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.

(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.

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.

The Fiero—meaning "proud" in Italian and "wild", "fierce", or "ferocious" in Spanish

You want to know what's not fierce or ferocious? Me driving my very first car. A gold Pontiac Fiero. Oh sure, I was super fierce when I saw it and pitched a huge temper tantrum so my dad would buy it for me. But I was not fierce when I stalled out at every stop light. Or when I cried because I didn't want it anymore. And I can guarantee you this chump isn't fierce either. You know how I know? Because it's 2011. And he's driving a Fiero.

txts from the weekend

saturday morning, i woke up to find this text on my phone:

peek a booo!! hey turn the lights out

i checked my lights. there weren't on. panic set in. WHO WAS WATCHING ME? then it occurred to me that I didn't know the number this txt had come from. WHO HAD I GIVEN MY NUMBER TO? better yet - WHO KNEW WHERE I LIVED?? You know you watche too many Criminal Minds when...

and then I had a thought.

You KNOW this was a gay man sending this txt. And I love gay men. So I responded that the lights weren't on. I guess he figured out he didn't know me either because he didn't respond.

oye vey.

truth thursday.

i hate skinny jeans on boys (the biebs included in this).

yeah. i said it. so what? i feel like you probably secretly agree with me. I mean, let's look at the facts. Skinny jeans aren't just like girl jeans. in most instances, they ARE girl jeans. I have lots of skinny minnie (girl) friends who wear skinnies and look great. I can't wear them. I'm not that skinny. So why would I date a guy who can wear skinny jeans? Girls like to feel tiny next to their man and how the hell am I supposed to feel tiny next to a guy who is wearing jeans skinnier than me? Boys have about as much business wearing skinny jeans as Kenny Chesney does wearing size 29 jeans. and that business is c-l-o-s-e-d. Besides, I know what a workout it is for me to put my jeans on sometimes so I can just imagine the tricks these boys must be having to perform in order to get those jeans halfway up their behonkeys. boys plie class, third door on the left.

Another thing, skinny jeans are like a denim wrestling singlet. I dated a guy in high school who was a wrestler. He loved his wrestling singlet. I think it made him feel really manly prancing around in that thing (wrestlers never seem to think they are too skinny but all us non wrestlers know the truth). It didn't make me feel anything less than completely awkwad. Seriously. Here is this guy prancing around in his wrestling singlet, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, and I'm supposed to get excited about it? I don't think so. Grow some chest hair and put on some clothes. You're embarrassing me in your lycra wrestling singlet, shaking all around like you got something to shake. Call me a late bloomer but forget leaving something to the imagination. I was just horrified at that point.

so please guys. take off your skinnies and put on your fatties. pair it with a nice sweater and some pennies and we'll be set. you'll look much more age appropriate and I have a sneaking suspicion that you'll feel better too. and isn't that the point here? to do what feels good?

someone please call 911

Eli has apparently lost her credit card once again. And by lost I mean she's had it taken away by the authorities. And because of this, she has hit rock bottom. I almost hit the bottom of the floor tonight in the grocery store when Lee called to tell me about this. I honestly may not have ever laughed so hard in a grocery store before in.my.life (and if you know me, that's saying something. Because I'm the funniest person I know and the grocery store has lots for me to discuss with myself about).

Since losing your credit card is a big deal no matter how old you are, Eli called her big brother in the midst of her panic attack. Except, unlike most big brothers, I'm not sure ours is really the wisest choice to call. I mean for starters, he is like panic mcgee 99.9% of the time. if you call him more than once, which I often do since he is a call screener (multiple calling is my personal favorite way to make someone pick up the phone. it doesn't make anyone agitated at all), he will return your call with "um is everything ok? Because you're calling me non stop like you may be dead." Thanks for the concern, bro, but if I were dead I probably wouldn't be calling you. not first at least. But with today's technology, calling didn't make sense. So Eli facebooked Lee. In the middle of her crisis.

I AM HAVING AN EMERGENCY
i need a fucking milkshake and i have no money. mom and dad took my credit card.

I have no gas, i literally have .03 miles till empty. and i have NO money.

you need to come bring me a milkshake and ten dollars.

lee i need some money damnit.

you have tons of money. give me some.

what time is ur class over

LEE

i better have a milkshake at 6.

i want a Mary E special from cookout

they will know what that is

I would like to discuss the emergencies herein....right, my point exactly. There are none. Clearly my biggest concern is that the Cookout has a Mary E special and I didn't know about it. I mean, how often do I go to the Cookout and I don't even know they have a milkshake full of Eli whoopin' ass and taking names? Forget only ordering a corn dog at the drive thru. next time it's a corn dog and a mary e special. and if they don't have it? oh you can bet all hell is gonna break loose.

lines in your forehead

this reminds me a little of the time i was in a bible study via web cam.

only this is so much more entertaining.

obama's a comin!

A coworker asked me today where Obama was speaking tomorrow. I told him and then a conversation about traffic ensued. Another coworker chimed in and said "the solution is to get in early and not go out for lunch."

So then I said "actually, the solution would be to just not vote for him ever again."

I am the most ingenious gal I know.

dead to the world but not to my heart

Dear Pac:

Today marks 15 years since you've been gone. Speaking of which, you'd probably really like Kelly Clarkson. A lot has changed in the past 15 years but one thing that hasn't is my love for you. Snoop Dogg says that because of you, thugs are carrying around laptops and becoming smarter. Isn't that a nice thought. Not that they probably stole the computers, but that they are becoming smarter because of you. I mean, without you and Al Gore's invention of the Internet, there's no telling where we'd be today. I know I sure as heck couldn't google you as much as I wanted. And can we please talk about how there is STILL no resolution to your death? I watch how many Criminal Minds episodes a night? There is absolutely no excuse to why no forensic evidence has led us to your killer. Until then, I will continue to keep my fingers crossed on your behalf that Tha Outlawz and Biggie's Junior Mafia collaboration on "Bury The Hatchet" was not done in vain.

I am in mourning today and putting on my best, bravest face. Had I planned better (ok I admit. I didn't even have today on my calendar), I would have planned to take a trip to Lumberton to see your mama. But then again, who really wants to go to Lumberton, even out of tribute to someone we once knew and loved?

So for you Pac, I'ma pour out a little liquor and remember that it's just me against the world.

Love, Deezy.

blessings.

If I could change one thing about myself, it would be my ability to sing. If you have gotten to experience one of my birthday songs on your voice mail, then you know I absolutely cannot sing. And I love to sing. I feel like there are so many songs out there that say exactly what I want to say but can't figure out how to put in words (and you know I can pretty much put anything into words). When I think about experiences in my life, some of which I've written bits and pieces of throughout Merdeezy Hollaaas, I think about that song by Garth Brooks, "Unanswered Prayers." And how right on the mark it is. Sometimes God's greatest gifts really are all those unanswered prayers of ours. And then there is this new song I just discovered - Blessings by Laura Story.

No explanation needed. Just let the lyrics wash over you.
_______

We pray for blessings, we pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering

All the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things

Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops?
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near?

What if trials of this life
Are Your mercies in disguise?

We pray for wisdom, Your voice to hear
We cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough

And all the while You hear each desperate plea
And long that we’d have faith to believe

Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears?
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near?

And what if trials of this life
Are Your mercies in disguise

When friends betray us, when darkness seems to win
We know the pain reminds this heart
That this is not, this is not our home
It’s not our home

Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears?
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near?

What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst
This world can’t satisfy?

And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise?

garage loser

Lee called tonight to inform me he had gotten a garage door opener for his house. I didn't even know his garage worked, but apparently it does. And now he has a garage door opener to he can open that biznitch up, rain or shine.

Then I reminded him of the time he asked me to go apartment shopping with him. He had no money - I mean, this was before Jos A. Bank people. So I took it upon myself to tell him how he could spend his money each month. Which, in retrospect is pretty hilarious considering I should probably have someone tell me how to spend my money each month (however, this is not an offer to mom or dad to become my financial bosses). One of the apartment complexes we shopped was a gated community and an amenity was a gate clicker for your car. EXCUSE ME? That is an AMENITY? If I'm not mistaken, an amenity is something they give you for paying out your bahonkey to live there. Like a gym with no ceiling fans. Or a pool with water so warm you feel like you're swimming in a bowl full of urine at the YMCA. At any rate, this particular amenity was an extra charge. an extra 75 bucks or something ridiculous like that. I heard that, turned to my big brother and told him no way in hell was his broke arse getting a gate clicker. he took it in stride and simply turned to the apartment guy and said "no thank you" for the gate clicker.

i guess lee's call to me tonight was two fold. not only did he inform me of his new garage opener, but he clearly was also informing me that with this purchase, our financial ties had been completely severed. i'm not worried though. Since I am a boss it all, I'm sure I'll still manage to tell him how to run his life sooner rather than later. Garage clicker, garage schmicker.

No teardrops on this guitar

"Do 6th row floor seats work for you to Taylor Swift?"

are you serious? That's like when I got told I'd have to take the limo car instead of the helicopter to the Indy 500.

sign.me.up. (and my boots because you KNOW i'm gonna be wearing a glitter dress and some boots to this shindig)

oh, and don't ever wear that shirt again

Tonight Eli and I met in Mebane for dinner. She had been in Greensboro for the weekend visiting her college roommate Melissa, and since I was unwilling to drive that far, she agreed to drive 30 minutes further east to meet me in Mebane. I told her I thought there was a Cracker Barrel off Mebane-Oaks Rd (home of the BEST Bojangles on Planet Earth, therefore making it a frequent stop on my drives to Charlotte). Since apparently being "off Mebane-Oaks Rd" made no sense to her, she told me she would use her gps and find it. A few minutes later, she sends me the address of the Cracker Barrel on Mebane-Oaks Rd. Except, I showed up before her and found no Cracker Barrel (even though I was certain it had been there at one point). I called Eli and she gave me the street address. I put the address in and off I go into Mebane in search of the Cracker Barrel that I know had been there just 1 month ago. The gps delivers me into the middle of the Wal Mart parking lot. Probably the only thing that might frighten me more than Wal Mart itself is the parking lot of a Wal Mart in a little country town. I call Eli and she proceeds to tell me she doesn't know why I can't find it - why, she had mapped a Cracker Barrel directly to that spot. Fine, I tell her. Just meet me here and we'll figure it out. Next thing I know, here she comes barreling through the parking lot like a bat outta hell, leaning out the window and telling me the Cracker Barrel was in fact at the exit before this one. And then she apologized to me that I was dumb. Now, I may have been under the impression that there was a Cracker Barrel off that exit, but I'm not the one who actually mapped a Cracker Barrel to that exact location. But whatever. Off we rode to get our biscuits and fried okra.

Like most encounters with Eli, she had come prepared with lots of treats for me: a pair of designer shoes she had purchased on a work trip for me, a trash bag full of t-shirts from her college days (since she is so out of college now) and the first season of 16 and Pregnant on dvd. I modeled my new shoes for her while she lamented that I looked ugly in my boat shoes and jean capris. Then she noticed my shirt. Upon the realization that her older sister was wearing a Reba McIntyre shirt, she became very embarrassed and told me to "never wear that shirt again." Well all I know is praise the Lord almighty up in the sky. That bag of college t-shirts she gave me definitely includes a Jack Daniels tshirt. Forget Reba. From here on out, it's me and Jack. And my boat shoes.

you've been slapped

the other night, i got an invitation from a cute boy to ride to wal mart with him (now. we all know wal mart scares me most of the time, so this must have been quite the cute boy). I was secretly excited though because Wal Mart always has odd things upon its shelves. And odd people. And I needed a hair clip. I should probably admit that Mr. Cute Boy informed me upon entering Wal Mart that he hoped someone took a picture of me and posted it to peopleofwalmart.com. I mean, I didn't look any more ridiculous than I normally look (think UNC gear, glasses and no shower) but he hates UNC. But whatever. Somewhere in between the coffee pots and the hair clips, he discovered Slap Energy Drink.

WHAT?

So much energy it's like you got slapped in the face.

that's not their slogan. Mr. Cute Boy made it up. but according to this article, the Slap drink works like a charm when it comes to slapping that tired look off your face. I found it funny. and I needed to laugh since I was about to cry that he had found such a great treat at Wal Mart and I had not. Actually, he had found two. the Slap and the deeze. Mr Cute Boy, it was your lucky day at the Wal mart.

good thing it's the weekend. and wally world is just down the road. i got some slapping to do.

Call from Eli (in regards to the below post)

"Meredith, next time you have a moment, I want you to remember that I will be there. Front and Center. not with compassion. but with a camera."

taxes schmaxes

Today Eli called me to tell me the details of her new job. She told me she was going to have to pay taxes and that she just didn't think she was going to be doing that. I told her I didn't think taxes were exactly something you could just opt out of (what a novel idea! the optional tax!). She told me she had better things to do than pay taxes.

umm. welcome to the real world baby girl.

(and ps. this pic has nothing to do with taxes but I find it funny. plus, it is how I feel when it comes to tax time as my favorite accountant Taylor will tell you. and since Eli is my sister, there's a good chance I may or may not resemble this pic every now and again).

thought for the day.

"I can't take my tranquilizer on the airplane. someone might come and try to get familiar with me while i'm asleep." ~a real quote from anonymous.

...........is getting familiar on a plane with a sleeping woman a new form of the mile high club?

eatin' big

i have this saying that a girl's gotta eat (and this girl likes to eat big). i took it from natalie who i think took it from her mom, but hey, does it really matter? i mean, a girl DOES have to eat. this has subsequently become my mantra for why I do a lot of the things I do. At any rate.

The other day I emailed my mom to tell her I was going to a work lunch and that i planned to eat big because i wasn't paying. her response?

"always eat big when someone else is paying. although one time I had a date with a boy from duke. We had pizza. I ate my half and he didn't like it.We went out a few more times I guess because I know we went to a steak house and had an expensive meal. Maybe we didn't go out again after the steak dinner."

at least i know i come by it honestly. and when you're mother is giving you instructions to eat big, aren't you supposed to oblige? I mean, whatever happened to honor thy father and thy mother. plus, i'd like to note that this sounds about right for a dookie.

is nc state really the team i hate?

anyone who knows me knows I am a giant UNC fan. Now, I've always been a fan of any team I could get tickets to go see. I have been known to dress the part and cheer and really look like a real fan. I guess sports just don't really matter to me. Except then I moved to Fl. and more than one person just assumed I was a big ACC fan. Since I had a UNC jersey and some other fun paraphernalia in my closet (thanks ex bf!) and family ties to UNC, I said why yes, as a matter of fact I was a big ACC fan. Right then and there, I became a Tarheel born and bred. And then I moved back to NC. So you can imagine what it is like for someone like me, a die hard Carolina fan to be living amongst 900 million NC State fans. Like, you've never seen so much red. I haven't experienced so much hatred towards UNC since the night I met Sam Forehand in Bogarts' wearing a "go to hell carolina" shirt (what a bastard).

This weekend, I got invited to an NC State tailgate. i learned just how bossy some of my friends are too because i was instructed not to dare wear blue, that i better wear red and that as long as i looked the part, no one would tell on me for frontin. now, we all know the following: i do not like to miss a good party and much to my dismay, nc state knows how to throw a good party. i mean shoot, anything that is held on the state fairgrounds is bound to be a party! once a kid got shot there. and supposedly there's always a girl wearing cowboy boots who drinks one too many airplane bottles and falls out. I told my friends they would have no idea I wasn't a State fan. Why, I even have a pair of cowboys that are the perfect shade of nc state red. I purchased a team friendly bottle koozie to hide my Mike's Hard Lemonade, I shined up my boots, pulled out my red belt and off I went. I think I may have been the only fan at the tailgate who hadn't purchased something new for her tailgating outfit (bottle koozie not included). Leave it to those UNC fans to be resourceful. Speaking of resourceful, I wasn't about to walk the mile back to my house in my red cowboys. So I called a cab. I got some pretty judgmental looks on the way down to the highway where I got picked up. But, I mean, I guess I would have judged a girl in red cowboys leaving the tailgate with a cooler too.

grammar pet peeves

I am not usually a grammar nazi. lord knows I don't always speak correctly. but the confusion between suppose and supposed and use and used drives me crazy. this is a common confusion even people i know who are not dummies make. please read and let's all try harder in 2011 to use these words appropriately.

1. suppose v. supposed

I suppose i will do that.
i am supposed to do that.
you are supposed to do that.

it is NOT i am suppose to do something.

2. use v. used

i am used to that.
you are used to that.
i will use that.

it is NOT i am use to that.

oh, and while i'm at it. please do not caption your pictures "so and so and i at the mall" or anything like that. if you take so and so out of it, you would caption the picture "me at the mall" not "i at the mall."