Friday, June 29, 2007

Jiffy Lube acid trip

I was minding my own business in the Jiffy Lube waiting room while my vehicle was getting a "signature service" in celebration of my pending vacation travels when I suddenly realized that this was the song that was playing on the radio.

As if sitting there wasn't punishment enough.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Spice up your life!

We can all rest easy now. Our long awaited dreams have come true. Not only has Paris Hilton been released from jail (remind me again why we should care about anything having to do with her?), but the Spice Girls have announced a reunion.


The years seem to have treated the "girls" nicely. They don't appear to have any ill effects now that they have, er, seasoned.


Get it? Spice Girls...seasoned...what?


Anyway, think way back to 1997. Would any of you have believed that Ginger Spice (bottom pic, far right, for those of you who spent the 90s in an undergound bunker) would become all earth mother gorgeous? Or that Posh Spice, aka Mrs. Beckham, would be the Scary one?


You know what's kinda nice? The fact that over ten years, they've grown into womanly bodies. With the exception, of course, of Mrs. Posh Beckham who appears to be shrinking down until soon she'll only be a head and two boobs. Big, big boobs. She'll have to be careful or Mr. Beckham might kick them about. "Honey, my boobs are not soccer balls." "Don't worry darling. I can buy you oodles of new ones. Goooooaaalll!!!"

Senseless acts of beauty...or something

I had recently seen this post on More Kisses Please about "reverse" graffiti and some wicked cool art (It's ok, I'm allowed to say "wicked". I'm a former Masshole.), when I came across my own reverse graffiti in a parking lot. It wasn't as cool as the pic you'll see if you follow this link, but it was quite witty.

Normally, a dirty car can be seen sporting finger drawn smiley faces or "Wash me." Not so this minivan full of kids. No, this minivan was sporting the phrase:

"I wish my wife were this dirty."

That's way better than my "Don't make me release the flying monkeys" bumper sticker.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Dubya & Lobstah

This is officially the last week of Sassy's Seven Week Challenge. I know I had promised, or at least intimated, inspirational posts to keep us all driving toward our goals. As I'm sure you are aware, I have not delivered. The car that was doing the driving stalled in the driveway. It's this close to being up on blocks and causing the neighbors to call an emergency meeting of the homeowners association.

I should be taken out back and flogged.

This is not to say, however, that all is lost. In fact, I can quite comfortably say that all is definitely NOT lost. Not the seven pounds I was aiming for anyway. Looking on the bright side, I have re-lost the two pounds I re-gained on vacation a few weeks ago. On the not so bright side (at least from a weight loss perspective), I have another vacation next week and this time I'm not staying home, ergo, I will be eating out. A lot. And sweet mother of mocha, I will be enjoying it immensely.

You see, me and my three best buddies, Friendster Guy, Vladimir Putin, and George W will be hanging out on the coast of Maine together eating lobster. It's great for international relations, not so great for my waist line. Condi and I may be hanging out in the gym together. Luckily, I am staying in a (top secret) location that includes a full kitchen. I have grand plans to bring fruit and veggies to snack on instead of my usual, throw caution to the wind, junk food extravaganza (i.e. s'more fixins, etc...) I'll save the calories for blueberry cobbler and seafood dipped in butter. Pardon me, I may have just drooled a little.

But when I return we shall carry on the Challenge in some way. Putin is bringing over a contingent of former Russian gymnasts and we're going to hash out a plan.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Drinking from the Firehose

This is a metaphore for what I feel like today. Or maybe an analogy? Tautology? Who the hell knows? What I mean is there has been an intense influx of information and paperwork today and now I'm overloaded. And waterlogged.

Monday, June 25, 2007

Ignorance is bliss(ters and chaffing)

There comes a time in every girl's life when she takes a good hard look at herself, does some soul searching, perhaps meditates a little, and realizes:

"I have no freakin' clue what size bra I wear."

In addition to the bikini/Croc incident this past weekend (see last post) I had another "first." I finally got up the cahones to get myself measured for a bra.

I had already made it to the "Intimates" department of JCPenney's, gravitated to one of the 853 racks of bras, and proceeded to grab three sizes of two different styles. When I got to the fitting room, there was an actual person manning the desk nearby. She was fairly grandmotherly (if your grandmother still dyes her hair red and isn't fooling anyone) so I thought to myself, "Self, now would be a good time to bite the bullet. You have no idea if you are a 34 A, a 36 B, or some combination of the two. Just do it."

So I did.

"'Scuse me, do you measure people for bras?"

Sales lady - "Oh, only about 8 times per day."

This surprised me. I had no idea so many people would need to be measured and I certainly wasn't expecting them to be doing so at JCPenney.

"Would you measure me?"

"Sure, come into the dressing room. My name is Diane."

"Hi, I'm Sassy." (It's appropriate to be on a first name basis with the woman who will be soon wrapping a tape measure around your boobs.)

Diane - "You're going to need to take off your shirt."

And so measuring took place - one measurement under the breasts, one across the breasts - which was a little akward because I had on one of my most padded (illfitting) bras and she didn't suggest I remove it so she had to kind of squoosh to get to the actual measurment). Then she took the wrong size bras I'd chosen right out of the dressing room with her, and came back in a few minutes with ones in the right size. Painless, easy, and I ended up with 4 new 36B bras.

And they were even on sale.

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

I've been so busy at work that I've gone temporarily insane. Or perhaps there is something in the water. Or there's been an alien invasion and I've been taken over by a pod person. Yes, that has to be it. Nothing else could reasonably explain the acts I committed during my shopping excursion yesterday.

I, Sassy Danger Pants (yes, Danger is my middle name), self-professed hater of all things Croc, purchased a pair. I know. What could have possessed me? Well, you know how my Mom likes to rant? Sometimes those rants aren't negative, they're more like QVC salespitches. I think she wore me down. Plus, Crocs now makes a shoe that is much less like wearing wooden shoes. I bought the Mary Jane version. And yes they are comfortable and all the things they are purported to be. Ok, Mom, are you happy now? Sheesh.

The other senseless act of purchasing I committed was in the bathing suit realm. That's never a fun trip no matter how you slice it. Somehow, someway (I believe it was through subliminal mesages in the Musak) I left the store with a bikini. A bikini! What? Am I kidding me? Mind you, it's not a string bikini, and it's somewhat sporty but it sure as hell ain't a one piece, or even a tankini. People, I haven't worn a bikini since I was 5. I'm not sure it's a good time to retry the look.

Does anyone know how to lose 30 pounds in the one week I have until my vacation?

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go jog to Vancouver and back. That'll burn a couple pounds I think.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Marketing execs have no soul

Friends do not let friends crawl around on the floor in their prom dresses.

Really good friends confiscate the camera.

Enemies figure out how to turn your tragedy into a marketing campaign.



I'd like to state for the record, what the fuck?

I mean, c'mon. Really? Why call it "singlesnet"? Just call it "hornyandeasy" and call it a day. And if there is any truth in advertising, they should have a disclaimer that the typical user does not look like this. In fact, the typical user is most likely a 15 to 45 year old male who hasn't seen the light of day in a long time. Possibly because he's incarcerated.

Skeeve factor: 11 (on a scale of 1-10)

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Double Jeopardy

Sassy Pants and Friendster Guy to television while eating a gourmet dinner of pan fried hotdogs - Who is...?

Alex Trebeck - I'm sorry, the correct question was "Who is Heisenberg?"

Friendster Guy - Ah. I was uncertain about that one.

Sassy groans and clutches her stomach in mock pain.

FG - You're going to blog this, aren't you?

Sassy - I am now.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Nutrition wrapped up with a bow

Check out this fancy dancy nutritional website.

You can look up anything, including fast food, and see probably more information than you ever wanted. It's got the regular caloric and nutritional values but it also has the nutrients, glycemic index, the ratio of where the calories come from (protein, fat, carbs), and all sorts of stuff, most of which is in pretty looking graphs. I like graphs.

It even helps you look up foods that are better for you so you can make informed choices when you, say, walk into a Krispy Creme or Starbucks. Because I sure as hell am not giving up dessert completely (see last post), but I could certainly make some better choices.

Anthropology in Action Day

I discovered a shocking secret about thin women yesterday.

Lean in close and let me whisper it to you*.

They pass up dessert.

Even when it is free.

Even when it is made of fruit, like strawberry shortcake.

That's no way to live.

Observe some skinny women today and report back to me on their behavior. It'll be like going to the zoo.


* Raise your hands - how many of you actually leaned in closer to the computer screen, and not because you couldn't see the font.

Monday, June 18, 2007

Captivity is captivity is captivity

Sassy - Can I call in kidnapped?

Friendster Guy - You'd probably need a note from your captor, ransom or otherwise.

Sassy - You get the glue stick. I'll get the magazines.

Friday, June 15, 2007

Blogging as therapy and a quick way to reconnect

I think I might have convinced my mother to start a blog while at the same time not letting on that I have a blog myself. I know I'm going to want to link to it, but then she can track back and find my blog and I won't be able to talk about her and the rest of my family so liberally. And that, quite frankly, would be a cryin' shame. A girl's gotta vent.

The reason I think she should start a blog is that she loves to rant. I get a lot of "Can you believe [insert random, and I mean random thing to rant about here]?!" The current record she's playing is about how the guys she works with don't like music. As she says, "How can you not like music?" I agree of course, but just when you'd think a nod and a comiserating, "That's crazy" would be the end of the conversation, it isn't, and another 20 minutes goes by on the phone with her lamenting their idiocy but not really adding much to the argument. I think a blog might 1) help her foment her point and 2) find her an audience thereby taking the stress off of me and my siblings.

You see, for whatever reason, she has no friends to rant to. It's not because of her personality (except perhaps that the ranting could get old) but because she has a touch of what we now call "social anxiety" which was once called, simply, "shyness". You wouldn't know it to look at her. Especially if she's around the family. But she always wants to be around the family, partly because she has no friends. See the vicious cycle? She's comfortable with us, uncomfortable with others, and therefore seeks a lot of one to make up for the lack of other. It hard to be the child and the friend. Thank goddness there are 4 of us kids. It would be too big a job for one person.

Recently, however, my sister, brother and I have noticed a definite lull in the ranting, like she can't quite get up the energy or interest to go off on something. And although that is a good thing for us, it actually makes us concerned about her mental health. We think she's depressed. I don't necessarily want to tell my Mom, "Get thee to a therapist" but I'm definitely an advocate of the therapeutic benefits of a blog so there you go.

If I can figure out how to tell you where to go without giving up my secret identity I'll do it.

In the meantime, I just this morning reconnected with an old friend I haven't seen in, gosh, is it already 7 years? And she has a blog herself - Granny Hall. Go check it out! Also, don't miss her favorite obituaries. Morbid, but fascinating.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

The Challenge - Week Cinco

You - Sassy, you know, we're mid-way through week 5 of your Challenge, and we haven't heard hide nor hair about your progress or any helpful tips or anything. You've got that cutsie little avatar up there in the corner and she's not doing bupkiss. What gives?

Me - I know. I'm a total slacker. Consider me properly chastized.

As penance, here's my progress (or lack thereof) over the last 5 weeks.

Starting weight: 136.8 (Don'tcha just love digital scales and their decimal points?)

Week 1: 136.8 Minutes of cardio: 410
Week 2: 136.4 Minutes of cardio: 245
Week 3: 134.2 (Whoo hoo!) Minutes of cardio: 245
Week 4: 136.8 Minutes of cardio: 225 (Vacation week)
Week 5: 137.6 (Doh!) Minutes of cardio: 150 (so far)

I had started this post last night before I weighed myself this morning and I had written something along the lines of "At least I didn't gain, blah blah blah." Well. Since that is not the actual reality I have to switch gears. I'm not giving up. My vacation is over so I'm back to upping the fruit and vegetable content of my meals and doing a little better on portion control, i.e. actually taking control over my portions instead of letting them run amok like children raised by wolves.

This is generally the point where people (i.e. me) give up, thinking, "Gosh, there's only 2.5 weeks left in the Challenge. How much can I actually accomplish? Screw it." But now is not the time to give up hope! No. Now is the time to get reinvigorated. Batten down the hatches. Resupply and dig in my heels. So, if you'll excuse me, I have to go peel some eggs for my salad today.

While I do that, here's a couple of articles I enjoyed in Time last week. (Let me know if the links don't work. I'm not sure if I ever logged my subscription into their site and therefore whether internet cookies are letting me in unbeknownst to me. Mmmm...cookies.)

The Science of Appetite
A New Diet Equation
What Makes You Eat More Food (This article is mildly evil because it has close up pics of yummy looking food. Do not open on an empty stomach.)
How the World Eats Article, Photo Essay (This makes you wonder why we in the western world don't live forever simply based on preservative consumption)

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

When product placement REALLY doesn't work

Imagine you're watching an episode of Law and Order Special Victims Unit where the bad guy uses the internet to find his victims. Then imagine this commercial comes on.

If you were me, you'd be all, "Wait, is this part of the show? Did the detectives wander into a Broadway show based on the crime? What the hell is going on here?"

Then you'd realize you're watching an Ask.com commercial and be totally skeeved out. Totally.

Someone was NOT thinking.

The difference between Aagghh and Aaaahhhh

I need a minute to vent and settle down.

I probably need several.

I'm having one of those "Holy f'ing shit why did I come back from vacation?" moments. You know the ones. I'm trying to maintain the bliss from a week away but evil forces are conspiring against me. "Evil forces" in this case being bosses and on-going projects that the work fairy didn't finish while I was away. She's totally fired.

I'm taking deep breaths and trying to do just one thing at a time. I'm also trying to talk myself down off the ledge of overwhelmed by saying, "Look at how much stuff you've already done this morning!" It's sort of working...until I look at how much more I still have to do. And how it will never end.

I think I need a job with more finite projects. Does such a thing exist? Oh, yeah. I've done them. They're called Temp Jobs. There is something to be said for Temp Jobs. Although that something to be said isn't "look how much money I'm making stuffing envelopes!"

All right. Back to the grind. Wish me luck.

Monday, June 11, 2007

Farts, Family, and Flying Monkeys

I know I have been neglecting you, dear readers, but I was on vacation. Actually, I'm calling it "Senior Week" since I not only didn't have to go to work, but I got to graduate with my Masters at the end of it. That's right, I've officially got my Masters (or my Mistress as I've decided to call it. It's so much more sordid that way.) Friendster Guy did Senior Week with me but all he got was the opportunity to sit in the rain with my two sets of parents (2 biological and 2 step) for 3 hours and listen to boring speeches and long lists of names being called. He's a saint.


What else did I do during "Senior Week"? In honor of pretending to be an undergrad, I slept like an adolescent. Seriously. There were several days when somehow both FG and I managed to sleep for 10-11 hours straight. Plus naps. Either we were sleep deprived or we contracted African Sleeping Sickness. Seven days of sleeping as late as you want and not going to bed much later than usual does not make the transition back to work easy. I did not, repeat, did not, in the least, appreciate the alarm this morning. Nor the fact that I must remain in an upright position until the end of the day. Bollocks.



I also gained back all the weight I'd lost during the first 3-4 week of Sassy's Seven Week Challenge. Go me! I'm hoping that these couple pounds are transient and not thoroughly entrenched wherever they have lodged (mostly over my abs. Dag nab it!) If I don't knock myself out doing a face plant into my keyboard I will be going to the gym this afternoon to shake them loose. I did somehow manage to go to the gym three times between naps. But it's hard to negate the whole, "What? I'm on vacation!," excuse for gorging yourself silly at least two times per day (It would have been 3 times/day but we were sleeping too much.)

Between bouts of narcolepsy, FG and I did manage to get out of town a couple of times. One day we went for a drive with no destination and hours later ended up in Montpelier, VT. We ate dinner at Julio's and had what they called, "HLBs", short for "Hot Little %^$#^@", i.e. crispy beer battered jalapeno slices with citrus sour cream. They were awesome. Awesome! And since we both ate them, we could make stupid adolescent (again with the adolescence) jokes for the next few days about the state of our bowels. Because we started out the week this way, and we spent so much time together over the next few days, I do think it is fair to say we took our relationship to a new, not quite admirable but definitely necessary, level - the level of fart jokes and potty humor. We've skirted the subject for the last year, delving in only for a few appropriately timed comments about farts but always keeping the humor at a distance, i.e. not in reference to us specifically. But now, I can safely say, we crossed a line somewhere and it is ok, and perhaps even encouraged, to take the conversation where it wants to go. I can't quite believe I'm saying this, but we've grown as a couple because of it. And I have FG's solemn vow that I will never be the victim of a Dutch Oven at his hands. I can't say I made the same promise. (Love ya honey!)

We also spent some time with my sister, brother-in-law, and niece. We went to the beach for a day and shivered under towels because it was not quite beach weather. Afterward, since it was their five year wedding anniversary, and I felt like going out instead of babysitting, I treated us all to dinner at Gauchos in Manchester, NH. This is a Brazilian barbeque place where they keep bringing meat to your table until you plead with them for mercy to stop. I have never eaten that much bovine in my life. Nor do I intend to in the near future, even though it was yummy. I'm not a big beef eater but when it comes to your table skewered on a sword carried by men with accents and sharp knives asking if you want some, you say yes. And "please" and "thank you". This meal did nothing but fan the flames on the ever-so-classy conversations re: bowel movements. We had sushi the next day in order to atone for our gastronomic sins. There is something cleansing about wasabi, at least psychologically.

Finally, the most newsworthy thing that happened was that my parents met FG's parents for the first time. Cue scary music - Dun dun dun! We all got together for a graduation "after party," i.e. lunch at a local pub. I think it went quite well. In all honesty and without exageration, in just a short lunch they have now interacted with each other more than my parents interacted with my X in-laws (who, if I remember right, met at the wedding. Or maybe at my undergrad graduation two days before the wedding. In other words, they didn't know each other and 7 years of marriage didn't increase that knowledge.)

So that was my Senior Week, in highlights. Oh, and during another day's road trip to Woodstock, VT I got a new bumper sticker: "Don't make me release the flying monkeys!" Cute right!? And totally appropriate for someone with a Mistress degree and adolescent tendencies.

My (post-vacation) morning. In Haiku.

Must. Get. Out. Of. Bed.
Can't vacation last longer?
Head heavy, soul sad.

Wading through emails
Accumulated last week.
Son-of-a-bitch-o.

Shit, here comes my boss.
No more rest for the weary.
Look alive. Feel dead.

Friday, June 08, 2007

Cable (bad) Guy

I think I've been watching too many of Friendster Guys Netflix picks (caper movies) and reading too many of his Robert B. Parker "Spenser" novels (detective genre).

Why?

Because I think that Comcast Cable is involved in a conspiracy to take over New Hampshire, and I don't mean by bringing us superior cable services. I have seen more Comcast white vans and vehicles in the last two days than I have in my entire life. Since yesterday, I have been from the border of Vermont to the Atlantic Ocean and there were Comcast vans EVERYWHERE. There was even one parked outside FG's apartment today. Either business is really good, things are going to hell and they have to fix it, or there is soon going to be a simultaneously choreographed coup of some sort involving masked Comcast guys with uzis. You mark my words.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Monday, June 04, 2007

Creature Comforts

Have you SEEN this show? Now that's some good TV.

Good people, ok plot, baaaad movie

Post King of New York conversation:

Sassy – Well, that movie had some good moments with a whole lot of suckage in between.

Friendster Guy – And boobies!

Sassy – And boobies.

Friday, June 01, 2007

Use 'em or lose 'em.

By the way, I'm on vacation next week. I'm not going anywhere special, just need to use some days before I lose them. I sure as hell ain't giving them back to the establishment, that's for damn sure. (I will not turn into my father, I will not tun into my father, I will not turn into my father. He is the king of not taking vacation. King, I tell you. And I fear it is slowly killing him. He is 53, overweight, sedentary, and has diabetes. I believe his father died of a heart attack at 52. If anyone could benefit from Sassy's Seven Week Challenge, he could. Sigh...)

Anyway, my posting may be scarce for a little while.

Now I must get back to my pre-vacation frantic desk organizing/project finishing frenzy.

Honey, can you help me put this suitcase away?

Sassy Pants randomly to Friendster Guy - "I haven't sent you a "crazy girlfriend" email in a long time."
["Crazy Girlfriend emails" are our code for the messages I would send where I'd have to say something about the state of the relationship and my feelings or else I'd burst because I was getting mad about something Friendster Guy was clueless about. The emails would kind of pop up out of the blue - at least to FG - and the only warning was the size of the file. FG learned to cringe and brace himself anytime the email was over 3K.]

"No, you haven't." FG said tentatively, hoping that there weren't more coming or that, even worse, the emails were going to come live and in person now.

"It's been a long time."

"I'd say about a year."

"Really? That long. Wow. I was sending them fast and furious for awhile there."

"Yes." he said, with a twinge of anti-nostalgia.

"I had a lot of baggage I had to deal with."

"I guess you're done unpacking."

"I guess I am."