Thursday, March 29, 2012

Gang Confrontation and My Nice Lady Leg


I pulled on my workout gear and headed out the door, fully charged phone in hand. I was going out into the big bad world of Sioux Falls for a good old fashioned outdoor workout. My path took me toward the Cathedral district, and you never know what sort of trouble you will run into out there. You could get attacked by a rabid nun. I don't feel we are quite at the point where I need to truly arm myself against attack, but I do carry a pepper shaker in the event that I'm accosted by a poorly seasoned sirloin.

Sioux Falls, like many other cities around the country, has been promoting "Diversity" the past few years. There have been commercials on the local stations, radio spots, signs, and programs in schools to help people learn to be accepting of other races, cultures, and lifestyles. IT.IS.WORKING!

As I rounded the corner by the church I spotted a local gang of middle school ruffians. You can tell they are a gang because they are all dressed the same; Jeans, tennis shoes, hoodies, and ball caps. They are not to be confused with teenage girls, who also all seem to dress the same. Everyone knows teenage girls are far more vicious than any gang of wanna be posers.

Like this but less ferocious. 
Our neighborhood gang of rowdies is embracing the whole "Diversity" program. They are all different heights, weights, and breaking it down further... One Sudanese, 1 Hispanic, 1 Pacific Islander, 1 Korean, 1 Vietnamese, and 1 White kid of unknown decent (based on our hood it could be run of the mill American mutt Caucasoid or Czech Rep). Here's what I do know, they had sticks. I was spoiling for a fight, a rumble really. I was just waiting for one of them to call me "nice lady" or "Jacob's mom" <shaking fist>. It's a damn good thing none of them did. I would have kicked their little 8th grade asses. Unfortunately, I was able to keep walking without any trouble.

My favorite part of my outdoor treks is that I get to circle the lake area. The big open fields around the Veteran's memorial call to the kids of the area apartment buildings, "Come out! Bring a soccer ball!" and they obey. While it may not be the wealthy part of town, it isn't something you will notice on the makeshift soccer fields. The laughter and the games raise the spirits to frenzied levels, then as the children eventually tire, they laugh breathlessly about a missed goal, someones footwork, and who might be responsible for making his way to the area in the distance where the ball has traveled.

My heart lifts to see the joy on their faces. Little girls skip and dance along the sidewalks, comparing cartwheel expertise with one another while their mothers watch from a distance chatting quietly in a language I don't understand. The pace slows for me while I wind through the trails, careful not to trip over a darting child here or there. It was during this part of my routine that I finally got called into the game. A wayward soccer ball rolled to a stop just short of my location.

My mind raced like a nervous first timer in the game. "Do I pick it up and throw it? No, this is soccer, stupid. You're not really a goalie." I chided myself. A small voice yelled, "Can we have the ball back?" Adrenaline pumped through me as I positioned myself for the delivery. Remembering back to those PE classes from long ago, I drew my right leg back and swung it forward with all my strength, delivering it squarely back into play. There were cheers and claps. One kid said, "That was an AWESOME kick!" and another yelled, "Thanks LADY!" <DAMMIT!> Still, the magic of the moment carried me over their dirty slur.

I smiled and waved as I limped back onto the path. My "nice lady" leg was a little tight from the over extension I gave it whilst showing off.

What is your favorite part of spring? Do you have a favorite outdoor sport to participate in?

Monday, March 26, 2012

Three ways to get banned from my pants

My ego is fragile. I keep it packed in bubble wrap most of the time and don't take it out for show. It's been said that flattery gets you no where. I think people who say that are full of it. By it, I mean crap. Flattery gets people all sorts of places. A flattering dress gets to go home with me. So if you want to go home with me, there are things you should know.

Just like most people, I have some standards. There are certain things you absolutely cannot do if you are hoping I'll one day let you in my pants. Let's discuss!

Things you don't want to say to me
Take notes
Have you ever listened to a waitress or waiter being berated by a customer? That condescending tone of voice grates my nerves worse than nails on a chalk board. It causes my jaw to tighten and a feeling of complete disgust and contempt to form in my chest for you. Even in the event that the service is poor, there is no need to stoop to that level of cruelty. You might be okay with having your food spit in. I am not. When you have unfavorable service from the waitstaff, you are free to not tip. Being a douche while I am at the table is not acceptable. Another thing it shows me is that, should I somehow not meet your level of expectation, you will speak to me in the same fashion. It's a no-go.

Another sure fire way to ensure that you will never have sexy time with me would be to mention how much I remind you of your mother. Yeah, I know the old song... "I want a girl just like the girl who married dear old Dad." She cooked, cleaned, loved you unconditionally, and always knew that Thursdays you would need more encouragement to go to school because it was math quiz day. I don't have anything against her, I just don't want to know that when you think of me that you think of your mother. It's not sexy for me, to be honest it's just disturbing. I joked with a friend yesterday about this, and when he joked about calling me mommy, I laughed and fought the urge to vomit at the same time. Funny! Except not. Don't do this.

Still, there is a much broader and more deeply scarring statement that will keep you far away from the holy of holies. Far be it for me to tell you what hurts every other woman's pride, but reference (like the mom thing) to how old we are is forbidden. Over the weekend a very nice looking gentleman hugged me, a little too tight for a mere friendly embrace. For a second, I was very flattered. That came to a halt the moment he said, "You're a really nice lady." screeching halt Excuse me? What the...?! Who the hell are you calling a lady? Do you know who's a nice lady? The lunch counter attendant who gives you an extra peanut butter sandwich. You know who else? The elderly lady who hands out the samples at the grocery store. You know who's a real nice lady? Your mother. (That's for you, James).


Alright readers, talk to me. Tell me what actions/words guarantee a person will never have access to your private parts (and don't say women who blog about ways to not get in their pants)?






Bloggers For Boobs Updates!



From now until April 30th (date extended), we will be accepting donations that go toward breast cancer research, offering merchandise, and posting pictures of all who choose to enter the drawing for the GRAND PRIZE at the end of the event.

So how do you enter? What do you win? Good questions! 

Four Ways to Enter: 

1. Submit a picture of your tatas, breasticles, moobs, melons, boobs, etc. 
**Breasts must be covered by at least a bra (ladies) and FACELESS! Breast Cancer doesn't care who you are!
**Pictures will be posted on our Whose Boobs Picture Pages!
2. Follow us on Twitter!  @bloggers4boobs
3. Buy some merchandise! Show your support by sporting the gear!
4. Donate to the cause! (see the pretty button on the left?)



The Prize
Aside from knowing you helped make a difference, if your name is drawn you will win: 
  • A handmade scarf by Becca at I'm Pretty Sure That
  • Whose Boobs 2012 Tshirt
  • Whose Boobs 2012 Water Bottle
  • Whose Boobs 2012 Magnet
  • $25 Gift Card (your choice: Amazon, Target, or Barnes and Noble)
Let the fun begin! 

Pictures can be submitted to Bloggers For Boobs. Names will not be posted with the picture. The winner will be notified via email and announcement on this site. 

If you would like to write a story about how you, your family, or a friend have been affected by breast cancer, we would love to include that story in our event. Let us know! Look for more activities as the month moves forward.

Check out Picture Pages to see our entrants! Or go grab some gear

Are you ready to raise your hands, raise your shirts, and raise awareness? Let's get started! 

And finally, a warm thank you to the bloggers out there who have lent their voice to the cause!

Voices
Liz at Flourish In Progress @noshoppingliz
Kevin at Social Assassin @assassin_social
Becky at I'm just a girl & I've had it up to here @BexstarD



Sincerely
Becca of I'm Pretty Sure That
Bill of The Authentic Life
Angie of Angie Uncovered 

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Boys With Dirt 'Staches


“Three and a half hours? Are you sure that’s right? I don’t recall it being that long of a drive.” I yelled down to my son.

“That’s what it says on my iPod. Well, 3 hours and 27 minutes.” He replied.

We loaded up the car, or he did. I stood in my bathroom fixing my hair for the third time in less than an hour. He came up the stairs to grab my things and gave me that puzzled look men get. It’s the look that says, “You really need a suitcase for a 24 hour trip?” and then the poor guy picks up said suitcase and wonders what in the name of all that is good and holy could you possibly have packed that weighs 100+ pounds. The answer, as we all know, is the body parts you couldn’t dispose of in town 3 complete outfits with shoes, pajamas, jewelry, hair product, makeup, a curl iron, a flat iron, and a blow dryer.

He shook his head and hoisted it off the edge of the bed, letting it drop to the floor with an exaggerated pull on his shoulder.  “Are you almost ready? Did you call Dad and tell him you’re taking me all the way to Linette’s? He’s supposed to be picking me up in Sioux City ya know?” he rattled on as he drug my belongings down the flight of stairs, letting each step feel the impact of my exceptional lack of ability to make clothing decisions. “It’s handled. Don’t worry about it and don’t do that with my suitcase…” I said as I heard him exiting the house. I swear I heard a curse word or twelve and some mumbling about how I should either learn to pack or haul my own crap.

Being a single mom hasn’t been the best gig in the world. There are times when I wanted to pull out my hair, drink myself into a stupor, and crawl under the blankets and cry. To be perfectly honest, some days I am quite surprised my kids even acknowledge me at all. I’ve made every single mistake in the book short of illegal activities. I mean it’s not like I kick back on the sofa with my crack pipe and invite men over to help momma pay the bills. That’s really only a summer past time.

I do what I can to make up for those past mistakes, for my son especially. Today is one of those days. Statistically he’s got 2 possible directions to go with women in his life.

1.       Just like dear old Mom
2.       Some skanky hooker

The goal of these little mother-son road trips is to help him better understand women. We complain together about the condition of the roads, we talk about the lyrics of the music we’re listening to, about school, about how to properly use ‘that’s what she said’, why I can’t listen to Come On Eileen without my head nodding or my feet tapping, and why his “dirt stache” needs to be shaved off.  For the mustache thing, I’ve passed on the advice Bill recommended, “Girls don’t give snatches to boys with dirt ‘staches.”

The miles slip by more quickly when I have him at the wheel. It won’t be long and he will be driving his own car (he’s test driving a car with his father tonight) and I will be back to transporting my own ass back and forth. I will lose these little opportunities to teach him what it means to be a good man, how to handle himself when a cranky woman yells at him he makes a bonehead move like almost getting yourselves killed on the interstate, and what music is good music. We still have today, thirty more minutes to be exact.  Besides, there is a hot guy in a Uhaul following us and I’m pretty sure he just gave me “the look”. I need to get in the backseat and flash him my… wait… that might be one of those bad decisions, right?

FINE! Fun haters.

For the parents out there, what are your fondest teaching moments with your kids?
Those of you not yet in the parent pool, what’s your happiest memory with your parent(s)? 

The bachelorette party starts with a long ass drive to Iowa. Thank God I have my driver. In 3 hours we will begin this party in earnest.

We have champagne chilling and a tiara for the bride to be. A limo awaits us plus a night filled with a bunch of 30 somethings ladies.

I have already had one warning that one guy with the limo service is very "friendly". Now I am wondering if I am the only single chic who will be in attendance. Hmmmm?

I have been informed that this is a dildo, vibrator, skanky lingerie free weekend. At first I was all, "Yay free toys!" Then I realized what she really meant, so I unpacked my whole bag.

So bring on the fun people! What is the rest of the blogosphere doing tonight?

~sent via my dumb phone~

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Wag and Angie: Controlling Wife-Spineless Husband


Are you freaking kidding me?
When I got this topic I couldn't stop making that really pissy face I make when I am... well, when I am really pissy. I am going to write my response as if I am writing to this couple directly. I hope you can appreciate that. You can see Shane's response over at WagtheDad

My neighbor's wife is on a diet and now she not only will not have sex with him, she consistently tells him how she'd be better off without him even though she apparently doesn't mean it, and now she has started censoring the four hours of TV he has after all the chores he does (wrong, of course).

She doesn't work outside the home, he works fifty hours a week. He watches the kids with him when he's home because she is insane housecleaning lady who refuses to allow him to pay for a cleaning lady, says he's incompetent when he tries to clean, and sees his watching the kids as goofing around and not helping around the house.

But now he's starting to internalize it, and refers to himself as a loser. To make matters worse, she keeps asking him why he can't be more like me or my other neighbor, thus planting the seeds of a wedge between us.


Dear Sir,

If what I am seeing is true, you really need to find your balls. Let me give you a few suggestions on where to look.

1. In your wife’s purse where she keeps your spine
2. In the jar she collects your swearing punishment money, you lazy rat bastard
3. In the coffin where she sleeps during the day while you’re working 50 hours a week while the sun is up

Normally I save my crudeness for my personal friends who don’t complain because I know too many of their secrets, but today you’re going to get a little taste. Is her vagina made of gold? Is there some sort of monetary value you can place on it? No? How about your self-worth? Does THAT have any value? You want to raise your children with a sense of wellbeing, accomplishment, and belief that as long as they do their level best that they will be, at the very least, appreciated. Yet somehow, you believe that living in a home where you are belittled and treated like an imbecile seems like a fitting example?

Ask yourself this, if you saw a man treating his wife the way your wife treats you how would you feel? Personally, I get just as bad of a taste in my mouth when I see a woman henpecking her husband as I do when I see a man ruling a woman with an iron fist. It’s a freaking personality disorder. Controlling behavior is NOT okay, regardless of your sexual plumbing. You need to stand up for yourself. Your wife compares you to other men because she does not live with them. EVERYONE has faults.

Are you doing your level best, Sparky? Stop letting her compare you to other men unless one of them is willing to take her bitchy ass off your hands.


Dear Madam,

Lucy, you got some ‘splaining to do. Lady, I don’t know how you grew up. I don’t know what your plan for raising your own children is. I don’t know your plans for your future marital status. What I do know is that if you keep on the way you’re keeping on... the decision might be made for you. Do you realize that when someone spends 50+ hours a week outside of the home making money to feed their family and keep a roof over their heads they get pretty damned tired. When they come home to wrangle the kids so you can make every single thing in the house show worthy, their day gets even longer. No one is taking away from your obvious desire to present a perfect image to the rest of the ‘hood, but loosen the hell up!

From the sounds of things, you speak to your husband like a child and treat him as such. Unfortunately, I know for a fact that none of my kids are willing or able to work 50 hour weeks to support my ass. What in the hell is so wrong with your life that you feel the need to pull that choke chain so tight? Were you belittled by a parent when you were growing up? Did you grow up watching one of your parents belittling or bullying your other parent? The crap you’re pulling is psychological, to put it kindly. It’s heinous bitch to put it frankly.

The lesson you’re passing on to their children is one of two things.

1. It’s okay to be a completely insensitive bitch to people you’re supposed to love if they aren’t doing things your way, and it doesn’t matter how they feel about it.

2. It’s okay to let someone treat you like you’re an idiot even when you’re doing everything you can to meet their needs. Be a door mat. It’s easier than facing the wrath of a bully.

I will pass on one more tidbit of information that you might not be aware of... people who feel unappreciated often seek appreciation from other sources. He might not cheat on you, but if you continue to treat your man like he can’t do anything that pleases you, or you continue to remind him you’d be better off without you, he might just let you be without him. It’s pretty simple.

I don’t want to hear about the feminist bullshit of how men have dominated women for centuries. The point of equality was to do away with that nonsense... not use it as a tool to get even. Your great-grandma isn’t in your marriage. YOU ARE. Learn to say thank you once in awhile. Remember, when you compare him to your male neighbors that he could probably just as easily find a woman on the block who makes a better banana bread or hangs the laundry to dry instead of throwing it in the dryer on a perfectly nice day. As Erma Bombeck wrote, ‘The Grass Is Always Greener On the Other Side of the Septic Tank’.

Sincerely,
Your Friendly Relationship-Blogging Bitch

Alright folks, let's hear it. Thoughts? Words of wisdom? 

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Are you into the group thing?

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Less than a week ago, I was staring at my friend's flip phone and laughing my head off while I attempted to text on it. How quickly our fingers forget that skill. Had I been sending the text as myself, I would have used my phone with the full QWERTY keyboard. It would have been speedy and accurate. It would have had line breaks. It wouldn't have taken 20 minutes.

Still, I'm behind the times. It's been 2 years and I still have my regular old dumb phone. This baby (Razzle Flip) was only $25 when I picked it from the "Phones That People Will Mistake For a Smart Phone From a Distance" list. It's got a sweet little MP3 flip like device, a camera, mobile web (that I can't make work), IM (that I can't make work), and webmail (that I can't make work). Aside from the fact that I make calls and text from it, I don't really feel the need to do a lot with my phone. It does make a terrific alarm clock though.

My phone is a lot of things. Smart it is not. This became evident a few weeks ago when Becca sent a picture message from her "Super Intelligent Probably Went to Harvard" phone. I viewed the picture and responded. Minutes later another text came through, this time from an unknown number. The message said, "Damn, you're a sexy bitch!" so it was obviously meant for me. It came to my phone. The sender knows I'm sexy... and a bitch, but who could it be? I responded OF COURSE. It's good to have fans, even if they have somehow managed to get your private number and message you without permission.

I won't go into detail about the misunderstanding that had taken place, mostly because it's obviously very embarrassing for the poor guy, not that I'm naming names (Bill). I mean it's not that guy's (Bill's) fault that he didn't know I was sexy, or that the message would come to me, or whatever. It's not Becca's fault that when you send a group text message and people respond to it that sometimes, even people with dumb old phones (Me) get those replies. Nor is it their fault that I am so narcissistic that when I get a message telling me that I'm sexy I am all over it without ever thinking, "Hey, I don't know this number... it might not be meant for me!"

This probably explains those freaks who have been texting me over the last two years. Maybe I don't have a stalker after all? I can also eliminate a few times when I wondered to myself, "Did I have one too many and don't remember giving out my number?" I suppose it would be wise now to stop responding to those texts with, "Thanks... who the hell is this and how did you get my number you freak?!" Sorry, guy who shall not be be named (Bill).

So for all of you out there into that whole "group thing"... careful who you're grouping over there. You get old ladies like me all excited and flattered.

Have you ever accidentally sent a text to the wrong person? Email? Horror story? 




Monday, March 19, 2012

Mostly Dead Monday

By Miracle Max standards, I am mostly dead today. Can a person feel blurry?  Right now blurry is the only way I can think to describe it. My friend Dean described the sensation as having cotton in your brain. That pretty much summed it up for me.

It's been a busy last few weeks. One more weekend away to come and then a blessed weekend of sleep. Until then, you can expect me to be as sharp as a tack that's been repeatedly forced to penetrate cement. It's been pretty bad so far this morning. Of course the fact that it's Monday plays into things a bit. I can't seem to keep my head upright. The random crap that keeps running through my mind is keeping me from really focusing on what's important; 4 o'clock. This is the conversation going on in my head.

"My boobs look nice today. If I can see down my top can everyone else see down my top? I should go to the bathroom and see if the girls are hanging out and put them away if they are. It's not like it's going to get me anywhere in this place. What bra am I wearing? It's really getting the job done! I should tweet that. I don't remember buying it. Probably a vacation purchase. That's what I need. I forgot to shut the windows at home and it's going to rain. Sonofabitch! I should be blogging. I am blogging. See Angie blog. Sigh..."

(Twitter Break)

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"Huh...I have a sun burn. Jill has the best burning deck on the planet. It's like farmer tan without having to farm. I should stop looking at my cleavage before I start to think I'm a pervert. If I get caught I'm either going to have to admit I've been staring at my tits or that I've been sleeping. This is going to suck when it begins to itch. Do I rub some lotion on it now and risk looking all naughty? 'It rubs the lotion on it's skin...' Oh Angie... when will the lambs stop screaming!I crack me up. I need lunch."



It's a good thing I can't see shiny objects or squirrels out the window or I'd get absolutely nothi... there's pie in the break room.

How was/is your Monday? What distracts you the most during work?







Sunday, March 18, 2012

When life gives you an El Camino you make lemonade!

Way back in 1980something, before cell phones, internet, and pagers my brother Ryan, sister Christy, and I headed out to the wild west. Our trip to Wyoming led us across the vast plains of South Dakota along a dusty desolate stretch of interstate known as I90. All the damned way across South Dakota, I might add. It's a long way. Really. Also, our driver had horrible taste in music. There was no Madonna, Prince, J Giles Band, etc. Just Paper Roses, a little bit of Conway Twitty, and some song about how some people back in 1814 took a little trip.

With our dad at the wheel, the three of us had been wedged into the front of a tiny El Camino and began our own private trail of tears. It wasn't as dramatic as the original Trail of Tears, looking back on it, but if I remember correctly we didn't exactly like each other much back then. Still, when pressed, we were capable of making a little fun when fun was needed. My grandma always said, "When life gives you an El Camino and bad music, you make lemonade." Maybe those weren't her exact words, but that's how I like to interpret it, and it's my story so I'll tell it how I like!

Alright, back to the 80s. Just off I90, right after you cross the Missouri river, half way to Wall Drug, just past Chamberlain is Al's Oasis. Now you might be thinking, "Angie, an Oasis is something you find in a desert." Well, unless you've been through South Dakota you can't possibly understand. In my experience there are only 2 other places where an oasis might be more useful.

1. That long ass stretch between Utah and Nevada on the way to Vegas. I call this, Holy crap why is it so dark and does this interstate have lines at all?

2. The stretch of I80 and I76 in Nebraska/Colorado between Ogallala, NE and Denver. I call this, Radio Free Nebraska.

So there we were, at Al's Oasis. I've included the link because you'd never believe it if you didn't see it. We'd been on the road a good 5 hours, we hated each other a little more than normal, and the idea of a hot meal and the ability to stand up right felt like heaven. In we went. After our burgers and fries, we browsed the little mercantile store and our father reminded us that we should probably call our mother and let her know we were safe thus far. We dropped our change in the pay phone and called home.

Please know that we meant no harm. It's just that, like I said earlier, sometimes you have to make a little lemonade. When my mom answered the phone we thought it might be entertaining to say, "Um, is Christy there?" The dead silence on the other end of the phone was funny for all of about 10 seconds. Apparently it's uncool to freak your mother out by telling her you lost her 5 year old. We know that now.

Friday evening, as my car traveled the interstate, over the river, past Chamberlain, half way to Wall Drug... we pulled off the road. I couldn't resist snapping a picture with my ultra modern, non-80s communication device.  As I searched for my sister's number in the contact list I couldn't stop giggling. "Hehe Looky where I am!"

The buffalo burger was still overcooked. The lettuce was still shredded, the flavor was still lacking.... ah the good old days relived. Does it get much better than that?


On a parting note, a huge thank you to the people of Lower Brule for honoring my friend's mother in such an amazing way for her funeral service. Additional thanks going to my friend Joe for not letting me fall apart in a puddle of tears when my car died on the reservation. Thank you to Guy 1 and Guy 2 for helping us get the car taken apart and put back together and running so we could get home.

Before you go... we have new Whose Boobs pics! Jump on over to Bloggers for Boobs and see what's going on! Huge kudos to all who have entered so far! Let's raise our shirts and raise awareness! Much love to you all!




Tuesday, March 13, 2012

80s Flashback: IROC Z, Pegged Jeans, and Back Seat Love

What you're about to see is going to come across sort of classist, okay a lot classist. You've been warned.

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Me: Did you see that hair?

*****: Whose hair?

Me: ____'s. Check her Facebook album.

*****: You are terrible.

Me: You know what I'm talking about, too. She lost her virginity in the back of some guy's Trans Am after a 6 pack of Old Milwaukee and a bottle of Strawberry Hill. Bet on it.

*****: That looks like a recent picture.

Me: I bet the guy still has the Trans Am too.

These conversations don't happen in a vacuum. There is always some sort of stimuli that causes me to stop short and say, "Well, that's oddly familiar." It's things like what I saw today at lunch that bring out the inner snob in me.

Picture it... Sioux Falls 2012 (I miss Estelle)... Subway parking lot: 

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I swear I did a double take. The car was familiar... mid-80s IROC Z. Most girls where I grew up would recognize it immediately and sort of swoon for it's owner. Blonde, sporty (like the car), cute, trim, cocky... oh he had it all. He was older than us, but that never stops a girl from getting starry eyed!

Just seeing the car took me back a couple of decades and I smiled. When I saw the owner get out of the car my smile got infinitely bigger. He was tall-ish, dirty blonde (emphasis on the dirty), balding, beer gut, and wearing, what I approximate to be, a mid-80s acid washed jean jacket. No, it wasn't the guy I remember from my junior high days, but I am pretty sure they are cosmically related.

Lucky me, the only open parking spot was next to that sex machine car. As the last two entrants, we stood next to each other in line to order our lunch. He looked back at me and smiled, gave me the once over, let his eyes settle on my boobs for a bit longer than acceptable (damn the nice weather), and smiled again... this time with a bigger creep factor. That was when I noticed what I can only assume was years of drug use playing havoc with his pearly... grays. My eyes dropped to his ankles. I had to check for pegged jeans and deck shoes. I didn't look, but I bet he was wearing Pepe Jeans. I'm also willing to bet he's had that car since the 80s and there is at least one girl with 80s hair looking for her baby daddy.

I almost seem like a pretty nice person until you actually get to know me. If you stick around to find out what I'm all about, and we still somehow manage to become friends it's probably because I said some things you wouldn't have said yourself (but you know you were thinking it). Of course, I usually only say it to you. Otherwise it would just be rude.



Monday, March 12, 2012

Wag Vs Angie: Too soon for sex?


Welcome back, kiddos! I know Mommy and Daddy have been gone for awhile, but we're so proud of you for keeping the place clean while we were ou.. WHO THE HELL BROKE THE LAMP!? Someone's gonna get hurt real bad. That was a beautiful knock off Tiffany lamp!

Let's catch up... when we last left Wag Vs Angie, we had moved to an op-ed format where we both just spout off about a particular topic and usually end up in the same point/counter-point scenario we started this project with. Today is going to be no different. So without any additional delays, let's talk about sex. What do you say? 

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The rules of sex in the dating world seem to have changed a bit since I was last in the open market. I think they have changed since Shane was out there too. You can get his take on the situation over at Wagthedad. I have never been one to go on dates. I tend to go on relationships, which has been considerably different from what the majority of my single friends have experienced. I consider myself a serial monogamist. I've always known what I want and who I want before I ever agree to go on a date with a guy. This begins a multi-month courtship that doesn't involve dinner, movies, coffee, or sex until far later than most people I know. 

So when IS it appropriate to allow someone to breach your fortress of purity (c'mon we know you're not that pure)? Since my dating life leaves quite a bit to be desired, I decided to turn to my mother who we all know holds the secrets to all questions in life. According to a recent article in AARP magazine, the dating rules HAVE changed. Apparently the booty call is the new first date. While those of us in the 30+ generation have been concerned about when it's okay to have sex, the older generation have reverted back to their free love days... and STDs have made a rampant return, with singles in the 55+ community making the rounds from home to home, getting their groove on, throwing caution to the wind, and giving doctors reason to charge millions in co-pays for "why does it burn when I pee" appointments. 

To that end I will give you an opinion from a single man. When asked, "How soon is too soon?" this was the answers I received: 

Single Guy: If the vibe is right then why wait? I'm not into social conformity. 

Still, the small town girl inside me says, "Wait a second... would you consider her for a long term relationship?" 

When I asked a single woman the same question, I received the answer that the appropriate # date was the wedding date. Of course she also said that for those who are older or in their second plus time around, women don't want to think about the shaving above the knee rules and want to cut to the chase. 

So what is the answer? Popular thought would indicate that it depends on the man, depends on the woman, depends on the situation. So here's what I've got for you. 

1. How bad do you want it? 
2. Do you want it enough to find out later that he's lost respect for you for giving it up?
3. Are you properly protecting yourself?

Most of us have gone through a phase of disillusionment, so let's address this one by one. (I'm going all girly here)

1. How long has it been? How important is sexual fulfillment to your day to day life? Is one night of passion enough to satisfy you? For how long?

2. Are you okay with losing the potential relationship because he was hot for you and you were hot for him without knowing whether or not the whole thing could be over because you dropped your panties/boxer briefs too soon?

3. You never know where your partners have been. Even when they know where they were, they don't know where their past partners have been (ask the snowbirds in FL and AZ). Safety is an issue. 

So where does this leave me? There are no dating/sexual rules anymore. You need to act on your desires in the way you feel most comfortable. Is he/she someone you feel comfortable giving the goods to? Will you be satisfied if this is all it is... just sex? 

Image Source
It seems no matter who I talk to these days the rules have disappeared. I've talked to women and men who tell me the old rules exist; No sex without commitment. I also spoke with those who feel it doesn't matter anymore because they know everyone has a past and they are looking for something more than just the sex factor when they make a decision. 

So what does this mean? Be yourself. Know your limits. Know what you can and cannot accept. Understand who you are as a person. Follow your basic instincts and eventually you WILL find that person who accepts you, understands you, and embraces you for who you are. Throw the rules away. 





The Pencil Story


This is a collaborative piece that was passed on to me by Becca at I'm Pretty Sure That

Let’s watch creativity happen right in front of our eyes! The first and final sentence of a short story have been provided, and the rest will be created by people in the blogosphere.

Each person nominated will write one sentence, and then pass the baton on to a different blogger. The 9th person will finally link back to Kid in the Front Row which is where this started and then we will have a complete story. I have chosen Azra over at Azurahto write part 6, then she will nominate someone to do part 7, and so on, till we return to The Kid again!

1. Angela was convinced that her pencil was the friendliest pencil in the whole entire world.
2. His hue, alone, revealed his sunny disposition, and with his pink chapeau perched high on his head, the pencil gladly accommodated or cleaned up any missteps regardless of their intentions.
3. But Pencil could not be sure of Angela’s intentions as she nervously held him while scratching a check mark in the “Yes” box on the note that Becky passed to her in Geometry class.
4. Angela chewed away both her and the pencil’s nerves throughout the rest of class, leaving almost imperceptible dents near the silver cylinder that housed the pencil’s eraser, scarring him indelibly.
5. She erased and replaced the check mark more than six times during that brief period, wearing down both his once razor sharp lead and rubbery pink top, now marred with grayish matter.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10. “That’s why I’m the friendliest pencil in the world,” screamed Pencil, the pencil.

Check back here for an update on how the story goes!

Friday, March 9, 2012

Changing teams at half time

It's not uncommon for me to answer my phone with a sexy, "Hey baby!" when I know that the call is from one of my girlfriends. I have a virtual wife (Hey, Becca!). My best friend from back in the day refers to me as her future lesbian lover. When we aren't reminding each other that if one of us had a penis it would be game on, we're joking around that it would be so nice to have a wife for a change that would treat us with the love and tenderness and shopping trips that we deserve.

My friends come from all walks of life, all over the world, and have had such different upbringings I almost feel international and well traveled just for knowing them. And I do know them. From visits to each others homes, shared vacations, hours of phone calls, some even stretching the distance of the Atlantic Ocean... there is very little we don't know about each other. There's not much we haven't confessed to each other, and when one of us needs advice we're an unstoppable network.

When one of my friends came to me with a problem I couldn't solve, I decided to ask permission to bring the problem to my blog and get some input. So I'm hoping for a little input from my readers.

When you've been raised in a small town with a lot of closed minds, you often don't consider that you have a choice in your sexuality. You're raised to believe that you will like the opposite sex. You will get married. You will have kids. You will live happily or unhappily ever after. It's better to be confused and quiet, than it is to admit you're not like everyone else. Leaving that small town opens a lot of doors you didn't even see knobs for in the past. You will meet people who make you look at yourself differently and even question long held beliefs about who you are.

What happens when you've been married over a decade, had a few kids, and suddenly find yourself questioning the direction the rest of your life will take? She loves her husband, but has recently found herself very attracted to someone else. That someone happens to be another woman. After a few same sex flirtations, she finds herself wanting to explore these feelings further.

While she's been honest with her husband about her feelings, she is having difficulty deciding how to address these feelings without throwing away her marriage. She doesn't know where it will lead and each option seems to lead her to more questions. Her husband has been supportive thus far, stating that he only wants her to be happy, but at the same time he is worried about her time spent with her new potential romantic interest.

Questions I've posed: 
1. What will you do if your husband decides to find companionship with another woman while you explore your own feelings?
2. If you choose not to explore your feelings, how long will it be before it rears it's ugly head again?
3. How does the potential love interest feel about the fact that you're married and not even sure of your orientation?

So, dear readers... I leave this to you. What advice would you give to my friend. Have you been in this situation? 



Thursday, March 8, 2012

I've penciled myself in to care sometime next week

While the IM notification blinked on my screen I did my very best to ignore the urge to maximize and attend to my friend's talk. Yet again, a new person had been seated at my desk ready to absorb the vast amount of knowledge I had to impart. As I explained the importance of properly noting accounts, how to dial by mouse click, where you might go to add a new contact to the company's file, and the why he should even care... the orange message indicator beckoned, "Look at me, Angie. You know you want to. Just a quick glimpse. Make the orange light go away. C'mon... click me baby"

When I noticed my trainee's attention had been lured away by one of our standard inappropriate over the wall conversations I knew it was my chance. I maximized the message and began to read. "Who's the hottie?" I heard from behind me. BUSTED! It was too late to go back now. Who knew how long he had been looking at my conversation? "What are you talking about?" I asked.

The newb leaned forward and tapped my picture on the screen. "Her." he replied.

"That's me you jackass." I snapped.

"Oh, doesn't look like you." he said.

"Well that's because in that picture the smile on my face is real, my hair is done, I'm dressed like I care, and my eyes aren't dead." I explained.

That's how it is, folks. When you don't care... it shows. Perhaps it's a matter of not feeling like there is anyone I need to "dress to impress", or maybe that I have spent so much time outside of the corporate dress code that I have forgotten what it feels like to look professional at my desk. Either way, I've become that girl who lives in jeans (sometimes fashionably holey ones), the standard layered t-shirt, and shoes.

The beginning of the end was the day I wandered into the office for a short day wearing running shorts, t-shirt, Nikes, and a baseball cap. When I returned from break to find that my boss had printed a fake Boston Marathon participant number and taped it to my chair I knew that I had to dial back the slacker. I have tried since to make sure that I dress in business casual a minimum of one day a week, and I usually hit the mark. Unfortunately, it now looks like I'm scheduling interviews right after work.

So as of right now, this very minute, I am going to up the ante. My new goal is to dress like a professional twice a week. I vow to wear pants with creases in them, shirts that don't have logos, skirts that don't belong with tank tops, and shoes that don't easily transition to the treadmill. I will wear the tall boots, the classy shoes, the jewelry I have spent so much time collecting, and I will even do my hair. Just not tomorrow. I mean really... it's casual Friday. Hell, I might not even wear pants. Unless I manage to go on a date. Then I am not wearing pants for sure. Definitely a skirt... and a pretty blouse... and some rouge... and an apron. Men dig aprons, right?

Next week though, I'm totally going to care. Really. I mean it.



Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Sarcasm and Intellectual Intercourse

Just an FYI, I'm all about dropping the hash tags in here today. For those of you who don't belong to the Twitternation, a hash tag is a not related to a hash brownie. It's this symbol # followed by some text. Just ignore it. Pretend you don't see them, just like I do with bills.  

I just sent a text message that said, "I'm happy for you!" As soon as it said 'message sent', I thought to myself... "Well that's really nice of you, Angie. Being happy for others is a good thing." But since I am not quite sure how I come off most of the time I decided to ask Marcus for a little feedback. I am sure as hell not texting again to say... "what I meant was...". #WhatIMeanIs

Me- Marcus, what does it mean when someone says, 'I'm happy for you'?
Marcus- Jilted lover? If it's a jilted lover it means 'Eat shit and die'.
Me- No, not a jilted lover. I just... hmm not sure how it sounds to others. 
Marcus- Oh if YOU said it to someone then I am sure there were all sorts of levels of sarcasm. 
Me- (laughing hysterically) Okay, shit. That's not how I meant it. 

So to you, dear text recipient... I didn't mean it in a sarcastic bitchy way. I really am happy for you. 

That is how my mind has been the last week or so. A piece of advice for you... Do NOT ask me for anything of importance right now. I don't have the presence of mind to give you the full attention that you deserve. Do you know why? Of course you don't. It's because I am spread so thin you can see right through me. You might be asking yourself, "Well how in the hell does she find time to blog if she's got so much else going on?" To that I can only say, "GET OFF MY BACK oh and I don't have time to talk to you about it because I'm  spread so thin." #ISST

That's not the whole truth. The whole truth would be that between my regular client's 4 projects, the extra side project, and the extra extra side project... I just can't focus to save my life. Even THAT is a partial lie. Confession time... my mind runs at 100 mph and laps me physically about as many times a day. How much of my brain power is spread thin because of work and how much is personal I don't even know anymore. I do know this much, I don't know much these days. #BrainFry

I've been trying to pinpoint where I've had the most success in focusing lately, and it came down to writing projects and conversations with people that consisted of more than small talk. My entire work day is small talk. It's short discussions on topics that do not interest me in the least. Hello, how are you, goodbye, and the rest of those pleasantries make up the bulk of my day. To be honest, I really hate small talk that just repeats all the time. This makes it impossible to give a damn about what I'm doing. My eyes glaze over and my voice loses it's phone sex quality and I start sounding like I am half asleep and not in the oooh ahhh sort of way. #PhoningItIn

I need intellectual intercourse, people. And for you... dear texter, that wasn't a horny comment either. Just a play on words. Without some sort of mental connection, I simply cannot focus. This is also why I suck at algebra. If you need something from me... don't be like algebra. #MathBlows











Monday, March 5, 2012

Five Things Men Don't Want To Hear

Aside from top secret "ProjectHooters", which should be rolling out soon, I've spent the last couple of weeks doing some research on dating sites. When I say "dating" I don't just mean the online dating companies that seem to reproduce like Octomom on Clomid. I'm including all of those websites dedicated to helping you understand the opposite sex. Some call themselves "Lifestyle" sites, but unless that dating is done with the same sex while wearing latex, a Bozo the Clown wig, and a gas mask I would hardly consider it a lifestyle. But, I digress, that's where my research has led me.

A common theme on these little jewels of relationship wisdom is the "Top 5 Billion Things You Shouldn't Say". By the time I read the third article on this topic I wanted nothing more than to find a sturdy reliable rafter and a short piece of rope. Before you take that the wrong way, what I mean is I wanted to hang myself. Wait... was there a right way to take it? No? It's not what you think. I wasn't upset with myself. I just don't want to live in a world where people need to be advised that they should not say the following things to their man:

Not good to say: 
1. Is that it?
2. Your penis is so cute!
3. I liked it when my ex boyfriend did ____ in bed.
4. Your mom is a bitch.
5. I'm pregnant and it's yours.

Worse yet: 
1. That was the worst excuse for sex I've ever experienced.
2. What the hell is that?
3. My ex could give you a lot of pointers. Here's his number.
4. I've been talking to your mom about your sexual performance.
5. I'm pregnant, but it's okay I don't think it's yours... maybe.

The more I read, the more obvious it became that these articles were definitely targeting a different demographic than my own. There was no denying that they were catering to the late teens and early 20's. Unfortunately, that has left a few of us that are smart enough not to be downright insulting out in the cold on advice. Because I am nothing if not helpful, I have created two lists that would be beneficial to my particular generation of daters.

Good to say: 
1. I just hit my sexual peak and I've got 5 good years left in it.
2. I've had my tubes tied. It will never be your baby.
3. I'd like to make you dinner. It won't be out of a box.
4. You don't need to go to the mall with me, I'm a grown up.
5. Hasn't it been awhile since you went on a guys weekend?

Things you might want to avoid: 
1. I still have a couple of years before my parents move in with me.
2. I've never used protection before. Why start now?
3. Are you sure you should eat that with your cholesterol levels?
4. There are 6 sales this weekend between Saturday and Sunday. I'll pick you up at 8.
5. I know it's the same weekend as your "guy date", but this is an all nude resort and my family really wants us to go along.

Suggestions for additions? Horror story to share? I'm your girl...

Somewhere in Austria a blogger sleeps (I hope)

Usually... most of the time... except today.

It pains me to say that for the second week in a row Wag Vs. Angie is postponed, this time due to illness. If I could get everyone to go on over to WagtheDad and tell Shane that pneumonia, cholera, typhus, and rubella are not excuses for missing a Monday fight, I would greatly appreciate it. After that tell him how much you love him and pass along your wishes for his health! We'll try to get the post up later in the week.




Sunday, March 4, 2012

A message about teen drivers & arriving alive and really old..

As a parent I am sometimes torn between sending the "right" message and the practical message. For instance, you can see from the picture that my son listened to the "right" message. The speed limit is 75. He will not exceed it even when he knows that I believe in my heart that the posted speed is merely a suggestion. When I look slightly disappointed about it he purses his lips and, without taking his eyes off the road says curtly, "Mom... just let me drive."

So our little 2 hour and 45 minute trip will take us about one billion hours. I think I just felt my hair get gray-er...

Road Trip Reversal

While I was driving we had 80s flashback weekend playing. Things have since gone all modern hit music with the boy behind the wheel. I am taking this opportunity to really sing loudly, do pointy finger seat dancing, getting our interstate companions to join in and basically irritating the living shit out of the manchild. Success! Moves Like Jagger anyone? Don't mind if I do!

Friday, March 2, 2012

Friday's Dirty Talk

If you walk into our office on a Friday you're probably going to feel like you've stepped into some strange sort of Chuck E Cheese for adults. We are the Dave and Busters of the business district. Things have been flying over the walls all day, both physically and verbally. I've hit two people wine corks. No, I didn't drink it here. No, I don't know why I have wine corks at my desk. Yes, I wish they would let me drink here. We've all managed to get our work done, and to be honest... that in itself is a miracle. There is absolutely no way to explain it and I doubt it will ever happen again.

Around 2 PM, when everyone was on the verge of breaking out into hysterical laughter or falling asleep (it's one of those days... most of the time we're all a little punch drunk), the lovely lady who cleans our office on Fridays made her way back to the restrooms. She taped her sign to the door and headed in...

This should have been sufficient to ward off any potty goers, but not today. Today we were overly concerned with her privacy whilst scrubbing. After a few steps too far over the line, our band of merry man (yeah I'm putting the blame on Jim here), decided to help out with a more descriptive sign to ensure absolutely no one bothered her.


I don't know about you all, but when I am cleaning, when I am on a roll, when I am knee deep in the "poopla" so to speak... I just want to be left the hell alone. Cleaning the bathroom is no different. The last thing you want when you're wiping anyone's bodily fluids or excretions off the porcelain is to get distracted and put some part of your body, NOT covered in latex, in direct contact with it. It's a solo job, folks. 

In order to make sure that people were aware that cleaning the bathroom is not only a dirty job but a private one... Jim someone felt another sign was in order.


Sign suggestions that didn't make the cut: 

- I'm cleaning the shitter, bitches!
- Hold your horses and your bladder! Depends are in the cleaning closet.
- DON'T LOOK AT ME! (not sure what that was about... )

See... we're that kind of nice. 

Thursday, March 1, 2012

HEY! Whose Boobs Are These?

PSYCHE!!!

Oh Twitter... thank you for allowing me to dick around all day with people I love. Today my beautiful, incredible, talented, and amazingly smart Twitter/Blogger friends came up with a kick ass plan to promote Breast Cancer Awareness. Stay tuned for details!


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