Blush

A friend just sent me an email about her mission trip that made the lone dramatic tear roll down my cheek.

"I cried. I'm REALLY hormonal right now!", I replied.

...to ALL of the people she sent the email to.

Oops.

And I Developed My Morality Just Last Year...

I promised you more words from my 8th grade English journal and would hate to renege on our deal. I wouldn't want to be called a liar after all...

Feb 7, 1996 Lying

I used to lie all the time when I was younger. "Did you brush your teeth?" "Of course", I'd answer (when in reality I hadn't done it for a week). "Did you make your bed? Get started on your animal report? [I never actually did that report in 5th grade. When my teacher asked me where it was, I told him I had turned it in already. Since I was a well-behaved kid for the most part, he thought he had just lost it and gave me FULL CREDIT! Damn, I was good!] Clean the living room?" "Yes," I would answer, "I always do." I lied for the simple reason of wanting to get outside and play with my friends. [If I remember correctly, playing outside wasn't really the incentive. I liked to read more. So basically I just lied in my essay on lying. Huh.] I got so used to lying that they just slipped out like butter. Then when my parents found out that I was lying, they'd give me a good scolding or even a spanking. [They never did find out about that animal report. Oops. Am I going to get a spanking now?] Eventually I stopped lying, when I realized it was wrong. I am so against it now, that if I lie to someone, I feel guilty for a week [A week. Not 6 days. Not 8 days. A week.] and have to go say that I was sorry for lying to them. When you are little, you don't have much of a conscience or at least I didn't. Fortunately, I developed one around age ten. [WHAT? I had no conscience before then? No way of determining right from wrong? I guess I must have been a wild child who killed gerbils for fun and set buildings ablaze "just to see what would happen".]

Love Always, George W.

I hate to bring up anything political because not much else gets people as heated as the good ol' Red vs. Blue debate, but Jess and I aren't big fans of Georgie (no offense to our readers who feel the opposite). However, one day I came across the White House website where you can request a letter from the President for special occasions such a births and birthdays. Of course I wanted to get in on that action before our "favorite" Prez left office! I decided that the ironic and really the best way to get the letter would be to request one for my "gay marriage". It's ironic because Bush is against it and it's the best because well, it's just funny. So I filled out the form with a bit of fudging (kids, don't try that at home) and Jess and I have now become a couple in the eyes of the White House.

Today I had the good fortune to open my mail and be greeted with this:


"Congratulations to you both on this wonderful day. Your marriage is a celebration of your love and commitment to each other. May this deep and meaningful bond provide strength and friendship in the years ahead. We send our best wishes for a lifetime of happiness together."

Well, we do have a deep and meaningful bond that has provided friendship for many years. Here's to hoping we have many more and a lifetime of happiness!


I love that the seal on the card was actually embossed! It made it just that more special and presidential looking.


I think my favorite part of it all is that the envelope was hand addressed. I love knowing that a 70-year old woman is sitting at a desk somewhere in D.C., offering her best cursive handwriting as her civic duty. Can you imagine her shaking her head as she writes "Mr. & Mrs. Angie Tjoelker"? Muttering under her breath that the boys names these days are starting to sound an awful lot like girls names. Oh, if only we would all sacrifice a little hand cramp for our country.


I was sad that the signatures weren't the real deal. I realize that W must be busy with other things, but gosh darn it, I had hoped for an actual pen-to-paper attempt from the Mrs. Oh well, they say it's the thought that counts. Thanks for thinking of us Bushys!

My, What Red Cheeks You Have

I blush all the time. Really, every day. I don't even have to be embarrassed and I blush. I would like to think that it is a becoming pinkening of my cheeks, but in reality it is a full-blown fire engine red that makes me hot (and I do mean that in the literal sense of the word). I only have to be caught off guard and I suddenly bloom with color. Today was no exception.

Scene: Sitting at my desk at work
Characters: Me & Warehouse Boy & Fun Supplier Man (one of the people I talk to multiple times a day on the phone to order equipment for installations)

Angie is on hold on the phone, waiting for Fun Supplier Man to pick up. Warehouse Boy is standing at her desk and chitchatting with her. He then finds a very used Jack (In The Box) antenna ball behind her computer monitor that he had previously given her (don't ask).

Warehouse Boy: What's this doing here?
Angie: Oh, it's been there for a long time. I had forgotten it was back there.

Angie crinkles her nose at the sight of this disgustingly dirty ball. Warehouse Boy sets it on the counter to stare its beady little eyes at her. Angie, still on hold, attempts to gingerly grab it by the nose to toss it in the trash. It rolls away lopsidedly. She tries again.

Angie (saying low under her breath with disgust in her voice): I don't even want to touch it!

Warehouse Boy chuckles

Fun Supplier Man (having suddenly come on the line the exact moment Angie started talking and having heard the following male chuckle): Whoa! What's that? What don't you want to touch and who's is it?

Cue Angie's blush.

Angie (laughing and stuttering all at once): Um... wow, that was bad timing... I'm turning bright red right now.

Angie becomes so flustered that she doesn't even think to explain what's going on to Fun Supplier Man and instead just gives him her equipment order. Her blush fades and she laughs to herself. Yet more proof that her timing in life is comedic and cringe-worthy all at the same time.

Please Tell Me This Isn't My Journal

I recently discovered a notebook filled with freewrites I had to do for my 8th grade English class. Sometimes we would be given a topic and sometimes we got to just write about whatever we wanted. I started reading them, immediately cringed at my words, and decided that these glimpses into the psyche of the junior high me were too good to keep to myself. Below you will find two of them along with comments from the 25-year old me. You can look forward to more of these entries in the future.

Sept. 13, 1995 Phases

I have had many phases in my life. For example, I have collected everything from beads to buttons, to stickers. I sort of fell away from sticker collecting, but at a peak time, (my sister and I collected together) we had over 1,100 stickers. (We really were going for that 1000 sticker mark and were SUPER excited when we got there). Right now I am on my business card collection. (Are you joking me? At 13 I collected business cards? That is seriously uncool. I thought my dork days ended in 7th grade, but I was sooooo wrong.) Whenever I go to the fair or to a store, I pick up their business cards. I started this a few years ago, when I lived in Michigan. I stopped collecting them when my mom threatened to put them in recycle. My dad let me keep them, though. (Dad let me keep them? Normally he's all for getting rid of stuff. Was I really that attached to them that he felt like he had to intercede for my mental health?) I put them away in my desk safe, (I had a flippin' sweet desk with a safe in it) and didn't find them again until we moved into my new house in May. Since then, I have collected over 100 new business cards. (From May to September I got 100 business cards? Either I was going to a lot of fairs or I got real friendly with the Safeway checkers) I've had many phases, but business card collecting is my newest one.


Sept 22, 1995 Momentos

I have many momentos of places I've been or other people have been. For instance, when my dad went to New Orleans for the first time, he brought me back a thermometer in a glass container filled with water and seashells floating in the water. (I had it on my desk until I moved away to college). The second time he went, he brought back a tshirt of the New Orleans jazz band. (I still have that shirt and wear it to bed. It's so worn that you can barely see any of the printing on it) In other places he's been, he's brought back different things. When I go places, I collect everything from business cards (there they are again) to bags to small items such as keychains or pencils. This helps me remember places I've been in a cheap, inexpensive way. (More from "Remembering On A Dime" after a word from our sponsors...) In order to give them up, someone would probably have to pay a big sum. A lot of my collection brings back good memories. I wouldn't give it up for less than $100. (Apparently I can be bought-- and for really not all that much)

It Looks Like A Crime Scene

Should a member of CSI decide to search our home for evidence of murder, they just might find some, in the form of cleaned up blood. That's right, we'd be no match for those fancy lights that can illuminate human fluids. Why, you might ask? Well let me tell you a story...

About an hour ago I was turning from the stove to the sink with a pot of pasta to drain when I suddenly felt a piercing pain in my toe. I yelped and spilled half the water on the floor but managed to flood the rest into the strainer waiting in the sink. I yanked off my sock and found a long piece of glass sticking out my toe. How there was glass just laying on our floor is a mystery to me. I yanked it out and immediately was greeted with gushes of blood. As in it started dripping onto the throw rug underneath me. I quickly used my discarded sock to staunch the flow, but had to somehow make it to the bathroom for bandaids. I managed to do a hop/hobble combination with the sock firmly in place, but it proved to be no match for the river flowing from my wound. A blood trail followed me all the way to my destination and as I sat on the floor, rifling through our cabinets for something, please God something, to stop the steady stream, a pool formed under my foot. I found some hydrogen peroxide (thank you Jesus) and used it to avoid a nasty infection, but I was still coming up empty with a big enough band aid. Why, oh why, did I not get the giant ones I was contemplating in Rite Aid just last week (no joke)? I frantically searched Jess' drawers to no avail when I was struck with a very Girl-Scout-in-a-crisis-mode solution-- feminine products! I grabbed one, tore off the back, and wrapped it around my toe with a big sigh of relief. Praise God for being female!

I kept my bloody sock for Jess to see since she was not with me in my moment of need and thought that I could give you all a picture (literally) of what I went through tonight...

The Giant and the Midget Sideshow

Ever have those pictures that are so horrible you can't believe that you ever could have possibly looked that awful? The ones that make you laugh so hard at yourself that you literally cry? The ones that after your roommates threatened to expose your ugliness to the world, you hide under the contact paper lining the kitchen cupboards because you know they would never think to look there (but at the same time it never occurs to you to just tear up the picture)? Or how about the ones that involve a slightly indecent use of someone else's property so you only show it to girls you know are going to be ok-- no, make that laugh themselves silly-- with your nice-girl-but-somewhat-naughty pose? Those of you who have known me a while might recall the said pictures and the hilarity that ensued while taking them and after developing them. The following picture isn't quite in the same league as the one of me practicing my knife throwing skills with Andy while camping or the rope attire shot (after all, it wouldn't be on here if it was), but it was laughable enough for me to share it safely with our loyal readers. This was taken around Christmas time and I promise you, we were at a weird angle. She was actually standing behind me a good couple of feet but from the picture it looks like she was right next to me... thus we have the giant and the midget. Oh, I do so love this shot.

Puzzled

What do hip 25-year-olds do with their spare time? Puzzles of course! I have always hated doing puzzles because my brain doesn't think that way, but for some reason, last weekend I absolutely HAD to do one. As in I went to Freddie's at 9:30pm to get one... I'm not really sure what compelled me, but it HAD to be done. I started it that night and was so engrossed with it that I stayed up until 2am fitting pieces together. Yeah, even I think that was a bit overboard. Jess and I finished it this past week and are quite proud of our accomplishment.


So now I officially love puzzles. I'm thinking this is part of the newest love/hate phase for me. What exactly is a love/hate phase you ask? Well, it's when I discover that I love things I've always hated or hate things I've always loved. For some reason I always find a bunch of them all at once. For example, freshman year of college brought on the love of peppers, which I had always previously hated. Currently I'm discovering the love of puzzles while being saddened by the dislike of Chicken Teriyaki. I've always loved teriyaki but I just can't stomach it now days and I've always hated puzzles but now am yearning to get my hands on those little pieces. Sometimes I have to just shake my head at myself.

Uh, We Lied...

Know how we just got done saying that we had the best Christmas Card idea ever? Well, we were wrong. It looked good online and sounded hilarious when we discussed it, but once we received it, we saw how completely awful the product was. Now that I have just mailed the box back and you won't be getting them, I'll just come out and tell you that they were.... whoopee cushions. That's right people, whoopee cushions! Tell me that's not a genuinely funny idea, especially with our message on it:

I personally was holding out to put "Merry Christm-ass" (please tell me you get that) as the greeting, but Jess vetoed the idea. Granted, I also think some of my relatives might have a coronary if they saw it, so I had to reluctantly agree. But you have to admit it was a brilliant play on words.

So why did we return them you ask? For several reasons, one of them being the size of the writing on the cushions:

Uh, yeah. We could barely read it too (and we have young eyes). We would have had to supply magnifying glasses with our cushions and that would have gotten even more pricey. However, they did come in a nice assortment of colors that were pleasing to look at.

Still, the bold and bright colors did nothing to add to the actual function of the cushions. In fact, not much would. At times when you sat on an inflated cushion, nothing would happen. It was just a hard nobbin of air underneath you. At other times, a gigantic rip-roaring blast would erupt that sounded absolutely un-human. Seriously, if someone emitted a sound such as the one produced by this cushion, I would be afraid that they had just torn apart their butt. Let me tell you... this was no "Bronx Cheer"...

Now we just have to figure out what to do instead. Sigh.

Smidge Sad, Abundantly Joyful

All we have to say at this moment is PTL! We are done watching the entire series of Alias. No more spy drama, no more ridiculous Rambaldi, no more cloning. WE ARE DONE! After spending three months with our weekly dose of Netflix discs, the arduous task has been completed. As the picture illustrates, we are only a tiny bit sad to say goodbye to the show, but for the most part there is great rejoicing inside.

*Insert Hallelujah Chorus here for full effect*
(It's even better if you sing it at the top of your lungs... I promise)