There is a tasty little Chinese Food place here in Oak Ridge that does take out from the buffet.  It’s very good; it’s always fresh, and super-dooper tasty! (Not to mention they always score well when the pesky healthy inspector happens to drop in unannounced).

Now our office has been in Oak Ridge for a many moons and my boss and I have traveled many miles, many times to partake of this sweet and sour plethora of tastiness.

They have garlic beef w/broccoli, sweet n sour chicken, general tsao chicken, and my personal favorite – mixed spicy vegetable. 

I go so often that when I walk in the door, the little dude says, “Ahh.  To go, right?”, and hands me my little environment-killing-Styrofoam container with which I am set free into the pasture of goodness.

I’ll graze for a few minutes, making my choices wisely.  I wander over to the sauces and get a nice ladle full of that hot-ass mustard (yah, that stuff that when you get it in your mouth it makes your eyes water and your nose run… that stuff that makes you beg Jesus for forgiveness for eating something so friggin hot).

All sounds like a beautiful lunchtime excursion in the making, yah?  Well, no.  I love the food at this place.  It’s marvy, but the folks that run the place and work there make me more nervous than a cat in a room full of rockin chairs…

So, my selections are made, my mouth starting to water. I close up my little lunch box that still has steam pouring out the sides.  I carry it to the front, so as to pay for it.   Let the uncomfortable state of affairs begin. 

FLASHBACK…

Now I don’t know if I’m just traumatized from being married to a man who’s mother and all of her friends are Korean and you know they talk about you in their language while you’re standing there… All the while they are looking at you, nodding their heads, laughing and smiling as the chatter on…   Bring on the cold sweat… I know those bitches were talking smack and plotting my untimely demise by way of extra spicy food.

Anyway… I am going towards the front to obtain my chopsticks, Diet Pepsi to go and to pay.  When I notice the gaggle of them standing there… looking my way…. giggling like school girls…    The skank at the cash register keeps covering her mouth and saying “sorry, sorry.”

Now the next phase of pissing me off at the tastiest place in Oak Ridge is as follows:

Don’t you expect to get a friggin fortune cookie when you have Chinese food?  I mean, you eat in, they bring you the bill with a fortune cookie.  You call for take-out, you go pick up and pay, in the bag you get your fortune cookie.

Well, not here. I think it’s just this guy’s way to annoy me.  A kind of battle of the wits.  He ain’t giving me no fortune cookie unless I ask for the fortune cookie.  And even then, it’s iffy if the fucker puts it in the bag. 

I’d start screaming to give me my fortune cookie or I’m going across the street to Wok ‘n’ Roll.  But those guys suck big balls and I hate their food, generally greasy as hell and cold…. but they give Diva her fortune cookie without her having to beg.

I have never been interested in meeting anybody in an online setting.  I crusied some of the sites and even checked out some of the adult type friend sites.  But, when it came right down to it.  I never met anyone because I’m too much of a chicken shit.

I mean you hear horror stories of people meeting in person and one or the other, or neither of them, is what they claimed they were.  Or look like that picture they sent you.  Visit SEO Blog on OUTK where they explain best methods of marketing.

Call me old fashioned, but when I was looking to meet somebody, I would rather it be over the cucumbers in the produce section of the local Piggly Wiggly, or maybe over a goofy “cooking for one” book at the library.

I joined MySpace last year to comment and cut up with my REAL LIFE FRIENDS.  I never accept “friend requests” from people who I have never met in MY REAL LIFE.  Nor do I ever randomly pour through page after page of people requesting them to be my friends.  No.  If I don’t know ya in real life, then you’ll never make it past the gate.

I know more than a few people who have met their significant other online (eHarmony, Match.com, MySpace…) and who have actually made it for a minute.  But I know of none who has made it for the long haul.  Why?

Well, in this day and age, it seems that those in the online dating community just shift around.  Maybe its because there are so many available folks out there just lookin for love in all the wrong places. 

It’s a meat market for reals.  But, it’s not like a meat market as a bar would be.  No.  Say you go to your favorite bar or club.  Yah, it’s a fashion show.  Yah, everybody is there hoping to meet someone unless they are there with someone.
But, at least you now when you are talking to them face to face, they aren’t sitting there browsing profiles of others while they are talking you up.

I don’t know.  I guess I was jaded, or tainted against this kind of crap.  I’m not a very trusting individual since a guy I was seeing in the last century was a total computer dork that (I found out later) was always looking at online personals and profiles. 

Now you’re prolly sitting there thinking, why is she going off on this lame ass tanget?  What the hell pulled her trigger today?

Well, friends, I’ll tell ya.  There’s a dumb-ass on AOL and yahoo who surfaces now and again thinking we’re the best of friends.  Before MySpace, he used to comb AOL profiles and email unsuspecting females.  I guess so he would have someone to talk to or whatever.  Anyway, I guess it was middle of last year, after he joined MySpace, he surfaced again, showing 198360876 (exaggerated for impact) friends, all of which are female.  Which proves my point.  Or maybe it doesn’t.  I’m sort of annoyed right now.

So, today on my little yahoo messenger thingy, I posted my status as “I’ll never paint again, swear to God!”    And I guess it piked his little curiousity button somehow.  So, he (out of the blue) decided to IM me…  Lord have mercy… 

The conversation went a little somethin like this:

Dork:  ok, I just gotta ask why won’t you ever paint again?

Me: Because I have no feeling left in my arms from painting over dark colors with white like I promised my landllord. lol

Dork:  see you should of called me you know thats whats i do for a living**** 

****NOTE:  Actually, I didn’t know that, but whatever

Me:  Nopie, didn’t know that.

Dork:  yes i told you when we first started talking i remodel houses for a living

Me:  How long ago was that though?  And how long has it been since we talked?  Prey tell, do you remember what I do or from what locale I hail?

Dork:  only couple days…lol just kiddon and in winter months

Me:  No, it was well before last summer.  And as I recall I wasn’t interested in talking to you because you find it to be wonderful to collect women friends online. 

Dork:  no it wasnt you must be thinking of that other man lol

Me:  I talk to no other men, other than the one I’m about to marry****

**** NOTE: That is not all together true.  I have REAL LIFE FRIENDS that are male and I certainly talk to them.

Dork:  see

Me:  See what?  You act like you know me.

Me:  He lives with me, I don’t talk to him online  (Also not completely true, he lives with me part time until we actually jump on the weddin train)

Dork:  well that’s cool

Then the dork went silent and didn’t bother me anymore.  I just get irritated that people have so little value for someone else’s time I suppose. 
Anyway, he is like every other person out there waiting to see some long lost person they added on to their buddy list, so they can feel important because they are chatting it up.

GET A LIFE!

There are two things I’ve seen women be ecstatic and smiling through.  One is planning a wedding.  The other is childbirth.

I’ve decided that unless you have unlimited fundage and a perfect body, planning a beautiful wedding is nothing more than a super big charlie-horse right in my ass.

I guess I really shouldn’t be complaining, because things have finally started to work out as they should.  With the exception of the minister backing out, of course.

But, today I was supposed to have my dress fitting with the alterations lady, Angenette.  Well, my underwear that we ordered was supposed to be here on Friday but it wasn’t. This is a thing which resembles an archaic chinese torture device used to suck the breath out of women to keep them quiet!  I have no idea where the fat is supposed to go once we get me into it, but supposedly it’ll smooth one out under a wedding gown.

So, I had to call and reschedule with Angenette for next Monday.  Great!  Problem solved.  Not quite.

Today, the torture device arrived in a pretty little box.  Apparently the people who sewed the size into this thing were smoking some good shit at the time.  Because not only was it too small, but it fit my boss rather snug and she’s a tiny chick.  Way tiny, like a size 8 girl.  Now I’m no rocket scientist, but I would think if something is supposedly my size, but it fits her and it fits her snug, what the hell size am I supposed to get????

That was the only thing that made me feel even slightly less like a cow.

As I talked to Anthony whilst he was out on a ring shopping spree, in tears, he said, “Piss on it! Don’t wear underwear!”

God bless his heart!

I’m not immoral.  I’m not just not ashamed to admit that I am human and that I possess human wants, needs and desires.  Just like everyone else.  Even after reading and re-reading and re-reading again my post about Lust, I’ll still stand by my honesty.  Be careful before you cast stones.

Today I’ll admit to my gluttonous nature.  Gluttony, as defined by dictionary.com, is excessive eating and drinking.  From all of the various definitions out there, I’m taking it to mean any habit in which one has no control over.  Whether it be food, alcohol, illicit drugs, ciggies, sex… whatever.  You know it, I’ve got them all covered.

Admittedly, I am a total fan of Taco Hell.  When Diva went on a diet last year and cut all fast food out of the diet, Taco Hell took a major hit and their stock dropped immediately.  Yes, I am a serious Taco Hell glutton.  No mas.  No mas.  I am a burritoholic.  My willpower sucks.  Gluttony at its finest.  Too bad there isn’t a Del Taco in Tennesse.  It would really be on then.

However, also encapsulated within the definition is excessive drinking.  BINGO.  That would be me again.  I admit, I partake of my fair share of intoxicating beverages.  I’m a hard working, professional in the biomedical equipment business all week long, with the exception of the occassional Wednesday outing.

MMMMMM….. beer!

On Friday night, I tend to dive to the bottom of the Michelob Light (and more recently Mich Ultra Amber) and take an evening long swim. 

Maybe it will get me elected to public office one day.  At least nobody could dig any bones out of my closet.  They’ve already been exposed.

Well, kids. Minutes are ticking non-stop and soon I will be moving out of my bachelorette pad into my marital lair. So here I am, with approximately 2.5 weeks to go if I am to be out of my bachelorette pad before the end of this month. I honestly don’t see it happening because there is so damn much to do.

It doesn’t seem that there will be enough days, let alone waking hours in those days, to do all of the stuff I have to do before said countdown expires. Seriously doubt I’ll make it by the end of the month, but if I can I’ll save rent money for my trip and that’s a plus!

So, I’m having a complete meltdown trying to get the black trim in my bedroom covered back up with antique white. What kind of brain fart did I have when I decided to paint my bedroom walls pink with black trim all around??

Honestly, I think I could have found a better way to express my female creativity. But no, I had to have my bedroom look like a Pink Lady jacket. Even though I’m bitching about it now, it was really, really cute. I had pink sheets and black comforter and curtains. My lil girlie space that I shared with NO MAN…. well, at least until I met Tony.

It’s pretty sad that I have a big ol’ king sized bed, which has been effectively dismantled for the duration of this bedroom restoration project, and my big ass is having to sleep on the matress on the floor. 

So, as you are snuggling into your nice bed tonight, think of me and the dang crick in my neck.