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Are you an introvert or an extrovert?

According to a popular personality profiling tool, I am an extrovert. This means that I am motivated by a social environment. Not to be confused with going to a party and working the room. That wont happen unless I've got Vlad on my side.

Ask me anything

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What's the best place near you to get a pizza?

Pizza I don't really eat, but I'm getting started because I cant sleep: Culinary Deliveries is a staple; pure greasy-tomato-cheeks delight, and you don't even have to burn calories to run and get it because they're the only pizza joint that delivers allll the way out to my bumpkin self.

Ask me anything

Your Turn, Mate

I've really kind of fallen off of this writing obsession. What little writing I DO do now, I do in private. And it's usually for theraputic reasons and incredibly uninteresting to the general public.

That said, I'm not going to apologize and instead I'm going to turn things around and put the guilt on you.

My friend Shawn started posting requests on facebook for anonymous questions from friends, which he will answer publicly. And I'm jumping on behind him because it's wonderfully brilliant.

I feel a little sheepish about copy-catting but then I remembered I just got a legitimate TV last month, so you cant blame me for being behind the times. Plus, I've been preoccupied with a number of serious things.

In any case, don't be shy:

http://www.formspring.me/lecnessmonster

Or:

Nor should you be modest.

Allons-Y!

*looks down* and...

...*kicks dirt*

I feel like the kid who has ignored the charitable weekly visit to his grandmother's house for the past year. I have to admit, constant status updating on social networking sites detract from the amount of decent material I can blog about. And now, since I've finally accepted Facebook as my redheaded stepchild, I just cant stop beating it to death with updates of what I'm doing, in retribution for it's awful soul-lesness, stealing all my juicy vittles. I believe that's what we'd call a vicious cycle.

Now that Lady has blogged twice since we both decided that we were in a blogging rut, I feel compelled to tell you SOMETHING about what's going on in my life that you might not already know.

Since we last spoke, I've lost 12 pounds!

...And in one dazzling indulgent weekend in New England, I managed to gain it all back. Fail.

Impressive, huh? So here I sit, back to day #2 of punishing myself with a fully nutritious yet liquid diet to hopefully get to where I left off. At least the liquid is a form of chocolate (even if it's imposter, it still fills that void), and at least I do get to look forward to some fruit and salad every day. But why are there free sandwhiches today? :( And why is there free cake? :( :(

Speaking of which, some people just aren't meant for fedoras. I'm not trying to steal Lady's Miley Cirus thunder or anything, but reading her last entry brought into memory the leopard print Miley Cyrus fedora I tried on this weekend. Mind you, it was strewn behind some bags of potting soil in the garden section of walmart, I didn't go searching for it specifically, I just spotted the print with my natural internal African-wildlife-pelt-radar and was drawn in its general direction. Suffice to say, I looked like Borat's neighbor. You know the one: When Borat get clock radio, I can not afford. Just a little more jazzy and stylish.

Action Plan, Day One. Too busy for a clear shot.

Very High Colonic?

Kate and I pretty much have a lunchtime ritual at this point. It usually consists of getting in my car, putting the top down, and driving the longest route possible to end up at Genuardi's ("Nards") to ravish their amazing salad bar. Sometimes on the way back to the office, we'll hit the park and eat. Other days, like today, we take the remainder of our lunch break and tool around TJ Maxx or a random craft store.

Today was TJ Maxx and Ritz Camera, but before Nard's. Totally switching up the program.

I've been kind of obsessed with smelling good this summer so naturally once we arrived at TJ Maxx, I was distracted by the kiosk of slightly opened fragrances (that are in all honesty a pretty good deal compared to department store prices). Kate was drawn to the neighboring shelves of gourmet soaps, lotions, and bath products.

I was checking out and falling in love with an unused bottle of "Versace: Red Jeans" when Kate turned to me and said "Oh man, I love this stuff, my mom always uses these!". She held up what looked like a mini bottle of scented hand sanitizer. You know, like the kind at Bath & Body Works? She extended it toward my face to smell. I lean in as she applies a slight pressure, expecting a teeny puff of air to waft gently into my waiting olfactory system.

No such luck.

Instead of gentle air, the bottle must've had a rogue air pocket and I got a right nostril full of -not hand sanitizer- but citrus and basil hand soap. In the middle of TJ Maxx. To be fair, a little dripped onto my chin too.

Of course my first reaction was to laugh like a maniac - because it WAS hilarious, unintentional and perfect. What comes before laughter, though, my friends? Inhalation. Massive and uncontrollable inward breathing.

So now I have citrus basil handsoap dripping down the back of my throat.

30 minutes later, we're salad clad and arriving back to the office. I get here and walk briskly to the bathroom with a handful of industrial papertowels and pray for the auto faucets to allow me to referse snot rocket with their touchy sensors to flush out my head.

No such luck.

Now, it's 2-hours later. It burns. It smells like citrus and basil everywhere I go. And I didnt get new perfume because I couldnt smell it.

[To be fair to Kate, I couldn't afford it either :) ]

"No Offense" is offensive enough

Dah da dahmmmmmm!

A lot of my time lately has been consumed with watching early Arnold Schwarz..en...eg..er (?) (sp?) movies. Hence leading me to have a more than usual abstract view of the world. Like, what if I had to cut out my own eye with an exact-o knife instead of a scalpel? It certainly wouldn't be a clean cut - those things go dull after the first slice through felt - let alone flesh and cartelidge.

Another question that came to mind is: Why hasn't Arnold (the real Arnold) lost his Austrian accent yet? My uncle moved to Georgia like 20 years ago, and you'd never know that he was born and raised in PA. He sounds like a natural southerner, slang and all. Arnold is still swishing around on youtube doing his Cali beg for help commercials sounding like a deaf WW2 vet. Ouch.

Another question I have for you is: Why are there so many pregnant people in my office? I've heard more than I'd care to about mucus plugs, waters breaking, failed labors resulting in emercency un-anestetized c-sectoins, and having to take a hand towel with you everywhere incase your water breaks unexpectedly. Since I've been in this department, I think there's been a total of 17 women on my floor who have had buns in their respective ovens. It's scary for someone like me who would do everything possible to personally avoid that scenario. Every day becomes more and more suffocating. The proverbial vaginal walls are closing in and I'm confused cat. (Too soon?)

Of course I support whatever brings joy to your world, and I too am happy that you're happy. With that said, studying cults and serial murders is a long-time interest of mine and I'm becoming tempted to rebut baby slime stories heard in the professional setting with facts about The Family International.

The key here is to recognize your audience. Usually, cynical girl with one ear-bud in who's glaring at some daunting design project is not the person who is going to know anything about what you're going through, and she's also the most likely to give bad advice. (ex: "Pounding a few cans of cheap beer seems to always help me with nausea!").

Just sayin'. I'm sorry that I am so bad at being a woman.