Come hither...

Stores, Restaurants, and Establishments I'd appreciate coming to Omaha:

• H&M
• Nordstrom
• Nordstrom Rack
• Lord & Taylor
• Macy's
• Portillo's
• Trader Joe's
• Howl At The Moon
• Lou Malnati's

What am I missing??

Holy inbox!

Jealous of our connection?

It never gets old.

Eighteen years ago, my family planted an Autumn Purple Ash tree in Elmhurst, IL near the historic train depot (also known as, right across from the TCBY). We planted this tree in remembrance of my grandfather who passed away from cancer in 1991.

And though nearly two decades have gone by, it seems like the only things that separate the day we planted the tree from the day we visited it last weekend are a few gray hairs and some wrinkles on my parent's faces. For me, it's a few front teeth and highlights.

Wow, time flies.

-----In Celebration Of A Wonderful Life, Paul H. Cohen, 1917-1991------

A morbid "FAIL"

Like a lot of women, I consider Women's Health Magazine the ultimate workout buddy. After all, she keeps me motivated for up to an hour and four minutes at a time on that beastly elliptical. And, to be honest, I truly enjoy the story she tells.

But this weekend, she took a turn for the creepy and scared the shit out of me by beginning a story about fitting into your old jeans with:

"Deep inside your closet hangs an old friend."

Creeeeeepy. They must have cut the edtiorial board due to the recession...

Unacceptable.

Last night, before going to a wedding, I pulled a Cher from "Clueless" and took a polaroid (errr...cell phone pic) of my outfit. While the photo helped to confirm my shirt wasn't in fact making me look pregnant, it also proved that my 23-year-old workin' hard for the money self still had an ounce of post-college sass. And while I'd love to upload it to my Facebook as my new profile picture, we all know that that can't happen. Why, you ask? Because you can see my cell phone in it and this isn't MySpace.

Maybe in another life when I come back a little more tacky and I sTaRt* wRiTiNg LiKe tHiS :-), then it could be a possibility. Until then, this picture's home will be here, lolz omfg.

Seriously, what the hell?

I love sexual innuendos. I'm a huge fan of "That's what she said" comments. And I couldn't be more thrilled when our newest client, Dick Crumb, signed on with the agency.

Naturally you can imagine my happiness when I took my garbage out to the trash room during my weekly Sunday cleaning and found an empty penis-enlarger pump box in the recycle bin. My first thought was, "That looked like a penis." After doing a double take and confirming my initial suspicion, my second thought was, "Interesting...the mystery dude with the little wiener is a recycler."And of course, my third thought was, "I'm so glad I still have my rubber gloves on, where's my camera?"

As I uploaded the photo, I convinced myself that the whole thing was probably a big joke by some immature kid living down the hall. After all, Dr. John's "adult store" isn't too far from the complex, perhaps some UNO student found it on the ground while walking home from the PipeLine and thought it would be hilarious to recycle the packaging...no pun intended. I mean, who would leave their penis pump face-up in the recycle bin for the world to see?

Well, my naive perspective soon changed after I found a penis-girth enlarger in the recyle but days later. This time, I did not get my camera. I did, however, get nauseous. Pretending I never saw that, I carried on with life.

A few days later, Tiny Tim struck gain. This time leaving his "beaded penis sheath" in the bin. A repeat offender, indeed. Feeling highly creeped out, especially considering the trash room is four feet from my front door, I decided to write a note to our mini mystery man in an effor to stop the madness. Using my sharpest copywriting skills, the problem deflated.

The worst part about this whole ordeal is not the feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when I envision the usage of these products, but rather that discovering this paraphanelia has ruined my chance at becoming friends - hell, even talking to - any male in my apartment complex. Even just a casual "Hello" from a dude checking his mail freaks me out. If a guy is holding the elevator for me? No thanks, I'll take the stairs. I can't help it, I now believe everyone is a pervert.

I can't wait to become a homeowner.