Fly the Friendly Skies?

Picture it...a coworker emails you to tell you she has just the guy for you.

Initial thought: Hmmmm...I don't know. But request more details so not to appear too guarded and/or indifferent.

Turns out said "guy for me" is a hunky pilot.

Next thought: Sexy pilot uniform, could possibly be a bonus. Ok, who am I kidding...uniform = BIG bonus not to mention probable good sense of direction. No more getting lost and stopping to ask for directions on romantic weekend get-a-ways.

Hmmm...could be getting a wee bit ahead of myself.

So where can I met this hunky pilot? Well apprently he spends a lot (a lot a lot) of time at the airport and flying around the country/province/county. You don't say...

Next thought: ***** ******!! Remember have never been on airplane let alone flown in one. Have not even set foot in one at airshow.

Possible coincidental ways to casually bump into hunky pilot = none

Unless, pretend I am interested in sky diving or something. Pros: faint in arms of hunky pilot after take off. Cons: forced to jump out of open door of plane to keep up with sky diving appearances.

Could pursue rouse of being undercover journalist and investigating something aviation-based. Pros: Have journalism experience, an excuse to wear high heels/ show off Billy Blanks sculped calfs. An expose on airplane food perhaps? No, been done already. Airplane tires: Rubber or Rubbish? No, too boring. Must seem exciting! Mile high club. No, too easy. Literally.

Decidely must forego the chance at hunky pilot until overcome mad hopping fear of flying. Or until land-based plane is invented.

Today's Post Is Brought To You By The Letters P and J

I can't take it anymore. This cotton and flannel insanity has gone on long enough!

I may sound old and outta touch by admitting this but I don't get some of the latest fashion trends. Moreso the creation and promotion of tulip skirts and bell jackets but do you know what really baffles me?

Pajama pants. "But Erika," I can hear you saying, "what do you have against cotton or flannel cinched just below the waist with a drawstring?" After all, they are super comfy and on the right person can be sexy. You can get them in plaid or with funny little cartoons, or in my Dad's case - with NASCAR insignia.

Ironically I am writing this in a pair of pink flannel bottoms and my pink Miami Ink t-shirt.

Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against pajama pants worn in the comfort of your own home. It's nice to slip on something soft and warm and comfy when it's cold out, for an evening in playing Scrabble, when you're retaining 3 pounds of fluid or when sittin' round the fire when camping. Hell, I've even worn them to take out the garbage. But that's not what I'm talking about.

I've seen girls wearing them at the arcade while playing Dance Dance Revolution, or while chowing down at the food court. At first, girls were only wearing them to school. Then the schools got wise, and they were banned [the pj's, not the students]. In true teen rebellion, now pajama pants are popping up at the mall, and I don't mean on the rack. Maybe wearing your pajama pants to the mall today is like wearing sweat pants back in my day (which wasn't all THAT long ago). I'm pretty sure it wasn't sexy then either.

I find it hard to imagine if you were a teenaged boy that you would start crushing on a girl after seeing her in the flannels she wears to bed. Then again, I've never been in tune with the thoughts of teenage boys (or boys in general). I know they didn't like wearing sweat pants.

But donning your nightime wear isn't limited to hormonal teenagers. The other day I saw a lady in her 30's in the produce section wearing red flannel pajama pants pushing her grocery cart with her toddler. Did she not sense that people were wondering if she was a bit off?

A young mother was picking her two kids up at daycare yesterday, and yup - had on pajama pants! If your kids are dressed in non-night time clothes it's probably a safe bet that you shouldn't be either.

And I know it's more acceptable to be more daring and baring and all that a la super low rise jeans but come on! It'd be like going to work in your lingerie - probably not going to get quite the rasie you were looking for.

Mmmmm, perhaps I should start a new trend...a small serving of modesty anyone?

And the Winner Is...

It's hard to believe this is my 50th post since I've started blogging back in July 2006.

And what better way to show this redhead your awesomeness love and support than by nominating her (i.e. me) in a category (or three) for the 2007 Weblog Awards aka the Bloggies.

Oh, imagine if I won! It would be better than winning an Oscar. Well, maybe not "the" Oscar but it's way better than being voted "most likely to be on TV with Jim Nunn" like in my high school yearbook senior year. (Sorry Jim)

To nominate me (or to nominate any old blogger if you really need to nominate more than just moi) simply click on the link above and fill out the nomination form. It's that easy! You have until January 10th to get your vote in - finalists will be announced on January 22 with more voting. That voting closes on January 31st (still with me?). The final finalists (aka the winners!) will be posted sometime between March 12-14.

I'm already sooooo excited how will I be able to sleep?

I won't buy your vote but know this, it will make me really really happy ;) And in the words of Britney Spears, "Tell all your friends y'all!" **

**The Redhead-Next-Door in no way implies that Ms. Spears actually used the above noted catch phrase even though it does appear in quotations and does sound like some dribble she would actually say, especially the "y'all" part. By hereby stating this outright, The Redhead-Next-Door and her affliates, The Brunette-Down-the-Street and The Blonde-Across-The-Street
-Round-The-Corner, wash their hands of any potential law suit. We think we've got it covered because there are so many big words in this paragraph that some people might find it hard to understand. Ofcourse, by "some people" we are not necessarily implying Ms. Spears but if some of you think that we are, then we can't get sued for your thoughts. More than likely.

Sweet Dreams, Part Deux

I had the strangest dream! Not kissing Howard Stern kind of strange but more along the lines of chewing Juicy Fruit Blue kind of strange.

I dreamt I was galloping through the jungle on the back of a grey elephant. The wind was whipping my hair behind my back (hey - it's my dream, and in my dream, I had long cascading wavy hair).

But I was not alone...

I leaned back as the elephant slowed. Strattling the elephant behind me was a guy without his shirt on! [Stick with me - it gets way better]. I could not see his face but he had shoulder-length brown hair and a body built for sin, or carpentry, or something. Very muscular thighs, perfect for elephant riding.

A voice told me this hunky guy was my soul mate. Oh yeah - that was my voice.

So it got me thinking, what the heck does this all mean? Sure, the hot guy is easy to explain. But the elephant? I called in reinforcements. And by that I mean, I looked it up on the internet. Ironically, when you dream of an elephant it means that you are going to achieve something you previously thought was unobtainable. Hmmm...interesting.

Sometimes we dream something a bit off the wall. Something unexpected. Our mind can tell us things in such a way that it literally makes no sense (like riding an elephant) but we must learn to trust our instincts (Blue Juicy Fruit there's just something wrong with that!). Our subconscious mind knows what we want. So just go with it. Elephants and all.

[Bloggers Note: That's a representation of me on the elephant with Ashton Kutcher. And yes I know it looks cheesy but that thing took me two freaking hours to Photoshop, so love it or else!]

Top 10 Things to Tell Relatives Over the Holidays When Asked About Your Love Life

In retrospect, this information probably would have more useful prior to any holiday get-togethers with family and friends so that you could actually use any of these one line zingers should the occasion warrant. Oh well, timing was never my forte, just ask my ex-husband.

Warning: The following material is to be used with caution and while consuming alcohol - it'll make you sound much more believable. In fact people will feel so sorry for your [potentially] new found alcoholism that they probably won't probe any further. Yes, it's that easy. Above all, have fun with it. These are only ideas, but the possibilities are as endless as your imagination, and your supply of Argentinian wine.

Top 10 Things To Tell Relatives Over the Holidays When Asked About Your Love Life:
- Fabulous! In fact, there's someone I want you to meet [turn to the empty space beside you] and say "Brad [or other imaginary boyfriend/girlfriend's name] this is [name of nosey relative]. " You need to keep a straight face for this one.
- Do you think Mary ever asked Jesus about his love life?
- My therapist told me not to talk about him.
- "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrgh." If they ask you what that means say "That's Wookiee for none of your business."
- I was captured by a couple tall TALEs (Terrorists Against Love Everywhere). They implanted a tiny microchip into my brain. If I go out on a date again [narrow your eyes at this point for effect], the chip will self-destruct and I will die a painful death, more painful than watching any Madonna movie.
- My gynecologist told me not to talk about him. (Note: might only work if you're a girl).
- Ponder out loud, "What would Brian Boitano do?" And then do a triple axel in the direction of the kitchen.
- Say, "Hey, how's your sex life going?"

Ok, I know that's only 8 but what kind of relatives are you dealing with that you need 10? I'm not a machine you know. But I do like mechanics ;)

Out With the Old, In With the New or Slightly Used

Dear clothes closet,

Regretfully, I am writing to announce that tonight some of your inhabitants will be removed. Prepare to be raided, inspected, and modeled like you're in a 1990's movie music montage to Bon Jovi's "You Give Love A Bad Name."

Yes, sadly it is the day when cute little dresses and cardigans everywhere [at my house] whimper at the thought of not being worn once again on a first date to meet that hunky beau full of possibilities and instead are being chucked. Without feeling, without remorse. Like an ex-mate who is neither your current tango partner under the sheets nor your friend but is that symbolic saloon door swinging in and out (and in and out) of your life.

Any inhabitants found with holes, pulls, lowered hems that cannot be mended, missing buttons, missing sleeves and/or holes in unmentionable places shall be sent to clothes heaven. That magical place where all clothes who have lived a good life and seen some action on the field must go to die...er, I mean live out the rest of their days in pieces. Oops, I mean peace.

Much like the latest bobble-head celebutante, I need to purge [my closet] in order to feel free of the chains of 2006. Said purging is a necessary evil. And must be done to make room for new inhabitants, like that sweet pink chiffon blouse I got on sale for $9.99 CDN.

Closet, I hope you understand that as painful as this is, it hurts me more than it does you. And not just because you are an inanimate object devoid of any feelings. Although, that is a big reason.

In love and war,

Erika

Kissing Balls and Other Things Not To Be Talked About At the Office

A girl at work was selling kissing balls for the holiday season for the great price of $10 per ball. (If you don't know what kissing balls are for god's sake don't look it up on Google without the moderate safe search enabled).

A guy I work with went home and told his wife that he wanted kissing balls for his birthday being sold by a girl at work, and that they were $10 per ball. His wife bluntly told him she didn't care that it was his 50th birthday, she wasn't doing that. (Obviously she did a Google search without the moderate safe search on).

A true story. Also one that should not be talked about too much at work unless you want your productivity (and quite possibly a performance evaluation) to be effected.

Sometimes you might hit the afternoon slump at work, and feel a little energy drained. While it is suggested to pour yourself a nice herbal green tea, it is not suggested to send an email to a male friend about said kissing ball story because it doesn't lead to productivity.

Most likely it will lead to other suggestive topics, not limited to French cheek kissing, Russia and Roseanne Barr. It will also result in one or both parties splashing their faces with cold water and definately not lead to any work being done.

So that you don't fall prey to this type of workplace distraction, I have assembled a list...

The Top Ten Things Not To Be Discussed At Work (unless you work from home you lucky *******):
- Coco Puffs
- Sean Connery or James Bond movies
- Cinnamin buns
- Showering
- Monkeys
- Monkey wrenches
- Bar wenches
- All that athletic ass-slapping that goes on in football
- Italy
- David Beckman

This is not an exhaustive list but should get you started. Or not started as the case may be.

P.S. You're welcome ;)

[Post Blog Post Note: Kissing balls are a big ol' ball of garland type materials - like a ball of misletoe but bigger, and made from spruce boughs, etc. You can also make them out of flowers. Anything really. Except maybe not pudding.]

Coming Soon To A Blog Near You...

I've been out of the loop for a bit trying to get everything ready for Christmas - baking yummy treats, shopping, wrapping presents, and then there was that unfortunately incident with one of Santa's helpers at the mall...

But I digress.

I have some good** blog posts in the works and will get to them as soon as I can, and for as long as the wine lasts. Here's some of the shameless writings you can look forward to:
- Kissing Balls, and Other Things Not To Be Talked About At the Office
- Sweet Dreams #2 (which oddly enough involves an elephant)
- Top 10 Things to Tell Relatives Over the Holidays When Asked About Your Love Life
- The Secret
- Ryan Patrick: The Cutest MacNeil Brother

Until then, Happy Holidays from all of us here at the Redhead-Next-Door. Ok, there's just me here. But I'm sending lots of cheer - may all your holiday wishes come true! Yes, even THAT one.

**Good is a subjective opinion and may not be shared by all readers.

Things That Make You Go Hmmmmm... #2

On Thursday I travelled to a neighboring "city" for a meeting. A group of young professionals were getting together to hear some highers up speak about succession management. This was the first of these "young professional" events I had attended so I wasn't sure what to expect. The only thing I did know was I wanted to sit at a table located near the back of the conference room (in case I wanted to make a quick retreat back to my office).

Starting time for the session was 9am, so when I arrived at 8:59am (after a quick pit stop at the ladies room) there were only three seats left. Two were at the back table (good), but there was a problem (not good). Seated at that table was a totally cute guy. I can hear you now..."and this is a problem why?"

For one, Regular Erika is a smart, witty, pretty girl. Put her next to a hot guy and Erika becomes a blumbling, rambling, mess. Messy Erika let's call her. Regular Erika would normally take a seat at another table, thus avoiding the cute guy and any possibility of making a love connection. Obviously this is one of the reasons (on a long list) why I don't meet many single guys. I'm too busy avoiding them.

But something was different on Thursday. I was feeling different. Could have been the "I'm feeling lucky" thong I had on. Could have been the Shreddies I ate for breakfast. I decided to go for it.

I sat down. Made chit chat with everyone at the table (including him), shook hands (including his). He was tall, broad shoulders, oh so rugged looking, had really really great brown hair and a mischievious twinkle in his eye. Even better, no wedding ring. So, I did that whole flirty lowered eyes, look up and smile combo that Glamour is always going on about as a tried and true method of "come hither big boy". I could picture this guy building something with his bare hands (ok, and a hammer).

The session starts.

And then out of freaking nowhere...

Another cute guy sits down at our table. Initial reaction - panic! Ok, ok...breathe. Breathe. You are ok. You are smart, witty and pretty. You can rhyme. Two cute guys are no problem.

Guy #2 was cute in a totally different way. He was tall and lanky, with blonde curly hair and a mischievious twinkle in his eye. There was a ring there, it might be a wedding ring, it might not. So, I did that whole flirty lowered eyes, look up and smile combo that Glamour is always going on about as a tried and true method of "come hither big boy". I could picture this guy kayaking down a raging river with his bare hands (ok, and a paddle).

After all that eye lowering and looking and smiling (while trying to fain interest in mentoring) I really needed to pee. Then again, it could have been the three cups of coffee I drank to calm my nervousness. Still distracted by the eye candy at my table, I ducked out of the conference room to go to the ladies room.

I think I actually broke into a mad dash (I have a petitie bladder ok). I barreled into the washroom. And thought to myself, hmmm, I don't remember the ladies room having a blue color scheme...or urinals. What the ****? Urinals! I was in the men's washroom.

Initial reaction - panic! Ok, ok...breathe. Breathe. You are ok. You are smart, witty and pretty. You can rhyme. Being in the men's washroom is no problem.

Calmly, I spun on my black stiletto heels and leapt out the door. Luckily no one was looking.

When I returned to my table I picked right up where I left off.

Regular Erika - you go girl!

[Bloggers Note: None of the flirty lowered eyes, look up and smile combo that Glamour is always going on about as a tried and true method of "come hither big boy" actually resulted in a date request. I plan on not renewing my subscription of Glamour, you know, after this year].

Let's Play "Six Weird Things About Me"

I've been tagged by Sean (who is so NOT getting a Christmas present from me this year ;)

Here's how this little game works...

"According to the rules, each player of this game starts with the title "Six Weird Things About Me." People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own six weird things and state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose six people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says, 'You are tagged!' in their comments and tell them to read your blog!"

For the record, I am not tagging anyone (much like Amy opted to do). And will try to throw in a few extra weird-isms as a consolation prize. Yes, I am the girl who does not forward that email within 5 minutes to 10 of friends or risk bad luck for the rest of my life. Those emails stress me out (hmmm..this could be on my list). Unlike Amy, I doubt I can come up with 42 weird-isms.

If I was tagging (which I'm not) I would definately include Marvo, Peter, Grins, Hannah, Mark and my sister Kirsten.

So, let's get going shall we.

Six Weird Things About Me (Or as I like to call it, what makes me unique :)
- I got my first (and only) cavitity at the age of 23.
- I have to tint my eyebrows/ eyelashes every few weeks or risk looking like I was involved in a fire because my lashes/brows are freakisly invisable.
- When I sign a document, I write with the paper sideways.
- I wear purple-framed glasses (like the ones pictured at right, only a bit smaller, and purple).
- I broke my ring finger on my right hand playing an agressive game of balloon volleyball and had to be taken to the hospital. It took at least 5 minutes for the ER doctor to stop laughing.
- I am afraid of balloons, like really really afraid. They make me throw myself into the arms of the first man I see. You can imagine how much fun I am at children's birthday parties.

Wow - that was strangely quite easy.

Here's a few bonus weirdisms:
- I'm only 5"6 and 3/4's but I wear heels (99 % of the time) so people think I'm a lot taller than I really am. Heels easily add 3 inches to my height.
- I think Rowan Atkinson aka Mr. Bean is sexy.
- If I could guest star on any soap, it would be Coronation Street.
- I've never dated a guy with blond or red hair.
- I'm obsessed with cleaning (don't analyze it, it's a good obsession unlike my fixation with slogan t-shirts and 3-ply napkins).
- My middle name is 10 letters long.
- Some days, I don't even brush my hair before I go to work - I just put a bit of pomade in it and tousle for a sexy just-rolled-out-of-bed look. Surprisingly, this is when I get most of my hair compliments. Apparently, effortless is sexy.
- Sometimes I wonder if I have undiagnosed Tourettes syndrome. Usually I am in the car or talking to my coworker Rowan when this happens.

Ta-da! There you have it. An intimate look into [some of] the weirdisms of the Redhead-Next-Door. What? Did you think I was perfect? Oh wait, that was me...

Waiter, I'll Have A Salad

"In the vegetable garden of love, which veggie best sums up your single's attitude?" Yes, it's thought provoking questions like these [posed by LavaLife's online dating magazine] that keep me up at night pondering the answer to singleville's little questions. It's right up there with "if you were an animal what would you be?" Ok, I have been known to ask guys this pre-first date, but only to sort out the labs from the dobermins, er...I mean sort out the gentlemen from the weirdos or certifiably insane.

So let's get to it shall we?

Here's my summary (so you can avoid reading the whole article - you'll thank me). And in true Redhead-Next-Door style, I've added in some of my own comments and suggestions for people attracted to these vegetables. I mean people.

The Mushroom:
Pros: You have a versatile, diverse outlook, dry sense of humor, cute-as-a-button temperament, not shy in bed and love making mastery has been known to cause hallucinations and fantasies
Cons: Earthy mysteriousness (not to be mistaken as earthy mustiness), potentially bad roots
Suggestions: Deodorant and frequent visits to hair salon, limit walks in woods
Warning: Mushrooms may cause fantasies

The Cucumber:
Pros: You keep things real and raw in a relationship (hopefully this does not include cooking meals), shape of body can arouse people from across the room much like the effect Austin Power's mojo has on women with names that sound like naughty-bits
Cons: Can appear standoffish, tough, thick-skinned exterior, you play it cool
Suggestions: Always cook meat until well done, use lotion to soften tough skin
Warning: Austin Powers-like effect

The Potato:
Pros: Chill-axin' kind of person, take note - have eyes in the back of your head
Cons: A bit of a homebody, somewhat lazy in the sack, have an attitude for every occasion
Suggestions: Make potato salad, the spicy kind.
Warning: Anything that conjurs the phrase "chill-axin'" can't be good

The Pea:
Pros: A total people person (as opposed to a half a people person – I’ll spare you by not naming which half). Like smaller, tight quarters as opposed to massive ones (i.e. nightclub). Sweet, cuddly personality.
Cons: Accused of being a close talker, occasionally snap [at lovers who get too mushy about the relationship]. You keep things fresh and crisp.
Suggestions: Who cares?
Warning: Objects in mirror are even closer in real life than they appear.

The Onion
Pros: Injects pearls of wisdom into exuberant 5 minute talks in crowded rooms.
Cons: Dramarama! Love to make dates laugh and cry. Can be tricky getting to know the sweet, juicy core behind your layered exterior.
Suggestion: Wear less layers – I know it’s winter but a turtleneck and a sweater? Forgetaboutit!
Warning: Leaves crowds exhausted, much like reading this blog post.

The Carrot
Pros: No-strings attached kind of person, fiery, showy/ colourful personality [read: not good looking], speak your mind.
Cons: No-strings-attached kind of person, has a tendency to stew about things.
Suggestions: Instead of stew, try meatballs. Make ‘em spicy.
Warning: Paper bag might be required.

The Asparagus
Pros: Spring is your favorite season, when new love blossoms so easily <**gag**>. Believe yourself to be sexually spectacular. Have a natural breaking point when clinginess starts to set in. Keep a tight bunch of friends, and depend on them to keep you in line.
Cons: Lovers tell you that whiffs of your musky love permeate them the day after.
Suggestions: Showers (for you and your lovers), and maybe some new friends.
Warning: Avoid spring unless on a constant diet of Gravol.

Despite LavaLife's neat little pros and cons (and my witty suggestions/warnings) dare I say that I'd rather date a combination of veggies, and not one in particular (though the mushrooms are tempting). Therefore, I guess my single's attitude is having a soft spot for a salad-type lad. If such a salad exists. I mean guy. I wonder what the options are for dressing? Waiter, don't forget the cheese!

Answering Your Burning Questions

Today's question comes from Amy.

She writes: "What are Tangy Tarts?"

My answer: "Only the best sugary tarty sour sweetness you've ever tasted!"

Mmmmm....

[Bloggers Note: I couldn't find a pic of Tangy Tarts, so here's a pic of Zingy Zaps which are actually my number one favorite candy.]

Red Light District Christmas

At work we're having a cubicle decorating contest. No wait, it gets better.

Prizes will be awared in 3 categories: "pretty", "tacky" and "funny". We threw "funny" in there because let's face it, what guy is going to want to do it for the "pretty"? Exactly.

So I decided (naturally) to go for the funny category because:
a) I'm funny (and apparently have a healthy self-esteem)
b) I like competing with the guys and then saying "who-ya!" when I win.

Then I got to thinking...what's funny about Christmas? Sure, immaculate conception. But not funny enough. Grandma getting run over by a reindeer. But it's been done to death [ahem]. Uncle Arnold getting sauced and then proclaiming he's drinking a warm cup of piss when really it's apple cidar. Hmmm, getting warmer [tee hee].

And then, it came to me...prostitutes!

What WOULD Christmas be like in the Red Light District? At least, in the extreme made up version because the harsh cold reality (much like being single during the holidays) is way too depressing.

I strung up some red icicle lights around the top of my cubcile (only half of them work which is so perfect). I placed a sad little spruce tree (think Charlie Brown) with pop can tabs and sugars packets for decorations at the entrance to my cubicle. Under neath the lights, I put two knee-high fishnet stockings (sugar plum in color). Beside the stockings...the piece de la resistance! I posted this little diddy that I wrote:

A Red Light District Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the streets
Not a creature was sturring, not even the deadbeats
The fishnet stockings were flung on the floor without care
In hopes that Nick soon would be there
To be continued...

I figure I'll write a bit more each week, with the whole story being completed by Christmas vacation.

I began "Operation Red Light District Christmas" at 4:30pm yesterday, after most of the staffers went home; so it will be a surprise when they get in on Monday. I'm out of the office Monday and Tuesday, so hopefully I have a job to come back to.

[Post Blog Note: Nicky if you're reading this, Nick is short for St. Nick so don't go getting any ideas]

All I Want For Christmas (Or At Least 90% Of It)

Saturday morning I got an email from my sister [and fellow blogger], Kirsten, asking me what I wanted for Christmas. To assist my sister (and anyone else who might be Christmas shopping for moi) I decided to do a list of...

The Top 10 Things I Want This Year for Christmas [in no particular order]:

1. T-shirts with slogans " Writer's do it with action verbs" and "You are so NOT going in my book" and "You don't want to know where I get my ideas".

2. A Sarcastic Ball from Office Playground. Sample messages include: "Dumb Question Ask Another", "In Your Dreams", "Not A Chance", "That's Ridiculous", "Yeah and I'm the Pope" and my personal fav "When Monkeys Fly Out Of My Butt". Ok, I made that last one up. It's not included but feel free to use it at your discretion.

3. To enjoy a old ol' fashioned turkey dinner the way it was meant to be tasted...without being pureed. Goodbye oral appliance! And while I [temporarily] have it out how about...

4. A passionate-as-hell kiss under the mistletoe. We're talking high-caliber front cover of the Harlequin romance novel type of kiss.

5. Swiss Army Knife multi-tool key-ring attachment, for the Single Handy Girl in all of us just waiting to get out.

6. Gift certificate for LaSenza.
I repeat, s-l-o-w-l-y, LaSenza.

7. Personal chef/ robot for those days I just don't feel like cooking. Ok, that would be just about everyday.

8. Toyota MR2 in cream (hey, a girl can dream!)

9. A one-year subscription to Glamour magazine. To stay in the know on "important" matters like the lastest blow-out techniques and aucurrent lipstick colors.

10. Big bag of Tangy Tarts. Mmmmmmm full of tangy tarty goodness.

Things That Make You Go Hmmmmm...

You get out of your car and go into the store. You're just picking up a couple of "necessities" hair dye and lip gloss.

You get back in your car, purchases in hand, only to feel something on the back of your pants.

Oh no. Oh no. It is ketchup. Left over from your drive home from the big city. Who said eating an A&W Teen Burger combo in the dark while driving [and singing] was easy?

You feel silly. The sales clerk didn't mention anything. Oh no. Did she even know it was ketchup? She probably thought it was...you know.

And then you feel it. The ketchup package also stuck to your pants AND a pickle. Yep, I'm sure she thought it was ketchup.

Single Girl's Guide to Being Handy: Tip #1

Here's the scenario...

You've retired to your fru-fru hotel room for the evening, intent on catching up on some "Sell This House" episodes. After all, carpenters put the handsome in handy. Or something like that. [You don't think well on an empty stomach in this scenario].

You grab a drink, from the four-pack of Pina Colada Bacardi Breezers you drove an extra half hour out of your commute to purchase, at the only liquor store open on Sunday.

You grab a white fru-fru hotel towel from the bathroom so you don't do a number on your nails, and use it to cover the top of the bottle whilst you give a quick twist. But the top doesn't come off. You're really going to town but the cap isn't budging. And then you realize...

Pina Colada Bacardi Breezers aren't twist caps. Frantically, you search your fru-fru hotel room for a bottle opener. Nada. Ok, breathe. You've just got to put those brains to good use and come up with an invention. A bottle cap opener invention. Easy peezy.

Look for something metal you can use for leverage...the lamp? No. The iron? No. The bath tub water spout. No. Getting warmer. The remote control? **** no. It's plastic. You were doing better in the bathroom. Go back in there.

And then, it appears. The small metal square plate on the door frame. Where the movable metal thingy from the door knob clicks in to. Yeah - that! This can be used to pry each little individual groove of the bottle cap open slightly. Then after about a good 10-15 minutes work, presto! You are ready to consume a Pina Colada [or some similarly silly drink made by a manufacturer that has not come into this century and added twist-caps to their beverages].

See, you don't sweat it - you're single AND handy! Whatcha need a guy for when you got great inventions like this? Oh yeah, that whole "penis" thing. Damn.

These Boobs Are Made For Walkin'

I'm not sure why, but anytime I gain weight it goes straight to the T&A area. Yes, you read me right...the T&A area. You know...the headlights & bumper, the jigs & reel, the alter & pew, etc etc.

When my "condition" flares up, eventually I become motivated to get back into my workout regimen [tae bo, roller skating, jello wrestling, jogging]. Lately I've noticed that jogging has become, shall we say, uncomfortable. My sports bra puts in a good effort but there's a bit too much forceful bouncing going on.

Naturally this reminds me of the slow-mo running down the beach rescue sequences from Baywatch. How did Pamela Anderson, who is a few sizes (a dozen?) larger than my modest C cup, run in a bathsuit which offers almost zero support? Maybe if you're paid a high salary running foot loose and chesty free doesn't bother you.

Maybe you do it because your male director told you to.

What if when guys gained weight, it went right to your round and wrinklies? I bet that male director wouldn't be up for some running then. Unless he was carefully cradled in a Speedo. But then that would remind me of this...

And I would forget the point of this blog post...if there was one.

Jiggle Bells

[to the tune of "Winter Wonderland"...}

Lunch bell rings...are you listenin'?
In the coffee shop, bagels glisten.
A beautiful sight, we're carb loading tonight.
I should be walking instead of sittin' on my ass.

Yes, dear readers. THAT picture (extreme right) was taken during our annual Supervisors Breakfast in October and provided the inspiration for the little didi I wrote above. Not that I didn't lick my lips at the pancakes and sausage and bacon (oh my!). I did. Should I have had seconds? Um, probably not.

I already have holiday eaters guilt and it isn't even December! I want to cringe instead of Kringle. [sigh] Sadly, now I am thinking of Pringles.

I guess it doesn't help that I'm heading into this holiday season single, with "D" day fast approaching. For all you marrieds and/or those in a committed shagging relationship, you might not know about D day (no no, not that one). For singles, D day usually falls at the end of the first week in December. We singles know that if we have not had at least a second date with someone by then, we will be officially single for the entire holiday season. That's Christmas AND New Year's Eve. That means no exchanging meaningless presents with a [could be special some day if one/both of you don't *** it up] someone, no groping about at office holiday parties, no playing sit on Santa's knee...er, you get the idea.

Not that I'm looking about anyway. You know, I'm working on the list and all that.

I've just been slightly unfocused lately. Which is so unlike me.

I guess I've got things on my mind. Like why my computer speakers no longer work for sound but will emit one side of a CB radio conversation. FYI - they say 10-4 a lot. And who will win the tacky-as-hell Dancing With the Stars trophy (please please be Mario). And how to forget about the sassy little size 5 black dress (maybe size 7 if I keep eating those bagels) that's just calling my name at Smart Set.

Plus, there's the whole novel thingy that I'm supposed to have half-way completed.

I guess there's only one thing I can do...

Bartender! I'll have a whiskey sour. And make it a double.**

** The Redhead-Next-Door does not condone drinking as a way to solve and/or forget about world problems/life concerns/fantasies about coworkers. But approves of drinking for it's intended medicinal use - writing an ok blog post.**

NaNoWriMo Procrastination Tips

For those of you living under a rock, November is National Novel Writing Month aka NaNoWriMo. Would be/ should be/ never be writer's sign up for the NaNoWriMo challenge...to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30. That's almost 1,700 words per day.

Understand and embrace the insanity of it all.

Day one, I wrote about 500 words. By day four, I was only at 1,000. I was quite pleased with my first page but pages 2-3 are complete and utter ***. Needless to say, I'm slightly behind schedule. And the more off-schedule I get, the easier it is to procrastinate.

So, in the name of even more procrastination, er, I mean research and information sharing purposes, I've come up with a list...

Ways to Procrastinate and Avoid Doing Your Daily NaNoWriMo Word Count:
- Write a blog post about procrastination
- Wonder what it's really like to ride a unicycle
- Run 6km
- Make delicious cup of coffee
- Music montage to find the perfect work outfit for your appeal hearing tomorrow
- Do 4 loads of laundry
- Work on Career Theory parcticum that you forgot to submit before deadline last week
- Drink delicious coconut rum
- Resign yourself to the fact that Lance Bass and Neil Patrick Harris are gay but T.R. Knight...say it ain't so
- Drink more rum
- Try out new squash soup recipe (yummy!)
- Watch Corner Gas episode where Hank starts a blog
- Take a nap

Happy. Period.

[Note: If you are a guy reading this...Stop. Right. Now. Right now I say. You DO NOT want to read any more of this post. Trust me. And no, I'm not using reverse psychology.]

Every day, if you're attuned to the world and what's revolving on around you, you have the opportunity to learn something new. Maybe you have two coworkers meeting after-hours to go over spreadsheets roll over bedsheets.

Today I learned that Always wants women to "Have a happy period." And how am I privy to this information? They told me. Well, they didn't actually "tell" me. I read it. On one of their individually-wrapped products. It actually said "Have a happy period." Are you ****ing kidding me?

I was so offended I threw this product. Well, I didn't actually throw it. I wanted to. But I needed it.















This brilliant new marketing catch phrase must have been created by a man. And since I told the guys not to continue reading this post, they won't mind if I blame men for being insensitive and/or not having a clue. About Periods.

Maybe it's just me, but I know when I'm retaining 5 pounds of fluid, so cranky that Simon Cowell looks like a polite alter boy compared to me, and there's that one pimple that came out of nowhere and has erupted into something the size of Jay Leno's chin, I'm not gonna have a happy period.

On the other hand, if you thought you might be pregnant. But you learned you weren't...I guess then you could have a happy period. You'd be all "Yeah, I'm not pregnant! I got my period." But that's probably the only time that would happen.

Unless ofcourse, if I have 2 L of "cookies and cream" ice cream sitting in front of me, big spoon in hand, while wearing my fat pants watching some senseless-dribble-of-a-movie like "Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion" that might make me have a happy... nope. It wouldn't. It might be a slightly better period. But that's it. Period.