The 2005 Endcap

So here I am on the cusp of yet another three day weekend. It's just too much for me to comprehend guys. I think I might start foaming at the mouth or something. Since it's bound to be a crazy weekend, hopefully NOT involving midgets with roaming hands, I decided to take down all the Christmas decorations early. *GASP* I know! What was I thinking?! I was so proud of myself when Hoop got home. I took down the decorations, disposed of the tree, and cleaned up the mess that comes from ramming a fir six times into a door frame by accident, all by my fucking self. Was he impressed? No. He was upset that it no longer looked "festive." I looked at him and said, "Well if you want it back, then you can go drag it from the marsh behind the house." That pretty much cured his waning Christmas spirit. Truth be told, I'm ready for this year to be over with. So without further ado... Here's my 2005 endcap chock full of my random "5" lists. Feel free to hop into the conga line.

5 2005 New Years Resolutions Busted:
1. Paint the house... Well, I have the paint cans. That has to count for half, right?
2. Stop smoking... *Puff puff* Did you all know these things are addictive?!
3. Save money... I saved before I spent it all.
4. Walk the dogs more... I walk them. Ok, ok. So it's in circles while I smoke. But it's still walking.
5. Quit making lists for everything... *Blink* Huh.

5 Great Ideas:
1. They should make backwards Christmas music for when you're taking down the tree.
2. There should be an art degree for bullshitting and lying.
3. Anyone over 70 should retake their driving test every 3 years. Anyone who fails will be given a complimentary golf cart instead.
4. People going on first dates should bring along resumes documenting their dating history.
5. Schools should teach more life skill classes. Example: "Quick Cures For Morning Hangovers 101."

5 Pet Peeves:
1. Up-talkers: the people who make everything sound like a question.
2. Paper cuts and hangnails.
3. Realizing there's no toilet paper after you've used the John.
4. The fact that athletes make more money than teachers.
5. People who call simply because they're bored.

5 Fun Facts:
1. The Statue Of Liberty is a lighthouse.
2. If you shake a can of mixed nuts, the larger ones will rise to the top.
3. The glue on Israeli stamps is certified kosher.
4. A microwaved baseball will fly further than a frozen baseball.
5. Astronauts cannot burp in space.

5 Oxymorons
1. Head butt
2. Clearly confused
3. Mud bath
4. Rubber cement
5. Only choice

If I don't post again until after the holiday... Have a great and safe New Year everyone!!

Houston, we have a problem...

Daily Hoop Conversation:
(I woke up to this at 4am)
Hoop: *Mumble mumble*
Tink: What are you saying?
Hoop: Did you just ask me what other words you could use to replace "electricity" in a sentence?
Tink: Um... No.
Hoop: Oh. I must have been dreaming. *Mumble mumble*
Tink: I think you're still dreaming hon.

So you know what I was thinking the moment I woke up this morning? What are some words to replace "electricity" in a sentence? Damn it Hoop. If you're curious, here they are:

Power
Energy
Current
Voltage
Heat
Hot Stuff
Magneticism
Service
Spark
Tension

If you're wondering why I just listed off a whole bunch of pointless vocab, here's the real post:

Miscommunication:
I hate having serious conversations or arguments through emails or text. I ALWAYS get misinterpreted, especially if who I'm talking to is of the male species. Yes, I said "species." A horse and a zebra can mate. But that doesn't make them the same type of creature. I once emailed a friend of eight years, "Congratulations on getting a raise you lucky bastard!" Suddenly I'm implying that I'm jealous and that he didn't truly deserve the promotion. I remember staring back at his livid reply and thinking, was there some kind of subliminal messaging in there? Like perhaps he read it as:

"Congratulations on getting a raise you lucky bastard!"

The latest miscommunication happened between me and my dearest this morning. We were texting back and forth about something trivial and stupid. He asked a question that I knew the answer to. But I waited for his thoughts on it before divulging, because I was curious. When I explained my reasons for not giving him the answer immediately, he huffed out the two most horrid words ever, "Mind Game." Ok, ok. So maybe "Strict Diet" or "Colon Scrape" are the two most horrid words ever, but you get the friggin point. I was hurt.

I sat there, jaw clenched, and calmly text him back that I wanted "justification to [his] accusation of my character." Yes, I actually referred to it as that too. I'm such a thesaurus slut. He sent back some rambling text that I couldn't possibly understand due to the smoke coming out my ears and the red flush creeping into my eyes. It was then that I realized this... I'm arguing through text. What the hell is wrong with me?! Technology will be the death of my social life, I swear. So I picked up the phone and called him instead. It took all of five minutes for both Hoop and I to realize there had been miscommunications all around. Stupid stupid stupid.

Now I've gone and blown the fuse I was storing up for trash day. The day Hoop usually runs out of the house without tending to the cans. Is it Friday yet? :)

Mishmash

Daily Hoop Conversations:

(Yesterday on the phone)
Hoop: Have you left work yet?
Tink: Nope. I'm sitting in the parking lot trying to get situated.
*Random chit chat*
Tink: Ugh! *Grumble grumble*
Hoop: What's wrong with you?
Tink: I'm trying to find my phone so I can plug it in to charge while I drive. I think I left it inside.
Hoop: Babe...
Tink: ...Oh my God. I'm such an idiot.

(Today through text messages at work)
Hoop: My car kept making a loud thumping noise this morning. It sounded like something was seriously wrong. When I got out to look, my belt was only halfway on and hanging out the door.
Tink: Teach you not to wear your seatbelt! See, I nag because I know.
Hoop: Not my seatbelt, my fat belt.
Tink: Lmao. Like the belt you wear around your waist? How in the hell?!
Hoop: Yeah. I didn't have time to put it all the way on.
Tink: THIS is why I love you.

Random Thoughts:

Instant Gratification
There are so few instant gratifications in life. Almost everything requires some labor in order to reap the rewards for it. Even sex and that fabulous "O" ride. There's a certain amount of prep work involved in making sure we get the most out of the situation. Pooping always seemed relatively instant. But then you start thinking of the amount of pushing and positioning that is required. Come on. You know you have a way you like to sit on the John that gets the job done better than others. So I think I've finally narrowed it down. Here's my list of instant gratifications.

1. Peeing
2. Eating/Drinking

That's it. Is my list as pathetically small as everyone else's?

Inanimate Objects
Do you ever find yourself giving life to inanimate objects or thinking of them in a human way? No? Yeah, uh... me neither.

No seriously. My family has always named their cars. It's sort of a strange tradition. I have been known to talk to my car on occasion too. Especially when I'm running on fumes. "Please baby, get me to the next gas station. I swear I'll buy you that premium shit instead of the cheap gas I usually feed you. I swear I'll get your oil changed regularly. Just PLEASE get me home safely." Call it coincidence, but I've never had the system fail. The other day I passed the multitude of car lots my town has bundled into one long strip of road and thought, "If cars were capable of thought, what would they think of us?"

Would they sit in dealership lots like animals at a pet store and pray for someone to take them home? What kind of owner would they want? Cars are either driven all the time and live for only a short while or they are parked most of their lives and live much longer. People are kind of like that too. Can you imagine a life totally out of your control? We sit in our vehicles. We decide where they are going. We operate the machinery. We are in charge of their health/maintenance. We decide when to retire or trade them in. If our cars were alive, they'd be the equivalent of cattle. I'm naming my next car "Moo."

Path To Recovery

On the way home from Hoop's uncle's house last night he turned to me and said, "I think this has been the best Christmas ever." My eyes had been drooped half closed as I stared out at all the sad little Christmas lights down the road. He'd interrupted a thought I'd been having about how exhausted I felt. "Yeah it was, wasn't it?" It was probably the most insane too, might I add. But the "best" part sort of overrides all that. ;)

Friday 12/23: I joined Hoop and his friend for their usual Friday beers after work. We had plans to finish last minute shopping after for presents and cookie mix. Three beers, one shot, and two hours later I was trashed. I am NEVER trying to hang with the boys again. I went home and passed out across the bed. I woke up around one am to an empty house. I called Hoop in a daze, wondering if I'd sold him to Gypsies along the way home and if I'd gotten a good deal. He was at Wal-Mart, braving the insanity like the trooper I wasn't.

Saturday 12/24: I woke up feeling like something had crawled in my mouth and died. But I was determined to get my cookies made, so I hauled butt to the local grocery store with Hoop in toe. On the way home we sang out to Bob Marley like a couple of fools. Once at home we sang out to corney Christmas songs like a bunch of fools. Are you seeing a pattern here? I do the Chipmunk song amazingly well...without helium. I think that should be considered a skill. Unless that scares you, in which case forget I mentioned it. After some quick visiting with Hoop's mother and grandparents I split off and made the hour drive to my own parents' house.

Sunday 12/25: My brothers woke me up at three, five, six, six-fifteen, six-thirty, six-thirty five, and seven. Finally at seven we decided to let the caged beasts loose. I walked out bleary eyed to a stack of dishes. You know you're finally an adult when dishes make you all warm and fuzzy inside. Hoop joined the mayhem early in the afternoon. He brought my stepdad a fart machine, much to Papa Bear's delight and Mom's chagrin. Hoop's flea market gift ended up being a game I had been searching for. Yes I know, I am an ass. He also gave me perfume, a book, bedroom dice (grrrrowl), enough of my favorite cookies to last a month, and 12 pink roses. His favorite gift from me ended up being the least expensive. Go figure. It's a shirt with a picture of a keg on it. It says, "If you tap it, they will come."

Sunday Evening 12/25: I was pulled over on the way home. Who the hell pulls someone over on Christmas? I was following Hoop... First mistake. I was going 50mph in a 35mph zone... Second mistake. I had the dogs in my car... Third mistake. Duff of course decided to start growling the second the cop mentioned how "sweet" my dogs were. Fortunately the holiday spirit seemed to have spread and the cop handed over a warning instead.

Sunday Night 12/25: Hoop and I hit our favorite tavern for a nightcap. I'm really only a seasonal lush, I swear. People were loud and cheerful. I got groped by a midget and three girls. To which Hoop asked, "Should I be pissed or not? I'm confused." We came to the conclusion that the midget surely deserved whatever perks he could get and the girls were allowed freebees on account of the holiday. Although next time I'm free to mace them if I desire.

Monday 12/26: Four words... Sleeping, Pigging, Visiting, Sleeping. Ok, so I repeated one of them. But I did it twice.

So here I am, back at work. I got trashed. The house is trashed. The tree is bare. My fridge is full of leftovers. Hoop is happy. I'm happy. New Years is in five days... FIVE DAYS. My liver is screaming, "It's just not fair!" Hopefully everyone had an equally as pleasant, if not crazy, holiday. I hope you all got what you wanted and the things that you didn't can be taken back. May the kids finally be satiated, the hubbies out of the dog house, and your wallets on the path to recovery. Bless you all!

Happy Christmahanukuanzica!

I'm going home in a little bit to get shnockered. And if I'm real lucky Hoop will meet me at the door dressed in nothing but a big fat bow. But that's doubtful. I hope the season finds you all well.

May you get everything you asked for, no matter how naughty you were. Sometimes naughty gets you more presents.

May the company be pleasant. Please people, no killing the kids or the in-laws.

May the food be filling. Didn't you know? Calories don't count until after the holidays.

May you be safe. Don't drink and sled!

Pickled Beef will reopen sometime after the weekend, when I quit seeing double and I find my way out of Wrapping Paper Mountain. Air kisses to all and to all a good-night!

The Ex Files

I always thought it was a shame that we couldn't choose who we wanted to love. The man I dated before Hoop (we'll call him "Corndog") was not particularly attractive or intelligent. On the other hand he was notoriously ambitious and giving, often going out of his way to make others comfortable. This isn't to say that he would place anyone above himself if their needs didn't match his own. People were confused by our union. I can't tell you how many times I was told we were "ill fit" for each other.

Looking back on it, I don't know why I kept on. I was Corndog's trophy. He never cared for my dreams and often talked of our future as if it were my duty to follow behind in the wake of his life's ambitions. Corndog's one saving grace was his stupidity. Oh God that man could make me laugh. It wasn't the good kind of laughter either. It's not the laughter that Hoop and I share over witty banter or slips of the tongue. No... I actually laughed at Corndog. I couldn't help it. You won't be able to either.

Parka
Corndog and I were two days shy of a winter trip to NY. I hate the cold. So in an effort to be funny, I emailed him this:

Tink: I'm going to Mom's tomorrow to drop off the dogs. I checked the weather for NY. Brrr. It's going to be freezing! I think I should get (my stepdad) Pappa Bear's parka. Whatcha think?
Corndog responded: Parka? What's that? His opinion? I don't really care what he thinks. But I'll be curious what he says.

Security Breach
Corndog had a 7lb Rat Terrier that we used to take with us while visiting his kids. One day, after our weekly visit, we decided to make a pitstop at Wal-Mart. I hate leaving pets locked up in the car, so Corndog tucked the pup into his jacket and we tried to sneak her in. We weren't two steps into the door before a Wal-Mart Greeting Nazi stopped us and turned him back around. I continued on to finish the errand. Corndog called me as I was rounding the line.

Corndog: Oh my God, I don't think I can ever come back to Wal-Mart again!
Tink: What are you talking about?
Corndog: As I was leaving an alarm went off and I saw a flash. I think they took my picture!
Tink: There must be some mistake. They wouldn't ban you from Wal-Mart just because you tried to sneak a dog in with you.

I hung up the phone and finished waiting in line, all the while stewing over what Corndog had said. It was then that I saw a flash. I looked up and realized exactly what had happened. As he had been walking out, someone else had set off the alarm. At the same time the photo kiosk next to the door had snapped someone's picture. I laughed so hard I almost paid with my drivers license. I never did explain the situation to Corndog. It was just too damn funny watching him sketch out every time we walked into the store.

Mentally Disabled
When I was a kid I volunteered at a horse ranch for the mentally disabled. Somehow that got brought up in a conversation with my parents:

Corndog: Didn't you used to work at a place for the retarded?
Tink: I think they prefer "Mentally Disabled."
Corndog: Whatever. They're all Geriatrics Kids to me.
Tink: What?
Corndog: Geriatrics Kids.
Tink: I think you mean Jerry's Kids you ass.
Corndog: No, I think I know what I mean.

And because I promised...

Pussy and Make-up (A Hoop-free Post)

I consider myself a very liberal person. About three years ago I lived in a Flop House. A Flop House is the nickname I give to any place that houses more people than it should. Ours had four renters and eight strays. Our motley crew consisted of two Cajuns, a lesbian couple, one of their gay brothers, a habitual liar, a DJ, a secretary of a pest control company, an ADHD kid, his hippie friend, myself... and a fuckin' Partridge in a Pear Tree. It was crazy. I loved it for all of two months.

Eventually blow came to blow in the Flop House and I ended up moving into a house of my very own. I was ecstatic and broke. I placed ads for a roommate and prayed I wouldn't have to buy a gun. Finally my ad was answered. Thus began my strange cycle of lesbian roommates. The first girl that came to live with me was very open about her sexuality. I stated straight off that it didn't bother me, but that I wanted it noted I was "strictly dickly." She was a bossy Italian from NY who cooked things stuffed in Garlic, and not the other way around. I loved her cooking, but hated her mood swings. She stayed for two weeks, mostly locked up in her bedroom crying. One night I came home from work and she was gone. Poof. I placed another ad the next week.

The next people that moved in were a bubbly eighteen year old and her dopey boyfriend. A week after she moved in, her boyfriend moved out and her girlfriend took up residence. To say I was confused was an understatement. The girlfriend was psychotic. She gave me a whole new perspective on why guys are so leery of women. Fights would break out between the two of them and shit would go flying. I once watched a pink plastic dildo sling across the room and into a mirror. NO LIE. Another of the roomie's toys made an appearance one afternoon when her parents came over for a visit.

Her parents were extremely snobbish and proper. I had just bought Duff and was trying in vain to keep the dog from getting into trouble and myself from falling asleep in the middle of one of their horrible boat stories. Suddenly, I realized that no one was talking. They'd all taken a sudden interest in the floor instead. I got up from the couch and crossed the space of the living room. There was my dog, looking up so innocently, with half a strap-on hanging from his mouth. The roommate looked horrified. She turned to me, panic written all over her face, and demanded "Are you going to pick that up?!" It dawned on me that her parents had no idea that she had a girlfriend. The nice thing to do would have been to claim the toy and save her the mortification of explaining. But I never claim to be a "nice" person. So I picked up Duff and turned for the back door. "That's not mine," I called back to them. The last thing I heard before going outside was the gasp of her Mother.

I should probably put a disclaimer on these sort of posts huh? I figured the title alone would suffice. :)

Tagged!

Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot.

The Houston Chronicles

Kim's Blog

Planet Alien

Where am I going...and why am I in this handbasket?

Pickled Beef

Questions!

What were you doing 10 years ago?
I was busy trying to grow boobs. Aw, don't look at me like that. I was only 12.

What were you doing a year ago?
Getting over the breakup of a two year relationship with a man who thought a "Parka" was another word for "Opinion." No shit... I've moved up in the world.

5 snacks you enjoy?
* Flavor Blasted Goldfish Crackers
* Fruit Rollups
* Gingerbread Biscotti
* Fruit Smoothies
* Garlic and Herb Croutons ((I eat them like chips.))

5 songs you know all the lyrics to:
*"Iris" by Goo Goo Dolls
*"Date Rape" Sublime
*"Waterfalls* TLC
*"Crazy Train" Ozzy Osbourne
*"Short Short Man" Gillette

5 things you would do if you were a millionaire:
*Sell my house and buy something with land
*Go to college
*Pay off my brothers' college
*Start my own graphics business ((After college))
*Donate to research for the cure of Cancer

5 bad habits:
*Smoking cigarettes
*Substituting coffee for breakfast and lunch
*Blogging and surfing while I should be working
*Procrastinating
*Having passive aggressive fantasies of putting holes in the $70 pants a female school mate gave to Hoop for Christmas.
((Forgive me Lord for I have sinned... Over and over and over again.))

5 things I like doing:
*Hanging out in smoky, eclectic coffee shops
*Reading
*Playing games ((Board, video, computer))
*Anything with the family
*Riding on roller coasters

Tag 5 people:

TB

Mamalujo1

Ditsy Chick

Arabella

Pixie

Sleep Talking

((Good God, it's "Hoop Day." I'm going to have to go into Detox after this... Possibly write a post about pussy and make-up. Not in reference to each other I should hope.))

It's a proven fact that Hoop likes to talk in his sleep. It's also well known that I like to answer people in mine. You can imagine what this means. We're probably having full on conversations with each other at night that neither of us remember. Every once in awhile though, I'll catch him in the middle of his or he'll catch me in the middle of mine. And on the really rare occassions, we'll catch each other at the same time.

I vaguely remember waking up to Hoop chatting away in his sleep last night. What I don't remember is answering him. According to Hoop I rolled over and said (without opening my eyes once)...

"Baby. I love you to death, you know that. But it's three in the morning. SHUT UP!"

He was still half asleep, but awake enough to start laughing and look at the clock. He says the last thing he remembers thinking before falling back asleep was, "It is three o'clock." How the hell do I do that? I'm not that "with it" while I'm awake! It's funny and scary all at the same time.

Boobless

Hoop is a gorgeous man. Which makes it that much more annoying when he starts nitpicking himself apart. Last night he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, combing his hair in every direction possible. I stared at him from the side, trying not to laugh as he bemoaned his slightly receding hairline.

Hoop: I'm going to get a hair transplant. Would that weird you out?
Tink: Maybe a little. I think you're absolutely beautiful as you are.
...
Tink: Would you be weirded out if I got a boob job?
Hoop: Not if that's what would make you happy.
Tink: Well I'm NOT. I just wanted to see what your reaction was.
Hoop: But a hair transplant and a boob job are two totally different things.
Tink: Oh?
Hoop: Yeah, because I'm just replacing something I already had.

It was at this point where I lost all control of my jaw. I think I left it dangling somewhere around my feet. I stared at Hoop in shock and he stared back in horror. I will never forget the look on his face as he wondered just how much damage he had done. I swear he saw his sex life flashing before his eyes.

Hoop: Oh my God. Babe, that's NOT what I meant.

I dropped all the laundry and slid to the floor... doubled over in laughter. I laughed so hard I couldn't speak for damn near twenty minutes. Hoop kept trying to undig the hole he thought he was in, which only made me laugh that much harder.

Hoop: I didn't mean you have no boobs. You have nice boobs. I love your boobs! You know what I really meant to say right? Right?

Honestly, how many times can one say "Boobs" in a breath? I finally put a hand up to block his mouth and told him "Shut up. Just shut up while you can." He's lucky I wasn't PMSing anymore.

Cannoli Recipe

You guys can thank TB and Nancy for requesting this. I would have posted it on Soul Gardening, but I didn't want to blow up TB's comment box. ;)

Filling:
3 Cups: Full fat Ricotta Cheese
1 ¼ Cups: Confectionary powdered sugar
½ Cup: Finely chopped Pistachios
(Optional) Citron to taste
¼ Cup: Semi-sweet chocolate chip pieces
Mix together and chill overnight

Pastry:
3 Cups: Flour
¼ Cup: White Sugar
1 Teaspoon: Ground Cinnamon
¼ Teaspoon: Salt
Sift together

3 Tablespoons: Shortening
Fold in

2: Eggs (well beaten)
2 Tablespoons: White vinegar
2 Tablespoons: Cold water
2 Ounces: Finely chopped Pistachios
1: Egg white (slightly beaten)
Mix with other Pastry ingredients and chill for 30 minutes

The dough should have hardened slightly. Roll out on slightly floured surface. Using an oval cookie cutter, cut the pastry into circles about the size of a softball. Wrap pastry circles around Cannoli tubes. Seal edges with egg white. Fry in pan with ½ Cup Olive Oil and ½ Cup vegetable oil until pastry skin begins to bubble and brown. Remove from pan once desired crispiness is achieved.

Remove shells from Cannoli tubes and sift with powdered sugar. Fill shells with Cannoli filling 5 minutes before eating. Shells can be filled using a standard Pastry Bag. Do not let sit for too long or they will go soggy. ENJOY!

((I like to add different flavors besides Citron to the mix. I've used Strawberry and Lemon. I'm thinking Vanilla might be good too))

Pinny Da Who

The English language is fascinating all by itself. But once you start mixing in accents, little kids' pronunciation , and alternatives to cussing, you get a whole new variety of conversation. My best friend (and coworker) has the cutest backwoods dialect. She's the only person I know who could pull off the word, "brung" without making me cringe and clutch my ears in pain. She's also got quite the sailor mouth on her, which makes it interesting while at work. There isn't a day that passes where she can't be heard calling out, "Cheese and Rice (Jesus Christ)" or "Son of A Biscuit Eater (Son of a Bitch)" to keep herself from shouting obscenities.

Most little kids have a problem with the word, "Spaghetti." Not I. I couldn't say, "Magazine." I said, "Mazagine." I also called frogs "Fucks" and liked to proclaim it loudly whenever we went into a crowded place. Lil Bit, my youngest brother, used to say "Pinny Da Who" instead of "Winnie The Pooh." Hoop, as a child, couldn't pronounce "Macaroni and Applesauce" and fondly called it "Macanonie and Applehause" instead. My favorite though comes from an old family friend. Their little girl used to call out to her mother angrily, "NO! You do it myself!" when she wanted something done. They could never figure out if she needed help or not lol.

Sometimes childhood parlances stick in place and follow us into adulthood. I've mastered "Magazine" but I still can't say "Prefer" without screwing it around to sound like, "Perfer." I'm just glad I'm not the only one:

Hoop: Why does Duff keep eating eggcorns?
Tink: I don't know. Maybe it's like popcorn to him.
...
Tink: What did you call them?
Hoop: Eggcorns?
Tink: Lmao. They're Acorns babe.
Hoop: But they look like eggs! What the hell does an "A" look like?!

Questions for the Day:
What alternatives to cussing do you use?
What words couldn't you say when you were little?

Small Hero

Some of my fondest memories date back to when I was very small. My Mom raised me alone in a little apartment next to a railroad track. We didn't have much because she didn't make much. But what we lacked in material goods, she more than made up for in memories. Our one treat each week was to a local TCBY. I remember the view of the world from my child seat on her bicycle. I remember the taste of yogurt covered raisins on my ice cream. I remember being happy in a way that can't be bought. It's safe to say, I worship my mother in a very healthy way because of everything she did and was/is.

When my brothers were born, my Mom was left to parent alone yet again. I don't remember her ever acting as if she weren't up to the job. I never felt like things were out of control. I guess that's the trick. I'm sure there were times where she felt lost and out of control, but she never let us know it. Every Christmas, despite the lack of funds, the tree was always decorated and Santa always came. Each present was so thoughtful. My Mom is the type of person who goes out of her way to find the one gift you didn't ask for but wanted so badly.

Every year I comb the shops and malls for something that will show just how much I appreciate her. I'll admit, I've come up with some pretty clever schemes. One year I bought her a handmade wooden box and stuffed it with a homemade treasure map. The map lead her to the space just behind the T.V. where another gift was waiting. Each year I search, and each year I find a million things she'd love and not one that would show just how much I care.

It finally dawned on me today as I was driving home from work. I will NEVER find the perfect gift. I almost feel foolish. The memories I cherish so much have nothing to do with possessions. What would make me think that I could thank her in the way of something material then? There is nothing that she could hold in her hand that would tell her how much I loved those bike rides or those yogurt covered raisins. Instead, I'll have to be content enough to tell her "I love you" every day of my life and hope that one day I can be half the Mother she was to me.

Foolish Eve

Women get screwed. We can't pee standing up. It's never funny when we fart. Going gray doesn't make us look "distinguished." And once a month we're plagued by cramps, bloating, crankiness and the tedious task of changing out a little cotton phallic symbol every three hours. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of beautiful and wonderful things about being female that I could write about. But this is my rant. I think I deserve it, considering I just got denied nookie on account of my monthly oil change.

DENIED.

As I stared into the bathroom mirror, wondering if that very word was stamped somewhere on my forehead, I realized how screwed us women are. Not only do we have to deal with the above gripes, we get made to feel personally responsible for it too. I didn't request this! If I had, I most certainly would have attached it to an "Empathy Clause." That's where any men in the vicinity of a menstruating female instantly drop to the floor with gut wrenching abdomen spasms while simultaneously craving Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey ice cream with a Chocolate Syrup chaser and bemoaning the fact that NOTHING fits anymore. Especially not anything attractive.

If men had to deal with half the things us women do, especially periods and childbirth, we'd all be extinct by now. On that note, with the possibility of jumping off the TMI cliff, I have an appointment with a little vibrating bunny. G'Nite all.

Criminally Good Lookin'

May I present Evidence A: Criminally cute dog.

I'd show you Evidence B, but I really want you guys to come back sometime. Evidence B would be yet another wad of multicolored fabric covered in translucent slobber. I came home today and stared in confusion at the wad of something-inevitably-disgusting at the bottom of Duff's cage. I let him out and continued to prod the mass with a straw. "What the hell did you eat?!" It wasn't until I decided to pick it up with a napkin and Duff's spit started to seep through to my fingers, that I realized exactly what the damn thing was. Underwear.

I have lost 25 pairs of Victoria Secret thongs this year alone... All spoils in my war against the criminally good lookin' dog. There are days I close my eyes and actually imagine getting rid of his underwear eating ass. But then I open my eyes and see this face. How could I possibly resist?

"Fuckin' eat them all Duff... Just leave the ones I'm wearing alone, OK?"

Hodgepodge

I've had four cups of java in the last hour. I'm beginning to think they should just tap it straight into my blood stream through an IV. Maybe that's the reason my thoughts are so random and rapid fire. Or maybe it's because it's Friday. Regardless of reason, here's my hodgepodge of thoughts. Dissect them at will.

• I was told today that each of the taste buds on your tongue only live ten days. That's a strange little fact to chew on. With that in mind, I've made the decision to eat ice cream at least once every ten days. It would be a shame for one of my taste buds to die without ever having tasted Cake Batter, Double Fudge Brownie, or Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. Imagine, whatever you've eaten in the last ten days is all a single taste bud has eaten in a life time. That's kind of depressing if you're the taste bud of an Anorexic chick. Although Bulimic taste buds get to taste their food twice! Bleh.
  
• I don't think we're ever going to invent the means for time travel. If we did, wouldn't we know it by now? Wouldn't there be people from the future wandering around on "history" field trips? Hoop likes to try and debunk my theory by stating that people from the future would be wise enough to disguise themselves from us. But I don't think he understands the innate urges of his own sex. Somewhere down the line some hot shot male from the future would get it in his head that he should take the credit for such a discovery and play on the media. He'd buy up all the property in Florida. In the future it'll be the new California. Come on, you SO know it's going to fall in the ocean one day. He'd erect statues of himself and bring back Marilyn Monroe. *This is where my imagination runs amuck* Screw the Apocalypse people. Time travel would be our demise.

Daily Hoop Conversation:
Ever wonder what guys talk about when they're together? Yeah, me neither. Unfortunately I got to find out the hard way today. Here's a text blog from about five minutes ago...

Hoop: I just blew up the toilet at the bank! I dumped a huge turd and clogged it.
Tink: What? LOL. RUN!
Hoop: Omg! That was meant for ----- ((His brother)). Disregard that last message. It never happened.
Tink: LMAO. Oh man, I'm crying. My coworkers think I've gone nuts.
Hoop: Why are you laughing? I said NOTHING!

And he's ALL MINE folks.

Social Pariah

Daily Hoop Conversation:
So this one happened awhile ago. But it came to mind last night and gave me a chuckle.

Tink: Would you still want me if I had no hair?
Hoop: Of course... You'd still have those big beautiful eyes of yours.
Tink: What if I had no eyelashes?
Hoop: *Blink* Um...

Opening Lines:
Things I've said to people on first meeting them. Also the reason why I don't get invited to parties anymore hehe.

Would you rather watch a porno with your parents or starring them?

So...Who here likes fish?

If Jesus was hung would we all wear nooses instead of crosses?

Some days I wish I had theme music.

Santa's Last Stand.

I was ten when I discovered the truth behind Santa. You would have thought it would have happened the year of the great ghetto tree. But no... I was determined to believe, if only for one more year. I was heartbroken at five to realize that people could never fly, no matter how hard they flapped their arms and despite the number of odd towels wrapped around their neck. So Santa was my last chance at believing in magic. Christmas morning (1993) I ran out to the tree and screamed in delight. There, in all it's horrifying garishness, was a Unicorn Trunk.

Unicorns.... I think back on it now and cringe. ;)

I danced around the trunk, talking in decibels totally unsuitable for my Mom and her husband three hours before the normal waking/coffee hour. And then I opened the trunk. It was like glass shattering in my head. At the bottom of the trunk was a receipt. I tried to justify it. Maybe Santa's elves were running behind and had to get help from some of the local shops this year? But Santa doesn't use money. Why is Mom's last name on it? I pretended to believe for a couple more years. Most kids have the horrible fear that once they admit the magic isn't real, the presents disappear with the illusion.

My littlest brother is 11. He's the one goofing off in my profile pic. Last year was the year my Mom finally decided to tell him the truth. At first he cried and called her a liar. She patiently explained that as parents there's a choice to be made when it comes to the holidays. You can either "fib" to your child and let them experience the wonderment and joy of the magic, or tell them the truth from the beginning and never let them feel deceived. She chose to carry on the illusion. He seemed satisfied enough with the answer, although still understandably upset. He was quiet as they drove along. All of a sudden he piped up from the back...

Lil Bit: Are you the Tooth Fairy too?
Mom: Uh huh.
((A minute passes))
Lil Bit: And the Easter Bunny?!
Mom: Yes, that's me too.

Poor kid lost it all in one day. :)

It's funny. I'm twenty-two now. It's been twelve years since I lost the belief in Santa. But I find that each year I enjoy the holiday a little more. Each year I find more to appreciate in the people I love around me. So in a sense, I simply traded one form of magic for another. The holidays can be depressing. I look at my checkbook each day and want to cry lol. But in the end it doesn't matter how much you spent. It doesn't matter how much you received. It matters how much of the holiday spirit you chose to pass along.

Question of the Day:
How old were you when you stopped believing?

Bring out the big balls.

It's official. I'm a nerd. I actually watched an hour of PROFESSIONAL Dodge Ball last night. Did you even know there was such a thing? I almost want to join just so I can put that on my resume. Simply watching the game spawned off a million unanswered questions. Like... Do they advertise the try-outs at gyms, or the "Self Help" sections at Barnes and Nobles? If you had one arm shorter than the other would they disqualify you? Is spandex a requirement, or just a bold fashion statement? Oooh, that last one made me gag a little bit. And finally... Is there a cash prize? Because once my friends find out I'm a PROFESSIONAL Dodge Ball player, they're going to beat the crap out of me. And I really can't afford the hospital bill right now.

On a totally unrelated side note, I almost raped Hoop when I got home yesterday. He practically skipped to the bedroom. Let me set the scene. We're in the process of peeling each others layers off. I'm trying my damnedest to look sexy while squeezing my head through the tiny hole of my gargantuan sweater. Hoop is all teeth as I reach for him in a "Come hither" sort of way. He flips off his shoes and exclaims, "God I love-" the appropriate way to end this sentence would be with "you" but oddly enough, that's not how he finished it.

Hoop: God I love these shoes!
Tink: ... Oh yeah baby! Talk dirty to me again.

I'm putting up the Caution tape.

I've been puddle jumping through random blogs all day. After about 25, I came to the startling realization that damn near every blog I enter has a recent post referring to pregnancy in it. All I want to know is:

Is this contagious?
((Please, no comments about the birds and the bees. I don't really think pregnancy is contagious. It's called sarcasm. It's my friend. It should be yours too.))

I love you people and I'm very happy for you, but honestly... Who's been passing around the Internet Fertility God? Please, don't send him over here. You've been forewarned. I have a spork and I know how to use it.

Things that make you go, "Hmmmm."

1. Trying to open the front door of your house with the remote to your car alarm.

2. Accidentally wrapping the scissors in with the Christmas gift.

3. Realizing you just told your grandmother to, "Choose (her) nuts wisely."

4. Finding the TV remote in the freezer... along with a bag of chips.

5. Not to mention this whole conversation:

Hoop: When I wiggle my toes my feet start to resemble hands.
Tink: Uh, huh.
Hoop: No, seriously! Look. *Props feet on table. We both stare at his wiggling toes for about 2 minutes*
Tink: I don't see anyth- Oh. My. God.
Hoop: *Excited* What?
Tink: They do!
Hoop: Do yours do that?
Tink: *Pats Hoop on back* No honey... You're special.

I just choked on my own spit.

Oh good God. Hoop just called to inform me that he finally found my Christmas present.... at the flea market. He was so excited too. I didn't know whether to be scared or just keep laughing. Maybe I need to color this picture in a little for you guys.

Some flea markets look like this:
http://www.quakertownfarmersmkt.com/images/outdoor-flea-market-img.jpg
Aw, look at that cute couple prancing along in umbrella paradise.

Ours more closely resembles this:
http://www.tinytears.cc/PaigeArt/images/Vintage%20Flea%20Market%20WM.jpg
Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit. But the tenants actually have to build their own walls! That's no lie my friends.

It's a damn good thing I love the man.

Ghetto Christmas

Most memorable Christmas:

When I was no older than eight, I spent Christmas with my father in Toledo, Ohio in a tiny twinkie trailer. I begged and begged him for a Christmas tree to no avail. He always had some excuse. "Trees are too expensive." "There's no room." I was not to be silenced though. Late on Christmas eve my father came home from work with the biggest and scraggliest tree I've ever seen. He admitted that he'd pulled it off an abandoned lot once they'd packed up shop for the season. I didn't care. We didn't have decorations. We didn't even have a tree stand. Instead, we propped it up against a wall with books to keep it steady.

I spent two hours making paper chains out of construction paper. As a finishing touch, I crafted a tin foil star for the top. It was pathetic and I was thrilled! About one am my dad finally scooted me off to the couch to sleep so "Santa" could come. I almost slept through the ruckus he caused while wrapping his last minute gifts by my head. Determined not to waiver my believe in flying reindeer and Ol' St. Nick, I figured he was wrapping all the presents for my nieces and nephews while waiting to greet the "Big Man" himself. Somewhere in there I drifted off. At six am I was literally jarred from sleep as the tree fell on me.

It was still worth it.

Closet Blonde

Hoop stared at me in utter confusion this afternoon as I continued to put the batteries in the camera the wrong way. He asked me pointedly if I was sure they were both supposed to face the same direction. Irritated with his tone I replied, "Of course you ass. I know how to put in batteries." It was two minutes later that I realized I was wrong. Damn!

While watching Grey's Anatomy tonight, Hoop and I got into a discussion about one of the patients on the show. After recovering from brain surgery, the patient experience a strange flip in mood that was totally uncharacteristic to him. I explained that damage to certain parts of the brain can cause permanent changes in the way that people behave. Sometimes it can even stop people from being able to decipher right and wrong. As I was leaving the room I heard Hoop mutter, "That's crazy."

"What's crazy?"

"You are totally clueless when it comes to simple things I think you should know. So how the hell do you know so much about brain surgery?"

"Might I mention I'm the queen of USELESS information. Not USEFUL."

Men... Geesh. ;)

Tis the season...

...for holiday madness. I went Christmas shopping today. I've come to these three conclusions:

1. Wal-mart is run by the devil.
2. Never get in the middle of women who've spotted the bargain bin at Ross.
3. Whatever you plan on spending on the holiday, triple it to save yourself the mourn session when you get your bank/credit card statement later.

When I came home tonight, bags in hand (and along my arms and across my back), I looked around the house and wondered where I'd stash it all. I decided on a nice secluded nook at the back of my closet. While I was there, I discovered a multitude of old treasures I'd long ago forgotten about. Coincidently enough, among the stash was a book titled "Living On A Shoe String." Huh. I promptly threw it out to make room for all that pricey loot I can't possibly afford.

Happy Holidays all! Hope you somehow manage to avoid the madness.

I'm giving the dog a complex.

Is it wrong that every time my dog eats I have to sing:
(To the tune of the COPS theme song)

Fat dog, fat dog. Whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when there's no more food?

Muwahohoho

Why do men see the Christmas holiday as their go-ahead to buy themselves the most expensive toys they possibly can? Two months before people start stringing their lights, I'm carefully planning and budgeting my Christmas gift list. As a practicing singleton, the budgeting part always seems to be the hardest part. I've gone so far as to forgo food for Christ sake! Meanwhile Hoop, my other half, is trying to figure out how he can buy 10 people presents with a $150 allowance so he can get that XBox360 he's been eye-balling for the last week. It's killing my Christmas spirit!

Speaking of Christmas spirit... I feel like someone's miniature poodle. Wow, that didn't sound quite so bizarre in my head. You know those teacup dogs that little old ladies dress up in horrid little outfits for the holidays? I'm going to start a campaign for them. One of the office biddies passed out decorative headbands today for our holiday office party. I looked into the bag with horror as bobble head Santas and Snowmen stared up at me with their beady little eyes. I finally decided on a set of felt candy canes. They stood about 6 inches off my head and wobbled around at every little move. And just when I thought it couldn't get worse... Oh God, someone brought a camera. If you all are really nice I might just post the pictures.

By "nice" I mean begging and the appropriate ass kissing.

In the beginning...

I love new relationships. They're full of those revelations where you suddenly realize how absolutely insane A. You really are or B. The other person is (which is good if A. still applies).

Hoop: Do you think your dog understands "NO"?
Tink: She understands the tone you use when you say it.
Hoop: But you don't think she understands the word?
Tink: No. You could pretty much substitute it with anything as long as you say it the same way.
Hoop: Really? Like what?
Tink: Like, um.... Pickled Beef.
Hoop: Pickled what?
Tink: Beef?
Hoop: I put you on the spot and you shout out "Pickled Beef."
Tink: Yup.
...
Tink: Remember, you're the one dating me. I'm stuck with myself. You're with me by CHOICE.