Danger Zone

This new MacBook might be a bad thing.

It's almost 1:00 in the morning and I'm laying on my bed, happily humming along to Ben Taylor while playing on the internet.

For the last hour, my dog has given countless exasperated sighs because I'm keeping her up. But who needs sleep when they have wireless internet? That you can access while being horizontal?

(If I begin to look like a meth addict in withdrawal, please intervene. I may come at you like a spider monkey, but I'm sure I'll thank you...someday.)

Spotlight Hog

I'm not sure why, but after three adult beverages, I am magnetically attracted to stages and microphones. They're like homing beacons. My peripherial vision completely shuts down and all I can see is the magnificent stage before me, cast in an angelic glow (cue trumpets).

Last night was no exception. The minute I walked into Wannabe's, I burned with desire to get behind that karaoke mic. Luckily, the DJ bumped me up and I didn't have to wait long, but it felt like an eternity.

When I'm in this mind frame, I also tend to make friends with everyone. Which is why I found myself singing multiple songs with random people like I'd known them forever. All it took was a simple finger crook from someone singing and I was on that stage in a heartbeat. (Several times without an invitation.) I sang some cheesy country song with a bachelorette party, a rap song with a group of college dudes and a power ballad with a gay black man. And loved every minute of it.

This morning, some friends and I were laughing about the previous night's adventures when someone brought up something I had no recollection of. Confused, I asked where I'd been when it happened. The response back was something to the effect of, "Um, I think you were singing that John Mellencamp song with that old dude."

Niiiiice.

I've decided that I need to ease up on this chummy performance behavior. Because it's just plain not nice to take over when someone has been waiting patiently for their favorite song to be played.

It just makes it hard when despite crashing his song, the gay black man begged me to stay and sing the "Summer Nights" duet from Grease with him.

Fuel to the FIRE.

The Computer Elite

This is officially my first post on my brand new MacBook. And it's amazing.

Last night, I went into the Apple store, found the nearest hipster dude and told him that I was going to buy a computer from him. His face lit up at the easy sale and he walked me through the specs. Fifteen minutes later, I left the store excitedly clutching my (gulp) $1,500 investment.

In true geek fashion, we had some friends over last night, but I spent most of my time sitting at our dining room table gasping in delight and yelling at them to "come look at what my fabulous Mac can do!"

This MacBook has pretty much made my life. It's got everything I could ever need...including Photoshop. (Which means that there might be some hysterically altered pictures of my friends floating around the internet soon.) After playing on it for several hours straight, I can't see why anyone would intentionally choose a PC. Blech.

I had a conversation with a guy several weeks ago that pretty much sums it up. I mentioned that I was in the market for a new Mac and he straight up said to my face, "Oh...you're one of those."

THOSE? Excuse me?

So I straight up said to his face, "Oh, do you mean cooler than you? Because yeah, pretty much."

Note to Self

I will never go to the grocery store drunk ever again.

Last night, after having my fair share of free beers at a Junior Chamber meeting, I decided to swing by Kroger for a "few things". Which somehow turned into $103 worth.

I happily hummed as a pushed my buggy through the aisles and apparently grabbed anything that appealed to me in the moment.

Which is why I now have a family-size jar of queso and several boxes of Little Debbies sitting in my pantry. Sweeeeet.

I did manage to make friends with the guy next to me at the self-checkout station though. Together, we made fun of the automated lady's robotic voice and laughed out loud when she screwed up. I think he was secretly impressed to discover an attractive female with enough junk food to feed a fraternity house.

Too bad I didn't get his number. I could have had him over for more chicken wings and snack cakes than he could possibly handle.

Public Service Announcement

What is it with men who wear their work socks at the gym? Every single time I work out, there's guaranteed to be at least one male sporting dress socks with their running shoes.

It baffles me.

Granted, I'm never the most fashionably dressed person at the gym (mainly because I work out at the posh Green Hills Y and there is always at least one breast-implanted housewife in ridiculous amounts of matching spandex), but at least my attire is "gym appropriate".

Argyle socks, on the other hand, don't belong anywhere near a treadmill.

I've yet to figure out if these men are simple fashionably ignorant or they just plain don't care. Whatever the reason, it's downright impossible to look hot doing hammer curls in the full-length mirror when you're sporting merino dress socks.

So men, I know it's hard to remember to throw a pair of gym socks into your gym bag before you leave for work in the mornings...but make the effort. Please.

Or else I just might be forced to snicker openly at you.

Dream, Realized.

Much to my delight, Stacy got us free tickets to last night's Dancing with the Stars TOUR.

Don't get me wrong, I'm typically the last person to get excited about such lameness, but this was a tad bit different. Namely, because Joey Lawrence was being featured.

After laughing hysterically (and constantly rewinding the Tivo) for three months straight, I just HAD to see him (and his flamboyant dance moves) in real-live action.

It was everything I dreamed it would be...and more.

He (and his butterface partner) quickstepped, jived, tangoed and mamboed their little hearts out:

Fortunately for you, since his glory can't be fully captured in a picture alone, I also made a little video on my digital camera (I know it's a little blurry and he sort of looks like a talented Mr. Clean, but you get the idea):


Every single time he took the stage, uncontrollable laughter would bubble up inside me. I couldn't help but wonder what my 12-year-old self would've thought had she been sitting in my place. Guaranteed, she would have been at first elated to actually be breathing the same air as Joey...and then increasingly horrified as he started up his hip gyrations to "Crazy In Love".

So, after watching him for several hours, I've decided three things:

1. Joey should never be handed a microphone without a script being involved--his dorky ramblings and ill-timed jokes were downright embarrassing to watch;
2. Every time Joey buys a button-down shirt, he must snip off the top three buttons. (I mean, what's the point of waxing your entire body if you can't show off the handiwork?);
   
3. I will never, EVER date a man who can do the splits. It's unnatural and downright disturbing to behold. No matter how great he is, that particular talent is a definite dealbreaker. Period.
   

Satisfaction

I made a huge step into adulthood today: for the first time ever, I filed my own taxes online.

Can I get a hell yes?

Truthfully, I was a little nervous at first. When my w-2 arrived last week, I glanced at it and then promptly shoved it in a desk drawer, where it might've stayed (until April 14) had a friend not sent me a link to an easy do-it-yourself tax filing site.

Figuring it was something that had to be done eventually (my feisty grandmother has always said, "The only things I HAVE to do are die and pay taxes!"), I decided to bite the bullet.

The website led me through a series of simple questions and bada bing! My hefty check is now on its way...

Shiny, new MacBook, here I come.

One interesting observation: after a few initial background questions, a text box appeared that read, "Click here if you are blind."

Um, seriously? Because if you really are blind a) how did you navigate the website far enough for the text box to appear and b) how would you read it to click on it?

Anybody have a clue?

I was honestly tempted to click it just to see what would happen...

Neckfest 2K7

In a moment of true inspiration, some friends and I decided to grace Silverado's with our presence Saturday night. Granted, it's not a place we frequent often (or ever), but you really can't beat $7 all-you-can-drink longnecks.

Before we'd even gotten INTO the bar, we witnessed a woman screaming hysterically and slapping a barrel-chested man in the parking lot. (I dared Greg to roll down his window and politely ask if they were leaving and could we have their spot, but no dice.)

Once in the bar, beer in hand, the fun ensued.

The best possible way to amuse yourself at a dive like Silverado's is to have a "Redneck Photo Scavenger Hunt". Yes, you read that right. The object is to come up with a list of the funniest, most stereotypically redneck things and take pictures of them once found. But this requires extreme stealth.

All in all, we didn't do too badly. We found a solid 6 out of 10:

1) A man in jeans so tight, he has a permanent wedgie:

2) Tackiest dressed person (yes, that is in fact a prom dress with cowboy boots):

3) Little man in a big hat:

4) Big man in a little hat:

5) Least hygienic person (yes, that is definitely back sweat...and Chad's loving it):

6) A non-Hispanic minority (this man's presence impressed us):

For whatever reason, we couldn't seem to find: 7) a pregnant lady smoking, 8) a mullet 9) huge female hair and 10) a couple who shouldn't procreate (mainly because we couldn't agree on a winner for it).

In between photo ops, we tried our hand on the dance floor...where we managed to piss some folks off with our complete lack of coordination. Several hours later, after laughing our heads off and sweating profusely, we decided to brave Decades.

Let me tell you, after the redneckness of Silverado's, I've never in my life felt more at home dancing to a Michael Jackson song while holding a fishbowl.

Despite the fact I was still wearing shit kickers.

Only the Lonely

Several months ago, a singles hotline service moved into the office space next door.

Admittedly, my coworkers and I shared a few giggles when their sign went up. We spent weeks speculating with our neighbors about whether it was actually for legit matchmaking, or just a classy escort service. (Our suspicions were further raised upon discovering that their office didn't open until mid-afternoon.)

I tried peering through their window several times in an attempt to figure out what kind of operation they were running. I had images of fat, chain-smoking, pimply-faced women lined up, moaning heavily into phones. But all I ever saw was a classy-looking waiting area with fresh flowers and an overstuffed leather couch.

Not satisfied, my coworkers and I decided we had to get to the bottom of things. So in a mature, but brilliant fashion, we prank called them.

Of course.

Several of us gathered in one office and dialed the number. It rang several times before an overly-chipper man answered. His perky, feminine voice almost caused us to lose our cool, but we forged ahead.

We pretended to be "Tiffany" who just wanted to find herself a "decent man". Chipper McChipperson informed us that we'd come to the RIGHT PLACE! He started his spiel about their dating service: they're a quality company that operates with discretion and ensures total safety.

"And how is that?" we asked.

Come to find out, not only do they run mandatory background checks on every applicant, but you also have to be cleared by your doctor as being "STD free" before a match can ensue. (We punched the mute button a split second before exploding in laughter.)

After regaining composure, we thanked the man and told him we'd consider booking an "in-person goal match meeting and video interview" at a later date.

Now, whenever I pass by their office and one of the hotline workers is outside smoking, I have to resist the urge to slink past without making eye contact. A small part of me feels like they KNOW that we called...even though my rational side tells me that's ridiculous.

So I paste on a bright smile and make friendly chatter.

Don't judge, but I'm secretly hoping to befriend one of them enough so that we can get drunk and watch all the weird interview tapes together. I'm pretty sure we'd stumble upon at least one of the creepy dudes who's hit on me in bars.

Or even my landlord.

Holy Mess

Yesterday, my roommate and I decided we'd put an end to our long-running hedonistic streak and actually went to church. (We definitely high-fived as we pulled out of the driveway for being both up and dressed at 10:45 on a weekend morning.)

Not having a clue where to go, we decided to try a newly-built church located several blocks from our house.

Surprisingly, I loved it. Especially once I saw the church's motto emblazoned on a sign near the door: "We welcome you to join us in our journey of faith, regardless of age, race, gender, sexual orientation, economic or family status, ethnic background, mental or physical disabilities."

In my opinion, that's exactly how a church--and it's congregation--should be.

As we were waiting for the service to start, an attractive middle-aged man slid into the pew next to me. He flashed me a smile and asked me my name. So I told him.

Halfway through the service, he leaned over to ask me a question. Two minutes later, he asked another one. I politely told him that I didn't know much about the church, being it was my first time there. But that only shut him up temporarily.

Not five seconds after the service ended, he bombarded me with the typical questions: where are you from, how long have you lived here, blah, blah, blah.

We discovered that we lived within a block of each other and that he was a first-time church visitor as well.

Before I could politely excuse myself to follow my retreating roommate, he said (and I quote): "I was a member at another church for 10 years, but recently got excommunicated. Long story...it has to do with my psycho ex-wife. Hey! Since we live so close, why don't we get together sometime?"

I paused for a few seconds, staring at him in utter disbelief.

The first response that rushed to mind was, "Um...do you have a mental illness? Because what came out of your mouth just now was crazy talk."

Due to my holy location, I put my sassypants attitude in check and managed, "Or...maybe I'll just see you around church sometime..."

Or...maybe not.

Easy There, Badass

New New Year's resolution:

Stop taking straight shots of whiskey.

Because the end result is never a good thing. Ever. No matter how amazing the idea seems at the time. Or how much peer pressure you're getting.

All I can say is, it's a really good thing I don't embarrass easily. If I did, the good ole JD would've put me in a world of pain...

A Wii Bit O'Fun

I know this might qualify me as a card-carrying member of the geek squad, but I've discovered that I really like to play party games. Board games, drinking games, you name it...if it involves a group of friends and my competitive spirit, I'm all over it.

Wednesday has become one of my favorite nights of the week due solely to trivia at Sam's. There's just nothing like drinking pitchers and firing off random knowledge with friends to make an evening magical.

Last night, eight of us showed up early to a) ensure we got a good booth and b) gorge on chicken tenders. A short while later, the judges arrived and started setting up their equipment. We'd already decided on a fabulous team name ("Dick-in-a-Box": both funny and timely!) and were ready to rock the house right.

8 o'clock came and went. About ten minutes past, I marched myself up to the judges' table and inquired as to the delay. They informed me that Sam's had just barred everyone from playing because it would "interfere" with the damn Sugar Bowl.

Well, I wasn't having that. I'd shown up ready for some trivia and damnit, trivia was going to happen. So I rounded up the crew and we headed back to my house for a makeshift game of our own.

After setting up the Trivial Pursuit board, rigging up the karaoke mic and dividing into teams, we were all set for a little healthy rivalry. Which turned into a solid three hours o'fun. So "game night" just might become a regular occurrence.

(Yes, I do realize I sound eerily like a 75-year-old woman living in a mobile home retirement community in Central Florida. Shuffleboard, anyone?)

Speaking of games (and since I've already let slip a little of my inner geekiness), I kind of want a Wii.

No lie.

Because it honestly looks like a lot of fun...AND you can get exercise at the same time! (At least enough to warrant this.)

The only drawback? Feeling like an idiot in your own living room while you do this:

There. It's out. I'm officially a dork.

Next up: World of Warcraft and the quest for The Sword of a Thousand Truths.

Sketchwads

For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I tend to attract the creepiest people in bars. Guaranteed. It's like I give off their pheromones.

And it's getting ridiculous. Just recently I've had:

1. A socially awkward guy pull quarters "out of my ears" to pay for a drink;
2. A guy try to convince me that he was Elvis in a past life and that I was most certainly Ann Margaret;
   
3. An old man serenade me with a George Jones ballad...while on his knees.
   

But that's just scratching the surface.

I've actually got photo documentation of one of these oddballs in action.

Last week, I took my roommate out for her birthday and we ended the night with a little stage action at Wannabe's. There we were, happily singing our hearts out when a strange man approached with a camera. Being a natural ham, I decided to play along with it.

BAD Idea:

Because he appeared in EVERY SINGLE ONE of our pictures...from DIFFERENT ANGLES:

As soon as we left the stage, he stopped us to ask if we'd be in his "video":

And this was our response (note my roommate "hiding" by pressing her face into the wall):

Question #1: WHY does this man want 25 pictures of random girls singing?
Question #2: WHAT is he planning to do with them?

I can't figure out whether I should be semi-flattered (as in, it's only because I'm attractive, approachable, etc.) or devastated (do these creep shows actually think they have a chance?!)

Whatever it is, I'm definitely switching my perfume.

So She's a Jolly Good Feller

It's hard to believe that it's already 2007. Part of me still feels like it's 2005.

I usually feel wistful about saying goodbye to an old year, but this year I feel ambivalent. 2006 was...interesting. To say the least. Some parts were amazing, and some were...not so amazing.

In the past year, I stumbled upon incredible new friendships and rekindled some old ones. I also lost a friend or two, but found myself along the way.

I got my heart broken. But because of it, I learned to love myself completely.

I discovered (the hard way) that being a good human being doesn't always guarantee good fortune. But that you should still strive to be one anyway.

I proved to myself that I could stand on my own two feet, alone. But had a mild panic attack or two in the process.

I realized that it rarely matters what anyone else thinks.

I learned that true happiness has nothing to do with your circumstances.

I became me.

So, my goals for 2007, blah, blah, blah:

• Become a banjo prodigy (shoot for the stars, right?)
• Practice selflessness on a daily basis.
• Try something new that scares me to death. (Sky dive? Write a regular column for a major publication?)
  
• Stop making snap judgements.
• Invest in one of these.
• Write a book.
  

Here's hoping that 2007 proves fantastic.

Or at least a little more even keel.