Life Lesson #69: Thou shalt not lust after a married man (or woman). It cannot end well.

Haha, 69.

Who doesn't love Billy Madison? If you don't, you are just plan un-American. And not funny. And probably extremely lame. Loser.

Anyway, back to the lesson. I'm sure at one point or another, we have all "lusted" after a married person. Lusted is yet another gross word, it's right up there with leered. Let's rethink and rewrite. We have all looked at a married person, talked with them, and/or gotten to know them and felt extremely attracted to them. Before you shake your head in disgust, let me show you something:

Married.

Married.

Married.

Married.

 If you didn't drool over ANY of those photos, than maybe you're gay (not there's anything wrong with that!) or you have really weird taste in men. Either way, I'm SURE you have at least looked at a married man/woman sometime, somewhere and lot, "Damn, I'd like to be the star on his Christmas tree!"

Now, my dear Stalkers, it is time to confess some ugly. I, your hero, your idol, have been attracted to more than one married man in my day, and not just celebrities. Yes, I know, I too feel ashamed. Don't worry, I'm still awesome and it's not like I ever did anything about it but it still makes me feel, well, like a home-wrecker.

Seriously, how great were Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston? I am not a Brangelina fan. And I seriously not a fan of combining names to make a couple name. Gag me.

Have you ever met a guy and thought, wow, you're kind of well, perfect? You're totally infatuated, you gaze into the future seeing a wedding that is beautiful and your nice little daydream is shattered by five little words, "Have you met my wife?" That bitch. How dare she steal your man before you ever got the chance to meet him? Of course, she's beautiful, funny, perky (including her breasts) and is charming in every way. What a whore.

I could never knowingly sleep with a married man, never have an affair, never be "the other woman". I could never do that, not even if it was with one of the above mentioned dream boats. I couldn't be "the nanny" that slept with Jude Law or the Perkin's waitress of Tiger Woods's pick. Trust me, I know from experience. I had a guy friend, I was attracted to him long before he got hitched, than he got hitched and the jackass wanted to sleep with me! For a millisecond I thought I could go through with it but I literally got sick to my stomach. I didn't know his wife, knew nothing about her, but I couldn't do it, I couldn't do that to her, I couldn't live with myself. I am so happy I didn't do anything because the next day I found out that she was pregnant with their first kid, six months along-he had conveniently left that part out. Yeah, we haven't talked since. He wasn't the guy I thought he was needless to say.

Sometimes the 'perfect guy' has already found his 'perfect girl'. I always think of Alanis Morrisette's lyrics from "Ironic", It's meeting the man of my dreams than meeting his beautiful wife/Isn't it ironic? No Alanis, it's actually not ironic, it's more of a bitch, a bite in the ass, a punch right in the baby maker. I have to remind myself of Robin Williams's line from "Good Will Hunting":

You're not perfect, sport, and let me save you the suspense: this girl you've met, she's not perfect either. But the question is whether or not you're perfect for each other.

And there you have it, Minions. The married guy, he may be perfect but he isn't perfect for me, he's perfect for his wife, at least for the time being and that's why he's not with me. Somewhere there's someone who's perfect for me, I know because that's why Mark Salling is still single. He's simply waiting for me to find him or for GLEE to travel to where I am. It's okay, Mark, I'll wait for you...unless Joe Mauer finds me first. Than you'll be replaced.

Life Lesson #26: You can't die from boredom...but you can be driven to insanity by it.

I remember when I was just a wee little one (to be read with a Scottish accent), I would complain to my mother about being bored. Of course, my mother had neither sympathy nor empathy for me, told me to go find something to do and that I wouldn't die from boredom. Psh, she was no help.

As I've grown older, I have learned that boredom isn't just for the children. Side note: did you know a synonym for boredom is ennui? I learned that while reading trashy historical romance novels. I always thought ennui sounded like some porno word or something to do with erectile defection. Who knew? Anyway, boredom effects just as many adults as it does children and, in my opinion, effects them worse. Children, for instance, have the benefit of young minds which are easily led astray, a juvenile form of ADD. They can distract themselves with coloring books, imaginary friends, make believe, swing sets, and all sorts of other things. Adults, unfortunately, are usually bored due to uncontrollable circumstances, circumstances that can't be easily changed.

I am always bored at work. I never have enough to do and when I am given a task, it doesn't take long to complete and hardly ever involves using brain cells. It's infuriating and frustrating. How am I suppose to become unbored (no, that's not a word but I'm making it one) while sitting at a desk for 8.5 hours a day? Facebook, blogging, reading and playing Solitaire can only last so long and if I start playing make believe or talking to people who aren't there, I'll lose more than just my job. (Tomorrow's my last day, anyway, but that is a moot point where this post is concerned. Moot is another dignified word. Cue hat)
Okay, for the past 30 minutes I have tried uploading a picture of a person in a straight jacket, several different ones, and it won't let me. Odd. Does anyone else think that straight jackets look A LOT like Snuggies? Interesting...

I know other adults who get bored at parties or plays or meetings or, sadly enough, in bed. There's really nothing you can do but let your mind wander...which can be fun. Sometimes I like to make my grocery lists in my head or think about what I would do if I had the weekend free or how my wedding with Mark Salling will go...

 Hello, Gorgeous. Yes, I will marry you and I will never have ennui in your bed and I promise you won't, either...

Now him I could daydream about all day...and night but I am assuming that I would get nothing else done. And it wouldn't really cure my boredom so much as make me a giant pile of drool. Additionally, I don't think a 25 yr old drawing hearts that say Mrs. Mark Salling all over her legal pad at work looks good. Cue straight jacket Snuggie.

There's always something to do, I suppose. Whether it be catching up on correspondence (that means writing people, you youngin's), paying bills, doing laundry, dusting, vacuuming, organizing, cooking...I'm sure there is always something that needs to be done but sometimes it's not plausible to do those things, like at work or the theater. Sometimes, you are just shit out of luck...which is why Smart Phones have been invented and why Angry Birds (and games like it) are so popular. They are not only addicting but are mobile, handy and, um, SO MUCH FUN. They may be "juvenile" but since every one's doing it, it's okay. I'm sure it's how LSD was viewed in the '60s. Don't worry, Smart Phone games aren't as detrimental (cue hat) to your health and are totally legal.

The point is, boredom never leaves you, maybe when you're old and your mind has gone so you don't know you're bored, but even than you'd still be bored just not aware of it. I guess boredom just can't be avoided, like my mother or pap smears, you just have suffer through it and hope it too will pass. And, if give the choice, I would take boredom over pap smears and pap smears over my mother. Just an FYI.

Life Lesson #9: Kindness goes a long ways

I don't know what it is but lately I have been accosted by kind people. Maybe in my old, decrepit age I have become too much of a cynic or maybe after working with idiots for so long, I've become bitter. Either way, I usually expect to deal with assholes of the first kind when it comes to the public. When I call around in an attempt to find a new daycare for Gus, I am not shocked when the response is, "No, we're full." CLICK I suppose I should be shocked and outraged, instead, I'm surprised when the response is, "I'm so sorry, we're full. Oh, I do hate to turn people away. I would be more than happy to put you on a list, you never know what may open up!" Sadly, I usually don't know how to respond to these strange people and usually mumble something back after a shocked silent pause.

When the rents and I stayed in a Country Inn & Suites in Wausau, WI for Buttercup's wedding, the people there were INCREDIBLY kind and went out of their way to make all the guests happy. The front desk man, Luke was his name, was so sweet and couldn't have been more than 19 years old. Even the maids were friendly and courteous! I was stunned.
Most recently, my car broke down (it's from 1996, I'm surprised it's lasted this long) so I had to have it towed. The tow truck guy was very friendly (though he needed a shower and I don't get why he had to wear sunglasses AND a baseball cap on a day that was cloudy. I'm assuming he was either hung-over or stoned, regardless he was very nice). The mechanics were friendly and when I requested a number for a cab to come pick me up, they had a courtesy vehicle to take me wherever I needed to go! The driver was nice, too, and even let me bring my coffee along.
Is most of America this nice? Have I become such a bitch that I just expect everyone else to be a bitch, too? Or did I just spend too much time dealing with people in bigger cities and come to expect rudeness? My God, does my bitchiness automatically make people bitchy with me? No, that can't be it, than it'd be my fault.
At my job (I'm a secretary), I do in all honesty, (have you ever heard someone say I'm going to be truthfully honest? Is there any other kind of honesty? Kind of redundant if you ask me.) try to be nice and polite with the public. With people I know, I'm my usual sarcastic, joking self, obviously just a treat. But when it comes to the public, I often find it hard to be happy with them when they are rude, obnoxious or, more often than, stupid.
I really don't know what it is about stupid people but they drive me nuts. It's not like I'm asking you what about differential equations or how to split an atom, I'm asking you simple questions and when I answer your simple questions in simple monosyllabic words, I expect you to understand. It really irritates me when I have to explain myself four or five different times. Really, you couldn't catch on the first three times I told you the three digit code? Or where to find the camp brochure as I walked you through it step-by-step? I have patience, I'm a mother of an almost 2 year old, I have PLENTY of patience, but I find it infuriating when people don't pay attention or are too stupid to catch on to, what I deem, common sense tasks.

Perhaps it's all this negativity that makes me expect rudeness from others or maybe it's the fact that, more often than not, I get rudeness from others. I don't know but I find that kindness from others is pleasant, surprising and makes me, well, joyous, in almost a Christmas-y way. I find myself wanting to be kind to others and want to spread this strange phenomenon, that strangers can be kind to strangers, to others.
I've heard of this thing, this "pass it forward" and maybe that's what's been going on or maybe it's just that these people are genuinely kind and want to be kind to others for no reason. Regardless, these strangers are making my days, my experiences much more pleasant and making me wonder...is the world actually filled with kindness? Is it becoming less cynical? Is it more Gilmore Girls than Law & Order: SVU?

If yes, sign me up although I reserve the right to remain skeptic. This isn't afer-all Stars Hallow or Mayberry, this is America, home of the brave, righteous, stubborn, always-right, pessimistic, suspicious and scornful. Meanwhile, I will cherish the few moments of random acts of kindness and try to pass them on.

Life Lesson #32: Just because people graduate high school doesn't mean they leave there...

I graduated back in '04 and as soon as my diploma was in my hands, I was done with that place. I have gone back there for my cousin's plays (twice) or to visit a favorite teacher (that was once) or to watch my dad officiate a basketball game (twice) but I really don't think those events are anything out of the ordinary.

I was never a person who looked longingly at my days in high school, wishing I could go back to those times. I don't cherish them above others. I certainly don't think they were the best days of my life. I have never thought "I would give anything to go back". Don't get me wrong, it's not like I hated high school. I have some great memories from high school and I have some horrific ones. Since I grew up in a smaller town, the friends I had in high school were pretty much the same friends I had in grade school and middle school. We were a close-knit group of girls (and guys) who swore we'd remain that way till the end of time. *sigh* Even Zack Attack didn't stay together forever.

The thing is, people change, at least, you HOPE people change. The sad fact of life is, not everyone does. Some people remain the same person they were in high school. They peak during those four years and that, my stalking friends, is really rather sad.

Maybe it's because they peaked in high school or maybe it's because when they went to college, they pretty  much just went to high school. Not following? The majority of kids I graduated high school with went to either College A or College B, once there, they just continued to hang out with the exact same group of friends, only branching out to include people who they competed against in high school sports, people who were exactly like them. So basically, it was high school all over again, just with more booze, more sex and no parents. It gave most of them no reason to grow up, no reason to change. And now, despite the passing of 7 years, they are still stuck in high school.

What brought all of this on? Well, I went to one of my dear friends', that is actually a sincere comment, bridal shower this past Saturday. I've known her since kindergarten and she's been a great friend all these years. Her out of her 5 bridesmaids, 4 of them are old friends of mine (the fifth is the groom's sister). All three of the four are still stuck in high school but put them all together and all of them have re-vertigo, a term I picked up from 'How I Met Your Mother'. It means they revert back to the age they were when they best got along...in this case, high school.

I'm at a bridal shower, I'm 25 years old, my son is with me, I'm surrounded by other adults and yet these girls chose to bring up past indiscretions or, jokingly, call me a slut or whore? Really? This isn't a bachelorette party, no one's drunk, and, wait, we're not teenagers or at a kegger. Grow the f up.

Maybe spend a weekend not being drunk off your ass? Maybe have a conversation about politics instead of pop culture? Maybe know what's going on in our country besides sports or celebrities? Can we have a serious conversation about health care or kids or taxes or housing or SOMETHING other than the fricking past or who's sleeping with whom? How about just once we don't gossip about the same group of people we've been gossiping about for the past 17 years!

Sadly, not every one grows up although people do grow apart. The friends you grow up with probably won't be the ones you grow old with. The girl who's with you when you first have you heart broken probably isn't going to be the first one you call when you get engaged. The one you play dolls with probably isn't going to be your first visitor in the Maternity Wing. The girls who know all of your secrets, the ones you take your first drink with, swear you'll be best friends forever with, they aren't going to be the ones who help you raise your children, the ones you call when your spouse is driving you nuts or when you just want to cry.

The people who get you through high school, yes, they are important and they should be loved and cherished...but sometimes they should be let go. High school, it's come and gone, sometimes people have a hard time letting go of that. It's nice to have memories of the past, just make sure you don't live there because if you're living in the past, you're missing the present and what kind of future is that?

Life Lesson #14: Just because you have a bank account, doesn't mean you are making bank.

For some reason, I recently had the notion that I had money. Don't get me wrong, Gus and I aren't starving nor was I going hog wild and buying lots of crazy things like Kate Spade purses or Jimmy Choo shoes.

 Hell, I was aware to the fact that I at least didn't have the extra $525.00 to spend on pumps. Although, I wish I did. Look at how gorgeous they are...
Anyway, I know my mother will no doubt chalk it up to the fact that I recently got a debit card but the truth is my little fantasy began long before my plastic buddy arrived in the mail. I think it all began with my trip to Minneapolis. You see, my friends tend to have more money than I do. Sometimes it's nice because they treat me to delicious dinners and brunches but other times, it plain sucks donkey butt.
Have you ever noticed that when women get together, they tend to act like one another? (When they are friends that is.) They talk alike, they dress in the same style, they laugh at the same things...they spend money the same way. Okay, none of that's true now that I think about it. The only thing that is is the laughing thing. My friends and I all have the same sense of humor. We all have style but not the same. We don't find the same men attractive. We have a tendency to like the same food and restaurants but not drinks. We talk different with different accents but can understand each other without words. So really, I'm just looking for a scapegoat. Crap.

*Side note: Did you know there is such a thing as a FAINTING goat? True story. They are tiny little buggers that go stock stiff when scared than fall over like they are plastic lawn decorations. You Tube it. It'll make your day. I promise.
So back to the story, I have been on a spending binge with money I don't have. Nothing astronomical that I would notice and go, "Whoa, maybe I better take a pause for the cause" but rather small things here and there: a cup of coffee at work, Starbuck's on the weekend, a toy for Gus during a Target trip, two very nice yet unnecessary trips to Hobby Lobby that I had managed to totally rationalize in my mind at the time, jewelry, more gifts for Gus, a weekend of rummage sales...these things added up without my knowledge! HOW DARE THEY?

That's right sandy kid, you tell 'em who's boss. The problem is I have quit my job in order to go back to school full-time. I know, I'm amazing like that. I went to school for three years...kind of. It was more like 50% school 50% partying...okay 30% school 70%...fine 5% school 95% partying but man, it was one great party. Anyway, now I'm going back to school full-time so that I can get a real job in the real world and make real money instead of this bullshit $10.60/hr that I make now. Seriously, that's what I make. I am below the poverty line and it ain't fun, kids so STAY IN SCHOOL AND DON'T PARTY...too much.
So I'm done with work June 30 and will have to live off my savings, the government and *shudder* my parents for the next 2-2.5 years while I get my BS in English Education. Either way, I need to save. No more gifts. No more accessories. No more ANYTHING that isn't a necessity and by necessity, I actually mean necessity not, 'If I don't get this I'm going to die!' necessity of a 13/25 year old in a sweet fashion boutiques.

It is always so disappointing to realize you are broke. It's always devastating to realize you were always broke but were spending the "money" anyway. Wouldn't it be nice if the bank just kept replenishing your account every time you took out some money? That way you would never have to worry about a thing! Wow, I guess the medicine they gave me for my strep has really gone to my head...

Life Lesson #34: You will, no doubt, work for an idiot. .

Whether it is your first job, your third job, your last job or, unfortunately, all of your jobs, at some point you will work for an idiot.

The problem, of course, is that many times in life, you will be smarter than your boss. It's not just that you think you are smarter than your boss, it's that, truthfully, you are smarter than your boss. For some reason, this moron has climbed the ladder quicker than you. Either his daddy has made contributions to the company, he has slept with the right people, he was in the right place at the right time, his people skills kick ass or he's just luckier than you. Either way, he's on top and you're underneath (that's what she's said).
Your job may suck (like mine). You may wake up every morning, praying for a blizzard even when it's June, just so that you don't have to go to work. You may go to bed every night thinking, 'Dear God, I hope that something happens and I wake up tomorrow rich and/or a superhero'. Although, even superheros have to go to work.

And it must suck 100x more to be a superhero in a regular job because I'm sure they just want to bust out of their cotton and into their spandex and go ape shit on their copy machines and instead of telling their bosses what they can do with their mass mailings, they can literally show them. *sigh* How nice.
What I can't figure out is how all of the morons are getting jobs. At my young age, I've already worked for my fair share of idiots. I've worked for the idiots who have no people skills but are smart at what they do-that's one type of idiot; I've worked for the idiots who are excellent with people but can't add two and two together-that's another kind; I've witness the kind who are beautiful but have nothing else going on for them-that's a whole other kind. Maybe it's just me, but I feel if you are going to be in a position of authority, you should have people smarts AND book smarts. Unfortunately, these people are few and far between.

In my opinion, the worst thing about idiotic bosses, is they have this ridiculous notion that they are WAY more important than they actually are. Its as if to make up for their lack of intelligence, they boast their ego with...I don't even know...some personality version of Viagra. It's fake and doesn't fool anyone but themselves.
In some rare occasions, morons will somehow pull a multi-million dollar company out of their asses. This is a huge problem for the rest of us. It encourages the rest of the dumbasses and makes them believe that they, too, can succeed with barely half a brain and no common sense. It also re-enforces the idea that the intellectually challenged should be given positions of authority.

And, of course, let us not forget the idiots that you will undoubtedly work with. They will smell, not shower, not brush their teeth-if they have teeth, have horrible stories that they will tell you over and over, eat your lunch, read your emails, spread gossip, steal your pens, yet somehow more than likely get along with your boss.

Of course, not everything about work is bad. Sometimes you can find your soul mate...

Sometimes you find your person...

But most of the time you're just going to find someone like this...

...and an idiot who thinks he's a lot smarter and more important than he actually is.

So basically what you should strive for is a job that never seems like a job but that always seems to keep your bank account full of lots of goodies...

You know, like money, jewelry, gems, countries...those sorts of things.

Life Lesson #25: It takes a lot of balls to ask people for money

Most recently, my sister-in-law Lucy asked me if I was aware of the blog her cousin writes. I told her I was but that I had never read it. Lucy quickly filled me in. To say I was stunned is a drastic understatement though not as stunned as I was this morning when I read it for myself.

Lucy's cousin, Courtney, is about 28 years old, happily married with three young children. She has a degree in elementary education but is a stay-at-home mom while her husband does carpentry work. They appear to be a very happy, loving family.

It has always been Courtney's dream to have a large family, at least four children. All you have to do is read her blog to know this. (I don't want to post it in case it can be traced back to me but it's on blogspot and it's title is waitingonsix) Courtney's dream was almost crushed, though, at the beginning of her marriage. They tried to conceive shortly after getting married but struggled for the first year. Her doctor said it might just not be in the cards for her (I know all of this via Lucy, and supposedly I'm the gossip. Riiight...). You can imagine their happiness when she got pregnant with their first son, than their daughter and their youngest just turned one about a week ago. They are in the beginning stages of building their own home. They have dogs and cats, hamsters and birds. They are a frickin' TLC show waiting to happen so you'd think they'd be content to wait for baby number 4 to come along whenever, right? WRONG-O!

Apparently, one morning good ol' Courtney woke up and decided she and her loving hubby needed to adopt a child. Where did this idea come from? Well, you see, God put this idea in her heart. I don't know if God appeared as a burning bush over-night or an angel visited or if Courtney was just suffering from indigestion but she's claiming God put this idea in her heart. The truly outrageous part is evidently God was pretty specific: He wants them to adopt a girl. From Ethiopia. Under the age of 4. She may or may not come with a sibling, that part doesn't matter, all that matters is that Courtney adopts her...and that she's a she...from Ethiopia...and is under the age of 4. I guess God 1) doesn't care about the orphans from other countries 2) doesn't care about boys or 3) doesn't think Courtney can handle any children who don't fit those requirements.

So now you're probably thinking, okay, this lady is a little off but not too off, I mean she's kind hearted enough to adopt a child in need, what's the big deal? Let her! I'm sure someone out there needs a mother and Angelina Jolie has to reach a limit at some point! Well, sit back my dear stalkers but this tale is about to take a turn into Crazyville (is there really a Crazyville? Time out, let me check Google Maps...Nope BUT there is a Looneyville, WV. NICE!)

Sadly, Courtney's family doesn't have the money to adopt a child. To adopt an international child, it costs between $22,000-45,000. I found this out by reading the blog. Does this problem deter Courtney? OF COURSE NOT! She just sends out a letter to all her family and friends asking them for funds so they can adopt! Obviously, she explains her epiphany from God and how this is her family's calling. Now I don't know this for sure but I'm doubting she explained that the reason they are lacking the funds right now is due to the fact that they are building their own house...
I understand that asking for money from your relatives usually involves swallowing a lot of self-pride. Most people are too proud to ask for help when they need it, especially when it involves money. Apparently, Courtney has no pride. I'm sure she'd be the first to tell you that where children are concerned, it doesn't matter, you do what you have to do for your children. How very noble of you, Courtney. Here's an idea: how about instead of begging your friends and relatives for money that you don't have, putting your family so far in the hole you definitely won't be able to live as you do now, being indebted to your friends and family for the rest of your life (and what happens to the people who give money should you not raise enough? do you give the money back or hold on to it until you do have the funds?), how about you WAIT and save your own damn money to adopt this child? Or maybe you go back to work as well? Don't want to pay for daycare than maybe YOU take in some kids for daycare and earn an extra $2000/month. Did God, while calling to you with these extremely detailed instructions, put a time limit on this?

I am all for adoption. God bless the wonderful parents who give homes to the millions of orphans out there who need loving homes. But I also think that adoption is hard for a reason. They make you jump through so many hoops because they want to make sure you are serious about it, that you realize what is all involved and that you aren't doing it just so others think you are a good human being. I just don't think every family is made for adoption...
If Courtney is all gung-ho for giving a child a home, why doesn't she become a foster parent? Or why doesn't she adopt a US child, they are much cheaper? Why does it have to be NOW? If they can't afford the adoption process, how are they going to provide for FOUR YOUNG CHILDREN? Chances are, the little girl from Ethiopia won't be healthy and will definitely need to be up-dated on her shots, which of course costs money, how will they be able to afford that? Another fund-raiser? Car wash? Dodgeball tournament?

Personally, I think there is something seriously wrong with this lady. If I were part of the adoption company (company? team? agency? agency.), I wouldn't give someone a child who had to go out and fund raise for her because to me that just says, "Wow, this woman is looking for a cause not a daughter." In the meantime, I'm just going to sit back, relax, and wait for the telethon that is sure to come.

Life Lesson #10: Learn how to dance

In life there are many important things to learn: proper grammar, spelling, how to drive a car, balance a checkbook, swim, play poker, brew a good cup of coffee...but none is as important as learning how to dance.
Everyone starts off dancing. Who hasn't been to a wedding where a little kid hits the dance floor? They wiggle their diapered tushies and pump their chubby fists in the air to a beat all their own. It doesn't matter if they are boys or girls, they are out there getting their groove on.

Something happens between toddler hood and the teenage years that halts our inner dancing queens. It may be because we become self-conscious; it may be because we become aware of the actual musical beat and just can't seem to match our bodies to it; it may be because shaking our fists in the air while moving our butts up and down isn't cute once you are over the age of four. Whatever the reason, we lose our inhibition and the restraints of society limit us. Well, not all of us.

But you get the point. Dancing used to be a HUGE part of our culture and now it's a special training only a select few have, like playing the accordion (how pointless is THAT instrument? and annoying? like the bagpipes, really). It's an extremely special occasion when you and your significant other go out dancing and even than, it's only if you KNOW how to dance and if you're lucky enough to have a club that has dancing, you know that kind that isn't NC-17 Rated.
Most colleges these days offer a ballroom dancing class. Kids sign up thinking it's an easy A, a way to get a cultural credit or a PE credit without really trying. They are often in for a surprise (or so I've heard, I've never actually taken it). It's a hard core work out and trains your coordination. Regardless of whether or not you need the credit, TAKE THE CLASS. It will definitely be worth it.
Think back to the days when every "party" involved dancing. All men and women needed to know a variety of dances: waltz, minuet, quadrille, and many more. If you didn't know how to dance, you weren't going to get courted and were going to spend the rest of your life alone. Basically, if you didn't know how to dance, you were screwed, even the poor people knew how to dance in some way! Although, I'm sure the paupers danced a bit dirtier than the rich people...
Many women equate a good dancer with a good lover. (God, I hate that word. Lover *shiver*. It's such a gross word. It makes me think of some dirty old cougar with badly dyed hair, make-up painted on her face, bright red lipstick smeared as she puffs on a Camels. A while back, Cocoa Von Hoffman and I came up with the term gremlin to replace lover so from now I that's what I will be using.) I don't believe this myth. I think men can be good dancers but not good gremlins and vice versa. That being said, I think being a good dancer can make a man very sexy. You know how a guy can be just average looking but a great personality can turn him into really good looking? I think talent on the dance floor can do the same thing. Take an average looking guy, put him on the dance floor and have him bust out smooth moves and he instantly gains 4-5 points on the hotness scale.

As a woman, you can get away more easily by not being able to dance. If you don't want to go dancing, your man will more than likely heave a sigh of relief, glad he doesn't have to pretend to lead you on the dance floor. But why wouldn't you want to dance? Why wouldn't you want to get dolled up, strap on some stilettos and sway to Sinatra or Buble? Are you afraid of happiness? Do you hate life? Are you paralyzed? If you are, I'm sorry but still, put on some sweet shoes and have him spin you in your chair! Dancing, in my opinion, is pretty much as good as sex (okay, not really but it definitely lasts longer).
Take dance lessons, learn to salsa, fox trot, waltz, mamba, swing. It's pretty much the most fun workout you can have. You'll get in shape so that when Friday night comes, you can slip into a sexy red dress, put on some high heels and saunter into a dance club only to have a gorgeous man (preferably a straight one) come ask you to dance.

Than on the dance floor, you'll do the dance as old as time, you'll basically be making love on the floor (and not dry humping to Ke$ha), moving to the music, locking eyes, wondering if he's as good between the sheets as he is on the floor.
But you have to take lessons. You really don't want to be the couple just standing on the floor, the girl twirling her dress, the guy with his hands in his pockets, wondering what you should do next now that you've exchanged pleasantries, do you?

Well, you would if you were as cute as these two, but you aren't so TAKE LESSONS. Seriously. Look them up right now. Call the number and get off the computer. Fat ass.

Life Lesson #15: There is absolutely nothing wrong with being single

For the majority of my life, I have been single. I am not very good at relationships, I am assuming this is due to the fact that I have a habit of dating complete douche bags. My longest relationship is 4 months. Yes, I am 25 years old and I the longest I have been with someone is 4 months. This does not bode well for me in the marital category.
I have no problem being single. I have been friends with girls who need to be in relationships and I am seriously bothered and stunned by them. You know which girls I am talking about, the ones who have to have a man, the ones who go from one relationship to another without taking time to even change their Facebook status before jumping into someone else's arms. I look at these women and study them as if they are some type of interesting species, which to me they are. I have always loved my alone time, being unaccountable to another human being, being able to read whenever I want, to relax in a bath, spend the night in if I so chose. Why would you want to tie yourself to another human being 24/7? I can understand if you are in love with this person but these woman do it with every man, constantly. It leaves me befuddled. (Yet another great word)
Of course, there are parts of relationships that I adore. I love having someone to talk to late at night, someone who I can share my funny stories with, laugh with, complain to just to unload. I like to cuddle and feel secure. I love getting dolled up and going to fancy restaurants, having adult conversations, having a guy walk me to the car, hold the door for me, escort me home. And who doesn't enjoy flirting and being flirted with? Who doesn't like feeling appreciated and adored in return?
The problem with being single is you get lonely. You forget what it's like to have someone else touch you and I don't mean sexually (although God knows I've forgotten what that feels like, too). I mean you forget what it feels like to have someone hold your hand just to feel connected to you. You forget what it feels like to be in the crook of someone's arms and feel as if that space was carved just for you. You forget how warm a hand can feel on your shoulder, how it can root you to a spot when you feel as if anger will send you flying. You forget what butterflies feel like when you see the person is calling you or coming towards you. You forget what it feels like to be part of something greater than yourself, to contribute to a relationship, to give something of yourself, to risk yourself on a daily basis hoping against hope that he in turn with risk with you.
While there is nothing wrong with being single, humans were not meant to be alone. We were meant to be part of a pair, as were all creatures (with the exception of Praying Mantis or Black Widows and such). I'm independent and I pride myself on knowing that I can be happy alone, that I don't need a man to find fulfillment, and I don't. I'm not looking for my better half, if I were, I'd never find him. I don't think someone else should "complete you", I think if you aren't complete on your own, you aren't ready for someone else. If you are searching for someone else to make you a better person, you will always be severely disappointed. I think the most you can hope for is to find someone who makes you a better you; someone who makes you want to be a better person simply by being around him; someone who inspires you, motivates you, loves you beyond measure and who never measures you. Do I want that? Of course. Do I believe true love exists? Absolutely. But is it out there for me? That I don't know.
I have to know that I am okay on my own, that should I not have someone out there for me, I will be okay. I have to know that while fairy tales do exist, mine may not involve a Prince Charming. I have to tell myself this, make myself believe this, set my expectations low so that should I be 65 and single, I will be okay with it and not dying of despair, wallowing in unrequited love. Will I ever fall in love? I hope so. I hope I know what it's like to look into someone's eyes and feel as if everything has stopped, that the world is simply to small to contain what we feel for one another. But if I let myself believe that all I have dreamt of, the imperfect perfect man for me exists and will find me, what happens if it doesn't come true? What will I tell myself than?
There is nothing wrong with being single. I would much rather be single than in a loveless relationship or in a relationship wondering if I settled or if I was missing out on something more. If I marry, I want no regrets, no wanderings. In the meantime, I will watch my friends fall in love, help them plan weddings, date when I feel the need or urge and do my best to raise someone else's Prince Charming because come Hell or High Water he will have a Happily Ever After...

Life Lesson #3: Love, actually, is all around.

I've spent the past 24 hours wondering how I would describe the weekend. Words have seemed to escape me and I appear to have the fluidity of...of...well I don't even know. I'm fairly certain, though, that a kindergartner may do a better job at recapping the glorious wedding I attended on Saturday.
I keep putting off this post. I unpack, post pictures, nap, do lots of other things not because I don't want to write about the wedding and vacation but because I find myself at such a complete loss for words, I am actually embarrassed and a little bit ashamed. To be honest, the above half dozen sentences have been written and re-written over the course of 12 hours. Sad, I know.
I knew that Buttercup loved Westley and that Westley loved Buttercup. If that wasn't true, I would have been seriously opposed to the nuptials and probably would have done my best to talk Buttercup out of getting married. Instead, I was lucky enough to sit front row as Buttercup had her first date, first said 'I love you', bought numerous gifts, planned numerous trips to him (it was a long distance relationship), counted the days till she could see him again, screamed with happiness over the engagement ring, stressed over the wedding details and cry with happiness over the wedding vows.
The drive from my apartment to the wedding site was a grand total of 10 hours. Everyone was shocked that I would drive (my parents came too) with my toddler son 10 hours for the wedding. I was shocked that they were shocked. If Buttercup had gotten married in North Korea, I would have 1: tried to talk some sense into her and 2: bought a plane ticket. One of my best friends was getting married, a pack of wild mothers and mothers-in-law couldn't have kept me away.
Gus did phenomenal on the trip. I was so proud of him and pleasantly surprised as he had never been in a car ride longer than 3 hours. We stopped in Minneapolis and met up with Schnookems which was a wonderful unexpected side trip. She hadn't seen Gus since he was a month old. We did some light shopping and caught up while Gus ran around stretching his legs. And by running around, I mean he went up and down the escalators while my dad followed him around like a body guard.
We got to WI in the early evening, which gave us plenty of time to unpack and dink around. I was thrilled to see Dora who has spent the last month in Italy for May term "studying". She had to rush off to the rehearsal dinner so we walked around historic downtown and grabbed some dinner. Warning: Chocolate Milk is like crack to toddlers. Gus had a huge glass and was the most hyper I had ever seen him. Putting him to sleep was disastrous.
The following day was The Big Day and it was gloriously beautiful from the moment the sun woke up. The ceremony took place outside in a garden museum at 3PM. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. There were less than a 100 people in attendance, all classically classy, anxiously awaiting the nuptials. The moment the bridesmaids-Dora, Sookie and Drizzella-walked out, I started to cry. Buttercup was at last getting her wish, she was marrying her Prince Charming. Her fairytale was coming true. Her happily ever after was about to begin.
She truly was breathtaking in her White House Black Market gown accented with a navy ribbon. As the harpist played, her father walked her to Westley, who was tearing up at the sight of his Princess. The two of them, standing together, holding hands and exchanging vows as old as love itself, everyone in attendance knew they were witnessing something special, that this wasn't something fleeting, that this wasn't something that would end with properties being split, kids choosing holidays and weekends, this would end in eternity with them together just as they are now.
Westley dipped his bride in a movie star kiss, sealing what I already knew...he loved her more than life itself just as she did him. We clapped, we cried, we melted in the humidity and sun and we felt the love that was all around. By the time we got back into the car, we still had over an hour before cocktails would be served at the country club so we went back to the hotel to cool off.
The country club was beautiful, of course. The centerpieces perfect, classy, timeless, elegant. The DJ played Buble, Sinatra, Norah Jones. Really, everything about the reception was wonderful. There was even a cute dentist there for me! He was an usher in the wedding and he showed up with a girlfriend...but they have only been dating a month and really, what's a month? I told Westley to break them up. He's on it. Such a good friend. :) Gus found his future-bride, a 13 month old girl named Layla. They were the second cutest couple there and did their best to tear up the dance floor.
Everything was drama-free, which, in my opinion, is all you can ask for out of a wedding. No one was fall down drunk. No one made any embarrassing speeches. The Best Man speech was touching yet light. The MOH speech by Drizzella was good, I thought there was a jab at me in there but I may have been paranoid. It was great. Perfect. Everything you could ask for.
There was a time, though, when you would look at Westley and Buttercup on the dance floor. They may have been slow dancing to Sinatra or fast dancing to Ke$ha, it didn't matter because they were clearly the only two people in the room. The happiness they were feeling was actually palpable, you felt as if you could reach out and touch it, grab it and hold on to it like fairy dust.
As I watched the two of them who were so obviously one, my heart swelled and there was not one ounce of jealousy or envy. I didn't wonder if I would ever have that or ever be lucky enough to have even half of what they have. Instead, I looked at them and smiled with tears in my eyes, knowing that fairy tales do come true, that happily ever after does exist, that sometimes frogs become princes, that sometimes the cliches are right and love, actually, is all around.
I love you, Buttercup, and words cannot describe how happy I am for you. So this one post, this one time, I have reserved my sarcasm and been sincere because there is nothing funny about the love you two share, it is all real and it, my dear, will last longer than a lifetime.

Life Lesson #30: Old people are weird.... Part II

After yesterday's post, I kept thinking, there seems to be something missing, something is off, so I've decided to continue on with yesterday's post in hopes of completing my previous thoughts thus (cue British hat) bringing closure to my old people malfeasance's (cue Dwight K. Schrute).

Have you ever noticed that old people have the same commercials? They never change! The denture creams, the Medicare, they haven't changed in years. The old woman who's fallen and can't get up, she has to have died YEARS ago. I don't say that to be mean, I say it as a fact. It's as if they film one commercial than call it good until the product dies out, not the people in the commercial itself. I don't get it.
Also, I don't understand the elders obsession with Westerns. Maybe this is just a trend where I live but I'm thinking it's a global thing. For some unknown reason, crappy acting combined with crappy special effects and predictable story lines fascinates old people. They could watch the Western Channel for hours on end. It doesn't matter if they've seen the show or not, they love that stuff. Have you ever actually watched a Western? I don't mean something like the new True Grit or Christian Bale's 3:10 to Yuma, I mean a TRUE Western with people who are long dead and guns that pop, special effects that involve a man running with a camera in hand. These movies always involve a damsel in distress (usually a school marm), some sort of Miss Kitty (usually the town whore), a sheriff, a young boy with a one syllable name who tries to help but only gets himself into trouble, a dog, some sort of mutt and of course the villain, a guy who hasn't showered, is missing teeth, and is usually dark in appearance.

Okay, seriously, I was google searching: old western movies and the above image is what came up. WTF. First off, I think we can all assume the above cowboy is gay. Second, why do the majority of cartoons that depict cowboys have curly hair? And this hair is always peeking out under a cowboy hat that is pushed way too far back/up, as if worn by an uber nerd-cowboy. Personally, I think a cowboy should look like this:

Okay not like this but I had to post this picture. I think his owners should be reported for pet abuse. This is just plan cruel. It's an insult to dogs. And cowboys. And society in general.

 Now THAT is how a cowboy should look. And sound. And sing. Basically, he's perfect. And he can act so he's way too overqualified for any Western movie. I highly doubt any old timers know who he is. That's okay. No one will ever compare to Roy Rogers anyway.
Old people are also ridiculously loud which is quite ironic since they are always telling people to turn down music and whatnot. They talk incredibly loud, I'm assuming this is due to the fact that they can't hear so they talk loud enough to hear themselves which results in shouting. They are also very loud eaters. I don't know if this is due to the veneers or dentures or what. The food they are eating is soft, on account of the teeth, so it's not like they are munching away on pretzels or carrots. Even their breathing is uber loud. I can't really find an answer for this unless they want to hear themselves breathe in order to assure that they are still alive?
They also have...um, how should I put this...a certain musk about them. I think it's a combination of moth balls, polydent, peppermint candies from 1935 and fart. Maybe at a certain age you lose control of your sphincter (GOD THAT'S SUCH A GREAT WORD) and you fart constantly. OR maybe you just can't hear your farts so you let them rip thinking they are silent. OR maybe you just don't care what people think so you fart away. Regardless, old people have something dying inside them and when it is let out, it reeks. Bad. Really bad. As in you wish you were dead. Either way, the smell doesn't leave them, it seems to collect in their personal bubble/space, gathering strength with each passing day.
I'm sure it seems like I am just a hater of old people and that I basically want them all corralled in Florida where I don't have to deal with them but that's not true either. Trust me, when I get old, I'm going to be annoying too. You better believe I'm going to expect people to wait on me constantly (although, I already do...) and for everyone to listen to what I have to say. I'm also going to spoil little kids that I like and call out the little kids that are brats. If kids are walking on my lawn and I don't like it, I'm going to spray them with my garden hose. When parents tell their kids lies to get them to behave, I'm going to tell the kids that they are lies. When kids are being little shits, I'm going to make up lies to scare them into obedience.
However, I won't drive my own car. God, I won't be THAT annoying.

Life Lesson #30: Old people are weird....

I was going to post about something completely different than I found myself driving past a group of elderly citizens walking around what was clearly a not new car but newly washed car admiring it. Old people are so strange.
For instance, why do they insist on watering their lawn with a hose?

How pointless is that? Why not just hook it up to a sprinkler? You'd think they wouldn't want to waste time given that they don't have much of it left.And why are they always dressed in long pants and long sleeved shirts? OR if they are in shorts they are wearing socks that go all the way up to their shorts. It's inexplicable. And why dont' old people tan? I've never met an old person with a tan, they are always pasty white, veins sticking out every which way like a soggy road map of LA.
Don't even get me started on old people driving. My grandpa is the worst. Somewhere along the line someone apparently gifted him with the right to do whatever he pleases on the road and everyone else has to obey his road rules. He is not allowed to drive when Gus is in the car. This rule came about after he made a left hand turn on a red light onto a one way. True story as I was in the car when it happened. He claimed it was legal. I was too stunned to come up with a reply then I was too grateful to be alive to argue. My thought process is since they were around when the DMV created the rules, they think they create them as they go and break them as they feel like it. Or since their time on Earth is already limited, they think, "Screw it! I've paid my dues now you have to pay yours by driving behind me while I go 10 mph in a 35 mph zone!"
To be fair, it isn't just people 70 years plus. I feel it is hard to comprehend (yet another hat worthy word) anyone outside of my generation. People who are my parents' age, mid-50's, even baffle me as, though not as much as people my grandparents' age. But people in their 50's, for instance, have survived a lot of crap, the JFK assassination, 'Nam, Watergate, the Beatles, the invention of the computer...yet they still seem extremely resistant to change and slow to adapt (maybe it was the 60s and 70s that just royally f*ed them for life). I will give their generation this: their Hollywood men and women age phenomenally well, at least the ones that haven't died of OD.

BUT this generation fights aging with creams and surgery, exercise and clothes that don't have iron-on kittens. Apparently, there is some mystical age that you stop fighting your age and embrace it with AARP cards, handicap stickers and Senior Citizen Discounts. It's at this age that you insist everyone younger than you treat you with respect, that all music is too loud, that you are the only person who is right in the world, that back in your day everything was perfect, you talk at an incredibly loud volume though you clearly do not have a hearing problem. I like to call this the Murtaugh Age because you become way "too old for [most] shit".

Regardless, old people are a mystery unto themselves. They believe what they've been told, regardless if it was 30 years ago and science proves differently. They go with their gut over actual facts. They think their frost bitten toe can predict the weather and that their cat is psychic. They think that soaking your feet in olive oil will cure a cold (really, Grandma?) or that having wet hair in cold weather will make you sick (pretty sure it's viruses but agree to disagree).
Now I know some old people are just adorable, like Mr. McGoo, or hilarious, like those Golden Girls, but they are pretty rare, at least in my experience. The old men who call you sweetheart are endearing until they start pinching your ass and the old women who teach you how to bake are nice until they start swatting your hand because you aren't doing it right.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not hating on the elderly, they've done great things and they have great stories, bake like none other and can get away with anything because of their age. All I'm saying is, well, they're weird, off a bit and with each creak of that rocker, they get a little further off kilt and I'm not blaming them for that, hell, aging is hard and it sucks. All I'm asking is that they cover up their nasty pastiness and for crying out loud, GET OFF THE ROAD! YOU CAN'T DRIVE!