If You Give A Mouse OCD

About that last post. 

I'm sorry, I was just kidding.

Parents don't penetrate each other.

That would be gross.

They just go to soccer games, pack sack lunches and pretend to be Santa.

I have the day off today. Remember I was working ungodly hours all this week? Today is the fruit of my labors. Guess what I did?

Don't guess, I'll just tell you!

Went to TJ Crack Maxx and got there before it opened. Waited outside from 9:20 am until they opened the doors at 9:30 am. What is this, Black Friday? How embarrassing.

I am a bargain junkie, so...if you give a mouse a cookie, she's gonna want to go to Marshall's.

theatreworksusa.org 

Went to Marshall's. Died of happiness. Then got a work skirt (zzz) and a top that has one sleeve. One sleeve, you say?! Yes. One sleeve.

Went to American Apparel. And damn you, American Apparel. Bought a dress that is a teensy bit slutty. Secretly obsessed. I also bought a crop top, which the way I see it, is sorta the devil. Because now I have to wear it. And suck in my tummy to the point of discomfort. But it's so dreamy. I love to hate you, crop-top.

Cleaned the bathroom.

Cleaned the bedroom.

Cleaned the kitchen.

Cleaned the entryway, back splash, light switches, tile grout.

Vacuumed.

Cleaned the vacuum.

Cleaned the bathroom again.

Here's the deal. I have cleaning obsessive compulsive disorder. What I mean is, I can't clean the bathroom without cleaning the entire house and all its crevices. The whole cleaning experience takes over me and makes me a mad woman, and by the time I'm done, the bathroom is probably dirty again. It is the EPIC example of If You Give A Mouse A Cookie.

Please tell me you know this book. Or else none of this will make any sense. Your head must be spinning with confusion.

simplemom.net

And if you don't know this book, I feel sorry for you. Have a childhood real quick, and go buy it. Stop resisting. You will learn a whole lot about humanity.

exodusbooks.com

Sigh. That mouse. He so gets me. 

And let me me tell you, there's a whole lot more OCD where that came from. 

bearhugsbaby.blogspot.com

And,

murray.k12.ia.us

Finally, 

spellboundchildrensbookshop.com

Love love. 

UPDATE: I just went in to change the font of the blog. 

I ended up changing the entire design and lay out. 

Let's Talk About Babies, Baby.

Seven years ago, my younger brother and I came to the traumatic and grody (remember grody?) realization that our parents were sexually active. 

With each other. 

And they were expecting.  


A baby. 


A human baby. 


At 15 years old, this was about the most devastating thing that could ever happen. Parents were embarrassing enough. Shoot, if a parent breathes the wrong way it is embarrassing to a 15 year old. And now I was gonna have a big, pregnant mom. And in 9 months, a baby? The trauma. Also, boys were gross and I was scared of them so I couldn't imagine how my parents, after all these years, still liked each other. Grossness.

Fast forward seven years and I met boyfriend and his olive skin, brawny muscles and blue eyes. And I died.  

Point being, now I get it. 

I texted boyfriend this morning, 'I'm making a grocery list, any suggestions?"


His response? 'Cheese. And dinner foods.'


Charming.  

I can hear him beating his chest from here. What a man.

I melt.


Sorry, I get carried away.

Anyway, back in my teenage angst and pessimism, I was certain this baby was going to ruin my whole life and all my plans.What plans I'm not sure, but if I had a couple goals or ideas for the future, baby would ruin them all.


Not. That totally didn't happen. 

My perfect baby bird was born November 11, 2003 and it was the day my life changed forever. He was then and still is my eternal entertainment and opportunity to mold and corrupt something small. And teach him fun phrases. I really underestimated the possibilities a baby would bring. 

I am yet to put any pictures of myself on this blog, but I am not above exploiting children. See below.

This is my baby, being an Avatar

Saying something weird I taught him

Being ridiculous.

Moral? I'm kinda obsessed with this baby. Happy birthday, baby!




Moral #2? Now that I'm older and sexually active mature, I realize what I was unaware of at fifteen years old...parents having sex? Thumbs up!

crnabiz.com

Not Another Running Story

At work we just started a new schedule that gives us hard-working employees every other Friday off. The catch of this, because there is always a catch, is that on those weeks we have Friday off, our schedule goes from 8am-5pm to a new and not so improved 7am-6pm. Ten hours is a long time, yes. Any of you that have worked 10 hour shifts, you know, tis murdah. However, Friday off will be extremely legit. I've got two primary issues with new schedule: 



1. Sunday was day light savings. Leaving work at 6pm in total darkness gives me a very paranoid feeling that my whole day is gone and I am watching my life, my youth, and my twenties pass before my eyes without any control.

2. When will she run? I can guarantee you homegirl AIN'T getting up at 4:30 am to run. I am psycho, but I'm not that psycho. Stay tuned.


Well unfortunately they didn't ask me when I want the sun to rise and set (if they do, I've got an answer ready, naturally), so I'm just going to have to let my paranoia subside. As far as crack running goes, I've decided to take on the challenge of running over my lunch hour-ish. I say ish because let's get real, no reasonable person can run, shower and eat lunch in under an hour. Maybe I have to just put a little, teensy fib on my time card. I am usually very paranoid and anxious about lying at work, but for running, I  break all normal rules of human conduct make an exception. 


Just yesterday I found out that my place of work has locker rooms and A shower. That's one. Singular. Shower. Yesterday late in the afternoon, I scoped it out just to see what I was getting myself into. It was interesting. This is me being optimistic. This shit is straight out of a horror movie. It is like the shower from Psycho and the bathtub from What Lies Beneath had a baby. Of course, me being me and completely addicted to running, will do anything for my DOC (a good friend just clued me in that this means, drug of choice). So I look at the sad shower yesterday and think:

Meh, I can make this work.

news.softpedia.com

 PLUS

shine.yahoo.com

 EQUALS

 Actual photos. Shower is in that creepy corner to the right. Behind the scarier brick wall. This is my nightmare.

  

Today was day one of my lunch hour running experiment. Read on to see how successful I wasn't...


You know what I forgot? A towel.


I went anyway. My rationalization for post-shower was that I would just use my running clothes to dry off a little.  


You know what my running clothes are? Dry fit. 


And very, very smelly. Does it even make sense to take a shower and then rub sweaty, smelly running clothes all over your body? It did at the time. 

You know what else I forgot? Soap. 


Instead I used my very expensive Aveda shampoo for body soap. Budget fail. 

The shower has two pressures, trickling nonsense and power wash. I opted for power wash just because I wanted it over with asap. Ouch.

I shower as fast as humanly possible and then jump out of the shower and use PAPER TOWELS to dry off. At this point, I am moving so quickly because God forbid someone I work with sees me in this state. I'm blotting my whole body and armpits with scratchy paper towels and can you imagine what a schizo I look like? Since I'm moving so fast, I start sweating again and I'm scrambling for my clothes and have you ever tried to put jeans on when your legs were wet? It's totally ridiculous and not even possible. Some how I get my clothes on and now they're wet too and my hair is a moppy disaster and my mascara is running all over my face and I'm looking...looking...no hair brush. GGUUUHHHHHH. So I say fuck it and throw my hair in a soggy, tangly bun on top of my head. 

Still sweating. 

How am I doing so far?

Nonetheless, I refuse to surrender to my horror film shower so I'm trying this again tomorrow. Sigh. 


A positive of this experience is that I did feel pretty city girl-esque running through the streets of Downtown Houston. So chic. So much famousness. 

oakhurstrunningclub.blogspot.com

As a result, I am looking pretty rough the second half of this work day. 

Does it sometimes feel like you learn every lesson the hard way? Yeah, me too.

Guilty Pleasure, Hold the Guilt

Since I've moved, I've picked up a pretty consistent habit of getting my nails done. As it stands, I'm good for about a bi-weekly mani/pedi visit. Yes, I realize how much of a girl this makes me sound and I realize every reader now thinks I'm a shallow piece of shit. Well, fucks, I don't watch TV. So this is my happy place like all you assholes that watch True Blood, Glee, Desperate Whorewives and the likes. Everyone has their guilty pleasure, so get off me.

The nail place I go to in Houston is ridiculous. You've got one lady on your feet, one on your hands, and in 27 minutes they give you quite possibly the best mani/pedi you've ever had. Like everything else in Houston, they are fast. There is this incredible sense of urgency in this city and three months later, I'm still trying to figure out what the G damn rush is. So the nail salon is basically a sweat shop/gang bang hybrid that is full of Asians and everyone is calling you 'honey.' The manicure/pedicure experience pans out and it is not enjoyable, not relaxing, and probably gives you more anxiety than your cubicle 40+ hours a week. The bonus is that it's hilariously cheap, $25 total, and they do a kick ass job. Needless to say, I endure.

Today I am going home to Oklahoma City and in an attempt to look put together and like my life is totally under control, in front of people I haven't seen in months, I decide to get a manicure and pedicure. It's funny how polished nails can make you feel empowered. I have this feeling that for some reason, you can look great and healthy and productive, but if you have jank ass feet and scraggly nails you're just not going to pull it off. Better safe than sorry.

This salon visit was just totally fucked from the start, and I should have known. I totally set myself up for this.

As per usual, I take an inconveniently long time to pick out my polish. So many choices. And this sends the nail ladies in a tizzy. They are rushing me and THAT IS NOT HELPING. Whatever, so I pick a color for my feet and hands and I hate them both already. Decision remorse.

So I sit down in the chair (which isn't comfortable or relaxing, aren't we defeating the purpose here? must. go. on.) and the lady is super friendly and asking me all kinds of questions, telling me I have great nails and overall I'm pretty much feeling like the cat's meow. And then,

"You have day off?"

"Yeah, I took the day off today."

"Ohhh dass nice. You have long weekend now."

"Yeah...well I'm going home this weekend."

<blink, blink>

"You home not here?"

"Oh, no my parents live in Oklahoma City."

Silently shaking her head. At this point, I have no idea what set this lady off. We were friends 45 seconds ago, shit was cool between us. Now I'm wondering if she's bipolar or there's something on my face.

Both wrong. For the next 20 minutes nail lady is lecturing me on how no girl should ever move out of her parents house unless she is married. You know how I said they were fast? Well this was the longest mani/pedi they have ever done because homegirl talked forever. Shockingly, her two daughters (26 and 29 years old) both still live at home and it's fantastic and they are beautiful. "The older is prettier than her sister, but I no tell her that." Well she tells me about all their special nights together when she goes up to their rooms and kisses them goodnight and hangs out until "11, maybe midnight," while the daughters "do on the laptops." Yes, I'm sure they adore this quality time at nearly 30 years old.

I guess she wanted to take a breath so as she's trying to work all this out in her head and find some kind of rationalization in my situation she starts asking me questions.

"So you live with you sista." She shakes her head as if reassuring herself that this was definitely the situation.

(I wasn't sure if this was a question or statement, I answered it anyway)

"No...I don't have a sister"

Silently shakes head. Speaks in Vietnamese to the girl filing my toenails.

Now she is visibly distressed with the situation. She says, with a total bullshit dramatic sigh that I don't appreciate, "you wok or what you do?"

"Yes, I work. My boyfriend lives down here too and he works for an oil and gas company. I work in advertising."

A light bulb goes off. Here it is. This was going to be her big opportunity. So she takes it and decides she'll attack boyfriend.

"You boyfriend go with you home?"

"Ooh, umm..no he's going up to where he went to school to go to a football game."

Speaks in Vietnamese to toe lady.

"This yo first time home?"

"No, not exactly. I moved in August, went home Labor Day weekend."

"Boyfriend go?"

"No."

"Ah, you parents no know him."

"Wait...no...umm, what? No, he knows my parents, they have met him. A lot actually. We've dated for awhile."

Speaks Vietnamese.

"So you go home now and go back fo Thanksgiving?" It's like she knows.

"Yes, exactly. BOYFRIEND IS COMING WITH ME." I felt like I had to defend him somehow, poor guy.

Speaks Vietnamese.

"OK, you pay now."

So I give her my credit card before she paints my nails and now I feel completely guilty like I've abandoned my whole family for selfish reasons. Luckily, I get to sit here and let my nails dry to really think about this. Let it soak in. I really just wanted a mani/pedi. I could have done without the guilt and serious questioning in my life decisions. Epically perplexed, but I know I can't quit this place.

What gives?

Shalloween

Maybe it's the fact that I am expected to be a civilized adult 5/7 days of the week but something about Halloween this year just made me want to go embarrassingly overboard. Boyfriend and I decided a long time ago that we were going to be Alladin and Jasmine. This is both racially insensitive and genius because boyfriend just happens to be 1/2 Iranian, so we've got the whole Arabian nights thing already happening. A requirement was that he had to be street rat Alladin, not Prince Alladin. For those of you whose childhoods were meaningless, I will explain the significance of this in pictures:

uweb.und.nodak.edu

tvdance.com

Additionally, I spent an uncomfortable amount of money buying a costume so that I could become my life-long idol. 

kids-comforter-set.com

Since my office is one chain email away from being The Office the show, we had dress up day on the Friday before Shalloween. So in an attempt to conform and be in with my new coworkers, I dressed up. The reality is, I'll take any excuse to wear this epic costume. I adore this costume. For about the first two hours of the work day, my coworkers were taking pictures and doing other various cliche bullshit but I play along because that's what people do, fake excited about really stupid stuff. In about five minutes we took dozens of pictures and in another five minutes they were all on the Internet. In looking through the photos on Facebook, I realize something. I am positively BEAMING in every picture. Like a little girl, I was beyond proud to be Jasmine for the day. Hopefully they didn't catch on. Obviously, I'm way too mature to be this excited about a child's holiday.

The next night boyfriend and I go to a party at a mutual friend's house for adult Shalloween festivities. Now this is when the shit really went down. This is something I can get excited about. This was my big shot to get all glammed up. And glammed up I GOT. Fake eyelashes, loads of makeup, and my shiny blue Jasmine costume. Boyfriend was geared up in his Alladin clothes, his muscles looking faboosh in his purple vest. This was going to be a great night. We were ready for the famousness. 

I understand that everyone gets a little too drunk for their own good every once in awhile. Everyone has been that person at the party. I understand. The person that, as soon as you leave/go to bed, everyone else can resume the functional fun that you were too over the top to handle. Well, there was a girl at the party that was exactly that. Let me tell you, I have never seen someone so out of their mind. And I went to a Big 12 school. Stammering, stuttering, falling all over the place, nipples out, bowl full of jelly, the whole package. She wasn't even dressed up, which just annoyed me from the start. Not only that, but this chick was on the prowl. You know the scene, the wasted girl who will literally pounce on anything that moves and has male private parts. Hilarity ensues.

Anyway, home girl is not my friend and I don't even know her name, so I'm giving myself permission to blog about her on the WWW. The most epic display of dysfunction occurred when a group of girls were posing to take a picture, smiling, pretty, glitter, etc, etc, and home girl wobbles up from the couch to get in the picture, jumps in front of us, and flashes her tits to all of our boyfriends. Well, if this isn't the biggest 'fuck you' then I don't know what is...At this point, I have second hand embarrassment so bad that I cannot take it. If I wasn't under the influence, my anxiety would have been off the charts. Then, after she shows her goodies to the world, she falls straight on her ass. THUD. The best part, in the meantime of this shitshow, this girl is taking the time to try to get us all to attend her party the following night. ????? OK, let me tell you what's not going to happen. Because, I've seen how hard you party, and I'm pretty sure I can't keep up. But, thanks for the offer. 


All in all, Shalloween was a success. I enjoyed being Jasmine and I'm pretty sure boyfriend was more than a little pumped about getting back to his roots as Alladin. And for the record, and since this is the first time this has happened ever, boyfriend did get significantly more intoxicated than me. Check mate.

We're already brain storming for next year. I promise you, we won't disappoint.