It's a Day

I'm having one of those days where you feel like everyone can see your underwear, but no one is nice enough to tell you about it.

What does this mean? Am I feeling extra vulnerable this morning?

Or can people really see my undies?

I gotta go look in the mirror...

Sounds Like a Big Bruise

I've got two things to talk about, Orange and Blue, and Orange and Black. Sounds like a big bruise.

Orange and Blue. It is time that I declare my allegiance to the Denver Broncos on this blog. This will not turn into some orange-blooded rant, but I would like to state my concern. I could not watch the game yesterday because the bay area does not believe Bronco fans can exist among so much black, silver, gold, and red. But yes, it is so, I and a few others do support Denver, and to my knowledge, we are all still alive.
Ok, maybe a little rant. What is up with our team? In the past few years, I've felt more passionate against the Colts than the Raiders (mostly because they are a better opponent). It's been a while since we've seen the Broncos get all rearin' to beat the living snot out of another team. We even held back against the Raiders and are damn lucky we didn't lose that one. Ok, I'm finished, but I would like to summarize: 2006 Broncos need more bite in their buck.

Orange and Black. Tomorrow is Halloween! I'm excited, even though I've never watched this holiday approach with less enthusiasm. I don't have a costume, I didn't attend a single party, and I haven't bought any candy for the stray trick-or-treater that may or may not come to my door. I'm excited because it means the live ghost hunting shows are on! Yesterday I watched the British Most Haunted crew sort through the underground tunnels of Edinburgh. There were rocks flying through the air and people possessed by angry spirits. Great fun. They'll be on again tonight and tomorrow night. Also tomorrow night, my favorite ghost hunting crew TAPS will be revisiting the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado. Their season finale last year was all about this place, and I'm hoping they find a good reason for me to stay up until 3:00 am watching them.

So now that I've revealed two of my passions, football and ghosts, I'm possibly setting myself up for disappointment. If the Broncos continue to lose (ouch) and the ghost shows aren't able to catch anything parnormal (ouch), I'll be all bruised up.

Best in Show


Ok, so it was only graduation from the beginner dog obedience class, and there were only two other dogs, but my dog kicked ass! There was a relay/scavenger hunt where the owners had to take their dogs around the store finding items and performing dog tricks along the way. Oscar came cruising in ahead of all the other dogs.

I had said before that a certain other dog belonged in the intermediate class (she already knew everything we were learning), and I was worried that Oscar wouldn't have a fair chance. But lo and behold, that dog came in third place. I don't know what happened. Owner difficulties?

Anyway, Oscar's prize was a pull toy that says #1 Dog. But, not surprisingly, he seemed more interested in the thrid place prize, which was a little pumpkin that squeeks.

Good job Oscar!

Recycle a Bicycle

I have two trash cans under my desk. One is blue. It's where the happy trash goes. The trash that will find new life. The trash that will see the sun again one day soon. If you don't believe in reincarnation, look in the recycle bin. It would be interesting to know if a napkin can come back as a newspaper, which comes back as a book, until it comes back as--what? A diploma? Can recycled goods acheive unconditional love for all trash items recyclable and nonrecyclable alike?

The other trash can is black. The black hole. It eats whatever I put into it, and then where does it go? We are conditioned not to ask such questions. It's a mystery, and perhaps some physicists are working on unraveling it's hidden secrets. Or perhaps if you get too curious, two men in black trench coats will come to your house and go to open up their coats, spilling empty packs of cigarettes, banana peels and a used condoms on the floor. Some things are better kept as secrets.

I just finished drinking a Starbucks. Here's my question. Does the empty container belong in the blue or the black can? The plastic lid must go in the black, even though it has a recycle sign. The blue can is for paper only, and I abide by the rule "if it tears, it goes in" (not a good rule for recepticles of any other kind). Am I supposed to put the cup in the blue can? Do I rinse it out first? I am faced with similar dilemmas all day long. Every time I reach for the cans, I wonder, what fate am I choosing for this article of waste? Will I create new life, or add to the problem? I happen to know that neither of my parents recycle. Can I possibly make up for theirs and millions of other people's recycling handicap by making the right choice?

I put it in the black hole. Let me know if it travels through a time warp to your home.

Go Ahead, Call Me A Child

A message has been coming through to me lately. It says "It's ok for you to keep your childlike tendencies. It's a sign of your strong creativity." So next time I throw a temper tantrum, remember I'm harboring my creativity.

It makes sense. Children have the best imaginations. I've read it is because they are living in the moment. If they didn't sit there an observe the current situation, they will learn more. They see colors and hear sounds without distraction. The environment stimulates their minds and it produces scenarios and pretends all sorts of things adults are not capable of.

I have been trying to live in the moment.

With so many things going on in my life (to fill you in--full time job, full time graduate school, full time puppy, planning a wedding, and oh yeah--my relationship) my mind is jumping all over the place. How can I possibly expect myself to sit down and work on my novel if Im mentally veering off track all the time?

Heres my experiment so far: Try to remind myself I'm in a moment whenever possible. This morning I'm sitting at the front desk putting a mailing together for the publicity department. I note how heavy the paper is in my fingers. I feel the increased pressure it takes to fold the pages. And I breathe, knowing that this is the only place I could possibly be at the moment. Hopefully, by not worrying about all the other things I could possibly be doing or thinking about, some creative thought will seep in.

Its also calming to think of myself carefree as a kindergartner. Im content with what Im doing, because its not possible to be doing anything else.

Send me some building blocks, Im ready to construct something grand!

Back to the Mundane

It is ok for you to uncover your eyes now, unless the dentist makes you squeemish. I would like to recount my dental experience from yesterday for you all now. It was bizarre.

Usually, the dentist doesn't ask you many questions. That's the hygenist's job, and she asked me plenty of questions last Friday like "How's your novel coming along?" "What should I write my novel about?" Please, lady, it's hard enough for me to focus on writing without a bunch of plaque catapulting off my teeth from the end of your scrapey tool. But by the end of the cleaning she had the most brilliant, un-thought-of idea for a book ever. She said, "Maybe I'll write a novel about a dentist who falls in love with the hygenist, and they can make steamy eye contact over their patients." Right.

Now to my dentist. We see a Korean dentist because it's David's way of giving back to his culture. I go along with it, because Asians are smart people, and I can support David in this way. Our dentist has a thick accent, and luckily I have practice with David's parents so I can understand him. But now I'm not so sure my listening skills are so good. These are the four things my dentist said to me yesterday:


This job is better for a man, not a woman. There's too much physical exertion involved.

One of my patients made me very happy this morning. I did surgery on his gums a few days ago. I told him I would use a new proceedure and it wouldn't hurt at all. This morning he came in and he said "You were right. I went home, and it didn't hurt at all."

If life has a speed limit, I'm going about 40 miles an hour.

I feel like it's the 4th of July!

And all this while he was drilling into my tooth, without numbing my gum (my decision, but it was a tad painful). At least my dentist feels comfortable enough to say what's on his mind. Maybe he thinks of it as therapy. After all, aren't dentists supposed to have the highest suicide rate out of any profession?

Confessions of a Bachelorette part five

It's a sad day in bachelorette-dom. Invitees are dropping of the list like flies. I don't think I came on too strong, so hopefully these girls have something better to do than spend a refined, intellectual night out with a young lady who is about to lose her freedom to household chores and marital spats. Don't feel guilty.

The fun will go on! It's easier to keep track of a smaller group of women anyway. Perhaps the girl who was going to make out with a different guy at every bar has just declined her chance to smooch the night away. Perhaps the girls who are going out of town will miss out on the most incredible night imaginable. We'll never know.

Or will we? After the big night, look for a detailed account of the bachelorette events, complete with pictures and embarassing tales. Then we'll know. But really, don't feel bad. More shots for me.

Confession #5
I felt a little rejected at first, but I'm still determined to have a good time!

Confessions of a Bachelorette part four

What to wear?
Something that screams "I'm taken!" or "Take me now!"


The costume option. I don't have many costumes at home, but the ones I do have are cheerleader, Marilyn Monroe, and boxer. Hmmm, Halloween is just too close.











This is a fine example of the "I'm not interested" look. I could wear my glasses for the ultimate studious nerd signal, some frumpy shirt buttoned all the way up to the top removing any hope of a sneak peek, and to top it all off--running shoes.



And finally, the underwear and hair look.












Cast your votes. I'll wear the winner on Saturday (HA!)


Confession #4
I prefer the "Take me now!" look

Confessions of a Bachelorette part three

Here are some of the shots I would like to try this weekend, and a short note about what I think of their names:

Purple Hooter
Vodka, Triple Sec, Chambord, Ice
Ice first - 4 oz Vodka
1.5 oz Triple Sec
2 oz Chambord
Shake and strain into four glasses
I don't even want to know what the creator was sitting in when they named this beverage.


Pink Panty Pulldown Punch
1 750ml bottle of vodka (a fifth)
3 oz Lemon juice or 1 can of lemonade concentrate
9 oz jar of maraschino cherries
2 L Sprite
Pour it all, including the juice from the cherry jar into a punch bowl and serve. Wear a belt.
Apparently, this drink was invented so that the bachelorette's friends could pull down her pants and get a look at her famous pink undies.



Pucker up Foreplay
8 oz Absolut Vodka
4 oz Pucker (melon is good but others work)
12 oz Pineapple juice
12 oz Cranberry juice
Ice
Fill all ingredients in a pitcher and serve.
Maybe it all feels better with a little pucker, sucker!

Confession #3
I intend to take full advantage of those who will buy me drinks.

Confessions of a Bachelorette part two

The only time I will don a veil (since I've chosen not to wear one at the wedding), could possibly be at the bachelorette party. For some reason, these awful bachelorette brand of veils are designed to make the wearer look as cheap and white trash as possible. Decked with ribbon rosettes and fake pearls, these stiff toule veils wouldn't flap in the breeze if they were in a hurricane. They look itchy, dirty, and always make me think they are second hand.

A history lesson on the veil reveals that it was meant to keep the groom from seeing the bride until it was too late to back out. Or that the veil protected the bride from evil spirits that would be lured in by her beauty on her wedding day. Or maybe it was a way to tantalize the groom--thinking he'd want what he couldn't have (flawed logic, since he was getting what he couldn't see!).

Let's think about the veil. It's symbolic, representing the release into womanhood. Removing her guise of innocence. Opening her eyes to--to what? Sex? It's ridiculous. Think of a father walking his daughter down the isle, and when they get there, he lifts the veil and says "Your mother and I should have warned you. About tonight..." No it doesn't happen. Now women wear the veil because they think that's what they are supposed to do. It doesn't mean a thing anymore. It's part of the costume. Which is why no one protested when it encroached on the bachelorette party.

Clearly, the veil has become nothing more than an advertisement: I'm getting married. Buy me a drink, dammit!

Confession #2
I think veils are dumb

Tomorrow I'll spice things up a bit by providing my thoughts on binge drinking.

Confessions of a Bachelorette part one

The big event to look forward to this week is my bachelorette party. I have to admit, I'm pretty excited to let loose. Although, I still have a few months to go until the wedding, so should I hold back a little? Nah!

My friend Kiki was so gracious to put together a girls night out, while David and his friends are celebrating the rights of the bachelor in Vegas (thank god for those commercials--what's happens in Vegas stays in Vegas--I don't even want to know!). So far, I know we are meeting at my friend Brooke's house for dinner and drinks, and after that, it's anyone's guess.

So, what exactly is a bachelorette supposed to do these last few precious days of singlehood? I associate these parties with heavy drinking, incriminating photos, and flirting with men who will never be attainable again. Who says this has to end once you get married? (just kidding David, I love you).

Thankfully, according to one source, less than 20% of bachelorette parties involve a stripper. That is the last thing I want to see, some banana hammock wagging around in front of my face. Gross!

So here it is folks:
Confession #1
I am a boring bachelorette.

More to come this week.

Hot Dog Eating Contests Explained

It's still an enigma to us: how competitve eaters keep it all down. I went behind the scenes with the rising star of the eating industry and got answers to all the questions. He's a man of few words, but it's evident he knows how to eat. Here is its, a Q&A session with Mr. Chuck Upster:


1) What food contest do you prefer to perform in: pie eating, hot dogs, or something else?
Well now little missy, I's a be liking all kinds of food. Don't really mind too much just as long as the food be good. Can't be eating nothing which aint cooked like. Got me a bad gut ache once cause I's be eating a hot dog which gone bad by 'bout two months. I was sick as a dog for days, you just ask Isabelle and she tell ya 'bout it.

2) You had a brilliant performance in this year's Nate's Hot Dog eating contest at Coney Island. Although you didn't beat Kobayashi, you were just 6 hot dogs behind. Was this your personal best?
Sure, might as well of been, don't really recall too much 'bout that now. I's just be focusing on getting 'em down before tha other feller.

3) Do you prefer to vomit between rounds? What are your feelings about vomiting?
Ain't really got ta say much 'bout vomit. If a man's gotta vomit, a man's gotta vomit. I's a just think it be the same as peeing in a drinking competition.

4) How do you train? Walk us through a typical morning before a competition.
Well that's a good question now young lady. Isabelle usually makes me a fried breakfast which usually contains eggs, bacon, beans, corndogs, fired toast, sausage, ham, cheese and a couple cups of coffee. I usually focus my mind on the day's event. She says I'd be like an athelete or something, all tensed up waiting for the storm. You know, just like the Rocky feller in those films.

5) How did you get started in eating competitions? How long does a typical eating career last? Have you gained weight since you started?
Down at Cotton Eye Joe's burger joing, they had this here big 40 oz. prime steak. Old Joe himself said "you eat that and you get you and your woman a free meal." I said "Shit, I could eat me four of those steaks, Joe," and so I did and we got the meal. Joe then said "how's about I be your manager and we enter you into the competitions where you eat food." I said "sure, so long as it ain't on Thursday when Smallville be on."

6) Are you a purist--a picnic style eater (eat the hotdog with the bun), or do you prefer to eat them separately? Do you use anything to make it go down easier (like water or condiments?)
I just eat 'em.

7) Any advice for blossoming young hot dog eaters?
Just remember the stomach is expandable. That's all.

8) I'm curious what the after effects of a competition are. Do you get bloated, feel sick, have to spend an entire night on the toilet? Or is your body used to it by now?
Nah, just wash the food down with a coupla 40s.

9) What is Mrs. Upster like? Does she have any good hot dog recipes for our readers?
Isabelle don't really cook. We get meals for free down at Joe's, him being my manager and all.

10) There are rumors spreading that you take muscle relaxants to help you stuff your face. This is clearly a violation of International Federation of Competitive Eating rules. What do you have to say about these allegations?
Huh?

Thank you for your time Chuck. I don't think I've ever seen someone answer questions in hot dog color before. Good luck in this year's competitive eating season.

Special thanks to KS for putting words into Chuck's mouth!