Procrastination Rears Its Ugly Head...

I just took an online quiz that said that if I were an ice cream flavor, I'd be french vanilla; if I were an alcoholic beverage, I'd be beer; if I were a messed up Barbie, I'd be Lactating Barbie; and if I were a Disney attraction, I'd be It's a Small World.

I have no idea how they come up with that stuff but I love how interested I become as I wait in anticipation to see the results. I think French Vanilla is fitting. Vanilla is All-American. Comforting. Classic. Traditional. Old-fashioned. Let's go to a ballgame. Making it French Vanilla is like adding mystery. It's unique. Sassy. Spunky.

And Beer? I am so beer. Casual. Low-maintenance. Down to earth.

Lactating Barbie I am not even going to touch. That's just weird.

I do disagree with the Disney Attraction. Even though I think I'm pretty well-traveled (though there's always room for more!), come on. It's a Small World? Kids singly loudly wildy off-key? I wouldn't go that far. I think I'm much more Space Mountain. A little spaced-out, but never boring.

Take your own quizzes here.

Things I Want To Do Before I Die

The Today Show is having a contest. Tell them what you want to accomplish before you die, and maybe you'll get a chance to do it. This would be my list.

Stand outside the Today Show window (while we're on the subject).
Rack up $5,000 on my credit card without knowing how or when I will pay it off.
Travel through Europe.
Catch a home run at a baseball game—even if it’s just batting practice.
Drive cross-country without a map.
Throw a kick-ass dinner party for everyone I know.
Visit Australia.
Go on a safari.
Gallop a horse along a beach.
Be a guest voice on The Simpsons.
Light a fire using only sticks.
Buy a round for a packed bar.
See the 7 Wonders of the World.
Start a custard pie fight.
Break a world record.
Swim with dolphins.
Meet my favorite celebrity.
Climb a mountain.
Take a Ferrari for a test drive.
Do a striptease.
Stay up all night long, and watch the sun rise.
Go to a major sporting event (Olympics, Superbowl, etc.)
Touch an iceberg.
Take a trip in a hot air balloon.
Watch a meteor shower.
Bet on a winning horse.
Start a food fight.
Have my portrait painted.
Take a pottery class.
Skydive.
Visit all 50 states.
Be a member of the audience in a TV show.
Send a message in a bottle.
Learn a musical instrument.
Sit on a jury.
Dance with a stranger in a foreign country.
Milk a cow.
Sing karaoke.
Start a business.
Ride a Unicycle.
Take a martial arts class.
Be in a movie (if only as an extra).
Make cookies from scratch.
Win first prize in a costume contest.
Ride a gondola in Venice.
Be on television news programs as an "expert."
Learn a new language.
Follow my favorite singer on tour.
Walk the Golden Gate Bridge.
Win money on a T.V. game show.
Have my picture in the newspaper.
Change someone's mind about something I feel strongly about.
Learn to parasail.
Have a booth at a street fair.

Dreaming...

I have to go buy more paint.

I have two dream dictionaries I bought a million years ago when I was into it. Really into it. Now they just collect dust on a bookshelf until I have an odd dream and pull them out.

Last night I dreamed that I went to a family reunion, but I remember seeing both sides of my family there. And it was at a house where we had to help work on the basement (painting, drywall, etc.) so I had to put my sneakers on, but didn't know which socks to wear. I think I went through about 5 different pairs of socks. And my cousin was there. Except that he wasn't my "real life" cousin. He was the guy who was kicked off the Apprentice a while back. Danny, the one who played guitar. Except in my dream his name was Michael.

That got me thinking about dream interpretation. I am in the process of recarpeting and painting my basement. So of course, that made sense. But Danny? And who is Michael? And what's with the socks? It did remind me that I needed to buy paint. But my basement reminds me of that every day.

I once had a dream where I ran over two birds. They were still alive so I put them onto towels in my mother's linen closet and cared for them and tried to get them back to health. They eventually died. I looked up that dream in a dictionary and it said that I would have both good luck financially, but I will get some news that will worry me. That dream was several months ago and I have not gotten a raise, won the lottery, or heard troublesome news. Or maybe what was troublesome was that I just killed two birds (Aha! But I didn't use a stone.)

I think I need coffee.

Things that piss me off...

I wish I could hire a skywriter and post the following for all the world to see. It might just help in the quest for peace on earth:

Please do not apply make-up while you are driving. You look fine.

The coffee you buy on your way into work should not be allowed to taste anything but delicious. Having burnt-tasting coffee first thing in the morning sucks.

If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie. 'Nuff said.

Nobody owns the world. Don't act like you do.

'You are' is you're, not your. 'They are' is they're, not their or there.

If you know you're going to be putting a basket of bread on my table in a restaurant, let the pads of butter thaw out a little bit beforehand. Don't serve me ice cold butter. Butter is supposed to be spread, not chopped.

Left lane is for passing. If I creep up behind you it means move over. Same goes for the escalator.

Finish what you're eating before you call me.

The 5-letter word that every driver should know the meaning of: M E R G E

No matter how many emails you forward, you will not win $1,000,000 dollars from Bill Gates, a pretty picture will not appear on your screen, nor will you win any other fabulous cash and prizes. Got that, mom and dad?

Cover your mouth when you cough and sneeze, please.

You really don't know how to run this country better. If you were put in the Oval Office tomorrow, you really think you'd be able to resolve every one of our issues? Seriously.

The less clothes you wear, the trashier you look. And just because they make it in your size doesn't mean you should wear it.

Telling a racial or off-color remark and calling it a joke doesn't make you funny. It makes you ignorant.


Okay, I'm done. Feel free to add your own.

Why did I start this again?

Oh yeah. To write better, isn't that right? Why yes, there it is. Down below. In my first blog ever I wrote that I started this blog to write better. For work. In my marketing career. Might be my biggest mistake yet. Maybe I should apply to promote blogspot. I sure as hell do enough research for it.

I am addicted to blogging. Everytime I publish a blog I check back every 20 minutes to see if I have a comment. Then I check out the next blog after mine. And the next one. And then the next one. And if the blog interests me (read: written in English and not politically charged), I'll read the comments. And then I'll read the blogs of those that wrote the comments, because if they were interested in reading the same blog I am, then that might mean I must be interested in their blogs, too!

I need to wake up. I usually bring a sugar-free Red Bull to work with me but I forgot this morning. I do have tea. Maybe I'll make that.

Then I'll go back to checking out some more blogs.

The L Word.

Lover. I hate that word. I never really minded it before but everytime she is mentioned, Amber Frey is always referred to as Scott Peterson's lover. And now the word makes me cringe. To me, a "lover" is scandalous. Like one step above "mistress." Why not call her his ex-girlfriend, because to her, that's what she was. But to call her an ex-girlfriend wouldn't be as juicy as calling her his lover. Who wants to listen to his ex-girlfriend? I want to hear from his lover.

In the past year, two of my exes have found me online, and all of a sudden a wave of emotions hit me at the same time. Delight. Flattery. Curiosity. Nostalgia. Loving what I have now but yet still wonder what might have been. Because of the fact that my curiousity led me to contact these men, I am calling them my lovers, because according to others, I am married and therefore have no reason to know their whereabouts or motives. I'm being scandalous!

The first one contacted me a month before my wedding last April. My heart stopped when I saw his name in my email inbox. "I found your name and wondered if you were someone I once knew," the email said. Gleefully (there's a word I don't think I have ever used), I responded. And so began maybe three or four emails. He filled me on his life (he lives about 8 states away from me, married, with a baby on the way) and I filled him on my life and my upcoming wedding (THANKFULLY). Then I wondered if he was being scandalous too. His wife was about to deliver a baby in a few months and he Googles the name of the woman he was going to marry (in college, we made tentative plans). A few emails later, I stopped emailing him because my husband asked me to. He didn't think it was so innocent anymore. Not on my end, on his. And maybe it wasn't. On email, it was extremely innocent. I shared pictures of my husband and me with him, and he shared pictures of his new daughter with me. But deep down the truth was still there. This was a person I loved so much and planned to spend the rest of my life with, and here he was after so many years just a DSL line away. I wonder if his heart skipped a beat when my name appeared in his Inbox, too. I would never cheat on my husband, I can't imagine myself ever wanting to and just the thought of that makes me nauseous. But I was so curious about this man. I am convinced that he is as happy in his marriage as I am, regardless what my husband thinks. But because I respect my husband, I stopped emailing. Just like that. Without explanation. Without warning. And I feel horrible about it. I really do. And if by extremely rare chance this man comes across this blog, I want him to know that I do feel bad. And that that is the reason why I stopped writing. But maybe your wife would feel the same if she knew.

Last month I was notified by reunion.com that my name was searched for 3 times. Three people want to know my whereabouts? Who did I impact so much that they would want to find me? I dated a wounded soul in college. And he found me. He was the stereotypical fraternity guy - lewd, crude, and emotionally unattached. I met him my first day of college and we were best friends for the first 3 years. Then I fell for him and he fell for me. Then he cheated on me 3 times and I told him I never wanted to see him again. But I learned to forgive but not to forget and so we were friends again. He sucked as a boyfriend, but I missed his friendship. He left school for Arizona because college wasn't for him. And that was the last I heard from him. Until I saw his name on this list on reunion.com. I don't feel as scandalous since we were friends first and after. So I contacted him through the website not expecting a response. Who knows if I ever will.

But it's nice to know I'm not forgotten by those that mattered.

I Call Him Red...

... no relation to the other Red (atleast I hope not), who frequents my Ramblings on occasion...

Outside my office window this morning I see a man walking down the street. I recognize him, because I often see him walking down the same street while I'm driving home from work. I would recognize him if he were walking in a different town on a different street.

This man wears a white t-shirt under an unzipped red sweatjacket with matching red pants. His hair is the exact same color and exact same style as the infamous mugshot taken of Nick Nolte a few years ago.

That's his hair.

He walks down the same street every day wearing the same clothes as the day before.

I wonder where he is going and where he is coming from.

But I'm too afraid to ask.

Green is the ugliest color. I like pink or blue.

Is there anyone in the world who is not jealous of another person? Even the rich and famous wish to be able to walk into a store by themselves and not have cameras flashing with every turn.

I met Forrest Whittaker once. About a million years ago, he came into the CVS I worked in to buy diapers. One of the cashiers gushed over him and asked who the diapers were for. He looked uncomfortable, like his recognizable face wouldn't be so identifiable at a drugstore late at night. Earl Woods on the other hand, loved the attention. Tiger Woods father once came into the same CVS, and into my checkout line. It was around the time Tiger Woods was first becoming a household name and the image of Earl and his son hugging after Tiger won was replayed all over the TV. I told him that he looked familiar and he asked who I thought he was. I told him I didn't want to guess in case I was wrong. He egged me on and I told him and he seemed thrilled that he was recognized.

I think if I could be anyone famous, I would be a folk singer, like Joni Mitchell or Tori Amos. I would have my own faithful following but without the scandals and rumors or paparazzi.

You Down With OPC?

OPC stands for Other People's Crap, something Ken (hubby) and I argued about this weekend.

Our house has become a haven for OPC, and it's pissing me off and he doesn't seem to care or understand what the problem is.

The problem is that people ask us if we need an item that they're trying to rid their house of, and before we can say, "No, thank you," they tell us that they'll give it to us, and if we don't need it, then we can throw it away. Why not just save yourself the trip to our house and throw it away yourselves?

Dad came over for dinner last week while mom was away on business. I was in the shower when he came so I didn't see the huge bag of OPC until after he left and Ken asked me where he can put a thermometer? What thermometer? Oh this one that your father brought over. I'm now looking at a thermometer the size of an oversized pencil. Look at the length between your knee and ankle. That is the size of this thermometer (my father sells lab equipment and is preparing to retire in a few months, hence the reason he has this oversized thermometer.) We don't know where it's supposed to go and I asked Ken why he accepted it. "Because he brought it over." Okay, so say No, thank you. "I did, but he told me that if we didn't need it, to just throw it away."

This is nothing new. This is nostalgia. My father-in-law brought Ken some of his old National Geographics that he wants to get rid of. Since Ken read them too when he was younger and still lived at home, he thought Ken would want them. So he brought them over. Brought them ALL over. Ken admits that he probably won't read them, so he'll go through some to see articles he may want to read and throw the rest away. The entire stack is still in our basement, collecting dust. Dust on OPC.

In the past month, others have tried to pass on their OPC to us with no success. Books, figurines, even pantyhose - all have been responded to with as a polite as can be, "No, thank you." Both us still have our own crap to sort through and throw away so we don't want or need anyone else's. And the funny thing is, few have been offended that we don't want them. Like it's a gift we should be honored to get.

Givers of OPC take note: We don't want what you don't want either.

Ohhhh... Chantico

When Starbucks was first introduced in my neighborhood, I swore I would never be "one of them." Those people who wear tweed jackets over turtlenecks with Lisa Loeb glasses. Acting like the caffeinated elite. Please. No. I would never be like that.

I have always been a Dunkin Donuts girl. Starbucks was too difficult for me. Just give me a medium regular. That is how you order coffee. Who needs to wait in line behind a double-skim-half-caf-mocha-espresso-latte order. Especially someone like me, who needs their morning coffee in order to function properly... or at all, actually.

But then I found out that I can get a mint mocha frosty drink in the form of a Frappuccino. Who needs iced coffee when I can have a shake?! Okay, summer drink. Winter will be Dunks (when you're from the Northeast, you abbreviate everything) and summer will be Starbucks. I technically wasn't moving over to the other side. Winter is a longer season anyway.

So have you heard about their newest drink? Chantico. It is like drinking a chocolate bar. A chocolate bar dipped in chocolate. And then melted and poured into your cup. Warm and smooth. Of course it can't wake me up in the morning like my trusty Medium Regular. But it's a good reason to get out my old Lisa Loeb glasses.

Things That Make Me Go Hmmm...

I work in a small office building and yesterday there were two people here in the afternoon. Me (who works on the top floor) and one of the graphic designers who works on the bottom floor. Mind you, there are only three floors in this building. So I'm typing away and all of a sudden I heard the floor creak. And I know it wasn't him coming upstairs because he is a big man, and my office is right next to the staircase. I know when he is on the staircase. Doesn't that freak you out? One night I was half asleep and I heard a similar creak in my hallway. If I am here, and my husband is next to me, and we don't have any kids, why is there a creak in the hallway? Like when you're watching TV in the den and you hear something in the hall closet fall. Did some big gust of wind just happen to blow through the closet? It's weird. It really freaks me out. Makes me want to sleep with one eye open.

Why is Mikayla Gordon still on American Idol? I know gazillions of message boards and blogs are probably asking the same question, but come on! I'm sure she is a nice person, and I wish her all the best, but she really needs to go back to Vegas. When Ryan told her she had to wait the 3 minutes for the commercial break, her reaction made me want to call and vote for Lindsey again and again during those 3 minutes just to give Lindsey the extra votes. I wonder if people are voting for Mikayla just to be funny. Remember years ago when MTV had it's VJ contest and everyone who won the contest were clearly the worst of the two? Jesse Camp beat out Dave Holmes, and the weird guy Ryan beat out that normal girl, the blond. I can't believe I remember that. But what if this year, the voting is just a big joke!

I don't think the sun should set until after 7:00 at night. There is a stretch of road when I am driving home from work when the sun is at it's brightest and is staring straight into my eyes. No amount of sun visor or sunglasses will dim the light enough to make me see more than five feet in front of me. It's really annoying.

Why is Hootie and the Blowfish doing Burger King commercials? If they wanted to jumpstart their career again, why not go on Surreal Life, which by the way, is the funniest reality show this year. Who knew a drunk Mini Me could be so entertaining. And who knew Peter Brady would turn out so charmingly hot!

After re-reading this, I realize what a completely random and pointless blog this is. But I'm out of ideas now.

This is my first blog ever

I also created a blog because I really need to write better. It's scary when I look back at a bunch of my old essays and high school newspaper articles and think it is Pulitzer material compared to what I'm doing now. I feel like everything post-1997 (college graduation) has been endless Writer's Block. And for those of you doing the math, I'll save you a headache. I'm 30.

I'm in Marketing now and need to write more to stimulate my brain. In my last job I didn't get the chance to write as much as I wanted to. I wrote some articles for the agency newsletter, but articles on how sucky our softball team was or how much money was donated to send our receptionist to Haiti wasn't among the stuff I wanted to show-off. So here I am.

Do bloggers announce what they'll blog about? I've never blogged before so I'm not sure what the rules are (prepare to educate me). But I'm sure (and I could be breaking rule #1 here) I'll be inspired by horrible drivers (am I the only woman who hates woman drivers?), pet peeves (please cover your mouth when you cough), and other things that either fascinate or annoy the crap out of me.

If all else fails, anyone wanna know how much it took to send the old receptionist to Haiti?