Saturday, December 24, 2011

Live nativity

Mom told me today that their church had to give up on the live nativity they were supposed to do. She said she guesses no one signed up. But let's face it. What's the point? Live nativities are kind of boring. You're supposed to stand around, being alive, not moving? And what about the people who come to watch you. They're supposed to stand around watching a bunch of live people standing around?

I say let's make it a dead nativity. I bet more people would be happy to sign up to look at the zombies standing around.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

I learned how to screen shot (thanks to you)

excellent stocking stuffer idea

can we talk about something? Can we puhlease talk about Flashing Janet?

why have I never heard of this doll until now? Better yet, why hasn't anyone ever given me this doll? And even further, why did I have to go to book club to learn about her existence?

I can't stop thinking about her. She begins her dance upon a whistle (or any sound for that matter, which is great since I can't whistle). Her dance is called the "horizontal vertical shuffle" and sounds eerily like a portion of my 12 seconds with a white girl dance. Her theme song is "I wanna be loved by you." I suppose the good news is that her wardrobe malfunction is her tube top dropping like it's hot and not her romper splitting up the hiney.

As it turns out, I have a lot in common with Flashing Janet.

boo boo bee doodily dum.

Monday, December 19, 2011

trans siberian orchestra

y'all. have you ever been to this? have you ever heard of this? have you ever really experienced all that is the trans siberian orchestra?

let me just tell you.

i knew i didn't like their music. it didn't occur to me that i may not like the show. i mean, i don't care for the gorillaz really but their show was amaze.

Sunday night, Evan txted me to tell me he had two extra box seats if I wanted them. it was 7p and the show started at 7:30. i immediately faced an great internal battle. i love sitting in a box. But I also love sitting in my gym clothes with my gym hair and watching the real housewives. But I figured I should go. I mean Home Alone is one of my favorite movies of all time. So I blew Nikki's phone up until she responded and at exactly 720 I picked her up. I gotta admit. I was a little nervous. We were going to be sitting next to Rod Brind'amour's box and we all know how much I love him. And I hadn't washed my hair. I just wasn't feeling confident that my fancy headband was going to cut it this time.

Little did I know how glad I was going to that I didn't wash my hair.

Nikki and I arrived, hit up Evan at the bar for some spirits, and the show began. Almost immediately we looked at each other and said "what the f%$!" Where were we. What were we listening to? We looked down at the masses, all swaying in unison to the music and really thinking the light show was awesome. It was during our discussions of why they would be singing about Russia if they weren't Russian that it dawned on us how we were the odd ones out. We were the ones with the problem for thinking this show was lame. We decided it was time to get the hell out of there. We made our way back to the bar, imbibed a bit more, and blew that joint.

It was quite obvious that neither one of us knew exactly what we were getting ourselves into, especially since until the show began (and possibly even until the third song) we were under the impression we were seeing Mannheim Steamroller (which would explain why we were dressed up and everyone else was in jeans).

All I know if thank God I didn't wash my hair. Thank God the tickets were free. And like Nikki said, thank God we weren't epileptic because we probably would have had to be taken out on stretchers.


(I thought I posted this. Turns out I really only hit the save button. So, here you go)

This morning my mom told me instead of complaining about how crazy I feel I'm going at work right now (it's hard not to have my crazy turned up a notch at end of quarter), I should be grateful. Grateful that people rely on me. Depend on me. Expect things of me.

I guess my mother has a point.

It's the season of thanksgiving and it's too easy to get caught up in the humdrum of daily life. Sure, I give praises of thanksgiving - who doesn't when they get something they really want (or say, win the lottery)? But how often do we really contemplate the things for which we are grateful? And I don't mean saying thank you to the girl at the McDonalds drive thru when she gives you exactly what you ordered. I know I don't show true gratitude and appreciation the way I should, especially for the little things that make my cozy little life extra enjoyable. Don't get me wrong. I need to be more grateful for the big things in my life. But the little things, the ones that often get overlooked, need some appreciation too.

So today, I am extraordinarily grateful for $5 yoga classes.
A job where I can dress like I'm 15 and not get sent home (yes. I have been sent home before because of my outfit of choice).
Barbara the Barbarian.
My little red volvo.
A secret pen pal.
Bojangles for every day I want to eat my feelings.
Hearing aides.
Pocket Bible.
Pocket Constitution.
Pockets in general.
Fascinating conversations with my new preacher friend who I am convinced I want to be just like when I grow up.
Gelato pie.
Upcoming adventures.
Fingernail polish.
Picture Calendars.
Homemade cds.
Scarves and gloves.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

christmas shopping with lee

The other day I received an email from Lee, asking what I wanted for Christmas. Lee has always been a thoughtful gift giver. So I emailed back and said:

I'd like a gift card to ulta so I can buy Jessica Simpson's new perfume, I Fancy You. Or, a gift card to DSW so I can get some new work shoes. Or, a gift card to Ann Taylor or Banana is always welcome.

His response:

Well you're definitely getting a gift card. I just don't think they sell any of those at Harris Teeter so we'll see what happens.

If he's shopping at Harris Teeter for gifts already, does that mean next year it's the gas station?

Monday, December 12, 2011

texts with emily

Dec. 11, 2011 4:37 PM

Merdeezy: I am in the process of housing the leftover pizza. The entire thing.
Enchanted Dumplings: Well I just finished eating a chocolate Christmas present I got for someone else.
Merdeezy: It better not have been my present.
Enchanted Dumplings: No comment. But I have reached a new low.
Merdeezy: Dammit. I wish I knew how to make a screen shot like that texts from bennett kid. You know how I know it's the day after a great party?
Enchanted Dumplings: You know how I know? I listen to Coldplay while eating Christmas presents.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Christmas Card Fail

So, if you see the below card you will see it is signed "The Robertson Family." I thought this was strange. I mean, here's the deal. Just because I don't have a wedding or a baby to send Christmas cards about doesn't mean I shouldn't send out Christmas cards. So, last year I started the tradition of sending out cards full of pictures of me for your fridge. However, this year, I found it a bit awkward that I couldn't remove "the family" signature block. I love the card. But I do not love having to sign it the family.

But, I am giddy to announce that my awkwardness on the Christmas card has officially been surpassed by my friend Bridgette. Now, I don't know too many new wives that don't get excited about the first married Christmas tree, the first married Christmas card, the first married Christmas Day, etc. Shoot, I know when I get hitched I am sending out Christmas cards the size of a science fair project board. Since Bridgette recently married Ryan, she obviously has a lot to put on a Christmas card. Only, she forgot to remove the generic family language from the card (at least she had the option to remove it) and didn't realize it until she had paid - and the cards had shipped.

The Ryan and Bridgette Blair Christmas 2011 card is affectionately signed "Allison, Albert and Anna Hutchinson."

I absolutely cannot wait to see these cards.

Merry Christmas from The Family

Pictures Everywhere Christmas Card
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View the entire collection of cards.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

hello? meredith?

I took the day off work yesterday. I didn't tell any of my sales reps I was doing it either. I just put up an out of office and forwarded my calls to my cell (with absolutely no intention of actually answering any of the calls).

My mom called me at one point to tell me someone named Bill had called her. Bill? Why was he calling her? She said she didn't know, that he was just as surprised as she was. Apparently, both were very confused and when he said he was trying to reach me, she said "well this is her mother." can you even imagine?

I cried I was laughing so hard. Poor guy. Tried to call me and somehow dialed my mother? How did this even happen. He must have dialed the number wrong. I mean, her number is only 1 digit off of mine.

This morning a group of my reps called me on speaker phone to discuss how my mother got involved. Bill claims he called my work number and I must have forwarded it to her number. I denied it.

But then I started thinking about it. Remember when I called the cat lady about giving Pete a hairdo? Yes my friends, based on past history, I'd say there's a good chance I forwarded all of my work calls to my MOM's cell phone before peacing out for vacay.

oops. For the record. I'm still laughing.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Teaching Barb to talk

Tinsley's nap

What did you do today while your baby was napping? Because this is what we did while ours was deep in a milk drunk slumber.


someone named anonymous keeps commenting on Lee's blog. Some of the comments are sweet. Some are funny. Some are just plain mean. The worst part is that Anonymous clearly never won the spelling bee. The best part is that Lee responds to Anonymous.

I wish I had a friend named Anonymous. Mainly because I lurve bobby valentino. And in the words only he can make sound romantic when describing his anonoymous,

I wanna know, I wanna know
Your name, Your name, Your name
Why you gotta be anonymous?
I gotta know, I gotta know
Your name, Your name, Your name
Why you gotta be anonymous?

actually, i am a white girl

Lee brought to my attention this blog post that was brought to his attention (I'm sure by a white girl). And, since I actually AM a white girl, I'd like to expound upon these theories.

1. Take pictures of their feet. Yes. This is true. Although I am a white girl, I've never really understood this picture taking scheme, but since I don't like to be left out, I always participate. I have no less than 74 of these pictures on my hard drive. Yes. I counted.

This is what our feet look like!

2. Express their extreme annoyance at this work day today and hint that it deserves a much needed alcoholic beverage at the end of it. WINK WINK. Now. I know the following to be true. I am a white girl. I get awfully annoyed at the work day. And I enjoy a good bevey. But if I were to post on facebook about my desire for a bevey every time I felt the urge, my mother (also a white girl) would be convinced I was an alcoholic and that would be the end of me. And my beveys.

3. Thank their hubby for being the best hubby in the world while their hubby is sitting right next to them. If I were to have a hubby, I would be hard pressed not to thank him for being the best hubby in the whole world. I mean hello. Clearly he will be THE best hubby in the whole world. Otherwise, this white girl will remain single for all eternity. Because this white girl only has the best.

4. Complain about bad service at restaurants. “Never eating at Applebee’s AGAIN!” I am pretty sure this white girl has engaged in this activity (but not over Applebees. I already know you shouldn't eat there). Usually I incorporate this point along with bullet point 10 and with telling everyone verbally what I think of a particular establishment. You should try it. It leads to great things like vino on the house, gift cards, and apologies. But only if it's serious. This white girl has no problem letting your establishment know she hates your guts because of your bad service.

5. Express their extreme excitement to see their best friends tonight, Brintney, Whitney, and Sarah!!! Love YOU GIRLS!! This white girl is about to do this RIGHT now. I am off from work today to Christmas shop with Kristin and Lisa. And I am EXCITED.

6. Take pictures wearing a lot of makeup and looking really preppy while simultaneously making a “hard” facial expression and holding up what they consider to be a gangster sign. Potential caption: ‘Straight thuggin.’ Here's my thing. What white girl doesn't want to be a straight g? Not this one, that's for shizzle. Some of my best portraiture is from my nights rolling deep, making it rain. (ps while the girls in the pic below are white girls, they are clearly not me so please don't get all confused thinking the deeze had gone Heidi Montag on you).

We're hard!!!

7. Take pictures of undeserving food. I only take pictures of deserving food. I have lots of creations I like to post. It's a secret ploy to get boys to think I am a great cook and would subsequently make a great house wife. So then they will marry me and I can post it all over facebook about what a great hubby I have. The best in the whole wide universe.

I effing love oatmeal!!! Mmmmmmm.

8. Make their status the song lyrics of any Kings of Leon Song. I'm not a big Kings of Leon fan but I do often consider silently stabbing someone with lyrics from Richard Marx. I mean, have you ever really listened to Endless Summer Nights or Should Have Known Better? Geeze I have some people those lyrics could silently stab in a heart beat. If they were my facebook friend, of course.

9. Take a picture of someone they deem inferior to themselves in some way with the question: Really? I do this often. Maybe I deem too many peeps inferior to myself. Or maybe I am just a b and like to make fun. But I will not apologize for taking pics of serious people wearing fanny packs, business men with mullets, or people who need to shave their hiney cracks.

10. Write angry letters to companies (Dear EZ PARK, I hate you!), unorganized groups of people (Dear slutty freshmen who think that leggings can be worn as pants..), and non-entities (Dear unseasonably cold weather, WTF?!) I did this to the laundry down the street. And I really want to do it to Occupy Raleigh. I drove by yesterday and yelled to them that perhaps they should think about occupying a job. Maybe I should post it on facebook. I know that will get my point across.

11. Subtly yell at no one in particular while being very specific. “Wow, it’s hard to believe that you think you know someone and then they turn around and STAB YOU IN THE BACK. Will never make that mistake again. EVER.” HA! White girl just did this THIS week. Do you think they got it? Do you think they know I was talking to them?

12. Document exceedingly mundane activites for the day. “Getting my oil changed today. Then getting much needed groceries. Then it’s off to the post office to mail some bills. Then stopping by the gyno. Will probably need some gas by the end, so I may stop at the gas station. But I might be tired so I’ll probably just get it in the morning on my way to pick up a prescription. But if I’m not very tired I’ll probably just get the gas on the way home. Again, unless I am tired.” I think this is dumb. Facebook is funny and shouldn't be taken so seriously that you update your every move. That's what twitter is for and precisely why I do not understand or care to tweeting.

13. Express their distaste for facebook on facebook and threaten to leave facebook to their facebook friends. I do enjoy the good ole facebook deactivate from time to time. You know how you know who your real friends are? Deactivate facebook and see who notices when you come back. Your REAL friends will be the first people to post on your wall.

14. Ask seemingly rhetorical questions. “It’s cool to do a bunch of meth and babysit 20 six year olds, right?” Every white girl should know it's cool to do meth and babysit at the same time. You know the Babysitters Club wasn't successful because those white girls were patient and awesome on their own.

15. Write a status in another language. Parce que, Je suis tres intelligente!! Yep. This white girl is known to do a french status from time to time (I speak french sometimes). I would advise all other white girls out there that if you want to make a status in another language, google translate is pretty good (but nothing is as good as what Bable fish used to be). But the best option is to have a friend who is a native speaker of that language to help you. I have some friends I rely on for this purpose that I am happy to share with you.


Mary. A white girl on facebook, guilty of most of these things.

**My friend Matt Damon (aka Kaitlin) collaborated on the trends of facebook with me. A much more detailed version will be in our book we’re writing. Which will be published….one day…

Monday, December 5, 2011

never the less (anyway)

Today I received this blog in my Inbox. Isn't it funny how sometimes, just when you are about to lose your mind, you get a second wind? like a do over. i needed to be slapped around. lately, i've been feeling very unappreciated. i've felt left out of some friends lives. i've felt beat down at work. i've just been...blah.

i realized today that at some point, i was going to have to get over it. i was going to have to accept that some things were just going to be this way. friends are going to change. no one is going to appreciate me the way i feel i should be appreciated. but it doesn't just stop at acceptance. i was also going to have to embrace it. embrace this attitude. otherwise, i'd stay in a bad mood. and i don't want to be in a bad mood.

and then I was reminded that even when I feel unappreciated, I needed to nevertheless [continue] to serve God wholeheartedly. My reward comes from the Lord, and He sees, and He knows, and that’s enough.

he sees. he knows.

and that is more than enough.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

funniest blog ever

i know if i told you there was a blog out there funnier than mine, you would tell me i am a false truth teller. i know it's hard to imagine. but my friends, there is.

I wish my cousins were this awesome.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

The fat lady should not sing

unlike her mother, Barbara does not appreciate all the fine things the opera has to offer.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

you sprayed my front twice!

Carey and I went to the tanning bed last night to use our Groupons for spray tans. now. If you know me, you know that I love a good spray tan. You know that I firmly believe if you cannot tone it, you should tan it.

If you've never been in one of these, you should probably be made aware that it's like a car wash for your bod. Mystic Tan used to spray you 30 seconds on the front and 30 seconds on the back and you were lucky if you got any spray in your in between areas. These days, Mystic is out and Versa is in (does anyone remember the Real World when they had to run a Mystic Tan booth? I was jealous of them that season). Versa is similar to Mystic except that it does 4 rotations of 10 seconds each and then 4 rotations of cold air to dry you off. No patting your nakey, tan bod down afterward, thus reducing the risk of streaks and splotches. Unless of course, you're Merdeezy.

See, last night, I may have been on drugs. I'm not really sure what my problem was. But I was seriously acting like I had never been in one of these before. Not only did I show up not freshly bathed OR without a full leftover face from work, but I missed one of my rotations. As you are aware, I am hard of hearing in one ear. It just so happens to be the ear that is always next to the speaker. And like a car wash, it's not like this spray tan comes at you silently. It comes at you full force. Like, you know it's happening when it's happening. So anyway. They have this posted hanging on the wall that you can peek at in between sprays, if you dare. Round 1 went well. Round 2 went just as well as round 1 since I didn't exactly move. Round 3 was fine, and round 4 was fine. I think. I'm not exactly sure I did any of the rounds correctly since I couldn't see, couldn't hear and couldn't breathe. By the time I got out of my 1 minute of spray (40 seconds spray, 20 seconds drying), I.was.exhausted.

You would have never known I was a synchronized swimmer in college since I was gasping for air when I fell out of the booth. Holding your breath for TEN seconds whilst standing upright having colored spray shoot at you (this sounds gross) is a lot harder than one would think. I also got nervous because I was still dripping. And I should not have been. My front was full on dripping from excess spray tan. So there, in all my nakey glory, I had a great internal battle. Did I pat myself dry with the provided towel and risk splotches? Or did I just shimmy around in hopes of air drying working at the speed of lightining? So I did what anyone would do in that sitch. I shimmed while patting. Then I put my clothes on, went back out and waited while Carey got her tan on.

The thing about these spray tans though is that you have to play the waiting game. It doesn't usually kick in for a good six hours. I always get so excited to see what I look like when I wake up...

If you think I may have turned out like Ross when he got his front sprayed twice, then you'd be pretty close to correct.

Have you ever tried to be serious when you look like you've been playing in the mud? I bet not. Because most people don't play in the mud before coming to work.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Birthdizzy Recap One

My 29th Birthdizzy came and went with only a few hiccups. I mean, let's face it. When do I ever not have the hiccups? The celebrations started with some emails flying around about what Nikki, Katie and I were going to do to celebrate. It was decided we would visit the Aviator Brewery and then finish the night off with a corn maze (thereby staying away from all the hoe bags downtown celebrating Halloween). I think it's important to note here that we all made fun of, more than once, the people who got lost in the corn maze and called the police. I'm pretty sure the thought "who gets lost in a corn maze? we can gps our way outta that shit" was shared by all. in writing. I think it's also important to note that it took us a good hour and a half to get to a brewery 35 minutes away. No one really knew where we were going, and I, the resident non beer drinker, was the driver. My only saving grace is that I have FL plates still, so people are a little more understanding when I cut them off. Everyone knows people from FL can't drive anyway. Nikki had one set of directions, I had another and Katie just sat in the back laughing. We managed to pass a building with the Aviator sign on the outside, so we stopped, went inside and walked right out the other door. We looked pretty dumb since this was clearly NOT the brewery and we were discussing the brew tour as we walked in one door and right out the other (kind of like selective hearing. only not). After driving aimlessly around the outskirts of Raleigh, we finally found the brewery. Now, don't let these two fool you. Oh sure, they're both real cute and real funny. But they are sneaky. I mean, I'm still trying to figure out how they convinced me to go to a brewery for approximately 3 hours. I don't even drink beer! But I cannot tell a lie. I sampled the fall beer, and although it took me the same amount of time to drink 1 beer that it took them to drink 37, it wasn't all that bad. Plus, we did actually do the brewery tour and I learned just how scientific the beer making process is (and just how cute the brew master is). Also, please note my pretty pink coat. It didn't take long before I had plopped my arm down into a puddle of beer on the counter.

After the brewery, we went back up the road to the aforementioned building for supper. Whilst at the brewery, we learned that was their tap room and after 3 hours of drinking barley and oats, we were hongry. plus, we had a coupon for free fried pickles from the brewery. So off we went. We all ordered what turned out to be THE spiciest burgers of our LIVES and mac and cheese. There was live music, some cougars dancing away, and all in all a good vibe. So much so that we switched to wine. At the brewery tap house. it made sense at the time. However, I am sad to report that we didn't get to really enjoy our food and spirits because we were late. for a very important date. with the corn maze.

only, we never found the corn maze. wait. that's a false truth. we did eventually find it. but it was after it was closed. we drove around and around, through multiple counties even, looking for the stinkin corn maze, only to find it when we were headed towards the interstate on the way back home. When we did find it, they told us we were too late to go in the maze, but we were welcome to experience the haunted woods. Now. this was a DIE-lemma. We had all 3 said over email that we didn't want to be scared. but then we got there. And since we all felt like we needed to check our college diplomas to make sure we really had them, we were torn (well, Nikki and I were. Katie wasn't torn at all) on whether or not we should make the trip worth while and visit the haunted maze. I mean. Here were 3 girls who had made so much fun of the dummies who got lost in the corn maze and we couldn't even make it to the corn maze. So, shouldn't we grow a pair and visit the haunted woods? You would think this answer would come easy.

I asked them what they wanted to do. Nikki stayed silent. Katie told me she wanted to live.
I told them if we did this, I'd have to grab onto one of them. Katie told me she'd be grabbing onto herself.
Nikki listened for a minute then informed us that the haunted woods were so deep into the woods, you couldn't hear anything.
We asked strangers walking past the car if we should go. They all said yes. We were undecided. So we decided to play "what would our mothers tell us to do?" All of our mothers would have told us not to go.
Nikki remembered she had an 8 ball app on her iphone. So we asked the 8 ball if we should go. It told us it was doubtful.

So we 3 didn't go into the haunted woods. Or the corn maze. But, the night wasn't a total bust. Nikki and Katie surprised me with a singing Justin Bieber toothbrush and some cupcakes. I wish I could explain to you adequately how great the day was. I honestly don't remember when I've laughed that hard. However, I will say that I'm not sure the 8 ball was a fair judge of what we should have done. We asked it if one of us (who shall remain unnamed since I'm not sure how she feels about the topic) was going to get lucky at the rest stop the next day. It told us it was doubtful and while she didn't get lucky at the rest stop per say, she did get lucky. So, the 8 ball was wrong.

We probably should have gone into those haunted woods. Dammit.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

community is the theme

this past weekend was spent with 24 other young adults from my church in a giant house on the lake in the boonies of north cackalack. and in true, second home style, this one boasted some interesting decor, furnishings and design (not to mention the fact that the room i stayed in had 4 or 5 double beds. like an orphanage). I have supplied some images to enhance your abilities at imagining this estate. please note: i failed to snap any pics of the elevator, which is odd since i actually spent a fair amount of time in it (and yes, you can bet i shared the story of the time i got kicked out of the food elevator at the bar in charlotte).

we'll start with the bidet. everyone knows these are only found in the most luxurious of bathrooms. and since they provide gentle cleansing (seriously. please google bidet), i'm sure it got quite a workout this weekend.

now. just in case you thought luxury stops with bidets, you should probably consider thinking again. for now, luxury comes in the form of a urinal, right next to granite counter tops. and no ma'am, you are not at the rest stop in warsaw, nc.

the basement was extra curious to me, and proof that i watch too much criminal minds. in addition to the full service kitchen and billiards room that made up the basement, there was a corner room, all cinder block of course, with twin beds, a freezer and a work table. none of this sounds strange until you take a moment to really look at some of the aforementioned items:

Notice the pad lock? Obviously the only things that could be worth locking up in a cinder block room are frozen body parts. and see that door? there are two pieces of wood on the right side that swing over and latch into that piece of wood on the left. you know, so not only do you lock the door but you also barricade yourself in while you're chopping people up on the work table.

in the attic I found only a bassinet. nothing at all creepy about that.

and last, but most definitely not least, my two fave decorative items in the entire house:

a tee tiny porcelian toilet. too big for a doll house, yet not big enough for a real house. it's only practical use is to hold your cleaner wipes. and maybe a roll of toilet paper here and there. and then of course we can't forget the donkey with the giant schlong. make of that what you will.

i can't wait until i have a second home. people tell me i'm weird now. just you wait until i hit it big.

Friday, November 4, 2011

that's a bunch of baloney

I want everyone to study this picture closely. You will find the following facts to be true: my dad was the August winner at Jersey Mike's. He's holding a box of Jersey Mike's subs. And he's giving the peace sign. Now, clearly my dad is a lucky dude. Do you know how awesome I would feel if I had won lunch from Jersey Mike's? Do you know how awesome I would feel if I won anything AT ALL, ever?

But, I want to talk about this peace sign that he's holding up. At my birthdizzy dinner on Tuesday, I told him that I was ashamed to see my dad had given the peace sign. That he didn't really look like a hippie in his tie. And besides that, who even gives the peace sign anymore. He went on to tell me how the hippies stole the peace sign, that it really was Winston Churchill's sign for Victory in WW2. I said "dad. That is the universal sign for hippies and it means peace." He said "That is a bunch of baloney! It stands for Victory!"

Yes. you read that right. My dad gave the peace sign in his Jersey Mike's winner picture because Winston Churchill gave it for Victory 65 years ago. My dad wasn't even born when ole Winston was passing out his victory sign. Yet here is my dad, in 2011, passing it out again.

I consider myself smart. I mean, I know who Winston Churchill is. I understand how big of a deal the war was. But that my friends is a peace sign. There is no way around it except to say that my dad threw up the peace sign when he picked up his box o'sammies. He might as well have had a text bubble above his head that said "yo! peace in the middle east to all my homies!"

Mom felt my bewilderment because she went on to tell the story of how at a dinner party years ago, everyone had to put the name of someone famous on a sticky note and then people had to guess who they were. Dad wrote down Chesty Pulley. I said "who the heck is Chesty Pulley?" Mom said "that's what everyone at that party said. Except your way is much nicer than what they said." Dad started laughing and said "oh come on Meredith. Chesty Pulley was a famous Marine. Everyone knows that."

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the stupids club. Because I bet none of you knew who Chesty Pulley was either.

Monday, October 31, 2011

29th Year of the Deeze

Tomorrow, I turn 29. I know. How in the EFFFFF did I get so old? I may or may not have spied a gray hurr up in my do the other day. I keep reading all these things about what women can and can't do once they turn 30, which would mean I have exactly one year left to act juvenile and childish. I thought about having a birthday party to mark the beginning of what is sure to be the craziest year I've lived (you try thinking about all the things you do that you shouldn't once you become a real deal adult. You'd be overwhelmed too. And hell bent on overdosing on every activity). Remember Roger Murtaugh and how he's too old for this shit? Well, I've created my own Murtaugh List below (if I were having a party, these are the things we'd do) of some things I have read that I can no longer do once I turn 30. So, for the next year, I'm going to party like a rock star and get it ALL out of my system. You know, before I really am too old for this shit.

Merdeezy's Murtaugh List
1. crush on Justin Bieber (at least he turns 18 before I turn 30)
2. give high fives (you better take me to jail now because I am going to continue giving high fives until I am blue in the face. or my hand hurts. whichever comes first)
3. play beer pong (this is ok. but then again, when I play beer pong, I play with Mike's Hard Lemonade so I guess this rule doesn't apply to me)
4. take shots (I won't argue with this one. I wore out this welcome on my second 21st birthday)
5. drink pink panty out of a cooler (ok so it was really jungle juice but come on people! I mean, I guess it makes sense because what 60 year old have you seen on his or her knees with a straw in a cooler full or jungle juice?)
6. eat spaghetti out of a can (yep. not happening. As much as I love to cook, I'm pretty sure even when I'm 30 a can of spaghetti o's and my couch are gonna look pretty appealing for dinner after a long hard day in the cube)
7. party till 5a (why? Do the circles under my eyes get darker once I turn 30?)
8. refer to your friends as dude, girls and boys and all activities as shenanigans (hmm. guess I better go back to grammar school and learn a new vocabulary)
9. make out in bars or anywhere public for that matter (well damn. I better get busy finding my husband this next year because I don't ever want to have to tell my children that I never got to make out with their father in a bar)
10. wear dirty clothes off the floor and go to bed without washing your face (guess Trudy only has one more year before she dies)

so, for the next year, if you see me doing anything other than actin a fool, please correct me in my place. Give me a high five, compliment my dirty clothes and ask how the biebs is doing. Because for the next 365 days, I'm gonna party like it is


and then I'm going to die.

all hallows eve 2011

believe it or not, I'm not a huge trick or treater. Honestly, it's because I'm juvenile and I still get my feelings hurt when people can't celebrate my birthdizzy until they have recovered from their drunken Halloween stupors. I mean don't get me wrong. I can pull off a mean Jessica Simpson, a delicious birthday cake, a graceful syncronized swimmer and even a pretty fierce tattoo girl. This year takes the cake though. Emily said she wanted to dress up at work. I said no. She said what if we wear temporary tattoos? Oh be still my beating heart. Anyone who knows me knows I love some temporary tats. They let me fulfill my dream of having tats without regretting it a year later. With the promise of tats and a giant afro wig, I obliged.

Someone asked me was I Kat Von D on a bad hair day. Someone asked me was I Oprah (really? Oprah?). Someone told me I looked like I had cirrhosis ( last I checked I didn't really look like a giant liver walking around). And someone asked me if I was the Rocky Horror Picture Show (not just one character. the entire cast). All of these concern me. I mean, I thought I was looking pretty fly when I walked out of the hizzy that morning. Just another day with bigger hair and more flair on my appendages.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

day 2: who is someone you know who inspires beauty?

So, I admit, my Project 31 isn't going so well. I'm not doing it 31 days in a row. But maybe I never really planned to anyway. And now here I am, just on day 2 (please note that day 1 was posted exactly 24 days ago, so really, I should be almost done with this endeavor). But I really want to stick with this. Not because I lack any funny stories anymore, because I think we all know that I am still funny (right? right.) but because I think this will be good. So today, I want to share with you the beauty that is my friend Karoline.

Karoline and I met in college, when her two roommates in her triple room suggested, err, kicked her out and "suggested" she move into the adjoining single (don't feel bad. it's actually pretty funny). I saw her struggling to fix her carpet, so I offered her my box cutter (I have always been so helpful. I met Carey when she was bleeding to death and I offered her a bandaid, but this isn't about me). And the rest is history. Karoline is truly someone who inspires beauty. She is truly beautiful. She is amongst some of the most beautiful women I've ever met. Karoline is a hottie on the outside, but on the inside she possesses this beauty that I think is actually quite rare anymore. She is genuine. She is loyal. She is honest. She is passionate. She loves Jesus. And she is authentic. Karoline is someone who loves life. It'd be easy to think that Karoline has it all. And she does have it all. But that isn't to say she hasn't had hardships along the way. But the thing about Karoline that puts her apart from all the rest is how even in the midst of her struggles, she handles life with grace. Karoline has been such an encouragement to me in the past 10 years. I have learned so much about faith and what God's love really means. I have seen God move in my life because of Karoline.

Karoline is always happy to share in your joys, and is always there with an uplifting word or prayer when you cry. She is a part of so many of my fondest memories, and when I think of beauty, I think of Karoline. I am so blessed to have her in my life and so thankful for her friendship. It's nice to know that the same beautiful friend who prays with you over hot dogs also shares the same hopes and dreams you do, understands you and still loves you anyway.

(don't) save the date

Recently, somehow, someway, I found myself discussing etiquette and debating its relevancy. My opponent was quite amused to learn I had not one but multiple etiquette books. I guess I can see why this might be amusing. Especially when I compliment the chef with a belch or don't always put my hand in my lap at the supper table all the while singing at the top of my lungs. Emily Post just released a new edition of her etiquette book and I can't wait to get my hands on it. I'm curious about a few things that aren't in my etiquette books. Namely, save the dates.

Now, first, let me disclaim that I fully recognize that all of the trash I have talked about other people's weddings will come back to haunt me one day. If I ever get married, I'll probably have to have a secret wedding just so people can't judge my food or gown or music selection like I have done in the past. But one thing I know for a fact I will not do is send save the dates.

Shortly after graduation, I received a save the date in the mail for a girl that I knew but wasn't particular close with. I was actually quite surprised to get this piece of mail, but since I love mail, and was secretly excited for the new addition to my stamp collection, I decided I would take what I could get. And because I was surprised to have received a save the date, I called my good friend to inquire about whether or not she too had received a save the date. She had not but she made a good point when she asked me did I even want to save the date to this wedding. But, the thing is, part of me did want to save the date. I mean, at that point, I was attending at least a wedding a month and what was one more. Besides, only a stupid can argue against the free food and drink a wedding provides. At any rate, I knew when it came down to it, I wouldn't be and guested and I probably wouldn't go (and this was before I even really had beef with people who don't and guest their single friends), so I did not in fact save the date. It was a good thing too since the wedding came and went and I never received an invitation. It wasn't until a few months after the fact while perusing the book that I realized this information (obviously wedding pictures had been posted by this point). Upon realizing this, I called my friend up and told her it was a good thing I hadn't saved the date since I hadn't even been invited to the wedding.

We then began to it worse knowing you're on the B list by the lack of invitation in your mailbox or is it worse knowing you were on the A list and then removed as I clearly had been?

I'm not really sure. All I know is boy am I glad I didn't save that date. I would have been sorely disappointed had I stood up myself for a wedding.

Friday, October 21, 2011

cupcake fail

guess who got fired from the cupcake shop? if you guessed Eli then you deserve a prize. I can't say that I've ever been fired from a job, so I thoroughly enjoyed asking her what it was like to get canned and if her feelings were hurt. She got fired for not up-selling the cupcakes.

now. if you've ever been to one of these cupcake shops, you know that not only are the cuppies like 3 bucks a piece, but sometimes they charge you for the box to put them in! So a quick snack can easily run you 5+ bucks.

When I asked Eli if she cared that she had been fired, she informed me "no. I mean, I'm not going to tell some fattie she should buy another cupcake when she doesn't need the one she already has."

She has a point. And hey, at least she got to keep her company tshirt.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

in defense of my faith

"Faith means, whether I am visibly delivered or not, I will stick to my belief that God is love." ~Oswald Chambers

Recently someone shared with me that they found my view and approach to Christianity perplexing. I found this curious. And obviously it bothered me and I've been mulling over it and now I'm blogging about it. I know I'll get judged for being too open once again, but the bottom line is, I've now been judged on MY approach to MY faith, so I'm not sure any other judging will count as much. If that makes sense.

Here's the thing. Faith is confusing. I get it. How can I believe in something I haven't seen? How can I believe a book written by multiple people over a long period of time is true? How can I believe that the same God that flooded the entire earth as retribution for sin can turn around and flood my heart with love and peace? How can I believe that God would love a murderer the same amount He loves me? How can I believe that a higher power even exists? There are so many things (and people) pointing you to what is wrong with faith, what is confusing about faith, what makes faith a waste of your time. I can't say I've studied other religions, but I learned enough in Miss Moody's World Religion class to know that Christianity is the only faith that makes sense. To me. It may not make sense to you, and that's ok. When I was younger, I was very robust about spreading the word and sharing my faith. I felt like everyone should be a Christian. Don't get me wrong. I still feel that way. BUT, I guess now I'm more about showing what Christianity is for than what it is against. Too many people want to point out all the wrongs with Christianity. Too many crazy people get on tv preaching the gospel and singing bad songs and it turns people off. I get it. I really do. But that's not my faith. That is not the faith I know.

You see, I believe that faith as small as a mustard seed really can move mountains. How do I know that? because I am living proof. Even when my faith has been on life support, I've been moved and my world has been rocked for the better. And it wasn't by my own doing.

I believe that the God (and His son Jesus) of my faith loves everyone equally, no matter what sin you commit.There's this thing called free will. I can make my own choices. I can choose how to live my life. I can choose to sin. But, the God (and His son Jesus) I know still loves me anyway. And He's happy when I come back to him. over and over and over again. The God (and His son Jesus) of my faith is faithful to me. Even when, especially when, I'm not faithful back.

Much to my own dismay, I truly don't believe the God (or His son Jesus) of my faith is affiliated with any political party.

I don't believe the God (or His son Jesus) of my faith wants bad things to happen to us. I've actually been pondering a lot whether or not the God (or His son Jesus) I know allows for bad things to happen to us. I think I've decided that He doesn't. Yes, bad things happen. People make decisions that cause hurt feelings and pain for others. But the God (or His son Jesus) of my faith doesn't sit up in Heaven and point to people on earth and say "today you will do this bad thing so that this person can be hurt."

At the same time, the God (or His son Jesus) of my faith does allow for good things to happen. God's word says that through Him, our lives are longer and we will prosper and become wise. I believe that.

I believe that no matter what choices you've made in your life, you still deserve a place to put your head at night and you still deserve a decent meal. The God (and His son Jesus) of my faith believes in loving others and meeting people right where they are.

Sometimes I think about how Israel can be God's chosen people if the Jews don't believe Jesus is the savior. Sometimes I think about how the Trinity doesn't make sense but I can't explain why. I don't really care if you shave your beard or tattoo your body. I believe the verse about women being submissive to their husbands is abused because let's face it: how many husbands REALLY love their wives the same way Christ loved the Church? I do believe the family that prays together stays together. I believe people come back to their faith. I do believe your heart should be guarded, because it IS the well spring of life. And no one else is going to guard it for you. I believe my faith is my own and I may judge you on your outfit or the people you surround yourself with, but as a Christian, it is not my place to demand you believe what I believe. I have no desire to search for evidence or look for faults. If you search for fault, you'll find it. Guaranteed. I am happy to base my faith off what I know. I don't have all the answers. I may pretend like I do, but I don't. I don't know the Bible like the back of my hand. I don't believe you have to go to church to be a "good Christian." Going to church holds you accountable and keeps the fire burning. But being a "good Christian" is so much more. It's about accepting that Jesus died for your sins, that he got nailed to that cross so you didn't have to. It's about giving of yourself and serving others. It's about trying to live as He called us to live but knowing we're going to stumble and we're going to fall and the beauty in it is that His grace really is enough.

C.S. Lewis said "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else."

And that is what I believe.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

thought for the day.

(courtesy of sex and the city)

But we keep trying. Because you have to figure, if the world's fattest twins can find love, there's hope for all of us. Somewhere out there, there's another little freak that will love us, understand us, and kiss our three heads and make it all better.

reader comment

Jess left me the following message today on gchat:

i just wanted you to know my dad has a bust of a jackalope and a jackalope hunting license. of course, the license is valid only in certain parts of MN, only on like the 5th friday of feb during a blue moon period between the hours of 2 and 3:30am, and the like...
so i'm thinking we should definitely wonder what you ate in austin.

my thoughts exactly.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

she has skinny legs just like fanny

I would like to introduce you to Barbara. She, like Carrie Bradshaw, is not affiliated with any political party. She just likes parties. She is 7lbs of pure sweetness, which is basically the same thing as a reese cup.

Lee had been encouraging me to get another pet after Pete's demise. I perused the Humane Society's website just to see what was out there. I mean, I have always secretly wanted to have a Cavalier King Charles to name Jessica Simpson. But let's face it. There are tons of dogs that need good homes. And they're cheaper! And we all know how the Deeze likes a good deal. There was a dog named Truffle that was nothing short of captivating. I couldn't stop staring at her. I don't even like dogs and I wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and love on her. So on Saturday, Lee and I drove over to meet her. I'm not sure what I would have done if we didn't get along. I actually hadn't even considered not getting along with her. They brought her out, put her in my arms and she licked me up the nose. And it was all over from there. It took exactly 15 minutes for me to say "I want her."

Barbara is a 4 year old terrier mix and weighs 7.0 lbs. She is missing some hair and has been "over bred." She may or may not have come from a puppy mill (she's not pure bred but she's tiny so maybe they lied at the mill). She just had puppies 8 weeks ago, but I didn't bring any of them home with me. She is potty trained, which was a huge concern for me. I don't know how to potty train anything nor am I interested in learning right now. She is a huge snuggler and a huge licker. She will lick any part of me she can get her snout on (come to think of it, it's rather a shame she's not a human boy...). And she's obsessed with me. She wants to be in my lap at all times. She was riding high when I got pulled over for speeding on Sunday.

I've never been a dog person before. I don't enjoy getting licked all over my grille. But man do I love me some Barbara. She is so tiny and so snuggly and so lovey dovey. And she gets so excited to see me. Every time I've come home since I got her, she's gone CRAZY over me. And if she isn't following me from room to room, it's because she's sitting in someone else's lap (but looking for me the whole time).

Some people have told me I've moved on too fast. I haven't moved on. I'm still obsessed with Republican Pete and am still happy to show off pictures of him to everyone. I haven't replaced him by any stretch. But Barbara was waiting for me. The average stay at the shelter is ten days. She'd been there for almost 25 or something ridiculous. And there's a reason why she was the ONLY one who captured my heart.

All it took was one lick for me to know that she was mine and I was hers. I'm still not a dog person when it comes to your dog. But, you better like mine. Plus, mine is adorbs. So how could you not!

a flask of whiskey out at night

If you look at that picture and think to yourself, "why, that is a rabbit with antlers!" then you would be correct for that is a picture of a jackalope.

Now, let me first say that I used to sing karaoke at jackalope jack's in Charlotte. and it NEVER occurred to me to wonder what a jackalope was. and you can bet if I never thought about what something was, then I sure didn't think about whether or not it was real. Fast forward a few years to my trip to Austin for work. I decided to stay for a few days after and explore the city (but you know me and you know when I say exploring I really mean eating). One of the delicacies I sampled was a jackalope. They told me it was native to New Zealand. It tasted ok but since they didn't show any pictures, I was unsure of what this animal looked like that I had just put into my mouth. So when I got home, I asked someone also native to New Zealand (no, not an aborigine. Besides, they're in Australia) just what exactly a jackalope was. After trying to convince me I really meant a wallaby (I already knew a jackalope was not a kangaroo), he told me it sounded pretty made up and was fairly certain it was not native to New Zealand.

So then I began to wonder where I had heard that this jackalope was native to New Zealand. My mother confirmed it was when I ate the jackalope. I decided to get to the bottom of it. I asked one of my sales reps in Texas if he knew that the jackalope wasn't real. He told me it was real and he had even confirmed with some other reps in Texas that it was real. And then he sent me the above picture.

A rabbit with antlers (that you can attract by leaving a flask of whiskey out at night). Something about this just doesn't sound right to me. And now I am concerned about what I put in my mouth back in Austin.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Sky Mall

You know that magazine they put in the airplanes, Sky Mall? You know the one that they say to feel free to take with you because they will replace it? I've never taken one with me. But I've taken a gander at them from time to time. After barely making my connection in Newark (damn you, NJ), I was too frazzled to remember to grab my book out of my bag so I had no choice but to browse the sky mall in flight. Except, I found the following things. And I am concerned for America. There's always weird shit on tv but some of this stuff I haven't even seen on tv. So I guess instead of those "as seen on tv" stores, the next big thing is a "as seen in the Sky Mall" store. Seriously though. Who buys this crap?

a visor with hair attached to it! What a great idea! You know, in case you want to surprise your golfing buddies one day with some new hair. And, it even comes in 4 different colors. I don't know any man that doesn't appreciate having options. but the best part about this visor hair is that it provides INSTANT smiles. Hollaaa!

first off, obviously if you can afford to purchase TWO THOUSAND cds, then you must be rich. and it's a good thing because you're gonna need a giant wall for this book shelf. This thing would take up literally an entire side of my house. i think the real issue though is the Disney movies. Are they talking about 456 dvds or 456 VHS tapes? Because the VHS tapes are where it's at. they were huge and really pretty. But let's face it. Other than Beauty and the Beast and Toby Tyler, no one should own 456 Disney movies. And that's coming from the girl who fully supports watching the Disney channel in your free time. Miley Cyrus had to get her start somewhere.

Can we talk about this Buddha for a minute? Not only does he look constipated in the large picture, but in the small picture, he's walking on all fours! How are we supposed to pat his belly if his belly is face down?! And further, why would anyone make Buddha their end table? That's just wrong.

this is perfect for the coming zombie apocalypse. you know, just in case you were curious what a zombie looked like in the quick sand that i know you have in your yard. here's my thing. if i were going to kill a zombie, i probably wouldn't do it in my front yard. once he finally slips all the way through, you still have a dead zombie in your yard. if you have ever spent a hundy on a dying zombie, please raise your hand. because i want to steal your wallet since you clearly have lots more moolah than I do.

garden gnomes are no longer in. skelegnomes are. especially the dinosaur holding the flower basket. i'm pretty sure if you put that next to your steps, everyone would think you were the most creative archaeologist in america because not only did you unearth an entire bone set of live dino, but you put flowers in his mouth to welcome your guests!!

Now. I showed this someone and they said "some people really believe in Big Foot." ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Who number 1 actually believes in Big Foot (besides my brother who sent me an email of his new Netflix delivery: Harry and the Hendersons) but number 2. if you DO believe in Big Foot, why would you have his statue in your yard? It's not like that looks normal to have an ape man straight out of Loch Ness swaggering through your yard. I just feel like there are lots of ways to have your neighbors take you seriously, and this isn't it.

and now for my fave discovery at the Sky Mall.

I would like to attend this clinic. Where do I sign up? I've got a right foot I'd like to put in. Additionally, this is the perfect mate for my Alcatraz Outpatient tshirt.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

There are no ordinary cats. - Colette

Sunday night, I said goodbye to the most extraordinary cat. I first laid eyes upon this little creature the day this picture was taken, in October 2004. My boyfriend at the time called and asked me if I wanted a kitten. Did I want a kitten! Does a cat have a tail?! My mother informed me that no, I did not want a kitten. But, knowing I was about to graduate and move into my own place, I convinced his parents to keep him until then. He was the most precious little boy. I named him Pete. And it was love at first sight.

The vet determined he was about 4 weeks old, far too young to be away from his mama, and that he had hip displaysia. He could barely walk and when he did, it definitely wasn't a straight line. It was actually quite funny to see this little baby boy fall every time he tried to walk. And running wasn't an option. I mean, it was, but not really, because he fell every time he ran. We used to say Pete was the guy who made everything awkward. He'd come into the room and just lean against the wall, the chair or you. And then he would just fall over. But he was so smooth about it, like you didn't even need to worry about him.

Pete was a good sport. He let me carry him all around and call him various names. He spent his life being called Republican Pete (thanks to a delightful bow tie his Aunt Kristin gave him for his first valentine's day), Pumpkin Pete at Halloween, Santa Paws at Christmas and Little Bear all other times. He was my aPeteage, more attached to me than most appendages. He was a Pete-ing Tom because of the way he spied on you while you were bathing. And he thought I was his pet. Most mornings I woke up to his wet nose smushed against my face or his paw patting my cheek. He was a nightmare to get on a schedule (ask my mom. She tells the funniest story of the night she ended up on the air mattress when she came to visit because Pete could only sleep in the bed) but once he got on one, boy did he stick to it. I spent the last 7 years waking at 530 almost every morning to feed him before falling back asleep. Pete was living proof that cats don't know when they get declawed. After much debate, I had him declawed when he was about 8 months old. And every night until the last time I saw him, he would shine his paws on the edge of my green chair. No one could say Pete wasn't spiffy. Or skinny. Once, the vet told me "he could stand to lose a pound or two." I just told her we could all stand to lose a pound or two. No one calls my son a fatty.

Call me a cat lady all you want. I realize I was (and still am) overly attached to my little bear. For awhile there, he was the only reason I had to get up in the mornings. Knowing he was depending on me kept me going. He was my buddy. He accepted me fully without hesitation and never once hurt my feelings. I know he only thought good things about me because he always purred (hence his name Sir Purr) when he snuggled up next to me. He was the best egg.

I'll spare you the details but let's just say finding him the way I did broke my heart into a million and one tiny pieces. I don't like surprises really, and this was one that I wasn't ready for. At all. I have always said I didn't want to be there when Pete kicked the bucket, because I didn't know if I could handle it. So maybe in a way me not being there was a blessing in disguise. But I did come home. And when I did, he wasn't there anymore. All I know is thank the good Lord that I have a friend who took care of him and made him feel loved in his last days (even though we had no idea these were them). And all I know is thank the good Lord that I have a friend who drove an hour without question late at night to pick me up off the ground, put Pete in a box, and take me to get a treat. And all I know is thank the good Lord that my dad didn't even bat an eye when I called them screaming. He just got in the car and came to get me and my treasured pet. And he took us home to Charlotte. And thank the good Lord I have a brother who willingly spent his day taking Pete to the vet to be cremated so I didn't have to.

Anyone who says it's just a pet doesn't understand. Pete was my buddy. I feel like a part of me is missing. Like I've had my arm cut off. It makes my heart so sad to know when I go home at night, he won't be there chirping at me or falling over to have his hair brushed. It makes me sad that I won't be able to pat his little head or rub his belly again. The worst part is that Pete was a non-negotiable with me. We were a package. And now we're only me. I don't remember who I was before Pete arrived. And now I gotta figure out how to be a grown up about this whole thing.

Love stinks. But sheesh. I'm so glad I got to spend 7 years of my life with him. We were a purrfect match for sure. And I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Caller I.d. Huh?

Tonight I called my dad to say hello. Per usual, I identified myself. I mean, it's not unlike my dad to have a conversation with someone without having a clue as to who they are, even his own children.

Dad said to me: "I know who you are. The phone has your name on it. Wait. Is this your phone? I thought I answered our phone."

I'm glad that in 2011 caller id still baffles even the brightest of the bunches.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Thoughts on austin city limits

"they have a lot of pigeons in this town. They need to clean the streets. Or, just kill em."
~My mama on the way to dinner tonight.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

the biebs comes to north cackalacky

We all know the following things about myself: I am obsessed with the biebs and I am obsessed with facebook. I guess obsessed isn't fair. I don't want to sound crazy. So, I guess you could say I am extremely interested in all things bieber related and all things facebook related. And these things tie together so much more than the occasional status update about the biebs.

About a month ago, a friend of mine from Florida tagged a picture of me on facebook. This was curious since I hadn't seen Gen since I had moved from Florida. When I logged on (who am I kidding. I am always logged on to the book), I saw she had tagged me in a picture of her kissing a lifesize cut out of the Biebs, complete with the caption that she saw him, thought of me and knew he'd rather be receiving a smackeroo from me than her. Because I never get overly excited about childish or redonk things, I emailed her immediately telling her I would be in FL in a few weeks and could we arrange for me to pick it up from her.


I offered to pay for him.

Gen responded that he was mine, free of charge, if I wanted him. I decided I had no problem taking him to FedEx to be shipped home to NC. I mean, everyone knows FedEx will ship anything, especially if you are willing to cut off your arm for it. And I was.

During this time, Emily from FL called to ask me if there was anything special I wanted to do while I was in town. She rattled off all 57 of my favorite restaurants and I told her forget eating, all I had to do was go pick up a life size Justin bieber and ship him back to myself. She said "of course you do." Like, it didn't even seem strange to her. I guess that right there is proof of how you know you have good friends.

So, on Saturday night of my visit, we loaded up in the Jeep, drove across town and met Gen outside of the restaurant she and her boyfriend were at for dinner. Gen confessed she couldn't fit the Biebs in her red Beetle Bug, so she had to fold him. This was Ok. You couldn't tell he was folded, AND, this meant I could carry him on the plane. Which is precisely what I did. it was all going well until someone opened the overhead and he slid out, knocking some old biddy in the head. I apologized, asked her if she was OK (while putting him back in the overhead bin) and do you know what she said to me?


really? My feelings were hurt! It was JUST a cardboard cutout of the Biebs. And she wasn't bleeding or bruised. Of course when I shared my sentiments with my parents when they picked me up at the airport, my dad told me that not everyone appreciates getting knocked in the head by a cardboard Justin Bieber. I feel like people need to calm down.

It's JUST the Biebs people. Plus, he was folded.

You can rest assured though he is home, hanging out by my grandmother's china cabinet. And for all of you haters who think he is a little boy? He's taller than me. So THERE.

Remember when I said beauty made me think of Pawley's Island?

When I admire the wonders of a sunset or the beauty of the moon, my soul expands in the worship of the creator. ~ Gandhi

(ps - lee took this. how lucky am i that he doesn't charge me for his pictures? i'd probably charge him)

Sunday, October 2, 2011

day 1: what does beauty mean to you?

i don't really know what beauty means to me...yet. I guess that's part of why I am on this journey.

but, when I think of beauty

I think of sunsets at Pawley's Island
I think of the first time I saw the snow capped mountains of Colorado and wondered how anyone could not believe in a heavenly father when they saw the very definition of majestic
I think of the first time I saw a rainbow while crossing the ditch in my beloved PVB
I think of a dove with an olive branch in her mouth
I think of a deep belly laugh
I think of a favorite bottle of wine
I think of my Amie
I think of my friend Jenn on her wedding day
I think of my friend Drew who never lost sight of his savior even as cystic fibrosis took his life
I think of my parents' backyard in the spring
I think of the birds that sing outside my door each morning

I think of so many things. those are just a few of them.

A more serious tone for a few.

I believe one of the sweetest, most precious parts of being a Christian is having a cloud of witnesses (Hebrews 12:1) with whom we can share the joys and sorrows of life, with whom we can question our faith and our God and with whom we can discuss our journeys. Recently, one of these dear friends and I were discussing beauty. I mean, who hasn't wondered if they possess beauty. If you've ever read Captivating, you might relate to the thought that true beauty is revealed in the depths of a woman's heart.

This conversation was much needed for me as I had just gotten off the phone with someone who shared with me that they thought I was "too open" on my blog. This really surprised me since other than my spiritual reflections and thoughts, nothing on Merdeezy Hollaaas is really of substance. There are many things I hold dear that I would never open up to speculation or ridicule. This blog wasn't started as a refuge for me to share my deepest and darkest. It was started for entertainment and for laughter. I guess you could say that even though I seem pretty open about my life, Proverbs 4:23 isn't exactly something I take lightly. Anyway, my friend directed me to Project 31, which is a 31 day "project" to celebrate beauty. Even further, specifically, to celebrate our God given beauty. It's based on the Proverbs 31 woman, and at the risk of being too open (and therefore being judged), it is one I think could serve some purpose.

So, here is my humble attempt at celebrating beauty.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

patty cake patty cake [not] baker's man

When Eli was told to get a job, instead of doing the normal Robertson kid job of saving lives and administering health care to those in need, she went to our family fave sammy shop and got a job making sandwiches. This worked out great because at least once a week the whole family would go together for lunch and heckle Eli while she stood behind the counter taking the orders we barked at her.

They did not interview her for this job. They just gave it to her.

She called today to tell me she has an interview at a cupcake shop down the road.

While it completely baffles me why anyone would need to interview to make cuppies, I wished her good luck. She'll need it. For while she may have been talented at putting mayonnaise on a piece of French bread, she's not the brightest baker in the oven. Then, in sisterly love fashion, I reminded her of the time she read the recipe calling for 3 T(ablespoons) of tomato paste as 3 CANS of tomato paste. Or the time she thought the list of ingredients were optional, not necessary. But my fave dish Eli baked up? The eyeball cake.

Yes my friends. Eli decided to bake a BOX cake one day. She put it all in the bowl, mixed it up and popped it in the oven. After about 10 minutes she noticed the egg still sitting on the counter and realized she had forgotten to put it in the box cake mix. So she did what any normal person would do (keep in mind this is the same girl who stabbed herself in the foot, or was it her hand, while barreling down the interstate during rush hour traffic) and opened the oven, cracked the egg, and set it back to baking. When time was up, we had a delish chocolate cake complete with a giant yellow eye ball staring back at us.

Hopefully she'll play up her assets at this interview and not tell them she has a problem paying attention to details.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

(not) your little whiskey girl

the other night at dinner, I asked the server if I could have my check.

he returned with a shot of jack.

I said check. he heard jack.

but since i didn't feel like P. Diddy and wasn't in a position to brush my teeth at the moment, I gave the shot away.

besides. even though beer does make me turn up my nose, i really do enjoy sipping champagne. and wine. and smelling roses.

(ps. if you don't know which songs I am referring to, then we probably aren't friends. just sayin').

thought (s) for the day.

1. someone may blog about their life, but that does not mean you know them.

2. someone may choose to blog about their life but that doesn't mean the only things they hold dear are the things they post on their blog.

3. there is usually more to a person than what you read about on their blog.

4. while blogging opens someone up for criticism, it does not mean it is a fair tool to judge by (and that is coming from a judger)

5. people take things too seriously. and people really know how to hurt other people's feelings.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

a kiss with a fist is better than none.

Landon: I might kiss you.
Jamie: I might be bad at it.
Landon: That's not possible.

A Walk To Remember might be my hands down all time fave movie (yes. more than encino man. But unlike encino man, i am insecure about listing this in my Top 5). I mean, I get chill bumps every time I watch this movie. To begin with, the first kiss scene (not pictured) is so sweet. and b. a part of me secretly hopes each time she isn't going to die. I have an old boyfriend who says this movie is the reason why I feel I should have a relationship like the movies. But, like the Avett Brothers say, real life is more than just two hours long (thereby making my old boyfriend's statement false).

However, I will say that it is entirely possible to be bad at kissing. You see, I know good kissing and I know bad kissing. A kissing pro (slut) you might call me. I think it's fair to say I've been around the block when it comes to kissing (sorry mom. But I feel like you already know this about your most precious daughter). I mean, I really enjoy kissing. That first kiss is one of my most favorite parts about dating strangers (though I prefer repeat kisses to first kisses because let's face it, that means they are doing something right). And who doesn't love a good ole' fashioned makeout sesh on the couch or in the backseat of a car? I got schooled in the art that is kissing at the back of the school bus when Jackie whatever her name was taught Zach how to kiss. I was just a watcher at that point but you can bet I took notes. So did he apparently as I learned several years later. Hell-o! I guess you could say it was this school bus classroom that started my career as a kiss consultant. I can tell you the names of the people I have shared the following rules with and the places where I shared them (the glory in keeping your old diary):

1. it would be so romantic if you would just kiss me while i'm in the middle of saying something
2. kiss me like you mean it, dammit!
3. if you kiss me with your eyes open, then it means you're a cheater!
4. stop playing hot potato with my tongue.
5. I'm pretty sure my mom knows you are not training to be a dentist, especially since no dentist inspects their patients' teeth like that! gross!

Alright, first off, kiss me like you mean it, dammit? I was like 16 at this point in my life. Exactly what did I know about kissing like I meant it? How else are you supposed to mean a kiss? I've kissed lots of people I didn't mean to, but I can promise you I have never let them believe it was an accident. And what the eff is hot potato with my tongue? Additionally, I'd like to add that I have had a lot of suitors be happy to kiss me when I'm in the middle of saying something and it only just now occurred to me that it might be because they just want me to shut the hell up. But I digress.

But, like all good consultants experience, I had someone challenge me just this week on my kissing expertise. An old beau txted me (out of the freakin' blue mind you) and let me know that after all these years, he had finally overcome his complex and was a good kisser. Of course, I had no idea what he was talking about. When I inquired, I found out that during our courtship, I gave him a 45 minute lecture (me lecture? no!) on the art of kissing. He informed me that along with my 7 point kissing plan, I "seriously laid out different ways to turn your head and stuff." When I informed him of how this made me laugh, he responded with, "I'm glad it amuses someone. I was confused and terrified that night on your porch." Now first off, why would anyone in their right mind listen to someone yak on and on about kissing? I sure as hell wouldn't. And secondly, I cannot stop laughing at the thought of this poor high school kid being so nervous about kissing me. But, it explains a lot. As a matter of fact, after he got done informing me of what a b I was to date in high school (true story), I told him that while I do not remember this so called kissing list, I do remember what a bad kisser he was. But I must say, I'm so glad to know my tutelage has paid off. Think of all the bad kissers out there I have helped! This fella here is living proof of the fruits of my labor!

And to all you people boys out there who still get sweaty palms over kissing? It's time to pony up and remember what Thomas Carlyle said:

If you are ever in doubt as to whether or not you should kiss a pretty girl, always give her the benefit of the doubt.

I know I for one prefer the giving the benefit of the doubt, and I'm not even into kissing women.