Pick that bar up off the ground, girl OR Why WOWing Wiener-walkers won't win women

Is it Taco Time yet? It probably should be. The fact that I still have enough men to create an encore song should be proof enough of that.

This next fella I have actually dodged around town a few times. Ducked quickly into the nearest aisle in the grocery store, slinked past him undetected in a department store somewhere, and successfully (so far) evaded while surfing the lonely hearts on the interwebs.

There's not a whole lot to say about this guy, except that I really should raise the bar and be a little less accepting of people/things when I'm deciding whether to go out with someone or not. I mean, let's face it. I've knocked my list of requirements down to the bare bones must haves, and even then that leaves the bar so low that all the guys have to do is step over it. I think it's time for the winds of change to blow over me.

He was a former Marine - oorah! - and in the band, WHICH I didn't mind because I like music and musicians. He was into photography, which I love, and some light (video)gaming, which I can abide. His pictures weren't that unflattering, and his personality seemed completely doable. Not, like do-able do-able. Damnit, I know you know what I mean.

I decided we should just go ahead and meet up. I don't have time for the lengthy, drawn-out rigamarole of dating. Ain't nobody got time fer dat! And because - as you have all borne witness to - I have excellent decision-making skills - we planned to meet up for a hike through the woods at Black Hawk State Park. "Oh, the place where they dumped that poor girls torched and chopped up body?" Why yes! The very same.

Makes great decisions *points at self.

I seriously wasn't worried. I was even less worried when I saw him. I'm going to call him Bear. One, because I think that was his name on the dating site, and Two... because I can't remember his real name anymore.

As I got out of my car and started walking I could see a man walking toward me.

(He was not, for the record, holding any sort of trophy or Golden Globe.)
I foolishly thought for a split second that maybe this was not, in fact, the man I was meeting. That thought quickly faded as I remembered just how awesome my dating track record had been. Bear ambled toward me, looking much more... corpulent... than his pictures might have led me to believe. And, call it the curse of a faded memory or 20/20 hindsight, but looking back I can only see a slightly more modern version of one of the Croods. He was thick - beyond thick - and his head was gi-freaking-normous. A bit of a neanderthalic brow. Yeah, I might have made that word up, but I know you can picture it, can't you? He had chubby wrists. Wrists, I tell you! Wrists should not be chubby unless you are still counting your age by weeks or months. He was a few dozen pounds from being a full on mouth breather. Actually, we were in the vastness of the outside world. He probably was a mouth breather. Hi-five for dodging that one!

That was really all I needed to know about him right there. I know that might seem shallow, but you see, friends, there must be the slightest, tiniest, most miniscule bit of attraction between two people, and in reciprocal fashion, for any sort of relationship to form. Either that or I have serious depth issues, but I don't think that's the case. Anyway... so we started off on our hike. I had my camera with me because it was an picturesque, sunny, midafternoon fall day. The light and shadow was amazing within the trees. I was sure this photographer was going to be as enraptured as I was, furiously snapping picture after picture. "Isn't this just amazing? I mean look at it! I love photographing nature." His response? "I actually just really like studio photography where I can control all the elements."

LAME.

He couldn't even see a fraction of the beauty that I was overwhelmed by. I'm not opposed to dating people with differing opinions, but seriously? Maybe if this guy stepped out of his hobbit hole more often he might find beauty in the brightly lit, unsuffocated external world. Just sayin'.

We trudged through the woods for what after that seemed like an eternity, chatting about the military and finding more and more dissimilarities (in my opinion). The best was when we got back to our cars, though. That's when I found out the most important bit of information.

He lived with his mom.

Of course he did! I mean, why wouldn't he? Okay, here's the thing, and maybe this is my downfall. I am just too damn old - as are the men I'm attempting to woo - to abide dating a man who has become comfortable just kicking with his mama for an undetermined amount of THE REST OF HIS LIFE. Sure, things happen. Parents get sick. We lose our jobs or fall on hard times. Get your ass BACK UP and move back out! Oookay... *slides soapbox away. Sheesh. Yeah, so we had a mini convo about him walking his mom's wiener dog and other boring stuff. And then way too much conversation about Assassin's Creed and video games and at that point I was praying for a stray bold of lightning to part the wispy clouds of that bright blue-skied sunny day and part my skull. Thankfully that strike didn't make its way down from the heavens, but an end to the conversation arrived, and that was good enough for me and we parted ways. With a hug. I can't help it. I hug everyone. I must stop that. Because as Bear wrapped me up he... ugh... I shudder to even recall the memory. As Bear gave me a parting hug, he... moaned. *shudder

Blegh! Who does that? I'm sorry, but it's creepy. Even creepier if you look and act like Bear, and even moreso if you barely know a person. Men - do yourselves and your women and lady friends a favor. Do not - I repeat - DO NOT ever moan audibly as you hug a woman. Unless she has her hand on your naughty bits, in which case that's an entirely different story. Just... just don't, mkay?

So there you have it. The story of Bear and the Woods. Fit to be told around the campfire for scary story sessions. I'm available at a very reasonable rate.

~h

NEXT TACO TIME: Wow, you're muscles are so muscley OR More evidence that Gingers have no souls.

Wow, your bobblehead collection is so cool OR "Don't bring me dow-own... Brrrruuuce!"

One Tuesday ago, in a blogging land far, far away...

"I am getting notoriously un-Tuesday like. Hmm... what to do about that... well, crap. I was hoping somewhere in the world it was still Tuesday. Nope. And since time machines don't exist (that we've seen/experienced yet)(is there a Doctor in the universe?) I'm completely out of luck. But you know what? I don't care. It's all good. You're getting a blog anyway, dammit..."

Just like Alderaan, that blog faded into oblivion a long time ago. But guess what? It's Tuesday! Again! Can you believe it???

(Okay, so now it's Wednesday.) Ahem, so yeah. Let's try to get back into the swing of things, shall we?

 

A

 

long

 

time

 

ago

 

 

... I started to tell you guys about the next fella in Taco Time. And just as a warning, ladies, he is still out there! On okcupid.com. Yessir. And horror of all horrors I accidentally clicked on his profile once. I didn't do it on purpose, I swear. He had a new picture, and on my phone it was so tiny. But I knew as soon as I saw that miniscule picture blow up to...well, a little bit bigger than miniscule, I knew right away that I had made a terrible mistake. Now don't get me wrong, he wasn't abusive, or cruel, or inherently evil or anything. He was just crazy. That's all. A little cuckoo.

 

I first met him as I've met most of the men in Taco Time: on a dating site. I think it was Yahoo personals, which is now defunct after having merged with Match. I should feel worse for knowing that since it means I've been around that dating scene that long (*cough9yearscough) but I'm going to gloss right over that.

 

He had a decently nice looking picture and seemed like a not awful kinda guy. Maybe he was a little too into video games and yeah, maybe he watched a little too much television. Not even the good kind. He lived on a diet of sports center and adult swim. And Aqua Teen Hunger Force? Meatwad? A floating shake with magical powers? Good God, man. (And may God have mercy on the souls of any of you out there who can honestly say you like that show. I'll be praying for you. Just sayin'.) But hey, after talking and/or chatting for a bit and especially after that big reveal that I was currently pregnant - yikes! - he still wanted to meet up and go on a date. I chalked that up as a win and on a date we went.

 

Actually, I'm pretty sure the first time I ever met him was when we met up behind Best Buy in Davenport while he was getting his new radio installed. In his Dodge Neon. That was just like my Dodge Neon. Matching matching! And what a guy. Hell, what a girl! Back door on the first date! Haha. Yeah, no.

 

So after he got his stereo taken care of we went back to his place. His narrow, dank, dark, dusty (the light was so sparse than when it did cut through the space you could see the little dust particles flitting about), cramped apartment. But hey, wow. You've got an awful lot of Mallards bobbleheads all lined up around your tiny kitchen. And wow...

 

 



Why I shouldn't be allowed to watch Parenthood alone OR What happens when I start up to late at night.

***WARNING!!!***
I've spent entirely too much time watching episodes of Parenthood tonight. (It should be noted that the current time as I'm writing this is 0334 on Wednesday.)That damn show should come with a warning label.

What that means to you folks is that I'm emotional, and I oftentimes find myself writing in times such as these.

What you are about to read might be any or all of the following:  sad, sappy, crazy cat lady, tmi, revealing, pathetic, honest, courageous to admit, bold, old news (if you know me well), news to you (if you don't), whiny, empowering, oorah, silly, unnecessary to post for all the world to read, necessary to post for all the world to read... I could go on.

One time there was a friend of mine that said I should stop posting all these whiny sappy blogs, and "maybe that was my problem." That person is no longer a friend (for that and several other reasons). Because this is MY blog, and what better place to put such ramblings? I'm not forcing anyone to read anything, but if they do? Hey, maybe they'll learn a thing or two, about me or even themselves. What can I say? It's cathartic putting these things/feelings out into the cosmos.

I feel the need to announce that I am not depressed, just... in a post-Parenthood reflective state of mind. Like corn, this, too, shall pass.

This is a post on a blog that I haven't opened publicly because all the posts were to a certain person. That person isn't... (it sounds awful to say, but...) deserving of the attention I've been paying him with my precious free time, so I'll be done with that. Or at least done with dedicating it to him. It's possible I'll be sharing some of these past entries here in the future as well. In the meantime, readers, friends and family - read at your own risk. You know, or don't. I'll still love you.

~h

It's not you.

It's not me.

Actually, it's kind of you. 

You, and every other guy that came before you.

Every guy that ever cheated on me. Every guy that never treated me the way I deserved. Every guy that ever left me for another girl. Every guy that wouldn't leave another girl for me. Every guy that ever let me down. Every guy that ever broke my heart. Every guy that ever hurt me, on accident or on purpose. Every guy that swore he'd never hurt me like the ones before and then did anyway. Every guy who tried to hide me. Every guy who wouldn't fight for me. Every guy who never saw me for the amazing person that I am. Every guy who said he saw me for the amazing person that I am and still let me go. Every guy who didn't stay. Every guy who didn't turn out to be the man he said he was. Every guy who didn't turn out to be the man I said he was.

It's all of you who've helped me to doubt myself, sometimes on a daily basis. All of you who've helped make it easy for me, on more than several occasions, to foolishly look past the amazing, wondrous blessings that fill my life and see something missing instead. All of you who've helped me to forget that I actually love the me that you've passed up, and that there's nothing I could have done to make any of you stay because this - look around - this is how things are meant to be. For now.

Okay, so maybe it's a little me. But I've had a lot of help. I don't think I want your help anymore.

~h

Sappy Sunday

So I'm somewhat notorious for my sappy sadsack posts. But I like them. Sometimes. And I like my writing. And I'm trying to hold myself accountable for the things I've set out in this most recent one and by sharing it here with all of you it kind of feels like I'm doing that.

The who doesn't matter. It could honestly be anyone. It's the thoughts behind the words that really matter. I think. Anyway, here goes. The umpteenth and final (hopefully) goodbye to settling for less than I deserve.

It is.

It's seriously pathetic how I wait around to hear from you.

You don't ask me to. You probably don't even know that I do it. But I do. And it pisses me off. Makes me very upset with myself.

It all goes back to this blog I wrote over 6 years ago. The gist is that I always sell myself short in matters of the heart. I have a feeling that this is my lot in life and that I'm destined for nothing but this same old thing forever. Really kind of believe that. Part of me likes that my emotions run so deep and strong, and most of all unrequited. It means that it's truly a gift I'm giving to someone and not just a ploy to get something I want (although I'd be getting love, but that's not what I'm talking about). The other part of me just thinks that I'm an idiot.

I wish I could stop it. I wish I could control who I fall for or attach myself to. I wish I could walk away when I should without feeling like I was making a mistake. I wish I could put my worth and my ultimate happiness in the forefront of my mind and act accordingly. I wish that I could view the men who don't choose me - for all of the many valid and obvious reasons - as passing ships and turn my eyes toward the horizon and wait for the next one to come my way.

I wish I could just not care.

But I can't not care. I don't know how to shut that off. And I certainly can't learn how to care less about or get over someone when they are still around. Even if it's just email. :-(

Sorry.

It's too hard for me to chat with you and think about all that we've done and been and shared, too hard to know the nice things you think about me and to think about the possibly serious things that you don't think about me that I wish you did. Too hard to not spend time with you like we used to. Too hard to watch you choose unhappiness - or at the very least a blase, unfulfilling life that lives below your hopes and dreams - over happiness, no matter what the rationale.

I care about you too much to watch that. And for whatever reason I care about you too much to not be hurt that I wasn't enough to make you choose... me.

It's dumb, I know. Even if you could, if you were in the position to make such a choice, there's no guarantee that you would pick me anyway. You've said before if you were single again you'd want to stay that way for a long while. I didn't change that. It's not my fault, though. I'm trying to remember that, but it's hard. Because I see and think and feel things about you, about us that... clearly aren't there. Call it the curse of the creative mind. No matter how deliberately I steel myself against these feelings and speak truth to my heart about my worth and why I need to move past you, as soon as I get word from you all of that resolve disappears and an unrealistic hope and optimism takes over and I'm lost in thoughts of you and us again.

Who says the things you say to me and acts the way you do with me and chooses something so much less for himself? I don't understand, and I have to stop thinking that it's something wrong with me. Because I don't honestly believe that I'm that flawed. I am, don't get me wrong, but not enough to be unworthy of what other people have and what so many other people seem to take for granted.  I want to be THAT person for someone. That special, that prized, that cherished... THAT person that some man somewhere feels beyond lucky to have found to call his own.

That girl (yes, "girl", because it feels that juvenile).that someone will fight to keep, will fight to have, will fight to NOT have to keep secret. I understand that I am not that girl for you. It's fine. My timing sucks. Luck is not on my side. My dog ate my homework. All of the above. But... I guess it doesn't make anything hurt any less.

You really can't fight for me? Not even to me, just in talking, just between me and you? I told you tonight (silly me, I thought you just wanted to see me and hang out with me)(what DID you think I wanted to talk to you about?) That I was going to say goodbye. "I love you, goodbye", to be exact, and you just took it. Like I was telling you I wanted fries with that. Ok, cool, no problem. Just that simple. No please don't go, no wait, no hey now, let's not be too hasty...nothing.

Ok.

That's it? Ok.

I guess that really must be it. Maybe it's easier for you this way, easier for your life, easier for her. I suppose I get that. Because if I really was any of the things you've ever said that I was, I'd think you wouldn't let me just fade away. Like you are.

I don't think anyone can really know just what it is that I am capable of when it comes to matters of the heart. I'm beginning to think that I'm the only one who ever will.

You've opened up more with me than you have anyone (I think) in recent years. Last chance...what haven't you said? What do you think about this, about me? How does all of this make you feel?

Anyway, answers/thoughts/inputs would be nice, welcome & appreciated. I suppose, however that they aren't necessary. I'm saying goodbye to you because I can't see another way out of this. Typical literary case of unrequited love. Correct me if I'm wrong.

~ h

Oh, THAT girl... episode 3

I've decided to include my THAT girl stories in my book. They'll be inserted randomly throughout as little snippets that might explain why it is that I'm still single. Because let's face it... it's going to take an almost astronomically rare type of man to willingly walk in and sweep this (*gestures to self) off her feet.

I went in town to do laundry last week. I no longer have a washer and dryer here at home, and I honestly can't imagine that the floor in the kitchen of this house (which is where the laundry hookups are) would even be able to bear the weight, so it's probably a good thing I don't. Anyway, laundry tends to pile up with a quickness. I was way overdue to get some laundry done, as is often the case, and I filled up my ridiculous Chevy Cobalt (more stories on that at a later date) and trekked in town to the super huge mega load laundromat.

The place I like to go to is the old local Scrub Pub. They got rid of the bar (which is a damn shame, I'd say) but they have these massive 6 load machines that I love. I didn't grab all my laundry, just the mainstays and all the socks and underwear I dared to dig for. It was nice only using two of the six-ers instead of my usual four.

Now here comes the good part. I just so happened to be wearing my favorite jeans (that do awesome things for my butt, or so I've been told). And my favorite bra. And, as I do every day, underwear. And I really wanted to wash those things. Like, right then. I remembered that I had a running skirt in my car from some day weeks back (yes, I meant weeks) when I was planning to go work out.

Hmmm...

I proceeded to do what any savvy gal in my position would do. I grabbed the running skirt and headed to the 'mat bathroom. "No you didn't." Oh yes I did. I got mahself nekkid and stripped out of my pants and my skivvies and slipped into my running skirt commando. Nobody in the laundromat seemed to care, though, as I strode out of the bathroom in a new outfit, holding the old one in my arms. Maybe it's because it was an amazing idea.

I'm just gonna go with that.

It didn't stop there. After I had finished folding my clothes and tucking them neat and tidy into my baskets in an awe-inspiring fashion - having used less space than when everything was dripping over the sides like when I arrived - I realized it was Free Pie Wednesday at Village Inn. Hell yeah I deserved some pie!

And off I went. My girls swinging free and a breeze between my knees. A commando on a recon mission. My target? Pie. (Okay, so going commando doesn't make me a commando. I am a Marine, though. I think that gets me honorary commando status. )

That's it, really. Laundromat nudity and hippie pie eating. Maybe it's all normal. Hey, that's cool. Normal is... alright. I guess. But if I had to bet, I'd say this was just another instance where THAT girl struck again.

Mmmm... pie...

~h

"What do you mean I have to buy a drink?

The sign says FREE pie!"

Funny Friday! Meet Bobby Ray Bunch! (finally!)

*Note to self: NO MORE PHONE INTERVIEWS. I am ENTIRELY too lazy to transcribe them. That is all. ~h

Hey! Guess what? It's only been like a month since the last one, but it is Friday, people! And a Funny Friday at that! This week I'll be sharing my interview of a very funny man who may or may not prove true the rumor that gingers have no souls.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Bobby Ray Bunch.

me: Okay Bobby, first question. Who are you, in your own words? (whatever that means to you)
BRB: I think I’m not really like anybody else, which sounds like a really arrogant and cocky answer, but it’s just how I feel. When I run into some I know, they’re not just like “Hey Bobby” they’re always like “Bobby Ray Bunch!” My full name.  I am a very cynical, sarcastic person who doesn’t take a lot of things very seriously and I’m ocd about things. I’m a very weird person, I guess. I don’t know.  I don’t like that question.

That's ok, that question is pretty elitist, and it doesn't like a lot of people either.

me: As a kid, what did you dream of being when you grew up?
BRB: A firetruck. (A firetruck, huh?) Yeah, I wanted to be a firetruck. They looked pretty cool. (Must be the red hair.) Ever since I was in third or fourth grade I’ve wanted to be a stand up comedian. But then the older you get the more you realize that you’ve got responsibilities and bills and you realize that maybe you should just sell out and get a job.

Bills, shmills. You worry about those things? Psshh.

me: When did you know you wanted to be a comedian?
BRB: I remember in fourth grade I had just moved to a new school district I would make people laugh in my class. One time I got up to blow my nose and everyone stopped what they were doing and watched me, so I made a big show about it and got in all this trouble because I was distracting the class. Pretty much all throughout the rest of school I would always crack jokes in class, and even in the military I would get in trouble for cracking jokes. Getting out and going to college being the age I am I’m still a class clown. The beginning of every semester I’m always like I’m just gonna keep my mouth shut and not say a word but it’s literally physically impossible to keep my mouth shut.

When I was in the military I got in trouble for smuggling a snake in from Peru. No big deal. Probably just 'cause I was in the Marines. We're hardcore like that. Even the shit we do that gets us in trouble is extra badass.

me: How long have you been doing stand up?
BRB: It’ll be two years in February. My senior year in high school I was in a talent show and I did stand up for that, but it was squeaky clean. Then a year after I got out of the Air Force I went down to Penguins and did an open mic two months in a row. Then they closed. For another year I didn’t do stand up because I didn’t really meet anybody or didn’t know there were any other places to do stand up. So I had been onstage three times total before two years ago when I started doing it consecutively.

Math...ugh...

me: Who are some of your favorite comedians?
BRB: Bill Burr (gasp! a Ginger! It's a conspiracy!) by far is one of my favorite comedians. Brian Regan is amazing, to be that clean, and be able to draw any type of crowd. Of course Louis CK (another Ginger? I'm sensing a trend). I like Stephen Wright (Okay, so he's not a Ginger. But who knows if the curtains match the drapes?) and of course Mitch Hedburg (Ginger?) and Todd Barry (GINGER!) Oh, add Patrice O’Neal to that list, too.

Okay, it was funny at first, but there is a serious trend here. I mean, you stuck Stephen Wright in there and all - nice touch - but you are soooo not throwing me off the trail with the insertion of token non-Ginger Patrice O'Neal. You are a total Ginger elitist! I've got my eye on you, Wasowski... always watching...

me: Describe your brand of comedy, if you can. What's funny to you?
BRB: I would say that making fun of myself I actually get joy out of. Being onstage in front of all those people and being able to make fun of myself in a way that the crowd kinda feels bad for you but yet they’re laughing at you at the same time. I talk about being in the military and stuff, not because I want people to be proud of me (yeah, because you would have joined the Marines if you wanted that. Ooo! I kid). I want people to realize that just because I was in the military doesn’t mean I’m a hero. People call me a hero, but I didn’t run into a burning building and save nine babies. (8. It was 8. I read the news article.) I sat in a truck in front of a plane and watched it and made sure it didn’t go anywhere. I like bringing light to the fact that it’s such a knee jerk reaction when I say I was in the military. People always have to clap and all this stuff. It’s like you don’t even know why you’re clapping (Tourettes?), it’s ridiculous. Just shut up. I wasn’t even that good at it. I don’t consider myself an edgy comedian or an offensive comedian. It’s not because I don’t like that type of comedy, it’s just that I’m not very good at pulling that stuff off. I already come across as an asshole onstage, so I don’t want the audience to totally hate me.

You really kind of are like the grown up boy next door. A little... Eddie Haskel even. Wait, was he a Ginger, too?

me: What does being a comedian mean to you?
BRB: I think there’s a certain level of responsibility that comes with being a comedian. The term comedian is so widely used that it’s almost tough to say anymore. Before Youtube and Facebook and Twitter, being a comedian meant something else, and now anyone can have a Facebook fanpage (even Gingers like Bobby) or a Twitter account (Geez, they let Gingers have everything!) that says they’re a comedian. I don’t think that just because you’ve done an open mic once or twice or because you’ve been on a stage that it means you’re a comedian.  Does that mean that I’m a comedian? (Uhhh...) I don’t know. (Good answer!) Just because I’ve worked the places I’ve worked (Daisy Dooks?) or done what I’ve done that doesn’t necessarily make me a comedian. Because if I were to go to NYC or LA they would probably look at me like I was crazy if I called myself a comedian. To me, being a comedian means that you’ve been paid to do it or you make a living doing it. (I wanna get paid to do it. Wait, are we talking about comedy? Okay, I wanna get paid to do that, too.) I think there’s a certain level of responsibility to anyone doing stand up comedy or who calls themselves a comedian to back it up. I do take stand up seriously ninety nine percent of the time. I don’t wanna go onstage and look ridiculous, because as a comedian your name is your brand and you want people to buy your brand. If you continually go onstage and bomb, then don’t be upset when people don’t want to come see you perform.

I don't really want to get paid to do it. I mean, I wanna get paid to do comedy. And maybe other white or even blue collar work. I just don't want to get paid for... no collar work. Or choke collar work. I... like flowers? Yay butterflies! Ahem... next question?

me: What has been the greatest influence on your comedy?
BRB: Myself? I don’t know. I don’t know if I really have… It’s kind of hard to say, living in Iowa. It’s not like I’m working in a market with a lot of guys who’ve been on the road for a long time or been doing it for 20 years. I think it’s very self-driven. The scene in Iowa City is vastly different. I get a lot of motivation from seeing people who are constantly getting onstage anytime they can, and making sacrifices to live that dream. I respect that, and I kind of draw from that, cause there’ve been times when I’ve been at home and not feeling like getting onstage when I get a text or phone call saying come on, let’s get onstage, let’s go. You have to be self-driven and you also need a group of people around you who are going to motivate you to get onstage. That’s influential to me. You can’t be strong on your own.
(I can. Just sayin'.) You need some type of support system.

I definitely agree. I mean, take my boobs for instance.

me: What is one of your favorite moments (so far) as a comedian?
BRB: I would say one of my favorite moments so far was the first time I ever did stand up at Penguins. I had a whole different idea of what stand up comedy was like, and then I went to the open mic and I saw where everyone gets their start. And I worked so hard and prepared so much for my very first set. I did not think it would go well, and I didn’t understand what the hell I was doing there, but then I did really well for my first time and it was a sigh of relief. Like okay, I can do this. So gaining that confidence after my first time was one of my favorite moments. Probably one of my other favorite moments was when I did a show with Colin Ryan, Andrew Cline, James Draper and I think Chris Starman up in Monticello, Iowa. It was a full room, everyone was there to see comedy and every single comedian just destroyed that room. It was such a fun night, such a fun environment and everyone had such a good time. And afterwards we were all able to just bask in the good, fun feeling of how well we did. If you go on a road trip with a bunch of guys and you do really horribly it’s a quiet ride back. And there really is no better feeling in the world to me than owning a room, just dominating a crowd and then watching all your friends do the same thing, one after the other.

Aww... that is a pretty awesome thing. No funny business there. I mean, except for that bit where you said that everyone was really funny and stuff.

me: If you weren't doing comedy, what would you be doing with your life?
BRB: Well, I do a lot of other things with my life than comedy. (Yeah, like obviously trying to plot a hostile Ginger takeover with your ragtag band of hooligan Gingers. That's just what I'm getting out of this, though.) But I would probably be a lot more alone and angry and cynical than I am now, because now I could have the worst day of my life and go through something horrible and then that night I would still wanna get on stage. It’s just a relief. It’s like therapy almost. (I think I'm going to need some therapy after this. Or at least some Ginger awareness sensitivity training. I didn't know I had such an issue! Sheesh!) And hopefully it works out, and I’m able to continue to do stand up and able to continue to be pretty decent at it, and hopefully just keep getting better at it and keep learning. Maybe one day if, the almighty Allah persists and lets me, I will make a living doing it. Praise be unto him.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, let's not bring religion into this. Wait... are you Muslim?

me: What do your friends and family think of your life as a comedian?
BRB: My friends? (I know, Bobby. Tough question. Just... imagine.) Half of them are sick of hearing about it and the other half think it’s cool. My family… (laughs)… my grandma and my uncle had never seen me do stand up before. This past May I got booked to do a feature set at Diamond Joe Casino, so my grandma and my uncle got all their sons together and came to see me open. I… did not do very well. At all. I did not have a good set. It was not one of my favorite times. After the show, my grandma, of course, was like “You did so wonderful, I love you! You’re the funniest person I’ve ever seen in my life!” And my uncle was like “Tough crowd. Tough, uh… tough night.” And I knew for a fact it wasn’t a good set. So they probably think, well, fuck, anyone can do this. (Granny Bunch! Your language!) But I’m really proud of how far I’ve made it and I wanted to show them “Look at me! I’m good!” And I wasn’t. My dad probably just thinks it’s a phase and I’ll grow out of it. My sister, if you asked her who’s funniest person in the family my name would be near the bottom. I do not make my sister laugh at all. She does not find me funny whatsoever. She’s very supportive in any way she can be, but I could tell her “hey, I did this show” and she’d be like “yeah, who gives a fuck.” My family’s known me my whole life, so they’re not gonna think I’m that funny, ‘cause I’ve been cracking jokes since I was able to at the Thanksgiving dinner table. They probably think I’m a lot funnier off the stage.

me: What is your biggest, wildest, comedic dream you hope comes true someday?
BRB: In my heart of hearts I would love to live out in L.A., and be a writer for either a t.v. show  or comedy writer during the day and do stand up at night. My ultimate dream is to do stand up on Conan, but I better get moving on that because who knows how long he’ll be around. There’s just something about Conan. (HE'S A GODDAM GINGER!!! THAT'S WHAT! I mean... go on...) He’s very unique. He’s not like anybody else. Just his brand of comedy and the fact that he’s not even a stand up and he’s been such a successful talkshow host is fascinating to me. I’d love to meet him and do a set on his show. But I also would love to have a threesome with two Victoria’s Secret models. Female models, let me clarify.

I'm glad you clarified that last bit. Girls, it's okay. He's still swinging toward the ladies.

me: Elvis or the Beatles?
BRB: I don’t like either of them. (Here it is, people. The proof I prayed would never be revealed in the blog. Gingers really DON'T have souls.) I appreciate what the Beatles did for music, but I think they suck. And Elvis… wasn’t this a question at the Republican primary debate? (I'm a bad American. I don't watch smut t.v.) And none of the candidates could answer because they were too afraid to lose voters. Fuck Elvis (I would! But he's dead. And if he was alive he'd be old and fat. I want young elvis. Or at least Aloha from Hawaii Elvis.) and fuck the Beatles. (You can fuck them, I won't fight you on that.)
Fine, so who would you pick as your favorite band or artist? Jimi Hendrix or Stevie Ray Vaughan. Without Jimi Hendrix there wouldn’t have been Stevie Ray Vaughan, but without Stevie Ray Vaughan there wouldn’t be bands like Alice in Chains or the Black Keyes. What they’ve done for the guitar as an instrument let alone what they did for music is unbelievable. And they both liked heroine. One died by the needle and one by the helicopter. Music and comedy are my life. I love both equally, because when I’m in the fetal position in the shower crying… I can listen to any Jimi Hendrix or Stevie Ray Vaughan song and totally immerse myself. If you were to put on Elvis I would grab a rusty butter knife and try to slit my wrist.

Well, It's Now or Never... Ha! I kid. Keep away from the silverware, ginger.

me: What advice would you give to anyone wanting to give stand up comedy a try?
BRB: Stop talking about it and just do it. Do what you think is funny, don’t worry about what anyone else is doing. Comedy is way too subjective for there to be a handbook written about it. There is no real advice anyone can give you about stand up because it is your material, it’s your way that you want to do things. Don’t listen to too many people. Just do what makes you happy, because in the end you’re the one who has to live with it.

                                   

Bobby Ray Bunch, everyone. He's all over the place, Twitter, Facebook, The Mill in Iowa City where he runs a comedy showcase on the regular. There's going to be a you-don't-want-to-miss-this showcase tomorrow night, actually. Headliner Colin Ryan, newcomer Nick Eff, effin' hilarious Tim Majetic and amazing Andrew King. All hosted by your very own Bobby Ray Bunch! Get up there, people!

And wow. This was super fun! For me! Haha... hopefully for you, too. I've missed this. I'll be back. Soon. Like the next time there's a friday and stuff.

~h

"Oh, I just dressed up as a woman for Halloween one year" OR When a hot pair of thigh high stiletto boots is a bad thing

Gee whiz, I can't believe we're almost to the end of Taco Time! Guess it's lucky for me that I keep meeting men worthy of another verse in my song. Sheesh.

Well friends, we are up to the grand finale of my song, the last verse wherein lies many a tale of many a man who, like the proverbial black cat, has crossed my dating path. I'm pretty sure there was a ladder or two involved somewhere. Here is the first fella we'll take a gander at:

     "But there's more... a cross-dresser from Chicago..."

Now of course I didn't go into this whole thing knowing he was a cross-dresser. That would be insane! No, he cleverly left that out of his profile description. He was a nice, attractive, intelligent seeming guy who appeared to be looking for many of the same things I was, including a relationship with that someone special (my words, not his). How could I go wrong, right?

Wrong.

See this is the thing. I suck at reading signs. Not like street signs and whatnot. Just the big, blaring neon signs that blink over people's heads when you're out on a date with them and things are very clearly circling the drain. Or when they bust out a pocket size Aqua Net and a lighter. Signs like "RUN!" or "U TURN" or "WTFH?!?" You know, those kinda signs. I mean, I can read them (and see them, as I just described them as neon) I just refuse to heed them. I politely brush them away and pretend they were never there. It's because of this that Taco Time was born, so I won't talk too awful about this issue of mine. But I digress...

He was from California, had lived out in L.A. Hell, he was even married to Rosanne Barr's daughter! Saw the pic of him and Roseanne at his wedding reception! (and for the record, I also googled him and found it was indeed true.) I met up with this guy for Kombucha at a health food shop in town. He was kind of a crunchy, seaweed eating health food almost vegan sort (that should have been a sign right there) and it was his pick, which was fine. I'm down for new things. Then he started talking. He had this almost constantly condescending way of talking, which was a bit tricky to play comfortable around. I could have been as condescending right along with him, but I choose not to. I played it cool and then our lunch date finished with an open ended "Well, that was fun, maybe I'll see you again sometime." I didn't honestly see how our outing equated to anything he wanted to repeat. Me? Queen of "EveryGuyDeservesAChanceLand"? I was up for another round. Besides, maybe he was just nervous.

Or apparently his frilly thong was riding too high up his crack, moose-knuckling his junk and whatnot. Who knows. What? Who? Just keep reading.

So we did go out for another round or two, usually at the health food shop (it was near where he was staying). Sometimes I even picked him up from the plasma donation place. Yes, he donated plasma. Lots of people do. Yes, he had no car. Lots of people...don't...at some point in their lives. Most of the time when I am dating them. Ugh... Things were still hard to decipher. There were times when I could tell (or thought I could tell) that he liked me. Other times I was sure that he was disgusted with my very existence and had no idea why he was bothering to hang out with me.

Then he went "home" (he said it always felt like home) to Chicago for a few days. We were texting while he was up there, and he asked if I wanted to pick him up from the bus station when he got back. Sure, why not? Super nice person over here. Some have even gone so far as to call me awesome. Just sayin'. Anyway, so when I picked him up I got a hug and we went over to Front Street Brewery (a local pub, for you out of towners) for a few drinks.

He seemed like a totally different person. Way more relaxed, more smiley, more affectionate. His friends and some family live in Chicago, so he was thrilled to be back in his element. And apparently ready to show me just how much he liked me. He sat with his arm around me, sat close to me, and even went so far as to kiss me. Even said that he had wanted to do that for awhile but was scared. Or something. I don't really remember anymore. And then there was the big reveal...

A few weeks earlier he sent me a picture of him at halloween when his friends dared him to dress up like a woman. He didn't make a half-bad woman. Well, turns out he didn't think so, either. Because he used to do it on the regular. Christina was the name of his alter-ego. And he proceeded to show me more pictures of "her". And while he assured me she was no longer a part of his life, he did admit to holding onto a pair of skinny jeans and thigh-high stiletto boots that he, on occasion, liked to prance around the house in. Okay, so he didn't say prance, but come on, what else is a 6 foot tall Mexican going to be doing in skinny jeans and stilettos? Playing Risk?

Wow. So, yeah. I wish I could say that it ended there. It didn't. But come on. He didn't dress up anymore. I wouldn't have to date him and Christina. And who cares if when he kissed me it felt like his overly moist lips were going to both drench and suffocate me while slurping the lips clean off my face. We could work on that whole not-kissing-like-a-plecostomus thing later.

Yes, friends. I proceeded to continue to see this guy. God only knows why. No, seriously, I'm pretty sure He's the only one who does. I can no longer recall what flights of insanity led me to continue on with this man. There were a few nights of drunken hanging out - I equate his drunkenness to that of a high Cheech - full of sloppy kisses and regret. And then one day things just... ended.

Again, I'm sure he flipped some crazy switch - or wig, if Christina had her way - and freaked out at the possibility of some kind of adult, functioning relationship. Haha! I can't even get the sentence out without laughing. That was never going to happen. But yeah, for some reason or another he stopped messaging or calling or texting and I left it at that.

I seriously have got to stop chasing the crazies. I mean really, people. My behavior is downright commitment-worthy. But this is all part of my plan... for 2013. Stop chasing crazies.

But... they won't... stop... chasing... me!

AAAAAGGGGGHHHH! Ahem... where was I? Oh yeah...

El Fin.

Sorry it's been so long. I promise I'll try to do better. Damn this whole me having a real day job and kids and hobbies and a messy house and chores and a lazy streak the size of the equator. 2013, baby. You are my year. To... do... stuff? Yeah, stuff.

Like blog more. Scout's honor.

Love you all like a love song...

~h

(p.s. Totally laid my peepers on the aforementioned thigh-high stiletto boots. Size 10's, for the record, are freakin' ginormous.)

NEXT TACO TUESDAY: Continuing on with the final verse... oh, lord. The bobblehead collector. Aqua Teen Hunger Force anyone? (If you say yay I punch you now.)( Kidding!)( Not really.) Title?Wow, your bobblehead collection is so impressive OR "Don't bring me dow-ownnn...Brrrrrruce!"

 

 

It's That time again... That Girl strikes again.

Hey there! I... wait, what do you mean it's Thursday? Of course it is!

I... yeah, I know Tuesday was a couple days ago. Duh!

I... um, yes, I know I usually have a Taco Tuesday blog. Ahem... something... came up. Yeah, that's what happened. I had a... thing. Yep, a thing. Totally. Anywhooo...

I promise, friends, next week I will be back up to all my old tricks, as much as I can muster anyway. Taco Tuesdays, That Girl Thursdays, Funny Fridays (which reminds me... don't remind me! I'll get it done, I swear!)... all that jazz. But for now, let's talk about That Girl.

So my friend Amy and I used to play a magic 8 ball game with my iPod. I have over 5000 songs on there, and one day, whilst doing the laundry, we decided to seek dating advice from my obviously sage portable music device. This is what we would do. I'd set the iPod on shuffle. We would each take turns holding the iPod in our hands and, very sincerely, ask it a random question about our love life. Then we would hit play. The song that the iPod randomly chose would hold the answer to our question.

Now, of course, we didn't really believe it. But it just so happened that sometimes my iPod would come up with some eerily appropriate responses as we listened to the words in the song. Other times it just plain ole had a sense of humor as it busted out with some random spanish ditty or Italian opera. Other times I swear it just dug the most random piece of musical insanity out if the deepest nooks in between circuit boards to drive us nuts.

All this story to tell you that I am That Girl who finds the hidden meaning in life, love and relationships - and the correlations between all those things - and song lyrics.

I am the worlds most ridiculous sap. Ssh... don't tell anyone.

For example, I am currently in a state of non-relationship having (NRH) where I am in... something... with an amazing person who - if my history is any indicator of my future luck with relationships - I'll likely never get the pleasure of knowing as my own. Now, does that stop me or my heart from going there, with those hopelessly romantic yet unrequited thoughts of a happily ever after? Of course not. As a good friend (or two) has told me recently, the heart wants what it wants.

I'm here to say that my heart is a damn idiot.

But I digress... so being in this current state of NRH, I picked a song to listen to on the way home today. "OMG!" (said my heart in my head just as chipper as you would imagine) "This song is like, totally how I feel!"

Let me introduce you to Jack Wagner's "All I Need". Why yes, yes it is a huge throwback to the late 80's/early 90's.

Kissing you is not what I had planned
And now I'm not so sure just where I stand
I wasn't looking for true love
But now you're looking at me
You're the only one I can think of
You're the only one I see

[Chorus]
All I need
Is just a little more time
To be sure what I feel
Is it all in my mind
Cause it seems so hard to believe
That you're all I need

Yes it's true we've all been hurt before
But it doesn't seem to matter anymore
It may be a chance we're taking
But it always comes to this
If this isn't love we're making
Then I don't know what it is

All I need
Is just a little more time
To be sure what I feel
Is it all in my mind

Cause it seems so hard to believe

No stars are out tonight
But we're shining our own light
And it's never felt so bright
Cause *girl the way I'm feeling

(*Boy, in my case. I've not resorted to swinging that way. Yet.)
It's easy to believe
That you're all I need

Ah
You're all I need

 

So there you have it, friends. THAT Girl who used to write out feeling-appropriate song lyrics, in her very best penmanship, to give to her man-of-the-hour in high school. I am, in fact - as recently as a few hours ago - THAT Girl who finds parallels to her love life in all the sappy songs she knows and loves. And who sometimes wishes her iPod was as clairvoyant as it seems to be.

 

Until next time, friends, this is That Girl, signing off.

 

~h

 



That Thursday - Why yes, I am THAT girl.

I am a lot of things that other women aren't. Hell, I'm a lot of things that other people of any gender, creed or color aren't. I like to think that's what makes me extra awesome. If you reread that sentence, you'll notice that I did NOT say that these little nuggets of extra awesome are always the best ideas or the most coveted of traits to possess. Case in point...

MacGyver was right - tape is AMAZING!

Ever have a favorite pair of underwear? But after having paid faithful homage to it for far too long the elastic just can't take the stress of hugging your ass anymore and it says "I quit"? Yep. I've got a pair of those. It's one of two blue panties of the same style and for the life of me I can never remember which of the two is the offending pair. (Why in the world do I keep wanting to call it a pair of panties? Is that a thing or am I going insane? If it's a thing, is it because there are a "pair" of leg holes? Please make it stop!) As of today I will no longer forget which blue panties are the ones that refuse to cinch around my hips.

Why?

Because I'm currently wearing them. I wore them at work all day today. And I wore them all day at work one day last week. (*NOTE: Just to clarify, the panties in question have indeed been washed between then and now. I did not, in bachelor fashion, turn them inside out and go another round. Carry on.)

I work in the operating room. Most of the day I'm bundled up in sterile attire and tending to the guts and glory and the inner workings of the human body. As you may have guessed, you can't scratch your nose or pull up your britches in such a state.

Not even if the britches in question - and yes, I said britches (why yes, I am a little bit country or possibly 95, thanks for noticing!) - are descending to a very gangstuh-esque position just above your kneecaps. Just to really give you a good idea, I'm obviously wearing scrub pants, which have a crotch in them (thank God!) so while the crotchal region is still more or less covered, everything else has gone south. So (in my best Rod Serling) picture if you will, the crotch of the panties as the narrow uppermost portion of a bell, and the sagging waistband as the large mouth opening at the bottom. (Please reference the photo below for a good depiction of three things: 1) a visual of the bell curve underwear, 2) a little assistance in bringing up those last few cookies/cheeseburgers/beers you regret ingesting and 3) inspiration for why I WILL get my ass back to running VERY SOON)

 

 

That's what I was dealing with during the case last week. The anticipatory and painfully slow descent of my disloyal undergarment, until they reached the "panties at half mast" position, and with a solid half hour left in the case. Today, luckily, I was in a much better state. While once again clad in the sad, stretchless wonders, I wasn't in cases near as lengthy, and my gluteal hypothermia was kept at bay. But today I was struck with a genius thought.

     Smee: I've just had an apostrophe!
     Hook: I think you mean "epiphany".
     Smee: Lightning has just struck my brain.
     Hook: Oh, that must hurt.

I grabbed a handy roll and two little strips of tape later - voila! No more embare-ass-ing wardrobe malfunction. Did I remember that I had taped my underwear to my ass when I went to the bathroom later on? Of course... not. Until the tape ripped the first totally unnecessary layer of epithelials off my cheeks. Did I remember it the second time I went to the bathroom today? Sure I did...n't. But man, that third time? That was the charm!

So yes... I am indeed THAT girl. The one who tapes her underwear to her ass so it doesn't fall down. Here's hoping I can be the girl who remembers to toss these ridiculous proper-panty imposters into the trash when she takes them off.

Until next time, this is That Girl, signing off...

~h

"So how many people can you fit in your car?" OR How talent gets me every time.

Yeah, yeah. I'm back. Sort of.

I've lost my blogging mojo, it's true. A few random souls keep telling me that I should keep it up, though, so... I guess I'll try. But before I get going on this seriously long overdue Taco Tuesday blog, I must post a disclaimer. Ahem...

*No names or faces depicted in this blog are of the real men of which I speak! (Unless they really REALLY pissed me off)* That being said, the men in this blog are real, live people. While my portrayals of these men might be slightly hyperbolized (I stress the word "slightly") they are not meant to poke fun at the actual humans behind the story, except for a few instances. Like the FMB, for example. Some of these men were/are idiots, knuckleheads, and fools and...wait, that's a little harsh. Some of them were/are just plain guys who weren't for me, but whom I feel no amount of loyalty to, and my retelling of the glorious tale of our meeting is simply meant to be reflection of the hilarity of my ridiculous unfortunate luck with men. Some of these men however, are actually my friends, and nothing I say is in any way, shape or form meant to hurt them. I'm seriously trying to put together a book here. Just wanted them - and everyone else to know - that I'm a writer, damnit! And above all else, I'm poking fun at myself, not them. So see, fellas - it's me, not you. Smooches!

Alrightee, now that I've got that out of the way, onto the next Taco Time alum.

"There's a clown, the fire-breathing kind, and he juggles sometimes, and he likes to roleplay.
In a kilt, with a sweet ponytail and a shirt of chain maille, and he asked me to stay.
So I replied in my best elf impression that our two races could never love in peace.
Are you starting to see why it's Taco Time for me?"

So way back in Taco Time history (okay, not way WAY back) I talked about the LLP - Larping Lutheran Priest. He was the first one to introduce me to larping. (live action roleplaying - stick with me, people!) And that is where I met this next man.

You know how you hear chicks say how hot they think a man in uniform is? Well, for me a uniform of medieval cosplay garb and an accent is kind of one of my favorites. Yeah... I've got no explanation for where that affinity stems from. You have to be somewhat bold and fearless and a great deal creative to be good at larping, and 9 times outta 10 talent and personality are so much more of a turn on for me than anything else. Let's face it. You could look like Ryan Reynolds or Robert Downey Jr, but if there is zero creativity flowing through your neandarthal synapses and you've got all the personality of a dead pet rock (yeah, I said "dead" pet rock), your washboard abs better be able to mold themselves into Starry Night or something, because I'll only be able to enjoy you for so long. I will still enjoy you, of course. But I digress...

He was all dressed up in the aforementioned kilt, and big, and strong, and charismatic and ohhh... swoon! My little gypsy character just hid behind his big manly manliness and had no problem playing the damsel in distress. Don't get me wrong, I tried to hold my own in the fights against the orcs and other baddies, but I was a fairly new character and my skills and newbie level couldn't hold a torch to what the other, more experienced characters could do.

WAKE UP! Sorry, just thought I heard some snoring there. The soothing sounds of my nerdiness must have lulled you into a uninterested sleep.

Anyway, as I was getting to, I was completely smitten by this tall, swarthy barbarian with an adorable accent who could protect me from all the things that could go bump in the night. Or kill me in my sleep. Literally. In the reality of a live-action roleplaying game literal sense, where the bad guys will come into your cabin and try to kill you in your sleep. (Although I'm pretty sure he could hold his own in real life, too. He's scrappy.)

I became friends with this guy outside of the game, too, and his amazing friend (more than friends, friend, whom I also love, who I actually met him through) and, for a period of time spent quite a bit of time with them, getting to know them and whatnot. I wasn't dating anyone at that time (Gee, what a surprise! When am I ever?) and kept going back to the my big strong barbarian friend who was not only a talented creative thinker but also an amazing juggler, clown type fella and fire eater, which - come on! - is super amazing cool! It's easy to idealize things and people and situations when you're in a position to, I guess. And I was in a position and of a mind to.

Over time, though, my larping outings grew less and less frequent and time and money kept me from making trips to see them. My idealistic fantasies about being swept away by a giant protecting barbarian from a distant land (Easter Illinois) dissipated and life moved forward. I still keep in touch with this amazing duo, but not nearly often enough.

In a nutshell, though, that is the tale of the kilt-wearing, fire breathing larper who stole the heart of a young gypsy lass. Wow...kinda sounds like some weird fantasy soap opera. Why don't they have fantasy soap operas? (or do they?) I think it would be amazing! Hmmm... an idea is forming...

But there it is. And maybe, just maybe, I'll actually get my Funny Friday blog posted. (For the record, I'm never doing another phone interview - sorry, Bobby - because I am entirely too lazy to transcribe it.)

Love and squishes to you people who read me. I'll try to be back in a timely fashion. Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey fashion, that is.

~h

NEXT TACO TUESDAY: It's the final countdown! The last stanza of the song, where the dudes come atcha hot and heavy like. First up? "Oh, I just dressed up as a woman for Halloween one year" OR When a hot pair of thigh high stiletto boots is a bad thing.

Thursday... what's special about a Thursday?

Hi!

*waving

Hey, don't I know you?

*shrugs

Sure I do! I've seen you around here before. It's been awhile though.


It's true, it's been a grip (ha! love this ridiculous phrase that I don't even know what it really means accept that years and years ago people used it in place of 'a long time'). I've thought about this blog a lot, though. I love this blog. It's mine, all mine! MY precious! But I've been admittedly lazy, disenchanted, and frustrated with life and things in general. I know, all reasons that I most definitely SHOULD be blogging!

Since I have declared ("Why, I declay-yuh!") that this is the year I will get famous (infamous is included as a strong possible other option) and I want to get a novel or two sent out to publishers I suppose I better get the lead out. Plus, I only have about 60 other comics and funny men and women that I want to interview for your viewing pleasure - not the least of which is coming up tomorrow, one Bobby Ray Bunch!

Let's start real quick by listing my New Year's Resolutions. They are fairly simple, but will require some serious scheduling on my part, WHICH, if you know me at all, will be a Heraclean challenge.

1. Write more. Easy, right?
2. Read more. SO easy!
3. Draw more. Ok, now that's a little time consuming.
4. Submit one novel to publishers. I have one completed and "A Foot in My Mouth" underway, so 
    there are two possible candidates here.
5. GMFUC. I love you all, and stuff, but that one is for me. For now. Until I decide to turn it into a
    self-help "what not to do" book.
6. Get back into working out. 2011 was an awesome year for me fitness-wise. Ran my ass off -
    literally! - did my first half marathon, worked out at an amazing gym, got strong and fit (even
    though the scale didn't show it - boo!) and felt great. Moving to first shift made that all almost
    impossible, but I think if I shuffle things around I can make it happen. And I want to... I miss
    running. Plus it's a public service - I look freakin' hilarious when I run, and laughter is the best
    medicine.
7. ???  I'm reserving this spot for a future resolution. Ha!

Alrightee, friends, Romans and countrymen. There you have it. The promise of greatness - and dare I say, fame - for 2013. And a great interview tomorrow! And this coming Tuesday, back to Taco Time!

Love you all, I really do. Hope your Christmas was merry and your New Year very... well, at least a little bit of what you hoped it would be with the promise of SO much more to come.

~h