Christmas was good this year, despite the fact that we're about to be crushed under an avalanche of chocolate. After-holiday candy sales rock, except I tend to go overboard, thinking "well, I can freeze it for later" or "they're peppermints, they last forreeever!"
Yeah right.
No chocolate that enters my house has ever seen the inside of my freezer, except in the form of ice cream. Now, it WILL sit on the table or desk for a while, because I go through craving phases, but then the ol' hormones will kick in and an entire box of Russel Stover turtles or Gertrude Hawk Smidgens will magically disappear overnight. (Coconut Custard Smidgens do not stand a chance. I have to ask the husband to hide them from me.)
I also baked this year, and thought I was doing good by giving away all but the few broken cookies. Then family and friends returned the favor with more piles of baked goods. I am a cookie monster like my dad... they're second only to cake... so those are cool. But someone sent over an entire pumpkin roll, cheesecake, and other delectables. Now, I'm not typically overweight, but who can resist anything with cream cheese in it? I gained 4 lbs in 2 weeks and I truly don't care. I'm off work for a month and I'm hibernating, so there.
Yesterday, I realized I was tired of sweets. Yes, really. I was having a serious jones for cheese, meat, pasta, anything without a buttload of sugar in it. (Indirect pun intended. That's where all the sugar goes, after all.) When I stopped at the grocery for milk I was giving the eye to a can of spray cheese... one item that has never been in my house, mainly because I can't stand the stuff... but there I was, at the beginning stages of drool, contemplating E-Z Cheez. I had to get a real-food fix and fast. Had to stave it off with a tuna sammich till dinnertime.
I also realized that I got a beautiful, shiny, full-sized bottle of top shelf vodka for Christmas and I haven't even cracked it open yet. It's been chilling in the freezer because... well, pumpkin roll and vodka are a horrible combination. Trust me on this. I prefer to enjoy my vodka without any accompaniment other than a couple olives or a pepperoncini. On New Years Eve I'll be staying in, away from the crazies on the road, getting happily buzzed and surfing Teh Innernetz. I'll have the scanner on in the hope that someone, somewhere, will top the Burger-King-Hat-Wearing Drunk Goat* police call from a few years ago.
Ghirardelli Eggnog chocolate squares rock. That is all.
*Funniest thing I have EVER heard over the scanner.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
No, This Is Normal... Really
When married to a redneck, one of the things one has to get used to is the variety of things said person will bring home. And by variety, I don't mean just beer, dirt, and his strange cousin with the eye twitch, but also homemade explosives, stinkbait, weapons, and dead animals, or just parts of animals.
Take tonight, for example. I was sitting here, happily typing away, when B came in the door toting a deer leg. I just stopped what I was doing and waited. I know rifle season is over, and all edible parts of the deer he shot are present and accounted for in my freezer, so an extra entire back leg required some explanation. I also knew the story behind it probably, at this point in our marriage, would not surprise me. He dumped the skinned and still bloody leg on the counter and said, matter-of-factly, "It still has some hair on it. I'll have to clean it up." I waited. And stared at Blitzen's left haunch dripping on my freshly-cleaned countertop. Once he got out his knives, he explained.
It seems that on his way to work, B saw a man and his boy along the road with a deer. Assuming they'd hit it, he stopped to see if they needed help. They did, but not in a car-related way. The man's neighbor had hit the deer, then called the guy, who proceeded to go collect it sans any type of knife or gun. The buck had a broken leg or two and was still alive, and most folks hereabouts won't let a deer suffer if they can help it. Also, that's good meat if it wasn't a body hit.
B let the man borrow his hunting knife, the buck was dispatched, and then came the issue of how the man was going to get it home, as he didn't have his truck with him. (Not the best planning on his part, but it was a sudden thing, so whatever.) Since he lived on B's route to work, they loaded it in the bed and B dropped it off at the guy's barn. On his way home this afternoon, the same guy was standing out by the road, flagged him down, and presented him with the deer leg as thanks for the help. That's country for you.
That is why, just a short while ago, my husband was in my kitchen with a hacksaw, cutting Blitzen-butt into steaks and such and I was bagging the extra chunks to grind later. A redneck wife just does that kind of thing, you know? I also don't complain about "roadkill" as long as I know where, when, and how it was hit, and I'm fine with it because the deer didn't suffer too long. Also, it's a lot better than some of the other things he's dragged home.
Shut up. I'm exempt from that statement.
Take tonight, for example. I was sitting here, happily typing away, when B came in the door toting a deer leg. I just stopped what I was doing and waited. I know rifle season is over, and all edible parts of the deer he shot are present and accounted for in my freezer, so an extra entire back leg required some explanation. I also knew the story behind it probably, at this point in our marriage, would not surprise me. He dumped the skinned and still bloody leg on the counter and said, matter-of-factly, "It still has some hair on it. I'll have to clean it up." I waited. And stared at Blitzen's left haunch dripping on my freshly-cleaned countertop. Once he got out his knives, he explained.
It seems that on his way to work, B saw a man and his boy along the road with a deer. Assuming they'd hit it, he stopped to see if they needed help. They did, but not in a car-related way. The man's neighbor had hit the deer, then called the guy, who proceeded to go collect it sans any type of knife or gun. The buck had a broken leg or two and was still alive, and most folks hereabouts won't let a deer suffer if they can help it. Also, that's good meat if it wasn't a body hit.
B let the man borrow his hunting knife, the buck was dispatched, and then came the issue of how the man was going to get it home, as he didn't have his truck with him. (Not the best planning on his part, but it was a sudden thing, so whatever.) Since he lived on B's route to work, they loaded it in the bed and B dropped it off at the guy's barn. On his way home this afternoon, the same guy was standing out by the road, flagged him down, and presented him with the deer leg as thanks for the help. That's country for you.
That is why, just a short while ago, my husband was in my kitchen with a hacksaw, cutting Blitzen-butt into steaks and such and I was bagging the extra chunks to grind later. A redneck wife just does that kind of thing, you know? I also don't complain about "roadkill" as long as I know where, when, and how it was hit, and I'm fine with it because the deer didn't suffer too long. Also, it's a lot better than some of the other things he's dragged home.
Shut up. I'm exempt from that statement.
Sunday, December 06, 2009
Random Roundup
~I have one of those postcard-sized ad inserts in front of me, and like an 8-year-old who thinks armpit farts are hilarious, I can't stop giggling. It's an ad for mail-order discount cigarettes from one of those Indian reservations.
Actual wording on ad:
"All Of Our Butts sells a wide variety of discount cigarettes..."
"You must be 18 years or older to purchase products from All Of Our Butts..."
www.AllOfOurButts.com does not sound like a tobacco website. It sounds more like one that would stick the user in an endless loop of pop-up porn sites for gay sex. (Not that *I* would know about such things... I was searching for beef recipes, I swear.)
Am I juvenile to think this is funny? I have to admit, it's marketing that definitely gets my attention. *makes armpit fart*
~Speaking of juvenile... Facebook applications have some strange viral-marketing to get people to play their games. When someone does something in a game, they get a pre-written message to post on their wall. Some samples:
Friendguy is #1 after finishing a round in Wild Ones!
Wild Ones is a game where you conquer the animal kingdom with grenades, missile launchers and goo guns! (Does PETA know about this yet?)
Friendguy wants more friends to battle in Wild Ones, so they can enjoy blowing up adorable animals! (oh, sign me up, I just have to toast some bunnies today.)
Friendchick just tapped on the glass of her aquarium in Fish World! (How mundane. Why do I and everyone on your friends list need to know this five times a day?)
Otherchick just brushed her noble steed in FarmVile! (Yes, their script does say "Vile" and not "Ville" on that one. I think it's more accurate, myself.)
Thatdude's Holiday Tree just grew and became more festive and merry! (I had a zillion comments to add here, most involving Viagra and hanging balls, or men becoming merry when their tree grew, but... feel free to write your own.)(And again, do I really need to know this drivel?)
~Want to be a 12-year-old girl's new bestest friend ever? Buy her a cell phone for her birthday. I have bruises from being tackled. She squealed "I LOOOOVE YOU!" I said yeah, but it's only because I spoil you. She was honest... "Yeah. But you're cool anyway." Dang kids.
Speaking of what 12-year-olds think is cool... she wanted music for her birthday, so I spent a couple hours checking out her song list and listening to clips. (i.e. was reminded that I'm frickin' old.) Who are these people, and why are they popular again? Admittedly, I discovered I like Lady Gaga, and I also had to give the kid props for having a few 80s tunes on there. But I flat-out refused to buy Kanye or Mariah Carey. One's an ass and the other gives me (and every small animal within miles) instant headaches. Kid thought I was so awesome because I asked her to play some Black Eyed Peas for me. I heard 'em on an Oprah youtube clip... kills the awesome factor, eh?
~Yesterday was our first "real" snow here. There is no prettier winter day than a first-snow day, when everything looks like it's covered in frosting and the air is cold and crisp and a cup of coffee tastes better than anything. The world stand out with stark contrasts of black trees, red barns and pure white fluff. There is no mud or slush yet, no black exhaust stains on the snow along the roads, and no giant dirty snowplow piles every hundred yards. Yesterday was a picture postcard of gorgeousness. One of the kids, who was skeptical about living in a place where it gets below 40 degrees, came inside covered with snow from head to toe and announced "I LOVE Pennsylvania!!!" Yeah, me too, kiddo. (Just wait till you learn to drive, though.) I suspect it was because he has a new form of ammo to throw at his sisters. Never enough of that for a 7-year-old.
~Layoffs at work are imminent. Despite the loss of income, I'm looking forward to it. Maybe I'll have normal dreams again, instead of ones involving scoping out whiteflies on poinsettias with a jeweler's loupe. Seasonal layoffs happen at this time every year. Sometimes I'm not on the list, but usually I am for at least a couple weeks... this year I'm kind of hoping for the full layoff until mid-February or beyond. Sounds odd, especially with the crazy economy and unemployment rate... I should be happy to have a job, I suppose... but after 10 1/2 years I'm just so burned out that I don't care. There is not one part of my body that doesn't hurt on a daily basis. My hips are out of whack, my hands look like road maps of Los Angeles (they dry out and crack from water exposure) and my feet are plotting mutiny. I need some recovery time. A chiropractor, a manicure, and an acupressure massage are on my Christmas wishlist. Boob job too, but that's waited so long already that by the time I can afford one, I won't care anymore.
Anyone want to sponsor me for an extreme makeover? :-D
~Nah, really, I have nice boobs. I just want MORE of the nice. One cup size larger, to look good in low-cut shirts and sweaters. (Also to balance out my butt, which is also nice, but it gets too much attention.) A friend summed it up best when she told me her boobs had never been introduced to each other. I want mine to meet, fall in love, and give birth to cleavage.
~Sweet-tea vodka still rocks. That is all.
Actual wording on ad:
"All Of Our Butts sells a wide variety of discount cigarettes..."
"You must be 18 years or older to purchase products from All Of Our Butts..."
www.AllOfOurButts.com does not sound like a tobacco website. It sounds more like one that would stick the user in an endless loop of pop-up porn sites for gay sex. (Not that *I* would know about such things... I was searching for beef recipes, I swear.)
Am I juvenile to think this is funny? I have to admit, it's marketing that definitely gets my attention. *makes armpit fart*
~Speaking of juvenile... Facebook applications have some strange viral-marketing to get people to play their games. When someone does something in a game, they get a pre-written message to post on their wall. Some samples:
Friendguy is #1 after finishing a round in Wild Ones!
Wild Ones is a game where you conquer the animal kingdom with grenades, missile launchers and goo guns! (Does PETA know about this yet?)
Friendguy wants more friends to battle in Wild Ones, so they can enjoy blowing up adorable animals! (oh, sign me up, I just have to toast some bunnies today.)
Friendchick just tapped on the glass of her aquarium in Fish World! (How mundane. Why do I and everyone on your friends list need to know this five times a day?)
Otherchick just brushed her noble steed in FarmVile! (Yes, their script does say "Vile" and not "Ville" on that one. I think it's more accurate, myself.)
Thatdude's Holiday Tree just grew and became more festive and merry! (I had a zillion comments to add here, most involving Viagra and hanging balls, or men becoming merry when their tree grew, but... feel free to write your own.)(And again, do I really need to know this drivel?)
~Want to be a 12-year-old girl's new bestest friend ever? Buy her a cell phone for her birthday. I have bruises from being tackled. She squealed "I LOOOOVE YOU!" I said yeah, but it's only because I spoil you. She was honest... "Yeah. But you're cool anyway." Dang kids.
Speaking of what 12-year-olds think is cool... she wanted music for her birthday, so I spent a couple hours checking out her song list and listening to clips. (i.e. was reminded that I'm frickin' old.) Who are these people, and why are they popular again? Admittedly, I discovered I like Lady Gaga, and I also had to give the kid props for having a few 80s tunes on there. But I flat-out refused to buy Kanye or Mariah Carey. One's an ass and the other gives me (and every small animal within miles) instant headaches. Kid thought I was so awesome because I asked her to play some Black Eyed Peas for me. I heard 'em on an Oprah youtube clip... kills the awesome factor, eh?
~Yesterday was our first "real" snow here. There is no prettier winter day than a first-snow day, when everything looks like it's covered in frosting and the air is cold and crisp and a cup of coffee tastes better than anything. The world stand out with stark contrasts of black trees, red barns and pure white fluff. There is no mud or slush yet, no black exhaust stains on the snow along the roads, and no giant dirty snowplow piles every hundred yards. Yesterday was a picture postcard of gorgeousness. One of the kids, who was skeptical about living in a place where it gets below 40 degrees, came inside covered with snow from head to toe and announced "I LOVE Pennsylvania!!!" Yeah, me too, kiddo. (Just wait till you learn to drive, though.) I suspect it was because he has a new form of ammo to throw at his sisters. Never enough of that for a 7-year-old.
~Layoffs at work are imminent. Despite the loss of income, I'm looking forward to it. Maybe I'll have normal dreams again, instead of ones involving scoping out whiteflies on poinsettias with a jeweler's loupe. Seasonal layoffs happen at this time every year. Sometimes I'm not on the list, but usually I am for at least a couple weeks... this year I'm kind of hoping for the full layoff until mid-February or beyond. Sounds odd, especially with the crazy economy and unemployment rate... I should be happy to have a job, I suppose... but after 10 1/2 years I'm just so burned out that I don't care. There is not one part of my body that doesn't hurt on a daily basis. My hips are out of whack, my hands look like road maps of Los Angeles (they dry out and crack from water exposure) and my feet are plotting mutiny. I need some recovery time. A chiropractor, a manicure, and an acupressure massage are on my Christmas wishlist. Boob job too, but that's waited so long already that by the time I can afford one, I won't care anymore.
Anyone want to sponsor me for an extreme makeover? :-D
~Nah, really, I have nice boobs. I just want MORE of the nice. One cup size larger, to look good in low-cut shirts and sweaters. (Also to balance out my butt, which is also nice, but it gets too much attention.) A friend summed it up best when she told me her boobs had never been introduced to each other. I want mine to meet, fall in love, and give birth to cleavage.
~Sweet-tea vodka still rocks. That is all.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Black and Blue Friday and then some
I was off work for Black Friday this year. I have no idea what came over me... maybe it was the potential for free gift cards at my favorite store... or temporary insanity... but I decided to take part in the madness.
I got up at 6:45 AM on Thanksgiving day and went to work. Came home at 4:30, jumped online to check out the BF sales, made my plans and my list. Hubby got home from his brother's about 9:00 and was greeted with "We're going to be in line at Boscov's for the opening, you might want to grab a nap!" Surprisingly, he did not protest AT ALL, which is very unlike him (like most males, he hates shopping, and in the past has flat-out refused to leave the house on BF) and proceeded to fall asleep almost immediately. I was still awake at 1:00 AM when I woke him up to get ready to leave. We arrived at the mall about 2 AM, scoped the place out, and planned our strategy. He was to take the rear mall door and I'd cover the front. They opened the doors at 3:15 and the crowd of people ran like mad to Boscov's to line up for the gift cards. (They were giving away, aside from $ store cards, a TV, jewelry, electronics, appliances, and things like Snuggies and so forth.)
When the horde reached the line, my hubby was standing at the front, alone, and a bit shocked at the wall of people descending on him. They'd opened the rear door first (which was much closer) and being the only one there, he'd had time to saunter over, wait around, and even call me 4 times before anyone else arrived. I was too busy moving my butt at a high rate of speed from the other end of the mall to answer the phone. We scored a $ gift card and a throw blanket. Store opened at 5 AM, we did our shopping, noshed on a few snacks the Boscov's crew* had thoughtfully set out, then cruised over to a few other places to check their sales. Hubby was getting into the spirit, so we looked at tools at Sears and hunting stuff at Dick's.
Two places we avoided: Target and Wal-Mart. Both were having seriously mad doorbuster sales but I was in no mood to get killed over $3 appliances or $5 DVDs. On Thursday I had thought, briefly, about lining up for the $198 laptops, but convinced myself that 3 computers in a two-person household was enough already. Instead, we went for breakfast around 7 AM then headed to K-Mart. That place was bananas! Couldn't get out of there fast enough. There should be a "People of K-Mart" website... it might make the Wal-Mart one seem tame in comparison. They didn't have what I wanted anyway. Hubby, being in some sort of sleep-deprived fit of generosity, then agreed to go all the way to the city, 45 minutes away, to another K-Mart and Best Buy. Picked up a not-on-sale bicycle at KM for 20% off after asking a passing manager about it. I suspect she was willing to do anything to get people to buy stuff and get the heck out and leave her alone. Best Buy's checkout line went to the back of the store, where a helpful employee held up a sign so people could find the end. Took me 5 minutes to find what I wanted (half-price cellphone, woot!) and another 25 minutes to check out.
By the time we got home that afternoon, my eyes were crossed, I'd sprained my knee, and my adrenaline + caffeine buzz was gone. I had been awake for 34 hours straight, with 9 of it spent working, at least 3 standing in lines, and 12 on my feet shopping. I crashed hard, then got up Saturday morning to go back to work. Was it worth it? Moneywise, I saved about $200 on things I'd planned to buy anyway. So that was decent. But I plan to do it again just for the RUSH. Damn that was fun!
*A very special thank you to the extremely organized and prepared Boscov's crew... that's how a BF sale should be done.
I got up at 6:45 AM on Thanksgiving day and went to work. Came home at 4:30, jumped online to check out the BF sales, made my plans and my list. Hubby got home from his brother's about 9:00 and was greeted with "We're going to be in line at Boscov's for the opening, you might want to grab a nap!" Surprisingly, he did not protest AT ALL, which is very unlike him (like most males, he hates shopping, and in the past has flat-out refused to leave the house on BF) and proceeded to fall asleep almost immediately. I was still awake at 1:00 AM when I woke him up to get ready to leave. We arrived at the mall about 2 AM, scoped the place out, and planned our strategy. He was to take the rear mall door and I'd cover the front. They opened the doors at 3:15 and the crowd of people ran like mad to Boscov's to line up for the gift cards. (They were giving away, aside from $ store cards, a TV, jewelry, electronics, appliances, and things like Snuggies and so forth.)
When the horde reached the line, my hubby was standing at the front, alone, and a bit shocked at the wall of people descending on him. They'd opened the rear door first (which was much closer) and being the only one there, he'd had time to saunter over, wait around, and even call me 4 times before anyone else arrived. I was too busy moving my butt at a high rate of speed from the other end of the mall to answer the phone. We scored a $ gift card and a throw blanket. Store opened at 5 AM, we did our shopping, noshed on a few snacks the Boscov's crew* had thoughtfully set out, then cruised over to a few other places to check their sales. Hubby was getting into the spirit, so we looked at tools at Sears and hunting stuff at Dick's.
Two places we avoided: Target and Wal-Mart. Both were having seriously mad doorbuster sales but I was in no mood to get killed over $3 appliances or $5 DVDs. On Thursday I had thought, briefly, about lining up for the $198 laptops, but convinced myself that 3 computers in a two-person household was enough already. Instead, we went for breakfast around 7 AM then headed to K-Mart. That place was bananas! Couldn't get out of there fast enough. There should be a "People of K-Mart" website... it might make the Wal-Mart one seem tame in comparison. They didn't have what I wanted anyway. Hubby, being in some sort of sleep-deprived fit of generosity, then agreed to go all the way to the city, 45 minutes away, to another K-Mart and Best Buy. Picked up a not-on-sale bicycle at KM for 20% off after asking a passing manager about it. I suspect she was willing to do anything to get people to buy stuff and get the heck out and leave her alone. Best Buy's checkout line went to the back of the store, where a helpful employee held up a sign so people could find the end. Took me 5 minutes to find what I wanted (half-price cellphone, woot!) and another 25 minutes to check out.
By the time we got home that afternoon, my eyes were crossed, I'd sprained my knee, and my adrenaline + caffeine buzz was gone. I had been awake for 34 hours straight, with 9 of it spent working, at least 3 standing in lines, and 12 on my feet shopping. I crashed hard, then got up Saturday morning to go back to work. Was it worth it? Moneywise, I saved about $200 on things I'd planned to buy anyway. So that was decent. But I plan to do it again just for the RUSH. Damn that was fun!
*A very special thank you to the extremely organized and prepared Boscov's crew... that's how a BF sale should be done.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Journey, Misheard
One of the funniest websites to peruse when the internet seems to be asleep, and nobody but spambots hawking discount Cialis or degrees-at-home are emailing you, and your Facebook friends have stopped posting lost animals for the night, is Misheard Lyrics.
I just read through the Journey ones. Some are so lame that I wonder if the listener had their hearing aid in backwards, or possibly just posted the lyrics to be funny, but others are very appropriate in retrospect. That is, if you know (and oft make fun of) the history of the band.
Steve Perry was a vegetarian for a long time after getting food poisoning from hamburgers. Twice. I'm sure all the ground beef recalls have sent him back into the garden.
It's all the beans from going veggie. Obviously.
Perry was also known for his hair, which has fluctuated between long, mullet, even longer, spiked, and most recently, haphazard defiance-of-age-via-Miss Clairol. After cutting it once, he was quoted as saying he was "saving a fortune on cream rinse." Meanwhile, thousands of Perryloons wept over the loss of their Samsonesque idol.
There's a lot of that going on in the music biz. And no amount of it will get Perry to rejoin the group (again).
Bonus:
I have no words.
I just read through the Journey ones. Some are so lame that I wonder if the listener had their hearing aid in backwards, or possibly just posted the lyrics to be funny, but others are very appropriate in retrospect. That is, if you know (and oft make fun of) the history of the band.
"Don't Stop Believin'"
Misheard Lyrics:
Working hard to get my meal
Everybody wants a grill
Everybody wants a grill
Original Lyrics:
Working hard to get my fill
Everybody wants a thrill
Everybody wants a thrill
"Anytime"
Misheard Lyrics:
Moo anytime that you want meat
Moo anytime that you need meat.
Moo anytime that you need meat.
Original Lyrics:
Ooh, anytime that you want me
Ooh, anytime that you need me.
Ooh, anytime that you need me.
Steve Perry was a vegetarian for a long time after getting food poisoning from hamburgers. Twice. I'm sure all the ground beef recalls have sent him back into the garden.
"Escape"
Misheard Lyrics:
They're making laws, but they don't understand
What turns a boy into a farting man
What turns a boy into a farting man
Original Lyrics:
They're making laws, but they don't understand
Turns a boy into a fighting man
Turns a boy into a fighting man
It's all the beans from going veggie. Obviously.
"Ask The Lonely"
Misheard Lyrics:
When your feeling loads of hair
Original Lyrics:
When you're feeling love's unfair
Perry was also known for his hair, which has fluctuated between long, mullet, even longer, spiked, and most recently, haphazard defiance-of-age-via-Miss Clairol. After cutting it once, he was quoted as saying he was "saving a fortune on cream rinse." Meanwhile, thousands of Perryloons wept over the loss of their Samsonesque idol.
"Don't Stop Believin'"
Misheard Lyrics:
Some will win, some will lose, some are going to drink some booze
Original Lyrics:
Some will win, some will lose, some were born to sing the blues
"Don't Stop Believin'"
"Don't Stop Believin'"
Misheard Lyrics:
Brain damage, wasted
Comin' down the boulevard.
Comin' down the boulevard.
Original Lyrics:
Strangers, waitin'
Up and down the boulevard.
"I'll Be Alright Without You"
Up and down the boulevard.
"I'll Be Alright Without You"
Misheard Lyrics:
I'll need a ride without you.
There'll be someone else,
I keep telling myself
There'll be someone else,
I keep telling myself
Original Lyrics:
I'll be alright without you.
They'll be someone else,
I keep telling myself
On-tour band stereotypes aside, Perry also had a little love affair with the bottle. Or maybe it was drugs. Either way, the Raised on Radio tour was a hot mess of hairspray, torn jeans, and an occasional vague and confusing interview with Perry, leaving his fans to say WTF? and decipher meanings on their own using their Secret Perry Decoder Rings (free with 5 proofs of purchase from McCormick Ground Cumin.) Most insisted he was just profound. Uh-huh. There's a reason you don't see RoR live concerts on video. Perry doesn't remember doing them. (We can only hope that someday, when he cleans out his closet, he'll find a box containing a can of Aquanet and a bunch of concert reels and say WHOA! Barry Manilow live! This is GOLD! and release them, but don't hold your breath.)They'll be someone else,
I keep telling myself
"Open Arms"
Misheard Lyrics:
Hoping to hide the mean words I said.
Original Lyrics:
Nothing to hide, I mean what I say.
"I never really felt like part of the band." I don't think there's any way that could be taken out of context, despite his insistence. Maybe Neal didn't share his Cheetos during a late-night munchies attack. Or, the other band members were just jealous that Perry never felt the need to stuff his pants like they did. (I suspect he was ostracized due to all the bean farts, myself.)
"I never really felt like part of the band." I don't think there's any way that could be taken out of context, despite his insistence. Maybe Neal didn't share his Cheetos during a late-night munchies attack. Or, the other band members were just jealous that Perry never felt the need to stuff his pants like they did. (I suspect he was ostracized due to all the bean farts, myself.)
Misheard Lyrics:
It's kissing the derrière.
Original Lyrics:
It's kissing the day.
There's a lot of that going on in the music biz. And no amount of it will get Perry to rejoin the group (again).
Bonus:
"Oh Sherrie"
Misheard Lyrics:
But you filled me with the fever
For the flavor of Pringles in nose elves.
For the flavor of Pringles in nose elves.
Original Lyrics:
But you know that there's a fever
Oh that you'll never find nowhere else.
Oh that you'll never find nowhere else.
I have no words.
Friday, November 06, 2009
WTHell-Mart
Today, I had to make a trip to Wal-Mart to pick up a prescription. I also did a bit of shopping in the grocery section. Our hometown markets seem to love huge price markups, but they complain about the big box stores putting them out of business... well... there is no reason local apples should cost 2 bucks a pound at one store and a buck-twenty-nine at another. LOCAL. Not imported from Guatemala or wherever. Not like a fuel-consuming cargo ship or airplane was involved. I buy local whenever possible, often direct from the farmers, but I'm not paying extortion prices at certain stores. Even so, I don't often shop at Wal-Mart and usually drive farther to a smaller store, but today was a matter of convenience and time-crunch.
Anyway, Wal-Mart. That giant melting-pot of humanity, that sociology lesson, that place to go when you really need an ego boost or affirmation that your life just ain't so bad after all. As soon as I walked in, I was met with the shrieking of a small child; loud, shrill, and nonstop. The kid wailed for a good ten minutes straight. It's a Wal-Mart fact that there will be at least one screaming kid present at any time, day or night, and that kid will have one of those voices that carries throughout the entire store. Tip: earplugs are on the aisle next to the pharmacy pick-up counter.
Next to the 17 kinds of earplugs will be the OcuSoft Eyelid Wipes. These are not mascara removers or cucumber pads; this is a product touted specifically and solely for wiping your itchy eyelids. Nothing else. Below that will be a variety of earwax removal products, some of them with scary names like Earrigate 9000 and Scrape N' Scoop. I did not realize wax removal technology had advanced so far. (For the record, one product actually said, on the box, to "use the spoon end to scoop out ear wax and ear debris." Ewwwwww.) Then, of course, are fifty million different kinds of saline solution for contact-lens wearers. It's salt water, people, not rocket science. I would not pay fifteen dollars for a bottle of saline when right next to it is the exact same thing for three.
Oh... the pharmacy line was insanely long, which is why I was noticing the above products. People in line were sending Death Glares of Doom to anyone who even paused nearby, indicating that if someone dared to cut in line, they'd need to pay a visit to the First Aid aisle after being steamrollered by half a dozen buggies. (I'm from the South, they're buggies, NOT carts, the end.) The woman behind the counter said there was no good time to visit the pharmacy, as they'd been slammed for the past two weeks straight. Flu season and all. Great... I really want to be standing in close proximity to flu-stricken folks who haven't gotten their meds yet.
I saw yet another person hit a post outside. (Also a rule of Wal-Mart. If you watch long enough, someone will hit something.) He looked like a young Kevin Bacon, less 100 IQ points, and came speedwalking from the parking lot like Wal-Mart had a two-for-one sale on Skoal that ended in the next two minutes. He bumped into one of the six-foot-tall yellow HIGHLY VISIBLE concrete posts near the door, bounced off, tried to keep walking like it hadn't happened, and proceeded to slam into the very next post. Human Pinball right there. Wish I had a video camera sometimes.
Another rule of Wal-Mart is that, apparently, some people cannot see the giant directional arrows painted on the ground and will invariably drive their Ford Megalith XLT the wrong way down a parking lane. And it will usually be me facing them, going the RIGHT way, with no place to move. About half the time, that other person is pulling out of a prime parking space that I have been sitting and waiting for, but since they pull out the wrong way, some twit in a Hyundai will zoom in from the other side and steal it. Meanwhile I'm holding my breath and hoping the SUV doesn't take my side mirror off as he creeps by. Naturally, he's giving ME dirty looks as if I'm to blame for getting in HIS way.
I noticed, while in the store, that the 80s are definitely coming back around. There was a girl with a side ponytail, leggings, legwarmers, a track jacket, and high heels walking around. She was also wearing blue eyeshadow, if further proof is needed. I also saw a man who looked like Drew Carey wearing obscenely tight bleached jeans. Speaking of, does anyone know if Wal-Mart sells eye bleach? I'm guessing it's near the Snorp anti-snore aid and the ButtFlush Maxx Xtreme Enemas. (Snorp = actual product. BFMXE = probably, but I'm not going to attempt confirmation.)
Mini Reese's cups rock. That is all.
Anyway, Wal-Mart. That giant melting-pot of humanity, that sociology lesson, that place to go when you really need an ego boost or affirmation that your life just ain't so bad after all. As soon as I walked in, I was met with the shrieking of a small child; loud, shrill, and nonstop. The kid wailed for a good ten minutes straight. It's a Wal-Mart fact that there will be at least one screaming kid present at any time, day or night, and that kid will have one of those voices that carries throughout the entire store. Tip: earplugs are on the aisle next to the pharmacy pick-up counter.
Next to the 17 kinds of earplugs will be the OcuSoft Eyelid Wipes. These are not mascara removers or cucumber pads; this is a product touted specifically and solely for wiping your itchy eyelids. Nothing else. Below that will be a variety of earwax removal products, some of them with scary names like Earrigate 9000 and Scrape N' Scoop. I did not realize wax removal technology had advanced so far. (For the record, one product actually said, on the box, to "use the spoon end to scoop out ear wax and ear debris." Ewwwwww.) Then, of course, are fifty million different kinds of saline solution for contact-lens wearers. It's salt water, people, not rocket science. I would not pay fifteen dollars for a bottle of saline when right next to it is the exact same thing for three.
Oh... the pharmacy line was insanely long, which is why I was noticing the above products. People in line were sending Death Glares of Doom to anyone who even paused nearby, indicating that if someone dared to cut in line, they'd need to pay a visit to the First Aid aisle after being steamrollered by half a dozen buggies. (I'm from the South, they're buggies, NOT carts, the end.) The woman behind the counter said there was no good time to visit the pharmacy, as they'd been slammed for the past two weeks straight. Flu season and all. Great... I really want to be standing in close proximity to flu-stricken folks who haven't gotten their meds yet.
I saw yet another person hit a post outside. (Also a rule of Wal-Mart. If you watch long enough, someone will hit something.) He looked like a young Kevin Bacon, less 100 IQ points, and came speedwalking from the parking lot like Wal-Mart had a two-for-one sale on Skoal that ended in the next two minutes. He bumped into one of the six-foot-tall yellow HIGHLY VISIBLE concrete posts near the door, bounced off, tried to keep walking like it hadn't happened, and proceeded to slam into the very next post. Human Pinball right there. Wish I had a video camera sometimes.
Another rule of Wal-Mart is that, apparently, some people cannot see the giant directional arrows painted on the ground and will invariably drive their Ford Megalith XLT the wrong way down a parking lane. And it will usually be me facing them, going the RIGHT way, with no place to move. About half the time, that other person is pulling out of a prime parking space that I have been sitting and waiting for, but since they pull out the wrong way, some twit in a Hyundai will zoom in from the other side and steal it. Meanwhile I'm holding my breath and hoping the SUV doesn't take my side mirror off as he creeps by. Naturally, he's giving ME dirty looks as if I'm to blame for getting in HIS way.
I noticed, while in the store, that the 80s are definitely coming back around. There was a girl with a side ponytail, leggings, legwarmers, a track jacket, and high heels walking around. She was also wearing blue eyeshadow, if further proof is needed. I also saw a man who looked like Drew Carey wearing obscenely tight bleached jeans. Speaking of, does anyone know if Wal-Mart sells eye bleach? I'm guessing it's near the Snorp anti-snore aid and the ButtFlush Maxx Xtreme Enemas. (Snorp = actual product. BFMXE = probably, but I'm not going to attempt confirmation.)
Mini Reese's cups rock. That is all.
Friday, October 30, 2009
NostARGHia
Oh, the silly things we worried about as teenagers! I've just spent an hour going through old school notebooks and such, and if my biggest source of angst today was whether Joe Schmoe liked my new Members Only jacket, I'd be in good shape. Selective ignorance only goes so far anymore.
As amusing as those notebooks are, they're all getting tossed, along with anything I've saved for reasons I've forgotten, toys too beat-up to put in the yard sale, birthday cards from people I don't remember, and love notes from anyone prior to my husband. Hubby claimed all my NASCAR memorabilia so I suppose we have to haul that home with us. I can't gripe; I have half a dozen moving boxes full of horses- plastic, ceramic, glass, you name it- that will be making the trip as well. A box of bones and fossils, a pile of photos, several gumball machine toys from the days when they had cool stuff in them, and two sketchbooks (of many) are in the "Keep" pile. I've started an "eBay" pile too... fortunately for my already crowded apartment, the "Dump" pile is the biggest so far.
Why do I keep the things I do? Some of it, I can look at and know, but most are WTF items that must have meant something at some point but I'll be damned if I remember why. Several promo coasters and gizmos from St. Patricks Day at bars that went out of business years ago... pictures cut from magazines... oh let's not even start on the magazines themselves, unless someone wants eight years' worth of Entertainment Weekly and Art News and Beckett trading-card price guides... Panini stickers... I still hate to throw out unused stickers, but the pro wrestling ones? Yeah those need to go... a dried-up corsage from Junior Prom, which I attended with a guy I didn't like then and like even less now... a box full of graduation invitations... photos of people I met once and promptly forgot... one Japanese Marlboro in the pack, saved because it had a charcoal filter and foreign writing... Mardi Gras masks, even though I haven't made it to Mardi Gras yet... a box of Pepsi bottlecaps, back when they had glass bottles and pry-off caps... all that crap is going to fill a dumpster tonight.
Oh, and then there's the baseball cards. *Sigh* My mom never threw mine out (she collected them too), but faced with the task of sorting and cataloguing and eBaying them, I almost wish she'd hauled 'em to Goodwill. The potential for one card among ten thousand being worth a couple hundred bucks is all that keeps them where they are, carefully stored in archival boxes, divided by brand and labeled by year. OCD does not run in this family, why do you ask? Packratting on a marginally organized scale is what we do, meaning we save stuff and almost always know where it is when we want it.
I told my husband the other day that what I'd love to do is have a mini-museum or nostalgia room in our future house to display the things we've decided to keep. Pop's bottles, my horses, his racing stuff, all those things that may or may not be valuable monetarily but meant enough to us to hang on to. I might briefly regret tossing certain things, but the older I get the more valuable storage space becomes and the more often I pass on things I'd formerly HAVE to have for this collection or that one.
For now, though, I'm limited to whatever amount will safely fit in the bed of the truck. And the redneck's idea of "safely" means it can be secured under a cargo net and two ratchet-straps and the truck will still fit the height restrictions of most underpasses. Whee... back to packin!
Grape Nehi still rocks. That is all.
As amusing as those notebooks are, they're all getting tossed, along with anything I've saved for reasons I've forgotten, toys too beat-up to put in the yard sale, birthday cards from people I don't remember, and love notes from anyone prior to my husband. Hubby claimed all my NASCAR memorabilia so I suppose we have to haul that home with us. I can't gripe; I have half a dozen moving boxes full of horses- plastic, ceramic, glass, you name it- that will be making the trip as well. A box of bones and fossils, a pile of photos, several gumball machine toys from the days when they had cool stuff in them, and two sketchbooks (of many) are in the "Keep" pile. I've started an "eBay" pile too... fortunately for my already crowded apartment, the "Dump" pile is the biggest so far.
Why do I keep the things I do? Some of it, I can look at and know, but most are WTF items that must have meant something at some point but I'll be damned if I remember why. Several promo coasters and gizmos from St. Patricks Day at bars that went out of business years ago... pictures cut from magazines... oh let's not even start on the magazines themselves, unless someone wants eight years' worth of Entertainment Weekly and Art News and Beckett trading-card price guides... Panini stickers... I still hate to throw out unused stickers, but the pro wrestling ones? Yeah those need to go... a dried-up corsage from Junior Prom, which I attended with a guy I didn't like then and like even less now... a box full of graduation invitations... photos of people I met once and promptly forgot... one Japanese Marlboro in the pack, saved because it had a charcoal filter and foreign writing... Mardi Gras masks, even though I haven't made it to Mardi Gras yet... a box of Pepsi bottlecaps, back when they had glass bottles and pry-off caps... all that crap is going to fill a dumpster tonight.
Oh, and then there's the baseball cards. *Sigh* My mom never threw mine out (she collected them too), but faced with the task of sorting and cataloguing and eBaying them, I almost wish she'd hauled 'em to Goodwill. The potential for one card among ten thousand being worth a couple hundred bucks is all that keeps them where they are, carefully stored in archival boxes, divided by brand and labeled by year. OCD does not run in this family, why do you ask? Packratting on a marginally organized scale is what we do, meaning we save stuff and almost always know where it is when we want it.
I told my husband the other day that what I'd love to do is have a mini-museum or nostalgia room in our future house to display the things we've decided to keep. Pop's bottles, my horses, his racing stuff, all those things that may or may not be valuable monetarily but meant enough to us to hang on to. I might briefly regret tossing certain things, but the older I get the more valuable storage space becomes and the more often I pass on things I'd formerly HAVE to have for this collection or that one.
For now, though, I'm limited to whatever amount will safely fit in the bed of the truck. And the redneck's idea of "safely" means it can be secured under a cargo net and two ratchet-straps and the truck will still fit the height restrictions of most underpasses. Whee... back to packin!
Grape Nehi still rocks. That is all.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
The Redneck Express Has Arrived
Jeff Foxworthy (whom I still swear spied on my family for his material) once said "Rednecks... there are ways to tell if you are one, and I are one!"
You might be a redneck if you have a deer head on the wall... that you personally didn't shoot.
You might be one if said deer head has been passed down 3 generations.
You definitely are one if the deer head was passed down on the WIFE's side of the family.
On our trip home, there will be a 10-point buck wearing sunglasses riding in the backseat of the pickup. Blow the Dixie horn if y'all see us now, y'hear? We'll be drinkin' YooHoo and eatin' pork rinds. Yeehaw!
You might be a redneck if you have a deer head on the wall... that you personally didn't shoot.
You might be one if said deer head has been passed down 3 generations.
You definitely are one if the deer head was passed down on the WIFE's side of the family.
On our trip home, there will be a 10-point buck wearing sunglasses riding in the backseat of the pickup. Blow the Dixie horn if y'all see us now, y'hear? We'll be drinkin' YooHoo and eatin' pork rinds. Yeehaw!
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Vacation... Sort Of
A trip south to Mom's always involves fixing stuff, cleaning stuff, and of course eating, which is my favorite part. My second favorite part is running across things that tickle my funny bone.
Example 1: Stopped at a local gas station, where a couple of women were hanging around talking to the cashier. One of the women said "Hey, you wanna buy my car? It's a Mercedes that looks like a Buick." Tell me, where else in the WORLD would this be a selling point? (And yes, to those who have already asked, I did want to see it, because hey, Buicks rock and I AM from here after all.)
Example 2: Walked into grocery store, looking at the nice wooden signs over each department ("Bakery" "Deli" etc... I was specifically seeking the "Beer" section) and had to laugh. The store has a bona fide "Wieners" section. Someone actually ordered a fancy painted sign just for the hotdogs. And it's a chain store, so most likely there are other wiener sections out there. Judging from the clientele that late at night, "wieners" wasn't far off the mark.
Other things take some readjusting. Fast food here is never fast; in fact one could resort to sucking ketchup packets dry from sheer hunger before the #3 Combo one ordered was even in the prep stages. Or run out of gas/die from carbon monoxide poisoning, if one was foolish enough to think the drive-thru would be quicker.
Cruising is a dying art, but some of the locals keep it alive, mainly by driving their pimped rides side-by-side at 30 miles under the speed limit, effectively blocking everyone behind them, while they hang out the windows and have conversations with each other. Nobody does anything in a hurry here, by choice or not.
"Mullet" is not just a hairstyle, it's a food group. Mullet are fish, often sold at roadside markets next to shrimp and spots and sometimes crabs, all packed in plastic coolers with crude handwritten signs attached. And speaking of roadside stands, the work some people put into their "temporary" (by law) wooden booths would eclipse any trailer manufacturer. I saw one with an upholstered recliner, mini fridge, and air conditioner. The rest of the booth was hacked together from scrap wood so the outside would appear "non-permanent" but by the looks of it, Bubba Jenkins' momma had a pretty sweet setup for selling her peaches and corn. Non-permanent since 1982 is my guess.
Tomorrow we're off to the beach, or what passes for one hereabouts. Most of our beach has succumbed to erosion (Mom insists all our sand has washed to Fripp Island, increasing their marketable real estate) and the beach is only actually useable at low tide. Unfortunately it's also spiked with the jagged remains of palmetto trees and sometimes jellyfish. Nothing like stepping barefoot on a jelly to wake you up. And yet, we all still do the "AAAGH! HOT HOT HOT!!" barefoot run across the scorching sand instead of wearing flipflops like sane people. Sticking sizzling feet in the Atlantic and expecting steam to rise is part of the beach experience for us, like fried chicken and picking up sand dollars with our toes and sunburn and making lewd sand sculptures... oh wait, that last one might just be me.
Next week will be tame... we'll do some work around the house and pack the remainders of a lifetime of my crap into boxes (or a dumpster) and hopefully have time to get in some fishing. Last year was The Great Pink Toilet Adventure and so far nothing has come close to matching it this year. I'm not too optimistic... that one's gonna be hard to beat.
Boiled peanuts rock. That is all.
Example 1: Stopped at a local gas station, where a couple of women were hanging around talking to the cashier. One of the women said "Hey, you wanna buy my car? It's a Mercedes that looks like a Buick." Tell me, where else in the WORLD would this be a selling point? (And yes, to those who have already asked, I did want to see it, because hey, Buicks rock and I AM from here after all.)
Example 2: Walked into grocery store, looking at the nice wooden signs over each department ("Bakery" "Deli" etc... I was specifically seeking the "Beer" section) and had to laugh. The store has a bona fide "Wieners" section. Someone actually ordered a fancy painted sign just for the hotdogs. And it's a chain store, so most likely there are other wiener sections out there. Judging from the clientele that late at night, "wieners" wasn't far off the mark.
Other things take some readjusting. Fast food here is never fast; in fact one could resort to sucking ketchup packets dry from sheer hunger before the #3 Combo one ordered was even in the prep stages. Or run out of gas/die from carbon monoxide poisoning, if one was foolish enough to think the drive-thru would be quicker.
Cruising is a dying art, but some of the locals keep it alive, mainly by driving their pimped rides side-by-side at 30 miles under the speed limit, effectively blocking everyone behind them, while they hang out the windows and have conversations with each other. Nobody does anything in a hurry here, by choice or not.
"Mullet" is not just a hairstyle, it's a food group. Mullet are fish, often sold at roadside markets next to shrimp and spots and sometimes crabs, all packed in plastic coolers with crude handwritten signs attached. And speaking of roadside stands, the work some people put into their "temporary" (by law) wooden booths would eclipse any trailer manufacturer. I saw one with an upholstered recliner, mini fridge, and air conditioner. The rest of the booth was hacked together from scrap wood so the outside would appear "non-permanent" but by the looks of it, Bubba Jenkins' momma had a pretty sweet setup for selling her peaches and corn. Non-permanent since 1982 is my guess.
Tomorrow we're off to the beach, or what passes for one hereabouts. Most of our beach has succumbed to erosion (Mom insists all our sand has washed to Fripp Island, increasing their marketable real estate) and the beach is only actually useable at low tide. Unfortunately it's also spiked with the jagged remains of palmetto trees and sometimes jellyfish. Nothing like stepping barefoot on a jelly to wake you up. And yet, we all still do the "AAAGH! HOT HOT HOT!!" barefoot run across the scorching sand instead of wearing flipflops like sane people. Sticking sizzling feet in the Atlantic and expecting steam to rise is part of the beach experience for us, like fried chicken and picking up sand dollars with our toes and sunburn and making lewd sand sculptures... oh wait, that last one might just be me.
Next week will be tame... we'll do some work around the house and pack the remainders of a lifetime of my crap into boxes (or a dumpster) and hopefully have time to get in some fishing. Last year was The Great Pink Toilet Adventure and so far nothing has come close to matching it this year. I'm not too optimistic... that one's gonna be hard to beat.
Boiled peanuts rock. That is all.
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Y Cant Kids Speel
I am a spelling snob.
No, not like those uber-annoying people who feel the need to correct every misspelled word in every forum post or chatroom... I only do that once in a while to virtual-elbowjab my friends. They're good sports about it. As I've said before, chat/instant messaging/etc is conversation on the fly and since I can't type fast for squat, I'm not about to get all hypocritical... in my chatworld, "and" becomes "nad" and "then" is "hten" more often than not. I usually blame my long fingernails or my malfunctioning shift key, but honestly? I just never learned to touch-type. (Aside: in chat last night, my typonese read "milk nad juice" and I nearly fell off the chair. Sometimes they're worth expanding upon, and other times I reeeeally don't wanna go there.)
I don't blog with perfect grammar either. Who talks like a college textbook? Pfft. I overuse ellipses, use extra punctuation, slang, and sometimes deliberate typos (cue LOLspeak... im in ur blog, steelin ur fotos!) because that's my casual language. I don't use spellcheck, though, and never will. It's wrong too often anyway.
However... last night, I crossed over to the dark side. My friend's teenage daughter wrote out a grocery list. I saw it lying on the table and on a whim, *gasp* I corrected it, like a teacher would with homework. I had to think a moment to figure out what rovola was (ravioli) but the rest were simple words that a 17-year-old should know. No, she's not disabled in any way, unless you count that growth that looks suspiciously like a cellphone sprouting from her hand. Therein lies the problem. She's grown up on textspeak. She wouldn't know an acronym from an anthill but if I sent her a text that read "Pk up C & brg 2 Ls lso grn shrt n shoz" she'd know to grab her little sister's green shirt and sneakers, pick sis up and take her to her friend's house after school. I may not have had that quite right, but you get the idea.
I read stuff on Facebook, craigslist, various forums and websites, and I'm always guaranteed at least one recoil moment when a college kid misuses an apostrophe or misspells a word ("I love there nacho's") and reading on, I discover he's a molecular biology major and I go WHUH? HOW?! And those moments, even without biology majors, are far too common.
There is a website that pokes fun at stupid craigslist ads. The site creator as well as the comment contributors will pick listings apart ruthlessly, tear down the author with any and all verbal ammo they can come up with... but they always notice and give props for proper spelling and grammar. It's *that* rare to see. Seriously. (Okay, so it IS craigslist, not high school composition class, so I shouldn't be using that as an example. Comp class is far more advanced. But this does happen all over teh innernetz, and it drives me batty.)
People of the Forums: Whatever point you are trying to make, whatever debate you are hotly arguing for or against, whatever cause you are championing is going to be written off (pun intended) if you can't properly execute simple language and writing skills. If you're just chitchatting, you get a pass on most things (see first paragraph). If you're trying to throw around five-dollar words in a Very Serious Post but can't spell five-letter words, I'm just going to skip over you and move on.
Without learning the basics, you might be the next person to do this:
You want fries with that?
No, not like those uber-annoying people who feel the need to correct every misspelled word in every forum post or chatroom... I only do that once in a while to virtual-elbowjab my friends. They're good sports about it. As I've said before, chat/instant messaging/etc is conversation on the fly and since I can't type fast for squat, I'm not about to get all hypocritical... in my chatworld, "and" becomes "nad" and "then" is "hten" more often than not. I usually blame my long fingernails or my malfunctioning shift key, but honestly? I just never learned to touch-type. (Aside: in chat last night, my typonese read "milk nad juice" and I nearly fell off the chair. Sometimes they're worth expanding upon, and other times I reeeeally don't wanna go there.)
I don't blog with perfect grammar either. Who talks like a college textbook? Pfft. I overuse ellipses, use extra punctuation, slang, and sometimes deliberate typos (cue LOLspeak... im in ur blog, steelin ur fotos!) because that's my casual language. I don't use spellcheck, though, and never will. It's wrong too often anyway.
However... last night, I crossed over to the dark side. My friend's teenage daughter wrote out a grocery list. I saw it lying on the table and on a whim, *gasp* I corrected it, like a teacher would with homework. I had to think a moment to figure out what rovola was (ravioli) but the rest were simple words that a 17-year-old should know. No, she's not disabled in any way, unless you count that growth that looks suspiciously like a cellphone sprouting from her hand. Therein lies the problem. She's grown up on textspeak. She wouldn't know an acronym from an anthill but if I sent her a text that read "Pk up C & brg 2 Ls lso grn shrt n shoz" she'd know to grab her little sister's green shirt and sneakers, pick sis up and take her to her friend's house after school. I may not have had that quite right, but you get the idea.
I read stuff on Facebook, craigslist, various forums and websites, and I'm always guaranteed at least one recoil moment when a college kid misuses an apostrophe or misspells a word ("I love there nacho's") and reading on, I discover he's a molecular biology major and I go WHUH? HOW?! And those moments, even without biology majors, are far too common.
There is a website that pokes fun at stupid craigslist ads. The site creator as well as the comment contributors will pick listings apart ruthlessly, tear down the author with any and all verbal ammo they can come up with... but they always notice and give props for proper spelling and grammar. It's *that* rare to see. Seriously. (Okay, so it IS craigslist, not high school composition class, so I shouldn't be using that as an example. Comp class is far more advanced. But this does happen all over teh innernetz, and it drives me batty.)
People of the Forums: Whatever point you are trying to make, whatever debate you are hotly arguing for or against, whatever cause you are championing is going to be written off (pun intended) if you can't properly execute simple language and writing skills. If you're just chitchatting, you get a pass on most things (see first paragraph). If you're trying to throw around five-dollar words in a Very Serious Post but can't spell five-letter words, I'm just going to skip over you and move on.
Without learning the basics, you might be the next person to do this:
You want fries with that?
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
FaceOff
Don't make it hard on yourself
Don't make it harder than it has to be
Everything's fine
It's almost as good as it could be
Everything's fine
It's almost as good as it should be
Ever have one of those days that's just meh? Nothing bad happens, it doesn't suck, but nothing interesting happens either. Today was gray all around, in both color and mood. I feel like I've been on autopilot all day. Everything really IS fine. Supper was good, dishes washed and laundry in the dryer... no bills in the mail... no mini-crises... I don't have a thing to complain about, dammit!
Hmmm. I could go off on a rant about how Farmville on Facebook is a ridiculous waste of time (I'm at level 29 *sigh*) or why people I have neither seen nor spoken to in years send me add requests. Some of them weren't even my friends; they were my sister's or cousin's or friends' friends or classmates. One of the requests was from a gal who tormented me from elementary school through 9th grade. I actually let that one hang for a week while I wondered whether she wanted to continue being a flaming bitch or had quite possibly grown out of it. (It seems to be the latter. She has even less of a life than I do, ain't karma grand?)
Facebook is the devil, a friend tells me. I don't think it's that bad, really, but I don't get elbow-deep in social networking sites like some people do. (If you know me on SL, shuddup. *glares menacingly*) I don't pimp out my profile page, add stupid blingy animations, or list every book I've read or song I've liked since the age of 5. The people that matter already know this stuff (because I talk. a. lot.) and the people that don't care don't matter, so what's the point?
It's also depressing at times. Just two days ago I learned that two former friends were killed this year, one on a motorcycle and one in a semi... and it's not like I've talked to them in a couple years or was really close to either one since high school, but damn, you know? And seeing a lot of my friends and acquaintances after so long can be disconcerting. Some don't look like they've aged one bit. Most have kids, dogs, nice homes. Some make me shake my head because they're still living in a trashed 1974 singlewide and never got beyond the Friday-night-let's get-wasted-and-break-shit phase. I think I fall in between the two extremes. I don't have a lucrative career or 401(k), or soccer-playing kids, or even a dog. But I also don't pawn stuff for pot money and don't consider a six-pack of Schlitz and pork rinds an appetizer before moving on to the hard stuff for the evening's festivities. Mmm, pork rinds... hang on a sec...
I don't know what to say to people either. I am probably a bad Facebooker, or whateverthehell they're called, because I don't send messages or "Thanks for the add!" or share My Life So Far with anyone who'll listen. (That's what this blog is for. Why write it twice?) I try to comment on posts I like (FB gives me a lazy option of just clicking a thumbs-up icon, which is great) but it's sporadic at best. I mean, if someone posts "Just got up." what am I supposed to say? "Congratulations, you've lived to surf the internet another day, refreshing FB in the hope that someone left you a message, in between lurking on the Simon Cowell Fan Forum and checking your eBay watch list so you can snipe that must-have Longaberger basket at the very last second!" Pfft. If they posted "Just got up, one boob has a Jagermeister label stuck on it, there's an imprint of a Ford emblem on my backside and there seems to be seaweed in my hair," well, YEAH, thumbs-up. I don't even care if they're making it up. +100 for effort.
Hey, now I can complain about being too tired to write anymore. I just had one of those sitting blackouts- you know what kind I mean- where I don't even realize I dozed off till I wake up and my hands and arms are asleep and I'm sitting here feeling like an idiot because I have to wait for the tinglies to stop before I can finish typing or else it will look like xAD SREDsefr34 qchewq/;df
Cheez-Its and chocolate milk rock. That is all.
Don't make it harder than it has to be
Everything's fine
It's almost as good as it could be
Everything's fine
It's almost as good as it should be
Ever have one of those days that's just meh? Nothing bad happens, it doesn't suck, but nothing interesting happens either. Today was gray all around, in both color and mood. I feel like I've been on autopilot all day. Everything really IS fine. Supper was good, dishes washed and laundry in the dryer... no bills in the mail... no mini-crises... I don't have a thing to complain about, dammit!
Hmmm. I could go off on a rant about how Farmville on Facebook is a ridiculous waste of time (I'm at level 29 *sigh*) or why people I have neither seen nor spoken to in years send me add requests. Some of them weren't even my friends; they were my sister's or cousin's or friends' friends or classmates. One of the requests was from a gal who tormented me from elementary school through 9th grade. I actually let that one hang for a week while I wondered whether she wanted to continue being a flaming bitch or had quite possibly grown out of it. (It seems to be the latter. She has even less of a life than I do, ain't karma grand?)
Facebook is the devil, a friend tells me. I don't think it's that bad, really, but I don't get elbow-deep in social networking sites like some people do. (If you know me on SL, shuddup. *glares menacingly*) I don't pimp out my profile page, add stupid blingy animations, or list every book I've read or song I've liked since the age of 5. The people that matter already know this stuff (because I talk. a. lot.) and the people that don't care don't matter, so what's the point?
It's also depressing at times. Just two days ago I learned that two former friends were killed this year, one on a motorcycle and one in a semi... and it's not like I've talked to them in a couple years or was really close to either one since high school, but damn, you know? And seeing a lot of my friends and acquaintances after so long can be disconcerting. Some don't look like they've aged one bit. Most have kids, dogs, nice homes. Some make me shake my head because they're still living in a trashed 1974 singlewide and never got beyond the Friday-night-let's get-wasted-and-break-shit phase. I think I fall in between the two extremes. I don't have a lucrative career or 401(k), or soccer-playing kids, or even a dog. But I also don't pawn stuff for pot money and don't consider a six-pack of Schlitz and pork rinds an appetizer before moving on to the hard stuff for the evening's festivities. Mmm, pork rinds... hang on a sec...
I don't know what to say to people either. I am probably a bad Facebooker, or whateverthehell they're called, because I don't send messages or "Thanks for the add!" or share My Life So Far with anyone who'll listen. (That's what this blog is for. Why write it twice?) I try to comment on posts I like (FB gives me a lazy option of just clicking a thumbs-up icon, which is great) but it's sporadic at best. I mean, if someone posts "Just got up." what am I supposed to say? "Congratulations, you've lived to surf the internet another day, refreshing FB in the hope that someone left you a message, in between lurking on the Simon Cowell Fan Forum and checking your eBay watch list so you can snipe that must-have Longaberger basket at the very last second!" Pfft. If they posted "Just got up, one boob has a Jagermeister label stuck on it, there's an imprint of a Ford emblem on my backside and there seems to be seaweed in my hair," well, YEAH, thumbs-up. I don't even care if they're making it up. +100 for effort.
Hey, now I can complain about being too tired to write anymore. I just had one of those sitting blackouts- you know what kind I mean- where I don't even realize I dozed off till I wake up and my hands and arms are asleep and I'm sitting here feeling like an idiot because I have to wait for the tinglies to stop before I can finish typing or else it will look like xAD SREDsefr34 qchewq/;df
Cheez-Its and chocolate milk rock. That is all.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Lyrics Biology I
Today we'll be dissecting Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats."
(with thanks to friend KM, who has been doing this way better for ages and never fails to make me laugh)
Right now he's probably slow dancing with a bleach-blond tramp,
and she's probably getting frisky...
right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink cause she can't shoot whiskey...
The only women I ever saw shoot whiskey were career alcoholics and possibly Gretchen Wilson. Not everyone can be a Redneck Girl.
Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick, showing her how to shoot a combo...
Classic bar move. He's a slimeball.
And he don't know...
That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
This bothers me. "Pretty little" 4WD? Is it a Subaru? Nah, can't be... slimeballs can't afford those. And define "little" please. I have only seen ONE little 4x4 and I wouldn't have called it pretty. This guy's driving a pepto-pink 1988 Suzuki Samurai, I just know it. And how would one soup it up and have it still be "pretty?" Did he put a paisley hood scoop on it? Also, I don't recall any of the younger generation saying "souped up." They say boss, pimped, tricked, etc. Who wrote this song anyway? The Beach Boys?
carved my name into his leather seats...
OK, maybe it IS a Subaru. But it's his ex-wife's, not his.
I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
Your arms must hurt like hell from the recoil when that bat bounced. Also, you slashed *one* hole? Is there some new car function I'm unaware of, wherein you poke a hole in one tire and all 4 go flat?
And maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Right now, she's probably up singing some
white-trash version of Shania karaoke..
Wait, aren't Shania songs white-trash already? (Don't flame me.)
Right now, she's probably saying "I'm drunk"
and he's a thinking that he's gonna get lucky,
That's the general idea behind buying a woman in a bar tons of fruity little drinks.
Right now, he's probably dabbing on 3 dollars worth of that bathroom Polo...
I've seen bathroom cologne dispensers. If they're 3 bucks a pop, I can't afford whatever bar you're at.
And, tip to the slimeball... if she's that drunk, it doesn't matter what you smell like. Essence of Polo Wet-Nap is a waste of money, when for generations, Eau de Cigarette Smoke, Beer, and Nachos has worked just fine. Buy her another drink with the three bucks.
And he don't know...
That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seat,
I took a Louisville slugger to both head lights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
And maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Everyone was in the bar watching the Darts Finals, or else someone would surely have noticed all this going on. How long did it take you to carve your name? "C-A-R-R-I-E U-N-D..." oh to hell with it. "C-U"
I might saved a little trouble for the next girl,
Cause the next time that he cheats...
Oh, you know it won't be on me!
Yeah, you saved her from having to ride in that fugly car. But you might also have made a little trouble for her... cause he'll be cheating on her next. He definitely won't cheat on YOU again. It's gonna take six months to get that 4x4 off the cinder blocks and on the road again, with a fresh coat of pink spraypaint. He'll remember you every time the cut-up leather pokes him in the butt through his genuine imitation sheepskin seatcovers.
Cause I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seat...
I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Yeah, he will definitely think before he does it again. He'll think to hide his vehicle and catch a ride to the bar instead.
But then, the next woman will just burn down the entire trailer park instead of limiting her vengeance to his car.
Note: I happen to really like this song. But it begged to be scrutinized.
(with thanks to friend KM, who has been doing this way better for ages and never fails to make me laugh)
Right now he's probably slow dancing with a bleach-blond tramp,
and she's probably getting frisky...
right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink cause she can't shoot whiskey...
The only women I ever saw shoot whiskey were career alcoholics and possibly Gretchen Wilson. Not everyone can be a Redneck Girl.
Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick, showing her how to shoot a combo...
Classic bar move. He's a slimeball.
And he don't know...
That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
This bothers me. "Pretty little" 4WD? Is it a Subaru? Nah, can't be... slimeballs can't afford those. And define "little" please. I have only seen ONE little 4x4 and I wouldn't have called it pretty. This guy's driving a pepto-pink 1988 Suzuki Samurai, I just know it. And how would one soup it up and have it still be "pretty?" Did he put a paisley hood scoop on it? Also, I don't recall any of the younger generation saying "souped up." They say boss, pimped, tricked, etc. Who wrote this song anyway? The Beach Boys?
carved my name into his leather seats...
OK, maybe it IS a Subaru. But it's his ex-wife's, not his.
I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
Your arms must hurt like hell from the recoil when that bat bounced. Also, you slashed *one* hole? Is there some new car function I'm unaware of, wherein you poke a hole in one tire and all 4 go flat?
And maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Right now, she's probably up singing some
white-trash version of Shania karaoke..
Wait, aren't Shania songs white-trash already? (Don't flame me.)
Right now, she's probably saying "I'm drunk"
and he's a thinking that he's gonna get lucky,
That's the general idea behind buying a woman in a bar tons of fruity little drinks.
Right now, he's probably dabbing on 3 dollars worth of that bathroom Polo...
I've seen bathroom cologne dispensers. If they're 3 bucks a pop, I can't afford whatever bar you're at.
And, tip to the slimeball... if she's that drunk, it doesn't matter what you smell like. Essence of Polo Wet-Nap is a waste of money, when for generations, Eau de Cigarette Smoke, Beer, and Nachos has worked just fine. Buy her another drink with the three bucks.
And he don't know...
That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seat,
I took a Louisville slugger to both head lights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
And maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Everyone was in the bar watching the Darts Finals, or else someone would surely have noticed all this going on. How long did it take you to carve your name? "C-A-R-R-I-E U-N-D..." oh to hell with it. "C-U"
I might saved a little trouble for the next girl,
Cause the next time that he cheats...
Oh, you know it won't be on me!
Yeah, you saved her from having to ride in that fugly car. But you might also have made a little trouble for her... cause he'll be cheating on her next. He definitely won't cheat on YOU again. It's gonna take six months to get that 4x4 off the cinder blocks and on the road again, with a fresh coat of pink spraypaint. He'll remember you every time the cut-up leather pokes him in the butt through his genuine imitation sheepskin seatcovers.
Cause I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seat...
I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Yeah, he will definitely think before he does it again. He'll think to hide his vehicle and catch a ride to the bar instead.
But then, the next woman will just burn down the entire trailer park instead of limiting her vengeance to his car.
Note: I happen to really like this song. But it begged to be scrutinized.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Time Flies! O.O
Holy cow, has it been that long since I've posted anything?
The Major Events are on the car blog (see post below).
Work: same, only worse. New owner is determined to get everyone to quit, I think, so he can hire in cheap labor to replace us. He's taken our overtime pay and our breaks. We get one half-hour break for lunch, which might work in a normal job setting, but in a factory greenhouse (heat, humidity, on feet all day) it's brutal not being able to sit down someplace cool for a few minutes and grab a granola bar or something to keep us going. Budget-wise, we haven't been able to get the supplies we need, but we're making do as best we can. Hubby's job is going great, now that they're getting paid again (thanks Guv'nah! Ass.)
Home: We've got 4 weeks to find a house if we want to close before the incentive-refund deadline. I don't think we're going to make it. Houses here are either insanely expensive or in need of major repairs (or, in a couple of cases, a complete tear-down and rebuild). Flood zones, taxes, winter maintenance... all this comes into play as well when we consider a house. We're willing to go without air conditioning, as long as the place has decent heat and a driveway accessible by more than just a plow truck in snow season. I'm still hopeful that a house will "find us" the way our vehicles always do.
Family: They're still crazy.
Friends: Hi y'all!
Personal: I've adopted a family, in a way, and spend time with the kids and cooking for them and taking them places. Reinforces my decision not to have my own, but part-time seems to work well for me. They're nice kids, typical ones, the usual drama and mini-crises. The oldest girl stayed over a while back; upon entering the house, she looked at her phone... "No cell service here?!? Omigawd I am gonna DIIIEEEE!" *cue teen-angst expression*
I'm still working in Second Life, although I don't spend as much time as I used to inworld. Too much real life going on. Plus, fall is coming! YAYYYYYYY! Leaves and hunting and vacation and candy corn and cooler weather and and and.... *remembers to breathe* I can't wait. I'm going to make zucchini bread tonight. Got a couple monster zukes from my sis in law yesterday, yum!
Just had my birthday this week. Hard to believe I've been up here 10 years now. Half the year I never want to leave; the other half, Alaska looks really good... or Iceland...
Cake is life. That is all.
The Major Events are on the car blog (see post below).
Work: same, only worse. New owner is determined to get everyone to quit, I think, so he can hire in cheap labor to replace us. He's taken our overtime pay and our breaks. We get one half-hour break for lunch, which might work in a normal job setting, but in a factory greenhouse (heat, humidity, on feet all day) it's brutal not being able to sit down someplace cool for a few minutes and grab a granola bar or something to keep us going. Budget-wise, we haven't been able to get the supplies we need, but we're making do as best we can. Hubby's job is going great, now that they're getting paid again (thanks Guv'nah! Ass.)
Home: We've got 4 weeks to find a house if we want to close before the incentive-refund deadline. I don't think we're going to make it. Houses here are either insanely expensive or in need of major repairs (or, in a couple of cases, a complete tear-down and rebuild). Flood zones, taxes, winter maintenance... all this comes into play as well when we consider a house. We're willing to go without air conditioning, as long as the place has decent heat and a driveway accessible by more than just a plow truck in snow season. I'm still hopeful that a house will "find us" the way our vehicles always do.
Family: They're still crazy.
Friends: Hi y'all!
Personal: I've adopted a family, in a way, and spend time with the kids and cooking for them and taking them places. Reinforces my decision not to have my own, but part-time seems to work well for me. They're nice kids, typical ones, the usual drama and mini-crises. The oldest girl stayed over a while back; upon entering the house, she looked at her phone... "No cell service here?!? Omigawd I am gonna DIIIEEEE!" *cue teen-angst expression*
I'm still working in Second Life, although I don't spend as much time as I used to inworld. Too much real life going on. Plus, fall is coming! YAYYYYYYY! Leaves and hunting and vacation and candy corn and cooler weather and and and.... *remembers to breathe* I can't wait. I'm going to make zucchini bread tonight. Got a couple monster zukes from my sis in law yesterday, yum!
Just had my birthday this week. Hard to believe I've been up here 10 years now. Half the year I never want to leave; the other half, Alaska looks really good... or Iceland...
Cake is life. That is all.
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