has been spending too much time with 16 year old boys and apologizes for the Chuck Norris reference.) In addition to Mornings, Shaba would like to request that Accounting Class, and 24 hour days be disposed of. Seriously, there’s all this cool stuff coming down Shaba’s pipeline (did your mind just dip into the gutter, because Shaba’s did) and She DOES NOT HAVE TIME TO DO IT. Have you noticed that Shaba has been posting less frequently and is almost completely gone from your comments?! It pains her. PAINS HER. But alas. There’s stupid full of Fail kids to coach and stupid long ass papers to write and stupid, stupid, online accounting problems to answer. And additionally she has to do things like shower and cook and wash things because if she doesn’t Sneaky Little Bastard will bring his army of vermin to inhabit Shaba’s apartment and then where will she be? Up shit’s creek, that’s where. With an army of vermin. And no diet coke. Because Shaba can’t stop drinking the elixir of yum that comes in that plastic bottle, and just blew through a bottle in two days. TWO DAYS. Even though she said she would stop drinking it, and even though she said she wasn’t going to buy it anymore. She does. Shaba: n. fail, full of.

You know what else makes Shaba angry? The little white notice of death that was slipped under her door this morning. The little white notice of death that said Roommate #3 didn’t pay her portion of the rent…again. Shaba is very tired of Roommate #3 and can not comprehend how it is SO difficult to write a check and mail it by a particular date every month. Not hard. Opposite of hard. Easy. Not for roommate three though, oh no, it’s like rocket science to Roommate. It’s scary that Roommate 3 is now in charge of raising a baby human.

Shaba is sorry. She knows the internets are not responsible for The Fury. And to thank them, for listening to her be a whiny bitch, she’ll leave them with fun stuff.

Like Chrissy’s blog. Which Shaba just discovered (She knows! Where has she been?! Under a rock, I suppose). Shaba also stole Chrissy’s 3^rd person manner of speaking for this post because it’s a lot more fun to be mad while speaking in the 3^rd person. Shaba hopes Chrissy doesn’t mind.

And, she’ll leave you with something to make you cry at your desk, Matt and Liz and Madeline. She sobbed yesterday people, sobbed at work. So sad.

And finally, The Boy is all excited because he’s a “hot commodity” since Shaba talks him up all the time. The internets have made his head big. And now he wants Shaba to tell you lies about him and his awesomeness.

The Boy: Tell them I make a million dollars an hour and have a 27″ long penis

The Boy: also that I smell like chocolate

Shaba: That’s a little extreme

The Boy: Well if that’s too extreme, tell them it’s like a tube of cookie dough

and tastes like it too.

And if you believe that, Shaba has some land in Alaska she’d like to get rid of.