I Live in a Third World Country Called Idaho

 Hello everyone. Today I had three really bad seizures and had to have my Mom use emergency injections on me. She has to give me one in each thigh and it hurts like a mofo. Each needle has to stay in me for ten seconds to deliver the emergency medication. I have been down all day due to this and my legs hurt like hell. It takes me a few days to recover from this on top of the seizures themselves. I'm lucky the emergency meds worked. Sometimes they don't and I have to be airlifted out by helicopter which takes about 20 minutes to get here. Meanwhile, I am still having seizures, losing oxygen to my brain. I don't have the luxury of the type of ambulances and immediate response here that I would in Denver. The ambulance here can only offer me oxygen and most of the time they just sort of toss a mask at me so that it's near me and tell me to try to get some of the oxygen. They're afraid to get near me. I have had concussions in dealing with the emergency care here because they don't know how to deal with me. That is why it is REALLY important that I get back to Denver. Where I am now is literally like being in a third world country regarding health care. I am not kidding or exaggerating. I could tell you a million stories to back this up and if you want to hear them, feel free to ask. To date, there have been 533 visits to my GoFundMe site and only five people have decided to donate. If each of those 533 people had put in JUST 5 or 10 dollars, I would be either so close to my goal I could touch it or OVER my goal. Please. I'm asking for your help in whatever way you can.

There are amazing incentives up for grabs on the GoFundMe site or you can just chuck some change in to help.  Even if you can't afford to help, please forward this on to someone who might be able to. Epilepsy is not spoken about at all and yet it affects millions of people worldwide with no cure in sight.

Please share on your Facebook, your Twittah...anything. Once I get back to Denver, I will be able to start writing about my adventures again and give you something to read. Let's pull together!

Dear Readers, I Need Your Help

I know I don't post often and yet, for some reason, you still read. For that, I thank you. I just don't have much inspiration right now because I live in a very dull place. It's not inspiring. They don't even know what Daleks are. I mean, come on.
So, I need your help and anyone you can gather together. Let's get an army together. I'm posting a widget thing here for your perusal. I need to get back to Denver. To my life. Where all the funny, awesome things happen that inspire me. But also for better health care. I'll leave it up to the widget thing to explain. (I hope it works. I'll test it out to make sure you can see it. Quality control always!) Thanks for reading and thanks in advance for your help.

Here's the link to the actual page as well:  http://www.gofundme.com/73ua7w

I Like Big Cakes

Note: I just unearthed this as a message that I sent to a guy on OkCupid a few years ago. I painstakingly took the lyrics to "I Like Big Butts" to make cakes the theme because the guy liked cake. It took forever. No response from the recipient. If anyone ever asks me why I'm single again, I'll say it's because no one appreciates things like this. And, things like this...are AWESOME.

Oh, my, god. Becky, look at her cake.
It is so big. Yum! It looks like,
one of those rap guys' cupcakes.
But, yum! Y'know, who understands those rap guys? Wendy!
They only talk to her, because,
she looks like a total Cakemaker, 'kay?
I mean, her cakes, are just so tasty. Yum!
I can't believe it's just so round, it's like,
out there, I mean uh! Yum. Look!
It's just so ... cakey!

I like big cakes and I cannot lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty cake
And a round cake in your face
You get sprung, wanna pull up forks
'Cause you notice she's got plates
Deep in the jeans she's wearin'
I'm hooked and I can't stop starin'
Oh baby, that apron you're wearin'
I pause, take yo pictcha'
My homeboys tried to warn me
But that cake you got makes
Ooh, rub all of that buttercream
You say you wanna get in my Benz?
Well, cup me, cake me
'Cause you ain't that average groupy
I've seen her bakin'
T'hell with marinatin'
She's shake, make,
Got it goin' like a Easy Bake
I'm tired of onion rings
Sayin' cupcakes are the thing
Take the average cake fan and ask him that
She gotta pack much cake
So, fellas! (Yeah!) Fellas! (Yeah!)
Has your girlfriend got the cake? (Hell yeah!)
Tell 'em to bake it! (Shake it!) bake it! (Shake it!)
Bake that tasty cake!
Baby got cake!

(LA cake with a Oakland frosting)
Baby got cake!
(LA cake with a Oakland frosting)

I like 'em round, and big
And when I'm throwin' a gig
I just can't help myself, I'm actin' like an animal
Now here's my scandal
I wanna get you home
And ugh, double-up, ugh, ugh
I ain't talkin' bout Betty Crocker
'Cause mixed cakes are made for jerks
I want 'em real thick and moist
So find that frosted double
Mix-a-Lot's in trouble
Beggin' for a piece of that frosted perk
So I'm lookin' at Food Network
Rachel Rae teasin', frostin' with shows
You can have them bimbos
I'll keep my women with their cakes 'n plates
A word to the cake bakin' sistas, I wanna get with ya
I won't cuss or hit ya
But I gotta be straight when I say I wanna (caaaaake)
Til the break of dawn
Baby get it goin' on
A lot of SIMPS won't like this song
'Cause them punks like to hit it and quit it
And I'd rather stay and play
'Cause I'm long, and I'm strong
And I'm down to get the dessert on
So, ladies! {Yeah!} Ladies! {Yeah}
If you wanna role in my Mercedes {Yeah!}
Then turn around! Cake it out!
Even lame boys got to shout
Baby got cake!

Baby got cake!
Yeah, baby ... when it comes to females, Martha ain't got nothin'
to do with my selection. Ganache? Ha ha, only if shes got a warm cake ready right now.

So your girlfriend rolls a Honda, playin' workout tapes by Fonda
But Fonda ain't got a cupcake in the back of her Honda
My anaconda don't want none
Unless you got cakes, hun
You can do side bends or sit-ups,
But please don't lose that cake
Some brothers wanna play that "hard" role
And tell you that the cake AIN'T gold
So they toss it and leave it
And I pull up quick to retrieve it
So that guy says he's vegan
I'll take the cupcake he's leavin'*
'Cause your waist is small and your curves are kickin'
And I'm thinkin' bout stickin'
To the chocolate cakes in the double ovens:
Your cakes are it, Miss Thing!
Give me frosting, I can't resist her
The spatula and bowl didn't miss her
Some knucklehead tried to diss
'Cause her cakes are on his list
He had game but he chose to leave 'em
And I pull up quick to eat 'em
So ladies, if the cake is round,
And you want a triple decker throw down,
Dial 1-900-MIXALOT
And kick them cakey thoughts
Baby got cake!
Baby got cake!

The Fly Entourage (Revised)

 

This is an auto-biographical piece I wrote a couple years ago during a serious bout with depression.  I found it in a notebook this morning when I was getting ready to go on a bike ride to my local coffee shop and write a letter with some coffee and breakfast. I read it and I felt it was a gift I had found it.  When one is in such a dark place there is no describing it to anyone.  Sometimes even yourself. I know a lot of people have or do suffer from similar things or are even on the road to recovery.  I thought I would share this as I recover and see the sun brightly at the end of the tunnel.  I know there may be times when I need to look back and read this, knowing I found some way to write down a description.  If I was able to do that, I know I had strength I was not aware of which is a miracle.  The real miracle, though, is we all have that inside us and maybe this will remind us all of that.  (I have revised it slightly compared to the one I found already posted on my blog. The slight difference is something maybe only I find interesting but maybe you will too.)

The flies were fat and slow as they buzzed and hopped seemingly everywhere the woman chose to put each part of her body.  They buzzed slowly past her ear and sh could almost decipher what they were going on about as she wiggled her fingers constantly to shoo them away.  In fact, it seemed, they would have landed on her eyes if it were possible.  Even if this were possible, today they would have had only room to peer through the slits her eyes had become.

She peered back at them, the flies’ kaleidoscope of vision seeing only a rainbow of dents, dings and slippage in her normally bright soul. If the fly blinked, which they rapidly did, it would create a fantastic slide show of what was stuck in her throat, sinking her hear and creating a slow anesthetic around her otherwise compulsive optimism.

It was beautifully horrible and just the thing a fly would enjoy.

It was for this reason each of her co-workers, family members and a few acquaintances secretly were happy to see her.  No one said anything about it to each other.  It was not something that came up on the phone, over coffee or as a subject in a sentence starting with, “Didja’ happen to notice?” No, it was a strange and no one mentioned it in polite company. 

The woman smelled of spiced oranges with luxurious dark hair that grew with the seasons as they changed.  Thus, the fly entourage had no explanation to the naked eye or even the human eye.  To the fat fly’s eye, who fed on garbage and mated with the discarded, the cinematic kaleidoscope they saw in the woman’s eyes was dinner and an ever rotating porn flick.

In such mundane moments as when the lights went off at night or when she lifted cream soup to her mouth and blew on it, people did wonder why the woman didn’t do anything about it.  On the other hand, maybe she was working so hard to do something this was the minimal amount of flies she could keep from invading her space at a time.  Maybe if she did nothing at all, she would be lost inside a cloud of flies  and meet an unfortunate end from the task of pest control chemicals so strong she couldn’t breathe anymore. When the cloud cleared and they back to clean up the fly carcasses they would find her bloated body covered in flies like family weeping over her in still-life, kissing her eyes.

No one thought about it for long.  Even the strangest of things become less so the longer they are a part of your life. They develop a purpose.  The woman and the Fly Entourage were no different.  The flies had been around her since she was three and yes, she had spent increasing efforts to deter them until it consumed her life and there was room for nothing as a result of even the few flies remaining by the third decade of her life.

Geraldo's Mustache of Truth

I keep seeing these ads on Facebook encouraging people to go on cruises. The ad has a clever tag that says, "Click if you like vacations!" Who doesn't like vacations? I like a lot of things so I am honest with Facebook about what I like. I went to click that I, indeed, like vacations when I noticed two very important things. 1) It was an ad for a cruise line.  2) A beloved family member had already clicked that they had liked vacations and thus, that they had liked the cruise line and may already be in danger of being sucked into going on a cruise where they may meet their demise and not have their death reported simply because CRUISE LINES DO NOT HAVE TO DO THAT! And they don't. Do you know why?  They don't want to be the cruise line that is equivalent of the Titanic. They want to be the HAPPY FUN TIME STUFF YOU WITH FOOD AND WHOA LOOK AT OUR CASINOS AND SWIMMING POOLS AND YEAH WE'RE GOING TO SENOR FROGS cruise line.

But I'm not buying it. Not for all the Bon Voyage streamers in the world.

Mind you, I would totes get in a cage and look at sharks, knowing full well I might lose a hand. However, there are people on that boat I feel safe with and that should I become a shark snack (I'm not really a dinner), they have to march back to their superiors and the police and file Shark Snack papers. Also, I'm pretty sure this would make the news and Jon Stewart would make a joke about my death on the Daily Show, which is pretty rad.

But I digress.

The Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel reports, "While crime is rare on cruise ships, justice for those victimized on the vacation voyages can be elusive due to overlapping investigative powers, difficulty obtaining evidence and witnesses, and a lack of sworn officers aboard ships." See! I may have first seen and gasped at this horror while on a late-night insomnia binge of news from Geraldo Riviera (Is that even his last name?) some years ago but I have since followed it up from "reliable" news sources. You know. Ones that don't crack open vaults of mobsters and get hit by chairs.

I have quietly bitten my nails as other loved ones have gone on cruises and, on the other end of the spectrum, chuckled to myself as despised co-workers announced a two-week cruise to ...I don't know...some Senor Frog destination.

The fact is I have also seen those movies where people have to turn into Indiana Jones in an instant when the ship starts to go down. Pianos are turning over, chandeliers are lighting on fire, people are traversing pipes and swinging on wires. The intense music alone makes me nuts! I'm a survivor in many ways, people, but if I was somehow drugged and woke up on a cruise ship with only the savory and delicious buffets to survive on, I know that if something happened I would not be the people crawling through vents and doing crazy acrobatic stunts to get out of a ship. In fact, I would be the one to go, "Ok well. I told you this would happen," and swallow a cyanide pill. The heroic people could use my dead body to slide to safety or to build a raft. I'm even okay if they use my stiff corpse to fight off villains. There are always villains. I would embroider permission on the front of all my clothing with a cute little boat next to the words so it would still be stylish.

I know many people in the entertainment industry find jobs on cruises.  I'm not trying to kill an economy here. In fact, at one point when I was still naive about cruise lines, I thought, "Hey, I could make a lot of cash working on a cruise ship and see the world!"  And then I saw the light that Geraldo's Mustache of Truth shined.  Cruise lines don't like you. They don't even have real "officers." I mean, I could be an officer.  I could get a jet boat and have a picnic and call it a cruise line.  The only difference is that I would have to report deaths because I wouldn't be able to get out into international waters.  Oh, and I'd be cheaper too.  It would still be a vacation, though. Which we all like.

My Mom Refuses to Read Anymore Today!

"I know I'm angry.  As my FBI Forensic Psychologist Husband put it last night while I was cooking dinner in our historic Cambridge home that was built by a well-known Transcendentalist, 'You're being tricked, Kay." -Patricia Cornwell from her book, "Red Mist" that my Mom is currently reading.  In fact, she came into the guest room in which I am currently lounging to specifically read this sentence.

Thank goodness she did this because I was struggling for a segue into what I wanted to write about: writing. Yes, writing!

I'm aware I haven't posted since May but thank goodness for you, I happened to listen to a podcast interview with my friend, Ben Loory  on Brad Listi's blog, "Other People." I then thought to myself, I should really start blogging again. I'll make a blog tomorrow. Apparently, I already have one I abandoned for several months so I'm letting it rise from the ashes of my memory like a feeble Phoenix.

This is an illustration of how my mind usually works, which is why my blogging tends to save us all a lot of hassle.

Now. You may be saying, "Wendy, why didn't you make easy to click links to all of these references?"  And I say to you, "I tried but it just made two whole blog posts that were linked to Ben's interview and Ben's new book marked BEN LOORY and that seemed a little creepy." Why, two? It's a mystery. So Google them until I figure it out.  I mean for you to use Google and not Bing because Bing sucks. But I digress.

My friend, BEN LOORY, speaks about his writing methods in the podcast.  Part of it is about being in the present and letting the story happen to the reader.  Too much background or any at all, really, according to Ben, is unnecessary and takes away from the experience of being immersed.  A little background about Ben and I: one time, a few years ago, I almost went to visit him but I became very sick and was unable to fly for two years. I also belonged to the bird club where he lives via the internets and tried to sell homemade post cards to benefit it and a man who lived in the park.  I failed but the point is I tried.

See what I did there? No? Okay.

I was pretty inspired by the interview with Ben. It helped me come to terms with the different ways that I write. I'm okay. Ben's okay. You're okay. Patricia Cornwell is not okay. As a writer. I'm sure she's a super nice person.  Yes, I am scared of Patricia Cornwell and her lack of staying in the present but more than that, I am terrified of not knowing what she was being tricked into because of all the damn background information about her fancy house and husband.

As Ben once said to me, "I always like to end on an up note," and I have taken that to heart.  Thus, I end  this blog post in the present.  Here we go.

My Mom just announced from the other room, "That's it. I refuse to read anymore today."
Thanks, Patricia!  Now I can get her to make more tiny cheesecakes.

What is Lube?

[Names changed because I like making up new names for people]

The other day I was rather tired and decided to go for a quick bike ride over to my friend [Otto]'s house. Normally, I don't drop in on people as I am not a fan of the drop-in but it seemed okay because [Otto] was making some baked beans and coming over in an hour anyway. Plus his phone sucks and if I called he wouldn't get the message until like a week later so it seemed useless to call. EXCEPTION TO THE RULE CARD PLAYED.

What you should know is that [Otto] was actually banned from my house for a small period of time.
When I first moved into my cool ass house, which I refuse to post photos of because you'll only want to come steal it in the middle of the night, [Otto] would drop in constantly and tell me it was going to burn down and myself and my cats were in severe danger. The reasons varied depending on what he saw and what day it was but essentially I was living in a death trap and if Bruce Willis didn't show up and explode out of the window in a mushroom cloud of fire at any moment, it was a miracle.
Some time passed and it was whispered to [Otto] by a family member that he may get chopped up and tossed into the compost pile if he didn't chill the fuck out because said house is just fine and makes me happy as a clam with glitter glued to its face. Things were okay for awhile as in it was okay that [Otto] was distracted by some skunks that lodged themselves under his bathroom for awhile and that became a large part of his life. They would have skunk parties under his bathroom and he couldn't sleep so he took to napping a lot during the day.

Fast forward to when I lurched to a stop on my Mom's bike the other day in [Otto's] driveway. I knocked on his door and could smell his baked beans cooking but [Otto] seemed confused as to why I was there. It was not particularly unusual, really. In fact he usually invites me in, tries to give me plant clippings and what not. That day, he wandered around his yard and was musing aloud randomly and then when I casually mentioned the bike I was riding was making a clicking sound he went into his MUST FIX MODE. I didn't really have time for him to do a full bike tune-up that was not necessary and was just stopping by to say "Hey hey" on my ride but I was forced off of the bike and stood there seething as he held up a can of Acme Bike Lube, proclaiming loudly as though I were a foreigner, "THIS IS BIKE LUBE."

It was at this point that I started wondering what would happen if I just strangled him with the bike chain. Could they trace it bike to this bike? No. No. It's my Mom's bike. Don't get her into that kind of trouble. She's a kind soul. What if I just cracked him on the head with...that shitty bike pump? It never works and it could be explained away as a drunken injury. Hmm.

It was announced after I wrested the bike away from him that he was going to take a nap. Mind you, he and his Magic Beans were supposed to be arriving in less than an hour and he just announced a snooze-fest. I was actually alternately okay with this and mildly pissed. I hate when people are not courteous so that was the main pisser there. Otherwise...WHAT. EVER.

But [Otto] did show up. Two hours late. As people were leaving. So of course we all sat down and ate a bunch of damn beans. Then a half hour later other said people, [Dude and Dude's Son], left and my Mom mentioned the beeping/F2 warning on her really expensive dishwasher. I'm sure you can envision what happened next. [Otto] decided to have a half hour look at it before my Mom herded him out to the yard where I am told he took charge of the fire pit and dug up some shit because our fire wasn't just fine the way it was. He also checked that she had turned the propane off on the BBQ as he was leaving because my Mom is a total firebug. It's well-known. There's photos of her at the propane places around the county.

At this point, I was just laying on my Mom's futon in some sort of cross-eyed fury where I was trying to figure out the cheapest locale for socks and oranges in bulk. In my head I was going to construct a Rube Goldberg-esque machine that constantly pummels [Otto] until he is broken of his habits to compulsively fix shit that isn't broken or if it is...no one asked him to take up our entire lives to inspect it and go off on tangents about how he's lived here for over ten years and ....zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Either this post will make you want to kill me (and I won't judge you for that) or you will completely understand. Maybe you even know [Otto] and you understand.

My Futurography

Someone I know was actually required to do the following in a 500 word essay. Note that the word "futurogoraphy" is made up and not actually a synonym of the word autobiography at all. Mind you, I have no problem with making up words. If you do, though, (and this is a major rule in Sniglet Scrabble), the context has to coincide with your made-up word not be the antonym or completely out of context.

You may have written your autobiography, which

included how you would like your future story to be. We will call this

your futurography. The purpose of this therapy project is to write

your futurography in more detail.


OBJECTIVES

Making future plans.

Stating the kind of person you would like to be.

Thinking about what skills you will need in the future.

Write your futurography.

My Futurography (few-toro-graf-ee):

Hello, Wendy from the past. This is your autobiography from the future, your "futurography," if you will. I know how much you like milk so I've brought you a nice cold glass of of 6.75% milk from the future for you to enjoy while I tell you what you're all about...in the future. (I will just use "I" to refer to you since we are the same person but just in the future. That way we will avoid mixups. Sidebar: I love your vintage outfit!)

The good news is that the spoken word project has taken off! The Talkies and The Green Typewriters constantly perform together and last year (my time, which is like 6 years from now) I got married to Andrew Bird in a very small ceremony (I met him when I convinced Ryan to make him a door necklace to give to him, despite his widely known social anxiety-Andrew's, not Ryan's. We'll do Ryan's futurography later if he wants and talk about that.) Andrew came to a Talkies/Green Typewriters show and that's how everything happened. The rest is history. Or it is to me. For the past me it's futuristory? Anyhoo, so I'm very good at the guitar now and I also play the violin. It's coming along. I have an excellent teacher. It helps if you're sleeping with him! Sorry, you're the only one who hasn't heard that joke a million times.

Oh! I also finally finished my book. I'm working on sending out the manuscripts but I'm still a procrastinator. Plus, I just found this great burrito recipe everyone likes so we have burrito night every Wednesday. So, while that's going kind of slow, it's still going.

I finally have twenty-two pairs of prescription glasses and can match them with any outfit! Goal reached! I don't think I had a specific number in mind but I am happy with what I have.

For my birthday this year, Ryan and Anthony chipped in and bought me a Driver's Education class. At first, I was kind of pissed off because I still insist I'm not a horrible driver but I actually learned some things. For instance, there was an ice driving course involved. That was really helpful! Also I was allowed to drive my car around on the ice between cones and well, that's always awesome. At the end, they let me do a couple victory donuts on the ice.

How could I forget? I finally learned how to change a tire. Although, I tell you, these days it's a bit easier. I'll leave that one surprise for you. Enjoy your futurography! Oh, by the way. Don't eat the Jell-O at Dad's funeral just to be polite and really don't sign the guestbook. Bad decisions on both accounts.

Dialogue Project #1 "The Stain"

"Don't scribble that out."

"What? The stain? I'm just taking this...number," she said, lifting her eyebrows and moving the pen spastically over it, "and getting rid of it."

"Don't touch the stain!" I said emphatically, admiring the curve of the stain left on the last page of the tablet from a tea cup leftover from the previous evening.

"This?" she said, marking in the area where the stain was and coyly smiling as I recoiled in horror.

She lifted the tablet off the table so I could see it and revealed a whimsical face where once a tea stain was.

"Ha!" I shouted and clapped my hands against my cheeks in delight.

"Trainee Coffee"

Here's a little life lesson (for those who already know it, feel free to stop reading or just have a refresher.) I'm combining two into one so just bear with me.

Don't be an asshole and don't fuck with the people who handle your food and/or beverages.

You would think this would be a given on both accounts, that no one would have to say it. However, there are people wandering the earth who are under the impression that their asshole behavior is entirely justified and furthermore they take it to another level and direct it toward people who handle their food and/or beverages, which just is not smart.

Let's address just the asshole part first. A certain person writing this blog, who shall remain nameless unless you look above her picture, lost the job she'd just gotten after four days of 3 1/2 hour shifts. It took her 4 months of job searching to get said job. This person got a job in a coffee shop and has worked in other coffee shops before, including the mighty Starbucks (the drive-thru in a college town even!) While working at Starbucks, she was also working another full-time job which kept her on her toes in a different way. Basically, working with the elderly who had memory disorders, which isn't all glitter projects and gin rummy. These people are slippery and will be down the road in about two seconds if you don't watch them. But I digress. My point being that said person lost the coffee shop job after just under 14 hours on the job, being fired over the phone at work by the owner who was in Salt Lake City after having had knee surgery. She apparently, after just under 14 hours, several of which not being around the owner, had come to fit the profile of past baristas who, after four months or so, just didn't work out. They, ("they" being the two people who had trained said person so far, one of which was just promoted to manager and "still unsure in her position" and the other being a Jehovah's witness who happened to show up at her house on her day off and then make a snide remark the day I she was fired about her laptop) all came to a concensus that said person fit this profile, despite praising her extensively and saying, "Good Job!" and "You're doing great!" at the end of each shift. The big characteristic of this profile? Not being able to keep with the busy pace of the summer crowds.

Yes. That's right.

Okay. If you haven't figured it out, said person is me. At this point, you can imagine it's probably best the owner is not standing in front of me. After telling her how ridiculous everything she is saying is and that she's giving me the shaft and that "the person she interviewed and the person she hired are not the same person" is a bunch crap because it takes more than 4 days of 3 1/2 hours to get used to a new environment and the people in it, who were less than welcoming, by the by. Trying to crack into this circle of people was akin to the time I had the grand idea to become popular in school by trying out for cheerleading. The only difference is that I eventually came to my senses and realized the cheerleaders would laugh me out of the tryouts. Unfortuntely, in this situation you can't see being laughed out of a coffee shop.

As for keeping up with their pace? Again, try working at a Starbucks in a college town where there are constantly five drinks to make, two blenders running, the drive-thru lined up, etc. All that and from the day I walked in there to the day I left, I was the top-selling barista, beating out employees, managers and shift leaders who had been there for five years and more. Furthermore, the manager of the store when I worked there, upon my leaving, told me to come back whenever I wanted and he would rehire me on the spot.

This all blends into the second part of today's life lesson of not fucking with the people who handle your food and/or beverages. If you are you are a) stupid and b) an asshole. I put stupid first because the people who handle your food are working harder for less money and if you piss them off they may or may not have a "spitting" problem that tends to activate around asshole customers' food and/or beverages. Trust me, if it's spit that makes it into your consumables, you're lucky. I've seen some pretty nasty things put into food in my time but frankly, each time I turned a blind eye to it. Some people just deserve to eat piss soup.

On my last half-day at the coffee shop, I was still under the delusion that I had a job and was getting a handle on the coffee bar, which timed its own shots but had a nasty habit of pulling a ton of bad ones for some reason or another (an espresso shot should be pulled between 18-22 seconds otherwise it's bad) and constantly needed adjusting. I was wishing for the machine I initially learned on where you ground and tamped your own espresso and timed your own shots and actually had to know by sight and smell whether the shot was good. Things were going pretty well, though, and I was getting more familiar with the drinks, etc when the trendiest, most blonde woman I have ever seen sidled up to the area where you pick up your drinks. She had ordered some sort of drink that had a thousand notations on it: the "I'm a control freak" drink as I like to call it. Aforementioned awesome manager was steaming milk for me and I leaned over to ask her a question when the woman started shaking her head like she was terrified and said, "No...no..I don't...I don't..want TRAINEE COFFEE. I want it...how I like it." As soon as these words left her mouth, it took me a moment to process it. My brain went through an "are you a human being?" scan and then my eyes looked over to the uber manager who was saying nothing but I could sense gears moving frantically in her head and then out of her mouth came this: "Wendy, could you go toast that bagel?"

Now we are back to being an asshole.

Nothing else was said to me about this interaction. The fact that I was demeaned by a customer and further demeaned by super manager, which I brought up to the owner over the phone during my long distance firing and nothing was said in response, was so beyond my grasp that I think I put too much cream cheese on that fucking bagel. I'm sure whoever ate it will live with my trainee bagel.

There is no moral to the story because these people have no morals.

Watching The Olympics With Ryan

At the head shop today, my co-worker, Richard, ordered me to go home, chill out and watch the Olympics. He had orders from me to go to the best taqueria in town, located inside a sketchy but awesome mercado, home to a metal, paint-flaking chicken machine that is most likely a decade older than I am. For the cost of two quarters or four bits, you get the chicken to loudly bawk bawk bawk and turn on its metal rod as it lays an egg that most likely contains a small plastic fairy with a birth defect of the face.

So of course I held up my end of the deal but you can't watch the Olympics alone. Enter Ryan Talbot who, appropriately (see his MySpace if you don't get the punchline) makes a better door than a window. I just had to poke him now and again sharply with one of three remotes that operate the one television I own that is merely hooked up to a PS2 that plays DVD's like it's scratching on a turntable. I wish I could hook up the DVD player but we're lucky the PS2 is hooked up. My Mom gets big ups for that and knowing what input and output and coaxial mean. *Insert Peanuts adult speak here*

We both thought the interview Bob Costas did with President Bush was stellar. Mostly because Bob Costas is so cool that he was just slightly above asking Dubya how to spell "cat" because clearly our leader was terrified the Chinese were going to dump a crap ton of Sesame Chicken in his bed while he was away, trying his hardest, clenching the air (he didn't even think to bring his own pencil), announcing that "America has no problems" and "China should just accept religion." We also got a nice shot of a replay in which Prime Minister Putin stood in front of a tortured Mrs. Bush with his ass in her face while in conversation with her husband.

Note: Beverly Hills Chihuahua will be coming to a theatre near you October 3rd. You should probably check for midnight showings and buy tickets ahead of time.

Just so you know, this paragraph would have been really funny and about Michael Phelps but a gag order on ha ha's about the famous, alleged oily bo hunk swimmer has been put in place by Ryan "Goobleygook" Talbot, who can't even get slang correct. "This paragraph is harder for me to read than it is to understand my mumbling,"--Ryan Talbot.

*cough*

Words that are awesome at the Olympics so far:
*Breaststroker
*Titular
*Wingspan
*Stroke
*Lengths
*Peirsol
*Heat
*Ready Room

If anything else good happens, I'll let you know. I mean, other than Ryan re-attaching the chain to the thing that makes my toilet flush. Also, Papa Johns doesn't mind if you tip them in quarters.

Old People Are About To Get Older

blubeard11: hey neighbor
Wendy York: hey...do you live in my building?
blubeard11: I don't know
blubeard11: all I know is you live in greeley with me
blubeard11: where do you live in town?
Wendy York: near the university
blubeard11: im near the mall, U?
blubeard11: well u in college ?
Wendy York: no
blubeard11: your profile says your not looking ?? why not?
blubeard11: you get to meet all sorts of neat guys online
Wendy York: oh i know.
blubeard11: I just turned 47 don't know what im looking for
Wendy York: that's why i'm not looking
blubeard11: im off college for the summer, just kicking back with some beers and swimming in the pool
Wendy York: you're in college?
blubeard11: yes
blubeard11: I have 8 more classes and I graduate
Wendy York: congratulations
blubeard11: for an associates degree and a few computer certificates
Wendy York: and what will you be doing after college, young man?
blubeard11: then its more classes at aims, then last year online at a 4 year college
Wendy York: and then?
Wendy York: what then?
blubeard11: well should get a good job in IT
Wendy York: should?
blubeard11: well the market should be better by then
Wendy York: you've got to have a plan in this high paced world
Wendy York: the market?
Wendy York: what's that got to do with it?
blubeard11: well running a server / servers is a good paying job
Wendy York: yes but it's competitive
blubeard11: the job market
Wendy York: it's going to get more competitive
blubeard11: yes and I have a better chance getting into a job with a ba than an assoc.
Wendy York: you've got all these whippersnappers to contend with too
blubeard11: well I hope to get some experence as im going to college
Wendy York: yes but ...i hate to say it. companies are ageist
blubeard11: companies are aganst what
Wendy York: ageist
Wendy York: they are ageist
Wendy York: always have been
blubeard11: well older people are more apt to stay with a company instead of looking for a better one
blubeard11: like the younger crowd does
blubeard11: so what do you do for a living
blubeard11: ???????
Wendy York: true. and i'm not trying to discourage you but they will have to pay you a 401k a lot sooner than freshy fresh spring chicken over there.
Wendy York: i am a visual artist and a writer
blubeard11: that's an interesting job
Wendy York: you have NO idea
blubeard11: nope, ive worked for binderies and mailing houses, not for the printers
Wendy York: i don't work for printers
blubeard11: ok
Wendy York: well kind of
Wendy York: i am a slave to my photo printers
Wendy York: i have experience in binding too
Wendy York: it's kind of a bitch
blubeard11: binderies don't pay that much unless you run the machines
Wendy York: oh i worked for a large corporation that merged with a shipping company
blubeard11: cool
Wendy York: then one day i was trying to manually bind something with a wooden cover and it was the last straw
blubeard11: ive mostly worked for mom and pop shops
Wendy York: and i walked out
Wendy York: so why the career change?
blubeard11: ive always been good with computers
Wendy York: why didn't you become a massage therapist?
Wendy York: i hear that's a big field
blubeard11: don't have the wrists for it
Wendy York: but you have to have wrists for computer work.....?
Wendy York: you're going to get carpal tunnel syndrome
Wendy York: and you won't be able to hold your beers
blubeard11: well hopfully I wont have to do much typing
Wendy York: um.
Wendy York: so do you magically meld things?
Wendy York: are you uri geller?!!!
blubeard11: lol nope
Wendy York: right. he worked with spoons and was a fake anyway
blubeard11: ok
Wendy York: what if you took an online course in medical billing?
Wendy York: you could work from home
blubeard11: ive done medical billing before
Wendy York: why did you leave that?! i hear that's a cash cow!
Wendy York: you can work in your underpants!
blubeard11: it was for a mom and pop shop
blubeard11: they didn't have the machines
Wendy York: what machine?
blubeard11: to insert the bill into the envelope
Wendy York: that's just stupid
blubeard11: I know how to run those
Wendy York: it sounds like these mom and pop shops are screwing you over
Wendy York: they're holding you back
blubeard11: yes, they don't pay much
Wendy York: you could have all the cash
blubeard11: that's why im going for IT
Wendy York: no man.
Wendy York: you just need to start your own business with the medical billing
Wendy York: get the machine
Wendy York: work at 2 am if you want
blubeard11: that's an expensive machine
Wendy York: well then hire some kid to lick the envelopes
Wendy York: they're machines anyway
blubeard11: lol
Wendy York: what?
Wendy York: they are
Wendy York: they have unending energy
Wendy York: harness it
blubeard11: I get bills from doctors all the time, they farm it out to the mailing companys to insert the bill into the envelope
Wendy York: well you don't NEED the machine
Wendy York: see! i just saved you tons of money and you don't have to have a kid around
blubeard11: I don't know who needs medical billing, they all seem to have it covered
Wendy York: no! they don't! it's blowing up!
Wendy York: sick people are everywhere
Wendy York: people are sicker than ever before
blubeard11: ill look into medical billing
Wendy York: yeah. old people are about to get older
blubeard11: don't know of any hospital looking for help in that area
Wendy York: no. doctor's offices
blubeard11: I used to look up icd-9 codes for billing of the patient
Wendy York: iced tea 9?
blubeard11: hot pack, massage, etc ... has icd 9 codes
blubeard11: that's medical coding
Wendy York: see. you're already trained
Wendy York: you just need to find out how to find contracts.
blubeard11: well I don't have the icd-9 book to code from
Wendy York: you're just all over the place
Wendy York: you can buy them. they're 63.95.
Wendy York: you should do it
blubeard11: why don't you do it, if it is that great
Wendy York: because i'm an artist
blubeard11: then maybe we can go into business together
Wendy York: uh. i'm a loner. a rebel. you don't want to get mixed up with me.
blubeard11: even loners need company now and again
blubeard11: lol
Wendy York: no they don't. that's the definition of a loner.
Wendy York: i can order everything from the intraweb
Wendy York: the least amount of contact with the rest of the population the better
Wendy York: unless they happen to be a cowboy
Wendy York: a real one
Wendy York: i need to talk to one of those
Wendy York: but i digress
blubeard11: hummmm tight pointy shoes, tight pants, big belt buckle, ill pass, but im still a nice guy
Wendy York: do you ride the range?
Wendy York: on a horse?
Wendy York: do you lasso things?
blubeard11: no, I have rode a horse before
Wendy York: but is it your JOB?
blubeard11: nope
Wendy York: ok
blubeard11: you want you a rich cowboy
Wendy York: no.
Wendy York: it's for research purposes
Wendy York: cowboys don't tend to be rich
Wendy York: also they are loners
blubeard11: oh, sorry don't know of anyone that has that job title
Wendy York: it's cool
Wendy York: you just walk YOUR line and you will be alright
blubeard11: true
Wendy York: stay away from the mom and pop shops. they appear nice and quaint but they are just out to bamboozle you with their lack of envelope machines
Wendy York: who does that? how do they operate?
Wendy York: sickies
blubeard11: well they also teach you more than one maching to run making you more in demand for the company
blubeard11: that's the only good they have going for them
Wendy York: at the mom and pop shop? you're in demand at the "company?"
blubeard11: I cant stand 8 hours a day anymore. that's why I picked a sit down job, one with computers
Wendy York: do you have glasses?
blubeard11: no
Wendy York: prepare to get them
blubeard11: I only need glasses for fine print
Wendy York: nope. eye strain is in your future, mr.
Wendy York: it will start with squinting
blubeard11: pop a few asprin and good to go
blubeard11: lol
Wendy York: you can't fix eyes with aspirin
Wendy York: who told you that? mom and pop?
blubeard11: no. you get migraines from squining, that's what the asprin is for
Wendy York: yes and then after that you need glasses
Wendy York: that's what happened to me in the third grade
blubeard11: dang
blubeard11: are you a hottie even with glasses ?
Wendy York: i normally wear glasses
blubeard11: nothing wrong with that
Wendy York: no
Wendy York: i buy the sample glasses at dr's offices to wear over my contacts for accessories sometimes
Wendy York: sometimes i just wear contacts
blubeard11: that's cool
Wendy York: again. i digress
Wendy York: america's best is a good place to go
Wendy York: if you don't have eye insurance
Wendy York: just so you have things to think about if you're going to be staring at computers all day
Wendy York: it's inevitable
blubeard11: yep
Wendy York: okay.
Wendy York: to recap
Wendy York: what's the plan?
blubeard11: go to college for medical billing
Wendy York: i thought you already knew it?
blubeard11: find contacts who need medical billing
blubeard11: start own business
Wendy York: roll around in cash
blubeard11: ill check into it, I don't know how big of a need that there is, but ill check
Wendy York: there's a HUGE need
Wendy York: you're going to think "thank god i talked to that artist!"
blubeard11: ill check into it
blubeard11: I can do it part time while going to college
Wendy York: you need more of a "can do" attitude
Wendy York: there you go
Wendy York: now off into the world with a fresh face!
blubeard11: so why are you not doing it parttime
Wendy York: i don't have time to do it and i'm an artist
Wendy York: and a writer
Wendy York: no interest
Wendy York: remember?
blubeard11: no interest in making the big cash?
Wendy York: how do you know i'm NOT making the big cash?
Wendy York: you know what happens when we assume?
blubeard11: yes
Wendy York: consider that a lesson learned.
Wendy York: except you didn't make an ass out of me.

Manners and Mr. Trunks

Note: This took place before my name change in case of any confusion.

montanamountainman39: hi
Wendy Liddell: hi
montanamountainman39: what u up too
Wendy Liddell: flipping through a magazine
montanamountainman39: cool
montanamountainman39: am just relaxing in the hottub on my deck
Wendy Liddell: my magazine would get wet in there
montanamountainman39: yes
Wendy Liddell: i just got it so i shouldn’t get in
montanamountainman39: sure get in
montanamountainman39: my neibor lady is watching me from her back window
Wendy Liddell: but i have this magazine
Wendy Liddell: do you want me to wave to her?
montanamountainman39: sure
Wendy Liddell: *waves*
montanamountainman39: she reading the paper
montanamountainman39: i have my swimming trunks on
Wendy Liddell: man what a bitch. she didn’t wave back
Wendy Liddell: *shakes fist*
montanamountainman39: should i tease her
Wendy Liddell: no
Wendy Liddell: i have a better idea
montanamountainman39: what
Wendy Liddell: do you have a lighter?
montanamountainman39: nope
Wendy Liddell: crap
montanamountainman39: why is that
Wendy Liddell: oh i found one in my purse!
Wendy Liddell: yes!
Wendy Liddell: follow me over by the fence
montanamountainman39: okay
Wendy Liddell: act really casual
Wendy Liddell: like we’re going to say hi
montanamountainman39: okay
Wendy Liddell: but run as soon as i do
Wendy Liddell: what’s her name?
montanamountainman39: idont no
montanamountainman39: never met her
Wendy Liddell: okay i’ll just say ma’am
Wendy Liddell: let’s go! *strolls over to the fence*
Wendy Liddell: "hello, ma’am, how’s your morning going?"
Wendy Liddell: she’s totally NOT answering me!
Wendy Liddell: whore!
montanamountainman39: yes
Wendy Liddell: "let me warm up that coffee for you!"
Wendy Liddell: *lights magazine on fire and throws it onto womans newspaper*
Wendy Liddell: RUN!
montanamountainman39: your mean
Wendy Liddell: dude no i’m not
Wendy Liddell: she’s impolite!
montanamountainman39: am going to stnd up and take mr trunks off
montanamountainman39: tease her
Wendy Liddell: that’s mean AND impolite
Wendy Liddell: *lights pubic hair on fire*
montanamountainman39: what
Wendy Liddell: stop drop and roll!
Wendy Liddell: do it!
Wendy Liddell: you’re going to get really burned!
Wendy Liddell: mr. trunks is going to catch fire!
montanamountainman39: my trunks are off now
Wendy Liddell: thank goodness, mr. trunks!
montanamountainman39: now what u want me to do
Wendy Liddell: well you need some sort of moisture on there. you let that fire go pretty long
Wendy Liddell: *applies some Bath and Body Works Vanilla Bean lotion to burned area*
Wendy Liddell: there!
Wendy Liddell: sorry i know that stings
Wendy Liddell: but i don’t have anything unscented
Wendy Liddell: but now you smell like a burned cookie!
montanamountainman39: will u apply for me
Wendy Liddell: again?
montanamountainman39: what
Wendy Liddell: I already put a massive amount on your burn
montanamountainman39: rub it around little bit for me
Wendy Liddell: it’s going to hurt...
montanamountainman39: thats okay
Wendy Liddell: oh shit
Wendy Liddell: some skin just came off
Wendy Liddell: um
Wendy Liddell: this is really awkward
Wendy Liddell: but...where do you want this?
Wendy Liddell: *holds bit of skin out*
montanamountainman39: rub it all over
Wendy Liddell: the burned skin?!!!
Wendy Liddell: that came off?!!
Wendy Liddell: okay...i guess..
montanamountainman39: where ever u wnat too
Wendy Liddell: so you like being rubbed with your own burned skin?
Wendy Liddell: *rubs you with your own burned skin*
montanamountainman39: with lotion
Wendy Liddell: okay i’ll put lotion on it
Wendy Liddell: *puts lotion on piece of burned skin and rubs you with it*
montanamountainman39: feels good
Wendy Liddell: *looks away and tries to think of kittens*
montanamountainman39: feels good
Wendy Liddell: *hums*
montanamountainman39: rub the head too okay
Wendy Liddell: *rubs my head*
Wendy Liddell: isn’t my hair pretty?
montanamountainman39: yes
montanamountainman39: feels good
Wendy Liddell: i just washed it
Wendy Liddell: you should smell it
montanamountainman39: okay
montanamountainman39: smells good
Wendy Liddell: what does it smell like?
montanamountainman39: strawberry
Wendy Liddell: that’s so weird! i wash it with strawberry and yogurt puree!
montanamountainman39: does my burn look better
Wendy Liddell: *throws piece of burned skin in hot tub*
Wendy Liddell: uh...
montanamountainman39: take a closer look
Wendy Liddell: you should keep an eye on it
montanamountainman39: it need more lotion
Wendy Liddell: you don’t want to irritate it
Wendy Liddell: especially since it’s not the right kind of ointment
Wendy Liddell: it’s all i had in my purse
montanamountainman39: what kind is it
Wendy Liddell: *shows you bottle of Bath and Body Works Vanilla Bean Lotion*
Wendy Liddell: remember when I said you smelled like a burned cookie?
montanamountainman39: yes
Wendy Liddell: this is why!
montanamountainman39: rub the head of my cock little bit
Wendy Liddell: you should pay attention
Wendy Liddell: *grabs a branch and whips you on your burn*
Wendy Liddell: i’m taking mr. trunks and going home
montanamountainman39: okay
Wendy Liddell: unless you can use your manners
montanamountainman39: u dont want to take a tub with me
Wendy Liddell: i don’t have room for a tub in my car
montanamountainman39: take off your clothes and jump in her with me
Wendy Liddell: no thanks. i found another magazine to read
Wendy Liddell: mr. trunks and i are going to go.
Wendy Liddell: you want to come get some ice cream with us?
montanamountainman39: bring it back to me
Wendy Liddell: no way. you didn’t even say please
Wendy Liddell: we’re going
Wendy Liddell: you can come or stay here
Wendy Liddell: your choice
Wendy Liddell: we’re getting sprinkles...
montanamountainman39: am going to go watch a movie
Wendy Liddell: ok fine.
Wendy Liddell: we’ll be at the ice cream parlour if you need us
montanamountainman39: all thins talk got me worked up
Wendy Liddell: yeah you need to settle down
Wendy Liddell: watching that movie might help
montanamountainman39: i need to go relieve some tention
Wendy Liddell: ok take a nap and we’ll go get some ice cream
Wendy Liddell: see you later burned alligator
montanamountainman39: would u like to join me
Wendy Liddell: no thanks i’m getting ice cream with mr. trunks
montanamountainman39: okay
Wendy Liddell: i have a previous engagement
Wendy Liddell: it wouldn’t be polite to break it
montanamountainman39: with who
Wendy Liddell: mr. trunks
montanamountainman39: your funny
Wendy Liddell: what?
Wendy Liddell: manners are not funny
montanamountainman39: okay have fun
Wendy Liddell: i take them very seriously
Wendy Liddell: enjoy your nap
montanamountainman39: i need to go rub one out
montanamountainman39: have u cum yet the morning
Wendy Liddell: yes i’m here aren’t i?
Wendy Liddell: *puts hand over mouth*
Wendy Liddell: do you have short term memory loss?
Wendy Liddell: i’m so sorry
Wendy Liddell: you have a MASSAGE scheduled
Wendy Liddell: AND a NAP
montanamountainman39: yes
montanamountainman39: u wnat to massage me
Wendy Liddell: no, dear, i’m not the massage therapist
Wendy Liddell: i’m the one who made you smell like a burned cookie
Wendy Liddell: someone else is going to rub you out
Wendy Liddell: ok?
Wendy Liddell: mr. trunks and i are going for ice cream
Wendy Liddell: you were going to watch a movie
Wendy Liddell: get a massage
Wendy Liddell: and take a nap
montanamountainman39: yes
Wendy Liddell: excellent
Wendy Liddell: sounds like a good day
Wendy Liddell: mr. trunks and i will talk to you later on the telephone
Wendy Liddell: it will ring
Wendy Liddell: you pick it up
Wendy Liddell: okay?
montanamountainman39: okay
Wendy Liddell: okay
Wendy Liddell: good
Wendy Liddell: talk to you then
montanamountainman39: okay
Wendy Liddell: *waves as door closes*


Note: I never gave this dork my phone number.

Oh, Alicia.

This is the relevant part of the episode...






peoplefolk: mmm. heh heh. wish you were in massachussetts.
Wendy York: oh i would just spend all my time at dunkin donuts
peoplefolk: lol
Wendy York: that iced coffee is wicked addictive
peoplefolk: how come in the MA chatroom?
peoplefolk: visiting here often?
Wendy York: oh i have a friend who lives there
Wendy York: so i suppose it's nostalgia
peoplefolk: ahhh i see
peoplefolk: 25 year old male here
peoplefolk: mnd a younger male?
peoplefolk: =)
Wendy York: i'll talk to almost anyone as long as they're not a jerk
peoplefolk: awsome
peoplefolk: im no jerk
peoplefolk: i can be a horny bastard of course
peoplefolk: lol
peoplefolk: but no jerk
Wendy York: oh! well i'm a librarian!
peoplefolk: mmm
peoplefolk: fucking hot
peoplefolk: lol
Wendy York: hey now. i AM a lady
peoplefolk: awww
peoplefolk: dont like vulgarness?
peoplefolk: hehe
Wendy York: i don't think that's a word, mr.
peoplefolk: lol
peoplefolk: prolly not
peoplefolk: but i type whatever
peoplefolk: hehe
Wendy York: indeed
peoplefolk: im sure u understand it =)
Wendy York: about 90%
peoplefolk: lol
peoplefolk: good enough
peoplefolk: r u singlee?
Wendy York: singlee?
Wendy York: is that the slang kids are using these days?
peoplefolk: lol
peoplefolk: nooo
Wendy York: god i feel old
peoplefolk: i just put extra letters silly
peoplefolk: ive been usuing yahoo for ages
Wendy York: well duh
peoplefolk: same ol chat gets boring
peoplefolk: lol
peoplefolk: so i have fun with it noww
peoplefolk: lol
peoplefolk: unique
Wendy York: i'm just 30, not stupid lol
Wendy York: ohh unique
peoplefolk: lol
peoplefolk: 30 and sexy
peoplefolk: yum
Wendy York: do you like grilled cheeses?
peoplefolk: of course
peoplefolk: lol
Wendy York: what about with bacon?
peoplefolk: sure
Wendy York: potato chips on it?
peoplefolk: never tried that
Wendy York: it's super good
peoplefolk: yum
peoplefolk: hehe
Wendy York: you have to get the thick cut bacon though
Wendy York: not that wimpy bacon
Wendy York: you never want wimpy meat
peoplefolk: lol i see
peoplefolk: do u like big meat?
peoplefolk:
peoplefolk: j/k
Wendy York: sometimes but i usually have to split it with someone
peoplefolk: lol
Wendy York: like my friend and i...we usually split our meat because we just like to do that
Wendy York: neither of us really wants the whole thing
peoplefolk: hahha
Wendy York: so we split it
peoplefolk: hwo big is this meat?
peoplefolk: lol
Wendy York: well it depends.
peoplefolk: on?///
Wendy York: every meat is different
Wendy York: so of course it's going to vary
peoplefolk: truee hehe
peoplefolk: why not have it all for yourself?
Wendy York: well we enjoy sharing for one, and also there's just always so much meat
Wendy York: when we share, it fills us both up
peoplefolk: perhaps u can have my meat?
Wendy York: it's a win win
Wendy York: oh well we don't like to steal people's meat
peoplefolk: lol
peoplefolk: u can borrow
Wendy York: well we can't give it back
Wendy York: once it's gone it's gone
Wendy York: it's like how people say, "can i borrow a kleenex?
peoplefolk: lol
Wendy York: i'm like, "you can have it"
Wendy York: i don't want their snotties back
peoplefolk: r u home now? or in the library?
Wendy York: oh, home. our computers at the library don't allow chat and all that.
peoplefolk: ooo
peoplefolk: home alone sexy ass?
Wendy York: it's my day off
peoplefolk: hehe
Wendy York: oh no. my roommate is here.
peoplefolk: awww
Wendy York: oh she's nice
peoplefolk: can i still come by and get naked even though shes there?
peoplefolk: lol
Wendy York: um. *scratches head*
peoplefolk: ill just sit next to ya naked while u chat
Wendy York: well alicia is a stripper
peoplefolk: ooo nice name
peoplefolk: sounds like and old time name
peoplefolk: haha
Wendy York: well she's forty-two
Wendy York: but i don't think of that as old time
peoplefolk: ooo older than u huh
Wendy York: yes
peoplefolk: she as hot as u? hehe
Wendy York: i suppose. her boyfriend thinks so i'm sure
peoplefolk: damn
Wendy York: what?
peoplefolk: boyfriends
peoplefolk: lol
Wendy York: oh were you going to fly in from massacussetts and woo felicia?
Wendy York: lol
peoplefolk: hahhaa
peoplefolk: you and alicia
peoplefolk: lol
Wendy York: oh well i have someone hot on my tail as well
peoplefolk: alicia a busty gal?
Wendy York: not particularly, no
Wendy York: she's very tall and lithe
peoplefolk: i see, your the busty one hehe
peoplefolk:
Wendy York: busty?
peoplefolk: your the one id like
Wendy York: have you been reading pulp novels?
peoplefolk: lol
peoplefolk: yes
Wendy York: do you know what pulp novels are?
peoplefolk: no
peoplefolk: haha
Wendy York: well you sound like a character from one
Wendy York: especially with the drool
peoplefolk: lol
peoplefolk: which one?
Wendy York: what?
peoplefolk: nevermind
Wendy York: which pulp novel? they made like zillions
peoplefolk: may i ask what ur wearing right now?
Wendy York: no
peoplefolk: yes
peoplefolk: lol
Wendy York: no
peoplefolk: yes =)
Wendy York: no
peoplefolk: lol
Wendy York: i'm wearing toe nail polish
peoplefolk: mmm
peoplefolk: no panties huh?
peoplefolk: hehe
Wendy York: i never said that
Wendy York: you shouldn't assume
peoplefolk: lol
Wendy York: *whacks with newspaper*
Wendy York: manners!
peoplefolk: mmm
peoplefolk: wack my ass if u want
Wendy York: no
peoplefolk: yes
Wendy York: no
peoplefolk: ill just smack yours then
Wendy York: no
peoplefolk: when ur back is turned
peoplefolk: cant stop me
Wendy York: you should mind your manners and be a little more smooth
Wendy York: 'you need to learn finesse with the ladies
peoplefolk: lol
peoplefolk: not just run up to them with my pants around my ankles?
Wendy York: that would be a negatory
peoplefolk: lol
peoplefolk: works around here
Wendy York: oh! the "mass" of sluts?
peoplefolk: lol
Wendy York: plus you're lying!
Wendy York: you shouldn't lie to women
peoplefolk: haha i am lying
peoplefolk: i dont do that
peoplefolk: would love to
peoplefolk: but dont
Wendy York: *raises eyebrows*
Wendy York: do you know what a donkey punch is?
peoplefolk: ive heard diff things
peoplefolk: whats urs?
Wendy York: well, i don't give it the sexual connotation. i just punch you in the back of the neck
peoplefolk: lol
peoplefolk: nooo
Wendy York: yup
peoplefolk: thats not how it goes
Wendy York: well that's what i'm going to do
peoplefolk: meany
peoplefolk: that would hurt
Wendy York: liar
Wendy York: bad manners
peoplefolk: i dont want to inflict pain on people
peoplefolk: bad manners dont cause pain silly
Wendy York: yes they can
peoplefolk: not like a donkey punch in my damn neck
peoplefolk: lol
Wendy York: do you know how to whistle?
Wendy York: well. do you?
Wendy York: i enjoy a good tune that's whistled
Wendy York: oh alicia.
Wendy York: what a pussy
Wendy York: and he had bad manners
Wendy York: and he totally believed every word i said.

A few moments later...
peoplefolk: me?

Gioja and The Beautiful Music

I love talking to my friend Gioja.

Not only is she funny and interesting but we somehow seem to be on the same plane on a lot of things. I don't feel like such a square peg around her because she feels like a kindred spirit in so many ways.

We were talking about relationships recently. Gioja is recently married to a very wonderful man and I have just started seeing a very wonderful man. If you've read even a small amount of my writing, you, of course, know that this is something that I consider a gift.

As Gioja and I were talking, I was saying how time seems to be going by at a leisurely pace with my new beau. Nothing seems hurried and I don't question or overanalyze anything with him. It is what it is and I constantly find myself thinking, "Wow, that's so awesome he said that because that's exactly how I feel." Or vice versa. We were discussing something recently and he said, "Yeah, I was thinking about that, too." This makes me very happy that we are so aligned and on the same page, that I don't have to keep checking in and logging notes and pulling teeth and blah blah blah. It just works. The pieces fit. And so we are. However, on paper, one might scratch their head and say, "Well, gee, they're moving kind of fast." Sucks to them.

When I mentioned to Gioja how it seemed to be such a leisurely pace and yet in real time it really hadn't been that long, she said, "Yeah, I went over to Jared's house for the first time and from there I just kind of moved in." I can see her point. I grew up thinking there was this formula that everyone had to follow: boy asks girl on date, boy and girl date for at least 5 to 6 dates then go on weekend vacation, boy and girl are official couple, boy and girl start attending functions together as couple, boy and girl date more, (at this point a year has passed), boy and girl go on kind of large vacation together/move in together, boy and girl get animal such as dog or cat together, boy asks girl to marry him, girl flashes ring for year and annoys the hell out of friends but friends grin and bear it, relationship goes all to hell because girl thought ring was prize and didn't know marriage was the beginning not the end. This formula may work or seem to work a large part of the population. However, I think Gioja is onto something. She also prefaced her comment with, "Jared and I just skipped the whole dating thing." Not that they don't make time for date nights. They totally do and I think that's fantastic. They still "date" each other even though they are married. They court each other and basically think one another is the best thing since sliced bread. Possibly before that.

I think there is a part of the population that just doesn't fit into that stupid formula and we function just fine without it. Its deep-rooted presence in society, however, makes your life hell for years because why don't you fit into the formula? and where is your 90210 romance? and why don't the boys say yes when you ask them out, don't they like that? and why can't I find the right haircut or say the right thing? are all questions and ideals you grow up with and when it just doesn't work, you want to pull your hair out. When you finally meet the person you just fall in so easily with that you don't overanalyze things, spending time with them is not like a freakshow job interview and they don't belong in the annals of bad date blogdom. Instead, it's like Gioja put it. I just feel like I blinked and then there he was and now a bit of time has passed and I've adored every second of it.

Gioja and her husband make up 2/3 of the band The Green Typewriters (check out their Myspace page and definitely go to a show.) The other night I was at their house and they were just kind of jamming out and encouraged me to play with them even though I don't know how to play a musical instrument, yet. Their theory is that if you pick it up and play it, you might find a cool noise. I chose the xylophone. Whatever I sounded like, it didn't matter. I rocked that xylophone and I wasn't afraid of how I sounded. That's how I'm going into this relationship. I'm not taking any of my past rejections and projecting them onto this one. I'm going to rock it like I did that xylophone and see all the cool things that come out of it.

I'm making beautiful music and it's just going to keep on going.

You Can Always Believe a T-Shirt

Gee. I didn't think he would put it on a t-shirt. I'm really flattered! Rather than copy him and be stupid and get a "Jimmy Fallon was here" with an arrow pointing down t-shirt, I think I'll just put this on a t-shirt. That's right. Bragging rights.

Thanks, Jimmy Fallon. I heart you, too!

But seriously, folks...

I'm always fascinated when I see things like this. I am entranced by this picture. I know he bought it. Or some wardrobe person gave it to him to wear. Is it like buying a license plate for your bike? Were there Jessicas, Shirleys, Allisons, Annes, Kellys, Peggys, Janets, Susans, Melissas, etc. to pick from and someone, maybe even Jimmy himself said, no, no, nuh-uh, nope, meh, eh, no, not even!, nooo, etc. until he saw the only Wendy left on the rack? (There's rarely A Wendy on the rack, let alone any Wendy on the rack, just to let you know. I can't remember having a keychain with a tiny license plate with my name on it or a license plate for my bike as a kid or any sort of memorabilia except a Mickey Mouse ears hat but they sew your name on right there and well, my high school nickname was Weiner so I had them sew that on there. Trust me, you'll never find a Weiner. Well, maybe in Jimmy Fallon's pants. But that's another story.)

I don't know. Maybe guys are different or I'm different but I wouldn't wear a shirt like that because then I'd be constantly thinking, "People think someone named Wendy was here." I get that it's a joke but you know, who the hell and why the hell...Wendy? I'm especially fascinated because it's my name and I love things with my name on it, especially if it implies I was somehow sexually involved with Jimmy Fallon. There's not too many of us Wendys out there. Not as many as say the names I read off above. Or like other names. The Kaylees are taking over pretty soon. They're growing up pretty fast. But their name is too long to look good on a shirt like that. Take that, Kaylees! You will never be implicated in a sexual daliance with Jimmy Fallon. Also, he would get arrested because you're pretty young.

(Okay, I'll settle down now and stop being intense. Am I being intense? Michael told me I get intense, which I agree with on some points but now I'm trying to tone it down a little which is making me more intense sometimes. It's kind of like when someone who is freaked out by your driving is in the car and you drive worse because they make you nervous, thus proving their point to them but otherwise you're a good driver because you can relax.)

All I have to say is: I'm awesome! Let's hear it for the Wendys! Especially this one!! (I don't know other ones!)

Boolicious

I had another bizarre phone call yesterday.

This one was not a pocket call, though. Here's how it went down.

My Mom and I were in the car (I can't wait until June when I can start typing "I was driving down the street" again) and I remembered I needed to call Jeff Crabtree of Crabtree Brewing here in Greeley (you should go try the Serenity--it's the bestest!) I had forgotten to write down their phone number off of their web site though and information refuses to acknowledge their existence even though my friends and I are clearly aware of it. But I digress (I later found out it was in information under Mr. Crabtree's name after a lightbulb went off in my head.)

I thought I remembered it but couldn't remember if it was a 353 or a 356 prefix. I figured I'd try both. I tried the 356 prefix first and got a voicemail with one of those messages telling you that you have reached the number you dialed (thanks, Mr. Phone!) and I was like, nope, not that one and disconnected. I tried the 353 prefix and a Chinese man answered. A very cranky Chinese man. He was demanding to know who I was and rapid firing questions at me so fast that I became very intimidated and just blurted out, "I dialed the wrong number! I'm sorry!" and disconnected again.

Then my phone rang. It came up as Unknown.

I knew who this was. It was the 356 prefix doing the "Who is this?" call back. We've all done it to sate our curiosity but usually when the person doesn't answer we move on with our life. We don't leave a message. We don't...well, you'll see.

Unknown left a message. A long one:
"Hi..Someone from this number called my phone and I don't know you but you called me and this is Amy but you might have been trying to reach my husband David...soooo...um, yeah." She sounded confused but fairly cheerful. Although not the type of person I would trust. Amy sounds like she hides under her cheer. As was indicative in yes, our further interaction.

Amy sounded particularly weirded out by my hang up call so I thought I would call back and let her know I had mis-dialed. I figured it would be the nice thing to do. There was a conversation. A confusing one:
"Hi! Is this Amy?"

"Yes."

"Oh, this is Wendy. I called your phone earlier. I actually was trying to call another number and I just wanted to let you know. Sorry."

Sidebar: She is going to use a nickname for her husband which I never understood so we will just call him Boolicious.

"You weren't trying to get hold of Boolicious?"

"What?"

"Boolicious."

"I don't know what that is."

"Some people know my husband by that. It's his nickname. Boolicious."

"I don't know that person. I just wanted to let you know I had misdialed your number. Um. Have a good day."

"Ok."

"Bye."

...and Click.

My phone at this point was nearly dead so I turned it off as we finished our errands and grabbed a bite, etc. A couple of hours later, when I returned home, I plugged it in and turned it back on, I had two voicemails. One was from my neurologist's office confirming my appointment. Noted. Thank you, Caleb from Advanced Neurology.

The second went a little like this:

"Hey, this is Dave. Just returning your phone call."

It was Boolicious.

Christ on a bike.