Stabby rant disguised as Throwback Thursday

You remember when you were young and used to pull stupid pranks on unsuspecting people?
No?
Liar...
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.

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.

Done.

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.

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.

Ugh. 

Does no one take the news seriously anymore?

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!