French Taunting

Only the best theatrical scene in cinematic history....  I love British humor!

Things Boys Don't Understand

 I love Jenna Marbles.  She is one of my comedic heroes... and as I prepare to rest my head... and my beat to crap body tonight; I felt I needed a good laugh.  She curses WAY more than even I do.  (Before I cleaned it up... per my Daddee's request) So fair warning... Not safe for work... but hilarious all the same!  And gentlemen readers/glance-ers... this is all true.  ALL OF IT.  Ladies think about sharing it with your significant manly other.  Just a suggestion.

xoxo Goodnight Loves, ~A

Manic Monday

Good morning my dear ten readers!  It is just another Manic Monday... I am sitting here drinking my delicious protein uh... Milk... and about to devour Pineapple Chobani, Greek Yogurt.  (Only the greatest thing to happen to yogurt... well ever.)  Laundry, more fun filled carpet shampooing... let's see if I can manage not to bust a hose in it this time and Krav class later.  Hopefully no face plants this time.... Anyways... Does anyone remember how HOT Suzanna Hoffs used to be?  Favorite Bangles song ever? Or Walk Like and Egyptian...? Or Eternal Flame? Hmmmm... Tough call... 

Happy Birthday to Manders

As a horrible person, I forgot to wish my best friend Manders a Happy Birthday.  I basically suck as a human being... who forgets birthdays?  Saying Happy Birthday on Facebook seems so crass and cursory... I much prefer a card or at least an email.... Flowers and things that sparkle or are leather and come from Coach are also readily accepted.  (with zeal) However I am still pretty broke... and my ten readers are just not coming through with those care packages we discussed.... and now that I have "ads" on my page.... not one of you has even clicked on it so I can get my two cents out of it.  That's fine... this isn't about me really.... it is about the other Amanda who's birthday is today and she is the ripe old age of 24-ish too.  Everyone, all ten of ya, raise a pint and wish her a Happy Birthday the best way I know how.... Ladies and gentlemen... Paul McCartney.
xoxo ~A

Rules for Online Dating

How to Lose a Lady in 10 Seconds or Just Really Quickly

I've been dating since I was fifteen. I'm exhausted. Where is he?
~Kristin Davis

Spring has sprung in the South and it looks like it will be beautiful! Spring always brings with it an air of love potential for blooming (like the damn flowers constantly having air sex and thus screwing with my allergies) and of course the opportunity for rebirth after a dismal winter.

Alright I will admit I have dated online more than any one normal person should. In my defense however, you have read my entries on what happens when I meet someone through friends, or at a bar. So bearing that in mind, dear ten readers, I am sure you can excuse my alternative methods. At least I hope you can either way I don’t guess I have really have a choice… so I probably should not give a rip what you think; but you keep reading so I guess I kind of have to care what you think otherwise I should just go back to talking to my dog. He usually starts snoring, farting, or licking his bits or some combination thereof so I am suspicious he is actually listening. I should also mention that the one time I believe I truly was in love came from an online relationship, so they can’t all be bad right? I tried to “Snopes” that statistic that one in five relationships begin online though I can find no solid evidence on it other than a really great marketing ploy. As a communications major, I salute you Match.com.

It is with all that in mind that I will tell you how to turn off a potential date in ten seconds or maybe a bit more if you seem viable for a minute and then… not so much.

The first thing people should bear in mind when setting up an online profile is that they should supply a recent photo, when I say recent I mean it was taken at MINIMUM in the last decade. Seriously there is nothing worse than showing up for a date and being approached by an elderly gentleman (old enough to be your grandpa) and him welcoming you to the date. How do you get out of that? He is like your grandfather… You can’t kick Paw-Paw in his baby-makers and take off running. This is especially creepy if his “screen name” was something like “Luvinforyou”.

Which leads to the second important part of profile building; name selection is key. Usually on your name alone I will decide whether to even open message, if that is what I have received and I am not just trolling pictures. Recently I got a message from a service I had forgotten I even had a functioning profile on; so I, of course, out of complete curiosity went and had a looksee. The first message in my “mailbox” was from a guy who called himself “Dr.Nothing”. Yeppers, that right there is a big negative ghost rider. What am I to glean from you calling yourself “Dr.Nothing”? That tells me you are a nothing… and have a doctorate at being nothing. Or perhaps you have a PhD that you printed off one of those sites and truly a Doctor of nothing. Anyway you go at it that is a poor choice.

Any screen name about Satan, Aliens, LARP, or being a Good Guy makes me immediately question anything you have to say. Usually I will read these messages for sheer amusement, but rarely reply unless I see more hilarity ensuing. For example, I messaged a guy back that had a name along the lines of “Klingon4Life” and he queried back as to whether or not I would be willing to learn the Klingon and the Elvish languages. K4L, said that he found that hot and fully expected any mate of his to speak in each one around the house and teach them to their offspring. Two things here Mr. Worf (yes I grew up on an extremely healthy diet of sci-fi so I am allowed to dork out sometimes), beyond the fact that you are counting on your date to learn two imaginary languages; you also brought up having offspring in the second email. DELETE.

When forming and shaping this public image of yourself, just as you would prepare yourself to go to a bar or wherever you preference is for mate seeking. Pictures speak volumes. First there should be one. As previously mentioned a recent one, one that reflects you, not one taking in your bathroom mirror, by your mother/grandmamma, not taking from that weird above your head angle ie: the myspace photo, any Photo Shop work should not be obvious, and a picture of you with your previous girlfriend (or boyfriend, yeah that’s happened) scribbled out with MS Paint is no bueno. That picture of you holding your nose like a pig, is funny fun times for you and your damn idiot moron friends, but is not going to sell me or any other normal functioning female on you. Having a large quantity of drugs in the background of your picture, legal or illegal, leads to a lot of awkward questions; drawing a beautiful halo above your head with MS Paint causes me to delete without even reading a word. If your spray tan is darker than the best dark chocolate, and you were Irish white to begin with… no go. If you are orange like some kind of whorish Oompa Loompa, your collar is “popped” you are wearing a Ed Hardy, Affliction, or a shirt with a deep V cut neckline, and show yourself wearing sunglasses at night, then I can only assume you think you are from/a huge fan of the Jersey Shore and I am not interested.

The only thing worse than a profile with no information on it is one that reveals too much; yes you should tell about yourself. You should never, however, tell me how your “hoe ex grilfired cheated on u wit every guy on da block”. This type of information tells me two things one, you cannot spell or have suffered some kind of brain injury or perhaps think you are Lil’ Wayne, and you are clearly not in the shape for a new relationship because you are still dealing with the wounds from the last one. I can see the constant text arguments and stalker ex “grilfired” showing up at all hours/places trying to create havoc. Clearly you two belong together and I am not interested in standing in your way. Also, side note: “hoe” is a gardening tool, my good sir; I do believe you meant “ho” which would be a shortened slang version of the word whore.

Do not tell me you live with your parents in your profile, even if you do. I cannot judge you there, but do not advertise it until you know I am okay with it. I do not mind because I know how it happens but other girls not so much. Do not tell me that you have seven kids and you love them so much and loved each of their momma’s for giving them to you. Although this clearly appeals to my ticking biological clock and my instinct to pick a virile mate, it logically makes me question you decision making skills and possibly the health of your penis.

Any rant on political views, religious ideologies, and/or drugs is an immediate turn off. It is fine for you to mention you are devout Roman Catholic but to go off on other religions being unholy or going to hell, as a Baptist I am probably not going to respond. Political views usually best saved for a few dates in and only if you are the type of people that have the ability to agree to disagree. Any mention of being a KKK member or a Nazi and I am out, the same goes with “I have a tasteful facial tattoo.” There is no such thing as “tasteful” facial tat. Sorry.

Finally, if you come across my profile that clearly states I am heterosexual and you are a lesbian or bisexual woman and I have not indicated an interest please for love of Sweet Baby Jesus do not message me and ask if I would like to take a walk on the “wild side”. I have no problem with your choice; I do have a problem with you trying to change mine. It makes me feel a bit icky. No hard feelings, I just do not swing that way.

Lou Reed…. You have to love this song… because it gets stuck in your head. HA HA Song headache.

So there it is the big issues I have found with online profiles… I did not even get to the actual writing of messages. Although I think you could clearly glean from my writings that I expect you to speak English and not some version of it or text speak. What has happened to gentlemen and the digital age? Where are you hiding? Please find me! (And some of my poor friends who haven’t yet lost the nerve to continue with this online dating thing)

xoxo ~A

1343

Princess of Poo and the

Queen of Crap

Some of my friends that read this blog may already be aware and some of you who are paying attention and not just scanning the blog or looking at the pictures or just clicking on the page because I harassed you into it; I have Crohn’s disease.
There I said it. Out loud. Literally I said it out loud as I typed it; I typically type out loud to myself because I am that annoying person who does those sorts of things. Griffin, the dog, seems to love the sound of my voice as he snores and licks his dogly bits. I think he finds my voice soothing. Anywho… I figure the sooner I put it out there the sooner it is no longer an issue and you can run away screaming now. I have pooped my pants as an adult… more than once. None of those times were intentional; and in all but one case not a full on baby pant load.
Nobody likes to talk about poo, dookie, cow patties, poop, dung, excrement, manure, feces, crappy craps and/or just shit. I was one of those people. Talking about poop rates right up there with discussing my recent pap smear; if you are male then that’s like talking about your last prostate exam. No one wants to discuss those sorts of things; bathrooms have doors for a reason, right? Once Crohn’s enters your life there is no avoiding this topic; ever again. In fact the topic becomes kind of main-stream. You start discussing poopies with everyone; the nurses, the doctors, the medical assistants, your family, my dog as he sits and stares at me… because to him a closed bathroom door is an obstacle meant to be overcome.

The first time I ventured on a date with a guy after learning of my Crohn’s disease and still in deep denial about the entire ugly thing. I had that weird crampy feeling hit. The one I now know means to find an alone place. This guy was really kind of cute, he had just bought the SUV we were riding in and he was super proud of it. A bit too freaking proud of it if you ask me; it was really nice… it had heated and cooled seats. I did not even know that was a possibility, but apparently leather seats can have holes tiny holes punched in them in order to force cool air through the seat. Pretty damn nifty on a hot day.

We were stuck in traffic; the bad traffic of the disorganized roadways of the south mixed with a shitload of people who think they are NASCAR drivers and a bunch of Yankees who think that the horn must be mandatorily honked at certain intervals. I have yet to figure out what this does, or how it affects traffic but they are running around out there. You know by the finger they hold out the window at you when you do not return the “horn greeting”. Maybe that’s what it is… a form of communication that we more genteel Southerners have yet to learn? Hell, what am I saying I am sitting here typing about shit.

I lean across the rather impressive console of the massive SUV that may in fact have had a bathroom somewhere in it, trying not to touch the knobs and buttons and thingies on console and very politely asked this young man to pull off onto the shoulder. There were a copse of trees nearby and I had at least thought ahead enough that I had some wipes in my purse. My thought was we would pull off I would excuse myself in my best drawl and take off running for the trees. He looked at me as though I had lost my damn mind. In fact he said
“Have you lost your damned mind?”
“No, but I need to use the ladies room.” I replied
“There are no ladies rooms out here, you will have to wait.”
More cramping; I knew waiting was not going to be an option much longer. I had yet to broach the subject of this ailment with this guy because as I previously mentioned no one likes to talk about crap. Also I had not yet figured out quite how to explain it to people, most people have never heard of it.
Crohn’s is an auto immune disease, in which the immune system spends all of its time attempting to kill off your digestive system. You can be affected anywhere from mouth to ass; it is painful. It is a precursor to cancer. The disease varies greatly from person to person; my Crohn’s is not another person’s Crohn’s. Due to its relation to immune systems anything can affect it… stress, anxiety, diet, illness, depression, sudden weight gain or loss, allergies… you name it. Yes it is spelled Crohn’s because it is named for Dr. Crohn that discovered it. That is it in a nutshell. I invite you to visit the Crohn’s and Colitis Foundation of America’s website for more information if you wish to know more.

So I cross my legs and start praying… Sweet Baby Jesus please either let this young lad pull off the roadway, allow me to be able to hold it, or teach this mother trucker (see I cleaned that up for you) a lesson he won’t soon forget. God heard my prayer.

Moments later, my guts made a noise that is truly unforgettable. It sounds something like a dying animal, crossed with the howls of labor. The look on the SUV guy’s face was fucking priceless. I had then resigned myself to what was about to happen and that a second date was not gonna happen. Hell the first date hadn’t even happened yet. Then it happened.
I could no longer hold back the tide. I just sighed; it was a bit of a relief. Sheer terror and sweat was all I could see on the guys face as I filled his beautiful air cooled leather seats with well… poo, lots and lots of poo. Some of it even got on his console, carpets, and I think the little door cubby hole. The scream of horror that erupted from his mouth was not one I will repeat here, and you know that must be something for me to be embarrassed to say it. He then pulled off the road. I sat in the seat smiling smugly as he came running around to my side and opened the door; I assume he wanted to better assess the damage. He did not even have his permanent plates yet, this was a very new vehicle. He asked me why in all that is sacred and holy would I shit in his car. I corrected him and said
“No, I have now shat in your car. I did ask you politely to pull over.”

The tantrum was worth millions. I only wish cell phones at the time had video cameras like they do now. I could be a billionaire. Nothing could be done there on the shoulder of the road. So he rolled down his window and drove like a bat out of hell up the shoulder and took me home. I waddled out of his car; hoping to keep as much as I could still in my pants… I really had done as much damage as this asshole deserved. I had also managed to shift my weight around enough that I am fairly certain I got enough in his “air cooled seat holes” that his car NEVER smelled of new car again. I offered to go change and help him clean up. It really was the least I could do; I had did crap in his car. He just yelled some more non-repeatable explicatives at me as he sped away…. I hosed myself off and waddled into the house. Cleaned myself up, washed those trousers more than was likely necessary, and rarely ever wore them again. I just threw the shoes away.
I have never really told this story to anyone. Who would? I guess that is why this is a blog called Confessions…. So there it is my loves, I have shat myself before.

Worst possible parody ever… but better than the “Poop Song”…. so… here you go.

On a side note, in this still quite small town word got back to me that he eventually married a preacher’s daughter. When she told him she was in labor he wanted to wait just a bit to make sure. (Do you notice a learning curve here?) Well she gave birth in the back seat of his next new SUV… God does work in mysterious ways.

xoxo~ A 

PS: Learn more about Crohn’s and Colitis at www.ccfa.org

It has to start somewhere...

Some great Dubliners traditional reels and a jig (one everyone should recognize) enjoy! It is March!