You Be The Judge

The sign above was posted on FailBlog.org recently (hence the big red 'FAIL' in the top right-hand corner). In my opinion, it was posted incorrectly. This is so a WIN, FailBlog!

My Argument:

Point #1: It's not a mistake, you idiots. It's humor. WIN.

Point #2: It's humor...on a Church of Christ sign. We don't usually have a sense of humor! (Or, those of us that do are asked to hide it as much as possible.) True? Yes. WIN.

Point #3: My fiance thinks he came up with the phrase 'Rocket Surgery.' And made my parents laugh with it. And that small display of humor my just be the reason they are paying for this wedding. So...this sign makes my fiance a trendsetter! WIN.

Maybe I'll start WinBlog.org with this picture.

And this one:

UPDATE: I'm too late. There's already a WinBlog.org. And that picture is on page 2. Now I have to submit a picture of myself to FailBlog. Crap.

UPDATED: I'm Sorry KJ

*Disclaimer: The following is full and complete Mandy sarcasm. Kevin knows I love him.

KJ was the first person to make a comment about my 13 day blog absence. This tells me one thing: He's the only one who cares. He very rudely meanly nicely stated: "New blog plz. I need to know what's going on in your life without asking you directly."

And so, my dear friend, this post is for you:

Dear KJ,

I am so sorry I've been gone. Even though I know all to well that you need my words of wisdom and hilarity for your simple, meaningless life to mean something, I chose to remove myself from your reading pleasure. I'm sorry. Perhaps some explanation and begging of your forgiveness will suffice? Please note: These are not excuses. I simply feel that you deserve an explanation for my absence.

First of all, I am so sorry that today is my last day at Waddell & Reed. Between packing up my desk, training my replacement and saying teary goodbyes to the best bosses and coworkers I've ever had, I should've taken into account your starvation for my wit. What was I thinking? Can you ever forgive me? I'm so sorry.

Next, I must also apologize for the season. How dare I place Christmas shopping for my family and another family above your need for my words? That was just so rude of me. Next year, they will all get e-cards so that I don't have to leave my keyboard for even one second. Because you are that important to me. I'm sorry I didn't show that this year. Candy cane?

And finally, my biggest apology: I'm so so SO incredibly sorry, KJ, that my grandmother passed away only a few hours after I wrote that last post. I'm sorry that she was my favorite and I hers. I'm sorry that we had to wait until my uncle got back from China a full week later before we could have the funeral. I'm sorry I drove 11 hours through the night after working a full day so I could be in Lubbock for the funeral only to turn around and come right back less than 24 hours later because I could not take any more time off from my two jobs. It was rude of me to not find a short balance between the emotional and physical exhaustion and stress to sit down and write something that would make you and my other readers laugh hysterically. And it was even more rude of me to not feel like laughing. Perhaps I'm sick. Either way, I'm sorry.

Again, I do not offer these explanations in an attempt to gain your sympathy. I do not deserve that. I simply hope these explanations of my absence help to extract your forgiveness my friend. My hope, prayer and Christmas wish is that, one day, you'll find it in your heart to forgive me for the depression you must have faced over these last two weeks. I'm so sorry.

Sincerely,

Mandy

Ok, Fine. I Agree With You, KJ. I'd Be Hot If I Was Someone Else

Apparently, my readers are not ammused by my low-self esteem posts. What's up with that? Friends, this is an attempt to make you all feel better about yourself. My hope is that, if you look in the mirror someday and don't like what you see, perhaps you'll say to yourself, "Well, at least I don't have to go on a face diet." And you don't. You're beautiful.

I, on the other hand, am a whopping 25 points below the average person on the official Asian hotness scale. In America, that means I'm practically a fungus. Amungus. Haha! Ok, I'm done.

But, fear not, loyal reader(s)! There is hope for this unfortunate looking woman child yet. One of my most favoritest friends has made yet another attempt to show me that I have nothing to be concerned about.

KJ has the uncanny ability to see me in the most oddest of places. Namely, on other peoples faces.* Over the years, I've been told by this friend that I look somewhat like the following:

Mary Shannon

What's that? You don't know who Mary Shannon is?! Yeah, me neither.

Apparently she is on the USA show In Plain Sight. She plays the ahem freakin hot witness protection agent assigned to keep all these important people from gettin dead. And she does. So I hear.

Anyway, KJ told me once that this chick reminds him of me. Why? Well, apart from the fact that I never wear brown and it would take one heck of a bra to give me that kind of figure, apparently its a tie between her hair and her amazing ability to make men do anything she says just by pointing a gun at them. Have you ever seen me hold a gun? It's intimidating awesome so cool scary. And I guess that does it for some guys.

Unfortunately, this dream will never come true for KJ because I don't like guns. Unless you're a creeper planning on breaking into my room late at night in which case, I have 7 under my pillow.

Anna Torv

If you're saying to yourself, "Mary Shannon, ha! More like Molly Shannon!" you're right. And it's all downhill from here.

KJ just recently told me that this gorgeous young lady also reminds him of me. Again, citing the hair. (Though I'm pretty sure the last time I saw him my hair was about 6 inches shorter and 3 shades darker.) That's why I like KJ. He remembers the good 'ole days.

Anyway, Anna Torv plays the role of Special Agent Olivia Dunham in the new Fox TV show Fringe. She apparently has Marine Corps, FBI experience and is a little bitter thanks to some unknown betrayal. See a pattern here? KJ has a thing for blondes with guns and a bad attitude. But KJ, I only have 1.5 out of 3.

Needed: One freakin hot chick with a gun and vendetta, who secretly just needs to be held by a loving, funny, really cool dude. Redheads need not apply.

Princess Peach

And here's the doozie. But, believe it or not, KJ is not the only person who has referenced Mario's lost love as my lost twin.

Perhaps it's, again, due the the hair (not even close). Perhaps it's the fact that she's a Princess and, in case you didn't know, I am too. Or, perhaps it's due to the fact that scary monster-type creatures like to kidnap her and she's always waiting on some short, chubby plumber and his stupid brother to jump over the fire balls and weird long-necked turtles and stop rescuing wannabes. I'm just sayin.

Oh well. There are worst female gaming characters to be compared too. At least I got the modest, high-necked dress, gloves and dress to the floor chick. He could've said I remind him of Lora Croft and I would've had to have him committed. She's not even blonde.

So, what exactly am I supposed to infer from all of this? All of these beautiful, fictional characters remind KJ of me. And, by his definition, in a good way. This is supposed to make me feel better about my 35% hotness, right? Well KJ, it doesn't. You totally fail. Why? Because I don't carry a gun. And I don't ever want to be in the military. And, other than that one time, I've never thrown a turtle shell at the driver in front of me hoping to knock him off a cliff. I'm just a plain 'ole assistant with fading blonde hair who drives 80 miles an hour on the highway in a black Jeep. Sorry to disapp...wait a sec, that last part is kinda hot.

Note to self: NEVER sell the Jeep. Thanks, Kev!


*Whoa, that rhymed. My bad.

Smiling = Ugly

Text conversation I had with Romeo this morning:

Him: How are you feeling this morning?

Me: Well I was feeling pretty blah but I just read a comment on my blog that made my day.

Him: What was it?

Me: Remember that post about the face analyzer that said I was ugly? The creator commented.

Him: The creator? What did he say?

Me: "I am Rhee SC, BAPA developer. You seems to landmark facial point or fiducials incorrectly. The calculated attractiveness in general, 60-90 for average peoples. You'd better try to analyze your face with more standardized photo and follow guiding description for better define facial landmark. Thanks."

Him: Haha, nice. Why did that make your day?

Me: It gave me something to blog about.

Though, I gotta tell ya, I'm not completely sure what to blog about. Nothing about that comment really makes me look good. I mean, according to him (or her), I'm not the 25 points BELOW the average on the attractiveness scale.

Instead, I'm so freakin dense I can't even figure out simple "put that pointer here and click" instruction. Is that supposed to be better than being ugly? It's not really working out all that well for Jessica Simpson.

And what does "standardized photo" mean exactly?* I thought it just meant "try and keep people out of the picture that are prettier than you."

Sigh.


*UPDATE: I went back and read the instructions a little further on the site (pardon my moment of male-ness) and wouldn't you know it, there's a link for good tips of a "standardized photo." Tip #2: "Your face is relaxed and lips are closed smoothly." So, that explains the lip index issue. Too bad I don't own a single photo of me without either my mouth wide open or flashing those pearly whites. So basically, if I could keep my big mouth shut, I'd be freakin gorgeous.

I Won't Really Burn Your House Down

John (a coworker): What are you eating?! That smells horrible!

Nicole (my boss): It's pea soup. Nutritious and tastes just like cat vomit. Want some?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I guess no one cares about my injury last week. Or you were just too shocked and appalled by the intensity of it to comment. Or you hate elephants. Rude. If you're going to hate large mammals, you should hate camels. They stink and spit and are uncomfortable at Jewish bar mitzvahs.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Romeo and I visited the great state of Kentucky last weekend (by way of Tennessee). Two states I've never been to before and am looking forward to returning to. The people there are nice and have accents that make me seem smarter than I really am. I like that.

Romeo met his new family (the Western Kentucky University men's basketball coaching staff) and I got to shop a little and enjoy the fantastiosity of not having to work 2 jobs for 4 whole days. Glory was mine.

Due to his amazingness, Romeo and I got prime seats at the game that Saturday where, for the entire first half of the game, I got to stare at this:


Annoying. But, luckily for me, there was a student in the stands who decided that he was the WKU Pep Squad and spent the entire second half utilizing the power he must've received from drinking 28 cans of Red Bull during halftime:

Awesome.

Other than that, Romeo and I relaxed as much as possible. Here are some candid photos of your favorite couple from the game and Date Night in Nashville:

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In other news, my birthday was last weekend. If you forgot to tell me "Happy Birthday," you have exactly 24 hours before I burn your house down.

I Don't Even Know Any Elephants

So yesterday starts out just like any other day. I get up (reluctuantly), shower, get ready for work, curse under my breath at the idiots who somehow don't know you can't merge if you're not moving, and arrive at work to find that I'm completely bossless. Thinking to myself, "well today will be boring but good, hurray" I sit in my chair and open my bottom desk drawer to put my purse in its usual daily spot. As I'm straightening back up from my stooped over position, my body convulses in one of those "no warning, I'm just here to freak you out" sneezes. These sneezes are normally harmless enough because they come on so quickly you don't have time to attempt to hold them in and risk your eyeballs getting popped right out of their sockets. But this sneeze destroyed me. It was not the fact that I never work out and my body was just waiting to completely break down. Or the fact that I'm turning 26 on Sunday, enabling me to fully embrace the nickname Granny Moo. It was only the position I was in that allowed a 2 ton elephant to kick me right in the back and then dance the Mashed Potato on it while I grabbed my desk and screamed in horror "WHY GOD WHY?!?!"

Ok, that last part actually only happened in my brain. Except for the elephant part. That was real. Except he was doing the Cha-Cha.

So now, for the past 24 hours, I've been dealing with the stares you get when you look like you have a giant fishhook shoved right up your rectum. Not the stares you get when you actually do. Those are more stares of horror and disgust and trying to figure out what you were fishing for. The ones I'm getting are the ones you get when people are thinking "she must have really bad hemorrhoids." And at this point, I wish I did. Actually, I shouldn't say that 'cause I don't really know what hemorrhoids feel like. It could feel like an elephant doing the Cha-Cha on my ovaries and, if that's the case, I think I'd rather have it on my back. If I knew how to do the Cha-Cha, I may even join in. But I don't. Think he'd switch to the Macarena? That one, I know.

PS - It just occurred to me that if the elephant is doing the Macarena, that wouldn't hurt my back as much as the Cha-Cha because you don't really use your feet all that much. And I wanna get the most for my money to keep him from Boot Scootin' over to my ovaries. Maybe we could do the Elictric Slide. I know that one too.

PPS - No one even said "God bless you." That's what really hurts.