because behaving is boring

Monthly Archives: June 2011

My 30th birthday is coming up.

I know, right?

Anyway, every year I say I want to do something fun for my birthday…then, the week before I realize I haven’t planned a single thing. I don’t want that to happen this year so I’ve started thinking about it early. I already took a couple of vacation days and since it’s on a holiday weekend that means I have five whole days off.

But what to do with all of that glorious free time?

Last night I mentioned to The Boyfriend that I’d love to rent a mountain cabin in Tennessee sometime…But I’d settle for renting a cabin in Brown county because I’ve heard they’re really nice, too. I thought it would be fun to get some friends together and take a mini-vacation of sorts.

This was conveniently after I mentioned having five days off for my birthday so I hoped he would put the two together and plan something. Since I didn’t come right out and ask he’d get to feel like it was his idea and be all proud of himself.

See what a good girlfriend I am?

He didn’t say much, except to comment that he has a buddy that owns a cabin in that area. We ended up watching some tv and going to bed without talking about it further.

I was almost asleep when he suddenly piped up.

“You know, it would be more romantic if we waited to rent one of those cabins sometime around October 1st…”

Romantic? I didn’t realize that word was even in his vocabulary… I’d never heard him say that before.

It took all of two seconds for my half-asleep brain to realize he had a reason for bringing it up and it didn’t have a thing to do with romance. “What hunting season is that?”

“Um…it’s the start of bow season. And I have a stand that we could both sit in. It would work out great, since I’m left handed and you’re right handed, you could sit next to me and run the video camera.”

“I see…”

So now Boyfriend thinks he’s going to get me to wear camo, climb up in a tree and sit quietly for hours so he can shoot at woodland creatures. He also thinks I might even want to try my hand at hunting and thinks it’s a GRAND idea to teach me how to gut a deer.

I’ve already told him I won’t be shooting Bambi or his mother (he assured me we could only aim at bucks if it would make me feel better) and I certainly would NOT be gutting anything.

Still, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I don’t think I’d mind going with him except for one tiny thing…

What if I have to pee?



Do you think starving children in China mind that American mothers use their pain to guilt spoiled children into eating?



Thursday, 10:30 pm

Boyfriend: My bday’s sometime between now and next Wed.

Me: I believe it’s Sunday.

B: Theoretically, yes.


Thursday, 11:45 pm

B: How about a back scratch?

Me: I suppose I could come over and scratch your back.

B: Don’t go out of your way. It’s just my birthday.

B: Think you could score me a cheeseburger on the way?


Friday, 5:45 (I’m at work)

B: You about done yet? It’s my birthday.


Friday, 6:32 pm (Still at work)

B: You about done yet? It is my birthday.

Apparently, The Boyfriend confuses his birthday with Hanukkah…

His actual birthday was on Sunday, so his party was Saturday night. All of the fixins for a good time were there: beer, some of his close friends, beer, food, beer and explosions in the form of fireworks (my idea, thank you very much). There were, thankfully, no firework related injuries, though apparently there was a misfire that caused a couple to shoot out into the road. Luckily, there were no cars coming. The party reportedly went on until 6:30am, but Boyfriend and I bailed out long before that.

I gave him his present on Sunday (an iPod loaded with music, a set of ear buds that I think are FAR more comfy and some other goodies like pistachios and peanut butter cups). We then went to lunch at his favorite Mexican place and visited his grandparents, my parents and his mom (who cooked him a nice birthday dinner). He wore the Birthday Boy ribbon I gave him all day, which cracked me up to no end.

He didn’t really say much about his present, so I was a bit worried. Then, this morning, I got a text:

B: Did (friend) download these songs for you?

Me: Just the 311 ones…why?

B: He put MmmBop on this iPod.

Me: Uh, no…That was me. I stuck that one in as a joke.

B: Right on. That cracked me up.

I’m excited that he’s using it already. I just hope he doesn’t demolish or lose it right away. He’s been through 4 iPhones, after all.

Next weekend is my Grandma’s 90th birthday. I’m not sure the party will be *quite* as exciting, but it should be fun.

I’ve already offered to spike the punch.

Many, many moons ago, I tended bar at a local establishment. The place burned to the ground not terribly long after the events of this story took place, but the memories live on in my heart.

A little dramatic, right?

On this particular day, I was sitting on the other side of the bar. It was a little after 5:00, and my friend Cat had just opened, so the only patrons that had wandered in happened to be myself and our neighbor, Brett.

We were attempting to come up with some new drink recipes when Brett informed us that he had made up a new shot. Curious, Cat began to mix the concoction according to his instructions. I don’t recall the recipe, but I remember Bacardi 151 was involved and it all sounded horrible. Once she had placed it in front of Brett, he lit the shot on fire and downed it.

While Brett was patting himself on the back for his great feat of bravery, two new guys walked through the door. They were obviously college students who looked like they might have only recently turned 21. Maybe it was the wide-eyed look of innocence on their faces that gave it away…maybe it was the fact that they were both wearing clothes that seemed to have been picked out and freshly ironed by their mommies that morning. At any rate, Brett and I watched the newcomers closely as they sat down at the bar and ordered.

One of them seemed quite taken with Cat, and in a misguided attempt to impress her he accepted the challenge Brett extended to try this wondrous new shot. Cat mixed it and handed it to him, and he was about to knock it back when Brett shouted “WAIT!”

Startled, Mr. J.C. Penny set the shot on the bar and gave us all a questioning look. Cat already knew what was coming and immediately put on her disapproving face.

“You’re not doing it right if you don’t light it on fire, dude.”

The kid looked down at the shot and then back at Brett a few times and you could see the wheels turning in his head. On one hand, he wanted to impress the lovely Miss Cat. On the other…well, it’s a flaming shot. Eventually, he looked to me as if I would become his ally and steer him in the right direction. I believe this was his fatal mistake. I gave him my friendliest, most encouraging I’m-on-your-side look and said, “Well what are you waiting for? Do you need a lighter?”

Cat stood behind the bar, hands on her head, yelling at him NOT to take the flaming shot (that had mysteriously been lit by now) but Brett and I were yelling over her to JUST DO IT ALREADY!

The next thing we knew, the kid had the shot in his hand and was slowly bringing it his lips…after a brief hesitation, he tipped his head back and emptied the shot glass into his mouth.

And then immediately did a flying leap off of his bar stool, slapping himself about the head, neck and face screaming “MY FACE IS ON FIRE! MY FACE IS ON FIRE! I’M ON FIRE!

I tried to be concerned, I really did…I might have even moved to put him out…But it was really hard to see what was going on through my tears of laughter. I stood there, clutching my stomach and practically howling with that special kind of laugh that makes you look like you need medical attention while, I assume, Cat and Mr. J.C. Penny’s friend extinguished him.

Cat was rather upset with Brett and I, and she completely failed to see the humor in the situation.  I even detected a hint of blame in her attitude.

The kid was perfectly fine. In fact, he stuck around for a few more drinks and even left his phone number for Cat. She obviously never called him.


**I would just like to mention that the fire that destroyed this bar was not in any way related to the events in this story.



…According to me:

– I am neither a bed-hogger nor a cover-stealer. I go to sleep curled up in a ball and wake up exactly the same way. Also? I don’t snore and I sleep like a rock. Apparently the boyfriend has accidentally elbowed me in the head a number of times without waking me up. Impressive, huh?

– I can wiggle my left ear. I used to be able to wiggle BOTH ears, but the right one decided to be lazy one day and just quit working. Seems to be a trend…My thyroid got lazy all of a sudden, too.

– I can drink a shitload of beer, yo. And I don’t pee myself (or worse) when I’m drunk. I DO often make an ass out of myself, but that’s not nearly as messy and much more fun to watch (so I’ve been told).

– I tend to be the person that says what everyone else in the room is thinking… So if you’re ever in a situation that involves wanting to point something out (but you don’t want to look like an ass), don’t worry. I’ll totally fall on that sword for you.

– I’m a lot stronger than I look… In fact, I love when someone tells me I won’t be able to lift something as I’m in the process of picking it up. This winter I even pushed my roommate’s car out of the snow. By myself. For the rest of the day I walked around exclaiming “CHECK OUT MY GUNS!” and flexing. I wasn’t really talking to anyone in particular, but I’m sure my roommates got sick of hearing it.

– I won’t use your bathroom to drop a deuce. There are only two bathrooms on earth that I will use for that unless it’s an extreme emergency situation…mine at home and the one at my mom and dad’s house. If I ask to use the bathroom at your house, I have no plans to stink or clog it up.

– I’ve changed the oil in a car, fixed a toilet or two, assembled my own furniture, helped my parents install flooring and mowed my own yard.  I know how to shoot a gun and I have an unhealthy love for football. I’m not prissy or overly girly by any means…My first word was dirt, for crying out loud.

– I refuse to grow up too much. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. Fart jokes will always be funny to me.  So while I’ve grown up enough to drag my ass to work every day, I know how to have fun. If you’ve got a toddler with a lego obsession, I’ll be happy to build stuff with him. So what if I can only build houses?

– Going on a long car trip but don’t want to drive? If I’m driving you’ll get there. Sure, I may still get lost in my home town (don’t judge), but I’ve driven myself (without getting lost) to various parts of Michigan, Tennessee, Illinois and Texas.  I made it back to Indiana from Texas with a sleeping co-pilot and an atlas.  That’s a 21 hour drive, y’all.

At work yesterday evening, a guy called to cancel his account. He had been on hold for 40 minutes, so I was trying to be super nice to him but he acted a little weird. I talked to him for a few minutes while I was processing his request and I thought we had a bad connection because I kept hearing an echo.

Once I got everything taken care of, I asked if I could help him with anything else. He said “No, thank you”…

…and then flushed his toilet.

Guess he found something to do while on hold.


Yesterday it was rainy and nasty…so when I looked outside and saw the sky was relatively clear I decided to take a walk for the last ten minutes of my lunch break.

I was walking down an alley when I heard a noise behind me… When I turned to look I realized I was dangerously close to being run over by a pack of hooligans on bikes. There were four of them, all probably between 15 and 16 years old, and they showed no signs of slowing down as they approached. Not wanting to get run over by a bunch of kids, I flattened myself against one of the buildings. I mean, how embarrassing to be run down by teenagers on bicycles?!

Three of them sped past me without so much as throwing an apologetic glance my way. One of them slowed, and I thought he was going to say he was sorry for his rude companions (I believe the kids call them Homies). Imagine my surprise when he said ” ‘Scuse me, ma’am. You got a cigarette I can bum?”

I was a little shocked that someone obviously so young would ask a perfect stranger for a cigarette, but I was more shocked by the semi-polite way he asked (though, truthfully, I wasn’t thrilled that he called me ma’am). I stood there for a second with, I’m sure, a rather stupefied look on my face. When I recovered, I said “I’m sure you’re far too young for that sort of thing.”

The teenager immediately pedaled away, and as he sped off he took the time to yell over his shoulder.

“I’m 19, BITCH!”


Well. So much for polite.

The boyfriend’s birthday is coming up.

I pride myself on picking out truly awesome presents for people…You could almost say I’m a little (er…a lot) competitive about it. Nothing makes me happier than someone telling me they love my gift, especially if that person says it’s the best one they received. Most often I don’t even spend a lot of money, but I put a LOT of thought into what I get someone.

This is really causing a problem for me because I have NO idea what to get him.

I’ve been kicking a few ideas around…and I’ve tried getting him to tell me what he wants without coming right out and asking. I was sure the first thing I thought of would be a real winner until I talked to him about it…and it turns out he already has one. Steee-rike one.

The second thing I thought of would probably be great…but he doesn’t have a computer or internet and that’s kind of necessary. Steee-rike two.

I got frustrated and decided to just get him a case of beer, but that’s neither original nor thoughtful. Steee-rike three.

Damn damn damn damn.

(After typing that four times I’m not even sure it’s a word anymore…)

I know for sure that I could get him a Playstation 3 and probably win best present EVER, but damn…Those things are expensive as hell. It isn’t that I’m unwilling to spend the money on him, because I would…If I had that much extra cash to spend.

This weekend is my self-imposed deadline. I WILL purchase the perfect birthday present for him before Monday.

Now, if I just had the faintest idea what it’s going to be…

They gave me a pedometer at work.

Apparently, it has to do with the fitness program… They’re trying to get a combined number of steps that would equal walking to a far-away location. To be honest, I didn’t listen. As our resident personal trainer handed me the shiny silver box that contained my very own brand-new pedometer, I had only one thing in mind:

I MUST have more steps than ANY OTHER PERSON in the whole company.

I don’t know why, but whenever I get involved in something like this I get super competitive. It’s been a problem since the fundraising days in elementary school. I remember specifically that in sixth grade we made a quilt to raffle off  (the proceeds were to help fund our big trip to Chicago) and the person that sold the most tickets won a prize.

Truthfully, I didn’t give a damn about the prize (a pillow…kinda lame)…I just wanted to WIN. I shoved those raffle tickets in the faces of everyone I knew and dad took them to work. I was so happy to be announced the winner that you’d have thought I’d just won the lottery. I still have the pillow somewhere. It’s still lame. The sweet taste of victory, however, is the farthest thing from it.

Anyway, back to the pedometer.

Since I got the thing earlier today I’ve been looking for excuses to get up from my desk. I’ve made a lot of trips to the bathroom and mail area, walked to another building and made a couple of trips outside on my lunch and break.  To make absolutely sure every single step is registered, I’ve attached the pedometer to the flip-flop on my right foot and I make sure to stomp a little when I walk.

I’m sure it looks a little odd to see me stomping around the office. I don’t care. You know why?

Because that’s the stomp of a WINNER. Just you wait.

During a conversation that might not have really involved me, one of my supervisors made a comment about women’s rights.  Something about setting women back a few hundred years or something…I wasn’t really listening.

Me: Yeah, uh, I’m not all that worried about women’s rights. I mean, they worked that hard for equality and everything and…

(At this point, I ACTUALLY thought twice about what I was going to say. Unheard of.)

Supervisor: And?

Me: Well…I’m just saying, it’s their fault I have to get my ass out of bed and go to work every morning. Gone are the days of sitting on a couch eating Bon-Bons! We had to have EQUALITY.

Supervisor: Are you being serious?

Me: Possibly

Supervisor: I can’t even talk to you right now.

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