Joe Cool

I just fell into a shrubbery...in front of a restaurant on the busiest street in town.

Who needs sleep?

So I had thought that the little building that went up with the sign "Spin Cycle" was going to be a mini-gym for spinning. I even went so far as to ponder how it would work-would they have classes, a rotation system like Curves has, or just a free for all?

Boy did I feel like an asshole walking in with my little cushiony bike seat. I looked around for a moment, and, after realizing my mammoth error, began to whistle nonchalantly while walking over to the nearest sink to carefully rinse the seat as if yes, I had stopped by to launder a 4 by 8 piece of rubber padding.

Company Halt

Help! This is what gets me into trouble. Because I enjoy hanging out with guys and have many male friends, when a man asks me to do something I don't automatically think it's for dating, I assume it's to hang out. I just received an email from one of the dancers asking if I would like to help cook for an upcoming event. This makes sense because in a past life I was, indeed, a line cook. My first reaction is cool, what fun. But after the whole Mr. Monotone incident, I'm a little worried. Most of me thinks, "Well, who the hell do you think you are! Just because you are the Hotness and Queen of the Universe, you should not assume this guy is interested. He needs help cooking." And boy, would I feel like an asshole asking, "Is it a date?" Then I think, "Yeah, sure, don't ask and when he shows up with LAVENDER scented oil, natural lamb skin casings and a wireless beater, what are you going to make with those, huh? Do you want to recreate the scene from Stripes with THAT guy?"

Disc Deux

A handsome, funny, intelligent man.
A funny, favorite, classic (alright, maybe not a classic) movie.
An invitation to watch this movie with this man in his condo on a big screen TV. (Modify THIS!)

And a cat. A cat, a cat, a cat. Oh, the cat.

Although I do not go into respiratory distress around cats, the eyes water, I sneeze constantly and even occasionally break out in a hive or two. (Heh, partying with the bees.) What, oh what, do I take that won't have me snoring on his couch within the first 30 minutes??? My doctor has not called me back. (I wish I had gotten the PA. He's hot as hell, and the last time I was there, we compared tattoos. Ahhhh....) It's the third date, and feels a little early for excess snot, ya know?

Mr. Monotone

"So, I have this extra ticket to a play because my friend cancelled. Would you like to go?"
Dumbfounded silence on my part because I had only danced with the guy twice.
"Think about it. It's at (very close to my home). Otherwise I'll have to go by myself."

I thought about it, and decided to meet him there. Going to a play alone can suck, it was near my house, and since he was at least 15 years older than I, it couldn't possibly be a date.

Of course, once I got there, I realized it was a date, and had to pull the "Gotta get home early to feed the dog/cat/piranha or else they'll poop on the floor/scratch up the couch/strip the flesh off a cow in 5 minutes" excuse.

Two weeks later at dance class...
"I had a really good time with you."
Ok, from the guy who said, "The play didn't feel too long. It passed the time," as if death were right around the corner and had to be waited for patiently. Occassional activities weren't for pleasure, but to kill time before the descent into the eternal abyss.
"Thank you. It was very kind of you to invite me to the play."
"Would you like to plan something again?"
"That's sweet of you to ask, but I'm dating someone."

Two weeks later at dance class...
"Maybe we can meet for coffee sometime."
I pretend that the music is too loud for me to hear him, smile politely, and beat it with my dance shoes still on. I walk rapidly to my car, figuring that since the music is still playing and that most people take the time to change footwear, I can make a clean getaway.

Tap tap tap. Unbelievably, he's at the window. I roll it down an inch.
"This is your car? I thought you had a green one."
"Nope. Gray. Have a great night!"
I smile tightly and drive away.

Two weeks later at dance class...
His first words: "Do you barbeque?"
I think, what the hell random boy, at least a hello if you have to talk to me, but my mother's etiquette lessons are too deeply ingrained, so I respond politely and accept his invitation to warm up to a song before class. After the dance, I leave the floor and walk across the room. Although escorting a follower off the floor is polite, engaging her in conversation after the dance while there are unpartnered followers is bad form. He follows me to the seats.

"So are you still dating someone?"
I am, but someone new, and I certainly could date others and could have dated others with the last guy, but I choose the glazed smile and say,
"Yes, I am."
"So I can't call you?"
"Not for dating!"
He smiles at me blankly. "So, do you barbeque?"

What did I do to deserve this

Yoga Chick strikes again.. This is after she invited me to a strip club to check out the poles she wants to buy for her studio.

...as she teaches us how to "Awaken the Heart" in H******. By visiting the chakra points in the land, and awakening them to their highest potential, we learn how to balance the energies of the land and return them to their true sacred purpose. Recognizing that H****** is a sophisticated business center, the potential for change is substantial. Be one of the workshop attendees' venturing into the city on the final day to anchor the balancing Sacred Feminine energies into the grids of the area.
Groups around the world have been using this mode of prayer and our special connection to nature to reverse pollution, reduce crime, and lessen damaging storms around the world.
Using quantum technologies, sound, sacred geometry, and implosion products, learn how ...

Slap the cheese on the sandwich, put the cap on the mustard

Moi? Met Mr. C for a first time coffee date at a Starbucks at 4:55. Five hours later left the Chinese Buffet as the orange clad waitresses waved goodbye to us from the windows. Haven't laughed that hard in a long, long time. Smart, funny, and loves dogs. Not that I do, but that seems to be a big deal these days.

If anyone knows what song the "title" came from, please let me know!

Why there is yogurt in my nasal cavities

Staff room, lunchtime, Public School 429. KS, Married 50 yr. old woman, closeted masculine lesbian. KS is quietly eating yogurt.

MW: I guess I'll bring corn to the picnic.
CL: I LOVE corn, but only corn on the cob.
MW: Me too. Sometimes I'll cook 6 ears and that'll be dinner for me and my husband.
CL: How do you eat corn on the cob?
MW: I'll go around, but my husband eats big hunks a section at a time. What about you?
CL: It depends. Sometimes I'll munch a little area at a time, (KS starts to blush) but sometimes I like to munch all around in little circles, (KS starts to choke on yogurt), and then sometimes, usually after a beer, I'll go munchmunchmunch all along rows as fast as I can- (KS spews yogurt all over table, red faced, laughing hysterically and gasping for air) WHAT?!?

The Man is ALWAYS on my case

Apologies, Cute man on Yahoo, for this email because it is not truly for you. Evidently, my early morning inebriated (damn you, vile Budweiser swill, and the can you came in) attempt at levity using a convoluted Monty Python quote has resulted in me being flagged by the Yahoo Personal police and an accusation of trying to send you (an "unpaid subscriber") a code.

Well, dear Code Cracking Carl of Yahoo Personal Special Unit 46789, that is EXACTLY what I do. In my precious spare time, I contact all the unpaid subscribers and shhh, give them codes! Here, come closer....can you hear me tapping on the computer screen? Tell me where you hid your treasure. Wait...the camel has left the spaceship.

Next time, Carl, instead of an email, how about, hmm, some discipline? Spank me for being naughty. Spank me, Carml, you know you want to. Step outside the box. Better yet, put me inside it clad in a leather bustier and fishnet thigh highs...

New Math

Um, boys, when you play Rock, Paper, Scissors, YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO USE ACTUAL ROCKS! (The mail carrier and her supervisor were very unhappy about the cracked windshield.)

Favorite lesson of the week.
"So, boys and girls, if there are four quarts in a gallon, how many quarts are in a half gallon?"
"Two quarts."
"Excellent job. If there are are 12 inches in a foot, what would be a half-a foot?"
"Toes."

Unfavorite lesson: Actual objectives from the teacher's manual.
Students will use informal language to discuss ratios.
"Dude, the numer-ay-tor, the numerashalicious, wassup?"
Students will use ratios to solve problems.
"Ms. Squirrel! Ms Squirrel! Johnny keeps hitting me!"
"Well, Sally, have the two of you discussed a ratio yet to solve your problem? Remember, no tattling until you've tried to find a solution."

OMG! That's my cousin!

Jumpin' Josephat, Moses! I just realized that the one ear phone thingie that I shoved into a drawer is NOT a defective walkman headphone as I had suspected, but rather a doohickie that attaches to my cell phone. Who knew? I tried using it last night. I got into the car, plugged the, uh, thingie into the hole and clipped the wire to my shirt. Of course, when I tried to raise my head I couldn't because the cord was too short. I fixed it while I was backing out of my driveway. I called my sister, and although I could hear her OK, I was concerned that the phone would drop off the passenger seat or get crushed by my gym bag, so I had to move the bag to the back seat while I was completing a lane change on 84E. I was fine until I noticed that my iced Latte was dripping on the cord. I'm still not sure if you can get a shock from a wet cell. I disconnected the phone from the cord before I got out of the car, but I forgot to disengage the clip from my shirt and consequently tripped over the wire after exiting the car. I am SO glad, though, that I am being responsible and helping to keep the highways safe.

Oh, Gee, match.com, do you know WHY he's in Soccerville, looking for me and has viewed my portrait 1,369 tines? BECAUSE HE'S STALKING ME!

Our reading specialist is the nicest person I'd like to kill. She acts all sweet and a little stupid, but it's just to make you feel guilty. I realized today that, since I'm in a new grade and program, I need different literacy folders. It's, um, a bit late in the year to broach this topic with said literacy specialist, so I drew her a picture. (Here, I wish I had the MS paint.) Caption: "Me" (stick figure with spiky hair.) "BAll" (A ball) "Me dropping ball" (Stick figure with spiky hair and unhappy face dropping ball.) Of course, she brought it to lunch with one other note she received from another teacher and announced, "These are my two favorite notes from this year." Stick it in your ass, you passive aggressive vegan freak. (This is too funny-I've fallen off the wagon, drunk as hell, and every other word has needed a spellcheck fix. Fuck you, spell check!)

I'm on random

So my hypochondriac sister, who isn't really a hypochondriac because she has a ton of stuff wrong with her, has a leaky aortic valve. She's done too much reading on the Internet and is worried that she will need a replacement.
"And it will be with a pig's valve!"
All I can think about is bringing her tanning and shouting, "Smells like bacon!"

I've been drinking a tea called "Smooth Move", believing that it would help me become a better dancer.

I probably shouldn't wear my white linen slacks to work tomorrow.

Welcome, welcome, by the way, to my new blog, where, hopefully, I can post anonymously. A little about me? Oh, you're so kind. Since you've asked... A hot drunk guy walked me out to the parking lot last week, and ended up exposing himself to me.

I went back a few days later to see if I would run into him again. And THAT, darlins, sums me up.