How to rock it on your birthday...

1. Have an "Athena" adult *ahem* novelty party where the "goddess" brings samples so you can try before you buy.
Excuse me for a minute... I need to check the mail.

2. Ride a mechanical bull while wearing a tiara. It may not be my best angle, but I'm pretty sure the bull and I are now married.

3. Drink tasty adult beverages with a few people you do know, and a lot of people you don't.

4. Climb up on the bar to give everyone a better view of your best moves. Warning... bartenders become very nervous when you attempt to clear the bar prior to busting a chickenwing.

Trust me, your friends will think it was GRRRRRRRREAT!!!
They may also need to wear helmets after the chickenwing incident.

Ummmm, excuse me, Blogger? I need to post a picture or two from my birthday. There's one of me on a mechanical bull. And one of us dancing on the bar. You see, I'm bringing sexy back to 32. Not by riding the bull, mind you, but I'm bringing it back.

This is not a joke...

I have taken my next assignment... and it is right down the street from this.

No shit.

Now THAT's going to be blogworthy!!!

Coming soon...

Coming soon to a blog near you...

Wearing a tiara, dancing on bars, and "Don't Look! She's riding the bull!!!"

He's a Pretty Princess

Fat Louie's new family

The birthday princess

Hello all out there, it's me...Amy from CT. I've decided to post an entry on our dear 'ol Tiffany's blog since the birthday princess isn't allowed to do any work, and that includes blog-posting. It's a tradition in the Sochocki-Norton home that on your special day, you get breakfast in bed (which we can check off the list) then are absolved from doing any work whatsoever. We have officially named today "Tiffany King Day", or by it's lesser known name, January 27th. So while I am running around cooking, cleaning, washing grout lines with a toothbrush, and preparing for our little "pre-rock-the-town gathering" at my house the birthday princess is snuggling Fat Louie and eating bons bons placed gently into her mouth by the handsome stud that I hired to do just that. O.K. O.K., that might not be the entire truth, but here at the Norton homestead, we are trying to honor Tiffany King Day as it should be observed. We did serve her breakfast in bed (blueberry banana pancakes....we all know how T.K. loves her pancakes, a fresh fruit cup, and coffee....can't forget the coffee) and bought her a tiara that says "Birthday Girl" which she promptly placed on her oh so pretty morning hair. I don't think that we'll be able to pry that thing off her head at all today (not that we would want to, but I do have 3 little girls who are just a tad envious of the whole tiara thing....not that they don't have 100 of their OWN tiaras). We are honored to be sharing Tiffany King Day with our favorite crazy cat lady. We love her and just might not let her leave!

It's my birthday! Give me candy and call me "Her Royal Hiney-ness"!!!

You KNOW I've had a tiara on since 8:30am, right?

I got really dizzy at work today. I was at my desk after lunch and all of the sudden got super light-headed. Checked my blood pressure- normal. Pulse- fine. I went and laid down.

Maybe it was the fantabulous sugar high I was on from the cinnamon rolls, cupcakes, turnovers, and pie that came with my surprise birthday party. I was wearing a tiara. After about 20 minutes I was feeling much better (I am VERY glad that the patient that was scheduled didn't show) and I really wanted a cupcake.

I swear, if it was possible to be pregnant, I'd have been worried. But really, you can't get yourself knocked up, right?

Then I came home from work and saw this.

I'm going to get a pregnancy test.

Tuesday's Tiffany Epiphany

I need to get my head out of my ass.

32 is not a midlife crisis.

Plenty of people live to be older than 64.

I've got at least 5 years before my midlife crisis.

*Thanks ahead of time to Jeaner, who (I know) has been dying all week to tell me to get my head out of my ass.

Not to worry... The George Strait concert was phenomenal. He waved at me. Twice. I think I caught Ronnie Millsap (I know I spelled it wrong) checking out my cleavage. I know he's blind, but even a blind man could have seen it. I'll post stories as soon as Neeter quits hogging the pictures.

My sadness is mutually exclusive from the joy of the concert.

But I'm okay.

Well, it's a start

After that last post, I was going to post some pictures of Alaska that make me feel better. But Blogger isn't letting me do it, so you will just have to trust me that I'm okay.

I'll bring you the pictures another day.

Friday's Tiffany Epiphany

Some people point to everyone else yelling "They're crazy! They're all crazy!" But how long can you say it's everyone else?

I looked at my history of impossible relationships on Friday, and realized that the only thing they have in common is me.

sunsets revive me

This just in! This just in!

Oh, you silly, silly people!

I did NOT join a health cult. I did not give up wine, sugar, or caffeine. I still enjoy an occassional carb (you can't make white girl asian burritos without them.) I'm not taking any weirdo supplements. Hell, I didn't even watch "The Biggest Loser" this season.

Maybe it's just the physical manifestation of stress leaving my body. Yeah, that's it. The new PT seems to be working out just fine, and though I still will spend my Friday's splitting time between the hospital and the outpatient clinic, I'm feeling much better about getting back in touch with my patients.

Tomorrow night, George Strait will be singing to me as I sit in the 16th row with my friend Anita. I'll get to go to Kelly's bridal shower (Kelly of Kelly and B.Dent, whose wedding I'll be attending in 2 weeks) and spend some quality time with my friend Megan in Greensboro.

Now say it with me, people.
Ooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

Whatever...

I'm just trying to fulfill my destiny as a healthy person, and what do I get?

A raging headache with neck pain, brain pains (like shooting pain, not just the headache) and feeling almost like I'm going to throw up a little. It's on day 2 despite my coworkers trying to fix me. I've taken way too many Ibuprofen/Aleve/Excedrin. No better.

And did I mention the overwhelming fatigue tonight? Because there is. Only I can't sleep.

I think I'm having an aneurysm.

Healthy sucks.

Yeah Baby!!!

Your results:
You are Wonder Woman

Wonder Woman 88% Superman 80% Supergirl 78% Spider-Man 75% The Flash 65% Iron Man 65% Robin 60% Green Lantern 55% Hulk 50% Catwoman 45% Batman 35%

You are a beautiful princess with great strength of character.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz

I am fulfilling my destiny to be a healthier person.

Yikes.

Today was hair day. I love hair day. Well, usually.

Today? Hair day made me want to be neutered. I've never wanted to beat someone's children so badly in my life.

There I am at the "spa"... and it's as spa as Farmville gets.

There's another woman there. Apparently she just finished beauty school. She was also allowing her two mongrels run rampant through the salon. For 2.5 hours her children terrorized everyone in there. At one point, I almost lost a giant chunk of hair from the back of my head when the little girl went careening into Amber's elbow. Amber almost dropped her with that same elbow. Anyway, the other lady finished her mother's hair while Amber was cutting mine. When she finished, beauty-school-lady says "Look, isn't she great? I wonder how much I should charge the salon for doing this?"

I swear, without thinking, I said (out loud) "I wonder how much they're going to charge you for babysitting."

That is a true story.

Woo Woo Wal-Mart

I heart Wal-Mart. Actually, that's not true. I don't heart Wal-Mart, but I do love the Wal-Mart Goodbye-er. He's kind of like the Wal-Mart Greeter (he's at least 80), except he sits by the exit, he's not actually employed by Wal-Mart, and he usually only has on one glove. He waves, thanks you for coming to Wal-Mart, and reminds you to "come back real soon!" If you're standing even remotely close to a man, he reminds the fella "Don't let her get away!" It doesn't matter that you're pushing separate carts... and that's beside the point that you're not even that close together.

Saturday evening, when I wrapped up a longer-than-expected day of work, I dropped by Wally World to pick up some fresh fruits and veggies. (Sad but true, the best produce in Farmville is at Wal-Mart.) I grabbed the cart, grabbed my stuff and walked out in less than 20 minutes. It was a personal best.

I'm used to the Wal-Mart Goodbye-er. I smile back, wave if I can, and wish him a good evening.

Saturday night? Well, I must have been looking real good.

As I walk to the exit, the guy throws his hands up in the air, yells "wooooo-woooooo!" and follows it up with a strong "hubba-hubba!"

I went back tonight just for a ego-boost. I'm considering ending every day there.

What a frockin' crazy day!!!

8:00- as I test the muscle strength of a new patient, he says... "My God, I love you big women!" I take that as a compliment. He's 82.

9:40- I literally have to make a patient stop exercising so she can rest before her next appointment with the OT.

9:45- MetalHead comes into the office and starts to cry. Her Mom has to go to surgery due to an infected diabetic foot wound. I get KD, she sends MetalHead to the hospital to be with her Mom the rest of the day. It is good.

10:00- As I walk past the OT area, my patient (who is now working with OT) appears to be crying. KD is patting her head and Paper Boy is standing very close to them. I say "Hey, why is my lady crying?" just as the lady goes full-on into a seizure. KD has her head, Paper Boy is hanging onto her legs. I say "I'll call the ambulance." In any emergency, I am qualified to pound on a chest, do rescue breathing, etc, etc. But really, when push comes to shove, I want to be the one who gets pointed at and told to call 9-1-1. I don't want to be more stressed than that.

10:45- I'm working on a patient's neck. He's on his back, eyes closed, head (which is hanging off the end of the plinth) in my hands. The epitome of trust between a patient and a therapist. As I'm concentrating fully on what the muscles/bones/movements are telling me, my nose drips one little droplet of snot right into his hair. Didn't even feel it coming. He didn't notice. I took the towel, wiped off his neck, brought it up and got the snot-let out of his hair. He was none the wiser.

12:00- the office staff is sitting in the lunchroom going over the events of the morning. I tell the snot-drop story on myself. Everyone cracks up.

This is more like it.

Yeah Baby!!!!
This picture is important why, you might ask.

The answer?
A) It's baby G. And I love this picture.
B) I took this picture.
C) I took this picture in 2004.
D) I thought this picture had been lost with the rest of them in the great Mr. Miagi meltdown of 2006.

Thanks Geek Squad.
I'd say I owed you one, but I paid in full.
And I think you know what your tip was.

Now THAT'S funny!

Irish Viagra

An Irish woman of advanced age visited her physician to ask his help in reviving her husband's libido.

"What about trying Viagra? asks the doctor.

"Not a chance", she said. "He won't even take an aspirin".

"Not a problem", replied the doctor. "Give him an "Irish Viagra". It's when you drop the Viagra tablet into his coffee. He won't even taste it. Give it a try and call me in a week to let me know how things went".

It wasn't a week later that she called the doctor, who directly inquired as to progress.

The poor dear exclaimed, "Oh, faith, bejaysus and begorrah! T'was horrid! Just terrible, doctor!"

"Really? What happened?" asked the doctor.

"Well, I did as you advised and slipped it in his coffee and the effect was almost immediate. He jumped straight up, with a twinkle in his eye, and with his pants a-bulging fiercely! With one swoop of his arm, he sent the cups and tablecloth flying, ripped me clothes to tatters and took me then and there, took me passionately on the tabletop! It was a nightmare, I tell you, an absolute nightmare!"

"Why so terrible?" asked the doctor, "Do you mean the sex your husband provided wasn't good?"

"Twas the best sex I've had in 25 years! But sure as I'm sittin' here, I'll never be able to show me face in Starbucks again!"

Say hello to my little friend!

*Please remember, I lovingly call my brother Jackass.*

Some time before Christmas...

ring, ring
TK: Hello, Jackass!

Jackass: Is there anything you reall want? I'm going Christmas shopping. I want to get you something you really really want because I love you so much and because you're the best sister ever. (Or something like that)

TK: Ummmmmm, I really would like some kind of sound system to plug my iPod into. My computer has okay sound, but I just can't listen to my tunes from my computer in my vast, huge, enormous Farmville apartment. (TK had to remove tongue from cheek.)

Jackass: Okay. What about Amanda?

TK: She really really wants the PostSecret books.

Jackass: I'm on it. And I love you because you're a spectacular sister and I couldn't have been luckier. (Or something like that.)

a little while later...

ring, ring
TK: Hello, Jackass!

Jackass: Okay, would you rather have something that is small and has less sound, or something a little bigger that has better sound? The speakers will work with your iPod or with your computer to make SURROUND SOUND. (ooooh, aaaaah)

TK: Ummmmmmmm, describe bigger.

Jackass: Like regular speakers.

TK: Can I plug my iPod straight into it?

Jackass: Yes.

TK: Okay, I choose better sound!

So, fast forward to Christmas. The box my "regular sized speakers" are in is H-U-G-E!!! I'm afraid. I'm very afraid. I don't even open the box. I say I should probably exchange them. I look at Gram. She says "Maybe you should go to Best Buy and see what they look like set up first. That way if they're huge you can return them for something smaller." Gram is so smart. So I leave them in the box for 10+ days after Christmas... because I'm afraid. Then I set them up. Then I moved them to another location. Then I put on the most kick-ass live concert EVER. The best seat in the house is on my couch. I can make my walls shake. Neil Diamond never sounded so good. Then John Denver. Then Billy Joel. Then Sister Hazel. And on, and on, and on.

My neighbors hate me. I told them to hate the Jackass. He started it.

This is a true story

Everyone who knows me at all in the real world knows the following two truths:
1) I only wear thongs. The shape of my booty makes every other type of underwear ride up my butt anyway, so why not go with that which has the least amount of material? That's right, it's a thong or nothin' at all. Don't you judge me.
2) I love a good sale. Really, paying full price makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit. I'm a clearance rack whore. I will walk straight to the clearance racks in my favorite stores and spend hours pushing through racks of marked down clothes in an effort to find a good deal.

My two truths collided last weekend at Old Navy. Their after-Christmas sales quickly get shoved to the back corner of the store while spring/summer attire gets pimped in the front. So I browse around, scan the racks, and spot the panties. Lovely undies, just my style, in great colors at a fabulous price. Score! So I pick the pairs I want and truck it to the front to wait in line with the silly birds who have started buying their spring clothes.

When it's my turn at the register, the seemingly 14 year old cashier starts ringing up my undies and taking them off the hanger. (At this point, we can all shake our heads in disbelief over the idea of hanging a thong on a hanger. Wouldn't it suck to have that job? Maybe some nimble little fingers in Bangladesh do it.) Anyway, I realize that they're not ringing up at the sale price. I point this out to the prepubescent sales girl, who quickly gets on her Madonna-style headset to ask for a price check. She describes the panties. After a brief moment, SHE HOLDS THEM UP ABOVE HER HEAD AND YELLS, "NO, THESE LACEY ONES!" much to my shock and horror. I gave her "the look". You know, the one that says, "Hey, honey, why the hell are you holding my panties above your head?!?!" I hear a gentleman try to cover his laughter by coughing into his hands. Sales girl turns bright red and starts to apologize to me. "Oh my. That wasn't good, huh?"

So I turn around, wave to the 40 or so people milling around that area, who are all now looking right at ME and MY PANTIES, and say, "Wow, this isn't nearly as embarrassing as you'd think. I'll probably never see any of you again. But if I do, at least you'll know I have on pretty underwear!" I turn around, grab my bag and work the runway to the front door like a pro.

And I'm never going back.

I'm okay

Just so you know...

*picks self up, dusts self off, yells "I'm Okay!!!" and means it.

Now, we shall never speak of this again.

And thank you for your support.

Warning!

This is about to be a self-indulgent, self-depracating rant. If you're not interested, please take a free cookie, turn around, and drop by the next blog you wish to visit.

One thing I greatly despise is professional stupidity. I mean, really, if you're going to call yourself a professional, don't be stupid. Seems easy, right? You'd think that after almost 6 full years of doing this, I wouldn't be on the stupid boat. Well, that's what you get for thinking. Apparently, I've been on the stupid boat for 4 months.

At the advice of my big-money-makin-jackass-attorney-brother's advice, I have removed any potentially incriminating stuff from this post. Not because I did anything wrong, but because it makes him feel important and like he can help his little sister with all his vast amounts of professional-not-on-the-stupid-boat-advice. Once again, I didn't do anything wrong, but now that's beside the point.

I have stress.

For now I feel stupid. And I hate feeling stupid.

The end.

Now, give me my cookies back.

Aaaaaaaawwwwwww, NUTS!

Diego the Dumpster Cat is home, minus his two little friends. He's convalescing nicely. Just trying to lay on the bed, get over his anasthesia hangover, grieve his loss.

Oz offers some support. A friend. A shoulder to lean on.

A sneak attack.
No rest for the neutered.

The reason I can't sleep

I mean, really. Is it any wonder? It sounds like a jet engine taking off when that cat starts purring right ON TOP of my ear. Just prior to me rolling over to get the camera so I could take the picture (sorry everyone, there was no guest photographer over) she was curled around the top of my head like a hat. Freakin' Oz.

We might have to keep Diego the Dumpster Cat after all. She has been sleeping on the couch with him. Taking him to CT may be detrimental to my beauty sleep. We can't have that!

Funny stuff I haven't gotten around to...

Seen during Christmas shopping season...

• A man deciding between a red thong and a camoflauge thong at Wal-Mart. Slowly holding one up, then the other, pondering which to buy. TK says... either way she's going to be pissed. But just for fun, buy the red thong and the camo robe so she can sneak up on you!

Happened during post-Christmas season...

• See TK finally get all holiday cards done, sealed and addressed. See personal note to each person/family inside. See return labels affixed. See TK put cards on coffee table. See Pooh King knock glass of red wine over with gi-normous tail. See Pooh King ruin all cards... See TK put them in the trash. Better luck next year, my peeps.
• The first sign of Single's Awareness Day. Summofabitch! They've got pink and red crap, candy and heart shaped things on the shelves before 2007 can even start. I hate Single's Awareness Day.

Seen on New Year's Eve...

• TK fall asleep at, oh, round about 11pm on the couch.
• Oz and Diego getting their snuggle on

Seen New Year's Day...

• TK buy only a few candles and cleaning supplies at Target. Target I say! My personal mecca for buying tons of stuff I don't need. Welcome to 2007!!
• Me soaking myself with the shower head while trying to spray down my VERY clean shower. Stupid shower.

Today...

• Took Diego for his rear-labotomy (aka... neutering, brain surgery, pussy-fying... really, I could go on and on.) By the way, Amy, he'd like a new shirt. He says this one is sooooooooo 2006.

The Title Match

Photo and video editing at onetruemedia.com

Oz may very well miss Diego... or shall we call him "Fat Louie"??

I'd also like to point out that the fat boy doesn't actually move more than about 6 inches during the title fight. Including Oz's attack from the top rope.

The best way to start the new year? Celebrating my good old mellow-yellow dog's 10th birthday.
Happy birthday good dog!!!