Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Feelin' Tangy? Grab A Pickle!!

Unless you've been in some sort of blogging exile, you've probably heard of Pickleope.  And if you haven't, I shall remedy that for you today.  You can thank me in the form of gift cards and/or dirty jokes. 

I basically begged them to do a guest post for me.  In my line of work I grovel daily so it's nothing new to me but I think Pickleope was more than slightly embarrassed for me, which worked in my favor since they agreed to do it.

If you're not already, do yourself a favor and follow this blog.  I'm constantly impressed, stunned, appalled, disgusted, horrified and more often than not, jealous of what is continuously spewed forth from this pickled mind.  And if nothing else, you'll learn a new word or two.  Anthrophobic.  Go ahead, use it in a sentence.  It's fun!  Maybe I need a hobby.  Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this twisted little pickle as much as I do.


Hi, remember me? I’m Pickleope. The weird-o who drew that weird picture of the proprietress of this blog as a pickle fighting an oven (because that makes sense to tell people). 

First I want to thank Dawn, the Vapid Vixen, the Ginja Ninja, the Dread Red, Scarlet Harlot, or whatever other wrestler/pirate names she has come up with for herself, for allowing me the opportunity to infect her blog with my brain scabies (a little cream, that's all it takes to get rid of it).
Readers of the antics splayed out on this blog recently saw that she got into a war-of-the-words with a business she frequented. Well, I felt her pain and tried to help. And I would like to help the rest of you who were similarly done wrong by a company or service by offering my services as a professional angry letter writer to all in need. I'll call my business “Let Me Be Angry For You Letters" or maybe, "I got 99 Problems and This Bitch IS One.” If you’re angry enough at someone to write a letter, hire me, and I’ll write it for you. Here are some common samples.

Landlord problems:
(This version is written in Viking but we also offer Olde English, Teen Girl, Submissive Furry, and Schizophrenic Co-Op Proprietor)

Hark Mine Slumlord (you can use your own name here),

I hath moved in a fortnight past and informed thee of the low water pressure and lack of hot water (you can insert your own issue here). Though you haven’t the grit to conquer said issue, I shall dominate your pipes for you! Equipped with but a rudimentary knowledge of plumbing, a wrench I borrowed from the receptionist at work that has a flower-pattern handle, and a gullet filled with Odin’s nectar, beer, I shall venture into the bowels of our building and fix the heater and pressure for all the valiant cold-shower-taking denizens of this building! Fear not, I require no assistance from you, frail land lover. This is only a courtesy so that when I do eventually salvage this slum and return it to glory not seen since the ground was broken in 1957, thou can take credit and we shall cheer as comrades of the pipe! Rejoice my inept pilferer of paychecks, for you need no longer live under the cloud of shame of not being able to provide basic human services.

We'll talk about the laundry room after the building and I revel in my victory. Mead and hot showers for all!

Fair thee well,

Serf Jones

If that doesn't get him off his butt to hire a real plumber to avoid whatever damage you would cause by tinkering down there, then it may be a lost cause in which I recommend taking a different tact and subtly sabotage everything so you can slowly cost him/them more money than it would have taken to fulfill the original request.

Bank/Credit Union issues:
(This one I’ll print out the letter and drop a couple of water marks on it to make it seem like you were crying.)

Dear Loan Shark, (of course you would substitute the person's actual name, unless the person is actually named "Loan Shark" in which case, tell that person to get into Rollerderby.)

Per account #_____. With full understanding that you need to make money off my money so you can loan more money to other people and earn money off that money, there is little excuse for how I was treated at your branch when I inquired about the fee. I am now so afraid to come into any of your outlets and you have made me agoraphobic and anthrophobic. I can barely write this note without taking fist-fulls of Xanax or whatever anti-anxiety pills I have handy or sometimes Gummi Bears. All because iron-fists dipped in gold and encrusted with diamonds slapped me in the face in the form of your corporate customer relations.

Should you see it in your heart to refund these fees I may be able to leave the confines of my bathroom (it's so cold and ceramic in here, let me be free!). The $50 is not much to you, but on my road to recovery it would restore my faith in humanity and prevent my skin from grafting to the toilet seat.

More porridge please,

Tiny Tim


But I don't do JUST reactionary letters, oh no, I specialize in preemptive letters: These are good when you want something but can't really afford it so you complain ahead of time in the hope that the business will send you free stuff to shut you up. It's true, try it.

Dear Mickey Mouse (do a little research and you can find the name of the manager of your local theme park),

My family visited your park-of-doom-and-harassment on November 29 (choose a date about two weeks in the past). It has taken me this long to recover from the trauma dealt by your park and employees. Let's move past the fact I was subjected to uncorralled children! I mean, they were walking around FREE, outside of their cages and unleashed, with all their greasy, disease-ridden hands…ew. May as well have forced me to make out with leprosy patients. But worse evils were perpetrated upon my personage. What happened!?! WHAT HAPPENED!?! You want me to relive the THE DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL that I had to endure and continue to endure as I shuffle upon this earth!?! Outrage!

Don't make me turn to Six Flags, or risk my life at a carnival.

Parent of A Baker’s Dozen Children from Cambodia to Siberia to Wisconsin


There’s also expensive restaurants none of us can afford:

Dear Ratatouille,

Neither your waiter nor your chef apologized for the black, curly hair I found in my soup. Lucky for you I work for the military and we were looking for more humane ways to torture prisoners post-waterboarding, and sneaking dark curly hairs into the food we’re already peeing in. No torture is worse than finding a foreign hair in your food, especially one that looks like it once nestled in the thicket beneath the waistline.
I don’t know how you can make it up to me.

Blessed Oral Herpes,

Ms. Yelp Citysearch (Professional complaint letter writing tip: Name recognition like a motherf***er!)

If you require our skills, if you have someone you’re thinking about firing off a sternly-worded missive to, contact me first and for a tiny fee based upon your mental state, I will craft a letter for you, because you’re too good to waste your own words on jackasses (hey, that’s a good tag line). I’m like an indirect A-Team.

Thank you again to the Vapid Vixen for her general awesomeness and offering me this opportunity.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Eighteen Months Later....A Post About E1.

About a year and a half ago, I mentioned I was on which is how I met E1.  Not to be confused with E2.  They're both named Erik.  They both drive Tacoma's.  They both work from home doing creative, computery type stuff.  But that's where the similarities end.  I started dating E1 first, which is why he's E1.  He e-mailed me on Match.  I e-mailed back.  He asked me out.  (Like, that night, right then.  Seriously?  It was that obvious that I had no life?) I declined and then google stalked him.  No mention of arrests, pending murder investigations or cult affiliations.  I set my sights high.

We continued to e-mail and I inevitably, inadvertently insulted him. (My phenomenal people skills coming into play, yet again)  I don't recall what I said but he misinterpreted it as a slight.  He re-read it, realized what I had meant and asked me out again, stating it was the only fair way to make it up to him.  

Uh huh.  Clearly. 

I agreed to meet him at my favorite bar Piper Down.  I knew a couple of people who worked there.  I was feeling a little sketchy about meeting someone off the internet.  Isn't this how people end up in random trunks trying to kick out the tail lights while flying down the interstate to their demise?  Obvi.

Is it weird that I even remember what I was wearing?  Jeans, a racer-back tank top and flip flops.  I hadn't cared enough to put in the effort of heels and cuteness.  I remember looking at my nails and thinking how horribly chipped and gross they looked and not caring. 

I arrived first.  He texted letting me know he'd be late.  A trend I would see a lot of in the future.  I plopped down at the bar and ordered a drink.  Dave, the owner of the bar, (who, by the way, is a stellar guy and has the best staff in the entire valley) sat down next to me and kept me company until E1 showed up.  I let Dave know what I was doing there, that I didn't plan on drinking much, so if he saw me being led/dragged off with this dude, to please, for the love, stop him as it meant my ass had been roofied and I was on my way to getting myself raped and/or murdered.  Since I couldn't remember if I had put on clean underwear, I couldn't let that happen.  The embarrassment would have been too much.

Just as Dave has agreed to keep his eye out for me, in walks E1.  He comes over, says "Hey Dave, hows it going?" and they shake hands.  They already know each other and I've just insinuated that he's going to turn out to be this creeper rapist.  People skills.  In spades.

We head to the back patio where we talk and I pick at my nails.  He invites me back to his place.  (I'm so sure!)  I politely decline.  We talk until it's closing time.  He walks me to my car, we hug goodnight and that was the beginning of my infatuation with E1.
He was 6'3, gorgeous eyes, and one of the sexiest men I've ever dated.  Every so often you meet someone you have that ridiculous, irrational, unexplainable chemistry with.  This was E1.  He was exciting, spontaneous, hilarious.  He  would grab his guitar and perform an impromptu song about an American Eagle fighting a Canadian maple leaf.  We played in a scrap metal junk yard.  We sat on a chair lift at a ski resort in the summer and had a picnic.  It was fun.  And it was exactly what I needed after my heartbreak with Steele. 

But.  With the spontaneity came the impulsiveness.  With the excitement came the utter lack of dependability.  With the hilarity came copious amounts of alcohol.  We would make plans, he would forget about them.  I would be waiting at his doorstep for him to answer only for him to apologize, via text, that he's not there and ask to push it back for just an hour.  I let this go on far longer than any self respecting gal should, but dammit!  He was sexy.  And so much fun.  And did I mention how sexy he was?  Cause he was really sexy! 

Needless to say, I had to give him up.  We still talk every so often and I filled him in on my recent communications with dick douche dustin, (his name doesn't deserve capitalization) the owner of my former gym.

I texted E1about the friend I have at the Salt Lake Fire Department who has agreed to pay the gym a visit regarding a complaint concerning faulty wiring and possible fire hazards.

His response:
"Oh my god.  You are going to get killed and when the police show up at your poorly carpeted space they will see you strung up by climbing rope with cliff bars in your mouth and a crampon for a tampon."

Show me a girl who can say no to this kind of dark and twisty and I'll show you a girl with no sense of adventure.  Or at least one with a better sense of self-preservation.  Tomato, Tomah-toe. 

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

My Belated Thanksgiving Post

I defected to Canada for Thanksgiving this year.  And it was awesome.  My sister moved to Nova Scotia with her little family and I hadn't seen her since I was up there last January for my Gram's funeral.  Not the happiest of trips, needless to say. 

Even though Canada celebrated Thanksgiving in October, she had decided to make me the usual Thanksgiving fare.  However, we both spaced taking the turkey out of the freezer so we went with the traditional Thanksgiving pizza instead, followed by using a rubber spatula to scrape the ice off the windshield of the mini van to take the kids to Dairy Queen for ice cream.  Cause that's what you do when it has just snowed and it's sub zero out and you ignored E2 when he suggested you pack some sensible shoes. 

It felt like one of the shortest weeks of my life.  Even though I missed E2, I loved getting to spend so much time with my Sis and the kids.  They were so proud of their disgusting, lice infested chickens.  Okay, they didn't really have lice but they're still disgusting.  Jesse insisted I help him with his daily chore of collecting the eggs.  And by help I mean I stood there and watched him do it.  There was no way I was getting in that coop.  I detest birds.  I made it clear to both Jesse and Sienna that while I was proud of them for being so brave and holding the revolting creatures, I had no intention of naming them, petting them, or*shudder* picking them up.  After getting a couple of pictures of them with their beloved pets, they decided it was time to corner me, each of them holding a chicken, and sandwich me in between them, forcing me to touch the nasty things.  They thought they were hil-ra-ri-ous.

They weren't.  

Jesse wanted a picture with his rooster, King Awesome, but it kept flapping him in his face.
So vile.  Kids are gross.
And speaking of gross kids...I finally got to meet my niece Erin and Jeff named after me.  Brynlee Dawn!  I'm pretty sure I spent the entire week smelling like spit up...and I didn't even care!

I love her!!!!

There's just something about fat little baby cheeks that brings out the cannibal in me.  
The week flew by and all of a sudden I was tucking the kids in and saying goodbye since I would be gone by the time they got up the next morning.  Apparently I was making too much noise trying to drag my 700 pound bags up the stairs.  Jesse woke up, got Sienna up, and they both came upstairs for one last goodbye.  It was 5:30 in the morning and they were SO tired.

Bwaaiiiiiins......We want bwaaaiiiiins!!!!
I love these little maggots. 

My family waited until I got back to have a family Thanksgiving dinner.  They invited E2.  I offhandedly let him know about the invitation half hoping he would be busy going to the gym...or something.  He accepted and I prayed my family would at least attempt a facade of normalcy.  They almost pulled it off.

My parents, youngest sister, brother, brother-in-law, two nephews, niece, E2 and I are seated at our places.  My Father, knowing full well that E2 is an Atheist, pipes up with, "Erik, would you like to offer the blessing on the food?"

My head snaps up and I stare at my Dad with eyes rounded in horror.  Luckily E2 doesn't skip a beat with his response of "Gesundheit".

Just one more reason why I adore him.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

If You Have Hope, You Have Everything.

Tomorrow Elizabeth Hirsch is having a Blog Fest to celebrate the release of her book The Golden Sky, which honors her son, Zeke, she lost when he was just a month and a half.  Tomorrow would have been his ninth birthday.

To participate in the blog fest, we're to write a tribute post about someone we have lost.  Originally when I read about it, I thought it would be a great idea.  And now, sitting here in front of my laptop, I don't want to do it.  Thinking about this person, I've realized I'm still very angry and hurt.  This person hasn't died.  But I have lost him.  He's been in my life and I've loved him ever since I can remember.  There have been times I've hated him but still always loved him...if that's even possible.

Earlier this year, in January, E2 and I were on a dinner date.  A friend of mine had just flown back into town and since we were downtown and I'd been wanting E2 to meet him, he joined us for dinner.  I left my phone in the car because I think it's rude to have a phone beeping, blinking and ringing during a meal.  After food, drinks and laughs, E2 and I were headed back to his place when I finally checked my phone.  I had a slew of missed calls (a number I didn't recognize) and a voice mail.  As I was trying to check the message, a call came through from that same number.  It was John's (not really his name but the most generic one I can think of right now) girlfriend.  I'd never even met the girl but she somehow had my number? 

She was calling in a panic asking me to come and get John.  He had just lost his job and she wanted him to move out.  He hadn't slept for a few days now, was drunk and had taken some pills.  She didn't know what kind.  He was threatening to destroy the apartment and she was afraid.  Just as she had given me the address I heard John screaming at her in the background, she shrieked, a thump and a crash and the phone went dead.

My adrenaline started pumping and my hands started shaking as I asked E2 to get me over there, fast.

We arrived to find John shifting between complacent and aggressive.  One minute he's ready to leave with us, the next he's remembered something else he wants to bring with him.  When he demanded a ring that he had given the girlfriend, that she didn't seem to have, he blew up and refused to leave until he had it.  He threatened her and got her backed into the bathroom where he attempted to shut them in.  I stuck my foot in the door and shoved it back open.

John: "Shut the door Dawn!"
Me: "I don't think so".
John: "Shut the damn door.  I just wanna talk to her!!"
Me: "You just threatened her and now you expect me to allow you alone with her with a door that can lock?  Absolutely not."

He became even more irate and stated he would just leave and drive himself into a brick wall.

Um.  Yeah, sounds super.

Naturally, E2 stopped that from happening.  John had not met E2 and so having some random man putting his hands on him, preventing him from taking his dramatic alcohol and drug induced leave, did not go over well.  He went berserk and went at E2 with everything he had.  E2 however, is no slouch.  He basically just held John off while not inflicting any harm on him.

Being the genius I am, I wormed my way in between them, counting on the fact that John was still with it enough to recognize who I was and remember that he had cared about me at one time in his life.  Stupid stupid girl.  Do NOT do this unless you are okay with possibly getting your teeth knocked down your own throat. 

Luckily, this did not happen.  It broke them apart and John headed out to the balcony to cool off.  Or so I thought.  While thanking E2 for his help I look over my shoulder to see John with one leg over the balcony about to pitch himself over from 3 stories up.  I burst out there, grab onto his shirt and he stumbles back onto the balcony where he grabs my arm and wrenches it behind me.  It hurt like hell but I knew he could have broken it easily had he wanted to.  Tears start pouring from my eyes and he lets go of my arm.  I immediately wrap my arms around him in a bear hug to keep him from going anywhere.  E2 is watching and from over John's shoulder I ask him to call the police.  John starts sobbing and says how he just can't do it anymore.  We stand on the balcony hugging each other and crying until the police show up.

They take our statements while evaluating John and quickly call the paramedics to come and get him.  He goes willingly but isn't happy about it.  I told him I'd see him at the hospital and they took him away.

And then there was the time the school bully had targeted him after school.  I was tall for my age and was wearing my snow boots.  I ran up to the bully and kicked him between his legs.  He dropped like a bag of dirt and John and I took off running for our lives.

High school wasn't any better for him.  He would get dumped in the garbage cans and rolled down the hallways.

I thought of the times he stuck up for me.  The times he took the fall for me.  When he shared with me.  We would go to dinner and laugh and laugh and talk about important things.  Things that mattered to us.  Then just a week or two later I'd see him again after a number of sleepless nights and he would be a completely different person.  One I didn't know and one I didn't want to know.

These and many more memories were flooding my mind as I went in and sat down next to him.  I just want him to be happy.  I just want him to be okay.

Another evaluation and it's determined he will be committed in the behavioral health clinic.  I sign the paperwork and he curses me and tells me this is all my fault.  He hates me and will never forgive me.  I just sit there and wonder how much longer I can cry until I'm completely dehydrated. 

They took him away and I was allowed to visit once a week.  They took away his belt and shoelaces.  His pants wouldn't stay up and he had long ago given up on his shoes so he was just wearing socks.  We sat at a table in silence while I picked at my visitor name tag.  He had nothing to say to me and I felt the immense weight of guilt for even putting him there.  We listened to the shrieking and sobbing of the other patients with their visitors.  Time was up.  I gave him a hug and he went through his door back to his room while I headed out the door to freedom.

Each subsequent visit was a little less awkward but he eventually told me I didn't need to come visit him anymore.  So I didn't.

I don't remember how long he was in there.  I do remember both dreading those visits but looking forward to seeing him.  I still don't know how to process the feelings of guilt and regret.  I'm not sorry I did what I did.  I would do it every time if put in that situation again.  But it doesn't stop the feeling that I somehow failed him. 

I rarely see him anymore.  When I do, I sometimes catch a glimpse of the person I knew from years ago.  I know he's in there somewhere but for now, he's lost to me and the others that love him so much.  I just want him to be happy.  I want him to be okay.

I hope to one day have him as a part of my life again.  E2 has a fortune he got from a cookie that says "If you have hope, you have everything".  I still have some hope.  So I guess for now, that will be enough.


Sunday, November 13, 2011

*Du Bist Mein Liebster.

Growing up in Canada, I had to take French along with all the usual math, science, art type classes.  I love the way French sounds.  It's sophisticated and sexy and just sounds edible.  I don't know what I mean by that.  Go with it.

Then I moved to the states and decided it would be a super great idea to take German instead.  Why?  Because it was less crowded than French, (apparently nazis are still rather unpopular) I thought it might be good to branch out but really, when it came down to it, the German club got an end of the year trip to Daytona Beach.  Only stipulation was you had to actually be taking German.


E2 has spent quite a bit of time off and on in Europe, specifically France, for rock climbing.  It's not uncommon for him to come home at the end of the day and rattle off  *"Ce qui s'est passé aujourd'hui?"

And I'll eloquently reply "Shut yer whore mouth!  I don't know what that means!"  Because I don't remember any of the French I once knew.  Or I'll try to sound smart and confound him with some German.  "Warum sind sie belästigen mich du narr?"

He'll just look at me oddly and comment on how I sound like I'm choking on my own phlegm. 

And that brings us to the German word Liebster.  It literally translates as beloved.  Mrs. Mommy over at Life After Kids was awesome enough to give me the Liebster award.  Her other blog Did I Shave My Legs For This? makes me giggle.  Check her out and show her some love.

And now to share the Liebster love with five of my most beloved bloggers with 200 or less followers.  Not sure why that's a stipulation but whatev's.

1. Amanda over at Appreciating the Fireflies has been blowing me away lately with her writing.  She has a way of really bringing her words to life.  The fact that she's a total doll certainly doesn't hurt either.

2.  Tonya the Hobo Girl from Where Have All The Hobos Gone never fails to make me smile with her sense of humor and her drawings.  Her most recent post features a spot on rendering of the Price is Right showcase showdown.

3.  Then we have Angela at Begging The Answer.  She's sarcastic, a little dark, and a lot twisty.  What's not to love about that?  

4. Jordan, also known as Trailer Gypsy is a new favorite of mine.  She does amazing things with food she actually grows.  Like, from the ground!  And then puts them in jars to eat later.  And doesn't die from Botulism!  I KNOW, right?  And although I don't know her in real life, she seems like one of those genuinely good people you always hope will be on your side. 

5.  And that brings us to Pickleope.  Wow.  Where to even start?  I don't know whether Pickleope is male or female...maybe both?  I know there's more than one writer over there.  And I know for a fact that they're ALL crazy.  I absolutely LOVE the insanity that spews forth from the minds of that blog.  It's upsetting.  But the good kind of upsetting.  If you know what I mean.  Cause I don't.

* You are my beloved. 
** What happened today?
***Why are you bothering me you fool?

Sunday, November 6, 2011

How I got tricked on Halloween

Just like reaching puberty, I'm a little behind schedule...again.  I always get there eventually.  It just takes me a little longer than most people.  And thus we have my Halloween report.  Just be warned for those of you who actually read my posts.  This one may be a tad verbose.  This blog has no point, as many have noticed.  It's my online journal that I'm retarded enough to make public.  What I'm trying to say as nicely as possible is that this blog is for me.  I'm thrilled and constantly surprised when people actually take the time to read and comment.  It makes me enormously happy, but ultimately, this blog is for me and my sieve-like memory.  So I can read back and be horrified  thankful for the life I've been lucky enough to lead.

And with that, I give you...

Angry Birds!!!

There was a comment Doug Stephens left on my last post.  "Another angry bird victim.  Will it never end?"  And I couldn't agree with him more.  I was a VICTIM in this whole thing.  My supervisor came up with the idea and I went along at the time, planning on flaking out later, cause sometimes I'm a bad person like that.   However, the more excited about the idea she got, the more I came to realize there was no going back.  Like a virgin on Prom night, I was in it for the duration.  And because I live under a rock, coworkers had to show me what it was all about.  I have to be honest here...I still don't get the fuss.  I think it's effing stupid.  But the cute little monkey in the Rio version gave Candice the perfect opportunity to bring her little monkey to the office.  The same little monkey you've heard screaming in the first vlog.  He's clearly not a fan of dildo drink mixers.  To each their own, I suppose.
Even angry birds need lovin's!  Is an apostrophe appropriate with lovin's?
After work I flew the coop (Hehe get it?  Get it?  See what I did there?) and headed off to Zion's with E2 for the weekend.  Little did I know I was voluntarily heading off to my near demise.

Things went relatively smoothly the first couple of days.  We did some easy hikes, saw some wildlife, made fun of tourists.  Then came Sunday night.  The night before Halloween and the night before we were to do the big hike.  The whole reason for the trip.  The hike to the Subway.  That night E2 made a spicy Szechuan stir fry.  It was delicious.  But holy hell it was painful.  We would take a bite.  Chew chew chew, swallow.  Gasp for life giving air as tears rolled down our cheeks.  Gulp some wine and mentally prepare for the next bite.  We managed to choke it down and sat back to wait for the burning in our mouths to cease.

It was around this point my stomach started making incredibly loud, odd, angry sounding noises.  I whistled a show tune into the air while gazing at the stars and enjoying the fire.  La la la I don't hear anything.  E2 on the other hand, wasn't about to just let it go.

E2- Are you gonna shit yourself tonight?
Me- Wow.  You are SUCH the romantic.
E2- I need to know.  I need you to be honest cause I sleep next to you.  You wear a thong.  It's gonna go out both sides.
I never did answer him and I'm happy to report I did not shit myself.  I did, however, pee my pants while trying to stumble into the shrubbery while howling with laughter.  Not cool.  Not cool at all.

The next morning we got a late start because he decided he wanted to shoot some sunrise pictures before we headed out.  He told me I could sleep for another 40 minutes and it was the sweetest thing I had heard all weekend.  However, because of the late start, that meant the other hikers who had also acquired permits had a major head start on us.  I didn't know until later that this was an issue.

We drive to the trail head and see the parking lot with five other vehicles.  We head off down the trail and it's not too bad at all.  He had previously warned me this would not be an easy hike.  It's 4.5 hours in and then 4.5 to get back out.  At this point I'm thinking "Pfft.  What kind of wimp does he think I am?  I've totally got this.  At this rate we'll be there in 2 hours".

After 20 min's of E2's mach 5 pace, I was getting a little winded but it was pretty level so I had no trouble keeping up.  Then we came to the sign mockingly stating "You are now entering Zions back country".  Wait.  WHAT?  The actual hike hasn't even STARTED yet?  No.  That's cool.  I've still got this.

Except I didn't.  We soon started down a very steep, rocky and tiring descent.  Every time I stepped down I'd get sewing machine leg, where your leg starts shaking uncontrollably. 
It finally levels off and my legs feel like jelly.  I'm freaking tired.  I nonchalantly ask "Hey, E2.  (Cause that's what I call him in real life) How far in do you think we are?  Like, how long do you think we've been hiking for now?

His response, "About 30 minutes".

Oh shit.

It only got worse from there.  You have to understand.  This was no ordinary hike along a little well worn path.  No.  Ohhh no.  The entire hike was like the stairmaster climb from hell.  It was never flat.  You were constantly scrambling over rocks, pulling yourself up by the trees.  We crossed the river by jumping from rock to rock about 15 times.

And it's not like we were going at a normal pace.  Oh hell no.  We had to go at E2 pace.  He had to beat everyone there so he could have time to get some good shots before it turned into a tourist cluster.  We'd see some wet sand or some footprints and he'd get excited and say "See that?  We're gaining on them"  I'd simply wheeze in response.
We caught up to the first couple of people and he pointed to them and said, "See that?  Eyes on the prize Dawn.  Eyes on the prize".  I wanted to slap him.

We ended up passing everyone and we made it to the Subway first and he got his freaking pictures.  And it was amazingly spectacular and the most striking place I've ever hiked to.  Okay?  I admit it.  It was phenomenal.

And yeah, don't for a second think I actually took this.
They're all E2's doing.
It was bigger than I expected.  Heh.  Say it with me now...that's what she said.  *sigh*

If you do the hike from the top down, you rappel in and wade through the pools.
A crack in the rock we had to walk over that the water was flowing through.
 Heading back, we ran out of water.  Which may or may not have been because I sucking on that camelbak straw like a...actually, I'm gonna just skip this one.  It's too obvious.  But we ran out of water.  I pulled my arm out of the socket trying to pull myself up a stupid rock by grabbing a tree because my legs were so wasted at this point.  My eyes welled up but I didn't cry dammit!

E2 is chatting away as if my life weren't in any sort of peril whatsoever.  I finally had to tell him "I can't talk to you anymore.  I'm in survival mode.  I need to conserve my energy."

Hiking along in front of me, his response was to slap his ass and say "See this?"

Me- "Yep.  Eyes on the prize Dawn.  Eyes on the prize."

I literally ended up crawling out of that canyon and walking back to the truck.  I was wondering if my legs would ever be the same again while fighting back tears of exhaustion when E2 mentioned coming back the next weekend and doing the hike from the top down.  If I had had the energy, I would have punched him somewhere really mean while screaming Trick or Treat MOFO!

Monday, October 31, 2011

A Halloween Sexy Time Vlog plus apology

I've always loved Halloween.  Not only is Halloween during my favorite season of the year, it's socially acceptable for you to dress up in any way your little heart desires.  Guys get to dress up as the super heroes they've idolized since they were boys and the women get to whore it up like the slutty little barbies we grew up with.  What a glorious time of year!  And yeah, you'll still be judged for it, but perhaps just a little less harshly than the rest of the year.  Perhaps not.

A few photos from Halloween's past to better explain my infatuation...

How do you say "classy" in vampire?
I don't remember exactly what was going on here but I remember it was a lot of fun.  And that's what Halloween is all about.  Well, not historically speaking but I think the pagans of long ago would really be proud to see what we've done with their religious celebration.

Rubber mouth?

Me and the Douche bag.
No.  Really.  I'm not being a jerk.  He dressed up as a douche bag.  Notice the fake tan.  The sculpted eyebrows.  The puka shell necklace.  The skin tight t-shirt.  The excessive tattoos.  Oh, wait.  Those were real.  Welp.  Whatever, it's Halloween.  Dress as you wish.  Just be prepared for the inevitable backlash.

You may recognize Candito from the previous dildo vlog.  She has no shame either. 
I still don't understand how I was so misunderstood this year.  Marie Antoinette?  The dead version?  Really people?  COME ON!

It was SO obvious!  Whatever.
So, I love Halloween and I love dressing up.  This year?  Not so much.  Know why?  Two words.  Angry birds.  I'll explain further and post pictures later as I'm heading out the door to go to Zions National Park on a mother hugging 9 mile hike and don't have time to do much more right now.  I'll set this to post on Halloween since we won't be around and just hope it actually posts.  Or be secretly glad if it doesn't.
Yeah.  Amazingly enough, after our last train wreck of a vlog, Eden Fantasys asked us to review another product.  No drink mixers this time.  Oh no.  We've moved on to sensual intimacy kits.  And oh yeah.  There's another professionally filmed and edited vlog to go with it.  Be excited.  Be very excited.  Orrrr hit the little red X in your top right hand corner of the screen now.  Really.  I won't blame you.  We didn't charge the camcorder enough so we had to use the laptop to record again.  Which means....yep.  It sucks.  But hey!  Now you know where to go to get sex toys that you can have delivered to your work place without suspicion.  And for THAT, you're welcome.


Sunday, October 23, 2011

On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is it to off a coworker?

I spend a lot of my life at work.  With the same people day in and day out.  This can be a very bad thing.  This can be a very bad thing if you work with people like Toph.  The same Toph, if you recall, who tried to murder me with this apple.  Sometimes he makes me laugh until I cry.  Most of the time, he makes me want to punch him in his face until his asshole bleeds.  If that is an actual physical possibility, I do not know.  But I'd be willing to volunteer Toph and participate in a study.  Purely for scientific purposes, naturally.

I had a question about an e-mail I received.  I called him for clarification.  He said he wasn't sure what I was talking about and said "I'll be right over".

Me: No.  You really don't need to come over here.  Just answer the question.

T: Oh, it's not a problem, I'll be right there.

Me: Don't come over here!  I don't want you in my space.

He'd already hung up and was making his way into my personal space.  I had woken up late this morning, thrown on wrinkled clothes that I found on the floor of the closet, brushed my teeth and went to work.  I did not brush my hair, hadn't bothered to apply so much as chapstick on my face, and hadn't even had a sip of coffee yet.  I pretty much spend the first half of every morning looking like I'm hungover, even when I'm not.

T: You look nice today.

Me: Shut the hell up and just answer the question.

T: You know, only if I were single, drunk, blind and dosed on Roofalin, would I be on that.  You know what you should do?  You know what I think would make you pretty?

Me: I don't give a shit what you think.

Toph: How have you not been snatched up?  I'm thinking of a word.  It starts with B and ends in itch.

Me: Okay, you're done.  You have 2 seconds before I stab you in the crotch with my heel.

Toph: You're so pretty when you're pissed off.

Me: You're a complete waste of space.

Toph:  Go fuck yourself.

As he turns to leave I say "That went well".  He replies with "Welcome to work".

Later on that day I accidentally nudged my keyboard out of it's usual position and noticed a white letter painted on my desk.  What the?  I pick up my keyboard to find the following message.

I simply can't imagine who put that there.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Dirty Girl

It's true.  I'm a dirty girl.  More often than not, my mind goes straight to the gutter when even the most innocent comments are uttered.  Heh.  Uttered.  Uddered.  Boobs.  *sigh*  Does this fall under the category of character flaw?  I suppose it's time I admit that immaturity and a love of sophomoric humor and fart jokes will always be my Achilles heel.  So be it.

Anyhoo, this post is about a more literal kind of dirty.  Last weekend I "ran" my first 5K.  And I LOVED it.  It was the Dirty Dash.  A 5K mud obstacle course race.  Months ago when I mentioned to E2 that I might do this he just laughed and said "Yeah, right.  You?  Run?" 


I told my parents about it.  My Dad thought the idea was great.  My Mom, with more than a hint of disdain in her voice said  "Oh.  So basically it's a wet t-shirt contest but with mud."

Huh?  What?  No Mom.  It's nothing like a wet t-shirt con...ya know, just..nevermind.

My coworker/friend Erin got a team together (Nor-folk-n-chance.  How awesome is that name?) and ordered us all matching, painfully bright, t-shirts.  Under normal circumstances say no to day-glow, but in this case it helped us keep track of each other.  At least for the first 5 minutes of the race, before it looked like we'd all been dipped in a toilet full of runny poo.

I want to post different pictures of the whole team, but I didn't ask anyone's permission and I'm pretty sure that's against the law or something and I don't wanna end up in jail.  I don't look good in orange and I don't typically befriend people with names like Big Bertha.  I'm kind of a snob like that.  So I'm just going to post a team picture of the end of the race where everyone is covered in mud and basically unidentifiable anyway and hope that doesn't count.  Except for Erin's dog Zero.  I'm posting a couple of him because he's a dog and we all know animals don't get or deserve any kind of animal rights or protection of any sort.  Am I right??

So, in typical narcissistic fashion, this post will be about me.  Let's get started.

Pristine and clean before the race.  Loved Zero's paw bands.

The cleanliness was short-lived.

This was the moment things went downhill fast.  I tried to take out Erin, slipped, and barely managed to keep my head above mud.  Her boyfriend and fellow teammate called it instant Karma.  Oh how I hate that bitch.  Karma, that is.  

So much better than any slip 'n slide.  However, a little tip you would assume to be self evident, keep your mouth closed.

I'm not British.  I just don't follow my own tips. 

Proof that there WAS some actual running involved.  My shoes felt like 5 pound bricks at this point.

Yes, that is a knee high mud pit.  Jealous yet? 

Nor-folk-n-chance in all our nasty glory at the finish line. 

I'm not gonna lie.  Cleanup was a bitch.  I'm still blowing mud out of my nose, I think my left ear is permanently clogged with mud and my shoes will never be the same.  I can't wait for next year!

I wonder if anyone could tell that I peed in the last mud hole?

Friday, September 16, 2011

I'm gonna random all over your face!

Fair warning. There is no rhyme or reason to this post. If you come away feeling confused, upset or dizzy, it's probably because of all the pot you've been smoking since you awoke this morning to your roommates promptings to wake and bake. Or it could be because this post sucks. Whatever. Tomato, tomahtoe. What you CAN get out of this post is a few new awesome blogs to follow.

Let's start with Tonya.  She can be found at Where Have all the Hobos Gone?
If you're nice and leave her some comment love she may reward/punish you with your very own cartooning.  Case in point:
I love that she dressed me better in the cartoon than I bother to in real life.  Even if she did feel the need to include the paper clips I try to pass off as bobby pins and the binder clips in lieu of a belt.  Yeah, I'm high class.

And then there's Pickleope who has been turning fellow bloggers into tangy, pickled delights for some time now.  He also likes to include random facts about the chosen pickled blogger which may or may not be true. 
"What, you've never seen an anthropomorphic stove attack with muffin-nunchucks? For the record, the drink in the brown paper bag is to conceal her beverage-of-choice as she conceals her own identity....not because she occasionally fakes being homeless.  Fun Fake Fact: The Ginja Ninja is the international Electronic Battleship champion of 2008, which makes her a huge celebrity in Japan. Unfortunately, yelling "B19, bitch!" just doesn't command as much respect in the English speaking world as much as we would all hope."

I giggled seeing my fiery pickle head about to be brained by the muffin nun-chucks.  I never stood a chance against my nemesis. The kitchen stove wins again.

And last but by no means least, is Joshua at Vive le Nerd.  He didn't draw a picture of me but he did give me an award.  I don't care how much of a douche canoe this makes me.  I LOVE blog awards and I love when blogs I love are recognized for being um, loved?  *sigh*  So I'm passing it on with 3 random facts and 3 blogs I love.
Fact #1 I was born in a Gremlin.  A  fact that I will expound upon more at the end of this post.  Oh I know, the anticipation is simply overwhelming.

Fact #2 I can touch my tongue to my nose, wiggle my ears and whistle while humming.  Oh yeah.  Are you horny yet?  I know I am!  Though, I could be mistaking horny for nauseous.  Moving on.

Fact #3 I rarely sneeze less than 3 times in a row.  Which really sucks for someone who hates snot.

And the 3 blogs I'm really digging this week are:

#1 Natalie from My Blog Is Boring. She's sarcastic, sometimes a little bitchy and painfully honest.  The trifecta of awesome.

#2 Rapunzel of Tales From The Tower.  She doesn't post often but when she does I find myself excited to catch up on her romantic woes and victories.

#3 Aleisha from She calls me "Mama Leisha".  I'm a pretty callous individual but for some reason her posts never fail to melt my mostly frozen heart and remind me that I do, possibly, have a soul.

Now, just one more thing.  I know, I know.  I'm as exhausted by this post as you are.  Possibly more but bear with me.  I was asked to be the featured writer for today over at Studio30Plus.  I wrote about the day my Mother brought me into this world.  I wrote about what should have been a beautiful, magical experience gone horribly HORRIBLY awry and became the shit show that is my birthday.  It explains a lot about me and the fact that sometimes, just sometimes, the parents really are to blame.

I'm kidding.

Kind of.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Remember? How could I forget?

Ten years.  Ten years ago today, I was living in Northern California serving as a full time missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  Aka, the Mormons.  Shocking, I know.

I was training a greenie at the time (a brand new missionary) and we received a phone call letting us know what had happened.  During your time as a missionary, you're not permitted to listen to the radio or watch television or movies.  Phone calls home and the internet were out as well so we were pretty much out of the loop when it came to current events.  I remember thinking how sad it was for the families who lost loved ones but had no inkling as to the full impact of what had just happened. 

My greenie and I went out that day to go tracting.  (Knocking doors.  Yep.  Just like the JW's)  There were more people home and actually opening their doors than usual.  Quite a few people were crying and asked us how, if there really is a God, could he allow something like this to happen?  A couple of people were angry and took it out on us.  Basically asking the same question but in the form of screaming it in our faces then slamming the door.  Most people, however, reacted with empathy, sympathy and love.  We were invited in and asked to pray.  Sometimes we said the prayers, sometimes they did, but the theme was always the same.  Comfort those who are afraid.  Be with those who have just lost their loved ones.  Help the rescuers find those who are trapped and waiting.  And those who were killed, welcome them home with open arms.

Going door to door in the weeks that followed, I had never seen so many American flags or such a fierce devotion to a Nation.  I don't think I have ever been more proud to be an American...even if I am a watered down version.

It wasn't until months later after I had returned home (a mission for women lasts 18 months) that I truly understood the full impact of the attack.  I finally watched some of the footage.  I saw some of the photos.  I saw the people covered in dust, ash and debris with the wet trail of tears streaking their faces.  I saw the pictures of the office workers falling to their death with their ties flapping in the wind.  I saw the families heartbreaking pleas to find their missing loved ones.

This is when it hit me.  The hatred of the attackers.  The devastation.  The families that will never be the same again.  The bravery.  The sacrifices.  The overwhelming outpouring of support and love from strangers across the country.  And this was when I felt that lump get lodged in my throat.  My stomach clenched and my eyes welled up.  I did my best to force that damn lump back down where it belonged.  I hate crying.  I hate crying in front of other people.  But there was no stopping it.  The tears came and refused to be staunched.

It was a terrible, tragic event that still stuns me .  However, that year, I had never been more proud of this country and thinking of the noble, valiant heroes from that day and the weeks that followed, still gives me goosebumps.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

If at first you don't succeed, have the good sense to know when to call it quits for hell's sake.

I have this friend.  I call him Napa Paul.  I call him that because he's from Napa, California, his first name is Paul and because I'm clever and witty.  Yes.  My nicknames for people have always sucked.

Napa Paul is actually who first started calling me Ginja Ninja.  I liked it, or rather, it's one of the few names I've been called that I didn't hate.  So I kept it.

He sometimes reads my blog.  He apparently read my posts where I failed miserably at baking cookies and then again with baking a cake.  He decided he would help by sending me a package in the mail.  He thinks he's funny.  He is not.

Containing my enthusiasm.  Can't wait to try them out. 
 After my previous failures in the kitchen, I had decided it just wasn't for me.  I would go ahead and scratch that off my list of things that make me awesome.  But then Napa Paul had to go and send me these cookbooks which basically obligated me to try again.  Damn you Napa Paul.  Damn you to hell. 

Fine.  FINE!  I decided to give it another shot.  I'd picked up a few tips and thought I had a pretty good idea of what I'd done wrong.  Actually I'd picked up A tip.  Singular.

The Real Housewife of H20Ville held a contest with the chance to win an adorable apron.  I didn't win.  But that's when it hit me what I'd been doing wrong.  I was improperly attired.  Well, I wasn't about to make that mistake again.  Only problem.  I don't own an apron.  However, if that's all that's standing between me and phenomenal baking glory, I would improvise.  In the form of lingerie.

I feel I should mention I was slightly inebriated when thinking this was a good idea.
And yeah.  I was wearing the thong.  Over the jeans.  The outfit needed to be complete and I was not taking any chances this time.  I was ready to bake!

I skimmed over the recipes and settled on lemon bars.  Simply because I recognized all the ingredients.  Butter, flour, sugar, eggs, lemon zest.  Whoa.  Wait, what?  What the hell is lemon zest?  Quick google search, uh huh, sure, grate the peel, got it.  Need cheese grater.  I was making these at E2's place while he was out and after much clanging and bashing of pots and pans, I came to the conclusion the boy does not own a cheese grater.  No big deal.  Clearly I'm a pro at improvisation so I grabbed the potato peeler and went to work.  Now.  As I mentioned, I was a little tipsy but even in my less than coherent state I realized this couldn't be right.

Here, have a lemon bar.  Those chunks you're biting into?  Delicious lemon zest.  Duh!

Okay, skip the zest.  How crucial could it be anyway?  Lets see.  Mix sugar, flour and softened butter.  I look down at the sticks of rock hard butter I just pulled out of the freezer.  Calls for 1 cup which is two sticks.  Why would they package them as half sticks of butter?  If they were stuck together 2 of them would make 1 stick so that means I need 4 sticks of butter to equal 1 cup.  Made sense at the time.  But clearly they were not soft and clearly I was not about to wait for them to soften up.  Two minutes in the microwave should do it.  Vino refill, check the butter.  Oh crap!  It's butter soup.  Just extra softened.  I'm sure it will be fine.

Pat the mixture into bottom of pan.  Pat?  That can't be right, I think as I POUR the mixture in.
I eventually get it all in the oven and wait for my lemon bar delights to bake to perfection.  Timer dings.  Out comes...

What's with the tumor?
Ummm...other than the misshapen lump, it looks totally edible.  I let it cool for an hour and try to cut into it.  It doesn't cut.  It crumbles into a soggy heartbreak.  Right about then E2 called and asked how it was going.  I told him.  He suggested putting it back in the oven and asked how long ago I had taken it out. 
Me: "An hour ago".
E2: "Oh.  Never mind.  It's too late".

I suppose this is what's to be expected when you use twice as much microwaved butter as you're meant to.

It really doesn't look as horribly wretched as it was.  E2 got home and actually ate a spoonful.  From the other room, I heard him immediately gag and spit it into the garbage.  The whole pan got dumped.

Then I got pissed.  How can this possibly be SO difficult??  Hundreds, probably thousands of people bake something delicious every day.  How can I be so incredibly inept?

 I was determined to try again.  E2 suggested I give it a couple of days.  He didn't think my ego was ready for another failure so soon.  I called him a mean name.  Then gave it a couple of days.

I tried yet again.  This time sober.  Mostly.  There was no microwaving, there was no pouring when there should have been patting, there was no mention of zest.  But there WAS success.

Booyah Bitches!!!!!
VICTORY IS MINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Only The Coolest Dog Ever, no big deal.

Hooray!!!  FTLOB's picture perfect is all about the pets.  Finally an excuse for posting pictures of the most amazing creature to ever strut his stuff. He's the husky/malamute/wolf that my ex, Steele and I picked out together.  So, if you feel so inclined, I would love if you clicked on the link above and "liked" #32.  Cause I think he's awesome.  Which means you should too.  :)

When choosing a name for him Steele was pretty set on AU.  Have I ever mentioned he works in the gold mining industry?  Think periodic table of elements.  Yeah, AU, as in gold.

I don't think so.

I was willing to compromise and suggested Midas.  He went for it and Midas has been nourishing the neighborhood shrubs and trees with his golden showers for the last two years.

Meet Midas.  I KNOW, right??

After his very first bath.  He did not love it.

I am officially out of control with the pictures but oh, guess what?  It's MY blog!!

I feel it's imperative that I mention this was NOT my room.
Yup.  He got big. 

Did I mention I LOVE this dog?