I hate to break it to him, but I’m already taken…

27 Oct

Remember how impressed I was with the single-mindedness (if not the creativity) of this guy:

Well, apparently he has competition. Look who hit my blog’s spam filter this week:

While it might be a bit of a stretch to compare someone hawking car rims via my blog to courtship, I think we’re probably all in agreement: Suitor #1 is going to get my business.

Why? Here’s the analysis for the slow learners in the crowd:

“I Like Car Rims” is sort of like that stammering shy kid who had a crush on you in seventh grade. He might even be mildly autistic and can definitely only focus on one thing: CAR RIMS. If you have a date with him, you know what you’ll talk about? CAR RIMS. And if you go to dinner, you know where you’ll go? A drive-in, so you can look at CAR RIMS.

In short: he might be boring, but his innocence is sweet.

On the other hand, you have “Car Rims” – he’s a fast-talker, can’t wait to just get down to business. His introduction to you doesn’t even start with a gentle icebreaker. No – he walks into the room, large and in charge, shouting orders: Ghost ride that whip.

Not only is it bossy, but it kind of sounds dirty. Well, Mr. Car Rims, I will NOT take your suggestion – I will not be riding a whip or whipping a ride or anything else you might suggest. You should be ashamed of yourself.

Now if only someone could tell me why Car Rim aficionados like my blog. It’s not like I write about cars. Or rims.

I guess some people just scream SPINNERS! Yep. That’s me.

CLASSY.

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I do… believe that would be a good joke!

26 Oct

I didn’t post this past week because I went to Miami for a work conference. Alan tagged along because we scored a cheap flight and why WOULDN’T he stow-away for a weekend somewhere fun?

There will be follow-up posts that cover the following topics:

  • The $20 mandatory resort fee
  • People expecting tips for something I’d rather do for myself
  • Accidentally tipping our server $35 because he added gratuity to our tab and didn’t disclose it – for buffalo wings
  • The awesome chicken and black beans we had at a Cuban hole in the wall
  • Breasts
  • The quality of our hotel room – and my fear of losing the security deposit

You have been warned.

For now, I’ll keep it simple with this first post…

Yep. Kind of like this. But not quite.

Saturday we attended a wedding on the beach. By “attended” I mean: the wedding was set up, and our chaise lounges were the closest non-wedding chairs involved and no one asked us to move. (In our defense, we didn’t realize the wedding was in motion until it was already underway – we thought it was a rehearsal until the guy pulled rings out of his pocket… in no small part because he was ALSO holding a bouquet of flowers, which was odd.)

Anyway – there we sat in swim trunks and a bikini (one each, not both on both of us) witnessing their vows, and when the bride kissed the groom, we clapped.

So that’s fun, right? Well, even more fun is what I was thinking BEFORE the wedding took place…

After they built the altar (billowy gauze with ferns around it in front of the ocean), I leaned over to Alan…

“Do you have your phone?” I asked.

“No. Why?”

I gestured at the altar. “How hilarious would it be if we took a picture of us there and posted it to Facebook with the caption, ‘Guess what we did this weekend!?!'”

He looked at the altar. He looked at me. He shook his head at my perverse idea of a gag.

I kept giggling, right up until the real couple walked down the aisle and tied their knot.

I know: what is wrong with me?

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Sure, you’ve heard of a Dutch Oven.

20 Oct

Wait. This *doesn't* scream "yoga" to you?

Remember that tubby kid in in sixth grade gym class who accidentally farted when the class did sit-ups?

Yep. Well, I’m here to tell you: he’s now 45-years-old and occupied the mat next to me at yoga tonight.

We started the class by warming up with some toe touches – and I heard him fart. I wish I was more mature, but instead, I snuck a peek around the room, trying to make eye contact so I could lift my eyebrows with a “did-you-hear-that-shit?” kind of look on my face. Alas, the other women were more mature.

Miraculously, I held it together. (Perhaps because no one was encouraging me to behave like I was ten.)

Continue reading →

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Christine O’Donnell: Bless Your Heart

19 Oct

I’m speechless. Or rather: I have TOO many thoughts, all competing to come out at once. So I’ll let Christine O’Donnell speak for herself. Please watch until the 3 minute mark.

Continue reading →

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Stream of Consciousness: A Rose by Any Other Name…

18 Oct

 

I swear to you, this is exactly the sequence of thoughts after getting home from my pottery class tonight.

How my brain works: it’s sad. I accept that.

Not bad! I might just have to post a little Facebook update about my pottery progress tonight.

“I trimmed six bowls and threw two more.”

Will people even know what that means?

Whatever. I’m a friggin’ potter, yo!

How cool would it be if my last name was Potter?

Alicia’s sixth grade teacher’s last name was Potter…

…and she wasn’t a potter.

What a waste.

With a last name like that, you should honor it.

That way, people would say, “Sandy Potter? Are you a potter? Ha ha!” thinking they’re clever and expecting you to say no.

But then you’d say, “Yes I am. Why are you laughing?” and SHAZAM – you’d have the upper-hand in that conversation.

Some people have all the luck.

<THINKING>

Hang on. My last name is ALSO a noun that could be a vocation.

But I live in the city and don’t even have a balcony.

How the hell could I farm?

Maybe I should move.

Or change my name so people don’t think I’m wasting it.

I had this exact patch sewn onto my overalls in fourth grade. Except it was in English. And it said: "I'm Proud to be A Farmer." And I modified it with a Sharpie so it said, "I'm Proud to be A. Farmer."

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