Aloha!!



My "you-survived-Christmas" reward

In less the 24 hours I will be Hawaii-bound! This will be my first trip ever to Hawaii, and I have been anticipating this Maui vacation all year long. The first thing I’m going to do is hunt down a celebratory Mai Tai for getting through the hectic holiday season.


Even though I have never been there, I have had a life-long, love/hate relationship with the islands. With a name like Hana (which means many things in many different languages), and my ambiguous racial appearance, most people who meet me for the first time assume I’m from the town Hana in Maui, or that my parents named for me for the Hawaiian meaning of “work.”

I get really offended by this assumption for many reasons:

A) I’ve never been to Hawaii, so I’m not a freaking islander. It’s the equivalent to assuming every white person you see is from Sweden. “Oh my god! Have you been to Ikea?!”

B) My name means flower (and nose, but don’t tell) in Japanese and not something as heinous as WORK.

C) I am black, Japanese, and white. My dad does have some roots in Hilo, Hawaii, but they are so far back that I’m only 1/16th Hawaiian. Which leads us to:

D) My tan skin is from my African American side. But people don’t believe me when I tell them I’m black so they need to associate my tan skin with something they can cope with.

When I was younger, and unscathed by idiocracy, I did include “part Hawaiian” in my answer to “What is your ethnicity?” (But usually this question comes in the form of “what are you?” to which my response is “Human. What are you?”) My sister and I even joined a hula group and learned how to do the traditional Hawaiian dance. It was a lot of fun (and MUCH harder than you’d think).

But after a year or two, we quit hula, and I started getting sick of people assuming I was from a town I had never even been to. It reminded me of the scene in Juno when Ellen Paige meets the dad who plans to adopt her baby. He says, “Oh Juno. Like Alaska?” Ellen simply says, “No.” She doesn’t explain and lets him sit there awkwardly. She simply points out he is wrong. That is my life story in a nutshell.

If people aren’t assuming I’m Hawaiian, they’re assuming I am trying to be cutesy with the name Hannah. First of all, I can’t even comprehend how many times I’ve heard, “Ya spelled yer name wrong HANNAH” and subsequently having to tell people my name rhymes with Donna. Secondly, don’t be rude and just ask me how to pronounce my name. If you don’t know, ask. It is much safer for you to admit your ignorance than to botch my name and pay the consequences (in which case you will refer to me as Muhana Ali).

I have come to a point where I will let it slide if someone calls me Hannah if I’m never going to see that person again. You can call me Nancy if you can handle that better during our one-time rendezvous. But I have joined the facebook fan club, “Everybody f**** up my name” to cope with my anger.

So as of tomorrow, we’ve come full-circle. I will inhabit the island that contains the famed town of Hana, and I have not come to the conclusion if I even want to visit it. It would be all dandy to take a picture in front of this town I’ve been hearing about for most of my life, but not visiting it feels like giving the proverbial (and satisfactory) middle finger to everyone who has ever assumed wrong about me. We’ll see what happens when we get there.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but I’ll break yours if you call me Hannah.

Ode to the Company Christmas Party

Hanson gets me in trouble AGAIN!! I swear this is not turning into the Hanson blog.

 
I have been involved in some pretty epic company Christmas parties; some of which have involved blacking out and ending up across town at a Denny's somehow, bringing drunk co-workers back to my parents house and explaining in a slur that my co-workers would be dead if my parents kicked them out, and my favorite - getting the company banned from ever returning to the hosting facility.

These experiences happened during a time when I wasn't making attempts at establishing a career. 

Now that times have changed, I am in a smaller, more conservative department. So it was without surprise that this year's shin dig was not made up of rowdy behavior as in years past. BUT I started going there and decided to open up my mouth in an epic way.

First of all, you know I'm drunk when:
A) I am constantly smiling.
B) My incessant laughter starts turning heads.
C) I don't stop talking.
D) I am talking about things I shouldn't, sans filter.

All of the above occurred last night.

It all started when the Backstreet Boys came on. I was being transported back to middle school dances (you know the ones- its your first time slow dancing with a boy and you both dance with your arms out, elbows locked. If you're really good, your legs are straight with your knees locked too. You teeter totter back and forth. When the songs over, you run back to your girlfriends giggling and start rumors that your dance partner is now your official boyfriend and then you get your heart crushed when you find out his friends dared him to dance with you - oh that didn't happen to you? Never mind).


I of course announced that the BSB were bringing back middle school memories, and other co-workers confirmed experiencing similar time warps. Somehow, this paved the way for me to start blabbing about my former Hanson obsession.

My boss's boss, amused, asked, "Did you have posters on your bedroom wall?"

I of course said, "By posters, you mean SHRINE?! OH MY GOD YES! I HAD A WALL SIZED POSTER AND A BUNCH OF POSTERS FROM TIGER BEAT ALL AROUND IT!" (I was talking as loudly as I am typing).

To which everyone started making fun of me. Once again, flashbacks of school mates teasing me about Hanson started to occur. I kept trying to emphasize that it was a former obsession but my enthusiasm about it was indicating otherwise.

Somehow my boss's boss changed the subject and somehow started talking about playing spin the bottle as a kid, to which I said yelled, "Oooh! YOU'RE A P-I-M-P! WOO!!" My small department of eight stopped talking. The bar fell silent. Everyone looked at me and suddenly burst out guffawing, as I had officially blown my "playin' it cool" cover.

"Yeah...I'm going to stop drinking now." I wasn't so tipsy that I didn't realize the path on which I was headed. Yikes! Who on earth in the corporate world, tells their boss's boss - not just their boss- that they are a P-I-M-P? And yes I spelled it out like Jay-Z.

This morning I came into work feeling completely fine, but everyone was like, "How ya feeling? HARDY HAR HAR!"

And my boss's boss came up to me and said, "So! Ya still sauced from last night or what?!"

Hardy har har.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but stick to O'douls if you want to avoid your boss's boss singing Mmmbop or Jay-Z to you from down the hall. 

AHHH!!!

I wish I had time to be home alone.

The holidays never used to be an insanely busy time of year for me until now. I never used to understand why people turned into such scrooges, or when I worked in retail, how people’s fuses were so short, they were willing to backhand an employee if they looked at them wrong. But I think I’m starting to understand why.

This year, I feel myself struggling with my inner scrooge. I’m ready to be the one to backhand somebody. Now don’t get me wrong-I love the holidays (please see my previous post “Getting’ in the Holiday Spirit”), but I’ve been so insanely busy that it’s cutting into my sleep, and even my Hanson Christmas album isn’t making holly and gingerbread cookies shoot out my ass like usual (sorry for that mental image).

This is also the first time in our five-year relationship that my boyfriend and I are spending the holidays together (we were too stubborn to deviate from our own holiday traditions in years past). We’re lucky that our families are close enough that we can see them both during the holidays (after some lengthy discussions about compromising), but it does add another sense of chaos to an already busy season. I’m so happy and excited to spend the holidays with them all, but we will end up touring all of Washington’s highways about four times next week (okay so instead of compromising, maybe we found a way to jam both of our families in). I’m trying to focus on one day at a time, but it isn’t keeping my eye from twitching.

As far as the rest of the month has gone, I went to my best friend’s bachelorette party last weekend (which involved a much needed absinthe cocktail – blog post to come sometime after my eye stops twitching) and it’s been a non-stop tornado of tasks and appointments ever since. There is something going on every single day until Christmas and it’s been like that for about two weeks now.

This weekend, I somehow need to find time to bake a million cookies, somewhere in between my haircut, sushi happy hour, Seahawks game and ugly sweater party. Don’t get me wrong- my “tasks” are fun ones, but the more overloaded I get, the more they seem like another thing to do. I forced myself to say no to a co-worker who invited me to a ginger-bread making, martini party at her house next week, although under normal circumstances, I certainly wouldn’t have turned that down.

I still haven’t even wrapped my presents. And I’m supposed to find time to pack for Hawaii (I absolutely DESPISE packing, and would be willing to pay someone to do it for me. Any takers?) I know, boohoo. I’m bitching about going on vacation. I’m going to freakin’ need that vacation, okay?

Not to mention, work has been hectic and full of deadlines and pre-vacation preparations. Just about every article I’ve written this week has come back full of red lines which has not done much alleviate my stress level.

And in the background, there are all sorts of stuff going on with my mom that I can’t help but worry about. I’m just going to leave it at that.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but my after-Christmas Hawaii trip is keeping me afloat!

An unfortunate equation

KFC for dinner last night + not so bright person taking our order + boyfriend getting an attitude with them = diarrhea for the both of us today. Thanks Honey!

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but KFC will never be going into my system again.

Gettin' in the Holiday Sprit

It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas was going to be doomed this year. I’m the type that breaks out the holiday tunes the second the dessert dishes are washed and put away on Thanksgiving Day. However, when I went to look for my Christmas music this year, it was nowhere to be found.

I started to panic. I tore up our guest room, thinking it may be in an unpacked box leftover from our move almost a year ago. Nope. Not there. I scoured CD albums, coming across such gems as MoKenStef and SWV. Nope. Not there either. It looked like I was going to have to rely on Pandora’s schizophrenic suggestions for the holidays. Sigh.

For days I listened to Pandora and suffered through suggestions like Andrea Bocelli’s rendition of “Do You See What I See?” (or was that song Do You Hear What I Hear?) and Michael Bublé’s attempts at being a daddy-o. I was really trying to get in the holiday spirit and even tried to dress my dog up like Santa (to which he almost bit my arm off), but it just didn’t feel the same.

Then yesterday, my $10 fake Christmas tree that I ordered off of Amazon came in the mail. I got all excited until I opened it, and discovered that I got such a great deal because it has about 4 branches and sheds as though it were a living tree. The vacuum is still a necessary accessory to our holiday foliage. It was also a whole foot shorter than it said it was on the site. Nonetheless, I trudged down to our garage and pulled out my ornament box, when I saw another box that was underneath it. I could not remember what had been packed in it, so I opened it up to find MY CHRISTMAS MUSIC!!

I ran back upstairs and played ALL of it for a good 5 hours straight, repeating favorites and dancing around the living room. I sang to my puppy that all I wanted for Christmas was him, and forced him (and my neighbors) to listen to me attempt Mariah’s vocal stylings. But the gem amongst my Christmas tunes is Hanson’s Christmas album, “Snowed In.” Even though it’s apparent the brothers were going through puberty at the time of this recording, I still can’t help but mmmbop around to their voice-cracking rendition of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.” I know I’m closer to 30 than I am to 13, but this album brings back good holiday memories for me, and it never feels like Christmas without it. I can’t fail to mention my love of N*SYNC’s “Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays” song either.

Don’t worry. I do have some taste in Christmas music. I already mentioned Mariah Carey, and I have a spot in my heart for all of the old classics sang by Bing Crosby, Perry Como, Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole. I finally got the Christmas spirit back!

My boyfriend did tell me to stop singing yesterday. I told him to get used to it if he’s planning on sticking around.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but it ain’t the holidays without Hanson.

The Peril of Consumption

Look at that lady in the M&Ms sweatshirt. Another example of something someone didn't need. Photo sourced from here.

This is the third and final post in a three-part series on consumerism.  

Black Friday came and went. While I heavily considered getting my ammo ready, I ultimately couldn't drag myself out of bed at 3 in the morning to go battle over a $5 savings. I anxiously awaited the news broadcasts as I do every year, and I have to say, I was actually a little disappointed -- I only saw one person getting trampled at a Target in New York, which led me to believe that more people are opting to stay in their Batman sheets like me and do their shopping on the Internet.

And lo and behold, I found that online retailers saw their sales rise by 16 percent, while regular businesses only saw a .3 percent increase, bringing the total number of dollars spent to $10.69 billion.

Let's park here for a second. $10.69 BILLION FREAKIN DOLLARS. Keep in mind, every one of those dollars is spent on something that isn't necessary. And this is one of the milder Black Fridays. Many people are still on budgets and not spending quite as much as they were before the recession hit.

There are people in the good ole USofA who can't even afford to eat a single meal everyday, while we are in our own little worlds spending exorbitant amounts of money on crap, essentially. Before you argue with me that your gifts aren't crap and that your Uncle Buck really does need the new whitie tighties you elbowed someone in the face to get, keep in mind that your Uncle Buck has survived this long without them. And who gets their uncles underwear anyway? That's just gross. I'm buying crap just as much as the next guy, but I didn't realize I was contributing to $10.69 billion worth of it.

Outraged by the very same concept, I stumbled upon Kelly Sutton's blog aptly titled The Cult of Less. His site is designed as simple as his lifestyle; He has a list of every single thing he owns, and has sold just about all of it. You can still buy his possessions through the site. The few items he does intend to keep fit inside a single suitcase. He has kept a Mac Book (how else does he have his blog?), and a few clothing items, but he has even sold unassuming items such as gym shorts (okay that's kinda icky). But he's making a really good point that few of us want to acknowledge: WHY do we feel like we need all of this stuff? And why are we putting ourselves in debt to have it?

Do you think you could live out of a single suitcase? Most of us would say no. Most of us would say we need our TVs, our closets overflowing with clothes, books, our pet rocks etc. And you know what, I don't know if I could do that either, but it certainly makes me consider every purchase I make, and every purchase I'm thinking of making.

For example, my boyfriend and I have been seriously discussing buying a house (after he proposes to me of course). We had agreed on our price range, and one day he came home just raving about a home that was $30,000 outside of the budget we had set for ourselves. "It's a whole new kind of house if we just up our price range a bit!" He was showing me humongous homes fit for large families. We're just two people and a dog. What do we even need a place that big for? After a bit of convincing, I talked him back down to our budget and pointed out that even the homes in our price range are still more than what we really need. In fact, the only reason I want to buy a house is so that I can invest my money. Not that I feel like I need more of anything. 

We may not be able to part with our possessions to the degree that Kelly Sutton has, but we can certainly pay attention to the motives behind our purchases, and save ourselves from consumerist peril.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but our country's obsession with consumerism will not break my bank.

Move over, Martha!

The success of my first baked loaf of pumpkin bread has created a complete monster. I've been baking at every chance I get, and I've even had to restock on baking ingredients -- an event which only previously occurred due to failed attempts at cookies and boxed cupcakes (yes, I've even screwed up boxed cupcakes - that's how far I've come). It's as though the baking switch has been turned on: Now I'm restocking because I'm creating too many delish desserts!

The downside to my newfound love is that I've essentially swapped running for baking. My taste buds are rejoicing and my mid-section is crying. Not that I'd be running in sub-freezing temperatures anyway (thank you Arctic blast), but my hip flexor injury has prevented me from spending time with my dear friend, the treadmill. And while my physical therapist has given me permission to work on my relationship with the elliptical, my oven and I have really bonded and I'd rather spend time with it.

With Thanksgiving being tomorrow, I'm bringing a cookie platter and my old standard of green bean casserole. I've got my absolute favorite Swedish Honey cookies baking in the oven, with some Molasses cookies on tomorrow morning's line up. Who knows? Maybe I'll even make another batch of those delicious Peanut Butter cookies I wrangled together this weekend.

But in an effort to not let myself go completely, I am publicly vowing to integrate working out back into my schedule. Hold me to it. I'm supposed to look good in a bikini for my first Hawaiian vacation in one month. And my love of baking certainly isn't giving me a six-pack.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but don't deny yourself anything during Thanksgiving!

Friday, Bloody Friday

The "Credit Crucifix" by R. Lloyd Ming.

This is the second in a three (or four)-part series (I haven't made up my mind yet) on consumerism. 

I am a Black Friday virgin. But I always look forward to watching the news that day. For those 24-hours, you get to see human behavior at its worst; Surveillance camera footage documents people flooding the stores during a time of day when most people are sleeping off their Thanksgiving hangovers.

Fists are thrown over the last $5 foot massager and $4 nose-hair clippers as consumerism explodes into a pandemonium only previously reserved for political uprisings. You hear of people getting trampled and dying, and getting shot over Tickle Me Elmo.

Even store employees are getting caught in the cross fire, with one WalMart employee dying on black Friday two years ago. Well...maybe it was their fault for working at WalMart. But still. The news footage always looks like an episode of Super Market Sweep: Looting Edition.


Sure we talk about the gravity of children throwing tantrums when they don't get their way, but on Black Friday, adults throw the biggest tantrums of them all. In fact, any time there is some kind of deal, adults seem to be throwing tantrums. I can unfortunately recall a moment during my first job as a sample lady (shut up), when adults were yelling and fighting over the last sample on the table. I was 16 years-old and trying to reassure a group of grown adults that there would be more bite-sized corn dogs ready in just five minutes if they would just be patient. I quickly learned that the words "free sample" and "patience" are never to be used in the same sentence. I had to get the store manager involved. Who knew corn dogs could ignite death threats?


So why are we all so hell bent on getting free things? Do we even need that 400-calorie sample of corn dog? History reveals that no, no we don't.

It wasn’t until the mass manufacturing boom of the Industrial Revolution that regular, everyday people began to buy things simply for the enjoyment of having them. Manufacturers could produce products more cheaply if done in bulk, and a surplus resulted. The idea of owning things for pleasure came from the need to sell these surplus items (and the greed to fatten wallets).  


Sure, there have always been the privileged elite that could buy things for the pleasure of it, but this was not a mindset of the common folk. You only purchased what was needed. (If you’re a nerd, and the history and psychology of consumerism interests you (as it does me), you should listen to this podcast. I was intrigued).

In fact, history confirms that we've been duped by some greedy person's business scheme, yet again. And again. And again. I haven't felt this duped since finding out that Al Gore was not the real inventor of the Internet.

While our bad behavior tends to come out most on Black Friday, the rest of the year, many adults don’t feel they have to punch each other to get what they want. In fact, they don't feel they have to deprive themselves at all. One interesting article claims that credit card debt has more than doubled since 2000, fooling the consumer into thinking there's nothing they can't afford. Experian reported in 2008 that the average American is $16,635 in debt, excluding mortgages. While there was no mention of student or car loans, that’s still a hefty bill to foot.


Even with all of the tricks of the trade being revealed, I’ve been considering joining the Black Friday crowd this year, armed with my little can of pink mase (I never said I was above any of this consumerism stuff. Just pointing out some interesting facts). I may not even buy anything. I may just go as a martyr to my passion for journalism so I can be on the front-lines of the battle field. It will be a good resume builder as an aspiring war correspondent. Or maybe I will just give in to all of the crazy deals - I am on a budget this holiday season.


Sticks and stones may break my bones, but Black Friday may also break my bones.

He Who Dies With the Most Toys Wins

Yes that IS the Octomom with 1/8 of her litter. Picture sourced from here.

This is the first of a three (or four)-part series (I haven't made up my mind) on consumerism. Don’t worry. There’s humor in here somewhere.

The worst tantrum I have ever witnessed in my entire life occurred at the Tacoma Mall when I was 18 years old. I was working at a little girl's clothing store at the time, so I was pretty used to hearing screaming and stomping when the little brats didn't get their way. But what I saw this day was beyond any five year-old ego being crushed -- it was consumerism gone awry.

It started out as any typical situation -- little girl see’s pink, sparkly shirt. Little girl wants pink, sparkly shirt. Mother says no. Girl starts crying. Crying turns into shrieking. Shrieking turns into, “You’re a bad mother! I hate you!” Elevated? Yes. Out of the norm at my store? No. 


The mother started walking out of the store, embarrassed by her daughter’s behavior. While she had only gone around the corner when I heard the little girl crying and shrieking even louder. I peaked my head out to find that she hadn’t gotten far -- Build-a-Bear was our neighbor and she had decided she absolutely needed to stuff one of the limp teddies -- Which by the way, is not a good two-week anniversary gift, High School Boys. I received a mooing teddy from Build-a-Bear as a gift from an ex . I don’t know what made him think this was appropriate. So I reminded him of a cuddly cow? Thanks. That’s right up there with Space Jam necklace I received from a different boyfriend, 10 years after Space Jam was cool.

Back to the tantrum: this little girl wasn’t taking no for an answer, and melting into a puddle in front of Build-a-Bear. This went on longer than the pink shirt outburst. Twenty minutes later, her mother had managed to get her to walk to the next store, Hot Topic.

This little five year-old girl start freaking out about needing a dog chain necklace. Her face was red with tears and her voice was going hoarse from all of her screaming. Another twenty minutes later, she managed to get to the next store, Spencer’s. She absolutely needed a disco ball to complete the 70's theme in her bedroom. She stalled her mother for a good TWO HOURS at every single store on the way to the door. It became clear it was never about the particular items she was coveting, just that she wanted something she didn’t need. Her mother’s attempts at picking her child up and walking out of the mall resulted in the mom getting slapped and kicked.

I’m not a big fan of corporal punishment, but I would have slapped the shit out of that kid right in the middle of the mall. I’m sure the rest of the onlookers would have understood -- and maybe even said “Finally!” as they began applauding.

But who’s fault is this really? As a culture, we sure have contributed to this little girl’s mindset that she has to have something she doesn’t need.

Allow me to explain. According to the Mass Media Awareness Network, advertising dollars aimed towards children have exploded in the past few decades. In fact, it jumped from $100 million in 1990 to $2 billion in 2000. The above tantrum is ideal for the businesses that invest this kind of money.They want children to have meltdowns and parents to cave into them. This fattens wallets and allows businesses like Mattel, Hasbro and even McDonald's to prosper.


As I shop for my little nephew and godson this holiday season, I'm going to keep these things in mind as I peruse the aisles of Toys r' Us and Target. In fact, I might just get them something they need. And then I'll be deemed as the worst auntie ever. Maybe they'll understand when they're older.



Sticks and stones may break my bones, but stay tuned for more of this bumper sticker inspired series :)

Yo Spamma Spamma

I am so sick of Live Nation spamming me with emails asking if I want to go see Yo Gabba Gabba! live. Seriously? I pay how much in concert fees each year for you spam me about this? We need concert reform and stat!

I feel so bad for this guy on the boom box. I bet this role is exactly what he set out to do when he decided to become a star. But I think I feel even worse for the poor soul on the far left in the red, warted, cucumber looking costume. To be the most hideous of the Yo Gabba Gabba stars has got to have its fame set backs. Does he feel like Joan Jett when she was in the Runaways with Cherie Currie? By the way, can someone tell me what the hell this group is about? I don't even know what I'm posting here...

Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but be careful when wishing for fame -- you may become a red, warted cucumber.

Sticks and Stones got a facelift!

Hey Sticks and Stoners!
I gave the blog a fresh new look with my new, yet limited web design skills. You may see some more tweaks here and there over the next few days, so don't panic. Feel free to give me feedback and tell me what you think!

Thanks!!!
Hana

Redemption!

Success! I made lasagna for the first time ever last night, AND I used a complicated recipe. Well complicated for me. It included homemade sauce, which was delicious. It felt good not to sabotage or burn a new dish on the first try. Usually I end up buying double ingredients because the first time around usually involves the fire department. But here it is, in all it's glory:

Let's not go in to the fact that I was covered in sauce and that I nearly assaulted the dog with a wine glass that fell off the counter and broke in his dish. I didn't say it wasn't eventful.

I did say to myself as I was slaving away, "Man I would hate to be a housewife in the '50s." I was sweating and the whole thing took 2.5 hours to make. Then my boyfriend comes home to dinner cooking (for the first time ever) and says, "Man it would've been awesome to be a man in the '50s! I could get used to this!"

I simply said, "Don't."

If you're interested, here is the recipe. It really is World's Best Lasagna.

I'm getting a little cocky and plan to attempt Pumpkin Bread this weekend. Now baking....that's another story.

Sticks and stones may break my bones but cooking and I are beginning to get even.

Birthday Mistake #1: Going to Work

I wrote a total of 45 words worth of story (if you can even call it that) at work today. It seemed like the most ardous article of my life. I forgot why it's totally useless to go to work on your birthday, even if it falls on a Thursday. I was absolutely the least productive member of my team, and I didn't even have a good excuse like drinking last night. I took tomorrow off to have a three day weekend, which I'm sure I'll be enjoying in all of its glory. But it's TOMORROW.

Instead I'm sitting in my cubicle watching it rain on Red Robin (my lovely view), making sure the internet still works, and wracking my brain to write the most incredible 45-word blurb known to man. And I pretty much just vomitted on a word doc and put it in the "done" folder.

I've been getting up to go to the water fountain every five minutes, starting conversations with my co-workers about non-work-related things (which include why the greek god Kronos was famous), continuing these conversations past the point of comfort for the sake of not returning to my computer screen, wandering around the halls and pretending I'm going to important meetings, creating odd meeting names and inviting people on outlook to them (which include "Mustache Shaving Event" (this is a REAL story I will be covering)) -- anything to NOT WORK even though I'm AT work.

I also showed up late, took a late lunch and am leaving at my normal time. It's okay though because I'm paid for the projects I complete and not the hours I'm at work -- which I can't say I even did THAT today.

With the way things are going, I'm on my way to being promoted to head of our department.

So lesson learned - in order to save my sanity, and the company payroll, I will not be showing up to work on my birthday next year.

Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but stay home and party like a rockstar.

VOTE FOR BOWSER!

Vote for Bowser in Komo 4's pet photo contest! The pic with the most votes wins the contest. You have to register, but you can opt out of any future emails. You can vote once a day. If we win, we get a weekend in a pet-friendly, waterfront hotel in Bellingham, a pet portrait package and $150! Afterall, he is the cutest dog ever! :)

Hanaween

Max the Blue Meanie

As tired as cloudy weather makes me, I always welcome the change of seasons from Summer to Fall. I love wearing sweaters and curling up on the couch with a cup of tea and a good book. It is the perfect recipe for a relaxing fall afternoon. Maybe it’s the October birthday in me, but I look forward to the turning of leaves, the colorful landscape that will ultimately surround me in my northwest abode.

But what I look forward to over colorful landscapes and relaxing afternoons, is Halloween. My dad has always been big on this day of ghosts and goblins and has passed down this passion to me. My earliest Halloween is documented in family video footage, dressed as a cat (which consisted of black eyeliner marking whiskers on my face, and a headband with cat ears). I was one year old.

But I really started getting into it when I was four. I was a Blue Meanie from the Beatles’ acid-trip cartoon Yellow Submarine. Now, that’s pretty bad ass for a four year-old. That’s a costume that I would rock to this day, if I wasn’t so hell-bent on dressing up as a Jersey Shore cast member. But at the time, I remember my disappointment when neighbors would look at the blue tube socks sewn to my blue hoodie, and my blue face paint and say, “What are you?” I thought everyone was hip to the Yellow Submarine. I didn’t realize just how bad ass I was for loving the Yellow Submarine at that age. Only in hindsight do I see their judgment. I did my best Max impression in the raspiest voice I could muster, “WE SEE SOUND OF MUSIC!” Once the door was opened, this was yelled in place of “Trick or Treat” which confused the neighbors even more. They were probably convinced that my parents were on the same stuff the Beatles were on. After all, their children’s names do translate to flower, sky and water (we are secretly members of Captain Planet).

As a child, none of my other costumes rivaled the Blue Meanie costume. I was bat girl the year after being a Blue Meanie. This was a batman mask, my jean skirt, pink sweater, with a batman button pinned to it.

After that, I was damned to a dark period where I was witch for several years in a row. It was occasionally broken up with a vampire, and one year I traded my witch hat for the Scream killer’s mask instead. But that was the extent of my creativity, if you can call it that.

In high school, it was lame to dress up. I was too cool for trick or treating. Now, I would give anything to not be judged for going door to door for some free candy. I have an insatiable sweet tooth, and look forward to my daily M&M break which happens at 2:30 p.m. at work. It costs money to buy M&Ms that frequently. Times are tough, and I need my free handout.

But back to costumes, once I got to college, it was cool to dress up again. So cool, that Halloween parties became an event that I hosted each year, aptly titled Hanaween. Since my birthday is the 28th, it was always close enough to claim I was a Halloween baby. True Halloween babies always got upset by this and I told them to go suck a tootsie pop. And then I’d steal the wrapper from them if it had an Indian shooting a star.

In college I bought into the whole skank costume phase (I don’t think you have an option); I was a French maid one year, a cop, a slutty lion (you can still be a skank at the top of the food chain, apparently), and finally I got off the ho-train and became my alter-ego, Muhana Ali (a boxer).

In 2008, I was Sarah Palin, but that confused everyone because I look nothing like her and everyone just thought I was an Asian businesswoman, even though I was saying “donchaknow” out the ass. I tried to stay in character all night but after awhile I was getting on my own damn nerves. That woman is just vile.

Last year, I felt like I should have just gone out in a garbage bag. It was a last minute decision to dress up, so I pulled out my adult onesie (yes I had one lying around) and put my hair in pig tails and went as a baby.

This year, I’m going to celebrate my obsession for trash TV and be Snooki from Jersey Shore. While Snooki, some may argue, is equally as irritating as Sarah Palin, their level of intelligence is about equal. The only difference is that Snooki seems nicer than Sarah. And I can be obnoxiously drunk and blame it on my character.

Don't think I forgot about Bowser. This is the one day a year that my boyfriend gave me permission to dress him up. We are buying him a batman dog costume. And yes, I said "we."

Sticks and stones may break my bones but never skip out on celebrating Hanaween!

Bowsie Boo Boo Part II

Bowser is just as vocal and stubborn as his parents!

1:58:09

The San Jose Rock ‘n Roll Half Marathon was just as gratifying to run as my first half in May. I produced my very first Half Marathon PR: 1:58:09! Way better than the goal I had my sights on, as I stated in my last entry (“as long as I beat 2:07:38”). I nearly beat my old time by 10 minutes.

While my last half was partially motivated by running, partially motivated by my mom, I have to say that this one was all about running. I just wanted to prove to myself that I could put my nose to the grindstone and become a faster runner.

I just remember rounding the corner and seeing the finish line clock flashing 1:58 and I think I let out a squeal as I realized I was going to meet my goal of coming in under two hours, and crush my last time. Adrenaline kicked in once again and I went flying past a crowd of people with my arms in the air, celebrating another 13.1 miles conquered.

For my acceptance speech, (ahem) I just want to thank the course for being flat, the cytomax and water stations for being appropriately spaced apart, and GU for making a product called Chomps that tastes like fruit snacks instead of its nasty older brother, GU Gel. I also want to thank the lady who was giving out free bacon along the way, even though she was out by the time I ran by. It was still good for a chuckle, even if it messed up my breathing pattern. Oh and I can’t leave out the runner that thought it was okay to take his shirt off and show the 12,000 other runners his hairy back, which grew in the pattern of a t-shirt. That was just…interesting.

In all seriousness, I had a blast running it with my boyfriend’s brother, wife and my good friend/old Seattle running partner! We decided to make this an annual tradition going forward.

As for the bands, they were so-so. What was more motivating was the energy about the stages rather than the music itself. Blues Traveler was the final band which we didn’t stick around to see. But with that being said, I would love to do another Rock ‘n Roll race series. I have my sights set on Seattle next year, and I’m hoping that it lives up to its Rock ‘n Roll status as far as the music goes.

As for the next race, I’m definitely signing up for some turkey trots, and debating the Seattle Marathon’s half distance. Still, I have no desire to do a full marathon. I commend those that go there, but I can safely say, the marathon bug hasn’t bitten me…yet. 5ks and half marathons are my absolute favorite distances to race.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but adrenaline will carry you through the finish line.

The other half of the marathon

Let's hope I look better than Homer on Sunday

One more training run to go and then it's show time! My second half marathon is three days away in scorching San Jose, California. Temperatures have reached 100 this week, so hopefully I can beat the heat. I've been running in the rain and mist here in Seattle - my favorite running weather. Not sure how you prepare for heat when there is none, but I'll just do my best to stay hydrated.

The last time I trained for a half, I was training hard to ensure I could just finish. I didn't care about my time so much as just crawling past the finish. I got in really good shape and stuck to a pretty rigorous workout regimen.

Training this time was a reminder of just how mental running is. Because I knew I could do this race, I didn't train as hard, so I'm hoping I'm still able to pull through and nab a PR. Not sure if that's feasible, being as I reduced mileage just a tad and have done next to no cross training (unless you count the handful of times I popped in a workout DVD).

I'm counting on the flat course and race adrenaline to keep my legs pumping. I guess I have done a bit more speed work than my last race. I'm excited to participate in the Rock n Roll race series. Someone combined my two favorite things in the whole world (music and running) and is making money off it. There is a band at every mile. I'm a little irked that I didn't think of it first. While I'm interested in seeing the bands, I can't race without my ipod. Michael Jackson has a way of motivating me that cannot be forsaken. Unless they somehow have an MJ cover band. That would rock my world.

I'm just happy that I'm doing a second half marathon. At the beginning of the year, I wasn't sure if I could run this distance at all, nevermind do two of these. I think I more than exceeded my New Year's Resolution. 

Anyway, I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I beat 2:07:38. When you're cozy in your jammies on Sunday morning, send me some good vibes!

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but you never know what you're made of unless you try.

Beware of the Garage!

I'm afraid to see what memories are bursting through this garage door...

Last weekend, I went to my parent's house to help clean out their garage (which looks like something out of a Hoarder's episode). I didn't have too much stuff in there, being as I haven't lived with them in years, but I did find a few items that caused uproarious laughter.

• Notes/cards: My sentimentality as a child caused me to save every. single. note. ever written to me. I'm not exaggerating. I found notes that were passed to me in middle school classes all the way to a bundle of 8th birthday cards. Reading a few of them, it's hilarious how big of a deal everything is to adolescent girls. The littlest thing starts the biggest rumor, and the slightest is analyzed to the point where it loses it's meaning. While I kept all of the letters from my cousins in Japan and my great-grandma who is no longer with us, the melodramatic, he-said-she-said, omg, notes (along with saved games of MASH and Lemonhead) went to the recycle bin.

• Work shirts: I found a bag of polo shirts that I wore pushing carts and boxing groceries in my days working at a local retailer. I had a lot of great memories with old co-workers in those shirts, but I also have a lot of memories being verbally harassed by people with nothing better to do than terrorize those that serve the general public. Some other poor soul at goodwill can have those memories.

• Old fiction stories: rather than hanging out with friends and running around outside as a kid, I sat in front of the computer and worked on my words per minute. I pumped out story after story fueled by my vivid and overactive imagination - the longest reaching close to 90 pages. I had a series going called Milo, which I believe I've mentioned before, in addition to others with melodramatic titles such as It's Okay to Cry (I just about peed my pants when I read that). I have yet to crack these open to read what I wrote, but I couldn't part with these. They came back to my townhouse with me. I'm sure there will be another blog entry to follow.

• Puberty Book: the worst find of them all. If anything marked me as a hoarder, this was it. I have no idea why I would save the poor book ("Growing Up and Liking It") they handed out to us in health class, but there it was, amongst old arts and crafts projects, and "what I want to be when I grow up" essays. I was laughing so hard about it that I shared the find with my family, who handled the book as if it had gotten VD for hanging out in the garage all these years. It gave horrendous tips such as how often to change your pads, what to do if you get blood on your underpants, how to keep a calendar of your "flow." It also included talking points for parents who couldn't quite bear to have this conversation with your kids. This book was written just as awkwardly as the I imagine the conversations that sprung from it. Of course, the cover has a scene of a meadow and a mom and daughter picking flowers. I can just imagine the design team picking this cover photo, "If that just doesn't scream menstruation, I don't know what does!"

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but you don't need to save everything to keep memories from your childhood...especially not a puberty book.

An unnecessary warning

As of yesterday, I have become a huge fan of the website, etsy.com. It's basically an online craft fair, where anyone can host a website to sell their products. And there are some pretty talented people out there! I'm highly considering doing the majority of my holiday shopping on this site.

As I was perusing the holiday section, I came across a Halloween decoration bearing a message that is unnecessary to post on my baked goods, but rather a universally assumed warning:

You can check out the rest of this shop by clicking the link below:
http://www.etsy.com/listing/55981164/i-dare-you-handmade-vintage-style?ref=cat1_gallery_21

In order to finally fulfill one of my New Year's resolutions, I do plan to try my hand at some holiday baking this season. I might just buy these Halloween decorations as a disclaimer for Christmas treats, just in case you are one of the lucky recipients of my baking attempt :o)

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but channeling Julia Childs takes more skill than I possess.

How many can one person have?!

I'm sorry - I know this is vulgar, but I just about peed my pants when I saw it and thought I'd spread the laughter. It's the weekend; time to relax!


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Sticks and stones may break my bones, but remind me not to go to that pharmacy.

Sweet sites for brides and moms - or not

I am neither bride nor mom, but I found both of these websites to be intriguing, as a 25-year-old female in a long-term, committed relationship.

 

www.offbeatbride.com

www.offbeatmama.com

 

While these are things I plan to accomplish in life at some point, I’m definitely content with the status quo of relationship -er-my family (which consists of our little Shiba Inu as our baby).

 

Moving in together definitely gave our relationship a different dynamic in a great way. We rely on each other in a different capacity than we ever have. We take care of each other. And if anything, it has only solidified what we were testing in the first place: is this relationship headed for marriage?

 

I jokingly told my boyfriend as he perused Costco.com for new TV’s, "Hey, you know what else they have on Costco.com?" 

 

He replied, "What?"

 

"A ring section!"

 

He said, “For claiming your in no hurry to get married, you are sure making some outlandish statements.” 

 

I said, “You’re right; I’m not in any hurry to get married. I’m in a hurry to get engaged!” 

 

Stake your claim, dude!

 

But anyway, back to the main purpose, there are some great wedding ideas if this is something you are planning at some point in your future. They have everything from do-it-yourself wedding veils to music suggestions to "wedding porn" where you can peruse other people's "off-beat" weddings. My favorite happens to be the viking wedding now being advertised from their homepage. 

 

I feel that these sites do a great job catering to those who are already mom's or brides-to-be, while also entertaining the non-members of these groups with such articles with their unique spin on such commercially exhausted subjects.

I'm a bit of a hippy, if you haven't guessed that by now, so offering alternative ways to parent and wed are right up my alley. There's nothing wrong with taking the traditionalist route, but I know in my case, I tend to take the path less traveled. 

 

Work + Las Vegas = Pool

Disgusting eye rapist

Traveling to Vegas on business is hard. I've had to make some really tough choices along the way - go to the conference I'm supposed to be at, or go to the pool? Go to the conference I'm supposed to be at, or get a massage? These decisions require extreme discipline that I have found I lack. I went to most of the seminars I planned on attending, but did leave early so I could catch some of the 104 degree rays that eluded Seattle this year.


As I was laying poolside, relaxing and most likely taking in irreversible sun damage which will lead to melanoma in five years, I experienced the unmistakable feeling of eyes on me. Almost at once, I put down my heavy reading (Are You There Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea) to find the eyes of my sunbathing neighbor boring into me. He was sitting directly in front of me, which required him to lay his chair back all the way down and turn backwards to accomplish his creepery. This guy not only was Powder's doppelganger, but was somehow some kind of albino hybrid with a hairy back.

But this was not some ordinary hairy back. He had uneven tufts of hair that looked as though they had been attached by a glue stick. Because he insisted on hitting every branch on the way down from the ugly tree, he also proudly donned a faded Tasmanian devil tattoo that looked as though it had been done in his favorite crayola colors. This no less, was located above the last tuft of hair on his shoulder. Sexy beast. I attract the best of them.

After several minutes of being uncomfortably eye raped, I had had enough. "Excuse me!" I said in a tone that made it obvious that his forcible staring was not consensual. Luckily, Powder was smart and turned around before he ignited Muhana Ali. I'm sure he did not want to see the Vegas version of her. I could just imagine the radio calls, "Security, do you copy?! Albino curb stomping at the wave pool. I repeat! Albino curb stomping at wave pool!"

Smart, Powder.

I am off to explore more of what the city has to offer me the third time around. I definitely have more vacation- I mean work week stories up my sleeve, which I will indulge you later. For now, I bid you adieu.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but the world is safer without igniting Vegas Muhana Ali.

It started with sushi...

I can't imagine the chain of events this maguro set off

It all started with a seemingly innocent sushi craving. I was in a heinously boring meeting, when I turned to my co-worker and suggest we go get sushi for lunch to revive our brains which were dangerously close to reaching a vegetable state.

The sushi restaurant is a five minute walk from the office – an assumingly safe form of transportation. Think again.

Two hours after lunch had occurred, I was in an important discussion with my boss when I put my hand on my knee. To my dismay, I felt crust instead of the smooth denim I was expecting. I looked down to find that a bird had decided to use me as its shitting target. I had a streak down the whole front of my jeans, and the last time I was outside had been walking back from sushi. I tried to be optimistic, thankful my head didn’t take the hit. But after today, my optimism is down the toilet.

The next day, the notice came; my apartment manager was giving us a 48-hour heads up that they were going to be inspecting appliances in all of the townhouses in our complex. I’m sure that’s shiesty-property-management speak for “making sure we don’t have a growing operation.” We have nothing to hide, really –oh except for our cute little dog, who is an illegal occupant. We refuse to pay the $550 deposit and $25/month pet rent. They should instate child rent – kids can reach and damage far more things than a pet ever could. They’re just as greasy and slimy as pets. So therefore, until this charge is instated, I’m boycotting.

So we thought, “Hey. Let’s just take him to doggie daycare at Petsmart (which is one block from work). Twenty bucks is cheaper than $550 plus.”

Except Petsmart requires all dog’s to have a Bordatella vaccine, and our record of this particular shot has conveniently disappeared. We could have gotten him re-vaccinated beforehand, but they require all pets to be updated on all vaccines a full 48 hours before being dropped off, but at that point, we only had 24 hours until the inspection. So Doggie Daycare was no longer an option.

Then thankfully, my boyfriend’s parents graciously took in our dog to cover our cheap butts. However, this required me to drive 40 miles before I headed in to work today.

Then the fun began. On my way back to work, I realized I hadn’t sufficiently hid Bowser’s toys and I had forgotten my lunch at home. I called my boyfriend, asking him to hide the toys and bring me my lunch once I got to work, and he did the former and not the latter. Which made for a more irritating day (although he did buy me a piece of pizza to make up for it – kudos honey! I'm sure he did this for his own survival, as he knows how I get when I'm hungry).

I arrived to work an hour late, which forced me to cancel my after-work running date with a friend, and opted to work out in the gym on my lunch instead. Then I had forgotten my gym bag in the car. Once I got to the car, I realized I didn’t have the keys and they were back at my desk.

Once I was dressed in my gym clothes, I thought I finally had everything under control. But then I realized I left my ipod at my desk too. I got all the way back to my desk a second time. And by the time I got on the treadmill, I realized I had forgotten the most important workout accessory of all: my asthma inhaler. I said screw it and spent my workout trying to fend off an asthma attack, which required me to cut my run a mile short and I was a sweaty heaping, breathless mess afterwards.

As if I could forget something else, once I was in the shower washing my hair, I realized that forgot my hairbrush at home. So I had to let my hair dry nappy.

Want to hear how it gets EVEN WORSE? I have an interview with one of our top executives in ten minutes. AND it’s the first time I’m meeting him. Our executives are pretty normal people, and if I had already been on first name basis it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but on your first meeting, you want to make an impression—build a report. Who wants to build a report with someone that looks homeless?

Sticks and stones may break my bones but don’t ever crave sushi. It will set off a chain of events that you can’t stop!!

Oh Shiba

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This is Bowser's long-lost brother. They make the same face :)

When you wish upon a star...

Many of you know that I have boldly declared to postpone anything resembling childbearing since having a puppy. Well now, I have an official to-do list before anything obstructs my uterus. (I promise I do have motherly instincts...somewhere). Besides getting hitched, I have a long list of places we need to travel before I start to really settle down. I am publishing this so that all of YOU hold me accountable. Yeah, I'm talkin' to you!

I haven't been anywhere outside of the US since 2006, when I traveled to Ghana, Africa - a life changing experience, even in the three short weeks I was there. Even though my African experience included a trip to the hospital and an IV drip, let's hope that doesn't happen in any of the following destinations:

• SPAIN - My boyfriend's sister is moving here for the second time, and we seriously need to go visit her on the beaches of Andalucia next year. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that this is a reality in the near-ish future!
• SOUTH AFRICA - While we're on that side of the world, might as well take a trip down south to visit my old college roommate. I'd love to see another part of Africa!
• JAPAN- I have some awesome relatives that I need to go pay a visit to. I also need to see the birthplace of Hello Kitty and Cajun flavored Ramen noodles.
• ITALY - I just love carbs. That's all. Carbocide 2012 here I come!
• ENGLAND - I guess I could catch up with my snaggle-toothed ancestors.
• AUSTRALIA - My boyfriend has some more wonderful family connections in Queensland that we fully intend to take advantage of. I want to talk about boots, sheilas, trolleys, barbies and whatever other slang words they say down there. Like a true native. 
• GREECE - It just looks absolutely breathtaking and I'm a huge fan of hummus. And pita. I feel carbocide 2013 coming on.
• JAMAICA - yah mon.
• SOUTH PACIFIC - My boyfriend got to pick this one and I'm not letting him go without me!
• KONA/HILO, HAWAII -I need to venture out to the Big Island one day so I can see some relatives that I tend to deny. I'm only 1/16th Hawaiian, but I get irritated when people say, "Oh I really see the Hawaiian in you!" No you see the Black in me. And then they say, "Oh I would have never guessed that. You don't act Black!" This could turn into a whole different blog if I don't stop it right here.All I have to say is ignorant!
• NEW YORK - This had a thumbtack in it on my map at home. It was the place I was going to live when I busted out of Mom and Dad's house. I busted out to Bellingham and not Manhattan. Same diff.
• FIJI - I had a poster of a red and orange sunset in Fiji that was on my dorm room wall. I fully intent on seeing this in the flesh.
• DISNEYWORLD, FLORIDA (HALF MARATHON) - I want to run with Mickey!! I'd also be interested in doing the Disney Princess Half as well... you get a Tiffany's necklace at the end of that! I call dibs on dressing up like Jasmine or Pocahontas. Their outfits (aka hammer pants and leather) would be the easiest to run 13.1 miles in :) Then after running all morning, I could ride all the rides and pray my severe motion sickness doesn't kick in. I know. I'm afflicted. But you can't NOT ride the rides at Disneyworld!!

Alright Sticks and Stoners - you have a job to do. If you don't see me update this with anything mentioning any travel of the above plans within the next year, you have some serious heckling to do. I'm cereal. No joke.  I'm also going to need a good dog sitter. Preferably one that is willing to work pro bono ;o)

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but I refuse to see the world through a camera lens. I will live it! 

Define Your Beauty

Since the magazine I formerly wrote for printed this with misspellings and took out important points that pulled it all together, I am taking this opportunity to publish this the way it was intended. It is outside of what you would expect on Sticks and Stones, but important info to consider nonetheless. Enjoy!


As a kid, I wore glasses, donned a mouthful of colorful braces, and dressed like a tomboy. I had awkward written all over me, down to my “I Heart Taylor Hanson” book cover (and locker poster, and bedroom shrine). I didn’t know how to pluck my eyebrows evenly (symmetry was a concept that alluded me), and my mom made me start taking measures to remove my peach fuzz at the age of 12 (it was becoming less peachy, more mustache-y). I was a babe.

Yes, I confessed this to make you laugh. But why did you laugh? Because my described appearance does not fit into society’s standard of beauty.

Well, what is beauty? Who sets the standard? Is it the latest shade of lipstick? Is it the hottest hair cut, jacket or pair of heels? Is it a costly boob job or merely luck-of-the-draw genetics? Oh no. Most people would answer my leading questions with, “Of course not! Beauty lies within!” It’s the right thing to say. But do we really believe it?

Let me put it to you this way - if we did, Americans wouldn’t be spending $8 billion a year on makeup, according to the Worldwatch Institute. Pounds and pounds of chemicals used to conceal ourselves or alter our natural beauty in order to cover up whatever feature is not in style this season. A study conducted by Superdrug suggests that women will spend $13,000 over the course of their lives on makeup. I can think of a number of things I would rather spend $13,000 on. The statistics reveal much about marketing to female insecurities. Most times, there’s nothing wrong with the way we look, but these companies set out to make you believe there is so they can profit. We are just a pawn in their sales pitch.

The beauty industry has truly succeeded in making women feel inferior without them. A business and marketing scheme so successful, that the Superdrug survey also found that 70 percent of women refuse to leave the house without makeup. Seventy percent! Who is in control of beauty here? Estee Lauder or you?

We are a superficial, judgmental society that would rather throw dollars at an industry than embrace ourselves for who we are and love ourselves for what we look like. If we cannot see past the capitalistic system that has been put in place to make women feel like they’re never going to measure up, then we have surrendered our right to define what beauty really is.

Being beautiful by society’s standards is so important to us, that it is now not acceptable to show signs of aging – a completely normal, natural part of life. But someone took a demographics class, realized that the majority of our population (the baby boomers) are starting to age, and decided that it seemed like a good time to prey on them to make some cash.

We are inundated with ad campaigns shoving their anti-wrinkle creams, hair-dyes and jowel removers down our throats. But they’re not only advertising to the baby boomers now. Twenty-year olds are being encouraged to start early if they want to avoid looking like Betty White and more like Joan Rivers – because she sidestepped aging oh-so-gracefully.

The beauty industry is targeting girls at younger and younger ages. The culmination of this travesty is best exemplified by TLC’s “Toddlers and Tiaras” series. It is a show documenting pageant toddlers and the poor families they’ve been born into. This usually consists of overweight parents vicariously living through their oversexed tots.

Already, these babies are being brainwashed to believe that their success is contingent upon how good they look. Let’s throw some more money at the pageant industry and see how we all turnout. JonBenét Ramsey anyone?

It is time to take control. I am not asking you to march up the front steps of Cover Girl, burn your bra, display your hairy pits while screaming, “I am beautiful hear me roar!” There is a level of hygiene that I’d like you to consider maintaining.

But I do challenge you to look at yourself in the mirror today and point out at least one thing you like about yourself. Better yet, I double dog dare you to leave the house without makeup on. Don’t be part of that 70 percent statistic. Your coworkers are not going to care, and if they do, remind them what they are getting paid for. It’s actually quite liberating to don a bare face. Not to mention you will save some cash in the process (maybe you can even take back some of that $13,000).

Start embracing your true beauty – because it’s okay if you have crow’s feet or smile lines, or that you aren’t defining your eyes with the latest metallic liquid liner. Just do good things for your body and the rest will fall into place. If we continue on the path we are going, we are never going to be satisfied with ourselves. They say that happiness is wanting the things you already have. And being happy with yourself is what will make you truly beautiful.

Kentucky's Finest

Before I begin, please imagine yourself in Kentucky: banjos playing, people with three teeth running wild, crotchety folks with southern drawls sitting on their porch with straw hanging out of their mouths, and people ruling animal shelters who apparently do not know their animals.

The Ventura County Star reports that an animal shelter released a Shiba Inu into the wild, mistaking it for a coyote. This was decided after a wildlife "expert" was consulted. Not only did they put someones family pet at the mercy of real coyotes, they also cannot spell Shiba Inu correctly in their article, which you may read by clicking here. 

Needless to say, I was furious, because I was putting myself in the shoes of the dog owner and thinking of Bowser. (I know. Just call me the Crazy Dog Lady. I've fully accepted the title). 

I read this story on Monday.

On Tuesday, I was stopped while walking Bowser by a young man attempting to sell magazines to fund some trip to Cancun (like anyone would be sympathetic to THAT cause). While I did not buy into his scheme, I did strike up a friendly conversation, in which he revealed he was from Oklahoma, which is really just a stone's throw from Kentucky. No joke, he said, "What kinda dog is that? He looks like a coyote!" And coyote was pronounced (kai-oat).

I then asked if he was a wildlife expert before he was a magazine salesman. Okay I'm lying, that would have been rude. But I really couldn't believe my ears. What a coinkydink.

I shouldn't be so critical, as I did believe that a barracuda was a jungle cat for over two decades, but STILL.That doesn't count people. We're talking about dogs. Everyone knows what dogs look like. And if anyone should know, it better be a wildlife expert.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but we seriously need to get some more funding to the US education system and quit spending it on war. They're getting dumber in the south folks!

Concert Etiquette 101

Dear Asshole Concert Goers,


I have a bone to pick with each and every one of you. I will be calling on you by name, so listen up.

To the hipster with circulation-severing jeans- whining louder and longer will not make the entrance line move any quicker, so stop making the experience even more agonizing for the rest of us.

To the hippy with reeking dreads- before you insist on standing directly on me to get a better glimpse of MGMT, please wash your hair. I’m pretty sure there are several critters going through the life cycle on your cranium and it smells like death and dandruff.

To the crazy concert dancer- I’ve had enough of your interpretive flailing. How is it that you have room to express your LSD trip while I have no room to merely stand? I like my crazy concert dancers to be jerky, compact, and unpredictable. It not only entertains, but keeps limbs and phalanges from coming into contact with onlookers. None of this sweeping motion shit that knocks people over repeatedly. Go take another hit and try again.

To the Marlboro Man- why do you insist on smoking like a chimney in the middle of a sardine-packed crowd? Get a nicotine patch or pay in advance for my iron lung.

To the couple drunkenly making out in the middle of the crowd- take your hormones back to your PT Cruiser, and put us all out of our misery. I freaking hate those cars.

To the person that insists on starting a mosh pit and shoving everyone when it’s 89 degrees out- the last thing I want to do is touch anyone else, never mind get shoved and trampled to the ground, on the bottom of a dog pile, with everyone around me that decided not to wear deodorant. You need to be punched in the gooch, and stat.

To the aspiring rapper forcibly trying to get me to purchase your latest cut- try another method besides sexual harassment and shoving it in my hand, but only if you would like to avoid being sodomized with your own beats.

To the skank on the shoulders of the meathead- not only are you blocking my view, but you should consider wiping before you decide to have your ass at face level to those around you.

To all concert goers 6’0 and over- why do you go out of your way to find the shortest person in the crowd to plant yourself in front of? WHY?! I finally found the one spot I can see!

Thank you all for making my latest concert experience a better blog entry than an enjoyable memory. You all owe me a refund.

Best of Luck,

Hana

Bowsie Boo Boo

Bowser before going destructo

I don't think you are ever completely prepared to own your first pet (unless of course, you grew up on a farm or were raised by wolves). But for us city folk, it means stopping your daily grind to care for your new family member, postponing your weekly happy hour date so you can run home to walk/feed Spot, or finding a dog-sitter if you plan to be gone for any period of time exceeding the threshold of the dog's ability to hold it. On-the-go is not an option, but rather, I'll-go-when-I-can. It's great training for your first child, which I have boldly postponed for about a decade after seeing the care involved in a pup.


With that being said, owning a dog has been one of the best things I've ever done. For those that know me in person, they are disgusted with the way our little Bowser is spoiled, toys littering the front room, organic dog food filling his own kitchen cupboard, and the way he is spoken to, reasoned with and given privileges that even exceed my boyfriend's at times. Did I forget to mention his facebook fan page? It is safe to say I'm obsessed.

Before owning Bowser, I was coveting a puppy so bad that it became second nature for me to type in petfinder.com right after checking emails in the morning. But I wasn't prepared for the emotional exchange or relationship that you truly do have with your pet. I really do love Bowser, and like any human relationship, it comes with fighting, sad moments, happy moments, and moments where I want to kick his puppy butt. But it's all communicated through barking and body language. You have conversations with your dog, but it's not like the dog will be speaking back to you. You create a bond that is unlike any other human relationship, but rather an exchange of mutually understood animal instincts.

Now, as much as I love my puppy, we have some relationship issues we need to seriously work out. Lately, he's begun to go into destructo-mode. Last week, I came home to find that not one, two, or three pairs of my shoes had been eaten, but FOUR. Luckily Kohls was having a sale and I was able to repurchase them quite cheaply. However, this has started to become a serious problem. Two days ago, we took off his cone of shame (he was neutered last Monday - and like a loving mother, I did stay up all night to comfort him). Because he was sooo incredibly happy to be rid of that thing, he decided it was time to celebrate by doing only what could be described as going full retard (thank you Robert Downey Jr.).

He was incessantly running, jumping off of furniture, and refused to do anything we asked him to. He also decided it was time to begin marking, where a dog pisses on something every five feet when you walk him. If it gets really bad, it's every five feet in your house. I was under the impression that this behavior was supposed to cease when the dog is neutered, but apparently it only increased in Bowser. Of course, right?

Yesterday, his bad behavior truly hit its peak. Upon coming home to care for him on his lunch, my boyfriend walked in to find that our living room lamp had been destroyed, the cord completely chewed through, a collection of books and DVDs had sufficed as chew toys, my new shoes that I had bought to replace a pair of shoes he had destroyed were again destroyed, and he pissed on the carpet for the third time in 10 hours.

If that wasn't irritating enough, he also knocked over my little 3-year-old nephew as he descended the stairs, and sent him tumbling to the bottom.

That was it. No more spoiled Bowser. His reign of terror is being put to an end. He has officially lost his freedom is going back to the proverbial dog house until he can prove he's not going to destroy everything he sets his sights on (aka, we're keeping him in his crate when we're gone). Neutering is supposed to chill out a dog, but apparently it didn't quite work on Bowser. Our dog is truly special.

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but if you plan on getting a dog, don't get too attached to your stuff.

Lady Luck

 Isn't he cute?

Lo and behold - I got a job writing for a corporate magazine! So someone is actually going to PAY me to do THIS for a living! So it won't be Sticks and Stones material (unlike my Dlist column which I still plan to write for now). I mean, don't get me wrong - I don't know what company wouldn't want a sarcastic columnist on their staff, but something tells me shareholders wouldn't take too well to my style. This will still be my forum to bitch and moan about everything and anything. Don't you worry! You sticks and stoners will still get your fix. Nonetheless, I can actually call myself a WRITER! I never thought I'd get to say that, even though I've always been one really.

I found out today that I got the promotion and I seriously thought they were kidding. I was told there was going to be a whole separate interview process after the last one I went through. Apparently, they were so impressed with my interview that they felt I had already blew all 43 applicants out of the water and decided to eliminate the rest of the process and hire me!

And if that isn't luck, when I went to visit my mom in the hospital, not only was she doing well, but the lady in the car in front of me somehow broke the parking attendants cash register and I didn't have to pay for parking!

AND on top of that, I went to Kohls and got four pairs of shoes for $30! I know. Simply amazing.

Is this my day or WHAT? I like the saying, when it rains it pours, but only when it pertains to luck being on my side for the first time ever.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but I think I need to go buy a lottery ticket. Shoot!