Blurg: It's how I feel.

I am sick.

Have been since I got back from Blissdom.

That's almost TWO WEEKS.

(And I'm not the only one. Which means that there was obviously some sort of terrible germ bomb released during the conference.)

(Alert the officials.)

I lie in bed every morning, taking stock of how I feel, and think to myself "Today. Today I will feel better. Today I will walk the dogs. I will go to the gym. I will clean the house. I will be productive."

And then I realize that I can't breath through my nose.

So I take another shot of nasal spray.

(I should buy stock in the stuff.)

And then I sit up and cough up a lung.

And then I brush my teeth.

And then I have to lie down for a few minutes because standing up is hard.

And then I heat some water up for another cup of tea, pour another serving of orange juice, swallow another multivitamin, and watch a ridiculous amount of Law and Order: SVU.

(MARISKA HARGITAY.)

And although I am now qualified to solve some pretty fucked up crimes, I don't really think it's that productive.

(Depends on how you define "productive", I guess.)

(But really, if you need someone to solve some crazy-ass crime involving drag queens or strippers or guys with foot fetishes, I am ON IT.)

Yesterday I decided to not be sick anymore, so I took the dogs for a walk. This was partly to assert my control over this wretched illness, and mostly because Bonnie had that look in her eye that said "I know you're sick, mama, but if you don't get me out of here today, I will cut you."

And I went to class where I started to see dots because there is NO OXYGEN getting to my brain because my nose is trying to murder me through suffocation.

And I realized that I can't push it. I need to make peace with that fact that my body will heal in time.

But that's bullshit, so instead I'm sitting here, wallowing in self-pity, because that's how I role.

PS: I thought it would make me feel better to buy things, but I can't really leave the house. And I have no money. So I downloaded a million free books for my Kindle.

PPS: Most of the books that are $0.00 on Amazon for the Kindle are either classic novels or Christian romance novels.

PPPS: I don't know why either.

PPPPS: So I have a ridiculous amount of classic novels on my Kindle now. I may never read them, but I feel way smarter.

PPPPPS: Feeling "way smarter" does not make up for the fact that my right nostril has been stuffed up for 12 days, but today... my left is more stuffed up. The hell nose?

Blissdom or Bust (on The Island)

Remember last year at this time when I totally stepped out of my comfort zone and went to Nashville for a blogging conference and had an emotional break down which resulted in many tears and many anti-anxiety drugs and then I stalked Jen Lancaster and ended up having a great time and making lots of friends?

(No? Read about it here.)

Well, I'm back. Blissdom '10 is happening and I am happy to be a part of it. I would love to tell you about how I helped stuff swag bags, hung out with Carmen, and how I had an awesome evening with Esther (and how I love her so), but something else needs to be addressed.

I have entered an alternate universe, and it is called the Gaylord Opryland Hotel and Convention Center.

Yes... this is the INSIDE OF THE HOTEL... and it's NOT VEGAS.

I don't think that this is even really Nashville. I think this is some weird "in-between" place that has a smoke monster lurking and possibly an entrance through a wardrobe.

It's a giant atrium with different "islands" where the rooms and restaurants are.

(I'm in the Swan Station "Magnolia".)

*Totally* looks like Nashville, right?

The inside is basically a huge rain forest with palm trees and exotic flowers and PURPLE WATERFALLS.

The first thing I thought when I saw this purple waterfall? What animal was slaughtered there that has purple blood. My mind scares me.

I'm afraid The Others will get me if I stray too far away on my own.

(And by "The Others" I mean the people who are here for The National Tea Party Convention in the same hotel.)

(Sarah Palin is their keynote speaker... you decide which Lost character she is.)

With a hotel so big and filled with greenery, I have spent an enormous amount of time trying to find my way around. When I was packing I decided to wear cute shoes because this is a conference with 500 other women and cute shoes are very important when making a first impression with this many females. I figured that it didn't matter that these cute shoes are slightly uncomfortable because I'd just we walking around the hotel...


Well, after the fucking 5K that I've walked in the past 20 hours, my feet are in so much pain.

(So much pain that I flossed (you bet your ass I did) while sitting on the edge of the tub with my feet soaking in hot water.)

But I will persevere. Not because I'm so vain that cute shoes mean more to me than saving my feet, but because the only footwear that I have that would be comfy enough for walking through this crazy place are my slippers.

And I just won't go there... yet.

This map was not helpful *at all*... and Google Maps didn't help either.
(I tried.)

PS: You might be asking "Why would you buy shoes that were that uncomfortable in the first place?" Because I didn't expect to walk a marathon in them. Also? They're pretty.

Stop Being a Stalker Day

Are you someone who reads blogs but never comments? Someone who follows people on twitter but never says anything? Yeah, you're a lurker.

(It's okay... I don't judge.)

(Except that I totally do.)

Well, today is Delurker Day, which means it's time to come out from the shadows and say hi.

Let me know you're there. Let me know what you think. Tell me your favorite color. What's your dog's name? Anything will do. I'd love to know who's out there, reading and judging me.

I want to hear from you, so stop stalking, and start talking.

(I totally just made that up. I should copyright it.)

(Because it's awesome.)

(I feel the need to point out that stalking is really serious and really bad, so don't do it.)

(Though I must also say that I'm going to Blissdom '10 in a couple of weeks where Harry Connick, Jr. will be and I will be following him around and I might take a lock of his hair.)

(Fair warning.)

(Don't worry, I totally won't take some of his hair. That's creepy. I'm just going to take his empty wine glass to harvest his DNA.)

(That's science.)

(Yes, I realize that I could harvest DNA from his hair, too. I'm just trying to plan strategy and I'm pretty sure that it would be a lot easier to pretend to be a waitress clearing the dirty dishes from his table than to steal a lock of his hair without him getting suspicious and then calling the cops.)

(These are the things I think about.)

(Leave a comment.)

(Please.)

PS: The color scheme and theme of this blog are slowly changing. The purple and paper are just the first steps. We're working on making it totally kick-ass. You just wait.

Devil Kitty

I have written about my lack of love for cats before.

Well, Lightning Legs went and got herself a little bitty kitty, so I had to re-evaluate my feelings about cats. I mean, a cat is now a part of the family, so I have to get over my fear that a cat will rip out my throat when I'm not looking.

(Or at least make my peace with it.)

So I went to the store and got a whole bunch of cat toys to appease the devil kitty.

(BTW, cats toys? Look exactly like sex toys. What the hell is up with that?)


I also made Marlin (that's the devil kitty's name) a card...

When we showed up at the house, I immediately ripped open all of the toys and scattered them across the floor.

(Keep the kitty distracted from your neck = number one rule in devil kitty survival.)

Soon, I had Marlin attacking everything in site (EXCEPT my vital organs), and he had no interest in me:


While I was trying to appease the devil kitty with my offering, Mike told me that I was doing pretty well for someone who hates cats.

I explained that regardless of how I feel about cats in general (DEVIL!!), Marlin is so freaking cute it hurts... I then compared the kitty to Dexter: he's adorable, and I love him, but at the end of the day, he's still a serial killer.

I'm very happy that Lightning Legs has Marlin... but I won't be sleeping over at her house anytime soon...

Selective Hearing

Over the last few days I've thought that there's something wrong with Bonnie.

She's been shaking her head, scratching her ears, and not coming in the house when I call her.

I cleaned out her ears, but none of the gunk that comes with ear infections was there.

I asked Mike if something was wrong with her.

She was sitting on the back of couch (where she is NOT allowed), staring outside, head perked up and eyes darting over the street, guarding her precious house.

"Bonnie?"

No response.

"Bonnie!"

No response.

Uh-oh. What do we do with a deaf dog? Can I teach her sign language? Are there classes for dogs like this?

Then a dog (three houses away) barked.

And Bonnie jumped off the back of the couch and outside, barking and growling the whole way.

She heard THAT just fine.

So yeah... she doesn't need sign language... she needs obedience lessons... damn dog.

Fit or Fail: Open Letter Edition

Dear Muscles,

What did I ever do to you?

Yes, I've let you go soft over the years. No, I haven't used you to your fullest abilities. And maybe I haven't done my best to give you the nutrients that you need.

But, seriously.

WTF??

I decided to get you all strong and stuff, so I asked an expert what to do and he told me to get this book. And because he's an expert, I went out and got it. And read it. And did the first two workouts.

And now? I can't walk... or bend... or lift anything.

Although it would be easy to blame said expert, or said book, I am going to say that it's not their fault.

It's YOUR fault, muscles.

You have conspired against me. You hate me. You have decided that I am some evil dictator in a world war and so you are going to take me down from the inside out (sort of like that Nazi Tom Cruise played... with the eye patch...).

You are trying to kill me.

(I'm ESPECIALLY talking to you, quads!)

But, I'm not stopping. That's just what you want, and I'm not going to give in.

I'm going to keep working on you so that you get bigger, stronger, and rue the day that you tried to take me down.

So, buck up, because I could really use your help.

In extreme pain,

Ally B

**********************************************************************

Dear Book,

Might I suggest packaging this book with a heating pad, and possibly a prescription for Vicodin?

In Serious Need of Hard-Core Pain Medication,

Ally B

**********************************************************************

Dear Expert,

Thanks for the suggestion and help, but I can't help but wonder if you're actually not only a fitness expert writer, but also trained in torturing people.

If you don't watch LOST, then you won't understand why, but I think I'm going to call you Sayid.

(He's a super nice guy that just happens to be an expert in torturing enemies for information... and he's a trained killer... but otherwise, he's a real stand-up sorta dude.)

I'm just saying that I don't think you would recommend these workouts if you didn't have some other agenda...

I just don't know what you want from me.

Thankful and in Pain,

Ally B

Bandits (Now with Bad Haircuts)

Our dogs are mutants.

Freaks of nature.

Apparently capable of things that we didn't think canine-ly possible.

We left the dogs alone for eight hours last weekend and I totally expected to find certain items out of place.

It's common enough to find a blanket outside or a coat lying on the floor when we leave the dogs by themselves for an extended period of time.

I get it. They're pissed.

But we did NOT expect to come home and find the doors wide open to both bedrooms.

Nor did we expect to find the dog beds shoved under our bed, clothes from the third shelf of the closet shoved under my hamper, or my slippers wedged between the wall and the dresser.

We also didn't expect to find a Costco pack of toilet paper torn open and all of the rolls thrown under the desk in our guest room. Or the rug in that room pushed into a corner, even though it had 45 pounds worth of weights on it.

No... all of this was a complete shock.

(So much so that Mike worried that we had been robbed. I pointed out that all of our possessions were still there, and that I doubt there's a criminal on the loose re-arranging dog furniture.)

But even MORE shocking. Coming home the next night (after far less time alone) to the door to the bedroom open, even though there was a TERRIFYING vacuum cleaner in front of it.

Or coming home last night to the door open (and dog beds rearranged) even after we left an elaborate blockade which included one hamper, an ottoman, a mop, and a broom...

So I can't help but picture that scene in Jurassic Park when the woman's like, "The raptors can't get out, unless they learned how to open doors" - and then it jumps to the raptor OPENING THE FUCKING DOOR!!

(I hid behind the couch the first time I ever saw that scene and I still fight the urge to do so again.)

So, yeah. Our dogs are EVOLVING.

(Since they don't destroy anything while they're in the bedroom, we've just decided to just leave the damn door open when we leave. They OBVIOUSLY have something very important to do in that room, so we might as well try and save the door (which now has a fair amount of the paint scratched off... apparently getting the door open takes a few swipes first...).)

PS: To punish them we gave them haircuts.

PPS: It wasn't punishment, it was just their summer hair cutting time.

PPPS: But it might as well have been punishment because we are not groomers and our dogs now look like: A) They have mange, B) We let them groom each other, or C) They've had a run-in with a weed-whacker. I told them that even when the other neighborhood dogs laugh and point they should hold their little bald heads high.

PPPPS: You have less than twenty hours to enter the contest for a gift certificate to Amazon.com. So you better get on that...

Fit or Fail: French Fries vs Puppies Edition

This week was weird because I pretty much did nothing but eat bad food and not exercise (FAILs), but I had my biggest results yet... so... I'm going to talk about something else instead.

My gym used to be right next door to a McDonald's.

If you are looking into building a gym, putting it next to a McDonald's is just an asshole thing to do.

When I left the gym my entire brain would fill with the smell of FRENCH FRIES. Fresh, salty, greasy french fries.

And I would start to salivate.

I would then start to have that conversation in my head (you've all had it) where I would tell myself that eating some french fries wouldn't be the end of the world... and a milkshake would be okay too... and maybe some chicken nuggets, because chicken is good for you...

So I would run to the car after each exercise session to avoid the McDonald's drive through...

Only to have to drive by the DAIRY QUEEN on the other side of the gym.

All in all: it was just cruel.

(But, if I were doing this then, I would have gotten a lot of FITs because I didn't succumb to the french fry smell once... because I'm awesome... it still sucked, though. I don't like having to enforce my self-control... it's just not as fun as eating french fries.)

Then the gym moved across town. Now it's next to the DMV and across the parking lot from a sex shop.

(Classy.)

So when I leave the gym now I just want to put my head down and get the hell out of there.

(Just so you know, the people who patron the sex shop are often less scary then the people at the DMV.)

But today? What did they have in front of the gym?

A bus from the Humane Society, filled with sad, homeless dogs ready to come home with me.

And that? Is pretty much worse than french fries and ice cream.

Paranoia in Run-On Sentences

You know when your significant other is out working late and then hanging out with his friends even later and your at home because you have to get up really early and your watching TV and then you fall asleep on the couch and then you hear your dog pacing back and forth and back and forth because you've taken up the whole couch and she/he just can't seem to realize that sometimes dogs have to sleep on the floor?

Then you think that maybe she/he has to pee and you're afraid that she/he will pee in the house because she/he has an over-active bladder problem so you drag yourself off of the couch and take her/him outside and you tell her/him to "go pee" and so she/he sits down and... spends about 45 seconds scratching her/his ear.

So you wait because you really don't want her/him to pee inside and you're freezing so you sort of scream at her/him to "GO PEE" and so she/he brings you a tennis ball and then sits down and... scratches the other ear for 35 seconds.

So you say "fuck it" and go inside and decide you might as well just go to bed so you turn off all of the lights and climb into bed and the dogs fall asleep immediately on their dog beds and you close your eyes and are ready to go to sleep because you have to get up in 5 hours.

And then you hear all of these weird noises.

Creaks.

Thumps.

Bizarre scratching noises.

So you open your eyes and listen really carefully and the dogs don't move so you assume that it must be nothing.

Then you keep hearing weird noises and even though you tell yourself that it's nothing you're actually thinking that there is a zombie burglar outside and you get a little nervous but you keep saying that if the dogs aren't barking or freaking out then it must be nothing but THEN you start thinking that your dogs are either deaf or at the very least COMPLETELY USELESS.

So you start imagining what would happen if a burglar got into the house and if the dogs would attack the crook or if your dogs would sleep through it or if your dogs would just kiss the asshole and you start resenting your dogs for not protecting you.

Then you hear a car door and you hold your breath because you think that it's probably your significant other but what if it's a burglar or rapist who's just really noisy and then you hear the keys in the door and the dogs get up and bark a lot and you're thankful that they're not deaf and then you hear your significant other and you jump out of bed and run into the wall because it's dark and you don't have your glasses on and you got a head rush from jumping out of bed but that doesn't stop you from running to him/her and screaming "THANK GOD YOU'RE HOME! THERE ARE SCARY NOISES!!"

And he/she looks at you like you're kind of pathetic and he/she clearly feels a little sorry for you because you have obviously lost your mind.

So you go back to bed because you have to get up in less than 4 hours and you close your eyes and suddenly... all of the scary noises stop.

So you realize what this means... your significant other obviously has magic powers.

Thank Brad.

(True story.)

In the Waiting Room...

Mike's dad is getting his knees replaced right now, so we're all at the hospital in Denver waiting.

I had this whole plan to ask him these life altering questions before he went into surgery, you know, to make him think about what's really important in his life, but it took TWO HOURS to get here.

(We didn't get lost... we just weren't going to right way...)

(I kept having to call my dad to ask him to be my IPhone and tell me where I was.)

(I want an IPhone.)

ANYWAY... I was not able to practice my amazing interview skillz, so I will ask Mike the questions that I wrote down, instead.

Question: Would you prefer to be a zombie or a werewolf?
Mike: A vampire because then you'd actually pay attention to me.

Question: What flavor of Jell-O would you be?
Mike: Lemon-Lime because I'm a little sour and a little sweet... even though those are both sour.

Question: A train is traveling at 60 miles per hour going west and another train is going 67 miles per hour east... what do you order for dinner?
Mike: Insufficient information is provided.
Me: Sorry, we were looking for Chicken Cordon Bleu as your answer. You fail.

Yeah... so it's a real shame that I wasn't able to ask his dad... maybe I'll ask him later... while he's on drugs.

In other news... I really don't like hospitals. They smell weird. And feel weird. And you have to be quiet. And they're boring.

Like, I really want to go find the "On-Call Room" because I watch Grey's Anatomy and Scrubs so I know that all of the hot doctors "play doctor" with each other in there... but every time I try to sneak around and find said room the old ladies who volunteer at the information desk give me dirty looks.

So I tried to army crawl past them and was hit by a wheel chair and the old ladies were like "what are you doing, young lady?" and I was like "looking for the hot doctors who are gettin' it on" and they said "where are your parents, young lady" and I was like "you sickos, I'm not going to see hot doctor sex with my PARENTS!"

Some people are SO rude...

So they asked me to leave and so I'm wandering around listening at all of the doors that look particularly romantic...

The doctor just came out and said that Mike's dad is doing great and has two new knees...

I wanted to ask him if he is now considered a cyborg or robot... but I'm already on thin ice with these people.

But I'm going to assume that yes, he is a robot now...

(Did I mention hospitals bore me?)

Symptomatic

I'm sick.

Me: Mike, I'm sick.

Mike: What are your symptoms?

Me: Well... are you ready? First, my head feels like it's being shoved through a garlic press.

Mike: That sounds pleasant.

Me: Oh, I'm just getting started. My nose is stuffy AND runny at the same time.

Mike: OK, what else?

Me: My ears hurt.

Mike: Like pressure, maybe from your sinuses?

Me: No... like a needle kind of pain... like someone is poking the inside of my ear with a needle.

Mike: Nice.

Me: My teeth hurt, too.

Mike: Like when you bite down?

Me: Yes, but ALSO when I talk or just sit here quietly... that can't be good, can it?

Mike: No, probably not. Anything else?

Me: Hell yes! I have sores in my mouth. One in the back of my mouth. And OH! There's one on the top of my mouth!

Mike: So sores are popping up while we have this conversation?

Me: Yes! It's very serious. AND... the bottom of my feet are hot.

Mike: I don't believe you.

Me: Seriously... would I JOKE about hot, tingly FEET? Here.

(I take off my sock and shove my hot and tingly foot at him.)

Mike: It's lukewarm are best.

Me: Well it feels BURNING hot from the inside, so that's not good. AND my eyes are glassy... I think.

Mike: You think? You can't tell.

Me: Well no. My eyes are watering too much for me to know if they're glassy and not just watery.

Mike: You're not crying?

Me: Noooooo... my eyes are watering UNCONTROLLABLY... although your lack of sensitivity regarding my hot and tingly feet did hurt my feelings.

Mike: Well, I apologize. Please tell me that's it.

Me: Nope... my hair is greasy.

Mike: Ally... I don't think that that's a VALID symptom of DISEASE.

Me: Are you kidding me? That's by far the most important of my symptoms. When I was a child, my mom always said that she knew when I was ACTUALLY sick (aka, not faking it) because my HAIR would ALSO get sick... are you DOUBTING my MOTHER... you better hope I don't rat you out.

Mike: No... I'm not doubting your mother's ability to diagnose you and your weird diseases... I just don't know if your symptoms would hold up to a MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL.

Me: So you're saying I might not be able to find "hot on the inside of my feet" or "greasy hair" on WebMD?

Mike: I'm going to go with "no".

So I just looked up my symptoms on WebMD and the stupid site doesn't have any options for "hot on the inside of my feet" or "greasy hair". They did have a symptom for "numbness or tingling feet" so I clicked on that and now it's telling me that I have a myriad of horrible diseases of the neurological persuasion, so I unclicked that because it's not really a real description of what my feet feel like...

So, without that symptom I could have a migraine, sinusitis, nasal polyps (WHAT?), swimmers ear, or caffeine withdrawal.

So I'm going to take some aspirin, blow my nose, get out of this here swimming pool, and drink a latte.

And I washed my hair so it's not so greasy.

And I put on some socks... and uncrossed my legs... so the tingling has essentially stopped...

But the headache and runny slash stuffy nose is still here... damn.

This Just in! No Doubt Cures Herpes...

Somebody should HIRE ME.

Seriously, here's my LinkedIn Profile.

So, here's the best song No Doubt has ever written. I didn't mention it in my post last night because I am an idiot... or I just forgot... or... whatever.

Enjoy!

(And hire me!)

No Doubt |MTV Music

(After watching the whole video and listening to the whole song I feel AWESOME! See? I meant what I said about No Doubt being the perfect cure for... EVERYTHING! In fact, I would bet my non-existent paycheck that they could cure such terrible plagues as chlamydia, restless leg syndrome, and Beer Pong Herpes.)

(You MUST watch this video... it's sort of like a public service announcement that makes you pee your pants and choke on your own spit...)

The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Beer Pong Herpes Outbreak

Colbert Report Full Episodes
Political Humor

Housekeeping

Just a few housekeeping notes for Ally B Speakin...

First, there is a new section on the sidebar (→) called "Important Info".

If you are so inclined, there are now super-cool links there such as an about Ally B section (everything you ever wanted to know about me and my blog... except not really... I get bored fast), my list of my most favoritist blogs (Mom, this is called a "blogroll"), AND a post with tips about reading/using blogs.

(My mom has been calling me with questions like "How do you comment?" and "What is a Twitter" and "I think my computer is being monitored because every time you refer to 'god' it comes out 'Brad'"... so SOME of these questions are answered in the "New to Blogs?" post that you can click on in the "Important Info" section...)

(I just filled her in on the Brad Pitt=god thing over the phone... she was glad to hear that her computer is NOT being fucked with...)

(She's a very smart lady... really.)

So I hope that you find it useful/interesting.

Other than that, Mike is participating in March-Stache, which means he is growing a mustache for the month of March. Apparently, it's actually a real thing that is done to raise money for cancer research in Taiwan...

Mike, however, is not growing his March-Stache to help better the world (in fact, when I told him it was for charity he said, "Woohoo! I'm getting paid for this?"... so yeah...). Mike is growing it because... well, just because.

(I think it's to prove his manliness since he, you know, CAN grow a mustache...)

(Couldn't he just build something useful?)



It is going to be a VERY long month.

Pray to Brad for me...

(Did I type that? Or was is The Feds?)

Regression

I just finished The Watchmen.

That's right. I read a comic book.

Sorry... it's called a "graphic novel"...

(Don’t want any hate mail from men who live in their mother’s basements.)

(OK… bring the hate mail on…)

(Though who are we kidding? It's a comic book.)

And you know what?

It was AMAZING.

See, I’m a fan of superhero movies.

Batman? Too cool.

The X-Men movies? 100% bad-ass.

And you can bet that I’ll be there the day Wolverine opens.

So, I was very excited to see the previews for The Watchmen:



Now, even though I love the movies, I’ve never read the comic books slash graphic novels slash I don't care what you call them.

But The Watchmen intrigued me because it is on Time Magazine's 100 Best English-Language Novels from 1923 to the Present.

(That's kind of a long title for a list.)

(I would change it to: Read This Because We’re Time Mother-Fucking Magazine and We Said So…)

(Which I see is a tad longer than the original.)

(But I find my title way more evocative.)

(Note that Harry Potter didn't make it on the list... bad Time Magazine...)

So I decided to read it.

And I LOVED it. Seriously… it was like totally AWESOME-O.

And I can’t wait to see the movie.

But reading a "graphic novel" makes you evaluate yourself.

I mean, I was reading a book that has an audience of mostly twelve-year-old boys.

So I have decided that since I enjoyed it so much I must actually be a twelve-year-old boy.

And therefore, I should embrace this and accept myself as the pre-pubescent teenage male that I obviously am.

So I’ve decided to do other “twelve-year-old-esque” things…

I’ve started hiding dirty magazines under my mattress.

I put up a picture of Ashley Tisdale on the ceiling above my bed, because she is, like, as hot as Superman's laser vision.

SHIIIIIIIIIIT, she is HOTTTTT...

And I hate my parents because they JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND ME!!

And I only eat Hot Pockets because, um, it is like, uh, a meal in a pocket.

And when The Watchmen comes out I’m going to tell my folks that I’m going to Jimmy’s house, and Jimmy is going to tell his parents that he’s going to my house, and then we’re going to go to the movie theater on our bikes and we’ll buy tickets for Hotel for Dogs because we’re not old enough to buy tickets for The Watchmen but then we’ll sneak into The Watchmen and if they try and ask us where our tickets are we’ll say that we lost them and if they ask for our IDs we’ll go all ninja on their asses.

It’ll be SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICK.

OK.

Later, yo.

On My Own: Part Two from TN

So when I woke up this morning I was SUPER nervous about this trip.

I was also SUPER angry at myself for not packing last night and instead watching LOST.

(Totally worth it, though.)

So I got up early to pack and was cussing out my bag because I couldn't fit all of my "essentials" in there.

Mike then repacked it and fit everything in there by pointing out that I did NOT need my three pound day planner...

(Smarty-pants.)

He then drove me to the airport where I cried for no apparent reason except for the fact that I realized that I was ALL BY MYSELF.

It didn't help when I forgot to take the liquids out of my bag (rookie mistake) thus forcing an old man security guard to search my stuff.

(Thankfully he became convinced that I was a law abiding citizen before he went through all of my undies...)

I then had to go to stupid Concourse A which does not have the sandwich place that I like on Concourse B. So I bought 800 calories worth or trail mix and cherry sours as my breakfast.

When I got on the plane the flight attendant scolded me for having an oddly shaped bag that was not regulation size.

(Which is something you think someone could have told me at the half dozen checkpoints I had to go through since leaving the car...)

And then crazy lady sat across the aisle from me.

To avert any crisis (like me attacking crazy lady with my bag of cherry sours), I quickly asked the mean flight attendant if I could sit in the seat in front of me with the empty seat next to it.

(It wasn't all that necessary, as the woman sitting on the other side of the crazy lady was way more overtly rude than me, thus shutting crazy lady right the eff up.)

(Mean girls are sometimes good for something.)

Then, about half way through the flight the sleeping old man in my row offered me a stick of gum.

I thought how nice, and quickly stuck the stick-o-mint in my mouth.

Then I remembered that you are never supposed to take candy from strangers.

(See... I'm not meant to travel alone...)

So I started to think about if gum counts as candy... I mean, I never sit there and crave a nice, rich piece of gum to melt in my mouth... but it is sold in the candy section of the store.

During all of this I realized that I wasn't foaming at the mouth or anything else that might happen if I was being poisoned, so I just enjoyed my gum and went to sleep.

When I got to the airport I was looking for the shuttle to the hotel when a couple of nice men pointed out that I had to actually call the shuttle to have them pick me up.

So I called and was instructed to wait for a silver car. The same men who originally helped me pointed out what my ride was going to look like. They said it would be a silver van and it would have the hotel's name on it.

Well, at first I was a little offended. I mean, I'm competent and all, I could probably figure out which car was mine... right?

Well, I'm actually quite grateful because soon a silver SUV pulled up in front of me and had those men not just told me exactly what my van looked like I would have jumped up and climbed in the back of this poor man's Explorer.

Which would be awkward.

Especially when I would tell him to "step on it, already".

I finally get to the hotel and get into my room and... I completely lost it.

So I called Mike up blubbering like a baby about being completely overwhelmed and he calmed me down and told me it was OK.

Then I got off of the phone and had to physically restrain myself from ordering Twilight off of the in-room movie service to make myself feel better.

(Because Edward Cullen would totally help...)

So instead I decided to blog (which is just fine... I am at a blogging conference).

I should probably take Mike's advice and go to the front desk to find out a good place to eat.

I think I feel like this because of today's diet of yogurt, trail mix, and cherry sours.

And that can't be good.

Death from Ear Shock

So I haven't written in awhile.

Why?

Because I've spent the last week in the house taking care of my sick boyfriend and being all around "domestic".

(Not that I'm complaining. I love Mike and I love taking care of him...)

(Plus, since I was so nice to him, he's going to take me out to dinner... bonus for Ally!)

So I really had nothing to write about other than the copious amounts of phlegm and tissues in my life (both of which were not mine).

(See... aren't you happy that I spared you?)

Unfortunately, we've just started leaving the house again, so I still don't have a lot to write about.

Other than the fact that I think that my headphones are trying to kill me.

While I was walking the dogs today, it felt like something flicked my ear. I thought it was some mutant insect flying into the side of my head, so I let it go.

But then it happened again...

And again...

And again.

And every time it happened I would jump up in the air, bang the side of my head, and scream "What the fuck?", causing the other people who were out for a walk to cross to the opposite side of the street.

(Which is fine with me... Bonnie has a history of biting strangers...)

(Bad Bonnie.)

So I'm convinced that these headphones are trying to kill me by shocking my ear, thus sending an electrical current through my ear canal to my brain, thus ending my life.

Now... who would construct such an elaborate plan to end my life? These headphones didn't used to do this. My family is all traveling the world (without me), so I can't blame them (not that I would... it just gives them a mighty fine alibi).

And since I haven't left the house in several days, there can only be a few suspects.

So, if you have entered my house in the last week... you are under investigation.

(I can't blame Mike... he barely had the energy to stand up to take a shower, let alone get my headphones and alter them into death machines... plus, after this last week, I think that I've thoroughly convinced him that he couldn't possibly survive without me.)

And don't try to blame it on Bonnie.

(Hannah wouldn't be capable of such treachery... for one thing, if she got her paws on my headphones, she'd just eat them, not corrupt them.)

Bonnie may bite strangers... but she loves her Momma.

(I think.)

Acceptance

So I sat down to write a post about people who have nothing better to do than to write mean comments to me, but it turned into some rambling gibberish with a whole lot of cuss words, so I thought it better to leave that in my private blog rather than force all of you to read it.

But apparently there's this person, "Anonymous" (I think he/she must be Greek... it sounds like a Greek name to me... NOT THAT IT MATTERS... please don't send me comments about how I'm mean to Greeks... it's just an observation), who really has nothing nice to say to me.

And it sucks to get mean comments.

It really sucks.

But, I'm trying to tell myself that it doesn't matter. Not everyone will like you. Not everyone will agree with you.

I sure don't like everyone. And I sure as hell don't agree with everyone.

And since I opened up my blog to more people, I'm bound to get people who hate me and who just HAVE to share their two cents.

That's just part of the game.

So I should just let it go...

(Ha!)

This latest comment said: "I don't expect that you'll publish this."

And he/she expected correctly. I clicked delete, because this is a happy place, where only Ally B is allowed to be a total a-hole.

It's my right as an "artiste".

(I went through a brief moment where I was like, "oh I should so publish this", but that was AFTER I clicked delete so I would have had to go through all of this BS to try and get it published and I realized that nobody who tells me I'm a bad person is worth that much effort. If you're curious, they had a problem with this post. Something about me using "being a girl" as an insult... and therefore I can't be a feminist... I have a feeling Anonymous hates dead baby jokes, too... so it's not like we could be friends anyway.)

(Wait! What if Anonymous IS one of my friends who didn't have the guts to write his/her name... I'm going to have to investigate. All of you who are my so-called friends... please wait outside my house for an extensive lie-detector test followed by a beat-down from the dogs...)

(Though the majority of my friends are fans of dead baby jokes... hmm...)

(And don't send me a bunch of hate mail about how I hate babies!)

And so, to all you "anonymous" peoples out there who just can't help it:

It's okay. Sometimes I ask for it.

Sometimes I stick my foot in my mouth.

And sometimes I need to hear it.

But, you should know...

In the eloquent words of Ms. Tina Fey...

You can suck it.

You Know When...

So, you know when it's FINALLY a nice day (sunny AND warm... what a concept) so you decide to take the dogs out before heading to the gym for a little pre-gym warm up and so that your Aussie Shepard stops giving you death threats (she makes eye contact with you then looks at the leashes and then moves her paw across her throat in a fairly grotesque yet obvious fashion that lets you know that it's either a walk or certain death). And you're walking and enjoying the weather and minding your own business and your letting the dogs roll all over the grass and snow because you figure they really don't have a lot of grass to roll around at home and then you look down and realize that they are not rolling in grass and snow as much as they are rolling in grass and snow and a dead animal. And you scream "Oh shit!" and pull your dogs off of the deceased creature and they're upset because it was the most wonderful thing that has happened to them in a while but they get over it because they're dogs and have a short-term memory of three seconds (or is that the goldfish?) but either way they get over it and just go back to rolling around on the grass and snow that isn't covered in dead animal. And then you look at the dead animal to make sure that it's actually dead and not covered in maggots or anything and at first you think that it's some sort of monster like THIS and you get grossed out but kinda excited because you think that you just discovered a new organism and you think you'll be famous and people other than your immediate family will ACTUALLY READ YOUR BLOG because you discovered this animal (though, of course, you'll have to give some credit to Bonnie and Hannah because they were actually the ones who discovered it by insisting on rolling in it) and you are now famous. And then you look again and realize that no, it's just a plain old raccoon and nobody is going to make a fuss over a mushed raccoon even if your dogs did roll in it and even if it looks like a monster now. So you think wow, maybe I should blog about this because there's really nothing to blog about but then you realize that nobody will want to read about how your dogs rolled in a dead raccoon even if it could have been a monster but then you realize that sometimes you just have to share so you end up writing a number of run-on sentences about the raccoon.

But you can't write about it right away, no, because you have things to do. First you have to contemplate washing your dogs because they rolled in monster/raccoon and they probably smell bad but you aren't positive because you really don't want to test the theory and then you look outside and see that the dogs are rolling around in a pile of snow in the backyard and you think wow, what good doggies they are giving themselves a bath so that's one thing you can cross off of your list. And then you think, OK, now I can blog about all of this but then you look at the clock and realize that you need to get to the gym because Law & Order: CI is starting and you like to watch it on the gym televisions while you are on the elliptical so you really need to get going. So you decide to take your computer with you and treat yourself to a sandwich and skinny iced chai after Law & Order: CI while you blog about all of the exciting things that have happened that day. But then you decide to go to a coffee shop that you've never been to and even though it's really nice you end up spending over ten bucks on a extra small skinny iced chai and tiny sandwich and you get a little upset because it's not like you have a job but then you convince yourself that it's OK because it's Friday and you haven't really spent any money this week anyway so it's all good.

And then you remember that there IS something semi-interesting to write about but you've forgotten about it up until now because the whole dog-raccoon-slash-monster-Law-and-Order-expensive-food-and-drink-fiasco that is your life distracted you.

Since my brother is traveling Oceania, my mother is on her way to see said brother and then to stay a week on an island in Fiji that has 12 private beaches for a total population of 14 couples and my father is about to visit all seven continents... well I figure I need to do something otherwise I'll be the total laughing stock of my family and I should just get the pint of ice cream right now to let the self-loathing begin. But no, I'm going to travel the country and experience life and do something oh-so-crazy.

So I'm going to Nashville (which sounds like kinda a let down when you compare it to what the rest of me family is doing but that's OK).

There's a conference there for women who blog and so I decided to go and see what it's all about and hopefully get to have a drink with the fabulous Jen Lancaster who will be the keynote speaker and I figure that even if it blows it'll at least give me something more interesting to blog about than my dogs' affinity for dead animals.

Whew...

(PS: I know this isn't my regular style of writing but it's been one of those days where I'm thinking without punctuation and I downed that skinny iced chai super fast and therefore am having major caffeine overload. Plus I've been reading a lot of the bloggess and this is how she writes so I wanted to try it because she's hilarious and I want to be funny someday, too.)

To Atone or Not to Atone: Now THERE'S a Mother Effin' Question

Thursday is Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.

Jews really enjoy celebrating guilt.

That's all I really know about Yom Kippur (I know, I'm a bad Jew)... so see here for more info...

On this most guilty of all holidays (except for Valentine's Day... I often feel guilty on Valentine's Day), Jews are supposed to fast.

Mom: I'm staying home on Thursday because I'm fasting.
Me: Why do we fast?
Mom: To atone for our sins. I have quite a few, but you probably have a grand total of two... so you probably don't need to fast.
Me: Well, I don't know about that... I did accuse a co-worker of poisoning JJ... that's pretty sinful.

OK, maybe I should explain that.

As of yesterday, I launched an investigation against a co-worker who I think is poisoning JJ.

JJ thinks that she is having stomach problems because she is allergic to dairy.

I don't think that it's that simple.

Nope, I think that either she has some rare rain-forest disease that only affects poultry, or she is in the center of a work-related conspiracy.

How did I come to this theory?

Its customer service appreciation week (how about Bonnie and Hannah's mommy appreciation week, huh? That's my next project). Some of the managers were going around the office and passing out treats as part of their appreciation. One of those treats was hot apple cider topped with caramel sauce and whipped cream.

About 10 minutes after we drank it, JJ started to feel sick.

JJ: I think that it's the whipped cream...
Me: Or... Betty (not her real name... I cannot reveal her name until my investigation is complete and cleared through the FBI... but she does look like a Betty...) is poisoning you.
JJ: You think?
Me: Listen to the professional, JJ. Look at the evidence. Who gave you the thing that made you sick? Betty. Let's examine all of the evidence before having you give up ice cream.

And so my investigation began. I told her that she should NOT accept ANYTHING from Betty without someone else testing it first. (I would do that myself, but what would happen if I, too, was poisoned... who would carry out justice?)

And so, if I am wrong about Betty, then I guess accusing someone of poisoning a co-worker under the guise of customer service appreciation week, might be considered a sin.

And so we are back to the question: should I fast?

I've never done it before. I don't really believe that fasting atones for anything... I don't really believe in sins in the first place. I believe in right and wrong. It's wrong to poison someone... but would not eating your morning Eggo make up for that? Probably not.

Mike thinks that I would just fast to loose weight, but I am fully aware that one day of not eating will do absolutely nothing for my bodacious (flabby) body.

No, that's not why I'm considering it.

I could take that day to at least think about things that have happened in the past year that I have done that I would like to stop doing...

But I wouldn't necessarily have to fast to think, though. Actually, fasting would probably hinder my thinking abilities.

Part of me wants to do it because I've never done it before, but I'm not sure if I could do it. I have little to no control when it comes to food... and I am very sensitive to hunger. I get panicky and queasy and shaky...

But I also wonder if I could overcome all of that. If I could have enough self-control to do it.

But there is a VERY good chance that I would commit some sort of crime while hungry... and therefore I would be sinful... and then my atoning would be all screwed up...

Quite a predicament...

And now I'm hungry.

If Only you Could Buy Puppies in Bulk...

I've been sick since Saturday.

It blows.

Like, seriously.

I went to work for a couple of hours today, leaving just before I passed out from exhaustion.

I then stopped at Sam's Club because we're out of a few essentials that can't really wait much longer.

You know... like soap.

Sam's Club is an interesting place. Sort of like an alternate universe, full of bulk goods and free samples.

Although I can understand buying certain things there, like shampoo and paper towels, other things are just not meant to be bought in bulk.

Like, do I really need sixteen pounds of tomatoes? Really? Not unless I'm planning on attending some kind of tomato convention, or making a dozen gallons of salsa fresca for my restaurant.

Do I need a bag of lettuce that Bonnie could then use as a sleeping bag? Not unless I plan on eating lettuce with every meal for the next month and a half, and then selling the rest to starving college students at the dorms this fall...

Plus, that stuff goes bad... fast.

Even the non-perishable items pose some problems for the bargain shopper.

Take toilet paper. Do I buy the box of 1,000 rolls for $13.49, or the box of 2,000 rolls for $11.87? It seems like an easy answer, right?

Only to the untrained Clubber.

See, you may get twice as much for a fraction less... but then you realize that those 2,000 rolls are all 1/2-ply. Not even a full ply of paper.

To get the 3, or even 2-ply, you have to shell out a good $18.65.

And for only 500 rolls...

It's quite the dilemma.

Then there's the whole ordeal of finding things that you never, ever needed.

I don't need dehydrated papaya... but it was six pounds for $11.39. And I don't need two dozen bottles of Vitamin Water in a flavor that resembles Tylenol Cool Burst Nightime cold medicine (something I've had to enjoy for a few days), but it was such a steal!

Then you pay... and the bill is...

really

really

big. Like, amazingly big. Like a hefty portion of next month's rent big.

Because even though the shampoo was only so much, and the toilet paper was only so much... it adds up.

Sure, you don't have to buy that stuff again for a while, but you know that the call of bulk buying will sound again.

You'll suddenly realize that your toothbrush needs to be replaced, but wouldn't it be more economical to by a dozen and just have them on hand?

And I really want some cheese... why not stop in and get an industrial sized brick of cheddar? I can find a few recipes online for cheddar soup... or something.

I have to go eat some Top Ramen now. I don't eat it (chicken broth)... but the 50 packs were only $5.42!!