Lorraine Says: A Butt. Seriously.

I'm not one for stereotypes.

Okay, that's a total lie. When you grow up in a typical, ginormous Dominican family, stereotypes are the basis for all the humor in your life. Sorry! I will go on record and say that not all stereotypes are true and the others aren't true all the time. But, let's face it, some of these things exist for a reason.

It's funny, because in my family, I'm known as the "white girl." The more Americanized one. The one who's Spanish suuucks.

Amongst my pigmentally challenged friends (aka Rox and Pen) I'm known as the "brown girl." The ethnic one. The one with the best Spanish. (Don't tell Rox, but cuantos muchos dineros isn't really the right way to ask for the price...)

It's all relative. I suppose I just felt a little lacking in my minority side department after this weekend's wedding. Holy mass congregation of Hispanic people.

I love my heritage and all of our quirks and customs. I just feel like, if I was going to have all this spicy, Latin blood coursing through me (ahem) that the least I could've been afforded are the following things:

1.) A better accent. In South Florida, it doesn't matter what you look like, you run a really good chance that people are going to randomly come up to you and start speaking Spanish. After you shoot them a WTF look, they might say, "Oh! Chu no speak-eh Span-eesh?" No, man. I don't speak-eh. It's worse for me, because I look Hispanic. And then I'm all, "Lorraine Valverde" and it's on from there. And while, I can understand it all, and mostly hold my own speaking it, I don't have the best accent. And I definitely don't sound Dominican.

2.) A butt. Isn't that a thing?

3.) Rhythm. I'm not a great dancer. And I'm even worse at dancing anything with a Caribbean beat. Sometimes I think it might be hard, and then, well... He can do it. Damn.

4.) Any appreciation for beans.

Alas, I suppose it isn't in the cards for me.

Also not in the cards for this weekend? Much of anything else really...

On Friday after work, Pen, Rox and I headed to the Sawgrass Mall and attempted to do some damage. On the drive up, we essentially caught each other up on our lives.

Rox? Rox is happy as can be with her Goober and wants to go to Chicago.
I? I'm suffering from wanting to see the good in everyone and never having the will or desire to cut people out or off. Also, I'm dumb.

Pen? Anthology just won't give up and Flava Puff and PhinsFan are heavy on her trail. At any given time one or all of them are blowing up her phone and practically begging to hang out.

Once we got to the mall, we attempted to do some damage, but generally, it was more giggling.

Rox: Hey, I was going to tell you that I almost elbowed that old lady but I put it together and said "elmoed." Hey guys, I elmoed that lady!

It's a thing now. Don't get elmoed.

I suppose it's enough to know that we ended up sitting on the floor of Target trying on every nail polish color in a two aisle radius.

By the time we left the mall, we were all pretty sleepy. We skipped the dessert portion of our night in favor of driving home while drowsily talking about weddings and the day we call each other to say we're going into labor.

Saturday morning, as per usual, Rox and I were up bright and early. And, not because this was particularly news worthy, but because I mentioned it last week and I want to show you this week, I give you New York Cheesecake Pancakes (to the left). Um, there's some missing because I took a bite before I thought about taking a picture. And sort of looking at it now, I realize they aren't really all that apetizing looking, BUT they are magic I tell you. MAGIC.

After breakfast, and a $30 trip to Sally Beauty Supply, I spent the whole day in wedding prep mode.

I mentioned the two kids getting married when I went to her bridal shower. I've know the guy Milk since I was 12 and the girl Eyes just a little less than that. Milk and I once agreed that if we weren't married by the time I was 40(something?) that we would get married. Aaaand there goes my fail-safe option.

The wedding was nice. And as always, weddings do quite a bit to get me, the perpetually single, thinking.

Reasons I Could Never Elope
- Who am I kidding? I *am the girl who's thought about her wedding.
- I want to dance with my father.
- The planning of such an epic event is what I'm built to do. ALL I DO IS PLAN.
- I want my husband to almost pee his pants when he sees me walking down the aisle. Romantic, eh?
- Pachelbel's Canon in D

Reasons I Probably Could Elope
- So. Many. People.
- I freakin' hate, HATE the bouquet toss. I know I don't have to have one, but then it'll be all, "hey where's the bouquet toss?"
- I foresee the epic anxiety freak-out I'll have some point on that day.
- I ain't getting any younger.

Haha. I kid about that last one. Mostly.

So, the wedding was super long, and plans for the rest of the night sort of disintegrated. I went home, washed off my wedding face, took off my hooker heels and into bed it was for me.

That was mostly it! Another weekend, come and gone.

Thirty Days of Truth

Day Six

Something you hope you never have to do.

There wasn't anything that immediately came to mind but I thought of a few things (like get divorced, bury a child, choose between family and love, and on and on) and I like this one:

Physically defend myself.

I've never been in a fight. There was one time in middle school, that I was in heart with Hason and he had a girlfriend. She threatened to beat me up or something, through the grapevine, but that day when I was alone in the hallway putting up a bulletin board (nerd!) she just walked right by me and didn't say a word. I was all, wuh?

Rox was in a pushing incident I think, but that's another story.

I don't know how strong I am, or how I would react in a situation like that! I fear that I would be at an extreme: either I would curl up into a fetal position and be totally  useless OR I would swell up with adrenaline and these monster calves and fake muscles would be deadly. I'd go crazy. Growling. Hair pulling. Barking. Bloodshot eyes.

What? Oh. Just, I hope I never have to find out.

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Hope all of your weekends were lovely and happy Monday!

♥
Lorraine

Sometimes I wish I could veto some of these questions. To see all 30 days of questions, click the link below!

Lorraine Says: What Lorraine? What?

Today, as I was checking out our Google Analytics, I started thinking about how different it is now that people actually read the crap we write. The pressure felt like it was on. "Crap," thought I "I probably have to make more sense or be more funny... be funnier." (And not type out my entire mental processes. Editing exists for a reason. Whoop!)

Then, through further Google Analytics investigation, I suspected Mag was still reading this blog. I asked him about it, because I'm the outright one and he's the "k" and "lol" one. And he was all "no. Your blog is too whiny and self created drama for me."

Say whaaaaat?

I mean, dude, if I *wanted to whine, like truly and sincerely whine, with perhaps some bad poems and soundtracks to my misery, I'm sure I'd have plenty of legit reasons.
His problem is that he's forgotten who I am. And who am I? The type of girl that'll be all, "this sucks," but say it with a smile and energy and a perhaps a tub of ice cream.
Maybe your problem is that you're new here. Haaaaai! Welcome to the Party. Take everything you read lightly, and stick your tongue in your cheek while you do it, and maybe then you'll start to get the idea.
Where was I? Ah, yes. Google Analytics.

I'd thought I'd share a handful of search words that have led many an interweb wanderer from far and wide into our little corner of cyber space.

"My Sneezes" - Springfield

I totally googled "my sneezes" and while I found too many people asking why their sneezes smell bad (wtf?) and a sneezing fetish forum (double wtf!) I didn't see our blog. Er. Okay!

"What Lorraine" - San Antonio

Me! I's Lorraine!

Balls of steel guy in bar party - Denver

Balls of steel! Classic. Also, invite me to your party!

do they really have sex on balls of steel - London

WHAT?

(Also. Do they? Anyone?)

Dominican serial killers - New York

Woah, buddy. I'm Dominican brown, and Penny sometimes thinks movie serial killers are hot, but lets not put that all together.

Drunk doll - Tokyo

Damn good advice. Or perhaps new, socially aware Barbie.

I look like twenty minutes - New York

HA! Me too. Often.

Joke to the boy on the couch that bind the testicles - Milan

I... I just... I don't know. I had to google this myself and I don't recommend it. Stop. Don't do it.

Lorraine drunken blog - Pleasentville

Dude! I'm not a drunk. :(

Lazy day at gym - Monterrey

Oh awesome. We're the #1 website for "lazy day at gym." That's the reputation we want.

Lorraine High 5 - Kuala Lumpur

Nah man! High five to you. Up top!

Rag doll party - Bridgeport

This party theme really is brilliant.

Tampa-ginia - Pembroke Pines

That was totes Penny. The only way she knows how to get to our blog is by Google-ing Tampa-ginia.

The beast is coy - Wichita

Yes. That coy beast.

What does it mean when a man's balls tighten up? - Ottawa

I probably should stop saying "balls" so much, huh? On the other hand, HITS HITS HITS HITS HITS HITS, ERRBODY.

Your the best decision I ever made I just forgot - Manama

What about my "best decision I ever made, I just forgot?"

What...Lorraine...what - Eureka

What?

Google is magic.

Thirty Days of Truth

Day Five

Something you hope to do in your life.

Oh man, there's so, so much. I've got a 25 before 25, which is now really a list that Roxanne made fun of that I have yet to edit. But, in a nutshell, off the top of my head, and in light of my current delicious mood:

Get married. Yeah. I'm one of those gals.

Be a mommy. Yeah-huh.

Publish something.

Travel overseas.

Ride a rollercoaster and not die.

Really, really know how to play my guitar.

Visti every major league ball park, except for maybe Yankee Stadium.

Er. I got no mores. I mean, I'm sure there are lots and lots more but I think my brain is in Friday mode.

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Anyhow, tonight we will be shopping and tomorrow I have another wedding to go to. Other than that, we'll see what the universe has for Little Lorraine.

Oh! Also, I met with an admissions counselor about one of the programs I was interested in transferring into. The wait list? UNTIL 2013.

I can't even compute 2013. Who's all, "yeah buddy! Sign me up for 2014!"

Back to square 1.

Love you!

A very NON-WHINY and totally lovable and in good spirits,

♥

Lorraine

You know what to do by now for more truth, right? Right.

Lorraine Says: Party Over Here

The estimated 16th for my car ready date (remember, I crashed my car into a wall? A stationary wall...) turned into "Wednesday the latest" which turned into "your car failed the alignment test. We're gonna need to do more work. Don't hold your breath."

Add to that the fact that my admissions meeting got pushed back until today.

Then I get home, and thanks to Yahoo! for reporting on the most useless stories evar, I find New Dress A Day. Fudge. Nothing like a brilliant, crafty person making their own cute clothes and being talented and skinny to make you drown in your own ish.

Or, drown in a giant rice bowl of fiesta! goodness with your best friend Penny and talk about how dumb boys are. (That's the option I chose. Yum, rice bowl!)

Yeah, day? Not so great.

Today?!

Today I've received a handful of compliments on my new dress, two compliments on my teal toe nails.

I was called "da bomb" (oh yes), and I'm eating a giant double chocolate chip cookie, warm, fresh and gooey. But, my dear loved ones, today I (or rather Roxanne and I) got something even better:

It's Ted Mosby! But, more importantly, it's also Roxanne and I being given a lovely, lovely shout-out via ThoughtsAppear. I'm working on how to repay the love and also to sort of steal her idea and figure out a way to tell you guys more about the blogs that we frequent.

Isn't that the best thing ever? (Yes. I wish I could send her a whole Kitchen Sink from Jaxsons. Sigh.)

(I'm OD'ing on parenthesis again.)

Thirty Days of Truth

 Day Four

Something You Have To Forgive Someone For

My madre, for doing what she thought was best. For caring so much about us being raised right, that she er... cared a little too much? She also can't stand the things about me that are exactly like her, except she can't see how similar we are. I forgive her for not knowing how to talk to me, and for being so honest.

I have a feeling that I didn't get enough attention as a kid. Or at least, not the right sort of attention.

She'd always notice if my dress was dirty, if I was reaching for another cookie, or if I was whistling, which ladies never do, but that's not really the reasons you want to be noticed.

What ever fudged up combination of things it might've been, I'm slowly realizing that a lot of the way I am now is because I didn't get enough attention. I was off winning literary fairs that my parents didn't even know I entered and writing (really bad) poetry online and checking religiously to see if anyone would comment on them. I did musical theater, where I understudied everyone, but wouldn't actually try out for any part so that I could get the attention of, "oh my goodness you are so good! Why didn't you try out?" without the embarrassment of trying and failing.

It all makes sense to me. I mean, I blog. A shout-out made my day (week!) Obviously I have emotional-goober issues.

I'm a big kid now, meaning that all this ish is my ish to deal with. I don't blame my mother per se, but I forgive her for not paying attention to my interests, what sort of person I was, who I was becoming, etc, etc.

I really freakin' hate these Thirty Days of Truth. No I don't. I love them. But I hate them too.

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In response to Roxanne's last blog, let me just say: I thought that Rain Man being a meth addict was AWESOME. I mean, as far as the story goes. I wish him the best where ever he is, but I totally didn't see drug addict. I really thought the man was nuts and never once believed the whole "he was faking it deal." Man. I sit in a cubicle with paper clips all day.

I love you all equally, dears. And I totally notice you all.

♥

Lorraine

Roxanne doesn't like that it's called a jump. Sooo... please click the following link if you'd like to track the progress of the 30 days I hate love.

Roxanne Says: The Return of 'Si Se Puede'

I'm not positive that I blog enough to deserve center stage. I'm sort of a blogging flake, which I'm sure must get annoying to you avid readers. My flakiness presents a certain blogging barrier, where you guys feel like you can't get close to me because - like a mother addicted to unfiltered Marlboro's, Natural Ice beer and bingo night - I'm seldom around.

Besides, Lor is so much more hamazing than I am. I feel like I haven't said that in too long - she deserves her hamazing praise!

For all of you following the Rain Man saga, the culmination to the story was that...

Drum roll please!

(By the way, do you know how hard it is to find a funny drum roll gif on google? FURTHERMORE, why did I google "drum roll gif" and get a link to this site? Look at the last picture - ohmygee!)

So, Rain Man had a crystal meth addiction! Whomp whomppppp. I was personally voting for "bat shit crazy craze" but anything is more climactic than him faking the whole thing.

Once I googled crystal meth, it all made sense. Granted, he didn't have a Fergie Face or even any traditional form of Meth Face, but the other symptoms were totes there. Sweating, paleness, fatigue (from meth withdrawal), hallucinations - I mean, holy shit - this guy looked at a blank piece of paper and saw the word "DAD" written over and over on it. If that's not drug use, I don't know what is!

Anyway, he came in last Thursday morning and said he wanted to go to the hospital becuase he was tired...which, had I known that was an admittable ailment, I'd be milking that ish for all it's worth - and he thought a hospital stint might make him feel better. He sorta rambled on about how he's a good worker and doesn't want to get fired, but that he doesn't want to be at work and is really tired all the time.

Okay. Whatever you say, Rain Man. Just talk to Polly. I arm Rain Man with all the necessary contact info to call HR and find out about his health insurance while I continue doing my important Operations stuff first thing in the morning.

So Polly comes in about half an hour later and I immediately usher her into my office. I fill her in on Rain Man and immediately she starts "You've gotta be flippin kidding me!" ranting to Stick Stickley and I. I haven't really talked about Stick Stickley yet, have I? Anyway, Stick Stickley - we'll talk about that later. So she's ranting to Stick and I when Rain Man knocks on the door requesting her attention. She heads out to talk to him, they chat for a minute before I basically hear Polly ask for his resignation.

Ruh roh!

They scamper into the conference room next to mine and they're chatting for a while. I get banished down to reception, so any chance I had of eavesdropping went out the window. So I'm downstairs, BBMing Lor and checking my e-mail, when my District Manager walks in. We'll call her...Morticia. So Morticia walks in and she immediately starts talking about "why aren't your cabinet lights on?!"
Anyway. I psst her over to my desk and inform her of the meeting going on upstairs. She heads upstairs and between her and Polly, they finangle his resignation. It turns out that after you admit to being addicted to crystal meth, your job security sort of shoots out the window! Amazing, eh?

He went peacefully and the whole thing was sort of...boring. I wanted more drama, personally. Is it bad that all I could think of as I saw Polly walk him out the door was "what am I going to tell my blog?!".

Le sigh. Life is back to boring at Daddytown. Portu-jumble quit, so we're down to a skeleton crew. I'm hiding in my office more than normal, spending my days making to-do lists for all of my important Operations stuff...which includes making spreadsheets for any and everything and tossing the (now dead) roses that RiSK sent me. Important Ops stuff, people - respect it! ;)

I decided that I'm jumping on the 30 Days of Truth bandwagon...and obviously, I'll be a bit behind Lor because, let's face it : that's just how I operate.

1. Something You Hate About Yourself

I hate how I sabotage myself. I feel like I should be a little bit more "hmm" and "uhh"-y about this, but really, no deliberation necessary. Ever since I can remember, I've been prone to sabotaging myself in one way or another. In all honesty, life should be pretty easy for me - I'm intelligent, I had the ability to do well in school, I come from a good upbringing...statistically, I should be more advanced than I am right now.

I like to blame it on my introduction to the world - ass first and upside down - which my Mom likes to call "doing things ass backwards since day one". Really, it's the best way to describe it. I like to take the hard road to learning a lesson. If I were a rat in a maze, I'd be the one who takes all of the dead ends before I get to the finish. 

It's things like not going to school because I'm afraid of picking the wrong major, or sucking at a sales job because I don't want to be good at it, or even not being physically up to my potential because I'd rather blog (!!) or eat dessert or sleep. I sabotage myself and I'm very bad at disciplining myself. I totes hate those traits.

I'm also not too fond of my pinky toes. They look like baked potatoes. -_-

&rox

...track my progress after the jump!

(can we talk about why it's called a "jump"? I understand that we're "jumping" to the next page, but if that's really all they could come up with, then...*sigh*.)

Lorraine Says: The Circle of Screw

Yesterday, I was dead set on not taking a lunch, and just eating my M&M's. Somewhere after my meltdown, though, I decided it was prime time to make a few phone calls and make some moves towards a better tomorrow.

Or something.

That led to some aimless driving, which led my car to a nearby Target, which led to aimless wandering, and finally to a pee break inside of Target, where I witnessed the following:

I can't tell you how highly distrubed I was.

I want to have kids. I've been taking care of kids for the better part of my life, from Sunday School teaching, to being the go-to babysitter by the time I was 12.

I am, however, afraid of the Circle of Screw. It's like the circle of life, except with screw. I'm afraid to screw my child up. Because let's be honest, if Caitllin were my kid, it would've gone down a little something like this:

Beacause, really, wiping isn't rocket science.

Thirty Days of Truth

Day Three

Something you have to forgive yourself for.

I'm very forgiving, in general. Honest. I'm especially forgiving of myself, because I imagine life gets harder if I'm always mad at me.

I have a feeling that a couple of years down the line, I'm going to look back at my 20-something-teenaged-rebellion and regret a lot of it. I have a feeling that I'm going to have to forgive myself for feeling like I had to put my hand on the stove to know that it was hot.

I always have to forgive myself for not standing up for myself and doing what I want.

"I forgive you for not being that brave, Lorraine, because it also means you aren't that selfish."

I forgive myself for that extra scoop of ice cream, for spending my money unwisely, for talking in circles and then wondering why no one follows, for not trusting people easily, and for lying to my mother.

Wow. This makes me seem like a sucky person. Thanks, 30 Days of Truth.

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So, I've got an appointment with a admissions person today after work. I'm crossing my fingers that it goes well, and I hear what I want to hear.

I'm obssessed with plain M&M's now and I don't know why.

♥

Lorraine

Track my truthful progress after the jump.

Lorraine Says: Like I Like My Coffee

"How tall do you think I am?!" I shouted across the toy aisle to where Cheese Cream was standing by the bikes. There's something about being surrounded by Lego's and Play-Doh that makes shouting and skipping acceptable. Even if you are nearly 24...

"5'2'' and a little bit," Cheese Cream shouted back as I put myself up against the wall measuring poster thingy. "What the...? I take it back. Five feet. What the hell?"

I giggled. No one ever thinks I'm that short. Maybe it's the boobs.

When you're five feet tall, it's easy to be intimidated by things. Well... fine, I'm already easily intimidated and easily embarrassed. The fact that I'm looking up at almost everything doesn't help.

I thought about this all as I tried to untangle my Monday morning feelings. I'm not as tired as I usually am Monday, I had an amazing weekend, somewhere before these words I got up for a cup of coffee, I should be getting my car back today, and the next few weeks should be pretty amazing.

(Side note -  I realized I'm one of those, "like my coffee like I like my men" people: light, sort of flimsy, and really sweet. *giggle*)

All of this should make me happy but I knew as I listened the same song on repeat and had trouble focusing my eyes that something was off:

Life is intimidating me.

Rox and I had IHOP on Saturday morning. Yep. It was magic. I bet if I had a stack of those strawberry cheesecake pancakes right about now, I'd be shaking fists at life all, "me and THIS army." But that's neither here nor there.

IHOP judges us, I think. We sit there, with entirely way too much food and IHOP shakes it's head at us and demands to know what we're doing with all of our creative energy, all our amazing plan making skills, all our smarter than the average bear-ness. We don't know, IHOP. At least, I know I don't know.

It's why I keep sticking to what's comfortable. It's why I've been showing up to my cubicle job for the past 8 months, because it isn't a challenge, no one notices me, it's comfortable money and it requires no further effort.

It's why I keep turning to Magpie, not literally or physically, but emotionally. It's why I still remember him with fondness and feed into my "I miss him" emotions. Because even though I know that he's moving on, getting over this last hump and putting up a headstone on the entire thing requires that last push of energy and effort. It's one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Having it be really, really over, emotionally and all, is intimidating.

It's why I'm now a couple of weeks out of the start of the semester, and as much as I want to go to school, I haven't committed to a single damn thing.

It's so many things that want to change at once, and I'm not sure how to do it all at the same time. I'M ONLY FIVE FEET TALL. (Dude, I'm sure one of the perks of being fun-sized is being able to irrationally blame being fun-sized for stuff.)

That's where I am, this Monday morning.

In case you wondered how I got here, other than my mommy's car (I really miss my car...) here's the Weekend Wrapped Up:

1.) Friday is not the weekend. I voted, I vetoed Friday's ability to disguise itself as the weekend. During the day, Rox, Pen and I exchanged, "what should we dooo?" texts/emails/BBM's. As soon as I stepped in my house Friday evening,

Lor: I look like ish.

Rox: I feel like ish.

Pen:                     

(silence. She went missing to sleepy land.)

Okay Friday. We get it.

2.) Saturday morning I was up by 6:30am. Do you guys remember how I'm in counseling? Well part of the deal was meeting with my aunt the Pastor Saturday morning. So I did that, and then went home and took the longest shower ever, probably to make up for the fact that last Saturday, I was too lazy to shave. By the time I got out, Rox had already "hai'd" me and it was only a matter of time before we made plans to get dolled up, eat pancakes, and bounce around town.

I put on a skirt, I changed that skirt, emptied the contents of my closet only to end up with the original skirt, I did my make-up, puffed my hair (it wasn't behaving) played with my guitar, assessed the possibility of learning Paramore's "Only Exception," died of hunger, resurrected and Rox was all, "Dude, seriously, five more minutes."

I'm so used to being the late one! It was weird. Anyways, when I got out to the car, Rox looked flippin' adorable.

Rox: Okay, so. I had a wardrobe melt-down. I had this hair, with this flowery shirt, and that blazer and I was leaving the house and I caught a glimpse of myself and... I looked like Tori from "Save By The Bell."

Lor: *dies again*

Do you guys remember the Kelly Kapowski bang? Apparently, Rox is on a one woman mission to resemble every character on "Saved By The Bell." I'm just anxiously waiting for the day when I get the BBM, "need 10 more minutes. I look like Screech."

Also, seriously, her association skills are off the charts. Everything looks like something, and she just happens to always know what that something is.

Anyhow, we ended up at IHOP, we were judged, and then we scooped Penny, who is anti-HOP.

What followed, my dear friends, with no exaggeration was nearly 8 hours of straight shopping. We raped Target, pillaged the new super Forever 21 at the Aventura Mall, and made-out with Kohl's. And I don't feel the least bit bad about it.

Highlights of the day included Penny's climbing into the back-seat of Roxanne's Mustang and finding, in her words, "Lady Gaga's Lint Roller."

Me, sucking at calling shot gun and being stuck in the worst back seat evar.

Me, wearing a short skirt + the Mustangs leather seats. Ouch.

Rox "finding" her mix which was 87% NSYNC, then some Avril and Alanis. That was the soundtrack for the day. FML.

Any and every conversation that starts with, "I know this is TMI, BUT..."

Any and every conversation that starts with, "On MY wedding day..."

We're such girls. The best girls ever invented.

3.) Sunday, I went to church, ate dinner and had dessert with Cheese, Pink and Gailey. I also went on a massive music organizing/listening spree. I've obtained so much new music over the past couple weeks and there was so much I hadn't listened to yet.

Thirty Days of Truth

Day Two

Something you love about yourself.

I'm not one of those "loves everybody, wants everyone to like her, wants everyone to be okay," types. It's hard to really plant yourself in my life (so says the short list of my good friends) but once you're there, once I love you in any capacity, I'm the caretaker.

I'm the hold your hair when you're throwing up, visit you with soup, hold your hand in the emergency room, text you just to see if you're alright, let you cry and complain to me friend. Not because I set out to be, but because that's how I know to show that I care. And apparently I'm equipped for all the above.

One day in the future, I can say with absolute certainty, that I'll make some lucky man very well taken care of.

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I feel like I have so much more to say. I'm not even sure what that would be, other than I fully intend on eating a bag of M&M's for lunch, but this post has gone on long enough.

I like you guys silly.

And I hope all of your weekends were filled with magical pancakes, really good music, even better friends, and shopping.

♥

Lorraine

You can check out the entire 30 day truth challenge after the jump.

Lorraine Says: Yes! No. Er, Yes? Okay, No. (Yes.)

If we are what we eat...

Somewhere along the line, I lost most of my fear of eating lunch at the office.

What ze fudge, Lorraine?! You have a fear of eating?

Er. Maybe. Maybe fear isn't the right word, but it makes me itchy, for sure. Eating in public alone also makes me itchy, though, so lately I've been bringing my food back to the old cube and chomping it down in here.

Anyways, this week, my total weekly cubicle visitors went from 1 to like 27. Seriously. People came over here asking questions and sometimes just confirming that in the absence of boss-lady-on-vacation, I didn't spontaneously combust.

This means that my worst worries about eating at the office have all been realized this week. Let's take a look at when people decided to come visit me: 9:00am and I'm eating a king sized chocolate bar. When I'm mixing my salad and half of it ends up on my desk. When I'm piling up a stack of chocolate chip cookies in front of me like blocks. When the contents of my sandwich are falling out of the end I'm not eating. When I underestimate the size of the last bite and end up with chipmunk cheeks.

Sigh.

There is just something about people looking at my half eaten food that embarrasses me so much. I know people know I eat, but they don't actually have to see what I eat. It's like... you know. That other thing we do. It's like... peeing. EW!

I know people... do that thing. But I just don't want to think about it.

I'd like to think I'm pretty honest with you guys. I tell you all sorts of stuff, like how I hate sharing the stairwell with other people. I tell you guys when all I eat all day is ice cream and cookies. I tell you when I spend my entire paycheck on nail polish and noise makers.

On Rox's and I's second friend date we went to go eat Cold Stones. Our first date was probably the Chilli's thing with Phoenix. So, she's asking me how that was going (the answer was that I probably reminded him that he had a crush on Rox, so going = not at all) and I was picking at my mint chocolate chip ice cream and talking when she came back with, "You don't really say much, do you?"

She went on to explain how I was pretty good at dancing around topics without ever actually sharing anything. She'd pegged me. I kept eating my ice cream.

I think that's what I do on this blog a lot too. Don't get me wrong, I think it's awesome! If I can tell you anecdotes about awkward elevator rides and never really have to say, "I have the social grace of a retarded monkey," I think we all win. But, I mean, I guess a little direct honesty never hurt anyone. Probably it did, but I'm ignoring that for the benefit of this entry.

After I saw this on Stephanie Ann's blog, I thought I'd take a shot at it.

30 Days of Truth

Day One

Something you hate about yourself.

Gross. I don't like this question. But, I guess if I had to chose something, I'd say I hate that I always second guess myself. I'm well equipped to think things through and analyze situations from all angles. I'm honest with myself and I'm pretty freakin' strong when I want to be. This would all be amazing if I didn't second guess myself at every turn.

Is that what I want, or what someone else wants?

Do I miss him or do I miss having him around?

What do I want to do with my life?

Is that really what I want for lunch?

Yes?

No?

Maybe?

Damn it.

No decision is ever easy for me. And I really suck at looking at things in a long term sense. If right now, it doesn't seem to be panning out, I panic, I freak, I second guess. 

In case you were wonder, yes, it sucks.

Hence, "something I hate about myself."

Okay, so I was honest! What do I get? A cure? Money? A cookie?

Er....? Anything?

Crap, I gotta do this for 29 more entries and my grand prize is a whole lot of nada?

See: sucks at looking at things in a long term sense.

---------------------------------------------------------------- 

So, Rox and I decided last night that we'd been so well behaved recently that a dinner was in order. We went to Friday's and both had way too much food to be proud of. Also, apparently our waiter was a nicer version of Donkey Lips from "Salute Your Shorts." Only Rox can come up with these dead on look-a-likes. Seriously.

We also talked a bit about my 24th birthday, how the AC repairman hit on her, the truth behind Rain Man (OMG you guys have to hear it. It's awesome.)

I like you kids. Also, Orbitz gum gives me a stomach ache. What the hell?

♥

Lorraine

(If you want to see the rest of the Thirty Days of Truth challenge, it's after the jump.)

Lorraine Says: Meet My Kid, Maj

I want to be mad today, but I think I'm too tired to accomplish that.

Roxanne and I have this theory about sleeping less more often. If you sleep too much, you just end up being more sleepy. Rox and I have spent the most productive, magical of our days running on no more than 4-6 hours of sleep and varying amounts of coffee and delicious foods. True story. We should sleep less more often.

Key word being LESS. When you're sleeping not at all (me), it gets to the point where you are too tired to be irrationally angry, or so tired you're reading a news story about Alaska National Guard spokesman Maj. Guy Hayes, and wonder what mom would name her kid Maj. Your core body temperature drops down and you can't freakin' sit still in your cubicle and that's only making you more tired. You take pictures of the sky.

Dude, here's what it looks like today in sunny South Florida:

WORD, sky. I feel you.

All I'm saying is, I'm tired and I need to sleep.

Also, I need certain things in my life to not be around when I wake up: icky all day downpours, the lack of vending machines at my office, the realization that you've changed, wet socks, wet jeans, guilt over having made a bad, bad decision, only having two days in a weekend, insurance deductables, the requirement that all offices must be kept at Antartic temperatures, long lines at the FAST FOOD joint, spam comments (growl), these bags under my eyes and world hunger and world peace.

Chocolate you can stay. Rox, Pen, you guys are good. Blog, interwebs, blog peeps, just don't make any sudden movements.

♥

Lorraine

Roxanne Says: Rain Man Needs His Own Tag

This is getting gooooooood, you guys!

So, originally, I thought Rain Man was just weird. Functionally autistic or something of the like. Sorry if I'm offending any of you functionally autistic people out there - RiSK, I know you read this sometimes. No offense! ;)

[Bwahah. I just called my boyfriend functionally autistic!]

Guys, he is SO FAR PAST functionally autistic. However, this story has taken a wicked turning point. I'll give the deets and let you decide:

So Friday, he just continues his odd behavior. Lots of wandering, mumbling, pacing, sweating - odd stuff. He can talk to customers and sound fine...lots of uncertainties in his talking to customers and insecurities with his selling style, but he sounds like a normal and rational human being. But when there's no customers? Rain Man returns.

Puss and Polly had an in-home consultation Friday afternoon, leaving me alone with Rain Man. ME! ALONE! WITH RAIN MAN! As they left, Polly gave Rain Man some meaningless busy work task to do on the other side of the showroom from where I was. I was working on inventory issues and printing inventory labels, deep in concentration.

About 15 minutes later, Rain Man announces he's finished his task and is going downstairs to wait at reception in case any customers come in. Sweet, I think! Go away!

Reception is basically an excuse to sit on your ass for hours, which is perfectly fine. It's an oversized leather chair, a big desk, a computer, a phone, and never any customers. I politely ask him to answer the phone if it rings, as I'll be wandering around the showroom doing my important Operations related stuff, and he kindly agrees.

Ten minutes later:
Ring...
Ring...
RING...
RING...this bitch doesn't answer the phone! Fine, I think. Maybe he's on the crapper/smoking/sleeping in one of the beds downstairs while sucking this thumb. Whatevs. I'll let it slide.

This happened like 5 times within the span of an hour. He answered the phone NOT ONCE. While he was SITTING IN FRONT OF A PHONE.

Whatever, I think. He's weird, I can't expect too much.

I go downstairs to do my important Operational thing down there, and he gets up from the desk and starts following me. I'm immediately unnerved but attempt small talk - which I suck at.

"How's the job so far?"

He responds that he likes it, and makes some side pouty comment about life. One of those woe-is-me, ask me about my life, comments.

I ignore it. Thanks for working with me, but I could give a flying fuck about what's going in your life. I'm not here to be the Lucy to your Charlie Brown! The psychiatrist is NOT in.

He continues to wander in a weird way...staring into space a lot, making odd comments, fidgeting. Finally he stops and seriously looks at me, eyes filled with worry. Oh shit, I think - he's gonna unleash some giant life load all over me and I don't fucking want it. NO NO NO.

"Roxanne," he starts, "did you ever wish that fairy godmothers were real?"

GET ME OUT OF HERE.
SRSLY?! YOU'RE 43 YEARS OLD, DUDE.

When Puss and Polly came back, I had to share. I HAD to.

Polly just thinks that Rain Man is having issues with his boyfriend, and I can totally see that being the case. He seems super into his boyfriend, but he's distracted in a manner that leads us to believe that issues with his relationship are taking him away from his concentration for work. It's okay, it happens to the best of us!

WELL.

When Marcia comes into work this morning, she tells me that I missed a crapload of shit this weekend, and she immediately begins to catch me up.

To Make A Long Story Slightly Longer But More Abbreviated With Bullet Points:

• Rain Man proceeded to take a painting down off all the wall and stare at it for over half an hour, pointing and saying a series of letters and numbers. It was a painting of swirls, and he's reciting numbers and letters. Wha? Both Marcia and Puss came over to try and see what he was seeing, and he wouldn't acknowledge their presence or explain to them what he was talking about when he was mumbling...he just ignored them.
• He stormed up to Polly, Marcia and The Cook as they were chatting at reception and demanded them to tell him that his Dad was okay. They were blank faced, of course, because...I mean...what the fuck? He then again says "TELL ME THAT MY DAD IS OKAY." They ask about his Dad but he just ignores them, goes outside, and paces on a phone call.
• On Sunday, when it was his turn for a customer, he just decided he was going to leave and go to the furniture store next door. Our competitor. When it's his turn for a customer.
• The designers don't really have desks or offices, but they have little "cubby" like desks - it's the only way I can think to describe it. Little divider walls make 4 desks that run against an actual wall. Portu-jumble was at her desk working when he walks in, goes over to his desk and then stands above it, profusely sweating and talking to himself. She asked if he was talking to her, and he just ignored her.

All suuuper bizarre behavior, right? Well, here's the kicker:

1. All of this really started a week ago, after he found out that our health insurance benefits kick in from the date of hire. No waiting period, nada - as soon as you sign up for them, you have them.
2. He's perfectly normal around customers. Polly even accompanied him to an in-home consultation he had over the weekend and he was perfectly functional.
3. If he was this bizarre all along, wouldn't someone have noticed during the interview or something?

I can't help but think that it might not be real. The fact that he seems to turn it on and off is SO WEIRD. But why would you intentionally act weird? 

Opinions, my smart blogosphere?

&rox

Lorraine Says: I Am 23 Going On 89

Lorraine Note: This blog was started on Saturday night while I sat in bed in an over-sized tee. I didn't finish because I got up, got pretty and spent a night on the town, dancing, making new friends and causing men to fall in love with my laugh, witty conversation and love of life. OR I fell asleep. The rest was finished on Monday morning from the Paper Folding office.

If you don't know that that title is totally to the tune of The Sound of Music's "Sixteen Going on Seventeen," you just don't know me at all. I mention singing nuns on this blog a lot, I think. I don't know what that means.

I usually don't start my weekend re-cap before the weekend is over, but really I think the entire experience can be summed up with one revelation: I didn't ever put on a real bra today. [Lorraine Note: That would be bra-less Saturday. We've already determined that I could never come into work with Hot-Dog Uni-Boob.]

There you have it ladies and gents. Saggy boobs and all, this blog might just soon become all geriatric anecdotes about missing teeth and the good ole' days. We're actually pretty ready for that blog, as we've already named our old lady sides.

Oh, don't look at me that way. I nicknamed Roxanne's COUCH. We nickname everything. Roxanne's good girl, meeting the parents side. Vyelit's actually being cool to hang out with side. Our social anxieties.

As hard as it may be to believe, seeing how *awesome we must come off via blog, Rox and I share common social anxieties. We make plans only to freak out moments before, like say...when we were lost inside of the UF campus, looking for the Orange and Brew where we were to meet up with high school friends we hadn't seen in years. Or when we agreed to a coffee date with Phoenix, on a whim, after spending an afternoon looking at old maps. Or when we freaked out in the parking lot outside Cannonballs, because even though we were effin' starving, who told us seeing Magpie again was a good idea?!

I suppose our old ladies just want to come out and play more lately. It's some combination of being economically challenged, energy deficient, and we wouldn't be girls if we didn't occasionally exercise our right to blame it on hormones. 

Rox: I like to blame my intolerance on hormones. Makes me feel less bitchy. "Hey my ovaries don't like you this week."

Lor: "Look, it ain't my fault, God made me this way."

Rox: "You'll have to excuse me, I have larger concerns...like shedding my uteran lining."

She's a genius.

As Rox mentioned in her lazy-face post, our plans went to the pooper on Saturday morning. I was in bed staring at my phone and wondering how to properly convey the feeling that shaving my "winter legs" was the last thing I wanted to do at that moment, or you know, ever, when I got a BBM from Rox.

Rox: I don't think I want to go to the beach anymore. Too much effort... I don't want to shave.

Have I mentioned how genius-y Rox is? 'Cause she is. Anyhow, it rained and was ugly on Saturday, so that we didn't feel like total lazy dorks.

After declaring ourselves too lazy for maintenance and grooming, the rest of the day just followed that trail into the crapper. Pink cooked dinner for Vye and me, and even though I did make the effort to get to her house, she served me dinner, Cheese Cream served me coffee and dessert, and after I ate, my mom drove me home, where I re-parked myself, still no real bra, back onto the bed.

Basically, Sunday our plans also went to shizz too. We planned on seeing a movie but family obligations and rain just proved too much. I did, dear readers, shave my legs, however. I know if I didn't update you, you'd wonder forever.

Bad Things About This Weekend:

Roxanne Says: Lazy Days Are Delicious.

Riddle me this, dawgs: what's the point of a lazy day if you day dream of the gym all day? I kept BBM'ing Lor and telling her that "I want to go to the gym" but always followed it up with some sort of contradictory statement. True to life examples include:

"So, I want to gym! And CVS! But instead, I'm Phishing on Raymond." [Lor named my couch Raymond. I'm not sure how that happened, but...yeah.]

"I want to gym but I want to take a shower. Fucking gym. I want to open my wine."

Somewhere between trying to open my new bottle of wine with a pair of scissors and taking the 3rd nap of the day, I didn't make it to the gym. Shocker.

Forget the gym, let's look at our initial set of plans:

A morning consisting of me, Lor, Pen, Tea and Baby Georgia girl. We were supposed to do breakfast at Einstein's, get some smoothies and head to the beach.

Yeahhhh, about that.

After falling asleep on my couch loveseat (it's srsly only a loveseat - this information is only relevant now) literally moments after Lor and Pen walked out my house, I awoke at 6:45 this morning. I had Chocolate Cheerios (popped my Chocolate Cheerio cherry this morning - they're actually pretty good! They want to be Cocoa Crispies REALLLLLLLY bad), thus ruining my drive for breakfast. Once I had no drive for breakfast, I no longer wanted to shave and/or think of getting into a baby suit. NO THX.

Thank Jeezy that Lor shared my NO SHAVING! sentiment...she's a lifesaver. And Pen...well, we just generally didn't hear from her today. Where was she? Hmmm.

My couch then ate me and I napped for like an hour. I watched some Hallmark movies, did some laundry, watched some YouTube videos and then my bed kidNAPped me for approximately 2 amazing, delicious, satisfying hours...although I'm worried about the level of radiation damage I received as I fell asleep CUDDLED WITH MY LAPTOP. Really folks, it happened.

Fast forward (because nothing great happened) to now, where I'm in bed and blogging. You guys know what Lor and I say about the laptop + bed thing...I'm now basking in the pinnacle of laziness. I'm at the top of Mt. LazyLazeMore. And all I can think about is making peanut butter and jelly.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.

You'll have to excuse me. I just found the pre-cursor to my next nap.

&rox

Roxanne Says: I Work With Rain Man.

Seriously, I do. Total "K-Mart, 400 Oak Street"/"Judge Wapner"/all out autistic hot mess Rain Man. Actually, that's what we'll call him: Rain Man.

Daddytown Furniture has some interesting characters as it is. A short cast of characters:

Rain Man: The new guy, obviously. Guilty of lots of nonsensical mumbling and always look like he's trying to answer "Who's on first?" in his head. SERIOUSLY. Is he formulating the chemical compound formula for the glue on Post-Its in there?! (copyright: Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion...best movie EVAR.)

Marcia Marcia Marcia: The pretty, tall, wholesome girl who single handedly keeps us all in a job. However, some of my co-workers are jealous of her because she's "priveleged" and "favorited" (aka: SHE DOES HER FUCKING JOB).

Portu-Jumble: I really don't like this lady. I shouldn't say that about co-workers, because it's a sensitive atmosphere, but she is ALWAYS coming to work late on the days that I'm the "manager." The designers are supposed to be here at 9:30 and on those two days, she's ALWAYS coming in at 9:59, 10:05, 10:15! It drives me fucking nuts. And then she sits on the phone at the front desk and makes personal calls in Portu-jumble (Portugese) ALL DAY LONG and then complains when she doesn't make enough commission.

Puss In Boots: He's just like one of the girls. Gossipy, sensitive, and starts rants with "I don't mean to be a bitch but..." It's HAMAZING.

Polly Purebred: She's my manager. I adore her because she's so sweet and optimistic and pure. Polly has never worked in a corporate atmosphere before - she's always managed and designed for small companies or for herself. So catty corproate politics totally baffle and offend her. She's going to be one of the best managers I ever worked for, hands down.

The Cook: The little older lady Receptionist that works a few days a week. Her speciality is stirring shit up when she's in. Oh, such and such said this! So and so thinks that!

So, Rain Man is wandering around on the first floor today while I'm inspecting rugs for model numbers. He's just STANDING THERE, looking around. The Cook and I get into a conversation about the new point of sale system we're supposed to switch over to (sometime eventually maybe) and then I start telling her about my vast experience with the different point of sale systems I used prior to the Teets (DPS, Magellan, rPOS). I start ratting off all the different point of sale systems I've worked with and Rain Man is just standing there, listening. Five minutes later, he comes up to me and this is how the conversation goes:

Rain Man: So DPS...David (something) Steve?
Me: (blank face) What?
Rain Man: (shows me his notepad...scribbled on it is the name of all the POS systems I used in my past life) Is that what DPS means?
Me: ...what?
Rain Man: Is someone stealing credit card numbers? Is that what you guys were talking about?
Me: WHAT?!
Rain Man: Well you mentioned all of this stuff...(points to sheet)
Me: Look, I was talking about all the sale systems I used at my old job...this has no relevance to this job or anything we do here.
Rain Man: (reading one of our price tags) THO...is that short for Theo?

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.

Anyway, this is not a one time occurence. Polly and I were having a deep conversation today about some interoffice beef that is going down at Daddytown, and I finally looked at her and said "Yo dude, I know you hired Rain Man and all, but he's FUCKING WEIRD." Her face illuminated and she agreed wholeheartedly, lol. She had just began to notice it, too.

So anyway, here I am...working in the same store and someone who probably has the mental wherewithall of a bar of Lever 2000 annnnnnd I'm just a sitting duck. Super fantastic.

&rox

Thursday To Do: Chill Lil' Momma Edition

Hey guys! Look what time it is: half-past the-time-when-Lorraine-goes-a-bit-stircrazy-and-plan-happy-'cause-life-is-too-slow. I suppose that would be like holy-mixed-emotions-and-moodiness-hundred-hours in military time.

No, but  honestly: still a bit bouncy, still brimming with ideas and creative energy and today more stranded than ever. Even literally, as it's my last day with my rental car. (I realize that those sentences weren't quite sentences. Look away!)

Though I'm not looking forward to the next 10 days with out my own car, I will love getting rid of the feeling that I've forgotten my children somewhere every time I climb into the Grandma Camry. The Gramry? Say goodbye to the Gamry errr-one.

Anyways, in the spirit of "get me the fudge out of here!" and... other stuff...ugh...

Math equation time! (Roxanne's love > baseball > life thing doesn't have the monopoly on mathematical prowess around here.) (I seriously feel drugged up. I have no clue what I'm saying.)

Energy + HORMONES x chocolate chip cookies(2)(fine I lied, 3) + creativity =

Seven Things We Decided or I've Thought About Since Dinner With Rox And Pen Because I Like Counting. I LIKE COUNTING!

Roxanne Says: Love > Baseball.

Look at me, all mathematical this week and all!

Love > baseball is a pretty bold statement from someone who basically signed her death warrant by declaring baseball supremacy over football last night. Let's face it, folks...baseball isn't everything.

(It isn't?!)

Love is a pretty awesome emotion. How awesome, do you ask? Well, let's just say that someone took the feeling of being 7 years old on Christmas Day (sub Christmas for Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/whatever day it is that you, personally, get the most presents. Hey, we have readers worldwide (we really do, we checked the tracker...we may seem like we're making this shit up, but we're not really)...I'm not going to assume about religions and all)...

....
??!

....what was I saying? Oh yes. I was writing the longest and most unnecessary parenthetical side note EVER CREATED.  Anyway, *ahem*. So take the feeling of being 7 years old on Christmas morning and combine that with how you'd feel if you found a million bucks with a big note with YOUR NAME on it, and then multiply (siderant: can we kill all of the people who refer to multiplying something as "times" or "timesing it"? I'm pretty sure Mr. Merriam-Webster would appreciate that) it by the excitement you feel when the Red Sox beat the Yankees.

(Sorry, I had to. )

Anyway guys, THAT is love! Love isn't having an I-Love-You war to see who hangs up the phone first. Love isn't expecting your significant other to always put the toilet seat back in the position most convenient for you! Hell, love isn't even any of the stuff I've come so fond of reading in my Peanuts calendar.

If you guys are dry-heaving at this love talk, just blame RiSK. He's infected me with these "awful love feelings" he has towards me.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''']
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 ^ by the way, that was Pork. He says hi. He was stepping on my laptop attempting to get to my Cheetoh bag. Does my laptop have a weight limit?! Ohhhh boy.

&rox

Lorraine Says: You're The Best Decision I Ever Made

"I just, er... forgot that. Ooops."

That's almost a direct quote from the movie we watched (read: caught the last 20 minutes of before Rox turned to channel to baseball) last night, 17 Again, starring Zac "John Stamos Lite Who'd I Like A Tad More If He Weren't So Popular And Also Well Coiffed" Efron.

Isn't that a romantic sentiment? It's exactly how I feel about Roxanne's couch. Oh, sure, somewhere under Rox's tribute to loving baseball, I may have accused her house of trying to kill me, but it was a temporary feud, apparently. We made up last night, and I walked away with no runny nose or itchy legs.

Yesterday after work, Penny, Rox and I finally managed to scrounge some time together. We sat around for a little while and tried to one-up each other about who was the most broke.

Rox: I've got $29 until Friday!

Pen: I've got more than that but I don't get paid until NEXT Friday!

Lor: I've got like $70 until Friday, but I have to pay $500 in about a week... and I've got like $70.

We couldn't decide who "won" so we did what any smart girls in our situation would do: we went to Applebees. Our financial responsibility is astonishing. Girls have to eat though, or else they die. That's science.

Of course, our server that night wasn't our usual Sweet Cherries (that's not what her name tag says, but what the tattoo on her boob says...) but it was $$$JOHN$$$ (that is what his name tag said.) I had fun calling "Money John" after him but never to his face. I r shy.

After eating, a few realizations that I think I'll leave for a blog post all their own and some life catch-up, we promptly reported back to Rox's couch.

Somehow, all the conversation of the night led to us each exploring the blog. Penny was catching up on entries, and Rox and I were looking at old entries, when I saw this:

 _______________________________________

Dear Tiger,

First of all, DON'T YELL AT ME, or else I might just forget where your insulin is placed, SIR. Second of all...just...don't yell at me. I keep thinking you're going to puke somewhere. Puke makes me vomit. *lurch.

kissies,

&rox

_______________________________________

Puke makes me vomit, GIGGLE. Anyways, I saw that little letter to Tiger and I decided that I should write more letters.

Lorraine's Little Letters

Roxanne Says: Baseball > Life.

Seriously. Don't agree? Well, then you probably like football. People who like football (aka, people with IQs rivaling Forrest Gump) generally don't agree with any of my zOMG baseball sentiments. To those people, I say:

So, part of my baseball enthusing comes from Lor and I planning my weddingI'llneverhave. She shared deets of the WINH in her last blog, but for those playing the home game, I'll rehash.

Basically, she decided that I seem like the type to have a baseball themed wedding.

Now, I'm not a tomboy by any stretch of the imagination, but I LOVE me some baseball. I'm sure you've seen it on the blog - baseball is a recurring them for both me and Lor. RiSK and I going to games, Lor and I going to games, me attempting to google which angle is the best to attack the player parking lot to ensure the highest chance of sexually accosting a professional baseball player...I mean, these are hobbies that I don't really hide.

There's just something about the idea of watching a bunch of girls in froufy dresses with baseball gloves on catching a bouquet that makes me heart swell like the Grinch.

....

Don't judge me.

It really is becoming a problem, though. Lor, Pen and I sat down tonight and were trying to decide on a show to watch in a once-a-week date kind of setting and as I was touring Wednesday's programming, all I kept thinking was "Why can't we watch baseball?!" and "What if I miss baseball?" These things are BAD, people! One track mind kind of shit!

Plus, it's almost the off season...what the hell am I going to do?!

*wipes forehead* This is exhausting just thinking about! I think I'll go have a glass of wine and watch MLB Tonight...bwahahaha.

Glutton for punishment - I'm doing it right!

&rox