Blonde Story Short

There's this man I know...that asks me this question often. 90% of the time I have an insightful (and super interesting) explanation. I believe the other 10% of the time, the questions are irrelevant. Today's "Why do women do that?" proceeded one word: Questionnaire . Women have this habit (a beneficial habit in my humble opinion) of analyzing every situation as if they are required to fill out a questionnaire on it. There's the rating : "What did you like the most ?" "What did you think of that particular part?" "I'd say it could've used a little work...what did you think?" These are usually enthusiastically asked first, with the hope you'll join in on the fun. Then the reflection : "I would like to see more of that next time." Reflect with caution (if reflecting outloud). We usually have a subtle lesson to teach at this point. And finally the summary : These usually start with words like "Overall"

Any legitimate plot for revenge should include a good old ding-dong ditch. And this one did... After 2 1/2 teaspoons of NyQuil (directions say 2 but I figure I should make it worth my while) I was nestled in my bed, enjoying my recently dry-cleaned duvet like any lady would. Given the circumstances, I planned on upwards of 8 glorious hours of sleep. I'm a firm believer in a 1 to 1 ratio as far as sleep and work time are concerned. Around 3:15 this morning an unusual (unless you live in my awesome apartment building) scene woke me...and it was a scene . Somebody was putting on quite a show, and the soundtrack was unlike one I have ever heard...especially directly above my head. While I did NOT care to entertain any thoughts or visions of what was occurring a vinyl floor away, the 5-7 silent minutes between sessions, did lead me to conclude a few things: My upstairs neighbor apparently moonlights as a porn star No matter what situation I'm in (or situation I'm forced to be

I'm not talking about what I call myself when I'm on a Jillian Michaels workout kick. I'm talking about the piece of machinery in my office that I curse for it's size and inability to blend in with my decor. For whatever reason, for many reasons really, I feel like I'm having a panic attack this morning...not like my standard freak out where I go around with a bottle of 409 and hand towels, but the kind where I feel like I'm losing air and having to take slow breaths to avoid passing out alone in my 3rd floor office! I don't have the usual outlets here at work, although I suppose the cleaning lady wouldn't mind me throwing some of her Ajax in the lounge sink and giving it a good scrub. Instead of that perfectly normal way of dealing with things(?), I wrote down all of my cares...some of them are don't-cares but unfortunately still take up head-space...and threw them down the pike of my shredder. This has a two-fold purpose: 1) symbolic. deep right?

So many anecdotes, so little time. My deepest apologies. I'm sure your life choices and philosophies depend on these short stories. I'll try a little harder. For the ten minute block I have (that of course continues to be interrupted, leading me to immediately minimize this screen-remember that quick reflexes are important to survival) I will share with you a secret power we all possess. It's called the power of song. What? Yes... One of my favorite people (who keeps me on my toes, and one-ups just about every story I have to tell; fave in many ways) boldly shared the following: "Every time you wear those boots I think you should be on a motorcycle." Internal: Um...okay. That's not exactly what I was going for (for the past 2 years that I've been wearing this particular pair!) External: Begin singing. I literally began singing. Don't ever underestimate the sweet sound of an alto. Result: laughter. Who can continue acting smug while they're laugh

Welcome to a segment I like to call Are you kidding me? Sometimes, Are you FREAKING kidding me is actually more appropriate. Just depends on the day and matter at hand. I used to experience many, many AYKM's in my personal life...they've mostly evolved into more work-related scenarios. Although I haven't been in my current position (not upright in an Ergonomic chair, but current occupation rather) for all that long, I have been here long enough to make the following snide question pretty...snide. When a certain student came into my office trying to get away with something (typical) she put her best foot forward with a prompt insult. "Hi...Sara right?" You can insert your name and repeat the question (which really isn't a question) if it'll provide you a more vivid picture. Did I mention there was a French accent involved? Yea. Whole 'nother level right? While I snootily laughed and confirmed my name, I felt the desire for a bit of a stronger reacti

I'm not called or chosen...to be office-bound I would consider the idea of a glorious home office; perhaps one that had a plush white rug in the center, classically matted photos and fantastic lighting. Are you getting a visual of what my future could hold? Other than that, I'm just not into the whole thing. A good indicator of my feelings is that a scenario that includes me changing an ink cartridge (like yesterday for example) almost brings me to tears. I sort of feel the same way about scanning documents and file cabinets. While many nuances of the administrative lifestyle bring up not-so-enticing emotions inside me, I am fairly certain that the greater part of the issue is due to the fact: I just don't like being told what to do. Ever. I know. Tough break. It's not that I'm a Princess or anything (if you disagree you can just keep that to yourself), I've just never been in a position where I really feel like I'm someones subordinate (there'

1. Black bra under white cami- I'm sure the one person I see at work today will think it's cool 2. Side braid, so "in" even for non-hipsters 3. Learning things- in the graduate class being taught next door to my office...Sarah and Abraham, Classic 4. Struggler's lunch- cherry tomatoes, turkey meat and pudding did the trick today. Is that an almond in my desk drawer? What a convenient protein. 5. Lots of emails- piled up from taking a Friday off. You WISH you went to Comicon...in a vintage Batman tee 6. Opening up Google calendar to see what the next weekend holds, I hold fast to a work-to-live philosophy. 7. "I miss you already" texts...don't judge my luuurve 8. Reviewing online bank statement (what do you propose I do on a 30-minute break?) 9. Standing afternoon meeting 10. A blog post at ten 'til 5? yes I think so.

since I have.... blogged. Here are just a few excuses: 1. By the time I leave work (five or ten minutes before I really should) I don't want to even LOOK at a keyboard...ever again. Remember the good old days when you adored Mavis Beacon for the sweet sweet gift she gave you? And you couldn't even wait to practice your new a,s,d,f, strokes during an IMing sesh...those days are gone. I mean this with everything in me: Due to Office Job 2010 (still going strong, thanks) I despise typing and generally loathe being on a computer for any reason. Despise...and loathe. By the way, I realize most have been office-ing since the early 2000's. Wow. 2. Blogging at work, while a totally respectable habit, is very difficult. Not because I feel guilty (c'mon live a little) but because people are always bugging me for something and this makes it hard to let my writing juices flow. How am I supposed to share nuggets of wisdom (and perhaps sarcasm?)with the world when I'm also rece

This week I realized that times are really changing. I'm at my absolute whit's end with my neighborhood that I once would've given my right pinkie to live in... The lack of a designated parking spot often leaves me carrying groceries for a minimum of two blocks-unacceptable, especially if I've already shredded with Jillian Michaels that day, I don't care for extra cardio, thanks. I have absolutely NO patience for hobos (at one time I respectfully referred to them as "the homeless"). The audacity to not only ask me for my last hard-earned dollar, but to also ask "why not" when I say no? Seriously? That does not sit well with me for the next time...and I know there'll be one! Not so long ago the sounds of Thursday night ruckus outside my window might have led me to throw on a flannel, take out the trash and see what kind of trouble I may participate in...now, I'm peeved that the noise has interrupted my sleep, since I've been in bed

As always I find myself being a struggler... I was feelin' pretty cool. No recent migraines, done PMSing (some are more involved than others in that whole thing, lucky), most body parts are of normal size, good things like this in my world... Until I woke up Monday morning, with the Shoulder/Back version of Taco-Neck-Syndrome...late 90's reference, you love it. I stumbled around the apartment whimpering until it was time to head to the Doc's. And I'd like to just mention quickly, that if I was using Obama-care (do you see where this might lead?) there is just no frigen way I would've seen my fantastic Doctor the same day, not even within the same day, it was within the same hour! And did I mention he knows how to adjust a back even though he's not a Chiropractor...or maybe he was giving me a hug? It helped regardless. I left. Back adjusted and a prescription in hand...for a muscle relaxer. Yes there may be a pattern here lately that includes me taking drugs (

It's been a while, but it's happened before... where I share just how crazy I am. Like when I put my shoes underneath the coffee table instead of in their designated slot in my hanging shoe organizer. Just nutty...or letting an issue of "People" just hang out on the couch, instead of where we all know it belongs- in the magazine holder next to the floor lamp. Oddly enough I've been told I'm actually a pretty good time (this is where I subtly convince you that I'm just a little crazy, or that it's just in the privacy of my own home, maybe you'll think it's endearing???)...It just comes down to this: At the end of the day, I can't be expected to be content when my throw pillows are in any other position than those in which they live. It's just not going to happen. Have I mentioned I'm really not a fan of germs and large crowds? Judgy wudgy was a bear... Without (hopefully) sounding really nuts, I will say that being in a relationsh

Since I find myself in a fragile state, once again, the only real exercises in which I'm allowed to partake are 1) cycling, which involves going to a gym and 2) "Speed" walking. Too much speed could cause some damage, so careful I am... Just not careful enough. While I try to limit my time alone on the streets of the 'Mont, I couldn't help but go for a speedy walk on this past bright Saturday morning. Before getting to the meat of this tale, I'd like to throw it out there that I don't love dogs like everyone else in the world...go ahead and judge me. Are they cute? Yes, most of them are. Do I think they're cute enough to pick up their fices and hair that sheds all over my tile and pillow cushions? Mmmm not really. (Do I hate it when people ask a series of questions then answer them? Definitely).... With my "Today's hits" station in my ears and a spring in my step, I walked as closely to the street as I could so as to not bother (to ign

It seems that the too-good-to-be-true "paid" op back in the Fall...and I don't mean op-portunity, was in fact TOO good to be true. While my battle against the Insurance company continues, a new what I would consider dramatic, event has occurred. Good 'ol Dr. Del Mar (the only asian I've ever had a slight crush on, that is until he said "cheers" during our hand shake) informed me that we'd need to "go back in." And so...we went back in. "We" being an anesthesiologist, a surgeon, an OR nurse, someone who poked me with a needle two or three times, and myself. This round was half the original surgery, literally. One pro to this invasive surgery, aside from a week at the boo's for some all time care-taking, has been the ability to keep down...the pain meds baby. I will never be someone who is enthralled with the idea of going through life hazily or as my mom would say, "like you're under water." I do however see the

While this is something I loooooathe, when the word around is attached to it, I seem to be an expert at running. And may I just say that I only use the word looooooooathe for things I really take issue with; running, pumping gas, men who use straighteners...I think I've made my point. How the constant running around happens with out the morning coffee a normal human is allowed to indulge in, I'm not sure. Being a struggler like myself means that coffee (delicious decaf nonfat lattes excluded), too much red wine, and chocolate...bring on migraines. Some sort of sick joke I know. There are females who make entire meals out of these three decadent treats! Gimme a frigen break. The amount of running around town that goes on in a given week is just too much, especially given how I feel about having to pump gas, I'm confident you see the connection there ;) Somehow every single day (except the beloved Sabbath which is usually spent in a nap-filled haze, on a very sweet man&#

Writing about Brad (and his friends) is one thing. Blogging about American Idol is quite another. However, above and beyond my own will, I have been sucked in, for today. Just today. Mama had an email waiting for me this morning. It was important I call her as soon as I could. Reason being, at 4:00 sharp, her votes for the American Idol Office Pool are due. It is vital that she have all the information before submitting her ballot. Who better to help with the analysis of this pop culture phenomenon...than her super hip 20-something? False. Well, false that I'm hip (except for the fact that I do wear an occasional bump-it and skinny jeans) but true that given a task of this nature, I could assist and could NOT resist. And so my morning in the office consisted of none other than some AI Research. Read some blogs, youtubed it; copiously noting how many "hits" each idol's video received, like any good fact finder would. I even had some intellectual conversation on th

Yea I've been a gym-goer lately. Thanks for noticing. My latest and greatest (for now at least) way to work it out, "it" meaning the womanly figure, is to hit up my gym's group exercise classes...otherwise known as Group X, catchy right? Don't you immediately feel compelled to join in and see what exactly their X-factor is ? Being back to two jobs (tutor extraordinaire recently added to my resume) makes it a little difficult to fit in cardio-tastic workouts like I should . I mean sure I could do some bicep reps at home while eating my typical stir fry din and watching Gossip Girl, but is that really gonna burn fat? Unlikely. Notice I didn't question whether or not it would make me sweat... Group X Classes, so hardcore, keep me coming back for more because of their three vital factors: 1. In-doors and in-PointLoma 2. Located on the top level of the meat mark..., I mean gym 3. Enticing for anti-social behavior Here's the deal with number one. Once the sun

Some call it "The Bachelor." This season it may as well be called Brad and friends*...in my opinion at least. I guess the girls have names and identities too (beyond emotional brunette, insecure blonde and southern bell). Since I learn so very much from this deep, thought-provoking ABC hit, I thought documenting a few of my findings might be beneficial... to the world at large. 1. On a home visit (the first parental meeting in real life), a statue and multiple marble pillars in the home...means they are loaded and their daughter will be getting a rose. 2. "See a future" means one could hang out for longer than the length of a "One-on-one date" and wouldn't mind making out with you once the cameras have come and gone. 3. Smart people respond "Si" when asked how they are, in French. 4. "Fair enough" should be said often and in various situations, especially when feeling slightly uncomfortable. 5. "Rock solid," "110%,&q

While some of my kind may swoon over a day dedicated to Conroy's, See's and scallop-edged hearts, I have just never been a huge fan of the old St. Valentines' Day. Shocker. Perhaps it's due to some past V-days resulting in multiple texts asking if I'd like "join" romantic escapades like getting "McDonald's and a 12-pack." BTW, did anyone else just realize society really should use the word swoon more often? Anyhoo, I'm not going to pretend to loathe a gift or steak and red wine din thrown my way in mid February, but when that "V hyphen Day" falls on a Monday and I have laundry to put away and significant TV shows to watch, I honestly could do without it altogether. This year the way the boo made me "celebrate" this love-ly day was just right. Partly because it was carried out the day before (A Sunday-Funday hello?!) and partly because the formula was so very brilliant... It started with him seeking out my EXPERTise i

I'm going to admit something (this confession theme keeps reoccurring, I think I may be reacquainting myself with my Catholic roots) Anyway.... I have a boo. And to be honest, after reviewing some older posts, it's hard to believe I met a man I actually want to spend considerable amounts of time with. I'm sorta but not really, kidding. Regardless, I believe the reason I've allowed this Quarter-Latin-Prize to make himself comfortable in my little world is because (and I'll say this one and ONE time only): My boo is The Best. Like the Best of the Best. No I'm not going to make that my status update. Calm down. What I'm not admitting right now is that I've been tricked into falling in love, but rather that the man I've fallen in love WITH...makes fun of Brad. Brad who? Join me in 2011...Brad is this season's Bachelor. Let's explore together... Brad is a sweet, southern gentleman, whose body is clearly the worst. B-Rad is the first of the Bac

I'm just going to share what I think will be helpful for some...from a group of us that prefer to be called "Rosy." When us pale kids become really, really "Rosy"...like not in a cute "blushed" way, but in an almost purple way, you can rest assure from this day forward, that we KNOW about it before YOU tell us. You don't have to tell us. I mean, you can't possibly think we don't notice we have turned from white to crimson in a matter of seconds. I personally have the following harsh rebuttal prepared for just the right day when my beat red Ora gets me so riled up I respond to such obvious information with: "Are ya kidding me?! Of COURSE I know I'm red. I could fry an egg on these cheeks! Now stop drawing more damn attention to them!!" It's good right? This prepped work of art would've been super appropriate last week. Appropriate if I wanted to be fired of course, no pun intended. After the most frustrating and circula

Sometimes people , other people not me, have a certain opinion about things (now you know this isn't about me, I never have opinions). This opinion blossoms when these people are in a certain situation in life and then... these people are suddenly in a different situation and well, their opinion(s) might kind of change, without them knowing it. Maybe it even sneaks up on them like a thief in the night. Who knows. What the hell am I talking about you ask. Don't act naive! You know what kind of behavior I am referring to. Here it goes...try not to judge. It was a long week. The kinda week where you have so little time you get your grocery shopping done on your thirty minute lunch break. Awesome. With yet another friend leaving the good 'ol Red, White and Blue to teach abroad, maybe even a lot of broads ;) I had the privilege of making her one last American meal...clearly meat, cheese and cheap beer had to be a part of it. Post work, with Food de America in hand, I rushed

While I often reference the "excel spreadsheet" portion of my job, my responsibilities are actually quite vast. Like right now, I am in charge of yelling at people. Why does that sound so appealing? My "yelling" is generally through email unless you refuse to cooperate...then I get you on the horn. I tell you (in a friendly Christian University sorta way) you are missing paperwork that will consequently keep you from getting what you want...your units (not that kinda unit calm yourself), your clinical hours and thus your degree. I won't go into details, but will just say that most of my paper world is health related. We gotta know you aren't gonna be giving others in the community the Swine Flu and things of that nature. While yelling is fun, I find connecting and relating to people much more exhilarating...I know, you totally wish we were besties, or maybe friendly neighbors. With the confidential information I see daily, I could find ways to get my connec

Oh The Bar Method. I'm not referring to my old "method" of trying to be cool. While some have already misunderstood... "The girls and I went to Bar Method tonight. Probably won't even be able to walk tomorrow." Paraphrase: Wow Baby, what a Tuesday. Ya never know what swank you girls will end up in. (See how quotes are not permitted on BSS if it isn't indeed a quote...we're better than that) Before I explain that The Bar Method is a hip new workout class (my friends and I try to stay on the pulse, no biggy) I feel the need to explain that just because we celebrate birthdays at venues with exotic one-syllable-word names (that some deem "swanky") does not mean we do it on weeknights...unless of course one of our births lands on a weeknight...neither here nor there. So The Bar Method, in my uncool exerciser opinion, is a cross between Pilates (which I loooooathe) and a ballet class. Bar as in ballet bar, are you learning new things? While I lo

I guess...at times...I can be a little offensive. Whodathought. In the lounge at the end of the hallway, in my "place of employment" is a very loud (and African American; normally I'd say black, I'm trying here) man yucking it up all over the place. He has the entire room (of other African Americans) just bustin a gut. When I casually referred to him as Tyler Perry...I may have been offensive. In a conversation with my coworker about the Chinese plates her mother-in-law gave her for Christmas, I commented on how she must be "REALLY Chinese." I dunno. The racial theme ends here. I got my Broccoli on right before the roomie's D-to the-ate came over to pick her up. There may have been some comments about the offensive odor. Just trying to get in some zero-point foods that's all. Leafy greens are totally where it's at. The boo's very sweet madre really did it up with the Navidad gifts for Sarita. In addition to my freakishly soft Lands End flee

2011 Resolutions: More food, TV and debt. Less exercise and reading. What? Okay really...2011 means quite the opposite (except the TV and reading thing, those may prove to be true, how am I to predict how many Spring series are going to rock my world) The 10 pound boyfriend rule is infuriatingly true and not okay. Losing 4 pounds upstairs barely made a dent on my 5'3" frame. Lame. Although I didn't consider January as actually beginning until the first Monday in January (two extra days of grazing on red and green Hershey's kisses from the festive basket on my coffee table and drinking beer) today I have successfully grocery shopped based on a conglomeration of various diets; points, south beach; lemon vinegar cleanse...things of that nature. We're all the same aren't we? Who really comes up with something that unique on the first of the year? No one. I take that back...I've got some pretty big plans for honing my scrap booking skills resoluting, watch ou

This is a big step for us. Am I ready for all that this entails? I'm just not sure. When approached with the idea, it sounded exciting. "Let's just try this..." "I really think it's best." So I decided I'd give it a shot. It does seem like a good deal. Obviously this moment is what we've been preparing for over the last year. Now it's just figuring out if this particular one fits me . I've finally arrived at the place I've been anticipating for months... Victoria Secret. Salesgirl Stephanie's enthusiasm was enough to reel me in. She even handed me an entire box of the luxurious undergarments that would fit my new size. Best sellers in fact. I was like a kid in a candy store...or like myself in a candy store even, it was overwhelming. Trying on ones with lace and cups smaller than my head was exhilarating. I turned sideways, put my cotton tee back on and checked out the perif view. Glory. Go time. Make a decision. I'm already