happy birthday.

When I was 11 years old, I committed four dates to memory:

March 14
May 6
October 22
November 17

There are a select number of people who will know what these dates are. If they're like me, they have found it impossible to un-learn what these dates are.

March 14 - Taylor Hanson's birthday
May 6 - Hanson Day (in Tulsa, Oklahoma... a mere 3 days after my birthday, mind you)
October 22 - Zac Hanson's birthday
November 17 - Isaac Hanson's birthday

I know. This is way embarrassing to admit. What's even more sad is that I don't even know my own dad's birthday. I mean, I know it's in July and somewhere between the 23 and 25, but as far as knowing the actual date? Forget about it. But you can bet your sweet potato that, upon seeing today's date, a little light bulb went off in my head and I said (to myself), "Zac Hanson is 24 today... why do I remember this, and how in the fuck did I get to be almost 24?" ... because I track my own age by celebrities, obviously.

Even though I've always loved my Hanson boys, I'm still shocked to see that little Zac went from this:

To this:


See what happens when you stick with something? You get results... tall, pretty results that pump out good songs and put on one hell of a good concert. And they try to do good things. I am embarrassed to know so many random, stupid, pointless facts about these guys, but I don't regret it one little bit. Because they keep my inner eleven-year-old alive. Even though I'm almost 24, I can listen to Middle of Nowhere and be as giddy as a kid.

So, Happy Birthday Zac Hanson. Thanks for keeping me young.

21 things.

The other day, and this could have been any day for this happens a lot, Amber and I were complaining about our love lives because this is what girls do. Sorry guys, no sweaty pillow fights in skimpy pajamas. No, we bitch about things and then eat something greasy and/or deep-fried. This is the way of the Woman, and I am sorry to squash any dreams you might have ever had about us.

We have both realized that we have officially reached the age where things like previous marriages and kids can come into play when talking about guys in our age group. And that's terrifying. I then told her about this Alanis Morissette song (and I will someday be able to spell Alanis' last name right, with the proper amount of r's and t's without looking it up, so help me God) called "21 Things I Want in a Lover". I'm not a huge fan of this song but I've always liked the idea behind it. The gist of the song is that she has a list of, you guessed it, 21 things she wants in a lover.

I remember stealing this list and making my own a few years ago. And it was full of silly things that I'm too embarrassed to even discuss now. In my defense, I was young and foolish, okay? I was naive and gullible and just didn't play know better. These days though, that 21 things list has been narrowed down to just a few criticals...

1 - No kids. I cannot handle any baby-momma drama. Plus, I don't do well with kids. They don't get sarcasm and therefore we have no use for each other.
2 - No previous marriage... the verdict is still out on drunken Vegas weddings because, like Phoebe on Friends says, getting married in Vegas doesn't mean that you're married everywhere, just in Vegas.
3 - No drugs. I'm not against people doing drugs, but I just don't want to date someone who does. I know this makes me a hypocrite. And all I have to say to that is, duh. Yeah, duh. I just went 1994 on your ass. Tomorrow, I travel to 1991 when I make a comment about being gagged with a spoon.
4 - No smoking. It kinda grosses me out to kiss a guy who smokes. Plus there's that constant cigarette smell and I just can't handle it, okay?

Then there's the basics about how he can't be a smug arrogant bastard who is mean and kicks puppies. But, seriously, the things like him like Wedding Crashers as much as me and willing to let me win at a game of H.O.R.S.E. every now and then (not to mention to have a love for UK basketball but, come on, I live in Kentucky... most boys bleed blue here and I would never be so foolish as to like a UofL fan in the first place) have kind of been put on the back burner just because I really can't handle the thought of dating a guy who has a kid.

This growing up business sucks.

Robbie: I remember this one time we were flying to the Grand Canyon and I had never been there before and Linda had, so you would think that she would give me the window seat, but she didn't... and not that that's a big deal, you know. It's just that there were a lot of little things like that. I know that sounds stupid...

Julia: Not at all. I think it's the little things that count.
- The Wedding Singer, 1998

the cutest shoes in the world.

I need a more interesting life. If not for myself, then for my blog.

Talk about a new low.

Seriously though, my life in the past few weeks has centered primarily around work and piecing together my Halloween costume. Oh, and trying to lose weight so that I don't look like a total heifer in my costume. Which, let me just share a little tale with y'all about Halloween costume sizing.

I got this cute little number at WalMart for my real Halloween costume (Marie Antoinette):



I got this at Goodwill for my work Halloween costume (Lucy):


They are (allegedly) the same size: 20.

Now, maybe I'm a little loco, but I think it's ridiculous that the Goodwill dress swallows me whole while I can barely breathe in the outfit from WalMart. Actually, when I do breathe in the one from WalMart the strings holding together the "corset" back rip a little. I'm still trying to figure out a way to prevent that from becoming a problem on Halloween after I've consumed a drink or seven. I solved the problem of the see-through too-short skirt by tracking down a slip and turning a pair of white leggings into faux-pantaloons.

I just want to know what in the hell type of measuring system the Halloween costume designers were using when sizing these costumes. I feel as if the dress from Goodwill is the correct size. At least, it's a lot damn closer than the costume from WalMart.

Oh, by the way, please ignore the avalanche of clothes in those pictures. I haven't done a respectable amount of laundry for a length of time that I'd rather not discuss. Also, let's not talk about how much time/money/energy I have exhausted in WalMart this Halloween season; it is, in the tradition of All Hallow's Eve, truly terrifying.

One thing WalMart didn't help me create (well, okay, I got the spray from there, and the bows came from the ugly tights in my Marie Antoinette costume, but the shoes are Kenneth Cole and the idea was all mine so, suck it, Walton) are my Marie Antoinette shoes that I want to wear everyday. Seriously, I want to wear them all the time. They are *that* cute. And, if you don't think so, then, in the words of Owen Wilson in Wedding Crashers, kindly leave.

who? me? couldn't be.

I have writer's block. But just on stories. Oh never fear, I can ramble on about nothing in my blog forever. I know, what a relief, right? Since it is a Monday and since I never do anything shameful, I thought a "Not Me Monday" was in order.

As soon as I got to work this morning, I didn't go straight to my Thunderbird sent box to see if that email got sent to my department head. And I definitely didn't do a fist pump at my desk when I learned that it did get sent to my Hotmail account (why it never made it to that account remains a mystery). But, please? Dancing in office chair? Come on, I much too mature for that.

The day continued on and I didn't narc on anyone, eat a scrumptious cheesecake/crumb cake hybrid faster than Jon Gosselin embarrasses himself, or swoon over the blue-eyed boy at Moe's. And I most certainly did not check my receipt from Moe's once I got home to see if his name showed up on it, nor did I attempt to search the name on Facebook. I am not a creeper like that. I totally respect a person's privacy and didn't mumble profanities over all the flippin' private profiles.

...

You know, I think the "Not Me Mondays" were made to be cute. Leave it to me to turn them into a snarky monstrosity.

oops.

On Friday, I had an idea for a story while I was at work and wanted to go ahead and get it on a Word document before I forgot it. It was less than a page, but I still wanted to email it to myself so I could add on to it over the weekend.

All well and good, right?

Well, it would be, but I sent it as an attachment to my Hotmail account, which begins with the letter 'c' and is saved in my email contacts on Thunderbird.

I also have the department head's email saved in my contacts. Her email also begins with the letter 'c'.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

I went to my Hotmail account today to download the page I wrote.

It's not there.

Fuck.

I haven't heard from the department head about this so maybe it just got stuck somewhere in the internet. That happens, right? Please, for the love of God, tell me it does. I do NOT want to have a conversation with the department head about this on Monday.

The only thing that really gets my mind off of this is watching the following video with the speakers on.

just call me a material girl.

It turns out that, when I'm the only person in my unit, I think that I'm invisible to the rest of the floor I work on. Because I done quite the chair dance to "Beast of Burden" by The Rolling Stones earlier.

We won't discuss the jig I did to "Party in the USA".

Also, let's not discuss the fact that I cannot get enough of that song. It's catchy, all right? I can't help that I want to throw my hands up and nod my head like yeah whenever I hear it. It's almost like a reflex. Or a twitch. It's definitely annoying like a twitch.

Since the floor's been quiet all day - it's fall break, students are gone, faculty is gone, and the staff was at a free brunch this morning for 2 hours; since I am not real staff, I was not invited so, fuck you DUC - I done what I do best when I've reached the point of not being able to go through one more subject search (which, by the way, I'm pretty sure we have more subjects about fish than education): I looked at shoes and vacation deals.


Just try to look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't give up your first born for these boots. If I wasn't so afraid of buying shoes off the internet (not because of the ick factor, but because I don't want to pay money for something that won't fit my Sasquatch foot), these would be getting delivered first class to my door.

Okay, fine, they would be standard shipped. But they would be on my feet so fast that the Lysol I sprayed in them wouldn't be dry yet. Then that would get into my bloodstream through my feet and I would die. But I would enjoy them every second leading up to my untimely death.

I feel that I should stress that I'm really not that materialistic. I just happen to like pretty things. And, when I have the money, I like to buy things. And, sure, sometimes I like to look at my belongings and just sigh over how much I enjoy having them around (Meagan and Amber can both attest to this since they've seen me go through my DVDs to make sure they're in proper alphabetical order and how I get that far-off look in my eyes when flipping through the complete series of Friends).

But, in all seriousness, I value the things that money can't buy more than anything else in the world. Like family and friends (though they can be heavily persuaded by money and gifts, which is why I try to buy my family and friends' love... seriously, buying people shit is my 'love language'... I took the quiz to confirm it) and my cat, who is easily won over with turkey. It's family and friends (and your cat) that keep you going, that keep you sane, and that help keep your feet on the ground.

And, since I just placed a bid on those boots, the ground will be thankful it has such stylish shoes gracing it.

"They're my "I-Don't-Need-a-Job, I-Don't-Need-My-Parents, I-Got-Great-Boots" boots!"
- Rachel, Friends, Season One, Episode One: "Pilot"

(Many thanks to http://www.jenaniston for allowing the option to right-click and save this image to use for my blog)

it's the great weight, charlie brown

You know what's sad? I rarely update this puppy. And what's odd is that I started putting together another blog that I will never update.

I might not even start it. Delete it before it gets out there because, like I told Amber, once I put it on the internet for God and everybody to see, then I actually have to stick with it. And my success rate with diets is not that stellar, which is quite obvious from my appearance. So, the weight loss blog? It's got a name and a profile, but that might be it.

Plus, I don't want you guys to know what I weigh. It's too depressing and, quite frankly, I haven't stepped on a scale in months because even I don't want to know what I weigh.

I've started eating healthier (okay, I started this on Friday and decided that Saturday and Sunday didn't really count because I was in Bardstown; things don't count in Bardstown) so, when my pants get loose, I'll step on a scale. Until then, forget it.

That's what my other blog was going to be about; my weight loss journey. But screw it. I can talk about that in here too. That way, I only have to put together one blog layout instead of two...

Not that I mind making layouts. I actually like having an excuse to dick around with PhotoPaint, even if the program is from 2000... I'm just now fully getting the hang of it.

In more fun (and major relief) news, I am 99% sure I am finished buying things for my Halloween costumes. Yes, I have two costumes since my real Halloween costume is not something I would be comfortable showing up to work in. Hell, it's not something I'm necessarily comfortable showing up anywhere in. Plus, it's itchy. So, a new costume was needed for the work party. And it's done. And my other costume is done. Now all I have to do is go get drunk.

...

Shit. NaNoWriMo starts the day after Halloween. Can I really be expected to crank out 1600+ words with a hangover?