I have a friend who can be described as a "meat and potatoes kind of guy". His favorite foods are "goopy" (his word choice, not mine). Think: casseroles made with cream of [insert starch here]. Macaroni and cheese. Velveeta-on-white-bread sandwiches (no, really).
His 30th birthday is coming up and now he's "focused on the goal" (again - his words, not mine). He firmly believes that this will be accomplished by eating a high-fiber diet because it will make him "go" more often. I know, I know...not the best route for weight loss. But he knows his body better than anyone else, so we're all supportive. Plus, the drastic decrease in solid fats has got to do something, right?
Anyhoodle, I just got the following IM:
"all I've had today is oatmeal, a salad and an apple. oh, and fingernails."
I don't have the heart to tell him that fingernails are protein, not fiber.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
this is how we burlesque
Did you know "burlesque" is a verb?
Me, neither. But Cher and XTina say otherwise, so I'm inclined to follow their path of creative liberties on many things. So I'm on board with their poetic license here. Or at least for the purposes of a blog title.
Speaking of blogs: it's been a while for me. But, despite my absence, I've still been monitoring the spam comments from the occasional check-in. Did you know they actually have meds that can increase your peh-nis size? And plenty of people who want to sell 20-something-girls these products?
Who knew?
A few updates to get into before I tell the story that made me want to write here again. Full disclosure:
- I'm no longer a 20-something. And at this very moment, I'm writing myself a reminder now to take the "20-something blogger" tag off my page. Bless my aged heart.
- I'm no longer A Single. I am A Wife. And this guy is A Husband. (Specifically, mine - but I thought that point was pretty obvious.)
- I am most definitely still Not A Lisa. Nor do I plan to be A Lisa. Kids are not on our collective horizon. However, The Hus did tell me during our "do you want kids?" conversation that the answer was "no, definitely not. But I will love the crap out of any accident I might have with you." With an answer like that, how could he not be The One?
- I no longer have an office to toot in. Oddly enough, sometimes promotions come with floor moves and there isn't enough office space and maybe one of these days we'll get you back in one, but there's just not any availability right now, and I'm so sorry. Or so says my HR. It's been a year. Our senior level turn over at this place is way too low, if you ask me. (Jokes!)
Now that you're all caught up, here's the story. I'll try to keep 'em comin', as Married Life has proven to be quite delightful fodder for ridiculous stories.
Enjoy.
Hus and I decided to try a new bar the other night. It's one of those delightful mixology joints where they say "what do you like to drink?" and you answer "things that are bourbon-y and boozy." Then they put a tiny glass in front of you that smells like a drunken grandfather picking fresh oranges in the orchard. These things make me happy.
However, the booze is not the focus of this story. It is the reason for it, as it usually is, but it's not the focus.
I noticed immediately that something was a little strange about the place when I went to the bathroom. All of the women were either of the jet-black-hair-with-severe-bangs-and-tattoos type, or they were dressed like they were going to a swing competition with full skirts and little patent mary jane heels. The dudes were not of your typical Dallas variety, either - most were in zoot suits and some sort of millenary accoutrement.
Whatever. It's Deep Ellum. It's artsy.
Then we settle into some bar stools to watch some Mavs (Hus) and keep inhaling our orchard drinks (me). Some older gentleman walks up and strikes up a conversation with me about the game. Ummm…that's kind of strange, too. I'm sitting by my husband. But whatever. It's Deep Ellum…?
Then the light comes up on the tiny stage in the corner and an older gentleman in a pin stripe suit, handlebar mustache and fedora announces himself as Tommy Fedora.
Uh oh.
He thanks everyone for coming out this evening to The Dallas Burlesque Club's March meeting.
Whoops.
And then says "please give a big warm welcome tonight to our guest speaker Something-Something-Sexy (can't remember) who's here tonight to talk to you kind folks about the art of stage kittening!!"
What?
We were trapped. The only way out of that tiny bar was right past Stage Kitten herself and I was a little scared of the girls with the severe bangs and tattoos. Sooooooo…
We learned a lot.
My new goal is to be the guest speaker at The Dallas Burlesque Club's April meeting.
Me, neither. But Cher and XTina say otherwise, so I'm inclined to follow their path of creative liberties on many things. So I'm on board with their poetic license here. Or at least for the purposes of a blog title.
Speaking of blogs: it's been a while for me. But, despite my absence, I've still been monitoring the spam comments from the occasional check-in. Did you know they actually have meds that can increase your peh-nis size? And plenty of people who want to sell 20-something-girls these products?
Who knew?
A few updates to get into before I tell the story that made me want to write here again. Full disclosure:
- I'm no longer a 20-something. And at this very moment, I'm writing myself a reminder now to take the "20-something blogger" tag off my page. Bless my aged heart.
- I'm no longer A Single. I am A Wife. And this guy is A Husband. (Specifically, mine - but I thought that point was pretty obvious.)
- I am most definitely still Not A Lisa. Nor do I plan to be A Lisa. Kids are not on our collective horizon. However, The Hus did tell me during our "do you want kids?" conversation that the answer was "no, definitely not. But I will love the crap out of any accident I might have with you." With an answer like that, how could he not be The One?
- I no longer have an office to toot in. Oddly enough, sometimes promotions come with floor moves and there isn't enough office space and maybe one of these days we'll get you back in one, but there's just not any availability right now, and I'm so sorry. Or so says my HR. It's been a year. Our senior level turn over at this place is way too low, if you ask me. (Jokes!)
Now that you're all caught up, here's the story. I'll try to keep 'em comin', as Married Life has proven to be quite delightful fodder for ridiculous stories.
Enjoy.
Hus and I decided to try a new bar the other night. It's one of those delightful mixology joints where they say "what do you like to drink?" and you answer "things that are bourbon-y and boozy." Then they put a tiny glass in front of you that smells like a drunken grandfather picking fresh oranges in the orchard. These things make me happy.
However, the booze is not the focus of this story. It is the reason for it, as it usually is, but it's not the focus.
I noticed immediately that something was a little strange about the place when I went to the bathroom. All of the women were either of the jet-black-hair-with-severe-bangs-and-tattoos type, or they were dressed like they were going to a swing competition with full skirts and little patent mary jane heels. The dudes were not of your typical Dallas variety, either - most were in zoot suits and some sort of millenary accoutrement.
Whatever. It's Deep Ellum. It's artsy.
Then we settle into some bar stools to watch some Mavs (Hus) and keep inhaling our orchard drinks (me). Some older gentleman walks up and strikes up a conversation with me about the game. Ummm…that's kind of strange, too. I'm sitting by my husband. But whatever. It's Deep Ellum…?
Then the light comes up on the tiny stage in the corner and an older gentleman in a pin stripe suit, handlebar mustache and fedora announces himself as Tommy Fedora.
Uh oh.
He thanks everyone for coming out this evening to The Dallas Burlesque Club's March meeting.
Whoops.
And then says "please give a big warm welcome tonight to our guest speaker Something-Something-Sexy (can't remember) who's here tonight to talk to you kind folks about the art of stage kittening!!"
What?
We were trapped. The only way out of that tiny bar was right past Stage Kitten herself and I was a little scared of the girls with the severe bangs and tattoos. Sooooooo…
We learned a lot.
My new goal is to be the guest speaker at The Dallas Burlesque Club's April meeting.
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