Owned!

Tonight I made my final car payment. Ever. While it's taken many many years to pay it off, it's finally done. And since I paid for a major overhaul on it a couple of months ago, I'm hoping to get a few more years with it-- without a car payment.

I celebrated tonight by going to the gym and then grabbing a bottle of wine for a celebratory glass of vino when I got home. While driving home, the SLCPD decided to run a red light and nearly take out my newly-paid-for vehicle. Now, I understand the benefit of a classic "approach without lights and sirens" call, but should they be approaching without lights and sirens to the detriment of everyone else on the road?

Much less those who thirty seconds earlier just threw their last vehicle payment into the post office?

And because I saw him speed for at least 15 blocks northbound on 900 east after, I figure that I was just lucky to get out without major damage.

Best of...

I think I'm pretty damn funny. I hope you do too. Many current readers might not realize that I started this blog in February 2005 as a supplement to stuff I talked about on the Morning Zoo on 97.1 ZHT. So as a four-year anniversary to "Beyond the Air: Radio Free Holly," I present to you my favorite thoughts, quotes and chunks found throughout the years.

From June 23, 2005:
"Yes, nothing says 'Happy Birthday' quite like a bunch of burning tampons!! This is a quick-fix that would make MacGyver proud. Now, if only they could build a bomb out of Tampax and hand lotion!!"

From August 1, 2005:
"I wore some cute, cotton Aberbcrombie pants last summer to a remote, and it was hot, and any sweat looks like a little bit of pee. In fact, I believe our remote tech accused me of peeing but I am grown up enough, as is Fergie, to know when to use the bathroom."

From February 10, 2006:
"During the Viennese Waltz performance, the dress got twisted, my nipple popped out and got caught over the left side of the dress, and my partner twirled me around for all to see."

From August 31, 2006:
"You can't see it very well, but it's true, there is a place called 'Jo Jo's Munch House' on State Street in Salt Lake City."

From September 12, 2006:
"Jeff from the O2 Oxygen Spa in Salt Lake came in tonight and juiced us up. I chose 'Serenity,' a combination of lavendar and I believe eucalyptus. I feel mellow. I also would like a pizza, a bag of Doritos and maybe a Slim Jim..."

From September 26, 2006:
"I would rather stick a hot letter opener into my nasal cavity than ever run for public office, which is good since my job is technically a conflict of interest."

From November 11 2006:
"True to form of being the most graceful klutz I know, I lit my hand on fire and proceeded to drop the flaming stuff onto my favorite Hello Kitty blanket. Remember in the 70s how acrylic bedding was a fire hazard? Apparently it’s still a fire hazard in the year 2006. In a flash, I threw open the patio door and tossed Burning Kitty outside and like a drunk idiot jumped on it—all while wearing slippers."

From February 13, 2007:
"Don’t marry a guy that has Satan Worshippers as friends. They will just inevitably want you to birth the new Anti-Christ."

From March 15, 2007:
"Whenever a designer is booted off the show, head judge dsigner Jonathan Adler tells them, 'See you later, decorator!' And with a little wave and wiggle of his fingers, the contestant is bid adieu."

From July 31, 2007:
"Today, Michelangelo Antonioni went to the big sound stage in the sky. He was an amazing director who made 'Blow Up,' one of my favorite films. I was first turned onto this movie by someone for whom I will have an eternal soft-spot, so I'm wondering if I love the movie because it reminds me of him, or if it's really a brilliant film."

From September 5, 2007:
"If you are dating someone and that someone happens to die, do not keep their old bras out on your shed workbench. It will make the person you might later date question your affection for them, and that will be the start of a slow spiral down the proverbial relationship toilet."

From September 30, 2007:
"Instead of throwing away the whole mess, plate and all, I decided to try and break apart the upper part of the chip-wad and eat it. After a couple of bites, I realized that not only does fat-free "cheese" turn into titanium when put on chips and microwaved, but it also tastes like shit."

From October 29, 2007:
"I thought, 'Is this my test? Now am I supposed to dig a key out of a guy's colon to get out of here?' To no avail, I had to sit there and endure the stinging sensation while I watched a small Asian woman with a razor blade scrape foot-heel skin off an 80-year-old lady. It was sensory overload."

From November 11, 2007:
"I saw some guy's junk. Right there, three ab benches away from me. Some random guy's junk, just out there for the world to gaze upon. It was bad enough that his shorts were shorter than something out of Studio 54 circa 1978, but as he was doing his ab crunches, his legs were bent and splayed open like a sweaty crab."

From December 9, 2007:


From January 10, 2008:
"Midway through brushing my teeth I noticed that the buckwheat husk was filling my apartment with a delightful organic and slightly lawn-ish scent. By the time I finished brushing my teeth, I thought, 'Wow, the buckwheat husk. It smells like burn... shit!' I ran downstairs and saw that the buckwheat husk had ignited in the microwave and though the filler itself 'WILL NOT BURN!' the material covering the outside most certainly 'WILL FREAKING BECOME TINDER!'"

From January 31, 2008:
You've got to read it in its entirety to do it justice.

From February 15, 2008:
"On the morning of Valentine's Day I left him a 12-pack of Miller High Life for a gift because I had no idea what to get him. That night, he punched me in his sleep because he thought I was either 1) a stranger 2) an intruder or 3) the Vietcong. I was too tired to drive home so I slept in the guest room. On Valentine's Day. Alone."

From April 6, 2008 (Live Blogging Rock of Love finale):
"7:05- I felt bad for Daisy until a shot of her walking revealed her thong underwear sticking out of her jeans."

From April 10, 2008:
"Having thrown up at the gym several times in my life (there was this one time when I thought that drinking a 32-ounce chai before running on the treadmill was a good idea. There was also that one fake bacon incident...), I didn't think anything of it, until I passed out at the grocery store."

From June 6, 2008:
"There I stood, marinading in 'Regular,' mad that not only did I stink, but seeing all that gas pooling on the pavement was like flushing a wad of twenties down the toilet."

From July 23, 2008:
"Last night, I had a dream that the guy I'm dating buried me in a hole with a large Starbuck's latte and a Hickory Farms Yard O'Beef like you would get at a mall kiosk during the holidays."

Crap! Got to run and go to dance now, stay posted for more of my favorite quotes.

Sort of Dickensian

After being haunted today by ghosts of relationships past, two hauntings within six hours by people I still care about, I decided to head to the gym tonight for a good, old-fashioned treadmill-fest.

What actually transpired was that I ended up for beers at the bar next to the gym.

In my workout clothes.

And as I allowed myself a two Guinness maximum, while pondering life, the universe and everything, I marveled that I could at least see the gym from the bar where I was sitting. Swilling the heavenly, dark beer like it was going out of style.

I also marveled that when watching ESPN without sound, commercials take on a very different meaning. The "Axe Sensitive" shave cream commercial, to be specific. In this commercial, sporty-clothing-clad women are spraying each other with foam. Is there anything more blatantly sexual than sporty-clothing-clad women spraying each other with foam? And how does this relate to the common chore of men shaving? The women giggle, the women spray their foam, and then the commercial ends. I dare say that men I know would not stop to shave if they were faced with an arena of sporty-clothing-clad women shooting foam.

I turned my attention to a silent ending of the Rachel Maddow Show, and then the beginning of Hardball, where Chris Matthews was reviewing the making of Barak Obama's 500-pound inauguration Chicago cheesecake. Between the spraying foam, creamy cheesecake and sizable Guinness head, I continued to be confused by the days' events, and had to get out of my sportsbra.

I don't think I'll wear a sportsbra to the bar ever again.

Dead Woman Walking

Tomorrow I go under the knife. Okay, that's a little dramatic, I'm just getting my four wisdom teeth out.

Tomorrow I go under the pliers. 

I'm actually extremely freaked out about it, and though I've kind of been joking all week, "If I die on Thursday you can have my handbags..." I'd almost rather die than have to deal with anesthetic. And needles. And pain. 

All day I've been living life to the fullest and acting like if I were to die while "under" tomorrow, then at least I wouldn't have deprived myself of enjoyment today. I drank all the Diet Dr. Pepper I wanted at a meeting this afternoon. I shamelessly flirted with attractive men. I ate part of a mint brownie. (Hey, for me that's living on the edge.) This was to avoid feeling sorry for myself because I don't have a boyfriend to stroke my hair as I drool and spit up blood all over myself tomorrow during post-wisdom tooth yankage. I remember a friend of mine once told me that he knew his girlfriend loved him when she sat with him all bloody and groggy and gross when he had his wisdom teeth taken out. She's his wife now. They have a house, and a kid, and two dogs. I will have four bloody gauze wads, the possibility of dry sockets and my mom to look forward to. 

Tonight I endured a Zumba class at my gym, all the while joking to myself, "This might be the last time I work out." I didn't want anything to ruin my "last" class, least of all this extremely irritating and uncoordinated man who walked in late and stood behind me. At first I thought he wanted to stare at my beautiful and gyrating ass for an hour, but in reality his purpose on earth was to make my last workout before I die a living, breathing nightmare.

At various times throughout the workout he would shout out "HUH!" in time with the music. Sometimes not in time with the music: "HUH! HUH! HUH!" Right into my ear. Loudly in my ear. Sometimes directly behind my head. "HUH! HUH!" At one point, we kicked our right leg and I got a "HUH!" so startling I nearly landed on my beautiful and gyrating ass. As much as I appreciated his spirit and enthusiasm, I also wanted my hearing if I ended up living tomorrow. I thought, "How DARE this chicken-legged jerk ruin my last night on earth?" "HUH! HUH! HUH!" So I very nicely asked him, "If you're going to shout out, could you not do it right into my ear?" (And I actually was very nice about it; I even flashed him a smile and a little half-wink.) Then the asshat says, "You know, part of these classes is to go deaf enjoying the music. HUUUUUH!!" 

Then it was on.  I was going to die tomorrow and I would not let this guy get in the last word. "Uuuh, yeah, but last time I checked I didn't have to enjoy the music through an uncoordinated speaker blaring a foot behind my head." The statement just came out of me without thinking but, damnit, if I was going to leave this mortal coil in just fifteen short hours, I was going to leave it sassy. "SO HUH!"

The guy shut up because he left. My only regret was that I didn't so it earlier in the hour. On the upshot, at least I was able to enjoy in peace my last cool-down on earth.

Fakon part deux: This time, fakon means business

If you haven't read tonight's earlier post on fake bacon or what I've dubbed "fakon," please scroll down, read about it, then continue on with this post.

After eating the fakon, I let it sit in my stomach for about an hour like a wad of fresh cement and then decided to work it through my system at the gym. And work it, I did.

I went to the weight room for my usual 20 minutes, as legs and abs were on my radar for the evening, then jumped on the treadmill for a good cardio warmup. I was on the treadmill for about 20 minutes and was doing so well I jumped onto the elliptical for another 30 minutes before I passed out. 15 minutes and nearly two miles onto the elliptical portion of the workout, and some asshat walking past the gym windows thought he'd be a comedian.

As we (myself and the other folks on the row of trainers, not "we" as in, "the fakon and I") were there sweating our guts out inside the gym, this guy thought it would be funny to make fun of everyone. He took a drag off his cigarette and jogged around for a bit, then leaned over with his hands on his knees like he'd just finished a marathon, then he took another drag and blew the smoke at us in the window before he jogged around again and repeated his schtick. I finally turned to the girl next to me and asked, "Is that a friend of yours?"

"Uhh, no," she said with mutual irritation.

So what do I do when I'm kicking ass at a great cardio workout while getting mocked? Yeah, I flipped him off and mouthed the appropriate matching words. He blew another smoke ring at us and went on his way while the girl next to me chuckled at the whole raunchy scene.

Then it happened. It was like karma was a little pissed off at me for gesturing to the stranger while suggesting just what he could do with the remainder of his evening. As I neared the hour mark on the cardio portion of the night, I felt a little off, like the fakon was rebelling. The universe and the fakon had created nuclear fission in my belly and the reaction was staggering. 

"Woooooah, that fake bacon isn't sitting so well," I thought. "Oh. My. Sweet. Baby. Jesus. The faaaaakoo..." I couldn't even finish the thought before I flew off the ellliptical trainer, and with my hand over my mouth barely made it across the gym before the wrath of the fakon revisited for round two. This was decidedly worse than the time I drank a 32-ounce chai latte before going to the gym.

Now here I sit, researching Morningstar Farms fakon, trying to figure out why I could've had this kind of violent reaction to such a seemingly healthy product. Then it hit me, their Web site is seeveggiesdifferently.com and I realized they were right. Tonight, I certainly saw veggies differently.

Trials of the teeny-tiny Nano

I love going to the gym because I always witness messed up things. I don't even have to make up something like "my ex-boyfriend was working out next to me and he's so dumb" kinds of stories because I always witness messed up things that are always comedy gold. Just last night at the gym, I witnessed an event that makes me wonder if smaller tech-toys are necessarily better.

Technology is funky. I didn't think it was possible for iPods to get tinier, but they have. I remember last November when I got my new Shuffle, I bet some folks at a party to swallow it-- just because they could. It seemed that small! I also never thought I'd see the day when my 3rd generation 10Gb iPod was considered a clunky, antiquated brick. But now it is.

Last night I was on the elliptical trainer at the gym when this couple who was making out right in front of me decided to actually get their tongues out of each others' mouths and get their asses on the nearby row of treadmills. After walking for maybe 30 seconds, the makeout girl jumps off the treadmill and starts frantically searching around for something. I noticed her headphone cord just dangling there without an electronic device, and I figured she must have flipped it out of her pocket and it was probably somewhere around her makeout, err, workout space.

After poking around for a few minutes in all the nearby equipment, the couple decided to take some action and grab the ever-helpful "gonna sign you up for a gym membership" guys. He waddled over to the treadmill, lifted it up to have a look-see underneath, then set it back down. Thorough assessment.

The membership guy left to go and get the parking lot greeter guy while the couple started kissing again and I thought to myself, "Wow, I've been watching this for twenty minutes now!" After a few more minutes, parking lot greeter guy waddled over to the treadmill, lifted it up to have a look-see underneath, then set it back down. Thorough assessment. He left to get a screwdriver while the couple, you guessed it, started kissing again.

It was at this point that the look of disgust crept over my face as I stared at the kissing couple with contempt. I hate public displays of affection anyway, sweaty public displays of affection are just wrong-- me sweaty, them sweaty, the guy next to me sweaty, whatever-- it's all wrong. Though nearly 40 minutes had passed and my workout was almost finished, there was no way I was going to miss the outcome to this twisted tale of teeny technology (nor the great alliteration). Parking lot greeter returned and had to completely disassemble the treadmill. He took the entire front portion off, plus he had to lift up the belt to look inside where, lo and behold, sat the makeout girl's Nano.

Makeout girl had made the one in a million shot to successfully sink her iPod puck right into that itty bitty slot in the front of the treadmill where the belt goes in. Amazing. Some hockey players should be so lucky. There's no way it could ever happen again. Of course, the celebratory couple kissed, then decided they'd be better off taking their workout home and they left. Thank goodness they did, I had been going at "plaid speed" on my elliptical for nearly an hour and thought I was going to have a heart attack trying to run and not laugh at the whole weird scene.

I'll say it again: Technology. Funky. Sometimes makes me wish for a mammoth brick "Zach phone" like on Saved by the Bell.

Workin' out

Despite immense soreness from a very long dance rehearsal yesterday, I made it to the gym today. I walked in, did some lifting, and as I went to the ab bench thing (the official, technical term, I'm sure) I saw something so horrifying, so off-putting, I almost couldn't do the two hundred crunches I needed to round out my day.

I saw some guy's junk. Right there, three ab benches away from me. Some random guy's junk, just out there for the world to gaze upon. It was bad enough that his shorts were shorter than something out of Studio 54 circa 1978, but as he was doing his ab crunches, his legs were bent and splayed open like a sweaty crab.

I did my crunches, trying to shake the disgusting image that had just been seared into my retinas, but I couldn't. Even after another hour of cardio, I couldn't stop thinking, "But I saw his juunnk." How could he not know this? What would possess him to neglect wearing a pair of tightie-whities under his John Stockton shorts? More importantly, why did I have to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Now is the time I step up on the soapbox: If there is nothing else this blog will influence, I hope that it might change the mind of even one person when choosing gym clothes. I hope that they might realize that nobody wants to see their sweaty junk-- nobody wants it to unexpectedly become part of their Sunday afternoon workout. 

Major appliance repair made simple...

For the last two months, my dryer has been threatening complete and total death. Sometimes it smells like burning, sometimes it sounds like grinding, most times it works for two minutes then shuts off.

Since I can't justify spending money I simply don't have right now, I decided to try a little major appliance repair the other night, thus proving bad things happen when I decide to emulate something I'd see on the TLC network. First, I researched my particular type of dryer, and after locating an online "manual" (and by "manual" I mean poor, worthless illustration) decided that was all I needed to guide my way through Screwdriverland.

That, and after a few glasses of wine, it was time to try my handiwork.

I got out my toolbox (yes, my daddy once got me a toolbox. Contrary to popular belief, it's NOT one of those "I'm trying to be so hard to be cute" pink toolboxes.) and after digging through old Sam Adams caps and thumbtacks, found a Phillips. Or flathead. Or something. Funny that you can have something so perfectly orchestrated in your head and when you're sitting there in front of a surly dryer, nothing makes much sense. I unscrewed a few things, and I got scared and screwed them back in. Yay. I know how to unscrew and screw things back in. I just wish something would unscrew me from all of this.

Finally, I let the dryer have it. Two years of bitterness and frustration and pent-up sorrow came out through my feet into the bottom of the dryer. First a few timid kicks, and then full-out Billy Blanks tae-bo, followed by a string of expletives rivaled by shore-leave.

"F**K cancer that kills our loved ones!"
"F**K the Cleveland Indians!"
"F**K that girl in elementary school who used my Crayola markers and dulled all the tips and put the colors out of order!"
You know, all the really important stuff to get upset about and kick the shit out of a clothes dryer...

Lo and behold, the dryer worked. It started, and it stayed on for a full drying cycle. Sure, it's not a permanent fix, but for a temporary solution, who says violence doesn't solve anything?

Aaaarrrghh...

Despite being exhausted when I came home from work today and falling asleep on the couch until about 8 tonight, I still went to the gym. I'm proud of this.

But I digress.

Being a Mac geek I admit I was excited to come home and read all about Steve Jobs' revelations at today's Apple media event, but now I'm not that thrilled. I do love the latest iMac's shiny aluminum casing and pretty glass screen (a' la iPhone... can we expect a touch-screen iMac in the future?) however, I will officially go on the record stating I can not support Apple's decision to remove the "open apple" from the "command" key on their new keyboards. I'm a purist. Still, the new iMacs are really swell and I wouldn't put up a fight if some nice person were to send me one. Beyond that, nothing else from today really flipped my bunny. The new iLife '08 seems nice; the new version of iPhoto is great and the redesigned iMovie looks a bit more professional than iMovie from iLife '06. Ultimately, I think Apple pretty much blew their hype-wad when they released the iPhone earlier this summer.

After spending time at the gym this evening, I came up with some workout iDeas (get it? ideas?) in honor of today's Apple event:

1.) iSpandex- This is for the woman who filled up her water bottle ahead of me. She very much needed the stretch feature in her biker shorts, so much that she had both front and back camel toes that actually made me feel her pain. This camel toe feature is also interchangeable with the iMooseknuckle and the i'Msmugglingayoyo.

2.) iGrunt- This is for the guys who load up their weight on a Nautilus machine far too much. Yes, I know you're manly, but must you broadcast this by slamming down the stack of weights in such a prehistoric way?

3.) iFreshener- The best part of my gym experience tonight. I won't go into detail, but for the man who was next to me on the elliptical... Just because you're wearing headphones doesn't mean we can't hear it when you rip one.

Go forth and conquer, Apple.

So Healthy!

Vitamin Water is a sham. I'll just start right out with that and get it off my chest. Vitamin Water is a sham. I used to like Vitamin Water, and up until this afternoon, I used to love drinking a bottle of it after working out. But no more. I will swear off Vitamin Water as a lame excuse for being healthy, and consider it a diet gimmick.

I went to the gym this afternoon for a couple of hours (for real, I'm not trying to sound hard-core. I also drank three beers last night.) and when I was finished, I decided to drag myself to the grocery store for a few things. You know, healthy things one only thinks about after attending the gym for a couple of hours: Bananas. Salad-in-a-bag. Diet Dr. Pepper. And I decided I'd grab a bottle of Vitamin Water to drink on the way home, because come on, how could something called "Dragonfruit" not be healthy?

After reading the label, I threw down the Vitamin Water with utter disgust and I think I actually said, "What the hell?" under my breath. A bottle of very "healthy" Vitamin Water contains 50 calories per serving, with two-point-five servings in each bottle. Now, I'm no math major or anything, in fact, math nearly cost me my Bachelor's degree, but that totals to 125 calories a bottle. That's only 15 calories less than in regular Coke (which I would never drink because I've never been able to stand the aftertaste). That is the same amount of calories one would find in a can of Guinness. Healthy Vitamin Water, my ass!

In fact, straight to one's ass is where the Vitamin Water will go when you read more of the nutritional information and learn that your 125 calorie health drink also contains 13 grams of sugar per serving, or (again, me trying to do math) about eight teaspoons of sugar per bottle. Seems to me plain ol' water and a good multivitamin might just save those calories I worked so hard to lose! Leave the Vitamin Water alone, unless maybe you've got a raging hangover and need some electrolytes.