New Approach To Internet Match-Making

Settle For Brian

Pay special attention to his Pro/Con list. Hey, at least he's honest, ladies!!

If this doesn't give you chills, you are dead inside.

You, Me, and Steely Dan

To preface this, I must explain the coincidence that Steely Dan has come up twice in my life, just during the past week. A few nights ago, St. Pauly Boy and I are laying in bed, I'm reading my book and he's just laying there about to go to sleep (which takes on average .02 seconds, by the way). All of a sudden he gets up and leaves the room and returns a minute later with his iPod and says, "I have this song in my head and if I don't hear it right now, I won't be able to sleep." I'm thinking, ok, that's cool, do your thing. And then I ask, "What song?" Well, right out of left field came the answer...."Babylon Sister, by Steely Dan".

Hm. The entire time I've known this man I have never heard him utter the words Steely Dan in my presence. And then I got the craving to hear the song, so I took one ear bud and he took the other and we grooved out to some Steely Dan before going to sleep. It was odd. Not because I think Steely Dan is odd or anything, it was just a very random thing to have stuck in your head and then physically NEED it before you can sleep. But whatever.

So the 2nd time Steely makes an appearance in my life is just now, when I was reading World of B, and good old B had a link to the most fabulous letter I have ever read. Who knew there was such controversy over the new movie, You, Me, and Dupree?? How could there possibly be drama with a Wilson brother movie? Well, according to the Steely Dan boys, shit's about to hit the fan. They explain it all in their open letter to Luke Wilson.

Damn those guys are a trip. I almost want to go to their show now. Almost.

C I T (DIYM)

We* have this saying at work: C I T (DIYM). It stands for Calm Yourself, Internalize, Therapy Later (Drink If You Must). I'm officially irritated at this stupid phrase. Don't tell me to calm myself like I'm a 3 year old having a tantrum at Target because my mom won't buy me a Blow Pop. I'm not the kind of person who internalizes, well, anything, so if you don't want to hear it, leave the room. And if I'm about to have a freaking melt down, your damn right I'm going to therapy, like, right now. Screw you, I can get therapy now if I wanna! And I love how they threw the DIYM in there so they could sound like they're so part of the fabulous happy hour scene that is downtown Minneapolis, where they go to order their cheap ass glass of wine or pretentious brand of beer, and have loud and obnoxious conversations about how oppressed they all are in Corporate America (using the native corporate-speak dialect, mind you).

Here's my new phrase to keep me going:

T T P P A S I U Y A (IGTHHWYF)
Take That Project Plan And Shove It Up Your Ass (I'm Going To Happy Hour Without You Freaks)

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*When I say "we" I mean not me because I didn't make up this stupid phrase and it certainly hasn't helped me through anything so far.

The Battle With My Horoscope Continues....

"You may want to talk about your home or family now, even in a professional situation, but others might not be as interested in what you are saying. Instead of telling stories without any particular goal in mind, decide where you want to go before you start aimlessly wandering around in your personal life."


Are you freaking kidding me right now? So now people aren't interested in anything I say, I talk too much, without any purpose whatsoever, and I'm aimlessly wandering the earth providing absolutely no value to anyone.

I'm definitely not hiring the author of these particular horoscopes as my self-esteem coach.

My Horoscope Today Can Kiss My Ass

"Your normally straightforward approach can be confused by the passive receptivity of Venus in Cancer for the weeks ahead. You Aries want to go get it now. You love the chase and the courting process could be like going to war. But Venus in Cancer is quite subtle, so you must practice being quiet so love can be heard. Try listening so that others have room to express what they want."

What the hell is this? A bitch-slap from my damn horoscope, that's what. Translation is as follows:

"Stop being so goddamn agressive all the time you stupid ram sonofabitch. Learn how to shut the fuck up for once in your life and listen to what other people are saying. It's not always about you, you selfish ram. It's always about everybody else, especially those Cancer pussies. Look up subtle in the dictionary and stop trying to run the goddamn world. Bitch."

Talk about a self-esteem boost. Thanks, Horoscope!

Just Another Manic Monday

St. Pauly Boy and I had a little scare this morning.

I slept like shit last night. My allergies are bad and I still have a lingering cough from having been sick recently, so to try to save SPB the agony of being awake with me at 4am, I left for the couch. My favorite thing to do when I wake up in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep, is to move to the couch and watch reruns of Coupling from BBC America, which I TIVO and keep up to 6 episodes just for such insomnia episodes. I got about 20 minutes into the episode where Stephen accidentally sees Sally's bottom (Sally = Stephen's girlfriend Susan's best friend) and I drifted into a peaceful sleep. Shortly after R.E.M kicks in, SPB wakes me to say that he can't sleep so I should just move back to the bedroom and he'll get an early start to the office (which is literally our dining room right now). So I move back to the bedroom where of course it takes me at least 20 more minutes to get back to sleep. When SPB comes to wake me up, I was so much more tired that I was at 4am, it was almost unbearable. But I get up anyway, and start getting ready for the shower. Suddenly I remembered that my hair dryer broke on Friday which left my head in a state that is quite unacceptable for any public appearances, so I beg SPB to run to Snyder's two blocks away to get me a new one. He's kind of crabby about it, understandably, but he goes anyway (we heart him, don't we?). So I hop in the shower. I get no further than washing my face and suddenly there's a lot of commotion in our house, slamming doors and whatnot.

Here's where I get to the scare part of the morning (like a broken hairdryer on a Monday Morning wasn't traumatic enough):

SPB busts into the bathroom and shouts, "The truck is GONE. Someone stole our truck." I scream, "WHAAAAAAAT???". A million thoughts run through my head. I quote, from my head, "Oh my god, was there anything valuable in the truck, my iPod....OMG MY iPOD, wait, that's in my purse, the iTrip is in the truck, oh well, we'll get a new one...what else is in there....how am I going to get to work...will I have to be there when the cops come, I was the last to drive it, OMG I have a big meeting at 10am, do I have to cancel it...it's already 8, it's too late to cancel..........................wait a second, I wonder if SPB checked the street, where I parked the truck last night when I went to pick us up some chinese take-out for dinner last night". I yelled for him and he busted into the bathroom again with the phone in his hand, literally milliseconds from calling the 5-0 and I ask him, "Did you look on the street? That's where I parked last night." From there, it got a little tense. He was upset that I parked on the street and didn't tell him, I was upset because I have every right to park on the street without permission, and so on. Really, it was just an early morning miscommunication. And we were both incredibly crabby from the lack of R.E.M. during the night.

He still went to Snyder's and got me a hairdryer and so far, my good hair day is about the only thing I have going for myself, as the second I got to work this morning I had Drama breathing down my neck, which is a standard occurance at my current Place of Employment, but never gets less irritating.

But it's ok, this week will get better. We're building a brick patio in our back yard and it's nice and cool outside. Errrr, no wait, it's like 100 degrees and 99% humidity, that's riiiight.

At least I still have my good hair today. And that, my friends, is what's really important.

And now back to your regular scheduled programming.

Ta daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

New template. Fresh inspiration.

I'm going to go take a nap now. How's that for inspired?

Please stand by....

St. Pauly Girl has been feeling a little uninspired lately. So, her look and feel will be going through a bit of an update, just so she'll start feeling saucy again. Please stand by while she gets her shit together and updates all her goddamn links and shit.

Issues Log

Recent feedback from my old roomate LPO, after having read my blog for the first time, was less than stellar. As it turns out, "I have issues".*

Um, hello? Not trying to hide the fact that I have issues. Actually, half the purpose of this blog is airing my dirty issue laundry for the internets to absorb, digest, and spit back in my face. Luckily the spitting doesn't happen very often. I've never been a big fan of spitters. I had a roommate in college (all girl school, btw) who spit all the fucking time. We'd go out for smokes on our front patio and she would just constantly spit. It left big gross marks on the pavement. Nasty, especially for a woman, in my opinion.

Anyway, I'm here to tell you, my dear sweet LPO, that my issues are out here for the world to see and I'm damn proud of it. What I'm really wondering is whether your constructive criticism stemmed solely from the fact that you're a big "R" and I'm, well, not? Me thinks so.

But I still heart you anyway.

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*On the other hand, here's what his wife had to say about my blog: "I'm serious, I think you need to pursue a career in writing. I'd totally be your publisher or editor or something, except I don't know how to do that." I totally heart her too. She's a "D" like me.

Sheet Sheet

When my brother was little, he had a blankie. But his was no ordinary blankie, it was his "sheet sheet". This is because it actually was a sheet, for a twin sized bed. He used to drag it around with him, everywhere he went, with his thumb in his mouth and the sheet trailing from the same hand. Apparently he tripped over it so many times, my mom decided to cut it up into small, more manageable pieces of "sheet sheet".

This random story just came to me as I remembered something I was thinking about last night, related to sheets, that I decided I wanted to blog about. I went to bed super early last night because I'm working two 12 hour shifts in a row, 7am-7pm, perfecting the "project plan" (which I put in quotes because I'm still not entirely positive it's planning our project, it seems more like instructions on how to launch a shuttle into space and considering the only degree I hold is a BA in Psychology and not a PhD in Astrophysics or Rocket Science or whateeverthehellittakestolaunchagoddamnspaceshuttle, I cannot quite comprehend it). So I'm laying in bed thinking about how much I absolutely love love love clean sheets on the bed. Especially nice sheets. Nice, soft, moderate threat count, clean sheets. I love the way freshly shaved legs feel on clean sheets. I love the smell of clean sheets and the fact that the dog hasn't had a chance to bring dirt in the bed yet. A freshly made bed with clean sheets is almost orgasmic for me.

Now here's my dilemma.....I hate hate HATE washing sheets. I don't mind doing laundry as long as it's not sheets. I can't stand the process for removing the sheets from the bed and all of the pillows (which I love a lot of), taking them downstairs to the washing machine, seperating the sheets from the duvet because the sheets are white and the duvet is raisin, so unless you're a man, you know you cannot combine the two. Then you have to go back upstairs and remake the bed with fresh sheets, but you can't complete the bedmaking until the duvet is finished drying, which leaves it unfinished, which is annoying. I just suck at this part of domesticity. I'm too lazy to follow through with the whole process because there are just too many pieces to complete in order to accomplish my end goal of orgasmic bedding.

So no matter how much I love clean sheets, I always allow them to go unwashed for way too long, due to the fact that my laziness always wins the grudge match. For once I'd like to see clean sheets come out on top.

Why I Love Wisconsin

Local pub, East Troy, WI. Please take note of smiley face water tower in the background.

M.I.A. (Part Deux)

Turns out, the tonsillitis was worse than I thought. I ended up being sick for a little over two weeks. But I'm happy to report that I'm back in action, my tonsils (Evil & Mean) have surrendered and are no longer at war with my body. Although, as long as E & M still exist (as my doctor predicts, they will) we will always be at odds. At a stand-off stance. A "Cold War", if you will.

Things I've learned from the experience:

1) Stinky Pete sucks at taking care of me when I'm sick.
2) There is still no reason to watch Days of Our Lives because the storylines are still the same as when I was in 6th grade (shit, they've even returned all of the dead characters back to life, from the 80's & 90's, in typical DOOL fashion.
3) Banana popsicles rule.
4) NyQuil Cough rules.
5) Tailgating at a Dave Matthews concert will kill the remaining germs lingering from the wrath of Evil & Mean.

We now return to our regularily scheduled programming.