16 December 2009

Blame Twitter

Microblogging killed the blogging star. That's how that song goes, right? And it totally fits what's happened here at Blogging Molly. Except for the fact that I'm not a star. Details, schmetails.

I'm here to state my intentions. I vow, starting January 1, 2010, to blog at least once a week for an entire year. See, I'm writing this down for all (read: two of you) so I'm more inclined to hold true to my typed word. I've made empty promises in the past ... but those are so last decade.

So I have approximately 15 more days to ignore the crap out of you ... (like the padding I gave myself?) But then it's on like Long Duck Dong.

19 August 2009

Twit you

Hold the presses. Whoa, whoa, whoa. [Insert other "wait just a minute" phrase here.] I've done yet another thing this year that I never thought I would do. The first thing was renewing a lease. Did you know I've lived in 10 different houses/apartments in the last 7 years? Now you do. I'm proud of this NBDB. (That's Never Been Done Before, folks. Gosh, I really hate acronyms.) I'm sure my moving crew, i.e. friends and family, is relieved, too.

The other ... well, it's not that I'm not proud of it. It's just something I never thought I'd do. But more and more, I saw the appeal. So what I'm saying is ... I'm now a twit.

twitter.com/themollyjane


Don't judge me. (Or do. I guess I can't stop you.)

A good friend
has been attempting to convince me to start tweeting. I vehemently declined. Several months later, I finally decided to cave, but all the usernames I would have assumed under were already in use. Or just taken - if you're going to take a rad name like BiggieMolls, you need the mini blogs to back it up, sister. Gah. So I took this as an interweb-cosmos sign.

But for some reason, yesterday I felt the need to enter the world of tweets. Molly Jane was taken, so naturally I put "the" in front of it because you and I both know I am the ultimate MJ. Well, other than the late MJ. And then there's that one guy who used to play for the Bulls. I digress.

I haven't decided my game plan for the tweeting, yet. I mean, I'm a regular FB status updater, so I don't want to repeat everything on the Twitters. And I don't have a smart phone, so updates won't be in real-time. (Which is too bad for you guys because my life is awesome.) But I do think I'm going to use this venue as more of a "what I'm up to" in addition to using it as a space to share my scarily random thoughts.

So here I go. Holy social networking, Batman. We'll see how long this lasts.

06 August 2009

That extra oomph

What is it about that seemingly-irrelevant nudge we give ourselves to get something done? Like when I'm playing Mario Kart and I tilt my entire controller, or more like the entire upper-half of my body, in order to complete that sharp turn. Or when I stick my tongue out trying to get something from a shelf that's got a height advantage on me.

I don't have any light to shed on the situation. It just sprung into my head when I was using a public restroom at a Topeka grocery store. What makes me think that resting my toosh on the seat's front-half only and placing just my tippy toes on the floor are going to make the experience less germ-filled?

But enlighten me ... what's your extra oomph?

04 August 2009

Too far?

Sometimes, that's where I take things.

This evening I enjoyed the bi-monthly ... sometimes more ... company of some of my family members at dinner. While taking a gander at the extensive menu, I hollered across the table to my Dad to tell him that the Reuben Panini was pretty darn tasty. My stepmom interjected, with a very confused tone I might add, "A reuben-tini?" And thus my imagination flourished.

Ah yes. The reuben-tini. For those of us who don't get enough salt from a dirty martini, the reuben-tini employs the flawless combination of corned beef and sauerkraut - pureed to perfection. Sauerkraut is sprinkled on top, for aesthetic- and texture-purposes, of course. The beverage is finished with a Thousand Island dressing-rimmed glass.

And that, my friends, is taking things "too far." Feel free to vomit now.

22 July 2009

Solved

I came home from work today and found myself humming the theme song to a cartoon I watched as a kid ... The Littl' Bits. I'm not sure what spawned it. I haven't thought about the show in years because I don't even think it was one of my favorites. Funny how things work.

But I youtube'd it, anyway. Just to confirm that it was indeed a late 80s/early 90s cartoon theme song I was humming, and not just something I made up. (I've been known to do that.) After my assessment was confirmed, I obviously revisited the other shows I frequently watched ... like David the Gnome. That guy was awesome. And Swift was a fox. (No, seriously ... he was a fox. Like the animal. I wasn't confessing a crush there.)

But all this reminiscing made me kinda sad. Because since high school, probably, I've been on the hunt to remember the name of my very favorite Nickelodeon cartoon. It involved koalas, or some similar marsupial, that teleported with makeup compact-looking devices - and used said devices as communication mediums, as well. I always borrowed my mom's powder compact to pretend I was one of them. But no matter how many times I've had the conversation - several hundred - and with whom I speak to, we can never seem to recall the name.

Well, my friends. I've found it. And as pathetic as it is, a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. As sad as it may be, I feel a sense of accomplishment. As pitiful as it probably seems, I feel more whole. Oh Noozles ... you complete me.

17 June 2009

Milk was a bad choice

I didn't drink milk today. But I will tell you what was a bad choice ... wearing jeans. I thought for sure it would be the worst decision I made today since it's 91 degrees outside - feels like 105 - with a humidity level of 2000%.

Wrong.

Today's worst decision was getting sushi from HyVee. I wanted something light since I ate my weight in chips, espinaca dip and burritos last night. And all-in-all, grocery store sushi should be avoided. But I figured you couldn't really go wrong with a California roll.

Wrong again.

Sushi = 1, Molly = Head in a toilet (Ok, not really, but I feel like it should be.)

16 June 2009

Obsessed

I've realized I pride myself in not being obsessed with much. Like being obsessed is a tell-tale sign of immaturity. But I'm often described as a passionate person. And then I wonder if passion and obsession that far off from each other? I don't think so. So I'm passionate about things I do, but not passionate or obsessed about much in general. Ruh roh.

Sure, I'm obsessed with food. And what's that gotten me? A lot of fat kid jokes, that's what. And I more-than-love puppies. (All dogs are puppies, thanks.) But I'm allergic. So there's that. I do a lot of crossword puzzles ... not good at them, still ... but am I going to have endless conversation material about them? Not likely. I've always loved to read, and it's become more commonplace in the last couple of years. But I typically don't read anything of high intellectual value, and most of the time stick to the mainstream. So that's just boring, really. I'm getting into gardening, but I'm not that good at it. I've started to run, not because I like it, but because that a-hole adult metabolism is catching up to me.

And then there's this blogging thing. I've started to feel the pressure to be funny. And when I consequently try too hard, it's an obvious setup for failure. So I try to take a timeout and let it come naturally. Then I don't blog for months. Then the pressure returns. Insert vicious cycle here. I feel like a blog needs some sort of consistency - be it theme of content, frequency of posts or all-around sucktitude. And Blogging Molly is just hanging out in the interwebs space all wimbly nimbly.

So I think it's time for a reevaluation. Nothing drastic. Just a mentality switch. I've always resented people who take themselves too seriously. And I just realized I run the risk of turning into that if I don't start obsessing over things again. I need to start getting excited about things again. (I need to find a hobby. A good one.)

Sometimes, you set yourself up for disappointment so you're pleasantly surprised. I do it all the time, and I'm just now realizing how damaging it's been. In the realm of love and friendship, I've always been of the belief that being brokenhearted is what makes you able to love again. And makes it that much more precious. So why not take that sentiment to life in general? Being disappointed makes the fun stuff more enjoyable. It's not easy to be excited about things. It can be emotionally and mentally taxing. But why do I need to be so emotionally and mentally well-rested? So I can tell my grandkids that my life was "very relaxing"? Lame City, Population = Me.

So what I'm saying is ... come disappoint me, world. I'm ready for it.

08 June 2009

Airplane

The other day, I was swapping funny/awkward/cute airplane stories with two of my dearest friends. Like when Michelle had a loud, drunk stranger-woman proceed to rub her shoulders mid-flight. Or when Haley thought it was the cutest thing ever when kids kept yelling, "Look! The city's getting smaller and smaller and smaller!" I claimed to have nothing to add to the conversation. I wasn't holding back, it just seems to be a common trend that I'm memory punched during fun conversations such as these.

So I just remembered a good one. Good enough to write down.

I was on my way to LA for work. My flight stopped through Phoenix. Phoenix to LA is a ridiculously short flight, but I opted for a glass of wine anyway. (Because not using your free Southwest drink tickets should be punishable.) At this point in life, my taste buds had yet to find a suitable white wine, so red wine was the obvious choice. Lah dee dah, I'm drinkin' my wine. Sittin' next to some dude wearing Uggs. (Odd.) Then, without notice - as if she'd warn me of the coming event - a flight attendant rushes by me, bumps my elbow with noticeable-yet-unintentional force, spilling my red wine all over one of the few pairs of nice, lighter-colored jeans I owned. Well poo.

Uggs Boy sees it happen, luckily enough, so I had someone to vouch that I wasn't drunk and clumsy. He was equally in awe as I was that the flight attendant didn't feel a thing to elicit even a pause for question. I awkwardly attempt to sop up the mess on my jeans with my Barbie-sized cocktail napkin, to little avail.

Another flight attendant saunters past, and Uggs Boy gains her attention on my behalf to inform her of the situation. Flight attendant numero dos clearly felt bad and said she'd return quickly with some towels. But when she came back, she had more than towels to greet me with. She bent down closer to me, as to avoid making a scene. Her commentary went a little something like this, "Now ... I know this might be a little awkward, but trust me. It works." And she hands me a sanitary napkin.

I'm just glad I didn't get a nose bleed.

Dreamweaver

In the purist sense of the word, a personal blog should be about anything and everything on the author's mind. (Author is such a loose term in this sense. Ha. I said loose.) I don't know what has come over me lately, though. In the past, my sporadic entries were mostly attributed to a busy schedule ... or lazy disposition. But in the past two months, I can't for the life of me think of anything inspiring or worthy of anyone's attention. Even mine. So if I were to blog in just stream of consciousness form, just for the sake of publishing something, I think I'd lose the few readers I have. I digress.

What I'm trying to say is that I've been thinking about you. Maybe too much and that's why anything of value escapes me. But I'm going to catch it, darnit. If I have to purchase a butterfly net, fishing pole or any other item that does proverbial catching, I'll do it. Even if it's a dream catcher ... and I think those things are ick-tastic on a taste level.

For now, I will tell you that I was thinking on my way to work. (That's rare in and of itself, thanks.) There's one job that I absolutely could not tolerate having. I could never be a tattoo artist. Not just for a lack of talent and immense phobia of needles. But because the responsibility it garners. I all-but-guarantee - nay, I guarantee - that I would be the dummy who misspelled, even though my spelling is typically impeccable, or made a seemingly-innocent illustration one that cultivates many blushing cheeks. (Not the butt kind.)

Yep, that's it.

14 May 2009

Guilty pleasure?

Fact: I am unashamed to admit that I'm a fan of America's Next Top Model. This fandom is multi-faceted. I like it because it's kind of amazing to see seemingly normal gals turn into drop-dead gorgeous models - awkward faces/personalities/fashion sense and all. I like it because Tyra Banks is several doses of crazy. I like it because Nigel Barker is several doses of attractive. (His accent, at least.) I like it because the makeover episode is inspirational and entertaining. (I will never understand girls who have mental conniptions over their hair.)

Quite some time ago, a coworker and I found an online application to audition for the show. You see, next cycle (that's Tyra-talk for "season") will be made up of short models only. 5'7" and under ... Lisa Leslie's need not apply. So, clearly we "joked" about modeling it up. (Some more jokingly than others.) And let me tell you, this application is a thing of greatness. Let's just talk about some of the better questions, and the producers' obvious mental commentary while writing them.

  • "14a If you are married or in a relationship, how would you rate your relationship on a scale of 1-10? Please explain ... 14b If you are married or in a relationship, how will your partner feel about the potential two-month separation?"
Your significant other should be the jealous type. Please proceed to tell us tales of thrice-hourly calls during your workday and the multitude of shrines made in your honor. Welcome to ANTM.
  • "24 Regardless of your marital status, describe your ideal romantic partner."
You know, so we can be sure to cast them as your male model counterparts for a photo shoot. Let the cheating commence.
  • "49 Do you have a temper? How often do you lose your temper? What provokes you?"
We will be sure to cast the embodiment of every single one of your pet peeves. Don't say we didn't warn you.
  • "52 When was the last time you hit, punched, kicked or threw something in anger? Please provide details."
This is either precautionary or ratings gold, depending on the severity your answer.
  • "63 What types of people would you choose to have living with you in the house? ... 64 What types of people would you NOT choose to live with you in the house?"
Tip: If you want to save your sanity, answer the opposite of what you feel.
  • "67 Who is your favorite supermodel? ... your least favorite? Explain."
Let us answer this for you. Part 1: Tyra Banks. Part 2: everyone else.
  • "72 How did you hear about the show?"
Do not say The Soup. Tyra may or may not be in the middle of negotiating a contract to have Joel McHale killed.

04 May 2009

They're back

Saturday morning I decided to be productive while my Awake Juice was brewing. I picked up a piece of tupperware in the sink to rinse it out before putting it in the dishwasher and what was underneath? Why, a dead cave cricket, of course. (See this blog post for visual reinforcement of the situation's creep-factor.)

After a few air punches and five minutes of the willies, I proceeded to flush the devil spawn down the drain and let the garbage disposal run all day. Ok, 30 seconds.

Not cool.

15 April 2009

Petition

Dear Hershey's,

I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but your Reese's Peanut Butter Egg product is an absolute thing of greatness. Plain and simple, the ratio of peanut butter to chocolate is highly superior to the original peanut butter cup making for a near-perfect and certainly euphoric candy experience.

I also must tell you that your follow-up attempts to ride on the coat tails of PB egg bliss are commendable. Some of the imitations are better than others but all are close enough to lead up to the joyful PB egg season, culminating in pure awesomeness. (I'm on my second bag, thanks.)

But what are we to do when egg season has passed? This oversight has me especially disgruntled this year because I very regrettably let it slip my mind to race to the nearest convenience store in search of Easter candy discounts. As it is now the third day after Easter, and with past experience of course, I am fully aware of the likelihood - slim - that I will score anymore PB eggs. After all, I'm not the only one who loves them. (There are multiple pages on Facebook dedicated to their honor. All the proof you need, obvi.)

Peanut-Butter-Cup-turned-holiday-shapes season starts in October. Then we have all of November to enjoy our pumpkins. December brings us trees. February hearts and then finally eggs. But from April to October, we are forced to either ration our supplies - unlikely - or suffer through the cravings. Not fair.

So I'm proposing you at least do us the justice of creating another PB cup shape. A star on the Fourth of July would make the most sense, but I don't care what you do, honestly. Just do it, Hershey's. Make it happen. A flag on Flag Day? Sure why not. It may just be a rectangle, but as long as the PB/chocolate ratio's spot on, I won't complain. A maple leaf on Canada Day? Sign me up. For all I care, you can have a carrot-shaped PB cup for National Eat Your Vegetables Day in June. I just need a fix, and I need it now.


Sincerely,
Molly

P.S. Your attention to this matter will likely result in an ease-up of the fierce grudge I've held against you for ridding the Jolly Rancher assorted mix bags of lemon-flavored goodness. Think about it. (Now.)

11 April 2009

Show your character

Yesterday I volunteered to "sell" papers on a busy street corner from 6:15-9 a.m. for Greater KC Day. Greater KC Day is put on by Royals Charities, with proceeds going to the KC Rotary Youth. It's a good cause, so it makes it worth it to wake up at 5:30 a.m. - an hour I didn't know existed. The first year I volunteered ruined any other years for me, I think, because it was absolutely gorgeous weather. This year, and last, was plagued with cold, rain and wind. But rain or shine, you're bound to learn about all the behaviors of people trying to avoid giving you any monies. These ill-patterned individuals were the most common of everyone I saw in the 2 1/2 hour span. (KC, you make me so proud.)

The Lane Changer: Oh, because changing lanes is really going to help. You're one lane over so you think I can't see you? Look, my posse has all corners covered, so even if you get away without handing over your change, you're sure as heck not getting away without guilt.

The Vision Averter: Similar to the lane changer, this driver will stay in the lane they were originally driving in, but when they pull up to stop, they make sure they're in a position where the bar on their windshield blocks the line of vision between the person trying to ask for money and them. Excuse me, are you three years old? Because I remember when I was three years old ... playing hide and seek, the best strategy was "if I can't see them, they can't see me."

The Center Consoler: This is amazing ... all of a sudden, when they pull up to stop, their center console becomes fascinating.

The I'm Really Busy: The cell phone is the most common. You know, because when you're talking on the phone, it's obviously impossible to roll down your window and hand me some change. Others use their coffee mugs. But I don't think it would matter if it was a four-week old can of Volt - they will drink it just to avoid contact with someone volunteering their time for a good cause.

The Laugher or Shaker: Yes, there were several people who either shook their head in seemingly disgust at me, or who just laughed at me because I'm an idiot for standing outside in the current weather conditions. Well you know what? I'm judging you for doing that. I feel fairly confident in saying I am a better person than you are. Deal with it.

The Straight One: No, I'm not referring to sexual orientation. This one will look straight ahead, and only straight ahead, no matter what. I think next year I will approach their car, two inches from their window, just to test their commitment to looking straight on. If you stay strong, I will give you major props. If I win, you give me all the cash in your wallet. And remember, I have boobs and I know how to use them. (Ok, I probably won't use them. But I'll still probably win.)

The Shifty One: These ones try to look straight ahead, but it's easy to see their eyes shift to you, wondering if you're still standing there asking for money. Yep. Still here...

The Nice Car: If you're driving a brand new Lexus or BMW, and you don't even give me an "I'm sorry" look, let alone your spare change or dollar, I will judge you, too. I don't even have to explain myself on that one.

The Dry One: This is the a-hole who's nice and dry in the parking garage next to you, in his fancy suit, who asks you if you have a dry paper. I make the effort to dig one out even though I can't feel my fingers - and he walks away without giving a donation. Not even a quarter. Ok this was just one guy last year, and I'm definitely still bitter.

The not-really a Royals fan Royals fan: Look, it's Greater KC Day. One of the Royals' biggest initiatives for charity. And everyone who's a real Royals fan knows about the hundreds of volunteers who litter KC-area street corners to raise money one day a year. So if you're wearing Royals gear and you don't donate or you practice one of the previously listed offenses, you are not a Royals fan. Seriously.


Don't get me wrong, there were some generous and friendly people out there. Ones who gave me $5 and $10 bills, out sympathy more than anything. Or the lady who offered to get me a cup of coffee. But unfortunately, the sketchy people outnumbered the good ones.

But let's be honest, we've all been victim to this shady behavior at least once, whether it's a homeless person or fireman with a boot asking for money. I'd say I'm a fair mix of either the cell phoner or the vision averter. But after three years of witnessing this crappy-but-inevitable human behavior first hand, I've vowed to donate to good causes when I see them. The ones panhandling ... well, that's another blog in itself. I won't go there.

So which one are you?

08 April 2009

Restrictions

I don't travel that much, but almost every day I'm haunted, daunted and annoyed-aunted by the liquid restrictions associated with it. It's really shaped the way we trek across states, countries and continents ... not in a good way.

How many times do I have to go spend a dollar on shampoo that's going to be good for two uses? And you know what? This rule is discriminatory considering half of the products, that must be used to tame the frizzy beast that is my hair, don't come in 3 oz bottles. And forget about transferring them to those 3 oz travel bottles - I end up wasting too much to make it worth it. So basically what I'm saying is that when I travel and don't check a bag, I look like donkey dung.

So I was thinking the other day, how normal is it that when looking at bottles of things, I automatically check the liquid volume measurements with flights in mind? It's not normal at all, is the answer, not only because the aforementioned lack of travel, but the fact that most of the things I check for travel-worthiness are never things I'd take with me.

So I decided to take inventory of items in my office cube to see what would or would not make the cut. Here are the items won't be going with my on my next flight:

  • Green Tabasco, 5 oz. ... oh, so close! How awesome would it be if I demanded to travel with my green tabasco? Really awesome.
  • Cooper's Pure Honey bear bottle, 12 oz. ... Samsonite, I was way off!
  • Sweet Pea Healing Hand Cream, 4 oz. ... This one's ok with me. I'm going to pass a law that bans any perfume scents on planes anyway. Some people really can't comprehend the word "moderation."
  • Always Save brand cooking spray, 8 oz. ... Yes, it's totally normal that I have this in my food drawer. And yes, I have a food drawer.

Here is what will make the cut:

  • A plastic New York snow globe, unknown oz. ... I know this isn't labeled, but there's no way this is over 3 oz. of liquid glitter. And who doesn't need to travel with a NY snow globe?
  • Pallini Limoncello mini bottle, 50 ML ... (that's approximately 1.7 oz, duh.)
  • Van Gogh Dutch Chocolate Vodka, 50 ML ... (see above, smarties.)
  • Mozart Chocolate liqueur, .05 L ... I don't the conversion to oz on this one. Not sure why Mozart has to be an a-hole about it. Probably for the same reason that he spelled "liquor" in a dumb, dumb way.

So we could talk about the fact that I have three baby bottles of liquor on my desk - one of which is halfway empty. But I think it'd be cooler talk about the fact that two of the three alcohols are named after famous artists. When did that become a trend and when can we expect it to go away? Thanks.

05 April 2009

Well shoot

So I've been staring at my last blog entry, desperately trying to muster up something to write about. Work is still frying up my brain in a big ol' corporate saucepan, so unless it has to do with Sam's Club, Payless or the Kansas City Art Institute, I've got nothing of worth to offer when it comes to commentary.

I thought about writing about what I've been up to lately. But I didn't think my reader(s?) cared to know about the status of my attempts to grow out my finger nails. (Eight of them are growing strong. Thumbs are nubbins. I can't figure it out.)

Then I thought about writing about what I'm going to do in the near future. But there's only so much I can write about Royals games and the pending opening of MLB season. (I live at Kauffman stadium. No seriously, I've considered re-routing my mail there for the next six-month period.)

I've gone on two mini-trips in the last month, so I could share pictures. But we should probably talk about how 98% of them are of animals. I'm not sure how I figured out that math, but I'm going to assume it's accurate. You should do the same. And I should assume you're not interested in seeing said pictures.

So if anyone has any genius introspection of how I can leap over this mound of freak un-inspiration, holler.

17 March 2009

Rather pointless

It's been a while. I'm really slacking and this time, I'm disappointed in myself. I truly wanted to grace the internet with my prose prowess at least twice a week. And by "prose prowess", I mean "senseless stories." Anywho, February proved to be a reality punch in the face.

First, I was put into a cupcake-induced coma thanks to Cupid's Day and the celebration of the birth of yours truly.

Then, my dear Grandpa had to say goodbye to us. (Debbie Downer moment.) Let's pour one out for Bob A, shall we? He was the hippest of homies.

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Circa 2006

After that, my bronchials decided to have their way with me for at least a week and a half. I believe "bronchial tubes" is the correct term, but when am I ever accurate? Especially in a medical sense ... never, that's when.

So here I am. Struggling to concentrate on the copious amounts of copy waiting to be written mostly because I just arrived home from a trip to Dallas - to visit my chico man - and left my headphones in my travel bags. Trying to work without music is like trying to get a 14-year-old girl to recite the Gettysburg Address when Nick Jonas is in the room. Just not going to happen. (I'm really not sure how I knew one of the Jonai's first names ... It must be some sort of science.)

25 February 2009

Gooooooooulet

I've made a recent discovery of an abomination on the catalog phenomenon, if such a thing exists ... does it? I think I just made that up. Nay, I'm positive I did. It's what I do, deal with it. Anyway, two words, my friends: Midnight Velvet.

I'm not sure how to describe this publication. It's a mish-mash of women's clothing - definitely not worthy of a fashion classification - and home decor. Upon further research on their website ... I can't believe they deem this stuff worthy of a website ... I have learned they also offer furniture and "bed and bath." Joy! Let me share some of the gems this waste of paper and postage fees displays.

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They call this the Watercolor Pant Set. I've read that watercolor prints are "in" this year. I'm also certain this is not what they meant. I think I saw this actual watercolor painting in our 1989 rental home at Beaver Lake. "1989" and "Beaver Lake" being the operative terms that exemplify why it should not be adapted to a piece of clothing. Also, I'm fairly confident in saying anything involving a "set" in clothing is meant for ages 7 and under. There's also a whole category on the site dedicated to pant sets. Not ok. And let's note that this specific piece of work is dry clean only. In my terms? Trash can filled with kerosene and a lit match only. We could also talk about how this is $130 ... but I digress.

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For the love of fashion, who told someone Bedazzling is back? It's not. I assure you. And beg you to stop.

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I think the suit section is my favorite. And by "favorite" I mean "makes me gag the most." Mostly because all the suits come with matching handbags and hats. Oh the hats! I mean, I can go for a big, obnoxious hat at the Kentucky Derby. But I think we can all agree that she's not going to the Kentucky Derby. And if nothing else, let's get one thing clear ... not many pieces of clothing should don this hue of purple. Let alone an entire collection of accessories to go with it.

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I mean, really?

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Holy jackpot, I just discovered the men's section. Look out, J. Your birthday is coming up...

And just for a little taste of Midnight Velvet's versatility...

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Oh good! I've been wondering where I can find a glass orb complete with jellyfish design.

The best part about receiving this catalog? The callout sticker on the front telling me, "Be careful! This could be your last issue. Order now!" Is that a threat or a promise? Please let it be a promise.

13 February 2009

That just happened

Me (to J): "I love cuddling with you in the morning. It's my favorite part of the day."

J: "Really?"

Me: "Yup."

J: "Mine's lunch."


My boyfriend loves me.

Valentine

I'm going to put it out there: I love Valentine's Day. And I'll even go so far to say that I'm anti-people who are anti-Valentine's Day. All this talk about "made up holiday" ... "greeting card holiday" blah blah blah. What the F ever. First of all, don't buy a greeting card if you don't want it to be a greeting card holiday. Smart. And I find it funny that the vast majority of those who are against the proverbial Hallmark Holiday do so in attempt to be non-conformist. But I do believe that the majority is now anti-V-Day ... who's the nonconformist now? Idiots.

Second of all ... made up holiday? I don't care. I see nothing wrong with having a day dedicated to reminding your sweetie, or anyone else close to your heart, know how much you love them. Yes, this should happen every day of the year. But let's be honest ... it doesn't. We get in fights, we get complacent, we take things for granted. So let's take a step back and remember why we love the people we do and show them. There's a special day for your mom (ha), your dad and everyone in between. What about Saint freaking Patrick's Day? Why is it ok to have a holiday dedicated to getting wasted on beer tainted with food coloring, but not ok to have a holiday dedicated to love?

But where would we be without made up holidays anyway? Hippies and eco-enthusiasts alike are given a day for the Earth they love. Federal employees, and the five of us with an obsession of Columbus are given a day to give props. (I wonder if the filmmaker feels bad that he doesn't have a holiday.) But are we so uncomfortable with expressing love that we need to dispute a day for it?

I don't need chocolates, flowers or a Vermont Teddy Bear ... though the latter is absolutely hilarious. What I love about February 14th is the aura. It reminds me of making Valentine boxes from old shoe boxes in elementary school. Of the small care package my mom would have waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs every V-Day, without fail. (I still miss them.) I look forward to watching a movie, eating some takeout and letting J know that he is the Hidden Valley to my ranch.

Aaaaand scene.

03 February 2009

25

So it's February. And a) I didn't blog as much as I told myself I would in January. I get a big fat F ... surprise, surprise. 2) I'm turning 25 in two weeks. I'm not one to get overly excited about birthdays. Nor do I feel bothered by them. But 25 is kind of a milestone. I mean, I get a discount on my car insurance. I don't care if it's $5 less a month, it's the principle of the matter.

So anyway, there's this thing on Facebook going around called 25 Things. People write down 25 random things about themselves for all the FB world to see. I thought it only appropriate that I tell you 25 things about myself on the year of my 25th anniversary as Molly Jane. (Ok, it's kind of a cop out to not post it on FB ... and it's also a free pass from thinking of a blog on my own, but if you judge me for it, you're dumb.)

Here's what I got:

1.) At work and in public restrooms in general, I have to plug my ears otherwise I can't pee. Even if there's no one in there, the aura gives me "stage fright."

2.) Look, you know this about me already ... but I freaking hate cardboard. It's disgusting. More disgusting than thinking about Donatella Versace topless. Did you see that?! Ew.

3.) My closet is color-coordinated.

4.) I'm secretly reading the Twilight books. Crap ... my secret's out.

5.) I play Dance Dance Revolution as a form of exercise. And I'm pretty good at it. (I also sweat a lot.)

6.) When I was a kid, I pretended one of those battery-powered lint removers was a razor. I pressed it to my cheek, and had a circle of dots on my cheek for at least six months. I was a smart kid.

7.) I know all the words to the song "We Didn't Start the Fire."

8.) Three of my girlfriends and I once kidnapped and "tortured" a friend because he stole the 8-ball from All's pool table at a party. It's one of my favorite memories. How the kidnapped party feels about it? Yeah, I don't know. It was all in good fun but we did duct tape him to a merry-go-round in the park and drive off for a bit ...

9.) Out of boredom, a group of friends and I chipped in to purchase a toilet at Home Depot and proceeded to spend hours taking turns sitting on it at a busy intersection.

10.) I play three instruments and one of them is the handbells.

11.) I first watched Sixteen Candles when I was 6 when my 6 siblings and I were home alone. For some reason, the scene where Jake Ryan calls Samantha's house late at night several times from his house party stuck in my mind. After we finished watching, I went up to my room, and pretended like I was scared that someone kept calling me and I dialed 911 ... even though in my mind I was going to resolve my fears with my true love, Jake. Yeah ... the police had to come to the house because I dialed and hung up. Oops. And Sixteen Candles is still one of my favorite movies regardless of the embarrassing association my memories have with it.

12.) I can shoot water at least 10 feet through the gap in my teeth. I haven't taken official projectile measurements, but trust me on it.

13.) When I was 7 I ate an entire pan of Stouffer's lasagna by myself. No lie. (I also probably wasn't full afterward.)

14.) I hate two bands: Oasis and Hootie and The Blowfish. The rest I just kind of dislike are negotiable. Those ... are not.

15.) I will always love really bad jokes and immature ones, too. Example of the former: How come no one in the ocean likes lobsters? Because they're shellfish. Example of the latter: My boyfriend told me he played Call of Duty last night. I said, "Hahahaha, you said duty."

16.) I moved into my apartment six months ago and I still haven't put anything up on my walls, even though most of the stuff is laying against the respective walls it will live on. Hi, I'm lazy, nice to meet you.

17.) J calls me Noodle. I call him Dinosaur. Just an example of how dumb we are because we really make no sense. I also call him Doobie Brother, and I have no idea why.

18.) I get the "Lambchops Underwear" theme song stuck in my head far too often to make any sort of sense.

19.) When I eat burritos, I pick them up and kind of toss them in my hand. I don't know if I'm testing the weight or if it's just a weird quirk. I'm guessing it's the quirk thing.

20.) In other meal news, I apparently go all OCD on the way my food is arranged. I have to turn the plate so that the entree is on the right and the side is on the left. If I'm eating fast food, I have to fold the wrapper in a square before I start in.

21.) I'm oddly obsessed with amusement parks. I could talk for hours about Disneyworld and Universal Studios. And words can't describe how excited I am for the new Harry Potter theme park. For serious.

22.) I have eight bottles of perfume, but I almost always forget to put any on in the morning.

23.) I think I'm totally boring.

24.) I buy kids' bandaids. I currently have Batman and Harry Potter. They're kind of awesome.

25.) My favorite game at birthday parties as a kid was a food relay. You'd wrap different types of food in aluminum foil, split into relay teams, and each person would have to run to a chair, pick a food, eat all of it entirely and run back to tag the next teammate. To my recollection, one year a girl had to go home because she had to eat marshmallows in one round and powdered donuts the next. When a bff did this game at her party, I puked because I had to eat Nutri Grain Bars. (Sick.) I still have fond memories nonetheless.

28 January 2009

Where I'm going

My 2009 vacation calendar is shaping up quite nicely. It's slightly daunting only because I don't want to find myself going absolutely bonkers in December with zero vacation days left to my name. But it's exciting because I have oodles look forward to.

1.) Dallas in March

I'm visiting a dear friend, her boyfriend - I guess I like him, too - and their new canine friend. (I'm stoked to meet Tex, the Louisiana Catahoula Leopard dog.) I will come armed with Claritin and a small, carry-on bag - as my butt face airline is one that charges for checked bags ... so much for looking cute. I will also be fully prepared to celebrate St. Patrick's Day, lay by the pool - weather permitting - and spend quality time with a gal I've known and loved since day one of my existence.

What I will not do in Dallas:
  • Spend too much money on clothing/shoes - written proof that I've made a promise to myself. (Psh.)
  • Visit any restaurant Jessica Simpson has gone to. (Ok, that was a low blow.)
  • Be the second gunman on the Grassy Knoll.
2.) St. Louis in May

This is the vacation of J and Molly, 2009. After much deliberation, we decided to regrettably decline an invitation to holiday in Napa. (Yes, I just said holiday. It sounds cooler, so what?) We are not immune to the recession punch felt 'round the world, so we opted for a more wallet-friendly excursion. We'll stop at a winery on the way and go antique shopping - much to J's dismay, I'm certain. We'll also take in a ball game - Go Royals! - see some animals at the zoo and in general, grace the city of St. Louis with our awesomeness.

What I will not do in St. Louis:
  • Visit East St. Louis. One experience was enough ...
  • Play bar golf. For sentimental and liver-purposes, I save this for MVC trips only.
  • Go "up in the Arch." Unless J insists, I'd like to save facing two fears at once - heights and claustrophobia - for a more worthy cause. You know, like death.
3.) Colorado in August

J has college friends getting married. I don't know much about it except that I'm going. What I do know is that the company will be entertaining, and I won't be at work. Winner.

What I will not do in Colorado:
  • Lay out in my bathing suit reading chapter after chapter of the 7th Harry Potter book, forgetting that since I'm in the mountains, I'm closer to the sun. Hello, lobster Molly. (I have never in my life been this miserable. Knee surgery included.)
  • Lose my pants on a ski lift. (Yes, "ski lift in August" doesn't compute, but that story is just too classic not to mention.)
  • Forget to be awesome.
4.) Camping in an unknown place at an unknown time

Last year, we went to Colorado. This year, we might try to keep it closer to KC. We'll eat our weight in smores, find some hiking trails and laugh a lot.

What I will not do on the camping trip:
  • Wear makeup.
  • Go to a camping site with port-o-potties only. I'll bathroom in the woods before I step foot in one of those. Dry heaving just thinking about them ...
  • Strangle any snoring members of our tent population.

23 January 2009

I'm a simple girl

I've noticed lately, that when I'm corresponding with people I haven't spoken to or seen in a while, and they ask me how I'm doing, what I'm up to, etc., my response is always the same: "I'm a simple girl."

See, it used to be, "Oh, nothing. I'm boring." But then I realized that response told people I was unhappy. I mean, being bored with life is not a good thing. So I changed my response to simplicity, to exude happiness. Because I'm happy. Extremely. But let's be honest, my simplicity is still boring to hear about.

So I've decided I need to take up a hobby. Other than reading - because rarely can I find someone to talk to about books. Here are some options I came up with:

• Become a connoisseur of something. I choose soup.

• Raise sea otters. Because if you can see this picture without melting, we're not friends:

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• Start collecting spoons again. (Yes, I said again. And I'm not talking about those tiny souvenir spoons. Ones from restaurants. Ok, instead of "collecting" I guess I meant "steal." Start stealing spoons again.)

• Use Dance Dance Revolution as a form of exercise regularly. (Oh wait. I've already started down this course.)

• Learn to play the recorder. With my nose.

• Start a tribe of Sea Monkeys.

• Join the Renaissance Festival. I think I'll start at the wax-dipping station. So I can make fun of the obligatory awkward high school-aged couple who hold hands for their wax hand sculpture.

I think this is a good start. I'm just picturing talking to family during the holidays about my collection of 128 sea monkeys and then serenading them with my nasal recorder skills.

Any more suggestions?

07 January 2009

Martha Stewart?

So I was just stumbling through the internets, and I found a "Did you know..." page. It holds the secrets to life's simplest, yet annoying, dilemmas. Ice on the steps? Pour warm water with Dawn soap in it, and they won't freeze over again. Need to get some wax off the edges of a used candle to reuse the glass holder? Put it in the freezer for a few hours and then hold it upside down. I'm not going to lie, there are some pretty snazzy hints here. There are some, however, that beg to be addressed. Here goes ...

"To clean artificial flowers, pour some salt into a paper bag and add the flowers. Shake vigorously as the salt will absorb all the dust and dirt and leave your artificial flowers looking like new! Works like a charm!"

Molly's Resolution: How about you don't buy artificial flowers at all?

"When boiling corn on the cob, add a pinch of sugar to help bring out the corn's natural sweetness."

Molly's Resolution: Don't tell me what to do.

"Use air-freshener to clean mirrors. It does a good job and better still, leaves a lovely smell to the shine."

Molly's Resolution: Actually, this is so dumb, I don't even think I can dignify a response.

"A sealed envelope - Put in the freezer for a few hours, then slide a knife under the flap. The envelope can then be resealed."

Molly's Resolution: Tell me why I want to reseal an envelope when someone else has already licked it.

"Crayon marks on walls? This worked wonderfully! A damp rag, dipped in baking soda. Comes off with little effort (elbow grease that is!)"


Molly's Resolution: Baking soda may work wonders. Let's just clarify who should be doing the cleaning. Not you. The offender. I don't care if he can't talk yet. Put that kid to work.

"Whenever I purchase a box of S.O.S Pads, I immediately take a pair of scissors and cut each pad into halves. After years of having to throw away rusted and unused and smelly pads, I finally decided that this would be much more economical. Now a box of SOS pads last me indefinitely!"

Molly's Resolution: What the F is an SOS Pad? And by the way, if you ever use the phrase "smelly pads" in a sentence ever again, I'm hunting you down and cutting off your left ring finger so you can't type the letter "s" anymore. (Or "x". Take that!)

A Christmas Story

So I'm a little behind. Whatever.

Here's my Christmas story, circa 1987.

I was three years old. My bff had a Christmas party in her basement. We got all gussied up ... we're talking velvet dresses and those doily things around our necks. After all, we had to look nice for Santa.

It was my turn to sit on Santa's lap. I'm sure he asked me what I wanted for Christmas, but I've blocked out any niceties. You know why? Because that jerkface tried to give me an orange. My response to this truly heinous attempt? "Uh. No thanks. I'm 'lergic." (That's "allergic" for you not fluent in Three Year Old.) And in case you're wondering, no, I wasn't respectful and sweet when I declined his gift. I was snotty. But I maintain that I had every right. Santa's supposed to know that ish, right?

He tried to salvage his mistake by offering me an apple instead, but I just jumped off his lap without a word. (Ha. I sure showed him.) Here's a picture:

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One guess to which one is me...

To this day, I attributed the experience to the fact that I was just being a brat. Upon inquiry to my mom, however, about how I came to find out Santa wasn't real - there were several story swaps about this, but I couldn't for the life of me remember when and how my imaginative soul was crushed - I realized I had a perfectly good reason to cut that jolly man with my words. Mom informed me that they never took part in the Santa song and dance. Therefore, I never really believed in Santa and my "naughty" response was a product of that disbelief.

So there was no point to sharing that story, since the season has passed. But it's what you're getting, so deal with it.