Things That Suck

People tell me that I get irritated too easily. That in itself irritates me. Here's a list of things that suck because they irritate me.

(no particular order)

1. Packer fans
2. Sludge from KFan
3. Rock people who say hip-hop sucks
4. Hip-hop people that say rock sucks
5. Cat Stevens
6. Dusting
7. Being allergic to dust
8. Not having TIVO in my bedroom
9. Bars without good happy hour specials
10. Soccer moms in mini-vans
11. Terrell Owens
12. Brett Farve
13. Dart tournaments on TV
14. Roundabouts in the US
15. 25 MPH speedlimits
16. Decorated mailboxes
17. Anyone who parks right in front of my house
18. Anyone who parks right in front of my driveway
19. Skaters (sorry honey)
20. Being interrupted
21. Being told to be quiet
22. Being told "I could hear you laughing all the way down the hall." This makes me angry.
23. Dick Enrico, or whatever, from the 2nd Wind store
24. Erik The Bike Man
25. My job
26. Running out of underwear
27. Buying ice
28. Compromising
29. Dale on "King of the Hill"
30. Beer snobs
31. Skinny jeans and pumps. Why why WHY did this come back in style?
32. The Tour de France and the stupid guy who won. Until we found out he was doping. So sick of hearing about steriods.
33. Steriods
34. Barry Bonds
35. People who rip on me because I'm a Dave Matthews fan. GFY, I can like who I wanna like.
36. Door-to-door solicitors.
37. Door-to-door solicitors who actually give you dirty looks when you say you're not interested. Um, are you on MY property right now? Pretty sure you are. I can be interested in anything I damn well please and you're not one of them.
38. Email forwards
39. Listening to my voice mail
40. Coupons
41. The big fucking pile of dirt in my driveway.
42. How much it's going to cost me to have the big fucking pile of dirt removed. Yes, I know about Craig's List. I can't wait for Craig to get off his ass and pick up my dirt, goddammit.
43. People who say "oh I liked that band before they were big, now I won't listen to them anymore".
44. Everyone who posts on the Rube Chat webboard on Kfan.com.
45. Walking the dog.
46. That show My Super Sweet Sixteen or whatever, on Mtv. Those parents should have never been allowed to procreate.
47. Anytime Carrie Bradshaw runs in her high heels.
48. My neighbor's granddaughter. She doesn't really suck, I'm just getting really sick of her because she's over all the time. Now I know how my neighbors felt when I was little.
49. Humidity
50. Everyone who voted for W.

Batteries Not Included

St. Pauly Boy and I live in a cute little house in a cute little neighborhood of St. Paul. The interior of the house is small, but adorable. All of the woodwork is painted white, the walls have nice neutral colors that fit perfectly with our decor (with the exception of the extra bedroom which was the 3 year old's room for the previous owners & has hand painted chicks all over, which are nauseatingly cute but not exactly prime for SPB's office space). The only thing about the house that needed work was the back yard. So for the past year or so we've been hitting it hard in the back yard.* Last summer we tore out the entire yard, built a retaining wall, regraded the landscape, laid new sod, and built a cedar fence. Ok, someone else built the fence for us, but we did all the rest by hand. This summer's yard project was a brick patio. It took us 3 straight weeks and was officially completed this past Friday. For those of you who remember the last 3 weeks of weather we've been having in the TC's, you should fully comprehend was an assinine project this was to complete with 90% humidity and 102 degree hotness. But we did it. And we L.O.V.E. our new patio. There was no lack of drama during this project. Arguments, meltdowns, heat exhaustion, the sorest muscles ever, absolutely not one item of food in our refriderator, & a neglected doggers with much too much pent up energy. Would I say it was all worth it? No. If we had to do it over, someone else would have sweated their balls off and gotten paid in doing so. Our next place of residence will come with Patio Included. And batteries, if needed.












Behold! The newly build St. Pauly Family Spa.











---------------------------------------------------------------------
*Trust me, I wish I could say that statement was sexual in nature but given the traffic factor, sex in the back yard is pretty much impossible unless you're goal is to be the porn star of Highland Park.

National Day of Hangovers

National Night Out kicked my ass last night, you guys. I never knew that our block was full of a bunch of beer guzzling, chain smoking, insomniac geriatrics. The last thing I remember is sitting on my neighbors patio, in the pouring rain, hunkered down under the umbrella, wearing a white cardigan sweater with an embroidered cardinal on it that someone gave me to keep warm, bumming Benson & Hedges Ultra Light 100's off my 68 year old neighbor, Mary Ann, with her 12 year old grandaughter sitting on my lap. When we finally stumbled back to our own lot, it was 1am. ONE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING. That's how late the geriatrics kept me out last night. And god only knows how many beers they made me drink, but I think I may have even agreed to get up with Mary Ann at 3am every day to pray the rosary. I'm not completely confident that I would have passed a breathalizer on my way to work today, or during my 8:30am meeting.

I never expected this. I never knew how insane my neighbors were. Now I know.

And I love them even more than I did before.

Open Letter to My Future Nephew (Not By Blood, But By Friendship), Pedro

Dear Pedro,

I saw your very first photo today! You look so cute in your mama's tummy! Ok, from the front you looked a little skeletal, but that's just because you haven't yet grown the big fat baby cheeks that I'm going to pinch until they turn rosey. But hey buddy, you got time, it's all good. Your mom said you were busy doing sommersalts during the photoshoot. You should be a gymnast. They have hot bodies. I'll teach you how to do a cartwheel as soon as you're born, k? Oh gosh, there's a lot of stuff I'm gonna teach you. Like how to bother Bailey Boo (hint: she doesn't like anything anywhere near her butt) and how to best ensure your photo gets up on the Fridge-of-Fame up at the cabin. That one will be easier for you than it was for me. Come to think of it...am I even up there?? And don't worry, I'll fill you in on everything that's been happening on the Real World/Road Rules Challenge. That Coral is one tough bitch. Oh, maybe I shouldn't teach you that word quite yet. But if you do say it, say it like this: beeeeeeyoootch. And then snap your fingers in a Z formation. All the other babies at day care are going to be so jealous of how cool you are.

Keep on keepin' on, Pedro! I'll write again soon!

XOXO,
Auntie St. Pauly Girl

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)

------------------------------------------------
*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.

----------------------------------------------
*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.

M.I.A.

Yeah. I've definitely been missing in action lately, haven't I? The sad thing about it though, there has not been any action on my end. None, whatsoever. So I guess I'm just M. For missing.

I've been home sick with tonsillitis. I missed 4 days of work last week, my tonsils were the size of giant superballs, I could barely swallow my own spit. Lovely, isn't it? St. Pauly Boy was in Californeeah, so I was left relying on Stinky Pete to take care of me. As you can imagine, that didn't work so good. He doesn't necessarily comprehend when I'm not feeling up to taking him for a walk or playing with him in the yard. He just barks at me, completely oblivious to the shooting pain in my throat made worse by the shrill tone of his bark. You know that saying, "His bark is worse than his bite."? Yeah, it's true. I'd much rather he naw of my entire right arm than bark at me while I'm sick. Just chew it off, Pete. At least then I can focus on that pain, instead of the viral war on my tonsils.

But the good news is, I'm feeling better. Slowly but surely. The boys (my tonsils, I've named them Evil and Mean) have deflated since last Tuesday when they blew up like beach balls. Evil is still being a bit of a pain in my neck, literally, and just under my ear too, but Mean has pretty much given up and is taking his defeat quite well, I assure you. The funny thing is, people keep telling me the same thing.....have your tonsils taken out. As if it's a procedure you can order at the Walgreen's drive-through. Yeah, prescription for St. Pauly Girl and a Tonsillectomy, to go please. What people don't understand is that the procedure for removing one's tonsils is actually quite dangerous. As we get older, as in past the age of 10, when we officially enter senior citizen status apparently, the wounds created by the removal process aren't able to heal quickly enough. You run a very high risk of bleeding to death. Sounds peachy. I'm gonna keep my tonsils, thank you. They are a pain in the ass (or neck, if you will) but dammit, at least I'm alive!

What my real concern is, if I'm considered a senior citizen already because I'm too old to have my tonsils taken out, then why the hell am I not getting the damn discount on Wednesdays???

Nothing better than a good story to get you out of bed in the morning.

So, I'm laying in bed this morning attempting to wake up and get motivated to shower and get ready for work and, as I do every morning, I flipped on the morning news, you know, the station with my favorite weather man. There were a couple of back-to-back stories that just left me stunned, first in an amused and followed by a horrified, way.

First was the story about the "sport" of Shin Kicking, in England. This sport consists of 2 men, stuffing their pants with straw, facing off against each other and, literally, kicking the living shit out of each others' shins. The winner is determined when one opponent essentially gives up. Apparently this sport's popularity is increasing so rapidly that they would now like Shin Kicking to be considered for an Olympic event. An Olympic event.

Discussing this with St. Pauly Boy on our way to work this morning, it was decided that next in line would be the Olympic event of Bloody Knuckles. In which case, I believe my husband would most definitely try out for the US Bloody Knuckles Team, in hopes of fullfilling a life long dream of bringing home the gold medal. We'll see how far he can get, I can only assume the competition will be fierce. I plan on getting him started with a weight lifting program, ASAP.

This was the amused portion of being stunned by the news this morning. Then came this.

A story of a woman who's chiwawa puppy had tragically passed away, where the woman was apparently dealing with one of the many stages of loss, and from what I can gather, it was the anger stage. As the reporter stated, it can be a traumatic experience to lose a puppy, everyone could agree with that, I think. But what I don't think any of us coule agree with is taking your dead puppy back to the breeder's residence, demanding a new [live] puppy in exchange for the dead one, and then using the deceased animal to then physically assault the breeder when terms of an agreement could not be reached. She used her dead puppy as a weapon, people. And in her fit of rage, as she was driving away, she continued to wave this poor dead puppy at the breeder's house, out of the sunroof of her car.

At this point, the stunned expression on my face turned to complete disgust, with a side of depression on the account of the poor dead puppy. Perhaps the puppy is better off, given the apparent psychosis of her owner.

But regardless, it was an odd day for news, people. Odd day, indeed.

Cartoon Kids Say The Darndest Things

Since I'm being such a bad blogger lately, here, go read these Stewie quotes. It's better than the shit I'd write anyway, so what the hell?

Favorite Guilty Pleasures

(Via Snarky Squab)

Four Guilty Pleasures in Reading
1. People Magazine.
2. John Grisham
3. Used to read Danielle Steele. But I gave it up. I swear.
4. Dan Barreiro's Blog

Four Guilty Pleasures in Movies
1. You've Got Mail and/or Runaway Bride (pretty much any romantic comedy with Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts)
2. Twister. I'm obsessed with tornados. Even the completely unrealistic ones paired with hideous acting by Bill Paxton.
3. Clueless. Oh god that's embarassing. I even watched it this weekend on Comedy Central.
4. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. Enter Stage #1 of my Sarah Jessica Parker obsession.

Four Guilty Pleasures in Food
1. McDonald's.
2. Little Debbie's. Any kind. Can eat the whole. box.
3. Easy Cheese
4. Chinese buffets

Four Guilty Pleasures in Music
(WARNING: the following is a gross display of hidden love for pop music. Easily nauseated individuals should stop reading now.)
1. Britney Spears. It HURTS me to even say it.
2. N'Snyc. Oh god, I'm in PAIN.
3. Ashlee Simpson. Kill me now. Please. Put me out of my misery.
4. That one song, "Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy". I don't even know who sings it.

Trust me people, it hurts me as much as it hurts you.

Four Guilty Pleasures in TV
1. Mtv reality shows. Even though they practically induce rage-like emotions over the extreme ignorance and obnoxious behavior of the characters, for some reason, I can't quite make myself change the channel.
2. Gilmore Girls
3. Bridezillas on WE
4. Anything on E!

Four Guilty Pleasures in Booze
1. JagBulls (Jagermeister & Red Bull, in shot formation)
2. Apple Pucker. Out of the bottle.
3. Boones Farm. Also out of the bottle.
4. Franzia. You know, wine-in-a-bag-in-a-box?


Post Script: I will honestly be surprised if I have any friends left after publishing this. Take pity on a pop-culture-tortured soul!!

Post Post Script: Now tell me yours so I don't feel like such a loser. Do it for my self-esteem. Please!!

I've reached my limit for cuteness.

Dude, this ain't right.










I weight in around 5.5 lbs. Yeah, I'm huge.








I'll take that to go, please. Thank you.










Really need to....make...that..call...zzzzzzzzzzz.










Yeah, well you should see the other guy.











You WILL obey me.

Back @ Home Base

You know what? It sucks being back from NYC. We had such a good time, I could have stayed another week. I'll have lots of fun stories and pics to share as soon as the mourning period is over and I've accepted that I do in fact live here, in MN. When I'm back to being St. Pauly Girl again, pissed off about stupid republicans and Planned Parenthood protestors. Right now, I'm a New York Poser, who needs a reality check. Once I get it (which I'm guessing will be in 15 minutes when I have my first meeting after vacation, here at work) then I'll share all the fun stuff about how we kicked ass on the subway (and by kicked ass, I may mean it kicked our ass, but whatever) and how Tavern On The Green is overrated and how I truly thought that John Cusack would be at the Waldorf when we went there for cocktails on our anniversary. He wasn't. I was legitimately bummed. I'll also tell you about Woody, our new best friend from Manhattan, who's a dirty Yankee's fan but we love him anyway. And about 4 of the cutest little Spanish girls we partied with, even though we could barely understand each other. But I comprehended when they said I had cute shoes, which ruled because they hurt the hell out of my feet. At least it was worth it. The Spanish girls liked them. What else will I tell you about? OH, how my dear husband, St. Pauly Boy, is the best tourist to travel with. Ever. He didn't force me to go to the Statue of Liberty, given it was 90 mile an hour winds that day. He also didn't force me to wait in line for an hour and a half to go to the top of the Empire State Building. Thank god he didn't care enough to put me through that crap.

Argh! I have to stop talking about it now. The zipper on my "bitter-pants" is stuck and I can't get them off. I promise to share, once I stop sulking.

Wishing I Lived on the Upper East Side,
SPG

Start Spreading The News...

...I'm leaving today (ok well, tomorrow)
I want to be a part of it - new york, new york
These vagabond shoes, are longing to stray
Right through the very heart of it - new york, new york

I wanna wake up in a city, that doesnt sleep
And find Im king of the hill - top of the heap

These little town blues, are melting away
Ill make a brand new start of it - in old new york
If I can make it there, Ill make it anywhere
Its up to you - new york, new york

New york, new york
I want to wake up in a city, that never sleeps
And find Im a number one - top of the list, king of the hill
A number one

These little town blues, are melting away
Im gonna make a brand new start of it - in old new york
And if I can make it there, Im gonna make it anywhere

It up to you - new york new york


Goodnight, Bloggers! You've been a great audience! The St. Pauly Family (minus one Stinky Pete, who's lounging at the doggie spa for the weekend) is hitting the big city. I'm coming back with blisters on my feet and possibly some sore muscles from hiking through the concrete jungle, but hopefully sporting a new Kate Spade bag on my shoulder and lots of pics in the digital. I'll be sure to fill you in on the gory details of the trip (outside of what happens in the hotel room...that's just for our own personal memory bank, thank you very much). Speaking of, the most common farewell message I seem to be getting from people is "Have fun! Make babies!" When did I say we were going to NYC for the weekend for the sole purpose of fornicating? And who on god's green earth thinks I might be fit for motherhood at the present time? Sorry St. Pauly People...the patch is staying put. For the time being.

Have a fabulous weekend, whereever you are.

Love and happiness,
SPG

I Need A Heart Transplant

My current heart has been broken into a thousand pieces after watching the season finale of Grey's Anatomy.

I literally haven't cried this hard since my boyfriend broke up with me in the 11th grade. And I cried HARD when that happened. Stinky Pete didn't know what to do with me, so he licked the tears off my cheek and then barked. The barking part sucked but the licking of the tears was pretty cute. Who's bright idea was it to have a 2 hour season finale show, anyway?? I want that person dead. Ok, maybe not dead, but seriously compromised for a while. Do they not think we deal with enough emotional stress in our REAL lives?? Jesus. I'd give up television for good if I wasn't already an diagnosed addict who isn't ready for the 1st step of the 12 step program.

I'm going to take some Advil and cry myself to sleep now.

Goodnight.

Reasons Why I Love Instant Messenger

This conversation.

(Precursor: St Pauly Boy (a.k.a. TheDude) and I are discussing our timeline of events for this evening. He wanted me to bail on my manicure appointment so that we could get to the restaurant early - we're having dinner with My Bro and Future Sis-in-Law and then going to the Science Museum to see the new Human Body exibit. I told him to just ride with G & J and I'd meet them there, if it was that big of a freakin' deal to get there at like 5. He assured me that I should do what I have to do, and then the following conversation ensued.)

TheDude says:
i'm freakin' pissed though

E-Diggity says:
wtf

TheDude says:
i made some mac and cheese for lunch then wanted to add some pepper and the lid fell off the pepper shaker and the ENTIRE bottle dumped into the pot

TheDude says:
that's why i'm pissed

E-Diggity says:
lol

TheDude says:
the pepper incident

E-Diggity says:
that's hilarious!!

TheDude says:
not funny

TheDude says:
not funny at all

TheDude says:
i swear there's more pepper in there then noodles and sauce

TheDude says:
DAMNIT!

TheDude says:
i'm going for a second try now

TheDude says:
but it's the white cheddar stuff that i don't like as much as the regular yellow stuff

TheDude says:
i don't know why i buy it

TheDude says:
it's 3 cents more then the yellow stuff

TheDude says:
so it's more expensive and not as good

E-Diggity says:
honey, do what ya gotta do

TheDude says:
oh i'm doing it

TheDude says:
and i'm going to add pepper too

TheDude says:
only this time i'll hold onto the lid

Is it strange that I find my husband fastination and pure love of mac & cheese to be a bit of a turn on?

Oompa Loompa's Are Evil

This goes on the list of reasons why I am "unAmerican". I cannot stand the movie "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory." I watched it as a child and despite the icky feelings that it gave me inside my tummy, I kept watching. Because every other kid thought it was the best fucking movie, ever. I couldn’t admit to being the only one who was frightened by the little orange men with green hair and striped overalls. Or Willy Wonka himself, for that matter. Who on earth is scared of Willy Wonka?? I still thought that Mary Poppins was the bomb. How big of a loser was I?? The other kids will have a field day with a pussy like me. So I kept my feelings to myself. I sat on them, let them stir inside, while they preyed on me in my dreams at night, causing more and more anxiety towards the movie. Not only does the movie cause me anxiety but Gene Wilder, in anything, makes my stomach churn a little.

It wasn’t just the Oompa Loompas or Willy Wonka himself, that reeked such havoc in my childhood psyche, mind you. It was also the grandparents who couldn’t leave the bed, the boy who drowns in the chocolate river, and the freaking girl who blows up into a blueberry! I really worried about their futures, how would they survive (or did they survive) their situations.

“All 4 of those people have to share that bed?? What happens when they have to go potty?? What do they do?? What if one of them dies?? Are they just going to leave them in the bed??”
"Oh no, that boy drowned!! His parents are going to be so sad! I wonder if he has brothers or sisters, they’re going to be really sad too. He'll never get to go to college or get married!!"
"OMG, she turned into a blueberry!! How will she ever learn to drive a car like that?? Will her parents have to get a bigger bed for her?? What if they can’t afford a new bed??"

Those thoughts ran continuously through my mind. All night long. To the tune of the Oompa Loompa song.

When I was about 16, I grew tired of silent torment. I spoke out against this dreaded movie. And just like I suspected, I have suffered endless ridicule ever since. My family members hum the tune at the dinner table. They say things like “The Oompa Loompas are going to GET you” and “be careful, you might turn into a big blueberry, just like that other naughty little girl”.

But now, at the age of 29, I finally have some relief. Thanks to the worlds funniest fashion blog, I can finally rest. The song now has a different face attached. One that’s uglier (fuglier, rather) than the one’s in my nightmare. Thank you, GFY. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

To Women Who Poop: Please Review the Following Request

This request goes out to all the ladies in the place, who poop. Apparently some women "don't", like Supermodels and Hot Women in general. So this is directed to those of us who, do in fact, poop. And specifically the one's who poop in public [restrooms, at least I hope they poop in restrooms and not in the hallway at the office or something].

Please leave the vocal stylings of relieving oneself in public, to the men.

NOTE: This request is not sexist in nature. Women have every right to grunt and moan their asses off - no pun intended - ok, maybe I did intend it - while relieving themselves of fecal matter. Sometimes it's a difficult process and being vocal can be help the situation along, I understand that. It's the public aspect of my request that we all need to focus on here.

Let me just generalize for a moment. Men, for the most part, have no problem pooping in public. A lot of men are proud of their abilities in this arena. Giving the process some vocal enhancement can be seen as a testament to the quality of their performance. That's all fine and good, because as disturbing as I think this trend is, I don't have to witness directly because thankfully we have separate restrooms. Yes, I know there are Unisex restrooms out there, but good lord, I'm not analyzing this scenario for every goddamn exception to the rule. In fact, I'm just GENERALIZING.

Anyway, this topic is prevalent for me today because as I just used the Ladies Room at work (#1, not #2...not that I am obligated to explain myself or anything) and there was a fellow female using the stall 3 doors down from mine. Let's just say...the room was not quiet. I'm not talking about the occasional unavoidable flatulence or slish-splash. I'm talking grunts. GRUNTS. Luckily I was able to finish my job (which includes hand-washing, don't get me started on that topic, Ladies) and get the fuck out of there before all hell broke loose. All I could think of was......

must. blog. this.

So please, Ladies, for the love of all that is holy and pure...let's maintain the unwritten rule of Silence in the Ladies Room. Perhaps someone should actually write this.

Put This In Your Blender And Smoke It.

My response to Blender's 50 Worst Things to Happen to Music is stated below. For the record.

#50 - Back off The Beatles, man! Seriously. Don't take them on. You cannot win. And in response to the question you pose ("And is there anyone alive who hasn't suffered a collapse of the will to live during 'When I'm Sixty-Four'?") the answer is me. I'm still alive. And I'll put that song on repeat just to get under your skin. Screw off.

#42 - You can totally have Scott Stapp. I'm still pissed that he rebelled from his Christian fundamentalist upbringing and dove into mainstream pop/rock. If that had never happened, I wouldn't even have to know he exists.

#40 - Have Jimmy Buffet too. Most overrated musician ever. Stick a cheeseburger in it, Jimmy, I've had enough.

#38 - Sting? That's all you have to say for yourself?? No justification for his presence on this list? I'm going to assume it's a typo, and move on.

#36 - Agreed. Pick a fucking name, Mr. Self-Important-Ego-maniacal-Combs-Diddy-Daddy-Puffy-Warbucks.

#35-32 - Not even worth printing. Can't believe you wasted the effort.

#29 - How could anyone have anything against a kid like Josh Grobin?? He's harmless. And goddamn he has a good voice. I detect some jealousy in your statement.

#28 - Totally, dude. We used to have one on Nicollett Mall called "Let It Be" Records. Aside from having the coolest name for a business, since the invention of business, it was also really fun to sit on the patio of the pub across the street and watch the cute little indie-freaks roaming in and out. I heart indie-freaks!

#26 - Adam Duritz's dreadlocks were dead sexy. No, I am not kidding.

#24 - Should move to the #1 spot, IMHO.

#22 - HI.

#21 - My favorite entry to agree with on this list. Hip Hop videos are so incredibly ridiculous, I'm appalled that money is even spent on them. Gross.

#14 - LOL. I admit, I had my boyband phase. But I'd be ok with wiping out Florida all together. (As long as Rebecca's parents move up here first, that is).

#12 - The sole purpose for the existence of KFed and his beautifully talented wife...Britney, is it?...is to make us all feel better about ourselves. Mission accomplished, Mr. & Mrs. Spears.

#11 - Cannot believe the words "irretrievably dull" were used here. I'm seriously starting to want to kick your ass. But you didn't mention DMB* in that entry so I'll let it go this time.

#7 - Lay off God, dude. What's he ever done to you?

#6 - Righto, chap.

#4 - Couldn't. Agree. More. And appropriate placement on the list, I might add. Just gives me the willies.

#2 - Fo'shizzle, m'a nizzle. But you better watch your back for printing that.

#1 - Are you kidding me? That is your #1 worst thing to happen to music?? Ok, grandpa.

------------------------------------
*Note from the editor: the spell-check suggestion for DMB is "dumb". That pisses me off a little.

Ok, just go ahead and shoot me now.

We watched Capote this weekend. I have to say, I was b.o.r.e.d. Don't get me wrong, Phillip Seymour Hoffman was great in the role but the story was just not good enough to keep my attention. I never read (or heard of, for that matter) the book "In Cold Blood" and maybe my admission of this makes me sound like a completely ignorant, uneducated a-hole. But I do have a college degree, so I'm going to give myself the benefit of the doubt and say that it's OK that I've never heard of the book, nor it's author. Capote is a funny little character, I'll give ya that. But as I watched the movie, my thoughts toggled between "when's it going to get as good as everyone says it is?" and "how much is left of this movie, I want to go to bed" and "god, I really need to get a pedicure."

I know. I suck for not liking this movie. Give me gay cowboy sex anyday over the story of some author falling in love with a psychotic murderer, any day. I'm going to go home and watch Napolean Dynomite now.

Death Penalty is NOT the Answer.

I am an avid supporter of anti-death penalty legislation. I am very glad I live in a state that does not allow the death penalty and I seriously doubt I could live in a state that allowed it. I'm not going to get into the reasoning behind my position at this moment, but the topic is prevalent at the moment given the Moussaoui verdict of life imprisonment. I was happy with this verdict and here's why:

1) This man admits he conspired in the 9/11 terrorist attacks and admits that he would have gladly flown a plane into any number of American buildings, giving up his own life for his "cause". Putting him to death would be like giving him what he wanted in the first place.

2) His sentence of life imprisonment may as well be considered the death penalty. You think he's going to live a quiet life in solitude in the Colorado prison, cursing Americans and bragging about the thousands of Americans' lives lost at the hands of the terrorists? I'm sorry, Bubba is going to have a fucking field day with Moussaoui.

When are people going to realize that life in prison is just as good as the death penalty? I'm not saying that I think every criminal has the chance to rehabilitate themselves because I certainly don't believe that's true. But what's the harm if they do? It's not like they're going to make parole, in most cases. Tookie Williams was certainly not eligible for parole and I do think he rehabilitated during his time served before the government ended his life. How can people accept our government imposing revenge as a punishment yet establishing laws against vengeful crimes committed by it's own citizens? I just don't get how especially the ultra-conservative religious base of our country thinks that government murder is acceptable, as long as it's in retribution for some other crime.

Don't. Get. It.

Weird Little Things That Drive Me Insane

1. When the shampoo and conditioner bottles aren't even. As in, one has less than the other.
2. The fact that there isn't a gauge on the dashboard in cars that tells you when you're almost out of windsheild washer fluid.
3. CD's. All they produce is dust and clutter. I'm sick of their existence.
4. Memoribilia. That you just cannot bring yourself to throw away. For example, the towel I have from the 2003 NHL Western Conference Finals, Game 1 vs. the Mighty Ducks*, at the Xcel Energy Center. No WAY am I throwing it out but what on earth am I supposed to do with it?
5. The Anaheim Mighty Ducks. It was supposed to be just a movie, not develop into the name for a professional hockey team. But apparently they decided to mature and drop the "mighty", so now they're just the Anaheim Ducks. Sick.
6. Everytime I open a new bottle of water or a can of soda, I can't seem to finish it. So I have a desk/house full of half-empty bottles and cans of stuff. That's just stupid.
7. Lisa Loeb glasses.
8. Receipts. I cannot stand receipts. I would rather not return anything for the rest of my life than have a gazillion receipts laying around my house.
9. The O.C. (TV show, not the actual county in CA...although it's not my favorite spot in the world, but anywho...). I don't care what anyone says, this show is nowhere near as cool as Beverly Hills 90210.
10. Law & Order - don't get me wrong, love the show, love the concept, good acting and writing and all that good stuff. But why the hell do we need 14 different versions of the same show? And secondly, why do they have to run marathons on 14 different channels, every single day of the week?
11. Dog poop. Cannot. Stand. Dog. Poop. Which sucks for me since I have a dog.


To be continued...

Hang On, This Could Be A Bump'y Ride.

While I throughly enjoyed myself during Draft Weekend, I have to say that I agree with Bump. Underwhelming, from the Viking's persective. B- to a C+ grade on the Vikes performance. Yes our first pick was fantastic, just how it was predicted by 99.9% of the Mock Draft World. But let's not break our arms trying to pat each other's backs. We need a good 3 years to figure out whether or not any of our draft decisions were good. Or not good. Vikes history would point us towards not, but as usual, the fans (or at least, the "real" fans, IMHO) remain optimistic. New coaching, good free agency pick-ups, and an "O.K." draft...it's a rebuilding year, we've got a good chance at being good. Too many uses of the word "good" here, I know, but it's the only word I can use in this circumstance, I'm sorry. Can you hear me now? Good.

But on a lighter note, the rainy, gloomy weather and the 8 hour straight footage of NFL drama, provided St Pauly Boy and I a fantastic, almost zen-like, environment on Saturday. No, I did not survive the entire 8 hours of ESPN goodness without a little catnap, which consequently came upon me 2 minutes before the Vikings were on the clock. But I fought back, heard the word "Greenway", debated whether or not Tag's just said "Green Bay" but then realized that it's assinine to think that the Vikings just drafted the entire Green Bay Packers in the first round (everyone knows they wouldn't be worthy of anything more than the 5th or 6th round), and the contentness put me into dreamland for at least until the end of Round 1.

Am I sad that I missed the entire last half of Round 1 of the 2006 NFL Draft? No. Why, you ask?

Because I have it all on TIVO.

Funny T-Shirt. Funny Like, Ha Ha.

Mint.

(Courtesy or Funny Designs dot com.)

I sang to a fork because I was high.

What did you do??

Pick the month (number) you were born in:

1----I fell in love with
2----I ate a
3----I smacked
4----I sang to
5----I gave my number to
6----I murdered
7----I shot
8----I gave a lap dance to
9----I chocked on
10---I bitched out
11---I had sex with
12---I humped

Pick the day (number) you were born on:

1-------A homeless guy
2-------your mom
3-------a banana
4-------a fork
5-------a Mexican
6-------a gangster
7-------a hooker
8-------an ipod
9-------my best friends boyfriend
10-------a goat
11-------my dog
12-------a ninja
13-------the computer
14-------a football player
15-------my neighbor
16-------myself
17-------a Jones soda
18-------a llama
19-------a pickle
20-------a stuffed animal
21-------a permanent marker
22-------my dad
23-------a condom
24-------my psychiatrist
25-------a policeman
26-------my brother
27-------my sister
28-------a baseball bat
29-------a dvd player
30-------a paperclip
31-------my cell phone

Pick the color of shirt you are wearing:

White-------Because I was high.
Black-------Because I was drunk.
Pink--------Because I'm NOT homosexual.
Red---------Because the voices told me to.
Blue--------Because I'm sexy and I do what I want
Green-------Because I hate myself.
Purple------Because I'm naked.
Gray--------Because that's how I roll.
Yellow------Because someone offered me 1,000,000 dollars
Orange------Because I hate my family.
Other-------Because that's how I roll.

TGI NFL Draft Weekend

I have lost all motivation to work today. I was doing pretty well all week and today, I'm just a slug. I think even my dog has a better attention span than me today, and that, my friends, is no easy feat for a Springer. Speaking of the Stinkster, that mofo ate my sunglasses yesterday. For the 2nd time. It was cute listening to St Pauly Boy giving him a lecture about it too:

"Now Pete, you're really not making a good case for us to allow you to be alone in the house. Kennel. Good boy."

I'm looking forward to getting a manicure at 5pm and then meeting my beloved and our friends down at the neighborhood watering hole. It's rainy and cold and very dreary, making a good atmosphere for having some pints. In bulk.

And the best part of all is that tomorrow is Day 1 of the NFL Draft. In the last few years, I have become a draft junkie. Rainy Saturday, minor (ok, possibly major) hangover, snacks, couch, TIVO remote, 43" Plasma, and the drama of the draft. God, that's like poetry to me. Who's going to be the first pick? What team needs a running back the most? Is there going to be a good linebacker left when the Vikes number comes up? How many embarrassment will Vikings fans endure this year in the draft? (Good chance we come out clean in this one, given the great Mike Tice got his walking papers last season....stopwatch, anyone?) Who's going to get Matt Leinart? He's so hot. And to watch it all go down live, in front of your eyes...I can't imagine a better marathon to commit to (except for maybe Season 1 of Road Rules, I'm a sucker for the old school MTV "reality" shows).

Our hopes is that draft day ends on a good note for our team. We like our picks, we feel confident about our free agent signings (and this year, we should), the majority of the bad blood has been righfully fired or traded by this point (capped off this morning by the release of Onterrio Smith, who is the self-titled S.O.D. (Steal of the Draft) and now more commonly known as The Whizzanator. Bye bye, S.O.D. We will miss your endless suspensions and the cloud of green smoke that follows you everywhere.

I owe my draft devotion to my brother, Bubs, without whom I would have virtually no interest in sports, but has successfully molded me into a true freak. I'll TIVO day 1 for you, brother, while you're at the tasting with your wedding caterer!

Just Change My Oil, Jerk-Ass.

I discovered a flat tire on my car yesterday. I had pulled out of the garage and onto the street, recognized that the vehicle was not operating appropriately, pulled into the gas station lot across the street and called my husband.

There were two reasons for calling my husband. 1) I needed a quick ride to work and he was working from home, right across the street. 2) I don't know a damn thing about changing tires. Ok, ok. I don't know a damn thing about cars, in general. I've tried understanding cars, but I can't seem to retain the knowledge. I hate representing that stereotypical woman, but unfortunately with this topic, I do.

Anyway, St Pauly Boy drove me to work. Then he went back to the truck, put on the spare tire, and drove down to the Tire Store. At the Tire Store, he ordered me a brand spankin' new tire, which comes in today, and will be replacing the spare with the new tire this afternoon.

Here's what pisses me off. Last Summer, I got a flat tire (same car) while I was en route to bring Stinky Pete to Grandma & Grandpa's house for the weekend while SPB and I went on our annual DMB/Camping excursion in Wisconsin. SPB was in the air, flying home from The OC at the time, so I was on my own. No problem, I can handle this. It was 98 degrees out and humid as shit. Stinky had just come back from a night spent in the Emergency Vet Clinic, after having gotten into some cold medecine. He was just fine after being treated by the wonderful vet but I was still feeling like a nervous mommy and was concerned about leaving him alone for the weekend. Now I've got a flat tire and can't go anywhere until I resolve the issue. So I'm at the Tire Store, with a sick dog, and this piece of metal protuding from my tire. God only knows what this piece of metal was from or how the hell it got stuck in my tire, but whatever, I just needed it to be fixed so I could be on my merry way.

Tire Guy was very nice, he let me bring Stinky into the Tire Store so he wasn't stuck in the hot hot car. They took a look at the tire and told me that they'd try to patch it up but if the patch wasn't good enough, I'd have to buy a new tire. That's totally fine, just get it done, I've got places to be. Then Tire Guy brings another Tire Guy over and the Tire Guys proceed to tell me that because I have 4 wheel drive, I'd have to buy all new tires because if they just replaced one tire, it would mess up the alignment.

Immediately this doesn't sound right to me. Luckily, I didn't have to deal with that option because the patch worked and I was able to drive away without spending $1400 on all new tires.

Now, when SPB went to the Tire Store (same one as I went to) there was absolutely no mention of needing to replace all 4 tires just because of one flat. And you want to know why?? Because he's a man. And men are born with the knowledge that you don't need to replace all of the tires in the case of one flat. Women, on the other hand, are there to be taken advantage of.

It happened to me at an Oil Change Place once too.

It absolutely burns me up to know that they actually do get away with this stuff too. Luckily I was smart enough, not to fall for their shameless ploy. But other women are not.

The funny part of this story involves the 20 minute timeframe where Stinky Pete and I sat on the sidewalk in front of the Tire Store, while they investigate the weird piece of metal in my tire. The street on which the Tire Store resides is a busy one, in an urban area. It also happens to be on the corner of a busy intersection. So Stinky and I were sitting on the sidewalk...correction...I was sitting on the sidewalk, Stinky was attempting to pull my arm out of my socket while I tried to hold his leash, preventing him from running into traffic. As it turns out, Stinky needed to go potty. And I wasn't quick enough to get him to any sort of grassy area. Out comes the poo, onto the sidewalk. Ill prepared for the appropriate disposal of the doggie-doo, I tried to figure out what to do. Wearing my flip flops, I kicked the poo off of the sidewalk and onto the street. I completely understand the dirty looks I got from passers-by and would have exibited the same disgust if I had witnessed the scene myself. But to my defense, they had no idea what kind of day I had. And quite frankly, the kind of day I had was appropriately represented by my poo-flinging actions.

The Tire Guys are just lucky that I didn't have the balls to pick up the poo and throw it in their face.

What? Your Name Is Erin? I Think I'll Call You Harold.

Nicknames are hilarious. I come from a family that has mastered the art of nicknaming people. When I was little, my nickname was Peanut. Everyone in my family called me Peanut. My younger brother was nicknamed Bubba. Everyone in our family called him Bubba. These nicknames have slowly progressed throughout the years....

Peanut...Peanut-Head...P-Head
Bubba...Bubs...Bubbies...Wubbies...Wub-Head

Because of this, my brother and I inherited the nack for nicknaming. Since neither one of us have children yet, we use our pets in the meantime. Here is the evolution of our pets and their nicknames:

Stinky Pete...Pete...Peter...Petey...PP...PP-Pants...Stinky...Stinkster
Pumpkin...Punky...Punk Punk...Bump...Bumpy...Bump Rooter...Rump Roast...Chump Chicken

There is no way that either my brother or I could possibly call someone by their given name. The name Jill becomes Jillie Bean Pie Face Head. WTF is all of that? How does this make any sense? It doesn't. The words just sound funny together. And there you have it.

I feel sorry for our future children. They will not escape the wrath of the nickname monster that runs through my veins.

Jack Ass of the Day Award

St. Pauly Girl is proud to announce the winner of the Jack Ass of the Day award (brought to you by the letters J and A).

Keith Hernandez. Give it up for baseball legend, Mr. Keith Herdandez.

A Woman's Place is in the Kitchen, Not the Dugout

Oh but don't worry, ladies. Keith still loves you. He always has.

Excuse me while I go throw up.

Juggling. It's Not Just For Clowns Anymore.

Most amazing juggling act. Ever.

Are you kidding me? How on gods green earth did this guy possibly come up with this act? My jaw is on my keyboard.

And could he have picked a cooler song?? No.

Speechless.

New York, New York

I have a love affair with the city of New York. I've only been there once and that was all the impact that I needed. I love the look, the feel, the smell, the sound, I even love all the walking...and I'm not one to embrace "long walks". "Long walks" may sound romantic, but in reality, the dog is yanking on the leash, the shoes you're wearing are killing you, you have a charlie horse on your left calf muscle, you're dying of thirst and didn't think to bring a bottle of Evian, and you have to pee. Badly. FYI, I already know I'm a whiner, so there's no real need to point it out. That's what I'm embracing instead of "long walks". Being a whiner. And dammit, I'm good at it, too. But anyway, back to what I was saying before I got all self-absorbed, walking in NYC is so much different. It's something in the air, I think, that makes you feel like going a mile has only been 1 block. My love affair with NYC continues even though it's been about 4 years since I've been back. I will watch anything on TV that is set in NYC. Anything. I'll watch 2 episodes of Sex and The City, on 2 different channels, flipping between them for the full 1/2 hour. I'll even sit through a Keanu Reeves* movie, if it's set in NYC. Sometimes I even dream NYC.

The funny thing is, I don't think I could ever live there. I'm so conditioned to my midwestern way of life, I don't think I could survive such a transition. But I can pretend. Instead of transitioning an entire life there, I'd rather visit. Much more frequently than every 4 years.

With that said, my dear sweet husband, knowing full well the details of my love affair, secretly planned a New York get-a-way for our 1st anniversary, coming up next month. Did I marry the right man, or what? We're staying at a hotel 2 blocks from Central Park. We're going to see The Odd Couple on Broadway. I've never seen a Broadway play! And it was St. Pauly Boy's idea! Then we are having dinner, on the eve of our actual anniversary, at Tavern On The Green. It's already reserved and everything. I could not. be. more. excited.

Our original anniversary plans were to spend a night at the hotel where we had our reception, downtown St. Paul. It's by far my favorite hotel in the Twin Cities and they hosted one hell of a beautiful wedding for us. But we live 15 minutes away from said hotel and St. Pauly Boy wanted more distance from our hometown. More of a real vacation and since we can't recreate our honeymoon in Ireland (due to attempts at financial planning and lack of vacation time on my part), he thought this would be the next best thing.

And for me, he hit the nail right on the head.

---------------------------------------
*Outside of Speed, I'm fairly anti-Keanu. I know he's pretty and all, but when he opens his mouth, it's like nails on a chalk board to me. Just not right.

That's One Hell of a Technical Glitch

As a member of the Human Rights Campaign organization, I get every email update that they send. They provide very handy links to email our state senators regarding issues in which we would like to voice our opinion. There is a canned email and also the opportunity to add your own verbiage, to personalize your message to your govermental representatives.

My recent participation was in relation to the Marriage Protection Ammendment and my letters went to the MN Senators, Norm Coleman (R) and Mark Dayton (D).

I received a response from the Coleman camp, almost immediately. I found that refreshing, although I am not at all a Norm supporter. But, the response that I received has left me in a state of shock. Check this out:
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Mrs. S:

Thank you for taking the time to contact me regarding the Marriage Protection Amendment (S.J. Res. 1).

You will be pleased to know that I share your view that marriage is intended to be between one man and one woman. I support a constitutional amendment that would constitutionalize the Defense of Marriage Act, ensuring that the citizens of a state, through their legislature, have the right to define marriage as they see fit. Moreover, I believe that state legislatures and citizens, not activist judges, should determine what constitutes a marriage.

The Marriage Protection Amendment was introduced on January 24, 2005, by Senator Wayne Allard (R-CO) and referred to the Senate Committee on the Judiciary where it was reported favorably by the Constitution Subcommittee on November 9, 2005. This resolution proposes a constitutional amendment holding that only marriages between men and women will be recognized as legal marriages in the United States . In addition, this resolution would prohibit any state or federal laws that seek to confer marital status to unmarried couples or groups.

My two chief concerns about this particular resolution are that the language may to go beyond the issue of defining marriage and into other matters like employer-provided health care programs, for example, and that it substitutes the judgment citizens of each state should make through their legislatures. While this right is protected by current Federal law, recent court rulings suggest that a constitutional amendment may be necessary. As you know, the Defense of Marriage Act passed the House and Senate by overwhelming, bipartisan majorities, 342 - 67 in the House and 85 - 14 in the Senate.

You will be pleased to know that on July 14, 2004, I voted to end a filibuster and allow an up or down vote on this issue. While that procedural vote failed 48-50, Majority Leader Frist has expressed interest in bringing this legislation to the floor this summer. I will keep your views in mind as we once again take up this issue in the Senate.

I am humbled to serve as your Senator, and hope you will not hesitate to contact me on any issue of concern to you or your family.


Sincerely,
Norm Coleman
United States Senate
---------------------------------------------------------------------

Um. Did he just say that we're on the same page? Oh no you di-in't.

Then I got this:
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Mrs. S:

First, I would like to apologize for a technical glitch in our mail system which resulted in my sending an incorrect response to your recent email. Opinions of Minnesotans matter to me, and your opposition to the Marriage Protection Amendment has been recorded. Your advice will remain important to me while I consider this issue.

However, I support a constitutional amendment that would constitutionalize the Defense of Marriage Act, ensuring that the citizens of a state, through their legislature, have the right to define marriage as they see fit. Moreover, I believe that state legislatures and citizens, not activist judges, should determine what constitutes a marriage.

I have not, however, agreed to support the Marriage Protection Amendment which was introduced on January 24, 2005, by Senator Wayne Allard (R-CO) and referred to the Senate Committee on the Judiciary where it was reported favorably by the Constitution Subcommittee on November 9, 2005. This resolution proposes a constitutional amendment holding that only marriages between men and women will be recognized as legal marriages in the United States. In addition, this resolution would prohibit any state or federal laws that seek to confer marital status to unmarried couples or groups.

My two chief concerns about this particular resolution are that the language may to go beyond the issue of defining marriage and interfere with things such as employer-provided health care programs, for example and that it substitutes the judgment that citizens of each state should make through their legislatures.

Though we may agree at times and disagree at times, I value your advice.

Once again, I apologize for my earlier response. I am humbled to serve as your Senator, and hope you will not hesitate to contact me on any issue of concern to you or your family.
---------------------------------------------------------------------

I love how the automated responses try to sound so personal. "I apologize for my earlier response." .....where I completely disrespected your opinion. "I value your advice."......but only follow it if you promise to vote for me when I run for president.

Norm, tell your techies to kiss my fat liberal ass. And while you're at it, you can go ahead and pucker up too.

Say Whaaaaa?

There's this trend that's been going on for a while now involving tattoo's of certain words like "love" and "happiness" that are written in Chinese characters. It's an iritating trend, in my opinion. And this article really solidifies this fact for me. Turns out, people aren't doing the appropriate level of research on the Chinese language and as a result, some tattoos do not actually transulate into the intended insprirational (i.e. cheesy) word or phrase. This pleases me. Specifically this pleases me: (from NY Times)

"Britney Spears was apparently not so cautious. She reportedly got a tattoo she thought said "mysterious" but actually meant "strange."

(Article in it's entirity: "Cool Tat, Too Bad It's Gibberish")

That is brillant.

I cannot tell you how happy I am knowing that Brittney is wandering this earth, in all of her white trash glory, with a tattoo that says "strange".

I think the moral of the story here is.....don't fall for these ridiculous trends. And if you do, make sure you have Yao Ming transulate it appropriately for you.

Marriage Protection Amendment = Discrimination

Do we really want the transulation to soon become Constitution = Discrimination? No? Then go sign this petition:

Million For Marriage

And if you haven't already done so, contact your state senators. They deserve to know how we feel.

Don't Mess with Kenny Rogers.

Apparently I was the butt of everybody's joke yesterday. And rightfully so, I fully admit. From the moment I awoke, feeling delightfully rested and comfortable in my bed, it just took seconds for my brain to register that the reason I felt rested was because it was 9:30 in the morning and I was not at work. And then, the panic. I frantically email my boss, fully admitting that I had overdone the birthday celebration the previous night and that, well, I was just not going to make it into the office that day. Nor was I planning on making it to our 8am meeting, that was already over. I even offered to allow her to take disciplanary action against me (because if I didn't give her my blessing to punish me, she probably wouldn't). And when I had my 1:1 with her today, I reiterated my generousity. All she said she wanted was her $5 back.

Heh?

Turns out, my boss and a coworker of mine placed a wager on the possibility of my appearance in the office that day. And my boss lost. She really should have played the odds better on this one. But I respected the punishment like a big girl and I dug in my handbag, found a $5 bill crinkled up at the bottom next to my chapstick (and luckily the gum was still in it's wrapper), I straightened it out and ironed it on the edge of my desk, and with a big fat pouting of my lower lip, I delivered it to her. And then we laughed. Loudly. The funny thing is, she was a bit hung over herself yesterday (although, ever the professional, actually made it into the office) from the happy hour that they had for me. Is it still called happy hour when the drink & appetizer specials have ended and it's 10pm? I think that's just called "getting drunk at the bar" but I'm not one to judge.

And here's why. By 10pm that night, I was at another bar, playing a drinking game that was designed specifically for me on my special day. It consisted of two men with guitars, playing The Gambler by Kenny Rogers, while spicing up the lyrics just a bit. Everytime they used a specific word, I had to drink. Turns out, this word must have been their favorite because I went through a 25 oz. beer by the time the song was over. It went a little something like this:

You gotta know when to hold 'em.
Know when to fold 'em.
Know when to walk away,
And know when to mother fuckin' run, dog.
You never count your money, mother fucker,
when you're sittin' at the table.
They'll be time enough for countin',
when the mother fuckin' dealin's done.

And repeat.
Again.
Again.

And.............refill.

It was simply delightful!

Around 3am, it was finally time to leave. As I'm writing this I'm sitting her wondering if I paid my tab. So I sent an email to the bartender to see. Afterall, it's 99% his fault that I can't remember. I didn't order half of what he put in front of me that night. It was somewhere between the JagBull and The Gambler that I decided I would not be attending my 8am meeting the next day. Had I known there was a wager, maybe I would have tried a little harder to beat the odds. At least I know for next year.

Go Shorty.

It's my birthday. Yep, that's right. 4/4. In the year 2044, my birthday will be 4/4/44. I'll be 67 that year. And I'm throwing a huge birthday party with all my friends from the nursing home I'll be in by then*, and I'm getting kegs. And we're going to have drunken wheelchair races and play BINGO. Drunk. We'll be total party animals during that game of BINGO, let me tell you.

Although my dear sweet St. Pauly Boy is out of town for my birthday this year and the fact that the age of 29 is relatively meaningless**, I am in very good spirits. My coworkers are taking me out for happy hour, SPB sent me the most beautiful bouquet of roses and tulips, my in-laws also sent me a bouquet of all sorts of flowers (yes, they do in fact spoil me and no, I will not share them), my wonderful future-sis-in-law is heading over to my house to let Stinky Pete out to go potty, so I can go have drinks, and then she's taking me to get birthday hugs and kisses from my bar family at Tiff's. I love birthday kisses. And you know what's even better? It's 55 degrees and perfectly sunny. And you know what's even better than that?? I was just able to get closure on a situation that has been plaguing me for the last 2 years. Today. I finally stood my ground and said, enough is enough. I have forgiven myself for all the wrong things I did with that situation and I have the support of the people that I love and all I have left is the feeling of relief. And that is the best birthday gift. Ever. And I gave it to myself. Go figure.

So let's raise our glasses to 29th birthday's, coworkers that I actually look forward to spending my birthday happy hour with, my future-sis-in-law for taking care of me when SPB is out of town, and finally, to no hard feelings. And that, my friend, is what they call.....closure. (All you FRIENDS fanatics out there should remember that line).

Have a good day, internets! I sure will!

-----------------------------------
*Not saying 67 is old and that all 67 year olds belong in a nursing home. I just have this feeling that my body will be so pissed at me by then, for all the bad shit I do to it, that I'll have an early retirement from self-sufficient living.

**Unless you're one of those people who mourns the loss of your twenties and getting old and all that stuff, which I don't. And don't try to tell me it's because I'm not old enough to mourn my age because I have every hope in the world that I will always embrace the new stages of life that I enter with age. I love age. It rules.

The Donald

Just about everyone in the world thinks I'm crazy and I'm sure you will too when I say this, but I love Donald Trump. I LOVE The Apprentice. Those people make such asses out of themselves and The Donald just gets to lay into them and it's just beautiful to watch. Bad hair, I don't care. I love watching him fire people.

Like tonight, for example. The project manager on the team that lost the challenge (deservedly so, their jingle for Arby's was ridiculous) has to choose two people from his team to bring into the boardroom so The Donald can fire someone. This jack ass brings Lee, the Jewish guy who had to take 2 weeks off to observe a Jewish holiday and as a result missed the entire challenge. Are you kidding me? Did you really just discriminate against a guy because of his religion? On national TV? In The Donald's boardroom?? Take's balls, guy. But it doesn't really matter, because..........you're fired.

God I love that. You go, Donald. Damn I wish I could fire people. You're FIRED. That would feel sooooooooooo good. I think tomorrow I might just randomly start firing people. It's my birthday tomorrow, I should be able to fire people, right?? Well, I'm sure gonna try.

So, to all you Donald Hater's out there on the internets, lay off the coiffe. Just let him fire people so that I can continue to get my fix of cheap entertainment.

Here's To Good Mental Health

I received this from a friend today. She said it reminder her of me. I wonder why?

You Go, Jane Doe

Please don't allow the kitchy rhyme of the title of this post to take away from the seriousness of the subject matter. If you haven't been following the horrific rape trial going on in Orange County, Jane Doe successfully won her criminal case, thank god. Below is a link to her statement. Read with caution, it tough to bear, but necessary in my opinion.

OC Rape Survivor's Statement

Per Flea, over at One Good Thing, Jane Doe's lawyer is collecting letters of support for her client, via this email address: ihiroe@yahoo.com, for her upcoming civil suit against the defense attorney and the family of the convicted rapists.

For what this poor woman has gone through, from the brutal rape through the most vicious of vicious court trials, she deserves some words of encouragement from anyone who appreciates the impact of what she's done and for what she is still doing. She is standing up for all women, enduring the ridicule and reliving the torture of her situation, and we should all be thankful for her strength. We hope this case has some impact on the future of victimized women everywhere.

Oh Frodo.

TBS has the best promo's for the Lord of the Rings. The Frodo and Samwise Gangee montage to "Secret Lovers" by Alantic Starr.

Best. Ever.

David Hasselstalk

What ever happened to the good old days when Michael Knight and his best friend K.I.T.T. fought crime and kicked criminal ass together?

Now Michael is no more than a criminal himself. Something tells me K.I.T.T. would be very dissappointed in him. No matter how big of a "star" you are in Germany, domestic violence is not the answer.

Livin' In A Shredder's Paradise

St. Pauly Boy bought us a shredder recently. We had just watched the movie Lord Of War in which a federal agent is able to piece together documents that had been put through a regular "strip" shredder, which is what I believe sparked SPB's interest in getting us a shredder A.S.A.P. (NOTE: We are not arms dealers. My husband is simply paranoid.) So the contraption that SPB brought home is one of those ones that shreds paper into confetti sized bits.

I used to think SPB was just overly cautious when it came to the security of our personal information. We have an unlisted & blocked phone number, our computers are all password protected (alongside other measures of security), and our mail has always been destroyed prior to being placed in the garbage. Apparently ripping your mail in half or even in smaller pieces, isn't enough to protect yourself. Exibit A for owning a confetti shredder.

I'm thankful for SPB's paranoia. And I'm incredibly scared about the length at which credit card companies will compromise your security just to make a buck.

Point of Insanity

I'm there. The last 2 weeks have been completely, unbearably insane. My mind has not yet caught up to my body, which has been operating on pure adreneline for the last few days. At least St. Patty's Day was a success. St. Pauly Boy and I had a *few* pints at our favorite neighborhood pub. It was packed with people, which normally, due to the stage of adulthood that I've entered, pisses me off and causes me to immediately retreat to my couch and my Tivo remote. But instead, the crowd energized me. All of the blinking green beer ad buttons and the green plastic hats, it was cheesy goodness. Our bartenders, being good friends of ours at this point, were equally intoxicated due to the "one for you, one for me" rule on the whiskey shots (none of which I ordered for myself, by the way). I ended the night, by myself at the pub since St. Pauly Boy and our overnight guests (not out of towners, rather, non-drunk-drivers) went home and I demanded that the night was not yet over for me. Apparently I was not quite capable of determining my "end of the night" because around 3am, while I'm sitting around with my bar family, singing and hugging and proclaiming our eternal love for each other, SPB walked back in the bar. And after being escorted home (1 block of stumbling down the sidewalk hanging on SPB's arm the whole way and blubbering how sorry I was for being such a bad wife), the end of my night was clearly marked by the blackout.

When I awoke, around 11:30 the next day, I was still slightly intoxicated. Just enough to make me giggle at everything. We had a relaxing day, laying around, watching movies and eating junk food. Happy freaking St. Patrick's Day, what a success!!

Last night I met another friend of ours who is a "regular" at our friendly neighborhood pub and I was greeted by my bar family with a lot more attention than I was expecting. I got a "how were you feeling Saturday morning?", followed by a "HEY drunk ass!!", follwed by a "all I have to say is....impressive performance!!". After inquiring about the nature of these reactions (basically throwing my face in my hands and wimpering "oh.my.god. I'm so embarrassed!!", they assured me that I had in no way acted like a complete idiot or performed any truly fucked up acts of drunkenness, just that I was basically the MVP of St. Patrick's Day. Cheers to Boss Man B, for putting up with me at 3am when you were trying to get all of the other patrons to leave even though I wouldn't. Cheers to B.B. for serving me Miller Lite at the end of the night, at my request, even though you know that's not normally my beer of choice but for some reason I was determined to drink it anyway. Cheers to Smiley, for huddling with me in the corner while BMB had his meltdown and started throwing stuff because no one was leaving his bar quick enough (including...us.). And cheers to D & K for the lovely shots of Irish Whiskey, which I actually detest, but you forced me to endure in honor of the holy day. Soberly, I love you all as much as I love you drunkenly.

And most of all, CHEERS to my St. Pauly Boy, for only staying mad at me for a few minutes, accepting my apology and my vow to never make him leave the bar without me (or have to walk back down there to drag my drunk ass home).

Black Beer & Green Rivers.

What more could you want from the best holiday of the year?

(Photo courtesy of my camera and the Gravity Bar)



(Photo courtesy of my friend Josh, who's from Chicago. Where they dye the river green for St. Patty's Day. Duh.)

That's right Lads & Lassies........it's ST. PATRICK'S DAY!

When St. Pauly Boy and I were in Ireland last year, we toured the Guinness Storehouse in Dublin. There's a reason it's the #1 tourist hot spot in that city....it's freaking fantastic. Here is one of my favorite photo's (besides the one up top with the 2 delicious pints) from the GS:

With that, let's raise our pints up to the gods and toast the pure goodness that is Irish.

When we drink, we get drunk.

When we get drunk, we fall asleep.

When we fall asleep, we commit no sin.

When we commit no sin, we go to heaven.

So, let's all get drunk, and go to heaven!

(Screw you, Dante, the Irish are going to HEAVEN!!!)

Happy St. Patrick's Day, Everyone!

You're Going To Hell. Not Just Figuratively.

I always kind of assumed, but thankfully I can now confirm. I'm going to hell. What a weight off my shoulders. (Thanks (again) to ASS for the linkage.)

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Third Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Very High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	High
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Very High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very Low
Level 7 (Violent)	High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Moderate

Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test

See you there!

Hey Ya'll!

Sorry I've been MIA this week. Sorry to all 2 of you. I was in Nashville for work. Outside of the nice weather, it was painful. I'm not so sure Nashville is my "scene". But that's ok. I'm back to 9 feet of snow and a dog that badly needs a haircut. I'm happy.

I'm catching up on my favorite blogging and need to give props to this:

Don't Impeach; Impale (courtesy of ASS).

And this:

How To Teach Your Children The "F" Word (courtesy of Bitch Ph.D..

Just awesome. Perfect re-entry entries to get me back into the internets.

This puts it in perspective.

"If life ever gets you down, just say, fuck it, i need some mother-fucking candy." - David Sedaris

(At least that's how I think it goes, if I'm wrong, bitch me out.)

Favorite. Thing. Ever.

This completely rocks my world.

Caribou Card - Online Functionality!

Are you kidding me?? I can add money to my Caribou card, online?? And, if I trust the stability of the money flow in my bank account, I can set it up to automatically put more money on my Caribou card so that I'm never without my Medium Lightroast (unless it's Rainforest or Sumatra, those are the only darks I drink)?? And then maybe I can place the order for my Medium Lightroast online and that super hot guy at the downstairs Caribou will bring it up to me?? No?? Who do I talk to about implementing this process?

Tomboy Tuesday

I'm a sports-aholic. I listen to sports talk radio on a daily basis. I watch Sports Center. Often. I am dangerously attached to my hometown teams. St Pauly Boy and I are MN Wild season ticket holders, our Sunday's revolve around the NFL (when it's in season), I am the only woman that I know that watches the entire NFL draft. The NFL DRAFT! And I enjoy it. WTF?? Even my bachelorette party revolved around sports...with a Twins game.

I noticed that I don't talk much about sports on this blog. After thinking about that, I realized that I started this blog in the height of our winter depression. One of the only things that helps me get through the winter depression in MN is good sports. Yeah, we haven't had a lot of good sports happening in MN lately. The Timberwolves are just hideous (to the point that I'm not even going to link to them) and the Wild, while always fun to watch live, just aren't that good. The Gopher hockey team is the only one with promise, but somehow still haven't brought me enough excitement to make a difference.

I didn't want to have to start my "Tomboy Tuesday" on such a sad note. We have lost a sports legend. At the young age of 45, Kirby Puckett has died. He was a staple in my childhood, a hero, one of the very reasons I am such a sports fanatic and devoted Twins fan to this day. His place in MN sports history contains the best sports memories of my life. I don't care how pathetic this may sound, but I'm too sad to even talk about it. I'll have to write more later.

Farewell, Kirby.

Most Appropriate Polital Paraphernalia Ever.

WTF?

Condy and Her Hot Body

Tell me why this is newsworthy. Please. Explain.

Political Figure Fitness

After you get over the initial sentence..."Public figures usually do not go public when they work on their figures, though when they do, it can help humanize their images."...(ummmm, huh, did someone say something about public....or was it figures....I'm lost), continue on to read about why it's important for us to understand the message of the article. You didn't get the message, you say? Well, here you go. Loud and clear.

You're all fat.

And unhealthy.

And if a woman of such great importance to our goverment can make time out of here busy Bush-kissing ass schedule, then so can you.

You are the scum of the earth.

End message.

Just wanted to make sure that's understood.