wardrobe.

my wardrobe is empty at the moment. like literally, empty. where are all your clothes, girrrrl? oh, you know, just in the laundry hamper. nbd. confession: sometimes i'd rather just buy new clothes than do laundry. it happens. speaking of which, i am in desperate need of new tops of the summer variety...

want a good laugh?

this is probs the most hilarious bulk email i have read in my entire human life. pretty sure i cried from laughing so hard the first time i read it. and the second time i read it. so i had to share:

Pocket Tazer Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife.
A guy who purchased his lovely wife a pocket Tazer for their anniversary submitted this:
Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 15th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife Julie. What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Tazer.
The effects of the Tazer were supposed to be short lived, with no long term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety...??
WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home... I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button and pressed it against a metal surface at the same time, I'd get the blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs.
AWESOME!!! Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Julie what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave.
Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two AAA batteries, right?
There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target.
I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a second) and then thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised.
Am I wrong?
So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, and Tazer in another.
The directions said that:
a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant;
a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; and
a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water.
Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries.
All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference (loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA batteries); pretty cute really, and thinking to myself, 'no possible way!'
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best.
I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one side so as to say, 'Don't do it stupid,' reasoning that a one second burst from such a tiny lil ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad.. I decided to give myself a one second burst just for heck of it.
I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and...
HOLY MOTHER. WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION. WHAT THE... !!!
I'm pretty sure Hulk Hogan ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs! The cat was making meowing sounds I had never heard before, clinging to a picture frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an attempt to avoid getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.
Note:
If you ever feel compelled to 'mug' yourself with a Tazer,
one note of caution:
There is NO such thing as a one second burst when you zap yourself! You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor!
A three second burst would be considered conservative!
A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape.
* My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace.
* The recliner was upside down and about 8 feet or so from where it originally was.
* My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching.
* My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs.
* I had no control over the drooling.
* Apparently I had crapped in my shorts, but was too numb to know for sure, and my sense of smell was gone.
* I saw a faint smoke cloud above my head, which I believe came from my hair.
I'm still looking for my testicles and I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return!
PS: My wife can't stop laughing about my experience, loved the gift and now regularly threatens me with it!
If you think education is difficult, try being stupid!!!!



if you don't find this hilarious, your sense of humor needs improvement. that's all i'm saying.

why? oh, why?

two posts in one day.

whoa.

is it the end of the world or something?

no. i'm just feeling the need to ask the cyber-world a question. that question being... wait for it.... wait for it...

WHY oh WHY do text greetings and salutations seem so much more personal when a person's full name is included? we're not just talking first names here. we're talking the whole. entire. name.

as in,
good morning peyton sawyer!
OR
hey brooke davis!
OR
sweet dreams, haley james.

i mean, those sound so much better than,
good morning peyton!
OR
hey brooke!
OR
sweet dreams haley.

(and yes, i just used OTH names. don't even judge me. but we all know those full names are ESPECIALLY good because all of their last names resulted in one of their children's names. i mean, one time it was cute, but after three...can we find another creative outlet, please. sorry for the tangent.)

and so my question for all two of my readers out there is WHY is that? or am i a cray cray because i find it so much more personal and cute? i'm hoping you don't say the latter, but if you do i would understand.

and you're welcome for the two posts in one day. i know how much you love reading this. oh wait...

p.s. sorry for not going by my whole what i learned from who theme these days. i'm kinda over it. although that makes the name of this blog kinda weird. especially since i don't have a husband. but i'm kinda over that too. (both the weird name and lack of husband. ;) ) (and yes, i just used a winky face. again, don't judge.)

hat hair.

so i nanny for this family once a week.

it is great.

but the greatest thing about it is playing catch with the littlest girl. she is 2. and whenever we play catch, she HAS to have her hat on. it's this navy baseball hat with a pink bow. most adorbs. no hat=no playing catch. it's as simple as that.

also, equally great is learning dance moves from her. probs she can bust a move.

okay, that is all.

a minor slip up (pun intended).

so i had a grad school interview on monday.

i knew about it for two weeks, and to say i was stressing is an understatement. i mean, this interview determined my future. no big deal, right?
wrong.
HUGE deal.

my biggest worry? what to wear. duh. because naturally these professionals are going to be most concerned about what i'm wearing not what i say. so i planned and prepped. i had the perfect outfit picked out. i laid it all out the night before to be extra prepared. for some reason i had this huge fear that i was going to forget my shoes and/or my slip. so i made sure those were out and ret to go.

then i went to sleep. and had a nightmare about my interview. the first question they asked me in my sleep-interview was what "TEM" stands for. um. no clue. they informed me it stood for the university of communications. UGH. HOW DID I NOT KNOW THAT?? my dream-self berated me for my stupidity. (fyi, i looked up TEM on google dot com when i woke up (so i would be prepared if/when they asked that to me because my dreams are so inspiring). obvi it doesn't stand for university of communications. in fact, it stands for some middle eastern country or something like that. they did not ask me this question in my interview (shocker, i know) but anyways...)

i woke up. laid i bed. you don't care. blahblahblah.
grabbed all my necessities and headed out the door. 2 hour drive to tucson. drivedrivedrive. oh wait, we're 20 minutes away from the school and all of a sudden it hits me. you, IDIOT, you forgot your slip. i brushed the worry aside because how could i forget one of the things i knew i was going to forget?? i couldn't. because i was prepared.
except i wasn't. i looked in the back seat for my outfit (i couldn't drive in it and get it all wrinkled, silly. presentation is everything). NO SLIP. CRAP. now the interviewers are going to be able to see through my clothes and they'll think i'm a slut and tell me to get away from their university because they don't accept such revealing people. this is the thought that ran through my mind. among others...

thank the heavens there was a kohl's nearby. (fyi, wal mart does not sell slips. went there first.) so i took a minor detour prior to my interview. and good thing i did. because they loved me! and probs that had everything to do with my outfit not being see-through. i can't really think of any other reason why they would have thought i was amazing enough to accept. yes, ACCEPT. as in, ACCEPTED to grad school.


i'm brilliant. shh...

baggage claim.

i decided the number one thing i hate about being single this week.

now, i am not one of those people who complains about being single all the days. there are actually quite a few things i love about being single. married people who say marriage is the greatest thing ever invented, don't freak out. it's not like i don't want to get married. it's just that i'm enjoying the single life.

with one exception.

called flying alone.

why do you hate flying alone, girl?
is it because you hate sitting next to strangers?
no.
is it because said strangers ask the strangest questions and can be somewhat annoying at times?
no.
is it because you're sick of the male flight attendants hitting on you?
no.
(and no, i'm not making this up. a male flight attendant DID hit on me this one time. how do i know he was flirting? let's just say he brought me a cup filled with gummy bears. who does that? a southwest flight attendant who is clearly flirting with me, that's who. and can i just say, that is the kind of flirting i am definitely not opposed to--free food.)
well if it's none of those things, what could it possibly be?

i will tell you.
it's called having to heave my hugenormous carry on suitcase above my head and into a tiny little compartment where it barely fits BY. MYSELF.

i am weak.

how can you expect me to enjoy doing that? especially in front of hundreds of strangers who judge me with their judgy eyes for not being stronger? (okay so maybe they don't have judgy eyes. but then again, maybe they do.)

it is hard. and it makes me light headed. and it is so not enjoyable. and then i see all these couple-y people where the man is like, "oh sweetie, is that bag heavy? let me just get that for you." and then he proceeds to lift the bag with one finger. because he is so masculine and strong.

i need me one of those men. forget dating or marrying him. i just want a personal male assistant to fly with me so i don't have to lift up my bag. that's all i'm asking for.

and for those of you who would tell me to just pack lighter because then it wouldn't be such a problem...
to you i say: fitting it in a carry on sized bag was difficult enough. who do you think i am? superwoman? um. no. because if i was superwoman i would be able to lift my own bag regardless of the content weight. that's all i'm saying.

automatic.

So listen. I don’t know what it is, but when I’m blog-storming (that is, brainstorming for the blog abbreviated—so clever am I), it seems there is a theme. And I do not understand this theme. Because really I am no expert on the subject. In fact, I rarely discuss the subject because I know so little about it. And yet, I have all these great blog post ideas about this particular subject.

I’m sure you’re all dying to know what it is, huh? I guess I’ll be a darling and tell you.

My blog-storming theme these days is cars.

Cars!

Seriously?? Seriously.

“Are you a man blogger?” one may ask after such a revelation.

No, I am female. And I’m assuming 99.9% of my readers are also females, if not 100%. So writing about car matters isn’t exactly appropriate for enlarging my audience, now is it? Nope. Not at all. Good thing I’m not too concerned about the size of my reading pool. Probs it’s shrinking by the minute. But whatevs. So here are my latest thoughts about cars.

I was on a date on Friday night (shocker, I know). Whilst on this first date, my date offered to teach me how to drive stick shift. Because during the course of our conversation, he discovered that I am a 21-year old failure who has never driven stick shift before. My thought on this matter: Who cares? I don’t even own a stick shift car.

But.

Every man’s thought on this matter upon discovering this travesty: Ooh, I will show off my manliness by teaching you something. Called how to drive stick shift.

I cannot count on one hand the number of men who have offered to teach me how to learn stick shift. Pretty sure there have been at least 8 offers (and considering the few dates I have been on, this is quite a lot). All offers have been made while I was on a date with the boy/man.

And yet, here I remain—without any knowledge of driving a stick shift vehicle. Wanna know why? Because, although these guys are so very gracious to offer, it seems two seconds after the offer is made, they disappear from my life. It’s a recurring theme. I’ve come to recognize it. And so whenever any man offers to teach me to drive stick shift, I say: “Sure! That would be so great.” But I’m really thinking: “That’s never in a million years gonna happen because probs I'll never see you again. Which is really too bad. Because if you did stick around and teach me something, I would give you a shout out on my blog. You missed out. See you never."