Saturday, December 7, 2013

Warning! Shit makes an appearance 5 times in the first paragraph. The word. Not pictures.

What the hell is happening here!!!  When did it become December?  This is some straight up bullshit.  So, apparently the last time I posted, FOUR MONTHS AGO, I mentioned I would be getting a puppy.  I'd been trolling the googlyweb for over a year looking for the perfect puppy.  Also giving Erik time to adjust to the fact that yes, we are indeed getting an addition to our little family.  There's not much I give a shit about.  I'm pretty apathetic and indifferent to most things.  However, when I do decide to give a shit, I put a lot of energy and focus into making those shits count.  And that can turn into a pretty monumental shit, if ya know what I mean.  And I don't think you do.  Because I certainly don't. 

My point is, I wanted a puppy.  I searched and waited, knowing (sort of) what I wanted.  So when I saw a listing from a border collie breeder whose stud had a "mishap" with her Husky, I knew one of those little mutts was going to be mine.

My plan of manipulation pleading cajoling bargaining threatening  uh, lets just call it my plan of giving a shit went into action before the little pack was even born.  It seemed Mama dog was purposely letting those babies percolate for an overly extended period of time.  I couldn't WAIT for those puppies to get themselves born.

Eventually, she stopped being a selfish, puppy hogging Mother and pooped those pups out.  Since the breeder lives four hours away, she sent photos and I picked out baby Milo right away.  Then waited another excruciating 8 weeks.

The day I finally met him to bring him home, I was downright ecstatic.

He snuggled right in and has been my little cuddle monkey every day since.

Must.  Not.  Squish.

Kitten was considerably less ecstatic and more than a little suspicious. 
It took her about a week before she'd venture into the same room with Milo.  They're not exactly best of buds but she tolerates him, and that's saying a LOT for a cat who has never wanted to be in the same neighborhood as a dog, much less have to share a couch.

Since Erik grudgingly "allowed" me (really, like he ever had a choice) to have Milo, I was a little apprehensive about how they would get along.  Especially since Erik works from home and would be with him all day. 

Probably the most negligible worry I've ever had in my life.

Let's be real.  His heart was doomed from the start.
Resistance is futile people.  FUTILE!
Side note: Please do not be alarmed by this red carpet room of doom.  Obviously, you HAVE to judge, just don't be alarmed.  About 5 months ago Erik and I were picking out new carpet to replace this monstrosity.  We finally decided on what we wanted and Erik was heading over to get a sales person when I mentioned we couldn't buy it that day.  He looked at me questioningly to which I responded, "We'd better wait until the puppy (that hadn't even been born yet, picked out or named) is potty trained so we don't ruin the brand new carpet".  He rolled his eyes and stomped off to look at mattresses.  Resistance is futile!

Second side note: The woman we bought Milo from is absolutely amazing.  She loves her animals like they're her babies and had Milo basically potty trained when we got him.  We had a total of 3 puppy pees inside.  That's IT.  And luckily we had that fabulous carpet to soak up all it's glorious, ammonia filled splendor.  Went along perfectly with the corpse juice stains that have been there since Erik bought the place.  SO, if anyone is ever in need of obtaining one of the best puppies in the entire world, I know a gal!

I was so excited before getting Milo I was telling everyone.  Sadly, not everyone shared my enthusiasm and a few tried to talk me out of it.  Remember E1?  He was one of the most adamant naysayers.  So much so, that he actually had me in tears.  But oh yeah, I'm stubborn, a ginger, and I do what I want!

I played sand volleyball again this fall on the same team as E1.  I brought Milo along so everyone could have the privilege of being chewed on by the best puppy in existence.  E1 met Milo.

E1 adopted Milo's sister, Stella.

Seriously people.  I'm telling you.  Resistance is futile.

Saturday, August 24, 2013

I'm Not Always A Grumpy Curmudgeon Dammit!

A bit ago, my friend Specialized said something about updating my blog.  I piped up with, "But I did!  I posted about a hike Erik and I went on".

Special: "So it's another bitch fest."

Me: "What?  Noooo..." said while avoiding eye contact.

After scrolling through a few old posts, I realized he may have a point.  I do complain an awful lot.  And that's lame.  I don't like reading/watching/listening to other people's whining, so why should I subject others to mine? 

And then I remembered.  It's my blog.  I do what I want.

However, just for the sake of mixing it up, this post is going to be about things that have made me happy in the last few months.

Starting with this...

THIS ladies and gentlemen, is Milo.  He currently lives 3 hours away but in four more weeks, I get to bring him home.  And that makes me ecstatically happy.  In a melty heart kinda way. 

Last month, the e-mail exchange below made my heart go melty in a different kind of way.

On Jul 16, 2013, at 1:39 PM, Dawn wrote:

Don’t have anything to say.  Just saying hi.  Enthusiastically.  As indicated by the excessive use of exclamation points.    

From: Erik
Sent: Tuesday, July 16, 2013 1:48 PM
To: Dawn McBride
Subject: Re: Hi!!!!!!!!!


How are you my dear? I was just thinking about you and meant to write you a quick note saying how much I love you.  I'm really lucky to have you in my life, you make me happier by just being. 

How's the day treating you?


It's amazing what an impact two simple sentences can have on a person.  So people, take 5 seconds and send a text, or an e-mail or hell, the old fashioned face to face and let someone know they're appreciated.   It will make them happy. 

Speaking of texts, I got one from my youngest Sister that made me bust out my ugly hyena laugh it made me so happy.

Anonymous (sometimes she likes to post as "Anonymous" because she's too lazy to log in):
"Hey, did you know I have a picture of the guy you work with that you hate?  Toph?  Or what's his name?"

Me: "Huh?  Why?  Send it!"

Behold!  Toph the douche!

Another thing that makes me happy?  As if it honestly wouldn't make the list.  Wine.  Wine makes me happy.

 After consuming wine, harassing Kitten also makes me happy.

It's currently that time of year at work where it's getting to be the stupid kind of busy.  It's stressing me out and I get extremely anxious about being able to complete my tasks.  This makes me less pleasant than normal.  Which isn't all that pleasant to begin with.  Yesterday, out of the blue, one of the sales reps bellowed out of his office summoning me to him.  

Rep: "Donald!"

Me: "WHAT?" shouted back in a not so feminine screech. 

Rep: "Come here."

Me: "NO."  Deep martyr-like sigh and I totter off to his office like the obedient minion that I am.

Rep: "Close the door.  I have to tell you something."

No good has ever come from an impromptu meeting like this.  Especially when it necessitates the door being closed.  It has ALWAYS resulted in bad news in one form or another.  I brace myself. 

Rep: "So, I just wanted to give you a compliment."

Me: While eyeing him suspiciously ask, "Is this a trick?".

Rep: "So, I was driving home the other night and you popped into my head.  I just wanted to tell you that I think you're really cool.  You're awesome and really funny and you're just a really good person.  I'm not sure what your situation is with your man, but he's really lucky to have you.

Me: After a moment of stunned silence..."Uhh thanks.  That's actually really nice of you to say."  

Rep: "Now you should go before this gets awkward."

Coworkers who don't always totally suck make me happy.  

Also, manicures and pedicures make me happy.  I don't remember the last time I paid someone to give me one rather than the drunken smearings I tend to give myself.  But that's not the kind that I'm referring to now.  I mean this kind...

The Kitten kind.  It makes me happy when I see how sweet and tender he is with Kitten and how much he loves that little fur-ball.

Also, sleep.  Sleep makes me happy and I never get enough of it.  And sometimes, this is why.

And yet, getting kicked out of bed and seeing this?  It's one of my favorite things in the world.  It also makes me happy at this moment that Erik doesn't read my blog and will never know that I've posted a picture of him sleeping on the internet. Shhhhh!!!  Nobody tell!

My list of happiness could go on and on but I really need to get this wrapped up.  I'm off to the gym to get in another 5k as part of my "training" for this ridiculous relay race I agreed to participate in.  So naturally, this syrupy, feel good blog post will soon be replaced by my rantings, wimperings and overall disapproval of the gym and exercise in general.  

And all will be right in the world once again. 

Saturday, July 27, 2013

My Fourth of July Epiphany

On the 4th of July, I had an epiphany.  It's taken me this long to post about it because I'm not entirely happy with this epiphany.  Denial, usually my most trusted consort, has become an elusive little minx as of late, and failed me completely.  Let me start at the beginning.

Last year, Erik and I started a hike in one of the canyons that leads up to a lake.  It was a beautiful little hike.  Shaded by trees with a lovely little stream running along beside the trail.  We didn't have time to complete the hike, or even make it halfway. 

Since I had the 4th off, and knowing what a freak Erik can be when caged up for too long, I suggested we complete the pretty little hike up to Lake Blanche.  He readily agreed and immediately started filling up the camelbak and packing snacks.  Which I thought was ridiculously unnecessary.  After all, it's not like we were going to be gone long.  It's only 3 miles each way.  I can do that on the treadmill in 30 minutes so I figured it would take about an hour.  Hour and a half if we take our time. 

I can't find my light-weight capris so put on my heavier pair with a tank top, hiking shoes and off we go.  The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, the flowers are in bloom and it's a glorious hike.  I mention to Erik how nice it feels up in the canyon.  It was 87 degrees but I said it felt much nicer than that.  Especially with the delicious breeze.  We pass the point where we had to turn back last year.

And that's when it stopped being glorious.

This hike has an elevation gain of 2,700 feet which I failed to read at the trail-head.

We start climbing.  I start sweating.  Profusely.  Erik the human mountain goat is naturally foraging ahead and not even breathing heavily.  I wanted to push him down.  But that would have required being able to catch up to him.

Of course, we have to pass every person we come across.  Even with me stopping for breathing breaks every 10 minutes, we still managed to pass about 20 people.  Doesn't he realize there's something WRONG with that?

I feel a couple of rain splatters hit my arm.  I look up at the sky in surprise but not a cloud to be seen.  Just the blazing sun beating down on me.  It's then I realize it's my own sweat dripping all over me. 

We've been hiking now for an hour.  I stop for another break.  While panting for air I notice all 10 of my fingers have swollen up.  My palms looks like they have 10 little Vienna sausages glued to them.  

He asks, "You ready?".

"When I start moving, THAT'S when you'll know I'm ready.  It's 5,000 degrees.  I'm melting to death and I can't breathe".

"That's why you wear shorts in the summer ".

"Shut.  Up."

I start trudging again and can't believe I'd said earlier how nice the weather was.  If it were humanly possible, I'd travel back in time, and punch myself in the face for saying something so stupid.

I stop again and hunch over with my hands on my knees trying to catch my breath.  That's when Erik points off in the distance and says, See that peak?  Sticking up in the sky?  That's where we're going.  Not too much further.

I look up.

"You mean that peak touching the cloud that's probably 4 days journey away?"

"Yeah, that one.  Let's go".

 We keep moving and he starts waxing poetic about some avalanche that created the canyon and isn't that just amazing and look at the different colors of these flowers and nature is just phenomenal, don't you think?

If I hadn't been concentrating so hard on making sure I was inhaling enough life sustaining oxygen to keep from passing out, I would have let him know how few of shits I gave about the effing avalanche and that it was probably time I let him know that I HATE nature.

 I pause to pretend I care about taking this picture when I really just needed another break before scrambling over this.  My legs are pretty tired and I'm drenched in sweat.  A couple of guys coming down and noticing my state of dejection, encouragingly let me know once you're over this hill it's just another 20 minutes. 

Seriously?  I'm thinking.  Another 20 minutes?  I'm never going to make it.

"Hey Erik.  Where is the helicopter gonna land?  The terrain is too rugged and there's not enough space.  How are they gonna life-flight me out?"

"It can't.  You'll just die."

"Oh.  Will you leave me the tuna snack?"

"No.  You can have a granola bar.  The one with no flavor."

Those granola bars suck and I don't want it so I decide to keep moving and not get dead.

About 20 minutes later we pass a couple coming down.  I wheeze "Excuse me" as I squeeze past them on the trail. 

The woman looks at me and says, "You need a break.  It's okay, I did too" as she turns to glare at Erik up ahead of me. And then, "It's only about another 20 minutes". 

I stare at her in disbelief for a second before the anger kicks in.  I had the sudden, totally rational urge to run down the trail to catch those lying bastards who 20 minutes ago, told me it was only another 20 minutes.  But I didn't.  Because let's be honest.  On the off-chance I DID catch up to them, I wouldn't have had enough energy to do anything more than breathe heavily on them and maybe flip some salty sweat into their eye holes. 

We eventually make it and Erik is feeling triumphant.

He asks if I want to go explore.  I answer him with a glare.  He takes off and I lay down on the rock to work on my tan skin cancer while pondering the precise moment when I suggested we do this hike.  I again consider the possibility of a time machine.  Rather than travel back to the time I made that asinine comment about how nice the temperature was, I'd head back even further to the moment I asked to venture out on this hike.  THAT'S when I would punch myself in the face.  Only I'd keep punching until there were no teeth left to even form the words that would create the question of hiking.  

Going back down wasn't much better.  The steepness of the trail shoved my toes into my shoes with every step and since I'm an idiot and didn't wear thick enough socks, acquired blisters on both feet.

My lower back, left knee and right hip were aching and we still had about 45 minutes to go.  It was then that I had my epiphany.  All the hikes throughout all the years of my life that I've been on and it's taken me this long to realize it.  Now that denial wasn't around to cloud my normally sharp and lucid thinking, I finally, FINALLY came to the realization.

Hiking is stupid.

And I don't like it.

Sunday, June 30, 2013

I Really Don't Think It's Too Much To Ask That It Be Mandatory You Move Out Of State Once We Break Up

I'm in my late 30's.  I've been dating since I was 16.  The number of ex-boyfriends I've accumulated over the years is quite impressive.  Or alarming.  Or disheartening.  Or unfortunate.  Or distressing.

Yeah, I'm gonna stick with impressive.    

I live in Salt Lake City which, ya know, tries so very hard to be a real city, but just doesn't quite pull it off.  It's the kind of city that just barely got a Dunkin Donuts and is still working out the kinks in our public transportation system so we'll stop killing pedestrians approximately once a week.

It's the kind of city that simply isn't big enough to hold me and my plethora of ex's.  Which is why, for those of you who were kind enough to move out of state, I sincerely thank you for that.

For those of you who stubbornly insist on not uprooting your lives and continue to dwell in Zion at the cost of my personal comfort and overall contentment, well, that's just plain selfish.  It's no wonder it never worked out.

I'm not sure what kind of trickery the universe is  using to mess with me, but it seems I've been running into ex boyfriends with disturbing regularity.  The most recent, I haven't seen for 15 years or so.  Years which have not been kind.

I was leaving my grocery store.  Yes.  MINE.  He was walking in.  We made eye contact while passing each other.  The eyes looked familiar but more recognizable was the cowlick in his hair that still refuses to be tamed.

I turned around to get a better look and he had done the same.  That's when it clicked.  I won't get into the other reasons why I had a hard time identifying this person.  That would just be mean and every so often I have days where I'm not a huge asshole.  Today I'm just a medium sized asshole.

We hugged hello and caught up on each others lives.  Turns out he works directly across the street from MY grocery store.  Unacceptable and certainly inconvenient.

It's not that I hate all my ex's and would rather scoop my eyes out with a melon baller rather than ever have to see them again.  It's just so awkward.  Especially when you run into another one of them while they're with their new significant other they've recently married.  The same significant other they dumped you for while you were out of state serving a mission.  What?  I'm totally over it.

 How to Avoid Running Into Your Ex

Breaking up is hard. Breaking up in a small town, well that can just be downright miserable. You have all of the heartache, emptiness, emotional eating and drinking with the heightened chance of frequently running into your ex. 

Running into your ex is something you imagine doing months down the line when you're looking fabulous, in an outfit that says, "I'm effortlessly amazing," and you've got some sweet man candy on your arm.  But you don't want to run into them in the beginning, on a regular basis and especially not when they are with another girl. It makes cutting the emotional ties that much harder and can just be annoying, so how do you avoid them, especially when the town you live in is rather tiny?

Avoid going to all your old haunts--

Yeah, that spot you like be the lake is pretty, the restaurant with the fancy bread is delicious, the bar with the skeeball machine is a lot of fun and the Adam & Eve toy store brought you a lot of fun, but they are also places that the two of you went to all the time. Going there will just bring up old memories and liken your chances of seeing your ex. No need to make this like a divorce case by dividing your favorite locations. Just give them all a break, find new restaurants and come back after you feel like you've given them the proper time off they needed.

Let go of their friends--

This can be a hard one. A relationship naturally leads to the blending on friendships. His friends love you, your friends love him, that's just the way it is. In a perfect world, we could all continue hanging out and there'd be nothing but butterflies and sunshine, But it's not a perfect world. Severing the friendship is a surefire way to avoid your ex as well as avoiding feelings of resentment and jealousy from your ex.

Blocking all of their social channels--

These days, you don't have to go to the mall to run into your ex, you can run into them on the internet and suddenly, with one click, your whole world can come crashing down. Removing them from your life is important, so take the time to do one of two things: delete them from your Facebook, Twitter feed, and Instagram, or change all of their settings to hidden and limit their access to you.  This will give you the ability to have a late night stalking session when you're PMSing, but keep them from invading your life daily. You also won't have to see their check-ins or photo uploads of where they've been.

Avoid areas they live and work in--

At this point, you have become accustomed to hanging around and driving through the areas your ex lives and works in, but being accustomed to it doesn't mean you have to go there. Find new routes to run your errands and get around town. Don't drive by their house just because that way is faster. You'll look crazy and undoubtedly see them. At first, you'll like it, but then you'll see them getting into their car with a girl and all that sneaky happiness will go right out the window. So skip their street and office park and discover new, ex-free roads.

Pick up new hobbies--

You guys built a life together and in turn, picked up new hobbies together. Visiting wine vineyards and going to yoga was fun, but consider trying new activities for awhile. This will help you meet new people, maybe even a new dude, give you new interests and most of all, help you avoid your ex.

Running into your ex is inevitable. It's going to happen at the most inopportune time--you know, when you're hair is a hot mess, you're holding a giant Slurpee and you've just lost your job. That doesn't mean try to be your most excellent self at all times, waiting for that moment. Just live your life like you usually would and implement some of the steps above to avoid your ex as much as possible.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Facing My Fears like the Damn Chicken I Am.

I'm afraid of a lot of things.  Public speaking, old age, sushi, my high school reunion, karaoke, large social gatherings, those weird Sesame Street clock martians.  You remember?  I don't recall if they ever did anything worthwhile other than hang out next to some clock while trying not to be creepy.  Which they failed at.  Miserably.  

Creepy little non-talking clock lingerers. 
Another big one for me?  Heights.  And those weird hairless cats.  And driving a stick shift.  It's actually a ridiculously long list of things I'm afraid of.  And that bothers me a lot.  I don't like to be afraid.  Especially when I know it's something I might like but am too chicken to give it a shot.

Except for sushi.  I keep trying it and it never fails to suck.

Which is why, for the last couple of years, I've been trying things I'd normally automatically reject.  Like the 5k mud run, co-ed softball, (still can't believe I didn't get my face smashed in with a bat) attending the optional giant work conference thingie, co-ed volleyball, indoor soccer without knowing the damn rules.

Eleanor Roosevelt said “Do one thing every day that scares you”.  And to that I say, HELL to the no.  My stress levels are high enough, thank you.  I’m aiming for once a month.  But WHY?  I’ve actually taken 5 minutes to think about why such little things scare me.  Like Volleyball, for instance.  What is the worst that could happen?  I’ll fall over and look stupid?  Oh yeah, that happened during every game.  And I laughed so hard I nearly peed myself. 

Okay, the work thingie.  I’ll say socially inappropriate things, crack lame jokes that aren’t funny, and again, look stupid.  Yup, did all of those things but everyone was on their 4th or 5th drink so I could have been farting the alphabet and no one would have cared.

Skydiving.  Worst that could happen?  My chute won’t open, I’ll plummet to my death and land in a tangled, broken heap that is the complete opposite of graceful and again, look totally stupid.  Just kidding.  I’d be dead.  So who cares! 

When it comes down to it, I don’t want to embarrass myself and look stupid.  However, I usually do anyway, and it turns out I’m having a blast doing it.  I’ve realized as long as I can get over myself, I’ll enjoy whatever it is I’ve signed on for…as least this has been the case so far.  And yes, even with skydiving.  Gah!  Just thinking about it is making me get all sweaty and heart-beaty.

 E1 recently had his 42nd birthday.  To celebrate, we jumped out of a plane.  E2 has made it very clear that he has no intention of ever doing such a fool-hardy thing and was more than happy to turn me over to E1 for this adventure.

And it was awesome, as evidenced by the photo of me below.

But not really.  Cause I'm not a dude.  Or black.

 We checked in, were instructed to watch a video basically instructing you on how NOT to die but since E1 had been skydiving before, deemed it a waste of time and instead focused his energies on distracting me from learning how to avoid certain death.  By taking fake butt pictures.

And then we waited.

And I got nervous.  Which manifests itself in numerous pee trips as well as mass quantities of sweat.  In fact, let me share with you a conversation E2 and I had on our most recent camping trip while eating M&M's.

E2:  M&M's melt in your mouth, not in your hand.
Me:  That's bullshit.  They always melt in my hands.
E2:  You have freakishly sweaty hands.  It's like the same as being in your mouth.  Look at that!  I can see it glistening on your palms now.  Give me 5 minutes and I could go swimming in all the sweat that collects in your palms. 

On this day of skydiving, you could have gone swimming in my palms. 

On the upside, I shat not my pants.  Nor did E1.  We took precautions.

Via the honey bucket of shame.

Then we waited some more.  While some stray child had an awkward staring contest with E1's tattoo from two inches away.

I think the tattoo won but who can say for sure since everyone knows children aren't to be trusted.
FINALLY it was our turn and we met the instructors who were to be strapped to our backs.  I don't remember a lot, just that they kept cracking jokes about how they'll be allowed to be real certified instructors after this jump...or something equally encouraging.

We pile into the plane and sit single file, straddling a bench.  After a much too short flight, the door opens and I suddenly can't hear anything but the wind gushing in my ears.  The first dude is silhouetted against the opening.  I blink and suddenly he's not there.  I can't help but think "holy effing shit this was the worst idea ever".

My instructor screams into my ear, "Provided the chute opens, we'll talk about the landing on the way down".


I'm shoved into the doorway of the plane.  Instructor counts to three...or something.  I can't hear anything over the beating of my heart and my inner voice of logic telling me not to allow my one and only body to hurl itself out of a plane 13,000 feet off the ground. 

Then my back was arched, arms flying behind me and I was pretty sure I was incurring frost bite on my face and ears.  The free-fall lasted for a good 17 hours before he finally pulled the chute.  But after that?  AHHMAZING.

He let me take hold of the...crap I don't even know what they're called.  Controlly things.  I pulled one side and we'd spin left.  Pull the other, we spun right.  I absolutely loved it.

The landing was unremarkable.  E1 was already down there waiting for me.  Feet up, soft landing on the butt.  I asked E1 how he liked it.

His response of, "His penis touched my back." when referring to his instructor, to me, clearly indicates he enjoyed it.  But, the best part of all?

No pee stains on the shoes.  Happy effing birthday E1. 

Thursday, May 2, 2013

Group Project. What Is This New Hell?

I'm telling you right now, this post is gonna be one big discombobulated mess.  I'm home sick from work today which means I don't feel good (I know it should be "I don't feel well" but I like good better) which also means this probably won't make much sense and I just.  don't.  care. 

Speaking of work and not caring, (totally smooth segue) we just had our yearly week long conference thingie.  This year it was actually held here in Salt Lake.  Peeps from all over the world showed up to see the mother ship and where all the glorious software development magic goes down.  It seemed there was a constant stream of strangers being paraded through every day.  I finally got to meet a lot of people I e-mail and talk to on a daily basis but had never actually seen.

There were lunch and dinner invitations.  There was an opening gala, and an experience "Big Adventure Utah" with an indoor designated area for snowball fights, a camp site with fire pit, rock climbing walls, live band, dancing but most importantly, wine.  Lots of wine.

And oh yeah, there was this guy.

By the end of the week, I was tapped out.  I even bailed on the last dinner and lunch invites which I still feel pretty crappy about.  I just couldn't do it anymore and I didn't really understand why.  I've known for years that I'm an introvert and not very good at voluntarily being social, but when it's important to me, I'll try to fake it the best that I can.  But it takes it toll.  I was physically drained.  So, what does one do to try to better understand why they're screwed up?  You google it!

And then it all made sense...

 This made so much sense to me and perfectly explained why I'd feel so exhausted after meeting with people all day, then socializing at night.  It wasn't that I didn't like everyone I was meeting and spending time with, it was just so draining and without my evenings to be alone to re-charge, I didn't hold up very well.

I very clearly and very badly NEED this t-shirt.
Mid post interruption...Erik just walked in.  He works from home, not sure if I've ever mentioned that before.

Erik:  Ginger, I'm bored!  Wanna take your top off and do jumping jacks?
Me:  You're an idiot.
Erik:  Soo, is that a no?

So umm... where was I going with this?  I'm not sure if it's any easier to be an extrovert.  It sure as hell looks like a lot more fun as evidenced by one of my very favorite extroverts who thoroughly enjoyed herself at every event.

If you never hear from me again it's because Cindy read this post, saw this picture, and killed me.  Dead.
Cindy is one of my favorite people.  She has this amazing way of making the mundane fun and bringing out the crazy in those around her.  The good kind of crazy.  Not the crazy kind of crazy.  Plus, she understands me.  Just the other day, we had lunch plans with a few other people.  The "few others" turned into a group of 10.  So I bailed out.  She was not offended and later that day sent me this, saying "This one's for you Dawn":

Everyone needs a Cindy in their life. 

Before anyone starts thinking that I'm a completely anti-social, people hating recluse, (fine, sometimes I am) I do leave my safety bubble and venture out on occasion.  I'm just extra particular about who I decide to venture out with.   And I don't think that's a bad thing at all.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Asians Are Awesome

I started 7th grade at a new school in Ontario, Canada.  Just a few months into the school year we moved to Florida where I started at another new school.
After realizing the joke of an excuse Florida was trying to pass off as an educational system, my parents pulled me out of that school and home schooled me the rest of the year.
 8th grade, found me starting another new school where I often sat alone at lunch with my nose buried in a book to distract myself from realizing how lonely and awkward I felt.
 9th grade, yep, another new school.  I recall one class period sitting at the table with the other two class misfits while the other table was packed with the popular girls.
At one point during class, one of the cool girls called over to me, “Dawn, there’s room over here.  Come sit with us”.  After quickly getting over the initial shock of being addressed by name, I responded with “Oh, thank you but I’m okay over here”.
 Before cool girl could respond, misfit #2 piped up with, “I’ll come over”, and quickly grabbed her stuff and crossed the great divide from misfit table to cool girl table while I focused on picking my jaw up off the ground.
The hell?  While initially I thought I turned down the invitation because I didn’t want Misfit #1 & #2 to feel bad about being left behind, years later I think the real reason if purely selfish.

 I prefer the company of misfits.  Not only do I feel more comfortable, they’re astonishingly more intriguing.  Not that Stepford wives can’t be intriguing.

Except they can’t.

My point is, I like weirdos.  I tend to gravitate toward the oddballs and choose to spend my time with the misfits of the world.  If you're one of my real life friends who happen to be reading this, I'm sorry, but you're a big giant weirdo and I love you for it.

Which brings us to Nghia.  He's a forensic toxicologist for the state of Utah and is currently in an open relationship with Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Making sweet science magic.  (His words)

Seems legit, right?

 This is how Nghia showed up at the DMV earlier this month to renew his drivers license.  What kind of person purposely glues on a raper stache to pose for their drivers license that they'll have for the next (insert correct number of years here since I don't know how long they're good for and don't care enough to look it up) years?  THIS guy, with the equally creepy fake uni-brow.

And now, before you scroll further, I'd like to apologize in advance for the ocular assault your eyeballs are about to experience.

The real Nghia.
His Christmas card.  And yeah, he really is a Reverend who does weddings.  I'll get you his number.
I um...I just... lets move on.
A sexual vulture.  Obvi.
I honestly have no idea.
The googly eyes make this reasonable. 
Prettiest blonde Asian.

Celebrating his Irish heritage. 
   And finally, the picture below at one of Nghia's birthday celebrations where he found himself topless, yet again, and trying to compensate by turning his birthday banner into a birthday cape.

I don't remember what was on that belt buckle, but I wanted it...badly.
In a valiant effort to keep this topless tragedy from happening to others, Nghia has taken it upon himself to equip the masses with his very own brand of creepy class.  May I present...

The Heber Creeper!  With Nghia's own mug up in the corner there.  

Officially my new favorite tee.
He was most likely high on fumes from his lab when deciding this was a good idea and I'm pretty sure he doesn't actually live in Heber, UT.  However, I can't confirm that he doesn't own the molester van to go with the molester stache.  He made this masterpiece, along with hoodies, scoop neck tees and baby onesies (cause that's not creepy) with the help of outletshirts dot com.  And good news!!!  He's currently accepting orders for his next printing.  Leave a comment or e-mail me and I'll pass you along to the nutter.

OH!  And even more good news ladies...or whoever.  His relationship with PBR is open so that means technically, he's available. 

Monday, March 25, 2013

Schizophrenia. As Much Fun As A Bag of Dicks.

Hey gang.  Remember how I said I was going to interview my schizo friend and then I went AWOL?  Yeah.  That was cool.  Turns out transcribing audio to text takes a REALLY long time and is pretty tedious.  Instead, I'm going to just post the actual 90 minute recording.  15 minute segments over the next 6 posts.  Yeah.  I did the math.  Suck a rock!  My calculations are correct.  I checked it twice.

I know I'm usually pretty flippant in my posts and talk about poop and licking things, (although never those two together) but this time I wanted to mention how much I'm in awe of my friend Matt and how honored I feel to call him a friend.

He took an hour and a half out of his day to talk to me candidly about something incredibly personal which leaves him wide open to others judgements.  He knew that I was going to post what we talked about on my public blog but that didn't stop him from holding back at all.

I've seen him come to work after a bad night.  A night full of static and voices refusing to let him sleep.  His eyes are a little glassy and at half mast, yet he takes the time to stop by my desk and crack a joke to make me laugh.

I've watched him in company meetings where he's clearly not doing well.  His eyes shift and dart around the room and up at the ceiling.  He's fidgety and nervous.  I look down at my phone to check a text.  When I glance back up Matt is gone.  Having quietly slipped out of the meeting while disrupting not a soul with the private nightmare he's enduring alone.

*Audio player is only working with firefox and explorer.  Apologies.  Technology is an asshole.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

White Picket Prisons, Another Bout of Stupidity and Schizophrenia

This part of the post is long overdue.  Shocker, I know.  About 17 years ago, Phil Taylor of The Phil Factor blog, contacted me requesting that I read and review his book he self-published, White Picket Prisons.

I agreed and he most likely immediately regretted it.  He wanted to send it to my ipad.  I don't have an ipad.
He wanted to send it to my kindle.  I don't have a kindle or anything remotely similar.

He send it to my e-mail in a PDF.  I know.  So pedestrian.

Oddly enough, it had exactly the same words as it would have if it had been read via ipad or kindle.  *gasp*  I KNOW!

And it was an easy, fun read.  I read it over a weekend and while there were parts that had me scratching my head in disbelief, I enjoyed it.  While the plot continuously encouraged me to enter into a willful suspension of reality, it was enjoyable.  The characters almost made me want to look up some of the guys they reminded me of from back in the old school days.


You can check it out for yourself here or here or check out Phil's own blog here.  I know he would love some more reviews of his work. 

Speaking of work, (I know, totally smooth segue) Kianwi and Ken decided to host K&K's couch to 5K and encouraged everyone, wherever you were, to join in. 

Like an effing idiot, I signed up.  Enthusiastically, even!  Awhile ago.  And then did virtually nothing to prepare for it.  OH!  Except I did hang out with a friend before-hand where I enjoyed a vodka cocktail...or two. 

No big deal.  I could still do it.

My trepidatious self-portrait on the way to the gym.  What?  I was driving.  And feeling more than a little apprehensive.  
 How difficult could this possibly be?  I was going to a gym.  Inside.  On a treadmill.  I was practically cheating!

And yet, it didn't feel like cheating.  It felt like a monumental effort just to keep myself from pitching off the back of the stupid treadmill.

I was sweating.  And glaring.  And daring anyone to make eye contact with me.  And mentally cursing Kianwi and Ken.  Not really.

Yes.  Really.

Eventually, that stupid little digital number got to 3.1 and I hit that giant red STOP button.  I wasn't going one step further than was required. 

I gasped my way to the locker room, collected my belongings, and stomped my way to my Jeep that transported me home where I immediately collapsed and didn't care how this proved how pathetically, deplorably out of shape I am. 

But dammit.  I did it!

One last thing for anyone still with me.  A good friend of mine, who happens to be plagued with schizophrenia, has agreed to let me interview him on Thursday.  He's always been very open and candid about his disease and if anyone has any questions they'd like me to include, let me know, either in the comments or by e-mail.

Okay.  Stick a fork in me.  I'm done.

Monday, February 18, 2013

Is It Normal To Call Your Valentine A Shitface?

I'm a very lucky girl.  I know this.  I have a number of people in my life who love me and tell me so on a daily basis.  One of those people is E2.  My Erik. 

Sometime around the sweet inception of our relationship, he initiated the ever popular tradition of discarding one's tried and true birth name and replacing it with a more tender, meaningful name.  In my case, I was christened Pumpkin. 

I remember thinking to myself, "Pumpkin?  Did he seriously just call me pumpkin?  The hell?".

In response, I immediately dubbed him, My Little Dumpling Nugget Butt.  He was not impressed.  And I'm lazy.  It was promptly shortened to Dumpling.  But why stop there?  Why impose an extra syllable when one is more than satisfactory? 

It was shortened even further to Dump. 

Three years later, when he's not referring to me as "Ginger", I answer to "Pump".

And so it was, Pump and Dump took the day off work to celebrate Valentines Day together.

With the sun just beginning to peek through the bedroom curtains, he bestowed upon me a dozen beautiful red roses followed by breakfast in bed.  A tray laden with plump strawberries with creme fraiche and brown sugar.  Buttery, flaky, still warm croissants and the most perfect, refreshing mimosas you could imagine.

The morning turned to afternoon as we spent the day languishing in bed enjoying first the breakfast, and then each other.  Before we knew it, the day was completely wasted and we'd accomplished absolutely nothing and had to return to the daily grind the next morning.

That scenario sucks.  So instead, for Valentines Day this year, I requested we spend the day snowboarding.
Presented the night before Valentines.  No time for this B.S. on V-Day.  There's snow waiting to be frolicked in.

And frolic we did!

The sun was shining, most of Salt Lake was at work, and I was a very happy girl.

See?  Happy!  My mouth was a little frozen, otherwise I would have looked as happy as Dump.

Hadn't bothered to take off my board.  I'm not usually such a leaner.  I AM usually this lazy.

 It hasn't snowed in a while so everything was pretty tracked out.  The only powder we could find was through the trees.  In a mistakenly optimistic assessment of my skills, I thought it wise to follow Erik through one such run.  Shockingly, I didn't make it.  I unstrapped one foot, stepped down and sunk into powder past my knee. 


10 minutes of huffing like an asthmatic being choked out by their lover with exceptionally meaty hands, I finally made it back to the safety of groomed runs.  I sat recuperating and sent out silent prayers of thanks to the tree limbs that were sacrificed in my struggle to pull myself out.

It was not okay.
And neither was this...

Pretty sure it's a widely known fact that shitface is a term of endearment.  Especially on Valentines Day.  Right?  What.  Just me? 


A few more runs and I could feel my legs turning to jelly.  One of the things I love most in this world is sailing down a mountain, wind whipping my hair behind me and ripping at my jacket.

One of the things I like least in this world is sailing down a mountain with tired jelly legs that have become too lazy to dig in hard enough to make the turn.  I've made the mistake of wanting "just one more run" when I've gotten to this point.  It never ends well for me or my noggin.  It was time to go.

Erik's winning smile!

Exhausted but happy.  I really am one very lucky and very loved girl.