New Place and That's Not Chicken

Hello, Everyone! Sorry I've been away so long. I have moved (yes, again! Move #17 of my life!) and been busy planning for Hong Kong. Because why not move AND take a 2 week international trip right afterwards? That's not stressful at all.

I also had to order and set up my Wi Fire, this super cool gizmo that magnifies wifi signals. Since I moved right next door to one of the buildings associated with the school where I work, I needed something to help me pick up the wifi signal from next door. It was too weak to pick up with my built in wifi thingie on my laptop, so I did some research and found out about this Wi Fire thing. They sell it on Amazon for $50, and voila! Free internet, courtesy of the wifi network next door! Woo hoo!

So I have moved out of the townhouse I shared with the Ex-F. It was a big relief -- I had a lot of bad memories there, and the HOA was driving me nuts with their controlling ways. Did I tell you they wouldn't let me have a yard sale? Yeah. WTF. They said it would "inconvenience my neighbors". Whatever. I just sold everything on Craigslist. They can bite me. Since I was moving from a 3 bedroom, 1250 sq ft place into a one bedroom, 800 sq ft place, I had to do a LOT of downsizing! I ended up making almost $300. Sweet.

Now, I am back downtown, living in an old building, just like I wanted. It was built a little after the turn of the century, and I really like the details. I'm actually right across the street from work, which is pretty cool. I can take naps on my lunch break! My coworker Lunch Buddy (her nickname, since we eat lunch together every day) and I watch tv at my house while we eat our turkey sandwiches. It's pretty sweet.

I have to say, I am pretty stoked about my new place, even though I am not done unpacking or setting it up. I forgot how long it takes to cram all your stuff into a smaller place! Not only do I have a sweet location, but my building was redone very nicely, so the kitchen is great and the apartment is not grungy or weird. It even has a normal floor plan, and gorgeous hardwood floors. And lots of storage -- a rarity in downtown Savannah! And like I said, I now get free internet! I am never moving again, as long as I live in Savannah, anyway. The kitchen even has a garbage disposal and a dishwasher. I have a clawfoot tub in my bathroom which is original to the building, so it's about 80-90 years old. I even have a spot for my washer and dryer, so I have on-site laundry facilities -- another rare thing in downtown Savannah. And would you believe this place is almost $100 cheaper than my old place? So worth it. Several of my coworkers have confessed to apartment envy.

I forgot to mention one super cool thing -- according to my landlord, Shoeless Joe Jackson used to live in this building after he got out of the Major Leagues. She doesn't know which apartment, though. Cool, huh? Here are some pics.

This is the outside of my building. I'm on the bottom left. (Yay, no more stairs!)


A shot of my bedroom:


The super cool fireplace in my bedroom:


My kitchen (you can't see the fridge on the left or the sinks on the right, so just use your imagination.)


Another shot of the living room:


I have some other pics, too, but are you really interested in seeing my closets? Didn't think so. The Czarina wants me to send more pics when I am all set up, so I'll share those when I take them.

I leave for Hong Kong on Saturday for 2 weeks. I am sooooo not ready and have a to-do list that is making me panic a little. I do have the major things done -- new passport and all my shots (dude, I had to get like, 7 different shots! Whoa!) . But now I just have to do laundry, run a bunch of errands, pack....ugh. I am a little stressed. I have Friday off, which helps, and my flight doesn't leave until noon on Saturday, so that also gives me a little time.

I won't get excited until I get on the plane. Then I will be super pumped! Even though this is a work trip, I am excited to experience a different country on someone else's dime. I wish they had put me in business or first class, considering my flight from Detroit to Hong Kong is 16 hours, but whatever. I'll survive. I'm actually more worried about eating while I am there. You see, I can't use chop sticks. I love egg rolls, but they will get old after a while. I am packing plastic forks, just in case.

After wondering what Chinese people eat for breakfast, I got a DVD about Cantonese food from Netflix the other day. Excited to learn more about the world of dumplings and stir-fry, I sat on my couch to watch. The narrator started off with something along the lines of how bouts of war and famine in China throughout time forced the people to consume all their food daily because they had to remain on the move and couldn't afford to bring food along (hence the emphasis on fresh ingredients). They also had to cook their food quickly to save time (hence the invention of stir-fry) and they also had no money so they had to eat cheaply (hence all the rice).

Very nice. Making sense so far, I thought.

Next, the narrator explained that the Cantonese people sometimes had to just eat what was available to them, due to the constant upheavals which come along with war and famine. Then the narrator said something about how there's a saying about the Cantonese -- they will eat anything that flies, swims or crawls.

Oh, haha, like they would eat my dog, how stereotypical, I thought.

"Actually," the narrator continued, "In the Cantonese language, there is no word for 'inedible.'"

Um, what?

Then the narrator said, "Chapter One: Chicken."

Oh no....

And what followed after was a 20 minute expose of how they love chicken and eat every part (and I mean every part) of a chicken. WARNING: Do not eat while reading this next part.

So they eat the obvious chicken parts. But the thing that is weird is that they seem to always cook the chickens whole (well, minus the feathers, which seems to be the only part of the chicken they don't eat). So there were all these full bodied chickens being boiled in pots. Whatever, they probably buy them from farmers and chop the heads off later, right? Wrong. Sometimes, you are served a whole chicken on your plate. As in, it's looking at you. Other times, they cut the head off, but only because they are making another dish with the head parts. Like deep-fried chicken beaks, for example. Ew. I have heard of people in the South eating chicken feet, but chicken beaks?? Sounds...crunchy. I would also like to add that they make a "specialty" dish out of the chicken part which I will simply refer to as "sphincter". Yes. They deep fry those, too, and you dip them in sauce. Are you gagging yet? Because I was. It totally ruined the ice cream I was eating while watching the DVD.

So they get to the end of the chicken section, and I'm like, "WHEW! Glad that's over!" But then the narrator comes back on and says, "Chapter 2: Snake." Ooooohhh noooooooo.......

I won't even tell you what they do with snake. All I can say is thank the Lord they are shaped the way they are so I can spot them in any dishes offered to me.

I stopped the DVD after the snake chapter. Chapter 3 was "Sheep", I think. No, thanks. I'm already a picky eater, and not the world's biggest Asian food fan, so this DVD was not helping. Perhaps this trip will be a good way to kick off my diet? I probably won't have any access to Ben and Jerry's which will be a start. However, I do know that KFC is on like donkey kong over there, so I can have fried chicken (breasts! Not beaks!) if I get the hankering. One of my coworkers made me promise to try at least one weird thing while I'm over there. I agreed, but only after she said it didn't have to be snake.

Well, guys, I don't know if I will have time to blog again before I leave, but I will blog when I get back. I'm not bringing my laptop with me, because my hotel charges $15/day for internet access. Which may be worth it, but the dealbreaker was that I found out that you can't get internet on planes once you're about 100 miles away from the US coastline. Well, not on Delta flights, anyway. If I could hop online as I cross the Pacific, I would probably bring it, but that is too much hassle. Sorry, guys. I'll be bringing a little notebook with me so I can write down all the interesting/funny/weird things I experience while over there. I'll provide a full report when I get back! Until then..........joi gin (goodbye)!

Growing Pains

Just to clarify for everyone, I am not blogging right now so that I can talk about my boyfriend's "small wiener" because I "don't even like him anymore."

Ugh. This is all I am listening to until my drunk boyfriend goes to bed. It's like a frigging record player. He's joking when he says it, but he's slurring. Which would be funny. The first 43 times.

Oh crap. He just came in and read all of that over my shoulder. Now he's talking about how I "don't even like him anymore." Again. According to him, he is sleeping on the couch (he's not) because I hate him (I don't). Ooh, he turned on American Idol. Sweet. It's like my own personal boyfriend babysitter. Silence is golden. I can blog in peace.

*Mumblings about how I don't even like him because he has a small wiener are heard from the living room couch.*

"No, you don't have a small wiener. It's massive and I can barely handle it," I am saying.

He said something about buttholes. I don't know.

Gotta love this insight into our lives, huh? I am tired and he's drunk. Hence this weird post. We have this exact conversation anytime he has more than 4 beers. Luckily, you are not physically here with us, so you don't have to witness him grabbing my boobs and "massaging" (read: man-handling them like he's tenderizing a steak) them, which causes me to slap his hands away and tell him to leave me alone.

This inevitably leads to another slurring rant about how I don't like him and his theoretically small wiener. Only this time, since my stalker (yes, the same stalker) tried to friend me AGAIN on myspace today, he now follows it up with, "You probably want Sylvester's wiener!! I know it!!"

UGH.

This is actually a perfect intro for what I want to talk about today. I knew that since CN and I have always gotten along extremely well (it's kind of unreal, actually, how well we get along) that ...

"No, I am not blogging lies about you," I just yelled to him.

Negative mumblings from the couch.

"Yes, I do love you," I continue. Please go back to talking to Paula Abdul, I think to myself.

Where was I? Oh yes. I knew it would go pretty well, this whole moving in together thing. I knew we would not have any major problems. And we don't. But the devil's in the details, you know? Here are some things I have learned about him since this whole moving thing has taken place:

1. He gives new meaning to the label "pack rat". He makes me look like an amateur. I told him I'd help him pack up his stuff/get rid of stuff he doesn't want anymore. So we go to Columbia for the weekend to get started on packing his stuff. 15 garbage bags full of trash later, he realizes he doesn't have as much stuff as he thought and I realize he hasn't thrown anything away since the 12th grade. Who keeps notebooks full of notes from college classes????!!

2. He is apparently incapable of closing a shower curtain when he's done taking a shower. This irks the crap out of me, because you might as well tell Mr. and Mrs. Mildew to just sit down and make themselves comfortable on your plastic...

"No I don't! Your wiener is not small and ugly! I love you very much and I am not telling lies about you! Your wiener smells fine!! I'm not telling anyone that!"

Ok, anyway, you get what I'm saying about the wet shower curtain.

3. Did you know that the phrases "resealable packaging" and "to prevent them from drying out" are lost on some people? Yup. My boyfriend is one of them. Baby wipes, cleaning wipes, you name it. Left open to the air. Worthless.

4. He owns approximately 587 towels. Somewhere there is a 20 year old son of a cotton industry magnate, driving his own BMW paid for by my boyfriend's towel collection.

5. Did I mention that he only uses the towel once before they are "dirty"? Which is funny to me, because he only uses them to dry off his squeaky clean body when he gets out of the shower, which will soon be full of mildew, thanks to his inability to understand the concept of fungi. If you are doing the math, this is at least 7 "dirty" towels per week from him. This makes him a complete freak, in my book.

I am not singling out my boyfriend, though. Oh yes. I am also dealing with some harsh reality of self-reflection:

1. The discussion we had about Absurd Overusage of Bath Towels and Their Laundering made me realize that I had no earthly idea how long it had been since I had pulled out a clean towel for myself. If he's the freek, I'm the gross one. I don't know which is worse.

2. I am a little more possessive -- ok, selfish-- about my stuff and my space than I thought. I *ahem* haven't made much room for him in the closet. But only about 10% of his wardrobe needs ironing, whereas about half of mine does. Ok, maybe a third. Yes, his clothes are on the floor of the bedroom right now. In semi-organized piles. Yes, I am a jerk. But I have a plan and a day off, so things will change for him soon. And CN went to grab some pop tarts the other day, and I said, "Nonononononono!!! Those are for work day breakfasts only! It's one of the few things I can eat at my desk!!!" -- Seriously? I am telling this to my 30 year old boyfriend, who not only washed all 587 of his "dirty" towels, but also my dirty clothes? AND folded them? I am telling him that he can't have a pop tart? Was I even listening to myself?

3. Why. The. Fuck. Do. I. Have. So many. Damn. Shoes. Jesus tapdancing Christ, did they reproduce in the U-Haul on the way down here? I remember looking at my old closet and thinking, "Gosh, 70 pairs isn't really that many. I could totally get more shoes. I have collection gaps, definitely." And now, I want to chuck them ALL because I am sick and tired of trying to store them creatively.

Ok, I'm sure there are more things I could add to this list, but let's face it, my self-critiquing skills are not exactly well-honed. And this is my blog. I told him to get his own, where he can bitch about how messy I am and how I don't seem to understand that expiration dates on food are for safety, not gambling with food, or as I like to call them, "adventures in eating". But he doesn't listen.

Besides, now it's time for me to give you the Ghetto Update.

Last Sunday afternoon, I was at work. (Yes, now I get to work occassional Sundays. I don't want to talk about it.) CN calls me. He was looking out the back window of our place, where he saw a group of teenagers sitting on our back stoop. This would only be mildly irritating, because it's just some harmless trespassing, except for the simple fact they were PASSING AROUND A HANDGUN. Which was the reason he was calling me.

"That's it. We are moving out. It's final. This is the last straw," he said.

I agreed, but questioned why he was talking to me and not a local 911 emergency dispatcher.

"Oh. Cuz they left already," he said.

GAH.

And to add rainbow colored candy sprinkles to this ice cream sundae from hell that is our living situation, Sammy has been bringing home fleas from our walks. So this place is a ticking time bomb, probably full of cazillions of little jumping, biting fuckers, marinating in their little wicked egg cocoon pods, counting down the moment until they get to microscopically turn our bodies into Swiss cheese.

Must. Move. Soon. Please. Send. Help.

A Victory and a Mystery

I almost took that last post down. I got home that day and thought, "I can't believe I just wrote a post about a stupid lost water bottle. My blog has reached a new low."

But then you guys had such great ideas!!! My readers are so helpful! Thanks, everybody. I think I might order one of the Rose Parade ones...or whatever that was. I'm also going to go back to the store where CN bought it and plead with the manager to carry them again. It's worth a shot.

Besides, as you will soon see, THIS is the post which will take my blog to new lows.

I had a small victory this morning when getting ready for work. My 2 weeks of diet and exercise were all worth it when I put on a pair of jeans I could not wear a month ago! YAY!!! Go me! Little things like that really keep me motivated to continue. Because let me tell ya, I am having a hard time cutting out all the sweets I normally eat. I am trying to be more aware of what I'm eating, because I find that when I'm not actively thinking about what goes in my mouth, I usually eat too much or a bunch of crap. And I'm really pushing myself at the gym -- I ran about 3 miles the other day, which is something I haven't done since I was a teenager. I was really proud of that. I am not quite sure how much I've lost, but it's about 2-4 pounds. Definitely a step in the right direction!!!

As you can probably tell, I don't have a ton of things going on right now. But I did experience something totally disgusting yesterday. So if you're eating while reading, I suggest you stop. Also, don't read this before lunch or anything, because it just about killed my lunch appetite yesterday.

I tell people all the time, "I can't believe CN puts up with me." This statement is usually met with amazement, as most people don't know how weird and/or stupid I can be at times. Allow me to enlighten you, dear readers.

I was walking Sammy, just like I always do on my lunch break. I take him down our street and go behind our little neighborhood. It's basically an empty lot behind our street, so he is free to be a dog back there. There's a little clearing where Sammy likes to do #2. I was walking him back there, when I saw it: a piece of clothing on the ground.

"Hmm, that wasn't here when I walked Sammy this morning," I thought.

Then I realized this meant that our resident homeless guy was probably back. He comes and goes, but we always know when he's around because one of us will spot him or there will suddenly be a lot of trash in the empty lot. Which makes sense -- it's not like he has access to a trashcan. He hangs out in the woods beyond the empty lot. My elderly neighbors and CN tell me not to go behind our street during these times, but I think he's harmless, so I just don't go as far back as I normally would, just to be safe. If he wanted to do something, he would have done it by now-- asked for food or money. I think he just wants to be left alone, because I've never even laid eyes on the guy. I try to have sympathy for people in unfortunate circumstances like that. I don't want to just jump to stereotypes, because I think a lot of homeless people are addicts, mentally ill or just down on their luck-- they have real problems. I believe most homeless people mean no harm at all, and are usually just misunderstood. I don't like it when people assume they are criminals or evil. That's just not fair. It's only out of sheer luck that I'm not one of them, so I try to keep that in mind.

As Sammy is sniffing around and marking his territory, I am studying the piece of clothing. What is odd to me is that it looks like it has been ripped off of someone's body. It was just thrown on the ground, and I didn't want to touch it, so it was kind of difficult to tell what it was exactly. Nearby, I saw a (presumably) empty box of cigarettes.

And something else.

Oh. My. Is that....what I think it is??? Because if it is, that is....totally effing disgusting. Dear God!

Out of shock, I backed away from it and turned around and went back home, much to the irritation of Sammy, who possesses what must be an endless supply of pee.

I decided to get CN and take him with me to look at it again. I needed a second opinion. So after work, I hurried home before the sun set to drag him with me. "What is it?" he asked.

"Just come here. I want to show it to you. I'm not sure what it is," I replied.

I took him to the back lot, over to the little clearing where Sammy usually does his business. I pointed. "Is that what I think that is?" I asked. "Because if it is, that is totally incredible and disgusting. I mean, look at it! It's massive. And in one straight piece. I've never seen anything like it!"

"I can't believe you made me stop working to come over here and look at a giant piece of shit, VB," CN said.

"So it is shit, then?" I asked, stupidly. "Because I wasn't totally sure if it was human or not. It could be from a big dog. A really big dog. I thought maybe it was some kind of food or something. You know, all that rain we had, I thought maybe it was dissolving food that just looked like shit," I continued.

"I can't believe you. I'm going back inside. This is ridiculous," he said, turning around to leave.

"No! Wait! Do you think it's from the homeless guy?" I asked, grabbing his arm.

"Of course it's from the homeless guy!" he said, frustrated. "I mean, look -- that's his underwear right there!" CN pointed to the mysterious article of clothing I'd spotted earlier. Aha! It was a pair of ripped boxers! Mystery solved.

"But it looks like he literally ripped it off his body," I said.

"Well, by the looks of it, I don't think he had a lot of time to waste," CN chuckled.

"No kidding. I've never seen anything like it! I'm going to go get the camera and take a picture of it," I said.

CN promptly talked me out of this idea. But I do kind of wish I could share it with you. It was at least a foot long. And in a perfect line, not in a pile like you'd think it would be. Which makes me wonder if he sort of walked it out, if you get what I'm saying. Too graphic? If so, I apologize. But this was one amazing turd, y'all. And really, he was not far at all from some of my neighbors' windows. Someone could have easily seen him squatting. But come to think of it, that supports CN's theory that this guy didn't have time to waste.

And the other discarded things sort of tell a story. I bet he had a nice smoke, and then thought, "Uh. Oh." He was in such a hurry, he had to literally rip his clothes off before it was too late. WOW.

I continued rambling on about The Amazing Poo, and CN reprimanded me: "Look, keep it down. I'm sure he doesn't want us standing around, talking about his poo. He's probably watching us right now. Listen, I don't want you coming back here anymore, do you understand?"

I nodded, staring at my feet and feeling ashamed.

As if being homeless isn't enough, this guy has to deal with strangers discussing his poos.

But it is a pretty impressive turd.

Thursday 13

Holy cow, have I had some serious writers' block today. I have been trying to think of something for at least an hour now! But since I'm working so much, not a whole lot has been going on. And I didn't feel like whining about my lack of a life today. Plus, I'm tired, so it can't be anything too mentally involved. So this works pretty well, and I promise I won't be gross:

Thirteen Scars on My Body

1. Left side of my jaw -- this is what happens when you play violin for 10 years. Please, warn your children now.

2. Upper back, on left (?) shoulder blade -- I had a mole removed when I was about 10. It was big, so there were stitches. A plastic surgeon was brought in to prevent a huge scar from forming. This was my mother's idea. She was worried about my wearing a backless prom dress. Nevermind that when I grew olders, I was never allowed to wear a backless anything...

3. Left shin -- A big, scary dog was barking at me. So I did what any 7 year old would do. I tried to climb up a bookcase to get away from it. I sorta hit the corner of an iron flower pot on the way up. Trauma ensued. Weird trivia fact: CN has a scar in the same place, and it looks JUST like mine.

4. Right forearm -- Burned my arm taking a giant cheesecake out of the oven. It was worth it.

5. Left elbow -- Bike wreck at my 8th birthday party. I had only recently learned how to ride a bike, and participating in a race on a looped gravel driveway seemed like a good idea. More trauma.

6. Left eyebrow -- I was a baby. Dad was babysitting me for the first time. The phone rang, and Dad left me on the bed, alone, while he went to answer it. I took this opportunity to fall off the bed, hitting a table on the way down. A couple inches difference, and I would have knocked out an eyeball. Needless to say, Dad didn't babysit me anymore after that. I now have a thin, horizontal scar which ended up working out really well -- it's perfectly aligned to where I tweeze my eyebrow!

7. Belly -- In addition to other places, this is where I have a prominent chicken pox scar. Unfortunately for me, I came down with the chicken pox just in time to miss Nikki Arnold's 8th birthday party. It was close to my own birthday, if I remember correctly. But I was more upset about missing Nikki's birthday party because she was the most popular girl in our class.

8. Left shin, just below the flower pot scar -- a terrifyingly loooong scar from what I like to call The Disposable Razor Incident. *shudders*

9. Left thigh -- In the 2nd grade, I had a stonewashed denim purse. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I kept a pencil in it. One day, as I was getting out of a car (or was it a bus? I can't remember) to go to school, the tip of the pencil had worked its way through the fabric and poked me in the thigh. You can still see the pencil lead in my leg!

10. My ass -- MRSA. If you really want the details, do a search for MRSA on this blog. I don't wanna talk about it.

11. My bottom lip -- Another baby story. I was holding a bottle in my mouth. I was busy walking around and didn't feel like using my hands to hold the bottle, so I just clamped down on the bottle nipple with my teeth to hold onto it. Aah! My hands were free to help me balance! Too bad it didn't work. I fell, face first. The lid on the bottle cut my bottom lip. I still have the semi-circle scar.

12. Fingers -- From a summer spent at the neighborhood pool when I was in middle school. I was trying to learn how to dive, but I kept scraping my fingers on the bottom of the pool, because I hated opening my eyes under water, so I could never actually see the bottom or sides of the pool. And in case you've forgotten: scrape + chlorine = ouch. I don't dive anymore.

13. Lower back -- A souvenir from Dr. Nazi, the evil dermatologist who removed a small mole from my lower back (yes, I am a moley person) without any local anesthetic. She basically melon-balled me. OUCH. I do not recommend. Definitely ask for the novocaine.

Now that I have just written this, it sounds eerily familiar. Have I already written this same post?? I don't know. I'm too tired to go look. If I did, I apologize.

Share some scar stories with me!! Nothing gross, please. Do you have any interesting scars?

Father Knows Best?

My only non-Czarina day off for the month of June was Father's Day. Which meant that I had to go with CN to spend it with his family. Which was fine. I guess. I usually spend Father's Day trying to forget that it's Father's Day. Every year, I feel pangs of grief, because I miss my dad so much. And Father's Day is always near what would have been his birthday, too. So June is kind of hard for me. But I wanted to hang out with CN, since it was my day off.

I like his family, and his dad is sick, so you know, it wasn't the end of the world. Even though I didn't have to go, it's almost a familial obligation at this point. His parents love me and he and I have been dating too long for me to skip out on family gatherings. But it was my ONLY day off. *sigh* So I sucked it up and went to church with them and then back to their house for some of his mother's yummy food. (Best macaroni & cheese EVER)

I was afraid I would get antsy to get home, but I ended up having a really good time. CN and his sisters told me stories about their childhood, and they were all hilarious. CN's whole family is extremely funny. My favorite story was about a cat that CN had when he was very young. One day, the cat disappeared. When CN asked his dad where his cat went, his father told him that the cat had to go. You see, it worked for a logging company, and it had to go drive the logging truck.

Maybe you had to be there, but this mental image left me crying laughing. I was picturing this little cat, driving a big rig, paws outstretched to steer the huge wheel. It reached up to grab its CB radio, only to meow into the speaker. After I stopped laughing, CN pointed out that this mental image is eerily similar to an old SNL skit, which I had forgotten all about -- Toonces, the Driving Cat.



Right before we left to go back to Columbia, I was in the living room, alone with CN's dad. He was showing me old photographs of his ancestors and telling me stories about them. The photographs were in double frames -- the ones where you have one person on the left and one person on the right. Each double frame showed a husband/wife duo, and these frames were lined up along a desk, in chronological order. Based on the clothing worn in the photographs, I would say that some of these photos went all the way back to pre-Civil War times. (Which I think is SO COOL, because I'm such a history buff.)

He tells me a story about each person -- the Civil War veteran, the adopted daughter, the preacher, etc. One great-great grandfather drowned in a logging accident (I guess logging was the theme of the day), and since the Edisto River was full of logs when he fell in, and it was in the middle of the winter, they couldn't retrieve his body for THREE weeks. Ugh. Gross.

So we are working our way through the generations, and I'm asking him questions, and it's all very interesting. We started to get to more modern times, and we got to CN's parents. We talked about those photos, and finally, we are on the last double frame. It's a photo of CN, from the day he graduated high school. He told me to pick it up.

"You know who that is, of course," CN's dad said.

"Yeah. It's CN," I replied.

"And you see what's next to his photo?" he continued.

"There's nothing there. There is no photo," I said.

"I know. You'd better talk to that boy about that!" he exclaimed.

WOW. I didn't know what to say, other than, "Um, I think that needs to be his idea. I can't talk to him about that."

CN's dad kept repeating that I need to talk to CN about it. I was starting to get a little self-conscious, when CN came back in the room.

"What are you two talking about? Talk to me about what?" CN asked.

"NOTHING!" I said loudly, putting the picture frame back on the desk.

Smooth, VB. Real smooth.

"You ready to go, honey?" I asked.

It may have been my imagination, but I think CN's dad winked at me.

Uh Oh! Hot Dog Monkey on My Back!

Well, between working two jobs, dog sitting and living my life, my blog has been sorely neglected, and I apologize. And if I am not posting to my blog, that also means I am not reading your blog. So I apologize for that, too. When I get a minute, I will try to catch up with everyone.

Things have happened, but nothing really adds up to a full post. So I am here to give you the highlights:

1. My new part time job at Dildo's dept store is fine. I guess. I mean, it's retail. So you're pretty bored most of the time. But it's easy money. I have stuff to share (Ok, more like bitching to do), but I will get into that later.

2. Biggie, the dog I kept over the Memorial Day Week (yeah, it was almost a week, so that's what I'm calling it -- the dog was at my house for 5 days!), turned out to be.....a total asshole. He would start whining at FOUR in the morning and would not stop. My house is so small that moving his crate into the spare bedroom didn't work -- I could still hear him. So after the first sleepless night, I stayed at CN's house for the rest of the week.

Then, CN went to walk him and Sammy one night while I was at work. He called me:

CN: Hey babe. Just checking on the dogs for you. Um, where do you keep your band-aids?
VB: Why do you need band-aids?
CN: Well, cause I was throwing the ball with the dogs, and they sort of...got into a fight.
VB: What?! Are they ok?
CN: Yeah, I think. Biggie bit Sammy's ear. I think. One of them is bleeding. I'm pretty sure it's Sammy. Should I put a band-aid on it?

*exasperated sigh on my part*

VB: No, dogs don't wear band-aids, honey. Is Sammy ok?
CN: Yeah, he seems to be acting normal. Hey, babe, where do you keep your uh, carpet cleaner?
VB: *slightly panicky* Did they get blood on the carpet? Or on the rug my mom got me???!!

*CN tries to describe where the blood is, but I have no idea what he's talking about, because he's a boy and doesn't know the difference between the terms "rug" and "carpet" and "slipcovered sofa", and I didn't feel like teaching a home decorating vocabulary lesson, so I just told him to squirt some of the carpet cleaner on it*
*CN does as instructed.*

CN: Ok, um, what do I clean it up with?
*I tell him where the rags are and tell him where to put the dirty rag when he's done.*

CN: Ok, I did that.
*A commotion erupts in the background*

CN: Ok, um, Biggie just barfed.
VB: Oh God. Where?
CN: Right next to me. Oh Jeez, it's everywhere.
VB: *panicking again* Is it on the rug or the carpet? Or on the couch? Wait, forget I asked. Just clean it up.
CN: Oh! Wait! No big deal. He's licking it back up! Yeah! Good boy, Biggie!
*another exasperated sigh on my part*

Sammy's ear is fine, and there were no more Biggie problems (well, except the poop he left for me in the living room...but that was my own fault...) for the rest of the week. But I'm never sitting Biggie again. Ever. He is like having 5 dogs, all wrapped up in one tiny Jack Russell body. And my poor little head cannot handle his incessant barking. And my sleeping schedule cannot handle his whining. So my house is officially a No Biggie Zone. Please don't tell my friend Super. I sort of down-played all of his bad behavior.

3. I had a dream the other night that CN and I were down visiting his parents. He had mentioned that he wanted to meet up with someone named Heather, but I forgot about it when I was helping his parents prepare for the huge storm heading straight for their house. After the storm was over, CN was nowhere to be found, so I texted him to see where he was. "I'm playing poker with Heather at McAir's." -- McAir's was a bar. I can't remember what he said after that, but what it boiled down to was that he was hanging out with some girl named Heather and he wanted me to leave him alone. He blew me off! So I spent the rest of the dream crying and feeling hurt. When I woke up, it was difficult not to be angry at him, actually!

And no, there is no Heather in real life, unless you count my friend Mr. Bill's wife.

4. Speaking of CN's parents, they were in a pretty bad storm about 2 weeks ago. Their house was near a tornado that went through the area -- this is probably why I had that dream. Anyway, they don't know if they were hit by an actual tornado, but 4 windows in their house were blown out, as well as all the windows in their truck. The hail was so big, it left big divots in their yard and dents all over their truck! I think it messed up their roof, too. They are fine, but had to file some insurance claims.

5. I was in the dog house with CN last weekend. We wanted to grill out, but I had to go to work that night, so we planned on eating an early dinner at 3pm. Three came and went. I waited and waited and waited....and finally gave up and ate by myself. Little did I know, he was over at his house, grilling up a massive feast of food: chicken, tilapia, burgers, corn and hot dogs. He came over at about 5 to tell me the food was ready, and like a dumbass, I blurted out that I already ate and was running late for work, so I didn't have time to eat anything he had made. He was pissed. Oops. I apologized and explained that I wanted to eat at 3, not 5. He pointed out that I should have called to see what was going on. He was right. But then I pointed out that he was crazy for making all this food for just the two of us. He was upset but said he'd get over it. I went to work. By the time I got home later on, I was STARVED, so I came over and ate a bunch of it. That seemed to soothe his hurt feelings. I still feel terrible about it. He had been cooking all afternoon for me. Good thing I made him some cookies. I think that helped, too.

6. You all know how much of a total sugar addict I am. I mean, at this point, I think an intervention is in order. It is that bad. If you don't believe me, consider today's realization:

MJ is stuck at work, craving chocolate desperately. Unfortunately, she has no money for the vending machine. (Why none of her coworkers can bum her 50 cents is another issue, but whatever...) I told her that if she wants, she can come over to my house after work to have some of my chocolate. That's when I realized I have all of the following at my house right now:

chocolate ice cream (fat free)
chocolate pudding (sugar free and fat free)
Jell-O pudding pops (some are chocolate)
chocolate covered pretzels
chocolate Twizzlers (ok, actually, I polished those off last night...)
Nestle Qwik drink mix (sugar free)
Hershey's chocolate syrup
hot chocolate (diet)
chocolate chex mix
brownie mix
chocolate cake mix
chocolate frosting

I. AM. A. FREAK.

Jeez, I could open up a Chocolate Store with all that!!! And this isn't even including the non-chocolate sweets at my house. I have Jolly Ranchers, whip cream.....and maybe some animal crackers.

I think it's pretty safe to say that I have an addiction to the little white crystals, and I don't mean crack. I want to get off the white stuff, I swear! But I just can't do it! I know I would lose so much weight if I could just STOP the sweet tooth. Because I don't eat all that badly, outside of the sweets. But I just LOOOOOOOOOOOOVE sweets. *sigh*

So yeah, the monkey on my back? It's still there. Although I can now run 3 miles and knock out all kinds of weight lifting, my muscular under-bod is still encased in a squishy layer of blubberized sugar. And thanks to MJ, now I am specifically craving chocolate. *sigh*

6. And thanks to CN, who started joking with me today about the following video, I am now craving hot dogs, too.
Will Ferrell As Harry Carey

7. If the rain holds out, hopefully I will be able to get one at the baseball game tonight. A big group of us is planning on going. Since it's the season opener, the tix are half price, the beer is a buck and there are fireworks afterwards! YAY!!!

8. Speaking of funny hot dog videos, I can't forget to share this one. I love MadTV, and especially Bobby Lee. He cracks me up!

Tales from the Clinique Counter

To pay off my gi-normous credit card debt, I am going to get a part time job.

Yesterday, as CN and I were running some errands, I decided to stop by the department store at the mall to see if there were any openings at the Clinique counter. When I was in grad school, I used to be a Clinique girl, and it wasn't too bad, as far as part time jobs are concerned.

Pros:
*tons of free makeup and perfume -- TONS
*you don't come home smelling like food
*if you are going out afterwards, it's easy to touch up your makeup before you go
*since the mall closes at 9, it's still early enough to meet up with friends afterwards
*you won't get blisters on your feet, cuts on your fingers, or mysterious goo on your body (can you tell I waited tables for a looooonnng time??)
* if you are on the clock, you are getting paid

Cons:
*you work 3 weekends a month
*you have to deal with the public
*you are not paid in cash
*department store managers tend to be...not the best bosses I've had in my life (more on this later)
*you will never make more than your base pay while you are on the clock (I am expecting to make $10/hour)

So I walked up to the lady at the Clinique counter (who may or may not technically be a midget, btw, as unusual as that sounds) and asked her about it. She seemed really excited about my inquiry and called over the head Clinique girl. She was even MORE excited than the almost-midget lady.

It turns out that they needed a PT person. And since I am already experienced in Clinique AND a former employee of the same chain of department stores, they all but guaranteed me the spot. I'm probably still in their system, actually, which will cut down on all that new employee paperwork! WOOT!

If I work 15 hours per week, I should make $600/month (before taxes). This will help out SO MUCH, considering I'm already putting about $300/month towards my credit card debt already. Yay!

And although I'm excited about the free makeup, I am dreading the downside: working with the public. Don't get me wrong -- the vast majority of people who come in are great. They are nice, easy to deal with and well-groomed. (See where I am going with this?)

But some of the people....well, I think some Tales from the Clinique Counter can explain this well:

1. One day, a totally drunk lady was roaming around the makeup area. On a Sunday. At noon. She was so plastered, I think the store called the police to have her escorted out. But that was after she verbally harassed half the cosmetics staff. And knocked over a bunch of stuff.

2. Some people who want makeovers surprise me, because they are kind of putting the carriage before the horse. Let's see. How do I put this? Um, if your unibrow weighs 4 pounds, or if you have acne that makes a pizza look like a clear complexion, or if you have a hairy chest*, you should deal with those issues before getting a makeover. Same can be said for body odor, chin hair and missing teeth (hey, I live in SC, remember). I know I sound snooty right now, but seriously, would YOU want to put makeup on a woman's hairy chest?? (Yeah, she wanted to see if we could "cover it up". It's like, "No, lady! We can't!") It's so crazy to me that these women will look in the mirror and think, "Yes, that's what I need. A new lipstick." WTF?!

3. Then there are the people who try to take advantage of the generous return policy. One girl came in 10 minutes before closing (WHY do these people always come in right before closing??) with a huge bag of stuff. I think it was over $200 worth of Clinique stuff. She wanted to return everything. Normally, this is no problem at all. But this girl was returning EMPTY containers she had originally bought a YEAR previously. (Even more incredulous was that she actually still had the receipt!) Because of the extreme absurdity of her return request (I believe I said, "Um, are you kidding me?"), I decided to consult a manager before approving it. But it turned out that we couldn't really say no to her -- she was technically within the limits of the return policy. She got all her money returned onto her credit card. Then, she stormed off in a huff because we couldn't return the money to her in cash!

4. Another lady used to take advantage of the neighboring Lancome counter. She would buy expensive perfumes and body lotions, only to take them home, use about half of the product, fill the bottle back up with water or cheap lotion, and exchange the items for brand new ones. Since they were "like new" to all outward appearances, no one caught on. They thought she just wanted to try a different perfume or lotion, or that she had purchased the wrong one by accident. She did this about 3 times before anyone caught on. After that, she wasn't allowed to make returns anymore!

5. Then, there were The Minivers. I can't remember what their last name was, but it sounds like Miniver. This was an elderly couple, who on first inspection, seem like your regular, cute grandparent-like couple. But don't let them fool you -- they will CAMP OUT at your makeup counter, making you demonstrate every single freaking product you sell. These are the same products you demonstrated to them the last time they came in, by the way. After each application on Mrs. Miniver, she and Mr. Miniver would discuss how it looked on her. This would take about 15 minutes per discussion. You will sit there and wonder why in the hell an 80 year old man gives a rat's ass which shade of eyeshadow looks better on his wife of 56 years. After they decide which products they will buy, they will end up spending about $300. But wait! Don't get too excited about that big sale, even if your manager does pat you on the back! Mrs. Miniver will arrive bright and early tomorrow morning to return everything she bought the day before. And then someone else will have to go through the whole thing again with her.

Imagine my excitement when I quit the Clinique job to take on a full time position at the public library.........only to discover that Mr. and Mrs. Miniver used that library. And drove everyone nuts there, too. There was about a 3 year period where I couldn't escape the Minivers!

Those are the main crazy makeup counter stories. If I think of more, I will share. And all apologies to any female readers with hairy chests. :)



*I wish I was making this up, but I'm not. Yes, the woman had a hairy chest. Like a man. And she decided to wear a low-cut top. It was a scary moment. One of the few times in my life I've literally been speechless. "Distracting" doesn't even begin to cover it.

Sick Puppy

Note to readers: This is one of those posts where you should not eat and read. So put down your lunch.

This is a photo of my dog, Sammy. Yesterday, Sammy went to the vet to have some teeth pulled. Yes, I know I should brush my dog's teeth and yadda yadda yadda. Trust me, I have a pretty hefty guilt trip about it and I have sworn on all things holy to start brushing his teeth ASAP. But it was too late to save a couple of them, so he had to be put under so they could be removed. Just like humans, dogs must have empty tummies before being put under anesthesia. So poor Sammy didn't get to eat that morning.

After I got off work, I picked him up. The combination of anesthesia, pain killers and antibiotics left him looking pretty ill. He was lethargic and wobbly. The vet said that he will be like that for maybe a day, because the anesthesia had to wear off.

I took him home, and waited an hour to feed him, like the vet told me. I fed him half of what I normally fed him, and added water to the food so it would be soft, just like the vet told me. I also gave him one of the painkillers the vet had given me. Since Sammy was sick and I had a headache, we vegged out on the couch together all night. He was really not himself, poor little thing.

This morning, everything seemed to be fine -- Sammy was a littler perkier and seemed more like himself. So I gave him one of his antibiotic capsules before I forgot. Which was stupid of me, because I am Barf Queen, and I should have remembered one of the Laws of Barf:

Empty tummy + antibiotics = barf

So the medicine came back up. Realizing what I had done wrong, I decided to give Sammy some canned dog food and then tried again to give him his medicine.

He was starved, so he pretty much wolfed it down as usual. I followed it up with the antibiotic. Everything was fine for about an hour.

Then I went to go get ready for work. I came out of the bathroom a little later to find....

Tons of barf. It was everywhere. And not just in one spot, either -- it was like Sammy had made a lap around the room, barfing as he went. There was a giant circle of chunky, pinkish-reddish barf in my living room.

And of course, true to my level of luck, it was all on the carpet, rather than the easy-to-clean linoleum. I sighed and looked at my dog.

Sammy had that look on his face that he has when he does something wrong. Aw. My poor baby. He thought he was in trouble! So I reassured him that everything was ok, and began cleaning it up.

"Well, his tummy just needs to calm down still. I will try feeding him tonight when I get home," I thought. Worried, I decided to call the vet anyway. She said that it is just taking him longer to recover than usual, and just to give it time, and don't let him eat any more food for a while.

I went back to getting ready for work.

Sammy barfed again.

And again.

And again.

Seven pools of dog barf later, I was totally out of paper towels and rags. I was now running late for work, and my house smelled like carpet cleaner. Aw, man! I wish Sammy could just barf once and get it all over with, you know?

Hurrying around to get ready and clean up, I suddenly remembered that I had some leftover dog medicine for vomiting, from a while back. So I gave one of the pills to Sammy before I left for work today. CN is going to check on him in a little bit, but hopefully he will be ok now.

Poor little guy. He hasn't eaten in two days. :( And he looks so pathetic!!!



In other news, I went to my Big Brothers Big Sisters orientation. I am so excited about volunteering for them!! But first, I have to have a 2 hour interview, where they will ask me all kinds of stuff, including, but not limited to:

- my use of drugs, alcohol and tobacco
- whether or not I own firearms/have them in the house
- my living situation (ie, roommates, pets, etc.)
- my sexual orientation (I'm sure they will have questions about CN, since he lives so close to me)
- any abuse/neglect I have experienced in my life
- what my childhood was like and what my relationships with my family members are like
- why I want to volunteer for them

I figured these would be the sort of things they'd ask me about. And it's fine -- I totally understand, and I'm glad they ask the important questions. But I am afraid I'm going to cry during the interview!!! There's no way I can answer these questions without talking about my brother's death, my father's death, all the alcoholism in my family, my own alcoholism and the sexual assault I had in college. (No, I was not raped, but it was an act that I was forced into and I was physically restrained during it. So it's not exactly the highlight of my college experience. It's not a huge deal for me to talk about it, but it's not a picnic, either.)

It is about 4 weeks until my interview. So I have time to mentally prepare myself to talk about pretty much all the crap in my life in one go. Ugh. Anyway, after that, if my references check out and they like who I am and what I say during the interview (ie, I am not a danger to any child), they will start to look for a Little Sister for me. I was disappointed to hear that this process might take about 6 months. :( But it's just that they want to make sure they pair you up with someone who you can hang out with over the long term. So I understand.

They have encouraged us to think about what kind of a Little we are looking for. We have to think about what sorts of issues we are willing to deal with: behavioral, abuse, domestic violence, physical disability, etc. It's kind of a weird feeling, to sit here and think "yes" or "no" about some kid's life experience. A kid who has been having a rough go of things. And here I am, deciding what I can tolerate. But I understand why they want us to do this. Not everyone can handle every type of situation. And sometimes, if you have been in the same situation as the kid, you are a better match for them. So in the long run, I think it's good, the way they do this. You don't want to go through the whole process, only to back out of it 4 months later. These kids have enough problems, without you getting their hopes up.

Another thing they encouraged us to do was to do free or low-cost activities with the kids. Not only do you not want to feel resentment towards the kid about the money you spend, you don't want to spoil the kid or cause a rift between you and the parent. Most of the parents in this program don't have a lot of money, and you don't want to swoop down with your credit card and "save the day". Splitting the cost with the parents and doing something special for the kid's birthday are fine, but you don't want to be a walking wallet. It's just not a good idea. This is fine with me, because as we all know, I am trying to budget, anyway!

So I guess that is all I have for right now. The ball won't really get rolling until I go to my interview and cry when the lady brings up all my personal stuff! :P

Cruise News, Part 2

This is Day #2 of the cruise.

Our gang spent most of their time hanging out by the pool. Although I don't like getting sunburned and I tend to get bored sitting by a pool all day, I decided to join in anyway. I was sitting on my chair, reading a magazine, as everyone else in our group was in the pool, drinking. They had been drinking since about 9am, so by this point, the group is quickly getting rowdy. They invited me to go down the pool's water slide with them. I had to admit, it looked like a lot of fun. So everyone put down their drinks and we all got in line. The slide was SO FUN!! After going down it, I hung out in the pool for a bit with everyone. It was all going fine and dandy, until CN asked Larva: "Hey, Larva. We've been drinking all morning, and we have all had to get out of the pool to go pee except you. Don't you have to pee??"

It turns out that Larva, a 35 year old father of 4, had been peeing in the pool.

And when I slid down the slide, I had gotten water in my mouth.

So that was the end of the pool for me, folks. At this point, I was starting to dislike Larva, but since he's CN's old college buddy, I decided not to say anything at that time. I just excused myself and took a shower. And a nap.

I hadn't really thought about it beforehand, but being on a cruise ship means that you are stuck with about 1,500 strangers, and you cannot escape them. Everywhere I went, it was impossible to be alone. I know this doesn't sound like a big deal, even if you are a people person like me, but trust me -- it is. Forget having romantic walks on the deck after dinner -- you will be joined by 50 total strangers, most of whom are loud and drunk. Forget having a nice, quiet breakfast with your sweetie -- you will have to eat with a table full of strangers, and you will feel obligated to make small talk. You will have the same small talk conversation with strangers every morning. This gets old quickly. Even finding a nice chair where you can read your book quietly is impossible. I read somewhere once that having at least one hour per day where you are totally alone helps relieve stress. You know what? It's true. Each day, I felt my stress level rising.

By the second day, I was starting to get cranky. Between Larva's antics, the disappointing food, the icky shower and being surrounded by strangers everywhere I went, I was getting a little irritable. Luckily, I kept it in check. My daily mid-afternoon nap helped. That bed made everything better. And thank goodness for the Discovery Channel -- I watched a lot of cool shows. But dammit, I could have done that at home for free, you know?

I would like to say that at least I wasn't bored, but I was -- hence the Discovery Channel binge. It was probably because I don't drink. All the drunk people seemed to be having a blast, especially if they were in the college-age range. There was always a spontaneous party at the pool, complete with dancing and drunken antics. I had fun doing that stuff when I was younger, but now, I'd rather read a book or go see a museum. (I am a frumpy, old dork. Trust me, I know.) It didn't help that everything was scheduled all the time. It made vacation feel like work. When I'm on vacation, I don't want to worry about being late for anything. I want to make my own schedule. Not be subjected to the whims of some cruise director.

There was always something going on, I will say that. A lot of people hung out in the casino. But CN and I don't gamble, so the casino didn't hold our interest. The bingo and trivia contests were at bad times for us (ie, nap time), or just didn't sound worthwhile. They had an art auction, but I didn't have the money to do that -- plus, the art was hideous. I really don't like musicals, so the night shows didn't sound fun to me. We kept hearing that the stand-up comedian wasn't very good, so we decided to skip that. I am not really the sort of person who wants to spend time learning how to make towel animals or line dance. All the activities felt like they were just something to do to kill time, not something I would normally want to do.

What I really wanted to do was go to some historic district, eat local food, go to a museum, take an old homes tour, check out local art and architecture, explore a wildlife preserve, or even just shop.....but none of these things can be done when you are on a cruise ship. I am a Culture Vulture, and I was stuck in a Cultural Wasteland. I know that most people have fun doing the stuff they had planned for us on the boat, but I am just not normal. I am a big nerd. I enjoy learning stuff in my spare time. That's part of the reason I am a librarian! Because I'm a total dork! I read random articles on Wikipedia when I'm bored! *sigh of frustration*

This is why I spent the vast majority of my time eating and sleeping. With a little reading and tv watching thrown in. And I paid about $400 to do this. Yeah. So I'm pretty mad that I wasted all that money. I wish I could just have fun like normal people do. But bars, cigarettes and drunk people annoy me, as do large crowds of total strangers with misbehaving children (seriously, I know you are on vacation, Mom and Dad, but does this mean your children literally get to do everything they want???? Ugh! Supervise your kids or leave them at home!).

I guess the highlight of each day was dinner. That was the meal where the food tended to be the best. Dinner was fun, because we got to eat with our group and no one else. Roger and Grace are really nice and fun people, so they made dinner really great. But we often didn't see them at all except at dinner time. As the days wore on, CN and I tried to avoid Larva more and more, since he was bugging us so much.

When you eat a big dinner at 8:30pm, it's hard to stay awake unless you proceed to go get drunk right afterwards. And since CN had been drinking all day, up until dinner, he was ready to pass out every night after dinner -- he just can't drink for 14 hours, like Larva can. The bed was the only fun thing I had found on board, so CN didn't have to twist my arm to talk me into hitting the sack at 10pm most nights. Plus, this was the only time he and I could be alone.

I know I am being really negative, but it's not all bust. There were some really fun times. I will talk about those tomorrow.

Mr. Safety

If you were to hang out with my boyfriend for a day, you would know why I call him "Mr. Safety". I have to say, I tease him about his overly-cautious lifestyle quite a bit.

Some of his own self-imposed rules include:

1. All doors shall remain locked at all times, unless you are going in or out of them. Once the passage is complete, any and all locks shall be re-locked. The same goes for windows, cars, sliding doors, gates and anything else with a lock on it. (I, on the other hand, have been known to make a "quick run" to the grocery store and leave my entire house wide open, including the front door, sometimes literally.)

2. All foods, unless individually wrapped or sealed, must be stored in the refrigerator. A "use by" date is just that. After the Constitution, this is the highest law of the land. Anything not consumed or used by then will automatically be thrown away. Anything without a "use by date" -- for example, homemade foods or restaurant takeout -- shall be thrown away in a 24-48 hour period. (I, on the other hand, have been known to say, "Food poisoning, schmood poisoning!" as I scrape the mold off of the strawberry jam and spread it onto the restaurant roll I've had for a week.)

Our differences in opinion on this topic came to a head one day, when I pointed out that sour cream cannot get any more sour, and therefore, the "use by" dates on the cartons are simply a conspiracy cooked up by dairy farmers in order to get us to buy more sour cream. (Yeah, I won that battle!)

3. Anyone who does not follow all traffic laws at all times and in all conditions is deemed an "asshole" and "law breaker". This includes: speed limits, turn signals, the wearing of seat belts, obeying "no right on red" signs, merging politely, stopping at yellow lights and proper use of headlights. I don't think it's any surprise that I have fallen into the "asshole" category many times, according to Mr. Safety.

In my defense, that stupid "no right on red" sign by our house is absurd, since one can clearly see if there's any oncoming traffic. And at some intersections here in town, if you don't turn left on a yellow light, you will be sitting at that intersection, trying to turn left, until you die.

4. Hand-washing or the use of hand sanitizer is obligatory in any of the following situations: everything. I, on the other hand, only think about washing my hands when I'm in a bathroom. (I like to think that the constant exposure to my own germy hands strengthens my immune system, and since Mr. Safety gets sick all the time whereas I never seem to catch anything but a cold, I rest my case.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So you can imagine my surprise about a week ago, when he came over to my house. We had talked about grabbing some dinner and going shopping, so when I opened my door, I asked him if he was ready to go grab some food.

"Yeah, but I've gotta take a shower," he replied.

"Ok, well, you can come in for a sec. I'm sure you don't stink too much."

"No, I've been doing yard work all afternoon," he explained. He held up his hands -- they were black as soot. He pointed to his shoes -- they were covered in dirt.

"Oh. Ok, yeah, please, just stay outside. You're filthy. Are you starving? I was thinking we could shop first and then get dinner," I said.

"Nah, I'm ok for right now. I had a snack," he replied.

"Yeah? What'd you have?" I asked.

"Oh, just some wild onions that were growing in my yard."

*Thirty second silence as I stare at him and blink.*

"I'm sorry," I said, "did you say 'wild onions'?"

"Yeah. You know, the ones that always grow in your yard. The little white ones, with the long green stems," he explained.

"I know what you mean. Just trying to clarify.........So, you got them from your backyard?"

"Yes."

"The same backyard that Sammy pees in when I bring him over?" I asked.

"Oh. I didn't think about that...." he trailed off.

"You eating anything else back there? Wild tomatoes? Wild carrots? I mean, maybe we could have a Wild Salad for dinner," I said, sarcastically.

"No, nothing else. Just the wild onions."

"Um.........ew, babe. Seriously, who does that? Tell me you at least washed the dirt off before you ate them," I said.

"Nah. Just sort of brushed the dirt off of them," he replied. Seeing the look on my face, he continued, "They're from the ground! They are natural! It's from the earth!"

"Well, so is Sammy's poop, but you don't go around munching away on it! Besides! Hello! Pesticides! This, from the man who won't eat restaurant leftovers???" I exclaimed, utterly confused.

"Well, I was covered in dirt, so I didn't want to go inside to get something, and I was hungry, and they were there, and they smelled good, so..." he tried to explain.

"Wait wait wait. So, you were hungry, and you thought, 'Hmmm. What would be a good snack? I know! Onions! Raw, wild onions!' ?" I said, laughing hysterically at this point.

He was growing indignant and defensive at this point, so I let it go after one final question:

"Tell me the neighbors didn't see you doing this," I said pleadingly.

"No, they didn't. But I do have onion breath."

Mr. Safety, indeed.

Tuesday 13

Thirteen Things My Boyfriend Cannot or Will Not Do

1. Swim -- I am not kidding. He'd drop like a block of cement. He can't even float or do the doggy-paddle. When we go on the cruise, I'm going to make him wear Water Wings.

2. Turn left -- Yup, just like Zoolander. He wanted to be in marching band in high school, but when it came to marching around, he would always turn right when he was supposed to turn left. And turn left when he was supposed to turn right. He had to stick to just playing the saxophone sitting down.

3. Cook -- He made mashed potatoes the other day. You'd think that he had climbed Mt. Everest, the way he was talking about it. I was proud. Well, as proud as you can be for someone who only made mashed potatoes.

4. Dust -- CN's house is very clean and tidy. Except for the layers of dust coating everything. He says that real men don't dust. And I sort of agree, so I don't bug him about it. But neither do I dust his house for him! I just ignore the dust bunnies.

5. Listen to the radio -- He won't leave the house without his Sirius radio. I should start calling it his "lifeline". Even if he's only running a ten minute errand -- it's got to come along! Actually, the same can be said about his GPS. It doesn't matter if he already knows how to get there, or if he's only driving across the street. He wants his GPS. Men and their gadgets, I guess.

6. Floss -- Yeah. You read that correctly. I try not to nag him about this, although it kind of grosses me out. So I just remind myself that his teeth are pretty good, and I try not to think about it.

7. Tan-- If his skin were any paler, he would be transparent. He is like one of those cave-dwelling animals you see in National Geographic. If I stare at his chest long enough, I swear I can see his internal organs. Kind of like how you can see E.T.'s beating and glowing red heart. But since I believe that real men don't go to tanning salons, he remains pale, if only under protest.

8. Break traffic laws -- He never speeds. He obeys all signs, even if there isn't a cop within sight. He comes to a complete stop at all stop signs. He never runs red lights. He uses his turn signal 100% of the time. He makes me look like Evel Knievel.

9. Stop watching WWF wrestling -- Oh yeah. He got hooked in 6th grade, and he's still watching it. He records all the shows so that he can have a wrestling marathon. He says it's like a "soap opera for men". You have no idea how much I am biting my tongue to not tease him about this incessantly. I guess the little boy in him is too cute for me to say anything. I am sorry to say that the phrase "Stone Cold Steve Austin" has entered my vocabulary.

10. Limit himself to one computer -- As of today, I believe he has three. Who has three computers?? Oh yeah. I know. His dad. He is turning into his dad: when his computer gets a virus or starts to run slowly, he just buys another one. CN is the same way. He doesn't try to buy more hard drive, see what's wrong, look for a cheaper alternative or defrag or anything! This blows my mind! I had to talk him out of buying computer #4 this past weekend!

11. Raise his voice -- I have never heard him do it. I like to think this says a lot for how well we get along. It's a good thing he is so patient and understanding, because I can be a butthead. And a basketcase. I also do not tolerate boyfriends who yell. I really appreciate that he leaves all the screaming to me. Because I enjoy a good temper tantrum now and then.

12. Enjoy Mexican food -- This almost breaks my heart, because Mexican food is probably my favorite cuisine. But because his stomach is a little on the sensitive side, he can eat Mexican food, but he always ends up paying for it later. I started to feel so badly for dragging him to the Mexican places, I told him he won't ever have to eat there again. So now, I stick to hitting San Jose's with my girls instead.

13. Eat normal food combinations -- Grits? He wants sardines and mustard in them. (Um, EW!!!) Turkey sandwich? Yeah, he wants his with grape jelly. Bananas? He'd like that in a mayonnaise/banana sandwich combo, please. The man is a freak.

My boyfriend is so weird.

Listed Updates

Greetings, dear readers. I have typed and re-written this post 3 times this week, trying to make it more coherent. But I give up, partially because I think I'm getting sick. I do not feel well at all -- headache, queasy tummy, feeling out of it-- I think I'm going to go home and go to bed. Keep your fingers crossed that I don't have the flu, because it's going around hard-core in SC right now. But I really want to post before I leave, so I will just list everything here and now, despite its disorganization and randomness.

1. I paid my taxes yesterday morning. One less thing to worry about. Unfortunately, I didn't read your comments until yesterday afternoon, so I was not able to take everyone's advice and avoid H&R Block. But at least they are done now, and I know they are done correctly. Yes, it cost me an arm and a leg, and apparently I was doing everything correctly on TurboTax, because I'm getting exactly what TurboTax said I was going to get. But oh well. Now I know -- next year, use TurboTax. It turns out that my taxes aren't that complicated, and even I, Doofus Extraordinaire when it comes to financial matters, can figure it out. Chalk it up to a learning experience.

2. The good news? Now I have plenty of money for the cruise. The bad news? I probably won't be putting much any towards my credit card debt. $800 doesn't go too far. But it's ok. Now I will at least have a little cushion in my checking account. In theory. Looks like I just need to really stick to my budget. Eventually, it WILL pay off.

3. Speaking of budget stuff, I am under budget this month for gas, clothing ($0!!!), dining out AND groceries. Also, I spent $300 less overall this month than last month. So although I did spend money on my tax preparation, the personal trainer and my termite inspection, at least it won't hurt as much. I think budgeting money is like losing weight -- you have to be patient, because the hard work pays off down the road.

4. I bought some protein powder. My trainer told me I'm supposed to be eating more protein so that I can build more lean muscle. After looking at what I'm eating, I have come to realize I eat a TON of carbs. Granted, they are almost always whole grain and low fat, but I really am lacking in the protein department. I just don't really crave meat very often. Usually, my protein comes from dairy and beans, which don't have a whole lot of protein. I'm almost eating like a vegetarian on some days! So I bought some chocolate soy protein powder. I thought it would be gross, but it's actually really good! So that made me happy.

5. Well, it looks like Kelvin Sampson might be getting the boot. Nothing's finalized yet, but it doesn't look good for the basketball coach at my alma mater. Which really stinks, because it's the middle of a GREAT season for us!!! I'm hoping it will all work out. I'll probably post more about this as it develops, because I have more to say. I just don't feel well enough to ramble on and on about it right now.

6. CN told me my butt looks smaller. I decided to override the Automatic Female Response (AFR) of, "So, you're telling me that my ass used to be fat??!!" and decided to just take the compliment with some gratitude. He's so supportive. He knows I hate my butt. I don't know if he was just saying it to make me feel better or what, but I sure am glad to have someone cheering me on.

7. Although I didn't want to go, I dragged my (smaller?) butt to the gym Wednesday night. As long as I go on Saturday, too, that will make 3 weeks in a row that I've been to the gym at least 4 times. Go me!

8. My birthday is next week!!!! Yay!!! Although I will be 29 (EEEK!!), I can say that this is probably one of the happiest times of my life so far, even with all the money/weight loss stress. I have a lot to celebrate.

9. Oh! I almost forgot. Valentine's Day went really well. The meal I made for CN last Thursday was super yummy (the recipes are posted over on my cooking blog -- see sidebar.) and he really really liked it. Friday, he took me to a very expensive Italian place here in town (Ristorante Divino). Neither one of us had been before, and we really enjoyed it. The ambiance was great -- very romantic and intimate. The service was perfect -- our waiter never interrupted our conversation and never let our drinks get empty. The food was good, too. Their menu is pretty heavy on seafood, which is great for us, because we are both seafood lovers. Their dessert menu is one of the best I've ever seen -- chocolate bread pudding, walnut pie, chocolate cakes filled with molten peanut butter, creme brulee and something called an "almond crust", which was the owner's great-grandmother's recipe. It was topped with vanilla custard -- Mmmm!!!

I was a good girl and didn't order dessert, which I have to admit was very difficult.

CN gave me a bottle of perfume I'd been wanting. I brought home a sample a few weeks ago, and we both really liked it. It's called "The One" and it's made by Dolce & Gabbana -- ooh la la! So he did a really good job with Valentine's Day this year.

I got him a new travel case for his toiletries, because I'm broke. So my present kind of sucked in comparison. But, it turns out that he needed a new one pretty badly -- his old one was "covered in white mold or something", according to him. All together now: EWWWWWWW!!!!

A funny thing did happen on Valentine's Day. We gave each other cards, and we wrote pretty much the SAME super-sweet message to each other. How disgusting is that?? Cute, but gross.

10. Thank you, everyone for your awesome comments in the last post. You guys rock my socks. I really needed some cheering and encouragement, and y'all really helped me out. You might think it was no big deal, but it really did help me feel better! Thank you so much. Extremely motivating and helpful and supportive comments and advice!!! YAY readers!!! I feel a lot better, and I really appreciate the advice about taxes and money and stuff. :)

Ok, I'm going home so I can lie down. I feel like crap.

The Men at Wal-Mart

Alright, since FEW people seem to be interested in my family stories, as evidenced by the paltry comments on the last post-- *ahem*-- I will not talk about that today.

So this is a big "FINE! Be that way!!" temper tantrum from yours truly. I know you guys are just jealous because my family has more boycotted marriages than yours does. Haters.

Today, I will post about something I know a lot of you will want to comment on: Wal-Mart.

Before going to work today, I stopped by the Wal-Mart near my house. MJ refers to this particular branch of the Big Box Store as "Little Mexico", since it is normally chock full of Hispanic immigrants who think blonde hair is the most fascinating thing EVER. They nudge each other when I go down the aisles. They stare at me. They like to call me "Mami" and "Bonita" and stuff like that under their breath. Uck. Why do men do that stuff? It's so annoying and rude, no matter who they are. It makes me feel objectified and I hate it. Something about it creeps me out. It makes me want to go home and take a shower. *shudders*

I wish I could learn how to respond in Spanish: "Yes, hello. While I am, in a nauseating way, flattered at the attention you are currently giving my outward appearance, I would like to inform you that it makes me feel very uncomfortable and violated, because it is rude and invasive, not to mention extremely dangerous, considering I outweigh you by about 50 pounds and could drop you like a hot tamale. Please refrain from doing so in the future or else I will be forced to call INS on your asses. Thanks. Have a nice day."

I need to type that up and make little flyers, and just hand them out when I go to Wal-Mart. That should do the trick.

So I'm at Wal-Mart this morning, and I am at first relieved by the noticeable absence of tiny Hispanic men, undressing me with their eyes. Whew!

Unfortunately, they were replaced with........

OLD PEOPLE!!!!

*screams bloody murder and faints*

If there is one thing I hate, it's old people. They are too slow, they smell funny and they are boring. I don't hate ALL old people, just most of them. There are some old people who kick ass, like The Fruitcake Lady. But unfortunately, this morning at Wal-Mart, there were no cool old people. (Except for the free samples lady who gave me a sugar cookie and tried to help me figure out the difference between semi-sweet and bittersweet chocolate.)

Nope. Today, there was a special deal at Wally World: disgusting old people! Just in time for Christmas!

NOTE: If you are eating while you are reading this, you may want to stop now. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I walk over to the coolers where they keep the milk. On my way, I pass an old man, hacking up one of his lungs. I am talking gurgling phlegm, here, peeps. He had just gotten some milk and put it into his cart, as he was coughing incessantly ALL OVER THE PLACE because he DIDN'T COVER HIS MOUTH AT ALL.

All in chorus now: Eeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwww!!!

I tried to put it in the back of my mind as I used my grocery list to grab the door handle. "Thank God I keep hand sanitizer in my car!" I thought. I grabbed my milk and put it in my cart.

Not three feet away, I look up to find Disgusting Old Man #2. He is -- get this - CUTTING HIS FINGERNAILS in the middle of the dairy department!!! Just clip! clip! clipping away!!! He wasn't even bothering to clean them up. He just let them fall on the floor.

This was so offensive to me that I could feel my stomach getting queasy and could not help but make a face as I passed. Unfortunately, he didn't see me, or else I would have said to him: "Does your wife let you do this? Because that's DISGUSTING!!!!" It is only because I was raised to respect my elders that I managed to walk away without saying something.

Gah. Unbelievable. What idiot thinks it's ok to do that?! In public???!! I won't even do it in front of my family members! Seriously, that is just.....disGUSting!!!

A few aisles later, I come across the baking aisle. Most of my list involves the baking aisle, since I cannot seem to kick this baking binge I've been on. I'm not kidding. Some people hole up in hotel rooms, smoking crack until the cops break down the door. I go on baking benders. People won't see me this weekend. I'll be holed up in my kitchen, baking soda in one hand and measuring spoons in the other. It will look like I'm on drugs, because I am sweaty, jittery and holding spoons and a white powder, but I assure you, it is only an addiction to baking. This is what happens when it's 4pm and all you've had to eat all day are chocolate chip cookies. It will mess you up, a little. And before you know it, you get hooked. I have been waking up in the morning, going, "Must. Bake. Something!" I don't know if it's the holidays or the cold weather or what, but dangit, I. Can. Not. Stop. Baking.

Well, apparently this is addiction is going around, because the baking aisle is jammed FULL of little old ladies, who were entirely too caught up in talking to even notice that I'm trying to get into the aisle. After pausing for a second to think, "Oh. I think I'm getting a glimpse at my future....I am turning into a little old lady who bakes all day. Huh. It's not so bad. I bet their grandkids love it.....Dammit, there's a shitload of old people in here today. Gah, are they bussing them in or something? Did the old folks home have a field trip?? What the hell?!" --I decided to go around them and come into the baking aisle from the other end.

So I'm going around via the cereal aisle. I turn right to get to the baking aisle and I see an old man, just standing at the end of the aisle. He's all alone -- no wife in sight -- uh-oh. As I am walking towards him, I see him looking around to see if anyone is nearby. For some reason, he doesn't look in my direction, although I'm practically close enough to touch him by this point.

And that's when he let one. He FRIGGING FARTED in Wal-Mart, right next to me. It was a very audible fart, too. And the second he did it, he looked straight at me, only to receive a disapproving look on my part. He was totally busted. He got a deer-in-headlights expression on his face, and then looked at the ground. He mumbled something as I passed by, but I didn't catch it. I was trying to get away from him before I had to deal with any after-effects. UGH.

Lucky for me, this was the last disgusting thing I have seen today. But thanks to these nasty old men, roaming around Wal-Mart, making everyone want to barf, I am now able to make a promise to future generations:

When I am a little old lady who bakes all day, I promise I will never EVER bring a disgusting old man with me to Wal-Mart!!!!!! I will make him stay in the car!!!!

Barf Queen on a Date

"I took 5 of them," she slurred.

Oh boy. When I got home from work on Friday, I opened my front door to find E in the midst of a Vicodin-induced stupor. She had surgery recently, and was in some pain.

"Well, I don't have any plans tonight. You wanna stay in and have a Roomie Bonding Night? We can watch movies and eat popcorn. I could pop a Vicodin and join you!" I said, excitedly.

E nodded enthusiastically. "Yeahyeahyeah."

15 minutes later, we were in our jammies, watching Dirty Love, eating jelly beans and I had downed a Vicodin. A few minutes later, I decided it wasn't working, so I took another one.

[Note: This directly violates Rule #1 of VB's Vicodin Enjoyment: Never take more than one Vicodin. I would soon rue this rule violation.]

So I'm just starting to enjoy myself when there's a knock on the door. It's Cute Neighbor. And I'm buzzed on painkillers. Uh-Oh. Act natural.

He had some friends (a married couple) coming into town for the night and wanted to know if I would care to join them for dinner and pool.

"Sure, I'd love to!" I replied, trying to sound sober, secretly wondering how in the hell I'm going to pull this off.

He said ok, and told me to be ready by 8. Cool. That gave me an hour and a half to get ready. In other words, I would be totally juiced by the time the date started. I shut the door.

"Shitshitshitshitshit!!!" I whispered.

"What? Wassss that CN?" asked E, stumbling over to the front door.

"Dude, I have a date with CN and I'm fucked up. I can't do this," I said, walking past her, to my room.

Have you ever tried to get ready when you're drunk? Because that's what it was like. I don't think it would be an exaggeration to say that this was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Hot rollers? Seemed to require a PhD. Coordinating shoes with my outfit? Required an extremely serious debate between myself and E, lasting about 15 minutes. Zipping up and tying my top, without getting the dreaded white deodorant marks all over the front? Took every ounce of concentration and focus I had in my body. I dropped everything twice. I almost poked my eye out with the eyeliner. And I thought the SATs were hard. I think I asked E about 6 times if my outfit looked ok. Which was stupid, because she was more wacked out than I was.

Oh boy. This was going to be an interesting night.

"E!" I shouted. "I don't know if this is a good idea.....it's still kicking in!"

"No, you should totally go. You have to," she slurred, leaning against the door frame of my room.

"Well, the good thing is, I'm not nervous at all. I feel gooooooooood," I replied.

"See? So you shhhhhould go...." E mumbled before collapsing on the couch. I think she passed out at this point. I don't really know. I was more concerned with remembering how to walk in a straight line.

After double and triple-checking myself in the mirror, I headed over to CN's house across the street. "Don't tell him you're on Vicodin. Don't tell him you're on Vicodin," I mentally repeated to myself.

[Note: When we went tailgating together last weekend, I mentioned how much I loved Vicodin, but emphasized that I do not do it all the time by any wild stretch of the imagination. So I did not want to give the impression that I am addicted to pain killers or something. Because less than a week later, here I am, weaving all over the street, teetering in high heels. Yeesh.]

We drove downtown to meet up with the couple. I think I acted pretty normally. I think....I hope...

By the time we walked to the restaurant, sat down and opened our menus, I was blitzed. I could feel my eyes crossing and my mind wandering.

I ordered a ginger ale in the hopes that it would settle my stomach. No such luck. Before I took a sip of it, I excused myself from the table. Luckily, our table was not too far from the bathroom.

By some miracle, the bathroom was empty. I hurriedly locked the stall door behind me and proceeded to barf. "Shit! I am never taking Vicodin again! I am a total idiot! I can't believe I did this!!! Stupid, stupid, stupid!" I thought as I doubled over, hurling.

Double checking myself, my hair and my clothes in the mirror, I swished my mouth out and popped some gum. I have no idea how long this took, because at this point, I was in Lala Land.

Luckily, no one seemed to notice when I got back to the table. We ordered our food, and I drank my ginger ale and began to feel a little better. Whew, I am in the clear. I attempted to join in on the conversation, and managed to hold my own. I have no earthly clue what we talked about. I don't remember a word of it. I do remember CN flirting with me, and smiling at him, and thinking he was definitely out of TFZ. But that's about it. Most of my thoughts were focused on not falling out of my chair. As if reminding myself to keep my eyelids from shutting halfway wasn't hard enough, the stress and paranoia of being discovered was making me sweat profusely. Oh man. This was not fun. Not fun at all.

Then, the food was served. CN and his buddy had ordered sushi. Which wasn't the best thing for me to see/smell at that point. Feeling woozy, I took a deep breath and focused on eating my own meal. I swallowed the first bite when..........uh oh. Guess what. The ginger ale didn't work. Back to the bathroom I go.

This time, I didn't say anything, but got up and made a beeline to the ladies' room. I almost had to run. Which would have been funny to see, because at this point, my stomach was controlling the rest of my body. I had lost control over my brain, not to mention my appendages. I almost fell on the way. As I barged into the bathroom, throwing the door wide open and staggering around to see if anyone else was in there, I was overjoyed to find that I again had the bathroom all to myself. Yesssss! But I didn't have a lot of time to enjoy this moment: Must. Barf. Now. Unluckily, I didn't make it all the way to the toilet, and managed to barf all over the stall. At least this time, it was just ginger ale and one piece of pasta, so it wasn't very messy. I cleaned it up as best I could and felt a LOT better. I washed up and swished again.

"I am the biggest effing idiot on Earth and possibly throughout all of history. I can't believe I am doing this," I thought. "Oh, gawd, what if I keep barfing every 15 minutes???" I looked in the mirror: no harm done to clothes, makeup or hair. "SCORE! This is the best barf luck I've ever had!" I thought, as I popped another piece of gum.

I rejoined the group, but knew better than to drink or eat anything. Feeling the buzz start to wear off, I began to relax. That is, until I realized: they were on to me. "Um, are you ok? Does your food taste ok? You're not eating," the wife asked me.

I told everyone that I hadn't felt well since lunch, when I had ordered a salad from a local restaurant. I apologized for not feeling so well or eating. "But I'm starting to feel a little better. I just can't eat or drink anything right now," I explained. I received much sympathy. Whew. Big sigh of relief.

After dinner, we crossed the street to go play pool. Who do we run into? Why, MJ and her new guy, VW! I ran up to her.

"Oh thank God you're here! Help me! I'm on a date with CN and I'm fucked up on Vicodin and I can't stop barfing! Do I look ok? Can you tell I'm fucked up? Do I smell like barf? Omg, I barfed at the restaurant -- twice!" I shouted frantically.

"Please tell me you didn't barf at the table," she said, hesitantly.

"Oh, thank goodness, no. I even got the bathroom all to myself!" I replied with glee.

She laughed and reassured me I looked fine and that I appeared normal. Never in my life have I been so happy to run into someone I knew.

The rest of the evening went really, really well. MJ and VW joined our group, and we all had fun playing pool. Towards the end of the night, we all grabbed a table outside and talked. That's when CN and VW began to hit it off -- they were inseparable! "Dude, your date hijacked my date!" I told MJ.

"I know! They are like BFFs!" she answered. We laughed and began to tease the guys about it.

Soon after, CN's friends went back to their hotel and MJ and VW left. This left me and CN alone to talk. And boy, did we talk. We went for at least an hour, solid. Talked for a while at the bar, all the way back to the car (with much teasing from CN about how I am Barf Queen) and all the way home. Then, we sat in his driveway and talked some more. We exchanged phone numbers and myspace URLs. There was mucho chemistry and CN is most definitely out of TFZ. Yay!

And no, nothing happened, Noseypants.

We made plans to hang out the next day and watch a movie. But by the time I was done with everything I had to do on Saturday, it was almost time for the USC game to start, so we watched the first half of that instead.

Nothing happened on Saturday, either. But it was his fault -- he sat on the easy chair, while I sat on the couch all by myself. So much for couch snuggling.

He was probably afraid I would barf on him...