Thursday, June 25, 2009

A hot and sweaty night...

A storm brewed Tuesday night. It rolled in on yellow and grey clouds and ambushed the metro area with strong winds, claps of thunder & lightning and a down pour of rain. It would have been really fucking cool if it hadn’t knocked the power out.

Some history…

I love my apartment. It’s in a really, really old building. I have window units. The landlord lent me one to use in the bedroom when I moved in, in the early spring, over two years ago. Fast forward to the beginning of (a Kansas City) summer and I was M.I.S.E.R.A.B.L.E. My apartment traps heat, holds on to it and will not let go. I’m on the 3rd floor of a 3 story building with a flat, black tar roof, in the southeast corner. With no shade. It is literally an oven. My first summer there I remember the apex of my misery was when I was trying to sleep, naked, spread eagle with several wet wash clothes on me, 3 fans AND the small window unit going.

And I was still suffering. My friend, Caleb, was able to eventually give me his bad ass, old school window unit (the one setting is “artic”), but in the meantime, I had to sleep at my parents house because sleeping at my place was impossible. It was just too fucking hot.

After the second window was installed in the living room, my apartment unit became an ice box. My choices were to either bake or freeze, I chose freeze.

So… two nights ago, after I had turned out the lights and began to enjoy my sheets as only a grown, single lady CAN enjoy her new sheets… you can imagine my fear/nausea/heartbreak when the power went out.

I figured I had about 5 minutes before the heat began to set in. I was wrong. It was about 2. I pried open the bedroom window not occupied by an AC unit (which is hard to do since my windows like to melt shut in the heat) and prayed for a breeze. A small one danced in and out and after an hour of being unbearably uncomfortable, I feel asleep.

The power came back on some time while I was asleep, so I am very thankful for that. However, I woke up feeling cheated out of my first night with you, Sheets. Like having sex for the first time, I said to myself “well, that wasn’t bad… but, I think it can a much more fulfilling and satisfying experience…. For BOTH of us.”

It wasn’t your fault, Sheets, and it wasn’t mine either. It was out of our control Tuesday night.

But we more than made up for it last night. ;)

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

The Sheet is Gonna Hit The Fan

I'm not gonna get a whole lot of sleep tonight.

After canvasing every mailbox in the neighborhood (haha, just kidding Post Master General!), I've been able to track down a BB&B coupon and today I bought the best sheets my skin has ever had the pleasure of knowing.

I am so excited, I can hardly wait until bedtime! Since these are MY sheets and I will be in MY bed and won't have to apologize, awkwardly, to Amy the next morning... I plan on doing everything to these sheets that I could not do in St. Louis.

Friday, June 19, 2009

The Pits of Depair

I perspire. Hard core. To quote Kevin James "Were you just jump roping in the attic? - No, I was peeling an orange." I explained to Tammy once, when she saw me picking up the "CLINICAL Strength" Deodorant... I would buy Horse Strength antiperspirant if they a) had such a thing and b) sold it over the counter.

Just call me Sweat Pits McGee. OR Sweet Tits McGee. Either will work.

This brings us to this morning at 7:40. I'm 2 miles from work and realize I did not put on deodorant. This instantly makes me break out into a cold sweat. FUCK. I blast the AC and do that thing with your arms where you lift and hunch over your shoulders so the dashboard vents hit you right in the under arm area.

Needless to say, today I am taking measures to ensure I don't break a sweat. This means no laughing too hard, no twisting off beer caps and I am going to have to recruit someone to peel my mango. I even took the slide down to the first floor, in lieu of the stairs, in an effort to exert the least amount of energy. I'm not sure if I saved a sweat break out, but I did manage to almost do a summer salt in the slide. I banged up my knee & back, screamed a little and then when I landed (crashed) I was greeted by most of the Professional Services team in the cafe area. Including this guy.

Have no fear, dear readers, I have found a way to keep the stank at bay. In addition to the aforementioned no-sweat steps, I have been rubbing Purell Hand Sanitizer in my pits all day. The bottle says it kills 99.99% of germs. Also figured the alcohol in it would dry out the pit-eroonies. Plus a friend of mine said she's tried this from time to time when she forgets to deodorize. Thanks Lynn!

So, even though it's Friday, I will not be putting my arms in the air and waving them around like I just don't care until AFTER I get home and apply some de-o.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

The rules of the bathroom are nothing like the rules of basketball.

Not that it matters a great deal, but the Lakers won the whole kit and caboodle. Wahoo. I bring this up for two reasons. One is so that I have a semi-valid reason to post a picture of my newest boyfriend on my blog, forward for the Lakers: Luke Walton.


Call me.

And second is so that I can segue into my bathroom rant of the day.


First of all, it's not a team sport. You're on your own in there, for better or for worse.

Second - While "off the rim" can go either way in Basketball (disappointment versus joy, depending on who you're rooting for), in the bathroom it is always, ALWAYS, gross.

Also unlike Basketball (and the one and only point I really want to make), if you miss your shot (trying to get the USED toilet paper into the toilet...) YOU GET TO TRY AGAIN! In fact! I think the rule is that YOU HAVE to try again. This isn't always the case in basketball. If you miss your shot, that's it. Your turn is over. Unless you get your own rebound... but that's just bad defense.

So needless to say... I walked into the stall and found a used bunch of toilet paper sitting on the bathroom seat today and was completely grossed out. Effing sick man. Foul.

But seriously, Luke, call me.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

I get good text

Sarah sent me a link to this website a while ago along with the note “not sure why but I thot immediately of you.” I’m not sure why, either, Sarah. Actually, yes I am. In that vein, I present to you a random sampling of the received texts from my inbox.

my loaf is perfect

So very lesbi-onic of you

So, on a scale of 1 – 10 how likely is it that ur going 2 loose ur top?

Facebook won’t let me popple u!! The bastards.

Okay… so wearing the balls while working out is…interesting. Jsyk.

We are drinking now. Stop by.

Listening to Robin Thicke, thinking of u ;)

I can b over in like 30 mins if u don’t mind me being a lil smelly ;)

Haha – They weren’t bad. Except that one. That smell was in my nose all day.

I have a weird rash on my neck

Jennie’s keys were in Natasha’s bush

Please feel free to share your own.

Monday, June 15, 2009

Girls in the Lou Part Deux

The aim of this post isn’t to underplay how wonderful and fun my weekend was with Shannan and Amy, but rather to emphasize how freaking FANTASTIC Amy’s sheets are.

Giiiiiirl. Friend.

Those were some nice sheets.

Seriously. I have slept on some luxurious sheets in my time (I have done other things on luxurious sheets too if you know what I mean…like…read the bible…), and I would be remiss if I didn’t put these sheets in the top 3 of the Best-God-Damn-Sheets EVER list. (Maybe I shouldn’t say God Damn if I want people to believe my bible lie.) A little perspective: I sleep on 1000 (three zeros) cotton thread count sheets…. And these make my sheets feel like sandpaper. Ok, maybe not sandpaper, but they certainly put my sheets to shame and I am now looking for one those 20% coupons to BBB we all get in the mail.

I, on more than one occasion, had to restrain myself from ripping off all my clothes and rolling around in the Sheets-of-Wonder with reckless abandon. I didn’t (Amy, you still might want to wash your sheets).

Every morsel of food, every ounce of booze and every writhe of laughter shared among us would have been enough to cement this weekend as a fantastic Girls in the Lou Weekend; but those sheets…. sigh.

Oh, and aren’t we all so pretty?

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Shanatamy in the Lou: 2009

I'm so excited for the weekend you guys! More so than usual. Shannan and I are heading to the Lou to visit Amy. The last time the 3 of us (ShaNatAmy) were in the Lou together, we kicked it Literal Style and took pictures of ourselves in public restrooms.

(Left to Right - Shannan, Me, Amy)

Mall Food Court
(Left to Right - Shannan, Me, Amy)

(Top: Amy, Left: Me, Right: Shannan)

Needless to say, we're real mature. And Hawt.

Friday, June 5, 2009


Now that Stef’s right hand is out of commission, she needs help in the kitchen. Girlfriend is a great cook; she uses only the freshest, finest ingredients and usually makes EVERYTHING from scratch. This is awesome – until you’re the friend that gets suckered into being her hands when she needs to make bread. (haha, just kidding Stef, I love you…ha…ha…).

No but seriously. It’s a lot of work. Last Thursday I was over there making the dough for a whole grain & oat bread and a potato bread and for being my first bread making experience (outside of popping open a Pillsbury roll canister), I felt I did a good job.

I got a little cocky this past Wednesday with the pizza dough.

The dough started off just fine, I had retained most of what I had learned 6 days prior and felt like a natural. When it came time to add the 110 degree water to yeast, I didn’t hesitate when Stef said “add 2 full cups and let it sit 10 minutes” as I took the measuring cup from her. So I added 2.

10 minutes later (after waiting for the yeast to “activate”), Stef said “Now, add 2 more cups of water.” I get the water to the correct temperature and add 1 full thing of water. Then I look at the bowl of water and yeast and notice that it is very full. Way more full than the other time even if we are making a larger yield this time.

“Uh, Stef. You want me to add 2?”

“Yup. 2 cups.”

“Uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. 2 cups?”

“Yeah, that is a 2 cup measuring cup, so, just 1 of those.”

“Ok, I added 1.”

“Wait. How many did you add 10 minutes ago?”


“2? Meaning a total of 4 cups?”


“Oh boy.”

After a few quick calculations in her head, Stef figured out a plan and a recipe to save the dough. The only thing was that there was going to be a shit ton of bread. Which meant a shit ton of dough. Which meant I had to put on an apron.

There was dough (d'oh!) everywhere! All over me, all over Stef, all over the counter and some on the walls. When we were done and ready for the first rise, we put the dough ball into the biggest bowl she had, but that couldn’t contain it. Shortly it started rising and became so big it had escaped the containment of the bowl. It was growing and legitimately threatened to take over the entire kitchen. Stef punched it back into the bowl, but it just kept on growing.

And growing.

When it was all said and done, we had 7 pizzas and 2 calzones the size of dinosaur eggs.

Just to make you guys all drool, my favorite (if you could pick one!) was the goat-cheese pesto with mozzeralla, spicky chicken, dried apricots, mushroom and spicky goat cheese spinkled on top. I would battle that dough monster again for just one more slice of that pie!

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Frolicking To and Fro

For 3 different reasons, I registered for and ran the BE1! Inaugural Cross Country 5K and Fun Run.

1. Liz volunteers for BE1!
2.The events proceeds went to Big Brother Big Sister of Kansas City (still waiting on getting my little sister, but, I feel really connected to the organization now!).
3. Motivation to keep up with my running.

After running (mostly) a half marathon (13.1 miles) last month, I figured a 5K (3.1 miles) would be a fucking walk in the park.

However, I didn’t realize that it would LITERALLY be a run in the fucking park. I failed to comprehend that the “cross country” portion of “Cross Country 5K” probably meant NOT running on a road or a paved trail of some sort, but rather it did indeed mean the most plain (the pun coming up was intended) definition of cross country; in the grass.

The runners (maybe 40 or 50 total) were instructed to march out to the starting line across a vast field in Swope Park. “Follow the white paint line, it marks the course. Make 2 laps” were the instructions. “Everybody line up and we’ll get started”

“What if the morning dew makes the grass slick and I slip and fall?”

“What if I don’t see the hidden and hazardous holes and bumps in the ground and twist my ankle?”

“What if I step in poop?"

No time to ask these questions, the air horn rang out and we all shot off in a dash.

Some in a faster dash than others.

OMG. If we had been a herd of gazelles or antelopes and we, as a pack, were running to avert a huge, hungry lion… I would have been the poor gazelle or antelope that valiantly runs as fast as her little legs would carry her, but the rest of the group are just faster, better, stronger so she is out ran by the herd, and quickly so.*

But LUCKILY, I am neither a gazelle nor am I an antelope. If god had wanted me bounding across a field he would have made me one. Therefore I can, with a fair amount of conviction, state that I will NEVER be running a cross country race EVER AGAIN.

I toughed it out and finished, and I wasn’t even last! So, some other poor, fat schmuck would have been lion food. Survival of the fittest, bitches.

*The unfortunate play out of this scene is that then the lion catches up. And because I am the slowest (and juiciest looking, might I add) gazelle or antelope, the lioness pounces on my back, sinks her razor sharp claws into my rear haunches and drags me down for the kill.