Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Me: mom, have any boxes been delivered?
Mom: no i don't think so. i don't see any.
Me: well Chukar Cherries show it being delivered on the track shipment.
Mom: well it's not here. Where did it get delivered?
Me: I don't know. It says it was delivered at 8:56a on Monday.
mom: ya know, I saw a FedEx sticker in my driveway yesterday. or maybe Monday. but i didn't know what it was for.
Me: are you serious right now? You know I'm having boxes delivered and you haven't been on the lookout? It's been TWO days mom.
Mom: well i couldn't read it. i don't even know where it is. I'll have to find it.
Me: fine. bye.
so i call FedEx and they say it was delivered to their address. So I call mom back and we have THIS convo.
me: the package was delivered to your house.
mom: yes it's here.
me: where was it?
mom: i dont know. i don't even know where it came from. but it's upstairs.
me: mom. why do you not know? why weren't you keeping an eye out? you have to be on the lookout for one on friday too.
mom: ok. well. pin a rose on your nose.
me: i'm so glad you're not a postal worker. you would really be terrible. are you sure the package is there?
mom: yes meredith. i told you it was here.
humpf. pin a rose on your nose.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
But, this experience got me thinking. I am a fast food connoisseur. I have had a love affair with practically every fast food restaurant known to man. And like all of the great loves of my life, I have kept a list of the pros and cons of each. and i feel you deserve to hear it.
Burger King: the nuggets are tasty but the bathroom floors are always sticky.
Poppeyes: Typically in the ghetto and the biscuits really aren’t that great. I don't care what anyone says.
Arby’s: while it is a pirate’s favorite restaurant, I once found a hair in my pre-packaged food. If you go here, you should probably stick to the roast beef sandwich with Arby’s sauce and the curly fries. They are delicious. But remember, I did find a hair in my pre-packaged food there once.
Chick Fil A – Christian or not, their prices are jacked and they like to fry chicken in old oil too long. It is important to note however that if the chicken hasn’t been in the fryer too long, then it is the best biscuit you can find.
McDonalds – absolutely nothing bad to say (unless they tell me their milkshake machine is broken and I have to get in a verbal altercation with the worker and tell them that in fact, their machine is not broken. They just don’t want to clean it.). I read an article yesterday that they are putting $5 billion into upfitting their restaurants (what bad economy?) It may or may not be my dream to own a McDonald’s franchise.
Taco Bell – many call it Taco Hell but I call it Taco Fabulous. Nothing makes Mountain Dew taste better than a taco from the Taco Fabulous.
KFC – the mac and cheese could use some work but those mashed potatoes are amazing. And delicious.
Bojangles – I’m pretty sure they put prune juice in their sweet tea (not a problem) and their fries are nothing short of delicious. But you must be wary. The Bo is only good in certain places. Florida doesn’t count.
Wendy’s: I won’t eat much from here but a baked potato with two butters, two sour creams, chives and a side of mini frosty really hits the spot.
In-N-Out Burger: good thing we don’t have them here on the East Coast because I would hit that more than Paris Hilton does drugs. There is a reason why she just had to have an In-N-Out here people.
Hardees – the American dream when it comes to fast food burgers. They beat McDonalds any day but it’s a completely different taste so you really can’t compare them.
as a side note, did you know the formal definition of a connoisseur is "a person who is especially competent to pass critical judgments..." yep. that about sums me up.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
At the end, the teacher asked me to dance so I could practice my moves. I told him I'd had enough boxing and was ready to be twirled. He reminded me that yes, the Waltz is the Disney princess dance but if those cartoons had been real women, they too would have had to learn to Waltz the good old fashioned way. And then, all of my dancing dreams came true when he decided I had had enough practice and...drum roll please...HE TWIRLED ME!! And I felt exactly like Beauty and the Beast. It was exhilirating! I loved it! It was like my very own Dancing With the Stars and I was Bristol and he was Max and even Bruno thought we were a perfect 10. And then, just like that, our dance was over. And I fell in a heap to the ground, exhausted. Even now, I.am.exhausted. it is true the Waltz is just a box step but holy crap. It's like a box covered in packing tape that you just cannot get open for the life of you. This dude, back in the 1700's described the ladies of Vienna as graceful in their Waltzing. Perhaps I need to go to Vienna and wear a corset. Because I'm pretty sure I wasn't graceful.
They say it takes two to tango. But it takes a winner to waltz. Booyah. Take that, England. oh but wait...it takes two to tango you say? ooo lah lah. i'll take two swiveling hips, please.
Monday, December 13, 2010
'Twas da night befo' Christmas & all in the hood,
Not a homie was stirring cuz it was all good;
The tube socks was hung on the window sill
And we all had smiles up on our grill.
Mookie and BeBe was snug in the crib -
In the back bedroom, cuz that's how we live.
And Mom’s in her do-rag and me with my nine,
Had just gotten busy cuz girlfriend is fine.
All of a sudden a lowrider rolled by,
Bumpin' phat beats cuz the system's fly;
I bounced to the window at a quarter pas' '
Bout ready to pop a cap in somebody's ass!
Well anyway.... I yelled to my lady, Yo peep this!
She said, “Stop frontin' & just mind yo' bidness.”
I said, for real doe, “come check dis out,”
We weren't even buggin', no worries, no doubt.
Cuz bumpin' an thumpin' from around da way
Was Santa, 8 reindeer and a sleigh;
Da beats was kickin', da ride was phat,
I said, "Yo red Dawg, you all that!"
He threw up a sign and yelled to his boyz,
"Ay yo, give it up, let's make some noise!"
To the top of the projects & across the strip mall,
We gots ta go, I got a booty call!"
He pulled up his ride on the top a da roof,
And sippin' on a 40, he busted a move;
I yelled up to Santa, "Yo ain't got no stack!"
He said, "Damn homie, deese projects is wack!”
“But don't worry black, cuz I gots da skillz -
I learnt back when I hadda pay da billz."
Out from his bag he pulled 3 small tings
A credit card, a knife, and a bobby pin.
He slid down the fire escape smoove as a cat,
And busted the window wit' a b-ball bat.
I said, "Whassup, Santa? Whyd’ya bust my place?"
He said, "You best get on up out my face!"
His threads was all leatha, his chains was all gold,
His sneaks was Puma and they was 5 years old;
He dropped down the duffle, Bull’s logo on the side.
Santa broke out da loot and my mouf popped open wide.
A wink of his eye and a shine off his gold toof,
He cabbage patched his way back onto the roof;
He jumped in his hooptie wit' rims made of chrome,
To tap that big booty waitin' at home.
And all I heard as he cruised outta sight,
Was a loud and hearty..... "WEEESST SIIIIDE!!!!!!!"
But first, it's important to note that I am usually always in a good mood. My disposition is never far from sunny. My class ring from college is a black onyx and it’s actually become hilarious how many times people have mistaken it for a mood ring. I mean, how could it be black if I’m always jolly? And besides, who even wears a mood ring anymore?
1. Pete. Pete will make anyone’s day 9x brighter and cheerful. Especially when he follows you into the bathroom and watches you undress. Who doesn’t want a handsome Peteing Tom to oogle them while nekkid?
2. A pastry. I brought a cute boy a giant éclair from a local bakery one morning. He told me if I kept feeding him this way, he wasn’t going to live to see 85. I told him when he was 85, he would look back on his life and wish he had enjoyed pastry treats more often in his life. I believe in dessert. And I believe in enjoying it any time you see fit.
3. A daily dose of www.textsfromlastnight.com. It’s blocked at my office, but I’m looking into the availability of an iphone app (man I feel cool saying I have an iphone).
4. A shimmy. If something makes me happy, I shimmy. If I don’t have a reason to shimmy, I shimmy anyway.
5. Pirate Jokes. These are guaranteed to put even the meanest of souls in a better mood. Instantly.
6. Justin Bieber. This morning, a dear friend sent me an interactive Christmas greeting, complete with a portrait of Justin Bieber halfway through the message. Instant good mood accomplished. True story.
7. A lifetime movie. Seriously. Feeling badly about your life? Watch one of these bad boys and you’ll feel better about yours. Instantly.
8. A feather boa. I’m not sure why but I really like them. Much like jingle bells, they are hard to resist.
9. Surprise leftovers from a meeting down the hall. Since I’m usually in a bad mood because I’m hungry, leftovers instantly bring up the morale of the entire department.
10. An email from my boss that says “hey, why don’t you take the rest of the week off?” I mean, this has never happened but I’m pretty sure it would make my mood even greater.
my horoscope lied to me. it told me I was going to have a romantic weekend. I did not.
Friday, December 10, 2010
a. Mistletoe. Who doesn’t love mistletoe?! It’s romantic in every form. Did you know the name Mistletoe was originally applied to a poisonous plant that causes gastrointestinal problems including stomach pain and diarrhea…but, you should not have fear because Mistletoe is seen as a representation of “divine male essence” (ie romance and fertility), thereby making it a necessity for all Christmas miracles. I really was speaking the truth when I hollered the other day at work that it really is a man’s world after all (and a small world at that but I won’t say anymore because this conversation could quickly get out of hand). Next time I’m standing under the mistletoe, when my Christmas miracle goes in for the kiss, I will be sure to say no thank you sir and warn him of the serious implications mistletoe could cause to his body, and mine.
c. Christmas Frog. Speaking of ugly…I know all you haters find my Christmas frog atrocious. My brother and I had a big ole fight the minute he found out I was storing this beauty in a box at his house (background is that when I moved back in with my parents, he stored a lot of things on my behalf at his house, including my Christmas Frog). I first laid eyes upon her the same time I discovered my Victorian Christmas Angels. I had to have her. I mean, I completely fell in love with her glass head, her velvet cloak. She is a bit wounded with a crack in her right brow, but she has a nice home now and frankly, it’s not Christmas to me without my Christmas frog. She is always the first decoration I put up, and the last I take down. She stands watch over my snow babies throughout the Christmas holiday. Pete hates her. Everyone hates her. But as Jason Mraz says, there is beauty in the ugly.
e. An awesome Christmas sweater. I have only been into seasonal sweaters for about 3 years now but man, I don’t know how I survived my Christmases past without one! These bad boys go for good money on the internet and I can see why. This one, that I call The Winner (for the many awards it has won) comes complete with a Christmas chicken, tassels and a fuzzy gold jingle bell. Don’t be mistaken – while The Winner appears to be cozy and smart, it is in fact, not a good idea to wear often. The fuzzy jingle bell causes a lot of pain as you take the sweater off over your head. It leaves behind remnants of itself in the form of a gash down your forehead for all the world to see. Over the years, I’ve become more accustomed to the weird stares and responses I get when I tell people why I have such an unsightly gash upon my head. This year I have a dilemma though. I have a new Christmas sweater that lights up. The Winner may need to rest its weary bell because my light up sweater is aching to be plugged in! (and yes, that is what she said).
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
you will pay for your own drink specials.
I know I’ve got a lot of ‘splainin to do about my absence…but spare me the harpin’. I have a long list of less than men to tell you about, but Friday’s experience may take the cake in the world of dbags. Wait, I’ve said that before. so, if I’m being honest, and I am, this one doesn’t really take the cake but it is DEFINITELY a slice out of the old tool shed. Where they stop, no one knows.
I had been introduced to this kid whom I affectionately dubbed Drink Specials. This is a name he brought on himself because the first two attempts he made to hang out with me included meeting up at particular places “with great drink specials.” Friday night, I agreed to meet him out at Mellow Mushroom. He suggested dinner and though I don’t love Mellow, since he had been persistent, and was cute, I decided to go. Only, I probably should have decided not to go. We’re having dinner and he asks to be reminded of where I work. I tell him and he asks “oh, do you know Sara blah blah blah.” “well,” I reply, “I don’t know her but I know of her. I dated her ex.” He says “ohhhh you dated him??? Well, we grew up together and my roommate dated her.” So, I realize what a fantastic night this is going to be since if he grew up with her, and she dated his roommate, then they’re probably as crazy as her reputation makes her out to be. Approximately 20 minutes after we sit down FOR THE DINNER HE INVITED ME TO, his friends show up. Yes, 4 or 5 of them at this point show up, come say hey, we didn’t know you’d be here and then leave to go to the bar…while telling me he is so sorry, he didn’t know they would be there (right), they start sending shots over. After shot 2, but before 3 and 4 arrived, I confessed I wasn’t going to be able to do anymore shots. I mean, it was only 9p and these guys were apparently going balls to the wall at the Mellow Mushroom. About this time, I start feeling semi badly – granted, I had only had to eat that day 1 large mashed potato and gravy, 1 large mac and cheese and 1 biscuit from the KFC, two glasses of wine, 1 pizza from the Mushroom and 2 shots. It’s no wonder I felt like 1 million bucks. The waitress comes and I blame her for what happens next. She asks, as most waitresses do but should not, how did we want the ticket. Clearly the tightwad, Drink Specials tells her she can put it on one ticket and WE WILL SPLIT IT! um, excuse me? if I am paying for my own dinner, I don’t want to do it at the Mellow Mushroom! I don’t even love that place! After dinner, we move over to the bar to hang out with his homies who are clearly WAITING on us to come. I tell him his friends all look familiar and then I realize why. At the epicenter of his friend group was my across the hall neighbor. The same neighbor who had an uber white trashy fight with his live in girlfriend at 6a that resulted in her moving out ON THE SPOT and the entire building be awakened. The same neighbor who hosts porch parties every weekend that begin at sun up and end well after sun down. Every single one of these guys has been on the porch on more than one occasion and every single one of them has spoken to me through the screen (I oft times sit on my porch and talk to my cat whilst in my pajamas and glasses). After a funny hey this is awkward, I didn’t know you ever left the porch convo in which all the guys said to me at different times “hey, you’re the girl with the cat!”, I had to race to the bathroom where I spent the next 35 minutes hating my own guts. I received two txts from Drink Specials asking where I was. I returned, everyone was wasted, and I knew it was time for me to go home. At 11 o’clock, I left the Mellow Mushroom. All I could think about was how excited I was to be putting on my pajamas and hanging out with my cat. I was exactly the girl they thought me to be. And that is a-ok with me. And Drink Specials? Well, let’s just say he’s back in the shed, right where he belongs.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
There were other nuggets of forbidden fruit on the tv. So many in fact it's a wonder we had a tube at all. Granted, we never really had cable - my roommates always felt like if we were bored, we'd be better suited to read a book. But when we were allowed to watch tv (and this never happened without first having to run around the house 3 or 4 times), we certainly weren't allowed to watch what the other kids were watching.
Take Full House for instance. Danny Tanner had nothing on my mama's parenting skills. I'm actually surprised the reason we weren't allowed to watch it had nothing to do with the fact that it was a little strange that Uncle Joey and Uncle Jesse had absolutely no problem living with a single dad and his 3 daughters (and let's not forget weirdo Kimmy Gibbler next door who never seemed to have parents at all). Nope. The reason we weren't allowed to watch this family show is because all three of the daughters were "extremely sassy." My mom didn't want us growing up thinking that was an acceptable way to be. Sooo, while I understand the intent, guess who doesn't have three sassy children. It's definitely not my mom so you probably shouldn't waste your guess on her.
Another show that was forbidden was Hey Dude on Nickelodeon. That is, when we actually had Nickelodeon. If you remember, this was a show about a group of people who lived on a dude ranch, one of them being Ben Stiller's future wife, Marsha Marsha Marsha. Wait, now that I think about it, it was sort of like a commune so maybe that's why we weren't allowed to watch it. Everyone knows people who live in communes are weird with a capital w. (but that kid Ted on the show? no way he was weird. he was too smokin' hot to be weird). Everyone at this dude ranch was really smart, so smart that they knew more than any of the adults who ran the dude ranch. And because of this, we weren't allowed to watch it. Another factoid everyone knows is that no way do kids know more than their parents. Good thing mom didn't let us watch Hey Dude. Otherwise we three might be even more convinced we know more than our parents. The only thing that would make it worse would be if we all lived on a commune. A bunch of know it alls packed into a commune. Yeah, this was a good choice to be forbidden fruit, I'd say.
I have never seen an episode of The Simpsons. Whenever I try to watch That 70's Show while at my roommates' house, one roommate in particular will come into the room and if she can't find the remote to turn it off, she will stand in front of it and talk to you so you have no idea what is happening. Only, the last time I told her I couldn't see what was happening, she told me "they're sitting in a circle, smoking pot and making fun of their parents. You don't need to watch it. That isn't a good way to be." I'm just trying to figure out how she knows what they are doing every single time it comes on tv.
Sometimes, a show won't be forbidden, but you're guaranteed to get some Life Lessons while watching it, so it would probably be better if it were just on the forbidden list. The life lessons usually pertain to sex and that can just get weird depending on who is in the room with you when your parents start doling out sex life lessons all because of some rando show that happens to be on the tube. Basically, I don't recommend watching Jerry Springer. Ever. Why it was never on the forbidden fruit list, we'll never know. Probably because it was the perfect opportunity for my roommates to give us life lessons. So, on that note, I hope my mom isn't reading this. Otherwise she'll know I'm watching Indecent Proposal tomorrow night. And if there is one thing I know at age 28, is that I am never too far away for life lessons for the boob tube.
Monday, November 29, 2010
All of my life, I have secretly wanted to be bad. More than Tyler Perry thinks he can be all by himself. More than being famous. I want to be bad. The Big Man Upstairs knows all of my bad thoughts before I even think them. As if this isn't pressure enough, freakin' Santy Claus watches me all year long and keeps a list of everything I do. You know the song lyrics: "he's makin' a list/checkin' it twice/gonna find out who's naughty or nice." I mean, this kind of threat is pure TORTURE for someone like me. Because if there is one thing I love more than anything in my world, it is GIFTS! I love little sercies. I love giving them. But I really love receiving them. Although I am a grown up now, I still have to remind myself what the season is all about. I love the Christmas spirit and the hope and joy for the world it brings. I love worshiping the One who is the reason for the season. But, not gonna lie, on Christmas Eve, I still find it hard to go to sleep and I still get so excited to wake up the next morning. We're talking fat kid in a candy store excited. All because I absolutely CANNOT WAIT to see what Santy brought me! if he even came, of course.
I once cheated on a test in 7th grade and lied about it. I got an F but Santy still came. I threw things out the bus window into passing cars and got kicked off the school bus for the rest of the year. But Santy still came. I beat my sister up and left my brother on the side of the road (separate incidents and they both deserved it), yet Santy still came. I skinny dipped on the youth group beach trip but I think Santy dutifully averted his eyes. Basically, nothing I have done in all of my 28 years has been naughty enough to make Santy's naughty list or even warranted a lump of coal. This makes me feel like somewhat of a failure. I mean, who doesn't want to be naughty? And please, say it with a British accent.
So, just for you Santy Clause, I've made a list of all the naughty things I secretly want to do but am afraid to do. Why am I afraid to live a little? Because I am terrified you won't show up anymore. And that is enough to make me never man up and just.be.bad.
a. I'd like to finally key that car I've been wanting to key for quite some time.
b. I' am more than willing to steal some dumb kid's Justin Bieber concert ticket.
c. I really want to cut the coupons out of my neighbor's Sunday paper and put it back on their stoop before they wake up
d. I want to go 29 miles over the speed limit and actually not get caught.
e. I want to eat all the cookies I possibly can.
f. I'm thinking about laughing out loud the next time I see someone fall instead of keeping it to myself and pretending I don't think it's funny.
g. I want to play you in Clue, convince you I'm not cheating, and still cheat and win.
h. Breaking a glass window would be fun. Preferably with a rock.
i. I really want to get arrested. And spend a night in the pokey. That's like the epitome of being bad.
j. I want to skip out on paying my bills. forever.
k. I would totally drop kick an elf.
l. i will suck the helium out of all the balloons Party City has to offer.
m. I really want to play ding dong ditchum. Ever since my kid sister got caught running away, I've been afraid to try it again.
n. It's been too long since I egged someone's house.
o. Maybe I'll have a bar fight. I see a lot of crazy bees I just want to punch when I go out.
p. Maybe I'll start small and just pee in the pool.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
1. She is a Commoner. I am Royalty. Robertson means “Sons of Robert,” traced back to Robert the Bruce, King of Scots. This is a big deal people. This hasn't happened since like the 1300s. Way to go, Dub, breaking the tradition with a common street urchin.
2. She may have a proper and debonair British accent, but I have a syrupy sweet and genuine Southern accent.
3. While she wears wide brimmed hats to church and weddings, and pulls them off quite well, I am from the land of the Carolina Cup and can pull off a wide brimmed hat to work, the gas station and pretty much everywhere else I go. As a matter of fact, I’m wearing one right this very minute.
4. My bff Natalie and I had royal names growing up. I was Lady Meredith of Robertson and she, Lady Natalie of Carraway. Add a simple shire on the end of it, and bam, you’re a duchess. Lady Meredith of Robertsonshire, thereby giving me a MUCH more royal name than KATE MIDDLETON. How about Kate Middleofnowhereshire (which you know is her real last name). Yeah, not the same ring.
5. Believe it or not, I actually attended etiquette class in my younger years. I know how to properly set a table, cross my ankles (not my legs), and I NEVER sing at the table.
6. I have delicate and soft fingers so that 24 carat sapphire would look smokin’ hot on any digit of mine, not just my engagement finger.
7. I know how to shag, and we all know the British LOVE to shag.
8. I already know how to use the word “bloody” in a sentence. Typically when asking for a Bloody Mary, but nonetheless, it’s part of my vocabulary. I’m also more than willing to make snogging a word in my vocab as well.
9. She played sports growing up and apparently hasn’t worked since college. I still play sports and I have a job. Clearly, William would have to sign a pre-nup. I mean, I’m not going to risk losing any of my riches just because he is a PRINCE.
10. I have been practicing my wave for 28 years and and really want to sit on a throne and have a coronation. And dammit, I really want to wear that crown on my head.
Monday, November 15, 2010
It's that time of year again and by time of year again, I mean it's time for Christmas!!! I love love love Christmas. I love Christmas because it means tacky sweater parties, eggnog, cinnamon sticks for the heck of it, 24 hours of "A Christmas Story" and candlelight singing at the Christmas Eve service. It means listening to six weeks of Jessica Simpson and Mariah Carey. It means putting a jingle bell necklace around Pete's necklace and insisting everyone call him Santa Paws until Dec. 26. And, it means...Christmas cards!!!
I'm not the best at sending Christmas cards, but I sure do love receiving them. And, for the record, I absolutely refuse to call them "holiday" cards. With all due respect, I celebrate Christmas and if I'm going to send a card in the mail, it's going to be a Christmas card. I don't mind partaking in certain aspects of other holidays at this time of year -- my favorite is the airing of grievances at Festivus - but, I say Merry Christmas and send Christmas cards (when I send them, which is pretty much once in my life). I've always admired the people who take the time to send an update on their lives, along with a photo collage of their families. Sometimes these "updates" are short and sweet and to the point. Sometimes they are funny. Most of the time they are entire 8.5 x 11 pages of pictures and updates telling me how awesome the senders' lives are. They tell of promotions of work, marriages, babies, lottery wins, new cars, new houses, and anything else that makes them think they are more fabulous than me. I mean, let's face it: who actually sends a Christmas "update" that is anything less than bragging about themselves? Which means a Christmas "update" is exactly what I need to do since I love talking about myself. And right now, Shutterfly has a promotion going on whereby bloggers can receive 50 free Christmas cards. So, between another excuse to "update" people on the life of Deezy, and my love of a good freebie, you can bet I have decided that THIS is THE YEAR for me to send out Christmas cards.
The first one I love is the "Family Letter Blue" card. It has room for two of my favorite pictures (one of me, and clearly one of Santa Paws) and comes in red and (they call it turquoise but I feel it is Carolina) blue. So, everyone I know in NC would be satisfied with my color scheme. It also gives me ample room along the side to talk about myself and Pete and what we've been up to this past year.
The second card I love the most is the Sparkles and Confetti New Year's Card. A New Year's card is actually a really good idea and gives people a nice treat in the mail after the snow flurries of Christmas are over. Plus, I think this picture is really cute. Of course, if I chose this card, I'd probably feel like copying this picture pose, but with Santa Paws and me. Only, for New Year's, he might be feeling frisky and wanting to wear a dapper bow tie instead of his jingle bells. At any rate, a New Year's card is a really cute way to get someone's year started off right. Maybe I could list out my resolutions on the card, just in case you were curious as to what Merdeezy had planned for the next year.
And my third favorite is the Paper Ornaments Holiday Card. Even though it doesn't refer to Christmas, it does say the words "peace," "love," "joy" and "hope" on it. Those four words pretty much sum up the Christmas story and the card is really fresh looking. Of course, it could be the fact that I find the dad on the card smokin' hot, but either way, I do like this card.
There are millions of options at Shutterfly for all my Christmas desires to wish people joy this Christmas season. I hope you're ready, dear friends! Pete and Deeze are about to infiltrate your mailbox!! Hollaaa!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
I feel like needing to go to the bathroom is made a huge deal our whole lives. When we're tiny ones, we get cheers and candy when we use the commode. We grow up calling it different names like John and Johnny and believing the Porcelain Prince is fit for a king. In middle and high school, at least where I come from, you have to ask for the bathroom pass. Typically it's a large piece of wood that you have to carry with you to the bathroom. I don't know why except to make you a) feel foolish for needing to use the john and b) make sure you don't run away from school. But the only thing about that school of thought is if I were going to run away from school, I wouldn't just run away with a giant piece of wood engraved with the word "Bathroom" on it. I would at least make sure I had my backpack and keys. Also, at my high school, you had to call a school administrator to come get you out of class and escort you to the bathroom. Yes, my friends, we had to be escorted to the john. If we took too long, whomever the lucky escort was would yell into the bathroom to "hurry up in there, ya hear!" I mean, talk about embarrassing. What if you had a serious case of, well, you know what I mean. Because of the aforementioned issues with going to the bathroom, a lot of people, women to be exact, learn the art of the perch. They just...perch...above the commode and take care of business. This subtracts time from having to cover the seat with paper before sitting down. It also makes it impossible for anyone else to cover the seat with paper as it is a rare occasion that the perch actually gets things done quickly AND dryly.
I have never perfected the art of the perch. I think it's gross. I'd rather waste trees, and take up more people's time by covering my seat with paper. Except, sometimes I can see where the perch would come in handy. For example, if I were the tranny I came upon in the Best Buy facilities one wintry night, I can see why perching would be necessary. But the time I realized how imperative it should have been that I learn to properly perch was at my brother's college graduation. We celebrated that he was finally done with college by going to his favorite restaurant for a luncheon. I of course had to visit the facilities about the time I found myself in the middle of everyone just as we were seated. After carefully covering the seat with paper, like my mama taught me, I sat down and BAM. The seat slid to the left. I hadn't quite fallen off, so I scooted a bit to slide the seat back in place. But the seat didn't stop in the middle of the hinge and it slid to the right. So I scooted again but instead I incorrectly gauged the distance and the seat went flying back to the left. Seems like a fun ride, eh? Except it let me off in the middle, right into the commode. Now, this event made me feel badly for myself for several reasons. Not only did I manage to break the commode and literally fall in the toilet, but there was a splash when I fell. I also had a hurt hineymo, not to mention my pride. After collecting myself and making sure I had put soap and water in all the nooks and crannies, I went back to the table where my mother promptly and loudly says, "what happened to you? did you fall in?"
yes, mama. i fell in the toilet. shame on you for not teaching me to perch. or just stand like a man.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
My dad had these visions of having tough little army men for children. He took us propelling in the rain (I cried), he took us canoeing down the New River (I cried), he threw rocks at us instead of baseballs (Lee cried), he hung chin up bars in our doorways (I cried and had 2 black eyes in the church directory picture), he taught us how to cold weather camp (we all would have cried but our tears were frozen on our cheek bones) and he taught us that above all else, we should ALWAYS be prepared.
Biking has always been a favorite past time of my family. We've all taken turns on the bicycle built for two, we've biked Tsali, the premier biking of the East Coast (it really is up hills both ways) and I'm pretty sure my dad used to own a unicycle (but I could be making that part up). We are the family that always has our bikes on the back of our car so we can be prepared for instant family fun on any trip. now, please keep in my mind, that as with most families, we all have similarities to one another. The most prevalent similarity is our hunger strikes. As in, when hunger strikes you better feed us or all hell is gonna break loose. And I do mean all hell. The best is when our hunger strikes happen at the same time. Five Merdeezy relatives on a hunger strike at the same time is similar to when the criminals got caught in "A Christmas Story" by Ralphie and his Red Rider Bee Bee Gun and they got outta that backyard lickity split. I don't know why that reminds me of us hungry, but it does. Nonetheless, I mentioned my dad taught us to always be prepared. One fine biking day, he led by example.
We went to Austinville, VA for a poke around Shot Tower Historic State Park. My dad is a history buff, so this was especially appealing to him. He had carried our bikes with us so there was absolutely no reason for us kids to be unamused on this day. After admiring the shot tower, we set out on our bike ride. Now, I'm going to be honest. I don't remember much about this bike ride except a really long bridge and some railroad tracks. The bridge seemed to stretch on for miles. And I'm pretty sure at this point in my lifecycle, I still had tassels on my bicycle (haha), so it's not like I was adequately prepared for this kind of voyage. And Lee, well, he's never prepared for this type of adventure. We got hungry pretty early on and I'm pretty sure we got into a fight pretty early on. Dad, always being prepared, pulled our bikes over on the side of the bridge and told us that because he just knew we would have a fight, he had come prepared with a snack for us. I looked around and had no clue where he would have stored such a treat. None of us had pockets, none of us had room in our helmets what with our big brains in there and we were all wearing running shoes. Until I witnessed my father bend down and pull out not one, not two but three Baby Bell cheese rounds out of his socks. I still might vom to this day. As if the wax around that cheese isn't bizarre enough to a tyke, the fact that it was warm wax around warm cheese was enough to make anyone regurgitate whatever it was that last went into their bells. He unwrapped the cheese rounds and handed them to my brother and me...and we just stood there completely bewildered and amazed. I believe it is safe to say I was actually speechless at one point in my life. No drinks to quench our thirst, just some warm cheese pulled out of a sweaty sock to satisfy our buds.
To this day, I have no idea what to make of this scene in my head. It's hilarious and concerning all at the same time. It's a good thing I think my dad is the most hysterical man on the planet because the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Because I am related to my relatives, there aren't many things I won't eat. But, because I am related to certain relatives, there are good reasons why I refuse to eat Baby Bell cheese rounds.
Monday, November 1, 2010
1. I really, really love the smell of rubber cement, gasoline and new books. I am well aware that one or all of these things may lead to dead brain cells, but they all smell delicious to me.
2. I would totally go on a date with Nelly. But he would have to wear the band aide as I find it incredibly sexy.
3. I feel like every party should have a piñata, NO MATTER what the occasion.
4. Additionally, I feel like every party should have midgets. They make everything much more fun and anyone who says they don’t is lying.
5. When I was 5, my pre-kindergarten teacher told my mom I was never going to have any friends because I was too bossy. Here’s the thing: clearly those 5 yr old punks (and my teacher) needed someone to tell them what to do.
6. I once slammed an ex-boyfriend’s car door so hard that it broke and never shut properly again. He deserved it.
7. My brother made me so angry one time that I told him to get out of the car, and he did. I left him in Chapel Hill, NC with a dead cell phone on the corner of the road. I still don’t feel badly about it. he eventually found his way back to Raleigh (a good 30 minutes away via car).
8. Speaking of me being angry, my sister and I had a fist fight about her prom dress. I sent her to work with a bruise the size of an orange on her arm. She wore the prom dress I selected and she won prom queen. She should be forever grateful.
9. I believe in dessert after every meal.
10. Everything in my life either does or would (if it were still in production) point back to a Seinfeld episode.
11. I sponsor a child in Tanzania. It’s amazing how little money it takes to ensure she has an education, clothes on her back and clean water. Getting letters from her fills my heart with more joy than sometimes seems possible.
12. I have surprisingly tiny feet and fingers.
13. I love the way eucalyptus smells. I’d love to have a spa shower that sprays out eucalyptus smells.
14. My fave home cooked meal consists of green beans from my mama’s garden, potato sally and cheeseburgers on the grill. Banana pudding for dessert.
15. I have a fortune cookie fetish and if I don’t like the fortune I receive, I will ask for another cookie until I get one I like.
16. I don’t believe in horoscopes or psychics, BUT I do read my horoscope daily and visit the psychics every chance I get.
17. I have a collection of homemade CDs and one of them has approximately 15 Mandy Moore songs in a row. I know every word.
18. I was a synchronized swimmer in college. Yes I was.
19. I have been told I’m like Sally from “When Harry Met Sally.” I’m the worst type of maintenance because I don’t actually think I am high maintenance. I’m just a different type of maintenance.
20. I hate surprises.
21. I love wearing bright pink lippy.
22. I used to want to go to clown school. Part of me still does.
23. I have won more than one costume contest. The best win? When I entered last minute in nothing but a bathing suit cover up and flip flops and said I was a bathing beauty.
24. I tell the funniest and most amazing pirate jokes you’ve ever heard.
25. Waking up in the mornings hurts my feelings.
26. Taking a shower is way too much effort most days.
27. All I really want to do is be a New York Times Best Selling Author.
28. If I had a real muff, I’d wear it every day. Even in the summer.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
One year ago today, I moved to a town I had no connection to, where I knew not a single soul, to work for a company I'd never heard of. I believe the Lord puts these desires in our hearts that He has every intention of fulfilling, if we’ll only listen. I had always wanted to move away and experience the fullness of life away from home, and a year ago, I did just that. The past year I've experienced nothing less than God's protection, God's patience and mercy and God's completely unfailing love.
I once heard Ted Haggard say that when you ignore God, He will do whatever He has to do to get you out of what you're in if it's not His will for you. I am living proof of that. You see, a few years ago, I had the earth pulled from beneath my feet. My world came crashing down around me and while I knew this event wouldn't define me forever, I can't deny that it is a part of me, a part of my history and a part of who I have become. This earth shattering event has in fact been the saving grace of my life that has led me to where I am now. As I continued really listening to God (of course, at that point, I didn’t have much choice), it became more and more apparent that it was time for me to find myself, to really learn who I am, to be on my own. I began applying for jobs all over the country. Only, I didn't apply for this job. A recruiter picked up my resume and submitted it. During my interview, they told me the job was actually closed but then they received my resume, and then they hired me. It was literally one month from the time I had sent out my resume until the time I had turned in my two weeks and was packing up my life. One year ago today, my dad, sister, brother and mom and I packed my life into a U-Haul. It’s a strange feeling packing up your life like that, seeing every material possession you deem important packed like sardines until you slam the door of the truck. I was ready for a change (though I’m not sure I will ever be ready to be a big girl with responsibilities…it’s hard being a big girl). I was ready for adventure. I was ready for my life. I arrived in Florida with an open heart, excited and nervous. My condo was perfection – the only one I had looked at “just in case” I got the job. One sunset over the palm trees, and the salt air on my skin, and I knew my spirit was going to be restored in this place.
I didn't really know what to expect out of this new life of mine. I've always been outgoing and been able to talk to strangers (they really do have the best candy), but I also was well aware of the fact that it's hard to make friends, especially the older you get. But, the Lord had it all orchestrated before I even got here. Through an old work connection, I found my second family, a group of people who welcomed me completely into their homes and lives and without whom I never could have made it down here alone. Whether I'm lonely, homesick, having surgery or just plain happy, their house is a house I go to for rejuvenation and love. I could never express enough my gratitude or admiration for this family. I prayed I would find a church where I could get involved and be surrounded with others who shared similar beliefs and once again, the Lord did not fail me. He called me to the most incredible church I've ever known that meets me over and over right where I am, without judgment or reservation. I've always believed relationships matter, and the relationships I've developed the past year are ones that I will carry in my heart forever, no matter where this life takes us. I could go on and on about the loves I've discovered down here, but I'd rather hold those close to my heart where they belong.
I've grown so much as a person in the past year. My mom said the first time she and dad came to visit me that she was able to see how happy I was down here. And I have been utterly happy. Sure, I've had some drama -- I AM Merdeezy after all -- but I can say without a doubt that the past 365 days have honestly been the happiest of my 27 years. I've found a niche here in Florida that I'm not sure I could ever replace. It didn't take me long to realize that to me, true contentment is sitting on my back porch, breathing in the ocean and salt air. I've learned to bask in the warmth of the heavenly love that is Florida sunshine. I've discovered how much my Southern-ness really means to me. I've become an even bigger fan of my family. I've learned not only what I want, but what I need, and what I'm willing to negotiate on (and it's not much). While I've always known I was treasured and loved, the past year has taught me how to treasure myself as a daughter of the King.
I don't know what's going to happen in the next year, or even the next six months. I don't know that I will be here forever (as Eric Church says, "carolina, you keep calling me home"). But I do know that the decision I made to break away from the comfort I knew in North Carolina was the best decision I've ever made. Every girl should be as blessed as I have been in this life and every girl should be able to say she's the leading lady of her own life. I highly recommend it.
The Lord your God is with you. He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you. He will quiet you with His love. He will rejoice over you with singing. ~Zephaniah 3:17
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
When I was in 10th grade, it became apparent I needed spectacles. At this point, needing glasses was similar to needing braces in middle school: everyone wanted them. I guess they made you cool? And we all know, in high school, I was the very definition of cool. So I strained and strained until my eyeballs couldn’t take it anymore and I had to get glasses. I was forced to look cool. And smart. Similar to a sexay librarian was I. Always wanting to save money, my mom took me to this place in the ghetto (really, it may or may not have been the ghetto then, but it is definitely the ghetto now) and told me I had to find my glasses there. Everything in the store was $30, lens, frames, the whole shebang. This glasses place was famous because everything in their store was 30 green daddies. Now, when you’re in 10th grade and you’re income depends on lifeguarding and being the janitor at your dad’s law firm, you don’t want to spend your own money, so you take what you can get. But, when you’re in 10th grade, and everyone says “ohhh you’re dad is a LAWYER” to you, you tend to assume that 30 bucks isn’t going to break your parents’ bank account. Things like this didn’t matter to my parents though. If I needed glasses (which I did. It wasn’t like I was making this crap up), then I had to get them at this 30 dollar bill place. Please keep in mind that this rule only applied to me, not my sister or brother (granted, they didn’t need glasses) and definitely not my parents, since it was THEIR money. This place was in the middle of a strip mall that included a discount bargain shop (this was before the dollar store because popular), a clothing store for kids, and a little caeser’s pizza place. This strip mall had all the makings for a disaster written all over it. I don’t think I’ve ever really been embarrassed by my parents other than the time my mom cut my hair crooked and offered to pay me a dollar if I told everyone I did it (I did not accept her offer and was happy to throw her under the bus when people asked me what was up with my hairdo). So, we go to the glasses store after school one day to get my new shades. I really wanted a pair of tortoise shell glasses, but at this place, it was slim pickins. And because I was only allowed to spend THIRTY dollars on my glasses, I had to take what I could find. I found a pair of perfectly round, larger than john lennon black glasses. What I was thinking, nobody knows, including myself. We plunk down thirty bucks only to find out that it takes TWO WEEKS for the glasses to come in. No wonder it’s so cheap. I guess they order the frames directly from China and pay the minimum shipping they can get away with to actually have them shipped. Who cares that I couldn’t see a thing right then, because it would be another 2 weeks before I could see again, and really, what is two weeks? But, because we were apparently destitute and my eyesight was the least of our woes, I had to oblige and be ok with this two week turnaround.
Sadly, I still say pizza pizza every time I see a pizza. I prefer to say it when wearing my designer spectacles purchased with my own dimes. And my folks? They just laugh and say they don’t remember this stuff. Of course not. Bullies never remember the pranks they pull.
1. Buying clothes from the junior section (except when needing something SEXAY to wear when finding my husband…see item 4)
2. Forgetting her parents’ birthdays (yeah, but by the time you’re 30, your parents are probably pretty much forgetting their own birthdays, so I’m golden).
3. Making out with her BFFs at bars for attention (this has never been an issue for me, so I am glad to have one less thing to change about myself when I turn 30).
4. Making out with her boyfriend at bars for attention (who does it for attention? I just prefer making out in bars because it’s dark and you can’t hear anything anyway. And really, who wants to TALK to someone anymore. AND, there’s a chance he could be my husband, so I need to maximize my time).
5. Filling her bed with stuffed animals (really, even one is too many…but pillows are not an issue).
6. Carrying a torch for anyone she hasn’t seen in the last five years (I wouldn’t call it a torch…more like a pitchfork…).
7. Rebelling against her parents for the sake of rebelling against her parents (I was apparently very ugly in middle school, so I guess it’s safe to say I got this out of my system)
8. Declaring an entire gender “all jerks.” (why would anyone do this? It’s only half true. the actual statement should be that an entire gender is a jerk but that only some are jerkier than others.)
9. Holding a grudge against anyone who wronged her in high school (I’ve never held a grudge. I just have the X LIST and if you’re on it, then you deserve to be on it, and you more than likely deserve what comes to you).
10. Skipping regular gyno exams. (I have nothing to say about this one because I do believe in being healthy).
11. Going to bed without washing and moisturizing her face (sometimes, after making out at the bar all night, it’s too much effort to take my face off).
12. Being “that person” who had a bit too much to drink at the office party (well, my other choice is to be the person who doesn’t have too much to drink, and no one wants to be a lonely rider, so, sorry).
13. Crushing on Justin Bieber (Justin Bieber will be 18 in two years, so when I’m 30, I won’t have to stop crushing on him. Because we’ll be married by then. And in love. And our makeout seshs will have moved from the bar to the backseat of a Honda so bite me).
14. Thinking she’s got it all figured out (sorry, not gonna change. No matter how old I am).
15. Calling her father “daddy.” (except I’m southern, so I get a pass)
16. Engaging in sibling rivalry (nope. While I understand how this would be ideal, and make you a lot more grown up, there will always be conflict amongst my siblings until they just accept defeat and admit that I am the winningnest of all children).
17. Trying to get by on her looks (yeah, I’m going to try to get by on my looks for as long as possible. And anyone who says they won’t continue to do this is a liar).
18. Living paycheck to paycheck (this would be ideal but we all need some RISK in our lives).
19. Expecting a man/knight in shining armor to swoop in and save her (If I’m still single when I’m 30, I’m giving up on love and holding out for money. And probably if a knight is wearing SHINING armor, then there’s a good chance he has some moolah in his bread box…so I guess this is one more that will not change at my birthday).
20. Aimlessly jumping from job to job (why not? If I can keep landing them, I will keep jumping. Keeps things interesting as I climb the corporate ladder while holding out for Justin Bieber in shining armor).
21. Using MySpace to pick up guys. (or, in my case, facebook...and i fully intend to keep poking random strangers when i'm 30)
22. Expecting a man to do all the wooing (well. I guess I won’t be finding my husband at the bar afterall since I don’t want to be the chaser. I want to be tagged, you're THE ONE!).
23. Wishing she had someone else’s life. (this won't be a problem since i wish for all of you to have MY life).
24. Expecting everyone to drop everything because it’s her birthday ... (hmm…as the years go by, I have developed more and more of an obsession about my birthday, so I fully intend for everyone to continue dropping everything for my bizdiddy!)
25. ... or because her “boyfriend” of two weeks dumped her…(well, lucky for me, since based on this list, I’m clearly destined to be single forever, we won’t have to worry about you all not dropping everything because I got dumped. You can just drop everything because i said so)
26. Measuring her self-worth by a number on the scale (I will measure it by the rock I expect on my hand when I hold out for money).
27. Being cheap. (noted).
28. Quitting a job without having a new one lined up first (especially in this economy!).
29. Blaming her mother for all her issues. (I don’t blame my mother for everything, but I suspect she will continue to come in handy when I want to get out of doing something. I mean, when you’re 30, you’re mom can still tell you that you aren’t allowed to go places, right?)
30. Romanticizing her 20s. (I will only do this if my 30’s prove to be more romantic, which won’t be hard since not one guy of my 20’s has proven to be the hero of a Nicholas sparks’ novel yet)
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
–noun Slang .
a person who appears to be in his or her own world or out of touch with reality.
Somewhere along the way, my brother informed me that there was life on Mars. I’ve always been interested in space exploration so learning that there was indeed life on Mars was HUGE for me. I couldn’t stop thinking of these people and what their daily lives consisted of. One night at dinner (approximately 3 years ago…So, this makes me about 25 years old), my dad shared with us some news regarding the quest for life on Mars. Utterly confused (why did I have this knowledge and no one else did?), I informed my family that life had already been discovered on Mars. Already under the impression that I was a space cadet (thanks to a conversation where my dad pointed out the space shuttle in the sky, I said it was already there, he asked where and I said “the moon.” To which he laughed and laughed, told me they haven’t been back to the moon since the early 70’s and then called me a space cadet, but a confident one at that…thanks, dad. Make me feel like 1 million dollars), my dad asked how I knew there was life on Mars. It’s not my fault my family is a bunch of stupids and has no idea what NASA has been doing all these years. I decided to let them in on a little secret: The people who live on Mars are called Martians. Dad asked how I knew Martians existed and I said because they make pottery and throw their bowls at Earth. I mean, that IS where moon rocks and space trash come from. My entire family just looked at me and shook their heads before laughing hysterically. Personally, I don’t know what is so funny about this theory. If you think about it, it makes perfect sense. Martians live on Mars and make pottery, just like we have some humans on Earth that are potters. People need to get over it and realize that maybe they are the stupids who don’t know a thing about space exploration.
This summer, Eli and I went to Kennedy Space Center to play one day. We ate space dots, talked to a real astronaut, and watched a movie about walking on the moon. I learned that the next shuttle launch is on my birthday. This is very exciting because I’ve always wanted to go to the moon, and my chances of successfully sneaking onto the shuttle increase dramatically if I’m actually there. I’ve got the perfect outfit too. See, about 2 years ago, my friend Emily and I were shopping in Palm Springs, CA on what is considered “the Rodeo Dr. of the Desert” and I came upon the most exquisite and beautiful coat I had ever laid eyes upon. It was white, pouffy and had a gigantic wrap around collar. it smushed down into a little box and then pouffed right back up when left without compression. It was without a doubt THE most fantastic thing I had ever beheld and I absolutely had to have it. I purchased it, knowing everyone I knew in America was secretly jealous that I had this hot commodity and they did not. Well, I may or may not have been wrong in my assumptions. I’ve never been hated on as much as I have been hated on when I have shown that coat off. The general consensus is that I look like a space marshmallow (and don’t worry about space marshmallows not being real. Apparently that doesn’t matter when someone is insisting you have an ug coat on your back and look like a space marshmallow). THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A SPACE MARSHMALLOW PEOPLE! but have no fear. all the jeaousy hating in the world can't hold me down when i put this little number on my back.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The first time I tried to strip, I failed miserably. Not only did I sweat profusely in my apartment, but when I tried to take my jacket off, I fell. That was all it took for me to pack up shop and declare I would never be a stripper again! When I moved back in with my parents, I took up pole dancing. I only went to 4 or 5 classes, but look, pole dancing is freaking hard and it's no wonder strippers have abs of steal. Clearly, if you saw me, you would know that I am no more cut out to be a pole dancer than I am a stripper with no jacket.
While looking for ways to burn at least as many calories as I stuffed in my face today, I remembered I had the aforementioned DVD. I'm an avid runner, yogi, swimmer and weight lifter, so there's no reason why I shouldn't be able to conquer this stripping thing once and for all. So, after a chug of water, and a few "you're a hot vat of burning love" and "you're a sexay machine" to myself in the mirror, I decided to give it a whirl.
This time, I made it through the stretching, managed to take my jacket off (hollaaa! sexay has arrived!!), and onto the next routine. About halfway through the second routine, you have to really shake your hineymo. Carmen even says something about the more dramatic it is, the sexier it is. Ever the drama queen, I shook my hineymo so hard it's a wonder I even have a hineymo anymore. I also managed to watch myself in the window pane, and I'm not really sure I would call what was happening in my living room sexay. After shaking it left, shaking it right and shaking it all around, you have to walk slow, then fast, then turn around, all the while being sexay by running your hands up your torso and through your hairs. Forget being sexay, I was so busy trying not to be dizzay that I found myself tripping over my feet. The real kick back to reality was when the routine calls for you to smack your hineymo, squat down (don't forget to rub your legs on the way down), and come back up (still rubbing your legs) and smack your hineymo again, only this time on the other side.
Now, if you're like me (which hopefully you're not, because that means you have absolutely zero chance of being a stripper either), your legs are so sweaty that when you rub your legs while squatting, it's hard to maintain control. On the way back up, you're more concerned with drying your hands on your shorts than you are with rubbing your legs on your way back to your hineymo. Luckily, I didn't make it though this too many times. I had the shakes so bad, I almost felt like a stripper (only, I'm pretty sure our reasons for the shakes are different). My legs were shaking, and sweating, my hineymo was red and hurt from spanking myself, my palms were clammy, my stomach hurt from doing a sexay stomach roll, and my head still hurts and has whip lash from shaking it all around. Not to mention there's a fabulous chance my back is broken in at least two places from my fall.
I'm afraid that stripping may have conquered me yet again. I subsequently feel really badly about myself now that I know I am not a stripper by nature. I love shakin my tailfeathers, but I might need to keep my feathers on from here on out. I really hope this doesn't cause problems for me at the nudist colony dance off next month.
Friday, September 24, 2010
A few years ago, despite all of the aforementioned facts, I decided to purchase this little red race car. Now My little red race car was just what I needed at the time. My car was breaking down and my emotional breakdowns were getting worse with each call home to my dad to come help me. Dad and I went shopping (he was ONLY there for a good deal…we all know how I would have gotten taken advantage of) and when I laid eyes upon that beauty, I had to have her. And so it was. But loving her hasn’t come easy. She drove herself into a wall 4 days after I got her (I told her to stop looking at hotties in the rearview mirror), she got rear ended at a red light (karma’s a bitch when your car is a hoochie), and she tried to commit suicide by throwing herself into a ditch and having to be towed out by a Chinese angel. So, as it is with the time I got kidnapped, we’re lucky she’s alive.
If there is one thing I have a real problem with (and I only have ONE problem), it’s traffic cops. When I evaluate why I am so mad about traffic cops, it really boils down to the fact that I don’t feel like I deserve tickets. Ever. I know a lot of people who do. But not me. A few weeks ago, I drove with Natalie to Miami. We stopped in West Palm Beach to pick Deb up who had flown in for the weekend from NYC. Natalie and I had gotten a late start but we felt badly confessing this to Deb as she was laying on a bench in the airport people watching. At 11 o’clock at night. Because it was late, and we were still far away, I decided to pull out one of the trustier tricks I keep in my back pocket. BRIGHT LIGHTS FOR ALL. I realize most drunkards drive with their brights on to see the popo. While I do not condone drunk driving, I do have to admit that they make a good case for driving with your brights on. I’ve been driving with my brights on for years. My lead foot just always seems to get caught on the switch when I put it in the car. Bright lights to spot the popo and 20 miles over the speed limit and I was golden. We turned Mandy Moore up as loud as she could go (oh hey, you take what you can get when your ipod is broken) and made our way to the airport. Only, we got stopped. By something called a dual stalker radar. Personally that name is offensive. I don’t need ANY stalkers, but definitely not multiple stalkers. After some smiling, and some cooing, the officer gave me a ticket for 9 over and told me to slow down. Not to let a ticket ruin our fun, we turned up Billy Ocean’s Get Out of My Car and pulled in to pick Deb up. She was welcomed with the dance you see in the picture. By this point I’m pretty sure it was 1 am. Poor Deb had been laid up on a bench for 3 hours, and Natalie and I on the side of the road. Talk about the start to a great weekend!
Well, I am proud to say that 131 buckaroos, and a traffic class online later, I am cleared for safe driving again. When you take traffic school online, you can let it play it the background while you clean your bathroom, make your dinner, change the cat litter and talk on the phone. Then you get SIX tries to pass the test. I only know this because I failed it 3 times and each time it gave me one less try. AND, because I attended this funny and catchy traffic school, I get free tickets to a stand-up comedy show. In Palm Beach County. I’ve got plans that night but I bet if I time it JUST RIGHT, I can do both. I mean, it didn’t take me that long to get to Palm Beach the last time. Anyone wanna ride wit me?