Thanks!
I’ve seen a lot of the blogs I read using Wordle which makes a work cloud based off your blog URL. Instead of using my blog I used Twitter, as I wanted to use it as my background image there. When I saw the results I nearly fell over laughing. It’s like the Internet really gets me, way more than any of the guys I’ve dated. In fact I’m pretty sure it’s a sign I should marry the Internet, or at least go to second base!
I made the mistake of asking the guys I work with what their dream vehicle would be if money weren’t an option.
I naively hoped to hear they’d have a hybrid car, or convert a vehicle to natural gas in order to help lower their fuel usage.
I’ve never been so wrong.
“I’d have a Ferrari. No wait a jet. Or better yet I could drive my Ferrari onto my jet plane and use both.”
The other guy thought for a minute and then said, “Yeah, that would be cool, but I’d rather live on a tour bus. How great would that be? I could hire someone to drive me around. I’d have everything I needed. But no jet, I’d have a helicopter on top of the bus in case I needed it.”
I was trying to think of a polite way to tell them what idiots they were, when I heard them talking about jumping the tour buses. I changed the subject instead. It’s impossible to argue conservation with a room full of eight-year-old man boys.
I couldn’t find my phone anywhere this morning. I looked for a good twenty minutes and then in a moment of defeat sat down next to Daisy on the couch, where I found her snuggled up with the phone. I think it’s safe to say Daisy is an Apple dog. She never once tried to spoon my Blackberry.
Seeing mom-and-pop shops close are always a little difficult to see, but this particular instance is downright heartbreaking for me. Take Five was my grandma’s favorite place to take her grandchildren.
As a child I spend two weeks out of every summer in Murray with my grandma. No brothers, no parents, just grandmother and granddaughter bonding time. These two weeks were my favorite time of the year. Twelve of those fourteen days were exactly the same: each morning my grandma and I would drive to Take Five for her morning Coke and a milkshake for me. I ordered vanilla every single time. My grandma, bless her heart, tried time and time again to talk me into ordering something more exciting than vanilla, but I always refused. I liked the comfortable feeling of the exact same taste day after day. Vanilla was my safety net.
Since her death I’ve learned that the reassuring flavor vanilla is still great, but sometimes you need to spice things up with another flavor. Last weekend my brother Ben and I went to Take Five for the last time. I ordered my milkshake and this time, just for my grandma, I ordered chocolate, and you know she was right. It was the best fucking milkshake I’ve ever tasted.
My friend Matt is ruining my life. Seriously. I probably see that little man bitch three times a year. I have no idea what he’s doing with his life, yet he knows all about my life since he reads my blog. He’s so familiar with my blog he pointed out which friends I’d forgotten to include in my character section.
To shut Matt up here’s his bio:
I’ve known Matt since 1997. The first time we met he introduced himself and my response was something like, “Why the fuck do I care?” He’s hated me ever since. And by hate I mean he secretly likes me, but insists on giving me shit every time he sees me to retain street credit. His hobbies include biking, wearing chain wallets, and reminding me of every crappy guy I’ve ever dated.
I made the mistake of letting Matt taking our friend Awna for a ride on my scooter last night. He purposely broke it because my night ended like this:
Driving home my scooter just stopped. I called my brother, Ben, and RLO to rescue me. Realizing it was too late, and too dark to fix it properly they loaded up my baby and drove her away.
Obviously I’m blaming this all on Matt. I think it’s the right thing to do, don’t you?
To read my column this week for In Utah This Week click here!
Some of my favorite people are in SLC visiting this week: my friend Scotty and his girlfriend Kelli are here from San Diego.
Kelli has been thinking about buying a scooter so I took mine over to show her. After riding around for a few minutes she was hooked, and ordered one as well.
Finally someone to start a scooter gang with! Sure, living so far away from one another will make for impossible weekly rides, but our scooter girl tattoos will still look cute!
All summer long I’ve been making excuses why I can’t go swim in AK and Mrs. AK’s swimming pool. The truth is that I haven’t felt comfortable in a swimming suit since 1996. I know I’m not obese, but I’m certainly not fit enough to walk around in a two-piece.
I’ve wanted to attend some personal training sessions for years, but truthfully I’ve always been too self-conscious, But this year I’ve decided to get over myself and do what it takes to finally be comfortable with my body. I looked into the options my gym offers, but was less than impressed. The Yuppie suggested his friend Tracey, who is a personal trainer. I knew he wouldn’t recommend someone I would hate, mostly because he knows I’d bitch about it until his ears bled.
I met with Trainer Tracey this week and loved her. She wasn’t intimidating at all, yet fit enough to kick my ass when I need it. Which I will, since I’m lazy and really hate to sweat. The first session was a body and fitness assessment. Saying I was pleasantly surprised with my results would be a complete understatement. When she told me my body fat percentage I wanted to kiss her hard ON THE MOUTH!
My body fat was significantly lower than I expected. I didn’t believe my results since they qualified me into the “athlete” category. I asked her to double check, but she got the same results. I have bruises from those stupid skin fold calipers, but dammit those are the best bruises I’ve had in quite some time. Yeah, I’d kill for some decent sex bruises, but that’s another post for another day.
Trainer Tracey and I decided to focus on endurance and toning, which I have a feeling will kick my ass since I was sore the day after a simple fitness test. I’m forcing myself to stick with this for the next couple of months. If only to reward myself with fitness prizes. No, I’m not kidding. Doesn’t every girl who loses a few pounds deserve running shoes covered in Barbie pink glitter? I thought so.
I wanted to be reminded of the insanity a lifetime of loneliness can cause, so RLO and I went to see Harold and Maude play at the Gallivan Center last night, as part of the Sundance Outdoor Film Festival.
Seeing one of my favorite cult classic movies play outdoors on 35 mm film is the perfect way to spend a summer evening. RLO, however, would disagree. Which may have something to do with the older woman next to him farting very loudly. He sure can’t seem to escape gassy people and gassy dogs lately.
We took the scooter so I could practice driving with a passenger. I’ve mastered riding alone, but have a little trouble still with someone on the back. Usually I just make RLO drive me around town, but he’s finally decided it’s time I learn. Really I think he’s just lazy—add that to the list of reasons to hate him.
On the drive back from the movie RLO said, “I’m riding bitch on a pink scooter, holding a pink blanket. Now all I need is a box of tampons and I’ll be the textbook definition of neutered.”
I laughed, but had to stop and think, which looks worse: RLO riding bitch on a pink scooter, or RLO driving a pink scooter.
Internet, what do you think?!
