Turning Men To Stone Since 1978

My Halloween costume came about rather randomly this year. I had ordered a flapper costume online. Since my only sizing options were "One Size Fits Most" or 1X, I thought it would be a good move to chose the 1X option and give myself a little breathing room. Bad decision! The costume arrived three days before Halloween and was so large that me, Bad Wolf and a third person could have fit in it. I frantically dug through my closet for other options. Had the hat and boots for a cowgirl costume but my only denim skirt is more of the pencil variety and doesn't exactly scream Hee Haw. I have a kick ass Japanese dress that I have been dying to wear but the costume wouldn't have been complete without a little geisha girl wig. Roadtripper + wig = a night of hot, sweaty hell.

I rushed out to the costume store on Halloween day on my lunch break. My only criteria were 1.) no wigs and 2.) must cover my ass, thus eliminating every naughty nun/slutty cheerleader costume.

The end result? Medusa! Yeah. Turn 'em all to stone because that just reflects my current sentiment to most of humanity these days... well, at least the male population.

Armed with spiral rollers (ha ha! snakes... get it?) and tons of hairspray to cajole my stick straight locks in to staying put, I made it work in a last minute way that Tim Gunn would have been proud of. Check out the 'do:



I can't seem to find a full-length picture of me in the costume... so here is one of a very happy and drunk Medusa instead.

Get Your Vote On!

By now, most people have decided who they are voting for (or if they are even going to vote at all.) I love Election Day. My inner political science nerd thinks the whole electoral process is fascinating. Being a veteran makes me appreciate that it is a chance to pick your commander-in-chief (and, in a way, your own boss! Who else can say that?)

Which ever side of the fence you sit on, take a moment to check out this (bi-partisan) clip. It is catchy as hell, and I guarantee you will be singing it while waiting in line at the polls tomorrow.




Thanks to all the voters out there (yeah, yeah... even you insane McCain-Palin supporters!) We may not see eye to eye on every issue but all of us want to see this great country become even greater.

Bad Wolf Didn't Disappear She's Just Been Masquerading as Scully!

Yeah, its a little late, but as Roadtripper has already explained it takes a lot longer to recover from nights of debauchery than it used to. ;) And I realized it had been a bit and I should probably find something to post. I thought hey! I could post my costume pic from Halloween. In case you don't get it, I went as Agent Scully from the X-Files (best show ever). It was last minute and easy to put together. Check out the breasts on the second pic!

My Next Boyfriend...

Today I read an interesting article on one of my favorite blogs. The gist of the article was to list things that you expect from your future boyfriend by using the bad behavior of past boyfriends. Things like "my next boyfriend is not going to have children" or "will be emotionally available."

** Must be popular... they updated their list**

Ha! Amateurs!

Here's my stab at it:

My next boyfriend...

- will not be so moody as to have mental breakdowns and threaten to commit suicide. (Looking at you, ex-Mr. Roadtripper)

- will know who the US fought in World War II. (Sorry, Joe, but the correct answer is not England. And... no... Hitler still isn't British, you dumb ass!)

- will be able to address problems in the relationship directly and not have to resort to talking through your cat. (And I still think Fleabag is a idiotic name for a feline, Eric Version 1.0)

- will not have to resort to telling war stories about killing people in order to make up for certain... ahem... inadequacies. (Worst pillow talk EVER, L)

- will not secretly try on my dresses and take pictures when I am not home (Sorry to call you out J/R but that one still stings a little bit!)

- will not freak out at the mere sight of a tampon, throw it on the ground in front of our white-water rafting group and shout "I'm not gonna carry your fucking tampons!" (Eric Version 3.0)

- will come up with a better name for his nether regions than his "junk". (Looking at you again, Eric Version 3.0. Note to self: stop dating guys named Eric)

- will not already have a girlfriend who lives in California who he is planning to move across the country to live with him. (Did you really think you were that slick, Maj. Pain?)