Attempting to be budget-friendly, yet in dire need to regulate the disaster that is my nails and toes (esp in light of the spring-like weather...helloooo sandals!), I decided to get a mani/pedi today at a nearby beauty school. (Which will remain nameless to protect the innocent.) $6 for a manicure, $10 for a pedicure?!?! Hells yes. For $20, I can be looking good AND leaving a good tip for the future nail techs of America. Too good to be true?
The manicure was actually decent, although cuticles weren't touched. Ah well. I can deal with that. What I have MORE of a problem with was the pedicure. A giant of a guy was doing my toes, and informed me well into the first coat of polish that I was his first pedicure EVER! Sheesh. I've given MYSELF about a billion. I can show you! But no. His large man-hands were rushed, shaky and brusque, getting polish all over my poor under-filed toes. (Actually, he didn't even get all the original polish off, either - so lord knows WHAT color this really is.) I could feel my face contorting into the most horrified expressions - hope his professor wasn't watching. (Or maybe she should have been...)
Looking back, I might as well have just asked my male neighbor to give me a pedicure.
But again - it was $10. And I'll just go home and fix them.
There are a few songs out there which have much more "adult" meanings that I sadly didn't understand until much, much later.
Exhibit A: "O.P.P." Do y'all KNOW what that song is about. I think I only figured it out when I saw the lyrics once. Wow. I started randomly humming it yesterday because a story I wrote for work had the abbreviation BAP, and that's what we were calling it. So I responded to someone "yeah, you know me!" And couldn't get the damn song out of my head for about an hour. Also reminded me of my high school years working at the Chili's Preston-LBJ (shout-out), where the abbreviation for the classic cheeseburger (Old-timer with cheese) was, obvi, OTC. So Kelly and I would order them and HAD to follow up with a "yeah, you know me!" Anyway. I digress.
Exhibit B: Is it wrong that until like last week, when I saw the video on Totally 80s on VH1 Classic, I thought the Pointer Sisters' classic, "I'm So Excited" was merely about, you know, looking forward to something? Then I saw the slutty sisters in action and realized it was the OTHER kind of excited. Damn. That's like a 25-year bubble of naivete that just burst, people. But maybe I'm not alone in this - are we to believe that the Saved By the Bell girls would have done their classic "I'm So Excited" dance routine (in which Jessie Spano gets hooked on speed-AWESOME), having known it's true meaning? Perhaps. It WAS the 80s.
I'm taking this cake decorating class, but did not get the memo that I would actually have to BAKE the cakes. (Not sure where I thought they would come from, but whatever.) Regardless, I know my limits in the kitchen - so box cake it is. How can you screw up a box cake, after all. Well, let me count the ways.
1. The box might say there's enough in there for 2 9" round pans, but at least when you're decorating, use it all in one. Otherwise those are some TINY layers.
2. The oil is not merely a suggestion. And I completely forgot to add it to one of the cakes.
3. Separating egg yolks from the egg whites is tough. But on a positive note, I now have a dozen eggs in my refrigerator for I think the first time ever.
4. If the cake isn't done in the middle (even though you stuck a toothpick in the outer part and it came out clean - WTF), it will collapse in on itself. Not a pretty picture. Gonna have to add a LOT of icing to that one.
5. I don't know WHAT the hell happened to the first one I made, but attempting to ice it created a giant cakeball of crumbs and icing. Which probably tasted amazing, but I was too embarrassed to bring it to class and had to make another one.
Doing the math, you can see I have obviously made more cakes than my three classes would necessitate. Again, I know my limits. And every time I buy a box cake, I buy three. Look out, Rachael Ray. (Not because I'm going to out-cook you. Because I might catch the kitchen on fire.)
A friend is in town from Chicago, so last night I picked her up at her hotel, took her to see the "sights" - which apparently included a Body Pump class at the Y and a delicious and nutritious dinner of fro-yo from Yumilicious - and dropped her back off. I pulled up to the front of the hotel and we were chatting, when the valet guy came over and opened her door. My friend said, "Oh, we're just saying our goodbyes." And he got this super-awkward look on his face and closed the door. We started cracking up, thinking he TOTALLY thought we were lesbians and were about to have a makeout sesh. Ah well. Probably made his night. You're welcome.
I work with a guy with the last name Guten, so I call him "Gute." Not really to his face, but in my mind. And that always brings me back to The Gute. Oh, Police Academy movies. How I love thee. All 800 of you.
Recently rediscovered reruns (wow that's quite an alliteration) of Family Ties on late-night TV. Last night's ep was a doozy: Alex P Keaton (bonus points if you remember what the P stood for - I have no clue) had two dates to the senior prom - which, weirdly, had a potentially offensive "Gone With the Wind" theme, complete with nooses for lynchings? - but I digress. His dates were Jami Gertz (80s actress - Square Pegs! Lost Boys! and still in crap today, I believe) and Daphne Zuniga (Spaceballs! Melrose Place!). Love seeing these peeps in their early-80s finery.
...is that if anyone I know meets a single guy, they immediately think of me. Not because we'd be a perfect match - simply because THERE IS NO ONE ELSE. It's like I've been waiting in line at the meat counter since 1990, and finally my number is the next one called. Now serving...ME.
I think I should get the day off. (Again.) Not just for the fact that it's a federal holiday, but *I* myself was a president. That's right. Middle School Student Council President, to be exact. Not that it's all that impressive - the only reason I won was I sat on the stage and did my speech as Edith Ann, a classic Lily Tomlin character. (The next year they made a rule that speeches couldn't be funny. You're welcome, kids!) But the fact remains. I was a president. Someone salute me or something.
So I've only been on the thing for three weeks and apparently I've already run out of local matches? Got one yesterday that lives in NY, and today ones from WA and OK. Lovely. Maybe I can shut it down and get a refund for the two additional months that I signed up for. Or move to WA or OK. Sigh.
Do not send a girl an email that simply says "You interested in me." First of all, it's a question, not a statement. And don't get me started on the grammatical errors...
Do not email a girl (or at least THIS girl) if you are technically still married. That's creepy and wrong. PASS.
I put an age range in place for a reason. If you're 55, I'm gonna have to say no. (But my mom is cute and available...)
And a note to eharm: please don't match me with a guy who loves to dance so much that one of his photos is from some sort of dance COMPETITION. I mean good for you, buddy. But I don't cha-cha and probably never will.
Survived another "Singles Awareness Day," aka Valentine's. Started out at 5 a.m. with the nice retarded man at the gym wishing me a Happy Valentine's Day and telling me how beautiful I was (which, I can assure you, I am NOT at 5 a.m.), then got a cheesy-yet-awesome "You're grrrrrreat!" valentine complete with Laffy Taffy from a co-worker, and ended with coffee with my preggo bestie and a cake decorating class. Could have been a LOT worse, peeps.
Three dates last week, three more this week. And again, with three different dudes. It's like I'm setting up one of those logic problems from the SAT: "If Sarah went out with bachelors A, B, and C one week, and D, E, and F the next, what time does a train going 60 mph arrive in Chicago?"
Just turned on Pandora at work, to my fave station, 80's Pop (don't judge), and what song was playing? "Sara" by Jefferson Starship. They may not have spelled it correctly, but I think it's a good omen. Pardon me while I toss some spilled salt over my left shoulder.
Currently in the midst of a three-dates-in-three-days situation. (And yes, all with different people. Slut-tastic!) I kind of feel like I'm competing on a game show - it's exhausting, there's a lot of fake smiling, and I keep ending up with the consolation "home game" at the end - but hey. It's a numbers game, and I'm just doing my part. At the very least, there's alcohol and I get to wear cute outfits. Silver lining, people.
For Valentine's Day this year, I opted against chocolates and flowers and gave myself...botox. It's really the gift that keeps on giving, and I doubt any guy I know would think to give it to me. (Not that I will be getting gifts from ANY guy I know, but you see where I'm going with this.)
Five days off due to snow and ice in the past week, and it will be sunny and 70 next week. And yet, I know not to put away the heavy sweaters just yet. We'll get at least one more cold spell. Trust this.
I am obsessed with the "sh-boootie," otherwise known as the shoe-bootie. I don't actually own any and really don't think they're all that flattering, at least on me, but man I love saying "sh-bootie." Say it with me.
(And yes, the iced-in delirium is rapidly returning. Apologies in advance.)
It's going to snow another 2-4 inches (plus ice, of course - this IS Dallas, after all) tonight. Which means big girl here will most likely be off work Wednesday and Thursday. At least I feel more prepared. And my cake decorating class gave me a homework assignment of baking a cake, so that should take up...about 30 minutes. Sweet. Only 23.5 more hours to fill.
I found this website with reality show casting calls. There are apparently shows out there for pretty much anyone and everyone. But this is my pick of the day:
"Seeking FLY single dudes with confidence to attend a singles party thrown by some confident curvy women for a new series on TLC. Bad boy types that know how to treat a woman and who can appreciate a woman with some booty.
We are throwing a party that will be filmed for our show and need men to attend. The party will be either Feb 8 or 9 in Mid-Town Manhattan. This is a reality series, so we are not looking for men to "act" single- we really want guys who aren't players but have lots of swagger and thug appeal, but know how to treat a woman. The girls will be on the prowl at this party, so be prepared to turn on the "prince charming". When we say 'bad boy', we still need men who know how to treat there Mamas, that sort of thing. 'Bad boy' does not mean 'criminal record'."
The last line is my fave. That and the blatant "there"/"their" mishap.
The sun finally came out on Saturday. I had forgotten what it looked like. Apparently so had the rest of Dallas, because EVERYONE was out and about. At the grocery store. At the gas station. And mostly on McKinney Avenue. But we'll get to that.
Grocery store: I was dangerously close to running out of food by Friday night. Literally couldn't eat another spoonful of oatmeal, which I had subsisted on for four days. I was pulling random boxes out of my pantry - rice pilaf? Sure! Couscous? Why not! (Carb fest? You betcha!) - and just trying to pull together some sort of meal. I couldn't BAKE anything because I didn't have basics like eggs and milk (sorry, mom). So by the time I got to Kroger, I vowed as God is my witness, I'll never go hungry again! And proceeded to spend $100 on anything and everything I could get my hands on. 10 rolls of toilet paper! 2 12-packs of DDP! WINE! Sugar! Milk! Bring it, Mother Nature. I DARE you to ice me in again.
Next up, the 2nd Annual Snuggie Pub Crawl. Debuting my new UNC Snuggie, I joined literally hundreds and hundreds of other infomercial fans traipsing up and down McKinney. In the sun, those bad boys were even a little - dare I say - toasty. But it was so awesome to be out and be talking to other humans that I didn't mind a little Snug sweat. Towards the end of the evening, we happened upon a new bar with a mechanical bull out front. Never one to shy away from a challenge, I hopped up, Snuggie and all. Did NOT last 8 seconds, but it was amusing.
And then a dude in a Harry Potter Snuggie (?!) complimented me on my UNC one. Said he was from Virginia and a big Carolina fan. Right on, buddy. He pressed on, asking when I graduated. I could tell he was a young pup, so I tried to defer by saying "a long time ago..." But he really wanted the date, so I told him 1999 and jokingly asked if he was still in high school at the time. Alas, he was in MIDDLE SCHOOL. And...scene.
Yay no work today! Granted, there IS some sleet/ice/teeny bit of snow outside, but I have to think all the Packers and Steelers fans coming in town are thinking we are such a bunch of wussies. Eh, they can suck it. I'm putting on my Snuggie and watching "The Social Network." Good times.