QOD 2

Jersey Love

So...I'm dating a new guy and he's a sweetheart. He seems too good to be true. He's very emotional (I'm a magnet for those guys I swear) he tells me sweet things all the time, granted some of those highly emotional statements scare me a bit but I can deal and see where the relationship goes.

I just had to blog about this one thing that threw me for a loop. He asked me over to his place after a night out on the town with him and I reluctantly agreed--I am not that kind of girl I assure you so I don't need that kind of pressure in the beginning of a relationship. We get in the door and I assume he's just going to pounce on me, when in fact he tells me to close my eyes as he gets the surprise. One part of my brain thinks "Ooh maybe it's jewelry, roses, etc." and the other part says, "You don't know him that well, prepare to be on an episode of Nancy Grace." I clasp my hands nervously in front of me and do as instructed, closing my eyes tightly and praying to whatever god is up there for protection. He tells me to open them and I see a orange football/sports jersey presented in front of my with his name embroidered on the back. I say thank you and do the typical "Awwww" thing we girls do and try to figure out why he would assume I'd be so lonely that I would need a piece of sporting equiptment to keep me company when he is not with me.

After the surprise portion is over on this date, he walks me to my car and says goodnight. As I drive home I realize that the jersey is doused in his cologne. Ewww, I don't do the Pepe Le Peu cologne thing with men, it does not impress me. I manage to throw it in the back seat and kick on the air full blast. The next day it smelled my car up so badly I had to air it out and remove the poisonous sporting good from my car. I let the jersey get soaked in the rain for a while and then placed it on the back porch to air dry in the breeze.

Pepe Le Peu gained one strike against him that day, my car took days plural to recover. I will keep the boomerang followers posted on the next attack from the cologne bandit.

Peace and Fresh Air,
E Bandit

New Segment

The Boomerang Bandits would like to welcome a Guest Bandit who will be referred to as the M Bandit. She is also known as, "The Unicorn Slayer."  She's got a pocket full of pennies and always willing to throw her 2 cents at those in need.  Others describe her as a misanthropic philanthropist.  When she's not too busy slaying the one-horned beast, she makes time for her other hobbies such as Extreme Walking, Whale Watching, Mountain Drawing, Underwater Basket Weaving, Bull Riding, Wii Skiing & iTetris.  Without further ado, we present to you, a new segment we like to call,
"M Bandit's Question of the Day"

Meet the Little Black Raincloud

Ladies and gents, we'd like to introduce you to the Little Black Raincloud. Both E & I worked with her at the G Development Company & she is exactly as you would imagine a person to be when you associate someone with a gloomy black raincloud of depression. Now, I will admit, I (C Bandit) am pretty pessimistic, so I never thought I would meet someone who takes the cake for gloom and doom. It seems I've met my match.  Game, set, match.  She doesn't play devil's advocate, she IS the devil's advocate. Tell her you've just purchased a house and she will tell you that you not only got ripped off, but also that it will be IMPOSSIBLE to resell in this economy - buying is financial suicide. Tell her you're going to grad school to further your education and she'll tell you you're wasting your money and time. A Master's Degree is as good as a GED these days.  She was the "Debbie Downer" of the G Development Company.

It's a Dance off!

No way

Segal Energy Drink

Lookout Criminals!

He says it himself, "this is not a joke"

Forgive me Father for I have sinned...

It's been 11 days since my last post...

I'll blame Thanksgiving, Black Friday & Cyber Monday for this. I'm working on a few stories but I just thought of one that I must post before 11pm tonight. Reason? I bought a Mega Million ticket y'all! This is sort of a written notification for you readers before I hit it big and since I have but a few eggs left, I've chosen to put most of my eggs in this basket. I know it's a little unorthodox for a person like me to win the lottery. And by me, I mean not a deadbeat. Just kidding. I don't want to upset the Lottery Gods or offend previous winners. To any naysayers out there who think I'm wasting my time, I've got nothing to lose but the $5 I paid to buy a chance at winning millions.  I'll take my chances and pray for luck.  I have a better chance at marrying Justin Timberlake than I do winning the lottery but people DO win.  You can't win if you don't try.  I've been buying tickets fairly consistently these days and I've noticed that I am no longer asked for an ID. The day has come, I have graduated to No Longer Looking Like a Teenager!! Now, if I can just graduate to No Longer Looking Like I'm under 21, I'll be set! FYI - I'm 24, but if you count the years I used a fake ID, I've been of drinking age for over 5 yrs.

***Back to the Lottery Ticket***
I normally don't like to get my hopes up but a girl can dream...I often daydream/contemplate/plan what I would do should I win the big bucks. It's a dangerous game because 99 times out of 99, you'll lose and if you don't take too well to let downs...my suggestion is to not play the lottery. So here's my plan in the event of a win (hopefully tonight!)

First order of business, pay off my massive, overwhelming, colossal, gargantuan student loan debt. Okay, okay, so it's not as large as that of a future doctor or lawyer but for the profession and the future compensation of said profession, it's ginormous. [Side note - Ginormous is actually a word, I just looked it up on Dictionary.com. You learn something everyday.]

Second order of business, pay off my immediate family's debts and mortgages. Key emphasis on IMMEDIATE should this post be legally binding in the court of law. I don't want any hoodlums contacting me and claiming they're my long lost brotha from another motha - that aint gonna fly.

Third, and most importantly, in my opinion, I will fly my immediate family to somewhere tropical and incredibly warm. As we enjoy this vacation, we will also discuss the percentage divisions of the remaining winnings. I will expect that most of the monies will be invested into college funds and retirement plans but I should also expect that it will also be used on luxuries. I believe that if you have money, you should be able to enjoy it. Maserati for every day of the week? Don't mind if I do! Vacation homes around the world? Sure, why not! Pay off some bills? If I must. Give some to friends? If they're lucky.

Ok so, this is as far as I have planned. If I plan any longer or more extensively, my efforts will likely have been wasted.

In the immediate future, if the Gods of Lottery would be so kind, I could use a little help with my Christmas budget!

I'm off to chant a few chants, light a few candles and dance the chicken dance - anything that will increase my odds of winning! Wish me luck!

Facehook, we have to talk...

***CLICK LETTER TO READ***

Thanks Tyra, for Scaring Me.

Tyra Banks, not the world's foremost expert on, well...anything, scared me today. Not directly you understand, this is all through my very logical friend. We'll call her Cookie.

Cookie had me convinced after a short conversation that according to Tyra Banks, there are as many hermaphrodites as there are red heads in this world. Which is not such a big deal if she didn't proceed to attempt to convince me that because an ex-boyfriend of mine has a questionable scar on his unmentionables that he too is a hermaphrodite.

She made a compelling case...he was weird, he has a weird scar, and Tyra said so. Cookie then stated, "That's it, well you knew he was a bit weird, he was a hermaphrodite-it explains so much." (Which it doesn't...because he's not.) But that is okay because what Cookie states is fact, everyone who knows Cookie is aware of this.

After a minute of my own googling, I read aloud to her my findings, that the scar is quite normal and is not from surgical removal or addition of any body part. To this Cookie replied "Oh, well he was still weird." (Which is very true.)

Thanks Tyra, for making me worry that I may or may not have dated an altered man.

Peace and chicken grease,
E Bandit

Self Discovery at the Nail Salon

There's something about getting your nails done that gives this extreme sense of confidence. As you stand in front of the acrylic shelf fastened to the wall of the nail salon, your gaze meanders across the endless hues. These hues of nail polish neatly lined up represent more than a fashion statement. They represent a state of mind and for some strange reason you begin to have more confidence in trying weird colors. You think, "Hey, if I'm paying for this I might as well go with an off the wall color".

Sure you start with a pinkish-beige color entitled "Barely Pink", because obviously it won't show when it begins to chip. Then, you get a rush of braveness and put down the dull beige color and pick up a red sparkly color called "Santa's Sleigh"...getting warmer and sexier. You peruse the shelves and pick of an average of fifteen different colors and with each one you analyze it as if it were a greeting card that you are giving to a loved one. You burn through an entire row of red family hues, that turns into burgundies, then to dark purples, and finally you get so gutsy that you end your debate with a black mulberry color that Vogue, Cosmo, and Harper's assured you is all the rage.

As you walk away from the clear shelf of options you feel so confident with your selection. As if you just made a life changing decision. The single color choice has shaped your next week's wardrobe choices and your makeup colors. The harsh truth being that it will begin to chip off in three days...and you will wish you picked "Barely Pink".

(Mental note: Must remember to always pick neutral tones, especially on toes.)

Miss Suzy went to heaven & the steamboat went to... Hello, operator...

I am a Catholic born and raised. My family went to church religiously. We went to church every single Sunday (sometimes Saturday). Missing mass was a confession worthy offense. Holy Day of Obligation? Gotta go early to get a good seat. Random Tuesday? Let's go to church!

I vaguely remember being a young innocent little girl about age 5-ish, sitting in the back of the church with my parents and wondering why my siblings got to sit up front with other kids in uniforms. And then, I remember asking if I could also sit up front...a request I would soon regret. For to sit up front would mean I would have to begin attending Sunday School. My Sunday Schooling experience was not a typical experience. It was neither fun nor educational. Before you jump the gun and call me a heathen, let me explain myself. This, so called, Sunday School was every single Sunday for 3 hours directly following a 1 hour mass. I know what you're thinking; 3 hours isn't that long. You're right, it's not, what's 3 hours out of my week? But that's not what I'm complaining about. The kicker is, it was in another language; a language of which I could neither understand, speak, nor write. Problem, you say? Indeed it was. Bigger kicker, you ask? We were graded and failing was a definite possibility. I remember being in mass and singing the prayers but I never knew what I was really singing. I remember our year-end Recite-a-Prayer final exam, if you will. I cringed at the thought of them as I did any other exam. Now, because of my self-diagnosed Early-onset Alzheimer's disease, I cannot recall every detail of my life, this experience included. Everything in my life is a bit fuzzy. I can, however, recall a few key moments. With this said, I will say, without shame (because shit happens) that I failed at least once but I'm not sure when which meant I had to tack on another year of schooling. For 10 years I was stuck on the wrong side of the Great Wall of Language Barrier. And then, I can only assume, the church got smart and realized that not everyone understands and maybe that's why people are failing...So, before the start of my last year - The year I am due to receive the Sacrament of Confirmation - The English class makes its first appearance. *cue the sound of the heavens* Clearly a gift from god. Better late then never right? I was one of the lucky ones who "made the cut" and thus, I was placed into the class. Sadly, it was the only year that I had learned anything. I aced all of the tests AND was named valedictorian of the class. That's right, I'm going to brag about it. I ACED my confirmation class. And this would end my Sunday School experience.

Since then, I have moved (COUNTLESS times) and I am out of arms-reach of my father, who, in every sense of the word, is a religious man. I remember 2 years ago on Christmas eve when I became violently ill and was CLEARLY unable to go to mass on account of the vomit and what not.  Instead of saying, "I hope you feel better.  God will understand."  My dad shakes his head in disapproval and says, "you better go to Church tomorrow!"  "I love you too dad."  Nonetheless, I have become what some might call, a Cheaster (second definition). I can't help but wonder if God looks down upon those who only go "because they have to." Seeing as how I was brought up to be a religious church-goer and I went to church more than 52 times a year for over 15 years of my life, I should technically feel guilty for not going...right? So how's come I don't? I mean, I do a little but just because I don't go to church every week and I rarely pray doesn't mean I don't believe in god. It doesn't mean I go to Satanic Worship rituals and I have denounced my faith. It just means I have made the conscious decision to not attend mass every Sunday. I look at it this way - when I DO actually go, I rarely listen, I'm antsy, and I just want to leave. What is the point of going if you're not going to listen? If, in fact, god is everywhere, then I must be in church right now. "Our father, who art in heaven..." Ok, my dad would not be happy if he heard me say that...

To sum up a long story going nowhere, I leave god with the following questions:
Have I been wait-listed to Hell State University?
Should I expect to see my acceptance letter in the mail any day now?
Is it too late for me?

Moving On

In an effort to move on with my life and resume occasionally working out, I had no choice but to purchase a new Zune recently. I don’t feel like I’m cheating because I know that she would’ve wanted this for me…I can’t dwell on the past.

I took this opportunity to clean out the storage; organize, label and delete the duplicates of my ever-growing music collection. Sounds like a good idea until you realize I was swimming through nearly 7000 songs trying to find an escape ladder. But I have only myself to blame for accepting the challenge and I must finish so as not to be viewed as a failure. I guess as an outsider, it doesn’t seem like such a daunting task. I know you Ipodians are thinking, “Itunes would totally do that for you. What a stupid girl with a stupid Zune.” To this, I respond, “Hey! I am NOT stupid and neither is my Zune! Back off!” I’ve used Itunes on many occasions, or rather, attempted to use it and have found it to be rather counterintuitive and NON-user-friendly. You might now be thinking, “she’s totally stupid if she can’t use Itunes.” Well, I consider myself to be a rather tech-savvy person. I can usually figure out how to use a program if I fiddle with it enough but Itunes is not one of those programs. It’s ridiculously retarded and everything you click forces a prompt to ask you to either sign-in or purchase something, but I digress. 
 

If it didn’t take so damn long, I would’ve taken care of this whole music organization thing a long time ago but let me be reminded of the time when I decided to organize the collection when it was about 1500 songs lighter. I spent hours and hours but I didn’t seem to even make a dent. I think I made it to the “L”s before I gave up on account of my eyes burning and possibly bleeding and the fact that I no longer had the desire to listen to music for at least a week. This time was going to be different, I told myself I would finish if it killed me.

After hours of “The Office” and the determination to complete the task by nights end, I had SUCCESSFULLY renamed over approximately 2000 songs and whittled my collection down to 6000 songs. I feel accomplished. I not only completed what seemed like an impossible mission, but I stumbled upon countless oldies (but goodies) hidden in a collection containing songs that I have never and probably will never listen to but yet, I will probably never delete them because I might one day want to discover a new old song. I also learned that I must’ve been both a country enthusiast & a hip-hop devotee at one point in my life. If I deleted all of the Rascal Flatts, Garth Brooks, Tim McGraw, Dierks Bentley, Brad Paisley, & on the flip-side, Notorious, Bone Thugs, ODB, Dr. Dre, & Jay Z, I will have successfully deleted a good 35% of my collection. Something I’ve also learned about myself during this process is that I have an, and I’m trying to be as humble as I can about it, ASTONISHING ability to recall song artists when I hear a song. I mean it, I'm amazing. As for the song titles, I have Google, NAY, the good people of America who have chosen to take time out of their busy schedules and devote it to typing entire lyrics and posting them on the internet. Thank you America.

Here are five songs that will have you saying, “I totally remember that song & I loved it!”

I Saw The Sign - Ace Of Base

One More Try - Timmy T

(I Cant Help) Falling In Love With You - UB40

Here Comes The Hotstepper - Ini Kamoze

It Must Have Been Love - Roxette

On the flip side, my personal list of, “How did this get on here, I hate this song.”

• Johnny Cash – Burning Ring of Fire
• I’m not going to buy into his sudden popularity among the “younger folk.” I don’t like him. Shut it off.
• Hinder – Lips of an Angel
• Ahhhh! YACK! I will and have walked out of a bar because of this song.
• Beyonce – Crazy in Love
• No thanks, I’ll pass.
• Green Day – Boulevard of Broken Dreams
• Takes me back to a less happier time. DELETE!
• Uncle Kracker - Smile
  
• The newest addition; wasn't in my collection but bad enough to make the list. The person that “discovered” he had a singing voice should be shot.

I could probably go on and list many many more songs but I will save the other lists for another day.

Checking In With Exes and Oh's

Ebandit: Hey, so how's everything? Heard you moved out of state...any reason?

Drummer Man Ex: Yeah, moved down for this girl I was dating, but it didn't work out.

Ebandit: Oh, sorry to hear. How long did you date before you moved?

Drummer: Haha, about a month.

Ebandit: Wow, slow down there. How did you meet her? I hope you didn't go on that website you were on before we met, called Veggie Date.

Drummer: Uhhh, no. Not Veggie Date. It was actually...

Ebandit: Uh oh...let's hear it.

Drummer: Spiritual Singles.com. I didn't learn my lesson I guess.

Ebandit: Amazing.


The Moral of The Story Folks: Breakups happen for a reason...survival of the fittest if you will.

Security Checkpoint Closed, Come Back L8TR

Eye opening facts that I learned from my fall vacation.
1.) Security checkpoints in small-town airports open at 9 a.m., not one minute before. "Checkpoint opens at 9 a.m. - Come Back L8TR"

2.) The airplane seat in front of you can also be used as a napkin. Yes, this was proven to me by the lovely 55 year old woman sitting next to me who used the seatback in front of her as a peanut crumb/salt napkin. She would reach her hand into her ziploc bag of peanuts, throw the fistful of snacks into her mouth then proceed to wipe the palms of her hands and finger tips, from the top down, on the seat in front of her. The very gross part...she kept returning her airplane seat smudged hand back into her bag of peanuts for more salty goodness...and the cycle continued.
3.) Do not take refuge at TGI Fridays in Dallas airport if you want some quiet time to read your new Jen Lancaster book in between flights. The fraternity boys who are on a boys trip to see sporting events (woo hoo, go team!) will definitely interrupt your reading by screaming at one of the nineteen tv's showing sports.
4.) Wealthy WASPS love tall, thin, blondes. And will tell you openly and honestly how nice it is to see a thin person in the sea of obese Americans traveling.
5.) Married couples with children never seem to have the foresight to book two seats TOGETHER on any given flight and will ask you to move from the comfy aisle seat to a cramped window seat. You will feel guilty, and you will give up your coveted seat.

Obesity in America

Ok so, I wanted to write this entry to point out the rising obesity epidemic in America…among purses. Everywhere I look, the purses are getting larger and larger. I’m afraid to see how obese purses will be when our children and our children’s children grow up. I have managed to categorize purse sizes into five groups; perhaps this research will help someone, somewhere, find a cure for this overlooked issue. And the five groups are as follows:

The Clutch – The Anorexic one of the group.
So small, you almost forget you’re carrying it. Just carries the essentials.• Cash Money
• Credit cards
• ID
• Chapstick
• A few sticks of gum
• House & car keys

The Mini – The one who can eat everything but never gains a pound.
Also carries the essentials along with some extras, but it also hangs on your shoulder.

• Wallet
• Lip gloss
• Perfume
• Tic-tacs
• Keys
• Modest-sized cell phone

The Average – Not too thin, Not too fat.
Carries things you need and things you could do without.

• Full wallet with checkbook insert
• A pen
• Crackberry phone
• Compact, lipstick, eyeliner
• Tampons
• Pack of gum
• Several pieces of candy
• Band-aids
• Keys

The Pear – Hip measurement is greater than the bust. (Also, she eats a little more than she should).
You don’t know how to tell her that she’s gained a little weight. You have to switch arms because she forms a dent in your shoulder. You’ve clearly lost track of the contents. You often find yourself saying, “I think I have that.”

• A clutch purse doubling as a wallet
• Checkbook
• Tampons
• Make-up
• Portable Tissues
• Tape measure
• Safety pins
• An umbrella
• Crayons
• Nail clippers & file
• More keys than necessary
• Granola bar
• A Notebook
• The novel, “The Notebook”
• Ipod Nano
• Sunglasses
• Iphone
• Pocket knife


The Chub – Complains about her weight but still super-sizes.
The Mary Poppins of bags. Could possibly fit a kitchen sink if a situation deemed necessary. Larger than a carry-on bag. More pockets than a pair of cargo pants. On the plus side, you could probably survive on the contents of the bag in the event that you’re stuck in your car for 3-5 days.

• Iphone
• Keys (including your spares & your neighbors spares)
• Wallet
• Checkbook
• Coin purse
• Photographs
• Digital Camera
• Ipod Video
• A Planner
• Pretzels, granola bar, bottle of water, packs of gum, bag of chips
• Pens, pencils, crayons
• A Novel or two with a booklight
• Toothbrush, toothpaste, floss
• Makeup bag
• Sunglasses & reading glasses
• TomTom
• Lotion & Hand sanitizer
• Calculator
• Umbrella
• Brush, comb & hairspray
• A cocktail of pills
• Emergency sew kit
• First Aid kit
• Deck of cards
• Packets of Equal
• A couple of magazines
• Pair of socks, gloves & hat
• Extra Cardigan
• A Mini purse
• And, last but not least, your dog

So tell us, what kind of purse do you have? Do you think your purse needs to go on a diet? Do you really think you need to carry around that package of Mac n’ Cheese? Or the empty flask from god knows when? Do you think you should carry a tire iron with you at all times? I know there’s a pocket equipped with safety buckles & baby Lily can fit in there but have you ever heard of a Baby Bjorn? 2 cans of baked beans. Really? If you have to walk through a door sideways because there aint no way you’re both going to fit through, you need two hands to carry it, and it takes you longer than 5 seconds to retrieve your wallet, chances are, your bag needs downsizing.

Rules of Halloween

Halloween is among us and our sugar levels are running a little higher than the doctor recommended. In the spirit of the holiday, we've decided to list some of the rules that we think should be implemented for the occasion.

For the Candy Givers:

• If anywhere on the packaging, it is marked, "healthy, fat free, or no sugar, " know that your, so called, "treat" WILL be traded for better candy (or best offer).
• If it's a coupon for a free cone at the DQ or a free hamburger at Mickey D's, the possibility of your house being egged &/or TP'd increases with every coupon given.
• Leaving a bowl on your porch with goodies is a great idea. Marking said bowl with a sign designating one piece of candy per child...that aint gonna happen.
• Box of raisins? Really??
• Candies/treats that make others aware that you purchased the candy less than an hour ago: smarties, good & plenty, jujubes, dots, candy corn, pennies, package of unpopped popcorn, apples & many more.
• It is an unwritten rule & common courtesy to shut off all signs of human life at your house if you do not intend on giving treats.
  
• After about the 5th house, the trick-or-treaters are sick of telling people who/what they are, hearing that they're cute &/or waiting for you to finish chit chatting with their parent. Just make a brief comment, drop the goods and they'll be on their way.

For the Trick-or-Treaters:

• No costume, no candy.
• Wearing normal attire with JUST an eye mask does not make it a costume.
• Say thank you or you will be viewed as an ungrateful little rugrat.
• When given the option to grab your own candy, rule-of-thumb, don't be the first. Let the others take first.
• Don't walk through the yards, that's what the inconveniently routed paths are for.
• The answer is 1. Age 1 is when you can claim that the candy is for your child and not for you. (keyword is CLAIM)
• If you had to hit more than 3 stores to complete your costume, you have put way too much thought into a 2hr outfit that you'll most likely never wear again. (This does not apply to parents. It's a competition to see which parent can create the most bitchin' costume for their kids.)
  

Dear Nanny Diary - Don’t Wear White

Ok, in less than 2 hours I have managed to get blue jello, cough syrup and sassy sauce on my white shirt…let me rephrase that, “THEY have managed”…this has led me to the conclusion that I can no longer wear white whilst watching kids which bites because I like wearing white.

Let me go ahead and tell you the events of the past ½ hour. Nay, FIASCO. Not only did my sister have to come out to separate the two boys because they weren’t getting along, but she also had to help me with a situation of which you’re about to find out. Ian, that little rascal, is sick with the cold so it’s time to take his medication. Ah yes, medication – ALL kids love thick cough syrup…as he is sitting on the couch watching Caillou, one of many annoying fricking cartoons that PBS produces, I get his syrup ready. But being the nice nanny that I am, I also come prepared with a cup of water to wash it down. So I hand him the cup as he is refusing to take it and I say, “it’s either this or sassy sauce, which one do you want?” to which he replies, not with a verbal reply, but a “what are you going to do?” glare AS he pours the red syrup onto the couch…my initial reaction was to yell, which I did as I carried him to the kitchen telling him he was going to get sassy sauce. Imagine the loudest, most high-pitched 13-yr old girl screaming at the top of her lungs at a Jonas Brothers concert, now, imagine tweeking that up a few octaves, turning up the volume to the max and putting that speaker right in your ear - strike that - imagine being INSIDE the subwoofer at a Bon Jovi Concert. Yes yes, and you will only grasp the edge of the pain that I endured as he was screaming bloody murder directly into my Cochlea and down into my Eustachian tube…I wouldn’t be surprised if I am bleeding about the ears as we speak. But that’s not all, as I put him in the high chair to grab said sassy sauce, he jumps out in a hurry which leaves me no choice, I must take him with me to acquire the sauce. Still screaming as I’m filling the dispenser, and ready to dispense, he screams even louder and proceeds to knock the 40 oz. bottle of Sassy sauce onto the counter. I was NOT happy. I yelled at the top of my lungs, “Ian!!! AGHHHH!!!!!” he struggles to get off the counter and I am furious but I let him down and head to my sisters room. “um…we have a little situation out here…” no doubt she heard the screaming. She grabs him and makes him clean the couch, but he does it haphazardly if you ask me, I guess he is only 3... Then she makes him take his medicine which was only about ½ of what he should’ve taken but you know kids…and he spits some on himself so she tells him to take off his clothes to change. You guessed it, he wouldn’t do it. He screams YET again and tries to shimmy free. FINALLY he changes his clothes and now he’s watching Tom & Jerry as if nothing has happened. "can you turn it up? I can't hear it." Almost positive that kids are bipolar & the masters of overreacting...Never a dull moment...


End of Nanny Diary entry October 30, 2009.

She will be missed

C: “my Zune passed away this weekend”

E: “your beloved zune – I knew her when she was a newborn. When you boasted her quality over Ipods. What happened? Or should I say, what did you do to her?”

C: “I accidentally dropped her three times and she hit her head on the elliptical machine every time harder than the last…”

I remember when we met; it was a few years ago and it was then that I knew we were going to be friends for a long time. We were pretty much inseparable. Our favorite pass-time was jamming to classic Justin Timberlake, if you can even consider JT music classic. We went on vacations together, studied together, exercised together, we even had sleepovers and she always knew the latest and greatest songs to listen to before bed. She was always there when I needed to get away. When I was in a bad mood, she found a way to make me forget. When I was angry, she fueled the fire which actually made me feel better. She was always there when I was bored.

Sure we had our spats. I would call upon her and she wouldn’t respond. I would call her names and curse her, banish her from my sight but she handled it like a trooper and remained silent. Eventually, we would take a break from each other but before you know it, things would be ok again.

And then, the day came…she had been in a terrible accident with multiple contusions to the head. I thought she was a goner for sure but she made a seemingly quick recovery; the accident didn’t seem to faze her. I didn’t want to believe that her days were numbered so I chose to ignore it and I took her on a vacation over the weekend. Little did I know that this would be the last vacation we would spend together. There we were enjoying the delightful melodic tunes of Jason Mraz in the car and all of the sudden, she was non-responsive. I did everything I could; I shook her, I tried to revive her but nothing seemed to work. I assumed a little rest would recharge her battery and she would be back to normal in no time. I checked on her every hour or so but it wasn’t looking good. She was drifting away slowly. After an uncomfortable nights rest, I checked on her only to find that she had given up. She was…dead.

I will always remember the good times we had together. Remember when you would go with me to the gym in the wee hours of the morning even though everyone else thought I was insane? Remember all of the vacations we went on? All the poolside tans? The countless hours of studying you helped me through? You were my savior, my companion, my buddy…oh my dear sweet Zune, you will be missed.

Mr. Pink

Searching for love, true love at least, is difficult, almost impossible some may say. It is essentially what the world is all searching for, someone to share their life with. Throughout my love quest I have found very distinct partners. One a musician, one a military man turn prisoner, there was even a furniture salesman somewhere in the mix, all equally short coming with their relationship abilities. Therefore, turning to another supplier, other than father fate, I subscribed to an internet dating site. I know, very Dateline, however, it actually seemed to be worth the $49.95 per month...at first. In the beginning there were scads of eligible young men, all decent looking and seeming to all be searching for "a nice girl to share their life with". Slowly the supply dwindled however, but not before I was matched with a 32 year old sales manager whom we shall call Mr. Pink. This Mr. Pink swept me off my feet not only to surprise weekend get-a-ways and bed and breakfasts but also to be swiftly introduced to his friends, and even his mommy dearest, whom we will discuss in more detail later on in this tale.

Mr. Pink was a very quirky man, he was an amateur golfer in his free time, a sales account manager during the day, and a rock band manager at night. He always wore pink when he played golf, dubbed his lucky color by himself. Mr. Pink also was an extremely clean person, trimmed his entire body of hair so that it was not unkempt and kept his very bachelore-like condo immaculate. His routine was rarely changed, he even laid out his clothing for the next day the night before. His daily scheduled is as follows: Sports center in the morning, cereal, shower, then off to work, after work came his nightly nap, ramen soup and specialty sandwich for dinner which he concoted all on his own, as well as ironing, laundry, then golf practice, e-mail answering, and finally bed. In order to fall asleep, however, he needed his sleep mask and to be lulled to sleep by stand-up comedy playing through earphones from his Iphone. Yes folks, this was indeed a very scheduled man.

Certainly facts about his life made me uneasy, the four visits to the risque resort Hedonism (all visited as a virgin), the loss of his virginity at a ripe old age of 24, and the fact that he had never made love without the use of a condom. All of these painted a troubled picture of someone who was uncomfortable in their own skin, however, he was very put together and stable in his outward life. A home owner with a steady job, no piercings, tattoos, children, or ex-wives I saw him as the unicorn most women seek to find, granted the unicorn had a birth defect and was limping.

Over the course of four months the relationship fizzled out. Not as romantic as once he was portrayed to be, certainly not as caring as I was once told, Mr. Pink fell in ranks from the perfect boyfriend to a very cold fish in all aspects of the relationship. I eventually saw first-hand the entirely too close for comfort of a relationship he had with his mother. The multiple daily phone calls to his mother was sweet, the constant time they spent together seemed suspect, and finally the pinch on the butt he gave his mother on one of our vacations with her sent my gag reflux into overdrive. Suddenly I understood why this now 33 year old man was still unmarried, never once loved a woman, and never had any serious relationships to speak of.

Perhaps fate cannot be toyed with and in the end love cannot be searched for with an online checklist...sorry dating websites, you lose.

Boomerang Beginnings According to E Bandit

Just as C Bandit has her own version of the boomerang beginnings, I do as well.


C Bandit and I met upon her internship with a company I worked at back in '05. Back before facebook was a household name and before myspace became lame.
Let's flashback to when I was first informed about C Bandit's internship, Nick, who was essentially a glorified development intern, began talking about this new intern that, "He himself recruited, with his own intellect, hand picked, from his alma mater, best in the class, soooo talented, blah blah blah." After hearing his endless speech about her talent I assumed he was (a.) trying to 'date' her or (b.) already 'did'. When I finally met C bandit on her first day it was obvious he did not succeed in his assumed pursuits as intelligent girls do not date Nick, well...known...fact.

Picture It...2005

It was early morning and a young girl is sitting in her Chevy Cobalt outside the normally barren G Development office building. As I moseyed around the office, checking the boss' messages, chatting with gossip girl and the little black raincloud (both will be explained further in later blogs), in walks C Bandit with her binder of paperwork- she looked very organized.


I completed her new hire paperwork and sent her for her drug testing. She didn't say much, perhaps why my boss referred to her as the whispering intern at all future company parties. My first impression of C Bandit was that she was and intelligent, quiet girl, who wore a bit too much eye makeup. So she was sent off to do the drug test, and surprisingly passed...like I said she wore too much eye makeup and those girls are T-R-O-U-B-L-E!

Moving on... C bandit and I quickly bonded as the youngest females employed with G Development. We lived in a po dunk town where the only activities included bongs, for beers and other herbal remedies. I actually felt pretty bad for her coming from a larger more urban area up north to the misery that is the rural south. She was my sanity amongst the somewhat quirky environment that was G Development. We put together plan racks, then raced them down the hallways, and wasted time gossiping . The office was extremely large for such a small staff of five. We were sent on missions to collect competitor information together since both of us had nothing to do and the company loved to shred money, no seriously there was an actual employed guy with the title of money shredder who had his own office, next to the office full of free sodas and snacks, which was across the hall from the office we all spent our two hour paid lunch breaks.

During our days working at G Development we had to keep a watchful eye out for Nick, the glorified intern, who claimed credit for every productive thing C Bandit accomplished as well as preyed on young, attractive girls he thought he had a chance with. C Bandit and I developed a system of tracking this douche of a guy. We emailed each other from our two office locations, if C was at one, I was at the other. Our codes consisted of various phrases to track when he left one community to another such as, "The Quail has left the nest". I know it seems to complicated for untrained code breakers to solve, but you should have realized by now that we are geniuses! We also always ended our emails with a code which was 'boomerang' which mean please reply asap. Like I said code words may be too complicated for y'alls so take it in stride. During the tracking of this jerk, we also started sending joke stories which C Bandit quickly started to cartoonify (she's artsy like that) and we somehow developed the most ridiculous material. Later realizing that we essentially had a blog, or at least enough blog material to post this shiz online C began to cartoon some logos, and I began theorizing scenarios of our past that people may actually enjoy.

This concludes E Bandit's version of Boomerang Beginnings. Thank you and stay tuned for more!

Bandit Beginnings According to C Bandit

Before it’s too late in the game and we get too far into blogging, we thought it would be a good idea to give a more in depth history about how the Bandits came to be.  

***June 2005***

After returning to school from an internship in Orlando, I have the option to return to the company, The G Development Company, for a second term but, in a different location on a separate project. Being naive and a little bit greedy with a splash of lazy, I agree. Maybe I’ll actually do something this time. Maybe I’ll learn something and love it.

***Flash forward to August 2005, 9:47 AM - me emailing E Bandit***

I have nothing to do….Dave isn’t here and I’ve been working on this drawing for about 2 weeks now…it should only take me about 2 days but I’m milking it for all it’s worth…I have been zooming in and out for the last 3 hrs I think. That’s a new record.  What should we do for lunch?

***Back to June 2005***

I’m on the road again but this time, to Bonita Springs, Florida just North of Naples. The land where old people go to retire, the only thing to do here is golf and the ENTIRE town is on one huge shutdown switch that is pulled at 8pm, promptly; not a minute later. I’ve been told that I’d be set up on company property. It's beachfront property, I’ll have it all to myself & my friend who I hooked up with a job, let’s call her Mary, and it’s free – SCORE! I won’t describe it because that’s for another post but E & I have nicknamed this place, the Beach Mansion.

So I get there, unpack and get settled. My first day is tomorrow and I want to get a good nights rest. I set out my pink polo and khakis and its lights out. The next day, I follow my printed out Google directions to the office. It says it will take me 8 minutes to get there – god am I lucky. I open the door and there’s no one there…
”hello?” This tall and skinny blonde twenty-something comes whipping around the corner in her high heels and peppy demeanor. Oh god, she’s too smiley for me.
“Hi, C Bandit? Nice to meet you, I'm E, right this way."