There was a young woman who lived with her shoes

My name is Tiffany, and I have a problem. I love shoes. Fabulous, wonderful, fun shoes. Since the whole S.A.D. fiasco I have been obsessed with ogling Dansko clogs. I love them. They are the best shoes for my feet. I wear them to work virtually every day.

Yes, I know Dansko gave me a new pair, as well as a pair of kick-ass sandals. I also know that I purchased a few additional pairs I found while hunting for another pink pair (which, by the way, I found.) And when I say a few pairs, I mean "Don't you judge me."

Today, these arrived. I picked them up from the apartment complex office at lunch time. I took them back to work to show them off. (I also plan on wearing them to my dental appointment tomorrow to help me feel better.)

I showed them to a patient who knew the whole story.

Her advice? "Don't ride your bike in them."

Smart ass.

Sooooo, Dansko Idol didn't turn out exactly as planned. As in, my Dansko Angel wrote today to let me know that there wasn't a pair of embroidered loden felt clogs in my size at the warehouse. See what happens when I use my clebrity to pimp shoes? Everyone rushes out to get them. Sigh. Apparently, some clogs have a season. I, of course, say BAH! HUMBUG!!! And then I say, "Oh well, I guess I was destined to own plum suede clogs then. Good thing my shopping compulsion didn't get the best of me (yet). Size 40, please." (I always mean to say please.) Do you hear my Dansko Angel laughing?

Do you know what else I say? My Dansko Earth Neve Sandals will be here in time to go to Vegas! Vegas, baby, YEAH!!!!! See Goose and Other Goose go shows, go to spas, go shopping... Oh, it's going to be loverly!!!!

My body is recovering from the shock of 2.5 hours of physical activity (read as: hard-core volleyball, including jumping, diving, rolling, and pulling off Matrix-shit never seen in Victoria, VA, before) and I even made it to the gym tonight. I owe my little old ladies this level of bad-ass. Today, they were all proud.

I'm out of bed.

My body hurts.

Knees black and blue.

I can barely lift the coffee pot.

Thank g*d I'm schedule to go into work at 9 instead of 8 this morning. I need every extra minute I can get.

I hope I get invited next week.

Ouch

I just finished playing 2.5 hours of volleyball for the first time in almost 2 years.

My back is already achy. My knees hurt. My forearms are swelled twice their size.

I hope Pooh King can push me out of the bed in the morning.

(image from PostSecret)

I am one lazy sack of nothing today. I feel like I've been on the couch the whole day. It's rainy and dreery outside. I hate cold, wet days. We got a few flakes of snow in Farmville this morning. I was walking the dog at 8am, trying to catch the 4 snowflakes in my vicinity on my tongue. Then it warmed up enough to turn the snow into rain. And it has been raining since.


I had to stop myself from going to (evil) Wal-Mart just to have something to do. It's one of those days where if I had gone to Wal-Mart, I probably would have come home with $200 worth of crap, and at least 3 different kinds of ice cream.


Instead, in the past 11 hours I have managed to watch 2 movies, vaccuum, do dishes, do laundry, send a few emails, go to the gym, and make a few phone calls. ***Ooooooh, I forgot to mention that I painted my toenails, too.***


Wait. That's a fair bit of stuff up there. Maybe I'm not a lazy sack of nothing after all. Nope, but definitely a sack of something.

My dog farts.

Bad.

Vegoose

I forgot to mention that I'm going to Vegas with Other Goose and Wacky (aka Mitzi and Mikey). I failed to realize that it's only 2 weeks away! Whoo hooo!!!!!!

Oh, so much to do, so much to do! I already have airline tickets and the pet sitter. Now I need tickets to a show and some spa appointments. I'm going to lurve Vegoose this time around.

assaulted

Sometimes, I make poor choices. Like tonight, for example.

I was the speaker at a chronic pain support group. In honor of this, I decided to have some KFC for dinner so I could avoid having to cook and could have some down time before I went to the meeting. Don't you judge me.

When I pulled in, I was ready to do my behind-the-shades-I'm-sooooo-not-here run through the drive-thru. There were 7 cars in line, and no one inside. I pulled into a parking spot. I walked in and straight up to the register. I started to place my order, and felt something slowly glide up my arm. I was getting felt up at KFC. I turned to my left to confront Mr. Greasy McGreaserson, and nearly lost an eye.

I was being felt up by a mop handle. The KFC girl was mopping and not paying a bit of attention. The ladies behind the counter screamed. I screamed. The girl jumped and pulled the mop handle away about 1/4 inch before I lost my left eye.

And here's the best part...

Her name? Wait for it, wait for it...

TETRIS.

That is a true story.

And the winners are...

Loden felt won in the clog category. My inner-Elvis TOTALLY wanted the purple suede ones, but the inner-adult (who are we kidding, the "child" is running this show) won out and chose the pair that will be most versatile. I won't deny harboring thoughts of ordering the purple suede Danskos when my tax refund comes.
Earth Neve won in the "other" category. I figure, I've never had a Dansko sandal, and it's about time I try it out. Besides, I'll be spending a good portion of the summer in Alliance, Nebraska, and they probably haven't seen such a fancy shoe out there! My Dansko Angel got to pre-market test this style, and gave them the stamp of approval. You know what I say? If my Dansko Angel approves them, I'm going to be wearing a pair.

And, just to show how insanely popular I've become, I'd like to point out that Scotty wants to be just like me. Here he says he didn't know about the SAD fiasco, but I think he has shoe envy. It may be shoe envy for Mikey, but still.

While we're at it, let's all wave to the Dansko folks who are lurking over there in the corner. (*TK waves and does a high kick*) Don't worry Dansko people, me love-a you long time. LeAnne told on you and now I know that I have become something of a minor celebrity at Dansko. (Life goal: Become a minor celebrity. Check.) Apparently, they're as amused by me as the rest of you are!

*shakes her head in disbelief*

And, just so you know, I may soon be involved in a super top-secret mission at Dansko. I'd tell you what it is, but I'd have to kick you with my fabulous shoes.

And by the way, hey peppy birdlegs, Scotty. Glad you got shoes, and better yet, DANSKOs!

True conversation

voicemail (oompa-loompa ringtone)
Audra Dorito: TK, Call me when you get the chance.

voicemail
TK: Audra Dorito, I'm calling you back. And by the way, if you're calling to tell me you're pregnant, I'm psychic. (See, I had a dream where she had another baby.)

ring, ring (Willy Nelson singing "On the Road Again")
TK: Hello Audra Dorito.
AD: Did you just tell me that you're pregnant so I'd call you back faster?
TK: No. I asked if you were pregnant. But it's good to know that telling you I'm pregnant would work if I needed you to call me back quickly. Are you pregnant?
AD: No!
TK: Then I guess I'm not psychic.


BTW... that's an even funnier conversation since ain't no way in hell I'm knocked up. Just sayin'.

Dansko Shoe Idol

Alright moppets, here's what you need to do. Much like I needed you to help during Hair Idol (remember back in September/October when I was picking the proper hair for a groom's-maid?), I need you to help me pick my new Dansko shoes! You can vote for one pair from this post and one pair from the last post. (Note: All photos lifted straight from Dansko's website.) I'm to choose one pair of clogs, and one pair from any other Dansko line. Votes must be in by noon on Monday, as I've promised LeAnne the Dansko Angel that I would pick by then. I've narrowed it down to the following, and now you have to help!!!!




Coral Della







earth Neve








Raspberry suede Fran







Red Rose

Shoe Idol, part 2

The Clog Contenders



Black patent leather










Loden felt with leafy embroidery stuff






Plum suede

SAD flowers that made me happy

Flowers from my Poppy! Flowers from my Poppy!

Before you ask... Yes, that is my desk at work. Yes, that is a black velvet top hat in the upper left corner. Don't you judge me.

Dansko, me love you long time!

I just lost an ENTIRE post. One that took an hour to write. Summonabitch!

Anyway, this is a more abbreviated, yet still enthusiastic rendition...

I went to work today and told my sad, sad story. SuperK pulled me to her side, patted me on the head, and said "I knew those shoes were too powerful for you. They changed the way you walk. They were too powerful. It was like they were the big leagues, and you're still playing in the bush league. Po' lil' fella." I re-enacted the whole event over and over, including the forward flip over the handlebars, the superman-style fall, and the sliding-into-home-plate position. I even pointed out how the position ruined my shoes. It was hysterical. My coworkers laughed and cried. My patients just laughed. I mostly just cried.

I checked my email for a Dansko response with an OCD-style precision a crack whore would have envied. I'm pretty sure "the man" is going to cut off my internet access tomorrow. It's not like I was surfing porn. This is all for the greater good of shoes. You'd think "the man" would understand, but only if "the man" is "the woman". Boys are dumb, throw rocks at them.

Then, it came. Like a gift from Shoe Heaven, my Dansko angel arrived.

Hi Tiffany,
That is not how Valentines Day was supposed to go! You're supposed to fall in love with your clogs and live happily ever after! That was my plan! Honest! All I wanted to do was ramble off into the sunset in my fuchsia Dansko Professional clogs!
Thanks for writing in with such an entertaining blog. aaaawww, shucks. I have to admit that you would be getting an email whether you wrote into us or not. Please don't take away my shoes for being stupid and committing shoe-murder. We pay close attention the blogs that mention Dansko, we love to hear from our fans and take your comments to heart. I should write about my shoes more often.

This morning I stumbled on your blog Whaaa? Didn't you get my form? and about half way through your story, I decided we had to contact you, something we normally don't do. It made me laugh and it made my cry me too, especially the crying part (those poor clogs!). Thank you for feeling my pain! It's more than Tire-boy did. I scrolled down to the bottom and saw that you already had contacted customer service! She read my blog before customer service got the form! Do you have some fuchsia shoe polish?

Talking to our CS Manager, I find out that practically the whole team has read your blog I am famous! and have been searching ever since for size 40 Fuchsia clogs. Cheese and rice! There is hope! Here's where I have to break the bad news uh-oh...… we stopped making the Fuchsia Latigo Professional and it has been impossible to get Noooooooooooooooooo!!!!, I was surprised in reading your blog that you found a pair. I guess some days the shoe gods smile upon me. They are very scarce and we have not been able to find one in a 40, yet. I do apologize for that. Thank you for trying. *wipes small tear from eye*
Now, this is where we attempt to save the day! Whaaaa??? Take a look at www.dansko.com and pick TWO pairs of shoes, O.M.G. Is this a joke? (quickly looks around to see if any cameras can be spotted, waves at heating vent just in case there's one hidden in there) Pick out a pair of clogs to replace the ones you lost in battle and then shop our other collections and pick a pair from those. Wait a minute... You're telling me that because I was stupid and rode my bike in my brand new fuchsia latigo Danskos and ruined them when I fell for a stupid boy (who didn't even care about the shoes), that you're going to give me TWO pairs of shoes? If you think our clogs are comfortable, wait until you get into our other collections! We have some very cute styles for Spring. I've looked at the site, people. My head almost exploded. Picking two is going to take a while! My flinstone feet are going to L-O-V-E me!
Thanks for taking time to tell your story and write in to us.
I hope we can get you back into Dansko asap! I heart Dansko.

In clogs we trust, Amen.

LeAnne (from here on to be known as My Dansko Angel.)
PS - I like John Denver too. Shhhhh I won't tell, but I'm totally putting it on the blog.

This email came just after lunch. My favorite patient, Mr. E, was pedaling away on the bike getting warmed up before his reassessment. I literally ran, screaming "aaaah-aaaaah-aaaaah-aaaaah" from my office, through the gym, past Mr. E, into the lunch room. I made everyone run back to the office so they could read the letter. They screamed. We linked arms and jumped up and down in a big circle. Well, it wasn't quite that jubilent, but we were all pretty darn giddy. No one quite believed it, so I kept pinching them to show them it was real.

Did you get all that? There is a company out there who keeps their finger on the pulse of public opinion, is concerned with the quality of their product, is compassionate toward a girl who should wear a helmet at all times, and provides excellent customer service. As a bonus, they happen to sell shoes. Good shoes. Fun shoes. Shoes that make my Bedrock-Babies sing at the end of the day as though they had just gotten started. It's unbelievable, really. Now, if I can only get them to bring fuchsia back.

I now worship at the foot of Dansko.

Get it? Do you get it? The "foot" of Dansko? Ba-da-bump!!!! Seriously, is this thing on?

Dear Poppy,

I got my flowers. I heart them. I will post a picture tomorrow. You are the best.

Love,
T

I fell for him on S.A.D.

Okay. This is all true. The names of the innocent have been changed, everyone else is named by name.

To tell this story, I have to tell that story. So folks, go get a snack and a glass of wine (I have a glass of Big Ass Chardonnay), this is going to take a few minutes...

Let's start with last week...

Last week, Mini-Me had to get some work done on her truck. Specifically, she needed to have her tires checked. Preferring (like me) to support local business instead of Wally World, she chose our local joint, Newman Tire Company. (BTW, I bought Tough Lucy's new tires at NTC when I got back from Jamaica... not at WalMart. Also BTW, Paper Boy used to be their shop manager, so he knows the character in this story. And all he did was laugh and laugh when these two stories happened.)

Newman's did right by me, and they did right by Mini-me. They picked up Mini-Me's truck(try getting Wally to do that). They investigated her leaky tire situation. Diagnosis? She did not need new tires, she just needed new valve stems. The whole problem was leaky valve stems. So instead of a few hundred bucks, she got out of that deal with her wallet intact. When they called to discuss the situation, the manager (we'll call him Michael... 'cause that's his name) started hitting on her. She laughed and told him she didn't think her husband (who's really a boyfriend, but she wasn't going to even go there), myJohn, would like her going out on a date with him. Did this stop the guy though? Say it with me girls... NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! He kept right on going. When he delivered the truck back to the clinic (try getting Wally to do that!) he hands Mini-Me his card and says "If you need anything, just give me a call." On the back of the card, he has written his personal cell number and to give him a call if she needs anything... *wink wink* Poor Michael. He just didn't get it. Mini-Me + myJohn = not-interested-in-Michael.

So I told you that story so I could tell you this story...

Fast forward to today. (and take a potty break, or get a refill if you need to)

My fuschia latigo Dansko shoes arrive in the mail. (Props to Mom and Gram for their birthday $ contribution to my newest fun work shoes!) I wear all black (as promised) to work, but with the caveat of my NEW fuschia shoes.

I get home and immediately take my dog out for his evening run. This means I opened the door, leashed Pooh King, grabbed my bike, and started pedaling... in my NEW fuschia shoes.

As I rounded the bottom of the apartment complex, this guy walking a lhasa apso (or however you spell it) starts talking to me. Now, I pass this guy a few nights a week, and he always says "hi" but tonight, he starts a full-on conversation. At this point, Pooh King loses his mind and runs right in front of my bike (right to left) to go confront the dude who is interrupting our run. I have to cram on the brakes to keep from running over him. I FLIP MYSELF OVER THE HANDLE BARS and land belly down, sliding-into-home-plate-style. I know... hail Tiffany full of grace. *shakes her head in disbelief... while still laying on the ground*

Dude: Oh, are you okay?
Me: Yes, I'm fine. (In head... f*ck, f*ck, f*ck! My NEW fuschia shoes!!!!! which, by the way, are severly scarred from the accident.)

Dude: Well, you fell gracefully.
Me: Sure. Thanks. (but my shoes! I've ruined my new fuschia shoes!)

(at this point, I feel the need to remind all of you that I'm still FACE DOWN ON THE GROUND!)

Dude: What are you doing tonight? I mean, after the ride.
Me: Avoiding the general public. (My new fuschia shoes!)

Dude: Where do you live?
Me: Far over in the other corner. (Oh, my poor, poor, innocent shoes!)

Dude: When did you move here?
Me: In August, and I'm moving away in April. I work short term contracts. (Seriously? Can't you see I hurt my shoes?)

Dude: Oh, what do you do? I'm the manager of Newman Tire Company. (Which he proceeds to work into the rest of the conversation about 4 more times.)
Me: I'm a physical therapist. I work for the hospital. (but no matter what, I can't help my shoes.)

Dude: I think I was over there the other day.
Me: (O.M.G. it's Michael!!!) Yes, I think you did some work on my friend's truck.

Dude: Yep, I sure did. (Does not know, or does not care that I know he hit on my friend.)
Me: That's what I heard. Okay, I have to go now. (gets on bike, broken shoes and all, and pedals away.)

Seriously? The guy was walking his lhasa apso in a short sleeved shirt. It's 35 degrees. He hit on me while I was face down on the ground. He didn't pick the bike up off of me. He didn't even inquire about my NEW FUSCHIA shoes. I couldn't possibly be with a man like that.

Then I ate my very own S.A.D. dinner. KFC original recipe. Don't you judge me.And the best part? My bottle of Big Ass Chardonnay. See? I wasn't joking.

Now I have to call Dansko and see if they make a fuschia shoe polish so I can sort-of save my NEW FUSCHIA shoes. Those are NOT flash reflections. That is the damage from my fall. Poor, poor shoes. They never saw it coming.

I literally fell for a guy on Valentine's Day. *shakes her head in disbelief*

That is a true story.

update: I just emailed Dansko's customer care center to ask if there was any way to save the shoes. I referenced the story and gave them the blog address if they wanted all the details. I should hear back within 3 days. Please keep my shoes in your thoughts.

true conversation

Me: Whatever, Mini-me. You did so.

Mini-Me: Well...uh, well... uh, (trying desperately to come up with a nickname for me.)

Me: I swear to god, if you call me "Supersize-Me" I will break you in half.

Boooooooooooooooooooooo...

Bah, humbug!!! Am not!

Your Candy Heart Says "First Kiss"

You're a true romantic who brings an innocent hope to each new relationship.You see the good in every person you date, and you relish each step of falling in love. Your ideal Valentine's Day date: a romantic dinner your sweetie cooks for you Your flirting style: friendly and sweet What turns you off: cynics who don't believe in romance Why you're hot: you always keep the romance alive

http://www.blogthings.com/whatdoesyourcandyheartsayquiz/">What Does Your Candy Heart Say?

T minus 24, and counting

We all know I hate Single's Awareness Day. It's a horrible day to be single. Even when I'm with someone, it doesn't turn out well. My friends can tell you the story of the FedEx gift basket my (then)beloved sent, only to inform me that he had also sent the exact same thing to his mother. Minus 1000, P, minus 1000. (Seriously, what was he thinking?) Anyway, I tend to wear all black, avoid the public like the plague, and drink excessively while crying into my tissue box about how life is unfair to single, successful, not-unattractive women. I see couples holding hands and I vomit a little in my mouth. No one is as miserable as I am. I make sure of that.

This year, I have to go see the doctor on SAD (the acronym is no joke) morning. The girly doctor. The appointment 99.9% of women dread all year long. The conversation went something like this...

Me: Oh, and I also need to schedule my annual girly visit.

Doctor's Office Lady (DOL from now on): Sure. Let's see... hmmmmmmmmmm, well, our next available appointment is on February 14 at 9:30am.

Me: Are you kidding? Is that a joke? Who in their right mind would have that appointment on that day? Single's Awareness Day? Cheese and rice!

DOL: Oh, right. Let's see, the next available appointment is April 20-something'th.

Me: Nope, that won't do at all. I won't be here in late April.

DOL: So you'll take the Feb. 14th appointment?

Me: I suppose. But tell him he'd better have a glass of wine, a piece of chocolate cake and a warm speculum waiting for me.

DOL: I'll see what I can do. Just remember, no sex for 24 hours prior to the visit.

Me: Oh, I don't see that as being a problem. (*smirks at DOL while shaking her head in disbelief)

I bet he doesn't even warm the speculum. And we all know there won't be cake. Or wine.

I hate Feb. 14th.

I think my honky-tonk broke my badonkadonk. Seriously.

Mini-Me called yesterday to see if I wanted to go out with her, her SO (myJohn) and a couple of the guys he works with. We met at a fine establishment in the small town of Crewe (just down the road). Now, I'm not sure what to say about Todd's Place. There was a DJ. He was wearing a shiny red shirt. There was a dance floor. It was filled with more plaid shirts, too-tight tank-tops, mullets, and big hair than I can begin to describe. But O.M.G. were those people enjoying the hell out of themselves! Before we even got to the bar, Timmy (one of the crew) got pulled onto the dance floor by a woman twice his size with a shirt two sizes too small on. It was kind of an "I pick you!" moment. Mini-Me, myJohn, Josh and I headed to the pool table. We had a great time playing, and I even pulled off a few fantabulous shots. Timmy and I are a pretty good team, it turns out. We whipped Mini-Me and myJohn.

And then there was the dancing. Mini-Me was forced to practically make out with the DJ to request a song. When you are amongst people who are dancing with wild abandon, you are inspired to do the same. I don't know if it was the Cotton-Eyed Joe, the second round of Chickenwings, or Bringing Sexy Back, but somewhere in there, my badonkadonk broke. I woke up this morning with a slight hangover, and the feeling that someone had beaten me with a hose. Diagnosis? Definitely a broken badonkadonk. Case closed.

Only me...

On Thursday...

Mini-Me: Hey, your front left headlight is out.
Me: Yea? Your car has no gas in it.
Mini-Me: Good point.

On Friday I bought a headlight-bulb at the Advance Auto Parts. I quickly found out that replacing the bulb on a 2002 Durango is not nearly as easy as it was on a 1981 Cutlass... which, by the way, was the last time I had to change a bulb. It was 2000, and I had a Cutlass. The Generally was a bitchin' car. Don't you judge me.

Fast forward to today at Wal-Mart...

Me: I need to have my oil changed. Oh, and can you put this new bulb in the front left headlamp?
Wal-Mart lady (henceforth known as WML): Sure. There's a $4.50 charge for replacing the bulb.
Me: No problem. I'll go cruise Wally World for a few minutes while that gets taken care of.

(TK pushes cart away and gets roughly 75 ft away from the auto center...)

Overhead announcement: TK, would you please return to the Auto Center? Because clearly, things cannot be that easy for you.
Me: Shit.

(returns to Auto Center...)

WML: Hey, the guys just told me they can't replace the bulb because you didn't buy it here.
Me: But it's the same kind of bulb you sell. There's nothing different. I paid the fee.
WML: Sorry. Them's the breaks. We can refund the service fee.
Me: Can I buy one of your bulbs and have them put it in? I'll just keep this one as a spare, I guess.
WML: Sure. Do you know what kind of bulb it is?
Me: No, but I bet it's easy to read off of the package of the one I already have.
WML: Good point.

(TK gets previously purchased bulb out of car, match it to bulb in WallyWorld aisle, purchase new bulb, take both out to the truck... one to be put in, one to be stored for future use. TK writes "PURCHASED AT WALLY WORLD" on one package so the boys know which one is the right one to put in, just for good measure.)

20 or so minutes later...

Overhead announcer: TK, your car's done. But you know it's not going to be that easy.

WML: So, there's really nothing wrong with your headlamp at all. The light's not even burned out.
Me: Ummm, okay. Then why isn't it working?
WML: Apparently one of the wires was loose. When the guy went to unplug it, it turned back on, so he just tightened the wires.
Me: Cool. So, I'll just return the bulb.
WML: Oh, we can't do that. The package was opened, so you own it. But I can refund the service charge since they didn't actually replace it.
Me: I'm happy to pay the service charge since the guy tightened the wires, but I really don't need two spare bulbs.
WML: Sorry. Them's the breaks. We can refund the service fee.
Me: Fine. I guess I have two spares now. Which, of course, will do me no good at all since by the time I need to replace a bulb I'll have forgotten that I have two spares and I'll buy a new one (not that they wouldn't make me buy another one anyway).
WML: That's how they're making so much money. $7.88 at a time.
Me: No shit.

That is a true story.

Now, run and sell your Wal-Mart stock because for the first time in my life I spent 30+ minutes in WallyWorld and spent $20-and jingles on an oil change and a headlight bulb. Nothing else. Clearly, WalMart is about to go under. If you can't spend $$ at WalMart in Farmville, it's a sign that the world is about to end. Maybe that meteor is coming after all.

This just in... Of course, that couldn't have lasted long. By the time I got home last night (from being out at a local establishment, bringing sexy back with friends) the headlight wasn't working again. Shit.

conversations in my head

Remember the show Ally McBeal? Where they'd show you the crazy scenes from inside her head as she was carrying on perfectly normal conversations in the real world?

That show was about me. No, seriously. It's like someone snuck a camera into my brain and recorded the circus that goes on inside there. Outside? You'd never know... well, most of the time, anyway. But inside? Three rings, a car full of clowns, dancing horses, elephants... the works.

Last night I was at the gym. Now, those of you who know me know how much I hate to exercise. It's so much easier just being fat. But I drag myself over to the little apartment cubby with a treadmill, an elliptical, a bike, and a nautilus machine, and do it anyway. I DO NOT talk while at the gym. I don't chit-chat. I don't want to act interested in other people. I want to go and stare at the television or a magazine (or book) and act like no one can see me sweating, turning purple, and gasping for breath. Is it too much to ask? (BTW, Fayetteville-boy-Jeff, thought I was an incredibly rude at first because I never spoke to him at the gym. Hell, I don't ever recall seeing him at the gym. I was too busy looking at a magazine.)

So imagine my surprise when I am huffing away on the elliptical and the girl on the treadmill starts talking to me.

Are. You. Kidding?!?!?!

She weighs all of about 100 pounds. She is beautiful. If she wasn't wearing college gear, I'd swear she couldn't have had a driver's license. She could be Kelly Clarkson's thinner, more beautiful sister. She's walking on the treadmill and she starts talking.

Her: Hey! I'm so impressed that you can do that elliptical! I can only go about 5 minutes then I have to get off because it's kicking my butt!

Me: I prefer this to the treadmill.

(Inside my head: You can't do this thing because you DON'T HAVE a butt! You need to eat a few ham sandwiches and get some power behind it!)

Her: Can you believe Anna Nicole died? That's horrible. Blah blah blah blah.

Me: It's terrible. But honestly, that baby may have been better off being raised by monkeys.

(Inside my head: See? That's what TrimSpa will do to you. Lets you die skinny. Kudos.)

Lots more chit chat as I'm trying to NOT fall off the elliptical, and at the same time trying not to encourage further conversation.

Her: Okay, I'm done here. You have a good night. I'm sure I'll see you back here some time!

Me: You have a good night too. See you later.

(Inside my head: I hope a strong wind blows you away you skinny little chatty wench.)

(Inside my head two minutes later: I miss her.)

True conversation

Okay folks, here we go...

Metal Head: I didn't get to schedule patient X here because of patient Y, and then, blah blah blah...

Paper Boy: Well, you might not have to worry about any of it. On Tuesday, according to my friend who's a meteorologist (pauses for effect)...

me: What? We're all getting wiped out by a meteor?

Paper Boy: Ummm, no. There's going to be snow. A completely different type of meteorology.

me: (sheepish grin) That makes way more sense. I haven't heard any doomsday reports lately, anyway.

Fat Louie update

I chatted with Fat Louie's Forever Mommy tonight.

He had done so well while I was there (on deliver/birthday/bull-riding weekend) that I was very sad to hear he had regressed quite a bit after I left. Must have been like getting the Woobie pulled out from under him, poor li'l fella. Amy's been giving me pretty regular updates on his progress, or lack thereof, over the past 2 weeks.

At first he hid all the time and cried at night. Amy did her best to snuggle and love on him, but he wasn't having much of it. We talked about how long we would give him to settle in before deciding that it wasn't going to happen and forcing him to live with their family would be torturing him. By her own admission, Amy's surprised the cat hasn't developed a twitch from all the love her 3 girls want to give him.

I started looking at the calendar to see when I could get back to Connecticut to pick him up.

But with tonight's call, things are getting much better. Fat Louie now joins the family downstairs for breakfast, rubbing against their legs. He comes downstairs frequently, though he's still not spending time lounging on the couch. Amy says, "I just want him to fall off the couch. I have to see it!" We agree that he's still adjusting to having more 2 leggers around, and is likely looking for Oz at night. He's warmed up to Murphy (their Golden Retriever) and I think will soon be snuggling with him at night.

Melly even got to wrap him up in a blanket and sit and love on him for a good 5-10 minutes before he'd had enough. The girls have carried him all around, and though he is not totally comfortable with them yet, he hasn't fought it, and has never unleashed a single claw. Amy's husband, who thinks we're both nuts for taking a dumpster cat from VA to CT, is also enamored.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh, life is coming around for Fat Louie. Let's all keep our fingers crossed!

See TK leave work at 5:30pm.

See Tiffany attempt to pull out of the parking lot.

See Tiffany have to wait on traffic.

See Tiffany check voicemail from Fat Louie's new Forever Mommy.

See Tiffany damn near wet her pants when Missy (the new PTA Tiffany works with) beats on her window.

See Missy, who just ran out of gas... in the parking lot.

See Tiffany drive Missy to the gas station and back to work with her new red can of gas.





See Missy put enough gas in the tank to get to the gas station.

See Tiffany take pictures for blogworthy story.

See Missy shake her head in disbelief.






You've just met Mini-Me.

Went to the dentist today...

The hygienist said my teeth are impeccable. The dentist said there's a little work to be done.

Cost of my new fillings will be roughly $450. I'm sure at least half of that is going to fund the dentists' next tank of gas in the Hummer. That's right, Min, you saw it here. A Hummer. I'll flip it off and scream obscenities through my half numb mouth next time I'm there. This will do for now.

I did my federal and Colorado taxes today. I'm getting big money back. And I still have 2 states to go.

Give me my money!!!

Oh, B.Dent and Kelly... or should we call her K.Dent now? The wedding was beautiful. Everything was perfect. Couldn't have asked for better.






The picture of wedded bliss. I got to visit the Fayetteville boys in December. Brandon was quick to point out that he had been working out.
TK: Ya, that's right! You have to look good in a tux soon.
Brandon: Yea, that and naked. I have to look good naked! She's finally going to see me naked.
TK: Yea, B, that's big.

He looked good in the tux... now, let's hope all went well when they got naked.


I got some time to hang with Megan and Jeff. Megan's the chief of the Greensboro Recruiting Committee. The story on her? We're on the way to Bob Evans for breakfast and stop to fill the tank on Tough Lucy. We're making fun of a guy at the gas station (he's got vanity plates that say 1986RX7... Come on, who's proud of that?) when the guy almost falls out of the car. Megan shouts "Oh my gosh! I thought that guy was having a stroke! But I think he just kind of fell when he reached out of his car and tried to pick a coin up off the ground. That's good, 'cause that was definitely going to slow down my waffles." Plus 10 for priorities Meg!

And these. These are my new fabulous red patent leather snakeskin-ish crazy-assed heels. I heart them. They were definitely the best shoes at the wedding. The fankle behaved itself, and I brought sexy back. The following is a true conversation from the dance floor...
B.Lowe (different friend than B.Dent): Dang, Tiff, you've got some moves!
TK: Baby, when you've got an ass like this, and shoes like that, the only thing you can do is move. My butt keeps its own beat.
B.Lowe: I think your butt created the beat... *licks index finger, places on my butt and makes the sizzle sound*


Thanks shoes.

This weekend I'm at B.Dent and Kelly's wedding in Maryland.

It took almost 7 hours to complete what should have been a 4 hour trip yesterday. Amazingly, getting through DC was the easy part... Baltimore traffic kicked me in the teeth. Megan would call to check my progress. At one point, she said "Don't throw yourself out of the car and into traffic, okay?" I replied, "What would be the point? The cars would just slowly roll over me for hours... It wouldn't even kill me."

We spent last night celebrating the wedding couple and catching up. Today, Megan and I did some whirlwind shopping at a fantastic 4 story mall. I have some wicked new red heels (a little *POP* of color for my black and tan dress) and a nice sheer lipgloss so I can do 'dramatic' eyes without looking like a prostitute.

Now we're ready to get the party started!!!

Upcoming stories... The definition of "LGN time", the Nordstrom shoe guy, donuts in the church parking lot... and there will probably be a few more from tonight! If you're good, I'll post a picture of my bitchin' new shoes, too.

Hey Peppy Birdlegs

Just for MiniRed... The story of how Hey Peppy Birdlegs came to be.

For MiniRed's birthday, my family would sing, "Hey peppy peppy birdlegs! Hey peppy peppy birdlegs! Hey peppy peppy birdlegs to you, to you, to you!!!"

And here is how it came to be...

When we were kids, we got to decide what to have for our birthday dinner. You could ask Mom to make your favorite, or you could pick a place to go out and eat. Going out to eat was still kind of a big deal. I always wanted Mom's spaghetti (in later years, I would pick Spaghetti Warehouse, and Mom and Dad would surprise me with a trip to Al's Upstairs Italian Restaurant for my 18th birthday, but that's another story), Ryan wanted Mom's lasagna, and Amanda wanted to go to ChiChi's mexican restaurant. We also got to pick what kind of cake to have.

At home a traditional round of happy birthday always got sung. But at ChiChi's, they had a special tune. It went "Happy happy happy birthday, happy happy happy birthday, happy happy happy birthday to you to you to you! Ole!!!" It's very fast, and very festive.

My friend, CD, got to go with us sometimes. She had experienced the ChiChi's way of birthday singing. We rolled up into her driveway one day and as she gets ready to hop out of the family van she says, "Hey, it's my Mom's birthday. Let's sing to her like that do at ChiChi's!!" Mom, Amanda, and I oblige and hop out of the van.

As we start to sing, CD starts belting out "Hey Pepe (like pay-pay) birdlegs! Hey Pepe birdlegs!" at the top of her lungs. Amanda, Mom, and I stand, mouths agape, wondering what the heck she is singing about.

"Ummm, Carey? What are you singing?"
"Hey Pepe birldegs, like they do at ChiChi's."
"But it's happy happy happy birthday."
"Oh, I always wondered what pepe birdlegs was all about."

So, our family immediately began singing it that way, too. Over the years it has morphed into "Hey peppy birdlegs!" But for Carey, it's still a rousing round of "Pepe's".

The end.

Happy belated birthday MiniRed!

Amy, don't look!!!!!!!!!!!

Remember New Whipping Boy? Well, he took a little medical vacation last week (completely unapproved by me, by the way). He apparently has eaten waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too many Big Macs. The result? 66 gallstones. That's a penny in there, just to give you a reference point for the size of those bad boys. That couldn't have felt good.

Sorry about the Rose Bowl.

Now, back to work!