13 September 2007

My lip gloss is poppin'

Let's get straight to the point. At Kansas City Royals games - or probably any other professional baseball games - each player gets to choose songs to play over the P.A. while they walk up to the batter's box. We'll call these "walk-up songs." (I know. Clever.) So each player chooses two songs, and said songs are alternated between at-bats. I'm not for certain the exact "science" of it, but I'm guessing the players can pretty much change their walk-up song selections whenever they darn well please.

Many of the selections are just songs that get you pumped up - though I can't understand for the life of me why someone would choose to listen to Creed. Ever. (Second baseman Mark Grudzielanek's song.)

Then there's catcher Jason Larue. I go comatose whenever he comes up to bat, because his stinking song is some lame-o country song about "what I like about Sundays." There's a reason you're batting a .146 average, buddy ... because any ounce of motivation to smack the ball out of the park evaporates the moment your country crooner comes on the P.A. Boo that man!

There was about a three-week span in which I thought outfielder Emil Brown was either lamer than I thought he was, or he lost a bet. I'm actually leaning towards the latter. Before the All-Star Break, he had some sort of rap song on - pretty standard, really. Upon returning, though, and continuing for approximately three weeks, the dude walks up to bat and "I'm not ready to make nice" by the Dixie Chicks is ringing in my ears. Words can't describe the look of confusion that plastered my face. I'm not going to lie, the prospect of him losing a bet was pretty funny, but novelty wore off quickly.

Now to my favorite player. Right fielder Mark Teahen. Not only can this guy throw a runner out from the parking lot, he's just plain funny. His sense of humor is about as dry as Subway's "bread." (Zing! ... ?) For the majority of the season, his walk-up songs were these Mexican salsa songs ... that consequently made me boogie and shimmy in my seat. Yeah, I get weird looks. Whatever. Little did I know that Teahen's latest walk-up song change would delight me to an unknown degree. Now is the time in which my blog title ties in. That's right. His new song is "Lip Gloss" by "Lil' Mama." Lil' Mama is an 18-year-old rapper. Unlike many seemingly innocent songs that are actually sexual euphemisms, "Lip Gloss" is really just about lip gloss. Genius. For those of you unfamiliar, here are some of the song's lyrics - which illustrate the pure humor in the fact that it's someone's walk-up song:

"They say my lip gloss is cool
My lip gloss be poppin
I'm standing at my locker
and all the boys keep stoppin"

...

"They say my lip gloss is poppin
My lip gloss is cool
All the boys be jockin
They chase me after school"

The lyrics continue, but that's about as far as they get when Teahen comes to bat. Uh. Maze. Ing. Seriously ... I love that he doesn't take himself so seriously, and that he's secure enough to choose a song purely for comic value, no matter what the lyrics/content.

So, to close, I'd like to provide the song in which I would walk up to should I somehow turn male and ripped enough to be a professional baseball player. A little song called "Jump on it" - the version done by Sir Mix-a-Lot. Why? Because I'd like to think that at least one person in the crowd would do this dance to accompany the song:



Yep.

21 August 2007

If I had a million dollars ... I'd be rich.

I know, I'm still bad at this blogging thing. One of these days I'll get better. Gimme a break, though. Sometimes I'm lazy. Most of the time I'm too lazy to put my headphones back on when I get back to my desk from going to the bathroom. And then I'm bored because I'm not listening to music to pass the time. But I'm still too lazy to put the headphones on. Tell me that's not some kind of disease.

Anyway, I read somewhere that one of the co-founders of Nike donated $100 million bucks to the University of Oregon. I'm quite certain there are better organizations to donate to than an athletic department whose mascot is a freaking duck. How about donating that to my bank account? Cool.

Here are just a few examples of what I'd do with a large sum of money. Keep in mind that I'm not going to list the obvious ones, like getting out of debt and making sure my parents/siblings are good to go for the remainder of their lives. I'd totally do that - I'm not a selfish brat - but I feel like those should be staples in everyone's "What I'd do with $100 million dollar checklists." If not, they should undergo some severe punishment, like being locked in a room with Pauly Shore or something. Here's my partial list:

1.)I'd set aside enough money in order for me to get allergy shots for the rest of my life. Particularly shots for my dog allergy. That way I can have fifty million puppies and not feel like my head/chest will explode.

2.)I'd buy fifty million puppies. Obviously.

3.)I'd buy a house. Yeah, so this isn't that uncommon. But I wouldn't go crazy. I wouldn't buy some ridiculous mansion. I'd buy a house with a big kitchen so I can go crazy on my Sandra Lee recipes and tablescapes. It would have a wraparound porch, because let's be honest - they're adorable. A decent sized bedroom, obviously with a sizeable walk-in closet, and a few extra rooms. One for an office, the others for guest purposes - since I'm so popular - and future children. Very future children.

4.)I wouldn't buy a new car. I'd just pay mine off. Trusty Rhonda.

5.)I'd keep working. Lord knows if I didn't work I'd either drive myself to insanity or become a crafting nazi. I guess those are both one in the same. Anyway, I would obviously set enough money aside so in the case of belligerantly annoying job/clients, and no other agency would take me, I could have a little thing we call peace-of-mind.

6.)I'd buy some organ lessons. I will play the organ for the Royals when I'm Oldy McOlderson.

7.)Lots of fancy food at lots of fancy restaurants. Enough said. And I'll probably franchise a Tortilla Jack's and station it on the same block as my house. Not right next to it, though. Because then I'd be fat with burrito goodness.

8.)A vacation or two every year for the rest of my life. Some destinations may include, but are not limited to, Australia, Italy, England, South Africa, Hawaii and Kalamazoo. I don't even know where Kalamazoo is, but I want to say that I've been there.


That's all I've got for now. Now all I've got to do is meet this Nike guy, and I'll be set. My charismatic ways will do the rest. (No prostitute jokes, please.)

18 July 2007

My running shoes are sad

Ok, they're actually probably not sad. I know you're probably thinking, "Yeah Molly, they're not sad because they're not alive." Nope. They're not sad because they're enjoying the time off. Duh.

It's been three and a half weeks since I've slipped on the silver and orange 8 1/2 Nike Air Max tennis shoes. (Nothing like a little product placement.) You see, I sprained my ankle. Really bad. It resembled what I imagine a dead person's foot might look like. You can call it Dead Foot for short.

Anyway, it truly is amazing what exercise can do for your life. Don't get me wrong, some days I want nothing more than to veg out on my cozy futon - shutup, I like my futon - and watch Full House reruns. (Last night I watched the episode in which DJ was having a "mega-crisis" because some butt munch kid was spreading rumors that she was the worst kisser in school. She threatened him with a mustard bottle. Problem solved.)

But when I actually get the motivation to run, I feel so much better. Both mentally and physically. Know how I know? Because I'm feeling the transverse effect of it. I haven't run for almost a month, and I feel about as attractive as Britney Spears circa NOW.

Plus, I couldn't wear high heels that whole time, and sometimes, you just need a little heel action to feel good about yourself. Tragic, I know. My life is so hard. But I've worn heels the last two days - with minimal struggle - so I've decided the running will begin again on Monday. Nevermind the fact that I'll pretty much be starting over from an endurance factor, but if Kirstie Alley can do it twenty times over, so can I!

01 May 2007

Make a blah day better with nostalgia


I guess I should begin by apologizing for a long absence from this thing called "blogging." (Yeah, I still have trouble calling it blogging. Is it supposed to be capitalized? If it is, I'm not going to do it. You can't make me.) You know, apologies to all three people that read my blog. Who have all probably stopped checking since it's been a month since I've posted something new. Unless they want to see that funny picture of an angry man. I can easily see that being the case.

Anyway. We've gathered here today to discuss a little game we call "The Oregon Trail." We all know it, love it and miss it. If you don't know it, you're way too old to be “innocently” reading my blog. Creepster, go away. And stop telling me you like the sound of my voice on my voice mail.

Moving on. A while back, Dana and I started chatting about "The Oregon Trail" - the game we'd get to play at school for thirty minutes during computer lab time on some old school Apple computers. The graphics were high-quality at the time - please see Exhibit A... the picture I have included in the blog. The story line was ever-so-intriguing and the sense of mystery thrilling. I distinctly remember the disappointment that sunk my 12-year-old soul to the dingy library floor at Landon Middle School when computer lab time was deemed over but I hadn't yet finished my game of "The Oregon Trail." What if no one in my wagon had died yet? The uncertainty of my family's life, and almost inevitable death of some its members, was enough to keep my mind wandering during my long division lesson.

Well, I've been given another chance at "The Oregon Trail." That's right, folks. After several Google searches, many failed attempts of clicking on broken links (followed by slightly audible whimpers from yours truly) and a couple broken promises from non-existent downloads, I have found it. A download for VML Down Time pleasure (no, not porn), "The Oregon Trail" has a new home. On my geriatric IBM ThinkPad, provided by VML. By the way, my computer’s name is Gerald... if any of you were curious.

As soon as the download was complete, I peeked around Ashley’s cube to gain Dana’s attention. Immediately, everyone thought I was up to no good. Little did they know that I had just, minutes ago, discovered the greatest thing ever to grace the world of computer games. Even better than "Doom" or "Wolfenstein." Dana’s gasp of delight is exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Double click. We play!

So, if I may, I’d like to provide you all (three… including Dana) with a synopsis of “The Oregon Trail” game we played at 2:30 p.m. during our seemingly boring work day. I’ve skipped a few landmarks, forgotten a few hunting trips, omitted some conversations with fellow Oregon Trail travelers and even added some scenario assumptions, but you should get the general idea. Especially since the following is an almost endless description. Whatever, I enjoyed transcribing it. And we’re off…

It all started on May 1, 1848. I, Molly, was the leader of a wagon. A carpenter from Ohio, my estrogen-dominant family consisted of VML team members Ashley, Leah, Laura and Dana. Betsy, my sincere apologies that you were left out of this trip. Reason for this, besides the obvious family capacity restrictions, was that you were gone in Paris. As my boy JT would say… cry me a river! Anyway, as soon as you read the outcome of the game, you’ll be glad you were left in Independence, MO.

After following the General Store owner’s (Matt) advice, I stocked up on clothing, food, oxen and wagon parts. And the steady decline of my family’s existence begins. The first mishap of the trip occurred when Dana got lost for two days. We determined that she wandered off to pet fuzzy bunnies and squirrels. (By the way, Dana, since you were the first person to set us back on the journey, I’m blaming all future incidents on you. How do you live with yourself?) Not long after we found Dana’s bunny-hugging butt, Ashley suffered from a snakebite. Not sure what she was doing near a snake, but I’ll verbally berate her for it later.

We chatted with some locals at Chimney Rock, who said – in a voice made real by Dana – “that Chimney Rock is awfully sublime.” What does that even mean? Despite the run-ins with animals, things are going well. We even found three sets of clothing in an abandoned wagon! Entertainment was provided by the only tombstone we got to see on the quest, that read: “Here lies Voland. Hey hey hey! Come out and play!” Pretty creepy, especially because “Voland” reminds me an awful lot like “Voldemort” from Harry Potter. Oh the tangled, virtual webs we weave.

Dana and I continued our stellar “Oregon Trail” strategy, and changed our food rations from “Filling” to “Meager” - Lay off me! At least it wasn’t “Bare Bones.” This change, coupled with Dana’s dumb ass getting lost, is also what I blame for the eventual doom of my OT family. Yeah, that’s right, I totally acronymed Oregon Trail… and made up a new verb: acronymed. Also, since it was summer, I think we all needed to diet for the swimsuit season.

So we caulked some rivers safely (insert inappropriate joke here), but soon after, a thief came and stole seven sets of clothing from our wagon. Seven! There are five of us and we only had three sets of clothing. We’ve got some nudity going on here. (And I played this game in the 6th grade? Where were the parent protests that seem like imminent happenings today?) So we tried to buy some clothes from the next General Store we stumbled upon. This owner, the jerk, tripled his clothing price from the first store we shopped at! We bought a few sets, but only after seriously considering shooting said owner with the 100 bullets we had purchased and had not yet used. I digress…

After finding some wild fruit, which was probably poisonous, we were given the news that Leah had dysentery. I’m pretty sure I’ve never known what dysentery even is. So I dictionary.com’d it. Dysentery: an infectious disease marked by inflammation and ulceration of the lower part of the bowels, with diarrhea that becomes mucous and hemorrhagic. Get this girl some freaking Pepto!

We spent the Fourth of July at South Pass. Not sure where that is, but that’s where we were, so I wanted to share. Also, Dana inquired if we even had Fourth of July back then. Yes, Dana, we did. At South Pass, we spoke to a Mormon traveler. When vocalizing the Mormon’s dialogue, Dana pretty much turned him into a Southern Baptist Reverend. But it was funny, so I accepted said interpretation.

Dana managed another screw-up and broke her arm. I’m not sure how she did it, but it may or may not have involved one of the oxen and a wagon axle. Sick and twisted, that girl is.

Somewhere along the way, we spoke to an Indian. He was angry at the “white man.” I’m not making this text up, people. Pretty sure this game would have been banned and destroyed in the lovely year of 2007.

So we got lost on the trail for several days shortly before there was a fire on our wagon, during which we lost our spare wheels. I bet it was the angry Indian who set the fire.

With the looming heat upon us, we reached Soda Springs. Upon our “looking around”, we realized it was an 1848-style Nudey Retreat, complete with lady bonnets. After we left Soda Springs, Leah got a fever. Ashley got some measles, and we spoke with a local who said “Missus”, a word that Dana pronounced “Mishus” during her vocal interpretation.

Welp, we had some gnarly water, and poor Ashley died. Even though it didn’t allow us to write a “real” gravestone, this is what it would have said: “Here lies Ashley. Sorry you had to go first. What what, in the butt.”

The dying thing apparently utilizes a domino effect, because Leah left the Oregon Trail mortal world right after Ashley. They didn’t give us a reason, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she pooped herself to her grave. So here’s what her gravestone would have said: “Here lies Leah. Dysentery didn’t do ya good. What what, in the butt.”

We mourned for a minute in real-time, probably a day or two in Oregon Trail time, and Laura got lost for five days. Five freaking days?! Laura, you hussy. You snuck off with Angry Indian, didn’t you? Just you wait…

So there’s a water shortage, Laura got the measles, and while we were resting, she died. What a pansy! I told you that rendezvous with Angry Indian would come back to haunt you! Well here’s what her gravestone would have said: “Here lies Laura. Shouldn’t have f’ed with at Indian. What what, in the butt.”

There was some inadequate grass, but instead of the oxen dying, Dana died. Of cholera. Here’s another Oregon Trail disease I knew nothing about. Dictionary.com to the rescue. Cholera: an acute intestinal infection caused by ingestion of contaminated water or food. Where’s the Imodium when you need it? In 1969, that’s where. So here’s Dana’s gravestone: “Here lies Dana. There’s a reason I love food so much. I died. What what, in the butt.”

Now I’m the lone soldier on this 19th century journey. It ends abruptly when I get a fever, experience the inadequate grass supply and die. So here’s my gravestone: “Here lies Molly. Once a team, always a team. Here lies my lovely lady lumps. Check me out.”

I can’t wait to play again. Don’t worry. I won’t blog about it.

07 March 2007

Angry. Simple as that.


The double standard is really beginning to piss me off, truth be told. The picture illustrates what I feel like on the inside - of the female variety, of course, because I'm a female.

26 January 2007

"Creative" Blogging on a Friday

So we're "supposed" to be blogging on Friday afternoons at work if we have free time. You know, to express our creative outlets. Whatever that means. So Betsy and I decide to take a break from our monotonous NASCAR and healthcare financing projects, and we went downstairs to play pool. Then we decided we should make it "work related" and blog about it. Another co-worker, Dana, suggested that we do a joint blog... and we each take a turn to write a sentence for said blog. Here's what we came up with. Don't ask.


Rousing games of pool.... by Betsy and Molly (Molly starts off the blog. Everything goes downhill from there.)

I am better than Betsy. At pool, but nothing else. Except for everything else. We played pool today, which was interesting. I really enjoy it when account managers look at us like we’re slackers. They’re just jealous. Sometimes, if you want to win in pool, you have to hold your pool cue like a harpoon. This is a patented “Betsy-ism” that is going to take the nation by storm. Even that bitch Black Widow is going to use it.

The game started slowly. Turns out you’re not supposed to hit the 8 ball in first. Score, one game Betsy. Oh, make that two. Chad is a lesbian. But anyway, Molly can do a fancy “behind the back” pool move. She’s a freaking shark, I tell you. Two seconds into the third game, in goes the 8 ball, via Betsy. However, Molly does not know that Betsy was just trying to make her feel better about her two prior pathetic excuses for pool. Betsy has an STD. She can not spell Gonoreeya. Then comes the fourth pool game. Dave Winger walked by, and distracted Betsy and she lost! Molly gets distracted by the chocolate in his shirt pocket too.

Oh, probably at this time in the story we should describe that Betsy was always “regulars” and Molly was always “diets.” Or, Betsy was “the fattys” and Molly was “the super models.” This is actually “stripes” and “solids,” but those names are boring as hell so we made up our own so HA. And by HA, I mean screw you. Peace out, Jagiers. (Molly shakes her head in disbelief and confusion. Betsy can not believe Molly turned their blog into an internet role playing game.)





I just don't know.

22 January 2007

Life


I really like it when I pour just enough milk over my Life cereal, and there's almost no moo juice left when I finish.


Yep.

17 January 2007

The Goblet of Cleanliness

So I'm a pretty random person in general, and the same can certainly said about my home decorating taste. I went to the Topeka Goodwill - I'm not sure why "Topeka" was a necessary adjective, but let's just pretend that it's important - and I purchased a powder pink "goblet" to place my dish brush in. It's pretty silly, really. But as it's essential to give almost everything a name, my roommate and I have dubbed it the Goblet of Cleanliness. (We won't talk about the other things my we give names to.)

Ironically enough, however, next to the Goblet of Cleanliness is the Sink O' Disgust. No, we're not dirty people. Nine days ago - yes, I'm counting - our sink clogged while we were being adorable people by cooking dinner. Being the productive people we are, we called our apartment's front office the next day to request that it be fixed. We were told it would be fixed in 24-48 hours. Pretty sure it's been eight freaking days, and the sink smells worse than my freshman year gym class. (There was a kid who looked like a neanderthal in said class and I'm fairly certain he practiced the neanderthal ways.) I'm not kidding about this vile smell. I have to hold my nose when I'm getting anything out of the fridge, which is why I rarely go into the kitchen anymore. And this is a problem.... because I like food. A lot.

And I won't even go into my problem with vomiting due to bad smells. (It happens more often than it should.)

That is all.

10 January 2007

She made me do it!

No, she didn't make me love her. I already love her. But a co-worker (ok, she's a friend, too - at least by my standards) convinced me to begin blogging. What is blogging anyway? I mean, to be honest, it sounds dirty. Or maybe it just reminds me of poop... (log)? Turns out my thought processes are far from normal.

Anyway, I was thinking the other day, who the heck comes up with names for new models of cars? Honestly. The other day - see what I did there? I didn't know what day it was, so I just covered the bases with that phrase. I'm smart. - I saw a Ford Freestyle parked outside of my adorable apartment and thought to myself, "Really? That's all they could come up with? Why don't they just call it a Ford Frolic? Or a Ford Flamingly Stupid Name?" After this encounter, I decided to make it a point to notice other stupid car model names. Here are some of my favorites - and by "my favorites", I mean "the dumbest car names ever":
  • Ford Shelby - Why you gotta choose Shelby? Maybe it should be "Ford Shut the Hell Up."
  • Ford Taurus - We all know Aquarius is the superior astrological sign, here.
  • Chrysler Crossfire - Wasn't this a game I played when I was a wee lass? Yes. Yes it was:
  • http://www.farscapegames.co.uk/ishop/images/1003/crossfire.jpg
  • Kia Amanti - Are you sure you don't mean Kia Ashanti?
  • Toyota Scion - It sounds like Scoliosis. I'm not buying this car if it means I'm going to get scoliosis.

Done and done.