oopsie daisy

Oddly, It Was Not a Dinner Invitation. Which is Too Bad 'Cause Lord Knows, I'm Starving.

If only I were more patient...

Right after hitting "Save" on my last post about how I have nothing to blog about, the boy I'm not dating sent me this:

And no, those are not regular oysters. They are Man Made Oysters. And I quote:

"Oysters are so beautiful, it is a shame to throw away the shells after just one meal. Re-savour the feeling of a silky succulent oyster slipping down your throat by using the shells as semen serving dishes."

Find more semen-based recipes here.

You're welcome.

If You Go to Her Site without Finishing My Post, We're Through.

Dooce is pregnant. And while I know all her loyal readers will be all, "Yay you!" and "Congratulations!" And "Here's to a healthy pregnancy," my reaction contains none of those happy happy joy joy yay you type of thoughts. In fact, my reaction is a little more: "No fair!" and "Do you even LIKE kids or do you just like having something to blog about?" and "You are ALWAYS going to win, aren't you? Because you have a crazy conservative Mormon family, and a precocious daughter with bizarre tendencies, this oddly mellow husband who is that character on the sitcom you only see every six episodes or so, one borderline autistic dog who secretly wants to run off and join the circus, one completely crazy dog who likes to roll in his own feces, and even an adorable stupid fish that won't seem to die, and IT'S JUST NOT FAIR!!!!!!"

Why am I freaking out about my lack of life right now? Well first of all, though most of you are incredibly kind and don't pressure me to blog more in the actual comments, those of you who know me do tend to pressure me in real life. And when you ask why I haven't blogged in so long, all I hear is, "Sheesh you're boring lately" and this must be true because...

...as Tara so kindly put it last night, "You surf, watch football, read books and drink wine. I've got you all figured out."

And then, just to prove her wrong, I drove to Vegas, danced on the bar, got married to a male stripper who hates Elvis, and ran off to the jungles of Africa from where I am now blogging while wearing only a loin cloth and several new piercings. Except not really. Instead, I laughed sadly, went back to my beige apartment, climbed under my white down comforter, and fell asleep reading my book.

Stories from Work OR "It's Amazing I Have a Still Have a Job"

Co-worker to my boss: Doesn't it concern you that daisy's out in the water with sharks?

Boss: Yes, but you know what REALLY concerns me? That our users are 217% MORE likely than the average person to google genital herpes. I mean she's a single girl...

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I twitter: It wasn't a shark. It wasn't a comet. Apparently I am the girl dudes like to fuck with in the water. It still was a kick ass sunset though.

And my (one of my) favorite VP(s) immediately IMs me: I had to go back and re-read your twitter to make sure i caught that important preposition.

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Co-workers chatting about me in a meeting I'm not in:

"daisy links to her blog from her Team Vox posts."

"Surely not her TypePad blog!"

"No. I don't think even I am allowed to read that."

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Company Anniversary Party

I have a few drinks while chatting with our users and decide to draw this masterpiece on the white board wall in our largest conference room:

   
Please note: "Pile of barf" on the bottom left and the fact that she is double-fisting. Also, the big "DO NOT ERASE" above her head.

Sadly, despite several attempts after realizing the big "GO NINERS" might give away the artist, she actually DOES NOT fully erase and her outline remains on the conference room white board to this day.

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All-Company Meeting Discussing Recent Layoffs: 4 p.m.

A long, somber, awkwardly quiet meeting after an incredibly difficult and sad day. CEO asks, "Who could use a beer?"

I throw my hand up with a quickness that can only be likened to a gunslinging cowboy in the Wild West. Then look around and realize I am the only one in the room who has responded with such enthusiasm.

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I think there's only one word to use here. Say it with me... Oopsie!

"Your Love," by The Outfield is a REALLY Good Song.

My entire life, whenever I've complained about lack of attention from boys, or the fact that I'm never approached by dudes, or that I go to parties and not one guy talks to me, my friends have always offered up the same excuse: "You're intimidating."

And I'm just going to admit this here and now. I always thought that was total bullshit. After all, I'm NOT intimidating. I'm the girl who will challenge to you one-on-one flip cup, order a round of shots, or throw her hands up in total glee when Bon Jovi comes on the juke box. I watch football, have no problem discussing ball sacks and like a good bacon cheeseburger just as much as a perfectly medium rare filet mignon.

All of that being said, I was told by an actual boy recently, a boy who apparently likes me, that I am, in fact, intimidating.

And when I pressed him for further details, this is what he came up with:

"You're really pretty, really cool, and, you know, older."

I'd elaborate on this further, but I need to go change my Depends. Adult incontinence is so inconvenient.

Also, he looked like Steve Young.

When I lived in New York, I was lucky enough to date The Nicest Boy Ever. Seriously, you may think your significant other is nice when he makes you dinner AND does the dishes, but The Nicest Boy Ever blows him out of the water. He'd take me on trips to the zoo (Central Park AND Brooklyn), make me apple martinis (with maraschino cherries), go to Yankees/Red Sox games with me and not pick fights (he was from Boston), and help me make important decisions on shopping trips to Bendels. When he lost his job, he not only made my lunch every morning, he walked with me to the subway. You know, just so we could spend more time together. Seriously. Nicest. Boy. Ever.

So you can imagine my shock when he was in town a few weeks ago and I had dinner with him and his friends to find out that his friends are blood-sucking (and not in the good way) cold-hearted Conservatives. Not only was I "accused" of actually liking Gavin Newsom (Oh! The horror!), being FOR gay marriage, and thinking that welfare is an acceptable government service even though clearly it only encourages poor people to mooch off of tax payers, I was also told that I was the worst kind of liberal there was... I was WAAAAAAAAAYYYYYY to the left. (I wonder if his friend said this because when asked if I was for gay marriage, I said, "As far as I'm concerned, a person can marry his god damn dog if he loves him enough!") Oh, and by the way, did you know that Saddam Hussein was TOTALLY responsible for September 11th and that the war in Iraq is completely justified? I feel so silly now that I attended all those protests!

The conversation was clearly heated and emotional (fine, I was emotional; the friends were stoic and unrepetetent), but throughout it all, The Nicest Boy Ever just urged us to stop talking about politics and move on. After all, he's The Nicest Boy Ever, and he would say just that.

The Nicest Boy Ever assured me that he does NOT always vote Republican (he and his friends are in finance/market type work), but I realized yesterday that I wasn't sure whom he was voting for. So I asked.

And turns out... The boy who found a signed copy of the first book I read as a child for my Christmas present, who showed up at my job in the middle of the afternoon and left treats for me with the receptionist, who dealt with all of my temper tantrums and brattiness, who played countless games of Yahtzee with me, who cooked me dinner more times than I can count...

He is voting for John McCain.

Would you like to know WHY?

"His lofty ideas are just leading to false hopes."

I blog about this only to remind you that tomorrow is the culmination of the Biggest Election of Our Lives. And though you may THINK your friends and family are voting for Obama - because after all - you hang out with smart, kind, wonderful people - you may actually be surrounded by intelligent, compassionate, motivated republicans. And aren't those the scariest kind of all?