Diggin' on Me.

For the past couple of weeks my manager, S, has been teasing me about it. She's been all, "uh-HUH!" and I've been all "nuh-uh!" in response. (She thought one of the residents here was diggin' on me) But I just wasn't convinced. I mean, people are nice to me all the time. That's usually the response I get when I'm nice to them. You know... what goes around comes around, right?

Hm.

And all this time I just wasn't convinced.

Until yesterday.

Now I believe it is safe to say that it may, in fact, be true.

Oh, and here's the kicker: She's a chick.

Talk amongst yourselves.

Looking for Elvis at the Walmart

As you all know, I have a love/hate relationship with that store. You know, that one store where everyone goes in the hopes that they might find a bargain and maybe catch a glimpse of Elvis while they’re there? Yeah, that one. You knowww…



And I’ve expressed my feelings about shopping there in previous blogs. If you’re not familiar with the blogs I’m referring to then I would highly recommend you click here to read My Excursion to Walmart.

Now, with this in mind, imagine my glee and jubilation when a friend of mine posted the following link on Facebook:



Yes, my friends! Welcome to the world of the Walmart Creatures, found at www.PeopleOfWalmart.com. I kid you not when I say that I spent about an hour going through each and every one of the photos on that website. And I laughed heartily more than a few times.

I can’t describe the feeling I have about this website. It’s almost as if… as if all these years I’ve been telling people that Bigfoot exists and then BAM! A website appears chock full of photos providing evidence that Bigfoot does, in fact, exist. Only with a hillbilly twist.

I finally feel vindicated.

Ah, life is good once again. Oh yeah, and I just got back from my own trip to Walmart. I admit that I didn’t see Elvis there tonight but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.


(I found this AWESOME pic at http://morbidobsession.deviantart.com/.)

Ode to JT

Top three reasons why I love my best friend:

1. She speaks my language. For example, the following is an actual conversation she and I shared via Facebook:


Princess: JESSICA! Did you hear?! Hemme Royad and the Dire Rears are coming to the Moore Theater in time for Thanksgiving. I know you've been itching to see them. I'm trying to talk Clam into going... a group date!

JT: I can't wait! She seems eager.

Princess: You think that maybe we could swing some all-access passes to "behind the scene?" I'd like to see what goes on behind the Dire Rears.

JT: That would be interesting. I heard that The Schmears were opening for them.

Princess: *sniggering*



2. Her house is a reflection of her awesome personality. That’s why I love going there so much! Here is a collection of some random photos I took while at her home over the summer.


(in her front yard)


(kitchen window sill, part 1)


(kitchen window sill, part 2)


(These were born under her kid's bed)

3. Her kids are hilarious.


(JT's husband takes their only daughter on a slide ride at the Puyallup Fair)

I have barrels of laughs with JT and her family.

Now if only I could figure out a way for them to adopt me. :)

A Flock on Legs

I was in line at the checkout at the Dollar Store when I heard the strange loud whistling. It was a sort of high-pitched chirp-whistle thing and I thought maybe someone was playing with their car alarm. But when I walked out of the store with bags in had, I saw this:



Pretty rad, eh? That's a flock of birds on two legs if I ever saw one.

Nifty.

Oh, and for those of you who were wondering, no I'm not dead on the side of the road. And yes, I do intend to continue blogging. It's just that real life has a tendency to catch up with a blogger such as myself and I got a wee bitty overwhelmed. Not surprising when you take into consideration that I've been moving (by myself) into my own apartment, there have been major issues at work, I have sort of started seeing someone, and I'm just plain boring to boot. ;)

Ah but no worries, I've been filing amusing little tid-bits in the back of my mind to pull out for future blogs. But until then, let me know what you think!

NerdGirl: Where to Even Start?

FREAKIN’ FACEBOOK!

Ugh. Oh my gosh. Holy crapola on a cracker!

Ok, so here’s what happened.

I was spying.

Yes, I know, how lame can a person be? But there’s just something fun about spying on people you are curious about. And usually it’s really easy to do, especially when you know how to find people. Not that it’s all that difficult.

No, I’m not talking about stalking or even trolling. I was just curious. But now my curiosity is going to get me into trouble. CRAP!


(Super Der-Dee-Der Spy, you mean.)

See, I’ve been putzing around on Facebook for the past hour just updating and commenting and blah blah blah. And, of course, that got boring fast. So what did I decide to do? I decided to look up people I’ve met through my job. Ones where I could remember their emails real easily. Ok, only ONE person whose email I could remember easily. But of course Facebook decided to go all crazy on me when I was trying to type in his email.

This is where you picture me typing, then re-typing, then re-typing again while quickly trying to trick Facebook by pushing the Delete button quickly (Stoopid Facebook kept adding crap to the email addy I was trying to type!), all with an annoyed yet focused look on my face.

Then, the next thing I know I’m getting a message saying something to the effect of, “Sorry, we didn’t send an email to that person because they’re already registered with Facebook. We’ve already sent him a friend request on your behalf.”

And I found myself screaming at the computer screen, “NOOOOO! Oh no! Oh NO!!”

I’m pretty sure I’m still hyperventilating.

I thought about sending him a message in which I apologize profusely and insist that it was all some wacky accident involving lots of medication and an enormous brain fart. But then reason started to kick in. This guy doesn’t even have a profile photo of himself posted on Facebook yet. I bet he’s the type who rarely checks his FB, and when he does he’ll probably think I’m just some ho trying to hit him up for some five-dollar-lovin. Ugh. One can only hope.

*snort*

I’ll definitely let you know how this one turns out.

What Up Dog?

It was Friday night. We were at Charlie's in downtown Puyallup to sing some karaoke. We'd already cut the birthday cake and eaten it gleefully when I noticed one of the coolest vans drive by. I was so disappointed that I didn't have my camera on me.

An hour or so later I leave Charlie's (I had to work in the morning--no late nights for me on the weekends) only to discover that the RAD-MOBILE had parked itself in Charlie's parking lot! I skipped over singing, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEEE!!" After all, my birthday wish had come true.

Rest your eyes on THIS beauty:



Ok, so I decided not to post the one with the entire weiner van in it because both the dude in the window and I had (unfixable) bright red lazer-beam eyeballs. But still. I think this photo alone should prove that the classy "What Up Dog?" mobile was all a gal could wish for on her birthday.

That, and a giant flower balloon that doubles as a giant bobble-head.

The Velvety Dark Shnoz of Luff.

Reasons why I love my cat:

1. He doesn't mind my mood swings.
2. He cries for me from the bottom of the stairs when I get home from work.
3. He doesn't have to be walked.
4. He doesn't defecate in the house.
5. He brings me presents.

Regarding number 5, two days ago I came home from work to find my bedroom COVERED in bird feathers. Apparently he'd finally scored in catching a bird. I hate it when he catches birds, but he's such a crappy hunter that 98% of the time I can rest assured that he's not going to bring anything home. I even keep a bird feeder just outside my bedroom window so he'll have something to keep him preoccupied.

Anyway, not only did I find the bird alive under my bed, but my cat had pulled out so many of its feathers that it couldn't fly. It was just hopping around on one foot (the other had been injured), but doing a great job at keeping away from the cat. I did manage to catch it and release it, although I don't think it lasted the night. Poor thing.

And then yesterday when I got home from work I noticed something distinctly... lumpy in my cat's food bowl. Lo and behold, this is what I discovered:



(It's a small, very dead mole.)

My cat, Kenny, decided to put this small dead mole in his food bowl, just like he puts my hair bands and his favorite shoelace. It was just another toy to him and he had put it away. Have I mentioned that I love my cat? Yeah, I'm crazy about 'im. My sweet Hunter kitty with the velvety dark shnoz of luff. *smiles*

Today's Prayer.

Dear God,

Hey there, how’s it going up there? Sorry to bother you while you’re governing the universe and all, but I felt it necessary to bring a few things to your attention. I know you know everything so I’ll get right down to it.

My list of “please forgive me for’s” include:

--calling all those drivers dumbasses while on my way to work.
--thinking ill thoughts towards the twenty or so people who called me with the assumption that I’d been the one to turn off their power instead of the poor unfortunate soul who had slammed his car into a power pole, causing it to tumble and cut all power to thousands of others in the area. Because apparently those who work in the leasing office of apartment complexes have access to convenient little on/off switches to every one of the 267 apartments in the community.
--lusting after the adorable little Air Force boy who came in to my office today, all suited up and with genuine blue-eyed innocence emanating from him. Sure he’s legally a man, but the fact that I’m 13 years older than him doesn’t help. Not to mention that I shudder at the idea that he probably thought of me as a “cougar.” [I’M NOT THAT OLD YET, DANGIT!]
--being annoyed at the woman who came in acting all crippled because she’d just had her baby five days ago after only “one hour of hard labor.” And for calling her a wimp, and whiner, and a faker (in my head). And for really REALLY disliking her after being informed that she had been the one I’d heard of who’d been riding around the parking lot on the hood of a car while 8 months pregnant.
--rolling my eyes at the lady who expected me to work when I had obviously closed and locked the office for the day.
--entertaining naughty thoughts while smiling cheerfully at the handsome military men who called me “ma’am” with that sly smile and their sweet southern drawls.
--calling all those drivers idiots while on my way home from work.

My list of “please help me to’s” include:

--be more like you.
--think before I speak and/or act.
--stop lusting after men so much when I know perfectly well that I will never ever date or marry again in my whole entire boring life.
--remember to check for strands of toilet paper hanging out of my pants before I leave the restroom.

My list of “I thank you for’s” include (but are not limited to):

--my job.
--my health.
--having more intelligence than a slug.
--reminding me that it’s ok to laugh at myself. OFTEN.
--getting that last minute commission when that gorgeous soldier came in 30 minutes before we closed. You know how much I need the money.

With all my love forever and ever,
PCB.

p.s. I managed to get almost all of that nasty bird’s yellow/orange chunky poop off my car so you can stop chuckling now.

My Buddy and Me.

Back in the day when I used to be able to FIT into Victoria’s Secret lingerie, I had a favorite bra. It was a purple bra with lacy trim, and it fit me in ways other bras just couldn’t come close to. And one thing that was unique about that particular bra was that its clasp was in the front, tucked in between the girls as opposed to the back.

I loved that bra. It was my lucky bra. I had my first kiss (ever) with my first boyfriend while wearing that bra. Yeah, we were the best of friends, my bra and I.

One day I got suckered into going to PT for my boyfriend’s ROTC class. I knew that he just wanted me to come along so he could impress me with his physical prowess. But what neither of us expected was his superior “inviting” me to join in on the jumping jacks. And when I say “inviting,” I mean that he barked at me to join or leave.

And being the uber-shy, easily intimidated dillweed that I was at the time, I hopped to!

Unfortunately for me, I was wearing my favorite bra. Yep, my purple pal. Little did I know that my bra was about to betray me in the worst way.

[You’re already imagining it, aren’t you. Ugh, it’s just such a painful memory! So painful, in fact, that I’ve never told a living soul… UNTIL NOW. Not even my best friend. At least, I don’t think I told her. But whatever, you get the idea.]

So there I was, jumping up and down to the drill sergeant’s count along with at least 12 other people, all of them being cute guys—I was the only gal. And then it happened. I don’t know how long I had been jumping before I realized that my girls were a little TOO free. Yes, it’s true. They’d escaped their pretty purple binding and were flopping freely whichever way they desired.

My favorite bra had chosen that moment to “give up the ghost.” Or, to be more precise, the clasp had come undone and I had to scramble to fix my bra and re-adjust the girls in front of all those guys. *sigh*

Oh, and did I mention that I’m a full-figured busty kinda gal?

Needless to say, I was horrified and completely humiliated. And I will forever wonder just how much nipple was visible underneath that thin shirt I was wearing.



(Wow, I had no idea there was a bra made for those whose headlights aren't permanently on "high beam!" *wink-wink nudge-nudge*)

I’ll admit that remembering that terrifying experience makes me giggle to myself these days. But I never went to another PT after that and I never will again. No matter how many hot, sweaty men there may be out there running laps and doing jumping jacks. I’m pretty sure I’ve been scarred for life. Blasted bra.

Doody Calls

I took this photo as I was driving (slowly) home from the mall in Auburn. Thankfully, traffic was CRAP so I was able to get the phone out, find the camera function, and take this photo before passing the billboard.

Am I the only one who is amused by this?