Thursday, March 29, 2007


I was delighted yesterday to see that my favorite part of spring has begun to arrive...

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As soon as the weather clears up, I'll be sure to share a few of my fave shots from the hood.


I just reached back to scratch my lower back and noticed the tag to my underwear was sticking out. I tried to tuck it in but it kept popping back out. Further palpitation revealed that this is because the tag was sewn to the outside. You know why? Because this morning, I put my underwear on inside out!

Thursday, March 22, 2007


My tastes in men have changed a bit over the years. While I used to have a thing for long hair, now I prefer short hair-I actually like it a little spikey too. I used to be mildly attracted to the grunge/hippy look (no smells necessary, just a tie dye shirt or a pair of baggy shorts), now I've got quite the thing for a man in a well fitting suit. Lately, I've started to really appreciate a pair of well fitting designer jeans. However, one thing has remained a constant. I love a guy in a baseball hat. Now don't get me wrong, not just any hat will do. I'm not looking for a netted trucker cap or an oversized flat billed hat with the tag still on. I'm talking about a well worn, well tailored "I'm just an everyday modest guy hanging out" kind of baseball hat. There's something to the mysteries held behind the hat. The way the brim casts a shadow on the jaw line or the way you can just barely catch a glimpse of the sexy eyes hidden underneath that I can't resist.

My betrothed does not have the same appreciation for baseball hats and it takes convincing to get him to wear one, but when he does...mmmm.... love it.

***sidenote. The fine young med student who inspired this post, I spotted him out the window while I was on my way to the library, is now standing beside me and I'm feeling a bit embarassed-and turned on...

Monday, March 19, 2007


You know what I did for St. Patrick's day? Nothing. Strike that. I did work alone for 12 hours. Then I came home and cleaned like crazy. Alone. I was a big lonely alone person. I went through the millions of boxes I kept in storage for the three years I was in grad school and trashed everything. (Because who doesn't love throwing money away.) No, really, I didn't throw EVERYTHING away. It was worth paying the storage fee for the six things I will keep, but I did trash two boxes full of stuff and box up seven boxes for the rummage sale and I'm not even finished. The most fun part is that I actually got called into work at 12:30, so I had to leave mid-clean, so the end result of all of my cleaning is actually a basement full of MESS.

I did find a new green outfit to wear to work on Saturday, but I didn't get to pinch anyone. Not one person. I was on-call so non of my buddies were there. My betrothed said, "weren't there nurses around?...and patients?" I informed him that, yes, there were, and many were not wearing green, but unfortunately pinching them is frowned upon, though I was tempted.

It's hard growing up.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Luck of the Irish

I love holidays. I have a t-shirt for every holiday. Not an applique sweatshirt, but a cool t-shirt. I usually wear the t-shirt with black pants and a black jacket to work. I have an orange long sleeve with a small black witch's hat on the chest for Halloween. For Christmas, I have a collection of shirts. I like to celebrate.

On valentine's day I wore a red shirt with a small a silver heart. Before I changed for dinner, I said to Freddie, "you love my holiday shirts. It's your favorite thing about me."

"Yes," he said, "it is my favorite thing about you. When I tell people about you, I tell them about how nice you are, and how cute you are, and how fun you are, 'but you know what', I say, 'my favorite thing about Amanda is how she has a shirt for every holiday.'"

They're very fun. I also have socks. And boxers for sleeping, which I also buy for Freddie to wear because I shouldn't be the only one having all of the holiday fun. (Though he often doesn't follow the rules and wears his boxers any time during the year that he wants and then they aren't clean when the holiday approaches, but this is just one of the many things I will fix after we're married :)

So, of course, when St. Patrick's Day arrives, I do not disappoint. I ALWAYS wear green. I do have a black shirt with a green shamrock, but I can't seem to place it this year. I decided I'd wear a short sleeved green cable knit sweater with my khaki work pants and, of course, my st. patty's day socks (shamrocks with faces holding a foamy mug of beer). I couldn't find the socks at first, but I hunted in the attic and there they were.

I rolled in to work, ready to pinch, because NO ONE was wearing green. Then I realized why.

Today isn't the 17th like I thought.

Tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day.


Thursday, March 15, 2007

only in ardmore

I was unloading my car on Sunday night, when I hear a loud yelp. I say a yelp, because it was loud and short, but didn't exactly bring to mind images of pain or distress. A few seconds later I heard another one. The third was followed by the scraping sound of skateboard wheels.

I walked around my car to see that it wasn't skateboards I heard, but roller skates, well probably roller blades, but really they didn't sound that smoothe...there was something retro about them. I looked up to see two men skating down the street, enjoying the warm March evening and then I heard it...In a style that could only be matched by the Triad Pride Men's Chorus, half show tune the other half diva, one of them was singing...

"everything you own in a box to the left"

And I thanked God that I live in Ardmore.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Who's the ho?

Apparently me.

I was at Target with my mom on Saturday night (where else would we celebrate her birthday?), and we were looking at a cute bathing suit cover up. Behind me, I heard a woman say, "SHUT UP" really loudly to a child. I turned to see what was going on and apparently the woman spotted me. I really don't think I made a face, though I admit to often doing so without knowing, but I know I only looked for a second. I didn't stare or anything. I turned back around, but then I heard, "WHAT?!, HO! What are you staring at? Make me sick!"

Me? Seriously? A ho? I looked around, but yes, it was me she was talking to.

I made a weird face to my mom like, um, can you believe this? But, my mom thought I was making a face about the cover up she was holding up to her. "What?" she said, several times!, I just stared at her..."nothing, mom" "No, really, What?" By this point I was worried that my "friend" would beat me down if she thought I was talking about her again. Finally I had to stare at my mom and mouth, mom, stop, now...seriously. And fortunately, she did.

When the situation cleared, I told her what happened. I was really upset about it. I don't know what I wish I would have done. I wish I wouldn't let things like that bother me. I also kind of wish I could have said something back. Something like, I'm sorry, ma'am, were you talking to me? But, she really was kind of scary. I told my mom I was afraid the girl would hear my mom and think I was talking about her and then she'd really go off. "I would have taken care of it," my mom said. Um, yeah, sure you would, mom.

Thursday, March 08, 2007

Pretty woman walking down the street

I enjoy reality TV. I particularly like documentaries about real people. I'm not talking about Biography on A&E. I'm more along the lines of True Life on MTV and Intervention. Watching a number of these shows, and Dr. Phil, I've observed several young women selling themselves on the street for drugs. They often are excited by a mere $35 and I think, girl, you're selling yourself short, but then again they're desperate. This begs the question...

How much would I sell my body for?

I'm not considering taking up a life of prostitution. I'm just saying, desperate times call for desperate measures, but also, a girl has got to have some standards. So, where is the line?

I'm not a knock out, but I don't have meth mouth, so that's got to count for something right? So, all things aside, I'm in a predicament, I need some money-BAD, but I'm not so desperate that I'll sell it all for 35 bucks. I posed this question to a few friends while I was on holiday last week and then again today at work.

One friend couldn't come up with a number for the whole shebang, so she said $5,000 for get what I'm saying, right? She was surpised by my shocked look. I thought it was a bit high.

A guy I work with said he'd give it up for $1,500-2,000 because he thought that's how desperate he'd have to be to do that. I thought, wow, if he had my student loans he'd be working the corner right now. I later learned he was picturing a mafia situation that involved slit wrists and busted kneecaps if he didn't have the cash in 30 minutes. I told him he'd probably have to go longer than 30 minutes to get that much money.

So, what's my asking price? $250. I don't think this is unreasonable. I think this is a point where my desperation and my standards cross. What's your price?