HAPPY MONDAY! In case you didn't know we are down to a mere FIVE days until it's once again FOOTBALL TIME IN TENNESSEE! YAHOOOOOOOO!
This is what happiness looks like.
Football season makes me happy. So, incredibly happy. I don't have any plans for the first game yet but I'm seriously toying with the idea of making orange jello shots, sitting on my couch by myself and eating said jello shots. Then I'll probably run out into my street screaming like a maniac after each first down / interception / touchdown. I imagine that I will probably be pants-less and wearing only a jersey. This image would be a lot better if I had a helmet of any sorts. Because this is what should happen if you sit and eat jello shots / watch football by yourself.
In other news, I am once again dually employed. I'm going to be working part time at a bookstore. (Hip, hip hooray for discounts! Though my heart will always live deep in the stacks of the used book store.) Yesterday was my first day. And it was interesting, to say the least. I got there at 3 and I got home around 11. They close at 7. Oh, that's right there was a store meeting. On my first day? I choked on my drink at one point and thought about not fighting it. THAT interesting. Maybe I would have been more engaged if I had known what the fuuuck they were talking about but I doubt it. I did hear one of the funniest short convos ever, though.
Cashier: Would you like to donate a children's book to the school we are sponsoring today?
College girl: Um... I don't have a book.
Cashier: *looks around blankly* Well, we have children's books here.
Did I mention I work in a BOOK store? Ay, ay, ay. Some people truly amaze me.
I feel like I should share something with everyone. I'm obsessed with reality TV. Ob-freaking-sessed. Last year I started watching this glorious show called Dating in the Dark. Three boys and three girls meet in a blacked out room on a "group date" then they decide who they like and go on single dates with these whomever they deem worthy of their affection. The majority of the show is terminally boring... until they get to see what the person looks like. They don't immediately turn on the lights. The other person can't see the others reaction. And, typically, it is HILARIOUS. There some unfortunate looking people on this show. It's on right now. I must go watch it.
Hope everyone has a beautiful week. Love you. So does Rick Astley. He told me.
Natasha, a friend of mine from college (and fellow Matt Lauer / Lady Gaga lover) had this up on her super adorable blog a few days ago and I've decided to steal it. She took it from a blog that she follows and it was originally taken from a show on MTV. I tried watching the show once but all of the emotions and crying started to make me nervous so I had to change the channel. Unless it's a lifetime movie or some really tragic story on Extreme Home Makeover I like to keep my crying to a minimum. Here we go...
If you reaaaaally knew me, you'd know that:
I'm always on time (this does not include work, der) and I'm horribly impatient. Nothing gets under my skin more than when people are always running late. I think this comes from the fact that my dad's side of the family has never been on time for anything. Ever. In the history of O'Leary's. Having any sort of appointment / reservation and still having to wait is my own personal hell.
I don't take myself (or anyone) else seriously. You know I'm a douche and I know I'm a douche. It's fine. You're a douche, too. Life would be so dreadfully boring if I couldn't laugh at all of the stupid things that happen to me AND to you.
I'm a karaoke machine. After goldschlagger or rumplemintz. And I usually stick to "Gangsta's Paradise" by Coolio, "Shoop" by Salt n Peppa or "To Be with You" by Mr. Big.
I get bored very easily. I change my mind about 8.234 billion times a day on any given subject. Unless we're talking about Sarah Palin. I will always hate her.
I have the habits of a 75 year old woman. I go to the grocery store on the same day, at the same time. I love nothing more than to stay at home, watch Dateline and read my book.
I am only really scared of a few things. Clowns, the dark, and moths. Midgets are slowly being removed from the list since TLC and every other channel seem to have an obsession.. thanks, mainstream media.
I can't go one full weekday without facebook, perez hilton or texts from last night.
I laugh harder at my own jokes than anyone else does.
I can't sleep unless my books are alphabetized. I can't even really leave the house if they are out of order. I'm sure this says something bad about the inner workings of my brain but all I know is that it makes me nervous.
Bookstores and diet coke can, almost instantly, put me in a better mood. I love everything about bookstores. And diet coke. Eve-ry-thing.
I love words. I have a very long list of words that make me smile. Two that were added to the list today: ravenous and precocious.
You can tell exactly how I'm feeling at any given moment by the look on my face. Seriously, I'm an open book. This is both a blessing and a curse because I can never play it cool.
I've recently become obsessed with this app on the iphone... it makes you have a fat face. We have done it to almost everyone at work. Yesterday when I was looking ridiculously unfortunate we fat faced AND old faced me. This was the result:
Right now you're thinking one of two things:
1. That I smell like stale cigarettes, three day old whiskey and cat poop
2. That I am going to get the sexiest old, fat person alive.
(Either way you are 100% correct)
That's it for right now. Keldo and Christopher are in town tonight so I'm meeting them downtown. Barf. In my mouth. I hate downtown but I love these kids.
ALSO: I have to update my last post: I have one very, very, very important friend that was accidentally left out of my Nashville friends photo. This is an oldie but a goodie, Cass. And it very nearly got me kicked out of the sorority because people thought we were le-bos.
My song for you tonight is one that you almost have to be a cat woman to listen to... I think the ideal way to enjoy this jam is to be hammered on white zinfandel/white wine spritzers and smoking Virginia slims while standing on your couch in onesie pajamas with a green face mask on, singing at the top of your lungs for all of your cats to hear... oh, and maybe you're singing into a hairbrush and you are definitely dedicating this jam to all the men/women who have done you wrong. Let it out, friends. Let. It. Out.
(Side note: I am unsure as to why there are pictures of the Titanic playing... all I know is that I love it even more. I'll never let go, Jack. I'll never let go.)
Have you ever said something and then, almost immediately, thought "where in the fuuuuuuuuck did that come from?" This happens to me on a daily - dare I say, hourly - basis. It would probably happen less if I tried to stop my verbal diarrhea and actually thought about things before I said them but that would make my life a little more boring. Here is the most notable WTF story-o-the-day:
We finished work early today and I'd checked all my usual sites (HuffPost, Perez Hilton, cnn, and People). I'd even done a little online shopping. I quickly ran out of things to look up so I got up from my desk and started wandering around the office. I stopped at the front desk and started talking to one of my co-workers when I realized that I had a whole 15 fucking minutes left to kill. I looked at her and said, "Ok... I'm going to go look at myself in the mirror for a while." She immediately looked at me like she stepped in dog poo and then started laughing as if what I said was a joke. I was dead serious. Do people NOT admit to checking themselves out?! I know that I'm not the only one who goes and takes a peek at just how babe-a-licious I am. Sure, I also make sure my lipgloss is still poppin' and that my skirt isn't tucked into my underwear (which has happened an alarming number of times this summer) but I really just want to look at myself. I know some of my friends do this... Gracie even has a face JUST for looking in the mirror. I firmly believe that you should check out yourself at least once for every two people you eyeball. Side note: I check out more people than is suggested on a daily basis. If anyone can teach me how to not get busted, I'd greatly appreciate it. It's really not our fault that we are so foxy. If you are my friend (which I'm assuming you are because you are reading this silly little blog) then you are totally delicious. And I don't seek out Babe-raham Lincoln's to be my friends, it just happens that way. If you don't take time out of your day to go admire yourself in the mirror, you TOTALLY should start. I'm thinking starting my days off like this sweet little love bucket ends hers.
I really like the little dance she does towards the end. Sister has some SAWEEEEEEET moves.
I have a request for anyone who reads this. Would you mind throwing some good vibes out in the universe in my direction? I'll give some more details at a later date but cannot at the moment. Thanks, dearest friends. I love you all. I'm so glad each and everyone of you is alive. Yup, you too.
Here is a random sampling of my life... I think it's from 20-ish and on. Seriously, friends. I'd be lost without you.
Unfortunately I was not there while this was taken but it makes me happy...
I'm back, biiiiiiitches! Yes, I'm a slacker. I know. It's been entirely too long since my last post but I've been out for the count with a wiiiiicked sinus infection. Yuck.
While I was down, I renewed my love affair with the show "I didn't know I was pregnant." This show is perfect. It's hilarious AND informative (the last episode I watched the trivia question had something to do with if babies keep their eyes open in the womb... I got it right but it STILL grosses me out). As you know, I've never had a baby - thank god - but I can't imagine that it feels that much like taking a shadoob. Poo pains cannot be on the same level as child birth. They just can't be.
Like I said earlier, I have been super sick and when I'm this sick I just like to sleep through it. That's where NyQuil comes into play. I don't usually like this shiz. It tastes gross and really fucks with my head. One time I took it and I woke up in a chair wearing different clothes than I went to sleep in. It gives me funny/scary dreams and stupid ideas. For instance: I was convinced that I needed to go to South Korea and grow my hair long, long, long, dye it dark brown and cut myself some bangs. Bad idea. Well, South Korea isn't a bad idea but the rest of it is. As for my dreams? The best one I can vaguely remember involved dancing t-rexes and pterodactyls in tutus. I love dinosaurs. The worst one I remember involved me being pregnant. Not ok, brain, not ok.
I live in an adorable little duplex. I've been here since June. I love everything about it. It has hard wood floors and room for a couch - I know. I'm fancy now. I live within walking distance to several fantastic bars (which has proven on more than one occasion to be ridiculous awesome). My land lord, Gar-Bear, is pretty legit. Gar is a little rough around the edges and it makes me laugh - a lot. He's quiet and leaves me alone for the most part. (Sometimes, when I have... ahem... "company" he likes to sit outside on the front porch and shame me with his shit-eating grin. Taking the stride of pride from my own house is quite humorous.) All these great things aside, my fucking washer and dryer are still not hooked up. I wear a lot of clothes. I change at least twice a day. And instead of being able to wash/dry clothes, this is what my stupid washer/dryer are currently being used for:
In case you can't tell there are reusable grocery bags, a toaster, a fan, a pot, a pan and a cooking sheet. While the extra storage has been grand, I'd like a working washer and dryer. Thanks.
Ok. I know a fella that may or may not be a serial killer / pedophile. Being that I am pretty much a detective, I should know. Today I heard him whisper. I was immediately compelled to conference call Chris Hansen and John Walsh to get them in on this shiz. The whispering was just the icing on the cake. If you don't share my detective skills, here are a list of things to need to look for to identify these creepers:
Yes, it begins with the glasses. Beware of transition glasses, too.
The clothes. The garb is crucial to identifying pervs. If they wear police issued cargo pants but have never been a police officer; if they wear draw string pants; if they wear pants without a belt and the shirt tucked in - get out your mace and lock up your chillren.
The awkward stare. If he/she makes awkward eye contact for a little too long, run. He/she is thinking of ways to kill you and make a body suit of your skin.
Shoes: You know the shoes when you see them. They are usually worn in combination with white socks that hit above the ankle. Or black socks with with jorts.
Men that whisper. There is nothing sexy about a man that whispers.
Awkward giggles. Especially if it is a man that is giggling.
European teeth on Americans. Americans who are not and have never been meth heads.
Facial hair is not always a must. This video just makes me giggle.
Now that list held only a few secrets to ID-ing creepers, perv, etc. You'll know it when you see it. Hopefully.
As I've mentioned before, I work with a bunch of chicks. I'm one of the youngest there and pretty much the only one that doesn't have any chillrens (thank you, sweet baby Jesus). One of the girls in my department IS pregnant so today I foolishly decided to ask about child birth. What did I learn? That shiz is fucking s-i-c-k. First and foremost, it weirds me out there is a BABY inside of your stomach. Like a real life baby. It kicks and moves. It pees and shadoobs. Not in a diaper. In your lady biz. I guess I have just ever really thought about it before. Ew. Your baby craps inside of you. That just makes me uneasy. Want to know something else? THEY OPEN THEIR EYES. I was under the impression that, much like puppies or kitties, they aren't born with their eyes open. Wrong. Super wrong and super gross. What do you think they are looking at? Agh. This weirds me out so much. I liked life a lot more when I thought that babies were delivered by storks.
Clearly I'm not ready for chillrens anytime soon. Sorry mom and dad. I promise I'm not a lesbian.
Hope everyone had a beautiful Wednesday. Show me your teeth.
I must apologize for my pathetic post yesterday. I was at home in bed by 9:30. Cute AND age appropriate, I know. Brief weekend update: Soulfish with Gracie, slow jams at the Bayou, downtown, Club 152, ELVIS week, bottle service... the rest is on a need to know basis and I have taken my name off of that list. All that really matters is I didn't lose my shoes... not that I didn't try to.
I'm about to tell you something very, very important. I'm talking life or death. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever give me bottle service. Ever. Don't ever do it. While my shame is stilling palpable, I should also mention that I've placed a moratorium on me being in public. For now it's indefinite. I'm taking it upon myself to ban me from Beale Street. FOR. EV. ER. (Imagine The Sandlot).
Since I was still suffering from a hideous moral hangover yesterday, my Tuesday was for once waaaaay better than my Monday! (It also had to do with the fact that Meredith V and Matty were working today... and I woke up with Justin Biebs in my head. Yes, I'm aware I'm a loser.) The only thing that wasn't completely awesome about today was that I had to do laundry. And dishes. I mean I HAD to. These are probably the worst chores known to man. My momma always used to get on to me and my siblings because we would bitch and complain about doing these wretched chores. She always said, "You've spent more time complaining than it will take you to do the dishes." As per usual, Leslie was right. But if you tell her, I'll deny, deny, deny and probably kick you in the ankle. These days, instead of complaining about it I look up new dishes and new clothes to buy so I can throw the old ones out. Yup. I hate it THAT much.
Moving on... I don't know if any of you go to the free concert series in the summer/fall at Levitt Shell but they just put out their fall line up and it looks totally sick. I'm super excited about Dirty Dozen Brass Band. I went to see them at the hi-tone with my homie, Rhi, one night. Cow bell was involved. And it was good. Check it out. You know you want to.
Time to go read. I promise I will have a good blog one day. I'm wearing my new black pumps tomorrow in celebration of the fact that they survived downtown. Paolo and I will be doing a dance in the morning.
Today was another rough one. I think I've been so looking forward to getting out into public this weekend I've driven myself crazy. Before I get to the good shiz, let me recap my stupid Friday the 13th.
Overslept, as per usual
Stubbed my toe walking out the door because I hate wearing shoes and driving
Work. Ew.
Mani/pedi appointment cancelled because the electricity is out.
Turned away by not one but two more nail salons (Note to self: Make appointments on any other day EXCEPT for paydays)
More work. More ew.
Mani/pedi appointment cancelled. Again. Because the universe did not want my feet to be pretty.
Ripped my skirt
Broke my sandal
I left out a few more details because... well, I just did. Now on to the exciting stuff.
In true girl style, I am a firm believer in retail therapy. Since fall is almost upon us, I decided to go pick up one more sundress before I have to start wearing pants again (barf-o-rama). I bebop down to my local Old Navy and find these gems:
Same dress but mine is bright green
Most comfortable pants ever.
Thank you, Old Navy, $32 later I'm feeling a little better. Next stop: Shoenami. The greatest thing in the entire world is a good pair of heels... For the record: The bigger = the better. Heels any shorter than 3.5 inches are laughable.
I think I almost peed a little when I saw the "Buy One Get One" sign on the door. Apparently everyone else that wears my size shoe was super excited because there were not a lot to choose from but I did get these..... drum roll, please:
Pretty black pumps
Red open toe booties? Yes, please.
I'm really digging the hardware right now
Clutch with a strap
My version of brass knuckles?
This may be my favorite purchase...
Not only were the shoes BOGO but everything else was too! BAH! Best $76 ever.
HAPPY WEEKEND! Go make bad decisions with good people. My song of choice while getting ready to go raise a little hell? Salt n Peppa, of course!
I'm kind of on edge this today... er... this week. No? This month? Ok fine. I have a short fuse. I'd like to think I'm usually more calm, cool and collected. Can we blame this on PMS? Because that's what I'm going with... who cares if I've been using this excuse for the past decade? I would suggest against challenging me on this. Know who the real victims here are? Boys. Any boys. All boys. Before the clog wearing feminists ignite their sensible bras on fire with the same flame that set ablaze the nag champa, let me explain: Sure they don't have to go through childbirth, they get paid more, blah, blah, blah. But we are looking past something that must really suck: they have balls. (Or ball as the case may be... which may be more awkward than having two. Who knows?) I'd much rather have a baby then have balls. PLUS when they have their panties in a wad for no apparent reason they can't blame it on PMS. Even though I am relatively sure that several of the men I know actually do have periods. And if they don't? Well then they are just dick heads. And they have balls. So they automatically lose.
Speaking of men: do you know what I find to be an offense punishable by at least one flick to your cash and prizes? When people use the term "my man," or "my girl/woman," you get it... I find this particularly irksome when someone you know well enough to recognize the significant other's real name. We get it. You are in a relationship. Unless you are a 13 year still hanging out with your mom and dad on the weekend... or 43 years old still hanging out with your mom and dad on the weekend, there is no reason to use pet names, nick names, etc. Real names people. Thanks.
Did you know that it is a mere 22 days until UT football starts? Do you know what else that means? It's almost fall... here's a little taste of what I am most looking forward to about fall:
First and foremost:
Football time in TENNESSEE!!!!!
Red wine
Hoodies
Onesies
Sitting on the front porch and not having a heat stroke
Cooper Young Fest / House warming partaaaaaay
Knee high boots
Closed toe shoes
Thanksgiving
Of course it's not Thanksgiving without Super T
What are YOU looking forward to?
Until tomorrow, my loves. Here is Johnny Cash. That's it.
When I saw that the stupid whore Anne Curry was filling in for Matt this morning I just knew I should have gotten back in bed and slept until tomorrow. Maybe it was the fact that I drank far too much last night or maybe it really was because my lover decided to take the morning off, whatever the case may be today was not one of the best.
I work with a lot of funny people. Most of the time they are not funny "ha ha" though. Today, however, was an exception. I work with a lot of chicks. I mean A LOT. The estrogen in the office is out. of. control. There are some scary sad hilarious moments like when someone brings in a baby... imagine starving a great white shark of any nourishment until it is on the edge of death then throwing a scrumptious whale for him to feast on. And then there are days when I just stand there, look around thinking to myself "What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck is going on?"
Everyday between the hours of 11 and 2, all these broads gather in the break room and watch their "stories." It is packed. Everyone takes their lunch break at the same time everyday so as not to miss a minute of their beloved Bold and the Beautiful or whatever one they have been watching since before I was born. Unless you are willing to give your first born as an offering, you had better be damn sure that you don't make a sound (this includes, but is not limited to: coughing, sneezing, laughing, talking, running the sink) when stepping foot into this threshold. A scary majority of these women think the break room was put there solely for their individual use so they treat it like it is their home...
As I'm sure you can imagine, things around the office can get a little catty... and even more passive aggressive. There are a few women who secretly put signs up in the break room in an attempt to will you into doing whatever it is they want. These signs are brilliant. Every time I walk in and see a new one it's like a gift wrapped present just for me. It always causes a stir and hilarity, without a doubt, always ensues. Would you like to see all of these signs? Well OF COURSE you would:
I'm assuming this is where it all began... innocently enough with a professional sign.
Keeping it polite... for now. The sign lady still says thanks.
The bullets, bold font and underlining shows this cat means business.
Up top it says "It can start a fire." It's all about safety here, folks.
This one talks about fairies. No. I can't take it seriously when it's next to a silly cartoon.
The newest one: in italics "Otherwise, you can clean up your own mess"
Yes. On both of the microwaves in case you didn't see one...
That's it for now. I watched this video to make sure it was legit. I don't know if I can adequately describe how much I wish Donna Summers would follow ME around and sing this song. The woman in this video doesn't know just how lucky she is...
Yowza. This Tuesday did not fail to represent as a painfully long day (even though I did get the greatest of gifts today).
I've decided to keep my blog to a minimum today. It may or may not have something to do with the fact that I love beer more than I could ever love anything on the internet.
My thoughts on today:
deodorant should be loved by one and all
my friends are hilarious. each and everyone of them
I wish I was old enough to enjoy the 80s and all that it had to offer (namely the big hair. I could have been a hit with my fucking chia pet)
Eminem needs to go ahead and quit threatening to kill women. I have have gotten down with your misogyny when I was a teenager but I only listened to your music to rebel against my parents. Plus the only reason ANYONE likes your new song is Rihanna and the hook.
When people comment on my blog, I get more excited than I could ever imagine being... this includes Christmas morning.
I love each and everyone of you. Yup.
As I've typed everything I've been singing along with this gem. I hope you enjoy it. Get it boys and guuuuuuurls.
