11/30/2010

Yup, it's the last day and I'm throwing up gang signs on my blog.

Today it snowed like nuts and I think I got behind someone who legally should not have been able to drive. I left my house at 7am and didn't get to work until 8:19. Is it bad that we still have our pumpkins up on our porch?

I purchased two poinsettias tonight and we are just about done with our Christmas house. Tomorrow I plan on watching Sex and the City 2 with my pal while basking in the glory of my Christmas house.

I am tired, so I will retire to bed. It's been real NABLOPOMO. I need to tell you about Cleveland next.

11/29/2010

Today I might have worked from 6:45 am to 6:45 pm. And then after I came home and housed a home made burrito, I made Brian dive into Christmas hell and reorganize our house for the holidays. The devil made me do it.

To all you people who still want to do something for New Years, have no fear. I want to do something. Just perhaps more informal and something that doesn't cost me $500 plus the cost of a holiday ham. Maybe we can just marvel at how bad Dick Clark talks and have some shrimp dip.

I literally want to make love to my nook. It is the coolest thing. So proud to be an owner. It makes me want to read, read, read. I take satisfaction in seeing the progress bar at the bottom get closer to completion. It makes me really happy.

Did I tell you guys that I bought the W Magazine featuring Kim Kardashian's large bare ass? I can't stop staring at it. It defies all logic.

11/28/2010

Holy Mother-Loving God.



Tonight we drove seven hours in the car, six of which, I slept through. Just kidding. Not really. We are finally home and because I'm psycho, I decided we needed to get in the Christmas spirit and totally kill ourselves. After watching the chiefs murder the Seahawks, we made that Christmas dream a reality. And now I want to die.

I don't know what it is, but I still feel like it's March. And I'm 12 years old. Time is flying. But I'm super jazzed because John and Sue are coming up for one of their famous 24 hour visits this Friday! So that gives me a reason to have everything in tip-top shape.

Brian suggested we get a fake tree this year because we'll be in KC and we are not having a new years party this year. I told him to go get the scissors and cut off his genitals, because that's the same feeling that ran through my heart when he said that.

11/27/2010

Recap of my Saturday:

I woke up at the hour of ten, had some delish egg casserole made by my mother-in-law. I also discovered a deep obsession with creme brule coffee mate. OH DEAR GOD. Then I proceeded to color the day away with my 13-year-old cousin in law. Brian printed us out sheets to color and one of them included Will Smith.

We went out for a bit to get some fresh air. Brian went on a shopping spree and decided to buy his weight in electronic entertainment. When we got home, we were treated to a dinner feast of bracioles, made lovingly by Brian's full-blown Italian aunt. Pretend there was a midget made entirely of tomato sauce. And I ate him in 30 seconds.

And to tell you the solid truth, I gave a lesson in guitar hero last night and felt totally spent. And do you know that nook cases cost about half, if not more, than the actual nook does? It's highway robbery.

Also, please tell me that the above image is not the greatest thing since the dawn of man.

11/26/2010

God bless it, is anybody even reading these anymore? Today was a superior day. Although I did not make it out the door early, I did manage to score the one thing I was coveting, at the doorbuster price. Ladies and gentle men, I now own a Nook! I'm more than jazzed. I also went on to buy a full-sized glitter belt.

Tonight we had a wonderful dinner with old friends and then proceeded to watch Oprah's favorite things like normal couples do. My mouth hung open the entire time. I would have been fine with the over-priced tunics that she gave away. Or the year's supply of pot pie.

11/25/2010

Happy Thanksgiving and 25 additional pounds later, here I am. I am slightly bitter because its slightly before midnight and no one wants to go to Best Buy with me at 4am to try for the Nook at 99 bucks. I am very thankful for the fact that I called my dad tonight and he said that the winner of the dominoes game they were playing gets a free porch built onto their house. I had a wonderful dinner in the number 1 most dangerous city in the U.S. I may have been a little over-eager on that second plate as it DID come back to haunt 30 seconds after completion. I'd like to close this tiny blog post by saying that I am very thankful for the perfect husband, the best sisters, good brosephs, fantastic health, Pottery Barn, our soldiers who protect us, the greatest friends, my lovely job, and fast car.

11/24/2010

Things of note:
-Brian's mom has fresh flowers in every room I enter
-I ate McDonalds breakfast from the drive thru while I was in the drive thru for Starbucks
-I have the entire Scott family addicted to ANGRY BIRDS
-My brother in law has an oil painting of himself
-Passed by a billboard for Ann's Bra Shoppe
-Brian thinks that you get pimples on your butt if you keep wearing a wet swimsuit after you get home from the pool

11/23/2010

Ok, I just have to share with you the best gas station story of my entire life.

We are en route to St. Louis to eat our weight in turkey, and we pull into a gas station stall in a remote Missouri town. Brian gets out of the car and prepares to pump gas. At the same time, blazing in comes this bright red Ford focus with every single window down all the way, blasting this song. Particularly at the 1:32 minute mark. When it REALLY GETS GOING. And then this man gets out. And he has the sweetest mullet in the history of hair. I mean, it was greasy. So then he shuts off his car stereo as I give Brian the look of "Thank you Jesus for presenting me with this moment." Then, before this man could put the nozzle in his car, he immediatley puts the key back in the ignition and turns it just a bit so that he doesn't need to breathe a sip of air without that song. AMANDA! HOW AM I GONNA LIVE FOREVER. WITHOUT YOU.....AMANDA. AMANNNNNNNNNNNDUH. I mean, for 7 straight minutes this man pumped gas to a song that killed me for 7 minutes. I mean, the volume level could easily make a small man deaf.

And then as Brian went to pay, he comes back to our car and tells me that the man put contacts in his fu-fu dog's eyes, because THEY WERE ELECTRIC BLUE.

11/22/2010

I thought on this gray day, I'd share three photos that I took at concerts I've attended. I thought they were pretty decent and purchasable by Rolling Stone.


Jared Leto, 30 Seconds to Mars, Total (Gay) Hottie.


Haley from Paramore


Ingrid Michaelson whom I want to be best friends with forever and ever.

11/21/2010

How many days until this god-foresaken contest is over with? Just joshing, I'm actually digging the blogging. And I know my two readers are, too.

This weekend was the hotness. Slept until noon, watched a lot of 30 Rock with Brian. There was some Guitar Hero domination. Wore my jeggins out on a hot date where we ended up getting milkshakes and walking around Target at the end of the night.

Today, I went and got the first pedicure in about a thousand years. Because Brian had told me I needed to shave the hair off of my toes, I ended up totally slashing my second two and that shit wouldn't stop bleeding for two hours. I thought for sure they wouldn't take me at the nail salon, but my dude said NO PROBLEM and I hopped right on in. Also, he wasn't wearing gloves. And my red Niagara Falls of a toe would not stop spewing. Well, he yelled something Asiany to the man next to him. That guy reached into his lab coat, pulled out an unmarked bottle and tossed it to my man. Two drops of that into my "problem area" and all of the sudden I felt satan in my second two. Jesus that hurt. And then, it was done. For the life of me that thing dried up in two seconds. And the bottle didn't even have a label. The guy said it was his saliva in a bottle. I couldn't stop laughing. Now I probably have AIDS.

Then, he told me that gay men only paint one toenail when they come in.

11/20/2010

Let's take a walk down memory lane, shall we?

Back in the fresh month of September, Jenny met her friends in Des Moines. Upon arriving in the parking garage, Melissa wouldn't let me take my luggage into the hotel because I DODDLE. But I've forgotten about that. I also forgot about paying the overdue and expired illegal parking fees to the hotel, so cool.

Guys, let me tell you that Des Moines is very similar to Hawaii, in that I TOTALLY WANT TO MAKE OUT WITH IT. Seriously, it is incredible and I plan on buying a summer home there. I would even move there. Literally loved the big city feel, hanging with my besties and mini-bestie Penny, every single place we ate at made me weep, and apparently even random wine tastings still happen in the pouring rain. While you shop.

Here's my Des Moines play-by-play:

The only thing keeping us up besides my horrible new snoring habit, was the spotlight on top of the alarm clock. Until those Mormons helped fix that problem.


I think there was more rain than air in Des Moines. But that did not stop us one bit. Like i said above, we participated in a full-fledged shop and drink wine while push a baby in a stroller day.


Ate at a sweet diner named Baby Boomers. With the greatest and best cookies of all time. I also had a chocolate chip pancake.


They also featured artwork such as this. I will be buying this for Penny's nursery this Christmas. Love, Aunt Jenn.


Went to the most incredible salvage antique shop. With a coffee bar/eating nook that I would like to live in. Here is me, holding the Pennster up while Steph ran out to the car. FYI, Steph did not like this move and Penny also had a loaded brown diaper.


Sweetest mini art and sculpture park. However the grass was wet from the rain, it was 60 below zero, and I was wearing flip flops. Who am I.


This is what you stumble upon while you are out looking for midnight ice cream. I still don't understand why such an awesome city didn't have such an awesome ice cream selection at all hours.


Love you forever, girls.

11/19/2010

Guess what. You're all in luck tonight. Brian Scott is making his yearly blog appearance while I go to the bathroom and clip my toenails for the first time this year.

Take it away, Brian!

Five things that I hope to try some time in my life:

1. McDonald's McRib - Everyone says that this is an excellent sandwich, however, I just don't understand exactly what it is. Is it really a rib? Probably not. The bones of a rib would not do well in a sandwich.

2. Watch The Sound of Music - Jenn's family thinks that I am weird for not having ever in my life watched this movie, nor have I ever had the desire. However, it is probably one of those movies I should just watch just to say that I did it.

3. Learn to play golf. I tried once, but it was not the right environment for learning. It was memorial day and I was with 6 of my Omaha friends who all had a different perspective on how to play. Then the party behind us became frustrated because we weren't playing golf fast enough.

4. Attend a baseball game at the new Busch Stadium in St. Louis. I grew up a Cardinals fan but have yet to attend the new stadium.

5. Bow hunting - I used to build homemade bow and arrows when I was young. I would take a long piece of wood from the creek in Chesterfield and tie a tight string at both ends to make a bow. Then I would find several "arrows". I went as far as to cut a slit in the back of the arrow and attached leaves for the feathers. Believe it or not the feathers really make a difference. Anyways, I always wonder if my bow skills would translate in to the real world of hunting.

Ok, Jenn here... and now I need to go and find Brian and discuss his newfound love for bow hunting. WTF.

11/18/2010

Tonight I went to a PURE ROMANCE party. I always struggle with these babies. I don't really want to openly talk about your bedroom habits, learn the four steps of using a butt plug, or see some old lady demo the love assisting pillow.

I kind of stood in the back, in my most conservative cardigan and boat shoes, shoving as much food into my mouth as possible. I'm sure the look on my face was like a 10 year old. I also have a hard time when I am forced to put multiple lotions and things on my hand and then I'm told to lick them. Until you've found something that doesn't taste like I'm eating soap from Bath and Body Works, I probably will not buy it.

They kept trying to push these toys that had all of these rings that were supposed to go over and around your man's BALLS. I am pretty sure if I asked big Bri to put a thick rubber band around his jewels, he'd move to Texas.

Another item was passed around and we were supposed to touch it to our nose while it buzzed louder than sin. Jesus Christ, I think that thing shaved off 90% of my nose skin in 0.2 seconds. And it was the size of an ear plug. See, something like that would get lost in me or I'd have a horrible accident with it. I don't need something around my privates, that also has the power to mow my entire lawn.

The only thing I really thought about what buying this entire body suit made out of netting. Sweet, it's crotchless. I probably couldn't even get my head into it, let alone my arms. Wouldn't that be a number.

11/17/2010

Holy mother-loving God. I just went through some discs filled with papers that I wrote all through college. I'm dying. German papers, other people's papers, AOL conversations that I copied and pasted and saved into a word document like a total psycho.

Well here's what I was looking for. It was my most favorite thing that I've ever written. And I want to keep adding to it and then seriously publish it into a book that will become a NY Times bestseller and I can retire and bathe in my money.

Enjoy, "Working Nine to Five"

There was only one summer since high school where I found myself not having a job. Every summer I was motivated enough to hunt and earn a nine to five, Monday through Friday job. But that one summer, I slowed down and enjoyed the long days with my boyfriend. Funny, my days spent doing just nothing, actually made me feel like I was accomplishing something. And every day, I would receive that pounding phone call from Dad. We never talked on the phone because he never called. But that summer, he would call every single lazy day and open with that pressing question: “Hey Babe! How’s the job hunt going?” I somehow seeming to skirt around his phone calls and my summer job that year became trying to find a job. Never having found one, August came. Dad was predictably disappointed and I had spent the three months in love. Consequently, I wondered if my summer break had hurt me. I obviously wasn’t making money, but was I losing the opportunity for another corporate experience? More interestingly, was I missing a chance at meeting another person whom I could tack onto the list of curiously odd co-workers?

My first paying job experience came from Antioch Public Library. I worked there for two summers in high school. I learned about lunch breaks, the Dewey Decimal System, my alphabetizing ability grew amazingly, and I stopped kids occasionally from having spit ball fights in between the tall shelves of books in the adult non-fiction section. There isn’t much to write about the days working in that library. I was encouraged to remain quiet while shelving and that rule carried through into our back room. I even thought I was even too loud when I chewed my food at lunch while reading that week’s issue of People Magazine.

And after two summers of a spotted work schedule in a place where silence really was golden, I was introduced to the world of temporary employment. After registering with a particular agency, which included the discovery that I could type 72 words a minute, I waited for the call that would place me at my first assignment.

And within no time at all, I received word that my work would begin at College and Nall Avenue, in a Sprint cubicle, on the third level. I arrived at the secretary’s desk on my first day and was arranged to meet with Pamela Hammond, the head manager of the team I’d be working on. I would later find out that the entire floor had this general hate for Pam, and even then she seemed insincere and fake. She had that kind of red hair that you just knew wasn’t her real color. Probably a gesture of needing attention and the demand for every one to remember her. She never did learn my name.

So “Plastic Pam” and I waited for the other temp to show up. He finally arrived and that’s when I met Andy, a gay guy who was studying to become a mortician, but was passionately in love with his dream to become an opera singer. It turns out Andy was working on another floor and eventually left halfway through the summer on an urge to travel around the world. I saw his postcard from Paris in the break room on the company bulletin board.

During the first few days of my job, I was assigned to my very own cubical, something I viewed as a personal accomplishment. I was given a computer, phone, full access to the company’s supply closet, and the instructions to get acquainted and wait for Plastic Pam to match me up with a supervisor.

While Pam went back to her office, I wasted time on websites for a couple of long days. On the second day of complete boredom, and in the middle of my 142nd game of solitaire, I heard this elderly voice shout from behind the cubicle wall adjacent to mine. She always had her radio tuned too loud to the local oldies station and during every opportunity to be the ninth caller in a contest, she was on the phone: “What the hell do you mean I’m only the second caller? I’ve been on the phone for a goddamn half an hour waiting!” I soon learned too, that she had a knack for using foul language and an interest in calling every available radio station in an effort to win the prize of the moment.

When I saw Plastic Pam again, she was preparing me to start on my assignment. She was walking me over to my supervisor, when I suddenly realized that we were standing on the other side of my cubicle and I was meeting the over-hopeful radio contest caller face-to-face.

Her name was Mary Jo Carter. She was a senior citizen who wore polyester slacks, ruffled floral blouses, orthopedic shoes, and her hair was thin and curled tightly against her head. Her face was made of wrinkles and her glasses might as well have been giant magnifying glasses. I shook her hand and noticed her arthritis.

We became an instant pair. She called me sweetheart, asked me over to her cubicle so she could share her snacks, and took me out for lunch in her tan Lincoln with the handicap pass dangling in her rearview mirror. Our work consisted of reviewing returned checks for Sprint services and products. I learned how to recognize a fraudulent check and was taught to identify and report the criminal checks to the Sprint FBI division. We reviewed checks for thousands of dollars signed by “Jack Daniels” and “Jesus Christ.”

Mary Jo and I learned about each other’s families. I listened to her stories about Plastic Pam and how she apparently dresses in leather and rides motorcycles with a different man every weekend. I discovered that Mary Jo wore a red shirt on Wednesdays when we would eat spaghetti, so that if she spilled it would magically blend in with her shirt. She e-mailed me dirty jokes and gave me coupons that she cut out in the Sunday paper.

It was a quick two months in which I grew to be her “adopted granddaughter,” as she always called me. The summer was ending and I had finished the assignment, but not my time spent with Mary Jo. I haven’t worked with her for four years, but we meet every month at the Olive Garden and she’ll still cuss and give me coupons.

I went back to the temp agency for work the next summer. I accepted another position working for Sprint, this time at the World Campus Headquarters in Overland Park, Kansas. When I got my first glances at my new office location, I was impressed and astonished. Sprint had created a working establishment that, on the outside, looked like a cross between a prison and the Harvard University campus. Every building looked identical, made of brick and having tiny rectangular windows that appeared to prevent anyone from escaping, let alone, having any hope of a decent view from your desk. Sprint had designed the campus with the intension that you would never have to leave for ANYTHING. My office contained a salon and barbershop, 4-star restaurants, a trolley service between buildings, an athletic gym, a travel guide, a nature trail, baseball fields, libraries, and nap rooms where we were encouraged to take regular rests in order to perform more effectively.

As I walked into “Building 6046” I was greeted by the most happy redneck midget in America. He sat behind the main desk, dressed in a red vest with a golden nametag. Might I add that it was 6:45 am and I was to report to work everyday at 7:00 am. “Good morning!” he shouted. He put his midget hands on his hips, tilted his head all the way to one side and proceeded with, “All right, who ordered a Monday?” This was the face that would greet me each morning for a summer. Anyways, he sent for Paul Eide, my new manager.

Paul was about 30 years old, married with two adorable children, and never wore a wedding ring. He had hair that came almost down to his chin, which he was forever pushing up and out of his face. He looked like a typical bachelor who never gave up his college lifestyle.

He showed me up to our floor. We got off the elevator and passed the art gallery, rounded a corner, and I might as well have been in three football fields filled with cubicles. I don’t think I could even see the end of the cubes in all four directions. My new work environment looked identical to a labyrinth of gray and plastic.

I was placed in my new cube and Paul began to explain what my new job was going to involve. There he was, scribbling furiously on a dry erase board, continuously mentioning the words “correctional facilities,” “prisoners,” and “Sprint pay phones.” By the end of his speech, I gathered that all pay phones in most prisons across the United States were Sprint-operated and it was going to be my job to collect from family members accepting collect calls from their prisoners and who refused to pay or denied the acceptance of the call. Wow.

Very quickly, I was introduced to Randy, Paul’s co-worker, who was also working in our division. Randy was highly comparable to the actor, Nathan Lane. He had feminine gestures supported by a rough and raspy, deep voice. There wasn’t a thing that came out of Randy that wouldn’t kill you with laughter. I immediately enjoyed his presence and company and dreaded the days that Randy failed to show up to the office. Randy hardly ever really worked at his desk. He was constantly on the Ticketmaster website, trying to figure out some cryptically coded puzzle he had cut out from the paper, or figuring how we could get the three of us a weekend at the Boom Boom Room in California and write it off as a business trip.

Immediately we found we needed added help, so I convinced this Government Corrections Division to hire my best friend Courtney. Courtney was just like me. We brought our CD’s worked along with our headphones. We made fun of our co-workers, we took lunch together, and we even carpooled to work together. Since our backs were facing our cubicle entrance, one day Courtney devised a way to prop a CD up against our computer monitor, so we could see their reflection and know when someone was about to enter our own space.

Our job consisted of answering the toll-free telephone line, calling customers who weren’t paying for their collect calls, and having the power to turn on and turn off anybody’s telephone service. The catch was, every customer we were dealing with either knew someone in jail, or had been in jail themselves and had recently been let out and we had just happen to catch them at home.

We heard everything. People would try to convince us they didn’t accept the call. “Well Sir, I have your whole conversation recorded.” People said they didn’t know anyone in jail. “Ma’am, the man you accepted the calls from is listed here as your husband.” I even had an 80 year old lady from Mississippi mail me a handmade doily and a greeting card because I had turned her service back on after I found out we had made a mistake and that she was actually a paying customer. People cussed at us in ways that would make your mother cry. Creeps would respond to our calls with everything from eerie invitations for lunch to threats that had them asking for our full names so that they could hunt us down and come kill us. On the really rare occasions of customer furry, we would refer the angered people to Paul. He would put the caller on hold, come in to my cubicle, turn on the speaker phone, and take the mad person’s call as calmly and coolly as can be, sometimes causing more anger on the other end or sometimes resulting in a hang-up. Workers from each direction would gather around this one single phone, laughing at the ridiculous tempers and conversations while Paul had his finger pressed hard on the mute button.

A month of this work went by when we received word that a lady names Beverly would be taking a managers position in our division. This lady, who would be Paul and Randy’s boss, had a man’s haircut with natural, bright red hair. She was always wearing some type of plaid and had the swank of a high school softball coach mixed with an Army Lieutenant. She quickly turned our relaxed working atmosphere into a tightly run operation with weekly meetings. All information was documented and in database form, and everyone disliked her behind her back.

By now, it was nearing the end of another summer. Beverly offered Courtney and I permanent jobs in order to keep us around. We knew what we were doing. Somehow though, I don’t think my Dad would have appreciated me quitting college with only an easy year to go. And then I left Sprint and that campus, later finding out from their website that my job was posted as paying $75,000 a year with full benefits.

During my last summer as a student, the economy was as bad as it ever was and I was struggling to find work. Unfortunately, there were no opportunities to work or meet new and strange co-workers at Sprint, so my temp agency assigned me a job at a small insurance firm a little further away.

Mom drove me there the day before I was to work. She wanted to make sure that I knew exactly where I was going and that I would make it on time. We pulled up to a run-down, strip mall-looking building. It was painted puke yellow and spotted with waterfalls of rust. The building was rather lengthy for only showing four front doors. I found my door. It was the only door that didn’t have a plastic sign above it screaming at you to come inside and enjoy their service. Instead, there was a piece of paper, printed out from someone’s computer, displaying the company’s name. I think it even had those old perforated edges that were meant to be ripped off, but on this door, weren’t.

I looked to the left of me to find an abandoned Japanese nail salon. The right sign advertised a coin-operated laundry mat that didn’t exactly scream clean clothes. My door was pitch black, so we never got a look at where I’d be starting that next day. As Mom and I walked back to the car and drove home, all she could talk about were possible escape tactics I could use in case the place was just too shady tomorrow morning.

And the next morning came. The temp lady who gave me the job said I didn’t even need to dress up. So, in flip-flops, jeans, and a T-Shirt, I entered into what would become my personal hell for about a week.

The office consisted of two large rooms, connected with vaulted ceilings. About three desks faced each of the four walls in this first room. Nobody looked up when I walked in. You wouldn’t believe the piles of papers. Everywhere were stacks and groupings of every kind of size and color of paper. The place was an absolute mess. Nothing seemed organized and obviously nothing was computerized.

I finally met Bob. The name fit him. A plain name for a plain man. He was about 60 years old with thick and brown plastic glasses that were way too big for his face. You almost couldn’t see his nose. His clothes were drab and resembled what they might wear if you lived in a Communist country. In the whole time I worked there, Bob rotated between two boring outfits.

He showed me over to his desk. I got introduced to nobody. And facing his desk was where I would be working: the copy machine. This copy machine had a room, however there was a large open-air space that was cut out of the area right above the copy machine. This huge hole allowed me to view the whole office, but mostly just Bob’s desk, and it only made it more uncomfortable that he had to be directly facing me.

My assignment was to copy select pieces of papers from folders containing every single insurance claim on the planet, from the year 2001. I unstapled, sorted, copied, re-sorted, and re-stapled. I got paper cuts, dry hands, and headaches. I was informed by Bob, that once I had finished a certain number of boxes, I was free to go from the job. I worked like a madman. I came in early, skipped my lunch break, and worked late copying.

As the days passed, Bob began to talk with me more. He had slowly become more enthusiastic and less like a robot. He was almost giddy as he told me about last night’s episode of America’s Most Wanted or that show on PBS where people bring in heirlooms and have them priced. It seemed that in me, Bob had found a listener and I had found the worst job in the world.

When I needed a new box of papers, I would venture over into the connecting room. In there, I found rows and aisles made up of an even more insane amount of paperwork. But, making up one entire isle was a string of tables crammed with Chinese teens. These guys and girls were frantically sorting and piling papers in the form of what looked like a Chinese sweatshop. High-pitched foreign language filled the air. There was also a large boom box that one guy at the end of the table controlled for their enjoyment. Two types of music would play: 1.) Chinese, fast-paced, blood-rushing techno OR 2.) The most horrid and cheesy love ballads, sung by a Chinese man in slow and loopy English. And only during this second genre of music would you be lucky enough to hear most of the guys in my office sing. They were all off-key, too loud and too proud. And usually about every day, every one of them would bring in homemade food from their family restaurants. Bob loved the fresh spring rolls.

One day the printer broke. I started sweating at the idea of having to stay extra days. Everyone from the office came to have a look at it, to try their hand at solving the problem. Nobody could fix it, except for, drum roll please, Joan, the obvious man who was trying to become a woman. Joan looked like a linebacker for a professional football team. He/she had grown his stringy blonde hair to shoulder length and somehow magically combed over his bald spot to resemble a woman’s hair cut. He had desperately tried to put on the most generic colors of makeup. His bright blue eye shadow and hot pink lipstick resembled what a little girl’s face would look like after she had gotten into Mommy’s makeup drawer. Of course, Joan wore gaudy clip on earrings and an oversized pearl necklace in order to accessorize. Without fail, he wore a dress to work every day. Honestly, he looked like I used to look when I was a little girl and my mom made me get fancied up for Easter Sunday. Except, Joan was a 45-year-old man with manly hairy legs that he cleanly shaved, but only up a little past his knees. Trying to see him manage in pink high heels was almost more than I could stand. And to top it all off, Joan’s voice was like Barry White trying to talk to Fran Dresher.

So when all hope of fixing the printer was lost, Joan tiptoed over to my copy machine. The perfume she had apparently bathed in, reeked of my 82-year-old grandmother. And with that, Joan spread his knees wide apart and popped a squat in order to have a better look at the toner cartridge. Not very ladylike, in my opinion. All she had to do was whack that cartridge with her elbow and with the kind of power it would take to qualify for the strongest man competition, the copier was fixed. I raced through my final box of papers, signed my time sheet, I grabbed a spring roll, and I never returned to that job again.

So now here I am, approaching my first summer after graduation. Dad will press for me to get a job and the real working begins. I’m not afraid of the search. I have got the experience, the prison inmates, the cross dressers, and the fraudulent check writers all behind me in a whirl of Chinese techno music.

11/16/2010

I was at a bit of a blogging loss tonight. I made two videos for you, but I trashed them because they were god-awful and my chin was extra shiny.

Then I made Brian give me a professional shoulder massage while I post and I was asking what I should write about. HE SAID HAMBURGLER? That's when I came up with a very visually appealing picture of glitter. It makes everybody happy.

Tonight I had a girls night with some Mexican food and Rachel MacAdams. She is my girl crush. Do you know her old boyfriend Ryan Gosling, from the Notebook, said that she will always be one of the greatest loves of his life. I mean, tell me that doesn't just hit you right in the heart. I just want to have a triple marriage with those guys.

Anyway, Morning Glory was a big zero, although it did make me want to work at a news station.

11/15/2010

It's official, I've seen Tosh.0 live and about 15 feet away. He was incredible and walked around like he had a broken back. It was weird and uncomfortable. He was hilarious and innapropriate and reccomended that we start sitting on the toliet backwards. WE COULD BE EATING A BOWL OF CEREAL WHILE WE POOP. This is my kind of man.

Today was full of financial advertising for one of our clients. I never want to see another percentage sign again in my life. How can it be Monday and I already feel like it's Thursday. Yuck.

Before Tosh I had some philly cheesesteak pizza and BBQ brisket pizza. I mean, this night could not get better. I think you could literally lock me in a room for the rest of my life and I'd be content with hearing Tosh's voice. AM I RIGHT, LADIES?

11/14/2010

I had a great day today! I slept in until the crack of 11:30 and then proceeded to channel the devil through my bad mood. Somehow, superman Brian Scott got me off the couch after watching too many episodes of America's Next Model.

We went upstairs and I freaking cleaned every room on the upper floor. Well, mostly just my office and bedroom. I must have threw away enough magazines and catalogs to fill a swimming pool. It was sick. But now, you could lick my desk and I can actually see the wood on my dresser in my bedroom. It's amazing how it made me feel. I know that last sentence sounded completely gay, but seriously, it's true.

Then, we watched the Chiefs eat it, grocery shopped, and I attempted to put my contacts in again for the first time since my appointment. Lord have mercy, it's not going to work. Sorry. Going to cancel my appointment tomorrow with Poochie. And I'm okay with that.

Looking forward to a fun week ahead filled with friend time, a pure romance party, and dominating the guitar hero game with my main drummer, Bri. Yes, I said a pure romance party.

11/13/2010

Well, we just arrived back home after our first Huskers game. They really shucked 'em. Obviously you know I would have no interest in attending a game there, should it not be for my valiant Jayhawks playing there as well. What a coincidence. The president of my company gave me free tickets and also scheduled aluminum seating in 15 degree weather.

Honestly, we weren't even IN the stadium, and I saw a grown mother ball her hand up in a fist and put it into the cheek of another grown man. I mean, this lady looked so sweet and homely and there she was, ready to rip some flesh off. Then, we walk in and I see another man telling the guy in front of him to sit down and stop standing so much. You couldn't slide an envelope between their faces. Now that's what I call football.

All in all, it was a great time. Talk about knowing how to make football an event. Brian and I got into a marital fight before we left the house, because he didn't want to wear his KU gear and get harrassed. Sorry. That wasn't an option Bri. We settled on a KU hat and a black Northface. And probably about 10 years of therapy.

Honestly, our football team is so horrible, I think I could play better than them, while I was in a coma and decapitated. I think we ended up with 32 total yards, and they had 287. Million. There was a lone elderly KU couple who sat next to us. I got very excited about that. Until Brian nudged me and we looked over and he was loading about 42 mini liquor bottles into his Cherry Pepsi.

The only thing Turner Gill does nicely is positioning himself in a wide straddle on the sideline in a pair of loose-fitting khakis. It really was awful and I don't know how you could be that awful every single godamn week.

Time for me to go house some halloween candy, retire to the couch where I will snore until 2:30am and Brian will march us upstairs after he has scored 90 achievement points. Nighttime with the Scotts.

11/12/2010

Please excuse the fact that I look like a gay pirate in the above picture.

This is pretty much all you need to know about tonight. My first experience with "being a woman." We had a hot date at Tios where I imagined myself bathing in their salsa. Then we saw DUE DATE. It was incredible. I threw up in the wound.

Then we drove home in four inches of snow. Did I stutter? FOUR INCHES. I might start wearing leggings every day of my life. Brian didn't even know who I was. He just kept saying Habada Habada Habada.

11/11/2010

This is literally the gayest thing I have ever seen:



It's supposed to rain 3 inches tomorrow. Of men.

11/10/2010

Well, I have officially received the nine thousandth e-mail from my mother begging for my Christmas list. It kind of pisses me right off because I still have a skeleton hanging on my front door. And possibly our pumpkins are rotting on the porch.

But we don't want Sue to get her panties in a wad, so here's my list for Santa:



Come on sweet Friday.

11/09/2010

Tell me that garland isn't something you'd die over. Did you also know that garland you can die over costs $130 dollars? I would buy it.

Today was rather uneventful. I ate noodles for both meals. I haven't fully recovered from Contact Death 2010. I cooked Brian dinner tonight so that he could focus on what's most important, Call of Duty: Special Black Killer Opps or whatever.

I feel permanently in a blank mood. My home office looks like I could be an immediate candidate for the HOARDERS tv show, I'm thinking of discontinuing my personal e-mail because it makes me mad, and I'd rather polish off a bag of mini Twixes than push the door open to the gym. Got to snap out of it. Otherwise I will look and feel like Jessica Simpson on the finale of Project Runway. Please.

Cabs are here. SCB. Shower, Conan. Bed.

11/08/2010

You guys. Tonight I got contacts.

And I hate them with the passion of a thousand romance novels.

With the sweet success of my new glasses, I thought I would be the modern day woman and get some contacts for those "special occasions." After about 17 minutes of the doctor trying to get those things in, I have decided I will no longer experience a special occasion in my life.

I sat down in the chair and expressed the fact that I can't even put eye drops in. I have to wear goggles in the shower. I don't like eyes. This doctor was totally my age and I tried to play it cool. Then I just started having a seizure in the chair when he tried to put them in. Of course, I set the world record for blinking and just about had an optical panic attack. But they went in! And then I asked him how I looked and he said it looked like I had been crying for three days. I looked in the mirror. I had not cried. And it looked like I just watched Titanic 40 times in a row.

Then, I had to sit down with POOCHIE. Yes, that was her real name, and take them out and put them in. And she said we couldn't stop until rivers of blood were pouring down my eyes. I can take them out like a wiz, but putting them in is so difficult that it now feels as if someone has taken a garden rake to my left eye.

I told the lady I didn't think this was working out and she swore I'd love them and sent me off on my way. I shouldn't have been driving. I had reduced my visability to slivers and I could barely see as I drove to DSW to get those god foresaken tall boots. I am sure the checker at the store thought that I had a "special problem" because I was always winking at her and wincing.

I literally ripped those babies right out when I got home and possibly cried a little bit to Brian. I hope he likes a four eyes. And I now feel like I have a puss infection, courtesy of the POOCHSTER. If I wake up tomorrow blind, it's been nice seeing all of you.

11/07/2010

Well, I can tell you that blogging on my rather large computer is a hell of a lot easier than blogging from my mobile phone. Those weekend posts were pretty much horrid, wine-induced, and followed by a couple of Japanese steakhouse toots.

You guys, I bought leggings. And tomorrow, I will be picking up the world's most awes pair of tall boots. I mean, someone buy me a horse, because WHO AM I. Seriously though, it was the sweetest to hang out with my Omaha lay-dees. We may or may not have walked the length of the plaza with an iPhone playing Lady Gaga through the speakerphone.

Right now, I am about to become a professional sleeper. I could hold the world title for the rest of eternity. I am tired and worn out and it's time to grab my life by the coin purse and get some good stuff in order. Like my desk. My keyboard is sitting among cups of raisins that I pick out of my cereal in the morning. And coupons from 1965. I also have one of those foam things you can use to relieve stress.

It's in the shape of an ear of corn.

11/06/2010

You guys. I just walked the Plaza in sparkley gold shoes.
I was a professional purchaser. Mostly though, buying home goods, as I could not even fit tall boots over my fat calf as the girls tried to style me up. I seriously even tried on $138 black leggings and I am pretty sure you could see my camel toe. Sorry, but you could.

Cashed in on a few consevative sweaters today and my fair share of mercury glass. And had a pretty solid lamb gyro at my beloved classic cup.

Looking forward to seeing Mr. Brian Scott tomorrow. He's my sweet meat.

11/05/2010

Greetings! Coming to you live from The Plaza where I am participating in a full-fledged girls weekend. Two bad things, however. One, I am forced to sleep on the paper-thin sofa mattress. And two, I got made fun of trying to describe boat shoes to two people that have never heard of them. Oh well. I had a tasty bowl of lobster pasta and I am ready to get my shop on tomorrow. Also glad I didn't hit any deers on the highway.

11/04/2010

Hey Yo.

I am wrapped so snugly in my big white robe. What a nice 65-year-old, womanly feeling.

Tonight I visited my favorite home decor spot for their Christmas open house. And for some wine. And to get my shop on. As always, it was super sweet and I came back with even more to add to my Christmas hoarding tendencies.

Then me and the mister dined on chipolte (side note: the guy behind me in line actually asked the lady to give a FRESH STIR to each ingredient before it was put into his burrito. If I was working, I'd give him something fresh from my pants.) We then watched a ravishing piece of 16 and Pregnant. The one where they're married at 16 and they race Nascar. They went to go look at buying a barn to live in. A pre-built barn. That probably blows over in a storm.

How about some goodies from the world wide web:

You will be the next addition to my homestead.
I'm thinking of re-marrying Brian so it can look like this.
Little salad plates, you will be mine.
Gonna try some free icons for my Mac Daddy.
I can't find my phone.

Tomorrow, sweet Friday comes. But today was pretty sweet, as I found out that a grown man co-worker at my work owns every single Justin Timberlake DVD because he thinks he is the most talented entertainer of our time.

11/03/2010

YOU KNOW YOU WANT IT.



I have to come to you live, in video, because Jenny's tired. I hosted a small dinner party and have been a professional PowerPoint binder this week at the job. Brian is starting to have to wake me up at 6:24am after I've already shut off my alarm from when it rang at 6 o'clock am.

I hope I make it to the end of this month. I just noticed I think a spider bore into my thumb and laid it's babies. It seriously looks whack. Either that, or I have a SEVERE allergic reaction to the mound of super glue that got affixed to my thumb when I was trying to attach the light to my Chilean miner hard hat. Oh snap, I just remembered I am allergic to pumpkin guts and I definitely carved one this Halloween.

Littered my co-worker's cube this early morning with pictures I took at the Sears portrait studio in a bad western button-down shirt. It's probably the best thing I've ever done.

11/02/2010

Well you guys, it's about 10pm and I'm murdering a Halloween taffy apple.

Me and Brian just finished a late night grocery shopping trip. That isn't ever creepy at all. I also voted quick and picked up my new specs, which should be making an appearence on my head tomorrow, provided I don't get woozy and barf. Might I saw that they make me sorta look like a hottie.

Today was chalk full of work as usual. Snuck out for a little first-time wing stop experience with my girls. Yes, I have girls now in Omaha. Hello, I totally paired my buffalo strips with an additionally-priced bowl full of spicy nacho cheese. Do you know me? Is the most exciting thing about my day that I paid $3.50 for a postage-sized stamp of cheese-in-my-mouth?

This past weekend, I visited Iowa State and the Holtz's. It was a lovely trip as usual, paired with a disgusting KU Football loss. Seriously Turner, who cares about making great men? GET ME A W. I also played a shitload of Angry Birds on Liz's couch. If you don't have this full game downloaded to your smart phone, run this instant to your oven and slam your head in it. It is mind-sucking and I want to make love to it like a schoolboy.

Alright. Time to hop in the shower and change my underpants.

11/01/2010

Hello out there.

I kind of forgot how to even log into Blogger. But I'm back for another riveting month of posting EVERY GODDAMN DAY. Mainly for my sister. I'm hoping to actually keep it up because I miss having a written account of my life.

I'd like to start out this post with a firm example of why my marriage will survive:
I was just on the toilet, with the door open, and I hear Brian coming up the stairs. I yell out, "Fresh Poo!" And he immediately follows up with, "Comin' through!"

I am obsessed with a few things in life (images of pistols, robots, The Real World) but dang it if Brian Scott doesn't top the list. He's my man.

So here's what I'm looking like these days:


I'm not ready to dive into the heavy topics, so I'll share with you my day. I worked until 7pm. That is not right. And something that is even more not right is the standard to which Office Max holds their employees too. After finishing at work, I had to go over to Office Max to have the 96th stack of PowerPoint presentations bound today. Of course, I enter the copy center side and hear crickets. Except for the one motherly lady who has decided to purchase Nebraska's supply of office products. And the bright employee behind the counter decides to ring up the lady's stack of colored folders INDIVIDUALLY. I almost lost it. We're talking over 150 folders, all different colors, and I just start hearing BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. The worker didn't even make eye contact with me. Also, this lady must have purchased 85,000 business envelopes. Then, as if I'm in some horrible commercial, the lady pulls out her checkbook to write a check. And then I punched myself in the face. And then as she is handing the check to the worker, the worker accidentally informs us that she has pressed the "cash" button when she clearly should have pressed the "check" button. So I have to watch her call for a manager to come help her out. Ten minutes later, after we all just stood there and watch her pick at her nails, I see the manager walk in and I wonder to myself if he even cared enough to graduate high school. Or any school. He looks at the receipt like it's written in French, and then tells the cashier that she will just have to cancel it and re-ring it up. I think I threw up on the floor. Then he looks at me and asks how he can help, I dump off the stack, say I'll be back in the morning, and proceed to call Brian and cry.

Well, the big man's calling me for dinner. And I'm not going to lie. We'll probably pair that dinner with an episode of Sister Wives. And 12 candy bars.

I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.