Asians do it better

ABC's Wipeout premiered last Tuesday, and while it WAS somewhat funny...I have to admit that shows of this nature are just WAY better when Asians are involved. They just flat out do it better. First of all, none of the contestants on ABC's version could make it past a single obstacle. And, most of them were way too overweight for the show. Which was funny at first, but then it got old. However, I will more than likely continue to watch, due to the fact that people falling down is almost always funny, and this week they are premiering the "Dreadmill". It looks promising in a pathetic kind of way.

Oh how I love thee, let me count the ways...

I was filling out one of those stupid MySpace surveys, and rather liked my answer to question #6:

What do you think of hot dogs?

The following is my response:


My thoughts on hot dogs are rather lengthy, and my obsession goes back many years. I love hot dogs more than I can express in a setting such as this. I know that they are usually made out of all the unholy parts of the animal, but so many wrongs seem to make a right in the case of the hot dog. I love them at baseball games, at BBQs, at picnics, at Hockey games, at the movies, from gas stations, from street vendors (esp in NYC or Chicago), from Dairy Queen, from Sonic, and from the cafeteria at UNO. I grew up with them at public school, and knew that on my first day back after summer vacation, the overweight lunch lady would undoubtedly serve me one. And the "first day" hot dog always came accompanied by tater tots, peaches, a brownie and milk. My summer last year with hot dogs was amazing. I had not one, BUT 2 jobs that gave me free frankfurters. I slung weiners all summer long for ClearChannel. Every Wednesday was Weenie Wednesday, and I could eat as many as I wanted. I also got free hotdogs occasionally when I worked at the Omaha Royals games. If I am on the fence about taking a job, one of the deciding factors is whether or not I have access to free weiners. To me, hot dogs are the epitome of summer food, they are not to be eaten until the summer months (or when one is WISHING it was summer). Hot dogs do not taste the same when consumed with 12 inches of snow on the ground and a windchill of 30 below zero. I enjoy watching Nathan's hot dog eating contest every year on the 4th of July on ESPN2, and I am proud to say that my big brown eyes got a little misty when an American stole the title from that sneaky little asain (although you still hold a place in my heart Kobayashi, your trademark "shake" is adorable). So, yes, you could say that my thoughts on hot dogs are favorable...whether they are all beef or pork, in natural casing or in a labratory enhanced shell, footlong or regular boy sized, I love you. Whether you are an ALL BEEF dog from Vienna, a frankfurter from Germany, a wiener adorned "Chicago" style, a Nathan's from NYC, a nice pink one from Fairbury, NE, covered with Kraut and of Polish decent, or circumcised and Kosher from the folks at Hebrew National...whatever your cultural makeup, I love you one and all.


Guess what I am more than likely making for dinner tonight...Matt's gonna be pissed.

My new Honey's

It is my friend Kayla's job to make sure that my ass looks good in my jeans. She has gone shopping with me many a time, and has witnessed the screams of utter frustration that bellow out of my dressing room. I have an ass that is a little on the larger side, and have a hard time finding jeans that fit. Time after time I have come out of the dreaded dressing room with a look of disgust on my face. Kayla just looks at me and shakes her head, then motions for me to turn my ass around and go back in from whence I came. She has made me leave the GAP on numerous occasions, empty-handed, because she has refused to let me buy their denim. (It does have a tendancy to gap in the back, or make my crotch look saggy.)

The previous is problem #1. Problem #2 for me is that I have champagne taste, but am on a beer budget. I would be completely disowned if I walked through the door with a pair of jeans costing over 85 dollars.

I have, however found that Joe's jeans have a style that actually fit my round posterior. They are called the "HONEY [n:booty fit]" and I'm a lovin every inch of their expensive denim. The tag describes them as the following:

"CURVY, voluptuous and sexy are just a few ways to describe this silhouette's show-stopping effect. Fitted at the waistand contoured for the ultra feminine PHYSIQUE. Voluptuous never had it so good." In my opinion, it might as well say, "HONEY, your ass is so big you can't fit into anything at Hollister or Abercrombie anymore. So until you learn how to lay off the beer and ice-cream, and exercise on a regular basis, you NEED me to make you feel good about yourself." Either way, I would end up with them in my closet.

This is where Kayla comes in handy. She works in Von Maur, in the department that sells the aforementioned jeans (LUCKY!). She watches the sales rack for me, and calls me the second that they are cheap enough for me to get away with buying.

Then she has them altered for me (because I am short, and EVERYTHING needs to be hemmed). In fact, I just brought home a pair today...they are a size smaller than my last pair purchased, but I have been promised that they will stretch to my liking. I can zip the suckers up, but I feel a bit sausage-esque. So either they stretch out, or I need to lose at least 5 lbs. Either way, a win-win when you consider that I got them for $45 (including alterations), when they are usually $145 jeans. Keep them coming girlfriend...because I TOTALLY ripped the crotch out of my last pair on Saturday night when we were out. I had to go home and cry myself to sleep, the whole time rocking back and forth, and trying to go to my "happy place".

So, Kayla, "THANK YOU!" from the bottom of my heart, from my ass, from my wallet, and all the onlookers who notice how luscious my ass looks in these wonders of modern stichery. Here's a pic...

And "NO" I did not authorize their website to use my picture. Jerks.

My Dad

I am usually a day late and a buck short. This is no exception. I meant to post a blog about my father on FATHER'S DAY, and , well, let's face it...it just didn't happen. So here I am, 2 days later; without a blog, and I still haven't sent him his Father's Day card. There it sits, on the table in my TV room, just waiting for a stamp. I did call him on Sunday though, don't worry, I'm not a TOTAL loser. Here ya go Dad, this blogs for you.

I have many stories about my father that I could tell. I will try to keep this short and sweet, and share a few snippets of my life with my father. Snippet #1. Dad teaches me how to drive a stick:

Dad had decided that it was high time his one and only daughter learned how to drive a stick shift. He took me to the Millard North High School parking lot one Sunday afternoon in his black 1996 Chevy S-10. Keep in mind...this was only 1998, so the vehicle was still fairly new. New car scent still lingered, due to the fact that my father keeps his automobiles SPOTLESS. We arrive in the parking lot, and switch, he gets into the passenger seat, and I climb into the driver's seat of HIS baby. I am a bit nervous and have the feeling that this is NOT going to go well. Boy was I ever right. To make a long story short, after about 30 minutes of me continuously killing the engine and coming to a screeching halt, my father promptly told me...through clenched teeth...to, "GET OUT." I had killed it so many times that the check engine light had come on. It was a blaring yellow light that might as well have said, "Girl, you better get your ass into the passenger's seat, and shut your mouth. You are horrible at this." We drove home in silence, and I never drove that pickup again. That was the end of my father teaching me how to drive a stick. I actually got the hang of it a few years later...in my boyfriend at the time's car. He told me to get in, and just said, "go". He laughed at me all the way from the McDonald's at 132nd and Maple, back to Bennington.....but I made it. And I gained a great sense of accomplishment. I wouldn't have been able to do it without my first "lesson".

Snippet #2, my dad rarely curses.

Very rarely does my dad find the need to use foul language. Growing up, I might have only heard "shit" a handful of times. His favorite phrase was, "God Bless it". No other time was this better illustrated than when the drain in the basement laundry room backed up, spewing black sludge all over the floor. Whenever the toilet in the laundry was flushed, more and more spewage. The drain needed to be plunged, quick, but it wanted no part in this. My father worked tirelessly to unclog that drain. He would plunge, and plunge, and plunge, then flush the toilet to see if worked....it was like old faithful, it continued to spew each and every time. He got so angry, but refused to use the "F" bomb. The only phrases to come forth out of his angry mouth were:
"Flood, bitch, flood!" (This was his refrain each time the toilet was flushed...)
"God...Bless...AMERICA!"
Apparently, adding AMERICA onto the end of "God bless" made it more meaningful.
I giggle every time I think of this story. I laugh even harder when my brother Joel tells the story...because this is what woke him up that morning. He must have thought at first that it was Independence Day, from all the blessing of our country that my father was doing.Snippet #3:

Dad has many "isms". My favorite of which was the one he used when we were not doing what we had been told. He always asked. "DO YOU NEED ME TO DRAW YOU A PICTURE?!?!" You knew he meant business if this question was asked, because my dad is no artist. When he said, "DO YOU NEED ME TO DRAW YOU A PICTURE?!?!" What he really meant was, "QUIT ACTING LIKE A TOOL, OR I WILL BEAT YOUR ASS!!!"

Dad, I will stop there, because If you are reading this...you are thinking that I should stop here. Hence, no more snippets. I would like to say...Happy Father's Day, to the best dad a girl could have. I think that due to your efforts, I turned out to be a pretty swell egg. Just don't forget that you promised me that you would find me a Harley sometime in the near future. If I don't have one by August, you better believe that I am going to have to..."DRAW YOU A PICTURE!!"

Can we talk about something for a minute?

I love my job, I really do. I enjoy having the ability to reach out to the public about something that they care very deeply about. My 30-45 seconds are heartfelt, deeply moving, and I feel like I really "put myself out there". Ok, so SOMETIMES talking about road construction is not overly excitng, but truth be told, I do have fun with what I do. Sometimes I just wish that more exciting things would happen on my watch. I never thought I would (after working at AAA) actually kinda-sorta "hope" for accidents to pop up on my screen.

For example, on Monday I believe it was, there was an overnight accident on the JFK. It involved a car smashing into a couple on a motorcycle (don't worry, everybody involved is still alive). After coming to a stop, the man driving the car promptly got out of vehicle and started running away, while taking off his clothes. "INTERESTING" I thought to myself as I listened to the story. The man was obviously high on a little more than life. I found myself thinking, "why can't that happen at 6:30 in the morning so that I can report on it?" That would be the highlight of my month, by far.

Or maybe something like THIS could happen on the W Dodge Expressway:

I bet Courtney Love was seen fleeing from this scene, shredding clothes as she hobbled down the 101.

I am patiently waiting in anticipation until one of you yay-hoos out there decides to pull some crazy shiznit. Until then, I am stuck talking about the ongoing construction on the 480/75 split. So until that day, in the words of a wise man who once told me....

"Drive fast and take chances!"

Picture of the day...

...or from a couple weeks ago. Anyway, its one of my new favorites.
This is Horseshoe Bend in Page, AZ. Kathy and I hiked up to this lookout point whilst on our desert pilgrimage a few weeks back. She had a dream the night before we went that I fell over the edge and died. Luckily, her dreams do not always prove to be prophetic.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful....beautiful boy!

He's quite possibly the cutest and most perfect baby I have ever seen. And no, I am not partial just because he is my first of hopefully many nieces and nephews...ok, maybe I am. Everybody, it is my pleasure to introduce to you...Gavin Thomas Carsey! Shannon and Don, you made one gorgeous kid!

My brother-in-law, Don, with his brand new addition.

Look at all that hair! He gets that from his mama.

He wasn't breathing for 3 minutes when he came out, but after some quality time in ICU, he turned out just fine!

I know babe, Uncle Matt is kinda funny looking, isn't he.

I don't think we're in Millard anymore Toto....

We were too tired to stay in the basement, we didn't have a radio, and there was no flashlight to be found anywhere in the house. Needless to say, we were a little under prepared for the EF-2 tornado that ripped through Millard at approximately 2:30 this morning. We were definitely not prepped for a natural disaster, but apparently, it wouldn't have mattered anyway. By the time the sirens rang out in the wee hours of the morning, the tornado had already torn the roofs off of numerous houses, and caused plenty of damage. Luckily we missed being in the path of the beast by a grand total of about 3/4 of a mile. Thank you Jebus. Here's a few pics I took driving around this morning.
The last two are my coworkers doing their job, and doing it well! KETV Newswatch 7 was the only Omaha Station to provide breaking coverage of the storm as it happened. No other Channel in town broke in during their normal overnight broadcasting. I wish I could have watched some of this coverage, but our power was out for most of the night.

You better believe I will be a little more prepared next time the storm clouds roll in!

My most recent self-inflicted injury.

I have a habit of doing moronic things in order to cause myself bodily harm. I have decided that this will be a regular addition to my blog. The last time I made an injury public knowledge was my chest wound that I received while working. It was fairly humorous (after a few days when the pain had subsided).

So, without further ado, the following is the tale of my newest injury. The story that will unfold before you will explain the roughly 3 inch long scabbed scrape on my upper left thigh. It is not a story for the faint of heart and I am not responsible if you are unable to sleep for weeks to come.

It was yesterday, Friday, June 6th. I was in the process of readying myself for work. It was approximately 3:30 in the morning. I had been out of the shower for about 30 minutes, and was in the process of applying my mask of beauty products to my face in order to make it "TV ready". I decided I needed to make use of the toilet. As I sit there, half asleep, staring at the floor, I realize that I am not alone. Out of nowhere, a fierce warrior with approximately 15 pairs of legs charges me at an incredible rate of speed. I am sure that he plans to harm me in some way, and decide to hurriedly get out of his path. I don't know where to go, or how to get there, all I know is that I need to DO IT NOW! I rise from my seated position as quickly as I can and make a mad dash for the door. As I do, I get a sharp stabbing pain on my left side, as my flesh is raked across the corner edge of my bathroom counter covered with 1976-fabulous brown mini-tile. I run out of the room and down the hall to the bedroom and "master" (3/4 closet of a bathroom) bath, where I can use the mirror and assess my injury.

I feel like I have left a piece of myself in the other bathroom. My upper left thigh is throbbing in pain, and is now blessed with a 3-4inch red, swollen, pinpoint bleeding gash. I am breathing heavy and know fully awake.

I don't want to, but I know I must confront my assailant. I am not done applying my make-up, and that is a must before going in to work. I decide to sneak, ninja-like, back into the other bathroom, armed with the first thing that I picked up; Matt's size 10 Kenneth-Cole dress shoe. I creep down the hallway and peek through the door. I see my nemesis resting calmly on the floor after his full frontal assault. He does not appear to be moving, but I know he will once he detects my presence.

I spring into action, blinded by fear and rage. I hit him once over the head and he falters, but begins flailing his appendages in my direction. I swing my weapon again at him and connect with his midsection. He appears to slow and is obviously dazed. I clamp my eyes shut and swing twice more, directing a fatal blow. The fight is over, and I reign supreme. He lays on the floor, broken and defeated. I am too disgusted to pick him up and dispose of his remains, so I throw 2 white sheets over him, and decide that Matt can deal with the carnage when he wakes up.

Who was this many-legged assailant you might ask? The one who caused such a disturbance to my regular morning routine? The one who attacked at first with such speed and cunning that I didn't even see him coming? Well, I did some research and found out that he, and others like him make regular appearances in other households across the nation. No doubt causing just as much trouble as he had in my home. I found a picture of one of his captured buddies...



Sick me out. Its like Indiana Jones' Temple of Doom all over again! I can't even look him in his beady little eyes. I am on my way to get a dehumidifier as we speak, because apparently, they thrive in dark, humid places. Thanks a lot summer, for bringing humidity with you. You undoubtedly are responsible for me almost meeting my demise.

Happy #2 Margie!

To begin, I would like to start by saying, "Happy Birthday" to my little cousin Margie. You are now 2 years old, and your cupcake diva party was a blast. Matt was very happy with it, in fact. Miller Lite, cupcakes, and your brother Ben's pint sized golf club set. He could not have been happier.I did watch you drop your cupcake (frosting side down) twice. But that's ok, its your birthday, and there were plenty more for you to have.

So, in conclusion, may the rest of your toddler years be bright and cupcake filled. May you aim to be as carefree as you are now....and don't let anybody tell you that running around your lawn in a lavender skirted swimsuit with a frosting-covered face is unladylike. As sure as the day is long, they will tell you that once you hit the age of 25. I know it has happened to me on more than one occasion.

A promise and a commitment

I have been lazy the last 2 weeks. And by lazy, I mean completely uncaring as to how I spend most of my day. In fact, during the last few weeks, this has been my daily agenda:

-Wake up at 2:45am and ready myself for work.
-Arrive to work at 4:30 am, work until 8:30.
-Home by 9 am, prepare something to eat.
-check e-mail/myspace/facebook/blogs i adore.
-NAPTIME (this time varies depending on the day, and the amount of sleep I got the night before. It can be as short as 45 minutes...or as long as 2.5 hours)
-wake up from glorious fulfilling nap, once again check myspace/facebook just to see if I have missed anything.
-waste a few hours...they just disappear.
-go to Happy hour with friends.


That's it. Really. I was sooo looking forward to this while I was still in school. And it has been somewhat fulfilling, but I am getting bored with it already. Maybe its because the pool is not ready yet (or the fact that my body is not ready for the pool). That will occupy more of my time in the weeks to come, and I am wholeheartedly looking forward to it.

So, I am committing myself to blogging, yes, blogging. I have been meaning to do it more over the last few months, and I never got around to it. I have had so much material that I could blog about, and have done nothing with it. So...here and now, I pledge to myself, and my few readers (mainly Danelle and my cousin Heidi), that I will blog on a more regular basis.

May the Blogging begin!