More Shameless Whoring

But it's in a non-sexual way, so that makes it okay, right? Anyway, I had the pleasure of writing a guest post for one of my favorite blogs, Pretty & Poor. It's about one of my favorite subjects: horrible dates. You can read it here. I also suggest you stay awhile and check out the rest of the blog. Emily, the author, is hilarious. And show some love by leaving her some comments.

Fireman Fiasco

I love firemen, and most of my girlfriends know this. So last week after happy hour when my friend A and I were walking her dog Turbo and came across a stray Rottweiler, she suggested we take it to the fire station down the road so I could get my fireman fix. I was game.

Now along with my love of firemen, I should also mention my crazy bad luck when it comes to men in general. I don't know what it is, but between bad dates and the, "he's just not that into you" scenarios I encounter, me + men is an equation that never seems to balance out (math analogy FTW!). So it really shouldn't have been a surprise that her well-intentioned plan backfired, even though it was. A surprise, I mean. Nevertheless, what happened instead was still pretty funny, so I thought I would share it here.

While A wrangled the Rot, I took Turbo back to her apartment and got a spare leash. The plan was to ask the firemen if they could call the police or animal control for us because we accidentally got "locked" out of her apartment. When we got to the station, we debated about where to enter. A suggested the garage where they keep the firetrucks since the door was open, but I thought it would be better to go around front to the office instead of just barging all up in their firehouse like we were their BFFs. So we walked around to the front and found the entrance to the office. A stayed outside with the Rot while I went in.

There was no office. When I opened the door, I was greeted by a twin bed directly in front of me, a living area (with a bangin' flat screen TV) to my left, and about six pairs of eyes staring at me over dinner at the kitchen table just beyond. I had just barged all up in their firehouse like I was their BFF. The following exchange went a little something like this:

Me (trying to be cool-as-a-cucumber and failing miserably): "Hi...sorry to barge in here, but...my friend and I found a stray dog and we were wondering if you could call animal control or something since we're locked out of her apartment..."

Them: ::crickets chirping::

Awkward, to be sure. I just knew they saw right through the whole, "we're locked out of the apartment" lie, but after a few seconds (that felt like a few hours), the middle-aged white guy at the table nodded to a short, Hispanic kid who looked to be about sixteen (just my luck). The kid hopped up from the table, and I took care to hold the door open for him, like that simple act of courtesy would show that I was really a decent person, not some weird girl who went around to fire stations making up stories just so she could ogle the cute firemen. Which I was, but they didn't need to know that. After about a minute or so of holding the door open, I was thinking that it was taking that kid quite along time to come out and get the show on the road, when he emerged--along with the other five guys who decided to abandon their dinner for the time being because this was the most action that sleepy fire station had seen all day (that was my theory, anyway).

The group of us walked over to A and the Rot, and a few of the guys commented on how the stray must have had a home because it had a collar and looked to be well taken care of. We explained we thought so too, but when we found it, we didn't see anybody wandering around who might be looking for a lost dog. The Rot was by itself. After a few more seconds of chatting, one of the firemen who was inside on the phone with the police station (who was the captain, I later learned) asked for "one of the ladies" to come inside. Since A was with the Rot, I went inside. And this was where the plan backfired: A was outside, talking to the firemen, while I was inside with the middle-aged captain who was dialing numbers, trying to help us figure out what to do with the dog. The captain was nice, and I definitely appreciated him trying to help, but like I said, he was also middle-aged and not cute, so the wait for him to get off the phone with the verdict as to how to handle the situation was mind-numbingly boring for me. And when he did tell me the verdict, it was more bad luck: since we couldn't find the dog's owner, one of us would have to take the dog and wait for animal control to call. It couldn't stay at the fire station because if the guys got called out, it would be left alone. It couldn't stay at A's because she already had a dog, and although the Rot seemed friendly enough, she wasn't sure how friendly it would be with her dog. That only left one other option: I would have to take the dog.

So to recap: I didn't really get to talk with any of the firemen because I was inside with the captain, giving him as much information as I could so he could help us, and it looked like I would be stuck having to take the stupid Rot home temporarily. Just. My. Luck. The captain gave animal control my phone number and sent A and I on our way with animal control's after-hours number and good luck well-wishes. Then it was over. The firemen went back to their dinner, and A and I were alone with my new four-legged companion.

We ended up finding the owner. He was walking around with a leash and a dog biscuit, and was very grateful that we found and returned Miles, his Rot. So while I didn't end up having to take the dog home with me, and I didn't get to talk to any firemen, A and I wound up with a good story to tell, which was better in the end. And hey--there's a fire station in my neighborhood, so there's always another opportunity for me to make up a story just to ogle some firemen.

A Blast From the Past

Last month, my friend Ali turned 25, and she thought it would be funny to celebrate by hosting a good old-fashioned skating party. Yes, you read that right. A skating party. At a skating rink. The kind we all used to frequent when we were thirteen. And since it'd been about that long since I stepped foot inside a rink, I thought it would be fun to relive this blast from the past and excitedly sent in my RSVP. Just the thought of going skating again conjured up all sorts of memories: playing the hokey-pokey and hoping to win a rabbit's foot key chain instead of the crappy plastic skate one that always seemed to break within five minutes of my touching it; hoping my crush would ask me to skate during the couples' skate; agreeing to "go out" with a boy during a sixth-grade class field trip and then "dumping" him ten minutes later when I had a change of heart. As a fully-grown (well, almost) woman of 26, I wondered what the skating rink experience would be like now, and I was also curious to see if I would fall on my ass.

The scene of the birthday festivities was United Skates of America on Armenia Avenue, a rink, I was told by Ali's father, that had been around since he was a kid. And lemme tell you: for a rink that old, it was bangin'. Seriously! There's no other word to describe it. The floor was polished wood, much like in a basketball court, and skating on it was like flying. Honestly, I feel like I got gypped as a kid, because the rinks in Tallahassee and Perry were nowhere near as nice as that. In fact, they were the complete opposite: ghetto as hell. The floors were made of this gross blue concrete mixture, and I know for a fact that the floor in the Perry skating rink had chunks missing. They weren't huge chunks, but if a kid hit it just right, he'd be ass over heels in no time. And the skates you could rent at both places were a safety hazard in and of themselves: brakes missing, loose wheels, fraying shoelaces. But this place on Armenia? Skating paradise.

Bangin' skating rink

How nice the rink was caught me off-guard, but I really wasn't prepared for how...asshole-ish (I'm going for it) some of the kids were. They had no skating etiquette whatsoever! Since it had been awhile since Ali and I had skated, it took us some time to re-master the basics, like slowing down, braking, and steering, and until we got completely comfortable, we looked like two hunchbacked old ladies who were about to fall at any moment, trying to warn people by flailing our arms. It was wonderfully moronic, and it was a shame that Ali's mother didn't capture it on video (yes, her parents, two nephews and grandmother were there as well, and her mom videotaped us like we were ten). Considering how inexperienced we had to have looked, it would stand to reason that if you were a child, or simply anybody who skated frequently, you would steer clear to avoid a collision, right? WRONG. In fact, I think our lack of skating talent served more as a magnet because those little bastards would decide to dart out in front of us at the last minute, and then skate a little too close for comfort around the turns. And one idgit who almost caused a collision decided that it was our fault and declared war. After we all almost fell, he exclaimed, "Not cool!" and then would skate a ways, stop suddenly and turn around right as we approached (almost causing another accident) and say things like, "I'm watching you!" People, I shit you not. He looked to be about all of seven, and I swear to God had it not been time for him and his little friends to eat their pizza lunch, I would have tripped him, feeling no remorse whatsoever. He pissed me off that much. While he was the only kid to declare war, he was not the only kid with poor skating etiquette. I felt like I was in a weird, real-life game of Minesweeper, having to avoid hitting the children lest I get asked to leave for "being a bully."

Bangin' skating rink after the asshole kids arrived

But despite the asshole kids, Ali and I had an absolute blast. Some things were still the same, like the games and prizes, the food (best nachos ever) and those one or two people who liked to show off their mad skating skillz and do little tricks to make the rest of us hate them. We killed it in the arcade room, winning enough tickets so that each of Ali's two nephews could pick out a "good" prize (you know, the kind that takes hundreds of tickets to get). And, yeah--we fell on our asses. Hard. Then we just sat there on the skating rink floor for a minute or two, laughing them off, another moment that Ali's mother forgot to videotape. And after we left the rink that afternoon, we headed over to Ali's parents' house, where we celebrated Ali's birthday like actual grownups: with cocktails.

More Disney Misadventures

Ah, Walt Disney World. The theme park that loves to give me the big ol' finger every time I decide to visit. The last time I set foot on Magic Kingdom grounds, I got sick and projectile vomited in the parking lot. The trip prior to that, which just so happened to be my very first visit (I was four), I crapped my pants on the Swiss Family Robinson tree house. And while this latest visit saw neither projectile vomiting or crapping in pants, it did see every possible way one could get screwed over by The Mouse.

Earlier this year, my sister and I did some volunteer work in order to get free Disney tickets, and we decided to use them when she came down to visit Memorial Day weekend. We decided to go to the Magic Kingdom because Laura was hell-bent on seeing some Disney characters. The fact that she never saw "any good characters" (her words, not mine) on her prior visits coupled with the fact that I saw every major Disney character within thirty minutes of stepping foot inside the theme park on my last visit drove her insane, and she was determined that, come hell or high water, she would see some good characters. So on Saturday, armed with my camera, we made the trek to Orlando to experience some good old-fashioned Disney magic.

The day started off promising...

The day started out promising. We arrived right when the park opened, and it was sunny and clear. We started off in Fantasyland and got in about two good hours of riding attractions before it started to rain. But even then we got lucky because when it first started raining, we were in line at the tea cup ride (which was under cover), and after we were through riding it the rain had stopped. So we ventured over to Tomorrowland and got in line for Space Mountain, and afterwards emerged into a downpour. Since neither one of us had an umbrella or a poncho, we at first decided to wait it out. But after a few minutes, the rain showed no sign of letting up, and we were really itching to ride the Buzz Lightyear ride, so we decided to chance it and darted out in the mess. By the time we got in line for the Buzz Lightyear ride, we were water-logged. Our clothes were soaked and our feet were cold and wet because we managed to step in two of the deepest puddles on that side of the park. And the bad luck just kept coming.

Soaking wet after getting caught in the rain

On our way to Adventureland to get some Dole Whip later that afternoon, we made a pit stop in front of Cinderella's castle. It was 2:10, and at 2:15 a performance of "Dream Along With Mickey" was scheduled. Since my sister was so determined to see some "good" Disney characters, she wanted to stay for the show, so we parked ourselves right up front, got the camera ready, and waited for it to begin. By this point it had stopped raining again, but it was still overcast, and I jokingly said, "Watch, the show will be cancelled because of the weather." No sooner had the words left my mouth when the announcer came on and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, due to the inclement weather, this performance has been temporarily delayed." My sister gave me the stink eye as I started laughing, and I assured her that there were two performances scheduled for later and we'd just go to one of those.

After our rendezvous in Adventureland, we decided to get an early dinner (it was around 4:00 by this point, and we hadn't had an actual meal since breakfast). After consulting the theme park map, we decided to eat at Cinderella's Royal Table, since the Disney characters were guaranteed to make an appearance there. We trekked back over to Fantasyland and got in line at the restaurant when the question of reservations came up. I whipped out my BlackBerry to look it up and was disappointed to find out that not only were reservations required, you had to make them a whopping 180 days in advance. We ended up eating pizza at some hokey Pinocchio-themed restaurant, and by this point, my sister was walking a fine line between being disappointed and fully pissed off at her failed attempts to see Mickey and his friends.

After dinner, we went back to Tommorowland, and ended up getting stuck on The Carousel of Progress. If you don't know what The Carousel of Progress is, I recommend watching this somewhat crappy quality video to familarize yourself:

As you can see, it's a pretty cool attraction, but it's also one that has the ability to make you want to kill yourself if you get stuck on it, like we did. We were watching the very last scene--the modern-day scene--when the announcement came over the loud speaker: "Please remain seated, as we are experiencing technical difficulties." The animatronic family wrapped up their little spiel about progress and started to sing about the great, big, beautiful tomorrow, as the room rotated to take us away to the end of the ride. But it didn't rotate. The family kept singing. We stayed still. The family finished the song. We still hadn't moved. The family started their spiel all over again, and we were forced to watch it a second time.

When we finally got off The Carousel of Progress, we went to ride Space Mountain for the second time, where we endured a sixty-minute wait. When it was finally our time to board, I noticed an eerie silence. The ride had suddenly gone quiet. I remarked to my sister, "Watch, I'll bet the ride broke down," and again, no sooner had I said it when the lights came on and the announcer said, "Attention, space travelers, due to technical difficulties, the ride has been temporarily delayed, which might add to your wait time." Again, I doubled over in laughter as my sister glared at me and said, "You just need to shut your trap. You keep jinxing us!" Luckily, we didn't have to wait too long before the ride was fully functioning again.

After our second foray into Tomorrowland, we made it back to Cinderella's castle just in time for the final performance of "Dream Along With Mickey"-- which ended up being cancelled because it started to rain again. At this point, my sister had given up all hope of seeing the "good" Disney characters, so we decided to do some souvenir shopping, get a treat at a bakery on Main Street and call it a day. Laura originally wanted to stay for the fireworks and light parade, but decided that with our luck, both would probably be cancelled because of the weather. And good ol' Disney World, not quite finished with screwing us over, put the icing on the frigging cake as we were driving out of the park--fireworks that illuminated the night sky while simultaneously flicking us off.

You know what though? With everything that happened, this was still one of the most fun trips to a theme park I've ever been on. Our luck was so ridiculously bad that we couldn't help but find it amusing, and by the time we left, my stomach was hurting from laughing so hard. And even though my sister labeled the trip a "Disney disappointment," I knew she had just as much fun as I did, characters or no characters.

Additional Amusements We Saw

1. I counted a total of six leash kids while at the park, three at the Dumbo ride alone. I'm not sure what it was about that particular ride that parents felt the need for extra restraint, but it was hilarious (and a little sad) to see those poor little tykes on leashes. Some parents were up front about the fact that they were leashing their kids and used the straight-to-the-point, no-frills wrist models:

Other parents, however, utilized harnesses shaped like animals (monkeys were a popular choice), as if the cutesy animal somehow made up for the fact they were leashing their kids. I hate to break it to you, but if it looks like a harness, functions like a harness and fits your child as snugly as a harness, it's a fucking harness, NOT Mikey the Monkey, your kid's jungle pal. And just for the record, a harness is only cute if it's on a puppy or small dog like this:

NOT on a human being, like this:

2. It's always funny to see a Disney cast member get aggravated yet try to restrain him- or herself because they have to maintain that cheerful, sunshine-out-of-my-ass Disney attitude. Laura and I witnessed this firsthand on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. We were on a boat with a group of teens from either Spain or South America--they were clearly not from this country, and this was made blatantly obvious when they didn't understand a word the man operating the ride was saying. It went a little something like this:

Flash (one of the teens took a picture)

Man Operating Ride: No flash photography!

Flash

Man Operating Ride: (getting a little frustrated) No flash photography!

Flash

Man Operating Ride: (visibly aggravated, yet trying to maintain his Disney composure) PIRATES, NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY!

3. My sister did end up seeing some pretty decent Disney characters, even if they weren't Mickey, Minnie or Cinderella:

Bittersweet

The university where I work held its commencement ceremonies this past weekend. This time of the year is always a bittersweet time for me; I think it's all the optimism and hope. I remember when I graduated college not so long ago. The weight of exams, papers, classes, and overall academia was lifted off my shoulders for the very last time, and I celebrated by partying, making an appearance at the commencement ceremonies to pick up my diploma, and then partying some more. All the while I was infused with a strong sense of hope and optimism--finally I'll be able to get a full-time job and pay off some debts. Finally I'll be able to get started on a public relations career path that will hopefully lead to a writing career. Finally. I had done well in college (graduated Cum Laude, holla!) and was ready to make a place for myself in the world. The canvas was gloriously blank, and I was ready to start drawing. So I did. And as I drew, I noticed with growing alarm that the scribbles I was making weren't matching up to the portrait I had in my head. They weren't even close. I was bummed. I was angry. I was confused. I was learning that not all life plans come to fruition, and it was a bitter pill to swallow.

John Lennon said it perfectly: "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." When I graduated college, I never, in a million years, thought I'd be where I am now. And while at first I was having a hard time with that dose of reality, I've now grown to appreciate it. I've made some great friends where I work. I've learned invaluable--invaluable--lessons in regards to working with a diverse group of people and office politics. I've realized (well, still realizing) my own potential when it comes to what kind of responsibilities I can handle and how much I can handle. And I've learned to be open to the curve balls life throws me. So instead of worrying about where my life is going, I'm investigating. Investigating different career options. Going outside of my comfort level in my personal life and making new friendships. Trying new things. And I'm doing all of this with no real agenda, no real plan, and if I do make a plan, it's tentative, since I know that there is a chance it might not come to light. I'm okay with this. I have no idea what the future holds for me, but I'm excited at the possibilities. Still, though, the optimism I have now is different than what I had when I graduated college. Maybe it's more mature, I don't know. But whenever commencement rolls around, a part of me still wishes I had a little of that naive hope left.

Songs I am Loving Right Now

I love music, and one of my favorite things in the world is to "discover" a new song (or two) on the radio or during my boxing class, become obsessed with it (or them) and play the shit out of it (or them) until I get tired of it (or them). Right now, I am obsessed with three songs, and I will warn you--they are a little cheesy. But whatever, they have good beats and are just all around feel-good pop.

1. "Airplanes," B.o.B featuring Eminem and Hayley Williams

This question is for my UT work peeps--does loving this song up my street cred any?

2. "Eenie Meenie," Justin Bieber, featuring Sean Kingston

This is an addendum to the question posed to my work peeps in item #1. Never mind, I think jamming out to this song cancels out whatever street cred I earned with the previous song.

3. "Girl I'm Tryin'," by J. Brazil

An Epic Weekend

Have you ever hung out with your friends with no specific agenda in mind as to what to do, but ended up having the best time of your life? I consider it one of life's little magical moments. The activities you do end up participating in when all of you meet up are completely unplanned and incredibly fun, and you walk away from the experience with great stories and even better memories. For me, last weekend was one such experience.

I drove up to Tallahassee to see my friends Meagan and Edwin for one last hurrah before they moved to Pasadena this summer (that's two more friends California has taken from me, the bastard). The only set-in-stone plan we had was to go to the Bradfordville Blues Club that Saturday night; the rest of the weekend was wide open. I got to their place around ten on Friday night, and we commenced to drink margaritas and eat Nutella and Ritz crackers well into the night.

Ah, homemade margaritas...great start to the weekend!


Saturday we woke up in the p.m. and debated on what to do until the blues club later that night. A friend of Meagan and Edwin's recommended we go to Po' Boys, a restaurant in downtown Tallahassee, and lo and behold, when we got there, a craw fish festival was taking place! (There was also a Pride Fest going on in another area of downtown, but Edwin and Jeremiah, Meagan's brother, vetoed that down real quick. They wouldn't even change their minds when I pointed out a man wearing a tuxedo and a pink boa. I mean, come on! That was people-watching at its finest! But I digress.)

After getting into the festival, we just stood around for several minutes. It was pretty small, and comprised mainly of a stage for live music, a few booths, the food area and the restaurant itself. But then the magic happened. We went up to the bar in the restaurant to get some drinks and saw that they were selling 24-ounce margaritas for $6. Six bucks! Six. Bucks. Two of my favorite things in life are booze and great money-saving deals, so when we spied the price of those drinks, it was like the God of Crunkdom was giving us his blessing and saying, "Go and party, my children." So we did. I ordered two. Meagan had one. Edwin and Jeremiah had several more. And a few beers. And all of us ended up having a party.

Meagan and I at Po' Boys. My excitement at the $6 margaritas is probably at an unhealthy level.

Meagan, Edwin and I


Later on that night, we went to the blues club, which was a blast all around. This was my first visit to the BBC, and I absolutely loved it. It's a little hole-in-the-wall club way out in the middle of nowhere, and our group spent the night drinking, dancing and drinking some more. The pictures from that night will say more about the fun we had than I ever could.

My sister, Laura, showing off her wristband and beer. She recently turned 21.




My favorite shot of Meagan and Edwin dancing.

My favorite shot of the night. Definitely captured how much fun we all were having!

Meagan, Jeremiah and I outside at the bonfire during intermission.

Me and my Bud. That Friday at work, some friends and I were discussing how you never see anybody order a plain ol' Budweiser when they go out. So I decided to order one.

I think that Meagan and Edwin's "last hurrah" couldn't have gone any better. It was indeed an epic weekend.

P.S. Thanks to Meagan for letting me steal some of her photos!