Things I wonder about...
What would carbonated chocolate milk taste like?
Why do artificially flavored raspberry products come in blue yet real raspberries are red?
Why do drive up ATMs have braille?
Why aren't words like temerity, vituperative, and antidisestablishmentarianism used more on a day to day basis by ordinary, everyday people?
What if Muppets really do rule the world?
What do other people wonder about?
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
I'm All Wise...and Stuff...
So I was sitting here this morning...after drinking my morning coffee and emailing a very old, dear friend...and was thinking...I should write a blog entry about that thought I just had....right after I get done going to the bathroom...
What can I say...apparently genius just sneaks up on ya at the one moment you are indisposed. Oh well.
So on to the thought...with a little background so ya don't get lost, and can follow my whacked out ADD mind train.
This friend and I have history. (And quite possibly an offspring.) We have been lovers and friends for about 10 years. He is currently dating a woman he met a couple of years ago. She recently found out that she has cancer. She is going through chemo. He doesn't want to be in a relationship with her anymore. He says that things just aren't working out and he just doesn't feel the same about her that he did in the beginning. She is pressuring him to marry her. She wants to try having kids when the chemo is done. (He has a 20 year old daughter and a 14 year old son...and then there is my daughter...) He wants out. Bad. He also doesn't want to be the asshole that left the cancer patient for his own selfish reasons. He is a good guy at heart.
My thought was, (and originally I was going to type, "a wise old friend once told me," but dammit I am going to take ALL the credit for this one, because it is really GREAT advice) DON'T STAY IN A RELATIONSHIP THAT HAS NO FUTURE JUST BECAUSE THERE IS HISTORY!
Now I know there are friends out there that are going to bash on me a little cause I am not following my own advice to a certain extent, and they have every right. (Cause they are all meanies like that.) But every person has reasons,(excuses) for why the do what they do(finances). I'm just going to be the best friend I can be, and do my best to keep my heart in check, cause I already failed that history lesson, and I don't want to have to do summer school.
What can I say...apparently genius just sneaks up on ya at the one moment you are indisposed. Oh well.
So on to the thought...with a little background so ya don't get lost, and can follow my whacked out ADD mind train.
This friend and I have history. (And quite possibly an offspring.) We have been lovers and friends for about 10 years. He is currently dating a woman he met a couple of years ago. She recently found out that she has cancer. She is going through chemo. He doesn't want to be in a relationship with her anymore. He says that things just aren't working out and he just doesn't feel the same about her that he did in the beginning. She is pressuring him to marry her. She wants to try having kids when the chemo is done. (He has a 20 year old daughter and a 14 year old son...and then there is my daughter...) He wants out. Bad. He also doesn't want to be the asshole that left the cancer patient for his own selfish reasons. He is a good guy at heart.
My thought was, (and originally I was going to type, "a wise old friend once told me," but dammit I am going to take ALL the credit for this one, because it is really GREAT advice) DON'T STAY IN A RELATIONSHIP THAT HAS NO FUTURE JUST BECAUSE THERE IS HISTORY!
Now I know there are friends out there that are going to bash on me a little cause I am not following my own advice to a certain extent, and they have every right. (Cause they are all meanies like that.) But every person has reasons,(excuses) for why the do what they do(finances). I'm just going to be the best friend I can be, and do my best to keep my heart in check, cause I already failed that history lesson, and I don't want to have to do summer school.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
My Friend, Furfa
I swear like a sailor. I admit it. At any given time in my house you can hear all sorts of expletives flowing out of my mouth. I stub my toe, drop something, get aggravated with the FCB, you name it....I swear at it. Well, seeing as my 4 year old likes to parrot what I say on occasion, and I have been very fortunate up until now that she hasn't picked up on the potty mouth habit, I have been trying to alter my vulgar verboseness. In order to accomplish this, I have been trying to use words that sound similar, but aren't commonly offensive.
The Sci Fi channel has a show called Battlestar Galactica and the writers of that show got really creative in using the word Frak. Knowing that they had a little creative freedom being a cable show, but also knowing that the FCC would have their collective asses on a silver platter if they used an unforgivable word...they decided to bastardize an old standard. Thus, fuck=frak in a distant galaxy.
So I have been trying to use the word frak...and sugar, and pickles, and goshdarnitall, and other G-rated expletives to spare my daughter (and all the children she comes in contact with) from getting an education in the art of swearing. The only phrase that I am having trouble with is "for fucks sake." I say it often. When I hurt myself, or get up off the couch, or get completely frustrated...out of my mouth it tumbles. In trying to curb this, I have shortened it to "Oh, Furfa!"
My daughter is so funny. She has this obsession lately with puppies and thinks they are the neatest animals. She has all kinds of puppy toys, and loves looking at pictures of puppies, and even bugs me relentlessly to take her to her grandmother's house so she can "see Grand's new puppy!" Well with my new usage of the word Furfa (I say it A LOT) my daughter has started asking with more frequency, "where's the puppy?" It took me a few days (OK, more like a couple of weeks, but hey, I don't want to make myself look denser that I am) to realize what she was talking about. Every time I say Furfa she thinks I am talking about a puppy. From a 4 year old perspective, I can see where she makes this connection...fur=puppy. So needless to say, if I ever get a dog, it already has a name. Can you imagine the look on peoples faces when I introduce the thing? This is my dog Furfa...short for "For Fuck's Sake!"
The Sci Fi channel has a show called Battlestar Galactica and the writers of that show got really creative in using the word Frak. Knowing that they had a little creative freedom being a cable show, but also knowing that the FCC would have their collective asses on a silver platter if they used an unforgivable word...they decided to bastardize an old standard. Thus, fuck=frak in a distant galaxy.
So I have been trying to use the word frak...and sugar, and pickles, and goshdarnitall, and other G-rated expletives to spare my daughter (and all the children she comes in contact with) from getting an education in the art of swearing. The only phrase that I am having trouble with is "for fucks sake." I say it often. When I hurt myself, or get up off the couch, or get completely frustrated...out of my mouth it tumbles. In trying to curb this, I have shortened it to "Oh, Furfa!"
My daughter is so funny. She has this obsession lately with puppies and thinks they are the neatest animals. She has all kinds of puppy toys, and loves looking at pictures of puppies, and even bugs me relentlessly to take her to her grandmother's house so she can "see Grand's new puppy!" Well with my new usage of the word Furfa (I say it A LOT) my daughter has started asking with more frequency, "where's the puppy?" It took me a few days (OK, more like a couple of weeks, but hey, I don't want to make myself look denser that I am) to realize what she was talking about. Every time I say Furfa she thinks I am talking about a puppy. From a 4 year old perspective, I can see where she makes this connection...fur=puppy. So needless to say, if I ever get a dog, it already has a name. Can you imagine the look on peoples faces when I introduce the thing? This is my dog Furfa...short for "For Fuck's Sake!"
Monday, May 26, 2008
25 Ways To Improve Your Health...
1.) Brush twice a day.
2.) Dress right for the weather.
3.) Visit the dentist regularly.
4.) Get plenty of rest.
5.) Make sure your hair is dry before going outside.
6.) Eat right.
7.) Get outside in the sun every once in a while.
8.) Always wear a seatbelt.
9.) Control your drinking of alcoholic beverages.
10.) Smile! It will make you feel better!
11.) Don't over indulge yourself.
12.) Bathe regularly.
13.) Read to exercise the brain.
14.) Surround yourself with friends!
15.) Stay away from too much caffeine.
16.) Use the bathroom regularly.
17.) Get plenty of exercise.
18.) Have your eyes checked regularly.
19.) Eat plenty of vegetables.
20.) Believe that people will like you for who you are.
21.) Forgive and forget.
22.) Take plenty of vacations!
23.) Celebrate all special occasions.
24.) Pick up a hobby.
25.) Love your neighbor as yourself.Do all these things and you will be a happier, healthier person!
Saturday, May 24, 2008
I'll Have A Sweet Tea, Please.
Well, I am back from vacationing in Sarasota and I have to say that I had an excellent time. It rained most of the time and the ocean was rough until the last 12 hours of the vacation. At which time the sun popped out, the humidity vanished and the ocean was glassy and the most amazing shade of turquoise. Ah, irony...you are such a bitch. But on to the reason for this blog post.
I once visited the beautiful city of Chicago and had the pleasure to dine at many different places while I was there. Each time I would order a drink in the restaurants, I would inevitably order my usual staple of sweet iced tea. The first time I did, I was brought a glass of iced tea and three packets of sugar. I looked at the waiter with the most clueless expression I could muster, and he said to me (in a mocking southern drawl) "We don't do 'sweet tea' here. This is a glass of iced tea and you can add your own sugar to it."
FCB (Fat Cranky Bastard for the new folks) had to restrain me from slapping the mock right off the little fucktards face. I then went on to explain to the obviously mentally challenged waiter that you can't add sugar to iced tea because the sugar wouldn't dissolve due to the cold temperature of the beverage. He gave me a dirty look and walked away. (Betcha damn skippy that HE didn't get a big tip.)
Apparently in "The North" there is no such thing as "Sweet Tea." It is an aberration of unheard of proportions. Which brings me to the real point of this blog and the reason behind that little back story you just suffered through. Brace yourselves...
The South has been invaded.
Here in Florida, there is an imaginary border somewhere around Tampa where The South becomes The North. Seriously. Be.Afraid.People. No matter what establishment you choose to dine in, you are shit out of luck when it comes to ordering sweet tea. You inevitably are going to get the dumb looks and the packets of sugar if you even try. I was lucky enough to be able to meet one of my Internet friends while on my vacation this year, and went to a restaurant in Sarasota where I sat down and ordered a sweet tea. The waitress promptly told me they don't serve it. Luckily, I was able to order a Coke before she offered me a "pop." (Don't even get me started on THAT subject!)
In honor of this whole South vs. North post today, I wanted to share with y'all this hilarious email that someone sent me sometime in the past that I decided to hold on to in the unforeseeable event that I was ever going to need it so I could pass it on. That time has come. Enjoy.
I once visited the beautiful city of Chicago and had the pleasure to dine at many different places while I was there. Each time I would order a drink in the restaurants, I would inevitably order my usual staple of sweet iced tea. The first time I did, I was brought a glass of iced tea and three packets of sugar. I looked at the waiter with the most clueless expression I could muster, and he said to me (in a mocking southern drawl) "We don't do 'sweet tea' here. This is a glass of iced tea and you can add your own sugar to it."
FCB (Fat Cranky Bastard for the new folks) had to restrain me from slapping the mock right off the little fucktards face. I then went on to explain to the obviously mentally challenged waiter that you can't add sugar to iced tea because the sugar wouldn't dissolve due to the cold temperature of the beverage. He gave me a dirty look and walked away. (Betcha damn skippy that HE didn't get a big tip.)
Apparently in "The North" there is no such thing as "Sweet Tea." It is an aberration of unheard of proportions. Which brings me to the real point of this blog and the reason behind that little back story you just suffered through. Brace yourselves...
The South has been invaded.
Here in Florida, there is an imaginary border somewhere around Tampa where The South becomes The North. Seriously. Be.Afraid.People. No matter what establishment you choose to dine in, you are shit out of luck when it comes to ordering sweet tea. You inevitably are going to get the dumb looks and the packets of sugar if you even try. I was lucky enough to be able to meet one of my Internet friends while on my vacation this year, and went to a restaurant in Sarasota where I sat down and ordered a sweet tea. The waitress promptly told me they don't serve it. Luckily, I was able to order a Coke before she offered me a "pop." (Don't even get me started on THAT subject!)
In honor of this whole South vs. North post today, I wanted to share with y'all this hilarious email that someone sent me sometime in the past that I decided to hold on to in the unforeseeable event that I was ever going to need it so I could pass it on. That time has come. Enjoy.
Ways To Avoid A Good Southern Ass Whuppin'
- Don't fake a Southern accent. This will incite a riot, and you will get your ass kicked.
- Don't order Fillet Mignon or Pasta Primavera at Waffle House. It's just a diner. They serve breakfast 24 hours a day. Let them cook something they know. If you confuse them, they'll kick your ass.
- We are fully aware of how high the humidity is, so shut the hell up. Just spend your money and get the hell out of here, or we'll kick your ass.
- Don't order a bottle of pop or a can of soda down here. Down here it's called Coke. Nobody gives a flying rat's ass whether it's Pepsi, RC, Dr. Pepper, 7-Up or whatever...it's still a Coke. Accept it. Doing otherwise can lead to an ass kicking.
- We know our heritage. Most of us are more literate than you (e.g. Welty, Williams, Faulkner). We are also better educated and generally a lot nicer. Don't refer to us as a bunch of hillbillies or we'll kick your ass.
- We have plenty of business sense (e.g., Fred Smith of Fed Ex, Sam Walton, Oprah, Turner Broadcasting, MTV, Netscape). Naturally, we do sometimes have small lapses in judgment, if you keep reminding us of the fact we will kick your ass.
- Don't laugh at our Civil War monuments. If Lee had listened to Longstreet and flanked Meade at Gettysburg instead of sending Pickett up the middle, you'd be paying taxes to Richmond instead of Washington. If you visit Stone Mountain and complain about the carving, we'll kick your ass.
- Don't laugh at our Southern names (Merleen, Luther, TammyLynn, Inez, Billy Joe, Sissy, Clovis, etc.) or we will just HAVE to kick your ass.
- Don't order wheat toast at Cracker Barrel. Everyone will instantly know that you're a Yankee. Eat your biscuits like God intended with gravy, and don't put sugar on your grits, or we'll kick your ass.
- Don't talk about how much better things are at home because we know better. Many of us have visited Northern hellholes like Detroit, Chicago, and DC, and we have the scars to prove it. If you don't like it here, Delta or US Airways is ready when you are. Move your ass on home before it gets kicked.
- Yes, we know how to speak proper English. We talk this way because we don't want to sound like you. We don't care if you don't understand what we are saying. All other Southerners understand what we are saying, and that's all that matters. Now, go away and leave us alone, or we'll kick your ass.
- Don't complain that the South is dirty and polluted. None of OUR lakes or rivers have caught fire recently. If you whine about OUR scenic beauty, we'll kick your ass all the way back to Boston Harbor.
- Don't ridicule our Southern manners. We say Sir and Ma'am. We hold doors open for others. We offer our seats to old folks because such things are expected of civilized people. Behave yourselves around our sweet little gray-haired grandmothers or they'll kick some manners into your ass just like they did ours.
- So you think we're quaint, or losers, because most of us live in the countryside? That's because we have enough sense to not live in filthy, smelly, crime infested cesspools like New York, Baltimore or Boston. Make fun of our fresh air, and we'll kick your ass.
- Last, but not least, DO NOT DARE to come down here and tell us how to cook barbecue. This will get your ass shot (right after it is kicked). You're lucky we let you come down here at all. Criticize our barbecue, and you will go home in a pine box...minus your ass.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Cause I'm All McGuyver Like That!
So we set off on vacation Saturday (4 hours late...my family is allergic to motivation) and we stopped at the outlet mall so I could get yet ANOTHER pair of Crocs as well as some new ones for the punk. (For those that have strong feelings against Crocs and feel the need to share...this is not the place. Between my daughter and I, we own 8 pairs and we love them. So kiss my grits and get over yourself. Moving on...)
So we are in the car and I was fighting the usual epic battle between the seat belt and The Boobs. See, what happens is the seat belt slides across the girls and ends up choking me. I keep meaning to get a clip to use in FCB's (Fat Cranky Bastard) car, but just keep forgetting until it is too late. (Don't need one in my car.) So I was frustrated and choking and thinking I don't want to hold the seat belt for the whole 5 hour trip, when it dawns on me to use the ponytail holder from my hair. I unbuckled, slipped it over the seat belt and voila! Problem solved. Richard Dean Anderson would be SO proud. I pointed out my accomplishment to FCB and told him, "Look! Fixed it! I'm all McGuyver like that!" (He laughed)
Then I'm thinking...hey! Blog fodder! I should write this down!
So I do. I took out a pen and a little notebook I keep in my purse and I started writing. FCB asked me what I was doing, and I replied, "blogging, of course."
He asks me why I was going to share this story and I told him because it's really funny and I like sharing my opinions with the world. Besides...other people think I am funny too...(or at least y'all lie convincingly to make me feel better...either way, it's all good.) I ask him if he has ever actually read my blog, and he says...
"I live with you all day. Do you really think I need to go out on the Internet and hear your opinion all over again?"
(Can ya feel the love, people?)
Now, if only I could figure out a way to tie him up and beat some sunshine into him with a green pen, a notebook, a plastic bag, 2 pairs of Crocs, a ponytail holder, and a turkey baster.
(I don't really have a turkey baster handy...just threw that in for comedic effect...did it work?)
So we are in the car and I was fighting the usual epic battle between the seat belt and The Boobs. See, what happens is the seat belt slides across the girls and ends up choking me. I keep meaning to get a clip to use in FCB's (Fat Cranky Bastard) car, but just keep forgetting until it is too late. (Don't need one in my car.) So I was frustrated and choking and thinking I don't want to hold the seat belt for the whole 5 hour trip, when it dawns on me to use the ponytail holder from my hair. I unbuckled, slipped it over the seat belt and voila! Problem solved. Richard Dean Anderson would be SO proud. I pointed out my accomplishment to FCB and told him, "Look! Fixed it! I'm all McGuyver like that!" (He laughed)
Then I'm thinking...hey! Blog fodder! I should write this down!
So I do. I took out a pen and a little notebook I keep in my purse and I started writing. FCB asked me what I was doing, and I replied, "blogging, of course."
He asks me why I was going to share this story and I told him because it's really funny and I like sharing my opinions with the world. Besides...other people think I am funny too...(or at least y'all lie convincingly to make me feel better...either way, it's all good.) I ask him if he has ever actually read my blog, and he says...
"I live with you all day. Do you really think I need to go out on the Internet and hear your opinion all over again?"
(Can ya feel the love, people?)
Now, if only I could figure out a way to tie him up and beat some sunshine into him with a green pen, a notebook, a plastic bag, 2 pairs of Crocs, a ponytail holder, and a turkey baster.
(I don't really have a turkey baster handy...just threw that in for comedic effect...did it work?)
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Do Not Contemplate The SpongeBobness
So just we were just relaxing and goofing off today (I slept in till 2pm for the first time in months...yay!) and the Punk (my daughter) is watching cartoons. FCB (that's Fat Cranky Bastard...the guy I live with) is kinda half heartedly paying attention to what she is watching.
He looks at me and says, "How can a sponge take a bath under the ocean?"
I have to say here that the laughing hysterically at what he said was making him turn lovely shades of magenta in complete anger. He asked me to explain the logic of the SpongeBobness. I told him I would get right on that as soon as he explained exactly where "under the ocean" was located.
He wasn't happy. I got called a smart ass (but of course!) and he demanded an answer. I just looked at him in my most patronizing tone.
I then went on to explain that taking a bath, grilling a hamburger (Where does the meat come from, anyway?) having a campfire, electricity, going to the beach, gas powered buses, boats in the sea, and many of the other idiosyncrasies that happen on the show, are what makes the cartoon full of "spongy goodness."
He called me a child and walked away into the other room. I called after him, "Don't hate just cause you don't understand!"
I think that man was born old.
He looks at me and says, "How can a sponge take a bath under the ocean?"
I have to say here that the laughing hysterically at what he said was making him turn lovely shades of magenta in complete anger. He asked me to explain the logic of the SpongeBobness. I told him I would get right on that as soon as he explained exactly where "under the ocean" was located.
He wasn't happy. I got called a smart ass (but of course!) and he demanded an answer. I just looked at him in my most patronizing tone.
I then went on to explain that taking a bath, grilling a hamburger (Where does the meat come from, anyway?) having a campfire, electricity, going to the beach, gas powered buses, boats in the sea, and many of the other idiosyncrasies that happen on the show, are what makes the cartoon full of "spongy goodness."
He called me a child and walked away into the other room. I called after him, "Don't hate just cause you don't understand!"
I think that man was born old.
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