- Ms. Giggle Pixie saw fit (or was just drunk enough)to bestow an award on me last week, and for that I am grateful. Any day where someone recognizes the awesomeness that is me is a good day indeed. Allegedly I "measure up". I'm just going to assume that this refers to my astoundingly high I.Q. or my wicked skills with a tape measure, and not the size of my flipper-feet or man-hands.
With the award comes a bit of a tag/meme, which I will graciously do now, and not just because she sent me a congratulatory box of Franzia Chillable Red, which I may or may not have had with breakfast this morning:
#1) Say something nice about the man in your life.
Easy one. First, he seems to not be pissed that I basically forgot his birthday this weekend. That means: no gift, no cake, no dressing up in tall boots and boy short undies and nothing else to do the "happy birthday dance" for him. He's a saint. Second, he is handy with both electronics/tech-y crap and house stuff. This is good because I still haven't mastered the use of the remote for the TV, and I seem to have difficulties turning my computer on and off sometimes. Third, he's cute to begin with, but he's aging REALLY well. Salt & pepper short hair & a scruffy beard with his olive skin and pretty green eyes...sigh. He's going to look George Clooney good as he gets older, while I have a sneaking suspicion I'm going to start looking like Patti the Daytime hooker from "My Name is Earl" as I age.
#2) List six ways that you measure success in your life.
- Making it through the day without becoming a potential Darwin Awards recipient.
- If I can make someone laugh so hard that they pee a little or accidentally fart, that's a good day.
- Staying gainfully employed despite my total lack of interest in staying gainfully employed.
- Not getting anything stuck in my nose or ear that required tweezers to extricate, that's a good day.
- Still fitting in 8 year-old jeans despite a near-legendary love of Doritos, cheese and bacon.
- Managing to stay married after he: saw me dressed up as a deranged mime that one time in the middle of a weekday, gets rudely awakened at 2-3:00 a.m. every time I go out with the girls because I can't find my keys IN MY OWN DAMN PURSE, puts up with my incessant commentary on his cookoo driving when I'm a passenger, has to listen to me singing to the cats and watch me break out 80's dance moves for them, and has to eat some of my more "experimental" dishes that are generally conceived and executed after 2 too many glasses of wine.
I'm supposed to pass this meme on, but you all know very well that this blog is the "Ed Gein" of blogs. This is where memes go to die a tortured, semi-sexual, gory death. The last meme that came here is still sitting in pieces in my freezer, waiting to become a nice winter stew. I have a lampshade made out of the skin of another meme. You get it.
- I've been nominated for a Drysdale Award over at Grant Miller Media. My category is "Blog With the Most Pictures of the Blogger". Finally I am being recognized for my unique brand of narcissism. Get over there and vote for me (as well as my lovely fellow blog pals, unless they are competing against me, in which case I hope they get an uncomfortable, yet non-contagious rash which renders them unable to be a nominee). Go! Vote! If I win we'll have champagne, I promise. I'll have yours in your absence because I know how much you hate to waste perfectly good champagne. You're welcome.
- I have been at my current job 4 years now, yet despite this I regularly encounter fellow employees in the hallways that are either pretending that they don't know I work here, or they think I'm the dumbest student in the history of 2-year schools. Today, yes today, someone who has ignored me for the last four years actually gave me a little head nod when I passed them in the hall. A HEAD NOD, PEOPLE! I have arrived! Maybe in another four years I can get administration to start spelling my name right.
- I really need to get my cookie baking done. I taught/hosted a cookie exchange class at work this past weekend, which allowed me to eat many, many cookies, but alas I have none to call my own. I need to get on this as my cookies are awesomely pretty and delicious and I enjoy rubbing everyone else's noses in that fact over the blessed holiday season.
I'm at work, and I should probably get some actual work done that doesn't involve crossword puzzles or seeing how fast I can shove a cream cheese bagel in my face.
Happy Tuesday, my champagne-soaked flesh cookies. Happy Tuesday.