Hope everyone is well. I had to share this real quick. Recently, I taught my 61-year-old boss the art of “that’s what she said.” He asked me what it was and ever so awkwardly I explained the turn of a phrase that changes its meaning to something more vulgar. This was about a month ago and thankfully the topic never came up again.
This morning he returned from a business trip and noticed my hair was different. Here we go. Enjoy.
Boss: Oh, you cut your hair. Did you donate it to Locks of Love?
Me: Unfortunately it was only seven inches.
Boss: THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!
Me: You’ve been waiting for the perfect moment, haven’t you?
Boss: I DID IT! Was that good?
Me: Yes, I didn’t even see it coming.
Boss: THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!
Me: I did this to myself.
Boss: THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID! Thank you. I’m going to do this all day to everyone.
Today I feel famous for being kind of a loser. Here’s why:
First of all, Simon, Twitter Maestro and author of sweetandweak, retweeted me to well over 4,000 people. That dude is a tweet magician.
Then, Twin Daddy got his inspiration from me for his Daily Prompt. He would like to get a video of my nose whistling. Boys are funny. And gross.
Also, David Harding said he is including me in a book of his AND he read the mess that is the makings of my book (where yes, I am a bit of a loser) and said he loved it.
AND…I just walked out of the lab and someone made red velvet cupcakes, so I think today is pretty much one of the best days ever.
So, that’s why today I feel a bit famous and yes, proud to be kind of a loser who has a nose that whistles at the worst times imaginable.
Ugh.
Thanks guys.
Finally, I won’t be around the blogs as much because I am trying to write more and goof off less. I’ve never been very good at managing my time for these kinds of things. I once wrote a 40-page paper in a one week (and got an A, mind you) and my teacher said I was the only one who followed the directions. Weird.
I will still write here, just not as consistently, and I will do my best to comment on your blogs because I enjoy reading them. You all make me laugh and cry and some of you turn me on and many of you inspire me so very much. It’s a wild roller coaster of emotions, really. Jesus.
If you’ve ever laughed and then cried after being horny because of people you’ve never met…you will know what I mean.
Wow, I just reread that sentence.
See you soon!
Humorist. Storyteller. Poet. Ravens fan. Nose whistler who rarely follows directions.
In the fourth grade, I went to see The Lion King and had a truly magical experience. First of all, I sat next to Cal Ripken Jr. in the theater. Win. Secondly, I spent the next ten years or so thinking that after the NYYAAH ZAABEEENNYAAAHH BABIDICHIBABA bit, that they were chanting “pink pajamas, penguins on the bottom /pink pajamas, penguins on the bottom.”
Here, have a listen for yourself (at 27 seconds):
Now, allow me to smoothly segue into the real issue at hand, which is that while I long to look like a Disney Princess, there are none that I resemble quite like the way Becca resembles Ariel.
Hey, Disney, how about a sarcastic, green-eyed princess with dark hair who likes cake a lot? She actually sings and can ride a horse, too. Maybe her prince is older, funny and quite debonaire and saves her from real life situations like when she gets drunk and passes out in the basement. Or maybe she doesn’t get a prince at all and she just goes home and eats chips sometimes and dances in her underpants and every now and then she gets herself into some of the gosh darn kookiest situations. Perhaps her name is “Laurel,” you know, for whimsy sake.
She seems like a neat princess for your next fairy tale (of a charm city chick). See what I did there? So, what do you say? Disney? Hello? Anyone?
There are many that stand out to me, but below are some of my favorite search terms from this past week. Of course the top search term was “tales of a charm city chick.” Yes, everyone, I can see that you look me up. The second search term was “Jonah Falcon’s dick,” which is still 13.5 inches in case anyone is wondering. No, I don’t know from experience, but I promise that you can find information about him elsewhere.
Okay, here we go.
Section 1:
1. I will not strip on Skype, but I will do the robot for you to Tom Jones, though, so we should Skype some time.
2. It’s true, cats do not give even one single fuck.
3. I can do the Carmen Electra booty shake. I am small, but mighty.
Section 2:
1. How to look hot like Marlon Brando. I don’t know, but if you are male, single and figure it out please CALL ME.
2. I am not available for purchase, but thank you for inquiring.
3. I have never discussed this topic, and I’m glad it has never happened to me.
4. YOU WENT OUT WITHOUT SOCKS…you risque little man, you.
Section 3:
1. Aw, baby jesus wishes you a Merry Christmas, too.
5. How to strip on Skype? 1. Turn on Tom Jones. 2. Take off your clothes, probably. You’re welcome. NEXT.
6. I love Lord of the Rings and all things hobbits, but girl hobbits are probably hairy, too. Just a warning.
7. James Spader was hot as a young man. Agreed.
8. Who will strip for you on Skype? It still isn’t me. Try meeting someone and working for it. Lazy.
9. MY MOST FAVORITE SEARCH TERM OF THE LAST 7 DAYS. I don’t know. I don’t have words about this bodysuit. I don’t have a single thing to say besides THANK YOU for looking it up. Seriously, thank you.
Last but not least, if you haven’t seen it, this is my new future husband, Macklemore…. if Vyvacious doesn’t get to him first, of course. She’s gorgeous and loves her some Batman.
I went to a strict all-girls Catholic school. It was junior year. I was late for Chemistry because my swimming class ran ten minutes behind.
I rehearsed my apology as I ran down the hall in my wet, blue dress and squishy saddle shoes. The instructor, Sister J, was a very sarcastic nun who often licked her lips and rested her large bosom on her lab bench. She did not tolerate tardiness.
I ran in the room. “I am so…so…sorry,” I began.
Sister J: We were waiting on you. Put in this video.
Me: Oh okay, I am so sorry, swimming ran late.
I put in the video, turned off the lights and sat down to catch my breath. Then, the following magic took place:
I snickered. My lab partner laughed and we heard a chuckle behind us. Suddenly, girly giggles broke out throughout the classroom and I just could not hold it in anymore and began crying from laughter. Crying.
When the video ended, I flicked on the lights.
Sister J looked at us and shook her head. “Ladies, you should all know better, and Miss M [that would be me], you are a pervert!”
I was shocked! A pervert! Why was I the only pervert!?
Then I remembered the day there was a naked guy seen walking in the woods next to school and I hauled my sweet ass to the window to check him out (for the record, I had never seen a real naked guy…as it turned out I wasn’t missing much).
I am reminded of this story because this morning my coworker looked out the window and shouted, “A NAKED GUY!” and once again I hauled my sweet ass over to the window like a puppy excited to see the mailman.
Eleven years later at 28 years old, the video still makes me laugh and apparently, I am still a pervert. Somewhere Sister J is shaking her head disapprovingly.
Whatevs, Sister J, I just love to laugh. Laughter, love and naked guys are pretty much what make this world go ’round, anyway.
I was so ill for part of last week, that I don’t even remember half of what happened. There are traces of things though–I went to the store at some point and bought earphones and apparently I almost set a pair of my gloves on fire.
My favorite part was an email I just found in my drafts to someone named Alexandra Livingston. This is funny because I don’t know anyone named Alexandra Livingston. This was the email:
__________________________
Dear Alexandra Livingston:
__________________________
I checked my deleted items and spam and I did not receive something from her first. I wonder what I was going to tell this imaginary person? Or ask her? Are any of you Alexandra Livingston? This reminds me of the time I had surgery and the medicine they put me on made me hallucinate that I had parakeet named Carol.
Have you ever had a funny hallucination while sick or on meds?
I never believed in anything until about seven months ago. I mean, I had hoped for things, but never truly believed in anything. Then someone I knew dearly and at one point loved romantically, died.
It rained buckets on the day of his funeral. I do not mean to be disrespectful when I say that the symbolism of this downpour was “appropriate,” but it was like we were in a movie or something. As we stood in the cemetery, the rain drenching us, I realized what many of us know but usually take for granted–life is short. Life is so short, we ought to be truly happy.
It is not that I was completely unhappy, but more that I was just existing. You may know this feeling. So, I took a chance and began believing in happiness. Over the weeks that followed, little things started happening, good things, so I continued to believe.
Soon I saw that the sparks of happiness were actually created by me and I realized that I was developing a new love for myself, too.
This week I faced a great difficulty and during this time it hit me that these two things, love for myself and happiness, will get me through anything.
So, here is where it ends. Fear, I mean. I am not afraid to continue down this path of happiness. I am not afraid to be in love. I am not afraid…what a wonderful feeling.
If you have not yet achieved this, you should take a chance and let the rain wash away fear for the sake of your own happiness, too.
Dog lover. Storyteller. Urbanite-Suburbanite. Poet. Music addict. Editor. Explorer. Wine enthusiast (Malbec, please). Anglophile. People watcher. My dream job? Writer, or a Tom Jones back up singer. Well, not Tom Jones now, but Tom Jones in the early '70s...so let's go with the writing thing.
tales of a charm city chick 