Saturday, July 17, 2010


Let me set the scene:

I’m at Wal-Mart standing in the checkout lane waiting for a Mexican midget* to pay for his fishing lures (seriously – I can’t make this stuff up!). I’m nonchalantly leaning on the cart, clad in knit Capri pants and an oversized t-shirt. Now I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t look my best. It was hot and I had hastily pulled my hair back in a messy ponytail. I’m not exactly what you’d call “skinny” or “of a healthy weight” either but I’m no cow, and if I died tomorrow it would not require the use of a crane to lift me out of my house, nor would I have to be buried in a grand piano crate.

Anyway, at one point I happened to turn my head to the side and witnessed a kid about 15 or 16 two aisles over who was aiming his cell phone camera in my direction – actually , right at me. Upon my turning towards him he embarrassedly flipped his phone shut and put it in his pocket.

I checked behind me in the line of his aim and determined that I had to have been his intended target. My internal sense of self loathing caused my heart to race and my palms to sweat. Would I be the next entry on People of Wal Mart? It seemed unlikely. After all, none of my excessive folds of flesh were hanging out, my butt crack was not exposed, I was not wearing leopard, zebra, or giraffe print, no cleavage was visible and I was not accompanied by a pimp.

I turned to my husband who at that time just walked up to me, told him the particulars of this kid’s behavior and said, “Do you think he was taking a picture of me?”

And do you know what he said? Well, just for fun, let’s first go over what SHOULD have happened. He should have scoffed, put his arm around me and said, “Of course not. Why would he? Unless of course he wanted a picture of the pertiest girl in the store!” (for some reason he should have turned into a redneck - a redneck with a heart of gold, but still – maybe because we WERE in a Wal-Mart).

At the very least he could have said, “Nah, he was probably aiming for the Mexican midget in front of us.”

But that’s not what he said. Instead he shrugged and said,”Probably” and then engrossed himself in the checkout lane magazine rack. The ONLY good thing I can say in his defense is that he did send the kid a couple menacing glares. But still “Probably?, PROBABLY! Probably?”

Sure he couldn’t have been aware of “the crazy” going through my head at that point, but what other reason does anyone take a picture of a stranger with their cell phone than to ridicule it? How could my husband think this wouldn’t damage me irreparably on a mental and emotional level? “Probably!?”

Will he be catching hell for this for the rest of his life? PROBABLY

(* In no way or form do I intend any disrespect to “little people” in this post. I use the term “midget” which I believe is no longer politically correct, but I’m too big of a fan of alliteration, and “Mexcican little person” (or would it be “little Mexican person”?) just isn’t as much fun as “Mexican Midget”. Oh and I mean no disrespect to Mexicans either, or to people who like to fish, with lures, or with midgets, or just with Mexicans in general . . . I don’t know that I’m making this any better, perhaps I should stop now.)

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Strong Enough for a Man, or a Woman Who Runs Out of Her Own

I ran out of deodorant a couple days ago and I'm either too lazy or too busy (this distinction depends on whether I'm feeling self-loathing or self-justified) to go to the store and get some.

I've been using my husband's in the mean time. The problem though is that it's AXE deodorant and therefore I've had to strap my arms to my sides so as not to cause a stampede of highly attractive women every time they get a whiff of my pits.

I slipped up yesterday at work and raised my arms to pull my hair up in a ponytail and before I knew it, half the Human Resources department was in my cubicle. I had to beat them off with a stick, which was actually quite cathartic.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

I'm Baaaack, and unable to dispatch the undead

Okay, so I know nobody is reading this blog anymore, and why would you? I haven't posted on here for a year for God's sake. If you're still checking this thing for content then you really ought to get some form of a life. Join a gym, start collecting taxidermied animal parts or stalk a celebrity or something because that's just sad.

The reasons I stopped posting were many and justified, but who cares right? The point is I missed this blog. I thought I would be fine with my other creative outlets but I'm not. I can't cuss on them first of all, nor can I relate things such as this:

I tried to kill a vampire in my dream last night. I kept stabbing him over and over again with an orange colored pencil (it was all I could find that was stake-like) but I couldn't seem to locate his heart and I just kept thinking, "Jesus Christ, I've got to be close to it right, maybe nicked an artery or something!" and then he walked away and came at me from another angle and I got behind him and started stabbing his back thinking I could pierce his heart from the back but nothing was happening.

So I start thinking maybe I'm stabbing the wrong side of him and then I'm looking down at my own chest and re-enacting placing my hand over my heart for the national anthem - you know to refresh my memory and make sure the heart is on the left and then I'm doing the whole, okay, so do I stab his left or my left and then I realize "Stupid bitch you're both facing the same direction, keep stabbing him on the left!". Thankfully he stood patiently and waited for me to figure it out.

Then as I'm stabbing in vain, another vampire comes into the room but I don't have to stab him because he's my roomate's boyfriend (don't ask me where the roomate came from she just appeared when vampire 2 showed up but in my dream this seemed normal). So the guy I'm stabbing sees that this vamp is co-existing with us humans and he realizes that he can shake off the societal shackles of his species predatory nature and doesn't have to suck me dry and then he's all like, "I know you've just attempted to kill me at least 50 times, but let's put all that behind us and make out."

Now first of all I'm just really frustrated because I've always thought that stabbing would be my thing right. I've always felt that if I had to kill someone I'd be pretty adept with a dagger you know. Don't ask me why it's just a thing I have okay. I don't actually plan on stabbing anyone so chill. So there I was unable to even stake a vampire who's just standing still and letting me stab him repeatedly. It was demoralizing really but I rationalized that the fault lay in my implement rather than my skill alone. A colored pencil really shouldn't have been my weapon of choice. After all shouldn't vampires be staked with wood? And while there is obviously wood in a colored pencil is there really enough? Did the fault lie in the fact that I was impaling him with colored graphite (or whatever colored pencils are made of) instead of a nice sturdy sharpened stick? I concluded that it was so and then felt perfectly at ease taking him up on his offer of making out. Which by the way is really awkward when fangs are involved.

And it was at that point that I woke up and realized that I've been watching way too much True Blood.

See. Where else am I going to be able to express something like that? Maybe a psychiatrist's office but I don't have the time nor the adequate health coverage for that - and hence the Rambling Amy blog is officialy back up and running.

Now I can't guarantee I'll be posting incredibly often but I shall try my best and if anyone is still reading or starts reading, I'd like to apologize in advance for the crap you're going to have to scroll through.