Natasha’s Top 8 (and sometimes embarrassing) Moments of 2008

Since 2008 didn’t suck nearly as hard as 2007* did, I’ll be reflecting today on its highlights.

Drum roll please…….

#8 New Jobs.
In 2008 I got 2 new jobs. There was the exodus from “Cockton” to my current and beloved employer in May and then my departmental transfer/promotion in late November. I think that after a tumultuous 13 months of bouncing around job wise, I have found my niche and am happy. YAY!

#7 I got a TV
In 2007 I decided to be TV Free and wasn’t content enough to just NOT turn on my set, but felt the need to give the old boob tube away. SO I did. And then 9 months later So You Think You Can Dance was about to start, so I got a new TV. And Netflix.

#6 TV Debut
It’s still fresh enough that it hurts to talk about. And BTW, Carey, where the H is the video you’ve been promising me.

#5 We have a Winner!
2008 marked the first time EVER I’ve picked/voted for a winner! This category isn’t exclusive to presidents; it also includes boyfriends, sports teams and race horses. Gobama!

#4 Hot Yoga
Ok, we all know I “found” hot yoga this year and we all know I struggled with, um, bodily functions in class. HOWEVER, there was this one time in yoga class… You know what I’m talking about, Liz…… oh man, you guys, this story is one of my most embarrassing ones. And that’s saying something. Any way…

It’s was a while ago. The class was PACKED. We got to this posture and I…. well, hold on. Let me set it up a little bit better. The heater had just turned itself off so it was DEAD fucking silent in the room and behind me were 2 cute boys I had never seen before. So, yeah, we got to this posture and I had reached my edge, but the instructor kept encouraging me to go further. Since I knew, KNEW, that I could put my forehead on the floor, I made the final push…… and then farted. REALLY LOUDLY. For a solid 3 seconds. It even had that little “went up an octave” punctuation mark/crescendo at the end to really solidify that yes, yes indeed, someone had just passed gas.

The teacher was startled; I could hear it in her voice. It wasn’t just a fart, it was another entity in the room and no one, least of all me, wanted to acknowledge its existence.

#3 I rode a Segway
My aforementioned employer gifts a segway to the employees of the months. I was lucky enough to know the EOFM and she was gracious enough to let me ride it. Now, I had never been on a segway before and had NO clue how they worked. My only opinion of them until this point was that douche-y security guards rode them around malls. Oh how I wish someone had told me how they worked BEFORE I stepped onto the platform.

Since I wasn’t aware that they are operated by body weight distribution, when I first stepped on, I did the “back and forth pendulum move coupled with a high pitch scream of death” and then jumped off. Good times.

#2 Blog Me!
I made my blog debut in 2008 and the 3 people reading this will never be the same. Oh, and word on the street is that the original “Blogfather” is in jail in Iran (and we all know how that will end), so I think the name will be up for grabs after he’s stoned to death.

And my number 1 moment of 2008 was………….

#1 My Road trips
Yeah, I’m technically cheating with this one but it’s my list and I can do what I want! I took a vow in 2007 to travel more and travel more I did! I went to 3 brand new places, Colorado, Iowa and Oklahoma (where the wind comes sweeping down the plains). And the best parts were my friends and the adventures we had (awwwwwww…..). Athena, we’ve got to make it back to Lyons. Liz, well, if I ever feel like facing certain death again with your family we’ll go back to Okoboji and Stef….. Daylight Donuts will NEVER be the same for me ever again.

Honorable mentions
-My fan club on Facebook
-The American Royal
-Anything related to Whitney
-Johnny Virgil commenting on my blog
-North Carolina Family Vacation

Here’s to more TV commercials and more great road trips (and less farting) in 2009.

*And man was 2007 terrible! A car wreck, a divorce, a broken heart, (surprise) back taxes and leaving all my good buddies at The Law Firm. Hopefully the upward trend of “not sucking as hard” continues into 2009…

Announcements

Ok, ok, ok…. I am beginning to come down from my Christmas high and settle back into real life. There are quite a few announcements to catch everyone up on, so without further ado, let’s begin!

Congratulations to my baby brother, David, and his new fiancé, Jessica! David popped the question, in the snow in front of the Mayor’s Christmas Tree last Saturday and by her own account, Jessica screamed “Are you SERIOUS?!?!?!” 5 times before eventually answering “yes” to him. You guys both know I love the heck out of you. Congratulations again, and Jessica, if you want to borrow my copy of “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” as a part of a Survival Guide/Kit you’ll be needing to put together, you’re more than welcome to it. Oooopah!

I’m hitting the big time you guys! Remember the cutie patootie boutique I love? Bon Bon? Yes? Well, I took in some of my scarves (pictures coming soon) and the owner agreed to sell them in her store! Freaking. Awesome. I am taking a self imposed sabbatical from yarn at the moment, but in a week or so, I’ll be crocheting for cash!

Hot yoga will recommence next week. I haven’t been able to go since right before Halloween… so, watch out world (or more specifically, the guy behind me in class), it’s going to be ugly for a while.

Nutrisystem will recommence in 2 weeks. For those of you that have been with me since the beginning of my weight loss journey – We’re almost there you guys! Just another 40 pounds and we’re done. Oh, and Amy, I keep showing off my “Natty Lite” pocket mirror and, in all earnestness, keep touting it was “the fanciest thing I own.” People are jealous. Thanks again.

My Christmas was pretty much awesome. How was yours? My parents got me my THIRD tool set. But, this one comes with safety glasses and a level, so, that makes it better, apparently. Also included are about 24 different drill bits and 30 different allen wrenches (you guys know how I feel about allen wrenches). And my THIRD tape measure and my THIRD hammer. Oh, and yes, mom and dad have bought me each of the three tool sets….

How was everyone’s Christmakwanzaakkah!

A Letter

Dear Megan,

It was so great to see you this weekend. It’s been a while since we last hung out - mainly because I’ve holed myself up in my apartment for the last 6 weeks trying to get all my Christmas presents done. With this past weekend being the final weekend before Christmas I had to make a push to complete everything. When all is said and done and the yarn settles I will have made 16 scarves, 3 pairs of socks, 1 ill-constructed hat, 3 pot holders, 2 purses and 1 other item for my aunt. I’m drawing a blank for what to make her. Any suggestions?

Any way, I am writing you because while it was nice to see you on Saturday, I wasn’t really all there and I *think* that you and I made plans for this Friday…. But I’m not sure… Why was I not with it you ask? Well, Friday night when I got home from work I did what I’ve been doing for the past month and a half; I broke out my needles and yarn and worked on someones gift. A few people called asking if I’d come out and see them. Liz even dropped by to see if I wanted to get a drink with her and Stef, but I passed. I HAD to get these gifts done.

Around midnight I started dragging. I was nodding off between stitches and struggled to keep my eyes open. I debated putting on a pot of coffee but ultimately decided against it because I, just then, remembered that I had an Emergency Sugar Free Red Bull (the BIG can) in my fridge. I am fairly certain that this Red Bull had been in my fridge for about a year. It was like the Ghost of Christmas Awesomeness KNEW I would need a little extra Christmas miracle to get all my gifts made. So, I chugged it and settled back in to my spot on my couch and my PBS programming. When PBS started repeating itself, I put in a movie and kept on crocheting. After Fever Pitch was done, I slipped in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. When that was done “This Old House” was on PBS and after that was done Sesame Street came on, which was brought do me by the letter D and the number 13. Seriously.

And then it was 6am and time to sleep.

I awoke at 11am in a WORLD of hurt but with a mission. While I had made great progress the night before/earlier that morning, there was still a long list of items to complete. So, I settled back into the dent still in my couch from 5 hours ago, and got back to work.

Around 4pm my head hurt and my tummy was growling. I ran to the store to get some food and a 4-pack of red bull. Yes, Virginia – there is a Santa Claus and even he needs a little pick me up to get all his sh!t done.

When I came home I had 2. And I felt GOOD. So, when I met up with you later, I was sleep deprived and high on caffeine. And then we did jaeger bombs. BLECH. And then I drank ANOTHER big can of red bull.

So, hopefully you can see why I am not really sure what plans we made for Friday. I think it had something to do with a party some friends (Jeb and Jessica?) are throwing… but I could be mixing that up with New Years.

Wait – was that even you I hung out with Saturday?

funnies

Thank you Amy. I'll consider this little gem an early Christmas present. And yes, this means I am re-gifting it to everyone else.

Enjoy.

http://fuckyoupenguin.blogspot.com/

I’m ready for my close up...

Does the pope wear a funny hat? Yes.

Is the atomic weight of cobalt 58.9? Yes.

Natasha, do you want to be in a commercial? Hell Effing Yes.

Cool-Co worker-Carey, to her and the restaurant owner’s eventual chagrin, asked me to be an extra for a Gaslight Grill commercial. I was given instructions to dress nicely and show up at 6. If you’re giving me free drinks, free food and a chance to be on TV… all I need from you is a when and a where.

The whole thing was very glamorous. We sat at the bar drinking and waiting for the shot to get set up for an hour. We drooled over the entire menu while debating which item to order for “the dinning room shot.” I had finally narrowed it down to either the Salmon or the Risotto when we were told to move to the dinning room and to get ready to shoot.

My nerves were mounting, but I felt that my years of high school drama and tournament forensics prepared me for this moment. I needed to keep my energy and my pace up! I had to remember my character and my character’s motivation! And also, I heard my mother’s voice in the back of my head telling me to keep my elbows off the table and chew with my mouth closed. I. Was. Ready.

And then I spilt red wine all over me.

And the table, and the booth. And little bit on the floor too.

Ooooooooh how I wish I was kidding. I was SO embarrassed. Instead of me eating the delicious Risotto, I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I didn’t know what to do, I just froze and stared at my Shiraz-soaked lap and side boob. I vaguely remember others coming over to the table with napkins and towels but I didn’t move. I kept saying “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” I wanted to cry but figured they’d DEFINITELY ask me to leave if I did.

So, even though I wish I could have had a less embarrassing experience…..

The back of my head will be featured in a commercial for a local restaurant!

Yeah, they moved me to be ALMOST out of the shot but I don’t think they realized that my hair has a following, so while the wine was on me…the joke is on them!

Free Bon Bons!!

Just like Julie Andrews, I have many favorite things. But unlike Jules, they aren’t raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens. My favorite things tend to be things like cheap cab fares, Antiques Road Show marathons, thrift stores and baseball players stretching... ::happy thoughts::

Another of my favorite things is this too-cute-for-words little boutique in Westport, Bon Bon Atelier.

I am a huge fan of the owner, Betsy, and her shop is full of colorful, vibrant, creative loveliness. If her shop was a boy I would want him to ask me out on a date, take me to a yummy restaurant and then walk me home and tell me what a lovely and wonderful time he had. So, imagine my delight when I was informed that I won a bag of “bon bon” goodness! I am so excited. I have NO clue what’s in it, but I really don’t care. I love anything and everything about her and her store, that it would have to be receipt paper scraps for me to be miffed. But I love winning and I love free stuff. So, actually, Betsy, I would take the receipt paper scraps if you got ‘em!

Though, it would RAWK if these in a size 9 were in the box.

Thank you Betsy!

uniform toilet height

I am a creature of habit. I believe that the bathroom is one of the most important places where one should never deviate from any sort of routine or "givens." I've written before of my many bathroom follies and I suppose that we'll just continue adding to the archives.

I had to visit another floor's bathroom today. The cleaning lady had put her yellow flag up which meant that she either was busy cleaning the toilets or wanted to take a shit in peace. Either way, I had to find another bathroom.

I went to my back-up bathroom and when I saw that "my" stall was taken, I had to call an audible and go to a stall I've never been to before. Imagine my surprise when I went to pop and squat and found out (the surprising way) that this particular toilet is a good 3 or 4 inches SHORTER than any other toilet I have sat on in this building.

I did that "surprised to find myself falling" grab on the stall walls to try to catch myself. However, seeing how there was nothing to catch on to, I just continued falling until my ass landed on the seat.

This has me all sorts of perplexed. I really need to know the thought process behind the decision to use different height toilets in the same building (and no, before you ask, this wasn't the handi-crapper stall). I mean, was this a conscience decision by the builder or an oversight?

Or maybe the builder started out with enough toilets of the same height and then during some sort of accident that can, I'm sure, only be described as a comedy of errors, a few broke and new ones had to be re-ordered.... thus resulting in a mix-matched lot of toilets in the buildings.

I need to know! I also need to know which toilets are which height so that I won't be caught off guard again. Do you think my boss would let me do a toilet height survey tomorrow?

Thank you!

A huge "Thanks" to everyone that voted.

To the person who commented and then deleted: DUDE!!! Why did you do that? Now it is going to drive me crazy to know A) who you are and B) what you said.

It looks like #1 is the clear winner of the popular vote. But Tammy raises an interesting idea: Since I'll have a hotel room at the party, I could do wardrobe changes! Kinda like Whoopie Goldberg did for the 2001 Oscars. Only, maybe instead of the like 14 she did, I'd just do 2 or 3. And I wouldn't have a wardrobe and make-up team helping me out. But, I think that save those 2 minor difference, it would be just like it.

Now, I just need to figure out the shoes, purse, jewelry and hair.

Decisions, Decisions.....

This Friday is my company holiday party. I hope to have a bit of a more successful holiday party over the one from last year. And as long as I'm not wrongly accused of being a home-wrecking slut, I should be good. Because for the record - HE KISSED ME!

Aaaaanyway.....

I don't know what to wear. I have lots and lots of dresses in my closets, but there isn't one that I HAVE to wear. Nothing in my closet is jumping off of it's hanger in a mad attempt to be worn out in public. Of my dozens and dozens of choices, I've whittled it down to 4.

This is where you guys come in; I need you help. Below are pictures of the top 3 dresses in my closet that are appropriate for this event. Actually, I took pictures of 4 dresses, but the 4th one is an incredible wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen, so, it’s been nixed. AND another of the dresses leaves no room for breathing or moving of any sort, but it looks really good on, so I included it for no other reason than to show off my goods. Just vote for your favorite.

The dress code for the event is “dressy casual” which means…. Ok, I am not exactly sure that that means because to me it is a contradiction of terms. I honestly think that was the nice way of telling the Programmers that they couldn't wear jeans and their t-shirts and tennis shoes should be their “fancy” ones.

But on to the main event: ME!!!!!!! (SIDENOTE: I know that MHIBTY, but I had just come from the gym.... so, please forgive the hot and steamy mess that was my hair (and face) last night.)

Little Black Dress #1

This fabulous little number I bought off of eBay eons ago. I had my mom hem it and re-create the neckline. I think the neckline on this dress is killer. Thank you mommie!

Little Black Dress #2 (aka The Fainter)


I can’t breathe and was about the pass out by the time Liz stopped laughing at me and took the friggin picture. Ignore the bra, I am not wearing this one.

Kimono Dragon Dress


Hello, my name is FIERCE.

So there you have it. Please, please, pretty please vote. And before you cast your vote I want you to ask yourself …. “Which dress would you hit on?”

A date with my doctor

I don’t worry myself with crossing any sort of line, but if I did I’d be concerned about what I am going to write about today.

Tomorrow I have a “lady” doctor appointment. I am a little bit nervous and I’d be lying little if I said that I wasn’t a little bit excited.

First, the nerves. I don’t know why I always get nervous. It isn’t that painful and there are far MORE painful things that could be happening down there, so I shouldn’t be complaining. I guess it is more of an insecurity issue with me. I wonder if I am being compared against others. And if so, how am I sizing up? Are letter grades were going to be passed out? Is there any way to get extra credit?

I’m going to take a moment and brag (such a departure from my normal ways, I know), but I am a clean and well kept person. There is NO NEED to be nervous. I have to believe that my doctor has seen some scary business and that I will just be another run-of-the-mill “flower” to her. I guess part of me wants some sort of verbal confirmation. A “Looking Good!” or maybe a “Niiiiice” when she’s poking around wouldn't hurt.

And now, on to the excited part. Tomorrow will be the first time in a long time that I’m going to have “company downstairs” if you know what I mean. I don’t think I run the risk of becoming emotionally attached, but do you guys think it would be weird if I asked her to tell me I am pretty before she starts?

Update

Yeah, so, that guy never did call.

What the fuck is up with that? That is just plain RUDE.

For the record, I am in no way shape or form disappointed/heart broken/in possession of a long face. I am just irritated that this douche wasted my time. Why in the world bother talking to me several times, getting my number, calling my phone (to make sure it wasn't a fake) and then NOT call.

Whatever. I'm over it.

Moving on, Jennie is more proactive than I am and has made a Match.com profile. She's already met a cutie name Caitlin (and I've met her last night and approve highly of both her wit and her face). I *might* get around to doing that after the new year. Maybe.

I don't have a whole lot of information just yet, but a friend of a friend of Jennie's is a single straight guy! SO, obviously, she want to hook me up with him. Has she met him? No. Does she know what he looks like? Absolutely no clue. In her mind she knows all she needs to know. He's Straight and Single. Which, in all honestly here, really are my only requirements.

Ode to Dexter (since I brought it up yesterday)

Back when I lived in a real house and had cable, I had access to the Greatest Invention EVERTM or, as it is known on the street: Showtime on Demand. This allowed me to be introduced to Husband #4: Michael C. Hall

Michael C. Hall as Dexter, more specifically.

I’ve, long ago, come to terms with my particular crazy. But I am worried you guys. This might have crossed some sort of “socially acceptable” line. I am in major lust with a serial killer. Does this not worry one else?

It should. This is my current Netflix Queue….

Yeah, I’m a tad obsessed at the moment. And yeah, I’ve never seen Pulp Fiction, either. But I’ve gone 26 years without seeing it, I can go a few more weeks…. or at least until I am caught up on all my Dexter…. whichever comes first.

Hypothetical question.

Let’s say that, hypothetically, someone you knew had HYPOTETICAL fantasies (a double hypothetical) of being subject to, um, Dexter’s, um, certain “brand of justice.” Is that normal? No? Oh, okay. Yeah, I don’t know who would have those thoughts… not me…. I was just asking…for a, um, friend…. of a friend.

On an unrelated note, for those of you without ideas as what to get me for Christmas, a life size poster of this:

wouldn’t be a bad start.

P.S. I Hate You

I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times – I should NEVER go against my gut instinct EVER. I’ve, more times than I care to admit, gone against my initial gut reaction to something (or someone) and always, ALWAYS, regret it.

ALWAYS!!!

Let’s take a look at the most recent example. The 2007 film P.S. I love you staring Hilary Swank and Gerard Butler.

Hilary Swank lost the last tiny morsel of respect she still had from me within the first 15 minutes of this film, but I’m getting ahead of myself here.

Once upon a time, when I had never even heard of this movie, life was good. Then one day the title starting budging itself into my “We Recommend…” tab on Netflix. I ignore for 2 reasons: the gay title and the amount of “Dexter” I have to catch up on is ricockulous. Seriously, I just got season 1 disc 1 in the mail so you guys may not see me for a while…

About a month ago various friends and acquaintances started bringing it up in conversation. Since I had already established my gut feeling on the matter, I ignored them. Not only had I made up my mind about the movie, I didn’t trust their movie taste.

Then, sigh, last weekend Megan shared with us that she, and her sister, watched and liked, the movie.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it was cheesy, and my sister and I could have been over-emotional due to the wedding, but, yeah, it was cute.”

Interesting.

Then, HEAVY SIGH, Liz had the movie at her place Friday (Yeah, that’s right. I stayed home and watched sh!t movies on Friday…) and both her and her mom said that it was cute and good and blah blah blah.

Veddy, veddy interesting.

Going against every feeling I had about this film, I took it back to my place and popped it in.

Cue the end of any respect I had for Hilary Swank.

Without getting into the completely retarded story line, the wretched acting and the fact that on at least 3 different occasions, both Lisa Kudrow and Gina Gershon were reading from cue cards (and with as about as much passion as the card board )…. This movie was terrible.

Did I sit through the whole thing? You bet your ass I did. I kept waiting for it to get better.

Oh, and just so you know, the ONLY bright spot in the entire film was a naked shot of Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

Waiting

So, in a move that even surprised ME, I gave my number to a guy Saturday night. And, for the record, it was a guy I met at a (dirty dive) bar. I only frequent this cesspool of an establishment for their cheap, cheap beer and pool tables, not for their "selection" if you know what I mean.

And now I am obsessing about NOT obsessing about it.

If I am doing my math correctly, society predicts that I will be receiving a call today, right? That's three days? Or will it be tomorrow since it was technically 2AM Sunday morning? PLUS, he asked for my number... doesn't that kind of guarantee that he'll call. He would not have asked for my number otherwise, right?

Or what if he has diarrhea of the mouth and couldn't stop himself from asking for it. That happens, right? People ask for other people's number without having the intention of ever calling them? Or maybe I am getting that confused with all the times I have given a guy my number, and they never asked for it, and didn't call.

Professional Job Changer

For those who’ve cared to pay attention, I’ve been employed at 3 different companies over the past 13 months. The stress of changing jobs (not to mention, employers) has eclipsed itself and I have now fallen into a routine of change. I have become an expert at signing HR forms and New Employee Handbooks. I can give my two weeks notice in my sleep.

I have become so good at changing jobs that I didn’t have to even look for this latest one; it found me. It fell into my lap like a belated birthday present, all wrapped up with pretty paper and a bow.

Starting Monday I will become a member of the Marketing Department as a Proposal Writer I. Unfortunately, this isn’t a role for writing marriage proposals for guys lazy and/or unoriginal enough to come up with their own on-bended-knee speeches. But how cool would that be? Actually, does anyone know if this is a real job that I could pursue? I would be awesome at that. I mean, I have experienced 2 out of the 3 worst marriage proposals a girl could get, so I have a baseline of what NOT to say.

First there was the guy I said yes to. He didn’t even get down on one knee. And the ring didn’t fit. His speech was so uninspired that I wasn’t quite sure he was proposing until he shoved the ring in front of me and mumbled something about eternal happiness and fulfillment. And even then, I still wasn’t sure if he wanted to get married or if he was asking for my Cheesecake Factory leftovers.

Then there was the guy I said no to, but then again I had only known him for about 3 hours and I was fairly confident that his semi-tipsy proposals weren’t meant to be taken seriously.

And finally, there is the worst way to get proposed to: after getting knocked up the baby’s daddy says “So, I guess we should get married now.”

Let’s keep hope alive that I will NEVER be proposed to that way.

C.I.T.

There are many things that I aspire to be in this life. To name a few: Karen Walker, from the hit NBC show Will & Grace, French and a Cougar...

This past weekend I officially became a C.I.T. - a Cougar-In-Training.

I spent Friday night with my home girl, Athena. And yes, before you ask, she is Greek. To celebrate my birthday, we had a slumber party with all the proper trimmings: wine, olives and a late night fast food run. Athena has 2 sons along with 3 step children, 1 of which live with her. So, there were 3 teenage boys in the house along with us. And those 3 teenage boys had friends over. Now, I am not sure what sort of sick and twisted sense of humor the universe has but I would have given my left nut 10 years ago to be having a slumber party in a house that was concurrently being occupied by 8 boys in the age range of 16-18.

10 years ago.

So, image my surprise when Athena informed me that her step son had texted to her to let her know that his friend, “Trevor” (that’s his real name, I’m not sure why I put it in quotes…), wanted a little bit of alone time with Natasha.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Now image my chagrin when, changing into my pajamas, “Trevor” decided to come into the room and lock the door behind him. When he threw out “Hey, what’s up?” (with my shirt half on… or half off… depending on how you look at it), I laughed in his face. Which I didn’t mean to on purpose, but it was really freaking funny. He immediately turned bright red and tried to play it off, but the little guy had lost all confidence at this point. He made another attempt to put a move on me, but, seeing how I was in no mood to give lessons or show anyone how anything was supposed to be done, I passed.

For however much I want to be a Cougar, there are reasons why women wait until both they and their prey are older. The obvious reason would be avoiding jail time, but there is also the experience level to take into consideration. It could be said that a general rule of thumb is that if the man-child still believes that Applebee’s (or Chili’s, On The Border, The Olive Garden…) is an acceptable date, then expect the same amount of originality in bed directly related to the originality of the restaurant. And while it isn’t guaranteed that you can avoid this with an older audience, your risk does go down.

In addition to “letting the wine age,” so to speak, being a Cougar is something that is to be learnt; a skill to master over time. There is a certain way you lure in the target, a delicate art to be used when trapping, a subtle seduction that I have yet to master. I mean, come on guys, I have no game.

Hopefully in other 10 years I will have mastered the dance.

How to Flirt (if you don't want a date)

Jennie wants to investigate the world that is online dating. She refused to go into the abyss alone, so she asked if I’d, too, create a profile and we could “online double date.” Seeing how I am no e-dating virgin, it didn’t phase me to agree and set a time next week to get together and create our advertisements. I am, 99%, doing this just for her.

The other 1% is that damn “eternal hope” that will never die. I guess that I could be grateful for the fact that I am still hopeful and haven’t completely turned into a mean old spinster.

Regardless, since I am bothering to even go through with this, I might as well put a modicum of effort into it. Sigh. So, I read Expert Flirting Tips from MSN.com. After reading the list, the hope-o-meter is still at 1 percent….. only because I can’t do fractions.

10. Flirting is an attitude.
J-dawg nicknamed me “D-Rock-a-tude,” so, I have this one in the bag.

9. Start a conversation. The best opening line is saying hello.
“HI!” That’s all they’re giving me?

8. Have fun. Be playful, light-hearted and spontaneous. Show your vulnerability.
By curling up into the fetal position?

7. Use props.
PROPS?!?! Does my prosthetic arm qualify as a prop?

6. Be the host.
You are the host and he is the parasite.

5. Make the first. Say hello.
Again, all you’re giving me is “HI.” Next are you going to tell me to start talking about the weather?

4. Listen.
What did you say?

3. Eye contact.
I’m up here buddy.

2. Compliment your flirting partner.
“I like your shoes. Wanna Fuck?” doesn’t work. Allegedly.

1. Smile.
He’s already got the tape rolling….

Guest of Honor

::laugh:: I almost said that with a straight face.

Anyway, my friend Shannon has a few blogs, one of them about losing weight and being (getting) in shape. I invited myself to guest blog for him, to which he graciously accepted.

Check both of us out.

http://thetempleoftheturtle.wordpress.com/2008/11/11/woo-vet/

I'm still here!

Wow. Being sick sucks. Out of the past 9 days, I was only “un-ill” for 1.5 of them. BLAH. I am still rocking the sexy phlegm, but besides that I am feeling loads better.

We have some catching up to do.

First. Halloween was AWESOME. Or at least the part I got to experience before I fell victim to illness #1 was awesome. Liz and I rocked the Alice and Wonderland theme sans an Alice. I present to you The Mad Hatter and The Cheshire Cat.

Second. Good the fuck bye Sarah Palin.

Third. My Birthday was really sad you guys. I was too sick and void of energy to do anything besides watch Jane Austen movies and learn to crochet (I made a scarf!).

Fourth. How cool is my family?

In case you can't make out the text, the gist is that the Derka-Derka clan is going "Organic" this Christmas... meaning only homemade gifts. This means that everyone will be getting macaroni art from Daniel.

26

So this is what the other side of 25 looks like?

Here is to a fabulous 26th year. I am sure that if it wasn't for the 7th day in a row of my immune system utterly failing me, I would have rang it in in fashion.

Happy Birthday Me!

ps - The cold does seem to be letting up, but I will still welcome offers for favors and special errands to be ran on my behalf.

They Voted

A small gang of young adults descended from their brownstone walk ups barely awake yet fully alive with civic duty and pride. They started toward their polling station. The murky morning sky was still a-twinkle with stars, it seemed that they too wanted to be around for this historic day. The air was brisk, cold, promising.

The boy lamented that his face missed his beard and the warmth it provided while one of the girls made sure everyone had their ID and coffee. They all recounted past elections and past voting days. Where were they at? How early did they get up? Was their sleep, the night prior, just as restless?

The unspoken hope shared between them was that one day they'd be able to tell this story as "the day I voted for President Barack Obama." They absorbed the details and tried to commit them to memory. She'll remember the leaves carpeting the sidewalk, the nostalgic wrestling of the yellow, orange and red fodder. He'll remember the deserted streets and how he defiantly walked down the middle of them. She'll remember that someone giggled as she warned to watch out for dog poop.

They'll all remember descending upon the church, their local polling station. From the still of the early morning emerged a surreal hub of activity. Dozens and dozens of people flocking from all directions, eager to get in line. Eager to vote. Making their way to the back of the church, the four-some realize that the line is already winding round and a round.

Their time, their early morning, their comfy warm beds are sacrifices that don't even compare to those already given for their right to be standing, waiting, in this line. The excitment builds.

The doors open, the line slowly moves. There are mistakes...But they voted. They voted for change, for hope.... for themselves.

They voted.

Breaking News

Fatties Fornicate Frequently!

http://www.kmbc.com/health/17887711/detail.html

For those of your too lazy to click on the link...

Overweight women are more likely to have had sex with a man, according to a study reported in the Telegraph. The study by the University of Hawaii surveyed 7,000 women ages 15 to 44. Ninety-two percent of those who had a body-mass index above 25 had had sex with a man. For those considered normal weight, it was 82 percent. Researchers said that BMI was a factor independent of other things such as age, race or location. The lead researcher said it was not clear why overweight women were more active. "Our analysis demonstrated that overweight women do not differ significantly in some of the measures of sexual behavior compared to women of normal weight," said Dr. Bliss Kaneshiro.

I can't believe someone had to do a "study" to come to this conclusion. I could have told you this. It isn't common knowledge that a "thick" girl ::clearsthroat YOURS TRULY clearsthroat:: will put out faster and more frequently than her thinner counterparts, but, it is true, nonetheless.

You could compare this to getting a GREAT deal on a 5 star hotel and spa.... but in a city you don't necessarily want to visit. Like Council Bluffs, Iowa. Because if it was a city that everyone wanted to visit, the tourism board would be spending some money on cleaning some things up and making it appeal to a larger demographic, but it’s not, so it’s going to stay a dump but practically GIVE AWAY hotel stays and spa packages. (I think I just compared myself to Council Bluffs….)

I digress…

The article implies that they're not sure WHY? Well, that’s easy (just like the chubby chicks). These girls have no or low self esteem. If my friend Max has taught me one thing, it was that men totally go for girls that have no or low self esteem. In fact, last summer, while trying to teach me "game" he told me the one and only thing I needed to master was to drunkenly tell a guy that "I have low self esteem" and I'd be in the money.

Now I am the one left with questions… with the entire proverbial deck stack IN MY FAVOR, why can’t this sister get any love?

Happy Halloween!

Halloween is one of the holidays that really do get better with age*. Sure, it’s fun to dress up and go trick-or-treating when you’re younger, but the real fun comes when the costumes are highly inappropriate and the pumpkin juice is alcoholic. Also, you’re no longer suffocated by your parents checking for injection points or razors in your candy. Who cares if there is poison in it, I just wanted my GD candy!

*The reverse of that, the holiday that gets WORSE with age, is definitely Valentines Day. That holiday can suck it. Not that I am bitter or anything.

Arts and Craft Time

You guys, I am adding the finishing touches to my fabulous Halloween costume. A huge shout out to Keltron 3000! For without her, this costume wouldn't be nearly as magnificent. Now comes my favorite part... the accessorizing!

Want a hint about who I am going to be? I'll give you one hint: yeast infection.

Ok, now I'll need to explain myself otherwise that would just be weird to leave it at that.

Yeast infection = pissed p****y = mad kitten = THE CHESHIRE CAT!

Hells yeah you guys. It is going to be awesome.

Pictures to come.

Growing Up Terrorist

One’s family’s wackiness is relative. No pun intended. Growing up in the Derka-Derka house never left me wanting for entertainment or amusement despite the fact that we had pretty strict rules and guidelines that all 4 of us had to follow. For example, my older sister and I weren’t allowed to so much as mention the word “boy” without severe consequence while our 14 year old baby brother was reminded by our father to always “wrap it up.”

Totally fair. Seriously though – I had to SNEAK OUT of the house at the age of 18 to go on a date. EIGHTEEN! And let’s not forget the time I “ruined the family’s honor” when I accepted a ride with Jeff W. – a friend and brother figure to me. Anyway……

There were clear cut chores and cleaning responsibilities. Saturdays were dedicated to cleaning the house – top to bottom. No exceptions. If you wanted to do something on a Saturday it had to come after you cleaned and vacuumed the living room and scrubbed the bathroom…or after you paid/bartered one of your siblings to do the chores for you. And we were NOT cheap labor.

Your work was inspected, and if you failed you got to do it over. And if you failed consistently you got to go get “the owie stick” from the drawer – bring it to mom or dad and be spanked with it.

That makes my parents sound like bad people, but each and every one of us deserved it every time we got spanked. MHIBTY Trivia: I got beat the most out of all 4 of us kids. I’m not entirely sure about this, but I believe that one point, it was just named “Natasha’s Owie Stick.”

But that was just the preface; I just wanted to paint a picture of the general order and organization of my childhood home.

There was one thing that consistently failed to be dealt with. It got to the point where NOT dealing with it became normal and routine. When visitors came over and asked about it, we’d look at them funny and then vaguely remember that, no, this was not normal. We couldn’t even blame being foreign. This should have been obvious to HUMANITY, not just AMERICANS that this had to be dealt with. Yet, time and time again – this would just be ignored, pushed to the proverbial back burner or utterly disregarded.

No one ever, ever, bothered to replace batteries in the smoke detectors.

Think about it.

The beeping! Yeah… we’d live with it for MONTHS! before someone did anything about it. Yes, it was loud and yes, no one did or said anything about it. I think (or maybe just want to believe) that on some level we all knew that someone should have gotten batteries and replaced them… but no one ever did. Or at least no one ever did right away.

I’ve tried to psychoanalyze the why or how-come, but I think I am too close to the situation to be objective. I can distinctly remember knowing, at the time, that my family had a serious quirk and that it wasn’t normal to ignore a smoke detector beeping for days, weeks, months on end. Never mind the safety implications of non-functioning smoke detectors in a house of 6, lets talk about the sheer amount of focus and determination it took for all of us to over-look loud beeps in 5-10 second intervals.

Probably loud enough for the neighbors to hear. But that was the least of the neighbors concerns. We, every spring, jumped over huge fires in our back yard while chanting songs in Farsi. Looking back, I am not sure whether to be amazed or flabbergasted why no one ever messed with us.

401(NOT o)K

I am stoked to retire. Who isn't, right? I was born to be old. I've always found kindred spirits in grandmas, grandpas and great-aunts. I eat prunes and oatmeal (together, even), I have my very own - at watch for - My Spin ID©. I am a member of the Wheel Watchers Club. Quick MHIBITY Trivia - I've tried out, unsuccessfully, for WOF.

But can I get an HALLELUJAH AMEN that I can't retire for another 40 years?!

What the hell, 401k? I thought we were cool? I gave you money every month and then a handful of times a year, you'd send me a statement showing me how much money you've made me and I told you how proud I am of you and how happy you make me and you blushed and then we hugged. Sometimes I'd hang on to the hug for too long and it would be awkward, but you didn't mind because we were tight.

Now, it's like you're an effing teenager! A bitchy adolescent BEGGING me for cash and when I find a little bit more in my budget to give you - you turn around a throw it all away! And when I confront you about it and I'm all like "DUDE, 401K, I know we need to make this work out between us - but it's a friggin 2 way street!" and you're all like "Pssh, Whatever. Give me money!" it really gets my goat. I've reached my breaking point. Last week, 401k, you told me that I OWE you money? Like you DESERVE it? Like you've actually contributed to this relationship and I've benefited from it in some way?

401K - are you on drugs? You must be. Because you'd have to be smoking or sniffing or injecting SOMETHING for you to think that you can get away with this.

I plan on retiring with the fattest nest egg possible and you're going to make it happen whether you like it or not. I WILL have my Craftmatic-adjustable bed, dammit and I am NOT going to let you kill that dream for me.

Yo Mama is so Presidential

I cannot take credit for these, but I have to share...

Yo mama so fat, she authorized a $700 billion bailout of Dairy Queen.

Yo mama so fat, she thinks the G8 is a Value Meal.

Yo mama so fat, her other biography is called "The Audacity of Hardee's."

Yo mama so fat, the only Supreme Court verdict she wants to overturn is HomeTown Buffet v. Yo Mama.

Yo mama so fat, she thinks sub-prime is a steak cut.

Yo mama so fat, McCain refers to her as "Those Ones."

Your mama so fat, when they asked which menus she reads, she said "You know, all of 'em."

Yo mama's so ugly, Obama said "You can put lipstick on a pig and it would look like yo mama on dollar margarita night."

Yo moms so fat ACORN registered her to vote 3 times.

Yo moms so fat Russia can see her from their house.

Yo mama such a ho, the tab for the federal bailout plan is "700 billion dollars, plus fifty cents to have sex with yo mama."

Yo mama so stupid she tried to arrange the genres on her iPod to put Country First.

Yo mama so fat McCain gives patronizing air quotes when he talks about the "health of yo mama."

But "these ones" are mine... Enjoy!

Yo mama so fat she ate “my friends.”

Yo mama so dumb that she thought “The Bridge to No Where” was a Led Zeppelin album.

Yo mama is such a ho, when asked about her lackluster poll performance … she blamed the DJ that worked that night.

Phone lines are now open for you to submit your very own. Call Now!

OOOOOOOOOOOOklahoma: A near beer weekend

Dear Oklahoma,

Thank you for the great weekend, you were an awesome host and my girls and I had a fantastic time. You really went out of your way when you provided perfect weather all weekend. Who would have expected 70s and Sunshine for a mid-October weekend? You even found us the best digs to crash at! If there had actually been time to sleep, I am sure that I would have snoozed on the comfy leather couch you procured me. And the people! The people were great.

Our time with you, dear south-western neighbor of ours, was nothing short of spectacular and, if I may say so myself, rocked.

Except... Oklahoma, I don't understand why you only serve 3.2 beer? I don't want to sound like I am complaining (even though, have no doubt, I am), but, I'm a professional here and 3.2 beer is a waste of my time. The initial thrill of $2 PBRs wore off once I realized that I'd need to have down a few more, which then, isn't cost effective. Lucky for you, someone ordered too many shots... and since I'm of the "waste not, want not" school, I helped them out and drank them. Also - it didn't hurt when Jake bought the entire tray of jell-o shots and told me to "help myself." I know this was our first time meeting, Oklahoma, but I feel like you knew I'd need a bit more than your beer could offer. I'm not sure if you meant for those things to happen or not, but they did and I want to thank you. So, in a way, you had my back if even though you couldn't give me everything that I needed. You're like the silent, suffering housewife that knows of her husbands affair but doesn't say anything because you don't want to lose him. Better to have him and have him cheating on you than not having him with you at all, right?

Oh, Oklahoma, I don't want you to feel that way. I should have told you that I am going to come back even if you will always and forever server 3.2 beer. But now that we both know a little bit more about one other, you can't be mad at me if I buy a huge cooler of beer before I cross the Kansas border, right? And I promise that I won't be upset if you continue to sell beer flavored water. You have so much more to offer, that this really isn't a deal breaker. Kinda like saying you make a mean meatloaf and keep my shirts pressed just the way I like them!

Go Pokes!

Natasha

Well, THAT'S debatable.

I never wanted to be a political blog. I just wanted to become a READ blog. Since the latter ain't gonna happen any time soon, I'm going to, for today, talk a bit of politics.

So, the Presidential "debates" sucked. Carpool Buddy Kelly said it best when she vocalized her wish for Barack to turn to John and demand "Nigga PLEASE!" For how far from ordinary this election feels (or at least the media WANTS you to feel it is), it is the same elephant and donkey show from every other election past.

What I want to know is why the McPain campaign all wet for "Joes?" Joe-Six Pack? Joe the Plumber? Are they trying to make the comparison that just because Barack doesn't have a "white/American" name that he's a terrorist?

Oh, wait.... never mind.

Anyway, I like Barack's name. Y'all know my name is full of terrorist flavor, so I can sympathize with him... but also, let's take a look at all the fun new words and phrases we can come up with!

1. Obamaddicted
2. Barackonomics
3. Barack and Roll
4. Barack our with your c*ck out
5. Barack-y Road Ice Cream

But, that's enough politiking.

In less than 5 hours I am heading towards Pokes Territory with my home girls Stef and Liz. Stef is an OSU alumni and it's homecoming weekend in Stillwater, Oklahoma. We're not sure what is going to go down once we get there (seriously, we didn't even confirmed a place to stay, but we're bringing a tent just in case), but we're pretty much positive that it is going to be awesome. If my lawyers let me, I'll tell you guys all about it when/if I make it back.

Oh - and I just blew a fuse at work. Literally. I was microwaving soup and then toasted some bread. And blew a fuse. I wonder when I'll get employee of the month?

Which one of these things are not like the others?

curly hair montage

I'd like to introduce a segment that I'll be bringing you A) Whenever I feel like it or B) Whenever I have material for it. Mostly likely a combination of both. And, it goes without saying, this could very well be the only time it's featured on MHIBTY.

::clears throat::

Is it with boundless joy that I unveil to you...

"You know who you look like?!?!"

Let's agree, for arguments sake, that everyone has been told before that they, in some small measurement, resemble some one else. Whether it be a famous celebrity, an infamous criminal or a Simpson's cartoon characters (I'll get to that one). I'm willing to bet that for the average person, there is a theme... a common occurrence, a consistent comparison that it not only reliable, it is irritating. The name so often followed by "You know who you look like" that the individual could answer it while simultaneously rolling their eyes to give the universal "Way to be original a$$hole" look.

If only.

Every time I hear "You know who you look like?" I am filled with a tension that, and I am only assuming here, would be something similar to the tension felt when playing Russian Roulette. Who are they going to say? Am I going to agree or disagree? Will this be some sort of pseudo-compliment? (Elizabeth Berkly - PRE Showgirls) or the meanest of insults (Sideshow Bob*)?

I will go on record right here and now and declare, in earnest, that I have never, EVER agreed with any celebrity resemblance put forth by anyone.

Having said that, the latest likeness drawn (courtesy of some guy in the Q.A. department) is:

Brittany Murphy. But not just regular Brittany Murphy - Brittany Murphy from Clueless.

WhoTheFvckNow? Really? Really. Brittany Murphy? I have put up with some ricockulous comparisons in my life, but this one takes the cake (mmmmmmcake). The lovely montage above isn't a random amalgam of nappy haired celebrities. I have, seriously, been compared to each and everyone of them.

Not all Asians look alike and neither do all curly headed people! For the love of god people, I do not look a thing like Curly Sue!! She's like, 11!

*Seriously. 10th grade Math. Some douche named Sheldon said I looked like Sideshow Bob. Fucker.

Tony! Toni! Toné!

What are you doing Tony Gonzalez?!?!?

Number 88, the love of my life, the Tight End with the tightest end... you've asked out. You want to leave. You've looked inside yourself and realize that in addition to holding countless records and having the adoration of an entire metropolitan city, you need a Super Bowl ring to boot.

I understand. I really do. I know a thing or two about accessorizing and empathize with wanting a big, shiny ring! But at what cost, Tony? You realize that this means that it can never work out between us? I love this city and I am not going to bail out on it when the going gets tough.

This hurts more than when Johnny Damon dumped us for the Yankees. Though what REALLY hurts is his impersonation of the Geico Caveman guy, but that is a different story.

No one knows where you're going to end up, and a little part of me hopes that a deal won't come through and that you will stay in this great little city of ours, but the part of me that loves you knows that you deserve better before it is too late. JUST like when Morgan Freeman finally comes to understand and accept why Tim Robbins doesn't belong at Shawshank, I understand that you are too great and too talented to ride out the last of your years with a team that isn't going to even take you into the post season (let's call a spade a spade here Tony, they suck completely and probably won't even break 500).

Oh Tony, how I wish things turned out differently. How I wish The Chiefs had the developed talent, how I wish we had a ... what are they called... that one guy that takes the snap and throws the football? Oh, yeah, a Quaterback!!! How I wish we were able to be the team, the team to write your name in the NFL Championship annals, but we can't, and for that, I am truly heart broken.

UPDATE: The trade deadline has passed, so therefore Tony shall live and play another day.

Ho Down

I've said it before, I'll say it again - I love Kansas City.

This past weekend was the American Royal. Cowboys Galore. Mmmmmmmm.

Guess how cool was it to get invited to a private party (under a BRIDGE) that has live music, free booze & beer and all the award winning BBQ you could ever eat. It was pretty effing cool.

I made lots of friends. I perfected my no-head-beer-pour from a keg. I learned A LOT about Rugby (who else is surprised to learn that KC has 5 (FIVE) rugby teams?). And I sighted a Black Whale Tail. What is a black whale tail you ask?

It, actually, is NOT this:

But rather, it is this:

This is not the actual one I sighted but you still get the idea. I, never knowning, when to expect the elusive creature to breech, didn't have my camera ready. You might argue if for that very reason, I should ALWAYS have my camera ready but I digress.

What made this particular Whale vulgarific was that she was old enough to be a cougar, wrinkly enough to be a shar pei, almost as orange as a goldfish and definitley drunk as a skunk.

Now you're REALLY upset I didn't get a picture of it.

She wasn't the only show of the evening, there was a fireworks display that was pretty awesome. I am a sucker for fireworks - especially the white ones that "rain" down. If I had to pick a firework to make out with, that would be the one.

And speaking of making out, have you ever made out with some one with a broken nose? It was nice because it didn't get in the way since it was off to the left, and the crook gave him character. Let me clarify a point real quick; his nose HAD BEEN broken and had healed before we met... So, yeah, I wouldn't want people to misunderstand me and start spreading rumors that my snout can cause scarring damage to your face if you kiss me. That would totally salt my game.

Does having read "The Babysitter Club" books qualify me for this job?

Mr. James

I've been asked to babysit.

Let me give you time to control your laughing.

Quite done?

Now, let me assure you that I was not The Mom's #1 pick. I do not take that as an insult, rather as a reassurance that my friends know me. I think I fell no higher than #5, which is where I expect to land. Well before random stranger, but after grandma, friends with children, adults that like watching kids and the paid babysitter.

This little boy, James, holds a very special place in my heart that, dare I say, no other child has. He's smart, sweet, funny and calls me "Na-cha-cha!" Melt.

I just worry about the future of our relationship. Up until this coming Saturday from 10:00am - 2:00pm, James and I have never been alone together. I've always had the safety net of adult supervision. If he cried, his mom or dad was there to take care of the dirty diaper, scratched knee or grumpy mood. If he started misbehaving, grandma was there to swat his behind and get him to play nice. If I couldn't handle Go Diego Go, I left the room and made someone else keep an eye on him.The Mom is a dear friend, and I pride myself on being a good friend. Therefore, it is an honor to be asked to watch her child. But I lack the patience and selflessness that is required for even a decent babysitter. If a kid starts doing something to annoy or frustrate me, I'm out. This is frowned upon if you're asked to, solely, watch over a small human being for 4 hours.

This kid does have something going for him that no other kid left in my charge has ever had. I love the little guy! This will probably give him a cushion or at least an allowance of sorts for what he can do before my maternal reserve runs dry.

So, this coming Saturday, I'll be responsible for a small child.

Yeah, I'm scared too....

Roundin' the bases.... (OH!)

Happy effing Monday everybody. I hope everyone had a great weekend. The weather here in KC was phenomenal. I appreciate the giant "hug" God is giving us right now, but I'd really appreciate being able to turn off of my air conditioning.

Quick favor - if anyone has any information on a player named Nick the Royals, allegedly, signed recently... I'd appreciate it. I'm not sure his last name. It might be Purdy. But I don't *think* that Nick Purdy is the one I need information on.

My interest transcends my home town pride and support for my boys in blue. As some of you may know, my love for baseball runs deep, however, my love for baseball players run deeper.

See.... what had happened was.....

A few weeks ago, at Yoga, there was a hot guy there that appeared to be straight, NOT there with a girlfriend and under the age of 40. The proverbial holy grail. Now - I would have PROBABLY approached Mr. Hottie Yoga even if I hadn't found out what I found out on Saturday. But, now that I know what I know... I'll just have to move with more earnest.

ALLEGEDLY he just signed on with the Royals.

I'm at a loss. This could have the potential to be the best news of my autumn. Ever since I fell in love with Chipper Jones in 1997, I've wanted a baseball player of my very own. When I'd volunteer to take my brothers to baseball games - I had ulterior motives. And those motives usually came in the form of the pitcher. I even snuck out of my parents house in a pseudo-blizzard, during my youth, to make it to a Chad Durbin autograph signing at the Price Chopper.

So, yeah, I have a things for baseball players.

Couple that with the fact he's into Hot Yoga and I'm helpless.

Someone please help me.

Me vs Kelly from The Office

If The Office isn't one of your favorite shows, then please save me the trouble and go ahead and punch yourself in the throat. I am SO excited for the hour long premier tonight! I have spent the last 2 months catching up on the seasons I have missed. I certainly got my $17.99/month worth out of Netflix. Socializing with real people was a sacrifice I made to catch up on the sordid affairs of The Office. Lack of sleep was something I gladly succumbed to if that meant I got to watch one more episode where Jim tried to work up the nerve to ask Pam on a date. However, to see Dwight without his shirt on was something I would have rather not seen.

ANYWAY - today we've been playing "What Character from The Office Are You" in my office. I have been labeled my office's "Kelly." This was a blow. Kelly isn't my favorite character. She's shallow, noisy, talks a lot and gives second generation foreigners a bad name.

And that is why I am my office's Kelly.

At first I wanted to be Pam. Pam is cute and sweet, has curly hair and lands a GREAT guy. But then it was explained to me that...

1. Kelly speaks in Webcronyms.
OMG - Guilty.

2. Kelly always has some man obsession going on that she doesn't shut up about.
Check. See previous post.

3. Kelly sat next to and annoys a guy named Ryan.
Double Check.

4. Kelly is foreign.
Damn.

You're Crushing Me!

OMG you guys. I am totally crushing on someone and in a pretty bad way. And to make matters worse, it is someone at work. And to make matters even WORSE, it is someone that is way hot and doesn't even know my name.

I am going to go out on a limb and try something a little more suave than my usual flirting tactics. That means that I am going to do more than stare at him. I know, I know, this is a big step for me. If any one has any suggestions on how I should approach him or what I could say or do, I am listening.

I am serious, you guys. This could be the next Mr. MHIBTY.

How YOU doin'?

A play in one act

The Scene: The produce department at the local grocery store
The Characters: Me. Random older, skeevy guy

::curtain rises and Natasha is selecting bell peppers for what will be the most spectacular chili she's ever made. Random older, skeevy guy rolls shopping cart right up behind Natasha::

ROSG: I just bought $34 worth of crab legs.

::Natasha looks around and realizes that ROSG is talking to her::

Natasha: That's a lot of crab.

ROSG: I'll need help eating it. ::wink::

Natasha:: I'm allergic. (Director's Note: Natasha is NOT allergic)

::Natasha turns back to the bell peppers::

::Curtain falls::

SERIOUSLY? Seriously. What is up with that guy? And what is up with almost every guy (all 3 of them) that hit on me? There is Crabby, the "Hey, hey, hey, hey......HEY!" guy from the gas station parking lot. That looked something like this...

::Natasha walking from her car in to the gas station::

Guy in gas station parking lot: Hey, hey, hey, hey........HEY!!!!

::Natasha continues walking::

Guy: So that's how you are?

And let's not forget the guy that would "BAA" at me and tell me that my hair reminded him of a sheep's wool.

Oh wait. That was my ex-husband.

Twinkle Toes

After a summer of not taking any dance classes, my ballet classes start up again tonight!

And I am SO excited. You could say that I am so excited I could spit! But, since I am a lady and you know that I never stoop to unbecoming behavior, you would NOT say that. But you also know that I am lying about that, so go ahead and say it.

Yes! Ballet! Just one of the many ways I am regressing back into my childhood because being an adult is for the birds and I, just frankly, rather not be. An adult OR a bird. Oh, except for the part where I live alone, don't have a curfew and don't have to ask permission before eating the last of the worms.

In addition to ballet I have, recently, read a Bernstein Bear book, mooched a HUGE bowl of Fruit Loops off a friend, Netflixed Mary Poppins.

Regression is 74% complete.

Earring Follow Up

My mom found her earring. She found it when moving shoes off of the a/c vent on the floor and noticed it hanging, perilously, about to fall into the abyss that is the heating and cooling duct system.

Needless to say, she snatched it up and gave me a call. Thank you everyone who gave their support during this tragic time for my mom.

Inspector MHIBTY

Monday morning I found a money clip right by my car. The clip was actually in a vinyl cooler/lunch box thing and was the most valuable item compared to the empty beer can and a pair of metal tongs also in the case. Since this is how so many of my dreams begin, I quickly started looking for John Krasinski, all tingly with excitement that hopefully my dream would FINALLY come to fruition.

I took the money clip and resolved to track down the owner. There was $12, an ID and 5 credit cards. The potential for serious fun was astronomical. Alas, since John Krasinski was not there to pound (the importance of reliable office supplies home to) me , I knew this was not a dream, so I had to be a responsible, moral stricken citizen.

Go Go Gadget skates!

411 didn't have a number for A.B.B. (I'll use his initials. I'll give this guy a break since he's already avoided one scrape with Identify Theft) and neither did the operator. NADA found in the White pages or on the Internet. I had called his credit cards customer service numbers trying to get a modicum of information on this guy. NOTHING. After going threw an automated menu and finding out that one of the credit cards had a $10,000 (TEN THOUSAND!!!!) limit, I noticed the company logo on the front of it. It is for a local Sports Venue Architecture firm. I can call the office! But it was Labor Day. My hopes weren't high, but at least it was something.
I call a couple of numbers and the second one gave me the option to dial an employees extension via their name. JACKPOT! I dial, the phone rings, HE PICKS UP!!! I quickly explain who I am and why I am calling. He seems unphased by the whole ordeal, but thanks me. We agree to meet.

We eventually meet up for the hand-off and we exchange stories - how he lost it and how/where I found it and how I tracked him down. He seemed impressed by my investigative skillz and grateful that he didn't have to cancel all his credit cards. I was impressed that he was much cuter than his drivers license would have had me believe.

So maybe if I play my cards right this WILL end like all my other dreams..... Go Go Gadget Giggity!

Mommy Dearest

One of my newest hobbies is learning to read Tarot Cards. My friend Athena has been reading for many, many years and is mentoring me. I was surprised, to say the very least, for this new practice to be warmly accepted by BOTH of my parents and both were game when I read their cards last Sunday.

I had dinner with them yesterday and my mom asked if I had brought my cards with me because she had a question for them. After cleaning up, we sat around the table and I shuffled the cards while I had her concentrate on her question.

"Where is the earring that I lost this morning?"

.............this is just one of the countless reasons why I love my mom.

For the curious crowd, the cards said that she'll stumble across it while she's not looking for it.... so stay tuned to find out where (and if) it shows up.

I farted no less than 3 times in yoga class yesterday...

...that is all.

....and one for my homie

Whitney had to move away. This makes me sad.

I will miss you Whitty Woo! You always made me laugh.

Hey guys! Remember that one time Whitney's lighter exploded? Yeah, good times.

What a Racquet!

Thought I'd share a funny email exchange.....

Preface:
There was a Buy/Sell/Trade Bulletin Board at work and someone had posted that their tennis racquet was for sell. This individual went on for over a full paragraph about how wonderful his racquet was and how good the racquet had been to him, but that it was just time to sell her, however painful, and move on.

The following email exchange takes place:

MyHairIsBetterThanYours: I don't play tennis, but I want your racquet.

MyRacquetIsBetterThanYours: You have $30?

Hair: I am not going to buy your racquet

Racquet: :( dang

Hair: You just made the racquet sound NECESSARY in my life, I want it.

Racquet: Good!!! You have $30?

Hair: I am not buying your racquet.

Racquet: I tell you what....I will let you touch it, see how it feels, take a couple swings, feel the power of it. You will buy it then, I know you will buy it then.

Hair: I am not looking for a long term.... racquet. Maybe one or two swings, that is all.

Racquet: You said you wanted, now you only want it for a little while? Tell me that makes sense and I'll tell you pigs fly out of my butt.

Hair: I said I wanted it. I never specified for how long.

Racquet: ohhh, ok. So you are the type of person who likes something and wants something, but once that something gets used, abused, and old, you get rid of it? Is that what I am hearing? I love her, I just want to give her to someone who is going to love her like I did ya know. Someone who is going to treat her right, sleep with her when it gets to cold for her to stay in the car. Someone who is going to cherish the memories, the good and the bad. Can you do that? Can you be that someone?

Hair: I am afraid not. I'll show the racquet a really good time for a while. It will feel like it is on top of the world. I'll smile every time I see it, take it places it's never been before and let it fall in love with me. But, alas, I will begin to grow restless with the racquet, I will begin to resent the racquet for "holding me back" and for not letting "me be me." I will tell the racquet that I never should have let things go this far, and that it isn't the racquet, it is me. The racquet will be crushed, try to make it work, but there just won't be anything the racquet can do. And while the racquet and I will be good together, great even, I will not be able to give it what it deserves.

Racquet: WHO DOES THAT??? I mean, who plans out a relationship? I mean, has the world gone to a place where the bird can't spread his wings and fly. Have we mistakenly misplaced our hopes and dreams? When we try to find them in the dark, do we get the worst of us; failure and misery? It is this that makes me saddened by the hardships, trials and tribulations, and hopelessness of things not seen. But when we turn on the light, when we begin to see the glory of the day when we live and can posses what we know will make us virtuous and true, it is then, and only then when we can negate the cycle of thinking past what we know, live in the present, and let whatever happen, happen.

Hair: I'm not buying your racquet.

I should be a contributing author

I found this gem of a blog.

http://reasonswhyidumpedyou.blogspot.com/

I wonder if I submitted "Because you were so hairy that you left hair on my furniture and I didn't want to invest in one of these" if they'd publish it?

OR

Maybe I could suggest a spin off blog called "Reasons why you didn't get a second date." I could offer them quite a few posting so that they'd hit the ground running...

• Because you had 5 ferrets
• Because you ate all my Hot Tamales (after saying you didn't like them!)
• Because you sniffed me and finished with an audible "ahhhhh..."
• Because you told me the wrong time for the show
• Because you didn't show up to the first one - Oh wait - that is actually sad for me.

Flying High

...or drunk, as it were.

To put the most wretched of endings on a perfectly lovely vacation, United Airlines cancelled our flight home Saturday evening. We were stuck in Raleigh for the night. Let me wrap that sentence in a cozy context blanket for you. I was stuck with my parents, 2 brothers and 1 brother's girlfriend in Raleigh after being with them all week.... and more importantly... being with them ALL DAY at the airport.

In a twist that I don't even know how even I pulled off - I ended up stranded in the same city one of my best "going out" friends moved to recently. She was my knight (Teeny Tiny Lesbian) riding in to save me on a white horse (Toyota Matrix, rather), wearing shining armour (cute Bermuda shorts and a t-shirt). She got my going-to-go-insane-if-my-mom-asks-one-more-time-what-"True Lies"-was-about ass out of the hotel and to a bar.

So, Dani, picks me up at 10:30... we go to this fabulous little Italian restaurant called Bocci and then hit a dance club that used to be an old warehouse. I had a few beers and then yadda yadda yadda I was back in my hotel room at 3:30. After spending 20 minutes breathing my spins away, I was able to pass out for an hour. David dragged me out of bed at 5:08 and I put on pants and sunglasses.

I wasn't going to be a burden to the family, though, I was determined to carry my own luggage and walk briskly to the gate on my own. However, I had forgotten that the family hadn't had our obligatory "random" security check yet for the trip, and seeing how our last names rhymes with "Derka-derka-derka-jihad-allah" we were pulled over, randomly..... in a row.... all 6 of us. I tried to act as normal as I possible could, but, shit man, I was still drunk! The security officer was telling me that I needed to get a pat down and in any other situation, if I am drunk and you're telling me that I was going to get a pat down, you can bet your fondling-promising ass that I am expecting some quality action. Considering the delicate situation we were all in, I had to keep all comments about getting a girl-on-girl grope to myself.

And that, my friends, means that the terrorists have won.

Pressure Under Fire

Whitney dropped her lighter outside of Minsky's pizza last night and that sumofabetch EXPLODED! A bit of the plastic shrapnel hit Whitney's arm and some of the liquid fluid hit my ankle. Whitney thought it was a gunshot and squealed/screamed (and was THISCLOSE to ducking for cover) and I thought it was a magic trick. Yes, we were both a little tipsy.

Some rando-guy came over to light her ciggie and we both thought it was a little too convenient that he was waiting in the wings with a working, non-exploded lighter in hand. I called him the "David Blaine of in front of Minsky's pizza!"

Not Liz, Whitney or I could explain exactly what happened. We came up with multiple theories and hypothesis, none that really made sense to us. But, honestly, the friggin lighter exploded as soon as it made contact with the sidewalk. KABAAM!! How messed up is that?

Needless to say, Whitney is a little gun shy about using a lighter now.

My Worst Nightmare

I've mentioned it before, I'll mention it again. I HATE FISH. Dear God in Heaven, they are vile creatures. My morning coffee was ruined when this story came on the air.

People are letting the aquatic devil-vermin EAT the dead skin cells off of their feet in order to get a pedicure.

Don't people realize that this is just Phase 1 for the fish? It's starts our simple enough... just use them to clean our feet... a crap job for these carps. Did they fail to connect eating with getting bigger? Soon these pedicure giving Pisces will grow into full blown human-eating machines! And then Phase 2 begins: take over humanity as we know it.

It will start simple, some soccer mom in a nail salon will lose a toe, then, innocently enough, a too-tan teenager will lose a foot right before prom and then before you know it: MASS HYSTERIA as the national guard is called in to control the man eating carp.

But it will be all our fault, you see, for we gave them their taste for human flesh.

Boatin' on Lake 'Boji

I've never been on a speed boat. I was on a pontoon boat a few times as a little kid and I, once, tried a jet ski but refused to go fast and then got lost on the lake trying to find my way back. Marry that experience with my fear and loathing of fish and lakes, and you'd understand why I had to pretend to be excited when Liz wanted to spend the day, Friday - Independence Day, out on the boat. In the middle of the lake, no less. I was perfectly content with staying on dry land, as far away from the lake water and the fish it harbors.

There were 8 of us and after we all climbed in and loaded up the beer, I was a little distraught to find that there were no safety belts. Pulling out of the dock and slowly making our way passed the buoys was exactly what I expected. Then we hit the open water. If I hadn't had gone to the bathroom RIGHT before we left, I'm sure I would have pissed myself. The speed, the wind, the steering of the boat... all were way outside my comfort level. I didn't want to make my general pussiness apparent to the Boji Family, so I decided that I'd handle the situation better if I got my drink on.

Whether it was the beer or just me learning to not be a scardy cat, I relaxed eventually and really enjoyed the afternoon! After a few hours, we met up with about 6 or 7 other Boji Family members (and assorted friends), tied our boats together and just partied in the middle of the lake. I was almost positive that the group wasn't going to head to shore just to let me use the bathroom, so I had to "go swimming" if I wanted any sort of relief.

Let me say this one more time. I EFFING HATE LAKE WATER AND EVERYTHING IN IT. But, alas, I had no choice. Figuring that that the AMOUNT of beer that put me into this situation would actually impair my aim, a Gatorade bottle was out of the question.

So I manned up and climbed into the lake. It took me about 20 twenty minutes to do it since it the water was kinda cold, I was nervous and it was hard to relax when every single muscle in my body was clenched as I was ready to attack anything and everything that came within a 2 feet radius of me. And Liz, you better be sleeping with one eye open! It was NOT cool when you threw that seaweed (lakeweed?) at me. I advised others to stay away from me. For their own safety. Also because they were swimming for the same reason, and I didn't need that.

But I am a champion, I got the job done and was dragged back into the boat. Party on.

Our day on the lake was nothing short of spectacular. Plus, there is nothing quite like being drunk on a boat, getting off the boat, back onto dry land and have it still feel, under you, that you're still on the boat.

Brand Whore

Within an hour of getting into town, Liz and I were carted off to a bonfire to meet up with a gaggle of her cousins. Both of us were greeted with big hugs and cold beers. After only a few minutes I had learned everyones name and had argued that Nate and Ryan look more like brothers rather than identical twins.

The bonfire was your average bonfire, I suppose. Someone threw fireworks into the fire while everyone was sitting around it, someone else attempted to break a 50lb log with their head and the twins argued over who got to brand who with the red-hot rebarb that was in the fire.
I'm not 100% positive how it exactly went down, but I do know Nate dropped his pants and let his twin, Ryan, brand his ass. I looked over just in time to see contact made and hear flesh sizzle right before Nate cried out and crumbled to his knees. Naturally, after Nate could stand, a back-and-forth happened between them and HOW Ryan was suppose to administer the brand. Nate wanted just the tip, the point, a small dot to make contact with his skin... while what really happened is that Ryan laid a good 10 inches of the metal width wise across his butt. So while Nate was expecting something like this....

His back end actually looks like this...

Nate would spend the rest of the weekend showing this off, not to garnish sympathy votes, but more just to show it off. Since stunts like this one are not uncommon between them, I asked the twins how they managed to not kill each other and/or themselves. Neither could answer. Then Nate threw a firework at Ryan.

Back to the bonfire.

Drinking and general merriment ensued. I outlasted Liz's younger brother, Wes, and I felt pretty awesome about that. And shortly after Wes passed out, we all moved to Ryan's house where the drinking continued. Which probably caused the wrestling tournament to start. I cheered them on and tried to stay out of the way when they knocked over the huge tower of glass bottles. It was right at about this time, Liz and went to swing on the hammock.

When the sun started coming up, I decided that it was time to sleep and that I wanted to sleep in the bed. Since I am the type of girl that will use any and all powers I have to secure a bed to sleep in, I told Nate to show me to his bed. And he did. And we didn't. You could ALMOST say that this makes me some sort of whore and my payment is a bed to sleep in.... almost.

After a few hours sleep, I found Liz still in the hammock. I climbed in, surprisingly without tipping the whole thing over, and asked if I was an honorary member of the family now. She assured me that I was. Happy with my new Boji Family, we fell asleep.

When we made it back to Liz's dad's house, wearing the same clothes they had last seen us in the day before, I felt a little naughty and a lot awesome. We got ready for the afternoon BBQ and then made plans to take the boat out on the lake....