One-liners make me very happy

I love one-liners.  There is nothing better than a great one-liner–a really well-timed awesome one-liner.  They are the best.

In high school and college, my away messages were constantly filled with one liners.  My profile consisted of one liner montages after any significant event; prom, new year’s eve (aka my birthday–I TOLD you I plug that); a particularly, uh, interesting, pong tournament.

I was thinking that it would be so fun to write posts about some of those.  I mean, they’re pretty funny.  Then I realized–they’re really only funny in context–as one-liners.  So I thought I would do something else to showcase them.

It’s contest time!!

I’m going to post this again in a more permanent spot but I wanted to make sure everyone saw this.  So here’s what I’m thinking.  I’m going to give a list of some of my favorite one-liners.  I’m not telling you who said them or what their context was.  Then you guys will all write something (300 words-ish) really hilarious (for a prize to be determined at a later date but I promise it won’t suck!) and you will include, somewhere in the story, the line.  Then, after all of the entries are in, I’ll pick a winner (bonus points if you come close to getting the context of the one-liner right!).

Contest will start September 1 and end September 5.  But I know it’s Labor Day weekend and chances are no one will be reading tomorrow or Monday anyway so I want to give you guys enough time.

The one-liners (which in all fairness may be updated by the 1st…so check back to the official rules page when it goes up!):

1. Apple hoarding bitches!
2. G’head.  Roast your chicken.  And I hope you enjoy it.
3. I’m going to have an aneurysm trying to suck this thing out.
4. I have to pee.  But not in this bed.

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Well?  What are you waiting for?!  Get writing!!

la

*UPDATE: CONTEST RULES ARE POSTED!!!*

I’m sorry some aspect of my genetic code has caused you to hate me.

I’m putting something out there.  I don’t want to call it a warning, per say, but I’d advise that it be followed nonetheless.

Do not. Call me. A skinny bitch.

Unless, of course, you want me to start acting like one.

Lately, I’ve been getting called a skinny bitch.  Lately, I’m not allowed to talk about food, offer food to people, mention that I’m going to get food.  I’m not allowed to say that I weighed a lot after my freshman year because the dining hall food was so gross I ate nothing but cheese steaks all year.  I’m not allowed to say I put on pounds after turning 21 because of the, uh, adult beverages I’d started to enjoy nor can I mention that I finally lost the beer weight after graduation.

And do you want to hear something?  I’m over it.

I’m sorry that I’m Italian and that my whole family is teeny tiny and we just happen to have really great genes.  I’m sorry I don’t pound 6 packs every night after work or eat fast food for every meal.  I’m sorry that I don’t drink the equivalent of a 2-liter of Diet Coke every day.

I’m sorry that I never had to join Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig or Nutrisystem.

I’m sorry that I like salads and that I’m not big on breakfast so sometimes I only eat 2 meals a day, and one of them is made entirely of things found in gardens.

I’m sorry that sometimes for lunch you see me eating things like this:

Yeah.  That’s a 6-pack of bread sticks and a piece of black tie mousse cake from Olive Garden.  And yeah, I ate the cake first.  (And yeah, I was so craving chocolate that day that I didn’t remember until I was halfway through the cake that I wanted to take a picture of it just so I could make this point!)

But do you know what you didn’t see?  You didn’t see me save the bread sticks for dinner.  You didn’t see that I ate only 3 of them with some hummus.

You didn’t know that I used to work at Elle, where even a size 6 was at risk of being called fat.  That the stress of moving to the city and trying to get a job and then working someplace where I was literally running every day resulted in me dropping to a size zero and still feeling chubby some days because I wasn’t a negative zero and slinking around in heels and tights and mini dresses with cinched waists that showed off my fabulous figure caused by eating only 1 bowl of steamed broccoli a day.  But where, at the same time, people who were under 5′2″ were allowed to be a normal weight for their height.

Which, in case you are wondering, is what I am.  So I’m sorry that I’m short and therefore skinny.  But I am NOT a bitch.  I don’t brag about my weight.  I eat like horse most of the time in the attempt to put a few pounds on so I can stop shopping at Delia’s.  I love pizza and ice cream (lactose intolerance be DAMNED).  I put bacon, cheese or ranch dressing on everything I can.  I make pasta AT LEAST once a week.

And you, pointing out that I’m skinny, is the same thing as me pointing out that you are less so.  And I would never do that.  Because weight is always, male or female, old or young, a touchy subject.  Kind of like age.  And I don’t need you to remind me that once I get closer to 30, I’ll start to look like you.  Because I know that.  So that’s why I am taking care of myself now and watching what I eat.  And I’m sorry that you never did, but don’t make that my problem.

Because I would not say that I’m a “skinny bitch.”  I’m skinny, sure.  But if you really want, I’ll start playing the part of the bitch.  I just don’t think you want that, do you?

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*NOTE: I’m sorry that this was so preachy because I generally prefer to amuse you guys rather than get all “pity me while I’m on my soap box.”  But sometimes, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, and this was one girl who just had enough and thought it time to say something.  There, I’m done now.*

All that glitters pretty much sucks

(Boo is posting today because I’m swamped at work and he’s just that sweet!  Plus, he’s got some anger issues regarding certain craft products that he needs to start working out….)

Alright, it’s time to pull this car over and talk about something a little more serious.   We have a growing epidemic in the world and it’s about time that someone put a stop to it.  I’m talking about glitter here people and I’m sick of it!

I know what you’re thinking: “How could a man possibly be upset about glitter? It makes us girls look so cute!” or “Dude no girl has worn glitter since like…9^th grade, get over it!”  False!  Look, even my senior year in college, El Girlfriendo was finding glitter on me when I got home from work, so there is obviously a bigger problem here that we thought.

I guess that’s where this all starts.  Do you have any idea the questions I got coming home from Chili’s with glitter all over me?!  I’m not saying she was worried about my sexuality (of course a guy wearing glitter DOES cause some alarm) but perhaps wondering who I was gallivanting around at work.  The answer to that question is still: NO GIRL WEARS GLITTER IN COLLEGE.

That answer is of course a lie.  Every girl who has ever worn glitter at any point in their lives is still wearing it.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to get rid of glitter?! You can wipe it with your hand, or wash your face…IT’S STILL THERE!   All of the glitter on earth was made at the same time.  Then someone decided that it was awesome to put it IN EVERYTHING.

Great craft idea? Elmer’s glue and put a little glitter on it! Then they had the glitter pens, and then they started making make-up with glitter to make girls shimmer.  Look…girls already shimmer, it’s called sweat and that is ALL. THEY. NEED!

Guys, you remember coming home in high school from your first date.  You said you went to dinner and then to a movie. Then your brother asked you why you had glitter all over you.  Yeah…you were busted.  I like to call this the “Mark of the Chick”.

It doesn’t stop in high school though.  I headed back to Penn State last year and took some of my friends to a football game.  The highlight of course was going out the night before, showing off all that State College has to offer.  We decided to stop by the local grocery (McLanahan’s to those in the know) to pick up the evening essentials; some of us needed cash, the roommate’s friend needed smokes.  As I stood there in line I looked at the cashier and knew instantly that I hated her.  I couldn’t find any reason to hate her; in fact it was the first time without knowing someone or even talking to them that I instantly hated them.  Then it hit me….  The previous fall a friend from work had a Halloween party.  I went as Quailman, underwear and all.

(Yeah, the 80’s camp counselor is Lauren)

This girl was at that party and she was in costume.  She had ears on and was wearing all black and a tail.  Apparently I was angry that night, for whatever reason, and asked her what she was in a snarky tone: “Let me guess…you’re a ‘Sexy Cat’.”  I thought it was a fair guess.

She proceeded to empty something into her hand and said “NOPE! *poof* I’m a rat! Now you have the plague!!! Hehehe!”

Yeah…SHE BLEW GLITTER IN MY EYES!!!!  I screamed and I’m pretty sure that I cursed.  A LOT.

She had already run away…and lucky that she did because I would have killed her if my friend hadn’t taken me upstairs.  I tried as hard as I could to get the glitter out of my eyes, and let me tell you. THAT BURNS.

So there you go folks.  A public service announcement that glitter NEEDS TO GO, or at least shouldn’t be used as warfare.  Now if you’ll excuse me I have glitter to wash off my face…I have no idea how it got there.

It’s not over till I say it’s over!!

It’s Monday.  And you are all a little sad that the Olympics are over, even if it’s only because now you no longer have a way to feed your illegal crush on Shawn Johnson without looking like a creeper.

So, for one last Olympic fix….

I have a dream…

I said “HAVE” not “HAD,” calm down, Chris. And yes, I will FOREVER reference that post when I use the word “dream” in my posts. You’re welcome for the traffic. Which is mostly all from people who read your blog anyway. Dear lord, have I digressed! Where was I?

Oh, that’s right. I have a dream. My dream is to someday be rich enough to hire a masseur to live in my house. Well, he doesn’t have to live there, but if he can just be on call, that would be great.

I’ve had this dream for years now. It would be heavenly. Think about it. Oh Sven (because he has to have a name like that or he’s not going to really just Go To Town on your knots), I’m feeling a little tension in my left shoulder. Be a dear and fix that please. And in would come Sven, with his tool belt of lotions, oils and other comforting things that masseurs use, and he would lay you down on the little table and rub your shoulder and all would be well with the world.

I think about this dream every time I sleep badly. Last night I was too tired to even hang up the phone and fell asleep, on my side, with my phone still laying on the side of my face. SO LAZY. And of course, it freaked me out and I thought I fell asleep talking to Boo and called him back when I woke up and probably made him think that I was losing my mind.

Anyway, so sleeping all wonky on my pillow last night produced a knot at the top of my neck that is the size of Canada. And so I started wishing Sven would come around.

But as I’ve grown, I’ve added other elements to this dream and have decided that I really would like it if Sven came with a full spa team. Facialist, manicurist/pedicurist, the whole deal. All for me. Whenever I snap my fingers sound the alarm blow the air raid siren ask nicely.

I mean really, is that so much to ask?

I like lists

Since I’m fairly sure no one stopped by this section while it had its very own page dedicated to it, I’ve decided to just post it and make it a regular thing.

That being said, I like lists. Granted I am happier with paper lists than I am with electronic lists, but nonetheless I love a good list.

As I mentioned yesterday, I went to Barnes and Nizzle and got myself a book. Some people were pretty upset that they were left hanging about the title of said book (Sorry Matt! I told you you’d find out soon though!). I hope you all see where I’m going here. No? Okay. I got “My life in lists” It’s basically a blank book filled with list prompts. The type of book that I would normally feel really lame for buying myself but since I am a working gal who deserves a frivolous treat now and then I did not.

My plan is to bore you with share my lists every so often and maybe post some that seem like lists you would want to make on your own. My first list however is one that I stole borrowed from some other fabulous bloggers. It seemed to the most appropriate way to start things off.

So, here it is:

101 THINGS YOU PROBABLY DIDN’T NEED/WANT TO KNOW ABOUT ME

1. I’m a huge nerd. But I’m stealth. I’m a stealth nerd. The term is mine and I coined it 7 years ago. If you know what it means to be a stealth nerd, you’re probably one too.
2. I’m short and I like it. 5’ ½”. I also get super pissed when people forget the ½…it’s SUPER important!
3. I am addicted to ChapStick and never leave home without it.
4. I think that cheese makes everything better.
5. I also think that bacon makes everything better.
6. I collect spoons. I probably have over 100 by now. I also have probably not visited half of the places I have spoons from.
7. When I was younger I had an uncontrollable afro (we’re talking Diana Ross style). Now that I like love know how to handle accept my hair, I’m worried it’s going to get thin.
8. My 2 best friends in the whole world are my mom and my boyfriend.
9. I love finding money in pockets, purses, etc. so sometimes I’ll leave a couple bucks behind at the end of the season so the next time I wear/use whatever it is I’ll have a pleasant surprise.
10. I have turned down 3 hugely prestigious companies for internships/jobs.
11. I have an ongoing love affair with school/offices supplies. Staples is my mecca.
12. Chuck Taylors are the best shoes ever. I have at least 5 pairs.
13. I can do a really excellent Snoopy impression.
14. I once flew a (real, not remote controlled) plane into a turkey vulture.
15. I have acid reflux. It sucks.
16. I went through a phase in middle school where I painted different things on my nails every Sunday night. One week was a solar system and each nail a different planet. One week was flowers. My left hand always looked exponentially better than my right.
17. I am scared to death of E.T.
18. I am a walking pharmacy. At any given time there is stuff in my purse to cure heartburn, migraines, cuts, dry skin and chapped lips (see #2).
19. I like Chinese food. Especially General Tso’s, “no hot” (see # 15).
20. I am slightly obsessed with Friends and quote the show as often as possible.
21. I am super OCD about necklace chains. If I see the clasp, I get twitchy. If I am not allowed to return the clasp to its proper spot behind the neck, I freak out.
22. My first cuss word was in 5th grade. It was “shit.” I said it after I got knocked down by the tire swing. I was the last in my class to cuss.
23. I write upside down. Translation: left handed, “above the word” posture but with my right hand.
24. I have terrible handwriting. Possibly as a result of this bad posture.
25. I have thrown my back out at least 4 times.
26. I am a Christian.
27. I rarely ate in the dining commons in college, thus one of my major sources of sustenance was Tostitos and Queso dip.
28. I love to read. I didn’t really do it from 8^th grade—senior year of college. I blame this primarily on The Scarlet Letter.
29. I have boyfriend named Boo. Someday, when we’re a little bit older, we’re going to Mr. and Mrs. Boo. I can’t wait.
30. I rarely drink. This is a change from college.
31. My drink of choice (if I have to have a mixed one) is a gin and gingerale.
32. I am a very picky eater. I’ve gotten better since I was a kid but I’m still not great.
33. I hate long distance relationships.
34. I love to sleep. Napping is especially awesome.
35. I have a sleep mask that makes me look like I am a chicken wearing glasses.
36. My high school TV class remains one of my best memories.
37. I am a bit of an old man (see #13, 23 and 29).
38. I’m a good kid. I have my fair share of shenanigans. I won’t list them b/c my parents read my blog.
39. My birthday is New Year’s Eve. I will never let you forget it.
40. I’m a huge believer in the power of a cracker. Particularly a Ritz Cracker.
41. When in bed I have to have all of my limbs on top of the mattress. Nothing can hang over. If I pause while getting into bed and my foot is on the ground for longer than necessary, I totally freak out. I think this stems from my childhood.
42. I prefer nights in to nights out.
43. I love a good Shirley Temple.
44. Despite my issues with it, food is important to me. I am Italian. This comes naturally.
45. I weigh less now, after dropping all of my beer weight, than I did in high school.
46. I would kill for long hair but I always get super annoyed with it about 6 weeks after a cut and I’m back at the salon.
47. I love to shop.
48. I drink at least 1 cup of tea almost every single day.
49. I went to Penn State so I’ll always bleed blue and white.
50. I danced in a 46 hour dance marathon (THON) at PSU. It was 46 hours of no sitting and no sleeping and it was the best experience of my life.
51. I am a very forgiving person.
52. My biggest fear in life is losing the people closest to me.
53. I am horrible at keeping in touch with people. Even my good friends.
54. I have rarely touched Instant Messenger since I graduated.
55. I have my aunt’s and mom’s vintage Barbies and think they are the coolest things ever.
56. My 2 front teeth are fake.
57. I want a dog SO badly but golden retrievers aren’t exactly “apartment dogs.”
58. I love pictures. I am that annoying friend when we go out that’s saying “ooh, wait, let me get a picture!”
59. I want to write a book someday.
60. I never got strep throat before college and I haven’t had it since. During the 4 years I was there I had it at least 6 times.
61. I’m the only member of my family not born in New York, but I was in the same nursery (at the same time) as LeBron James–we’re birthday twins!.
62. My biggest fantasy in life is to have my own spontaneous dance break. Just like in the movies. Everyone knows the moves but I am the lead.
63. I have mood eyes. They change from grey to blue to green, depending on what I wear. They are the prettiest colors when I am pissed as hell or crying my eyes out.
64. I am the subject of the “save the baby!” story told at every family gathering. This is the only story told at every family gathering.
65. I got a “freedom piercing” on my tragus to celebrate breaking up with an overly-emo boyfriend. Now I love the earring so much I don’t want to take it out. I worry this will be an issue when I get married.
66. I worry about things unnecessarily. I also worry so far in the future that by the time the thing I’m worried about comes around, it’s usually not an issue. I need to work on this.
67. I spend a lot of time of Facebook.
68. I should be ashamed to admit to half of the shows/movies that I watch. I’m not.
69. My first job was at Bruegger’s Bagel Bakery. To this day I haven’t found bagels that top those which is why it kills me that they don’t have one in NYC.
70. I hate nature. My idea of “roughing it” is a Motel 6 with no cable.
71. My go-to outfit is jeans, chucks, basic tee (American Apparel) and a cardigan. (See #1). This is my “adult interpretation” of the hoodie I rocked in college.
72. I think sweat pants are amazing. I would spend all of my time in them if I could. Specifically Boo’s pair from high school that I confiscated.
73. I am massively vomit-phobic. I’ve gotten better (thanks, drunk State College inhabitants) but not much.
74. I like to make lists–paper lists. There is something extraordinarily satisfying about crossing things off a list.
75. I always stand up for the little guy. Even if it’s not my battle, I’ll fight it if I don’t think the victim will. Except fashion victims–sometimes there’s just no excuse.
76. I might be (read: am pretty sure I am) a little judgmental. I need to work on this.
77. My mouth gets me in trouble. I tend not to filter all the time.
78. I have a temper. Once I actually upset someone so much they threw up. I am really slightly not proud of this.
79. At any given time I have at least 3 people in Facebook limbo.
80. I prefer calling to texting. Texting is a pain when making plans.
81. I call myself a “writer” but for whatever reason, I can’t keep a journal to save my life.
82. I love greeting cards. I could spend hours in Hallmark.
83. I HATE sappy greeting cards. I don’t mind getting them but I refuse to send them.
84. I am a pack rat. I save absolutely everything–some things b/c I feel like I will need them again. Some because “I will totally put it in a scrapbook someday.”
85. I like to scrapbook but currently don’t have the space.
86. In high school I gave a “how to” speech on shaving my legs. I wore scrubs to class and shaved my legs on the top of a desk.
87. I am the queen of procrastination.
88. I hated summer camp. Despite being called “Summer’s Best 2 Weeks” it was probably my worst. Partly b/c of #32 and #70. Partly b/c of #89.
89. I wrecked my right middle finger twice. Once at camp when it got smashed b/c 2 wooden swings and the nurse thought that Popsicle sticks, tape, and Dixie cup full of ice would make it feel better. Once in college when the entire knuckle was, uh, injured.
90. I have a visual memory. When I used to study I would memorize where the stuff was on the page to help me learn it.
91. I had a hate/hate relationship with Ritenour (health center at PSU). They were only helpful once (see #92).
92. I hate Campbell’s Soup At Hand. Sophomore year, a can of S.A.H. + an old school microwave = a massive, flames still shooting out of my hand, melted an entire bucket of ice water in 25 minutes, couldn’t walk the 300 yards back to my dorm b/c I was so drugged up, burn.
93. I was in a co-ed service frat in college. Those were some of my best and worst memories from college.
94. I still miss the bar I lived above my senior year.
95. I’ll go to any event that results in a t-shirt. This includes but is not limited to: bar tours, beer Olympics, and free concerts (even if I’m volunteering).
96. I was on the speech and debate team in high school. I competed in Humorous Interpretation. You can say I was a loser but I qualified for State’s and National’s.
97. I wish I could sing. I used to be able to. I was the centipede in our 5th grade production of James and the Giant Peach and I was the only solo. By senior year, I was only allowed to sing 1 note on my own and I messed that up.
98. People have called me conceited before. I like to think of it as a “healthy ego.” Maybe that does make me conceited?
99. I am happiest about my appearance when I am tan. Okay, THIS makes me conceited. Or at the very least, shallow.
100. I have a car named Conan but b/w college and moving to the city, I haven’t been with him for longer than 2 months in the last 5 years. I miss him. He’s a very pretty car.
101. I am surprised as hell that I finished this list but I refuse to cop out on my hundred and first thing so I’ll go above and beyond and add #102:
102. I am inappropriate and wholeheartedly intriguing. And don’t you forget it.

Gristedes chicken*

After work yesterday I felt the shopping drive kick in.  I had 20% off coupons burning a hole in my pocket.  But it was to no avail.  Sadly, Old Navy is just, well, not what it was when I was 13.  Or maybe the issue is just that I’m not 13 and I work in fashion and now I notice EVERY LITTLE DETAIL in clothing construction and it makes me really picky.  Either way, I couldn’t find anything worth cashing my coup for, so I left in a bit of a “well, that Herald Square chaos was all for naught” funk.

I soothed my shopping despair by stopping at Barnes and Nizzle and picking up a book (because yes, I AM a nerd!) and then walking the last few blocks home.  Of course I remembered that I needed groceries so I stopped at the first Gristedes I passed.

I was shocked at how much nicer it seemed than my own Gristedes and was about to be really jealous.  Then I got to the deli counter. “I’d like a third of a pound of muenster and a third of a pound of chicken breast,” I said.

I proceed chatting w/Mama B on my phone/waiting for my deli order.

Then the deli guy goes, “1/3 muenster and 1/3 swiss?.”

Uh, no dude.  “No no, chicken breast.”

I give him a pass.  It’s loud.  That’s possibly an easy mistake.

I continue waiting.  He comes over to me and asks again, “1/3 muenster and 1/3 swiss?”

Are you kidding me?  “No no, CHICKEN BREAST!”  I make sure to really enunciate this time.  He pulls the muenster out of the case.  He walks back over to me.  “1/3 swiss?”

WHAT?!  “NO! CHICKEN BREAST!!”  I can not believe this guy.  Really, dude?  After asking me THREE TIMES you still can’t tell the difference b/w “chicken breast” and “swiss”?  I mean…one of those requests has an entire extra word in it!  Mama B starts laughing so hard that I start laughing, which is always risky to do near the people preparing your food.

Finally I guess third time really was the charm because he did manage to pull the chicken breast out of the fridge case.  He grossly over sliced both products but at least he charged me for the 1/3 I’d requested vs. the 3/4 he sliced.

And he provided me (and you by association) with today’s blog fodder, so I guess I can cut him some slack.

*It’s my blog and I’ll use really lame puns if I want to!

I would have seen the movie anyway

**WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR STEP BROTHERS!!**

That being said…

Boo and I went to see Step Brothers this weekend.  When I first saw the previews, I resisted.  No, I thought, this is just going to be another stupid Will Ferrell movie.  How many of those can possibly see? It was like the studio execs could read my thoughts because after that the only commercials I ever saw were commercials for Step Brothers.  Correction: I saw commercial.  That’s right.  The same one, over and over.  You know the one I mean.  Ferrell is in the process of burying John C. Reilly alive.  When Reilly protests that his dad will miss him, Ferrell assures him that “He’ll NEVER know you’re gone!”  Okay guys, you got me.  That’s kind of hilarious.  I’ll go see the movie.

Boo and I watched patiently, laughed out loud when appropriate and generally enjoyed the movie.  We were a bit upset when we realized they skipped the whole dialog about “if you feel something in the middle of the night, it’ll be me, gnawing off your ankle” or whatever the trailer showed.  But that was okay.  We could have gotten through that.

Then we came to it.  The scene where Ferrell is burying Reilly.  We held our breath, ready for a Big Laugh and…..nothing.  They cut it!  Boo tried to assure me that it would probably be in the unrated edition, but really, what the hell?  There’s no reason for that line to NOT be in the movie.

If this were a one time offense, I could let it slide.  Even a one movie offense, since, technically, it happened twice.  But no, this is a recurring theme of suckiness.  A few months back Boo and I rented Dan in Real Life primarily to hear that angry teen yell out “YOU ARE A MURDERER OF LOVE!”  Watched the whole damn movie and didn’t hear it once.

That’s strike 2.

And finally, many moons ago when my bff Cait and I went to see Music & Lyrics on Vday (she was by far my best pre-Boo Valentine!) we were waiting for Drew Barrymore to mock Hugh Grant’s water bed by saying she was getting seasick.  Never happened.  Bought the DVD, checked the deleted scenes (and no you losers I didn’t buy the DVD FOR the deleted scenes…but as long as I have it, why not check?) and nothing.  No line anywhere.

What’s going on Hollywood?  Do you think I won’t be interested in your movie if you don’t have absolutely hilarious and quotable lines decorating your trailers?   I mean sure, that may have been my initial thought about Step Brothers but you know what, movie execs?  I would have seen the movie anyway.

And let’s be honest, the most quotable lines didn’t even make the trailer.

Summer makes me SAD

I know.  I’m a lunatic for saying this but it’s true.  Summer makes me feel like I’m suffering from SAD.  Last night I walked into my bedroom around 8:00 and it was well on its way to dark outside.  It’s still August!  That’s not okay!

This weekend, all I want to do is go to the beach.  Saturday’s forecast?  Thunderstorms.  That’s not okay!

Boo is going to spend a week at the beach with his family.  He is going to come back all tan and fabulous.  I will still be pale.  That’s not okay! (Not the beach part, the tan part.  I’m not a bitch, I’m just a little shallow sometimes).

Summer bums me out.  I spend all fall, winter and spring waiting for it to be summer.  Then summer gets here and I remember that I don’t actually like it.  It’s a thousand degrees outside every day but I sit, shivering and bundled up in my office, longing for the sun.  The weekends, my one chance at a tan redemption are always raining.  And the weekends that aren’t? I’m inevitably committed to some indoor activity.

I’m a total downer today, I’m aware.  But I’m sitting here, knowing that I have a half day today and bumming hard about the drop in temperature and the cloud-filled sky.  So I’ve got a plea to make:

Mother Nature, cut me some slack and stop being a bitch and you can snow for an extra week this winter.

Deal?

I need to find a new sushi place

I have a sushi place in my neighborhood that I love. The food is cheap, it’s really good and they deliver in under 15 minutes. Literally. I barely hang up the phone and they’re at my door. It’s incredible.

Scratch that.

It was incredible.

I now need to find a new sushi place. They didn’t burn down or get condemned or anything like that. They’re just being kind of bitches.

A few weeks back Boo and I got sushi from Hokkaido. (That’s right, I’m telling you who they are so that you can all walk by and throw water balloons at their windows and leave banana peels on the sidewalks in front of their restaurant so that no one goes in. Or, so, you know…you don’t go.)  Normally, I pay cash. It’s just easier. Plus, I get the same thing every time so I know how much I’ll need. Well, neither of us had cash that night so Boo just charged it. No problem there.

Then, last Monday, I ordered dinner.  Same thing I get every time.  Salmon/avocado roll and a tuna roll.  I’m a little kid, I can only fit so much food in my stomach.  They asked me my phone number and my address info pulled up, same as always.  I think I’m the only person ordering with my area code.  Then they asked me “cash or charge.”  I thought this might be the case and very clearly said CASH.

So 13 minutes later the doorman calls to tell me my food is on the way (I TOLD you they were quick!).  I grab my cash and open the door.  The guy hands me a receipt, which was strange.  “Um, no,” I say, “I said I was paying cash.” “Oh okay.” I paid.  I shut the door.  I called Hokkaido and told them to make sure that it didn’t get charged because, as I spelled out for them when they asked me the first time, I paid cash.

I called Boo to give him the heads up that he may be seeing a charge.  I wasn’t fully confident that they had canceled it.  All was well until last Thursday when he checked his balance and saw the $12.45 from Hokkaido.  Super.

I called them back (and yes, their number WAS in my speed dial) and let them have it.  Or I tried to anyway.  The conversation went as follows.

Hello?

Yeah, hi, I called earlier this week about canceling a charge for my dinner.  I paid in cash.  I told you I was going to.

Yeah we canceled.

Um, but you didn’t.  It showed up on my bank statement.

No, we canceled.  You check back tomorrow.

Well, it isn’t going to just go away.  You didn’t cancel it.  You needed to.

No, we canceled.

*SIGH* Okay, well, can you cancel the number?  I don’t want it to show up when I call.

Yeah, we canceled the number.

No, not the charge.  I’m asking you if you canceled the number.  Deleted it from my account.  I don’t want it there anymore.

**REPEATED THIS PART OF THE CONVERSATION 3 TIMES BEFORE FINALLY GETTING….*

Oh, no, not canceled.

Well…could you cancel it then?  That’s kind of what I’ve been asking for the last five minutes.

Hold on please. *Insert attitude here.*

Then I hear her talking to a coworker and the only words I understand are “card” “charge” and “cancel.”  But I don’t need to speak another to understand that she was PISSED and to understand that half of those words were probably “bitch.”

Um, I can hear you talking about me?!

*Pause*

We canceled.  Anything else?

No.  No thanks.

Sure, they asked “anything else” but I’m pretty sure that what they meant was “next time you call, we’re giving you the oldest tuna we have and we’re slipping in the puffer fish–but we won’t slice it correctly.  Have a good night!”

Seems like it might be time to find a new sushi place.