Now If You'll Just Turn Your Kaleidoscope....

Speculum!?! I don't even know him!

2010-05-25T20:23:00.000-04:00

Disclaimer- This is entirely TMI- read at your own risk-

Today I had that appointment that every girl dreads, thats right, the gyno appointment. Don't get me wrong, my lady doctor is super sweet and not at all theatning, it's just that my idea of a fun time does not include being cranked open by something that resembles a shoehorn while the person doing the cranking is chatting about her Memorial Day plans.

Doctor: You may feel some pressure, So have any big plans for the holiday?

Me: Uh, not really, just kinda hanging out (omgodomygodshe'sinthereomygod)

Doctor: My husband and I are going to check out Down the Hatch, on Candlewood Lake. Ok, you may feel a pinch

Me: That place is nice, just gets really crowded.(Down the Hatch, thats funny because right now you're kinda up the snatch hahaomygodomygod)

I shouldn't complain though, this visit was probably the least traumatic gyno visit I've ever had. My first visit was the worst. I thought I was just tagging along with my Mom, going to read Cat Fancy in the waiting room, when all of a sudden it was all "Surprise! You're getting a pap smear!" I was 14. I was wearing Daffy Duck underwear. I have never wanted to turn into a puddle of goo and ooze away so much in my entire life.

Another fun one was the time my regular doctor was on vacation and I had to see his associate. It's quite a shock when you are expecting a 60 year old Korean man and you get a hot 30-something doctor who proceeds to give you a breast exam (omygodomygodnippledon'tyoudaregethard-fuckyounippleihateyou) I was 17. I was wearing Winnie the Pooh underwear-kidding

So I guess I shouldn't complain about getting the low down on Dancing With the Stars while being checked for rectal cancer.

Scenes from a friendship, Or The cookie-dough crisis of '10

2010-05-16T11:47:00.001-04:00

A conversation between myself and Rainy from A Rainy Day with a Chance of Sunshine. Keep in mind that this took place about 8:30pm on a Saturday evening.

Rainy: How's your FACE?

Me: Monstery

Rainy: Oh I'm Sorry FACE!

Me: I want ice cream.

Rainy: Ohh. You should get chocolate chip cookie dough, I had some last week....

Me: Oh my god! You read my mind, That is exactly what I've wanted for like the past 3 days!I just don't think I have the energy to get myself off the couch to go to the store and get it.

Rainy: Where's Carl? Make him go.

Me: He's at his friends house ( at this point I briefly considered texting Carl to bring me cookie dough ice cream, but thought better of it)

Rainy: Do you want to hear what happened to me?

Me: If this involves you eating copius amounts of cookie dough ice cream, I'm not sure it falls under the catagory of 'Things that happened to me'

Rainy: No! Just listen- So I was at the grocery store last week? And they were selling Byeres Ice Cream 2 for $4...

Me: That was your first mistake,you should have gotten Edy's, they have better chunks......

Rainy: So I was like 'Wow! Thats a really great deal! So I bought the cookie dough, and was so excited, but it basically had like 5 chuncks of dough in the entire carton, so I had to pick though it, and ended up eating the whole half-gallon and being unsatisfied so I had to go out and buy Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough.

Me: I still don't think that eating an entire half-gallon of ice cream, being unsatisfied and buying a pint of the better stuff qualifies as 'Something that happened to me'

Rainy: Well, it wasn't like I ate it all in one sitting, it took like 3 days.

Me:I would be so sick from that

Rain: Oh yeah, I forgot ice cream makes you sick. Why don't you just buy a tube of cookie dough then, if all you want are the chunks?

Me: I like them frozen

Rainy: You could put the tube in the freezer and just cut off hunks of it, that might be delicious

Me: You know what would happen if I did that, I would keep eating it until I vomited, then I would probably eat more after that. Besides, I like picking them out of the ice cream, it's very satisfying.

Rainy: That's true. They should sell single-serve tubs of cookie dough, because you know at least half the tubes sold never see the inside of an oven.

Me: Like 'Hereyougo America, here's your own personal vat of cookie dough for your fat ass?' That's disgusting.

Rainy: Whatever that shit would SELL. It's not as disgusting as the double down.

Me: True. Ok. I'm peeling my fat ass off the couch to go buy ice cream, then I'm gonna eat it while I bawl my eyes out to The Blind Side.

Rainy: Text me and let me know how it goes.

I googled cookie dough, and this came up- I guess it's fitting.

Splish-splash, I was taking a - OW!, - Or epic shower fail

2010-05-05T12:43:00.001-04:00

As I've stated before, I have a knack for doing awesome things.

Evidence:
Last Tuesday I came home from a particularly sweaty gym session, - not that I was working out extra-hard, just that the racquetball court my elliptical over looks had some extremely ripped, grunting young men whacking away......needless to say, a shower was in order. I reached for my Big Daisy( twss- no seriously it's my razor) and realized that it was so dull that unless I wanted my precious lady to look like I'd taken a cheese grater to them I needed a fresh one. I pulled open my shower door and BAM! next thing I know I am lying on my bathroom tile in agony. I had managed to get one leg out of the tub, and then that one leg betrayed me by slipping on the tile, causing me to come crashing down on the shower door rail directly on my left buttocks and inner thigh.
My first reaction was to panic, because I had literally fallen and could not get up, and because I live in a condo and was afraid that one of my neighbors had heard the crash, and would run into my apartment only to find me wet, naked and flopping around on the bathroom floor like a fleshy pink fish out of water.
Also I had left the toilet unfushed. ( I planned on leaving that little detail out, but I really wanted to make sure you got the gravity of the situation) I finally was able to pull myself up off the floor, flush and get back in the tub where I stood under the water with my mouth open in disbelief for the remainder of my shower.
My ass is slowly morphing back from Rocky Balboa into it's usual appearance, which I know not because I'm looking, but because Carl is strangely obsessed with checking it out every five minutes and giving me the full update on what is going on back there, and I think I've learned a few things:

1) Life is unpredictable. In the words of Arnie Grape " I could go at any time".
2) My neighbors are pretty indifferent as to whether I live or die.
3) The appropriate response to your boyfriend asking for permission to take photos of your mangled behind is always the same- NO.
4) Always flush.

On a different note, I am nearing 100 followers! I usually take any excuse to ~~drink~~ celebrate so what should I do when I hit the one-zero-zero?

Jabba the Hut had it Made

2010-04-25T16:42:00.001-04:00

Sundays are generally my favorite day of the week. They are my 'Jabba Day'. My boyfriend Carl and I have fallen into a pattern that is slowly becoming a unspoken agreement. Monday- Friday I keep up with the majority of cooking ,errand running and cleaning that needs to be done so our house does not slowly collapse under the weight of it's own filth. I do not mind doing this, as I tend to be a bit compulsive and anal about when and the manner in which things get done.

Ah, but Sunday. Sundays I tend to plop myself on the couch, eat as much bad food as possible, watch as much trashy television as I can stomach and intermittently bellow for Carl to fetch me things. Ok- so maybe instead of Hans Solo it's hand lotion, or tea or my computer charger, and instead of Salacious Crumb perching on my gluttonous mass, it's my cat Fatty curled up on the gray blanket I have draped over myself, but the resemblance is there if you squint. Carl is very obliging and caters to my every whim. Today he endured hours of Keeping up with the Kardashians, and is currently making me a homemade sausage pizza.

Sometimes I wonder if this is how Jabba started. I mean he couldn't have always been such a lazy, gross, demanding blob, could he? He must have been young and somewhat spry at some point. Maybe he too had a mate who would occasionally let him get away with it for a day, and that turned into two days, then three, until he reached the state we first meet him at. Maybe it's my destiny. It doesn't sound so bad except I'm not sure I could pull off the five-chin look.

Now if you'll excuse me I heard they have a metal bikini in a men's large on Amazon.

Wine: A Love Story

2010-04-24T10:32:00.000-04:00

To say that I love wine is akin to saying Josh Holloway is a nice-looking gentleman. I love wine with a fervor typically seen only in wide-eyed, slack-jawed cultists. Except in this cult the Kool-Aid would be dry and light with a spicy nose and a nice round,soft finish. But like any classic love affair, it has not all been smooth-sailing, we've had our fair share of missteps, bumps in the road, letdowns and flat out lies, but in the end the good moments always out way the bad and when it comes down to it nothin or nobody can take the place of my wine. Sure I've strayed....Jose and I have sang karaoke and flirted with men twice my age together, Captain Morgan has given me some memories I really must thank him for, Ketel One knows just how dirty I like it, and even Bacardi Limon and I have studied the porcelain of many a toilet together. But wine, ahhhh. I would like to say it was love at first sight, but that would be a lie. I had to kiss many a frog-literally and figuratively to meet my prince.

hello, lover

I first met wine when I was 19. At the time I was involved with Rolling Rock. My girlfriend's fake id had been turned down and we desperately needed something to pump us up before we headed to all-ages night to be violently humped by men three time our age and half our height. After rummaging around the kitchen I found that my roommate had a huge jug of Carlo Rossi Merlot. We proceeded to mix it with ice and Sunny D(for the vitamins) pour it into Poland Spring bottles and refill the jug with water. I remember thinking that we were probably the only girls guzzling "wine" in the parking lot. I felt very sophisticated indeed as I teetered in my Contempo Casual chunky heels and Paris Blues into Tuxedo Junction(downtown Danbury represent).

My next foray into vino came a few years later at my girlfriend Heidi's family cabin in Vermont. My then-boyfriend, Heidi and her guy got tossed from the only liquor store within a 10 mile radius and were left with the option of beer or wine. Heidi and I decided since we were adults now that we should learn to appreciate wine. After about 45 minutes of roaming around the wine/gun/flannel shoppe we settled on a bottle of white zinfandel, because it was pink and because it was $5.99. Back at the cabin my boyfriend showed off his bottle opening skillz and we cheerzed. I was not able to see my own face, but I'm sure it mirrored hers in disgust.

Me: I don't think I can drink this
Her: Me neither
Me: It tastes gross
Her: what if we add some Sweet N' Low?

We then proceeded to down the entire magnum, congratulating each other on our sweet idea. We were so cool.
After that I pretty much forgot about wine. I experimented with scorpion bowls, cosmos, ice teas from Long Island, and about any shot a gentleman was willing to buy. It was not until a few years back while working and an Italian trattoria that wine and I found each other again. My boss was a wine connoisseur (read wine-o) who hated to drink alone. She started me out nice and easy with a blush, then moved me onto pinot grigio. And I. Was. In. Love. I threw myself headfirst into all wine had to offer me. Napa Valley Pinots and Souvignon Blancs, Chilean Syrah and Malbecs, Australian Cabernet, I was hooked. Just when I think i know wine, it opens up an entirely new side of itself that draws me in even deeper. Currently I am beyond infatuated with the Italian reds- Sangeiovese, Montepulciano, Barolo, I love you all.
Now if you will excuse me this Chianti is whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
Cheers.

Don't Stand So Close to Me

2010-04-19T19:05:00.000-04:00

Benjamin Franklin is credited with saying "In life nothing is certain but death and taxes", If I had coined the phrase I would have added an addendum "In Life nothing is certain except death, taxes, and that the drooling man is going to come talk to me."

I would like to share an experience I had last week. I was bopping around Micheal's Craft Store, looking for some pretty picture frames(which I found and look very nice on my wall) and I hear very loud,and very close to my ear,

"Now what in the hell do you suppose these are for?"

I knew I was about to make a new friend. I look up and standing a few inches into my personal space is a woman, late 50's-ish fake blond very made up(think Tammy Faye) wearing a white very furry full-length coat, white very furry knee-high boots and carrying a white very furry handbag. The item in question was an over- sized bouncy ball.
Here is the conversation that followed:

Me: I think it's a bouncy ball.(pointing at bin clearly labeled over-sized bouncy balls)

Tammy Faye: (grabbing my arm) But whaaat dooo you dooo with them?

Me: I think you bounce them.

Tammy Faye:Oh. (turns and lobs the ball down the isle, it bounces off of the various art supplies, she seems disappointed)

Tammy Faye: Here, tell me what you think of this (thrusts her wrist under my nose)

Me: Smells nice

Tammy Faye: I'm trying to remember what it is, you don't know, do you?

Me: No, sorry. Maybe if you go to Sephora they could tell you

Tammy Faye: What's Sephora?

This continued while I checked out and into the parking lot while I loaded up my car, got into my car and finally started it up, closed the door and drove away. This happens on an almost daily basis. It's something I accepted years ago, something I now expect and something I sometimes allow time for when planning to enter certain weirdo 'hotspots'-Ok, lets see, run into Walmart for razors and trail mix, talk to one-armed man wearing a fanny-pack and fedora, should take about 25 minutes. I never leave Walmart with out a new friend.It's something I kinda look forward to, weirdo's make life so much more interesting. On the occasions nobody accosts me I generally feel a little sad. I may even flash and inviting smile at the 40 year-old man wearing a sweatshirt with a silk screened bunny rabbit. Well maybe not. But maybe.

What puzzles me is why have I been chosen to be some kind of weirdo whisperer? I've pondered this many times. Do I emit a kind of pheromone that is like cat nip for crazies? For years I tried telling myself that it was because I look nice, nonthreatening,approachable, you-know, like someone who cares about your dog who miscarried in 1968,or doesn't mind if you want to touch her hair; but recently another possibility has been nagging in the back of my mind, and it's getting harder to ignore: Maybe they think you're one of them.You-know, a kindred spirit, a brother-in-arms, someone who may also have dedicated their life to finding a copper penny from 1943.

And who knows, maybe I am. Maybe that nice couple behind me in line at the A&P got up to the cashier and rolled their eyes and said "everywhere we go..." Maybe the man at the gas station put his finger on the buzzer when I was reciting 30 Rock at 6:25 in the morning. Maybe in 20 years I'll be the one in the ridiculous fur coat.

Maybe.

Nah.

Double Down on Heart Disease

2010-04-13T18:12:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was a big day in the Jordan/Willman household. You see, I am dating a fast food fanatic(In referring to Arby's 5 for $5 he quipped"You know what that means, 10 for $10") Carl approaches the release of a new taco from Taco Bell, or a limited time specialty Whopper from Burger King in much the same way that I await a new David Sedaris book, or Season of Glee(Tonight! EEEEEEEEE!) He stalks the fast food's website for information on the soon to be released fast-food item, exact release date, pictures of said item, and and begins a countdown to when the new monstrosity will get out of his dreams and into his mouth. (Thank you Billy Ocean)
I am used to this as either Wendy's or McDonald's or Pizza Hut are always pumping out some new 'food' item guaranteed to maintain America's standing as the world leader in obesity, diabetes, and heart disease.
But not since the release of the Volcano Taco from Taco Bell have I heard about a new menu item as much as the Double Down from KFC that made its debut yesterday. Carl has been unable to think of anything else. He actually downloaded a picture of the Double Down and has had it as his screen saver for the last week or so. For those of you unfamiliar with the Double Down, it is a bacon, cheese and sauce sandwich. Oh yeah, and instead of a bun they use TWO FRIED CHICKEN PATTIES. See below:

How Carl is able to eat these disgusting things and remain slim is something out of the realm of my understanding. I have gained 3 pounds just from writing about it.

So how was it? I texted him after his lunch asking how his nasty sandwich was, and he responded
"Alright. Very chickeny. Wouldn't get it again sober"
Which brings me to an entirely different but equally disgusting story.
Carl and his buddies stopped by a Wendy's after a night of revelry. Carl orders a Baconator(2 beef patties, cheese, and 8 strips of bacon) and a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger. He then inserts the Jr. Bacon into the Baconator and proceeds to chow down. In his defense he vomited shortly after, so he didn't fully absorb all the wrongness of that creation.

I have so many more fast-food Carl storied, but I think that is enough for now. Remind me to tell you about the "Black-Jack Gang-Bang" sometime.

Monster where art thou?

2010-04-11T12:20:00.003-04:00

I am a bit distressed. You see I am not very good with keeping tract of my errrrr 'friend'

(i do think that is a really ridiculous term, no other friend of mine comes over uninvited and tortures me for 4-6 days without mercy, so from here on out we will refer to it simply as 'the monster')

I am sure it is getting to be about that time, but I have had none of the boob tenderness, pre-crampies, violent mood swings-Shut-Up Carl- or wardrobe assaults that normally warn me that the monster is a'commin.

I have NOTHING to wear!!!!!

I recently turned 30, and I am at the age where I know I need to make a decision in regards to children. I love kids- I am the oldest of 7, and have 4 nephews who are amazing, I love them and spend as much time with them as possible. I also love giving them back. Thats the thing. There are no backsies when the kid is yours. You make it, you are responsible for it, and I'm just not quite sure if Carl and I are the best equipped to be wholly responsible for another life.I mean, I have been known to get pissy with my cats because they are too needy "What, you need to be fed AGAIN?" "Do you REALLY need to be on my lap at all times?" I have literally considered feeding my cats less frequently to reduce the turd pile up in the litter box. That does not exactly scream maternal instinct, does it?

So after spending the majority of the morning pouring over my calender, checking dates I have determined that I am indeed due for my monthly monstering. I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, sticking my stomach out, trying to imagine myself with child. I then tried to see my life in a year as as a mother, changing dippies, and wiping spit-up, doing housework with a baby attached to my teat, would it be a boy or girl? Who would he/she look like? I hope it has my eyes, but Carl's nose and chin- Oh, we would make a cute baby. I've been though a whole rainbow of emotions and the jury is still out.

Although I just realized that I have eaten 3 peppermint patties, 2 chicken dumplings, 1/2 a grapefruit, and picked the chicken off a piece of Santa Fe style pizza. And I'm weepy. So I think it's safe to say that the monster is en route. So I can relax. False alarm. It's good news, right?

UPDATE--- Bullet dodged. Monster has arrived. Thank you all for sharing your opinions and advice. Sincerely. Much appreciated.

I must have missed this booth on career day

2010-04-08T15:32:00.001-04:00

While perusing the internets this afternoon, I came across this article courtesy of The Boston Globe:

COPENHAGEN—Scores of Carlsberg workers have walked off their jobs to protest the Danish brewer's new limits on beer drinking at work.
Carlsberg spokesman Jens Bekke says 250 warehouse and production workers and truck drivers went on strike Thursday on the second day of a rebellion against the new rules, which state workers can only drink beer in the canteen during the lunch break.

Bekke says previously Carlsberg had no restrictions on beer drinking as long as employees didn't get drunk on the job.

He says truck drivers are exempt from the new rules and are permitted to drink three beers outside the canteen. But they still went on strike in sympathy with their colleagues.

Alcohol ignition locks on the trucks prevent them from driving drunk.

So let me get this straight...These workers are striking because they are only allowed beer on their lunch breaks, EXCEPT for the truck drivers who are allowed an ADDITIONAL three beers to the ones they drink at lunch?
In the words of Napoleon Dynamite: Luuucky!!!

Your mom gets to drink beer at work

What the hell am I doing wrong? I have to disguise my vodka/soda as a vitamin water at my job, the ADA(American Dental Ass) frowns upon the wielding of sharp instruments around peoples soft tissues while under the influence of alcohol. What a bunch of squaaaarrrreees!* uses fingers to form box in the air*

Don't worry now, it was only a two-martini lunch today. haha!

I totally chose the wrong career.

Stop looking at me swan!

2010-04-06T17:55:00.000-04:00

Something very annoying happened this afternoon. I arrived home from the gym, my hair so greasy it appeared as if I had stood under the liquid butter machine at the movie theater, and decided a shower was in order. I hopped in and started scrubbing away. I lathered up with shampoo, rinsed, and went for the conditioner.
It let out a sad, little squirt and it was done.*

Shit.

This always happens to me. I use whhhaaaaaayyy more conditioner then shampoo, so I run out of the one before I'm even half done with the other.

I LOVE conditioner, partly because of how soft it leaves my hair, and partly because my fine hair is prone to tangles and my tender little scalp can't take the pain. Shampoo on the other hand is akin to foreplay- something you're obligated to do before you move on to the main event. My poor hair is now nursing a frizzy case of blue-balls. I tried to improvise with styling balm, but it just isn't the same.

Stupid O'Loreal Paris. Why on earth do they make the bottles the same size?
I looked up what the proper dosages were and apparently you are supposed to use a dime-sized dollop of shampoo, and a quarter-sized squirt of conditioner. What! A fucking quarter? I use at least a snack pack in my hair and my shiz is short! That may explain the aforementioned greasiness, now that I think about it.

I better start buying my conditioner in bulk. Until then I'll be sporting the ponytail-ed look.

*twss

Dry, with notes of manure on the finish.

2010-04-05T20:35:00.004-04:00

this is just about the happiest-looking picture of me in existence.

Why am I cheesing like a drunken jack-ass? See below.

To celebrate my turning 30(I'm not old, I'm wizened) My girlfriends rented a limo and whisked me away on a wine tour of local vineyards. The weather was perfect, we were dressed to impress, the brie, grapes and prosecco were all on board. We started the day with class, and it naturally ended it dancing with trannys.

In all seriousness this was the best birthday I have ever had, and I'm including the one where I pretended I couldn't see out of my blindfold and whacked the shit out of my annoying cousin instead of my pinata(although that is a close second) I spent it with five of the most amazing girls I have ever known, and it never ceases to amaze me that after almost 12 years they STILL put up with me.

the itinerary

Also there were gifts! One especially I would like to share because it was homemade. Now I will smack a hoe if she ever dares to suggest she has better friends then I.

My girlfriend Elisabeth- a.k.a the 'everything friend' hand painted, in my favorite colors, 6 beautiful wine glasses!

I wish I could post the pictures of our tomfoolery, but alas as some of my girlfriends like to try to maintain the illusion of dignity in their day to day lives I cannot. So I will leave you with this as a consolation prize:

Thank you thank you thank you Ladies!

You have made me feel so happy and special and loved!

And you have also set the bar pretty fucking high for my fortieth. (EWWWWW)

Poop Dip:1, Jordan: 0

2010-04-01T07:27:00.000-04:00

Upon awakening this morning I was smacked in the face with a nauseating odor.
But wait I thought, we just changed the litter box ( by we I mean Carl)
A second later I was smacked in the face with the realization that the terrible smell was coming from me. Out of my mouth. ewwwwww

I had a Greek salad with a side of pita and tzatziki dip for dinner last night. While extremely delish tzatziki dip, which is composed of yogurt, cucumber, garlic, and ass(just kidding about the ass) does not make for sexy breath. I swear I brushed and flossed before bed last night though. Apparently this dip likes to hang around long after the party's over.

I scoured the enamel off my teeth gargled to get rid of this poop breath, and was pretty successful. I stopped at the fridge on my way out the door, and what should I see in there, but my leftovers. Yep I did it. Totally hoovered the cat feces- breath inducing dip, for breakfast, on my way to my job at a dental office.

you cannot resist my cat poop kisses!

Just be happy I'm not instructing you on proper dental hygiene today.

It squeaks when you bang it

2010-03-31T21:55:00.001-04:00

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before but I've worked in a dental office for the last 7 years. When people ask me why I chose this field, I tell them because I wanted to work in health care, but couldn't take constantly seeing sick people. That is true. That is why I went into dentistry. I stay for the That's what she said jokes.

I have always loved a good double entendre. With the advent of The Office I became obsessed. I saw That's what she said opportunities everywhere:
Doing laundry- You can't put such a big load in-- That's what she said

Driving conditions- Wet and slippery-- That's what she said

Feeding the cats - They just keep crying for it-- That's what... you get the picture

But working in a dental office is like hitting the motherload(that's what she said)
Everyday I get to hear some hilarious version of:
If you breath through your nose you won't gag as much

Do you need more suction?

If you could just stretch open for me.

Just give me a few more seconds and I'll pull out.

Now you may feel allot of pressure and some pushing

I just go along with it, secretly adding that's what she said in my head.Sometimes it's the only thing that gets me through a particularly rough day, just to have my own private, dirty little Idaho inside my head. Generally my twss moments are overheard, but today I had one and, not to brag, but mine blew all the other ones out of the water. I was taking impressions for a nightguard and the patient was nervous about the goopy impression material we use.

Paitent: How long does it stay in for? (thats what she said)

Me: Well, It'll be rubbery when I put it in, but it should harden up in about a minute. ( *cough*thats what she said)

Patient: I'm afraid of it going down my throat (that's what hehehe she said)

Me: I'll be really careful when I put it in so it doesn't trigger your gag reflex (Hehe... thaaats ...heehheeeehoooohooo what... HAHAHAHA!)

I think it was one of the most rewarding experiences I have had at a job. ever.
I wanted to end this post with a really good one, but it is late and I cannot think of a good one, so I will leave it to a professional

UPDATE-
My friend Rain just sent me this pic- I know how to bring the hotness.

Pink Slip......

2010-03-28T13:36:00.001-04:00

Have you ever seen something that is just so wrong on so many levels that you are not sure if you will be able to go on living if you do not share it with others? I awoke to an email from a dear friend that directed me to this little jem. I'm not sure what the proper introduction to this is, so without further ado:

OK. Can I just say-
Word panties used 7 times
"C'mon, I'll show you I'm having my period right now"
3-4 days?
Half- assing the hand washing
It's acceptable to show menstrual blood, but use of the word vagina is apparently inappropriate.
Down syndrome girls granny panties
weird "I'm all ready" dance
Who is this 'Suzy'? Aunt? Sister? Overly open neighbor?

If ever there was a situation that called for a WTF, this is it.

I heard there's one where she learns about tampons, but I can't bring myself.

Drunk Blog Fail

2010-03-27T13:20:00.001-04:00

I was supposed to drunk-blog last night. I sent Carl to the store for a bottle of sauvignon blanc(I find white wine to be the best for guzzling) , and poured myself a glass with the full intention of polishing the bottle off.

The first glass went down smoothly, and we seemed to be off to a promising start:

Somewhere in the middle of my second glass I got sidetracked into watching The Count Of Monte Christo, I was totally wrapped up in the sorted tale of love, betrayal, treasure and revenge that I totally forgot about my promise of drunk blogging .

LOVE the tag-line

I'm sorry I failed to deliver a good drunken blog. I will get my shit and vodka together and try again. Thank you for your patience.

A woman, a blogg, an award- tequila!

2010-03-25T14:10:00.000-04:00

I am awesome. I have always know myself, but I think the rest of the world is finally catching on. Evidence:

I was scrolling though my comments this morning when I came across one from Lucky Punk, informing me that she was giving me the Beautiful Blogger award. A tiny glee-filled bubble rose up from my stomach and burst out of my mouth in a strange MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

So now I get to tell you 7 things about myself, and re-gift the award to 5 bloggers of my choosing. YAY!, And lucky you get to learn 7 new fun facts about yours truly. So here goes

Seven Things About Me

by Amanda Jordan

1.) I can't swim. I have tried so many times to learn, but I just sink like a stone. I thought with the arrival of my breasts(at age 9) I would at least float, but alas I must have lead-filled chesticals.

2.) The worst thing you could ever give me to eat would be a bacon wrapped scallop with a sour cream dip. The only thing that could possibly be worse would be a testicle wrapped in fat and dipped into spoiled half n half. If you could tell them apart.(extra points for serving it up on your elbow, and by extra points I mean extra vomit)

3.) I am in the process of a career change. I am leaving my current job to wait tables while I take classes and pursue my dreams of becoming a world renown author. I have never been both so scared shittless and so sure that I am making the absolute best choice.

4.) I love giving my cats Mougwili, Fatty, and Mosely, nicknames. Examples: Dr. G.P. Fattington, Nurse Roast Beef Nose, Gunty McGunterton, Ginger Polenta, Picasso, Tender Foot, Creamsicle Lover, and Poop-ear

5.) I am drinking tequila as i type this- ( and yes it is 1:13pm on a Thursday- wanna fight?)

6.) If I don't understand(read don't care) how something works, I just attribute it to magic.My Car, computer, television, and hair straightener are all bewitched.

7.) My favorite movie scene of all time is in True Romance between Christopher Walken and Denis Hopper. If you have never seen this movie I suggest you do so immediately.

So there you have it. 7 fun facts. Now who to award, who to award.....I feel a little power-drunk, and a little tequila- drunk, and a little like I'm playing a cyber game of duck,duck, BEAUTIFUL BLOGGER!

And the award goes to:

Rainy, from A Rainy Day With A Chance Of Sunshine. Rain and I have been friends for going on 11 years now. We met as wee lasses when we worked at a Friendly's Restaurant, and soon bonded in a way akin to soldiers going though war together. She is one of the smartest, funniest people I have ever met and her writing reflects that.

Ashley, at One Crazy Brunette Chick. This bitch rocks! She uses the most ummm colorful language I've ever heard, and she is crazy funny and crazy sharp. She takes you on a ride with her posts, and I kind of wish we were friends in High School because she would have upped my coolness factor by about a 1,000,000% ( I can totally see my 16 year old self standing behind her all like yeah, yeah, what she said!)

The Chick at Rock'n'Roll Gourmet. Not your typical cooking blog, her pictures and descriptions are so mouthwatering you can almost cyber taste the dishes she whips up. She chefs it up in true rocker style

Becky at Steam Me Up Kid. I have no words. You must read the ridiculous-ness for yourself. This girl islets it all hang out(anal leakage anyone?) She has no filter and no subject is taboo. And she has the best post names ever. Be prepared to laugh till you cry, or your anus leaks- hey you never know

Mayopie. This guy is a pro. He is funny, but his posts are so focused and well written that I suspect he spends hours writing them, or maybe he is just a genius. Maybe I am just jealous because the best I can do is ramble about my cats sometimes. He puts me to shame. Read him.

So I think I have met the criteria for excepting my award, and would like to thank my gal Lucky again for the honor. From the bottom of my little elbow hating heart I thank you.

I got your back JLove.

2010-03-23T19:19:00.001-04:00

This morning one of my coworkers threw a magazine at me and said:
"That Jennifer Love Hewitt has some issues" My stomach tightened on reflex and I bared my teeth and hissed: "Leave her alone"
"Fine. Freak." she said as she sashayed out of my office.

Jennifer Love and I have a bond, you see. We went through a break up together.

The year was 1998. I was a senior in high school and I had just broken up with My boyfriend Mike for the last time because he refused to take me to the prom. I was angry and heartbroken, but above all else dramatic.

There was a new movie I was dying to see staring our JennyLove and Peter Facinelli(Dr. Cullen for all you youngins) As high school sweethearts Amanda and Mike who have a traumatic break up right before graduation. It was aptly named Can't Hardly Wait. And I could not.

I went to see it with some girlfriends on opening night, and per usual someone had snuck in some Captain Morgans for us to mix into our over priced diet cokes. Out of a combination of rum, anger and the age and breasts, I identified with Amanda Becket like I had never identified with a character in a film before. Her name was Amanda, well so was mine- She had a big rack, well I did too. her ex, Mike, was a total asshole-jackass-loser,and as far as the captain and I were concerned he WAS the same asshole-jackass-loser I had just broken up with.

I must have seen that movie over 10 times in the theaters. Drunk every time. Whenever Peter Facinelli would come on screen I would mutter obscenities into my drink and once when Amanda uttered the line :"Mike broke up with me" I stood to my feet,waved my arms wildly in the air and shouted
"No I broke up with HIM!" and threw my cup at the screen.
After I was escorted outside my girlfriend held my hair back and I puked up whatever was left of my dignity for the remainder of the movie.

So still to this day I identify with Jennifer Love through a character she portrayed 12 years ago. She helped me get over an asshole and I forever owe her a debt of gratitude. So I will continue to stick up for her,when she has unflattering bikini pictures, or stars on a terrible show. I support her even when she writes books about having a woman glue swarovski crystals to her 'precious lady' , and gives interviews where she talks about TAKING BUBBLE BATHS ALONE IN A TIARA, or how she tries on engagement rings every month and keeps a WEDDING DRESS IN HER CLOSET. I stick by my girl.

She doesn't make it easy though.

A funny thing happened on the way to the blog post....

2010-03-22T21:39:00.000-04:00

I promised myself I would refrain from writing about my cats on this blog. I do this mainly because I would like people to read it. But I am going to break this rule tonight, partly because it's Monday, partly because I think it's funny, but mostly because I cannot think of anything better.

Of the three cats we own, two blatantly favor Carl, but my little Fatty is all about her Momma. She is a permanent fixture on my lap, whether I am on the couch, at the table, or on the can. She has staked her claim and God help the soul who tries to move her.
Recently, however, fatty's space has been taken over by my laptop. She has expressed her disapproval by perching on the ledge of the wall to the right of the couch and glaring with the most disgusting faces I have ever seen.

Until this evening as I was sitting here trying to think of a post and she decided enough was enough and she was gonna reclaim her territory:

fatty does NOT approve this message

She climbed right up there like a self-righteous parrot and started puurrring like a champion. Well played my resourceful little stink-bomb, laptop- your move.

PS- just so you know that she can be really adorable I'm including the following picture. Also forgive my hair It is Monday.

Get me to a meeting! Stat!

2010-03-21T10:03:00.008-04:00

My name is Jordan and I'm a picker. There. I've said it. Try as hard as I might to resist picking I cannot do it. I've been like this as long as I can remember. It's turned into an addiction, I can't just stop. It's not even that fun anymore, just something I am compelled to do to make it through the day.

It started out innocently enough, as a child my mother and I would search through bags of potato chips looking for 'good ones' - c'mon you know what I mean, the folded, extra crunchy, extra potaoty, nom, nom, nom....... Nothing was better then when I'd pull out the crown jewel of the bag, wave it around like a trophy and then pop it in my triumphant little mouth.

psssst hey kid, like what you see?

Soon I had moved on to ice cream- rocky road being my favorite. I discovered if you popped a half gallon in the microwave for about 40 seconds it would be soft enough to allow for easy excavation of the chocolate covered nuts and marshmallow bits, but still hard enough to make you work for it a bit. As I've gotten older I've started to go to further lengths to achieve the same high- dumping chocolate chips into peanut butter only for the joy of fishing them out- digging through banana-nut muffins to find the walnuts, even now as I write this I am in the process of
rummaging through a Lucky Charms box to get at a the sugary nuggets of goodness within.

I have tried to stop this serial(see what I did there?) picking. I know that other people, namely Carl, would like to have some of the treats hidden within as well, I tell myself
'Self, stop doing this. You are approaching 30 and this is disgusting. Nobody wants to eat your picked-over rejects.'

I really want to stop but this thing takes over me and it's all

'Just one more, ok, er,.. one more, uhhh last one? one more last time, please?'

Damn, now I'm jonesing for some jelly beans, but just the white ones.

I can see clearly now, the dangle's gone....

2010-03-20T13:33:00.006-04:00

Don't fuck with my smoothie consumption or you're toast.
Let me explain: I break/lose things. It's ingrained in my DNA. If I have something expensive I must lose or destroy it.

Exhibit A: Car. Hit a pole, gate, guardrail and a deer all within the first year of owning it.

Exhibit B: Pearl earrings. Lost one the night they were given to me, in the restaurant I received them in.

Exhibit C: Crystal lead vase. Dropped on foot. Shattered both.

Exhibit D: Dangle.

Dangle is the name Carl and I gave to my eye glasses after I sat on them and broke the frame. They were just kinda danglin there. We've been taping them back together for close to a year now, so I've been going around like this:

Very attractive I know. My poor dangle. I used them for driving and at home watching t.v. only. I decided it was time to bite the bullet and spring for new ones a few weeks ago when I was in Grand Central Station at the awesome smoothie place and I could not order a smoothie because my vanity would not allow me to pull my dangle out in front of the world so I could read the posted menu.
I am very pleased to have glasses I can wear in public now.
I think I will kind of miss my dangle though. Or perhaps more accurately I will miss chasing Carl around the condo while whining "But my daaannngle! fix my daaaanggggllleeeee!" I'm sure Carl will miss it too.

And I promise my forehead is not really as large as it appears in above photo.

Hand jobs, Tom Cruise and my kids, Wait it's not what you think!

2010-03-14T20:41:00.018-04:00

I found something exciting this weekend. All through high school I religiously kept a journal of quotes that spoke to me. I haven't opened it in years, so I had totally forgotten the dedication on the first page:

Dear Postarity,
These are jems I have written over the years. I belive everything. They all express an explisit point of veiw and are to be taken to heart. Please forgive me for not giving the writters credit for their words. You must try to discover their origen on your own. The journey will be long but amply rewarding. I promise.
Amanda Marie Jordan

I've always been an atrocious speller, and melodramatic, but apparently very lazy as well- see the (sp) above the word explisit.

Also lets take a look at some of these jems that I deemed appropriate for my future descendants.

She told me to come over and I took that trip
and then she pulled out my mushroom tip
when it came out, it went drip, drip, drip
I didn't know she had the G.I. Joe kung fu grip

Everything ends badly, otherwise it wouldn't end.

Now, while I still enjoy Sublime and Cocktail is one of my favorite Tom Cruise movies, is this really the legacy I want to leave to 'postarity'? Bad spelling, hand jobs and Scientology? Can you imagine if your mother sent you on a quest to discover the origen of her sacred pearls of wisdom and you came back with Courtney Love and Romy and Michele's High School Reunion?

It may have been outrageous, truly,truly outrageous (sorry)

PS Bowie and Jem- has anyone ever seen them in the same place at the same time?
there WAS a period in the 90's where Bowie was somewhat inactive- or was he?

Payback's a bitch and I'm a.....

2010-03-13T19:26:00.005-05:00

In every baby name book I've ever seen the name Amanda means something along the lines of lovable, or deserving of love. As a child I used to pride myself on this, and by pride myself I mean rub it in their faces. I mean they had names that meant things like Myrtle leaf, Jehovah is salvation and He who supplants. Not exactly awesome. - My youngest brother, Judah does however take the cake, as his name means The praised one, but by the time he came around I was a teenager and I was just too cool to care. And was anything but lovable.

Imagine my surprise when this afternoon at my sister Bithiah's(yes you read that right) birthday party my Brother Joshua(of Jehovah is salvation fame) beamed at me like a cat who ate the canary

Josh: Guess what your name means in Russian? - more beaming

Me: I don't know, something awesome?

He then said a word I don't feel comfortable putting in this post. Suffice it to say it starts with C and ends with T and is arguably one of the worst things you could ever call a woman.

Me: You are full of shit.

Josh: Google it- beaming at maximum capacity

I did. It is true. Well actually my name is Amanda and the translation is for Manda, which as my loving brother pointed out with glee, my name would mean A (insert offensive word here).

If only he had discovered that 20 years ago he could have put me in my place.

At least my name's not Esther.

OH MY GOD I AM DATING A SERIAL KILLER! - more on that in a minute

2010-03-11T07:41:00.008-05:00

This morning I reached a whole new level of whiteness. I mean I like to think of myself as a pretty down person, but every time I start to get cocky about how chill I am, my whiteness just sneaks up out of nowhere and smacks me in the FACE.

Case in point: I was on the elliptical this morning having a super awesome workout when my ipod shuffled me a song that made me smile. I started going faster, upped my incline and tried hard to restrain myself from doing a hand dance. That sounds fine you'll say, no harm in getting down with some sweet tunes while sweating it out, right. Ok, the song I was jamming to was Bust A Move by YoungMC - still don't see the problem? It was being preformed by the cast of GLEE, possibly the whitest show ever.

After my workout, I told Carl how I am probably one of the whitest people ever, and his response was
"Amanda, I started my workout with The Price Is Right theme music, so I'm pretty sure I have you beat"
Touche my friend.
When I pointed out that this was insane he defended it saying it had "A sick baseline"

Well SOMETHING is sick my friend.

Now just tell me you can't totally see a maniac driving around in search of pray while humming this.

Also I offer this up as evidence:

Sure, sure he was stabbing peanut butter cups then, but this was 13 years ago, I'm afraid his needs may have grown since then.

Help.

Look back in anger

2010-03-10T19:35:00.005-05:00

I like to think of myself as a pretty forgiving person. Someone has to be a serious d-bag to get me mad enough to stay that way for more then a few minutes.
That being said, I've been holding a grudge for over 20 years now. What could have happened when I was 8 that I'm still pissed about? Glad you asked:

Picture this: the year is 1988. My favorite aunt had given me an eraser- not just any eraser, but a jumbo-sized florescent pink panda eraser with, wait for it.... GOGGLY EYES! It was just about the most beautiful thing I had ever seen- the Holy Grail to my collection of Lisa Frank relics.

bit of background: I have six siblings and seldom was anything ever given to just one of us. Also I was a huge dork with a sticker/pencil/eraser fetish- I never stuck the stickers or sharpened the pencils so there was no need to erase anything- did I mention I was a huge dork? See Picture:

I brought my new prize with me to school, to ensure one of my teething younger siblings didn't use it for a chew toy, and placed it lovingly in my desk. Throughout the day I would open the top of my desk for a peek, maybe take it out for a quick smell or to shake it so its eyes would do the cookie monster swirl. I was so happy.

I vomited in gym class that afternoon, possibly from a combination of excitement and inhalation of synthetic rubber, and my Mom had to pick me up early from the nurses office. My panda was left safely in my desk. I stayed home from school the following day, blissfully ignorant of the atrocity that was taking place in Mrs. Jones homeroom.

Upon returning to class, I hung my coat in my cubby and ran to my desk. I flung the top open only to find my beloved panda had been MUTILATED. Horribly. And to add insult to injury the culprit had used my own scissors. I was heartbroken.fighting tears I turned to my 'friend' Mia and showed her what had happened. I was expecting shock followed by sympathy, but instead she looked at me with dead eyes said, with the most chillingly calm voice:

I know. I did it.

WHAT? But why? I could not fathom a reason behind such cruelty

Because I felt like it.

I felt like she had plucked my heart from my chest, hurled it to the ground and was doing the hokey-pokey on it. Because she felt like it.
I scooped up the remains of my eraser and placed them in my pencil box. I then calmly raised my hand and asked to go to the nurse where I laid on the cot till my Mom came to pick me up. I climbed into our Volkswagen Vanagon and lost my shit. I cried like I had never cried before. I was inconsolable. I remember going to bed without dinner.( Let the record show that I was a huge dork.)

I never told on Mia. Why still puzzles me to this day. I don't know if I was trying to be the bigger person, or if I was nervous that I would break down in front of my teacher and she would think I was a giant baby for crying over an eraser. Whatever my reasoning, it is one of my biggest regrets. If I could turn back the hands of time I would definitely make a pit-stop in 2and grade to open a can of whoop-ass on that little bitch. Because I feel like it.

So, like I said I'm pretty easy going, just don't fuck with my Lisa Frank.

* WOW! That ended up in a totally different direction then I had originally intended. The rage just literally poured out of me. I guess it was either this or I look her up and take her on Jerry Springer and pull my boobs out.

It's just(ahh) a little crust(ahh)

2010-03-09T12:37:00.007-05:00

This past Sunday while suffering from a crippling hangover courtesy of a wedding I attended Saturday evening I set out to make a fruit tart to take to Carl's parents house for lunch. Now fruit tart has several steps; make crust, chill crust, bake crust, make pudding, chill pudding, slice fruit and assemble; making it the perfect thing to make if every 5-7 mins you need to either visit the couch or bathroom,( I assure you I was sure wash my shaking hands thoroughly each time) but still wish to dazzle with your culinary prowess.
There was one small snag when I fell asleep while the crust was baking, resulting in it being a bit overdone. I could have used it, but being me, I remade.
The tart came out beautifully:

Yay for me!

That evening as I was curled under my gray blanket per my usual Sunday behavior, Carl walks into the living room and says :

"Mommy said I can only have one cookie, so I'm having this one"

and in his hand he is holding the rejected tart crust from this morning. Perhaps a visual-

This is one of the many reasons I love him. And also the exact reason I've given him the nickname HGD, or Human Garbage Disposal. At least he's not wasteful.