I should just get a t-shirt that says "I did not get any action today."

So you know when you go take a nap in your car on your lunch break and then you find a bottle of men's cologne under your front seat (because why not, really?) and you play with it because you can't possibly find something weird in your car and not play with it but then the top breaks off and you spill men's cologne all over your sweater and then you go back to work and your hair is all mussed from your nap and you smell like men's cologne and everyone is like, "Um, where have YOU been?" with a raised eyebrow and you're like, "Nowhere!" but your story sounds very suspicious and everyone does not believe you when you're all, "Seriously, people, it has been a while but thanks for bringing it up," and they just smile all knowing-like and you go back to your office all dejected because you know your co-workers think you're kind of a hoochie?



Yeah, I hate that.

No, this is not just an excuse to post a Tina Turner video. (But also yes it is.)

This weekend we celebrated our dear Lizzie's birthday with a hoppin' party. Of course, the real fun of the night was when we settled in for one of our famous after-parties. There we were chatting about the night and consuming as much leftover food as possible so there would be less to clean-up (yeah, 'cause we're thinkers) when I attempted to begin a nice friendly game of Chuck a Powdered Donut at Your Roommate's Head.

Because I'm an adult.

Things, as they often do in our house, escalated quickly and within seconds a full-blown donut war raged. The fight came to a head and I found myself pinned to the kitchen floor as Liz shoveled a handful of donuts down my shirt. I did what anyone might do when they're backed into a corner: I grabbed some donut crumblies from inside my blouse, clamped my hand over Liz's mouth and shouted "EAT IT! EAT IT NOW!"


Yes, that really happened.


As I undressed for bed (and shook a cup of donut pieces out of my jeans) I couldn't think of a single person in the world I'd rather get into a wild pastry fight at 1 o'clock in the morning with.


Happy birthday, Liz. Thanks for being an idiot with me. You're simply the best.

Smarty Pants

All around, I think I'm a pretty bright girl. I read newspapers. I do crossword puzzles. I watch Jeopardy and can get about half of the answers right in the first round and at least a few in the second. I know stuff.

But there is one thing that I can't believe I, a capable human adult, have not learned. I have no idea why my nose runs when it's cold. Not a clue. I know why it runs when I cry. I know why it runs when I eat spicy foods. When I'm sick, I can say, "Well, my nose is running and it is very uncomfortable yet I still have the presence of mind to know why it is running." But cold? Nope. No idea.

I asked a guy I was dating once about it and he was all, "Eww. Gross. Why do you think about these things?" all condescending-like and all I could think was "Seriously, dude, if you don't know just say so."


We broke up shortly afterward for obvious reasons.

Where I've Been While I Haven't Been Here

out of sorts
out of control
out of options
out to lunch
out of sight
out of mind
off kilter
off my rocker
off color
off the grid
off the record
in a funk
in a mood
in the headlines
in a fog
in a rut
in my special place
in the clink (not really)
downtown
down and out
down for the count
down the tubes
on the flip-side
on my last legs
on the case
on the rebound



And what's the best stereotypical, meaningless, vapid cure for an out-of-sorts girl?

new shoes

new haircut (complete with pouty face!)

And Handsome Keith showing up on your doorstep with this doesn't hurt either.

Oh, I do not deserve that boy.

A typical conversation between us:

HK: Hey, I'm going to do or say something incredibly sweet and caring.

Me: Cool. Hey, let's play a game called Point Out Each Other's Glaring Personal Faults. I'll go first. Also, you do not get a turn. And can you remind me how pretty I am?

HK: Okay. And you are very pretty today. And here are some fancy chocolates.

Me: Yay!

(Repeat.)









So . . . . . . . . . how've y'all been?

Ooh, look what I found on the Internets!

They're salt & pepper shakers on the end of swords. Swords!


What the what? This could be the one thing my kitchen has been missing!

I'm totally in love with this idea. Now I want to put everything on the end of a sword.

"Hey, Kim, can I borrow your white-out?"

"Why, yes!" swish, swish, clang, clang (<--that's what a sword sounds like) P.S. You can buy them here.

And now for something gross

Are you saying exactly what what most people say when they walk into my office?

"WHAT is that THING on your desk?!"

Calm down, guys. It's just a tea bag. A soggy, used tea bag slowly leaking its juices all over my work area.


I'm a tea-drinker. I love me a nice, hot cup of tea to sip while I'm working. And, y'all know me, I'm about as inattentive and absentminded as a person can get, and when I'm in the middle of an email or a conference call (or, let's be more realistic here, a blog post) what wins? Carefully lifting the steamy bag out of the cup and bringing it to the trash can while not letting it drip on me or the surrounding carpet? Or grabbing a handful of Kleenex and plopping it down on the desk where I'll forget about it in a couple minutes and then go to reach for something and plunk my elbow into a squelchy blob of moist paper?

That's right, I said moist.


I am one classy broad up in here.