Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Pregnancy Scare

Prepare to bend your knee and take that vow cause I'm tellin' you now, you're the gal for me.


I’ve decided this is going to be a new segment. I will proceed to portray my favorite movies based upon descriptions that illustrate how ridiculous they are. I love some pretty absurd movies. So starting with my very first, most lamest favorite movie, here we go…

An ignorant backwoodsman from unsettles Oregon needs a wife to take care of the cooking and cleaning on his ranch because of course HE can’t do it. (Break into song) The only logical thing to do the next time he goes into town is get married. So he does. Love at first sight, you know, cause she had heavenly eyes and was just the right size.

He takes her up to his farm and would you believe it? He mislead her! She thought that when he said, “Nice day for marrying isn’t it?” that he was professing love. Silly woman, he needed a cook, a washer woman, a hired girl. Oh, and did I mention he will also need these services for his six brothers?

It’s a good thing she’s “sassy as can be” because she makes him sleep in a tree, steals all of the brother’s clothes and proceeds to whip the household into shape. This spunky little woman cooks, cleans, breaks up fights, teaches manners, makes them read the bible and schools the brothers on courting, all while singing catchy ditties.

On a side note, the husband is against all of her lessons saying, “What do I need manners for? I already got me a wife”

Well played. Well played.

Time for the big barn raising/dance off/brawl scene.

Now that all of the brothers have set their eyes on the woman of their dreams, which before, they “ain’t never hardly ever seen one” they all want to be married. So after grieving for their girls, breaking into song about how a man don’t sleep when he sleeps with she, and getting crazy notions from the bible, they go into town and steal the girls. But of course, this bein’ God Fearing Territory, they have to kidnap a preacher as well. To make it all stick, they create an avalanche to close the pass so the girls can’t escape and their families cant rescue them. If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is.

Damn, they forgot to get the preacher.

Doesn’t matter, all the brothers have been banished to the barn for the rest of the winter. Well, the husband isn’t having this; he goes away for the rest of the movie. Good riddance, maybe the trapping cabin will teach him some manners.

To sum up the next 5 months of the movie, we will need 3 breaks for singing and snowballs with rocks in them. Them poor little dears.

By the end of the movie Stockholm Syndrome has set in nicely and everyone is in love. Break for song. Wife has a baby. Youngest brother goes to get Husband (Oldest Brother). Oldest Brother says it’s just a trick to get him back. Youngest Brother punches Oldest Brother. Oldest Brother swallows his pride. Husband and Wife kiss and make up. Husband has learned manners.

The pass it open!!!

The town’s people come rushing up to get the girls. Girls don’t want to leave. They’re in love now. Big scuffle. Rolling around in hay. Women cry. The dads say they’re going to string the boys up from the nearest tree. Women cry more. The women are losing the battle for their men.

So, how does a woman keep a man who is slipping from her grasp?



PREGNANCY SCARE!!!!!!!!!

Commence with shotgun wedding….

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Don't Even Try It, Girl

Girl, I be runnin’ mad low on dividends…

Wouldn’t it be neat if I could get away with saying stuff like that? You know why I can’t? Because I say stuff like, “wouldn’t it be neat”

One time I told my cousin he better “recognize,” I was met with a blank stare and a muffled laugh.

Man I wish I could pull off cool.

Alas, I cannot.

Throughout my time as an uncool, white girl I have tried to incorporate hip jargon into my vocabulary (another reason I’m not cool… hip… really Savannah… I’m embarrassed for myself)

So far, I have successfully integrated “Girl” into my vocabulary. It may not seem like much, but when I first decided this was a word I wanted as part of my lexis it didn’t flow smoothly or appear to fit in with my syntax. Now I can use it flawlessly.

The other day in a work meeting I said, “Baby Mama Drama” in context and was met with approval. I was proud. Well, at least everyone in the meeting laughed, which was partially my intention. I also took their laughter as sanctioning my use of the term.

People in New York say “mad” frequently. I like it. I wish I could say it. I tried it once and sounded foolish. It just didn’t fall out of my mouth properly. I’ll try again. Much like girl, it’ll take a while to sound right in my vocabulary. I’ll practice alone in my bedroom, once I feel comfortable I’ll practice on strangers who don’t know it isn’t common for me to say, and then, I’ll test it out on my friends. Once I have built confidence in my use of the word then no one will question my ability to use it. Right? Being cool is hard.



Now if you’ll excuse me I have to finish knitting this sweater while reading the bible and square dancing.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

A Picture Says a Thousand Word

Or something like that.


Por Ejemplo…

This one captures many crucial elements in the dynamic between my cousin Ruth and I. Allow me to point out the two most prevalent. 1) She is the mean one out of the two of us. She was ALWAYS, I’ll repeat that, ALWAYS playing a joke at my expense, and if I got injured in the process, even better. B) Look at my hair, Oh my Troll!! From age 16 to 24 I did some frightening things to my hair.

But this one…

It says everything else about our relationship. (and you'll notice I was 22 in this photo and still in hair crisis mode)

Now that the visual portion of our lesson is over, I’d like to direct your attention to the main point.

I love photos. I think they are an amazing way to document my life. I have many, many albums and scrapbooks. Pictures capture so much easier what words are trying to say. (And it’s apparent how much I love words.) Pictures are just so meaningful and moving to me that I can look through the same old photos over and over again and never get bored. I love them… Love them!!

But I HATE taking them!!

I bought a nice, shiny, travel sized camera so that I could take it everywhere as I strive to document my life. But damn, do I actually have to be the one to take the photos? I don’t know if it’s just part of my super awkward nature, my inability to hold still very long, or the fact that I hate looking like a teenage girl trying to take myspace pictures, but I hate being behind the camera. You know what, I hate being in front of the camera as well. That’s probably why I always look like this…

I need a magic photo taking fairy to carry around my camera for me and capture moments that I want to remember.

Monday, March 21, 2011

Speaking a Language all my Own

I think (and that’s all that matters really) that if someone were to know me by my writing alone, they would think, wow, this girl has an amazing vernacular aptitude. I feel like I might possibly come across as someone with a firm command of grammar and syntax who can eloquently relay poignant and profound messages precisely (and knows how to use alliteration). I would hope that through my writing I sound intelligent and competent and very knowledgeable about my world.

This is how I like to believe I present myself in my writing…

But alas, in person, I am semi-dysfunctional in my ability to relay a message.

First of all, I have the attention span of a squirrel. While talking about one thing, my brain is thinking of 495 other things and if one of those topics is more interesting than my current topic I will switch to the more alluring like Brad Pitt did for Angelina Jolie. (Sorry Jennifer, I was rooting for you)

Second, I have some sort of memory recall problem when it comes to using the correct word. I WANT to use impressive words but they are hidden in the mess of grocery lists, work stressors and fictional characters in development all jumbled together in my brain. It took 10 minutes of staring at a brick wall, then getting distracted by the pictures on said wall, before I could pull out the word vernacular to use 3 paragraphs ago. People rarely have time to wait for my brain to produce the sentence I’m trying to construct. (Then once I do find the word I’m looking for it is usually wrong in the context I’m trying to applying it)

Also, it takes me an inordinately long time to get to my point. I usually have 3 or more disclaimers and precursors to my explanation before I even begin. I’m like that SNL character played by Fred Armisen on weekend update that is there to share the news but can never actually GET to his point because he is disclaiming and buffering himself before starting.

And last, because I’m a story teller, I want to include masses of details into my explanations, but I’m constantly worried that I’m boring people. So I end up telling a story with as much detail as I can throw in AND leave out at the same time. It makes for a very messy explanation. I’ll jump forward and backwards as I leave out details to be concise, and then have to add them back in later (out of order) because it was actually a pertinent detail to the story.

Oh, and I also make up words (Wonky and Sloopy) use tenses wrong (Drinken) and make nouns into verbs (Couponing). I must be exhausting to listen to.

So what does this all boil down to? I speak a language all my own. It’s messy and sporadic, often confusing and choppy, and I have a colossal problem being parsimonious.

I honestly can’t understand how anyone knows what I’m saying at any given point.

Many have tried to understand my language, few have succeeded, and most give up after their first Savannah induced headache. But there are the rare champions who can not only understand, but speak my language. They deserve a cookie. An outsider listening in on this rare dialect of Savvy will have no comprehension as to what is ACTUALLY being said.

I love when I can say, “coupons are like diabetes” and no more explanation is necessary to get my point across. I promise the explanation in my head will not translate out loud so this definition needs to be sufficient.

I’d like to share a sample of a typical conversation I had with someone who speaks Savvy, just to illustrate my point…

Me: "The Bear and Moose are still holding hands"
Savvy Speaker: “That's because of the garbage”
Me: “I got the hooker out”
SS: "Good"

I could write code for the U.S. govornment that woul be uncrackable!

I truly wonder how anyone can stand to conversate with me.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

My Deepest Apologies (Maybe)

Apparently people read this silly blog… Who knew… So I was shocked when I received several messages saying that I needed to put up another post (and not just from my mom) So thanks friends, and strangers, but sadly I am too busy and stressed to be creative. As I’m trying to write these 5 sentences I’m struggling not to just smush my boobs against the keyboard and call it good.

In lieu of writing something that will take more brain power than I possess at the moment ESPECIALLY because I’m actually supposed to be working but cannot bring myself to focus on the audits, evaluations, consultation notes, and staff development plans that I’m SUPPOSED to be writing right now, I’ll just throw in a bunch of pictures. These pictures make me happy and maybe I’ll just spend the rest of my work day looking at them.


We don't actually know this guy

I think Paula looks like Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes in this picutre... right?!!
(If I need a break later today I'll find a comparison picture)
Work stress drives some to drink... It drives me to this...

 Rain once asked me why I make douche bag faces in all of my photos. Little does she know, that's just my face.

No one in this picture is on drugs. Hard to believe, I know.


I’m hoping to get some time to myself in the future and then I’ll write something delightful. Or if delightful is presumptuous of me, I’ll write something of the same caliber as my other posts… mediocre at best.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

The Perfect Date

Candle lit yadda yadda, long walks on the blah blah blah, romantic whosits and whatsits… Yuck

Let’s go to a book store!

What, that bores you? Fine I’ll go by myself.

I love book stores, to be more specific, used book stores.
Let me start with a picture and we’ll go from there.Huh?!! Now tell me you don’t want to go to a used bookstore and spend hours perusing and smelling. I didn’t mistype. Smelling. But I’ll get to that in a minute. I think we need some organization here. Let’s do this David Letterman style (He’s still on TV right? I wouldn’t know, it’s on past my bedtime)

Top Ten Reasons Why a Bookstore is the Best Place to Spend Friday Night…

10. The fixie of hipsters with androgynous haircuts on leather sofas remarking in outrage that their nonconformist style has become mainstream.

9. My bloated intelligence as I browse titles and authors I’ve never read imagining that I’ve magically absorbed the information by merely being in the vicinity.

8. Employees looking sharp in tweed jackets with leather elbow patches, bow ties, glasses and mohawks. Yummy, dork meat!

7. Tall iced mocca latte extra whip. Or in other words, pretentious, overpriced coffee drinken (that’s my word, deal with it) by pompous yuppies while reading the Wall Street Journal and remarking about the abysmal state of the economy.

6. Amateur poetry read by awkward prepubescents stammering out lines of their glorious works of art as they develop the beginning stages of their identities.

5. Profound poets spewing lines of injustice and anguish with passion at increasing volume while spitting and sweating as they’re judged by their peers and hollered at with an Uh, or Push. (aka, a rap battle without music… or black people)

4. Crusty pages of coffee stained books with finger prints from the hands of generations of mothers reading nighttime stories to their children. 3. Finding old photographs of close friends left between the pages which once held the place of a reader to bring back fond memories.

2. The scent of paper and leather, fingerprints and time, flipping through the pages as the aroma of imaginations and knowledge take me to all the places the book has been.

1. Exploring the Old West, traveling to space, attending school for witches and wizards, going insane, being in love, living the life of a serial killer, becoming an immigrant, riding around the world in a hot air balloon, and swimming with a Great Whale all in one afternoon.
Now tell me you don't share my love affair with used book stores.

Ode to my Red Plaid Pants

Oh Red Plaid Pants, I love you so!
You used to be in style but you are no mo’.
You were magnificent and accentuated my ass,
But like the Back Street Boys, your time is past.

You are so wonderful, I couldn’t throw you away,
So I kept you around and found a place for you to stay.
In the back of my closet, at the foot of my bed,
I always had a place to hide your thread.
I tried you on again and again,
Keeping in touch like a long lost friend.

I tired you on one day
And to my dismay
You no longer fit
I knew it
You must have shrunk.
Too much junk in my trunk?
I think not!
That’s a long shot…
Ok, I’ll admit,
To the gym I’ll recommit.
To wear you again
From doughnuts I’ll abstain.

So now at twenty-eight, you fit like you should,
I can zip you right up, like I never before could.
We are a great pair, my red, plaidy companion,
Nothing rhymes with that but the Grand Canyon.

But times have changed and you’re no longer in style,
I thought I could still pull you off, but my look isn’t that versatile.
Alas, I must hold to the social norms of my age and position
Because I’m not 14 or a writer I don’t have the volition.

Oh Red Plaid Pants, I love you so!
You used to be in style but you are no mo’.
You are still magnificent and accentuate my ass,
But like the Macarena, your time is past.
(Note: It is very hard to take a picture of your pants WHILE wearing them)