It's Ordered!


With a silicone case so I won't dent it and a warrenty so I won't replace it again.

It says:

she turned me into a newt! a neeeeeewt? i got better...

This is homage to my little brother who, long before he ever saw Monty Python and The Holy Grail, would act it out for us purely from script. Complete and utter hilariousness. However, once we watched the movie it was kind of a anticlimax.

burn her!



I have killed my first 'pod. I am about to have a second one born. However, I want something pithy, scathing and wonderfully typical engraved on the back.


Quote Of The Day


"Taking the high road sucks. Nobody waves when your on it."

Because when I see a beautiful car, I get that same flip of the stomach as when seeing a hot boy. However, I am normally more excited about the car.

I'm Alive


I'm just working, alot. Even when my best friends come into town, I work. Even when it's my day off, I'm working. And when I'm not working, I'm helping my sister buy a car. I do love cars. I really do. If you want to see some fantastic driving with no plot and horrible acting, go see Fast and Furious: Toyko Drift. That movie makes me want to become a motor head. That and The Transportor.

I suppose my job could really be wonderful if I worked with fantastic cars. Instead, I sell old people cars. Stuff I would never drive.

But yes, I'm breathing.

And It Burns, Burns, Burns


When you get the bland generic postcard from the Hottie Non Ex (that would be someone you didn't really date but apparently wanted to date you but you didn't KNOW until after he got engaged) and his now wife that They Got Engaged! While In Africa! So Please Be Happy For Us! And Our Tacky Postcards!

And even though they have a lion on the front of the postcard and even though he was hot and a little weird, it still scorches a little but because I didn't have the chance to flat out reject him.

Quote Of The Day


"And dressing smart is half the battle! Sorry there, GI Joe, knowing is overrated."-- AhYesMedSchool

(You may ask why the hell I find it so funny? I'm trying to find humor in the small things two hours after I should have left work, while I SIT AND WAIT FOR SOMEONE TO FINISH THEIR DAMN JOB so I can finish mine and go home to my little brother's birthday party which officially declares him an adult. There are times when I cannot stand my job.)

Drawing To A Close


When I was younger I would beat the living daylights out of my little brother. Seriously. I mean it. It was fighting for our lives. Survival of the fittest. Once, our parents made this mistake of leaving us home alone for a week with sisters who worked most of the day. Home alone? We sported bruises and missing clumps of hair for weeks to come.

In short. I spent most of my childhood with Fredd incurring pain upon him. We did have a bit of fun together. We had a couple of cool playhouses. We rode bikes together. We rebelled against the older siblings. And then he grew up. Like, a foot taller than me. And suddenly I was the one reminding him "you never hit a lady" and other such helpful rules I had conviently forgotten.

And then there was the whole "I'm Too Cool For Little Brothers Stage" where I ignored him and let him fend for himself. There isn't a moment of that stage I wish I couldn't take back. I did beat up and slap around my fair share of guys who picked on him, but I wish I did it every time. I wish I was a better older sister. I wish I hadn't spent so much time being frustrated because he was smart and I didn't understand what he was saying.

People used to say "You'll see. One day you'll be best of friends with your brother." And I never believed them. Paticularly the moment when he answered to the door to one of my dates with a shotgun. Seriously? No. Not happening.

But it did happen. I love that kid. He makes me beam with pride whenever I talk about him. Which is to pretty much everyone. He's funny. Smart. Kind. He influences more people than he'll ever understand. Honestly? I'd rather take him to the movies than a date. He keeps hilarious commentary with me. Instead of shushing me. He does crazy outlandish things with me. He rolls his eyes and pats me on the head when I say something paticularly stupid. He lets me rip his fanstastic music collection. He comes over before school and says things like "You look beautiful this morning!" He picks up a cd he'll think I might like. He comes over and visits his spinsterly sisters on a Friday night instead of partying with all the kids. He drinks tea with us and plays cards. He makes me incredibly grateful.

And I'm sad. Because he leaves in a month. And I'll have no more Fredd. He'll be far away. And he's grown up. And that makes me cry. Because it'll never be the same. I'm sure it will be good. He'll come back and be the fabulously handsome brother with the glamorous life. But it will never be the same. Because I'll never have anything to offer him. And while he's still here. I'm kind of a cool sister.

I'll miss that. And him.

It's All Coming Back To Me Now


Whenever I smell leather I am immediately overwhelmed with the desire to ride again. When I hear soft classical music I desperately desire to play the piano again. When someone tells me I am fat I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my lunch hour heaving into a toilet.

There was a very dark sad time in my life when my every waking moment was consumed with food, calories, weight loss. My worth was measured in how much I didn't eat. How much I didn't weigh. I hoped in my starving and vomiting that I would be good enough. I would insulate myself from rejection. From not being pretty enough. Thin enough. Good enough. Of course, when you eat three peas a day and lots of black coffee, there is no danger of this. You're very thin. You have people pinching your cheeks telling you to gain a little weight. Grandmothers offering you to plump you up. Girls jealously eyeing you, telling you how horribly unhealthy it is for you to be that skinny. And you've put yourself far from rejection. But you have also put yourself smack dab in the middle of a nightmare.

Once you push yourself past the whole "not eating" stage, you're still stuck with the demons in your head. The ones that tell you every bite of food is something to feel guilty about. The persistant belief that every meal should be purged in some way, shape or form. If you aren't dieting somehow than you're losing. This isn't a phase. You're stuck this way for years. It doesn't show outwardly, it's your own private war. And you finally get over all this. And your normal. You no longer google "anorexic tips and tricks". You have forsaken the support of other equally disturbed girls who advise you to do things like "cover your food in dish soap" so you won't eat it. You have, in some ways, become normal.

You thought you were. And then, there it is, the nightmare someone calls you fat. And, they are right. You aren't the same thin girl anymore. You've put on weight. You've gotten curvy. Cubby. Soft. Whatever you want to call it. But you no longer live on the safe side of the line from judgement. This is the moment you can choose. You can relapse, as you're prone to do, into drastic non-eating measures. You can tally your human worth in calories and pounds. You can allow the years of healing to be reduced to nothing by one insensitive comment.

Or. You can remember that you are a pearl of great price. Loved above all by the Creator, fashioned in His hands to be perfect. Placed in this life to show others that you and they are loved with an everlasting love. Regardless of weight. For in His eyes you are worth life.

Flicking You Off--Accidentally?


Over the lovely restful holiday weekend wherein I burnt myself to a crisp and generally did nothing I also got in a little football with The Brothers. In the process I sprained/jammed/broke/bruised/screwedup my middle finger. It was purpled and swollen. Stiff and useless.

Wanting to get all possible mileage out of this (and it did hurt, very, very badly) I found a splint and was able to garner more sympathy than I thought possible. With the splint on my finger, it made my finger stand up rather... straight. When typing. When talking with my hands. When writing.

Once everyone realized I wasn't flicking them off, persay. I was able to use it as a crutch. Cranky managers that I thought I was going to toss through the door. I'd casually start writing a memo, finger pointing heavenward with a mischievous glint in my eye. They weren't sure whether to falsely accuse me or fall for the innocent eyes. They would stand uncomfortably in front of my desk and scuttle out. Not sure whether to be incensed or to laugh.

If I've learned one thing at my job, it's to be subtle.

Quote Of The Day:


"She has more hangups than a telephone."

--A Scorned Suitor Of My Sisters

This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.


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