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Showing posts from January, 2012

To Infinity and Beyond . . .

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I'll go ahead and say it, I don't like space.  As in, outerspace, the Moon, Mars, etc.  It makes me feel panicky.  There's just so much of it.  Not to mention that whole "no gravity" thing.  What is that about? I read somewhere once that $52/year from each American goes to support NASA.  I want my $52 back.  Seriously.  If it were up to me, we'd all just stay put right here on Earth.  (And don't bother to go all off on me about how backward-thinking that is and how if Christopher Columbus had thought that way, we'd all still be believing the world was flat and the moon was made of green cheese. I don't care.) So you can imagine my surprise and dismay when earlier this week, Republican Presidential Candidate Newt Gingrich declared that, were he President, he would colonize the Moon .  And that's when he permanently lost my vote (not that he actually ever had it to begin with, but that's neither here nor there).  Not only would he colonize

The Nose Knows

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To add to the list of things you might not believe about me, I used to play rugby.  My sophomore year in college, with nothing else to do (besides classes, I suppose), I decided what the hell, I'd join the rugby team.  At 5'6" and 110 pounds, I was a natural for the hard hitting, tooth spitting sport.  Not.  But I didn't care.  I figured if I acted tough enough, I'd be alright. I faithfully attended practice each afternoon in preparation for our first game.  Never mind that I didn't really understand the rules.  Never mind that I couldn't catch the ball.  Never mind that I was probably the smallest person on the team by about 30 pounds and had to roll up the sleeves on my rugby shirt because it was too big.  I was determined to be the next big thing in rugby. The day of our first game was a grey, cloudy Saturday afternoon.  I was ready. I even got myself a black mouthguard for the occasion -- it was extra badass.  My friends, including my fairly skeptic

Chronicles of a Brain Trust (Part 2)

The Brain Trust was always a cause for entertainment (more here ).  Whether she was dressing inappropriately, crying at her desk, or making grand pronouncements about how smart the women in her family were (no kidding!), she never failed to get attention.  Take for instance the time she got caught for skipping out on Metro without paying.  Really. Apparently days (or weeks, who knows?) prior, Brain Trust had lost her SmarTriip card, but did that stop her from riding?  Not a chance.  She would sidle up behind someone and walk quickly through the fare gate without paying.  It's a dirty little trick, but it happens.  One day, after sneaking through the gate, she was nabbed by a transit cop.  And according to her, this is how the conversation went: Cop:  Can I see your SmarTrip card? Brain Trust:  I lost it. Cop:  It's illegal to go through the turnstile without paying.  I'm going to need to see some identification. BT:  I don't have any. Cop:  Then I'm going

Chronicles of a Brain Trust (Part 1)

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Have you ever met someone so stupid you can't believe they made it adulthood without getting hit by a car, falling down a flight of stairs, or drowning in the bathtub?  This is the story of just such a person.  She was a short-lived coworker of mine not too long ago. We should have known what we were getting into when she showed up to her interview with the nightclub stamp from the night before still on the back of her hand.  Her outfit was also covered in cat hair.  A young woman in her mid-twenties, the Brain Trust, as she came to be called, seemed personable enough, but it was pretty early on that I realized she was fall-down stupid.  She sat in a cubicle just outside my office, so it was easy for me to hear her phone calls and the various sniveling fits she had during her short tenure in my office.  Another coworker, who was lucky enough to be seated in the cubicle next to hers, and I got hours of entertainment from her antics. Our office is fairly relaxed, and we don't

There She Is . . .

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A friend recently sent me a video of this weirdly crazy child from the trainwreck TV show Toddlers and Tiaras .  For the unintiated, this show is about (what else) toddlers who are making their way through the beauty pageant circuit.  I've never actually seen the show, but based on snippets from news stories and viral videos, the nearest I can tell is that these little kids are dressed up like washed up 35-year-old divorcees on a two-for-one whiskey sour night at the local watering hole or Dolly Parton (I can't really tell which), and set on stage to perform karoake to "Stand By Your Man" or some such.  Evidence below: They're just little kids, right?  They can't help it, right?  But their mothers (and in few cases, fathers) can, right?  First of all, these parents have named their children things like Eden, Kylie, Kayleigh, Ayzia, and Kinnadie, and "encourage" them to compete in pageants such as "America's Trezured Dollz" (it's

Two for the Road

Two years. Hard to believe.  There's not a lot to say, but I feel I'd be a little remiss if I didn't at least memorialize another year of blogging with a little something.   It's been a fun, if at times bumpy ( stinky , squishy , sweaty , slightly obscene ), ride.  But I'm in it for the long haul (or until that book deal comes through), and I hope you'll stick with me as I do it. Happy Blog-iversary to me!

Let's Not and Say We Did

I have recently seen several stories about reverse bucket lists . . . lists of things that people  don't want to try before they die.  And in these days of trying everything, living life to the fullest, tasting the rainbow, and what have you, I love the idea of being honest about stuff you'd rather not do. And so, dear readers, without further ado, here is a list of things I would not like to try before I meet my maker: Hot Yoga -- a dear friend of mine introduced me to yoga a couple of years ago, and I could not be happier about that.  It's freeing, challenging, and relaxing all at the same time.  But what I cannot bear the thought of is doing yoga in 105° heat. You can keep your hot yoga.   Climbing Everest -- I mean really.  I climb four flights of stairs just to get home every day and that's about enough for me.  People die doing that shit.  You can also keep your Everest.   Visit all 50 States -- with apologies to the ones in the middle, I've been to 30 of