What I Could Have Said

Dear Sister of My Ex-Boyfriend,

Thank you for your kind words. You were always lovely towards me. As for your brother, I am sorry that he spontaneously turned into a complete and total crazy ass wank-tard who married a dirty vagina (vah-JIE-nah).

I sincerely hope that someday he decides to contact his family again.

At that point, I sincerely hope you decide to shun him for being a bastard-face.

That Girl Who Isn't Bitter


The More You Know

So I learned some new things this weekend!

I bought a book at a thrift shop that was published in the 80's. It's called "What's Happening to My Body? A Guide for Girls" Oh yeah. And there are drawings.

I'm a little concerned that when my egg is released that it looks like a hairy eyeball exploding out of a potato. But hey...that's science my friend.

I also appreciate the handy-dandy pronunciation guide they provided throughout the book. I mean, how else would I know how to pronounce these tricky words? Now it's clear. Thank you.


I love learning.


Oh Don't You Remember...

I have two songs stuck in my head today. From the lyrics, you might think that I was feeling blue, but for me these songs remind me of walks with my grandma, talent shows with my cousins, car rides with my parents and childhood in general.

The words are downright depressing, almost laughable even. In fact, my dad always teases my grandma about making them up. Then one year she found an entire book of these sad children's songs. I'll have to ask her what the book is called, or at least what time period these songs originated from.

I fully intend to pass them along to my someday children. Let them enjoy being the quirky kid on the playground singing lilting tunes with morbid poetry.

First...a little ditty about friendship...

Once there lived side by side
Two little girls
Used to dress just alike
Hair done in curls
Blue gingham pinafores
Stockings of red
And a sweet bonnet tied
On each pretty head

School days are over
Secrets they tell
As they go hand in hand
Down by the dell

One day a quarrel rose!
Hot tears were shed
"I don't wanna play in YOUR yard!"
And the other said

"I don't wanna play in YOUR yard
I don't like you anymore
You'll be sorry when you see me
Sliding down my cellar door

You can't holler down my rain barrel
You can't climb my apple tree!
I don't wanna play in YOUR yard
If you can't be good to me!"

(we always added a VERY whiney "WAH" at the end.)

And now....a nice song about summer time and babies!

Oh don't you remember a long time ago
Two babes in the woods
Their names I don't know
Were stolen away
On a bright summer's day
And lost in the woods
I've heard people say

And when it was night
So sad was their plight
The stars did not shine
The moon gave no light
They sobbed and they sighed
And they pitifully cried
Poor babes in the woods
They laid down and died

And when they were dead
The robins so red
Took strawberry leaves
And over them spread
And sang them a song
The whole night long
Poor babes in the woods
Poor babes in the woods

Nice! I really do love both of these little songs, but like I said...I associate them with feeling connected to my family rather then the crankiness and death that they seem to actually be about. Hmmm....


Word Up

So I had a discussion the other day with my BFF, Yvanka. She shared with me that she hates the word "body." It gives her the heebily-jeebilies. She had a whole story about why - which was pretty funny- but I'll let her tell it if she so chooses. In the meantime, I want to know what words make you cringe and squirm. "Cringe" and "squirm" perhaps? And....GO!

Oh....p.s. I'm grossed out by the word "sensual."**Shudder**


People....People Who Need Alone Time

I'm not a hermit or anything. I just reenergize best under conditions that lack others. This is what being introverted is truly about. I'm not particularly shy or socially awkward. What it boils down to is that I hate people. No....not you, personally...but PEOPLE.

For me, I know that it is time for this glitter paint pony to gallop on back to her personal stall when at the grocery store I get the intense urge to scream "STOP LOOKING AT ME!" and ram my fellow shoppers with my cart. Generally, people don't respond well to this.

I really enjoy spending time with my family and friends. I really enjoy my job which is mostly customer service. But then I have to go home, lock the doors, put on my jammie pants and be ALONE.

Are you picturing me in the dark, holed up in the fetal position wearing a tin foil hat? Well, stop it please. That's not a very flattering look.

Usually these moods lead me to normal, solitary activities like reading or spaz-dancing, or napping.

Cuz that's just it...people completely exhaust me. They talk and they move and they expect things. It all makes me very tired. Don't you just need those times when nobody is looking at you or wanting anything from you? Even if they ask nicely and even if you want to help them, it's still outside of yourself, and at least for me, it zaps my life's essence after awhile.

That's what I'll scream next time. "STOP ZAPPING MY LIFE'S ESSENCE!Oh..also...what aisle for tin foil?"

Funny Soup for the Soul


Worst Confession Of All

I teared up last night watching a marathon of Tori and Dean: Inn Love. Their love is just SO DAMN BEAUTIFUL!! And I am hormonal.


Confessions Part Deux

5. I like to try and solve all of the world's problems while in the shower, however this becomes a distracting pasttime, as on more than one occasion I have entered the world with one shaven and one unshaven armpit. All in the name of world peace.

6. I purchase the new issue of People magazine at the grocery store every Friday knowing full well that a subscription would save me money. I have no intention of changing this behavior.

7. I skip words and sometimes say "blah blah blah watermelon whatever" during the Lord's Prayer. I only attend church for the paycheck. (Yikes, that was a pretty bad one!)

8. I spontaneously cry when others discuss their own deaths or funerals.

9. I like to dance along when watching Footloose, Flash Dance, or Center Stage, pretending that I don't look like a total spaz, but rather EXACTLY like the characters in the movie. Sometimes I even feel annoyed that they didn't cast me in the part.



1. When I was little I was always afraid that someone was hiding behind the shower curtain. I still pull it back every time I use the restroom. Just in case.

2. Sometimes I take pictures of myself pretending to be asleep so that I can see what I look like and try to look cuter.

3. I've always loved eating Pringles with Easy Cheese. And I ALWAYS will.

4. I feel safer if I sit on the bathroom counter to brush my teeth because of all the spiders, snakes and rats I imagine hiding under the ledge by my feet.


Friends to the End.

As I'm sitting here waiting to be inspired by the blogging faerie, I have a 36 pound blob of sweet puddin' curled up next to me pretending to be a dog. I'm pretty sure she's a 3 way mixed breed of puddin', piglet, and jack russell terrier. She sits upright to protect me from invisible dangers, but fights to keep her eyes open which is just plain adorable. Her butt always has to be right against my leg.

I think I'm going to start showing my loyalty to my friends by doing the same thing. "What?! I just want to feel close to you!"



I was at an event last night that gave me the opportunity to have a brilliant exchange with a woman named Ruthie.

This woman is the kind of 84 that looks 64 and that you just know was movie star glamorous at 24. A complete and total kick in the pants.

The evening started with the usual greetings, compliments on outfit choices, offers of adult beverages, but requests of plain water, etc.

I quickly realized my mistake. At around the third telling of the same story (granted, to different people...but still) and a tangent into the Great Depression ("You're too young to know about that") I remedied the situation with a nice glass of wine. By glass two I was discussing colostomy bags with the best of them.

Others came and went and the evening padded along. I sat staring at the variety of dips displayed across the table and politely refused, saying "Thank you, but honestly...I'm stuffed." Ruthie's eyes widened. "If ever you go to Australia, you should NEVER say that." Playing the doe-eyed innocent, I asked "Why? What does that mean?" At first she avoided the full answer by saying "Oh...it's not good."

Knowing full well what it meant, but being made of evil and heathenism, I told her to whisper the translation in my ear.

"Well...It starts with an F and it means fucked."




I dreamt last night that Yvanka: Magic Queen of the Universe hot glued dozens of knick knacks to my legs (which I somehow didn't feel while sleeping) and then ripped them off like some kind of ridiculous wax job. I was really pissed. So pissed in fact that I went completely insane and roamed the streets with my ruined legs cursing her name, directly resulting in her inability to ever become an accredited spa technician. Let that be a warning to you Yvanka!


Super Sized Eww.

Okay...what the hell people?!

I was at work doing a bit of price comparison research on some items we are thinking of buying before the end of the fiscal year. When stocking up on year-long essentials of basically any kind it is natural to think one thing: Bulk Purchasing. And who is the Bulk Merchandising Queen of America? COSTCO of course.

Do you need 45 rolls of extra soft, quilted, aloe-scented toilet paper? What about an economy pack of your favorite dishwashing detergent that will last you the rest of your natural life? Hey! Over here! I found that box of 87 croissants that are sure to go stale by the time I load them into my SUV!

But wait! There's more! Didn't your uncle just die? Well, you're in luck! Just shove your cart on down to Aisle 115A (just past the giant mayonnaise and the 3 ton cans of tuna) and purchase a COSTCO Casket.

At COSTCO we know you lead a busy life. Your growing family needs that restaurant-sized box of Hamburger Helper and lifetime supply of Q-tips. But a "growing family" inevitably means a "dying family." That's why COSCTO is here to provide you with all of life....and death's necessities at a low low price. Visit our exclusive Funeral Department for styles and pricing options.

p.s. Don't forget! Spice up that downer of a wake! We do party platters!


The Decapitation of Mr. Heart

Anyone else remember the Heart Family? Fake Barbies with matchy-matcherson red velvet and white lace outfits. I loved that family. Mrs. Heart was much more elegant than Barbie. I named her Rebecca. Only a Rebecca could wear that shade of "classy lady" red lipstick and take care of her two clearly adopted children. I never approved of little Timothy's floppy baby Hugh Grant hairstyle, so as many girls my age felt compelled to do, I took matters into my own hands. This is never a good idea, as many girls my age quickly found out. Poor Timothy. You will forever be able to see all the weird hair holes in his little head.

Mr. Heart's outfit may be my favorite. Red velvet suit coat. Blue pants sewn directly into a white tank top with a permanent red skinny tie...you know...to pull the whole look together. Sexy. I loved Mr. Heart. A true family man. A sharp dresser. A perfectly coiffed head of hair. A real Carey Grant of plastic men.

One day Mr. Heart was on his way to work. The stairs of his office building (tree house in the backyard) were not up to code for someone of his particular handicap (plastic tininess syndrome), so he opted to take the elevator (empty sidewalk chalk bucket + jump rope). One minute he's singing along to the muzak version of Karma Chameleon and the next he is flying through the air, his bitty plastic life flashing before his unblinking blue painted eyes.

The paramedics (a panicked 8 year old version of myself) rushed to his side. The blood loss was suprisingly limited due to the severity of his injuries. It's kind of bad news when your head has popped off and rolled across the lawn.

Thank goodness for the All Powerful Wizard of Greatness (my dad) and his business of performing miracles (reuniting heads with bodies). Mr. Heart was whisked into the hospital (garage) where he underwent an emergency noggin' reattachment procedure. Tensions were high. Hands were wrung. Tears were shed. And then the light at the end of the tunnel arrived.

Mr. Heart was back at the office the very next day, most likely with a fairly sore neck. The remainder of the Hearts were surely relieved to have their brave poppa back in business. And I was pretty thankful for mine as well.


Yes, I Live in the NorthWest. No, I Don't Want to Go Camping.

Please note that this is not a character flaw, but simply an activity I have never enjoyed. I wish I could be that cool girl who casually pulls her hair into a ponytail, glows and glistens rather than sweats and can build a stellar campfire with ease. However, my hair is short, I really hate being unshowered and last time I checked, only I can prevent forest fires.

Don't get me wrong...I'm pretty kickass in other ways. (You'll just have to trust me on that one.)

Poetically, I love nature. Animals are tremendous in theory. But much like I am not thrilled when a spider "goes camping" in my bedroom, I can't imagine that a bear enjoys my presence either. I mean...let's just take a moment to think about how I deal with Mr. Spidey. I don't want to be smooshed with a giant square of Charmin* and flushed down a toilet. Nobody likes that.

But here is my main issue with camping:

Pooping and peeing outside. Gross! Who does that? Crazy homeless people, that's who. Like I said before, I think animals are dandy...but I have evolved past using a tree as a shitter. What if another camper walks by later and then knows specifically what my poo looks like? What if I get a bug bite or a splinter in an unfortunate zone?! What if a lizard LOOKS AT ME?!?!

Indoor plumbing is my friend. My idea of roughing it is a public restroom without a working privacy fan and a lack of paper ass protectors. Good god! Are we living in the Old West?!

Maybe this all sounds high maintenance, but it is effing 2008. I demand a locking door, a working flusher, and some grapefruit scented antibacterial soap, damn it!

I love this area of the country. I love all the Birkenstocks and the granola. I feel at home here. I want to be friends with all of you. If you need to go camping one weekend, I am happy to take that weekend and read a book indoors. We'll meet up later for something we both enjoy. Just...please don't make me go potty outside.

*favored bath tissue brand of bears