This Month's ESE Challenge? Fini!

Unlike January and February, I actually completed this month's Eat Something Ewwwy challenge with a few days to spare. And I totally roped a few other people into my outlandish taste-testing endeavour this time around. No, not to actually eat something ewwwy themselves, but at least to provide moral support.

Mmmm...tacos. Looks good, huh?

Yeah, they look good, but truly - only one of those tacos was really tasty. You see, the one on the bottom is a yum-scrumptious chicken taco. But that other one...yeah...not so much. You see, that bad boy is a lengua taco. And lengua? Yeah, that's beef tongue.

I felt like I was okay right at the beginning. The taco looked pretty good with all that cilantro and onion on top. I was feeling confident - YES! I'M GONNA EAT THIS TONGUE! - and I took my first bite. It wasn't awful, but there was a weird taste to it I didn't like so much.

But then Mary, one of my dining companions, got a little too graphic in her explanation of eating tongue prepared by her Filipino grandmother. She dwelled just a smidge too long on the description of a giant beef tongue...and when she started using her hands to mime just how big the tongue was, I almost lost my shizz completely.

I wouldn't say I was enjoying the lengua taco up til that point, but I certainly had a hard time finishing it after that little story. I tried not to examine the contents of the taco too closely, but I'm damn sure I saw some freakin' taste buds in there. My other friend Renee totally noticed me balking at further bites after clockin' those bits. She asked if I was okay and I said yeah, took a deep breath and choked down the rest of the taco.

Damn Mary!!! She was messin' with my head, jackin' up my frequency and stuff. I coulda handled that lengua if she hadn't messed me up psychologically! You know who's got a big mouth and ain't gonna get invited on April's Eat Something Ewwwy challenge? EXACTLY.

MISadventures at the Gun Store.

Right near my house is a big ol' gun store - the same place that my friend Brant recently secured some high-powered weaponry from. I'm in the market for a shotgun, so I rolled in there last Thursday, totally apprehensive and thinking that it'd be a complete sausage fest in there, and I'd be treated like a dumb girl. Fortunately, that wasn't the case. The place was hoppin' with people, but one of the employees came over right away and asked how he could help me.

He got down a bunch of shotguns for me to look at, and answered all of my questions. Really cool guy. Then he brought down this Benelli 12-gauge that was steal of a deal. It was nice, really lightweight and felt good, but it was CAMO. I don't do camo. It's not my scene.

When I mentioned that I liked the gun, but I just wasn't gonna buy anything that was camo, one of the other employees (a very rednecky-looking early 20s guy) was all "You're going out hunting and you don't WANT a camo shotgun?!"

I explained that I wasn't hunting anything but clay pigeons, so the camo was completely unnecessary and I wasn't having it. We got past that pretty easily and he explained all sorts of stuff about the Benelli. There were three employees talking to me at this point and everything was totes cool. Until we started talking about the upcoming gun show that weekend.

I asked whether the show would be in just one of the Expo Center's halls or if it would be in multiple halls. The rednecky guy replied, "Last year, we were just in one hall, but it'll probably be bigger this year because of the whole Obama thing."

I was like "What? What Obama thing?" and then "Oooohhhh, the OBAMA thing..."

He turned on me immediately, demanding "Did you vote for him?!"

"Uhhh, ummm...I don't really think I need to answer that question in a GUN STORE," I stammered.

"Whatever, Obama-lover! You're just a freakin' Obama-lover! I'm outta here!" he shouted as he stormed out.

All I could think was WTF?! Did that just happen?!

One employee looked all apologetic, and the guy that was helping me gently explained about the concern that the Obama Administration will reinstate the assault weapons ban. He pointed out all the guns hanging on the wall that would be illegal if that happened. He pointed to one in particular and said "This is one of the guns we'd no longer be able to sell. See how it's got an attachment here for a bayonet? Yeah, I guess there's a huge problem with drive-by bayonetings these days."

I was still so shellshocked from the You're an Obama-lover! drive-by, that I totally didn't get the fact that he was joking. "Whaaa? Drive-by bayonetings?" I said, "Ohhh...you're joking. Funny."

I beat feet to the exit shortly thereafter, thinking Peace out, betches. I'm heading to Bi-Mart to do some gun shopping sans the political freakin' commentary.

Here's how we busted our shizz up.

Monday morning, Jay, his brothers, one of his nephews and I headed out into the desert east of Bend to do a little 4-wheelin' and motorcycle-ridin'. We've passed this particular OHV area several times when heading out towards Burns, but this was the first time we'd ever gone riding there. And I was deffo looking forward to it.

It was cold, cold, cold that morning, so there was some serious bundling up that had to be done. Fortunately the sun was out and the snow slowly melted away as we got to ridin'. Jay and I stuck together for a while, but he started tearing azz around the jumpety jumps - and I wasn't so much down with that. Instead, I just headed to the outside ring and started looping around the trees and circling through the banked curves.

I started through one of the tight left-hand curves and all was going swimmingly...until the last little bit before the curve straightened out. Somehow, I managed to let the 4-wheeler drift up onto the lip of the inside of the curve...and the next thing I knew, the whole damn thing flipped over and on top of me.

Fortunately, the turn was super sandy, so I sorta just sunk into the soft ground underneath the still-running machinery. And that's when I realized: OMFG! I BROKE MY KNEE!!! My right knee was twisted and smashed under the 4-wheeler - the same knee I'd had surgery on two years ago. And it was hurty. Really hurty.

I laid there for a minute to get my bearings, then managed to wriggle out and drag myself up and over the berm. I checked out the ol' knee to see whether it still worked - and then I did the next logical thing...I looked around to see whether anyone had seen my utter jackassery. Fortunately, there wasn't a soul around.

"Wait. Where is everyone?" I thought. "How the hell am I gonna flip this bad boy over myself?"

I waited and waited, thinking that eventually one of my four riding companions would swing by to help me out. The five of us were the only people there, but jeez...it was like freakin' Ghostsville.

* crickets *

I limped my way in the direction of the trucks, and finally spotted someone - my nephew Joel. He saw me and headed over, followed soon after by one of my brother-in-laws. I explained to Darren how I managed to flip his 4-wheeler as Joel rolled it right side up. After heading back over to the trucks, I decided I was gonna go ahead and call it a day. I grabbed a camp chair and trashy magazines, and I was just fine sitting there in the cool, bright sunshine.

Jason headed out on my recently-abandoned 4-wheeler and got busy jumpin' the crap outta the joint. I watched him disappear over the same hill again and again...and then he was riding right back over to us.

It turns out he had a little mishap of his own on the far side of the hill. Apparently, he hit a jump and immediately rammed into the side of a berm. I guess the front ends of them thar 4-wheelers are damn heavy! He managed to hold onto the handlebars, but he flew up and above them, slamming his sternum into the speedometer, scraping the hell outta his stomach and leaving what would later become a brilliant multi-colored bruise on his leg.

Quite a pair, aren't we? Quite a pair of accident-prone peeps that prolly shouldn't be let near anything more dangerous than a rocking horse.

Though truth be told, I'd prolly jack myself up on one of those, too.

Pre-crash(es) and stuff

First Things First

Before I get to the craaaa-zaaayness that was this past weekend, we need to address some of the shizz that went down the weekend prior. Namely, our weekend of redneckery in Roseburg. Our friend Brant invited us down for the weekend with the promise of all sorts of reindeer games. He moved back home from the Portland area a few years ago to take over the family business, and frankly - I think he gets a little bored down there.

So he began singing the praises of Roseburg to us...he'd take us wine tasting, we'd do a little hot tubbin', check out the family biz and maybe drive some big rigs around the yard, then shoot some guns out at his parents' place...but what really got us? When he said we could shoot some tracer rounds with his AR-15 off the deck after dark. FOR REALS, YO!

I like guns. Whuut?

Jay is also a fan of the guns. See, we're meant to be and stuff. Here he is, watching Brant huck a clay disc off the pool deck at Casa de Brantly's Parentals. How cool is it to shoot right off your pool deck? The answer is: SO COOL. But not everyone has 120 acres on a hilltop just outside the city, so there's that.

After some shootin', we took a tour around the family compound on the Gator. Jay was real excited about postin' up in the Gator's bed. Can't you just see the enthusiasm?

After touring the hilltop, we took our tour inside - and LO AND BEHOLD! - we saw an actual Nagel poster in one of the bathrooms. A mothereffin' NAGEL, people! As in, one of the most iconic images from the 1980s...remember Duran Duran's Rio album art? Who could mistake the trademarks of the Nagel Woman? The dark hair, the white skin, the full lips and seductive eyes?! Class-ay, people.

After a morning of gunfire, we headed back to Brant's place to further aid in my recuperation. You see, the night before, I'd managed to overindulge just slightly (big shock, huh?). I blame the happy-making effects of the warm water. Right after we arrived in Roseburg Friday night, we toddled on up the hill to Brant's folks' joint for the tracer round shootin'. I had no idea what we were actually shooting INTO, so I took a pass on the firing of the weapons. But Brant and his pal Nathan shot the shizz outta the joint.

We headed home, fixed ourselves up with some cocktails and rolled on out to the hot tub. And it got real drunk out, real quick. Now, I'm not gonna make apologies for myself or anything, but I quickly entered into what my sister derisively calls my "interview mode." And poor Brant and Nathan were the unfortunate souls that had to deal with my incessant questioning.

I started in on Brant first, asking him various and sundry invasive questions about his current ladyfriend, and noting that she's unlike his previous girlfriends, in that his type has always been "girls with hot bodies and butterfaces." I kid you not - these words actually came out of my mouth. Nice houseguest, huh? I'm real freakin' gracious and stuff.

A little Grey Goose, it was time to interrogate Nathan. He'd mentioned earlier that he had a somewhat unique living situation, and I was curious as hell about it. I sidled on over towards him and asked, "So what's your story, Nathan? Tell me all about it. Let's get deep and sh*t." He just looked back at me and said "Not a f*cking chance." I tell you what, people - this was like a first for me. Who the hell turns down a chance to talk about themselves? In my experience NO ONE...except Nathan. He's like a damn enigma or summat.

Fortunately, I wasn't conscious for much longer to give a damn about getting my Barbara Walters sitchy shut down. I don't actually remember getting out of the hot tub and putting myself to bed. I do remember, however, waking up with a terrible pain in my hip. When I enquired as to the source of my injury, Brant replied all cheerily "Oh, you fell getting out of the hot tub last night!" Jesus. I just can't escape those TippyOverishTendencies of mine, huh? I am clearly a champion at embarrassing the crap outta myself.

And not only that, I had a major case of the hangzieties on Saturday. Just about the only thing that managed to straighten my shizz out was some Alka-Seltzer and one of Brant's special Bloody Marys (not together - jeez! - what are you thinking?). I'm a firm believer that horseradish and Worchestershire sauce make everything better. Sixty-five inch plasma screens ain't bad, either.

We did manage to get out to Brant's fave winery later on Saturday to buy some tasty Syrah and take silly photos of the "too bad you're not here" variety to taunt his girl, who wasn't in town that weekend.

It's in no way obvious that Jay's been drinking since 8 am, huh?

It was deffo a fantabulous weekend, and Roseburg had a lot more going for it than I'd given it credit for. Brant was a great host and I hope he'll forget all about my interrogatory tendencies and invite us back again soon.

And if he doesn't? You betcher ass I'll track him down for some answers. 'Cuz I'm THE INTERVIEWER and I get my answers. Yup yup!

We Survived Spring Break '09

...but BARELY.

I'm writing this from bed, where Jay and I have collapsed, at the early hour of 9 PM on Tuesday night. It's pretty pathetic, really, when you consider the fact that: a) it was only an abbreviated 4-day trip, b) it was spent in the company of children and God-fearin' folk, and c) there was a woeful dearth of the firewater.

Now, I'm not saying we didn't manage to indulge slightly in the drink, but I will tell you that it was approximately four-thousandy percent less tipplin' than I prefer to do whilst on vacay.

I'm officially exhausted and will soon head to dreamland, but I promise to hit you back with fleshed-out accounts of the following happs shortly:

- Outstanding hikey-hikes in the Oregon Outback

- My attempt and subsequent failure to ingest a steak as big as my face

- Our respective EPIC FAILS on 4-wheelers

And most importantly...

- The surprising truth about which of Jay's family members uttered the phrase "Do you have a big piece of meat for me?"

It was a doozy of a weekend, y'alls.

11 Years!

On Friday mah mans and I celebrated 11 years of wedded toler- uh...bliss. I keed, I keed - it's been a fabulous roller coaster ride and I wouldn't want to experience it with anyone else. And I'm only slightly freaked out about the fact that I realized yesterday we've now been married for exactly ONE-THIRD of my life. Holy Jebus. Don't concern yourselves with the math, loves - just know I was an adorable child bride.

We're not heavy into that whole romance and tokens of luuurve biz, but we did take ourselves out for dinner at one of our fave Thai restaurants. We rolled into Typhoon that night, ordered our faves and I began to regale Jay with the story I'd heard at work that day...that despite the fact that my Big Freakin' Project had been withdrawn, I'll still have plenty to do. And that in fact, I'll be expected to put in some serious extra hours over the next several months. Whatevs, right? It's job security, I suppose.

Right around that point, we had a visitor to our table. He was a small yet gangly fellow, outfitted in a nice suit, twitchin' like he had Tourette's and holding a deck of cards. Jay and I immediately looked at one another and had the following telepathic convo:

Me: WTF is this? They're just letting the riff-raff wander around, buggin' people during their meals now?!

Jay: Dunno, but I'm not buyin' anything off this guy. I don't care if it's our anniversary.

Me: NO DOUBT! But I don't think he's selling anything. What's happening here?!

We turned back towards Twitchy BeSuited and he explained that he wasn't selling anything - he was just a roaming magician, here to entertain us.

Well, all right then, sir. Knock yourself the funk out.

He proceeded to do a couple pretty cool tricks, to which we responded with smiles and gratitude. But the real show came a few minutes later, when he moved on to the middle aged couple sitting near us.

You would think this guy had turned water into giant foo-foo cocktails based on the woman's reaction. She completely lost her shizz - I seriously thought she was having kittens or something. And it was exponentially more entertaining than the guy's actual magic tricks.

After all the hub-bub subsided, we were free to enjoy our dinner, but not before I did something that the husband has yet to resign himself to - the ceremonial photographing of yummy foodstuffs.

Behold, the Pine Cone Fish:

It's a filet of halibut, diced and sliced almost all the way through, then lightly breaded and flash-fried while rolled into circle with the skin side in. You pluck off chunks of the halibut, dip them into the sauce, and proceed to roll your eyes back with the deliciousness. We always order the Pine Cone Fish with the sauce that comes with Three-Flavor Fish, too. Jay loves that spicy, sweet and sour sauce, but I'm a far bigger fan of the Pine Cone Fish's chile-lime sauce. See, and that right there? That's compromise, yo.

Before and After

Something craaaa-zaaay happened at work this week. Ya see, for most of 2008, I spent the majority of my time on one particular Big Freaking Project (BFP). The BFP went on a little hiatus in October because the project's proponents needed more time to assemble their case and such. So I've spent the last several months organizing, prepping and strategizing for the BFP's return, which was scheduled to happen this month.

And then the BFP's peeps asked for more time. They wanted to start the process in June instead of March. Coolio with me, yo - I'll just go ahead and be here and stuff. And then on Thursday, I got the official word. The BFP is done. It's a no-go. Withdrawn. OVER.

I can't say I'm all that disappointed. But I sure was super excited to do some clean-up around the ol' desk area. For instance, I was able to clear out my highly sophisticated project management dashboard - AKA craploads of post-it notes stuck to my monitor - and start tackling the mountains of letters, notes and reports scattered around my cubey.

It was pretty impressive to go from this:

To this:

In just a few seconds.

Well, technically, a year-of-my-motherscratchin-life-I'll-never-get-back and five seconds, but you know what I mean.

PS - I'd like to note that the single remaining post-it on my monitor reads "My wine club has a book problem" - proof positive that I've got my priorities in order. w00t!!

Shelby Ignited Boise

photo: dontsprainyourvagina.tumblr.com

Okay, so tonight my friend Shelb was the first presenter of the night at the very first Ignite Boise event. She's kind of a big deal.

The Ignite events have been held across the country - Portland's actually prepping for it's 6th event now. The premise is simple - you get 20 slides and 5 minutes to present your fantabulous idea - whatever it might be. And her presentation sounded just awesome: Business Lessons from Star Wars.

I mean, with subject matter like that, you can't go wrong. And she didn't - she ROCKED THE FREAKIN' HOUSE! I'm so excited for her. She was not exactly looking forward to standing on a stage and talking to 500+ Boiseans, but she did it. And the Twitterverse lit right up! They loved Shelby! Except maybe for the part when she got to her slide entitled "Sometimes low-tech is best" and told the audience:

I could take down Twitter with my #2 pencil!

Shelb, I love you, but I also love the Twitter, and I'd have to take you down if you tried. It would be like Potlatch Homecoming all over again. You remember - when you tackled me on the sidelines during the football game and we wrestled our way onto the field? And afterwards, people from 'Latch were constantly coming up to me at my job at Bonanza Steakhouse and saying "Hey! You're Shelb's roommate, right? We met at homecoming!" And I, uh...I had no memory of that shizz...

Anyway, my point is...your idea was fantastic, you had an oft-quoted line of the night (though "yo banana boy" sounded pretty awesome) and you didn't lose your shizz talking to all those people - so you're pretty much a rock star in my book. But then, you always were. It's kinda like the photo above, where Boise is Leia - and Shelb is totally Han Solo. Just rockin' it.

Surgurey Update

Now, you KNOW how much I love to check on the bizarre ramblings of the proprietor that runs the lil' coffee shop across the street from my building. It's been months, if not years, since this guy took over the space and I've only seen the joint open on TWO OCCASIONS. And I've never seen the guy that runs it. Ever.

There's just the ever-changing signage on the window indicating his physical trauma du jour. He's had some back problems, knee problems, and now it appears there's a bit of a leg problem following his "surgurey."

I'm now on full alert for this guy. I haven't ruled out a stakeout - it may be entirely necessary to sneak a peek at this elusive fellow. Because the thing is, I don't believe it's outside the realm of possibility that he may, in fact, be partially bionic. But the real vision I have of this guy - at least until it's proven otherwise? Totes Baron Harkonnen from Dune. Just maybe without the anti-gravity suspensors (at least until we've got the technology).

Payback for the funny guy.

On Wednesday night the new baby nephew came home with my sister and brother-in-law. They invited the fam over to their house for dinner that night so we could all gaze upon the adorableness of baby Deacon for a few more precious moments. And it was glorious.

But not so glorious was what happened once Jay and I arrived back at our house. We were in the kitchen chatting with my mom, who was spending the night at our place before heading back home to Seattle the next morning. For some reason, Jay decided that he needed something out of my bag, and started rustling around in there. I can't stand it when he decides to go foraging through my purse, because instead of reaching in - locating what he needs by touch, something any woman seems to be able to do - he's got to take every single item out of the bag, attempt to hold every single items in one hand, drop several of them, then lay them all out as if to sell them in some sort of Saturday Market-type situation, and then cap it all off with a running commentary about how I've got to get more organized, there's so much crap in here, blah blah blaaaaahhhhh...

Where was I again? Oh yeah, so he's rummaging through my bag, looking for god knows what, when he pulls out this:



And begins to laugh his ass off.

Apparently, my brother in law fancies himself a bit of a comedian or something. Because he just thought it was oh-so-funny to place these medicated hemorrhoid pads in my purse when I was busy holding his precious bundle of preciousness.

But you know what? I'll get him back...oh yes, I will...'cause his birthday's coming up in a few months, and you know what'll be wrapped up for him? That's right - these very same Tuck's Medicated Pads. I might even throw in some stool softener pills and a donut pillow for good measure...

Happy freakin' birthday, A-lux.

Do You *Heart* Friday?

In case you weren't clear, I thought I'd better note that shaving your chest hair into heart shapes? It's not acceptable. Nope, not at all.

What's truly alarming about this photo is that pimp daddy here appears to have strategically placed his camera somewhere to avoid its appearance in the mirror. Because you know this fool took his own skerry-ass photo, right? And what's up with the creepy serial killer face? Look, pal - if you're going to be putting this pic up on Match.com, maybe try and give us a smile, or at least a slightly suggestive look. The Slingblade Stare is So. Not. Sexy.

I'll tell you one thing for sure, between the heart-shaped chest and belly hair, the thinning-on-top, flowing-down-the-back coiffure and the dead-eyed stare, this guy is most definitely not bringing sexy back.

Nephew Watch 2009 is over...

...but Operation Awesome Auntie is just beginning.

I spent a loooong day skulking about the hospital on Monday. My sister was there to have her first child, and despite her request that people wait at home or work until she or her husband called with news of their son's arrival - I just couldn't bear to wait it out a million (or 20) miles away. So I figured, what's it gonna hurt if I just kick it somewhere in the hospital, with them completely unawares?

Answer: No harm at all, provided I could keep my mouth shut about it.

Which proved to be exceedingly difficult after all.

Around noon, three hours into my waiting endeavour and just after I'd managed to knock a full cup of coffee across the table and onto the chair next to me, in full view of several fellow waiting room peeps, my sister texted me that she'd just received her epidural and was feeling migh-t-fine. She asked where I was, and I texted back that I was right downstairs, but no pressure, as I was happily occupying myself with the free wifi.

A few minutes later, I heard a man's voice come from above and beyond the half-wall behind my head. "Why are you such a liar?" it said, and my blood ran cold for a quick second. Turns out, it was just my brother-in-law, sent by my sister to bring me up to the birthing suite.

For the next several hours, I chilled out in the suite with the two of them, watching old Sopranos episodes. There was something quite surreal about watching Tony beat the life out of Ralph for burnin' up his horse while sitting there in the hospital. It was very odd indeed.

Around 4 pm, my sister began to get visibly uncomfortable, so I took my leave and set myself up in the family waiting room. My mom came over to the hospital to wait with me a little later, and later my brother-in-law's mom and older brother joined us. We all did our best to wait patiently, and the fact that the Blazers-Lakers game was showing on the waiting room telly helped quite a bit.

We finally heard from Alex around 9:30 pm that our new family member had arrived. After my sister had a chance to get comfortable, the four of us filed into the birthing suite to meet him.

I know everyone always says this about their new babies, but I'm not joking - this kidlet is CUTE. Sure, he had a pretty pointy head and a little facial swelling after his ordeal, but it was easy to see that this wee one is gonna be a-freakin-dorbs. ADORBS!

I'm already thinking of all the fun things we'll get to do when I borrow him from his parents. I foresee zoo trips, kid-friendly concerts on the lawn at Edgefield, and most importantly, my ability to use the following excuse:

Sorry, I can't attend [the after-hours work meeting/your church service/your dog's birthday party], I'm [babysitting/celebrating the birthday of/going to a soccer game for] my nephew.

This is gonna rock.

What I'm doing now.

I'm at the hospital, awaiting the arrival of my nephew. It's tough work, this being patient business, so I'm doing my best to keep busy until my mom arrives with distraction and a sandwich.

Ooohh...Distraction and a Sandwich.  That's my new fave band name, I think!

I believe the children are our future.

But apparently, the elementary school down the street doesn't. Or maybe the school's just given up on things like spelling and grammar and such. Or MAYBE the local school district is just ahead of the game and realizes that in the future, everything will be written in the texting vernacular.

im jst gessng hre.

Lemme explain: This is the last time you f*@& with me.

It's been an interesting few days.

Interesting = the narrow avoidance of homicide charges filed against moi.

Lordy Pete, y'all. I thought I was gonna have to choke somebody out at work yesterday. And that prolly would have hampered my whole plan for world domination and everything.

So here's the dealio. I'm at work Monday when I find out that one of my coworkers isn't going to attend an off-site meeting later that afternoon. I'm supposed to be sort of following along on what this guy's doing on a particular project, so since he's not going to make it to the meeting, I decide to go at the last minute.

I roll into the meeting right before starting time and our project manager for this particular project comes up to me and says "I've got something for you to do. I need you to take notes and do the meeting summary for today. And when the meeting begins, you need to go up to the front of the room and turn on the recorder."

[crickets]

Whuuuut? I'm sorry...this guy didn't even know I was coming to the meeting, and all of a sudden I'm playing a key role in the whole situation? C'mon now...

I threw, like, 47 questions his way because I was pissed about how he'd made his request. I mean, it's not like I report to this guy, and he's treating me like his own personal secretary? Oh, hellsno. In the end, I employed the ultimate avoidance method.

I faked an important phone call and went out into the hall.

It totally worked. I rolled back into the meeting room just after the meeting started. No working the recorder for this girl!

So then yesterday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk talking to my supervisor when Mr. Fancypants Project Manager (aka Jacknocker) came by and asked "Did you get that meeting summary done yet?"

I just stared and him and said "Go. Away."

And let me tell you, people - I was HOT after that exchange. HOTTTTTT! I grabbed the notes I'd taken for my own personal use and ran them through the copier. I stuck a post-it on the copies with this note:

"Here are my notes from yesterday's meeting. I'm not going to prepare a 'summary' of the meeting for you because I'm not your secretary. So you can go ahead and stop treating me like one."

And then I stuck that bizzatch on his chair. This morning, he brought the post-it note over and stuck it on my desk. He started to mutter something about secretary something, and I said "Let's have a chat - come with me." And we rolled into our little employee breakroom. I shut the door behind us and that's when this happened:

Me: Look, you don't even KNOW how pissed I was at you yesterday.

Jacknocker [grinning]: Didn't you know I was kidding?

Me: YESTERDAY you might have been kidding, but Monday you weren't.

J: No, on Monday I really needed help.

Me: Why didn't you ask someone else for help? Why did you only ask me? B [another coworker] had been sitting there next to you for a half hour and you never asked him! It seems to me that you told me to take notes and turn on the recorder because 1) I'm female, or 2) I'm younger than you. What the hell?

J: I asked you to take notes because you're better at it than me. I'm terrible at taking notes.

Me [shouting]: That's the problem! You didn't ask me, you TOLD me that you wanted me to take notes and do a meeting summary and turn on the recorder!

J [attempting to use soothing tones]: Calm down. I didn't tell you to do a meeting summary.

Me: YES YOU DID!

J: Well, I'm sorry if it sounded like I told you to do something. I was only trying to ask for help.

Me: Clearly, what you heard in your head was much different than what B and I actually heard, 'cause you most certainly didn't ask. You treated me like your own personal support staff and this isn't the first time, either.

J [dismissively]: What are you talking about? I don't treat you like support staff.

Me: Yes you do. We have the same title, and I'm supposed to be learning about what you're doing on this project, but you're asking me to schedule meetings and take notes. Why don't you do that with anyone else?

J: I do! I do!

Me: I've never seen or heard you do that. It's always me. And it sucks! You're the project manager, so you should know how to manage people. And you did NOT manage me on Monday.

J: I'm sorry if I have terrible people skills. I'm sorry that it sounded like I was telling you to do something.

Me: Look, I'm happy to help, but you should have said something to me before we left. You should have asked for help rather than making it sound like a command. I was already stressed out about going into that room because of the freaking panic attack I had during last month's meeting with all the people jamming the exits. You hit me with the note thing and the pushing the recorder button thing before I even sat down - and it PISSED ME OFF.

J: I'm sorry.

Me: Fine. Let's just move on.


Right. So, I think the important thing to remember here is that I WON. So there.

WTF, Great Plains states?

Checked out the past month's stats on ol' Google Analytics last night and was happy to see that my plan for world domination is coming along quite nicely. But there were some interesting things on the US map. Like, those few big glaring holes across the country.

Okay, I get Utah. Why would people in Utah be into my blog? After all, I gave up on Utah after seeing the big billboard outside of St. George with the giant viper. Yeah, the one that said "Pornography is just as deadly." Not cool, Utah. Not cool.

So I get that no one in Utah has visited such ridiculosity in the last month. No hard feelings here. But Montana? The Dakotas? Nebraska, Iowa and Oklahoma? I want some answers Rhode Island, New Hampshire and Maine! Where's the love? And Hawaii? Oooohh nuh uh. I've spent a lot of time with you, Hawaii. It's time to put up or shut up.

So thanks for representin', Oregon, Idaho and California. You're all totally going on my Christmas card list.

Eat Something Ewwwy Challenge, the February Edition

w00t! The February Eat Something Ewwwy Challenge is DONE! I managed to pick up a little sumpin' sumpin' while out on my ride along with Rema on Saturday afternoon. Last month I tried dinuguan and found it to be one of the foulest things ever. I wasn't sure whether I'd be able to top the disgustingness of pork blood stew, but I was ready to try. And lordy, lordy - this mammer jammer I found was ewwwy indeed!

I'd mentioned my quest to Rema and some of her office mates as we left the police station that morning, and I asked whether there were any ethnic markets around that I could check out. Hells to the yeah, said Rema.

Towards the end of the day, we stopped into Zara's Eurofoods so I could take a quick look around. I went directly to the deli case, convinced I'd find something good. And by good, I really mean horrific. I looked...and looked...and...nuthin'. Everything looked pretty damn conventional. I did spot a few whole smoked fish, but that just didn't qualify for my challenge.

I rolled back along the case, taking a closer look...and bingo, bango, BONGO!

I found it!

Pork tongues in jelly

I threw my $5.43 across the counter with a quickness and rolled out to Rema's ride with my paper-wrapped prize. Rema asked to see what I'd picked up, so I unwrapped it to give her a look. And she very clearly was not impressed. In fact, I'm pretty sure she would have preferred that I huck my slice of jellied pig tongues right out the window. She did her best not to gag on the drive back to the station, but I can imagine it was tough. Damn tongue jelly smelled just like cat food. Yeeeuck.

Rema told her coworkers back at the station what I'd bought and one of them replied quite succinctly "Omigod, I just threw up a little in my mouth!"

I know when I'm not wanted, so I packed up my tongues and hit the road. And rolled right down the street to Fairview to Melissa's house. She hooked me up with some crackers and I got to business. I sliced off a chunk o' tongue, put it on a cracker, took a deep breath and...

...it wasn't so bad.

I thought it would be salty and rubbery, but it wasn't nearly as unpleasant as I expected. The texture was pretty decent, actually. And the taste was...acceptable. I don't know that I'll be serving jellied pig tongues at future dinner parties, but it sure was a helluva lot better than that damn dinuguan.

Not that Rema and her coworkers would agree...

I'm sooooo submitting this...

...to Passive Aggressive Notes. I mean, seriously. One of my coworkers hung this above the garbage can in our lil' kitchenette area at work. And bein' that many of us are supersmartarses, we couldn't let such a thing go by without providing some kind of commentary. I loved the "Is this a challenge?" comment, so I simply had to provide a note of my own...

Kickin' it in Gresham.

On Saturday morning, I rolled out to East MultCo to ride along with Rema, a friend of mine that's a police officer in Gresham. I'd spent a day with her last year and had a blast, so I decided to do it again.

We started off at the station, where Rema made me sign something to hold the city harmless in the event I was injured or killed out there on the mean streets of G-town. After that, it was time to put on the ol' bulletproof vest. She grabbed one similar to the one I wore last year...but it didn't...so much...fit. Rema looked at me quizzically for a beat and said "Whatchoo got in there, girl?" Like I'm gonna rock some kinda padded, push-up Wonderbra-type situation on a ride along?! Just in case we find ourselves talking to a particularly fetching ex-con or schizophrenic?

As if.

We tried another vest. And another. It seemed the third time was the charm. I was locked and loaded, y'alls. Ready for bear and such. I did find my adventures in Kevlar-fitting kinda funny, so I shot Jay a quick text - "Took 3 tries to find a vest that fit - Rema thinks my ta-tas have grown."

Jay's response: "I guess dreams do come true."

Funny guy, mah mans.

Vested up and ready to bust some perps.

I'm XTREME, yo!

After she ensured I was properly protected, Rema and I hit the streets. We hadn't gone far when I saw the coolest ride in the 'Sham. That's right! The General Lee on steroids! Holler!

My lovely hostess to the world's seedy underbelly, Officer Rema.

Unfortunately, the day was pretty low-key. We took a burglary report, fueled up the cruiser, hunted around for a stolen car, and talked to a few nutty types. One chick freaked me out so bad, I didn't get out of the car when Rema went to talk to her. By the time we found the second unbalanced individual, I was ready for some crazy.

That first chick was chillin' out at the end of the MAX train line. She looked like a normal teenager/early 20s chick standing there texting on her phone, but just as we drove by, she looked up - and I straight up recoiled in horror. She was super-dooper pale, with her bright red hair scraped back into a pony tail. When she glanced up at us, her brown eyes were HUGE and she was workin' her mouth in a way that I was very familiar with from repeated viewings of Intervention. Rema immediately said, "Oh we've GOT to talk to that girl" and spun her car around in the parking lot.

Oh hellsno, I thought. That girl looks crazy! I bet she ain't got no teeth! We rolled up on her and Rema got ready to say something from the car, but the chick beat us to the punch by yelling out "I'm just waitin' for my dad" in this raspy, broken voice.

And yeah, I called it - NO TEETH.

Reems got out to talk with Scary McToothless while I quietly freaked out in the cruiser. 'Cuz the only thing I hate more than toes? Toothlessness. I just can't hang. Good teeth are real important to me and stuff.

When she got back into the car, Rema asked me to guess how old the chick was. I couldn't muster anything beyond "A whole lot younger than she looks?" Yeah, and honeychile had herself quite the rap sheet, too. But she was polite and didn't have any outstanding warrants, so we moved along.

Later, we saw one of the resident nutballs in the 'Sham, so Rema circled the block to talk to her. This (50-something? Dunno, maybe she was just a 20-year-old that had been ridden hard and put away wet) woman was on the street shouting and gesturing at no one in particular. She started truckin' when we came around the corner, but we met up with her in a convenience store parking lot.

She immediately started telling us how she'd been talking with JFK and President Monroe, and that they're part of her family. She'd been thinking about them, so she called them and they wanted to know why we'd been watching her and driving around her. She told Rema that President JFK and President Monroe wanted to talk to her, and they'd be happy to answer any of her questions.

Daaaaaayyyyum! Reems kept a totally straight face, but I was rockin' some pretty serious hysterics on the inside. I can't believe I didn't lose my shizz right there, but somehow I managed. After the woman assured Rema she was having a good day despite the wicked East winds, we were on our way again.

The rest of the afternoon was waaaayyyy quiet, so I was able to talk Rema into making a quick stop into the Candy Basket, rumored to have a chocolate waterfall. I really needed to get my Augustus Gloop on.

There it is! The chocolate waterfall!

Rema said it was just like Willy Wonka's chocolate factory...without the Oompa Loompas.

So, another superfun day with Rema, if not an excitement-filled day of bustin' perps. Reems says she's switching to swing shift soon, and that I should definitely come back after the switch since people get craaaa-zaaay after dark.

You bet your fronts I'll be there.