Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Apparently the entire cast of Entourage was at our hotel. I spent the rest of the weekend hoping to spy Marky Mark. I had some questions for him pertaining to the Funky Bunch. Emily told me if we saw him, she would do the talking. I knew that wasn't going to suit me, so I'd say it's a good thing we didn't see him.
Friday, May 27, 2011
This chick buys my Fabulous Winter White Banana Republic pants for eleven bucks (and that included shipping). Eleven dollars folks. Now that is a deal if I've ever heard of one. Especially since I'm sure I paid full price for them and I can count on one hand how many times I wore them. Why I thought it was a good idea to buy fabulous winter white wool pants in Florida beats me. She gets her pants (mind you she lives in Alabama and it's probably hotter than hades there right now so it's not like she'll be wearing them any time soon) and immediately emails me and says "these pants aren't fabulous like you said they was. they are peeling." now, I don't know what this means. How do pants peel? Did she go to grammar class? Whatever. If she is that hard up for her money back, I said I'd refund her dolla dolla bills when I got my pants back. Next thing I know, she's escalated it to Ebay and says she hasn't heard from the Seller. I know she isn't blind because if she could determine my pants were peeling, then she could sure as heck check her email and see my message. So Ebay emails me and says I need to refund the money when I get the pants back. I replied that I had already told the Buyer I would do that, but just for formalities sake, I would tell them too. I got home late last night and there were my pants, balled up into an envelope. At 9:45a today, I get an email from this b wanting to know where her money is. I emailed her back, told her she was insufferable, that I don't work from home and got the pants late last night, and that it wasn't even 10a and she was already harassing me. oh, and that her money was being returned to her. She wrote me back and said "I don't care what your problems are. I want my money back." What part of me refunding her money thinks she isn't getting it back? I'm so confused.
Now, I ain't no mathematical genius but it seems to me it would make more sense to lose your eleven bucks then to return them UPS overnight mail. I looked her up on facebook. She's exactly everything I thought she was. The only thing she was missing was a sign that says "I ain't fabulous like I say I is"
oh, and as a side note. i told my brother this story. he has like 50 million facebook friends that he doesn't know. and of COURSE he has a mutual friend with this crazy ebay B. of COURSE. now that is just fabulous.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Wikipedia has some interesting thoughts on what it means to be a geek. It explains that "The word geek is a slang term, with different meanings ranging from "a computer expert or enthusiast" to "a carnival performer who performs sensationally morbid or disgusting acts." Now, let's get one thing straight: in all my years of oogling carnies, never have I ever, not even once, considered a carnie to be a geek. A freak maybe. but definitely not a geek (please do not mistake this to mean that geek does not equal freak, because in some cases, it does. but in general, the terms are not synonymous). It even goes on to describe the dress code for geeks as "geek chic". Wait a minute...I have black rimmed glasses. I know about Perl and her insults. And I know html....One thing Wikipedia's description of "geek chic" doesn't say is how happy it makes the Mere Mere that the geeks have not adopted wearing girl jeans. I would gladly take high waisted, tall butt jeans over girl jeans on a dude any day. Well, maybe that's a false truth. Because the Biebs wears girl jeans. And I love him. And we all know how much I love designer jeans on the mens.
My best friend Natalie and I have A LOT thoughts on geeks (mainly that they are probably all packin'...and we're talking about heat here). She's actually the one that introduced me to Revenge of the Nerds, but we all know nerds and geeks shouldn't be confused. Richard Clarke, whomever that is (yes I know this is underlined) said the difference between nerds and geeks is "geeks get it done." (Not gonna lie. I know a few geeks I wouldn't mind taking it upon themselves to get it done). So, to all the geeks out there (and specifically my friends on the Island) - I admit it. I am pretty head over heels for you. Just don't expect me to love my iPhone, or to know anything at all about Star Wars, Star Trek, Space Jam, bots, servers, clouds, you get my drift.
We met in a chat room, now our love can fully bloom... Sure the world wide web is great, but you, you make me salvivate
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Today for lunch, Emily and I met Mark at the K Dub. Now, this was my idea (and we all know I have nothing but fabulous ideas). I LOVE the K Dub. Everyone I know drinks haterade when it comes to the K Dub, so I was prepared for their comments. I had a swift rebuttal for every one: I hope you do not enjoy your meal. Oh, but enjoy it they did. We three all enjoyed our K Dub experience. Until this old biddy behind us turned around and said "I am so glad you're all enjoying your meal so much! But please, will you turn it down a notch?"
We just looked at her. I mean, what could we say? No but could you turn your hearing aide down?
I guess the moral of the story is to only eat at the K Dub when you don't plan to talk. And it's not meal time. And there aren't any old geezers there.
you can bet this didn't make them think the K Dub was even more of a ridiculous idea than they already thought.
Monday, May 23, 2011
1. an excessive amount of amy grant songs were downloaded
2. I demonstrated how to bake a cake at what I'm pretty sure was a gay bar.
2. i was officially taught how to dougie and am prepared to be the next M-Bone. as a matter of fact, please stop referring to me as Merdeezy and only refer to me as M-Bone from here on out.
3. I perfected my stanky leg. I did not know I was supposed to put my finger below my nose like I smelled something bad. Now, I need you to watch the video and be prepared to DIE. All I know is, forget the tootsie roll. All that matters anymore is the stanky leg. Only one leg though. Believe it or not, my swagger still needs some work.
4. I ate a giant polish Sausage slathered in pimento cheese. and it was the most amazing pseudo last meal I've ever had (and I've had a lot of pseudo last meals).
5. I think it in important to note that while I was learning to Dougie, I did not have drink for my fallen homie. I don't think he would appreciate the fact that I was sipping on elderflower and champagne whilst dougieying. Or boogying. Either one.
Needless to say, I did not get raptured. But you can bet what I learned this weekend will be carried with me into eternity when that day does finally come.
Friday, May 20, 2011
i accidentally rsvp'ed yes to a rapture party last night. you know, since the rapture is happening tomorrow (may 21, 2011). this morning i got a notification that the rapture party had been canceled because there was going to be a 3 foot tall stripper downtown instead.
you'll be glad to know i didn't rsvp yes to that. i'm going to sit at home and wait to be raptured. or ravished. whichever comes first.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
July 20, 1999:
I haven't written in a few days. Guess what! Joey McIntyre is coming to Carowinds! I heard it on the radio, so I called Drew (the DJ). He started making fun of me for wanting to go so bad. He asked me what I was doing so I told him I was writing a letter to my friend about my trip to Myrtle Beach. He said he wanted to hear it, so I told him about how I picked up a hot guy at the Grand Prix and how he had given us free tickets. Drew said I must have just been using the guy. I was like "no, he was a real nice guy. He's a preacher's kid." Drew said his dad was a preacher's kid and he had just called him from the county jail. I was like "you're such a dork Drew." Then he told me to request something so I requested New Kids on the Block. He just laughed and told me to request the new BoyZone. So I did. A few minutes later, Drew had put it on the radio! I had no idea he was even recording it. So I called him back and told him just for that, he should give me free Joey tickets. He said to call back tomorrow night and he would try to hook me up! How cool is that!
and don't forget July 26, 1999:
I got Joey McIntyre tickets. I ended up having to buy them. Second row, center stage. It only cost me 81.00. I am so excited. Joey is so fine.
Now, clearly this chick was the epitome of cool in high school. But I take several exceptions to this diary entry. First, let me show you a picture of Joey from 1999.
I wouldn't exactly call this "fine." But then again, who even uses the word fine to describe someone anymore? Second, the Grand Prix, Carowinds, Myrtle Beach. If you know me, you know that I take exception to all of these. Third, who pays 81 bucks to see Joey McIntyre? I remember this day. I remember calling my friend Allyson (who was going with me) and squealing in excitement. I even located my Joey McIntyre barbie doll (pants off, jacket on) to take with me in hopes he would sign it. Fourth, Boyzone. Who the heck is Boyzone?
Now let me show you what happens when girls like this (who may or may not have been forbidden to see the New Kids in concert as children and may or may not have had their dreams crushed when the Joey McIntyre shows at Carowinds got canceled) have all their dreams come true as young, very professional adults (that may or may have had their signs confiscated by security upon entering the show). And you make fun of me for my Bieber crush.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Not only are you a really great brother, the official mover of my belongings and the rescuer of Pete, but it’s also your birthday (and Friday the 13th). According to Facebook, it’s also your nephew Pete’s birthday. How precious that you share the same day. Although Friday the 13th is generally considered to be an unlucky day, I want you to know that today is actually your very lucky day. As I sit here in this paralegal conference, listening to the ethics of blogging (clearly they haven’t read your blog) and other forms of social media (yes, you CAN have too many friends), I am reminded of a few things over the course of our life together that I’m pretty sure were and still are unethical. And I am here to once again tell you what to do and suggest you change your ways. I may not be able to help Kirby, but I know I can help you.
1. Don’t lie to your sister. Especially since she’s the boss of you. I grew up believing I was brought home as a souvenir from a safari trip to Africa that mom and dad never really took. I was convinced my high school reputation was set before I ever arrived because my older (and cool) brother was Lee and he was a junior. I honestly believed I was a hot tamale rolling up in your 1989 blue t-top Camaro with giant Chevrolet emblem on the back window (little did I know this, coupled with your BEEPER made you a real neck). What a surprise I had in store for me on that first day of high school. You had failed to tell me how being related to you would only be a detriment to my status because you had threatened to sue each person who had crossed you. Had you really followed through on your big talks, you would be the only person I know entangled in over 17,000 law suits before you reached 30 (it doesn’t take much to get sued by you apparently).
2. Don’t try to get to mom first to tattle on your sister. Just accept the fact that she will get to mom first. In college, I was given custody of our joint gas card. I remember one morning in particular where you were doing what you do best – over reacting and generally going biserk for no reason and by 7am, you had called my cell phone, and probably my roommate’s, no less than 57 times. You needed gas and by golly I better give you the gas card. Now, I knew what would happen. You would come pick up the card and disappear. For days. And then I would be stuck (you still have a habit of screening my calls. I find it rude) without gas in my car, no gas card to get gas in my car, and the wrath of mom and dad asking me why, why, why I couldn’t just listen and not let you have the gas card unsupervised (you’re still the only person I know who has actually put over 100,000 miles on a car in 6 months. We still don’t know where you actually drove). So I did the responsible thing and offered to go with you to get gas. Of course one thing led to another, you went biserk again and the next thing I knew, I was running across the Meredith College campus, towel on my head screaming “you’re an asshole” all the while trying to reach mom first to tattle. I was late to class that day, but I won the war with you. I got to mom first, told her how awful you were, assured her I never gave you the gas card, and didn’t speak to you for about a day.
3. Don’t let your sister down. One fine Friday, I was going to drive from Raleigh to Winston to meet my boyfriend halfway for dinner. You wanted to come and said you would meet Homer at the mall. I picked you up (because why would you drive? You didn’t have any gas in your car) and you immediately said “oh we have to stop in Chapel Hill and get Jeremy. He wants to come too.” So we drive to Chapel Hill. I asked you where Jeremy lived. You said you didn’t know. I said can you call him? You said he doesn’t have a cell phone. Now, you can imagine how very angry this made me. Who in the eff doesn’t have a cell phone? You call and call his HOUSE phone to no avail. So we drive around Chapel Hill, hoping when you see the street you’ll recognize it and I am getting madder and madder with each street we pass. So I did what anyone would do. I told you to get out of the car. It’s not my fault you actually did it. It’s also not my fault I drove off, leaving you stranded in Chapel Hill. It’s also not my fault that your cell phone died and you had to borrow money from someone to use the pay phone. Since your cell phone was dead, I absolutely knew I would reach mom to tattle first and convince her to be angry with you. When your phone finally turned back on, you called to tattle I had left you in Chapel Hill. She told you that you had let me down and she was so disappointed in you. I actually don’t know how you ever found Jeremy or got back to Raleigh. But I happened upon Homer at the mall and told him what happened. He called your dead cell phone and left you the greatest voice mail I have ever heard: “roses are red, violets are blue. Your sister came to Winston and daggum left you.” I think many people that day learned a valuable lesson: don’t get out of my car when I tell you to. And do not EVER let me down. Shame on you.
4. Stop getting kicked off EBay. On more than one occasion, I have received an email from EBay saying my account was being closed due to fraudulent activity. Whenever I have asked you about it, you have nonchalantly (and I do mean you flat out haven’t care) said that yes, you’ve been kicked off EBay again (and I in turn because we both list the same address on our accounts). Only this time it’s been because you sent the wrong things to the wrong people and wouldn’t accept returns. As opposed to the last time when you sold a bunch of patches and charged 48 bucks in shipping. Or the time you incorrectly described your items and wouldn’t accept returns. Things like this make it hard for me to be taken seriously as a wholesaler of all things I have previously owned.
I hope you have a good birthdizzy celebrating all the things that make you you. Since I’m not there to celebrate with you, I’m going to do everything in honor of you today. I have on my best wind pants, I had breakfast at Bojangles and I’ll have dinner at the Cracker Barrel (and yes, I will sit in smoking and loudly discuss those who choose to smoke during their meal). Oh, and you can bet I haven’t paid a lick of attention to this ethics presentation.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
While discussing the Indy 500 last night via txt with my friend Emily in FL, and how we were going to convince Tracie to give me a ticket to the race, I suggested Emily nag Tracie on my behalf.
me: Make both of our dreams come true.
Emily: that was so deep
me: I roll deep.
me: what does that even mean?
Emily: I have no idea.
So today, I investigated. Urban Dictionary has quite a good definition of what it means to roll deep. And I have taken the liberty to adjust it, revise it, and will continue to incorporate it in my life. According to the UD, rolling deep is a result of all the dangers of the streets of the nineties (I guess they were more dangerous than any of the streets of the Forbes' 2010 Top 15 Most Dangerous Cities, one of which I hail from and the reason behind the fact that I truly really am a g). While strength CAN and IS found in numbers, large entourages following you do not necessarily mean you roll deep. Rolling deep, simply put means that you are not to be effed with.
Rolling deep defends you and threatens others.
From the 9 steps below, you will see how I do in fact already roll deep.
1. Put on the hardest clothes you can find (consult the latest number one video on Rap City) and practice scowling in the mirror for a few hours. The scowl is on the most integral aspects of rolling deep and must be perfected. (since I'm apparently moody, this is not an issue for me. I've got some war paint for my cheek bones too, and since I went to high school where the principal handed out rope to boys without their belts, I know how to drop my drawers and obviously my Bieber sweater will be used in instances of rolling deep).
2. Take a deep breath and tell yourself you are hard until you believe it. (I don't need to believe it. I know I'm hard).
3. Pretend you are in a rap video, running down the street in slow motion (uh what do you think I do at the gym every day?)
4. Visualize yourself as an actual member of a video posse. (clearly the maker of this list didn't know that a video posse is just one of the many posses I belong to).
5. Practice the "What the f$#@?!" arm gesture (both arms open, palms spread outward) until it becomes an automatic response to any question, especially if from a parent, cop, boss, or teacher. (Since I taught some friends how to shake their fist at fellows drivers on the way to Naples, FL one year, I will adopt the fist shake as my what the eff gesture)
6. Grow some sort of "hard" facial hair. (I really hope the inability to grow much facial hair doesn't negate my hardness)
7. Look around a lot, like you expecting static from any direction. (I don't expect it. It comes with the territory I roll in)
8. Cultivate a fake limp or strut and walk extremely slowly. (I love pretending to be handicapped so this won't be a problem and maybe people will take me more seriously).
9. Refer to people only as biznitch or fool.(uhh, already part of my vocab).
All you have to do is follow these simple rules, and you will be ready to gather your crew and roll deep. Keep in mind that a larger group does not necessarily signify a deeper roll. Some people will never be able to roll deep, no matter who makes up their roll. If you are new to the art of rolling deep, you should never try to flex on someone who clearly rolls deeper than you. It's better to practice rolling deep on things that can't hurt you before trying to roll deep in real life. Street signs that got you pulled over, drink machines that stole your money, keyboards that don't type what you want - these are all examples of things that would be good practice points of rollling deep. Once you master these you can move on to blind people, stray cats and other things that are alive but can't really hurt you (just in case your roll doesn't work for some reason. It's rare, but it happens). Upon mastery of this category, you can move on up the chain and pretty soon, you'll be able to flex on old people and babies alike, knowing that only someone with as much confidence in their roll as you have really does roll deep.
Keep on flexin, live your lyrics, and never try to roll deep before you're ready.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
She then tells me she is helping this lady organize her house to make some extra cash (which is definitely better than working at Cafe Risque on I-95 like she has always threatened if her degrees don't pay off) and came upon this item "wiggling around in a bin with a bunch of papers." While I love a good tease, I couldn't take the teasing much longer so I was glad when I saw an image pop up on my screen. Only, I can honestly say I was NOT expecting THIS to be the wiggler amongst papers.
So of course I see this and I almost died. My diet dr. pep went up my nostrils and down the wrong tube and it was so worth it. Now, this is curious to me for several reasons. First off, it is nothing like what Samantha showed me on Sex and the City. Additionally, is it tie dyed? I mean, let's be honest here: is this supposed to be realistic? Because I may be naive, but I am pretty sure it is not a fair representation of a man's nether regions. Not one bit. And of course all I can think about (which apparently my friend had the same sentiments since she sent me another txt saying pretty much what I was thinking) is that it looked like a giant gummy worm. And I was immediately reminded of the time my brother convinced me everyone in my family hated me, so I went outside, sat down on the driveway and sang "nobody loves me, everybody hates me, think I'll eat some worms. Fat ones, skinny ones, big ole' juicy worms." Now, had I had this giant gummy worm, I wouldn't have had to sing for much longer because it is fat, it is skinny, and it is big (I'm not even going to get into whether or not it is juicy. eww).
I was also reminded of the time (years ago) some fellow bridesmaids and I threw a sex toy party for a bride as her bach party. At the time, I was mortified we did this, but mainly because I knew my mom would find it inappropriate (she wasn't invited but I knew what she would think anyway). But it was fun. Half the girls thought the party was inappropriate and half thought it was funny. So, you can imagine the dynamic in the room as one sex toy to another was passed around for us to ooh and ahh over. It was similar to what I remember sex ed in 5th grade being like - lots of awkward laughter and squealing. At any rate, because I thought it would be funny to shock some of my friends who thought the party was ridiculous, I purchased a battery operated pink thing. It only had one job: to shock my friends when they came over. So I placed it on the back of the toilet and hosted a dinner party (let's keep in mind that at this point in my life, I was so poor I really only ate hot dogs and couscous, but I apparently scrouged up my pennies when need be for the important stuff). The same friend who found this tie dyed schlong yesterday also was the first to discover ole pinky in my bathroom. She said "What is on the back of your toilet?" and I don't know why I did what I did next. All of a sudden I felt incredibly awkward and dumb so I said "It's [my roommate's]. She uses my garden tub sometimes and she left that in there the last time." My friend was nothing short of entirely disgusted and appalled. My roommate and I still laugh about this and why I felt the need to lie and blame it on her. I had bought the freakin' thing for shock value and then chickened out. I honestly have no idea whatever happened to my purchase after that night. Maybe my roommate stole it?
I told my friend about the time I went to New Orleans to do Katrina relief work. For each house we gutted, we made 3 piles: white goods, trash and salvageables. Most of you know of the devastation and destruction Katrina caused. Oddly enough, while practically EVERYTHING in the houses we gutted had to go into either the white goods or trash piles, we did find lots of nudey pics and lingerie that had survived the storm. Most of the people on my team wanted to put these items in the trash pile but I insisted they go in the salvegables. My reasoning? If I had lost everything, I would want to know my nekkid pics were not in the dump somewhere for a stranger to look at. I told my friend that a tie dyed wiggler would most certainly have not only survived a storm, but it would have made it into the salvageables pile in my book. My friend said she was putting it back in the box and pretending like she never saw it. I said it belonged in the "go through" pile because the lady might pay her more once she realized what my friend had found.
I don't think she took my advice. Which is a shame but what is not a shame is the fact that this one piece of hippie love brought me lots of happiness yesterday.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
What I do not know is how the events of today transpired. I called what I thought was a mobile pet groomer. The website had good reviews and I figured it would be a good idea to have them come to me since Pete doesn't travel well and I'm out of tranquilizers. The owner of the number I called didn't pick up, so I left her a voice mail. In my message, I said "I am not sure you are the right person so if this isn't the right number, I apologize and please disregard." I mean, all her voice mail greeting said was her name, which I found a little odd since the number was affiliated with a business, but then again she is a pet groomer so how do I not know she's not like a painter. Now, let's just preface this with the fact that if I were to get a voice mail like the one I left her, I wouldn't call back if it were the wrong number. I would just.let.it.go. But, because I am the Deeze and find myself in pickles more often than not, this of course is not the case with the crazy I accidentally called. The chick calls me back, tells me who she is and asks did I call her. Well, hmm. I call a lot of people during the day so I said probably. What was it about? The next thing that happens, well actually the next few, completely BLOW my mind. She started SCREAMING at me that she does NOT groom cats and she didn't know if this was some sort of joke, but there was something illegal going on with her phone and I need to disregard any website I see with her number. Now, this is all well and good but I was still trying to grapple with the fact that I was being screamed at by some girl whom I had told to disregard my message if she wasn't the right person. I mean, talk about someone who clearly does not want to be mistaken for a cat lady. So I apologize and we hang up.
FIVE MINUTES LATER, she calls me back and tells me her phone is being tapped and I am being recorded. Umm, ok? Like what am I supposed to do with this information? I'm not even sure she can tap my phone and record our convo but if she can, well, she shouldn't have tapped that because our conversation was less than interesting. She wants to know what website I got her number off of. So I tell her. Then she starts screaming at me again that something illegal is going on with her number and she doesn't know if I have anything to do with it but I need to never call her again. Ever. Then tells me again I am being recorded on her tapped number. Alright, alright. I GET IT WOMAN. What I don't get is why a) if she gets pranked a lot, she doesn't change her number and 2) if she is involved in something illegal, why does she tell people her phone is being tapped? Isn't that supposed to be a secret? So we hang up. And then it occurs to me that maybe I called the wrong number. So I look up the website and yes, I had transposed some numbers. Oops. I mean, I never claimed to not have some sort of dyslexia but if I get served because of this crazy ass chick, you can bet I am claiming I do. She called again but I didn't answer. What was she going to say this time? I feel as though I'm being harassed.
At any rate, I won't be calling her number again. Ever. And I guess Pete won't be getting his flori-do any time soon. I guess these days you don't have to have a cat to make you cray cray. Not gonna lie. This whole thing makes me feel better about my own mental stability.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
2. Mom and I frantically searched for available cabins and because I am the family saver, I located a cabin that was available and rented it while on the phone with mom.
3. Mom and dad arrive at the cabin Fri. afternoon and mom calls me (upset) to tell me "this place is in the sticks and so far up the mountain, it is just awful." (my mom is not a mountain woman and is the reason my dad has not done more than build a road on our mountain property).
4. I call mom around 6p Fri. to tell her the Mere Mere is hitting the road. Mom is perkier and in better spirits about the house. Aunt Libby and Uncle Kenny have arrived and I suppose everyone has had a snack and their blood sugar is back up. Life is lookin' good.
5. After sitting in traffic for over an hour, I arrive in Wilkesboro and decide to use the facilities. Dad calls and says to call him when I turn off and he will come down the mountain and meet me. He wants to lead me up the mountain so I don't get scared in the pitch black of night.
6. As soon as I leave McDonalds (where else), I lose cell phone service. I cannot call dad to come lead me up the mountain.
7. I quickly realize the road I am turning on also has a sign for "Ashe County." Now, I dated a [really crazy] boy from Boone and he used to point to this road and say "don't ever go to Ashe County. Everyone down there is crazy and they'll kill you." I really hated it that at this moment, I was heading toward Ashe County with no cell service and the words of my crazy ex echoing in my brain. I mean, Ashe County must be seriously off the chain cray cray if HE called them crazy.
8. My low on gas red light comes on. So, I have no cell service, it's dark by this point, I'm guaranteed going to run out of gas and I'm driving deeper and deeper into Ashe County. All I can think about is that I'm probably going to die on this night.
9. As the road curves and climbs upward, I realize I really am in.the.middle.of.the.woods. All of a sudden, every single Criminal Minds episode I have watched (and that's a lot since I watch between 3-4 episodes per night...yes, someone clearly needs to find a hobby or seven) flashes before my eyes and I realize that I really am going to die on this night. I mean, I was even making mental notes of which houses had lights on so I could make sure I ran out of gas right nearby and could walk to their house for help.
10. My prayer life may have been a bit touch and go as of late, but on this night, all I did was pray that I would make it up the mountain. I figured dad would eventually come down the mountain looking for me but I secretly knew if I did run out of gas, I wasn't going to start walking. I would just lock myself in my trunk. There was no way my kung fu fighting skills were going to protect me against the masses of crazy Ashe County. And clearly the masses were in the wilderness, waiting on a girl like me to show up.
11. I arrive at the bottom of the hill to the house and realize I am going to have to just goose on up. This hill was so steep. And I was in my little race car Volvo. Excellent on flat roads but this little mug had been shaking since I had arrived in Ashe County (no patterns to be noticed here folks). So I lay on the gas and literally soar up this steep mountain to the top, where a small patch has been leveled. Mom is on the porch, crying in relief that I have made it. She calls dad (who had in fact gone to search for me) and tells him I have arrived. He says he is leading Lee up the mountain.
12. This annoys mom and me. Dad wanted to lead ME up the mountain and instead he finds Lee, a freakin' former professional boyscout who should know how to survive in the wilderness if need be. Yet here they come, Dad leading Lee up the mountain.
13. Only, Lee's car gets stuck on the drive way. Yes. It was that steep. Dad and Lee eventually get his car up the hill.
14. Meanwhile, I am eating a bowl of chili and continuing my prayer pleas that nothing else gets out of hand.
15. Please note my blood pressure had been at about boiling since I had left Raleigh and Lee had been calling me non stop to check in on me. By the time Lee and Dad get Lee's car up the mountain, there are 4 of us with quite a bit more than low blood pressure.
16. Please add two more to that number because pretty much as soon as Lee and Dad come in to console mom (who was still weepy) that everyone had arrived in one piece, Uncle Kenny spots a mouse. in the kitchen.
17. Mom and Libby scream, Kenny and Dad laugh, Lee and I just want to eat our chili.
18. At one point, I look over and every body was sitting in the living room with our feet in the air.
19. Mom calls the rental company and proceeds to get into a verbal altercation with them that they are going to have to come get us and take us somewhere else. That we have never lived anywhere with mice and we will not do it on this night. The lady says no one can come tonight but we can drive down the road a little ways and go to another house if we want. Helpful.
20. Dad does a little jig. Mom starts to cry. Again.
21. Lee, the former professional boy scout starts trying to catch the mouse. With a broom. I annoy him by asking him what the plural for mice is. Is it meece? I mean, think about it it. One mouse, two mice, three meece. Makes sense to me. Lee tells me I am dumb.
21. Lee, the former professional boy scout decides he will not sleep in the living room lest the meece get wild at night. So he moves his air mattress into my room where he proceeds to disturb my slumber every time he moves on his air mattress. At one point he says I woke up and yelled at him: Lee, you're going to have to go into the living room because you're being too loud." Although Lee absolutely cannot stand when a woman tells him what to do, he does eventually get up and move to the couch in the living room.
22. The meece don't make an appearance for the rest of the weekend. Today, on the evaluation form left by the rental company, I noticed my mom had been very mature in her answers. When asked if we would be interested in renting again, mom wrote in all caps, "NEVER!" When asked would we recommend this house to others, mom wrote again in all caps, "NO NO NO!"
23. Before we left, I brushed a small crumb onto the floor for our new friend. I'm sure he gets hungry up there in Ashe County.
24. I desperately want to post the video I have from reactions to the mouse discovery, but I am afraid of my mom. And she threatened to kill me. Since I made it out of Ashe County alive, I don't think that's a risk I want to take just yet.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
DEEZE OF THE DAY
hineymo [hiney moe](noun)
bottom, buttocks, backside, arse.
"I realized that ever since I injured my coccyx, my hineymo hurts even more after cycling class. It's probably a good thing I quit the gym."
|Personalize your own picture collage|
Ladies and gentlemen: the unthinkable is about to happen. Eli is about to graduate from college, thus thrusting her into the world of adults where she will have to fend for herself and act like...well, as grown as she can act.
Not gonna lie: when I was putting together this little collage, I found myself tearing up a bit. I mean, this is my kid sister we're talking about. This is the little girl who I taught to say "nostril" as her first word. This is the girl who still seems to get away with murder. This is the girl who was so mischievous growing up that my folks switched the lock on her bedroom door so they could keep her in her room, only to have her lock a babysitter in her room years later while she ran a muck. This is the girl that it is all fun and games with until she decides Lee and I are ganging up on her and then she makes herself cry (and we're the ones getting blamed). This is the girl who slept on an air mattress in my living room for an entire summer just so she could live in FL (and paid rent! score for the mere mere!). This is the girl who I convinced to be my caddy at the driving range simply because "everyone needs a caddy at the driving range". This is the girl who I literally beat up because she resisted wearing the prom dress I had chosen for her and our brother threatened to kill if she breathed a word about his speeding ticket to our parents (and she honestly believed he would kill her for like six months or something ridiculous). I read somewhere that only sisters can understand how you can love someone so dearly and want to wring their neck all at the same time. Truer words have never been spoken, I'd say.
But I found myself tearing up for not only those things, but also because this is the girl that really thinks I am awesome (she has not been fooled). If she is wearing something I like, she usually gives it to me if I ask nicely. I mean shoot, just last weekend I made out with several pairs of hankies, a sweater and some sorority t-shirts. If I am tired or whiney (so, basically most of the time), she will go fetch things for me so I don't have to get up. My Amie always used to say that blood was thicker than water, and this girl proves my Amie was right. My sister is extremely loyal and always has my back. If you are afraid to date Taylor Swift because of the things she may sing about you, you should be afraid to date me because of the things Eli may do to you. In public. There are reasons why my girlfriends and I have re-enacted, over and over again, scenes from Eli going literally biserk on people who have wronged me. Besides being loyal, she is kind and tender-hearted (whatever that means). She loves coercing everyone into watching a movie just to trick us into watching home videos of her as a baby. She will be madder than mud at you one minute and then sweet as pie the next. She's funny. She excels in the art of rap writing. She has a weird love for Cher and used to steal my Jessica Simpson wig, turn on "do you believe in love after love" as loud as she can and then dance around. Here's the thing about her dancing: she's got way more rhythm than her big sister. She can drop it like it's hot at 6a and then again at midnight. I mean, she wasn't the mountain man mascot at App State for nothing. She's compassionate. She's always up for a good time. She gets mad and says I'm bossy, but she always does what I say, err, I mean ask. I'm pretty sure she secretly believes she is one degree away from being a Kardashian. She's smart and she's a really talented writer. We share a love of gangsters, Ed Hardy hats and diamond studs. I could continue listing all the things I find fabulous about my sister. But I won't. Because she's only 21 and she still has a long fabulous life ahead of her.
Honestly, there were times we (as in her brother and I. I'm sure her parents always figured she'd get to this point) wondered if she'd ever make it to college. We certainly both feel like she probably shouldn't be graduating. Because not only does that mean scrappy Eli is unleashed on the rest of the world, it also means we're getting really old. It's a strange thing to see your baby sister all growed up. Sometimes she says stuff and she sounds like Justin Bobby. Other times, she says stuff and I am amazed that this young woman next to me is my sister. I've often said that I wish I could have been as secure in myself and confident about my life as she is when I was her age. I am so thankful to have her as my sister and I'm even more thankful that we were able to share last summer together. The summer before she graduated college. The summer she turned 21 under my supervision (yes). I credit that with taking our relationship from sisters to friends. to best friends.
So here's to you Eli. I am so proud of you but I'm even more proud of myself for raising up a sister like you. Most of the time, you're not too shabby (scrappy, yes. shabby, no). I can't wait to see what kind of trouble we can get into now that we're BOTH adults. And just for you, because you graduated college, I'm going to do the one thing you always say I never do for you. I'll get in the ocean and swim with you this summer. And I will relish in my qt with my sis in the dirty, dirty ocean water.
just remember: I carry your heart with me. I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go, my dear. And whatever is done by only me... is your doing, my darling. I fear no fate... for you are my fate, my sweet. I want no world, for, beautiful... you are my world, my true. Here is the deepest secret no one knows. Here is the root of the root... and the bud of the bud... and the sky of the sky of a tree called life... which grows higher than the soul can hope... or mind can hide. It is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart. I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
whilst discussing the new show Mob Wives at work (we work hard around here), I got told I was not a gangster. All because I said I couldn't handle all the yelling on the show and had to turn it off. So now I'm not a g?
I take exception to this.
I am entirely gangster.