Quiz: Am I a girl or not?

I’ve been home sick for a couple of days.  For the most part I’ve just been curled up miserably, waiting for the worst of it to pass.  When that palls, though, I’ve been reading trashy articles on What Guys Like and How To Tell If He’s The One.  I always get it wrong–I don’t know what guys like and I couldn’t tell if he’s the one if you put a gun to my head.  It’s left me with some confusion:  am I a girl or not?

So, in honor of all the quizzes I’ve been doing about What Jeans Are Best For Your Body Shape and Which Sex Goddess Are You, I’ve created a quiz for all those who are with me on the whole Cosmo-doesn’t-always-speak-for-me front.  If you like, you can take this quiz pretending you’re me and see if you think I’m a girl, or you can take it for yourself.  Either way, have fun, and tell me your results!  I promise I won’t make fun of you.  To your face.  And for heaven’s sake:  this is meant as a joke!

A.  You’ve been dating a guy for three months.  You think he’s great, he thinks you’re beautiful without your makeup, all is paradise.  He takes you out somewhere special and, after dinner, hands you a gift: an emerald bracelet.  You think:

  1. How thoughtful!  And so beautiful!  I wonder if there’s a matching necklace coming in another three months…
  2. Gonna have to take out a rider on the homeowner’s insurance for this one.
  3. When have I ever worn a bracelet around him?
  4. That’s really expensive for a three month ‘anniversary.’  And who celebrates three month anniversaries, anyway?
  5. I hope he doesn’t mind that I only got him a subscription to Real Simple.

B.  You’re out about town, running some errands.  You pass a new shoe store and:

  1. Go in, duh!
  2. Leave an impression of your nose against the glass, but don’t actually go in.  You can tell just by looking that the shoes in the store are outside your budget.
  3. Think, I should probably get some new nude pumps one of these days…and keep walking.  You’re probably good for another 6 months or so.
  4. Think, if I wore any of the shoes in the window of that store, I would snap my ankles before I made it to the sidewalk.  Why do women do that to themselves?
  5. Think, Isn’t that where the kitchen supplies store was?  Now where am I going to get a decent pasta maker?

C.  You have three free hours that must, for various reasons, be spent at a very large shopping mall, and for once you have some disposable income.  You:

  1. Thank the shopping gods that you wore a button-down shirt (won’t mess up the hair when changing in dressing rooms), take a look over the mall directory, and map out a plan of campaign.
  2. Take a minute to think about what you actually need to buy, make all your purchases in a department store, then buy a magazine and stow away in the Food Court.
  3. Take a look at what you want to buy in the stores, then look online with your smartphone and find out that you can buy it for half that much online, finally leaving without purchasing anything.
  4. Look only at the bargain racks of every store you enter, leaving with five bags full of various items you may or may not actually need that cost you a total of $37.29.
  5. Hit the kitchenware first.  Hey, you’ve been looking for a decent pasta maker ever since that shoe store replaced the kitchen supply store in your neighborhood.

D.  One of your girlfriends has just broken up with her long-term boyfriend and is a sobbing mess on her living room floor.  You, as one of her dearest friends:

  1. Rush over armed with ice cream, wine, and movies, collecting the rest of your friends on the way for maximum comfort.
  2. Rush over armed with minor explosives and the blueprints to the bastard’s house, collecting the rest of your friends on the way for an all-out assault.
  3. Post a comforting, supportive message on Facebook, then finish eating dinner.
  4. Finish eating dinner, then post a comforting, supportive message on Facebook.
  5. Talk to her on the phone about how much better off she is without him, and offer to make her some spaghetti with your new pasta maker.  You can really taste the difference!

E.  You’re at work and a very large insect scuttles across the carpet right by your office door.  You:

  1. Shriek and beg one of your male coworkers to kill it.  You can handle cantankerous clients and hostile takeover bids, but you’re terrified of bugs.
  2. Shriek and beg one of your male coworkers to kill it not because you’re terrified of bugs, but because you don’t want to get bug guts on your shoes by stomping on it.
  3. Stomp on it.
  4. Make fun of your female coworkers who shrieked, and then stomp on it.
  5. Catch the bug in an improvised container and drop it out the window.  You don’t want to push the eggs into the carpet where they can hatch.

Answers:

Mostly 1’s:  Congratulations, you’re a Cosmo-approved girl!  I’ve never met one of you, but I’ve heard rumors of your existence for years.  If we ever meet, please tell me:  what is the point of a manicure if it chips within five minutes of leaving the salon?

Mostly 2’s:  You’re me.  Sorry about that.  You may or may not qualify as a girl.  Expensive jewelry makes you a little nervous, you love shoes but only buy them rarely, and you’ve taken to heart the saying that the female of the species is deadlier than the male.

Mostly 3’s:  Even I think you’re boring.  Wear a little pink from time to time, and would the occasional ruffle or velvet bow kill you?  You’re female!  Have fun with it!  And if you don’t want to wear pink, I don’t blame you at all.  I don’t like pink, either.  Or ruffles.  Or velvet bows.  But then, I may not actually be a girl.

Mostly 4’s:  You may be a dude.  That’s fine, if that’s what you’re going for.  It’s really less about the trappings and more about the fun of being a chick with other chicks and having fun being chicks together.  However, if your best girlfriend breaks up with her long-term boyfriend, you must go over there and comfort her.  Facebook isn’t going to cut it.

Mostly 5’s:  You’re my sister.  She’s a mom, which is a special subset of being a girl.  She’s smart, sexy, sensible, and scary all at the same time.  It’s a superpower you get when you give birth.  Or adopt.  Just go easy on the pasta makers.

So, are you a girl or not?  I think my official result is that I’m a girl, but with reservations.  I’m going to a remedial class on pearls and twinsets, but I think I’m going to blow it off for an evening showing of Prometheus.  What were your results?  If you’re a guy and you got the result that you’re my sister, I’m really not sure what to tell you, except that the post is already filled.  By a chick.  God, Gloria Steinem’s going to put a hit out on me!

Friends don’t let friends drive moving vans

Two friends

Two friends (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This is the story of how a friendship was born:

We all have different ways of dealing with stress.  Some people drink, some people turn to religion, some people become extreme couponers.  Me, I swear profusely and laugh at completely inappropriate things.  Until recently, I had my own office at work, so it wasn’t a big deal.  Then we made a new hire, and she got put in with me.  I was a little worried about this.  I’m not exactly–what’s that term?–safe for work.  Why would The Powers That Be hire a young and impressionable girl and then deliberately put her in an office with me?  I’m still not sure.  But they did.

I was good for about twenty minutes before I dropped my first expletive.  For me, that’s extremely impressive.  I’ve been known to utter sentences that contained more obscenities than non-obscenities.  I’ve crafted phrases that have used profanity as subject, verb, and object.  For a second, I was really afraid I was going to get a formal complaint.  I apologized for my impropriety.  My new officemate looked at me and said, “What?  Oh, I didn’t even notice.”

Huge f*&%ing sigh of relief!

Since then, I have learned her preferences in candy, lunch destinations, and breakfast muffins, and she has learned the true extent of my shameful addiction to caffeine as well as the depths to which I am willing to sink for the sake of making a joke.  I probably still should have been trying to behave myself around her so she wouldn’t run screaming from the office and file a complaint about the vile cretins surrounding her.  However, when you see each other at 7 AM and spend hours together going through paperwork to get a report in by the deadline, barriers tend to go down.  I was a little disturbed by the fact that she prefers Ryan Gosling to Johnny Depp, but she’s about five minutes old, so I let it pass.  JD can be too much for some people.  It’s okay.

Duct-tape Moving Van

Duct-tape Moving Van (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Officemate–she’s really more of an Office Sister at this point–moved house this past weekend, which is why I haven’t updated for a while:  I helped.  Well, I tried to help.  I’m not what you might call muscular, so I’m no good with moving furniture.  But I can pack like a champ, so that’s mostly what I did.  I packed and vacuumed.  I stayed at Office Sister’s place overnight so I could get up at dawn and pack some more.  Leading up to it, I thought, “Cool!  We’ll hang out, pack some boxes, drink some wine, make inappropriate comments when our supervisors can’t overhear–it’ll be great!”

I’m going to change my name from Little Blind Girl to Little Stupid Girl.  I know better than to think things like that.  Disaster 1:  The refrigerator Office Sister and Office Brother-in-Law ordered didn’t fit the space they had so carefully measured.  Disaster 2:  The microwave didn’t fit, either.  The freaking microwave!  Disaster 3:  Saturday evening traffic in a major metropolis.  Disaster 4:  Half a dozen people who had promised to help canceled.  Disaster 5:  God finally decided to smite us with torrential rain and intermittent tornados.  I’m not saying we didn’t deserve it, but seriously, who gets tornados when they’re moving?  And on, and on, and on.

Exhaustion, tears, the occasional natural disaster:  this is how a friendship is born.  No amount of stress at work can bind two people together quite like driving through tornados and packing away your Office Sister’s bras.  By the time the moving truck had been emptied at the new house and all the furniture had been set up, there was just no point in pretending to be refined and proper.  You can’t move house without swearing and, what’s more important, you can’t move house without revealing who you really are.  Sometimes literally, if you interrupt someone just after a shower because you’re looking for somewhere to brush your teeth and everything’s already packed up.  You just can’t help seeing each other in all your glory.

And it was pretty cool.

English: Clayton Farmhouse Drive Linking the f...

English: Clayton Farmhouse Drive (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So my Office Sister is all moved into her new home, her first actual house, and she’s the cutest thing on two legs with her funny, patient husband and her loudmouth cat (shrieked the entire way to the new house.  Hour and a half.  Oh, my God!) and I don’t even remember how many boxes of couscous we ended up unpacking.  And three different kinds of salsa.  And at least twenty pillows.  And that’s it; we’re friends.  Done.  End of story, professionalism be d%&*ed.  You can’t lay hands on someone’s lingerie and then look them in the eye without laughing.

And that’s the story of how a friendship was born.

My doctor wishes I wouldn’t post this

La Maldicion de la Bestia

La Maldicion de la Bestia (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

During movie night a while ago, a new friend was invited to join our sacred circle.  Movie night for us involves finding the most cliched, predictable movies available and watching them while yelling insults, throwing things at the screen, drinking boxed wine, and eating horrifically unhealthy snacks.  We don’t invite just anyone to join us while we do this.  We make sure they have really good aim first.  Then we make them buy the wine.

So we’re getting ready for movie night.  We picked a werewolf movie, one of those where the werewolf is the love interest and there’s some sort of vague but agonizing destiny the lovers must overcome.  We give bonus points to the movies if they contain gratuitous violence, so we had high hopes for this one.  We like to take bets on how the movie is going to end before it even starts; winner picks the next movie.  But the really important part about movie night is the snacks.

We’d been having movie night pretty regularly for a while, so we were operating at pro level.  New Girl sat on the couch while the rest of us got the snacks ready.  The key to enjoying movie night properly is to start out with decent wine.  Then, when the spices have deadened your taste buds and the alcohol starts making its way into your system, switch to boxed wine.  At that point, you won’t be able to tell the difference, and it’s much cheaper.  Obviously, though, you have to choose spicy snacks to make this work properly.  So my friends and I are taking out our supplies and putting together our snacks, all talking with each other and not really paying attention because we’ve done this so often.  It went a little something like this:

Little Blind Girl:  (Pulls out Nacho Cheesier Doritos bags) I predict that Werewolf Girl will have some sort of clan-approved Werewolf Mate that she’ll have to kill in order to be with Human Hottie.

Friend 1:  (Heats up Texas Chili, Extra Hot, adding picante sauce) No, Werewolf Girl will be trying to deny her nature to be with Sanctimonious Loverboy, then she’ll go all wolfy and embrace her true destiny and kill the love interest.

Friend 2:  (Adds Taco Seasoning to Texas Chili, Extra Hot; stirs) Yeah, and then she’ll be all consumed with remorse and fight her Wolf King brother, who’s been egging her on.  She kills him and lopes off into the distance to be alone with her broken heart.

Friend 3:  (Heats up storebought Nacho Dip, stirs in chunks of cheddar) No, she’ll bite Human Hottie and turn him into a werewolf.  Then he goes all feral and kills her best friend, and then she has to kill him.  Then she lopes off into the distance to be alone with her broken heart.

LBG:  (adds chili-taco mix to Doritos bags, shakes enthusiastically, pours into large bowl) No, you’ve got to have the love triangle.  Werewolf Mate tries to kill Human Hottie to try to get with Wolf Girl, then she kills Werewolf Mate in front of Human Hottie, who gets all traumatized and can’t look at her.  Then she lopes off into the distance to be alone with her broken heart.

Friend 1:  (pours cheese mixture over Chili Taco Doritos mix in bowl) Then Human Hottie finds her and convinces her that she can overcome her wolfy instincts and they can be together, and then they have a really awkwardly posed kiss and live happily ever after.

Friend 2:  (dumps 2 tubs of sour cream over Cheese Chili Taco Dorito mix)  You’re such a hopeless romantic!  No.  They have a really awkwardly posed kiss and then, as the screen fades to black, you hear a bunch of wolves starting to howl all around them.

Friend 3: (empties enormous tub of extra-spicy salsa over hot mess in bowl) No, no, no!  After Wolf Girl lopes off into the distance to be alone with her broken heart, Human Hottie tries to follow her, despite being grievously wounded from his fight with Werewolf Mate.  Just as he catches a glimpse of her and she looks at him, the moon comes out from behind the clouds and they realize they’re surrounded by the rest of the wolf clan.  Cut to credits.

Friend 4:  (scatters whole hot peppers throughout bowl, mixes up the hot mess, and reaches for the freaky hot green sauce)  You know, maybe we should ask New Girl if she wants freaky hot green sauce on her Chili Taco Dorito Nachos.  It might not be everyone’s cup of tea.

(We all look over at New Girl, who is staring in bewildered, uncomprehending horror at the Gigantic Bowl of Hot Mess on the kitchen table)

New Girl:  Um, no, that’s okay, I think I’m just going to eat some fruit.

(Bewildered, uncomprehending horror from group of friends, which we cleverly cover with a change of topic)

LBG:  So, New Girl, how do you think the movie will end?

New Girl:  I think Wolf Girl and Human Hottie will have a movie night, eat Chili Taco Dorito Nachos, and immediately have fatal heart attacks.

(Pause)

LBG:  I don’t remember seeing that in any of the promos.

Friend 1:  Isn’t there a story where the heroine chokes on an apple?

Friend 2:  That’s Snow White.  No werewolves.

Friend 1:  My point still stands.

Friend 3:  What point would that be?

Friend 1:  Never trust fruit.  That stuff will kill you.

Turns out, movie night isn’t for everyone.  But, you know, that just means more Chili Taco Dorito Nachos for the rest of us.  I don’t remember how the movie ended or who won that particular round, which is usually the sign of a successful movie night.  New Girl got over her horror and tried the nachos.  I think I even had a slice of apple.  But you don’t want to go overboard with that kind of thing.  Aren’t apples what got us kicked out of the Garden of Eden in the first place?

This is how people end up jumping out of planes

Two friends

Two friends (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was talking with some friends the other day.  We hadn’t spoken in a while, and we were comparing all the exciting developments in our lives.  Friend #1, a gorgeous blonde who compounds the offense by being both smart and nice, says “I just gave birth to my third child!”  This after posting a picture of herself on Facebook with said child while wearing a sheath dress and sporting a perfect tan.  Hate her.  No, I don’t.

Friend #2, a sexy dark-eyed brunette with lips people go through multiple painful surgeries to emulate, says “I just got promoted!  I’m now running the company I started working for when we graduated from school!”  I have her Christmas card in my apartment.  It has a picture of her with her huge, loving, crazy, amazing family all mugging cheerfully for the camera while seated around a truly fantastic-looking dinner table.  Hate her.  No, I don’t.  She sends me cookies.

Friend #3, another brunette with incredible light eyes that show up like stars against her dark skin, confides “It’s been four years since I was widowed.  I thought I would never love again, but I’ve found someone wonderful, and we’re getting married this fall!  It’s been a kind of miracle, the kids love him just as much as I do.  I’m so glad they’ll have a father-figure they really care about.”  Can’t hate her.  Really happy for her.

So then they all ask me what’s been going on in my life.  And there’s just nothing.  I’ve been scrounging around in my brain during the entire conversation, trying to come up with something, and I’ve got nothing.  What do I do?  Make something up?  Tell them about how I read the Hunger Games trilogy in one day?  I’m on the spot, and having a bad hair day to boot, and I blurt out “My blog got Freshly Pressed!”  Crickets.  Well-meaning, supportive crickets, but crickets nevertheless.  Finally, Friend #1 (and this is why I can’t hate her) says “That’s great that you’re still keeping a blog, honey!  I’ve always thought that’s so brave.”

And I thought:  That’s it, I’m going skydiving!

With this LBG, I thee wed

Engagement Ring

Engagement Ring (Photo credit: Lucas_James)

A friend of mine is getting married.  Yay!  And you know her, if you read the blog closely, but I’m not allowed to announce it formally yet.  Cue the crying, hugging, dancing around, promising we’ll always be friends even after she’s got a live-in boy, etc.  Then comes the important discussion:

Me:  What are you thinking as far as the ceremony?

Friend:  I’m kind of torn.  Courthouse is very tempting, but my family would be really hurt if they couldn’t participate in a traditional wedding.

Me:  Courthouse all the way, baby.  Wham, bam, thank you, your honor!

Friend:  But the wedding dress!

Me:  That you wear once!

Friend:  And the reception!

Me:  That lasts for one evening and costs more than your honeymoon!

Friend:  And the presents!

Me:  Oh, yeah, the presents are pretty sweet.

Friend:  But if I had a wedding, I’d have to get my makeup done.

Me:  I can do your makeup!

Friend:  I’d have to wear heels.  I hate heels.

Me:  Ballet flats.

Friend:  I don’t have a preacher.

Me:  Internet Church of the Spaghetti God.

Friend:  Wait.  Which one of us wants a wedding?

Me:  I can’t help it.  I always have to have the last word.

Friend:  I can see it now:  “Do you, [friend’s name omitted] take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”  “I do.”  And do you, [Hot Fiance’s name omitted], take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”  “I do.”  “And do you, Little Blind Girl, give your blessing to the union of this man and this woman?”  “I do.”  And only then will we be legally married!

Me:  Better believe it!

You think that’s bad, just wait until you read the yet-to-be-written post about the Little Blind Girl and the Open-Bar Reception!

We’ll fly through the blogosphere with the greatest of ease

Trapeze artists in circus, lithograph by Calve...

Image via Wikipedia

That’s it, I’m running away and joining the circus!  I’ve had it with suits and pantyhose and alarm clocks and paperwork and deadlines.  Give me the roar of the crowd!  The ringmaster’s intonations booming above the applause, the cotton candy, the fire-eaters, the elephants and the lions–no clowns, though.  I believe I’ve previously made myself clear on this subject.

So who’s with me?  Lori Franks, you can be ringmaster!  The Waiting can be liontamer!  Onwindydays can be the fire-eater!  Toadsandwich, you’ll be in charge of concessions.  And what will I be, you ask?  I shall be the tightrope walker, or perhaps the trapeze artist, the one who launches herself into the air with no safety net and only her own skill to help her land safely on the other side.  Not that far off from what I do already.

Little Blind Girl’s Traveling Blog Circus begins tonight!  Lose yourself in the glamor, the spectacle, the death-defying feats, and all with no cover charge!  That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, absolutely free.  All we ask is a willingness to be awed and amazed. Now, step up and come inside the Blog Circus, where all are welcome, anything is possible, and the elephants may break free at any moment!  Guaranteed 100% clown free.

Adventures in driving

custom car, shot at local car show/swap meet

Image via Wikipedia

Once upon a time, my friends and family thought it would be a good idea if I learned how to drive.  I’d managed to do so many other things that no one thought a legally blind girl could do, why not this?  I’m not sure what they had planned for the vision test, but it never got that far.  When I got to the actual driving portion of the program, it went a little something like this:

Little blind girl:  (gripping the steering wheel) How do I turn this thing on?

Little blind girl’s friend:  Put the key in the ignition and turn it.

LBG:  OK.  Where’s the ignition?

LBGF:  Right here.  You put the key in like… no, not that key…the really big one…you put it in the ignition here, and you turn it–no, that’s not far enough, a little more…

LBG:  I think it’s stuck.

LBGF:  Here, let’s switch places and I’ll get you set up.

(Shuffle around, Chinese fire drill style)

LBG:  OK, so the car’s on, what do I…oh, my God, we’re moving, I’m not pushing any of the pedals, why are we moving if I’m not pushing any of the pedals??

LBGF:  It’s OK, the car rolls a bit.  Just steer where you want to go, we’ll get you comfortable with the steering wheel first–no, you put your hands at 10 and 2, just slide them over–how did you get your elbow around your neck like that?

LBG:  Which one’s the brake?  I really want to push the brake.

LBGF:  The one on the left.  No, the left, the left!  Don’t think about insurance rates, don’t think about  insurance rates…you’re doing great.  Just ease up off the brake, now.

LBG:  No.

LBGF:  Chris, it’s fine, you’re not going to do any damage to anyone at this speed.

LBG:  No.  I like the brake.  I feel we’ve become very close.

LBGF:  Chris, you can’t date the brake.  Take your foot off the brake.  Come on, just a little…there you go.  Now, just tap the gas, just to get used to it.

LBG:  Are you sure?

LBGF:  Yes, you’ll be fine.  Just tap the gas–holy crap, what was that noise?  Hang on, let me just get out of the car for a minute…Chris, you’ve got to hit the brake–no, the brake!  The brake!

(Screech, crash, cut to State Trooper arriving at the scene)

State Trooper:  So, whose idea was it to let the blind girl drive?

And thus concluded my adventures in driving.  I may have exaggerated a little bit, but not actually that much.  Really, I just added the State Trooper.  Discrimination against the blind in driving laws is a fantastically good idea.  I’m all about the discrimination.  Bring it on.