How Could You Resist?

On my drive home today, I saw the cutest little 300-yr old man jogging at the pace of a drugged snail. He was wearing what appeared to be a chalk white pair his wife's old pantyhose that he mistook for some of his leggings or perhaps thermal underwear. I was certain they were pantyhose and not running garb because of the wilted leghair that you could clearly see mashed against his knobby knees. I just wanted to scoop him up, take him to IHOP and let him gum at a banana split.

With any luck, I'll have my very own one of those in about 62 years.

Not that it wasn't already The Greatest Day of the Week but now ...

I don't have to run or do any form of exercise on Fridays - it's our REST DAY. And I promise you that I check REST off the calendar within 45 seconds of waking up and you are a plain fool if you don't believe me. My running partner and I both take great pleasure in the not-packing-of-our-gym-bags on Thursday night. It's the most wonderful sort of empty space that I usually fill with cheetos. (As an aside, it is probably impossible to ask me to eat too many cheetos, cheez balls, oreos, or drink too much milk)

I have yet to really be able to bask much in this pleasure because every Saturday morning that we have our Long Runs, the weather has been bad. And by bad, I mean, less than 10 degrees or a windchill below zero. The wind, we couldn't deal with and so the run got postponed for a day, but the low temperatures, we just bundle ... and bundle. One of us (me), is used to about 10 months of summer followed by a brief cold spell that requires little more than a windbreaker, but I'm told that this will put hair on my chest. One can only hope.

Tonight it is supposed to snow a couple inches, and oh, a couple inches in the morning.

Thought for the Week

Everyone oughta have a friend that makes them get popcorn at the movies.

T Minus 10 and Counting ...

tequilacat
Originally uploaded by missyajg.

Da Boys didn't do so hot this year so I'm torn as to where my loyalties are. I'm not an Eagles fan (GO COWBOYS!!) and I can't ever root for the ones who win TOO much (unless it's the Cowboys) So, right now I'm thinking mostly along the lines of Cheez Balls, miniature sausages and excessive amount of brownies.

However, there's nothing to get you in the Superbowl Spirit like a little visual inspiration.

Let's Just Fix This Before It's An Issue

I am from a town called Waxahachie. There are about 12 people that live there, but fortunately, one of them happens to stand all day in the local grocery store and make fresh tortillas.

It is spelled W-a-x-a-h-a-c-h-i-e and was my end-of-the-year spelling test in the 1st grade. The pronunciation tends to get a little screwed up at times, so I'm here to help you with that.

"Wax" - pronounced like "Woks":

Example: I have no idea why I own two woks since I have no idea how to make chinese food. Let's make an omelet.

"A" - pronounced like "uh":

Example: Uhhhhh ... Excuse me, but I believe you have spinach in your teeth.

"Hach" - pronounced like "Hatch"et:

Example: What is the difference between a hatchet and a tomahawk?

"ie" - pronounced like "ee":

Example: If you don't know how to say the letter e then, chances are, you won't be able to find your way to this website in the first place.

So, altogether, Woks-uh-hatch-ee. Wax-a-hach-ie. Hachie, The Hatch, and the like all reference my hometown.

I Am Who I Am

Since the nickname Missy can in no way be created from my actual name, I've had a few questions about - why Missy? Those of you that know me well might know I've had this particular e-name since the beginning of my e-era. But unless you are also from The Hach, it is doubtful that you know it's e-origins either. I am, in fact, e-named after the cat that used to sleep by my side, tolerating the baby blue stenciled bows that encircled the dainty wallpaper in my room of the parents house (guess who didn't get any input as to its decor). We were best of buds, but once I moved away, my father banished her to the outdoors where she has almost doubled in size and, no doubt, survives by scavenging the nearby H-E-B garbage dumpster at night. She's the toughest kitty on the block without question.

It is interesting to note that I am not so much named after my kitty but after my kitty's nickname, since she is, of course, named for a character in an Andrew Lloyd Weber Musical: the Magical Mr. Mistofelees. (technically a Mrs. Mistofelees)

Some may think that it is belittling to name yourself for a household pet but I say to you this: Missy rocks and you can suck it. That and, my real name came from a book my mother was reading about a prostitute in London.

Suddenly being named for a cat seems not so bad.

I May Convert Someday If They Keep This Up

I'm not a Mac user, in fact, I feel like someone has cut off my arms below the elbows and asked me to knit when I have to use one, BUT!!!

How cool is this!?

The Sacrifices I Make

Soon I am going to live in a town that will require me to drive for 60 miles or more to see an Indie Film or a Broadway Show less than five years old. This is a Shakesperian Tragedy in the truest sense of the word. I am deeply saddened by this loss of access to The Arts and will probably end up having to console myself in a trough of cheese grits. All is not lost I suppose ... I mean, there is nobody that loves Spiderman or Harry Potter more than me, and those only require a 2-mile trip in the Corolla followed by an elbow battle through a herd of confederate flag waving mini-bottle drinkers.

So I say goodbye to the very last year that I have any hope of annihilating my parents in the Annual Oscar Ballot Predicitons. Perhaps, through it all, Dr. J will take pity on my deprived soul and maybe, just maybe, he will try to buy my love and surprise me with my very own TIVO.

TIVO! Dear TIVO!!
Oh how I long for thee!!

C is for Cookie

Just in case there is any doubt, I live for lunchbreaks, weekends, holidays, and most importantly, cookies of all shapes and sizes. And if I'm good forever, I know that when I get to heaven, God will bless me with a house laid on a foundation of chocolate chip cookies, with towering walls of sugar cookies covered in fancy sprinkles and rainbow colored icing, and a thatched roof formed by lines of peanut butter cookies interwoven with chocolate cookies with dark chocolate chunks. And with every cookie I eat, I will lose 1/2 a pound.

Amen.

I'm Such a Putz

This is a formal and public apology to my dear friend Heather who put away what I can only assume was 2 cosmopolitans waiting for her friend Missy for an hour at a bar last night. I'm a Schmuck. I have no excuse. I'm a bad friend - all of you just stay clear.

And the worst part is, that I was meeting her ... because she's has had a run of CHUMP MEN lately that treat her like a TOY. I'll rant on the Classlessness of Men These Days in a later post - this one is reserved for berating myself ...

Sadly, I am no better.

All I Need Now is a Veil

The Dress has arrived.

I'd give you a link but Dr. J is dying to cheat and see it early and WE AIN'T HAVIN NUN O DAT. Besides, I look WAY better than the girl in the internet photo anyway - she looks a little drugged and a little more than uncomfortable in her stance - it just doesn't do The Dress justice. It went to my parents house in Waxahachie, a Mayberry-esque town small enough that when the UPS delivery guy realized that my dad wouldn't be home to sign for It, he simply took it up to him at his office. I am afraid of two things:

1) my dad losing out to the temptation to try it on

2) my mother, in her efforts to "keep it safe" will, in fact, lose a dress that weighs as much as a small television (yes, I get that ability from her)

Don't You Dare Laugh

So since I haven't actually told anyone about this blog yet, I'll divulge my little secret here. I am currently training to run a half-marathon in April with one of my coworkers, Mully. Oh yes, me, a radio, and a fancy schmancy new pair of shoes are going to try and go the distance. Well ... half the distance anyway.

I am so very very not athletic that I'm not even ashamed of the fact that I can't throw a rubber bouncee ball the length of three cubicles. It seems unnecessary to mention that I was picked last in all games of any form as a wee one, and only then because someone was forced to choose me. I'm pretty sure that if they had absolutely refused and preferred to go at it a man short, I would have been perfectly alright cheering on the sidelines. Speaking of another miserable era, that of my short-lived career as a cheerleader - this pretty much sucked as well. It was while I was a cheerleader, in fact, that I realized just how bad of a runner I was, coughing and wheezing to the point of losing consciousness through the one-mile jog that we kicked our practice off with each day. It didn't help matters that my little bro was a super athlete, and had a room full of glorious trophys from every sport that he ever attempted. I had a pink honorable mention ribbon silly tacked on my wall from an art contest in 1st grade, so HA! Little bro could (and can) actually run around a track faster backwards, hopping on one foot, than I can at full speed and the wind at my back full circle.

Speed is not so much the issue here as the getting-it-done. So off we go in our training, me and Mully. Should be interesting - especially considering the fact that I'm doing this in weather that's 50 degrees below anything I've ever lived through before. I've been running for a few years and actually really love it, but my knee doesn't love me for it. We've talked and I've promised that I will just do it this once if he will just hold up.

Wish me luck!!

So I Know I Said I Wouldn't Start Posting Till Later But ...

Something came up and this little incident is not going to just go by without me letting someone HAVE IT.

You know who you are.

You have got SOME NERVE!!!

Yes you, the ones at *** who are so small minded as to think that it was totally acceptable to SCREW MY BABY BRO. Not so bad boys. Not so. I swear to all things holy that if I lived in your smog infested hell hole of a city that I would be ALL up in your face, arms flailing and swearin like a sailor. There would be fingers snapped in ALL kinds of directions, your fugly sternum would be poked with such ferocity as you could never have imagined and you would HEAR IT FROM ME. And don't you EVEN think of trying to give me any smack!

YEAH!

This will SOOOO come back to haunt you some day. I am on your trail and you will RUE THE DAY that you set this little bloodhound loose. And I will have you know that I will SO throw a party the day my little bro steals work right out from under you.

Imbeciles.

A Side Note

Just so you know, Dr. J (no, he's not THAT kind of doctor) FEARS the inevitability that was the setting-up-of-my-very-own-blog. He thinks I will start sharing the ins and outs of our personal lives to the rest of the e-world.

I love it.

It gives me power and, really, that's all I've ever wanted in life.

Preliminary Gathering

This is not technically the launching of The Blog. It's going to be more like an Early Meeting of the Higher Ups, the official Ribbon Cutting will probably be closer to late April/ early May, at which time I will be quitting my job (the one I am doing at this very moment - uh no, wait, I just created a new blogging account and am typing into cyberspace) and going to ColOmbia for two months. For those of you that can't spell, ColOmbia is in South America. ColUmbia is 1) a university in New York, 2) a city in many, many, many, many states 3) the District of C. in which our nation's capital can be found, 4) probably others but my point has been made. It is important that I distinguish ColOmbia from ColUmbia because following my return from ColOmbia, I will be getting married (ta-tum tum tum!!) and moving to ColUmbia, South Carolina.

This meeting is dismissed.