Amy's Tips for Professional Success

August 29, 2008

I have a meeting in an hour where I have to present market research to six men who are all at least twice my age. As far as I know, one is a former politician and another sits on the board of some company somewhere.

I should mention--I'm not totally clear about what "market research" actually is.

I'd like to venture a guess that a lot of twenty-somethingish women would be intimidated by a situation like this--but not me. All I can do is fart around on my blog and think, "Oh my crap, I am so hungry. I wish I had some chicken."

I really should be preparing. You know--putting forth some inkling of professional effort to protect myself from all out humiliation. But no, I'm not. Instead, I'm sitting here telling myself that as long as I can avoid, 1) excessive use of the word "um," 2) passing loud and/or stinky gas, and 3) letting a boob flop out of my blouse, then I should be totally fine.

I know what you're thinking..."But Amy, wouldn't the boob floppage give you a significant advantage in the situation like this?"

You know--I think it would push me a step ahead in some major metropolitan areas, but certainly not in this neck of the woods. These men are Mainers--they would be far happier to see a six-pack of Budweiser, a .22 rifle, and a small mouth bass roll onto the table than a useless old set of knockers.

After all, even the most bodacious of taa-taas are attached to women. And women like to nag.

With that pearl of wisdom, I will button my shirt up to my chin and head out for my presentation.

Wish me luck! And I hope you all have a fun filled, traffic-free long weekend.

Love for NieNie (BUY OUR BOOK!)

August 28, 2008

If you're a Mormon mom, then you've undoubtedly heard about the tragedy that has struck our beloved Stephanie Neilson from the NieNie Dialogues. For those of you who aren't familiar with Nie, and her super-classy-wonder-woman-ways, I'm very sad to report that she was in a terrible plane crash with her husband who she lovingly refers to as "Mr. Nielson."

They are both in medically induced comas due to the fact that they are badly burned over most of their bodies. While they are very lucky to be alive, the upcoming months (and years) of recovery are expected to be grueling--to say the least.

If you're not familiar with her blog, I'd encourage you to check it out. I'm sure you'll be blown away by her outlook on life, her gorgeous family of six, and then pee yourself laughing when you take a moment to compare her domestic abilities to my own.

If you're interested in following her recovery, you can visit her sister's blog, C Jane Enjoy It, here.

And if you want to help Stephanie's family directly, you can do so by purchasing a book that I'll be featured in. And come now--how much freaking fun is that?

A dozen-or-so Mormon mommy bloggers (the funny-frazzled-why-in-the-hell-did-I-have-so-many-kids ones, not the lame-o-my-life-is-perfect ones) have teamed up to compile a self-published book of snippets that will probably make you shart in your pants. Well, at least my entry will.

Hopefully they won't edit out all of my inappropriateness for the sake of our religious standards, because HELLO, LADIES! IT MOST CERTAINLY ISN'T AGAINST OUR RELIGION TO TALK ABOUT FARTS IN DETAIL!

100% of the proceeds from the book will be donated to The Nie Recovery Fund, and it should be ready for purchase in a matter of weeks.

I'll be sure to keep you posted.

Hello, Art!

August 28, 2008

Earlier today, around lunchtime, someone stumbled across my blog by Googling the following phrase: "my name is art it rhymes with fart and that's a fact."

Well hello, Art! I sure am happy I am to have you join us!

And to the suffering soul who found my blog by Googling, "how to unstick an emergency break in a buick regal," I would suggest taking the plunge and purchasing a new vehicle. Well, unless you'd like to remain celibate for the rest of your time on Earth--then you should have that sticky break repaired.

Have a great rest of the day, troops!

Art Rhymes with Fart--Maybe That's Why I Like It

August 27, 2008

My life isn't all about processed foods and reality TV--really, it's not.

Yes, I do try my best to make it appear that way, but if you want the honest-to-goodness truth--and I can't believe I'm about to share this with you--our television broke three or four months ago, and we haven't gotten around to replacing it yet. I'm sure we'll take the plunge and buy a new one when The Office comes back in the fall, but in the mean time I'm perfectly happy to live my life with a television that produces sound only on occasion.

My second confession circles back to the processed food thing. Yes, I absolutely do love generic cheese balls. And yes, I ate an entire bag of said cheese balls this past weekend, but they're actually not the staple of my diet. I mostly consume things like apples, and whole grain cereal, and veggie burgers, and beans, and--actually, I'll stop now. That's enough exposure for today.

The reason I included that little disclaimer is because the subject of today's post is art--and that's a topic that I didn't think I could simply switch gears and start writing about. I was concerned that you might lose your bearing on the world and think, "Whoa there just a minute! Art?! I was under the impression that her house was totally decorated with posters of half-naked men!"

Um, no. I'm afraid not. That's just my office. And my half of the garage.

Truth be told, I have a major thing for locally produced art--and I'm not talking about the crafty shizzles you buy at your neighborhood fair. I love paintings, and sculpture, and hot damn I felt lame even typing that.

Other than the fact that my great-grandfather was a well-known folk-painter here in Maine, I really can't figure out where this fascination comes from. On second thought, I read a book about my great-grandfather a few years ago and learned that he painted a ton of nude portraits of the same woman--who was speculated to be a nun. Clearly the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, so maybe that is where my interest comes from.

I'm feeling excited today because I decided to use some extra pocket money to sign up for a course with one of my very favorite local artists. Trust me folks, it took a major dose of self control to stop myself from using the cash to buy Guitar Hero and an industrial sized bag of Twizzlers. I consider this a major victory.

So stayed tuned for photos of some very mediocre art projects by yours truly. And in the mean time, you can rest assured that I will never understand Shakespearean theater--I honestly believe there is far more cultural value in any Will Ferrell film. That man is a genius.

Middle School Dreams

August 26, 2008

You know what I'm doing right now? I'm sitting in my office, listening to a recently uncovered 15-year old mix tape.

It's amazing how a couple of songs by Guns n' Roses, and Boyz II Men can instantly send me back to my thirteen year old self. But trust me, it's a time in my life that I'd love to relive. Unlike most people, middle school was my heyday--I always had a boy by my side, a party invitation in my backpack, and six miniature donettes in my belly.

I also had a locker laced with moldy sandwiches and bangs the size of China--but somehow, those details never stood between me and social acceptance. I suppose I was lucky--very, very lucky.

I would have to say that one of my fondest middle school memories is of my 98 pound boyfriend. He played the trumpet like a rockstar, owned almost 100 CDs, and earned a hefty allowance that he often put toward the purchase fabulous gifts for his girlfriend. Really ladies, what wasn't to love?

On top of all of those positive attributes, he was a boy who took our relationship very seriously. At least that's what I took away from his eighth-grade yearbook comment that read...

Dear Amy,
I sincerely hope I marry you someday.
Love,
Craig

In between work calls today, I decided to sign on to Facebook and search for my old flame. Well, he was there, and when I read his "About Me" description I felt a little bit faint and audibly muttered the words, "Oh sh*t, Craig. We were supposed to get married!"

Then I called Jared at work...

JARED: Hello?
ME: Oh my word, do you know what my eighth grade boyfriend is doing?
JARED: Uh....no. I guess I don't.
ME: He just graduated from business school, Jared. Yale business school. YALE BUSINESS SCHOOL!
JARED: Wow, that's impressive. My eighth grade girlfriend has three kids from three different dads and is trying to get her GED.
ME: Jared, I almost married this guy. Seriously, he wanted to marry me! I'm so mad at myself.
JARED: For what?
ME: For letting him break it off in ninth grade! Do you think he'll take me back!? Seriously, do you think he will!?
JARED: Probably not, babe. You're married and pregnant. Maybe you can just say hi to him at your reunion.
ME: Do you think he'll give me a gift?

And that's when Jared hung up on me.

Out of curiosity....do you know what your middle school flame is up to these days? If so, post it in the comments.