Resolve and Evolve

Let it be known that on, Monday, January 1, 2007, that I, GAC, resolve to take charge of my life in the year 2007 by doing the following (in no particular order of priority):

1) Be nicer to my mom. This seems like an easy task, but when your mom calls you at work, if no answer, calls cell phone twice, if no answer, then work again, you answer only to have her ask you an "urgent" question which she has forgotten…calls you BACK at work b/c she remembered: "ummm, have you seen my tweezers?". I will not sigh directly in her face, but rather cover the mouth piece of the phone so she cannot detect my exasperation.

2) Accept my deficiencies of laziness and hatred toward cleaning supplies, dirty dishes, and laundry hampers and hire a cleaning/maid service.

3) To overdraw my bank account no more than once every 2 months - and perhaps to start a savings account (a bit lofty, I know).

4) Search for a standard/go-to drink. You know, "the usual."

5) Purchase only one bridesmaid dress - and sell off the other 15 in my closet.

6) Brush up on my Spanish so I can read the food labels at the Piggly Wiggly.

7) To go on more dates, but not by compromising my standards (which may actually lead to fewer dates).

And finally,

8) To be more productive at work by writing more frequently in my blog.

As we say it at my house, Happy Nu Nu!

A Little Haste for the Holidays - "Just Call Me"

I had a date the Thursday before Christmas. It was a nice evening, caught my favorite Christmas Movie, Emmet Otter's Jugband Christmas, at a local bar, then headed out for tapas - where I proceeded to slide across the restaurant floor as if figure-skating were my true hidden talent. Since he did not mock me at my misfortune, laughed at all of my jokes, AND called me beautiful I thought it was certainly worth a second date, but Saturday you ask? I gave my go-to answer "just call me." Friday night I had big plans with friends in town, and Saturday I was planning on spending in recovery mode. Saturday afternoon came around, and he called me. I explained that I was fairly cracked-out from having stayed out until 5am, and waking up at 1pm. This did not seem to phase him, so I obliged, and we cooked dinner and watched a movie. He asks again, "when can I see you next?", and I reply, "just call me." Well, he does. He calls me the next day to wish me a Merry Christmas, to see if I would be interested in hanging out that night, and then to say, "I also have a small gift I want to bring by"….hives spread over my body, and my throat begins to close. A present!!?? What to think! I quickly declined his invitation to hang out (I was planning on spending the entire day in my pajamas anyway), and then he asked if I would be interested in hanging out the next day. Geeez, this guy certainly doesn't beat around the bush. So I said "just call me." As you can imagine my mind began racing about what the gift could actually be? Why would someone who has only been out with me twice want to give me a gift? What if it was inappropriate, could I give him the ole "I can't accept this?" Would I feel differently if I were totally in to him? I know, I know, women like me should be accustomed to getting showered with gifts, I should be appreciative of his thoughtful gesture, but I'm not. I'm a total bitch who gets creeped out when guys jump the gun, express interest in me too soon, and are actually polite gentleman (and yet, I always bitch when my boyfriends can't do these things). So I got the call on the 26th, but I didn't answer the phone. I kind of wanted to wait in hopes that I would dash any of his plans to grab dinner or catch a flick, so I did wait and wouldn't you know he was headed to dinner w/ his family…phew. But then he asked if he could come by afterwards to bring me the gift. I once again thrusted into panic mode and said, you got it, "just call me." Is it fair for me to go from "could-be-interested" to "sick-to-my-stomach" in such a short amount of time? He called around 9 pm to see if it was still kosher to stop-by. I mean, I couldn't really say no at this point. So he did, and brought me "the gift". You can imagine how relieved I felt when I opened the door and noticed a wine bottle gift bag. But then again, you can never be too sure. So as the package portrayed it was a bottle of wine (always appreciated), and surprise! two mix CD's, which were also appreciated, but hilariously reminiscent of Junior High. The most classic part of the CD's were the fact that they were labeled: "Ginger Ann's Bluegrass Mix" and "Ginger Ann's Pop Mix". I think in adulthood when appropriately labeling mix CD's you are to either a)come up with a clever title, or b) put your own name as the possessive, or c) no names attached at all. Names only give permanent reminders. Yes, they are a gift to me, but I'm not sure I want to claim the songs on either CD not having experienced a dry-run.

It certainly could have been worse, and they're definitely the kind of gifts you wouldn't feel bad for accepting if you had to drop the axe the next week. I wonder if he thought it odd that I told him he needed to leave as I had to "mentally prepare" for work the next day.

Merry Ex-Mas

It's the happ-happiest season of all...

Being single during the holidays is a double-edged sword for me. On one hand, I realize that by not having a boyfriend I am saving myself dough and anxiety over finding the perfect gift. On the other hand, I am one of those sick individuals that has the uncanny ability to concoct the perfect present for that special someone. And let me tell you people, my effort and skill does not go unnoticed...Never a disappointed boyfriend in the house. So it's no surprise that this year's holiday gloom is not from the lack of a snuggle buddy over a mug of spiked cocoa, but rather from the distress that I can't compete with myself to top last year's gift.

Apparently there are others that remember this unique "gift" of mine as well. Wouldn't you know that my most recent ex emailed me this past Friday:

do you (or - insert sister's name ) have any good gift ideas? i've done nothing.

Other than the obvious faux pas presented in this email, I must say that at first read I find it humorous that he has included my sister in his inquiry. Does she really give a shit about his holiday predicament? Is he thinking that by including both of us it makes it less "weird"? Also, unless the gift tag has my name on it, do I really want to offer up any suggestions? Like all of us single losers, and against my better judgment, I emailed him back...Hey it's the holidays!

Well that response led to a few more emails. And then, like the Angel Gabrielle, this gem appeared out of nowhere. Let me tell you folks, you have never received an email quite like this one. Not from a boy who broke you heart, then moved down the street from you, frequents all the same hangouts, and works 2 blocks away, forever keeping you on your toes and making it devastatingly hard to move on (bitter much?). This is the perfect topper to the the most dysfunctional of break-up trees:

sorry but i need help with one more thing. i don't have a girlfriend to ask these things so you'll have to bear with me. besides which you should be flattered i value your opinion. i thank you in advance. first, do you like this jacket (for me, not gift)? if so or if not, which color is better, brown or grey?

Speechless, right? First thought, cry me a fucking river. Second thought, are you trying to be funny? Third thought, I should be flattered? Shouldn't you be flattered that I'm even acknowledging you? Final (for the purposes of this blog) thought, you actually think I have a vested interest in helping you look good? Sorry, but I think you need help with more than one thing. Say a little couth with the ladies?? When you have relinquished the privilege of dating me, isn't this where your sisters and mother come in? It's like you want certain benefits, but not even the good ones…

I will certainly be searching for a new lad under the mistletoe this holiday season. Until then…Merry Ex-Mas to all and to all a good night!

The Lab Rat

Watch it...I'm testy.

Minnie from the Block

Don't be fooled by the dots that I got.

Queen Bee

If the queen ain't happy - ain't nobody happy.

Drool on This

One of the more fascinating job responsibilities I have is to research items to give out at expo's, to clients, or for holiday gifts, etc. (please note that I correctly used "holiday"). Gifts that are more lovingly referred to in the marketing world as "promotional products", "give-aways", "tsatskes"...or as I like to call them "trash", "crap", and "what the hell am I supposed to do with cheese knives etched with your ugly-ass logo, do you think I'm really going to impress my guests with this?"

Even scarier than the logo-etched cheese knives is the "Drooling Serenity Fountain" that I just came acrosss - yes they used "drool" and "serenity" in the same product name. I mean, I guess I drool when I sleep, and when I sleep I'm serene, but get one look at this masterpiece and you'll certainly find the irony...You may even drool a little bit, but more out of fright than envy.

This thing makes me feel lots of things - none of which can be defined as serene. I mean, first of all he's staring (and making no issue about it), and secondly, he's drooling - just an overall rude fountain if you ask me. Can anyone tell me if looking at this makes them feel comfortable? Did SunTrust authorize this as a gift? If so, I highly suggest switching institutions.

Oddly enough this fountain has a somewhat mesmerizing effect, and I can't help but stare at it 9(maybe because it's so freakin' serene) - not only in shock and awe - but b/c of something more familiar . Something out of my childhood - out of a fantasy world. Take me to Fantasia! Did somebody say - Rockbiter?

Haley's Tip of Month

On reveling in your single youth...

We might still, at 27 years old, go through several serious boyfriends and breakups before finding the person we'll be with for the rest of our lives. Try to get over the whole stereo-type/pressures to be with someone and have kids and crap. Remember to enjoy these years because we're not going to get them back.

A Fraction of Hope: Cuz I Ain't No Challah Back Girl

I was raised, baptized and confirmed in the Presbyterian Church. I wouldn't call my family uber religious - meaning we didn't go to church every Sunday (my father said "you don't have to go to church to believe in God"), but we all believe in a higher power in our own way. If my family practices any sort of religion it would be the Southern Religion - worshiping good food, great music, exaggeration and antique furniture.

I remember at a young age, we would gather 'round the dining room table at my maternal grandparents' home in Ocean Springs, MS - we were very quick to say the blessing so we could move on to the toasts. I recall that after every toast my grandmother would raise her glass and say - "L'Chaim" (la - kai - hem, the "hem" rattled with your best phlegm). Most goyems don't know this term, but it means "to life" in yiddish. I thought it fascinating, that she spoke a language that none of us knew - and we would of course respond with great naches, "L'Chaim."

This is the first memory I have of my grandmother's intrigue with the Jewish culture and religion - it wasn't until about 10 years or so later that it would become a recurring topic of conversation, and something that I would embrace. This is because in those 10 years I came to find out that we (my brother, sister and I) are in fact 1/16 Jewish. Which, to me, put my life into an entirely different perspective. I mean, I was now, for all intents and purposes, a pale-skinned, blonde-haired, button-nosed Jew - how diverse! Lest we forget, exaggeration was mentioned as being part of the Southern Religion, so this fraction may or may not be distorted (one will never know). And even better than the fraction of my Judaism is the fact that it doesn't even come from my grandmother's side, it comes from my grandfather's side, which according to the Jewish religion - doesn't make me Jewish at all, but mazel to my grandmother for embracing her husband's heritage and passing it on! And yes, it is a little Gefilte-fishy that my grandfather never mentions this background, but let's just go with it for the sake of the blog.

Now that I'm sailing past my mid-twenties, my grandmother's Jewish alter-ego has taken an entirely different direction (insert song - "Matchmaker"). Over the years I have had the privelage of growing my mispoche of Jewish men (Jlo, Big Head, Geranimo, Ginsu, etc) - some of the finest, smartest, well-dressed, and did I mention funniest? people I know. After my grandmother learned about what knakers I was befriending, I realized how much she wanted this shikse to be a part of the clan:

Hinting: "well you know, Jared, Ginger Ann is 1/16 Jewish" (eh? eh?). Planning: "I have always wanted to decorate a chuppah. It would look great in the yard." Complimenting: "I have always said that Jewish men give the best jewelry and make the best lovers." Pushing: "why don't you just go ahead and marry one of those little jew- boys. Women shouldn't have children after the age of 30."

With all of the not-so-subtle hints, I wonder - does my wise grandmother truly believe Judaism to be my destination? Is she just wanting me to live out a life that she only 1/4 had? I have participated in a Seder…I have always enjoyed a good bar/bat mitvah…and challah bread souffle…halt din zoken!

So whether your grandmother wants you to be Jewish, you're a fraction, a wannabe, or just want to know more - the following references will be very helpful in your quest:

• Yiddish terms, complete with pronunciations, Kosher Nosh Dictionary
• Basic overview of the religion, Judaism for Dummies
• Things you should know if you're interested in dating a Jewish man,
  What to do when you're dating a Jew, or
  Boy Vey!, The Shiksa's Guide to dating Jewish Men
• Kosher food, we don't dig on no swine - The Almighty Manischewitz

The Fur Bus Cometh

For those ages 23-35 looking for a good idea for a bachelorette party, I HIGHLY recommend the Fur Bus in Hotlanta. Picture an old school bus, painted in psychadelic colors, insides stripped and replaced with floor to ceiling furs of different varieties, couches lining each side and the back and blinking red lights. Did I forget to mention the killer soundtrack that Captain Jack played all night long? Apparently they have these things in other locations, so check out the web site. But if you're in Atlanta, just ask for Jack.

Statute of Grievatation

"So many tears I've cried, so much pain inside. Now baby it ain't over 'till it's over" - - Lenny Kravitz

For the recently scorned who are familiar with the lyrics of Lenny's song, you can all relate to the tears and the pain, but the part that becomes blurry to some is the ambiguous "it ain't over 'till it's over." So basically the relationship is over, but not until it's over...While it doesn't seem to make sense on the surface, we all know the exact feeling to which Lenny refers. Many women and men have a hard time defining over, explaining over and overcoming over, creating tumultuous delusions of "maybe", "one day", and "possibly."

As a victim of a very recent break-up, I decided to mend some wounds and hit up the Big Apple with a good friend. Sometimes I feel like New York is the most liberating city for these types of situations, but then most of the time it just makes me feel totally unfashionable, fat, and uncultured, defeating the purpose of my original intent. I should also mention that I had an allergic reaction to my eye make-up causing my eyes to swell up like a boxer - let's just say that I didn't get lucky. And moving back to the subject at hand. While my friend and I were consuming some excellent sushi at Cube 63, the conversation tended to lean toward the why's and how's of the end to my most-recent relationship. Situated two months deep into the break-up, I didn't feel like analyzing was completely out of the question. Moving from sushi to The Library, the bar played all songs that could be found on my ex's ipod play list - mutual favorites including Pixies, Bowie and Beck - sending me further into a state of nostalgia. I quickly downed my redbull and vodka and moved to swankier spirits like gin fizzes and champagne at the Maritime hotel - hoping that further lubrication would lead to a better situation. My friend must have been faster on the draw than I, as she had to take herself home a little bit earlier.

I found myself a cab - where I texted ex about said bar and music (such a disappointing move for me, in my recent maturity I'm never one to drink and dial/text), got to the Upper East side apartment, and was greeted at the door by a teary-eyed roommate, who I may have forgotten to mention dated my ex-boyfriend 3+ years ago. Before I could get through the front door, it was made known to me that my presence was very uncomfortable for her, that she's sorry for acting like a bitch all weekend, and that I need to understand where she's coming from. I immediately sobered up at this display, and quickly let her know that I didn't feel her behavior was rude and that I am sensitive to these types of situations (errrr - uhhh). Apparently my friend and her roommate had been in a screaming match since their arrival from the bar - and I slowly pieced it together that it was about ME and my (our) ex-boyfriend. I acted as mediator for a good bit of the exchange until I was unwillingly brought into the conversation when the roommate felt it necessary to say (all important quotes strung together to hit high points and not have to scribe entire conversation - names used for anonymity) "you just need to know that JOHN DOE(ex-boyfriend) is the love of MY life - it is very difficult to be around you - we do not have to be best friends - I had to give up my family of friends when JOHN DOE and I broke up." All the while I am thinking how bizarre it is for me to be a part of this, and I can't believe I'm responding so neutrally until…"I know you guys just broke up, I mean that he broke up with you - and I'm sorry". WOW, talk about a passive/aggressive jab, and sorry my ass. I would also like to mention that this roommate felt it would have been more appropriate for me to stay in a hotel - or my friend to have put her up in a hotel vs. staying at the apartment. So I defended myself as much as necessary, but did I really need to be defending my presence? Or my choice in men? And YOU'RE grieving ? What about me? Am I to be completely overlooked into this situation.? This girl and John Doe broke up OVER three years ago and she has hit so low as to talk to ME about her undying love? I think Wayne Campbell put it best, "Get over it ; go out with somebody else". (insert format question from Carrie Bradshaw) But then I thought, what is the statute of limitations on grieving over an ex? She obviously didn't think it was "over".

In trying to find the permissable amount of grieving time over a broken relationship, I posed the question to several friends, both male and female (please let it be known that only females responded - go figure). And many came back with similar answers…

I. The Mathematical Approach
You can build a formula for accepted grieving time based on the amount of time you and your ex-dated. I will use my most recent relationship to plug into this formula (11 months) for demonstration.

Formula 1: For every year you dated your significant other, you allow yourself 3 months.

#Years x 3 months = Acceptable Grieving
.93 years x 3 months = 2.75 months of grieving (i've got 3/4 of a month to
go!)

Formula 2: Half of the amount of time you dated your significant other.

#Months / 2 = Acceptable Grieving
11 months / 2 = 5.5 months of grieving
(is this excessive?)

Many people would probably go for Formula 2 b/c it allows you more time; however, if you dated someone for 7 years - that would be 3 1/2 years of grieving - that's wasting time in my book.

II. Getting Under to Get Over
Another answer that was repeated often was the old adage, "the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else." First of all, for the purposes of this discussion "to get under" can mean sex, hooking up, smooching, whatever you want. I don't want to discriminate between the promiscuous and the prudish. Personally, I think this theory is questionable at best. After my first love and I broke up, I found that the distraction of other men was very fun, but only because I thought it was making my ex jealous. It certainly helped me get over a certain uncomfortability of becoming intimate with a new person, but ultimately led to an unhappiness of "getting under" a series of losers who could not accept the fact that I wasn't looking for love. This go-round, the thought of being with someone else is just not appealing, and makes me think that if I were to "get under" someone, it would only make me miss the ex even more. Any one have experiences where this has helped? I also posed the question - what if you have gotten under many a people and STILL can't get over the ex. Katie writes: "Try two men at one time." I like her forward approach.


III. Oh No, You Got to Keep on Movin'
Probably the most realistic answer was pointed out by Meg: "you never fully get over them until you move on… and they never fully get over you until they fully move on." And in all honesty, we don't know how long this could take. Sometimes you go in waves of not thinking about him/her, to being fully consumed by him/her. I eventually came to a point when I was so sick of Tim (my first love) being in and out of my life, that it was all I could do to get him to leave me alone - and then - BOOM - like an atomic bomb, I fell in love again…Tim? Who?

A "Wise Old Owl" said that as far as the break-up is concerned don't grieve - accept - and move on. It's hard and you can grieve a little (3 - 6 mos max); however, if you're still grieving after that, it is from the damage to your ego (so true), not from the sadness over the breakup. Separate the event - end of the relationship - from the damage to your ego. DO NOT allow yourself the luxury of self pity or blame.

So in conclusion, when he/she wants to break up, just believe that it truly is OVER, cuz we do not have time on this earth for the gray, murky bull-shit. And if they change their minds, hopefully they won't be too proud to tell you, and hopefully you will be a better person on your own or with someone new.

Haley's Tip of the Month

On Why Your Ex should buy YOU the drink and not the other way around...

next time you let him buy you the drink. and while he's leaning over to pay, slip your hand in his pocket and grab a twenty or two for yourself. you deserve it.

Eye Nose Eye Like

turn your sound up and enjoy...i have pressed play a good 20 times

http://www.smwa.net/downloads/funny/rake_bush4.swf

The Presidential...Sweet!

I am still recovering from a long weekend in Richmond, Virginia where I attended my best friend, Ashely Sauer's wedding (excuse me, now Ashley Sauer Oswalt). Perfect weekend, no detail spared, great people, lots of champagne, you get the point.

Instead of talking about the flowers at the rehearsal dinner, let's talk about the lame attempts that the single people make for a little weekend love. Now, as a single woman myself - and one of the only single bridesmaids - I prepared myself for the weekend and tried to look as good as I could get. However, I went into the weekend knowing that I didn't want to deal with any emotionally disturbed single groomsmen, drunk/half dressed wedding attendees, or random hotel guests for that matter. But mix in the alcohol, the euphoria of a wedding ceremony, and skimpy dresses, and it's all you can do to avoid it. I unfortunately, encountered about 3 lame attempts - 2 worth noting- throughout the 4 day weekend, which mathematically isn't all that bad.

Lame Attempt #1 (Friday Night, Post-Rehearsal Dinner): Everyone tends to drink twice as much on Friday nights before a wedding for the following reasons, (1) most everyone has gotten into town and is ecstatic to see one another, but mostly it's (2) that you have to stand up in a room full of crowded people with the pressure of saying something funny b/c of (1), but then the alcohol really makes you weep which leads to further humiliation and further drinking. I unfortunately was the victim of (2). Moving right along...after the rehearsal dinner we all attempted to go to a large bar where everyone could dance, drink, etc. but as soon as we entered the record scratched (see Animal House for further details), and we quickly went back to our ritzy downtown hotel. Having been seperated from my roommate, I went upstairs to bed only to find that I couldn't get my room key to work. Instead of doing what a normal person would do, I did what a tired, inebriated person would do...I lied down in the doorway to catch some Z's while waiting for my roommate to return. Having passed out in the meantime, I was awoken by two wedding goers asking if I was okay and offering one of the 2 beds in their room. I convinced them that I was cool and knew exactly what I was doing...so what did I do? I went downstairs to the hotel bar and attempted to mingle amongst those guests who had actually not been in the lying on the hotel carpet, shoes kicked off, mascara running on face, dress revealing undies state of mind. As I floated from table to table, my aisle partner (see emotionally distrubed single groomsmen) grabs me by the wrist and asks if I would like a drink. I politely declined and explained that I was headed upstairs to bed. Please note that there has been ZERO conversational exchange up to this point. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I deliberately avoided him given his past reputation. I removed my wrist from his hand and headed to the elevator bank only to find that I was being trailed by the same guy (did I mention that he had a TERRIBLE haircut). He gets into the elevator with me (still ignoring him), then follows me to the front desk while I explain to the desk clerk my predicament (key not working - still ignoring him). And as the nice desk clerk explains that he can't give me a key b/c the room is not under my name but that he will have security escort me, Trailer starts dog cussing the front desk clerk in an attempt to be chivalrous? impress me? get into my hotel room? (black curtain REMOVED) - "EXCUSE ME, I can take care of this myself!" I exclaimed. Trailer shuts up, and I go back into ignore mode. I zig zag back to the elevator bank, Trailer right behind me, get in the elevator with two people - Trailer and security guard. Trailer attempts to make idle conversation - i do not answer. Trailer follows me and the security guard to my room saying he just wants to make sure everything's "alright". Security guard lets me in - Trailer stunned as the door opens and my roommate has returned home! (I do believe in God) My question is this, did I miss something in the past year of having a sweet boyfriend? Is there no conversation required? Does he dig the "go to hell" vibe? Do you think the bride would mind if I switched my aisle partner????

Lame Attempt #2 (Saturday Night, Post-Reception): Instead of attempting a night out on the town, everyone decided to make their way back to the hotel bar (where I clearly had lots of luck the night before). So I went upstairs, stripped off my bridesmaid dress, woke up my roommate (having had too much to drink she had to bounce early) and demanded her to change and we strolled down together. We struck up convo with the usual crowd, but then I was approached by a handsome young man, residing in Atlanta, friends of the groom who insisted that we had talked extensively the night before. Must have been one of the other 135 blondes at the party (the only difference being that mine is real - don't know what that says about me, but just have to throw that out there). Anyway, I put on my usual witty, teasing charm, and it was working like wild fire. Before I knew it I was entertaining THREE young men. As we were chatting, the Handsome Atlantan had wandering hands (I am not a fan of that) and explained to me that since he arrived to the wedding late, they ended up giving him the Presidential Suite. I quickly explained that I didn't care where he was staying as long as his moth flew away from my flame. Anyway, after my roommate had a brief skirmish with the bar staff for taking away her 1/2 drunk Bud Light, we decided to head up to one of the three boys' rooms to continue the drinking and conversation. I kept asking Handsome Atlantan if we could in fact rock the house up at the Presidential Suite, but he exclaimed that he had already cashed out his mini bar, so we were relegated to the room of the lay people (no punn intended). We sat around drinking red bull and vodka's out of wine glasses, searched for an i-pod, listened to Jay-Z, discussed whether everyone preferred "Her Pleasure" vs. "Shared Pleasure", and talked philosophically on the pageantry of SEC football. All in all a beautiful evening; however, Handsome Atlantan didn't seem to so much be contributing to the conversation as he was having side conversations with me about going up to the Presidential Suite. Once again, was I supposed to be impressed by the allure of the Presidential Suite? That this guy had some serious earning potential b/c he was staying in the Presidential Suite? Or did he just want to lay my ass out on the Presidential bed? After declining his invitation numerous times he said "hey, i've got some beers up in the room, why don't you go with me to get them, and i promise we'll come right back down". Okay so the emphasis on promise was supposed to make me feel more comfortable? In an effort to shut him up, i said "okay, let's go to the presidential suite?" Then he said "I'm not really staying in the presidential suite, it's just a larger room." Well then, what the hell am I doing up here with all you jokers anyway?

Chicken Soup for the Taco Bell Soul

It's a low-point at lunch when you have to grab some Taco Hell to get you through the day. But hey, when all you have is a one dollar bill, 6 quarters, 4 dimes and a nickel - where the hell else can you eat? I like their new marketing campaign too that tries to make you feel better about your unhealthy purchase...you know the one, the quote-laden sauce packets? Just today I grabbed 4 to go along w/ my chicken soft taco and bean burrito:

"You had me at taco." (Border Sauce ala Jerry Maguire - p.s. I hate that movie)

"It's okay...you can say it. I love you too." (Make a run for the Border cuz your date is psycho)

"Pick me! Pick me!" (Think Outside in gym class when your Bun wanted to be on the cool team)

and my favorite (maybe b/c after a stint in DC I feel for the commuters and for some reason it really reminds me of my girl, Haley)

"Does a Grilled Stuft Burrito qualify you for the car pool lane?" (seriously Haley, you know
you've asked that question yourself/attempted this in your lifetime)

Biting the Hand that Feeds You

"I'm cute and crippled, will work for food, love and sleep."

I had a bleeding heart about 2 months ago and decided to adopt a dog from the Humane Society. I got the picture of Edgar from an email circulation at work, and those beautiful blue eyes, and that pathetic little cast called me to my destiny. After a day of back and forth w/ the Humane Society, I found myself buying dog supplies and headed to pick him up and take him on his journey home. I was stoked to have a new roomy, someone to talk to when I get home, someone to go on walks with, to sleep with...I've never refused my bed to a dog.

Our relationship for the first 3-4 weeks was going wonderfully. He was doing all of the right things...I was the apple of his eye...We could read eachother's minds. Soulmates really. He barked and it's like I could just tell he wanted to go outside, or eat some dinner. It was so weird. Some could say that maybe I enjoyed his weakness, that I finally had the upper hand in a relationship, but really I just wanted to pamper him and nurture him. About 3 1/2 weeks ago, as soon as Edgar came to be healed, it's like he was a different person, not in a bad way, but in the I've-never-seen-this-side-of-you-before kind of a way. I thought, this is new, I could get use to this. Well then it was like I couldn't do anything right, you bought the wrong food, it wasn't enough food, I hate plush toys, but I love to eat your coffee table books and you put them where I can't reach them, I don't want to go to bed at 11:00pm I wanna go back outside. It's like he was back on the streets again, but he wasn't - he was under my roof.

After some personal anguish about whether or not I could make this relationship work I decided to suck it up - I mean, I'm desperate and lonely, who else am I going to meet? So in the usual fashion we woke up at 5:45 am, had our breakfast and headed out for a long walk. As soon as we turned the corner to head back home the abuse began. He started barking and barking at me, I tried to stay as calm as possible, keep walking and ignore him, but the barking continued. Then he got a hold of my pants and tried to pull me down, he kept continuously grabbing and biting at my leg until my pants were completely shredded and I was exposed to the world - not to mention the fact that I wasn't wearing underwear and was trying to keep exposure to a minimum. I knew I shouldn't do it, but I was backed into a chevy caprise and I had no choice, I dropped the leash. Tears streamed down my face and I confusingly pleaded "what do you want from me?" He continued to bite and tear and pull, and at that moment in time I was rendered helpless. I finally got away from him. Tattered, bloody and torn I called my parents for help - and he, Edgar, came back to the front door as if nothing had ever happened. I was so confused, my feelings were so hurt. But as I drove off to emergency care, he was hauled back to the humane society. I don't know if I was ever really what he wanted, and in retrospect it was probably destined to fail.

I ask about him often...wondering how he's doing...if he's moved on.