Trial by Fire - Online Dating Edition, 1

As you all know, I've created an online dating profile on a popular website. (I knew this was going to be trouble.)

According to my legal counsel, (which I have put on retainer with soda and tater tots) , I have to say that all of the following ARE IMPRESSIONS ONLY. THESE ARE ONLY MY IMPRESSIONS. THESE ARE NOT FACTS OR ASSUMPTIONS. IMPRESSIONS ONLY.

The following pictures are pictures of the people that have 'winked' at me. REMEMBER: THESE ARE MY IMPRESSIONS ONLY. For serious folks. IMPRESSIONS ONLY and/or imagined internal dialogues. By no means are these actual conversations they've had with themselves. (I'm going straight to Hell.)

hey there hot stuff. "im a hugh football, basketball fan. i love college football, basketball. hang out with freinds." Actual quote in quotes.

"I rough talked that big-foot. told him to git. 'Git on out of here I sed'...'He had beautiful hair'," (If you haven't seen this video, it's hilarious.)

This guy is a hunter. This is the picture without the dead things in the background. Dead things in the background are only attractive when they've been coming after you and you feared for your life and Then jungle man comes leaping out of the woods to save you.

That's when dead things are hot.

Otherwise, they're creepy. Well at least to me, I think dead things are creepy. I'm sure there are plenty of acceptable women out there who enjoy dead things. And I AM NOT PASSING JUDGEMENT ON THEM. Not at all. It is my IMPRESSION that dead things are creepy.


I think this guy is having some internal distress. They say that babies smile when they have gas. He looks constipated here, but otherwise somewhat normal. Except for the fact that his entire picture oeuvre consists of this picture x32, just substituting a difference position of the camera.

Seriously? Pick a new pose or a new background, or here's a novel idea: Have SOMEONE ELSE take the picture(s).


So let's have some fun here. I'll let you blog readers, pick which one of these three to 'wink' back at. I'll give you until tomorrow (Wednesday) evening. The guy with the most votes wins.

We'll call them:

#1 - BigFoot (because I like the video, not because he resembles Bigfoot in any way)

#2 - Hunter Elf (because supposedly, I stress supposedly, he is really really short. I do not know that for a fact nor are claiming that being short is derogatory in any way.)

#3 - Kaopectate (because Kaopectate is supposedly good for constipation)

Edition 2 coming up shortly.

Moxy on the Move - Random Pictures

Soooo...This weekend was kind of crazy busy for me. So this MotM is going to be a few pictures that didn't make the original cut:

Moxy at the DeWalt display. MotM - Lowe's Home Improvement

Moxy in the toilet. MotM - Lowe's Home Improvement

This, for serious, may be my favorite Moxy picture. MotM - Pet Supplies Plus

Moxy with a deer, that is stuffed. MotM - Bass Pro Shop

Moxy in a lampshade. MotM - Hancock Fabrics

Moxy chilling by the grill (that you cannot see.) MotM - Nissen Building Pool.

I promise new a new Moxy on the Move this upcoming weekend! For serious!

Apparently, I've reached my lame threshold.

So today I did it. I took the plunge and created an online dating profile. Which was incredibly difficult. They want to know everything about you.

(It's very hard to be sarcastic and appealing at the same time. Very hard.)

Just so that everyone is on the same page I want to elucidate the reasons why I created an online dating profile:

I need blog fodder. And I kind of also need to have children at some point in my life.



But mostly I need blog fodder.

I know that you, blog readers, feel some kinship with my uterus, mostly because I talk about it all the time and how it's lonely, and pitiful, and drying up and withering away, but surely you do realize I'm just being dramatic. And by no means do I really feel that my uterus is drying up.

Nope, not at all.


No. Honestly I really don't think that.

I mean it's true that I do want kids someday and I'm starting to get a little anxious that I'm going to end up old and withered and alone, and then no one will really love because let's face it. There's not a lot going for me and I have to deal with what I've got and people don't like old people. They cuss at them when they drive, groan when they're in line behind them at the supermarket, and put them into pee-smelling retirement homes!

I CANNOT HANDLE THE PEE SMELL. I REALLY CANNOT DO IT. I HAVE TO FIND A HUSBAND AND NOW. I CAN'T GO TO ONE OF THOSE PLACES. I HAVE TO PUT MY UTERUS TO USE AND QUICKLY. MAYBE IF I JUST BUY A SMALL CHILD PEOPLE WILL THINK THAT I HAD IT AND I WONT END UP OLD AND ALONE AND WITHERED BECAUSE IT WILL BE A CUTE BABY AND PEOPLE LOVE CUTE BABIES. PEOPLE ARE DRAWN TO PEOPLE WITH CUTE BABIES AND THEN I CAN JUST WRANGLE A HUSBAND THAT WAY, HE'LL BE ALL LIKE

"Hey, where do you get that cute baby?"

And I can make up a story about how the baby's father died in some central-American conflict zone (Are there any central American conflict zones?) and technically I won't be lying and he'll be all like

"Damn that sucks. This child needs a father, do you want to marry me so I can raise this cute child and buy you pretty things?"

FOR THE LOVE OF PETE WHERE DO I BUY A CHILD AT?

An open letter to those who have external loci of control

Ahem. Because I'm not one to criticize without examining myself first, I'll admit I have character flaws. But at least I am self aware.

I know I'm lazy. I'm all about getting the maximum effect out of the least effort. In fact, sometimes it is amazing how lazy I am. In the mornings sometimes, when I wake up I consider actually peeing the bed because I don't want to get out of the bed to go pee. I've even researched getting a catheter for that very reason, (Well, okay that is creepy, and all I really did was ask a friend of mine in med school at Carolina if a doctor would put one in for that. He said no. So I'm still getting up to pee.) The point being is that I'm self aware. I realize that I obviously am a lazy bia.

It would be one thing if you were a religious fanatic. They at least believe the good things and bad things are out of their hands and are being divied amongst the believers as trials by fire or joyous rewards. But you, dear ones, you believe that only the good things are under your control. Whilst all the bad things are everyone else's fault.

I am not responsible for the way you respond to a situation. Only you can direct your actions and feelings. Yes, I could probably be a little less sarcastic but cut me some fucking slack here. I'm not doing this for my health. I don't sit around and fret and take the time to formulate these suggestions because I'm bored. Maybe it actually does mean that I'm concerned and I care? Let's focus on that.

I still support my earlier supposition that your life would be much better ran, if I was doing the running. (Before you point out the lack of activity in my love life let me remind you of this: I'm totally doing that on purpose. Duh.) But if you are going to run your own life then buck up and be responsible for your own self. If you get pissed off and flustered because you cannot handle what I'm saying then there are several things you can do: you can hang up, you can shut up or you can react the way you did. But do not then blame me because you can't get anything done in that state of mind.

Don't get me wrong, I understand that it is extremely difficult to control your reactions sometimes. Someone shoots your cheetah, you're liable to be pissed and shoot them back. But that doesn't make them responsible for being shot. You still shot them. You may be vindicated and/or correct in your response but still. You understand what I'm shooting for, (just to overuse a metaphor here) correct?

And as for you,

One of the hallmarks of being an adult is recognizing the consequences of your actions or inaction, as the case may be. Yes, sometimes bad shit does happen to people, randomly. But the majority of the time you bring it on yourself. You're twice my age and still have not grasped this idea. Thus I was running your life, when I was 10. I'm not even sure how to criticize you because doing that makes me a litte ashamed since I've essentially raised you. But I've made the same mistakes your own mother made. You still don't understand that you create your own circumstances; you've always been bailed out thus eliminating the connection between action and consequence. Hence you've developed an external locus of control. And somehow I'm not only the cause of the latest catastrophic storm in your life but also responsible for fixing it. But heaven forbid something go right, because that is never my doing. No. God blessed you.

Don't misunderstand. I'm positive that God does indeed bless you, but can I get a little credit when credit is due? It's obvious God loves you because you are the luckiest SOB on the planet, so He must have a purpose for you. I sometimes wonder if it's to aggravate the shit out of me though. Or maybe to teach me patience? (That has been my goal for the year. I keep praying for patience. I have none)

I'm glad we had this talk. Please do work on connecting your actions to your consequences. I'm not getting any younger and this isn't getting any easier.

Sincerely,
Your Daughter, Anna Gray

I'm too discombobulated to care.

Alright, I'm going to say it.

I'm tired of seeing oil covered pelicans.

Think of me what you will, but I have decided to no longer care.

Because honestly, what am I going to do save the birdies? Am I going down there to submerge them in dawn and freak them out? No. They'll die anyways. The oil they're covered in, they've most certainly ingested. Hence, their liver is shot and they're going to be dead shortly anyways. What am I going to do to change the situation? Quit driving? I'm American. It's my DNA to drive distances I could walk. (I am going to start making my commute via the bus next month. That should provide lots of blog fodder. For serious, the upcoming month's blogs should be ripe, lots of happenings to provide blog fodder. Two words: Online dating. eek!)

There are just some days that I simply cannot waste the emotional energy caring about things I can do nothing about. When I was 16, I gave myself a bleeding ulcer doing this. For serious, it was bad news bears. It's hard enough trying to be proactive about the things that I can do something about. Then you have to spend the time trying to figure out the difference between those things you can affect and the things you cannot.

Oh looky, yet another blog post about how I have control issues. It's good to see that I've had some personal growth in the last few months.

Horrible Homonyms: Hopefully Howard has helped himself.

I'm in a shit mood. I'm not sure why. I just am.

You know what that means? Yes, it is indeed time to criticize.

I'm done with stupid people. I am no longer providing you with a stage for your idiocy. I am going to start deleting people from my social media page who are stupid. This will probably mean that I end up with 7 "friends" on the FaceSpace but whatever. At least I won't be privy to your creative spelling and inventive diction.

For your benefit I am providing you a list of the the top seven (I was going to go with 10, but I got bored and started to youtube sesame street videos. They cheer me up.) things that prove to me that you are stupid:

1. Loose v lose. I see this one so often that at least once a week I question whether I indeed know the definitions of these individual words and look them up. (I understand that these aren't homonyms but they are my number #1 aggravation.)

Definitions (from m-w.com):
Loose - not rigidly fastened or securely attached
Lose - to miss from one's possession or from a customary or supposed place

Example:
Loose - Your teeth will be loose after I punch you in the face three times for being an idiot.
Lose - You will lose your teeth after I've resumed punching you and that fourth time, that'll do it. You will have no teeth.

2. They're, their, there. One's possessive, one is an adverb and one is a contraction. If you can't figure it out, I'll help you.

They're = contraction of They and are, as in: They're stupid fucks, obviously.
Their = possessive: Their stupid face. Their stupidity knows no limits.
There = adverb (Meaning where the bunny can run. For serious, that's how I remember what adverbs are.)

3. Dam and damn. For serious? You cannot even cuss correctly?

Dam's hold back water and create reservoirs. Mostly used for hydroelectric power. See Hoover Dam.
Damning someone is condemning them; the majority of time to hell. There are instances where damn is indeed a noun as well, meaning: a minimum amount or degree (as of care or consideration). I don't give a damn. He's not worth a damn.

Damn damn damn damn damn. (I just like saying damn. It's my second favorite naughty word, behind shit.)

4. Eunuchs and Unix. No one I know ever really makes this mistake. Mostly because the people I know that would talk about eunuchs aren't computer people. I just included it because for some reason, that I probably shouldn't mention, I find the thought of eunuchs hilarious. Unix, not so much.

5. Know and No.

U no is not an acceptable way of telling someone that they do indeed know a fact or someone.

Definitions:
Know = to have understanding of
No = a declarative negative, ie: Do you like grape jelly? No.

6. Pray and prey. If you are indeed the bible-thumper you say that you are, shouldn't you know (not no) the difference between these two?

You pray to the Lord so you are not prey for the devil. And zombies, sharks, tigers and chainsaw wielding maniacs.

7. Two, too and to. Most of these issues come from people not knowing when to use too and when to use to. I'll give you that the majority of stupid people I know can at least count to two.

Definitions:
Two - 1, 2. Two. A smashing demonstration.
To - a function word indicating movement or an action or condition suggestive of movement toward a place, person, or thing reached
Too - besides, also; also to an excessive degree.

Example:
Two birdies fly to the telephone wire that has too much electricity and thus they are now fried.

Now that I have elucidated the top seven homonyms that piss me off, please do make an effort. Also if you feel a need or are so compelled to print this out as a handy instruction sheet, please do. With a little bit of practice and a little know-how, you too can stay my friend on the FaceSpace.

Moxy on the Move - The Nissen Building Pool

Today Moxy decided she needed a day of fun in the sun! Woo hoo! Off we went to the roof of the Nissen building to hang out at the pool.

Moxy chillaxing on the steps of the pool.

Moxy loves her aviator sunglasses. We have matching pairs, because we're hip and happening kind of people. Well Moxy is a hip and happening uglydoll, I'm hip and happening people. Person really.

Moxy is life of the partay at the pool.

In true uglydoll nature she has all the best jokes. Truly, they're Hi-Lar-Ious. Hilarious. As you can see all of her friends think she's the cat's meow.

Moxy getting some sun.

True to her rebellious form, Moxy lays out without sunscreen! Oh the horror! Thankfully I don't think uglydolls can get skin cancer. No thymine dimers for Moxy. She is truly a lucky lucky uglydoll. Unfortunately she doesn't tan, which she is very sad about.

We had quite a wonderful day at the pool today! Hopefully we'll have many more pool days in the future as the first day of summer is tomorrow. Can't wait to see you there!

Excuse me, is that a baby or are you stopped up?

Please excuse the lewdity of the blog title but I've got a bone to pick.

I understand that you, fellow facebook patron are preggers. And I'm oh-so-excited that you've decided to extend your gene pool and make the world a pseudo-better place by deciding that your genes need replicating. Honestly, I'm tickled pink.

What I do not need to see however, is your 3-d, 2-d, 4-d or seventy-eleven-d ultrasound. I'll take your word that there is something growing in your uterus. Don't mistake me, pictures of pregnant women are precious. It's really a beautiful thing. WHEN I'M NOT SEEING YOUR INSIDES! You're essentially putting up naked pictures. I'm pretty sure that your uterus doesn't wear a hat (unless you're one of those weirdo's that still uses a cervical cap but then if you did that we wouldn't be seeing the thing growing inside of you, would we?)

Honestly, if your gall-bladder was inflamed are you going to put that ultrasound up? It's nearly the same thing. You've felt crappy for days on end, your abdomen is distended, you're puking your brains out and you finally realize why. Your gallbladder is pissed off! Where are all those ultrasounds? I would think figuring that out would be a happy occasion and cause for celebration? You no longer will be a raging bitch to anyone that mentions food.

And no, I'm not mentioning this because my uterus is lonely. I've come to terms with that. I've decided to just purchase children when I'm compelled to squirt one out. Or maybe just rent them.

But seriously, when I get the joyous experience of being in constant discomfort for 9 months I will not be putting up pictures of my insides. You'll see the baby once I've shat it from my womb and after it's been cleaned up a bit, and had time for it's little head to get rid of that cone shape. The people that will be dealing with me during the time of misery may see the ultrasound pictures, most namely my future-husband and my mother, who will most probably decide that it's a perfect time for that extended vacation to Mexico. For everyone else I'll get a sharpie and we can have weekly game nights were we can play "Preggers Pictionary!" The fun game where we draw the baby on my stomach and you guess whether it's baby, tumor or gas.

I dream stupid.

I know that should probably be stupidly but it loses the effect that I'm trying to portray. That normal people have normal dreams and I have stupid ones.

Last night I had a dream about a someone; it wasn't naughty or anything. It was just them finally realizing that I'm amazing, which I am, and smart and witty and funny, all of these things I am, and hot, yup, that too. And that I'm the one they should be with.

Nevermind the fact that I do not want to be with said person romantically, it's just that it's nice to see that they're finally coming to terms with the truth. But I will say it kind of ruined my whole day; not that I've had the best of days this week but I was hoping to move forward out of the funk. It just makes you think about someone you'd decided not to think about which causes all sorts of dumb ole' questions to come up and you get to re-hash all the crabby shit that helped you make the decision not to think about them in the first place or second or tertiary place, as the case may be.

But for serious I have stupid dreams. They're always stupid.

They have three categories:

1. The violent ones.
I seem to manifest my anger in my dreams and I'm usually beating the dog-snot out of someone. Especially when I have Nyquil, then they're just disturbing. Normally the dreams consist of me giving instructions to someone and them not doing what I've instructed and I become frustrated and 'express' my anger. Say I'm at a meeting on a call and the girl across the room will not shut up. And I've asked her twice now to please be quiet. It's important that you know I was polite. Then I just get fed up, put the person on the other end on hold, walk over and grab Chatty-Cathy by her ponytail, beat her face in until I physically feel her nose break beneath my fist (for serious, I physically felt it. Creeeeeeepy.), then calmy resume my phone call.

2. The out-of-control situations.
This is pretty much the same dream over and over and over. I'm driving my car and it won't slow down and I'm speeding through traffic dodging things blah blah snore. I never die or crash but I do wake up all jacked up and freaked out, which is odd because in the dream I'm extremely calm. Or I'm riding a rollercoaster that I'm not properly tucked into and I'm flopping around in the air, which is really bad for one's back, and other such scary sucky scenarios etc.

3. The father-issues dreams.
For the longest time I had a lot of turmoil in my feelings and opinions towards and of my father; as any normal daughter of a divorce. These always manifested themselves in my dreams. I had a recurring dream for years in which my father jumped off the top of a tall building, actually it was a hospital, and I jumped after him. Years and years I had this dream and I always woke up before we hit the bottom. Then one day I finally somewhat had it out with my dad and expressed my waning opinion of him and then later that week had the same dream. Except this time, I didn't jump off after him. I watched him fall and watched him hit the ground, he didn't splat apart or anything he just hit the ground and kind of stayed there and didn't move.

I tend to lump the dreams about men into this last category because I figure in some deep chasm of my sub-conscious all I really want is my daddy to love me or something and they're really standing in the place of him or something. Or because he imprinted such bad relationship examples on me. You pick. I'm being easy to get along with today.

I almost never dream of my mother and it is rare that I have a dream that does not have at least one aspect of the above categories. I have lots and lots of #2's. I haven't had any 1's in a long time and I guess we'll lump last night in with #3.

Pretty much I think if I sat down with Freud he'd conclude that I have some serious control issues and he'd pack me up in a rubber room.

See, stupid dreams. Night night.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Straight from the Horse's Mouth

I'm starting a new segment on the blog called Straight from the Horse's Mouth. it will consist of things my mother has said verbatim via text or what I've actually heard her say. It may or may not include the context in which it was said, mostly because I may or may not have gotten the context in which it was said. She has a tendency to start thinking aloud mid-diatribe. Fair warning. Some colorful language is ahead.

Actual statement to me #1:
I'm reading this book; it's all right, but talk about some low-rent mother-fuckers.

We had been conversing about degenerate peoples.

Overheard statement #1: (Speaking to Sara - who is a dog, mind you.)
I know it's hot but the air is going to come on any minute now, just lay down in front of the vent over there.


This next one requires a little back story. I'm staying @ Mom's because I'm in housing limbo and I texted her one evening, 6/11, to inform her I was staying at a friend's:

Text message #1 - verbatim:
Be careful come on home been watching drug deals across the street all day

Now I'll grant her that her neighborhood is declining quickly, but after speaking with her I found out that she had been talking to the neighborhood schizophrenic who told her the house across the street is a drug house, that morning. Convenient how she notices the drug deals after that? And nevermind the fact that there was really only one instance of activity that she considered to be a drug deal, it only lasted 5 minutes.

I probably texted her something generic back that reiterated what I said about not coming home and told her I loved her. She then responded with,

Text message #2 - verbatim:
Be very careful danger comes in many forms uo me 25 bucks i love u

Are you kidding me? My mother texted me to say that danger comes in many forms? Who says that? Who texts that? Come on Mom! It seems like she feels the need to impart pearls and gems of wisdom on me through texts because, Hell, I don't why she does it but she does. And it's wierd. This is almost as bad as the time she texted me to wear my bike helmet to protect against injury out of the blue. (I really wish I had kept that conversation.) For serious though, they have got to quit showing those PSA commercials; she'll run out of material sooner without those. I can't wait until I get the ones about how meth rots your teeth. She is also charging me rent to stay with her. That's what the 25 bucks is about.

Cheering up David Beckham.

First of all look at this picture: David being sad. :(

You see what happened was that he tore his ACL and can't play in the world cup. So he's sad. As exemplified by the picture. But still people bask in his amazingness! That one guy on the end is smiling and thinking to himself

"That David Beckham. He's got skills even when he's injured."

And that guy on his phone is probably texting his wife and telling her that his mind is about to implode from the sexiness with which David Beckham mopes. While the farthest man is simply content to be close to him.

I unfortunately missed his amazing sexiness on Saturday! I was excited to watch soccer and then I found out he wasn't playing. My interest waned from there. But then I hear that he was there! And in a suit! Jesus, WHY MUST YOU CURSE ME???

(You can't see me but I'm totally shaking my fist at God. Kind of like how the old man up the street from my mom waves at him. God, not David Beckham.)

So I have decided to formulate a list of things that I would do to cheer up David Beckham:

1. I would make him pecan pie. I'm Southern and I respond to all emotions by cooking. You're happy, I cook. You're sad, I cook. We're celebrating the torture of a really nice guy, that's when we Southerners really throw down. Actually, if David Beckham showed up at my door and wanted me to cook him pork brains and eggs, you'd see me chasing a pig through downtown Winston with a shotgun or a tenderizing mallet. And I love pigs.

2. Well I've run out of things that I can mention. I thought I could formulate a list that wouldn't include any naughty-bits but right now they seem to be overwhelming my creative faculties. This isn't that kind of blog, so we'll just skip ahead.

3. I would take him shopping! He's married to Posh (A sham marriage at best. I even doubt the validity and legality of it.) so he must love to shop! We would go and pick out curtains and accenting throw pillows! And then onto shoes!

Wait, that would make me happy. . . .

Anyways, the point here is that David Beckham is sad and I think that I, Anna Gray _____, have the appropriate skill set to make him happy. While I cannot repair his ACL I can do all that I can to ensure a rapid and speedy recovery.

I could get it done even faster if he was to do it naked. wink wink*


* - Get your mind out of the gutter. I told you this wasn't that kind of blog. While those things may be true, they'll most certainly not be mentioned. I was merely insinuating that if he was to lounge around my house naked whilst recuperating, I might be motivated to do all of the things I have listed at a faster pace, along with some of the things that I've been putting off: Grad school, sit ups, writing the next great American novel, etc. A naked David Beckham truly is a good motivational tool. Maybe that company in China that has to wrap the stairwells in mesh so people will quit offing themselves should take this into consideration. After seeing David Beckham and realizing that he wears clothes, meaning at some point in time he takes them off, has reduced my willingness to end my own life to about zilch. I like to remain hopeful.

Moxy on the Move - Hancock Fabrics

Off we were to find fabric for curtains. Our new abode needs curtains.

Moxy picking out fabric.

Unfortunately, while this is a lovely matching fabric for a particular uglydoll, it is not what we were looking for. We're looking for yellow fabrics to match our new Crate and Barrel duvet. I suppose this is what happens when you let an uglydoll pick out fabric.

More Moxy like fabric.

It's a fabric store, what other exciting images were you expecting exactly?

Picking out curtain tiebacks and tassels.

Moxy was quite perplexed as to what exactly these tassels and curtain ties were for. I explained to her that while some people use them as belts (For serious. I saw a woman one day using one as a belt, with the tassel and everything.) they are used to hold back your curtains so that light can be let in. I then explained to Moxy that we won't be purchasing any tassels because I think they're pretty hideous. She was of the opposite opinion. Clearly.

We never did find what we were looking for but when do we ever find what we're looking for in these trips? Pretty much never. Although I suppose it could be said that the majority of the time we don't have a goal. Anyway, see you next Saturday for the next Moxy on the Move!

This one time, when I had Ebola...

So I read today that they've been able to cure Ebola in Chinese rhesus macaques and it made me remember the time when I had Ebola.

Obviously I didn't really have Ebola because I'm still sitting up taking air. 90% of the people that contract the Zaire strain of the Ebola virus die. And I am most certainly not lucky enough to be in the 10% that survives. Although I guess you could make a point for my healthy immune system and proper nutrition because I don't live in a third world country that it may lend an advantage to me to survive the virus but that isn't the point. Here is the story:

Imagine that swimmy-squiggly-shimmery stuff that happens when you have a flashback. It would go here. Right here. --->

I am in my junior year in high school and somehow I have managed to contract E coli., Escherichia Coli. The pathogenic kind. Extreme gastrointestinal distress ensues. For serious. It was baaaaaad.

Being the good student that I was at that time (Stop chuckling. At one point in my life I was actually a dedicated person to something besides naptime. Really? There is no real need to slap your knee. It's not that funny.) I called my BFF, JRR, and asked if he would be oh so kind to inform our AP English teacher (Yes, at one point in my life I was intelligent as well.) that I was sick and if he could please get my work that would be great. Actually at the time I don't think we were all best friends forever, I think we may have just been "Hey, you're pretty cool because you want to kill that dumb bitch in the front row who asks all the inane questions and pisses our 'Oh-so-generous-but-slightly-evil' AP English teacher off." I guess that would be: HYPCBYWTKTDBITFRWAATIQAPOAETO. Plus we sat beside each other so that made things easier. It wasn't until a year or two later that I realized his true genius in his ability to cyber-stalk hot boys. Then we became BFF.

A few days go by and I recuperate and drag myself back into school. Groan. Even then I hated it. I just went for the ego boost. Seriously, I was kind of a big deal.

I show up to AP English and our teacher, Mrs. Oh-so-generous-but-slightly-evil, (Seriously, she was. Not only did she make us read Walden, which I didn't. She tested us on it. Guh. And it wasn't an easy test like: What is Thoreau's deal? What grass is he growing in the back of that moth infested cabin and smoking? The test consisted of questions like: Please check all the animals there were in Chapter 3. The woman should have graduated from Cornell with a degree in Ornithology. Then she listed about 100 species of birds, lesser mammals and bugs. Come on!) has a very strange look on her face. She proceeds on with class.

After class she calls me over, and I saunter over to her and we have an exchange that goes something like this:

Mrs. OSGBSE: "Anna, you're back!"

Me: "Yes, I am. I'm feeling much better."

Mrs. OSGBSE: "Anna, you're BACK!"

Me: "Yes, it was kind of touch and go there for a little while but I've recovered. I'm sure I'll have no problems putting the weight back on."

Mrs. OSGBSE: "ARE YOU OKAY?"

Me: "Do I still look pale or something? I know the flaccid look isn't exactly in right now but I'll eat some beef and drink some gatorade and my complexion will pink right back up."

Mrs. OSGBSE: "Are you sure you're feeling okay? You aren't contagious, ARE YOU?"

Me: "I'm not serving you raw meat am I?.........No. I'm not contagious. I mean I washed my hands when I left the bathroom and it's not a sneezy-type airborne contagion."

Mrs. OSGBE: "YOU'RE SURE?"

Me: "Well I won't have a biology degree for 6 more years but relatively, yes I'm sure. E Coli is a nasty bug but you can live through it. I'm not an immunocompromised old person or a 3-yr old, so I'm good."

Mrs. OSGBE: "E Coli?"

Me: "Yes, E Coli. I had E Coli. Didn't JRR tell you?"

She begins to cackle. It was sort of creepy. Mostly because it went on and on and on and on.

Still laughing. But she finally manages to slow down enough to breathily say,

Mrs. OSGBE: "He told me you had Ebola.....I was wondering why you wanted your assignments."

See the humor there? If I had Ebola I would have been dead. And if I was dead it wouldn't matter if I would have read Their Eyes Are Watching God, because I would have first hand experience of eyes watching God, because they would have been mine.

Shut up. I could actually go to Heaven. I do volunteer at the homeless shelter and stuff.

Seriously, Shut up.

Dear Lord, Please give me a sign. or something or other

This morning on my way to work I saw a giant tennis ball in the back of some older gentleman's pickup truck. I'm not sure if you've ever had the experience of making your morning commute and noticing something strange. You have a moment of fuzzy comprehension because you aren't 100% lucid yet. You question the validity of the signals that your brain is receiving.

Well, I do that even when I'm totally awake. There are some days that I'm just a few bricks shy of a load if you catch my drift.

Getting back to the point, it was a giant tennis ball.

I mean really giant. It had to have a radius of at least 2.5 ft! It was huge! Humongous!

Consequently, where does a person purchase such a thing? Is there an outlet for over-sized sports equipment? Wait, who do I kid? He probably got it at the JR's. They have everything. Seriously, they do. I'm not kidding. Think of something that you have a hard time finding. Go ahead. I'll wait. Call JR's and I bet you a dollar they have it.

I'm off topic again. I told you I have these days. They sometimes include behavior that borders on dissociative identity disorder. Like having multiple voices within one conversation. Example behavior here: or actually just previous, before the colon. You understand.

As exciting as the tennis ball was I began to ponder the meaning of why I saw that tennis ball. I figure that the Lord sometimes shows me signs but I'm not exactly proficient at interpreting these signs. Or hell, even recognizing them. Call it signs from the Lord, intuition, instinct or whatever; I spend the majority of my life hurrying to get somewhere and don't really slow down to listen. Needless to say this normally results in my shoving my foot in my mouth or some other catastrophic happening of which I am forced to slow-down and deal with. I'm impatient as hell.

Now what sign a giant tennis ball would be is beside me but I do suppose it could have just been a giant tennis ball. Highly unlikely. Or well it could be likely. Seeing as how I did not put the giant tennis ball in my path I'm not sure of it's intentions. But if the Lord came to Moses as a burning bush surely tennis balls have to mean something in the overall scheme of things.

Here is a list of things that I have decided a giant tennis ball could mean:

1. Get your fat ass up and play some tennis. And drop that biscuit.
2. That I've been chosen to lead my people to the promise land. In which case, pack up ya'll, we're going to to Taco Bell and the ABC store.
3. God is pissed about Serena William's fashion line. (Seriously, that's some tacky shit. I would be pissed if I was God. I'm pissed and I'm not even a major deity.)
4. Fat people shouldn't ride in the beds of pickup trucks unless they're properly strapped down. I'm sure that wide sheets of flab can be construed as a sail or an air foil and cause liftoff. See Bernoulli's principle.

OOOOOOOOOOOOH! I KNOW! I KNOW!
5. My next husband will be a tennis pro.

Maybe I should take tennis lessons...

I have to go now.

Whatever it is that you think I'm doing I am most certainly not purchasing ace bandages for tennis elbow.

Moxy on the Move - Cracker Barrel

Moxy is a cantankerous uglydoll and demanded that I take her to dinner. She gave me some line about how I'm ashamed of her and won't take her her places. Blah blah blah. I then showed her the blog.

She still demanded to go to dinner. So we went to the Cracker Barrel.

Moxy waiting for the proverbial dinner bell.

Of course we had to wait. You always have to wait at Cracker Barrel. Although they said 15 minutes and we waited about 3 minutes. So no complaints there.

Moxy in the candy.

Who knows exactly what flavors uglydolls are but Moxy is definitely worth more than 15 cents. I'm guessing a mix of sour apple and blueberry.I suppose she doesn't possess the proper camouflage skills to blend in with the candy.

Moxy picking out what she wants to eat.

Try as she might, Moxy cannot read. And the fit that ensued was a sight to behold.

She thought there should be pictures representative of the food. We ended up with country ham and green beans. The both of us share a love for all things salty and let's face it, it's country ham. Everybody likes country ham. If you happen to be one of those that don't...

Then you should go back to Canadia. Where they have their own brand of ham.

See you next Saturday!

Things you think when you're bored at work...

Apparently at some point last week whilst listening to my voicemails I pushed a button that somehow slowed down the speed at which I hear said voicemail messages.

Now it sounds as if everyone leaving me a message is intoxicated. Beyond intoxicated, full on drunk. At first I just assumed that maybe our department secretary was a little hungover. Not that I've ever seen her hung over but she seems like the hip partying type, and I'm not one to judge (Shut up. I can hear you.) so I just assumed as much. But then someone else left me a voicemail and they sounded drunk too.

Subsequently, I wondered if there was a biology department kegger that I was missing out on, I do so enjoy the random office kegger (Not there are many office keggers here at the university. Actually I don't think that there have been any campus-supported office type keggers to my knowledge. Supposedly the Christmas parties here in the department used to get a little rowdy back in the day, but these days it's pretty hum-drum normal stuff.) Then I thought that maybe I had a brain tumor. That maybe that worm in my head wasn't really a worm but a slow growing brain tumor affecting the speech recognition part of my brain, which happens to be in Broca's area, frontal lobe and such. I decided that was unlikely. Then I thought...

Am I drunk?

I don't remember drinking anything this morning.

Maybe my apple juice has fermented?

But it tasted okay...

Internal dialogues aside I then correctly asserted that it was my phone. Actually it was a co-worker who pointed that out to me. I had quietly questioned if I was being left out of some amazing biology department bender, and amongst the cackling that ensued it came to be that this department is waaaaaaay to stodgy to have any kind of fun, much less organize benders. That kind of fun is reserved for departments that are creative and encourage their employees to express themselves freely and openly. Granted the dress code here has become rather lax, but I suppose the department still isn't that fun. Our definition of fun is ordering from Olive Garden for the beginning of the school year faculty/staff meeting and going around the room sharing what everyone did that summer. Even though it is obvious that no one really cares.

And now I really hate listening to my voicemail because it just reminds me that I'm at work. When I could, or should really, be at the pool polishing off a cocktail, or several. I can't figure out how to get it back to normal speed and my luck is that I will push the wrong button and then everyone will sound like Alvin from The Chipmunks. I can only imagine what I'll think then.

Moxy on the Move - Dance Recital

So sorry for missing last week but Moxy went two places this week so hopefully that will make up for the missing Moxy on the Move.

This week Moxy went to her very dear friend's dance recital. She was all abuzz with excitement as she had never seen much dancing.

Moxy patiently awaiting the beginning of the show!

Moxy's favorite dance by far was the 5-yr old group doing the hammer dance. It was the most brilliant thing ever. But very unappreciated. Seriously, it should have brought the house down yet it did not. So Moxy and I went on a search for one of these children to abscond with and make do the hammer dance for us at will.

Moxy on the stage.

We never did find one of those kids so we settled for a picture of Moxy on stage. Moxy was a little blue. Then we realized that the orchestra pit had dropped and this added a great amount of drama to the picture! Oh my! What if Moxy had fallen in? But alas she is an uglydoll with a sturdy frame and thus survived her treacherous walk on the ledge.

Moxy with a dance recital poster.

This was after Moxy's dear friend's awesome performance! Way to go CMW! She did wonderfully. Her performance as a zombie in the Thriller rendition was amazing. All in all, Moxy had a very good time at the dance recital and hopefully she has some new career aspirations!

Moxy's adventure to Cracker Barrel is coming shortly so be on the lookout!

Just another way fairy tales stick it to you.

So I'm listening to my friend Jess talk about her show that she designed for the local theater. It's loosely based on the Princess and the Pea.

Then I started thinking. What exactly is it about noticing a lump in your bed that qualifies you as a princess? It is just another way that Western civilization imbibes girls with impossible notions. Honestly, how are you going to train yourself to notice that there is a pea in your bed? Shit, I'm doing well to notice that there is someone else in the bed with me, let alone small inanimate objects. And what exactly about there being a pea in the bed and you noticing it makes you a princess? That just says "Hello there little children, you should be a spoiled bitch of a woman when you grow up." (Even though all of the other girls in the tale are spoiled biatches. I suppose the moral of that story is that you just cannot get away from them.)

I'm telling you, they're all like that. Little Red Riding Hood is the story of a prostitute and a pimp. Hello....Red cape, red shoes, walking down the lane by "herself." Then in the end she gets saved from her life of immodesty and her pimp, the Big Bad Wolf, by a lumberjack? Right. That's something we need to teach our daughters. "There is always a way out baby. You just need somebody to pop a cap in your pimp's bitch ass. Or carve that motherfucker up with an axe, one. Gurl, I'm telling you. Find you a man with a job."

Snow White? Really? "Yeah boo. Go live with 7 men. Just make sure them boyz gots a job is all I'm saying. Don't be durrin all the cookin and cleaning for them folks if they don't be paying for yo' upkeep. You gots to get your hair did and shit. Plus they gots that mine full of that ice. They better be puttin' some bling on it."

Pinocchio? Well if you can't see that one is a raunchy metaphor for the homogays then I can't help you. Seriously, his phallic nose gets bigger when he lies? Or is it when he is talking to his little friend? Who just happens to be male?

And even though that Prince Charming metaphor is played out, let me add another level of analyzation to the mix. This is the way that a male dominated society ingrains the notion that there is "someone out there for you" and guarantees your monogamy at the same time. Right. You aren't going to go sleep around because what if you meet Prince Charming? The Prince don't want no ho neither. So your ass is stuck, like Chuck. (I'm not really sure who Chuck is in this scenario.)

"You'll meet him one day. I know it. Just be patient. Once you stop looking..."

I swear to the Lord, if I have to hear that one more time I'm going to personally start using that shotgun I meant to buy last week at the gun show. (You thought you were going to make it through an entire blog post without me whining about being alone. Except I'm not really whining about that part. I'm threatening your life if you mention the idea of a soulmate.) How exactly does a person stop looking? That would be difficult because to cease and desist looking would mean that you had to be looking in the first place, which is clearly the opposite goal of the current objective. I'm supposed to actively stop looking, IE I must be looking to begin with so that I can stop. My life would be much easier if I wasn't convinced at the ripe old age of 4 that someone was going to save me from my life. And wasn't trained to feel guilty and worthless, don't forget that one, that I'm in my late 20's and single. Even though, statistically, that is the best time to get married because by this point I've supposedly hammered out all of my emotional issues. (Really? I heard you snicker. In fact I heard all of you snicker. If collective snickering were a sport you people would win. Or at least medal.)

Just something to ponder. Courtesy of moi.

Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

I am having a shit day, compounded by the fact that apparently there was a scheduled monsoon that I was unaware of. So I'm stuck at the gym. I could be at the bar. Drinking. But I'm sitting at the gym, smelly and sweaty, watching it rain.

Correction. Watching it pour.

The gym has no water today. Because there is a leak in the main line. And they still made me buy a water. Where is the logic in that? So that's why I'm sweaty. I'm smelly because I'm sweaty. I was going to shower before I went to dinner with my friend but there is no water. So then I decided I would go and have a drink to waste the time. And now 4th street is a working model of the Colorado River. Maybe they could damn it up and get some power? (Seriously, why do I not get paid for these ideas? They're money makers for sure.)

Okay. So I meandered out into the deluge and are/am (I'm never sure of the correct verb tense, I mean I am only one person but it's hard to figure out verb tenses sometimes) soaking wet. Seriously. I dis-robed in my car and put on my ratty Wake sweatshirt. So now I'm at Olde Winston Social Club having a beer. I'm doing a little better. Okay. Lots better. Well not that much. I've only had half of it at this point. But I expect to have a completely better outlook by the end of it. Whoever said alcohol can't bring you happiness was obviously high on quaaludes.

Normally I ascribe to a "you bring it on yourself" mentality. But some days life just hands you shit. Today is that day.

Thank you life for shitting on me.

For example: no water at the gym, then there was a fire drill during spin class, the monsoon season is upon us. And we're not going to mention the fiasco at work. Needless to say that my faith in people has once again been affirmed.

People are fucking lame as shit. Lam-o-zoids.


So I'm going to drink my beer because I'm soaking wet and I really like beer. And Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.