Tag Archives: fortress of solitude

The Badass, The Mushroom and The Little Guy


Sliding into my seat at the Mellow Mushroom tonight, I looked around at my friends Reyes, Love and Bryce and just giggled. I was giddy with the story I needed to tell them, and eventually that giggling turned into full on laughter as I started the story:


A few days ago while having lunch with my friend Stee she tells me a story about the newest guy in her life… apparently their love was “forbidden”. Well forbidden by company policy at least, and she accidentally spilled the beans to some of her work friends during a drunken night out.

Bear in mind, my friend Stee is one of the most badass people I know – she’s not afraid of anything, speaks her mind without hesitation. She always makes me laugh with the stories she tells about life, boys and work. At our engagement dinner, she had me cackling with her description of how break a guy’s car windshield without getting caught by using a brick tied to a rope. I’ve never asked her how she seems to have first hand knowledge of this particular how-to skill, I just take it all in as part of the Stee Package. The Stee Package is full of unexpected hilarity and by proxy, adventure. So when she starts to tell me a story, I listen, because I know it’s going to be good. There’s also the chance that I’ll learn a new how-to skill. :p

According to her, the gaffe where she blurts out her new dating status came about after her work friends kept talking about the new Moroccan guy, not knowing that they were together… she got irritated after hearing them say over and over:”he’d be so cute if only he were taller”.

I stopped her there. “What do you mean… if he were taller?”

She gave me a funny look. “He’s a little… short.”

“Ok. So? How short?”

“Um… 4’11?”



I paused in telling my story to my friends at the Mellow Mushroom to gauge their reaction, and just as I thought, they proved why they are my friends. They laughed. Lord help us all, they laughed. Ever since Stee told me this story earlier in the week, I’d been holding in my laughter, knowing that by laughing any more than I already had that I was proving that I was pretty horrible! Granted, I’d already proven I was a horrible person, because of what happened after Stee told me his height:

“I’m sorry, did you say 4’11?”


“Are you sure?”

“Yep, I’m pretty sure. Why?”

I began howling like a hyena. “Because that makes him a little person! You’ve been hooking up with a little person! That’s hilarious!” I continued laughing until I cried. gasping for air, tears squeezing out of my eyes.

“Shut up!!! He’s not a little person!” Then she said the immortal words that sent me over the edge: “Stop making fun of my little man!”

The did it for me. I was screaming, knees buckling, laughing all of the air out of my lungs. We were standing in the restaurant parking lot, and I braced myself on the trunk of her car to keep from falling down with convulsions of laughter. It wasn’t his size that made me laugh, it was just the irony of it all. Of course, she would be the one to hook up with a little person from Morocco! To see her indignant look was all too much. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – I have nothing against… little people. I have the utmost respect for them. It’s just that you were 5 foot 9, and he’s 4 foot 11. How is it that you never told me about this guy??”

“It’s no big thing – it’s not like we’re dating or whatever. I’m getting transferred to another city, so we always knew it was only temporary. I just don’t see the big deal.”

“Ok, ok, fine. I’ll respect your … little relationship… bwahahahahaha!” I just couldn’t help myself. “You’re hooking up with a little person!”

“He’s not that little! He comes up to here”, indicating the base of her nose. “I only have to bend down this far to kiss him… see?” She inclined her head down, as if ducking under a low doorway. It looked like she was trying to break her own neck. I just laughed harder, if that was even possible.

I begged her to let me blog about it. “Don’t make fun of me and my little guy!”

I tittered, “can that be the title of my blog?” She ignored me. I laughed some more.

By this point we’d made our way into the restaurant for lunch, and had taken a seat. I was determined to compose myself and finally pulled it together. We chatted about other topics, and things were back in track until Stee started looking over my shoulder with a funny look, then looking at me, then back over my shoulder. Finally, I look over my shoulder and see… a littler person waiting to be seated with some friends. I looked at Stee, and she burst into laughter. It’s like he’d been placed there, at that moment, in that restaurant just to drive home the point. We are horrible people.


When elating this story to my friends at the dinner table, I was a little nervous that they would think I was a horrible person, but as I told them the story, they responded as only my friends would: by laughing like howler monkeys. I turned to Reyes, telling her that I’d been worried all week about telling any of my friends, in the event that they would think me a horrible person. Earlier in the week, I’d told the BFE about about it, adding that I planned to blog about it. Being the kind, good-hearted half of me that he is, the BFE cautioned me against it, since some people might be offended. At dinner tonight Reyes reminded me that I’m not friends with any of those people. All of my friends would find it funny.

I explained that I wasn’t sure how to tell the story, as much as I wanted to share it with others. How to relate the details? To give the gist and cadence of our conversation? Telling it as I told my friends at dinner tonight was the only thing that made sense.

I don’t know why but after relating my story to my friends I relaxed and smiled. I think it’s knowing that I have such appalling friends that would laugh at my story really made me feel better. I know – I’m terrible for laughing at my friend’s shenanigans, and there will be some people reading this that will be appalled and offended by my post. All I can say to that group is that at some point, everyone has a moment of political incorrectness, and if they’re lucky, they’ll have friends around to laugh at them and tell them it’s okay.

Two things came out of this: I have exactly the kind of friends I should have, and love & attraction can be found anywhere, even between the badass and the little guy.


Pants Off Friday


There is an event that I look forward to every week: Pants Off Friday.

Now that BFE and I are living in our own place sans roommates, I look forward to it even more. Before, I could only celebrate my peculiar holiday when no one else was home or while confined to my bedroom. Now I have the full run of our place! It’s exhilarating!! Some people find my excitement strange, and just further indication of my weirdness. I find it a relaxing ritual that expresses my freedom: freedom from the work week, freedom from prying eyes, and more importantly… freedom from PANTS.


The Rules of Pants Off Friday are simple:

1 – Get home, shut door.

2 – Take off pants.*

3 – Relax on seating arrangement of your choice: couch, floor, bed.


*Replacing pants with shorts is option. Some people choose to celebrate Pants Off Friday by just chillaxin’ in their skivvies.    Whatever you do, PLEASE AT LEAST WEAR UNDERWEAR. I can’t believe I have to even say that, but when I’ve explained POF (short for Pants Off Friday) to a few people they’re aghast at the idea of just sitting on the couch naked. That’s not what POF is about! Have some decency people!!


Some people celebrate Pants Off Friday with microphones. I choose pizza :p


Anyway, as you can see, the nature of Pants Off Friday is pretty simple. After a hard week at work, I just think of it as a natural state of being… the ultimate relaxation. 🙂

So this is how it goes: Friday afternoon, I rush home, take off my pants and relax. That’s pretty much it. It’s like my own little mini-break. Sometimes I’ll go “all the way” and have dinner while celebrating Pants Off Friday – usually it’s pizza, Chipotle or Cheerios. 🙂


Pants Off Friday is also a judgement-free zone. I don’t give a flying fart in space if people think it’s weird – those are the folks that need to celebrate it the most! Worrying about whether people think it’s weird will only just ruin POF a little bit. Self-conscious about sharing your weekly celebration with your neighbors? Close the blinds. Think the pizza delivery guy might be judgy? Throw on some sweats when paying for your pizza when he arrives. Once you shut the door, pants back off my friend, and the celebration continues!!


Last night, I celebrated Pants Off Friday in a big way: pantsless while enjoying a giant cupcake and mac & cheese from Whole Foods and watching Anna Faris in the movie “What’s Your Number?” (By the way, who knew that cupcakes and mac & cheese made with unbleached wheat flour could be so tasty??) After that I passed out in a food come while watching “10 Things You Don’t Know About FDR” on the History Channel.  Around 10:45 I woke up, cleaned up my “couch nest” created from my work clothes, cupcake wrappers, cell phone charger cable (my phone was dying during POF), blankets and Whole Foods containers. Then I stumbled off to bed. Another Pants Off Friday appropriately celebrated. 🙂


The more I talk to people about POF, the more I’m slowly converting the masses. Who wouldn’t want to relax pants-free in the comfort and privacy of their own home? The idea really resonates with people!


Admit it. You’re thinking about celebrating Pants Off Friday right now, aren’t you?


Go ahead, I won’t judge.


Welcome to the couch nest my friend. 🙂

10 Days – 8 Fears


8 Fears

8. Fear of dying old and alone

This mostly stems from my fear of being unlovable, losing all my friends, and alienating everyone around me. (should I post this as #1?)

7. Fear of heights

What sucks the most about this is that I spent quite a few years as a followspot operator in various theaters and venues… which requires working pretty high up from the ground. Heights still freak me out and probably always will. I get stressed just being on airplanes and usually self-medicate with Benadryl or alcohol.

I always imagine the same scenario: During takeoff for a long flight, I have flashbacks from the first scene of Final Destination where the plane blows up, resulting in me becoming a raving lunatic that turns utterly batshit crazy and getting sucker punched by an overzealous air marshal.

6. Fear of the dark (especially after watching an American Horror Story marathon)

When I was about 8 or 9 years old, I had a babysitter that rather cruelly allowed me to watch Nightmare on Elm Street. I was completely scarred by the image of Johnny Depp getting sucked into the bed, and then spewed out across the ceiling. For years I had the same night ritual: if I needed a drink of water or had to pee in the middle of the night, I’d stand on the edge of my bed and jump to the door, because I was afraid that Freddy Kruger would grab me by the ankles and drag me away. I didn’t sleep in the middle of my bed so it would make it harder for Freddy to suck me in the bed and spew out my guts across the ceiling.

The BBE and I recently started watching American Horror Story, and I have to say, that is one of the scariest shows I’ve seen as an adult (apart from The Human Centipede). It’s brought back that old fear of the dark, that fear that someone is standing behind me, waiting to get me! Last night I went to the bathroom in the dark and scuttled back to my bed, convinced that one of the creepy characters from American Horror Story was lurking in my closet.

5. Fear of being fat forever

For a long time, this was huge secret that I didn’t want to share with anyone. The worst was that, by not speaking it into existence and acknowledging that I had a challenge in front of me, I didn’t do anything about it.

The Get Fit With Nick program has done a LOT to put me in control of my own body. I still feel like I have a long road ahead of me that involves a lot of squats, spinning classes and watching what I eat, but at least I’m doing something about it.  I’m still scared though… at any moment I could just quit trying and slide back into my old habits of doing nothing but being afraid of everything.

4. Fear of death

People say it’s the “next big adventure”… I think it’s the lack of knowing that scares me, fear of existing, fear that maybe I haven’t been good enough in this life to warrant forgiveness and acceptance in the next one… in heaven.

3. Fear of having kids

I want to! But I’m also scared. After listening to stories from all my friends that have had kids, it’s pretty scary/ gross/ painful/ stressful/ difficult. I think, especially in this day and age where old grown men in places of power are dictating what I as a woman should do and should not do with my body (what gives you the RIGHT to tell me what I should do?!?) dealing with healthcare during one of the scariest and most amazing moments in your life really stresses me out. ‘Nuff said 🙂

2. Fear of having kids and then being a bad parent

What if, once I have kids I can’t afford to give them all the things they need or things I want to give them? What if I push them too much or not enough? What if I have rambunctious horrible children that are worthy of their own Supernanny episode? How will I potty train them? Teach them their letters and to not talk to strangers? What if, when they become teenagers I want to choke the life out of them? Being a parent is an awesome responsibility that I’m completely afraid of. Yet I also want to do it. Which possibly makes me crazy?

1. Fear of never accomplishing anything amazing in my lifetime (and/or before the zombie apocalypse/ Rapture)

I want to make my mark on the world. I just have no idea how to do it.

Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever articulated all of these fears to any one person. And now I’m posted them all on the internet.

Sick Behavior


I haven’t posted in almost two weeks… I must admit, not sharing all my business via blogging has been strange. 🙂


Firstly, let me start by saying tonsilitis sucks. I kinda wish I’d kept a diary of my crazy while I was sick – it’s amazing how much your behavior changes by virtue of a bacterial infection and the increasing paranoia that develops courtesy of seriously strong medication.


I was at book club… ahem, *Fight Club* when I first started feeling ill. Of course, my fellow Fight Clubberes were convinced it was the cheeseburger I ate, and taunted me for defying my lastose intolerance. LOL, one person even suggested I was allergic to cheese!!  By the time I got home I knew this was not cheese related. I immediately stripped down and slipped into bed, shivering uncontrollably. I tried to nap by dosing up on nyquil. Didn’t work. By the next morning, I could barely talk or swallow.


I need to pause to say this: Karma is a mean, bitter cranky vindictive hag if you piss her off. And I guess I must have, because the only doctor I could get an immediate appointment with was – yep, you guessed it – hot doctor. If I wasn’t already convinced that I needed a new doctor, my visit to his office that day definitely confirmed it.


I got to the doctor’s office, 15 minutes before my appointment, and watched as everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, even people that came in 20, 30 minutes after me were checked in and called back while I sat upright in my own personal version of hell – shivering and sweating, blood pressure and fever rising with the CASEY ANTHONY  TRIAL droning on the television. an hour after I arrived, I was finally called back and placed in a room for 30 minutes with – guess what? Another television showing the CASEY ANTHONY TRIAL. Seriously, I have no idea who I pissed off or why. Or why the Casey Anthony trial became the conduit of my misery.


When hot doctor finally came in the room, I was a disgusting mess: hadn’t taken a shower since the day before, sweaty hair and skin, heinous breath because it hurt too much to open my mouth wide enough to brush, crusty eyes because i passed out in a nyquil-induced haze before taking them out, heart pounding. I think I actually grossed the doctor out, because I’ve never seen him get in and out of my room so fast. He confirmed I had strep, then made me take a pregnancy test (WTF???) then I waited for another 30 minutes until the tech came back in the room, shot my arm and left butt cheek up with drugs and sent me to the Walgreens for my prescription. I didn’t even see hot doctor again after he made me pee in the pregnancy cup.


(FYI: I am not pregnant!!)


He never explained the medication or what was in the shots. He didn’t even tell me when I could go back to work or anything. I asked the tech when I could go back to work, and she was like “why didn’t you ask the doctor?” Hmm… maybe because I was too busy peeing in a cup and struggling to swallow and form basics words. I was a little surprised by the lack of beside manner, not just from the tech, but from the doctor as well. I seriously must have grossed him out. I kinda grossed myself out. I mean, normally I get a little tease or flirt – I got NOTHING. He shot out of that room like his lab coat was on fire.


I spent the rest of the week miserable – the drugs he gave me induced excessive diarrhea, headaches, nausea and insomnia. I became convinced that they were eating into my brain and ruining my IQ, even though the BF told me they were just antibiotics. I subsisted on baby food applesauce, chicken broth and red jell-o. By day four, when Casey the roomie offered me applesauce, I burst into tears because I was so sick of soft foods. I couldnt even tell him why I was crying because I couldn’t talk. Apparently I sounded like a “retarded Marlee Matlin”. Who says that to a sick person? Oh, wait. Guy roomies do.


Since I couldnt sleep I watched a lot of tv – I saw Who Framed Roger Rabbit? at least twice, caught up on my DVR and got it down from 96% full to 46%, watched I Love the 80’s on VHI. I didn’t read books or update my blog because my attention span was gone, and the insomnia meant I nodded off at random times for 5 minute spells – while putting on my socks, peeing, postingon facebook.


I actually MISSED work!! I had a serious case of cabin fever, and a raging desire for hush puppies.  I  wondered, is this what it’s like coming down from quaaludes?


I’ve always been fairly hard on guys when they’re sick – I mean, come on, men act like sad puppies when they’re sick! Not that I don’t have empathy for them, but I so rarely get sick that I forget what it’s like to feel so miserable. This was definitely a learning moment 🙂 …all I wanted from people was a hug, and maybe solid food and the ability to swallow. It’s amazing how people’s behavior changes when they’re sick.

On the flip side, I did lost 10 pounds – nothing will jumpstart a diet like a bacterial infection!!


Oh, and I officially hate red jello.

Gahh!!! What the Hell!



What in the world??!?? I was in this total like ZEN state and it just got ruined by a lizard. Again.

Let’s back track a bit.  So on Monday afternoon, in an attempt to get back on track with making exercise a regular part of my routine I decide to take a walk through my neighborhood after dinner.

Can I just say? I live in like, a fricking Stepford paradise sort of. I mean, our neighborhood’s really nice… mellow… pretty. Ok, maybe Stepford’s the wrong way to describe it, but when I walk down the streets listening to my iPod I’m struck with how lush and inviting everyone’s lawns are (except ours). The front porches have cute patio furniture (except ours) and plants (except ours). There are swaying palms and lovely magnolia trees. It’s pretty nice by any standard.

Ok, maybe I’m making our house sound like that trashy one on the corner that has weeds 8 feet high and indigenous vermin living in the bushes nesting in old tires with broken bottles and Four Loko cans littering the steps. That’s entirely untrue. We get the weeds cut at least twice a month and I removed the Four Loko cans after the HOA complained a few times.

The point of all this is, my neighborhood lulls you into this relaxing sense of calm and peacefulness, something I’ve come to appreciate. I’m walking around, down the garden paths, past cute little houses.

But speaking of vermin – I get home and run a nice bath, read a few chapters of “Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife” by Linda Berdoll (MUST READ IF YOU LOVED Pride & Prejudice and want it a little on the dirty side) and just as I’m slipping into my nightgown, I feel something SLITHER down my backside. It was the Christmas Lizard from over a month ago! He was chillaxing in the folds of my nightgown when I put it on. Eeeek!

 I jumped about 3 feet in the air, flapping my airs like a fool before I gained composure. By the time I pulled it together to grab a shoebox to catch him, he was gone, back into the depths of my closet.

FYI – Later that night I was startled from a deep sleep convinced that he was back in my pajamas again. I had to turn on the lights and peek under the bed and shake out the covers, like I was a kid scared after watching too many Freddy Kreuger movies.

Ok, so let’s fast forward to last night. I get home after an AWESOME date (and no, details will not be disclosed) feeling like, totally zen, and walk into my closet, only to see this:


WTH?!?! Am I like a lizard whisperer now? Am I running a reptilian nightclub? Disco? Cocktails? Happy Hour? I mean I appreciate them for keeping us bug-free, but seriously, give a gal a little space.

I grabbed him up into a shoebox and released his free-loading butt out onto the porch.

It has been suggested that Mr. Lizard (let’s call him Mr. Geico) has MATED in my closet and now has a little lizard family in there, from whom I have separated him. First of all THANKS for that alarming visual, and I want to know if anyone else would have done different?? Are yall gonna call DFACS on me??

It is a little ironic that I’m a Geico customer.

I’ve seen the same lizard two nights in one week… are we technically going steady now?



Just got home from a long day at work and I immediately took off my pants. I have to say, taking off my pants is my favorite thing to do when I get home from work. Following at close second is running to the bathroom to pee. It’s even better when no one else is home: I can walk into the kitchen pantsless and fix myself a cold glass of water and not
have to worry that I’ll turn around and see some guest of my roommate’s sleeping on the couch and try to tiptoe past him with my shirt yanked down over my butt, hoping he doesn’t wake until after i’ve scurried into my room.

Oy! So hot today!! A great pantsless day! Once a GA State Patrolman friend of mine said “I’m sweatin’ more than a whore sitting in church on 4th of July Sunday” … I bet the patrolman and the ho would sweat less if they were pantsless. Just sayin.

Ahhh the pantsless life 🙂 gonna go fix myself a glass of water before anyone come home!



Sometimes I am so thankful that Susie Miranda, my little slice of Honda heaven, is a 4 cylinder work of art instead of a 6-cylinder behemoth of a motor vehicle that, if it got into a fight with a Dodge Ram, would win. That sweet little 4 cylinder is frequently what stops me from going Tawanda on my fellow drivers when they pull the typical Florida drivers stunts.

Ok, for anyone that has never seen Fried Green tomatoes (i.e. people that are not from the South or gay), “Tawanda” was the alter-ego of Kathy Bates’s good girl housewife character. When she finally breaks the rules, goes batshit, and starts haphazardly ramming her Buick into the tiny Fiat of two valley girls that stole her parking spot, she screams “Tawanda!!!!!!”

When I lived in Georgia I remember this story about a dude that would get so mad in commuter traffic that every night he would bake a 5-pound bag of potatoes so that he could throw them at people in traffic the next day.

Now tell me you’ve never thought of doing that when you’re barreling down the road on the way to work at like 70 miles an hour and some ass-hat pulls out of his subdivision in front of you doing like 35 MILES AN HOUR and you look in your rear view mirror and realize that no one’s behind you so if he’s waited like FIVE SECONDS then he wouldn’t have had to pull out in front of you, thereby ruining it for everyone.

This usually aggravates me even more at the end of a work day gone horribly wrong, when all i can think of is hurrying up and getting home, taking off my pants, removing my contacts, getting a bath and reading Jane Austen while wearing my coke bottle glasses and plaid pajama pants.

Anyone that stands between me and my wonderful pantsless evening is asking for a beatdown and deserves a baked potato.

Just sayin’.