this one goes out to cara.

When my co-workers come into my office laughing about the mess they've made and ask IR (my department) to clean it up:

indeed.

a good man is hard to find.

I never thought I'd be put in a position of having to say MAN THE FREAK UP to every guy I encounter in some sort of relationship situation. But then again, I also never thought I'd be subjected to country Christmas music at work, so there you are. I know those two points alone make you think my life has no redeeming value whatsoever. I agree. I deal.

So the way I see it I have two options before me:

Option A (preferred): Star as Jason Schwartzman's love interest in a Wes Anderson film.

Option B (also viable): Take my guns and my dog (wolf hybrid named Laska) and retreat to the solitude of a one-room cabin on a far away piney mountain.

Decisions, decisions.

But the truth is, there are zero men to be found anywhere. (Bitter-esque rant: Ambivalent lazy cry babies abound, though. I'm tempted to make a highly scientific study of this. But...no.) They just don't make 'em like Ron Swanson anymore. ("He’s a conservative libertarian who loves woodworking, breakfast foods, hunting, and fishing, and he keeps a sawed off shotgun in his desk." Yup.)

What's a girl to do.
Go cry, emo kid, go cry.

an attempt to write a post without a single .gif or .jpg.

Hmm, quite.

These are my words: Tonight was my first experience in getting a prescription filled and picked up. For my own particular use, in fact. Not many things in my life have made me feel like a grown up as much as having a stranger fill a plastic bottle that has my name on it with small white pills. Cannot explain why this is, but here I stand. It was an experience and a half, and of course there was a line, and everyone (EVERYONE) knows that line situations make me antsy. So I innately turn inward and try to ignore the 468 people in front of me who have various as-yet-unnamed conditions. Me, I'm hypothyroid. NBD. So n e wayz, I roll up to the line like, HI GUYZ I'M GETTING DA DRUGZ TEW!!1one!1! and make my way to the back of the line. People who are familiar with the prescription drug scene (in the legitimate way I am describing for your benefit now) are probably rolling their eyes at me, but just like, judge, I guess. It's new to me.

Everything's fine and I'm just mindin' da biz in the cough and cold remedy aisle. I subconsciously (because by now I'm engrossed in reading all the medicine boxes) take in the fact that someone has gotten into line behind me and I carry on. Approximately 15.7 seconds later, this person leans into my space, as if in need of support. Coming into my space, as it were. Just coming in. Onto my back. Cannot emphasize enough how much this stranger, in line for drugs for who knows what ailment, began to use my immediate bodily area for their own physical support. Being the passive aggressive gem I am, of course I don't look back or acknowledge said leaning, I slowly and stealthily shift my weight forward so there is a more socially appropriate amount of space between me and The Leaner.

Thankfully the line had shifted by this time to indicate that I was "next" (what was supposed to happen after that I was still clueless. Oh the intricacy of this new situation...) and I was able to create more distance between us. I can tell the woman in front of me is wrapping up her shiz and I'm about to move forward when The Leaner (most likely named Carol) pulls her signature move and, touching my back between the shoulder blades (creepy) inquires as to whether they (the pharmacists, I'm assuming?) were calling our names or if "we were just hoping to get lucky." Not sure what either of those statements meant, being the noob that I was. Fighting the urge to backhand her across the face for touching me twice (the first time of which remains unexplained to this day), I half turned (details gleaned about The Leaner from this glance: Oldish, approximately 57 years, 5'3", female, glasses, LEANS ON STRANGERS IN THE PHARMACY LINE) and said, That's what the line's for, I think. Ha ha, ha ha ha.

I made a bee line for the window as soon as the previous customer shot off maniacally on her motorized scooter and didn't look back again.

Thank you, Smith's Pharmacy. Let's do this again in a month...

I'm in a glass case of emotion, nobody makes me bleed my own blood...

Etc.

how about we just all be like awesome and not have work on fridays.

this .gif is relevant to my life when people at work start talking about politics:

what the west nile virus?

Over the 24th weekend my family and I went camping at Lyman Lake in the Uintas. (Not Smith and Morehouse, as I was mislead to believe.) While we had fun four-wheeling our little hearts out, there were a basquillion mosquitos in, about, and around our campsite. As in, plagues of Egypt status. I deftly eluded them the first night and day, but on the second day they feasted on my flesh like it was the nectar of the gods.

I have over ten bites on my left ankle alone.

SO YEAH NOW NO ONE'S SURPRISED that I've developed symptoms of West Nile Virus. Yes, I am referring to the very virus I once dismissed as being a ruse.

For the past couple days I've been waking up with very bad headaches and have been extremely tired, sick to my stomach, and just not feeling well. Pretty sure I'm not pregnant so it had to be something else. The possibility of west nile clicked for me this morning when I found yet another bite on my elbow meat and I decided to do a little research. (I love research.)

Symptoms of West Nile Virus

Symptoms include fever, headache, tiredness, and body aches, occasionally with a skin rash (on the trunk of the body) and swollen lymph glands.

And I'm over here reading this just like

Le crap. I have all of these minus the rash.
Aaaand that's pretty much the end of the story. I so brilliantly didn't take any medicine this morning so now I'm sitting at work calculating whether I can afford to take the rest of the day off to take this party on home and fetal-position it in my bed. (I can't.)

I should be fine though, since I'm not a youngin' or an old'n, nor is it contagious (because that last part is what you were all really wondering about, right? Rite.) And that's why you always bathe in bug spray. Lesson learned.

cancel all my plans--something's come up.

I just...cannot even.
I don't know what's more disturbing: The fact that the title of this blog is absolutely true, or that somehow Discovery has managed to tap into my dream database. And then plan their shows accordingly.

thanks, debbie downeress.

On Memorial Day I went with my parents to see Source Code. Mostly because (1) my life is insanely wild and crazy and we just do things like that, and also mostly because (hint: the real reason) (2) I don't feel comfortable turning down the opportunity to see a movie that has the camera trained on Jake Gyllenhaal for 99% of the movie. Ya just don't.

So we had gotten our tix and were making our way to the viewing station. I gave my ticket to the ticket-taking slave and he says, "Source Code--it was good until the last ten minutes."

He just looked at me and backed away just then since I was all
















Who. Even. Says. That.