Blogger Who Never Blogs

It's been so long since I posted something that I'm not even sure I can anymore.  What do you call a blogger who doesn't blog?...I was hoping I could come up with some sort of  "chicken who crossed the road" punchline, but, no such luck.  My birthday just passed and I kept telling myself that for my birthday, my gift to myself would be to start blogging again.  It is something I actually enjoy doing but I just couldn't seem to muster the motivation to get started.  Then, like a sign from, well like that sign in the movie LA Story with Steve Martin in it, someone posted a comment on my last post.
So, here goes...
I talk about my job a lot because often times that is the only place I've been besides my bed for three weeks at a time.  Most of the time though, my job makes for pretty good stories.  This particular story is the one of my favorite phone call ever.  As I've mentioned, I run a restaurant delivery service.  One of those restaurants that we deliver for is a "high end" west coast pizza joint in one of the larger Atlanta area malls.  That being said, I answered a call from a woman who asked if we deliver for this restaurant.  I tell her yes and ask her if she would like to place an order.  She says yes and I enter her address, which seems very familiar to me.  I ask her what the name of the business is that she's calling from and she tells me she is in the mall.  From here, I will be quoting.  "So, you want to order from (insert name of west coast pizza joint here)?"  "Yeuh gurl, I'm too lazy to walk over there."  "Ok, you do understand that we charge a fee to use the service which doesn't include the tip for the driver and we quote 45 minutes to an hour delivery times, right?" "Look gurl, whass yo name again?" "Lisa" "Look, Liser, Imma fat gurl.  I could get my fat ass off this stool, walk out da sto and spit on (insert west coast pizza joint) but I'm too lazy for dat shit." Meanwhile, I'm laughing my ass off to the point where I can barely respond.  "I would be more than happy to deliver to you" "Gwon an tell that driver to get his ass on ova here and bring me some pizza." "No problem, just so you know, we have a $20 food minimum for lunch." "Ok, lemme go over here an ask dis other fat gurl she want somthin." She doesn't put the phone down and yells at the top of her voice, "FAT GURL, YOU WANT SOMTHIN DELIVERED FROM ____!!" The other woman responds, loud enough for me to hear her clearly, "What kinda stupid question is that?  Of COURSE I want somethin delivered from ____!!" "Yup, bring us fat lazy gurls some pizza" So, I take her order, charge her the fee, place the order, and send the driver to the restaurant.  After seeing the delivery address, he asks me if I'm sure I have the address right.  I tell him yes and briefly relay the conversation I just had.  So he drives to the restaurant, picks up the food, runs literally up the stairs and drops off the food.  They paid in cash and tipped the driver very generously. Moral of the story?  I have no idea but it was hilarious and it made my day.  I giggled all day long and the two fat gurls became my favorite customer EVER.

I Look Young For My Age

You know how at Brookstone and Sharper Image and super trendy places like that have the massage chairs that you can try out?  Those chairs usually have a sign in front of them that say you are only allowed to sit in them if you are 18 or older.  When I was about 24, I sat in one of those chairs...and got carded!  The 17 year old boy behind the counter actually asked to see my I.D.  That's pretty much the story of my life.  I'm 35 but I look 25.  Most people would say that's a great thing and usually, it is.  Fast forward to today. 
I've been feeling better in the past week or two due to the Zoloft.  Less panic, less fear and less meltdowns.  Because of that, I decided to leave the house and get a haircut.  My hair was ridiculously long.  It almost touched my butt and was becoming unmanageable.  When I sat down in the chair, the stylist said I had great hair and I could do almost whatever I wanted to it.  I told her I didn't really care and I gave her full reign to do what she thought would look good and be easily maintained.  She clapped her hands together and looked all gleeful.  She said "I'm going to make you look like a celebrity!  You have great hair!  I'm so excited! We'll do layers and bangs and this and that and..."  So, in my head, I've prematurely pictured something like this...

I'm not sure why because I'm barely 5"1 and I've never had blond hair in my life.  My eyes are green, not blue and I'm pretty sure I've never been able to pull off the "sultry" look.  Regardless, I closed my eyes and let the Great Clips girls work her magic.  After about 30 minutes or so, she's blow drying and I'm excited so I open my eyes.  Instead of the sultry, windblown tall person look I was hoping for, I got this.

*Sigh*-So, for the next 6 months I am stuck with my Blossom haircut and the awesome experience of the "in between stages" of bangs.  Oh well, at least I'm still tall...oh, wait.  Well, at least I'm still sultry...yeah.  Yeah?  Well at least I LOOK YOUNG FOR MY AGE!

GUESS WHAT?!?

CHICKEN BUTT!!!!

I'm not sure how my blog went from witty, humorous anecdotes about my forage into Crazytownland to 8 year old chicken humor but seriously, how could I not?  I will be back to regular posts soon.  I've been working for 7 days straight.  I don't have another day off until next Friday but I promise I will post something intelligent in between now and then.

P.S.  I want to say a special thank you to Rot Du Jour who gave me the One Lovely Blog Award.  After this post she may never read me again so I felt the need to say it now.  Thanks!

Completlier More Unrelatedness

Real text message conversation between me and a nameless identity-less person
Other Person: Don't blog this (ppfffuuu!  Like that was going to work!) but I asked my mom what cashmere is made of and she said Canadian Goats.  That's not true, is it?
Me:  Don't be ridiculous...They are from France.
HA!  I am hilarious.

Short But Funny

I was speaking on the phone to one of our best customers.  She orders corporate lunch at least 3 times a week and spends a considerable amount of money each time.
Customer:  We are not going to order from _________ (restaurant name deleted) anymore.  The food really wasn't that good.  We are going to order from _______.  Can you ask them to put less anger in the food?
Me:  Ummm, sure.
Me to restaurant:  This customer is new to you and would like to request no anger in her food.
Restaurant to me:  I can't make any promises but I will do my best.
Sometimes I have the best job in the world!

 This is how I picture they get angry into the food.  As always, inspired by but not as talented as Hyperbole and a Half

Why Would You Pick That Profession?

So, I took a little hiatus for a few reasons; first, I was celebrating a one year anniversary with the boyfriend.  B, I was shopping for a new flat screen T.V.  And last, just because.
First thing's first...gratuitous hipstamatic photo of my dog.

My completely unrelated to this story dog.

Now, story time...
I  hate the dentist.  Whatever, everyone hates the dentist, but I REALLY hate the dentist.  Anything having to do with teeth and inside someone's mouth (including my own) is a major panic trigger for me.  I find it absolutely atrocious that anyone would stick their fingers in someone else's mouth on purpose. Needless to say that over the years I have caused some dentist office drama.
When I was about 8 or so, I had to have 2 cavities filled.  I'm not sure if dentistry back then was still in the stone ages or the guy I went to was some sort of child hating dental sadist but he drilled through two of my teeth in two different places.  What I mean is, he drilled up and he drilled into the side...How is it even possible that I had two cavities that big in two different teeth that both required extensive drilling?  He filled four holes in two teeth with whatever that nasty metal is that they used back then, I was traumatized, life moved on.
Fast forward to me in my mid 20's.  I hadn't really had any mouth trouble since the first time and I was never forced to have regular cleanings so my visits to the dentist had been sparse to non-existent.  All of a sudden, my face started to hurt so badly that I felt compelled to have it looked at.  I went to the dentist who promptly told me I needed a root canal...on both sides. I freaked out but scheduled the appointment anyway.  Being the big girl adult that I am, I called my mom and asked her to not only go with me but be in the room during the whole thing.  The closer it got to the day of the surgery the more nervous I became.  I called my mom and told her I was going to cancel the appointment and somehow she talked me out of it.  By the time the actual day came around I was full of Valium, a nervous wreck and vomiting roughly every 30 seconds.  I tried to make a break for it twice from the waiting room before they ever even saw me.  They somehow finally got me to the back.  I'm not really clear on how that happened as at that point I was pretty woozy from the three back to back to back Valium.  The nurse put the spit rag around my neck, laid me back, put spacer thingies in my mouth and told me to relax.  I asked if I could use the restroom and my mom immediately warned them not to let me go.  The nurse ignored her, of course thinking that I was an actual adult, and allowed me to go.  She even helped me get there (again, three Valium).  I thanked her, closed the door and proceeded to lock myself in.  Fifteen minutes later I could hear my mom banging on the door yelling at the nurse that she told her not to let me go.  Eventually, they picked the lock and made me come out.  After they finally wrestled me back into the chair I was promptly administered whatever it is that knocks you completely unconscious. 
That, my friends, is the end of this story, however, I have three post scripts. 
P.S.  My younger sister went into the dental industry.  I'm pretty sure she did it to spite me
P.P.S.  The two root canal teeth are the same two teeth that were traumatized the first time around
P.P.P.S.  That was not the last time I had to have those two teeth worked on

Ummm, Yeah

I just posted something and then deleted it by accident.  Am I an amateur?  You betcha!  This gist of it was this; the last couple of days were pretty bad for me as far as meltdowns and panic attacks.  Based on that, and my lack of humor the last couple of days, I decided not to post.  What I did post was some cute pictures of how I can feel from second to second every single day.  I'm going to give it another shot and if it turns out to look like a 6 year old posted this, so be it.

Deep In The Heart of Crazytownland

I KEEL YOU!!

Irritated and Anti-Social

Terrified of EVERYTHING!

I jacked this cripplingly cute picture from this guy.