Monday, October 11, 2010

A list of absolutely nothing

Hi-ho!  We have been busy doing things that would only bore you to tears to recap in detail.  So I will spare you, mostly. 
When recalling the events of last week, all I could come up with was this:

  • Melatonin doesn't work.  Period
  • OTC sleeping pills are better.
  • Restless Leg Syndrome will counteract OTC sleeping pills.
  • The only plausible explanation for having RLS at 29 is that my body ages in dog years.
  • In that case, it is a miracle I am even alive.
  • You can tell when people were praying for you to get a hair cut by the sheer enthusiasm at seeing your new do.
  • You can tell when people do not like your new haircut because they look at you, smile, and ask politely "do YOU like it?"
  • I now actually have to style my hair.  Like a real life grown up. And it kind of sucks.
  • The flu/sinus infection thing I have going on is the complete opposite of sexy.
  • The couple on the Tempurpedic Mattress commercial are entirely too excited to learn how a DVD works.
  • Also, who sleeps on a mattress without sheets other than college age boys?
  • My dog can disconnect the hose from the spout.  He is Houdini reincarnated.
  • With LiLo in the looney bin, TMZ has absolutely nothing to write about.  Which?  Makes me more productive... so yay?

See?  Nothing of any importance going on here. 

Thursday, September 30, 2010

This post is held together losely by hygiene

Today I finally worked up the nerve to tell the girl from 2 offices over that her hygiene practices were not okay.  I realize this is a touchy subject and I would have been happy to leave the issue unspoken, however my throat was getting scratchy from the vom each time I witnessed this. 
You see, this girl and I cross paths in the bathroom on a daily basis, sometimes multiple times a day.  And the small two stall bathroom affords us the misfortune of knowing exactly who is in the bathroom and whether or not washing of hands occurs.  Typically, I could really care less if you don't want to wash your hands after you go to the bathroom.  I will pass silent judgment on you, but it is your prerogative.  Except in this instance where to exit the bathroom I must pull the door handle.  Not to mention we just paid a small fortune to install hand dryers to help with our green initiative, so we are all trying to not use the paper hand towels.  But after seeing this girl use the restroom, check her hair in the mirror and exit the bathroom by grasping the door handle with her unwashed hands over and over, I have had to resort to using at least one towel to pull the door open and exit.  And then I have a trash can full of towels in my office at the end of the day. 
I am really grossed out by this. 
And then she totally crapped on my hygienic high ground today. 
I walked into the bathroom after lunch and she was washing her hands.  I even saw her use soap.
As I shut the stall door, I was suddenly overcome with relief that I didn't have to be that asshole who publicly brings up the fact that she is plain gross.
And then, after washing her hands, she dried them in the air dryer.  And then?  She entered the other stall, relieved herself, left the stall, checked her hair in the mirror and walked out.
The F?
Who washes their hands before going to the bathroom only to not wash them after? 
I was so incredibly shocked by this I lost all nerve to say anything.  And I continued vom fest 2010.  Except, not the vom fest that causes weight loss, which is also annoying.
I apologize for sharing that nightmare, but really? This is backwards, no?

In other news, I have a hair appointment Saturday for the first time in 5 months.  My hair is a rats nest of stringiness.
I figure since I turn 30 in 9 months, and I have a professional job (although I no longer have to wear suits, thank God) I should start looking like I give a crap with my appearance. 
Here is where I need help. 
I have a lot of fine hair.  And is hangs straight.  Occasionally, my hair bends one way or another, but basically doesn't curl.  Except for when I spray it within an inch of the ozone.  And I don't want to single handedly speed up global warming. 
Here is a picture of me from my wedding rehearsal so you can see my face shape.  It is blurry because I cut and paint in MS Paint. Old School Baby.

Also, you should probably know I have like 20% control over my hair.  My stylist has done my hair since 7th grade and I trust her implicitly.  And she knows this, so if she is not on board, it isn't happening.  Case in point: last April I asked for bangs.  I had no bangs when I left.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Are you a cat?

So last night I unknowingly participated in the dentist-given-hallucinatory drugs. 

Let me back up...

I spent all weekend in and out of consciousness on the couch. The third time I fell asleep mid-sentence was apparently B's first clue that these weren't just naps.  I love a good nap, but rarely ever *need* a nap.  I needed 5 over Saturday and Sunday apparently.

Monday at work, I started to feel my day go straight into slow motion.  Complete with voices lowering a few octaves.  I remember working until about 7, heading home, and then? Nothing.

Tuesday I call B from work and tell him I just want to catch up because we didn't get to talk last night.  He corrects me.  Apparently we *talked* for quite a while, and I continued to *talk* all night.  According to B, I witnessed a helicopter crash, the dog needed to go to the vet, and something about the car selling cupcakes.  I must be busy in my alternate universe.  I blame it on the potentially fatal flu I am convinced I am coming down with.

Last night, still feeling flu-ish, and also having just welcomed in my monthly *original sin*, (B's term, not mine), I crawl into bed and turn on the DVRed Raising Hope.  B missed the premier last week, but finds the show hilarious, which I think causes him to forget to confiscate the remote when the show ends.  He gets up for a second to get water and I see my chance to start Glee.
I ask nicely when he returns if I can watch a few minutes until I fall asleep.  He agrees.  I think at this point he realized my psychotic dreams were sure to be entertaining enough he could suffer through a few minutes of Glee.
Here is where the hallucinating begins again:
Just after Britney finishes singing Britney and Asks Uncle Jesse "Are you a cat?" I hear a faint man giggle. 
I avoid looking at him, because I don't want to spoil the moment.  And I also realize I am probably just hearing things through my medicine induced lethargy.
Then, as I start to fade into dreamworld (sorry Glee, but the meds were STRONG), I hear Finn say to Rachel, "Are you asking me to choose between you and football?" After she responds, I distinctly hear B mumble, "Well that isn't fair.  How could she ask him that?"
Oh Em Gee my husband is involved in Glee.  How strong are these drugs?
When the show ended, I took a chance to find out whether or not this fake version of my husband was a figment of my intoxication or if he was real.

Thanks for letting me watch all of Glee.  That was very nice of you, I know it isn't your favorite show.

I don't mind.  It is actually a good show once you get past the strangeness of guys breaking into song in football pads. 

Oh, well good then.

Clearly there was a chemical spill near my office on Monday that unleashed gallons of dentist happy juice into the air. 

I sure hope it doesn't wear off soon.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Everything I never wanted to know I learned on Facebook

I am not perfect.  This I know and readily admit.  I have many faults, one being my penchant for gossip and unquenchable desire to know the story behind everything.

I have been trying to keep my thoughts and judgments out of other people's business.  I have tried to not bring up any gossip unless it is good news about someone that can be construed as sharing in their excitement.

Facebook is killing me.

  • I know that an acquaintance of mine is due to have her 2nd child any day now, and I also know what he son had for dinner tonight.
  • I know that another acquaintance's newborn son is sick, and I feel awful about knowing that.  But I wish her and the baby nothing but the best.
  • I know when the latest engagement occurs.
  • I see pictures from weddings that I wasn't able to attend.
  • I know what my ex is doing on any given day.
  • I know that two former classmates hooked up at our class reunion last year while one of the two was still in a relationship.
  • I know that entirely too many people in this world do not understand the correct usage of there, they're, and their.
  • I know people log a lot of hours on farmville when they should probably be working.

These are things that I can live with and not feel the great urge to gossip about.

What I can't live with and simultaneously try to be a good person? The Oversharers.

The guy who has an affair on MY friend.  Who, on the very day the divorce is finalized changes his formerly hidden relationship status to "in a serious relationship" with the other woman.  The guy who boasted of his 1 year anniversary with this same woman when his marriage failed only 10 months before.  The guy who has now proposed to this woman.  The woman who leaves messages on his status decrying her luck at finding such a classy and wonderful man. 

The girl, who I can't place from my past but who befriended me.  The girl who over the late summer months went on a status update frenzy posting about how it is never okay to hit someone, and how it is a strong woman who walks away from a bad relationship.  Her status changed from in a relationship to single in between these posts.  Daily posts were pro-female voicing how she was better off without that loser.  Then today she reveals she is engaged.  And none of her other friends seem surprised in their posts?!?

It is my *friends* like the above who make daily posts that send my brain off to crazy land while I try and figure out how their lives play out.  It takes emails from Gina to remind me that it is not appropriate to email these people and ask, why in the name of monkeys are you airing out your life decisions.  But, while you are airing out these happenings, could you pretty please explain more because, seriously, you are giving my overactive imagination just enough rope...

It makes me very happy that I was not apprised of such social networks while I was dating.  The *official* relationship status on Facebook has me utterly confused.  In my life, we had the DTR (determine the relationship) talk prior to using the term boyfriend or girlfriend.  Do you now ask the other person if you are facebook official, or do you wait for them to change their status first?  And how do you deal with the friend status after a breakup?  Do you stay friends?  Do you block your ex?  How many days do you leave pictures up?  Oh the insanity.

I am not complaining as without facebook I would feel completely out of the touch with the world.  Also, I would miss such gems as the *like* button of which my favorite use was when a friend's status was *liked* when he went from being in a relationship to being single.  Nothing says, "Dude that girl was a lifesuck" more than liking a breakup. 

What I need?  Is a way to subtly convince these people to write a blog so I can get to the bottom of this madness.  Without them knowing I care of course.

Is that too much to ask?

I am the only one that feels this way?

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Quick. How many phone numbers do YOU know by heart?

Do you remember when the sole source of telephone communication was the home phone? 
I remember being so very very excited that my parents gave me my own phone line in high school.  That same phone line is now the fax line for my Dad's business.  (Justin R. Timberlake faxes important shit daily.)
I can easily remember when my friends in high school had pagers because cell phones were like iPads... the cool new thing that you wanted but your parents told you were too expensive for a child your age.  And yes, I am looking through my cheap ass rose colored glasses and am pretending that 80% of students at my old high school do not actually own iPads, humor me, I am old and cheap.
Now?  I can barely function without the use of my cell phone.  My husband told me in the nicest way possible that he could that I may have a slight problem with technology rage and that normal people do not react to slow internet uploads with such fury.  Personally, I feel that he is overreacting to my overreacting, but that is a post for another time.
My beloved loved trusty Blackberry was murdered over Labor Day weekend.  Actually the judge ruled it involuntary phoneslaughter, but added on depraived indifference to appease me.  Regardless, I was awarded little for the pain and suffering caused by hours of emailing and adding lost phone numbers into my new phone. 
I honestly know 5 numbers by heart.  3 of those belong to my parents and 1 to my husband.  Sad. (Justin R Timberlake's number is NOT the 5th, but hopefully soon.)
So, here it is about 3 weeks later and I am about to go through this misery AGAIN. 
I bought a Garminfone because I figured getting a phone and a Gramin map direction thing all in one was a sweet deal and for once in my life I might have some cool tech gadget that none of my friends had.
Joke's on me.  This phone sucks ass.
The phone has, in it's lifetime dropped 20+ calls, most of which were to my mother and I could look past that, but really?  Also, rings when it wants to.  Randomly locks itself and wont let me back in. 

So, question is now... what kind of phone should I get?
*Hint, if you answer iPhone I will come through the computer and strangle you... my company won't use iPhones for work email, blah blah blah.
Help... anyone?  I would really like something with cool applications, but honestly if I can keep a call connected 100% of time I won't complain.
Also, Glee?  How I have missed you.
And you too Justin R Timberlake.

Friday, September 17, 2010


About a month ago N and I bought that awesome JetBlue All You Can Jet pass. What? You don’t know about this awesomeness? Once a year at the beginning of August JetBlue holds this 3-day sale where you can buy a pass to fly all you want during the month of September for like the price of one flight. And since N and I were planning a trip anyway, we thought why not travel to 3 places instead? Hate me.

Anyway this past weekend we kicked of our jetsetting month with a trip to NYC. Now I haven’t subjected you guys to this b/c I know I am nuts and all kinds of ridiculous, but I accidentally bought a wedding dress that I hate (it was for charity, don’t ask). Ever since then I have become determined to find something better. I decided that the only thing for me to do was go to Kleinfelds, the very same shop from my guilty pleasure show “Say Yes To The Dress.” I am completely 100% obsessed this show.

Except I called 3 weeks in advance for an appointment and they were fully booked. WTF. Being the determined obsessed person I am, I went anyway just in case they saw me and were like “OMG, we HAVE to dress you in one of our amazing dresses because you are so awesome!” (Whatev, it could have totally happened.) Needless to say, I went inside, fell in love with the place, and got immediately rejected. I didn’t even get to see my fake GBFF Randy. Worst of all, it was raining outside and for some reason N declined my offer to share an umbrella and opted to wear a bright yellow plastic poncho. He looked like Curious George. I would not lie to you, internet friends. Also? They were taping an episode of Say Yes To The Dress while we were there. Of course they didn’t want Curious George there while taping an episode of their amazing show. Therefore I fully blame my rejection on my fiancĂ© wearing a very unfashionable poncho and not to me not having an appointment. Thanks a lot buddy.

And now I leave you with something that always makes me smile. Because when you smile, I smile.


Thursday, September 16, 2010

5 minutes later

We have hit # 4 (if you don't count the 2 *baby* searches in connection with #3).  Ooh, and we have a baby search of our own! 
Justin R Timberlake?  You have been John C Mayered. 
And are officially my favorite person in the world.

Mutha Lovah

After reading the most recent posts of one of my favorite blogs, Mommy Wants Vodka, I decided to take her up on her Prankster challenge to John C Mayer a celeb. 
Two Non Blondes has chosen the lovely and sexy Justin R Timberlake as our victim celebrity.  Justin R Timberlake hopefully would approve of our prank as Justin R Timberlake seems to have a fabulous sense of humor.  I mean, Justin R Timberlake was 50% of the amazingness that is D*ck in a Box and Mother Lover
Also, Justin R Timberlake can rock a fro like no other white guy ever has.  Or ever should be for that matter.
If you have been living in a 3rd world country without access to the internet or radio or whatever and don't know the brilliance of Justin R Timberlake, then I pity you. 
Justin R Timberlake has a wikipedia page here where you will learn all sorts of interesting tidbits like how he was in NSync and then went solo.  Also, Justin R Timberlake was the best thing that ever happened to Britney Spears in her pre meltdown era, and Justin R Timberlake has gone on to date hotties such as Cameron Diaz, Fergie, and currently Justin R Timberlake dates Jessica Biel.  As if having a fantastic body wasn't enough to make me envious, Jessica has to go be Justin R Timberlake's girlfriend.  I bet Justin R Timberlake Rocks her Body like no other, and for that I am super jealous.
If I had a list, you know the lists of people your spouse would look the other way if you ever had a chance to be with, Justin R Timberlake would totally top that list.  Also, I think we could so be friends because who else but me has a crush on Justin Timberlake that is willing to admit that I not only repeatedly watch the NY Madison Square Garden performance of the Beat Box, but also own the DVD featuring Justin R Timberlake? Me.  That's right.  I own that shit in DVD form.
So my dear Justin R Timberlake, wherever you are, I will always love you and your William Rast jeans, curly fro complete with bleached tips, and ridiculously good comedic timing.  Your d*ck in a box is always welcome in this neck of the woods sweet Justin R Timberlake.
Also, as a side note Justin R Timberlake, I swear I am not a stalker, but this John C Mayer prank thing was way to fun to pass up and I really hope you will take this in stride when you Google yourself tomorrow and find our pathetic attempt at a blog.
I heart you Justin R Timberlake.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Tuesday Shoesday... the Wednesday edition

You are probably thinking that as I promised a Shoesday Tuesday post and the post is coming on Wednesday that it should be at least better than usual, but you would be wrong. 
But... it is a shoe post nonetheless.

I caved and bought some ShoeDazzle goodness.  And Holy Guacamole they are cute AND comfortable.  Shocker. 
I wasn't going to buy shoes this month, and was pretty much over the whole thing when I opened my inbox to boots.

Please don't judge the poor quality of photos, and please also ignore the fact that these are supposed to be slouchy and have an inch or so between calves and boots, but alas I am a heifer and no such space exists.

Boots.  I mean, it was the beginning of football season which in most parts of the US signals cooler weather and cute boots.  I was excited.
Even the Hus approves.  Double shocker.
But I didn't get much else exciting in my combined 10 picks (actually it was 9.  SD gave me the same boot in different colors at 2 separate options.)

Never fear, I have done some internet shopping for you to fill the void.  A friend does some marketing for Naya shoes and wore a pair to a party the other night.  I fell in love.  With ankle boots.  It is like I don't even know me.  So now I am obsessed with these:

And these:
And these:


1, 2 & 4 are from Naya and are environmentally friendly, so totally worth it.  3 is from Bandolino (I found at Piperlime) and I am really hoping the riding boot fad isn't over because I totally missed out last year.

What other shoe fads am I missing for this fall?  I don't want to be late to the party again.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Today? I am in a reflective mood. Tomorrow? Shoesday. ( And I am being dragged by the KK bandwagon.)

Somewhere in my parent’s house is a dusty manila folder containing what my memory recalls to be a faded red folder. That folder contains the details of my history.

Twenty-nine years ago yesterday I was given to the only parents I have ever physically known, but not the only parents that have ever loved me. I am lucky in that regard. I have 4 parents who love me in a truly undeserving, albeit different manner.

When my B-Day rolls around each May, I don’t hear the sappy, sugary, sweet stories of “I was in terrible pain, but that all disappeared when the nurse placed you in my arms…” or even the “your Dad almost fainted at the site of the epidural…” anecdotes. I go about my day accepting the obligatory “Happy Birthdays” offered by friends, family and passers-by that overhear it is the day I was born, even though it is only second in meaning to me. It is after all the day that I got my license 13 years ago, the day I was able to legally begin using my real ID to purchase liquor 8 years ago, and the day I realized it is a LOT of pressure to determine the lunch location for your entire department to celebrate. Especially when you have worked at this company for say, 2 weeks?

That day in May? Doesn’t mean what it does to other people. The day I get the warm fuzzies is in September.


This is the day that almost 3 decades ago my Mom met M on the front steps after school and told him that he was going to be a big brother. This is the day my family loaded up into their car and drove I-35 N to Fort Worth in anticipation of filling the now empty car seat buckled securely next to M.

And this is the day that is filled with memories.

The day my parents let M go with the nice lady at Gladney to get me, armed with 2 outfits, sizes 1-3 months and 3-6 months. M returned in tears exclaiming, “She’s too big for these! What.Is.She.Going.To.Wear?” while giving my parents a look of despair and shame for their lack of foresight. My mother thankfully had brought along a 6-9 month dress just in case her new weeks-shy-of-4-months baby was too chunky to fit in anything else. She just had a feeling. And M breathed a heavy and dramatic 8 year old sigh of relief.

The day my Mom was too scared to admit to the social worker that there was no running water at our house because after 6 plus years of waiting for the call, they had decided to renovate.

The night I struck fear in my parents that they may never sleep again when during the 3 hour drive to my grandparents house in Granite Shoals I was wide-eyed and awake the entire trip. Evan at midnight.

It is the day that I think about how blessed I am to have been loved so deeply by the first two important people in my life to have been placed on my personal yellow-brick road to happiness instead of the rocky road that might have been.

It is the day that reminds me that love isn’t something everyone is born into. I am one of the lucky ones.

But it is also the day that I share these thoughts alone with my *second* family. The two responsible for bringing me into this world have only the day in May.

They don’t know about my A-Day.

I am forever grateful for the choices that were made 29 years ago. Signing the papers must have been hard. I hope the decision does not haunt them, it was the right one.

I am equally as grateful that my parents show no difference in love for a biological child versus love for an adopted child. They love, completely, unconditionally, and the same. They love me so deeply that they have always chosen to share the story of my beginning with me.

I have always known. I was told every day how lucky I was to have both families.

One family I know in and out, up and down, for better or for worse.

The other, I know only what is written in that red folder. I am fairly certain that people divulge more detailed information in online dating profiles than those two 8.5 x 11 sheets of paper, but I have all I need.

Bonus? I get to celebrate with cake and shopping 2 times a year.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

It's That Time Of Year Again

No, not football season. Or the dumb holidays. This is way more important than that. Its Halloween. You have to understand something about me. I. LOVE. HALLOWEEN. Yes, I am nearly 30. And yes, I am a strong believer in the dress-like-a-slut rule. Well at least I used to be until I stopped being a size 6. Which now that I think about it was quite a while ago. Which means I now believe in the dress-like-a-ridiculous-person rule.

And when I say a ridiculous person, this is what I mean:

Dont laugh. I was crowned Queen of the Trailer Park.
So my internet friends who’s opinion I trust more than anyone I know in real life, I need your help. I am all out of inspiration for an original yet hilarious idea. My original plan was to dress N in some overalls and a red shirt and call him Mario so that I could dress like Princess Peach with no shame but I went to Target and saw that Mario and Luigi are actually popular costumes this year. WTF? Any ideas? And remember, this is a brainstorming session, therefore there are no bad ideas.



Thursday, September 2, 2010

Stabby rant disguised as Throwback Thursday

You remember when you were young and used to pull stupid pranks on unsuspecting people?
OK, remember when you were young and used to toilet paper people's houses? 
Ya, someone out there remembers this.
You know how you purposely determined which one of your friend's parents would be the least likely to flip the F out and call the cops prior to your selection of target houses to which, ahem, damage property with quilted double-ply softness? 
Or which house you could call after 10pm and ask for someone whose name sounded *almost exactly* like a venereal disease?
You know how you pulled these pranks on people YOUR OWN AGE????

...breathe in, breathe out, count to ten...

What the shit is wrong with teenagers today?  Can't play with people your own size, eh?  Have to bring in total strangers into your world of no responsibility, adderall sustaining, no PE class required lives, do you now?

On my way back from a lovely lunch with Gina and some other friends, about a mile from my office I turned onto a residential side street, in the ghetto where I work.  A narrow street with parked cars on both sides, as I was about half way to the stop sign a truck turned onto the same street going in the opposite direction.  He pulled behind a parked car to let me pass, and as I passed I showed my gratitude the Texas way... I raised my fingers (all, not the middle one only) off the steering wheel in a *waving* manner and nodded my head.  About half a second later as I passed this car... WAPOW.  I jumped and then looked to my left and saw slimy grossness on my window.  The POS had an even more childish/worthless POS in the backseat who EGGED my car.
I am twenty f*ing nine years old and my car was egged. 
I feel certain there are better ways to protest the eggs will put you in the hospital thanks to bad food regulation movement.  But apparently donating spoiled eggs to your children is the route parents have taken in my town.  Awesome.
In the 2 minutes it took me to get to the office parking lot from the moment of impact, the egg had baked to a hard boiled state on the side of my car.  Thanks Texas weather.  I drove the entire way home after work with the window down because, FYI, when you try and remove almost dry egg white and yolk from a car window, it smears and becomes cloudy and completely opaque.
I wanted to turn the car around and go pull them out of the truck one by one by their ears, but then I remembered that A) I am a 29 year old woman, not my Grandfather and B) I work in the ghetto... these people probably had other *weapons* in the car besides eggs.  I also considered suing, but you know, I have no idea who these punks are and I am busy and shit. 
Then I called B who went bat shit crazy telling me how the paint would come off my car if the egg dried and I had to do something about it right.this.second.  Way to calm me down there bud.  I knew I married you for a reason.
So the moral of the story is... I guess.. teenagers should be chained to their basements/desks/kitchen tables until they are forced off the parent's payroll.
Bonus moral?  Two crazies in one marriage causes unnecessary stress.Most of the egg came off in the car wash by the way, but I was a nervous wreck all afternoon anyway.

Happy long weekend you guys.  And stay away from eggs.

Monday, August 30, 2010

The Man Pleaser

Get your mind out of the gutter.
The man pleaser is food.

In honor of Labor Day, three day weekends, and the start of football season I thought I would pass along a life saver.
Starting Saturday, I am assured random boy-men will be stopping by my house at any given time to plant their, hopefully showered, asses on my couch to watch football.  I too like football, and because I would rather watch the game than become their short order cook, I keep the ingredients for The Man Pleaser available at all times.

Cream Cheese
No Bean Chili.

Shredded Cheddar.


Seriously.  Try this one the next time you need a dip:

Smear softened cream cheese (2 8oz pkgs) on the bottom of a 9x13 pan.  Pour the can (or 2 if you like chili a lot) over the top of the cream cheese.  Cover the chili with shredded cheddar.  I use the whole bag, but you can portion out a cup or so if you want.

Bake at 350 uncovered for 20 minutes.  The cheese should be melted and bubbly.

Dip with your fav chips.

Men happy.  Me/You happy. 

You are welcome.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

The day the internet news sites died

Are there really no more trustworthy news sources out there?

I gave up on CNN a few months back when I read 3 articles in one day with the exact same story only with different titles. 

Fow News?  I don't remember when I gave that up.

Huffington Post?  There were no less than 2 stories on Elizabeth Hurley that didn't involve her significant other with a hooker.  Relevancy?  Also, a recent article mentioned a photo of Bethenney Frankel was the first such shot since Bryn's birth.  Um, no, she was on the cover of a magazine 3 weeks post baby.  C'mon Huff Post.

But today is the day the internet news died for me. (and no spell check, I will NOT capitalize "internet")

People Magazine, oh how I will miss you.  But seriously.  I read this this morning on your website.

Hair cascading over her shoulders... WTF?  Are we practicing for the Emmy recaps?  It was a MUG SHOT you douchenugget.  Do NOT ruin my Sunday morning reading with your delusional grandeur of romance novel fiction writing.


Does no one take the news seriously anymore?

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Throwback Thursday - Volume "Do Your Hair Right"

Brush your hair.

Put some lipstick on.

My mother was an ever repeating chorus of these statements as I was growing up.  I went from not being allowed to shave my knees (5th grade) to in trouble for not looking appropriate and combing my hair (6th grade) overnight.  So the fact that my mother encouraged me to begin highlighting my hair around this time should have been about as surprising as the Speidi divorce.
My hair was darkening to a delightful shade of "mouse-y brown" and I flat out refused to chemically alter my hair with a "body wave" as my mother desired, seriously, WTF Mom?, So highlighting was a compromise.
Side Note - What IS a body wave?  A perm?  I had bangs at the time, do you think my bangs would have been *waved* as well?  Never mind, don't answer that.
But just like everything else in my family, laundry, dinner, clothes ironing, if you wanted something done, you did it yourself (unless you weren't old enough to see over the ironing board or something.) So one day while being forced into a family weekend at the river, we stopped at the grocery store in the booming metropolis of Uvalde, TX.  I had been diligently reading the latest copies of Seventeen and Cosmopolitan (don't tell my Mom I wasn't allowed to read that one yet... it talked about SEX) and decided Sun In was the way to go. 
You thought about it to.  Don't deny it.  I mean how could you not?
Of course I went with the Super strength Sun In. 

The bottle has changed, but the directions have not.  In case you can't see the above image directions are as follows:
1. Spray in damp hair and comb through to distribute
2. Something about a sun streaked look to only spray select strands
3. Let the sun dry your hair, or you can boost the process with the help of a hair dryer.
This instruction list is obviously abbreviated by my 29 year old mind.  My 12 year old mind read:
Damp hair, spray, comb, sun, blow dry, repeat.  Use entire bottle.
Did I forget to tell you I thought this shit washed out over time?  I had no idea this was permanent.

Anywho, I woke up the next morning and jumped in the shower to wet my hair.  I stood in the bathroom and sprayed 1/2 the bottle into my hair, combed it through, grabbed a beach towel, my walkman, and trusty Seventeen (pretty sure it was the one with Nikki and Chrissy Taylor, RIP Chrissy) and headed to lay by the river.  All freaking morning.
Then, because I had no idea whether the blonde in the bottle was working as my head was wet from a dip in the river, I went back to the house, sprayed the remainder of the bottle into my hair and then proceeded to blow fry the crap out of it.
It. Was. Blonde.
And I loved it.  For a few days.
Then one day, I am fairly certain it was the Sunday before the first day of middle school, also known as the first year of the most judgmental and awful years of your life, I woke up and staggered into the kitchen for breakfast.  My Mom took one look at me and teared up mumbling something about fixing this disaster as soon as possible while running from the room to find the phone.
I went to the bathroom and then I too started to cry.
Some horrible girl with orange hair was staring back at me, and she too was crying. 
I composed myself and walked into the room where my mother was just finishing her phone message to the lady who cuts my hair and I tried to assure her that I could spend the whole day in the shower washing and rewashing and surely it would come out by the end of the day.
That's when I learned Sun In is like a hair tattoo.  Permanent.  And it took like 3 professionally applied colorings to fix. 
And so began my journey with hair coloring.

Here is a link to the catchy Sun In commercial circa 1992 for your viewing pleasure.  I would embed the video but I don't really know how and my computer beeping at me really loudly and I expect it to self destruct any minute now.

Happy Thursday!

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

The one where I am rendered worthless by yoga

At 6:20 this evening I looked at the clock on my work computer and started to close down the open applications.  I grabbed my pink bag and headed to the restroom to change into my yoga gear.  I was meeting Gina at Bikram and due to the class rules, the ones that were shouted at Mr. Bikram from a burning bush somewhere on a mountain, I had to be flat on my back in class at exactly 6:59.  I don't want to rock the yoga boat you know.

I realize left my flip flops at home.

So... I put my heels back on and headed towards my car.  Wearing inappropriately short shorts, a workout top, and heels.  Did I mention that I had to walk across one parking lot and through the loading dock, past 3 waiting semis with large burly men who probably haven't showered in 2 days?  The security guard gave me the once over, but not the "damn girl, where you goin?" look, the "damn girl, what are you thinking?" look. 
Really short shorts.  Shorts that highlight the abundant pasty flesh of my legs that I make me want to apologize to anyone and everyone who has the misfortune of seeing me in.  But Bikram is hot y'all.  Like summer day in hell hot with the humidity of say, Houston.  H.O.T.  So the shorts are the next best thing to a bathing suit, and I have a tad bit more respect for those in my yoga class than to subject anyone to me bending in ridiculous poses in a bikini.  For now at least.

So I walk as swiftly as I can to my car and head out. 

I call my husband to make sure he remembers I wont be home to make dinner.  Mid conversation I get a really awful feeling and as if the last five minutes haven't been humiliating enough, I start my period.
Ugh, I inform my husband because, well I was on the phone with him and wanted him to share in my misery.  I also inform him, I have no feminine products with me, and OMG what the hell am I going to do for 90 minutes bending and stretching in the heat without a tampon?
Husband says I should stop by the gas station.  He clearly doesn't understand the cardinal rule of Thou Shalt Not Be Late To Class This Is A DISCIPLINE YOU ASSHAT!!! 
I don't bother explaining just mention that I should get off the phone and call Gina to see if she has a spare tampon.
She does.  Thank God.

So Bikram starts.  I sweat.  A lot.  And I spend the next 75 minutes wondering why this bending hurts so damn much and how many days in a row I have to do this until I look like the instructor.  Serious body envy.  I am pretty certain it will take more than my next 6 free classes to look like her.  Oh well.

And then somewhere in between the rabbit pose and the roadkill pose, pose #205 of 26, my uterus decides to fight back.  And it hurt like hell.  And I started to focus on praying to be relieved of this pain either through a well-timed fire alarm or death.  My death or the instructor's death, it didn't matter.

The class finally ends and I escape to the outdoors.  A quick drive home and one lime coconut water later, I thought I was feeling better.  And then I buckled over in pain. 

Husband brought me 3 Tylenol and a cookie and I took my dinner of champions outside because I was cold in the air conditioning, and proceeded to promptly puke.  Seriously.  Bikram will f*ck with your system.  I think this is where the weight loss comes in.  The inability to consume anything for 12 hours after class.

And then I did the most logical thing I could think of.  I dyed my hair. And showered.

So now I am going to call it a night and pray to sweet baby Jesus and possibly Mr. Bikram to please please let this entire day have been a dream.  Or at the very least to remind me to pack my flip flops tomorrow.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

How I found out my dog was smarter than me

Or at least more frugally-minded.  Is that right?  Or Frugal minded.  Or cheap.  Whatev.

Our lack of Shoesday posts can be chalked up to one of two things. 
1. We have had it up to HERE with the shoe cults, or
2. We are lazy.

I will take 1 AND 2 for the win Alex. 

I haven't quit shoe clandom yet, but if I don't drink the kool-aid soon, I imagine they will off me sooner rather than later. 

I bought a pair of shoes in July because I didn't follow the rules.  Because the rules were so super clear shoe selling people!   Which rule? The 5 days no takesies backsies even if you ask for a new selection pay up now bull crap.  That rule.  CoughNigerianScamCough.  What, wrong country?

I thought I actually liked them.  They went with outfits I didn't already have a designated shoe for.
I wore them to work twice and both times I came home with unfortunately putrid smelling wet feet nurturing blisters that resembled oil coated dead jelly fish in the Gulf.  But I wanted to like them.  I really did.  So much that when I cleaned out my closet, (well let's just say I picked up the crap on the floor), I refrained from tossing them in the Give Away pile. 

Then one evening as I recovered from a terribly hard day of playing on the interwebs and emailing Gina, as I stalked people through Facebook and watched a rerun of Bones for the 4th time, I heard this weird scraping sound.  Scraping like fingernails on rubber.  Cause you know, clearly you are annoyed daily by that sound...

And there was Blue chowing down on the heel of my shoe.  I would take a picture, but I left my camera at my in-laws.  Likely story, I know.

And that was the last pair of shoes I have bought from the Bieber Lover and the Other Shoe Gang.  And the last one I intend to buy. 
I know, I know, the cost of gas driving to the shoe store plus the shoe prices and often sparse selection of non rubbery, non-velcro including shoes surely will cause me to eat my words.  And you might be right.  But I am officially on sabbatical from online shoe buying. 

And also in the market for a rubber based toy for the dog.  We are now down 1 pair of shoes and 2 garden hoses.  Also a rug and 5 rubber balls.  And a partridge in a pear tree.


Monday, August 16, 2010


I’ve come to the conclusion that I am a very irresponsible blogger. I blame my living arrangement. You see, N and I were supposed to move to the middle of nowhere since we live in different cities and had to find a common ground. Instead he has actually been making an attempt to get a job in my city, which means we have held off moving anywhere. Of course this attempt came after I rented out my house and so I am therefore, in turn, renting a room within such house.

Now maybe this doesn’t seem like much of a problem, but I have never had roommates in my life. Other than my parents. And I only allowed that because my mom cooks like a mad woman. So, I have no idea how to handle the typical roommate sitch, such as if I make dinner do I have to share with them or should I watch TV in the common area if no one else is using it or would that be weird since I don’t own that TV. On top of all this, I decided I wanted to be all pioneer woman one day and canceled my cable. This means that I am missing out on the entire season of True Blood, not to mention that I have no idea what is going on in the world. And by the world, I mean such important information as who is Kim K currently dating and when does Always Sunny In Philadelphia begin the new season. So in an effort to avoid sitting in my little rented room with no cable I have begun doing all kinds of things that I normally wouldn’t. Like attending bikram yoga 2-3 times a week. And eating at Souper Salad by myself. And begging random people to go to happy hour with me.

So my inter-friends, please forgive me for the recent abandonment. I promise to be more responsible and to go forth and have bloggable adventures soon.


Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Bad Dates

This post is inspired by Mommy Needs A Nap.

I was not a big date person, but I went on a few.  Bad dates seemed to abound in college.
In fact, I had a string of bad dates one year in college.  All of which were *set-up* dates for a sorority/fraternity event.

Date 1 ~
My sorority held an annual paint/water fight party.  If memory serves, the paint portion was food coloring and solely included to get the party idea past the alumni who were drunk enough to believe that we wanted to have a party to express our artistic sides, not that we were really looking to wear bikinis and wet t-shirts and get it sponsored by our annual dues.  We had water guns and college bodies.  Guys were lining up to attend this party, so when a friend told me her BF's roommate wanted to go, I said I would take him. 
Our friend invited me to her apartment for poker night so I could meet the guy before the event.  I was, as expected, a few drinks over the sober limit, and all I remembered was that he was about my height and skinny. 
Date night arrives and I showed up to his house.  A guy with spiky blonde hair and glasses answered the door.  I said, "Hi I am here to pick up *Eric*, is he around?"
Guy at door says, "Ya, I am Eric.  We met last night."
I say, "Oh, I am sorry, I was drunk.  I thought you were taller."  That was all that came to mind.  He didn't like me much after that.  I wonder why.

Date 2 ~
I was asked as a date to fraternity event.  By a friend.  I couldn't screw this up, right?  Well, I did.  It wasn't all my fault though.  I had a semi-crush on this friend and decided that maybe tonight was the night to make a move.  To gain enough courage, I drank a few beers on the bus on the way there.  (It was a party bus, I wasn't arriving via public transportation.)  I thought it would be best to make my move near the end of the night, so I didn't look desperate during the party.  I spent some time mingling with friends and hanging by the bar in an attempt to not be clingy.  It worked.  I failed to notice that my date was spending the party hanging around a cute brunette that lived 3 doors down my freshman year.  When it came time to head back, he asked if I wouldn't mind sitting with his friend on the bus.  I must have looked confused, so he whispered to me "I am hoping to hook up with *Kendra* tonight, and so I was planning on sitting with her.  I knew you would be ok with it.  Thanks for coming tonight!"  Whoops, didn't see that one coming.  At least I didn't try to make a move.

Date 3 ~ 
A few weeks later, we had another sorority party.  I needed a date.  Again.  So I asked my roommate if her new guy had any friends that might want to come along.  She asked, and came skipping into my room later that day and told me she had found me a date.  Steve. 
All week long, people would ask if I had a date yet, and who it was.   I always replied, "yes, I am taking Steve."  This was met by confused looks.  I then would always say "I don't know him either.  He is a random." 
We had a pre-party at my apartment.  My date and roomie's date were late to arrive.  By the time they got there, everyone was referring to him as "Random Steve."  To.his.face.  He was a little dense though and got over it fast.
At the party, he started to kind of get on my nerves, and he was definitely not someone I wanted to repeat date, but I was being nice.  He brought me a drink and put his hand on the small of my back.  I didn't think anything of it until he says "Are you wearing a girdle?" Whoops, I forgot I was wearing the generic version of Spanx Thongs with a waist band that came to my rib cage.  I probably turned beet red.
On the bus, (always a bus) on the way home, I was definitely not feeling it.  I was trying to be nice, but he was getting too close.  Luckily for me, my friend in the seat in front of us was having a hard night and was turned around talking to me in tears.  Her BF was arrested at the party for serving alcohol to minors (me and her, probably).  While I was consoling her, Steve leans in and says, "I really want to makeout with you right now, but I feel like it is bad timing.  What do you think about later?"  Ugh.  "Um, I don't think it is going to happen tonight buddy.  Sorry."

And those are my stories.  And having re-read them, I realize now, the bad part was mainly my fault and alcohol induced... I wonder why that never occurred to me before?

Monday, July 19, 2010

The Return of Gina

Oh my internet friends, how I have missed you. Let me just say that life has been nuts for old Gina lately. Here are the things I have been doing instead of playing on the internet like I am supposed to:

1. Joining a kickball team which has more "team meetings" (i.e., happy hours) than any other association I have ever belonged to and has caused a combined total of 4 injuries in 2 games so far.

2. Packing my house and getting ready to move to the middle of nowhere with N because I am getting married and apparently married people usually live together. We have decided to not move to Mexico after it was ravaged by Hurricane Alejandro and a little gunfight between the military and about 50 random gunmen occurred in the neighborhood where we were supposed to work and live. N is totes being a weenie about me possibly being kidnapped and dismembered but whatev.

3. Thinking about starting P90X and buying workout clothes that show off the washboard stomach I am going to have 90 days from the time I stop thinking about it and start doing it. Don't worry, there are before pictures that you will get to see if I ever start and complete the full 90 days.

4. Shopping for a dress for my stupid wedding. This is a story for another day in which Wedding Gina goes ape shit. You will enjoy.

Since I feel like I owe you, I will now give you an uncensored engagement pic of me and N. I am sorry to have abandoned you, my internet-friends. I will be more diligent in the future. Especially since I have canceled my cable.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

I've Got the Fever

... Not of the Bieber strain. 


The baby fever.  It is awful.  I really need some prescription strength Excedrin No Babies, but the stupid HEB monopoly here doesn't seem to carry it.

I don't know where this is coming from.  Seriously.  I have a few friends with bambinos, and toddling poopypants, but it is not like I am surrounded by upchucking mini humans all day.  Husband and I decided last year that we would start trying to have a baby around June of this year, but that was before I got a new job that I actually like.  We decided when I ripped up my contract with the devil (read: quit my last job) that I did not want to have a baby during the first year I worked at the new place.  Pregnant during part of that year, sure, baby, no.  But here I am 3 months into the job and I am starting to dream babies.

Being the rational person I think I am, I have made a list of baby vs. no baby

No Baby:
Ugly babies - Don't say all babies are cute.  You know damn well there are some ugly babies out there.  I don't want anyone's pity when I birth ET's long lost cousin
Ovulation charts  - My graph drawing stage came and went with Advanced Economics in college
Weight gain - The most successful I have ever been at weight loss was 8 pounds.  Something tells me I will gain more than that with a baby
Diapers - gag me
Delivery - I've read Breaking Dawn...just because Husband isn't immortal doesn't mean I will have better luck. 
Infertility - My husband claims to have suffered from Blunt Testicular Trauma as a child.
The Obvious - Pregnancy and child raising is just plain scary

Baby -
Maternity Clothes/Eating A Lot - so excited about this
Baby - *most* are so dang cute!
Maternity leave - 3 months to hang with a kid and still have a job to go back to.

As you can see, I am really trying not to want a baby right now.  But just like dieting, my efforts amount to a massive fail. 


Monday, July 12, 2010

Shoesday - The almost wordless edition

Kim has officially lost her mind. 
Here's an idea, force Lindsay Lohan to wear these for a week straight and save us the inevitable mockery of the justice system.

But... her sneaky little deadlines conned me into buying one of the following

Disclaimer: there are representatives of both shoe cults in the photos above. 

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Why your Granny is right about her panties

When I was a senior in college, I spent a week one spring drunkenly staggering my way through events celebrating my friends who were required to wear these dresses and perform gumbi-like bows.  On my drive back to school, I received the following voicemail from one of my 3 roommates (Names have been changed to protect the innocent)

Alice: C, we changed the locks on the door.  Call when you get close and someone will meet you at the door.  You may want to stop by Victoria's Secret on the way and stock up.  Serious.

I got into town about an hour later and made plans to meet the roommates at the bar so they could explain.  I thought maybe they had decided to vote me off the island during my absence.  Thankfully, I was wrong.  At the bar I hear the story. 

On Sunday morning, two of my roommates headed out to Yogi's for our usual weekend breakfast around noon.  (We always loved heading to the family friendly Yogi's dressed in pajamas, bed head, and last night's makeup.  It made all of the church going families squirm when they brought their children in wearing their Sunday best.  Bonus points if we brought whatever guy had stayed the night.) My other roommate was probably still sleeping at her boyfriend's house.  In the hour or so while my friends were chowing down on migas and breakfast tacos, our apartment was violated.

Nothing of any *emotional* value was taken, only underwear.  Which, all ladies understand, does have monetary value.  Only thongs and sexy-pants.  The thief left behind our combined 8 pairs of full-assed granny panties.  If this wasn't disturbing enough, dude, we can only assume, took a duffel bag from my roommate's room, emptied the bag of its clothes, folded the clothes that previously occupied the duffel bag, and used the bag to carry off our lady part covers. 

I could not stop laughing.  For like 2 hours.  My roommates? Not so happy about my blatant disregard for the trauma they experienced earlier in the day.  My hysteria also might have had something to do with the reenacted scene of my roommate Mary crying on the floor in the fetal position over the cat which took the opportunity to escape the apartment through the broken sliding glass door.  Can't say I blame him, he was the only male in a house of 4 moody women. He came back though.  No worries.

The event did teach us all a valuable lesson.  There is nothing shameful in investing in 2 sets of underwear.  Thongs (which are required for ridding yourself of undue panty lines, and for sexy time) and full coverage underwear (for sleeping).  Which is what I tell my husband every time he whines about my changing into "ugly" underwear before bed. 

Like I could sleep in a thong. Shudder.

Besides, thongs hurt like hell anyway.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

It's Hurricane Season Again

Sorry about our extended absence.  I would like nothing more than to tell you we have been busy doing important things, but that isn't the entire truth.  Gina has been busy self medicating from the wedding planning crazies, and I have spent the last 2 nights cleaning up the house after the natural disaster.

The weathermen get very excited every year during hurricane season.  If a hurricane appears to be destined for any part of the Texas coast, we are doomed and will surely be cursed with flood level rains.  Never mind that the Texas coast is like huge, and at best my hometown received an inch of rain during each of the last few hurricanes.  We are nothing here in Texas if not dramatic.

So naturally, I wasn't expecting to be cleaning up after a natural disaster yesterday evening.

My house was toilet papered.  Interiorly, which is totally a word.  It was obviously an inside job. And for the record, this was only equivalent to 1/4 of the total toilet paper I cleaned up.  I was a little too angry to reach for the camera until after it was nearly cleaned. 

But the *bastard* wasn't done.

We had to glue the metal *life saving device* back on so the treadmill would work.  Which means I am totally screwed if I ever fall while running.  It is almost inevitable that I will be scalped by treadmill. Exercise really is going to kill me.

I worked my deductive reasoning skills honed by years of crime drama TV and came to the conclusion that the bite marks resemble the dog more than the husband.  To be sure though, I called his office and confirmed with his secretary that he was in the office all morning. 

But how can I be mad at this face?

He's just too damned cute. 
And also he is currently humping his bed.  Fantastic.

I promise we will be back in full force during July.  With a wedding on the horizon, I foresee tons of blog worthy material. 

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Life Rule: When it Is Okay To Act Like A Crazy Person

I am going to preface this post by saying that I am sorry to all those bridezillas out there for not understanding your crazy. Because suddenly I am a crazy person. C says that as long as I acknowledge my crazy and know when it is okay to exhibit my crazy then I might have a chance at living a normal life.  See, N and I are in the process of moving in together but at the moment we live about an hour and a half away from each other. And occasionally he has meetings or his phone dies or he works. And this drives me nuts. Because in my head he sees me calling but decides to act all Lady Gaga on my ass.

Here is the exact email exchange between C and I from yesterday:

G: I've completely lost it. I broke up with my “fiancĂ©” over email because he wouldn’t answer when I called, which of course made me paranoid because I’m a crazy person.

C:  Here is when I think you have a green light to be super crazy (all methods 100% tested by me):

1. You, Lucy, your house, or either of your families are in danger, on fire, hurt, sick, dying, etc.
2. No one has heard from him in 24 hrs plus.
3. You do hear from him tonight, but after he has a) gone to a bar with friends, b) after he has returned emails and/or sat on his couch for greater than 5 minutes, or c) acts as if he thought he was calling you and does not let on that you have called him.

I liken myself to a complete psycho in terms of the no return call issue, which B is well aware of.  I send text messages and leave voicemails. If I know he is out at a bar and doesnt answer, I have been known to call 20 times in a row. You know, just in case he didnt hear the phone before and suddenly the bar noise dropped and he hears the ring. My argument is "what if it was an emergency?" to which he replies, "Was it? So you are the wife who calls wolf?" Equals.
G: Here is why I think I am allowed to act crazy. You be the judge:

Tuesday morning: No call. No answering of calls.

Tuesday afternoon: Still no call and no answering of calls. It has been officially 24 hours. I send break up email and leave breakup message to cover all bases.
Tuesday at 4:30pm: No response to any attempts to contact. I feel fully justified in my decision to break up and begin contemplating sending him ring in mail except I don’t even know where he is working this week or if he is working at all so grand gesture of hatred will likely go unnoticed. Feeling of emptiness ensues.

According to C, I was allowed to act crazy and proceeded to continue to call my fiance multiple times in a row in case he could not hear the phone or he set it down and came back to it for a half second and I happened to be calling at that exact time. And in case you are wondering, he did eventually call me with the reasoning "I was going to call when I got up but you seemed mad so..." Fiance's are the worst.


P.S. Yes, now you know my crazy. But being ignored is the one thing I go nuts over and overall I am pretty normal so I think it is allowed.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

I'm Back!

Thanks to C very much for holding down the fort while I was vacationing. I am sorry I have been a terrible blogger person.  I have been back for about a week actually but there was so much going on that I couldn't possibly be expected to organize my thoughts in a manner that would make sense to anyone who does not have adult A.D.D. Consider this the first of many posts to update you on the recent haps in my life:

I'm getting married...finally! N and I were on vacation from Saturday to Wednesday and, as we all know, N is not exactly good at keeping secrets so I was well aware that the ring went on vacation with us. Which is why when he hadn't asked me to marry him by Tuesday I had a minor panic attack and sent a few psychotic emails to C who thankfully reminded me that I should probably not attack him with a plastic fork if I don't want my proposal story to end with a trip to the hospital.

We took a day trip to the Bahamas that day and by lunch I was ready to snap and he was nervously rehearsing his lines in his head, which made for a very awkward meal. After I had eaten though, I had come to terms it wasn't going to happen and my blood sugar level had evened out (I get ridiculously cranky when I am hungry). We went down to the beach (which was gorgeous) and I started setting up camp, slathering on sunblock and getting out of my cover-up. As I turn around to offer sunblock to N, I find him down on both knees with the ring I thought he would never give me. The whole week I had been waiting for it, expecting it. He somehow found the one moment I had forgotten all about it. And even though I knew it was going to happen, I still could never have imagined how it would feel to have someone ask you to spend the rest of your life with them and how it would feel to so willingly say yes.

But enough of that...I should be lucky that he didn't run considering the day before I seriously threw a tantrum that would make a sleepy two-year-old proud. We were looking for something to eat for lunch and along the beach there are about 1,000 restaurants all serving the same menu. As you walk along these restaurants they have girls that get all up in your face trying to get your to eat at their restaurant. And its hot. And I'm starving. And there are people in face. Finally, one unsuspecting girl shoves her menu in my face and asks "Can I help you? Would you like to see a menu? What would you like to eat?" And I lose it. I snap. "I.DON'T.WANT.ANYTHING.FROM.YOU. GET.OUT.OF.MY.FACE!" N looks at me like I am not me, but some super bitch from hell that somehow took over my body. At least he knew enough to get me in some air conditioning and put some good in my stomach asap. Which is reason enough to marry him.



PS - I promise not to turn this into some type of wedding blog where I do nothing but blog about color palettes and bridesmaid drama and wedding gowns...unless of course it is entertaining.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

(Out of thin) Air Quotes

While we all patiently await Gina's return with real blog worthy material, I thought I would send the weekend off in style with a post inspired by my lunchtime internet surfing.  Friday I ran across a post about favorite movie quotes that you have inadvertently incorporated into your everyday verbage. 
I really couldn't think of too many, but I did think of some quotes I only wish I had the opportunity to say. 
You will notice that my favorite movies below are not necessarily what the *cool* kids have in their movie repetoire, but I love them just the same.  As in, I own the VHS and DVD of these movies even though I can quote almost the entire movie from memory.  And once the new movie format comes out, the one where you scroll through your movie library on the palm of you hand, I will purchase that version of these movies too.  I haven't bought into Blue Ray yet, so I think I am skipping it all together.

Here goes.  Let me know if you know the movie.  Some are way more obvious than others.

We have weak trees
Monkeys brains, though popular in Cantonese cuisine are not often found in Washington DC
If the hardware store had been open next door I would have bought a knife and killed myself
I'd like the chipper chicken.
Would you say I have a plethora of pinatas?
One plus one plus two plus one.  No, it was one plus two plus one plus one.
You keep saying that word.  I don't think it means what you think it does
If you care to join me, we are sleeping from left to right tonight
Have fun storming the castle
You don't just dig into a black salad, you got to play with it first
I was thinking later you could kiss me on the veranda.  The lips would be fine.
Anyone want a peanut?
Pretty soon, a woobie isn't enough.  Then you are out on the street trying to score an electric blanket
It was a life and death situation.  After he died, I had a life.
Here lies Walter Fielding.  He bought a house and it killed him
If I had known the people on the third floor, I would have gone to visit them
Repent... Recoil...Reverse
My teeth feel soft.  I can't make a fist.

There was some decent television on this weekend, so my head was full of my favorite movie quotes.  Any additional ones I should add?

Also, GO FROGS!!!!

Sunday, June 6, 2010


I am in a funk.  Not the Marky Mark Good Vibrations version that can be fixed with an emmy award winning choreographed dance number sung by teenagers about to enter regionals.  A real funk. 
Filled with an even and overflowing mix of tears and anger, iced with the occassional foul language threaded temper tantrum. 
Fortunately, all of the above are playing out in the privacy of my head and not in the real world. 
Other than my poor mood and bitter side comments, I have tried to keep my mini meltdown from the world.
Unfortunately, my egg shell is cracking. At least at home. 

The good new is, it is a documented law of nature that when either Gina or I tip the emotional scale to either elation or depression, the other is firmly rocketed to the opposing side.  So, I can only imagine, and am very thankful that Gina is having an extraordinary vacation where she is feeling waif like and getting a great tan. 

I don't know how to snap out of this.  But I do promise no more posting from me until I have found my way back to happy.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

I am the Robert Langdon in the world of Shoe Dazzle

Sooooo... I cracked the code.
ShoeDazzle sent me my replacement selection.
And, ohmyfreakingwordhalelujiahpraisebabyJesus they sent me more than one pair of acceptable shoes.


Its ShoeDazzle, so of course there is a but.  What, you were expecting success?

The 2 shoes I really really liked were sold out in my size.  As were a pair of decent shoes I liked, but already have something similar too.  They sent me 3 out of 5 SOLD OUT shoes. 
What have I done to deserve this?

Moral of the story: use small words related to what you want.  Like peep-toe, conservative, casual.  Do not use the words tranny, streetwalker, or cork, unless of course you are a streetwalking tranny who favors cork.  But be prepared to still find yourself disappointed that the stylists will figure out exactly what you want and offer you the once in a lifetime chance to covet the shoes without the chance to actually wear them.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

I can't seem to form a coherent thought, let alone compose a themed post, so I figured that today we would play "Fun with online news reports."
But first, since we have been failing in our frequency of Shoesday posts, I thought I would do a brief shoe update.  I am no longer drinking the ShoeFab ShoeDazzle kool aid.  Actually, I am more like binge drinking the kool-aid, so consider June (so far) as a non-imbibing Tuesday.  I got crap. 

My replacement ShoeFab gave me

of which I am considering, however the website says these are red, but my eyes say these are an atomic shade of fashion suicide, so I am on the fence. Naturally.
I did perform an experiment with ShoeDazzle though.  In my "response/comment" section of my replacement email, I decided to only write "conservative." My theory is that our nice little friend from Shoe Dazzle spends his time reading blogs rather than reading comments and therefore a computer program looks for key words only.  So when I said "NO CORK!!!" the computer read "cork" and ignored the "no" like a acne ridden 8th grader selling hair extensions at a mall kiosk. 
I will let you know what happens.

Anywho, back to the news stories gripping Americans... or just me.

Ya, you heard that right.  A fat nugget baby in Indonesia is addicted to cancer sticks and smokes upward of 40 per day.  Let's discuss, shall we.  Here are my votes for the most *disturbing* aspects of the story:
1. How the F did this kid learn to blow smoke rings?  I was an honors high school graduate who couldn't figure out how to inhale properly (granted, I give up on things easily, so I tried like twice) and this baby who can't even tie a shoe or write his name can blow rings?  That is kind of awesome in a seriously sick and perveted way.
2. The kid is HEFTY.  Like 10 year old weight range fat at the age of 2.  What kind of cigarettes is he smoking?  I thought smokes caused appetite suppression.  Clearly he only smokes when he nurses, and he needs to consider hitting the bottle like no more than 4 times a day.
3. The article says he is a product of his environment.  And that environment is what exactly?  The 5th ring of hell?  This is why you don't bring babies to bars. 
4. The Mother doesn't know how to handle his cravings because he goes into a complete shit-fit when she denies him his after-boob smoke.  He is going to be a holy terror as a teenager.

Supreme Court on Miranda Rights
I usually abstain from discussing politics, generally because I think most people are stupid and I hate to argue with stupid people.  But as I don't have much else to say today, here are my thoughts on this ruling.
My understanding is that after being read Miranda rights, you must verbally state that you wish to remain silent and/or ask for an attorney.
1. Law and Order just went off the air after 20 seasons and has been televised on like 10 channels in the last 10 years.  If you haven't seen an episode I don't know what to think of you, but anyone who has watched an hour or so of some of the best television ever knows that you have to ASK for an attorney.  Like, use your big convict words and ASK.
2. The cops can question you all they want about whatever crime you are being accused of UNLESS you ask for an attorney *I am like 70% certain of this* so by keeping your mouth shut and not saying anything means they can keep going.  If you ASK for an attorney, they shut the hell up.  Or get really mad and slam the table while a skinny psychologist gives you the once over from the other side of the two-way mirror.
3. You can remain silent in 2 ways.  By actually not saying anything, or by saying you invoke your right to not say anything.  Meaning, not say anything more than you are invoking your right. 
This is not rocket science people.  It shouldn't take the Supreme Court to tell you how to NOT admit to a crime you did or *didn't* do.  What is really strange is that I was fairly certain that Adam Schiff and Co. proved this like 4 years ago.  Keep up America. 

I am not pregnant, nor have I ever been, but I want to stab her for this.  Seriously?  She looked better at 8 months preggo than I do today. 

Can we say publicity stunt?  Yes, it has been 20 minutes since we last heard Tweedle Dumbshit and Post-Op Barbie tried to have one of the 3 people who care arrested for, well, caring, so it comes as no surprise that a press release was written to announce their separation.  Oh, and Queen of Plastic has a new reality show filming involving her and a roommate that is not her husband, so it was only a matter of time.  Oh oh and she mentioned the Bearded One's propensity to create bad press, so it is only natural to create more press of your own to discuss your bad press.  I feel a migraine coming on...
While Google-ing Spencer Pratt to find the link to this article, I came across this. 

Someone get that girl some Beano.  She is doing asshole yoga in public.

Cheating puts food on the table. 
Also, you say racist, I say tomato...
I must have missed the explanation of why she is called a Bombshell.  Anyone?

And on a serious note, there is the oil rig explosion in the Gulf of Mexico which is leaking a truly horrific amount of oil into the Gulf.  Born and raised in Texas, I spent weeks every summer at the beach, and granted we have always been on the wrong side of the Mississippi to be blessed with white beaches, but our golden brown beaches were just as wonderful.  I am truly heartbroken over these events and am horrified of what this leak may do to my beloved Gulf.  As the daughter of an oilman, I can say nothing more than I wish peace for the families of those who died in the explosion, a speedy recovery to the fishing industry essentially shuttered by this disaster, and pray that my beach will heal and be cherished by my kids and their kids for years and years.  Also, I hope there is a special place in Hades for the asshat who made the call to continue operations rather than follow procedure and cease drilling when the problem was first found.  You sir (or ma'am)... there are no words.

Am I missing any other *breaking news* items that deserve comment? 

Oops, almost forgot:

This guy is a douche, and possibly a criminal. Again.