Funny Story

At my job, we work very closely with many other federal agencies. One department in particular is Medicare Assignment of Benefits, which is a phone number that I give out at least once a week.
Not so long ago, I got a call from a little old lady who seemed genuinely distraught and totally confused. When I asked her what was wrong, she replied, "Well honey, I tried the number that you gave me for Medicare, and I just hear this person breathing really heavily into the phone. I think something must be wrong with them." The lady was truly concerned for the health of the person who answered the Medicare line.
I didn't think too much of it, until I got a second call a few weeks later from a man who was verifying the number I gave him. "I must have written the number down wrong, because that was a porn site that I just called," the man said to me.
I panicked. Had I been giving out a porn number to the elderly population of Brazoria County? I tried the telephone number, only to hear loud and heavy breathing in the background and the music playing: "bow chicka bow wow." Never have I slammed a phone down so quickly.
Yep. I had done it. I had gotten the Medicare phone number wrong and inadvertently given out a pornographic telephone number to dozens of old people...
Leave it to Courtney.

200th Post

Recently, I've noticed things about myself that are unique. I use the word "unique" and not "weird" to make myself feel less like a circus freak and more like an independent woman...
For instance, I have a single curly strand of hair that has plagued me for as long as I can remember. It's on the right front part of my head, and that single strand of hair is always unhealthy and frizzy. It's troublesome, and I spend the majority of my mornings straightening and conditioning that one strand of hair.
My right arm is bigger than my left. This stems from the fact that I used to be a pitcher. But that was almost 10 years ago, and still my right arm is not normal. For this reason, and for the fact that the left side of my booty is bigger than my right, I always take pictures from the left. My hair's better from the left, my arm's smaller from the left, and my booty's bigger from the left. I'm hot from the left side. Not so much from the right...

And also, as is evident from today's title, this is my 200th post!
I'd like to thank my friends and family, who provide me with countless quirky blog topics. To the crazy neighbors, who leave me constantly amazed with their random yard signs. To the Homeowners Association and the politicians who piss me off enough to talk shit on my blog about them. And to the readers. Ahh, the readers. Where would I be without the readers? You inspire me in ways I could never have imagined in my pre-blog world. You leave me comments that make me want to push on and persevere, even through the intense writer's block days when all I want to do is watch TV. You make me want to be...a better writer.
You. Complete. Me.

Scatterbrain

Since I'm way too scatterbrained to complete a single thought these days, I'll give a brief rundown of the things going through my head at the moment:
1) Craig and Felicia spent last Wednesday night with me since hubby was out of town. I was making deviled eggs, and we thought it a great idea to see what happens when you throw a hard boiled egg into a pit of fire. Turns out, it cooks a while, sizzles a bit, turns watery and then pops. Excellent to know. Not so excellent to clean up. I learned this second bit of valuable knowledge a few days too late, from an unamused Kevin this afternoon.
2) Today, as I was eating an egg roll in my living room, the commercial for anti-fungal cream came on where the little fungus cartoon guy jumps under the toenail of some poor, unsuspecting person. That might be the single-most grotesque commercial EVER. Is it really necessary?
3) This Friday is Kevin's company Christmas party, complete with d.j., open bar, buffet and casino games. Combine those things with formal dresses, as it is a "casual/formal event" and it has all the ingredients for disaster. With the wrong combination of said ingredients, one could get drunk, lose all their money, dance right out of their formal attire, and then eat their sorrows away, all right in front of your bosses and co-workers. Beautiful. Imagine waking up fat, broke, hung over, and with "Macarena" playing on repeat in your brain. I wait with baited breath.
4) And what in the hell is "casual/formal"??? I mean there's a pretty big range there, right? "Wear either overalls or a tuxedo, booty shorts or a ball gown." Narrow it down, for the love. The people need direction. Lord help me to get through the night without singing karaoke...
5) My brother just bought a new bike, leaving me to inherit "the hog." I've never been so excited about anything EVER.
6) Bonus thought: I miss the days of "booty" rap. Those songs were classic: Big Booty Hoe, Back that Ass Up, Baby Got Back, Rump Shaker, and Da Booty. They totally promote healthy body images. Back in the 90's, everybody wanted to be a big booty hoe. And really, there's nothing wrong with that. Is it sad that I actually own the "Monster Booty" cd?

Taco Junkie

You know you go to Taco Bell too much when you're leaving and the lady at the drive thru window says, "Bye girl - see ya tomorrow."
Shit that's embarrassing!

Watch Out Lance Armstrong

This afternoon, my brother and I were wanting to go on a bike ride. I was especially wanting to go, since I've spent the last two days cooped up in my house, trying not to throw up.
The problem: my last bike got stolen when I was off at school, and Craig's got wrecked a few years ago.
The solution: My parents have, in their posession, my grandma and grandpa's 1970-model bikes: One bright blue and one rusty red.
The complication: Both bikes are UGLY, have dry-rotted tires and U-shaped handlebars; one of them has only one spring on the dirty seat and rusted out handlebars.

Doesn't matter. We really wanted to ride. So we aired up the tires, threw masking tape on the handlebars and a towel on the dirty seat of the bike I ended up riding (turns out that I got the shaft because this was also the bike with the missing left seat spring, forcing me to ride with all my weight on my right butt cheek), and off we went.
Thirty minutes, two flat tires, some bad hair, two sore hands and one numb right butt cheek later, we were about three miles away from my parents' house, and the ride home was directly into the wind. And to complicate this situation, people were stopping to stare at our sweet rides. Two cars actually honked, and some kids, who were out playing in their yard, laughed at us until their mother shamed them into silence.
It is my belief that they were all jealous. We were some hot mofo's on our state of the art bicycles, after all. Craig has now taken to calling the blue bike "his hog." Awesome.

Dress Snob!

Last week, I went to buy my bridesmaid dress for a wedding I'm going to be in this Spring. I love love love the dress that my friend picked, and I was really excited to go get sized for it. So I get to Bridesmart, and I show the Assistant Manager the dress that I need to try on. She looks at the dress, then back to me, and says, "You'd wear, what, a twelve or so?" I'm ok with being a 12 - was a 12 for years - but I've recently lost some weight and I no longer wear a 12. So I tell her that I probably need a smaller dress, and she bitchily (my own patented word) laughs and responds to me, "Oh, why don't you try on the twelve. I really think it'll work for you."
Fine.
I try on the twelve. It's too big. I tell her so. She looks at me, laughs again, and says, "I really would have thought you would have been a twelve. Hmm." BITCH!
So after squabbling over the measurements for a bit (she insisted on measuring my waist with my sweatshirt on, which adds some inches), she finally agrees that I need a smaller dress. But just to twist the knife a little more, she says, "You know that's funny. I would have sworn you wore a size twelve. You look like a size twelve, and I'm usually pretty right on about that sort of thing."
Well you're wrong this time, dress shop hoe-bag!
Had there been another Bridesmart within a 50-mile radius, I would have walked out right then and there. But alas, there was not, and I was at the mercy of the dress shop hoe-bag. Bummer about that.

Poetic Justice

I guess I've been on a bit of a writing hiatus this week. Holiday weeks are always so busy and stressful. Pretty much the opposite of what they were originally meant to be. There's something so sad about that, right?
Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time to be with family and friends, reflecting on and thanking God for the good things in your life. This year, I consumed more food than any one person ever should and spent the rest of the day going through ads and planning my Black Friday combat shopping strategy. Truly shameful.
And then I got sick and have spent the last two days throwing up. I guess there's some poetic justice in that...

Take A Breath Already!

There are some people who just will not accept 'Yes' for an answer.
A lady comes into our office today and hands me her drivers license, asking me if I can use that as ID for her. I start to say that we can use it, and she cuts me off and is like, "Well, I lost my birth certificate, and this is all I have." So I sit in silence while she goes into this whole story about how her purse, passport, birth certificate, and health insurance card were taken from her car, blah blah blah.
And finally she pauses, so I'm thinking this might be my opportunity to cut in....
WRONG.
She then takes a breath and starts again, saying that she can go to the courthouse and get a new copy of her birth certificate to bring in along with her drivers license tomorrow so that we can get her a new card.
I just sat and watched her until she ran out of things to say, and then I told her that we actually can take a drivers license as ID. She then became super happy, and chatted away while I ordered a new card for her.
It is truly amazing how some people really don't need anybody else to hold a conversation...

I Guess That Makes Me Wally

I was thinking about my family in relation to other "typical" families today, and I came to the same conclusion that Felicia came to years ago: We are the dysfunctional Cleavers.
Here's a little background for you:
My Dad - the always funny family-man, who once doubled as a blues singer in an all-black Blues Band, where everybody except him wore gold sparkly headbands. It was awesome. And he was really good, if I do say so myself.
My Brother - the creative/funny one. His current projects include shooting a horror film that my whole family will probably be acting in, singing in a punk band, running a recording studio, and going to school full-time.
My Mom - the woman behind the men (and me). Hard working and always supportive, she never minds being in the crowd at the blues concert or the punk club, throwing metal for my brother's band. Amazing. She's the kid in the group, finding humor in almost everything and usually laughing until she has tears rolling down her cheeks. But she's always a mom first and foremost, still worrying about me when I go on trips, and making sure the band is constantly nourished.
Felicia - never conventional, which I love about her. She has dated Craig for 5 years now, and still calls mom and dad, "Craig's Mom" and "Craig's Dad" to their face. She's funny and sarcastic, but also really sweet underneath it all. (Though she'll probably kill me for saying that...)
And Kevin and Me - the weird and serious ones. Thank God we have them to bring out the adventurous kid side of us.

There's nothing I'd change about any one of them. I love being a dysfuncional Cleaver...

View From The Ferry

I'm such a picture freak lately! Kim sent me this picture of the sunset in Galveston from our Sunday outting, and I thought I'd post it. Sunsets on the water are my absolute favorite thing in life!

Never Forgotten

There are moments in life that you may get through, but you never truly get over.
For me, and for thousands of A&M students, one of those moments was the collapse of the 1999 Fightin' Texas Aggie Bonfire.
Six years ago today, twelve members of our Aggie family were killed in that horrible tragedy. Today, I just wanted to remember them for the role models that they were (and still are). They were taken too soon, but they remind us that life is measured in quality, not quantity.

Another Owen Story For Ya!

On Sunday, Jay, Kim, Owen, Kevin and I went to eat at the Rainforest Cafe in Galveston. Loved the atmosphere! Anyway, upon entering the "rainforest" we were greeted by a man wearing a monkey costume. He waved at us and gave everybody a high five. Cool stuff.
Owen, who's four and always full of life, gave the monkey a quick high five and exclaimed, "Look! A MUNNKEEEEY!"
So the monkey patted Owen on the head, posed for a picture and then turned to walk away, exposing the seam on the back of his costume. Many kids probably wouldn't think much of this. But Owen, never fooled, was not going to let this mishap slip by unnoticed. Nope. Instead, he points at the monkey and shouts, "YOU'RE NO MONKEY! YOU'RE JUST A GUY IN A MONKEY SUIT!"
That's right, Owen outted the "monkey" at the Rainforest Cafe. It was classic.

I Think I'm Onto Something Here

I was thinking of ways to improve the aforementioned jewelry party. Here are a few of the things I came up with:

1) Make it a jewelry AND PIERCING party
2) Tattoo party. Buy a tattoo, get a necklace free
3) Jewelry and wine/beer tasting party. Bonus: you'd probably sell a lot more crappy jewelry that way, since the power of beer goggles extends outside of the bar
4) Drunken Twister party - Winner gets a piece of jewelry of their choosing
5) Jewelry party and dance off - Again, winner wins a piece of jewelry
6) Tug of war battles using necklaces as the rope.
7) Game night: "Pin the tacky, multicolored, hunk of crap pin on the hostess that caused us to waste our time and money to come to this stupid party"

Check Out My Brother's Band...

If you're interested, and want some good music to wake you up this morning :)
Go to interpunk.com
scroll to the bottom of the webpage to the section that says, "Last Week's Punk Radio Cast Top 40 Winner"

You can click on the picture of the CD, Eat Their Words, to get a link to their songs.
After you click on the CD, scroll down to the section that says Song Titles, and there's a link to one of their songs, Motion Sickness.
Good stuff!!!

High Fashion My Ass

I attended a jewelry party at my neighbor's house tonight. What a waste of time and money. The party itself wasn't bad, but it's not exactly my idea of a fun way to spend a Friday night.
A precious, precious Friday night...
But anyway, turns out there are unwritten rules and codes of conduct for this type of event. It's really more a shower in disguise than anything else. About halfway through the evening, my cousin turns to me and shows me this pin that she "likes." The thing was about three inches in diameter and covered in multi-colored jewels. It was the tackiest piece of jewelry I've ever laid my eyes on, and try as I might, I was unable to see anything pretty about it. Before I could stop myself, (and because I didn't realize anybody was in ear shot of me) I blurted out, "What a hunk of crap." As my cousin and I burst out into fits of giggles, I could see the jewelry lady pursing her lips and shaking her head ever-so-slightly. Evidently, I had broken the golden rule of jewelry parties and called one of the pieces ugly. My thought: don't sell hunks of crap for $50 a pop and I won't have to call you on it.

Reward For The Arrest of the Coward

Upon moving into my house, I noticed that some man down the street from our subdivision had a wooden sign in his yard that said, "A Coward Poisoned My Dachsund. $1200 Reward for the arrest and conviction of the coward." I was initially sad for the man, who was obviously distraught over the loss of his dog. However, I quickly learned that the sign had been in the yard for more than two years, which is a long time to leave that sign out in the yard.
So then, the hurricane hit here and blew the crazy sign away. It was the only positive thing that came of Hurricane Rita. It actually almost made my evacuation drama worthwhile. A month goes by and still the sign has not returned. I, along with all of my neighbors, am starting to breathe a sigh of relief. We can just see our property values rising with the demise of that damn sign.
...And then it happened. Today, on my way home from work, I noticed the above sign. And although you can't read what the sign says in the picture, I'll tell you about the new and improved sign that comes complete with its own spotlight.
It now says, "I Haven't Forgotten That You Killed My Weiner Dog! 11/9/02 at 10:30 a.m. Your Day and Hour are coming. $1300 Reward." And then it shows the silhouette of a dachsund on the corner of the sign.
It's awesome. He's totally threatening the coward via trashy yard sign. Nothing better than that...

Who's The Boss?

The animals in my family have taken over...

Chaka Khan...CHAKA KHAN

- I fell off the diet wagon last week. Or, as Lisa put it, I LEAPT from the wagon and did a big fat belly flop on to the ground. I ate chips and cheese dip, followed by mini-Snickers and M&M's. It was shameful, and this is my confession.
- I have that Whitney Houston song, "I'm Every Woman," playing on repeat in my brain. But really it's only the part that goes, "Chaka Khan...I'm every woman...CHAKA KHAN!" You get 'em Chaka - you are every woman, girl.
- I once had a fish named Chaka Khan. It was not very active and it died without drawing even the smallest bit of attention to itself. Come to think of it, it might have been dead for several days before I noticed it. And it didn't have big hair. I'm now thinking it was poorly named. But in tribute to the legend and to my sad little fish, I've posted a link to the Chaka Khan website in my links section, for all of you who share my interest. Don't be shy; you know who you are.

Today's Inspiration

"Seasons of Love"
...the song from "Rent" - coming soon to a theatre near you!!!

Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Six Hundred minutes,
Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand moments so dear.
Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Six Hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets,
in midnights, in cups of coffee.
In inches, in miles,
in laughter, in strife.
In Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Six Hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life?

The Texas Special

The fact that it's almost Thanksgiving and 80 degrees outside grosses me out. And it's not just hot - nope, it's hot, wet, foggy and sticky. The Texas special...
Plus, I'm having a killer hair day. It's reminiscent of the Friends episode where Monica's in Barbados and her hair is HUGE, and Chandler's like, "This is the first time that I've felt like the good-looking one."
That's me today - animal head.
It's days like today that makes me wish I lived in the North somewhere - where the lips are chapped and the hair is flat. That could totally be the Minnesota state slogan, don't ya think?
"Minnesota - where the lips are chapped and the hair is flat."
Good stuff...

...But Still A Little Like A Kid

As an afterthought to my last post about being an adult, I'd like to add that I believe myself to be more child-like than most kids, which may or may not be incredibly sad, being that I'm 25 years old (???). This weekend, for instance, Kevin and I spent Friday night roasting marshmallows in our back yard, and Saturday night with Jeff and Tracy on their trampoline. And I'm not talking about just jumping a little bit and then heading back inside - nope, it was a solid three-hour block of time spent doing flips (OK, somersaults in my case...), playing crack the egg and double bouncing each other. Keep in mind that Kevin's not a small man, so when it was my turn to be the "egg," my butt was flying through the air.
I'm also thinking that I must have had an incident of some sort on a trampoline when I was little, because I have a bizarre mental block on doing flips. So as entertaining as Kevin was with his graceful front flips (he busted it 11 consecutive times), I think I might have been even more so with going through the different stages of psyching myself up to do a flip, breathing evenly to control my thoughts and to envision myself landing in a manner that didn't force me to visit the emergency room, throwing my hands in front of me to get my momentum going, and then at the last minute freaking out and pulling out of it, opting to do a somersault instead. We must have gone through this 7 or 8 times throughout the night. When did I become such a pansy? The Courtney of old would have flipped first and worried about emergency room after I heard the snapping bone...
I guess this is where the "being an adult" comes in to play. Whereas before, my only worry was the actual snapping of the bone, I now have to worry about dealing with insurance companies and paying co-pays and deductibles, etc. Adulthood sucks the fun right out of being a kid...

How Could This Happen?

Last night, as I was getting scissors out of the junk drawer in my kitchen to start wrapping Christmas presents, it hit me like a brick wall.
My parents have a junk drawer.
Yikes - I'm a grown-up.
When did this happen?

D-Day

November 2nd. Today's a big day in the lives of many Americans. It's the anniversary of some of the most bitter defeats and the sweetest victories for various political figures. For me, this day holds an extra special meaning. This time last year, I ate a piece of pizza without feeling guilty. I drank a Coke that wasn't diet or sugar free. My belly probably hung right over my tightly fitting pants, and I didn't give it a second thought.
Ahh the good ole days...
But that all changed on November 2, 2004. D-day. Diet Day. The day of my first Weight Watchers Meeting. The day I would learn to obsessively attach a point-value to every piece of food that I touched to my lips. My friend Lisa put it best when she said (of the Weight Watchers Diet), "I've never weighed so little and felt so big!"
So damn you, Weight Watchers. Damn your obsessive ways. Damn your sodium-packed prepackaged meals that are meant to substitute for home-cooked food but that actually serve to raise your cholesterol to levels previously unrivaled. Damn your meeting leaders who are too food-starved to know how goofy they act when they try to lead the masses into food games. That's right, FOOD GAMES - "Name that point value" - where the prizes are actual Weight Watcher cookies and whatnot.
Ooh, cookies...
Focus, Courtney!
So today, in honor of my one-year anniversary, I'm eating a donut...and I'm walking 7 laps around my neighborhood to ease my mind of the guilt. Damn it!!!

What The???

Wow - so evidently one of my co-workers retired yesterday. And the announcement was made today that yesterday was her last day. No goodbye, no party, no nothing. She worked for the government, in this specific office, for the last 30 years. She should have at least said goodbye, right? What a bummer...