I'm testing something...

I wasn't sure if this blog was still alive... I had to check on it.

It isn't. And although there hasn't been a funeral yet, there may be one in the future. Or maybe it will come back to life. I don't know.

More to come.

It's been too long. And I'm not even sure what to blog about at this point. But I'm not sure if I want to have a blog funeral yet.

There will be more to come...

I hate it.

I'm sure you all remember my reference to slumlords... Well, the time has come for me to vacate my hypothetical house.

It is unbelievable how ill-mannered my slumlord is. I guess I could also put this under my "Men" series, but he's a man that I can't wait to get out of my life.

Said slumlord sent his tenants an email about the end of the lease. In this email, he included that he is raising the rent $300 and adding and additional charge of $30 for yard maintenance. (Currently, he is supposed to maintain our yard because he didn't want to discount the rent and have us do it. He's only been to our house 3 times in the last 8 months to do yardwork.)


Anyway, slumlord is supposed to give us 24 hour notice before he comes to the property. We've never had to worry about this, because he never came by. Even if we called him with an issue, it would take 2-3 days to hear back from him. But recently, he feels the necessity to announce his arrival 4 hours before he plans to come.

While, this would hypothetically be okay, you really haven't picked up after yourself for a couple days. Okay, I'll be honest, a couple weeks. So, you let him know that you need more notice before he can come over (so you have time to tuck away any personal items, like under things).

He wants to know why he can't come over tonight. You tell him it's because you need to clean. He says, what do you need to clean, I don't care about a little dirt. You respond, well, it's not really dirt I'm worried about. His response...

Wait for it...

"I don't care if you have porn and bongs laying around, I just need to get in my house."

Are you kidding me? First of all, I didn't really want a confession about the random paraphernilia laying around his house. Second of all, what kind of slumlord would say this?

A bad one. But it doesn't end here.

I reply with, I have personal items laying around that I would like to put away before you and a strange realtor man are walking around.

His response...

I've seen a bra and panties before, I don't realize why it's such a big deal. I will never understand a woman's false need to "be clean" when we all know the real deal.

I don't respond. In fact, I'm so upset at how disrespectful he is that I choose to have no further contact with him.

Moral of the story? Modern Day Slumlords; they do exist.

Car Accidents. I hate them. However, I'm also drawn to stare as I drive past them. And then I feel guilty that I gawked over someone else's misfortune.

Well, I got into a minor accident last week. And although it was minor, it was rather time consuming and shook me up pretty bad. And as minor as I thought it was, my insurance adjustor, the body shop, and my doctor have tried to convince me otherwise.

Car Accidents. I was on my way to work. I was running a little late, but wasn't speeding. I don't really quite know how it happened. She stopped at the red light and I didn't. I ran right into her with 25-30 mph strength behind my hit.

It's funny how you react in those kinds of situations. I got out, was totally fine, and approached her to make sure she was okay and that any of her passengers were okay. I called the police and gathered all of the relevant information that they would need. I sat in my car with the heat on high. The Starbucks across the street brought both of us hot chocolate to "brighten our day." Great Harvest Bread company brought us out some hot rolls "while we waited." A group of people waited for the bus and were trying not to stare at me while they pointed and stared at my car, which was smashed and leaking antifreeze and transmission fluid as quickly as a gutter over flowing with water on a rainy day.

And I realized the kindness of strangers. Although cars were honking and making rude comments as they passed, the random strangers in the area were so kind. The lady I hit was so nice and she was trying to comfort me. The police officer was making jokes and overlooking the fact that my registration had expired and that I didn't have my drivers license with me. He cited me for the smallest ticket possible and then gave me a ride home while my car was towed. The hot rolls and hot chocolate were so thoughtful, and really did help brighten a day that had a gloomy outlook. The insurance adjustor patiently answered all of my questions and assured me that everything would be okay. The lady at the end of the 800 number I had to call to place my claim was just so empathetic. The body shop also dealt with my state of panic and endless questions with the utmost courtesy and patience.

Anyway, I digress... I just wanted to point out that a little bit goes a long way. Although, I'm still suffering from neck pain and am without a car for another 2 weeks, I appreciate how kind everyone was around me. The police, the body shop, and the insurance deal with this type of situation daily. They didn't have to be nice or listen to my rantings. Yet they did. And this made all the difference in my attitude that day. I look forward to the opportunity to unknowingly brighten someone's day with a small gesture.

I just wanted to give everyone a heads up... Today is Election Day. I know it hasn't been advertised very much and very few people know about it, so I felt that it was my civic duty to let everyone know that today is in fact Election Day!

I'm beginning to realize that as you grow older, some people in your life may not. I've found that there are people in my life, that although we are approaching 30 years of age, they still act like they did in middle school.

Well, I'm sick of the drama. I'm sick of you playing the victim all the time. I'm sick of you ignoring your own shortcomings only to point out other peoples. I find it funny that you say you are done being passive, yet the only way you can communicate your feelings is through booze and text messages. I find it quite amuzing that you feel you need to insult me and try to bring me down to your level via a text message. Yet, you are so cowardly, you avoid looking me in the eye to say these things.

I mourn the loss of a friend; a friend that is frozen in a time when our behavior was excused by our age. Yet, I pity you more because you've convinced yourself that you aren't the common denominator in all the loss of friendships, relationships, and just the general demise of everything that comes into your life.

So, this ones for you, Crazy Bitch. Take care of yourself, because at the rate you're going, no one else is going to.

It's been awhile since I've visited my "Men" series. The truth is, I'm having a dry run at new and interesting guys coming into my life. (This is not a bad thing right now, especially after this last experience.)

So... Riot Guy. I met Riot Guy at the bar a couple weeks ago. I know, I know... I shouldn't be meeting guys at the bar. And I wasn't out to meet guys at the bar, but this guy just started talking to me. I wasn't looking to be talked to. Nor was I looking to talk to anyone. Well, I wanted to talk to my friend that was with me, but you get what I mean. Anyway, I digress.

So, I went out with my roommate to try to unwind from a crazy week and an even crazier day. I ran into "ex-boyfriend" there. It was a little awkward, but we both survived. However, I'm pretty sure we were both aware of each other's presence all night.

As the night progressed, I had a few drinks and was approached by some guy. He was totally not my type, he looked like a little skater, punk guy. Not that I have anything against skaters or punks. I just had a phase in 8th and 9th grade where I thought I was a skater chick and I wasn't. And it really only took me looking back on the pictures to realize that I wasn't a skater when I thought I was. I still wish someone would've told me.

Back to skater guy. He began talking to me. And as we talked, his friends were just hanging around. I guess "ex-boyfriend" was around somewhere and "was giving bad looks" to Skater Guy's friends. Words began to be exchanged between the friends and "ex-boyfriend".

I pull "ex-boyfriend" away.

Now, here's where I get a little confused. What happens now seems hazy... May have been the drinks...

I'm talking to "ex-boyfriend". Skater Guy's friends appear out of nowhere and one of them grabs ex-boyfriends face and slams his head into the wall. 3 other guys grab him and throw him on the ground.

A scuffle ensues. POOF! Skater Guy is now Riot Guy.

My friend pulls off one guy with amazing skills. I try to pull someone off, but get punched in the back instead. A sushi chef runs around from behind the counter to try to help, only to yell while the riot goes on.

Bouncers finally show up and escort the hoodlums out. "Ex-boyfriend" is okay, except maybe a headache and some hurt pride.

Me and my friend leave the bar.

Now this should be the end of the story. It's not.

I receive a phone call the next day from Riot Guy. He wants to apologize for his friends and also see what I'm up to. I had no idea I gave him my number. But I also wonder, why would he even call me after the show the night before?

I don't call back.

I receive a text message from Riot Guy that says, "Hi. How are you?"

I don't respond. And still wonder, what kind of guy would think any woman in their right mind would want to see a guy who's got crazy friends that fight strangers.

Maybe I should respond just so I don't get jumped in case I run into him and his friends again.

Because I do. I'm in a funk right now and it seems that nothing I can do is right.

Or maybe it's a curse because I'm always right.

Or maybe it's the curse for being right and not listening to my gut. Because my gut is REALLY, REALLY smart. At least I think it is. My mom always told me I had a big brain because of the size of my head. The law of ratios seems to make sense. So, my gut is REALLY, REALLY smart.

I should listen to it more often. Or stop eating cheesy breadsticks at any hour of the night.

Really, I do.

I've been tagged. Niki stole my tagging virginity. I was saving it for marriage. I feel violated.

So, here we go. The rules are: to list 6 quirks about yourself and then tag six people. Leave them a message on their blog letting them know they have been tagged.

Here's me in a blog tag. Take it as you please.

1. I pick at my face. I pick at my face excessively. I spend about 30-45 minutes a day examining my face in the mirror and I will pick at anything that is suspected at harboring any sort of contents that may or may not form into a zit. There have been many documented cases where I have created zits from nothing. I find that if I am faced with stress or something that makes me upset, I will go into the bathroom and examine my face and pick at any offenders.

I'm trying to work on this.

2. I have to eat M&M's in pairs by color. I will pour out a bag of M&M's and pair them all up. Once they are matched, I will either close my eyes and eat the remaining stragglers, throw them away, or give them to a willing bystander.

This also applies to Skittles, Runts, or any other colored candy that can be paired up.

3. Banana flavoring drives me insane. I will only eat real bananas or banana bread. Anything else is disgusting. I hate Banana Runts, Banana Laffy Taffy, Banana shakes, Banana ice cream, banana yogurt, banana chapstick,(you get the idea). Bananas should only be enjoyed in their rawest form. And not sexually.

4. I never rush to get ready after showering. I will always lay back down in my bed after taking a shower. Without fail. It doesn't matter if I'm on vacation or staying at a friends house. If I shower, I will lay back down on the bed that held my slumbering body the night before. I enjoy relaxing a little before I have to rush around for whatever prompted said showering in the first place.

5. I have to sleep on the left side of my bed, no matter what. Even though I have a queen size bed--and believe me, I'm a queen--I will only sleep on the left side. Now, for clarification, that's the left side when you're laying down and the right side when you're standing at the foot facing the bed. Even in beds other than mine, I can't sleep in the middle or on the right. I have to be on the left. This has to do with my hearing loss. I have to face the edge of a bed and I also have to lay on my good ear so I can drown out all noise in order to fall asleep. If faced with the choice of sleeping on a couch or on the right side of a bed, I will choose the couch.

Currently, the right side of my bed is occupied with text books and clothes. So, it's being put to good use as well.

6. If I buy a magazine or book, or rather any publication, I have to be the first to read it. I can't stand when people take them from me and react to pictures, articles or anything in it before I read it. No really, it drives me crazy. I've gotten in numerous fights with people if they do this. Now, if I'm not the one that bought it, I don't really care what people tell me. So, say my roommmate buys a book and tells me chunks about it, I don't really care. But if I were to buy the same book and she borrowed it because I'm too busy to read it, and then she tells me parts about it, I get REALLY annoyed. Don't test me. It's not worth it.

So... That's it. If you thought I was a crazy bitch before, it's confirmed now. Erin, TJ, Gatsby, Pappas, Tommy, and B. Tag. You're it.

Remember Paula Abdul in her glory days way before she got on drugs to appear on a show you may have heard of, American Idol? I do. She had so much clout in those days that she was able to get Neo himself to appear as "Keanu Reeves" in one of her videos for her hit song "Rush, Rush." And I'm not lying when I say, she and Arsenio were quite the couple because he would tell her straight up that he really wanted to love her forever, while he was tap dancing!

Wow. That Paula has had some career, huh? I want to let everyone know that she was the first artist I ever saw in concert. That's right. I saw her in concert way before she turned into a crazed crack addict judging no talent ass clowns on TV. Okay, maybe some of them have talent.

Anyway, today, me and Pappadopolis began a singing medly of Opposites Attract. While I knew every word in the song, I forgot about the rap. How could I forget the first inklings of hip hop into my sweet and innocent musical selections? How could I forget the rap that planted the seeds of hip hop into my head? How could I forget that sweet cartoon cat that hooked up with Paula way before Simon Cowell was even on the scene?

Nothing in common but this trust
I'm like a minus, she's like a plus
One going up, one coming down
But we seem to land on common ground
When things go wrong we make corrections
To keep things moving in the right direction
Try to fight it but I'm telling you Jack
It's useless, Opposites Attract

Let me help refresh your visual memory...




I've never felt so attracted to an animated figure as I was to this cat. Or Roger Rabbit. He was hot too. But he had Jessica Rabbit. No way I could beat her out in a competition. But Paula Abdul? I could kick her ass to get this cat's attention.

I've been out of town.

More to come.

I went to Nine Inch Nails last night. The above was the only picture I took. It was a great concert. However, Trent Reznor had many instrumentals throughout the show. And I guess I was hoping for a rock show. So, it was mellow and very mood moving. I almost fell asleep many times.

I also can't be around strobe lights. And about 75% of the show was done with strobe lights. So I paid $50 to watch my brother-in-law shake his ass while I ducked behind him to avoid fainting from the lights.

He also only really played new stuff. And while it wasn't a tour to re-hash old sounds, I would've really liked to have heard more old stuff.

Oh well. At least I saw Trent Reznor live. He's really Hot Tamale, Hot Hot Tamale! No, he's not tepid tamale; he's hot tamale!

I've always loved this website. But I especially like this clip.

Enjoy at your own pleasure. Don't become addicted like I did.

I don't want to confuse you with the idea of Hemorrhoids. Although I imagine having cushions of tissue filled with blood in your rectum and/or anus would incite rage. So there is that kind of 'Roid Rage.

I'm currently experiencing another type of 'Roid Rage. That's right, I'm on steroids. And as much as I would like to say that it's for body building purposes, it's not. I had asthma that I ignored for a period of time. And when I went to the doctor, he gave me an aggressive dose of steroids to deal with the severity of the inflammation in my lungs. I also got an inhaler and a new prescription of Singulair to control my allergies and asthma.

So, I got a goody bag from the doctor. But along with that goody bag, I got a whole lotta emotional baggage too. You see, I asked the doctor if the steroids would have the side effects we've come to link with the drug. He said I shouldn't see too much weight gain or experience the side effects too much. He gave me a 7 day dose and said it shouldn't be too bad.

He was wrong. I am on day 6 of the 7 day dose. And the emotional roller coaster is killing me. According to wikipeda, one of the many symptoms is depression, mania, and other psychiatric symptoms. Also deserving honorable mentions are unusual fatigue or weakness; weight gain; facial swelling; anxiety, sleeplessness.

You see, none of these really make me happy. And all I can say is that I really am experiencing the other psychiatric symptoms. I want to kill. And I want to kill NOW!

Okay, maybe I don't want to kill, but I yelled at a lot of people yesterday. And I also did a lot of crying. today, I don't have the strength to keep my eye lids open. I want to cry some more. And you know what a combination of sleeplessness and extreme exhaustion can do to a person? Well, I'm a walking zombie. I want to sleep, but can't. I want to cry for no reason and that's also so exhausting.

Anyway, I have 'roid rage. I yelled at a maintenance worker at school yesterday who was trying to clean up a mess he had made. I felt like he was taking too long, so I yelled. I cried to my orthopedist that I feel like he doesn't believe me. I got mad at my roommate for not storing dough for rolls correctly.

You see, I have to post this. I'm hoping next week, when the roid rage is gone, I can read this post and think it's funny. But even as I type it, I am supressing the urge to hit my screen and go into a medley of screaming and crying.

There you have it. If you thought I was a bitch before, you have no idea of what kind of bitch I am on steroids.

I've been watching the Olympics. Who hasn't, right? Well, I've been doing a lot of thinking about World Records. And you know what I thought? It seems that every event has had some sort of world record that is being broken. Wow. That is amazing. What I don't understand, is how is this happpening?

My answer: Genetic Engineering. It's the only thing that makes sense.

You see, I've heard that if you dream it, you can achieve it. And I've had a lot of dreams about being the best in the world about a lot of things. But I've never achieved any of it. Especially that dream about being in the best bikini shape before I went to Aruba.

I've also dreamed about not eating junk food. But today I had curly fries. And they were really good.

Last week I dreamed about Twinkies not having a shelf life longer than my life multiplied 5 times. But you know the answer to that.

You see, that's what is going to happen with athletes in the Olympics. It's all fun and games when we are breaking every world record imaginable, but what happens when we genetically alter a human so much, that they will become synonymous with a Twinkie? Will we be able to out live Twinkies? Will we break that world record too?

There is no world record that I would ever break athletically. But I would risk my life and my health to take down one of those damn Twinkies.

19. Hospitals.

I really hate hospitals. They all smell the same and they all give me that panicky feeling. There was this one time I went to a hospital to visit a friend, and I almost passed out. And today, I was trapped in a hospital all day with a friend. And I don't know if she knows how much I hate hospitals, but I stayed to be there for her. Even though I kept feeling like running down the hall screaming, I didn't and I kept it together. Yeah, I hate hospitals.

You know what I don't hate? Hot male hospital staff in green scrubs that tightly hug their asses. I'm just saying... somtime you have to find beauty in an ugly situation.

I'm negative today. And according to some people close to me, I've been negative a lot lately. So, I figure, if it ain't broke why fix it?

So, I'm making a list of the things that I hate today at this exact moment (8/13/08 17:03 MST).

1. Mucous (see previous posts. I now have a producing cough. Yay.)
2. Break-Ups (I was really rooting for Ross and Rachel. That one stuck with me)
3. When they add cream to snow cones. Yuck.
4. Dating the wrong person for too long.
5. Being taken advantage of.
6. Always being expected to be happy. (Hope those people aren't reading this!)
7. The name Rachel or any variation of it (She really should've just given Ross another chance).
8. The weird lump on my head, I mean really, when will it go away by itself Mr. Doctorman?
9. Shaving my legs. I only do it when necessary.
10. That coating that eating sugar leaves on your teeth.
11. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.
12. Weight gain (thanks to #10).
13. The disgusting runny part on eggs (thanks to my beautiful sister).
14. Money. Or more specifically, the lack of ever having enough money. And the lack of not having a sugar daddy. They don't leave a strange coating on your teeth. (Oh man, I hope no one responds to that.)
15. The dirt bags that stare at your boobs and not your face. According to my ex-bf, I'm nothing but a pretty face. Either he didn't know what he was talking about or these db's are hard up for some breast action.
16. Buying 2 tickets to a concert and not being able to find a date. (What's worse really? An empty seat next to you or buying 1 ticket? I'm going to start buying 1 ticket, because the empty seat reminds you of how lonely you really are.)
17. When your idiot friend tries to take credit for your lame joke. I mean really, come up with your own shit.
18. This list.

The end.

My mother told me to try a humidifier to help with my congestion. And oh my... how the world of humidifiers has changed since I was a kid.

Enter my new roommate Bessie.

I have been plagued by a cold/cough/allergies/flu/miserableness for what feels like weeks now. I finally purchased a vaporizer and I hope this helps me get better. For once in my life, I refuse to go to the doctor over an ailment. I just hope this one goes away.

Anyway, this is to serve as just an update. I don't feel witty. Rather, I feel shitty.

I have found myself focusing entirely too much on "life" for the past couple months. Life = working out, cleaning up after myself, school, friends, family, and work. Life has also been equated too focusing far too much on the next year of my life and where it was going and how I was going to get through it.

You see, I'm almost done with college (finally). And I've been focusing on maximizing the last two semesters of my undergraduate degree. And that focus has stressed me out lately. So much, that I forgot it was summer.

I walked outside this morning and it was a beautiful morning. It was crisp and a little cool still. And the skies were so beautifully blue and the air was so fresh. It was warming up and the sun was shining. It finally felt like summer. And it felt like I could breathe.

And it was the best feeling I've felt all year.

I have a total of five sticks of Head On in my possession.

• 1 at my desk
• 2 in my purse
• 1 in my kitchen (with the other meds)
• 1 on my nightstand

Some say, it is like a sugar pill. You know, it's all in your head? But I say, it works. It has totally helped eliminate some of the symptoms that come along with my headaches. And it just feels good. Like Icy Hot for your head.

Anyway, there was one ill fated night that I was stumbling around my kitchen with a blinding headache. I took my migraine pills and located the Head On. I smeared it in excess all over my head and temples. I was so tired that I stumbled back to bed and passed out.

The next morning, I woke up to an unpleasant surprise. There was grease all over my pillow and I had pimples on my forehead. I just couldn't understand what had happened. I washed my face and returned to the scene of the crime to find my migraine pills strewn all over the counter and this...

No, I didn't go see the movie at midnight on Thursday. No, I didn't neglect a baby in a car to watch the movie. And, definitely no, I didn't clap at the end of the movie. Although I thought about slapping a grown woman, I didn't.

But you know what I did do? I drooled over Christian Bale.

He's hot. There's no question. So, I decided to do some research. So I turned to the most reliable source of information I know: Wikipedia. And I found some interesting factoids out about him.

He's married. (Damn)

He's British. (Hotchuma Hotchuma!)

When he was 9 years old, he appeared in a Pac Man Cereal commercial playing a child rock star (!)

Alright, I guess that stuff isn't that interesting after all.

I also looked up the singer Jason Mraz (hotchuma hotchuma!) on Wikipedia and I found out something very interesting about him.

He is a raw foodist.

Wow. How does one become a raw foodist? I was talking to my idiot friend about this and I made a joke that maybe he's just some kind of exhibitionist who accidentally joined a foodist colony. Get it? Foodist colony? Ha ha ha!

Well my idiot friend thought it was really funny. He laughed so hard and thought it was the joke of the year.

He was wrong. Although, I accidentally fell into the foodist movement myself. Don't ask.

When "they" said that Patience is a Virtue, I'm 100% positive "they" were talking about manual black and white photography. Because when it comes to this, I have no virtues.

I've been taking a photography class in school. It's funny, because photography is the fastest form of art. You see something and you capture your image and how you see the world based on your shutter speed. And that can happen in a blink of an eye. Whereas, other forms of art take time, planning, supplies, creativity, artistry, and the dreaded patience.

Patience. I thought I was a patient person and I have been a patient. I think the latter is way easier. I get sick all of the time. I take doctors orders. And I pop pills. I aide all of my ailments. But when it comes to being patient, I need some help.

For example, I went to my school photography lab for 7 and a half hours yesterday. Wow! That's a lot of time! I should've been able to print an entire novel of pictures. I should have 100 pictures to look at and select for my final project. Ask me how many pictures I got printed. Go ahead, ask me.

3. I got 3 pictures printed in 7 and a half hours.

I could go into detail about what I did for the 7.5 hours. But I wouldn't want to bore you. All I'm saying is that in this digital age, we are trained to be impatient. We expect everything in just seconds. I am one of the older people in my class and I am totally enjoying the process of printing my images, even though it is really time consuming. But I listen to these 19-21 year olds complaining about how long this takes and what's the point of doing this outdated form of developing. They are constantly complaining about how it's a waste of time and how they should be studying for a final or going out with friends. I've realized, wow, patience is a virtue.

But photography really is a lost hand art. Finding the right contrast to convey the emotion and feeling each picture has is a challenge. And I'm really enjoying that I have the control over how each image feels and not leaving that judgement to some computer that just picks the median range for each picture. I like watching the image suddenly appear on a blank piece of paper. I like focusing and adjusting my enlarger. I like getting my hands soggy in the chemicals and ruining t-shirts when I wipe my hands on them. I like taking the time to slow my mind down and getting to love each picture and learning each picture's personality. I like seeing an image that I captured and hearing what other people take away from it.

Anyway, I digress. Patience is a virtue. And I'm really happy that this class has given me some time to slow down my mind and appreciate each captured moment. It's a little cheesy, but I think I've learned that each moment is priceless and it's great being able to appreciate each one.

This wasn't a life lesson. Just my thoughts. I'll go back to being sarcastic and blunt now.

I would love to post some of my photography, but they are mostly of my niece. She's young and it's really up to her parents whether or not I can post them. So... hang tight, you might be able to enjoy them soon!

But even I have my limits.

(I swear I didn't erase any letters. This is how it was. Although, I'm sure whoever did was hoping for this kind of reaction. And for the record, I opted to not order any of the specials.)

Now, I may not be perfect, but I do know what I am. And I am a lady of sorts. I cross my legs when I wear skirts. I hold my pinky in the air when I sip tea. I don't pick my nose in public.

So, you see, I'm a bona fide "Lady" by my standards. Now, as a lady, I feel that there are many common understandings to what it means to be a "gentleman". Here's a list of gentleman-y things:

1. Opening doors. On buildings and cars.
2. Saying bless you.
3. Doesn't stare at your boobs.
4. Pulls out chairs.
5. Let's the girl order first.
6. Always offers to pay for dates.
7. Let's you pick the movie.
8. Doesn't fart in front of you.
9. Never wears socks with sandals.
10. Never uses pu$$y and tit$ in the same sentence.

You see, I'm not too far off from what is the common themes of being a gentleman. But you know what really bothers me as a lady? I hate, HATE when men bore us with stupid details. You know what I mean, bragging about their hair, their looks, their stylish clothes, their money... But there's a recent addition to the "guy who thinks he's a gentleman, but really isn't" pool of men. Let me explain...

You see, there's this creepy guy at work. If I ask for his help, he always tells me way too much about himself. Like the other day, I asked a simple question, and this was what I got before he answered me...

"I am wearing a blue silk shirt with white buttons. There are seven buttons, six of which are buttoned. The shirt has a breast pocket on the left side and the sleeves are rolled up. I have a Guess Waterpro watch on my left arm. I have on a pair of casual men’s slacks (tan in color) and a black leather belt. I am wearing grey socks and a pair of black dress shoes."

I mean, what's this guys problem? I just needed some help. A quick yes or no, would've been fine. But no. He had to tell me about what he was wearing in order to help me out. How creepy is that? I was like, thanks dude. I'm so glad you shared. I wanted to respond and let him know that silk shirts are way not hip, but I didn't want to encourage him anymore than necessary.

I'm done with men. A lady like me has to fend for herself out here in this crazy world with all these crazed gents. If you have any advice on how to fend them off, please feel free to let me know.

I have to admit, after seeing this sign, I was very interested in seeing what else was on the menu...

My sister is pregnant. And when I go visit her in God's Country--aka Provo--it seems that there is much higher ratio of pregnant woman vs non-pregnant women. It's like a sport. Spot the prego. It's similar to counting Starbucks locations in Seattle.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. With her being pregnant, she has to buy new clothes. I, being the best shopping buddy, have had the opportunity to go on shopping binges with her. Here's what I discovered about maternity clothes:

• No style - While pregnancy is a glorious and amazing event, the clothes that come with it are not.
• Over-priced - It's really a monopoly. Pregnant woman have no choice but to buy maternity wear and the people who design and sell it know this and take advantage of this knowledge.
• Practical - Although ugly, maternity clothes are quite functional. They grow with your body and your new lifestyle.

So, I want to focus a minute on maternity pants. As previously mentioned, they can be ugly and pricy. However, I have found that they give me quite the self esteem boost. I can buy an extra small in maternity pants and they still fit quite comfortable on my waist. The stretchy waist band makes for a nice fit throughout the day. So, if you eat too much, you don't feel like you are going to burst because your pants are too tight in the gut. Maternity pants also come with this comfort fit that goes over your entire belly. This comfort fit is quite advance, if you ask me. It looks like you are wearing regular jeans; however, the comfort fit hides the waist band underneath your bra so you don't see any lines! Brilliant!

As you can tell, I could keep going on and on about the benefits in these pants. I feel that there should be a movement allowing every woman to wear maternity pants. I know I would feel much better about myself if I could just wear them every day and never have to worry about having to buy new clothes when I gain weight. This is quite possibly, the best invention in women's clothing to date!

And every night has it's dawn...

Perfect on Paper (PoP) is the guy your parents want you to end up with. He has a degree, proving he can commit to finishing something when he started it. He has financial stability, proving he can be practical. He is generous. He doesn't like to be the center of attention but tries to get along with everyone in both of your lives. He does nice things for you, all the time. He is relationshippy. He likes you and thinks your great and doesn't have a problem expressing it.

At this point, I bet you're wondering why am I writing about this guy? My "adventures" in single life should be coming to an end. I bet you're thinking, I shouldn't complain. He's a catch! I should keep him around!

You're wrong.

Although PoP appears to be a great catch, he isn't. There is something to be said about someone who wears their neuroses on their shoulder. You know, you can see their craziness when you meet them?

You see, I'm more of the "what you see is what you get" type of person. I'm blunt. I tell it how I see it. And I usually appreciate that type of attitude in return.

So, back to PoP. He just seems too good to be true. Don't get me wrong. After getting out of a long relationship, I want nothing more to meet a nice guy that is a good match for me. And he is nice and thoughtful. But this guy definitely has his issues, they just haven't surfaced yet.

But he asks you to take him to a concert that you really want to go to. He's willing to pay for it, but you've already spent about $235 on the tickets yourself. He jokes about being a good date, if you choose to take him. Then he says this, "I like Mexican food, wings, beer, golf, TV, movies, pu$$y and tit$. If you take me to Coldplay and throw in the rest, it would be a good date. For me at least."

See. I told you he was too good to be true. Who wants to go out with a guy who can pack a punch like that in one email? Not me. Especially after knowing what he'll expect on a date. I mean, I like wings and beer, but Mexican at the same time? Talk about an upset stomach.

Oh, and the last two items are rather disturbing too. Especially since he used dollar signs for the s's. I mean, come on. We're grown ups, right? Nope. Not him. So, that's it. PoP is out the door.

But wings and beer sure do sound good right now. Mmmmm....

Karma sucks. And Justin Timberlake wisely sang that "what goes around, comes around." But what if nothing went around but something comes back around anyway? Confused yet? Well, let me explain.

On a break from a serious relationship, say you had a brief fling with another man. Nothing serious. Just a drunken kissing exchange at a party well over a year ago. No dates. No commitments.

Then you recently run into Fling Guy. And have a good time. You laughed, played volleyball, and generally got along really well. You were just happy that you both could be friends.

Turns out men and women can never be friends. Well, unless they're gay. Fling guy wasn't gay. So, he calls and expresses how interested he still is in you. You agree to go out on a date with him. And then he invites you out that same night. So, you think, hmmm, why not?

So, hypothetically, you go to meet up with him and some mutual friends. When you get there, he gives you the cold shoulder. You're confused. But here's the twist. He's brought another woman.

Now hypothetically, you have no real reason to be mad. You guys had nothing going. Just a drunken kissing exchange at a party well in the past. And heavy flirtation earlier in the day. So, although you're disappointed, you decide to let it go.

But after a few cocktails, you decide that a text message is appropriate to express that you are dissappointed because the woman he is with is way uglier than you. And she has no taste in clothes. In fact, it looks like she spent more money on that beer than her entire outfit. But that's beside the point, right?

Anyway, the text may have been a little over the line. But you receive a call the next day from Fling Guy. And he proceeds to tell you that he was really hurt that you never called him after the drunken kissing exchange. He really liked you and he felt really used on that fateful night.

At this point, I'm sure you're wondering where Revenge Guy comes in. This guy sounds like Fling Guy. Well, don't be confused. Let me tell you where the conversation went, hypothetically speaking.

Fling guy says, "I think part of me wanted to get back at you for you blowing me off." POOF! He's now Revenge Guy. He then proceeds to argue with you about the past and how hurt he was and that although your a cool chick, he doesn't know if he can get over it.

So, the moral of this story is don't hang out with Fling Guy ever again. It's just so much more fun remembering a fling than it is to hear someone actually say they want to get back at you for nothing more than a drunken kiss. You didn't even go on a single date with him. I mean, not that I know from personal experience. I'm just saying. In this story, I like Fling Guy way more.

I was required to acquire a food handlers permit for my job.

Mission: to learn how to handle food in a safe and friendly manner.

First, let me detail my job on an average day:

9:00 - Arrive to work. Log into computer.
9:13 -Go around and greet everyone on my team that is present.
9:32 - Take first break of the day.
9:47 - Check my teams satisfaction survey results
10:04 - Send out team updates
10:05 - Read emails
10:18 - Start responding to "urgent" emails.
10:59 - respond to any associate concerns.
12:12 - Play a quick game of foosball with Katie.
12:22 - Plan my lunch menu
12:29 - LUNCH!
1:14 - back to the grind, start monitoring associates phone calls.
2:57 - Play foosball with Ron, Katie, and Chow
3:11 - Return to desk. Deal with associate concerns.
4:17 - Read new emails.
4:19 - Respond to emails.
5:02 - Assist with more associate concerns.
5:57 - leave for the day.

I just wanted to illustrate my average day to help you understand why I had to get a food handlers permit. You see, the only food handling I did all day was eating my own lunch. I guess I might plan my lunch recklessly, so maybe I do need some advise on how to handle such a large task.

Hmmm. My company does do a lot for the associates and we serve food often. So, I guess they are very smart in requiring that we obtain the permit to ensure the safety of associates.

Plus, it makes me a much smarter food consumer. So, the ultimate lesson of the day, you ask?

Food Handling 101: Don't eat bad food and you won't get sick. And you should really avoid ingesting pooh at all costs. Avoid the Danger Zone when preparing food. Oh, and the terrorists planted salmonella in our tomatoes.

Did I learn something and become qualified to "handle" food? Yes. Did I get the cardboard certification? Yes. Will I ever store my meat above my "ready-to-eat" foods? No.

Mission Accomplished.

Of all the men in the world, I feel that I have had the most recent interaction with Retrospect Guy. You know him. We've all met someone like him. He lives by the motto, "Better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission."

So, this may sound like I'm some sort of control freak in a relationship. Maybe I am. But most likely I'm not. I just like to know what's going to happen rather than find out and be pissed off about it after the fact.

In fact, I think it's easier to talk to someone before you do something that you know is going to piss them off. Actually, why are you doing something that you know is going to piss someone off?

These are questions I would like to have answered. However, this is where Retrospect Guy comes into play.

This guy listens to your argument about why you feel that their approach to a situation is really not going to provide optimal results. Then they do it anyway and receive said unpleasant results. And then they agree with you after they have already, well, screwed up. So, they ask for forgiveness. In retrospect, they knew you were right. But they will never agree that you are right up front.

It's always hard to not forgive Retrospect Guy. Because he agrees with you. It's almost like when they tell you the stove is hot. And you touch it anyway. And then you agree that it is hot. He regrets what he did, but he had to do it anyway. Why couldn't he just listen to the logic in the first place?

Retrospect guy will always test his limits because there is a possibility that just once, you will be wrong and he will be right. And it appears that until his actions yield the results he wants, he will continue testing your limits.

So, here's my stand on Retrospect Guy. You suck! Starting thinking proactively about what your actions will produce.

I know that some of you were looking for some light-hearted story about men. Sorry. I had to get this one off my chest.

In my recent "single woman" adventures, I'm finding that the pool of men in the world hasn't really changed much since I went off the market in early '05.

I will begin this section with part of my weekend adventure. The Reuben Sandwich.

I went to a bar with some friends this weekend. I felt like finding a schmuck that would buy all of my drinks and expect nothing in return.

Mission: get someone to pay for all of my drinks.

After careful consideration and a lot of pointless small talk I met the sandwich.

Well, he wasn't really a sandwich, but he was a stout, African-American man named Reuben. Not to be confused with Reuben Stoddard, the famed winner of American Idol. But Reuben.

Reuben had just been dumped by his girlfriend. She needed time. He needed her. It was quite the sad story. And after I got him to purchase me about 5 different shots, I actually felt like I started to care about him. And then it struck me. He was named after a sandwich. So, in the middle of one of his rantings about his ex, I told him I really like Reuben sandwiches. And that I especially liked them with sauerkraut.

I proceeded to ask Reuben if he felt a connection with his namesake. Or if he was more popular when matched with sauerkraut. I laughed. He scowled. He told me that I was the reason he missed his ex-girlfriend.

Then he walked off abruptly.

Mission Accomplished!

I recently acquired a bird from a friend. This friend received a plant arrangement of interesting taste. I personally feel that this bird is the best part of the arrangement.

Meet Laurence D. Bird.

Laurence flew into my life abruptly. He sings songs to me. He encourages me with his 'Yays'. He is made of cork and toothpick, but to me he is made of gold.

I love Laurence.

(P.S. I owe Gatsby a shout out for creating such an awesome animation of my new feathered friend. Thanks Gats. You're the greatest!)

The term slumlord is a derogatory term for generally absentee landlords who attempt to maximize profit by minimizing spending on property maintenance, according to Wikipedia.

According to me, they are landlords that use the term "shit happens" when you address a legitimate concern to them.

Now, I'm not talking about your homophobic, pervert Mr. Roeper/Mr. Ferley type. I'm talking about the types of landlords that are young, never rented their house out before, have no people skills, and don't know how to maintain a property to a satisfactory level.

I'm not going into a personal assault on any actual person. I'm just saying. "Shit happens" is probably never a good response. Especially if a house could potentially burn down. While say, I'm sleeping in it. Hypothetically speaking.

So, hypothetically, although I don't live in a slum, I might have a "slumlord" when he says "shit happens" when I tell him about my concerns. Hypothetically speaking.

But maybe it's my fault for trusting a friends judgement about how great it would be to know our "slumlord" before we moved into his house. And if it is my fault, all I can say is, oh well. Shit happens.

This is the first official blog. Man, this is a lot more fun than I thought it would be!

I'm dedicating this first blog to all the people who have contributed to my blogging career. Here we go!

Thanks Gatsby for creating a blog so addicting it rivals KFC's chicken.

Thanks Pappadopolis for always having food in your teeth and writing some really meaningful pieces on your blog that made me think introspectively.

Thanks to Namo and John for sharing their lives with me!! I love looking at your pictures and updates!

Thanks Ron for teaching me more about adoption. Good luck!

Thanks Niki for killing that damn kitten. I'm sorry. I'm with Jess on this one.

Thanks Katie for posting that picture of me where I look like Quasimoto. That's what real friends are for.

Another thanks to Katie for creating this blog. I don't know where I would be without you or this blog.

Thanks to Bart Simpson (you know who you are) for teaching me what the cool kids like, i.e. Scions, M.I.A. and scarfs from American Apparrel. I'm so much hipper now that I know.

Thanks to Mustache 911 for teaching me about God's radio and how ignorant your mother is towards my peeps. This knowledge made me a better person.

Thanks Douchebaguette for all of the make-up tips. Not sure how that contributes, but it makes the world a less uglier place.

Thanks Georgie B. for all of the recipes. Not a cook, but looking at those really makes me want to be one.

Thanks to a dear old friend Johnny who put a blog up on his MySpace account totally bashing me. I don't have a MySpace account, so I found out all the ugliness about myself through third and fourth parties. He's not really my friend anymore.

Thanks to my ex-boyfriend who told me that blogging is for nerds! Joke is on you Douchebag!

Hmmmm... That's all I can come up with. If I left you out, it's not because I don't love you or your blog. I have flaws and I can't remember everyone all of the time. Anyway, thanks for embarking on this new journey with me. I hope I can entertain anyone who happens to stumble across this blog.