Greta Hayley, as I've mentioned before, and an angelic little puppy of whom I feel truly blessed to call my best friend. Every day I feel lucky that she gives me hugs and kisses, but more so, that she trusts me. To prove that, she has put her trust in me to guard her most important and prized possessions; her cookies. I have always done a good job guarding them with my life, so that when she hid them beneath me, she could always come back, push me over, and take them whenever she wanted them and they were always still there. We had a system going for the past two years and nine months. Then, two nights ago happened. Folks, I have let Greta Hayley down.
The other night, as Greta always does, she brought her prized cookie over, got up on the couch, pushed me and my blankets over, put her cookie inside of the blankets, moved them back, and then pawed me until I moved back to where I started, therefore covering and protecting her cookie. The cats tried to see what I had, but alas, they were unable to. I kept that cookie locked up as if it were contained in Fort Detrik. I had this.
And then I farted.
She ripped over to the couch so fast, shoved me out of the way, moved the blankets, grabbed her cookie and took off like a bat out of hell. I haven't seen that cookie since. I hate to say this, but I think she ate it.
Last night she came over to me again with her new cookie for the night, jumped up on the couch, started to push me out of the way, stopped, looked up at me as if to say, "You're that bitch who farted and now can't be trusted," and started hiding her cookies somewhere that I don't even know where to find them.
I am so ashamed.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
I'll Meet You There
There's certain movies I know not to watch before I do, because it's gauranteed I'll be curled up in a ball on my couch, blanket over me, a box of tissues in hand, sobbing into them. I'm one of those old people kids made fun of, including myself, that cry hysterically over movies. And even though I know I shouldn't watch them, I do it anyway.
Tonight's example: The Hallmark Hall of Fame Movie - The Lost Valentine.
In my defense, I didn't realize going into this how hard this movie was going to be for me to watch. As soon as Betty White's character was shown as a grandmother and not just a cute little old lady, I started balling. I still really miss my grandma. I imagine I always will. Until now, I've avoided movies specifically about grandmas and close relationships with grandmas because of this. I was done about three minutes into this movie. I trooped on, however, because the movie featured two of my favorite actresses, Betty White and Jennifer Love Hewitt. It could have only been better if Jane Lynch was there, too, but I digress.
It would have been very generic of me to say a movie made me cry because the main character was a grandma, I realize. So let me back up to the first two minutes of the movie where it's revealed that her husband, her lost valentine, was in the Air Force. Yep, I lost it there first, officially. My grandfather, my best friend in the entire world, was in the Air Force. His Air Force picture still hangs in our hallway so we pass it every single day. I miss him, too, more than words can say. I felt like it was all the things that hit too close to home all in one movie.
I won't get into the whole thing and ruin the plot for those of you who haven't seen it. There were several scenes that made me ball like a baby, especially the one toward the end with Betty White and the casket. But it was the end scene that did me in. If you haven't seen the movie and still want to, I'm warning you not to read past here.
At the end of the movie, Jennifer Love Hewitt's character and Betty White's movie grandson are in the yard when the sprinklers come on, flashing back to and earlier scene in the movie when Betty and her movie husband had just moved into that very same house and the same thing happened to them. As that happened, Betty was in the back yard watering her flowers. This was post her deceased husband's arrival in the casket after sixty-six years, in the very same train station she saw him off on on Valentine's day those sixty-six years ago. After she said to the man who worked at the station and greeted her every year when she went back to wait for him on that same day, "My husband is coming home today." And he did, in a casket, but he was home.
As she was standing outside of her house with the hose, she noticed that the rose bush her husband had planted when they first moved in and that had been dead for years was blooming. Just as she went to water it, the song she and her husband used to dance to came on the radio just inside of the window. Then they showed him in his Air Force uniform. He had come to take her. And while her movie grandson and J.Love's character repeated their love story in the front yard, she went with her husband, who was finally home.
I had no shiz left to lose at this point. I was full out leaving it all over the couch and the tissues I had run out of. When my grandma passed away, she came to say goodbye. With her was my grandfather...dressed in his Air Force uniform. That uniform hangs in my closet, a reminder of my grandfather's greatest feat. And as it is in life, a person's greatest, most important job, is the one they will do in death.
Tonight's example: The Hallmark Hall of Fame Movie - The Lost Valentine.
In my defense, I didn't realize going into this how hard this movie was going to be for me to watch. As soon as Betty White's character was shown as a grandmother and not just a cute little old lady, I started balling. I still really miss my grandma. I imagine I always will. Until now, I've avoided movies specifically about grandmas and close relationships with grandmas because of this. I was done about three minutes into this movie. I trooped on, however, because the movie featured two of my favorite actresses, Betty White and Jennifer Love Hewitt. It could have only been better if Jane Lynch was there, too, but I digress.
It would have been very generic of me to say a movie made me cry because the main character was a grandma, I realize. So let me back up to the first two minutes of the movie where it's revealed that her husband, her lost valentine, was in the Air Force. Yep, I lost it there first, officially. My grandfather, my best friend in the entire world, was in the Air Force. His Air Force picture still hangs in our hallway so we pass it every single day. I miss him, too, more than words can say. I felt like it was all the things that hit too close to home all in one movie.
I won't get into the whole thing and ruin the plot for those of you who haven't seen it. There were several scenes that made me ball like a baby, especially the one toward the end with Betty White and the casket. But it was the end scene that did me in. If you haven't seen the movie and still want to, I'm warning you not to read past here.
At the end of the movie, Jennifer Love Hewitt's character and Betty White's movie grandson are in the yard when the sprinklers come on, flashing back to and earlier scene in the movie when Betty and her movie husband had just moved into that very same house and the same thing happened to them. As that happened, Betty was in the back yard watering her flowers. This was post her deceased husband's arrival in the casket after sixty-six years, in the very same train station she saw him off on on Valentine's day those sixty-six years ago. After she said to the man who worked at the station and greeted her every year when she went back to wait for him on that same day, "My husband is coming home today." And he did, in a casket, but he was home.
As she was standing outside of her house with the hose, she noticed that the rose bush her husband had planted when they first moved in and that had been dead for years was blooming. Just as she went to water it, the song she and her husband used to dance to came on the radio just inside of the window. Then they showed him in his Air Force uniform. He had come to take her. And while her movie grandson and J.Love's character repeated their love story in the front yard, she went with her husband, who was finally home.
I had no shiz left to lose at this point. I was full out leaving it all over the couch and the tissues I had run out of. When my grandma passed away, she came to say goodbye. With her was my grandfather...dressed in his Air Force uniform. That uniform hangs in my closet, a reminder of my grandfather's greatest feat. And as it is in life, a person's greatest, most important job, is the one they will do in death.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Greta Hayley Says: Helena Has Butt-Fat!
Today my grandma is at work, so it is just my mommy who is at home with me and all my brothers and sisters. Because we are just wonderful little angels from nowhere but heaven above, Mommy gave us bones so that we could eat them and be all kinds of happy. But I'm not happy! My sister, Helena, took mine! She took it, and she sat on it, and then she ate her own cookie while sitting on mine, until my mommy found out and retrieved it from her! She hurt my cute little feelings.
Just let me remind you of how cute me and my little feelings are, too!
Just look at how cute I am with my bone! I like to hug my bone until it has been nurtured to the maximum yumminess. Then I eat it slowly, and it lasts me a couple nights. But my jerk of a sister had to go and sit on it! It's not going to be nurtured if it's sat on! So I did the only thing I knew how to do and decided to get revenge. Just don't tell my mommy, because she might be a little angry when she sees this post. She thinks I'm a big girl who doesn't say anything mean, but I think I've been nice long enough, and I have to put my sister in her place so she doesn't steal from me again.
Helena has butt-fat, and I'm telling the world! Look, it's butt-fat from the back!
And butt-fat from the side!
Just let me remind you of how cute me and my little feelings are, too!
Just look at how cute I am with my bone! I like to hug my bone until it has been nurtured to the maximum yumminess. Then I eat it slowly, and it lasts me a couple nights. But my jerk of a sister had to go and sit on it! It's not going to be nurtured if it's sat on! So I did the only thing I knew how to do and decided to get revenge. Just don't tell my mommy, because she might be a little angry when she sees this post. She thinks I'm a big girl who doesn't say anything mean, but I think I've been nice long enough, and I have to put my sister in her place so she doesn't steal from me again.Helena has butt-fat, and I'm telling the world! Look, it's butt-fat from the back!
And butt-fat from the side!
Haha! Helena has butt-fat! Uh oh, here comes my mommy. Ta-ta for now!Thursday, January 27, 2011
Really Special Advice. Special, I Tell You.
There’s a few things I’ve learned in life that will never be important. Therefore, I thought I’d share them with you.
* People will always, always, confuse me. I could be ninety, and I will still be completely confused by the things people do. I’m more confused about people in general than most men are about women. Scary, I know.
For example, Russell Brand recently posted a picture of his lovely wife, Katy Perry, without makeup on. Apparently, Katy was none to happy about that. So, wait, back that up, because it seems to me that you’re okay with making this completely non suitable for work or children picture your album cover, and a huge part of your California Girls music video, but you’re not comfortable with us seeing your face naked? Shut the front door!
* If a telemarketer calls you and you argue with them, they will always call you back and be more rude each time they do, not caring that you’re on the do not call list. If they call and you’re super sweet to them, wait for the right moment, just post them asking you a question, say something completely random such as, “I got new socks and I’m wearing them.” They will hang up on you. If they don’t, there will be a long enough silence while they think of something to say for you to hang up on them without being rude. They will never, under any circumstances, call you back.
However, there is one exception to this. If you happen to say that you got new socks and you’re wearing them to someone who actually did get new socks and is wearing them, you will end up in a long, drawn out conversation about socks, lying out of your ass. The person still won’t continue to try to sell you something. In fact, they’ll get so caught up in the conversation that they’ll hang up when the sock conversation is over, just as if they were finished with a conversation with their best friend. They also will not call back.
In case you find yourself in this situation, here are my top thirteen things to say to scare a telemarketer away, and even make them hang up on you, other than the sock comment. Only a small majority are actually appropriate, so you make the judgment call on how annoying said telemarketer is.
1. “Do you like cats? I like cats. I have thirty cats and I make dresses for cats. That’s how I make my living, and I was wondering if you wanted to buy a dress for a cat...” *Click*
2. “Ima let you get back to your telemarketing in a minute, but I just want to let you know that *competitor’s company* has the best *service or product offered* of all time.” *Click*
3. “Hold one a second.” *To someone else who may or may not really be there.* “No, baby, don’t turn the camera off. I’ll be right back in one minute and we can finish shooting *obscure porno name here.*” *Click*
4. “I will buy anything from you if you just take me to your leader! I lost my leader! He was a wonderful man with thirteen wives, but all of a sudden the law started after him and he just up and left. Do you believe that?” *Click*
5. “Your voice sounds sexy. Will you be my baby daddy? I’m going for lucky number thirteen.” *Click*
6. *To someone who isn’t there.* “No! Y’all can’t arrest me now! This man / woman is trying to sell me something and I want it!” *Click*
7. “I’m very interested, but hang on one second. These drugs ain’t gonna sell themselves.” *Click*
8. “Nah, I’m saving up to get new teeth. I only have myself two left.” *Click*
9. “Hold on.” *Yelling to someone who I hope isn’t there.* “I said sodomy, not satanism. Are you deaf?” *Click*
10. “Say, that sounds good and all, but will it help me hide the bodies? Err...I mean body.” *Click*
11. *Crying* “I still miss Michael Jackson. Will this bring him back to life?” *Click*
12. *Repeating over and over.* “Ooh, shiny.” *Click*
13. "My parole officer says I ain't allowed to buy no shit from you scam artists. Scams make me angry, very angry. If I stab someone again, I'll violate my parole." *Wait for their silence.* "Err..I mean, I didn't stab no one, Bitch!" *Click*
* If you are a woman, it’s really true, people will try to take advantage of you. You know, contractors and the like. The one that really gets me is helplines. They assume because you’re a woman they can give you some technical jargon and you’ll not understand it. Always know your technical jargon. I’ve been transferred more times to someone who did actually help me, because I knew my technical jargon and embarrassed the jackass on the other end of the phone, than I can count.
* Along the lines of the prior, I’ve found a way around that condescending, moronic tone you will surely get if you’re forced to call a 1-800 number. A legit one, you guys, a legit one. If you sound too young, said person on the other end of the phone will immediately treat you like you’re stupid. If you sound too old, they’ll talk really loud and slowly, and then tell you a bunch of stuff you already know. If you sound like you’re somewhere in between they will automatically gloss over everything and assume you’re big and old enough to figure it out yourself...because that’s totally why you called their helpline; because you can figure it out yourself.
However, there is a trick to surpassing all of this. It took me years to figure it out, so I shall share it with you all now. If you use a sweet, little, southern voice, no matter if it be a man or a woman that you are talking to, you will always get the help you’re looking for. Apparently the old adage is true, everyone does love sweet, little, southern girls. If you can fake it, it will get you somewhere. Sad, but true. Now go out there and start practicing your southern accents. And I’m not talking about way down home country southern, I’m talking about sweet and cute southern. Try: Kimberly Perry.
* If you watch this video and you decide to be an asshole to the guy who lovingly stayed with his girlfriend and committed himself to the vows they've not yet made, you deserve every single part of this comment. (You know who you are...JD.)
Honest to gosh, you are such a fucking toolbox. Therefore, I’m pulling a Kanye on you. "Ima get back to trying to find your heart in a minute, but I just gotta say, you beat Kanye out for biggest asshole of all time.”
I think you’ll all agree that was totally warranted. Seriously, instead of standing by your comment, just give up and eat crow on this one. No one likes the taste of it, but sometimes you have to put your big boy pants on and do it.
* This took me a long time to realize, but I finally have it under control. And I quote.
“I mean, my family cracked up a funeral once. We're not good in groups.”
It took me twenty five years, and that event, but I realize it’s better to not group up with any family members, which just leaves my mom and Aunt Bev, if we have to go somewhere and be mature. And no, I totally don’t remember what we cracked up about at the funeral. I just remember we did. My grandma was included in this. She was in her seventies at the time and of right mind. Man, I miss her.
* If you're going to senselessly play with a gun by twirling it around your finger in front of your kids, make sure it's not loaded so you don't shoot yourself in the head. I'm sure your kid didn't appreciate seeing his dad accidentally murder himself in front of him, and then be left to call the police.
True story, you guys. Some days, I can't even believe our news stories. The Darwin Award; our whole damn city needs it.
* People will always, always, confuse me. I could be ninety, and I will still be completely confused by the things people do. I’m more confused about people in general than most men are about women. Scary, I know.
For example, Russell Brand recently posted a picture of his lovely wife, Katy Perry, without makeup on. Apparently, Katy was none to happy about that. So, wait, back that up, because it seems to me that you’re okay with making this completely non suitable for work or children picture your album cover, and a huge part of your California Girls music video, but you’re not comfortable with us seeing your face naked? Shut the front door!
* If a telemarketer calls you and you argue with them, they will always call you back and be more rude each time they do, not caring that you’re on the do not call list. If they call and you’re super sweet to them, wait for the right moment, just post them asking you a question, say something completely random such as, “I got new socks and I’m wearing them.” They will hang up on you. If they don’t, there will be a long enough silence while they think of something to say for you to hang up on them without being rude. They will never, under any circumstances, call you back.
However, there is one exception to this. If you happen to say that you got new socks and you’re wearing them to someone who actually did get new socks and is wearing them, you will end up in a long, drawn out conversation about socks, lying out of your ass. The person still won’t continue to try to sell you something. In fact, they’ll get so caught up in the conversation that they’ll hang up when the sock conversation is over, just as if they were finished with a conversation with their best friend. They also will not call back.
In case you find yourself in this situation, here are my top thirteen things to say to scare a telemarketer away, and even make them hang up on you, other than the sock comment. Only a small majority are actually appropriate, so you make the judgment call on how annoying said telemarketer is.
1. “Do you like cats? I like cats. I have thirty cats and I make dresses for cats. That’s how I make my living, and I was wondering if you wanted to buy a dress for a cat...” *Click*
2. “Ima let you get back to your telemarketing in a minute, but I just want to let you know that *competitor’s company* has the best *service or product offered* of all time.” *Click*
3. “Hold one a second.” *To someone else who may or may not really be there.* “No, baby, don’t turn the camera off. I’ll be right back in one minute and we can finish shooting *obscure porno name here.*” *Click*
4. “I will buy anything from you if you just take me to your leader! I lost my leader! He was a wonderful man with thirteen wives, but all of a sudden the law started after him and he just up and left. Do you believe that?” *Click*
5. “Your voice sounds sexy. Will you be my baby daddy? I’m going for lucky number thirteen.” *Click*
6. *To someone who isn’t there.* “No! Y’all can’t arrest me now! This man / woman is trying to sell me something and I want it!” *Click*
7. “I’m very interested, but hang on one second. These drugs ain’t gonna sell themselves.” *Click*
8. “Nah, I’m saving up to get new teeth. I only have myself two left.” *Click*
9. “Hold on.” *Yelling to someone who I hope isn’t there.* “I said sodomy, not satanism. Are you deaf?” *Click*
10. “Say, that sounds good and all, but will it help me hide the bodies? Err...I mean body.” *Click*
11. *Crying* “I still miss Michael Jackson. Will this bring him back to life?” *Click*
12. *Repeating over and over.* “Ooh, shiny.” *Click*
13. "My parole officer says I ain't allowed to buy no shit from you scam artists. Scams make me angry, very angry. If I stab someone again, I'll violate my parole." *Wait for their silence.* "Err..I mean, I didn't stab no one, Bitch!" *Click*
* If you are a woman, it’s really true, people will try to take advantage of you. You know, contractors and the like. The one that really gets me is helplines. They assume because you’re a woman they can give you some technical jargon and you’ll not understand it. Always know your technical jargon. I’ve been transferred more times to someone who did actually help me, because I knew my technical jargon and embarrassed the jackass on the other end of the phone, than I can count.
* Along the lines of the prior, I’ve found a way around that condescending, moronic tone you will surely get if you’re forced to call a 1-800 number. A legit one, you guys, a legit one. If you sound too young, said person on the other end of the phone will immediately treat you like you’re stupid. If you sound too old, they’ll talk really loud and slowly, and then tell you a bunch of stuff you already know. If you sound like you’re somewhere in between they will automatically gloss over everything and assume you’re big and old enough to figure it out yourself...because that’s totally why you called their helpline; because you can figure it out yourself.
However, there is a trick to surpassing all of this. It took me years to figure it out, so I shall share it with you all now. If you use a sweet, little, southern voice, no matter if it be a man or a woman that you are talking to, you will always get the help you’re looking for. Apparently the old adage is true, everyone does love sweet, little, southern girls. If you can fake it, it will get you somewhere. Sad, but true. Now go out there and start practicing your southern accents. And I’m not talking about way down home country southern, I’m talking about sweet and cute southern. Try: Kimberly Perry.
* If you watch this video and you decide to be an asshole to the guy who lovingly stayed with his girlfriend and committed himself to the vows they've not yet made, you deserve every single part of this comment. (You know who you are...JD.)
Honest to gosh, you are such a fucking toolbox. Therefore, I’m pulling a Kanye on you. "Ima get back to trying to find your heart in a minute, but I just gotta say, you beat Kanye out for biggest asshole of all time.”
I think you’ll all agree that was totally warranted. Seriously, instead of standing by your comment, just give up and eat crow on this one. No one likes the taste of it, but sometimes you have to put your big boy pants on and do it.
* This took me a long time to realize, but I finally have it under control. And I quote.
“I mean, my family cracked up a funeral once. We're not good in groups.”
It took me twenty five years, and that event, but I realize it’s better to not group up with any family members, which just leaves my mom and Aunt Bev, if we have to go somewhere and be mature. And no, I totally don’t remember what we cracked up about at the funeral. I just remember we did. My grandma was included in this. She was in her seventies at the time and of right mind. Man, I miss her.
* If you're going to senselessly play with a gun by twirling it around your finger in front of your kids, make sure it's not loaded so you don't shoot yourself in the head. I'm sure your kid didn't appreciate seeing his dad accidentally murder himself in front of him, and then be left to call the police.
True story, you guys. Some days, I can't even believe our news stories. The Darwin Award; our whole damn city needs it.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
A Little Troubling
This post is full of funny words and funny links. If you're like me and are mature...for a two year old, you should remove any food items from your mouth, and probably water, too. I can't be held responsible for you choking and dying from laughter. I promise I'll get back to real stories when I start feeling better.
Last night was not a good night. I had a good day, a fun party for Greta Hayley, and then all of a sudden my chest decided that feeling as if there were one hundred elephants doing a ritualistic spiritual dance inside of my it was completely necessary, and maybe even a little bit awesome. I could not sleep; it was five am until that consideration came about. In being in so much pain, crying, and not knowing what to do with myself, my Awesome Australian Friend (AAF) decided to amuse me with some funny things, hoping to help. We'll get to how she did that in a moment. However, it all started with me finding a new website, and slowly went downhill from there. And by downhill, I mean uphill in laughter, downhill in choking, and my chest pain not really changing, but at least my mind wasn't as totally focused on it. I have awesome friends.
I found a new favorite website last night, as reflected in yesterday's very short, albeit very funny post. Damn You, Auto Correct shares the plight we've all faced, and if you say it hasn't, I'm inclined to think you're lying. Auto correct takes no prisoners, much like spell check. It thinks you're saying what it wants you to say. It's never anything close to what you're trying to say. Therefore, I'd like to share my favorites from the website. These are the ones that made me laugh so hard I literally choked. I'm surprised I'm still alive, because there's a bunch of them. As I mentioned in the previous post, I have't laughed this hard since Falker Satherhood. I never laughed that hard prior to Falker Satherhood.
Upon telling Awesome Australian Friend about my quandary, she decided to try to make me laugh by doing the only thing she knew to do; sending me pictures of MGG dressed badly. Which is nearly every picture of him. And don't judge, she doesn't know me in real life. Even if she did, that was probably the best way to make me laugh. Let me explain. (I find I explain a lot of things on this blog. I'm not sorry that things come out wrong consistently.)
If you've ever seen a picture of MGG, it's a well known fact that he inherently has troubling fashion choices, and the word effeminate has been thrown around once or a hundred times in reference to him, often by him. Let's back that up, because his biological sister is the Laura Dahl. How one sibling ends up with great fashion, enough to make a fabulous living off of, and the other one looks worse than Pete Wentz and Brendon Urie put together, flabbergasts me and should probably be studied by science. And a few other words about that.
- And it’s beginning to scare me when he looks normal. I wonder if something is wrong with him.
And by looks, I mean dresses normally. It's frightening, but I'm getting to that now with a pictorial. You're welcome for the laughs. Put down the food before opening any links.
For starters, when someone describes something as creepy and pornstar-ish, and then attaches a picture, I immediately have to share it with you guys. See, I’m always thinking of you. You’re welcome.
- I’m a little uncomfortable with where MGG’s hand is. Jackson, however, has the right idea.
Now, why I posted that. Guys, the girl in that picture is Jasper from Twilight. I hope I never have to say that again. And yes, I did say the girl. He’s also not the only Twilight person to be on CM. Mike Welch was, too. Oh, and the show dressed MGG, so see former comment about the show making him look like a horrible, horrible, colorblind dork. And this is one of the better outfits.
- Minus the pants, I like that one.
- WAIT, NOT MINUS THE PANTS!
- WITH DIFFERENT PANTS!!!!
- I MEANT WITH DIFFERENT PANTS!
Really, I did. No one wants to see that.
- What is with the crushed velvet pants?
- He owns more than one pair, which was troubling enough.
- I feel so bad for him that he thinks this is okay.
Kids, if you, too, think this is okay, please go have your eyes checked. I'm not saying that to be sarcastic. I'm trying to help you, I swear.
- Oh, it’s that sweater again.
- Enough with that sweater.
This sweater pops up on him often. It's offensive. It happens so much, in fact, that we're not longer shocked by said sweater. It's just the sweater. And seriously, y'all, does it ever really get that cold in California? No, seriously, does it?
Obviously, there was a reason the following conversation needed to take place.
Me: Is it so wrong that I want a pair?
Me: Sorry, wrong window
Me: Cassadee can’t read.
Me: But we’re talking about flip flop socks.
Awesome Australian Friend: Flip flop socks?
Me: Yes.
Me: Mismatched ones.
Me: I don’t think we can talk about MGG anymore.
Awesome Australian Friend: Okay, Amy, you don’t need flip flop socks, lol. Unless you would like me to call you MGG.
Me: I’m okay with that.
Me: No, no I’m not.
Me: Nobody tell MGG about those socks.
Also, for those of you unfamiliar, MGG was a model. I know, go ahead and get your laughter out. It's not that he's a bad looking guy, but him modeling is awkward because they made him look very womanly. I'm not going to post the pictures here, I will just let you Google MGG modeling pictures for yourself, or we'd be here for awhile. I will say this, though.
This is the only picture that was not highly effeminate. And by that, I mean he actually looked like a man in it. (He looked a little hot, too. Shut up.) It took us awhile to get used to him not being made up to look girlie in a fashion photo, and apparently this picture is very recent.
SURPRISE SUPERNATURAL PICTURE! Sorry, I was mind cleaning. It feels better now, doesn't it?
Let's also move along to the ever handsome Shemar Moore and his fashion issues. Look, we like to laugh at good looking folk with bad fashion sense. It makes our day. We also like to wonder where their mothers are.
- Him wearing that shirt and drinking wine is an oxymoron.
- But that shirt is still sadly better than anything Matthew owns, and it says elf.
- What shirt says elf?
- OMG!
- It doesn’t say elf!
- AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
- AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
- No, THAT DOES SAY ELF. It’s not supposed to, but the s is gone. If you look, you can see where the s wore off.
In case I didn't mention, I was not feeling well last night. I still don't feel well tonight. I'm not responsible for any of these conversational tidbits that are still funny to me. Go ahead, laugh at me. I know it's coming. However, it's hard when I'm misguidedly laughing, too.
- So he acted dead, but he refused to admit to pending death?
AAF: We get Days of Our Lives and the Bold and the Beautiful. (The one we call Dumb and Brainless.)
We were all thinking it.
- If I’m thinking of the right guy, I thought that dude was gay.
Too gay for a girlfriend. I was thinking of the wrong guy.
- It’s going to take a “special” person. Not sure exactly what I meant by “special” yet.
Me: And human flesh tastes icky.
AAF: Lol, just a little icky.
Me: Yes, yes, not that I would know from experience, though.
Me: At least that’s what I tell my parole officer.
Me: And if by dag you mean an incredibly sexy duck, then yes, that’s me.
AAF: Lol, of course.
Me: Awesome.
Me: I promise there’s a reason I want to be a duck. They tell people off. They just run over, quack, and that’s the end of it. No one argues with a duck.
- Oh look, it’s a stripper.
- I have to be a jerk for a second, which basically means things are right on track.
- Sorry if I creeped you and everyone in a six mile radius out.
- Love me like a two cent whore. You know you want to.
- K, ima keep sending things, and apparently saying things like imma.
Hey, I can’t spell incorrect words correctly incorrect twice. At least I’m consistent.
- This is my attempt at keeping perverted comments to myself. I just tell bad jokes that aren’t funny.
- That’s my catch phrase: Speeling erors, better than perverted comments.
- TIT
- YOU TYPED TIT!
- I’m sorry
- I am so sorry.
- I swear I don’t act like this is real life.
- Okay, that’s a lie.
- And now that I’ve shamed myself.
- Just remember you love me. And I’m sorry.
- I may be a perv, but I’m a nice perv.
- So he either lies, or nature hates him.
- Because we don’t know him, we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.
- I don’t know why we’re starting that shit now, but we will.
We’re not benefit of the doubt kind of people.
- If Justin Bieber sang a song about getting a girlfriend, and then Ludicrous joined him, that’s how special that would be. Oh wait, that happened.
Surprisingly not about MGG and his fashion no-sense.
- And the have the chinkiest lunch room
- Damn it!
- Okay, that was all spell check’s fault.
- That was NOT what I wanted to say.
- Because I didn’t mean their lunchroom was Asian!
I meant chincy-est. Not chinkiest. I'm sorry I offended an entire group of people.
Last night was not a good night. I had a good day, a fun party for Greta Hayley, and then all of a sudden my chest decided that feeling as if there were one hundred elephants doing a ritualistic spiritual dance inside of my it was completely necessary, and maybe even a little bit awesome. I could not sleep; it was five am until that consideration came about. In being in so much pain, crying, and not knowing what to do with myself, my Awesome Australian Friend (AAF) decided to amuse me with some funny things, hoping to help. We'll get to how she did that in a moment. However, it all started with me finding a new website, and slowly went downhill from there. And by downhill, I mean uphill in laughter, downhill in choking, and my chest pain not really changing, but at least my mind wasn't as totally focused on it. I have awesome friends.
I found a new favorite website last night, as reflected in yesterday's very short, albeit very funny post. Damn You, Auto Correct shares the plight we've all faced, and if you say it hasn't, I'm inclined to think you're lying. Auto correct takes no prisoners, much like spell check. It thinks you're saying what it wants you to say. It's never anything close to what you're trying to say. Therefore, I'd like to share my favorites from the website. These are the ones that made me laugh so hard I literally choked. I'm surprised I'm still alive, because there's a bunch of them. As I mentioned in the previous post, I have't laughed this hard since Falker Satherhood. I never laughed that hard prior to Falker Satherhood.
A New Nickname
Road Sexuality
Active Tourists For Sale
It's Not the Alligator
One's Not A Word, One's In Korea
I've Missed Them (Not)
Centipede / Cute = They Mean the Same Thing, Don't They?
So That's How You Get Free Rent
Borg = The Sound A Muppet Makes
Avoid This Friendship
Jesus Crust, Do You Have Some?
Ducking Schindler On a Saturday Night
Leaving Fart Worth
Logrolling Your True Feelings
Ukraine and Ikea...Totally Close
If It's Shemar Moore, I'm Totally Messing With You
Does It Wear a Kippah?
Favorite Fail
It Says Buttwad!
Road Sexuality
Active Tourists For Sale
It's Not the Alligator
One's Not A Word, One's In Korea
I've Missed Them (Not)
Centipede / Cute = They Mean the Same Thing, Don't They?
So That's How You Get Free Rent
Borg = The Sound A Muppet Makes
Avoid This Friendship
Jesus Crust, Do You Have Some?
Ducking Schindler On a Saturday Night
Leaving Fart Worth
Logrolling Your True Feelings
Ukraine and Ikea...Totally Close
If It's Shemar Moore, I'm Totally Messing With You
Does It Wear a Kippah?
Favorite Fail
It Says Buttwad!
Upon telling Awesome Australian Friend about my quandary, she decided to try to make me laugh by doing the only thing she knew to do; sending me pictures of MGG dressed badly. Which is nearly every picture of him. And don't judge, she doesn't know me in real life. Even if she did, that was probably the best way to make me laugh. Let me explain. (I find I explain a lot of things on this blog. I'm not sorry that things come out wrong consistently.)
If you've ever seen a picture of MGG, it's a well known fact that he inherently has troubling fashion choices, and the word effeminate has been thrown around once or a hundred times in reference to him, often by him. Let's back that up, because his biological sister is the Laura Dahl. How one sibling ends up with great fashion, enough to make a fabulous living off of, and the other one looks worse than Pete Wentz and Brendon Urie put together, flabbergasts me and should probably be studied by science. And a few other words about that.
- I mean, it's assaulting to everyone with eyes.
- I find his ever present fashion choices a little troubling.
- I get that he’s a nerd, okay, and that’s what I like about him, so I’m not knocking it, but there’s a difference between a nerd and a challenged person.
- How is it that the show manages to dress him like a horrible, horrible, colorblind dork, yet it’s still better than how he dresses himself?
- I find his ever present fashion choices a little troubling.
- I get that he’s a nerd, okay, and that’s what I like about him, so I’m not knocking it, but there’s a difference between a nerd and a challenged person.
- How is it that the show manages to dress him like a horrible, horrible, colorblind dork, yet it’s still better than how he dresses himself?
- And it’s beginning to scare me when he looks normal. I wonder if something is wrong with him.
And by looks, I mean dresses normally. It's frightening, but I'm getting to that now with a pictorial. You're welcome for the laughs. Put down the food before opening any links.
For starters, when someone describes something as creepy and pornstar-ish, and then attaches a picture, I immediately have to share it with you guys. See, I’m always thinking of you. You’re welcome.
- I’m a little uncomfortable with where MGG’s hand is. Jackson, however, has the right idea.
Now, why I posted that. Guys, the girl in that picture is Jasper from Twilight. I hope I never have to say that again. And yes, I did say the girl. He’s also not the only Twilight person to be on CM. Mike Welch was, too. Oh, and the show dressed MGG, so see former comment about the show making him look like a horrible, horrible, colorblind dork. And this is one of the better outfits.
- Minus the pants, I like that one.
- WAIT, NOT MINUS THE PANTS!
- WITH DIFFERENT PANTS!!!!
- I MEANT WITH DIFFERENT PANTS!
Really, I did. No one wants to see that.
- What is with the crushed velvet pants?
- He owns more than one pair, which was troubling enough.
- I feel so bad for him that he thinks this is okay.
Kids, if you, too, think this is okay, please go have your eyes checked. I'm not saying that to be sarcastic. I'm trying to help you, I swear.
- Oh, it’s that sweater again.
- Enough with that sweater.
This sweater pops up on him often. It's offensive. It happens so much, in fact, that we're not longer shocked by said sweater. It's just the sweater. And seriously, y'all, does it ever really get that cold in California? No, seriously, does it?
Obviously, there was a reason the following conversation needed to take place.
Me: Is it so wrong that I want a pair?
Me: Sorry, wrong window
Me: Cassadee can’t read.
Me: But we’re talking about flip flop socks.
Awesome Australian Friend: Flip flop socks?
Me: Yes.
Me: Mismatched ones.
Me: I don’t think we can talk about MGG anymore.
Awesome Australian Friend: Okay, Amy, you don’t need flip flop socks, lol. Unless you would like me to call you MGG.
Me: I’m okay with that.
Me: No, no I’m not.
Me: Nobody tell MGG about those socks.
Also, for those of you unfamiliar, MGG was a model. I know, go ahead and get your laughter out. It's not that he's a bad looking guy, but him modeling is awkward because they made him look very womanly. I'm not going to post the pictures here, I will just let you Google MGG modeling pictures for yourself, or we'd be here for awhile. I will say this, though.
This is the only picture that was not highly effeminate. And by that, I mean he actually looked like a man in it. (He looked a little hot, too. Shut up.) It took us awhile to get used to him not being made up to look girlie in a fashion photo, and apparently this picture is very recent.
SURPRISE SUPERNATURAL PICTURE! Sorry, I was mind cleaning. It feels better now, doesn't it?
Let's also move along to the ever handsome Shemar Moore and his fashion issues. Look, we like to laugh at good looking folk with bad fashion sense. It makes our day. We also like to wonder where their mothers are.
- Him wearing that shirt and drinking wine is an oxymoron.
- But that shirt is still sadly better than anything Matthew owns, and it says elf.
- What shirt says elf?
- OMG!
- It doesn’t say elf!
- AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
- AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
- No, THAT DOES SAY ELF. It’s not supposed to, but the s is gone. If you look, you can see where the s wore off.
In case I didn't mention, I was not feeling well last night. I still don't feel well tonight. I'm not responsible for any of these conversational tidbits that are still funny to me. Go ahead, laugh at me. I know it's coming. However, it's hard when I'm misguidedly laughing, too.
- So he acted dead, but he refused to admit to pending death?
AAF: We get Days of Our Lives and the Bold and the Beautiful. (The one we call Dumb and Brainless.)
We were all thinking it.
- If I’m thinking of the right guy, I thought that dude was gay.
Too gay for a girlfriend. I was thinking of the wrong guy.
- It’s going to take a “special” person. Not sure exactly what I meant by “special” yet.
Me: And human flesh tastes icky.
AAF: Lol, just a little icky.
Me: Yes, yes, not that I would know from experience, though.
Me: At least that’s what I tell my parole officer.
Me: And if by dag you mean an incredibly sexy duck, then yes, that’s me.
AAF: Lol, of course.
Me: Awesome.
Me: I promise there’s a reason I want to be a duck. They tell people off. They just run over, quack, and that’s the end of it. No one argues with a duck.
- Oh look, it’s a stripper.
- I have to be a jerk for a second, which basically means things are right on track.
- Sorry if I creeped you and everyone in a six mile radius out.
- Love me like a two cent whore. You know you want to.
- K, ima keep sending things, and apparently saying things like imma.
Hey, I can’t spell incorrect words correctly incorrect twice. At least I’m consistent.
- This is my attempt at keeping perverted comments to myself. I just tell bad jokes that aren’t funny.
- That’s my catch phrase: Speeling erors, better than perverted comments.
- TIT
- YOU TYPED TIT!
- I’m sorry
- I am so sorry.
- I swear I don’t act like this is real life.
- Okay, that’s a lie.
- And now that I’ve shamed myself.
- Just remember you love me. And I’m sorry.
- I may be a perv, but I’m a nice perv.
- So he either lies, or nature hates him.
- Because we don’t know him, we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.
- I don’t know why we’re starting that shit now, but we will.
We’re not benefit of the doubt kind of people.
- If Justin Bieber sang a song about getting a girlfriend, and then Ludicrous joined him, that’s how special that would be. Oh wait, that happened.
Surprisingly not about MGG and his fashion no-sense.
- And the have the chinkiest lunch room
- Damn it!
- Okay, that was all spell check’s fault.
- That was NOT what I wanted to say.
- Because I didn’t mean their lunchroom was Asian!
I meant chincy-est. Not chinkiest. I'm sorry I offended an entire group of people.
Nefertiti On Falker Satherhood
I haven't laughed this hard since Falker Satherhood. I literally stopped breathing and started choking from laughter more than three times and less than twenty, but closer to twenty than three. You're welcome.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Party, Greta Hayley! It's your birthday!
Today is Greta Hayley's birthday. Greta is 3. To honor her, I shall present you with a Greta pictorial. Enjoy the cuteness! That's an order...a Greta birthday order.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
The Saga Starts When It Was Cold and It Was Winter and...
First of all, let me just get this out in the open. I should not be allowed to watch true crime shows when I decide to argue with the reporter for saying something completely stupid, or mind numbingly obvious, which is always. The reporter will undoubtedly, always say something like, "and they tried *insert name here* for murder because they believed he was a killer," and I will always yell, "NO SHIT, LADY! Thank you for cluing me in to the obvious!" It's at that moment that I know I am not but a delicate little flower, and there's many reasons why I don't have a boyfriend. I'm okay with this.
Second, dogs will always, always run over to you while you're cleaning, dirt and mud abound, look up at you, let you know they realize you're cleaning but are going to step through what you've just cleaned with no mercy whatsoever, and then do it before your brain has a chance to catch up to what they just said in the language of puppy dog. Cats won't warn you. They'll just sneak up on you when you surely don't notice them, and then run right through what you've cleaned and give you the tail, which is their version of the finger. And they'll think they're awesome for doing it. I'm onto you, kitties, but you'll still win!
Now, if you've hung out on this blog long enough, you'll know that here at the RubyRedHearts household, we like to name deficient household products. For example, we have a curtain that we bought, washed, and it shrunk. It was the only one out of four curtains that did that, but it was fine because they were floor length, and the one window had a cedar chest under it, so we'd just stick it back there and no one would know. Then it occurred to us that we'd have no way to know which is the short one until we hung it up, unless it marked it somehow. I asked my mom what she wanted me to mark on it I can't remember if an Aflac commercial was involved, or she just happened to say Aflac, but Aflac is what came out of her mouth. Aflac is what I marked on the tag of the curtain. Aflac is now that curtain's name.
So when I got brand new curtains for my room, since my bed was crushing the heck out of my honeycomb curtains every time I adjusted it, I decided I would carry on this tradition if necessary. Unfortunately, it was necessary. But let me start at the beginning and take you through the curtain saga. Yes, Squirrel Monkeys, I have a saga for everything. As is my life.
The saga starts when I knew exactly which curtains I wanted, then I found out they went up in price by almost double and I would have to sell an arm, leg and both kidneys just to afford them, so they were out. Only, I couldn't find other ones that I liked, and it was super ridiculously simple what I wanted. I wanted curtains that filtered out light and were chocolate brown. This is not hard, right? Yes, yes it was, because only one company sold them, and that was the arm, leg and two kidney company. I tried several stores, still no luck.
A week and a half ago we were at Wal-Mart. Our epic search for water softener took us to the lawn and garden section. Look, it's a Wal-Mart in Pennsylvania. It makes sense for it to be out there. To who, I don't know, but to someone it makes sense. I mean, it wasn't out there; it was nowhere in the store, but that's another story. While we were out in lawn and garden looking for water softener, we happened to find the clearance section. This apparently made sense to someone, too. We don't ask, because, again, this is Wal-Mart in Pennsylvania. You don't get any more collective fail than that.
While in the lawn and garden clearance section, which featured Christmas stuff, games, and home decor, we found the holy grail of where curtains go to pass away. Squirrel Monkeys, there were literally hundreds of curtains back there on clearance. There were greens and grays and they all filtered light and only cost money; no limbs, no organs. And then I saw them...the brown ones, the ones that were the love of my life. I greedily picked up the ones that hadn't been opened, cackled louder than a repressed psycho-maniac whose insurance stopped paying for their meds, and took them home with me.
Rewind to today. It took me until now to get my splitting head under control enough to take down the old curtain rods, measure so these were in the right place since they're floor length and the others weren't, put up the new hardware, fill the holes where the old ones were and repaint, wash the new curtains, iron them and put them up. I'm exhausted just thinking about it. It was more of a pain in the butt than it sounded. But it was all worth it to have curtains that I couldn't murder by simply adjusting my bed, and that matched this lamp, which I'm fully convinced was handcrafted by angels from heaven above.
I would totally cheat on my boyfriend and have a love affair with this lamp, non sexually, of course. That would just be weird. Luckily, I do not have a boyfriend, so no emotional cheating will occur. This is the perfect lamp. And if the first picture wasn't enough proof, when you turn it on it gets this deep, dark violet hue to it. And violet looks gorgeous with silver. See?
I know I've built these delicious little curtains up, so I shall present them to you now. Just a few words about this first. They're the brown ones, obviously, if I didn't make that clear before. The red ones I made. I know you're jealous because they have fireflies and are awesome. (This may or may not be true. I mean the you being jealous part, not the part that they're red with fireflies and are awesome.) Two, I know I have a lot of shit in my room. This is because no one has bought my furniture yet. Once someone buys my furniture and I can get stuff that actually fits in my room, every free square inch of wall space will no longer be filled with stuff. Now that we've got an understanding, I present you my new curtains without further ado.
TA DA! And you immediately know this is going to go wrong somewhere.
As I mentioned, I bought the previously unopened set of curtains, so if you can explain this to me, please do.
I think some Pennsylvania residents have been taking Twilight a little too seriously. And the thing is, because the holes were so small, and I had already washed them, ironed them, and waited a week and a half to put them up, I just wasn't about to go taking them back. Not only could they very well be out of them since they were on clearance, but I would be left with half of a window with no curtain since I previously had blinds and took down the hardware for it. It would be very light in my room at night without the curtains...because the neighbors like to shine their lights into my room and we have a street light in our yard, because it's Pennsylvania and that makes sense to someone. I was pretty much stuck with the holes. So I got out my thread and needle and ended up with this.
Not so bad, right? You can barely tell unless you really look, and I'm also able to hide it behind some furniture since they're floor length and the holes are very small. However, I didn't want to have to search the curtains for these very small holes every single time I took them down to wash them, so I decided to stick with our pattern of naming things that were somewhat deficient and got my pen out. I think I came up with the perfect name, don't you?
Bella Swan is Lunch. Because the bites look like someone was a little too into Twilight. Get it? Get it? Yeah, I'm horrible, I know.
Because it's my life, Bella Swan is Lunch wasn't the only curtain with a problem. As I hung one of my other ones, I realized it had shrunk about an inch in the wash, much like Aflac, even though none of the other ones had. Obviously, this made it look topsy turvy, humpty dumpty, drunken stupor ridiculous. It was fine because I could just put it on the window where my bed was and no one would ever know. However, I have to name it, naturally. But you probably already knew that was coming. I just didn't want to hang it up after washing it and see this...
and then have to take it back down and put it elsewhere. So what did I name it, you ask? I'm sure I'm going to have to explain the hell out of this one with nine apologies, but it's fine. This curtain's name is officially...
Ashley Seaver. If you're not a Criminal Minds geek, you're not going to get that name. If you are, you're probably thinking one of two things. One: Ya! Two: You bitch. But it's probably the first one. So let me explain.
This curtain still does its' job, although it is slightly deficient at it and a little short on the requirements. But it's still pretty. Which is Ashley Seaver, deficient on the credentials it takes to be an FBI agent, so she kind of half ass does it, but she's pretty. And seriously, it's nothing against Rachel Nichols, who plays her. I think Rachel is adorable. I just don't like the character, and now the character and my curtain are besties.
Next thing you know it, I'll be naming the non deficient household items, too. It's a wonder I haven't already.
SURPRISE KITTY!
That's all I have to say for this blog. I bet you didn't expect a Play kitty at the end. I bring the random.
Second, dogs will always, always run over to you while you're cleaning, dirt and mud abound, look up at you, let you know they realize you're cleaning but are going to step through what you've just cleaned with no mercy whatsoever, and then do it before your brain has a chance to catch up to what they just said in the language of puppy dog. Cats won't warn you. They'll just sneak up on you when you surely don't notice them, and then run right through what you've cleaned and give you the tail, which is their version of the finger. And they'll think they're awesome for doing it. I'm onto you, kitties, but you'll still win!
Now, if you've hung out on this blog long enough, you'll know that here at the RubyRedHearts household, we like to name deficient household products. For example, we have a curtain that we bought, washed, and it shrunk. It was the only one out of four curtains that did that, but it was fine because they were floor length, and the one window had a cedar chest under it, so we'd just stick it back there and no one would know. Then it occurred to us that we'd have no way to know which is the short one until we hung it up, unless it marked it somehow. I asked my mom what she wanted me to mark on it I can't remember if an Aflac commercial was involved, or she just happened to say Aflac, but Aflac is what came out of her mouth. Aflac is what I marked on the tag of the curtain. Aflac is now that curtain's name.
So when I got brand new curtains for my room, since my bed was crushing the heck out of my honeycomb curtains every time I adjusted it, I decided I would carry on this tradition if necessary. Unfortunately, it was necessary. But let me start at the beginning and take you through the curtain saga. Yes, Squirrel Monkeys, I have a saga for everything. As is my life.
The saga starts when I knew exactly which curtains I wanted, then I found out they went up in price by almost double and I would have to sell an arm, leg and both kidneys just to afford them, so they were out. Only, I couldn't find other ones that I liked, and it was super ridiculously simple what I wanted. I wanted curtains that filtered out light and were chocolate brown. This is not hard, right? Yes, yes it was, because only one company sold them, and that was the arm, leg and two kidney company. I tried several stores, still no luck.
A week and a half ago we were at Wal-Mart. Our epic search for water softener took us to the lawn and garden section. Look, it's a Wal-Mart in Pennsylvania. It makes sense for it to be out there. To who, I don't know, but to someone it makes sense. I mean, it wasn't out there; it was nowhere in the store, but that's another story. While we were out in lawn and garden looking for water softener, we happened to find the clearance section. This apparently made sense to someone, too. We don't ask, because, again, this is Wal-Mart in Pennsylvania. You don't get any more collective fail than that.
While in the lawn and garden clearance section, which featured Christmas stuff, games, and home decor, we found the holy grail of where curtains go to pass away. Squirrel Monkeys, there were literally hundreds of curtains back there on clearance. There were greens and grays and they all filtered light and only cost money; no limbs, no organs. And then I saw them...the brown ones, the ones that were the love of my life. I greedily picked up the ones that hadn't been opened, cackled louder than a repressed psycho-maniac whose insurance stopped paying for their meds, and took them home with me.
Rewind to today. It took me until now to get my splitting head under control enough to take down the old curtain rods, measure so these were in the right place since they're floor length and the others weren't, put up the new hardware, fill the holes where the old ones were and repaint, wash the new curtains, iron them and put them up. I'm exhausted just thinking about it. It was more of a pain in the butt than it sounded. But it was all worth it to have curtains that I couldn't murder by simply adjusting my bed, and that matched this lamp, which I'm fully convinced was handcrafted by angels from heaven above.
I would totally cheat on my boyfriend and have a love affair with this lamp, non sexually, of course. That would just be weird. Luckily, I do not have a boyfriend, so no emotional cheating will occur. This is the perfect lamp. And if the first picture wasn't enough proof, when you turn it on it gets this deep, dark violet hue to it. And violet looks gorgeous with silver. See?
I know I've built these delicious little curtains up, so I shall present them to you now. Just a few words about this first. They're the brown ones, obviously, if I didn't make that clear before. The red ones I made. I know you're jealous because they have fireflies and are awesome. (This may or may not be true. I mean the you being jealous part, not the part that they're red with fireflies and are awesome.) Two, I know I have a lot of shit in my room. This is because no one has bought my furniture yet. Once someone buys my furniture and I can get stuff that actually fits in my room, every free square inch of wall space will no longer be filled with stuff. Now that we've got an understanding, I present you my new curtains without further ado. 
TA DA! And you immediately know this is going to go wrong somewhere.As I mentioned, I bought the previously unopened set of curtains, so if you can explain this to me, please do.
I think some Pennsylvania residents have been taking Twilight a little too seriously. And the thing is, because the holes were so small, and I had already washed them, ironed them, and waited a week and a half to put them up, I just wasn't about to go taking them back. Not only could they very well be out of them since they were on clearance, but I would be left with half of a window with no curtain since I previously had blinds and took down the hardware for it. It would be very light in my room at night without the curtains...because the neighbors like to shine their lights into my room and we have a street light in our yard, because it's Pennsylvania and that makes sense to someone. I was pretty much stuck with the holes. So I got out my thread and needle and ended up with this.
Not so bad, right? You can barely tell unless you really look, and I'm also able to hide it behind some furniture since they're floor length and the holes are very small. However, I didn't want to have to search the curtains for these very small holes every single time I took them down to wash them, so I decided to stick with our pattern of naming things that were somewhat deficient and got my pen out. I think I came up with the perfect name, don't you?
Bella Swan is Lunch. Because the bites look like someone was a little too into Twilight. Get it? Get it? Yeah, I'm horrible, I know.Because it's my life, Bella Swan is Lunch wasn't the only curtain with a problem. As I hung one of my other ones, I realized it had shrunk about an inch in the wash, much like Aflac, even though none of the other ones had. Obviously, this made it look topsy turvy, humpty dumpty, drunken stupor ridiculous. It was fine because I could just put it on the window where my bed was and no one would ever know. However, I have to name it, naturally. But you probably already knew that was coming. I just didn't want to hang it up after washing it and see this...
and then have to take it back down and put it elsewhere. So what did I name it, you ask? I'm sure I'm going to have to explain the hell out of this one with nine apologies, but it's fine. This curtain's name is officially...
Ashley Seaver. If you're not a Criminal Minds geek, you're not going to get that name. If you are, you're probably thinking one of two things. One: Ya! Two: You bitch. But it's probably the first one. So let me explain.This curtain still does its' job, although it is slightly deficient at it and a little short on the requirements. But it's still pretty. Which is Ashley Seaver, deficient on the credentials it takes to be an FBI agent, so she kind of half ass does it, but she's pretty. And seriously, it's nothing against Rachel Nichols, who plays her. I think Rachel is adorable. I just don't like the character, and now the character and my curtain are besties.
Next thing you know it, I'll be naming the non deficient household items, too. It's a wonder I haven't already.
SURPRISE KITTY!
That's all I have to say for this blog. I bet you didn't expect a Play kitty at the end. I bring the random.Friday, January 21, 2011
Chicken Revenge Is NSFC
Hi, Squirrel Monkeys. Let's not talk about my health today. I spent nearly seven hours at the hospital, and I just don't want to go there. So let me regal you with a few tales that have nothing to do with each other, and some IMs, because that's all I have right now.
* My mom got bored the other day and started flipping through PPV channels and reading off the names of porn movies. If I never hear my mother say "busty blonde babes" again, it will be too soon.
* When this phase ended, she moved to the Polka Channel. Yeah folks, we actually get that. This is what we pay for. Actually, it's the most hysterical channel I've watched in my life. Picture it, women in country garb suited only for polka dancing, men with porn staches, and everyone looking like they came right out of the seventies. Oh, and did I mention most of them can't polka? Seriously, side splitting laughter occurs when we watch this channel.
* I think the issues with Bloglovin' have been fixed. (I hope.) I spoke with someone, and basically what I found out is that, when you have no followers on their site, they update your blog on their site when they see fit. They don't have your blog on any kind of feed so it automatically updates when you update. They physically do it whenever they want. I wrote them and asked them to take my blog off of their site, because I like to control when I update my blog, and I didn't think it was right that they could choose to put my updates on their site as they wanted. That's why I don't want involved in a network; my blog no longer becomes mine if they're updating it when they want, making it look like I don't blog often. I never received a response, so I looked today and saw my blog was magically updated on their site. I promise I wasn't trying to be a bitch, I just didn't like that my blog looked like it wasn't being updated because they were updating it on their site when they wanted. Hopefully this completely solves the problem, and I'd like to thank them for taking the time and effort to address the issue. So I guess, follow me on Bloglovin?
* There's a show on at prime time on the History Channel called American Pickers. It's two middle aged men driving around the country, going through people's junk, and seeing if they can resale it. Here's a few quotes from a recent episode, via the two stars of the show.
Skinny middle aged guy to round middle aged guy: “It’s kind of like you on a Saturday night...untouched.”
Same guy to same other guy: “I’m going behind you. Don’t fart.”
Skinny middle aged guy: “I was watching The Hills last night, and Lauren’s not even on there anymore.”
Round middle aged guy: “What’s The Hills?”
Skinny middle aged guy: “You don’t know what The Hills is? Lauren stole AMERICA’S HEARTS!”
Did I mention this show was on the HISTORY Channel? At prime time? Just checking.
Because I don't have a whole lot more to say due to the situation with my head, here are some extra special IMs with ridiculous pictures. I apologize for this in advance, because I was not myself the night these conversations occurred. I was trying to ignore my splitting head and overcompensated with stupid. And no jokes about them finally checking out my head to see if I'm crazy. We already know that. We're just looking for a blood clot now.
- There is nothing we do better than chicken revenge.
Awesome Australian Friend mentioned she didn't eat meat, but she hates chickens, so she eats them. She feels bad eating cows, but not chickens, because chickens are evil. I agree with this fully.
- Okay, I have a question.
- An awkward, dead end question.
- From the night of the awkward crazy.
- Howdy snoody.
- I admit I failed at being creative there.
- We should stick our tongues out at them in a mature manner.
- See what I did there? Total oxymoron.
- I always want to call it “Valley of the Dolls,” and I always know that’s not right.
- It’s as wrong as letting Squeaky Fromme out of prison.
This still irks me, y'all. I mean, she tried to kill the President of the United States AND was a member of The Manson Family. How does letting her out of prison ever seem like a good idea? Maybe those people need their heads scanned...and not for blood clots. For crazy.
- Do you think Jim Beaver would adopt me if I asked?
What? I love Jim Beaver. And then he went and put the most epic status ever on Facebook about keeping it classy in the bathtub, and I can't remember the whole thing, but I want him to adopt me. Now.
- “If only I could make that stupid human understand that I really hate when they wear that shirt, because it’s not cuddly.”
This is what Awesome Australian Friend and I imagined our cats really think of us. This is what we imagine they say to each other about we humans. If anyone speaks cat, please get in touch with me so you can confirm or deny this sentence.
- Then there’s our cat who will play with anything. He doesn’t need toys. There’s a bug in the house.
Well, at least we have less bugs to kill and clean up. He eats them, too. I know, I should really do something about that. *Sigh*
- OMG JOE AN DA CAT!
That was the original IM, typo included. I couldn't bring myself to fix such stupidity. Am I the only one who didn't take Joe Mantegna for the kind of man who owned a cat, far more dressed one up? His beautiful daughter, Gia, was Miss Golden Globe this year, and I feel a little bad for her that she can't bring people to her house, because then she'd have to explain that her dad dresses up his cats. I think Joe is the bee's knees for this.
- OMG, IS HE WEARING SLIPPERS? HE’S WEARING HUGH HEFFNER SLIPPERS, ISN’T HE?
Hint, the answer is yes. No, his socks don't match either, and he's wearing an ascot? I don't even know for sure that's not just a handkerchief that he's trying to pass off as an ascot. None of those things are important. I'm used to that. This was the first time I've seen him not wearing shoes, though, so obviously that's the important thing. Don't even get me started on Kirsten. Why is it that only one person in this entire cast can dress themselves? *Cough* Joe *Cough*
- I have a heart condition over here and I don’t know if I can take it.
- My way of helping goes over well out here in the East.
- The mom in me would just explode all over that situation.
- His parents are evil and I love them!
There is a guy who is famous in Australia. His name is Boo Boo. I love his evil genius parents.
- Sell me?
- For a dollar.
- Wait, no.
- Pay someone to take me.
- It’s official, my life is dead. I have not one.
- Someone out there has to know, and I’M GOING TO FIND OUT WHO!
- I am so sorry that I’m so weird.
- I forgot to take one of my medications.
In all my headache hell, I really did forget to take one. None of them alter my moods, so I had no leg to stand on here, but let's pretend I do. Otherwise, I can't explain myself.
- There is something wrong with that boy.
- OMG, if you could see me, I’m in this little ball laughing.
- You’ll hear me singing songs about farting unicorns or something.
- About cheese!
All I wanted to know was, why in the hell was I this excited about cheese? Is there ever a reason for this...especially when you're not eating cheese?
- Let’s pretend we’re British.
- And spell things funny because we’re British.
Zoe, do you think we Americans spell things funny?
- And did you hit that door last night, or did he jump out and hit you?
- Dear.
- DEER!
- DAMN ITTTT!
- I’m sorry a deer jumped out at you and went SURPRISE!
A deer jumped out and hit my friend's car one time. No lie. In this case, however, it was a joint effort. The deer did jump out in front of her (different friend), and she couldn't get stopped in time. It was the deer's fault, but she still technically hit him. He didn't jump right out onto her car like one did to my other friend. And in both cases the people and the deer were fine. The cars? Not so much.
- You know what gets me? They can send men to the moon, but we can’t get boyfriends.
- I mean, I’m at the point where I’m impressed when a man can do laundry.
- I’m so impressed, it doesn’t even have to be right.
- And he doesn’t expect anything out of you.
- Like you to have friends who can type at a sixth grade level or above.
If he did, he'd run fleeing from said friend I was talking to and it'd be all my fault.
- Or a NSFC (Not safe for Cassadee) warning.
* My mom got bored the other day and started flipping through PPV channels and reading off the names of porn movies. If I never hear my mother say "busty blonde babes" again, it will be too soon.
* When this phase ended, she moved to the Polka Channel. Yeah folks, we actually get that. This is what we pay for. Actually, it's the most hysterical channel I've watched in my life. Picture it, women in country garb suited only for polka dancing, men with porn staches, and everyone looking like they came right out of the seventies. Oh, and did I mention most of them can't polka? Seriously, side splitting laughter occurs when we watch this channel.
* I think the issues with Bloglovin' have been fixed. (I hope.) I spoke with someone, and basically what I found out is that, when you have no followers on their site, they update your blog on their site when they see fit. They don't have your blog on any kind of feed so it automatically updates when you update. They physically do it whenever they want. I wrote them and asked them to take my blog off of their site, because I like to control when I update my blog, and I didn't think it was right that they could choose to put my updates on their site as they wanted. That's why I don't want involved in a network; my blog no longer becomes mine if they're updating it when they want, making it look like I don't blog often. I never received a response, so I looked today and saw my blog was magically updated on their site. I promise I wasn't trying to be a bitch, I just didn't like that my blog looked like it wasn't being updated because they were updating it on their site when they wanted. Hopefully this completely solves the problem, and I'd like to thank them for taking the time and effort to address the issue. So I guess, follow me on Bloglovin?
* There's a show on at prime time on the History Channel called American Pickers. It's two middle aged men driving around the country, going through people's junk, and seeing if they can resale it. Here's a few quotes from a recent episode, via the two stars of the show.
Skinny middle aged guy to round middle aged guy: “It’s kind of like you on a Saturday night...untouched.”
Same guy to same other guy: “I’m going behind you. Don’t fart.”
Skinny middle aged guy: “I was watching The Hills last night, and Lauren’s not even on there anymore.”
Round middle aged guy: “What’s The Hills?”
Skinny middle aged guy: “You don’t know what The Hills is? Lauren stole AMERICA’S HEARTS!”
Did I mention this show was on the HISTORY Channel? At prime time? Just checking.
Because I don't have a whole lot more to say due to the situation with my head, here are some extra special IMs with ridiculous pictures. I apologize for this in advance, because I was not myself the night these conversations occurred. I was trying to ignore my splitting head and overcompensated with stupid. And no jokes about them finally checking out my head to see if I'm crazy. We already know that. We're just looking for a blood clot now.
- There is nothing we do better than chicken revenge.
Awesome Australian Friend mentioned she didn't eat meat, but she hates chickens, so she eats them. She feels bad eating cows, but not chickens, because chickens are evil. I agree with this fully.
- Okay, I have a question.
- An awkward, dead end question.
- From the night of the awkward crazy.
- Howdy snoody.
- I admit I failed at being creative there.
- We should stick our tongues out at them in a mature manner.
- See what I did there? Total oxymoron.
- I always want to call it “Valley of the Dolls,” and I always know that’s not right.
- It’s as wrong as letting Squeaky Fromme out of prison.
This still irks me, y'all. I mean, she tried to kill the President of the United States AND was a member of The Manson Family. How does letting her out of prison ever seem like a good idea? Maybe those people need their heads scanned...and not for blood clots. For crazy.
- Do you think Jim Beaver would adopt me if I asked?
What? I love Jim Beaver. And then he went and put the most epic status ever on Facebook about keeping it classy in the bathtub, and I can't remember the whole thing, but I want him to adopt me. Now.
- “If only I could make that stupid human understand that I really hate when they wear that shirt, because it’s not cuddly.”
This is what Awesome Australian Friend and I imagined our cats really think of us. This is what we imagine they say to each other about we humans. If anyone speaks cat, please get in touch with me so you can confirm or deny this sentence.
- Then there’s our cat who will play with anything. He doesn’t need toys. There’s a bug in the house.
Well, at least we have less bugs to kill and clean up. He eats them, too. I know, I should really do something about that. *Sigh*
- OMG JOE AN DA CAT!
That was the original IM, typo included. I couldn't bring myself to fix such stupidity. Am I the only one who didn't take Joe Mantegna for the kind of man who owned a cat, far more dressed one up? His beautiful daughter, Gia, was Miss Golden Globe this year, and I feel a little bad for her that she can't bring people to her house, because then she'd have to explain that her dad dresses up his cats. I think Joe is the bee's knees for this.
- OMG, IS HE WEARING SLIPPERS? HE’S WEARING HUGH HEFFNER SLIPPERS, ISN’T HE?
Hint, the answer is yes. No, his socks don't match either, and he's wearing an ascot? I don't even know for sure that's not just a handkerchief that he's trying to pass off as an ascot. None of those things are important. I'm used to that. This was the first time I've seen him not wearing shoes, though, so obviously that's the important thing. Don't even get me started on Kirsten. Why is it that only one person in this entire cast can dress themselves? *Cough* Joe *Cough*
- I have a heart condition over here and I don’t know if I can take it.
- My way of helping goes over well out here in the East.
- The mom in me would just explode all over that situation.
- His parents are evil and I love them!
There is a guy who is famous in Australia. His name is Boo Boo. I love his evil genius parents.
- Sell me?
- For a dollar.
- Wait, no.
- Pay someone to take me.
- It’s official, my life is dead. I have not one.
- Someone out there has to know, and I’M GOING TO FIND OUT WHO!
- I am so sorry that I’m so weird.
- I forgot to take one of my medications.
In all my headache hell, I really did forget to take one. None of them alter my moods, so I had no leg to stand on here, but let's pretend I do. Otherwise, I can't explain myself.
- There is something wrong with that boy.
- OMG, if you could see me, I’m in this little ball laughing.
- You’ll hear me singing songs about farting unicorns or something.
- About cheese!
All I wanted to know was, why in the hell was I this excited about cheese? Is there ever a reason for this...especially when you're not eating cheese?
- Let’s pretend we’re British.
- And spell things funny because we’re British.
Zoe, do you think we Americans spell things funny?
- And did you hit that door last night, or did he jump out and hit you?
- Dear.
- DEER!
- DAMN ITTTT!
- I’m sorry a deer jumped out at you and went SURPRISE!
A deer jumped out and hit my friend's car one time. No lie. In this case, however, it was a joint effort. The deer did jump out in front of her (different friend), and she couldn't get stopped in time. It was the deer's fault, but she still technically hit him. He didn't jump right out onto her car like one did to my other friend. And in both cases the people and the deer were fine. The cars? Not so much.
- You know what gets me? They can send men to the moon, but we can’t get boyfriends.
- I mean, I’m at the point where I’m impressed when a man can do laundry.
- I’m so impressed, it doesn’t even have to be right.
- And he doesn’t expect anything out of you.
- Like you to have friends who can type at a sixth grade level or above.
If he did, he'd run fleeing from said friend I was talking to and it'd be all my fault.
- Or a NSFC (Not safe for Cassadee) warning.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Ouch
Hey, Squirrel Monkeys. I apologize for my absence in advance, but the feeling that I'm getting bashed over the head by a piece of wood is getting worse instead of better, although if there were something wrong with me, you think I'd have other symptoms, but there are none. I don't know when I'll be back to update this blog. It might be tomorrow, but it shouldn't be any more than a week. I just need to find out what's going on. It's not indicative to any of the experiences I've had with dead people, but it's not presenting itself like a real physical problem either. I will be back as soon as I can. I'm just in too much pain to want to think right now.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Melanie's Penchant For Creating Her Own Horror Movie Is Getting Old Fast
My day in a nutshell via an email I sent to my Awesome Australian Friend. My new girl either hates me, or she's really trying to tell me something and is having a ridiculous time figuring out the nice way to do it.
So I was in the bathtub, over share, I know, and I went to grab my razor to shave my legs when I noticed my hands were really pale with a strange bruising type effect to them. I brushed it off until I saw my legs, and then started looking at my body and realized my whole body looked that way. That's when I realized what was going on and what I looked like. You know how when someone dies, they start to get that pale, bruising type of look to them when their blood goes cold and they exit rigor mortis? That's exactly what my body looked like, a corpse. I freaked out for about two seconds and then realized I wasn't dead, I was fine. I looked up and there was the same girl standing there looking down at me, and in a scene that could easily squeeze right into a horror movie just fine, she reached her hand toward me and says "Melanie." So yes, I have the wrong girl. This girl's name is Melanie apparently so I'm searching now. And at first I thought she was trying to touch me, and then I realized she was introducing herself by extending her hand and wanting me to shake it. No. Hell no.
With that in mind, a proper blog is going to have to wait until tomorrow. I apologize.
So I was in the bathtub, over share, I know, and I went to grab my razor to shave my legs when I noticed my hands were really pale with a strange bruising type effect to them. I brushed it off until I saw my legs, and then started looking at my body and realized my whole body looked that way. That's when I realized what was going on and what I looked like. You know how when someone dies, they start to get that pale, bruising type of look to them when their blood goes cold and they exit rigor mortis? That's exactly what my body looked like, a corpse. I freaked out for about two seconds and then realized I wasn't dead, I was fine. I looked up and there was the same girl standing there looking down at me, and in a scene that could easily squeeze right into a horror movie just fine, she reached her hand toward me and says "Melanie." So yes, I have the wrong girl. This girl's name is Melanie apparently so I'm searching now. And at first I thought she was trying to touch me, and then I realized she was introducing herself by extending her hand and wanting me to shake it. No. Hell no.
With that in mind, a proper blog is going to have to wait until tomorrow. I apologize.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Surprise Singing Munchkins and Lawn Gnomes
I had quite a night last night, and after that, I found it hard to function properly today. More about that later. While trying to find something to watch on that horribly boring thing we call a television, my mom came across a show called Swamp Men. She said it looked interesting. This is how all of my ridiculous stories start.
Let me begin by saying that I have a tremendous amount of respect for these men. They not only protect wildlife, but in order to do that they have to deal with very dangerous wildlife, putting their lives on the line daily. They show is also education. In fact, in just one show I learned the following.
* Alligators are cannibals. They will eat the baby gators. I wonder if they raised Hannibal Lecter, or if he gave lectures at swamps across the world to introduce them to his wicked ways.
* When alligators flip upside down, vertigo causes them to pass out. If you ever see a gator upside down, he is unconscious. This doesn't mean you go near him, though. He will eventually pull out of it, and once he does, you don't have a prayer in September of getting away. He'll be on you like a duck on a June bug in three seconds flat. (I was just waiting to properly use the duck on a June bug quip.)
* It's perfectly acceptable to say clusterflop instead of clusterfuck. Doesn't that take the fun out of it, though?
That being said, I do not have the maturity to hold my laughter in, when, suddenly, three of four large guys pile on an alligator in a very compromising looking position. (3:47, and you're welcome.) For those of you who think football tackles look hysterical, you haven't seen a grown ass man straddling an alligator, legs splayed, while two or three other men hop on top of him, legs also splayed, in various positions. Not only does it look like they're making love to each other, but to the alligator or crocodile as well. Then they find themselves at the mercy of the one man who isn't piled on top of the gator and getting the rope to grab the gator with. If that guy thinks they look hysterical, he'll just take his time getting the rope, leaving them in what looks like a compromising position only to be shown on an X-rated channel. The one guy...he totally took his time and admitted it was on purpose. It's good to know even they think it's funny.
In other television news, I was desperate, so I had the news on. I'd rather read the news online and skip over all the Steelers stuff. However, the news proved itself comical today, if only to us. This time it wasn't even the newscasters' fault.
First, some football player on some team that I don't think was ours, but wouldn't have notice or cared if it was, ran ninety seven yards to a field goal. I commend him, but I'll be damned if I'd run ninety seven yards if there wasn't a donut at the other end. Priorities.
Second, today is obviously Martin Luther King Jr. Day. The least we can do is take a day to honor such an eloquent, amazing man. In fact, in a town here known for constant shootings, a whole fifty people marched down the street to honor fourteen shooting victims. At the same time my mom and I both said variations of "only fifty people honoring fourteen?" You have to understand, this is a large area with nearly twenty thousand people, and each year that probably drops by a hundred with all the shootings. I wish I was kidding, but no. There are a lot of shootings there. The odds of there being that many shootings in one area are almost negligible. It just seemed a little...awkward?
But seriously, guys, today is an amazing day honoring an amazing man, who, unfortunately, was far ahead of his time and it ended his life. It's good to see that his legacy lives on and is being honored.
In other news that has nothing to do with anything, my mom decided one of the ladies at work is her mentor. She just doesn't know it. That's how we do things in Pennsylvania. We make you surprise mentors.
There is no doubt in my mind that Helena is related to this clown. She was sleeping in the living room when I went into the kitchen. I bent down for two seconds and stood up to find her standing behind me, completely still and staring at me. There's a lot of things that don't scare me; dead people, snakes, singing munchkins and lawn gnomes, but she scares the hell out of me. I guess that means I'm left with nothing but holy. If she starts scaring the holy out of me, I'll worry.
The highlight of my very odd day, however, was Shemar Moore on The Talk. He's something of a playa-playa (I'm sorry, but I'm trying to get the lingo right. I know it's funny coming out of the whitest girl in all of the world. That's my trademark.), but my gosh is he gorgeous.
While he was on the show, I was emailing my awesome Australian friend about something that happened last night, and decided to tell her he was on the show. Not thinking anything of it, I titled the email Shemar Moore and Last Night. It took me several minutes to realize what was wrong with that, but once I did I laughed like a sixteen year old boy, or, you know, like myself, and then promptly hit send. Since nothing I say about the email title is going to be allowed on blogger or not get me in trouble with my mom and Aunt Bev, who would probably agree with it but never admit it, I'm just going to talk about last night to clarify that one had nothing to do with the other. However, if you thought it did, please come over here and rub off on me. You have a much more fabulous idea of my life than what is reality and I want it all up in my business.
Last night I was minding my own business and happily typing away while talking to my awesome Australian friend, when I very, very suddenly felt like someone had whacked me over the back of my head with something very hard. The pain was unreal, and for two seconds I blacked out. While blacked out, I got an image of a man, mid forties to mid fifties, wearing a black windbreaker jacket with cuffs like you would see on a sweatshirt. He had a large piece of wood, about four inches thick, a foot and a half wide, by two or three feet long. He took it and absolutely impaled a girl on the back of the head, right where I had felt like I'd been hit. It happened so fast, but the image was very vivid, and as soon as he hit the girl, I came to again.
When this happened, I felt blood just pouring out of my head, down my neck, and forward down my shirt and over my wonderfully perky ta-tas. My mind started racing. I put my hand up to the back of my head. It was wet, warm and gooey. I started to mentally freak out, wondering how someone got in the house, how the dogs didn't notice, where the person was now, why they would hit me over the head; my mind was racing. I pulled my hand away to survey the damage and...nothing. I looked down at my chest. Nothing. I put my hand back up and I felt it again, my head still throbbing and my vision going in and out. I got up, went to the bathroom, got another mirror and put it behind me and realized there was nothing wrong with my head. There was also no one in the house. I was fine, but I didn't feel fine.
My vision repaired itself slowly, and the pain lessened, but the feeling that there was blood gushing out of my head didn't. Eventually, I couldn't take the sound of any noise, so I turned the volume off on the television. I sat here for awhile, talking to said awesome Australian friend and trying to keep my wits about things. Talking to her was my way of knowing I was okay. Had there been anything actually wrong that would have otherwise caused the pain, I would have quickly become delusional, not been able to type, not been able to string sentences together, etc. None of that happened. For all intents and purposes, I was totally fine. Nothing at all had happened to me.
After about an hour, I still felt like I was bleeding profusely. It was so profound that every few minutes I would automatically put my hand up to my head and make sure that I wasn't bleeding. Even though I knew I wasn't, the feeling was just profound, so real, that my body subconsciously responded by checking my head. I was still sitting here minding my own business, perplexed but trying to talk about anything but that, when I heard someone screaming. This is exactly what I heard.
"Get it off! Get it off! Get it off! Get it off! You sick son of a bitch! Get it off!"
It was coming from my living room, so I thought nothing of it. The TV remote was next to me. I simply moved and hit the mute button and the sound came back on. I thought, holy shit, what show came on after My Fair Wedding with David Tutera? This is WE Channel for goodness sake. Then I looked up and realized mute was still displayed across the screen and another wedding show was playing. Not just that, but Greta must have heard it because her little fanny had left my side and was nowhere to be seen. My only response was, "oh my damn."
I had pretty much figured when I realized I was not actually harmed that this had to do with a new spirit. However, I had never been physically impaled this way. I have had aches and pains, sharp ones even, but it wasn't the same. One time I woke up and my kneecaps felt broken. Later that day a young lady by the name of Kara came to me. Her kneecaps had been broken. As soon as I saw her, my pain went away. A few times I have felt pain where the spirit, who was standing in front of me, had been harmed. But I had never been sitting there and actually felt like I had been impaled, and then having a flash of a man hitting a woman in the same place over the head, followed by the sound of a girl screaming in my living room with no explanation. But apparently it wasn't over yet.
I couldn't sleep. I still couldn't shake the feeling that I was bleeding. I felt like the blood was gushing out of my bed even three hours later. I was awake, fully awake. Do you all remember how I said my ankle was hurting me yesterday for seemingly no reason? I had forgotten about it. The pain had thankfully gone away the longer I sat down. Just when I was unsuspecting of it, I felt someone grab my ankle. When I say I felt someone grab my ankle, I don't mean that I felt someone kind of lightly touch it. I mean I felt someone put both of their hands around my ankle with the severity of an angry abuser and then I felt this horrible, horrible pain, like someone had just snapped my ankle in half. The pain was dissimilar to the pain I had earlier in the day. It burned and it felt like my foot had been detached from my body. It was an hour before I could put any weight on it or think straight, and yes, I still felt like I was bleeding profusely from my head.
Eventually, I had succumbed to the idea that it was nearly five am and I had to try to go to bed. I got up, shut off all the lights, turned on only the back porch light, let Greta Hayley out, and turned around to see a girl standing across the kitchen from me. When I say I saw a girl, I mean that I saw her as clearly as I saw the table in front of me, as I saw Greta go outside, as I saw anything else in the room. No, I was not hallucinating. I was not that tired. I am used to being up extremely late. I saw a full bodied person who looked just the same as you and me, no transparency to speak of, or and, ifs or buts about it. And I didn't just see her for a second. I saw her for several minutes. I just stood there and stared at her, taking in exactly how she looked so that I could search missing persons, or deceased persons records for her, because, since she hadn't spoken to me and given me a name, it was all I had.
Although she wasn't standing next to me, I could tell she was somewhat tall, somewhere around 5'8 or so. She weighed around 125-130 pounds. She was very shiny. I know that sounds funny; it did to me, too. At first I thought she was wet, but I saw no water dripping off of her, so I couldn't tell for sure. She had long, dark, wavy, not curly, hair that looked like she had shellacked it in hairspray, as it was glistening and immobile, that fell around her breast line. She was pale skinned, had gorgeous cheek bone structure, but her cheeks themselves were full and naturally rosy. She was wearing red lipstick, and although she probably had other makeup on, she looked fresh faced, like she did not. Her eyes were a bright, seemingly unnatural color blue. She looked to be around eighteen or nineteen, but I had a suspicion that she could be older and she looked young for her age, as the way she was built indicated that she was probably more early to mid twenties.
She went away on her own and Greta was ready to come in. I let her in and we went to bed. After getting comfortable and cuddling into bed, shutting off the light, and hoping I could sleep when I felt like blood was pouring out of the back of my head, I started to hear a dripping sound. Frustrated, I got up figuring that something in my freaking bathroom, which is on the other side of the wall from where my head is at on the bed, was leaking or I hadn't turned a facet off well enough. After searching my bathroom, the house, and making sure it wasn't raining outside or nothing was dripping, I came to the conclusion that it was not an actual problem. This left me with the conclusion that the girl must have been wet, and although I couldn't see her at the moment, was dripping in my room. The sound never did go away, but eventually I fell asleep.
I woke up today feeling like my head was still bleeding, that I had been impaled in the back of the head, and like my ankle was broken. Thus why I didn't really do much with my day. It's unbelievable the kind of pain that comes with feeling like you've been whacked over the back of the head when you really haven't. I tried to make something out of my day, but my body was not having it at all. The less I forced myself to move around, the less it hurt. I can see fine and everything, but there's just this pressure on my head. I realize, though, that's it's not me having an actual problem. Like I said, if it was me, I would not be able to articulate anything and would be pretty sick and in the hospital by now, since this started nearly twenty four hours ago.
I have searched high and low and I believe I found my girl. This is the first time I've not been positive, because the only thing that isn't bang on about her are her eyes. They are a greenish-blue. However, her eyes seemed unnaturally blue when I saw her, so she could have had contacts in or been trying to tell me something. I identified her first by her picture, which I always do, before clicking on the picture and finding out any information about her. I want to be sure and not put ideas in my own head. This particular girl, however, is 5'7, one hundred and thirty pounds, fits bang on with who I saw last night minus the eyes, and was found drowned with her ankle broken and a bump on the back of her head where I felt like I got it, although the medical examiner will not release her official cause of death. I'm not sold it's this girl since I'm still feeling the repercussions of not actually getting hit in the head, but unless she gives me a name, or I find out otherwise, I'm going to assume it's her for now.
Guys, please be kind to others and please be careful. There are a lot of twisted people out there who have no regard for themselves, or human life in general. I don't want any of you to be my next special friend. Please, please be safe, be vigilant, but don't forget to live your life and don't paralyze yourself with fear. Just think and be careful. I love you guys.
Let me begin by saying that I have a tremendous amount of respect for these men. They not only protect wildlife, but in order to do that they have to deal with very dangerous wildlife, putting their lives on the line daily. They show is also education. In fact, in just one show I learned the following.
* Alligators are cannibals. They will eat the baby gators. I wonder if they raised Hannibal Lecter, or if he gave lectures at swamps across the world to introduce them to his wicked ways.
* When alligators flip upside down, vertigo causes them to pass out. If you ever see a gator upside down, he is unconscious. This doesn't mean you go near him, though. He will eventually pull out of it, and once he does, you don't have a prayer in September of getting away. He'll be on you like a duck on a June bug in three seconds flat. (I was just waiting to properly use the duck on a June bug quip.)
* It's perfectly acceptable to say clusterflop instead of clusterfuck. Doesn't that take the fun out of it, though?
That being said, I do not have the maturity to hold my laughter in, when, suddenly, three of four large guys pile on an alligator in a very compromising looking position. (3:47, and you're welcome.) For those of you who think football tackles look hysterical, you haven't seen a grown ass man straddling an alligator, legs splayed, while two or three other men hop on top of him, legs also splayed, in various positions. Not only does it look like they're making love to each other, but to the alligator or crocodile as well. Then they find themselves at the mercy of the one man who isn't piled on top of the gator and getting the rope to grab the gator with. If that guy thinks they look hysterical, he'll just take his time getting the rope, leaving them in what looks like a compromising position only to be shown on an X-rated channel. The one guy...he totally took his time and admitted it was on purpose. It's good to know even they think it's funny.
In other television news, I was desperate, so I had the news on. I'd rather read the news online and skip over all the Steelers stuff. However, the news proved itself comical today, if only to us. This time it wasn't even the newscasters' fault.
First, some football player on some team that I don't think was ours, but wouldn't have notice or cared if it was, ran ninety seven yards to a field goal. I commend him, but I'll be damned if I'd run ninety seven yards if there wasn't a donut at the other end. Priorities.
Second, today is obviously Martin Luther King Jr. Day. The least we can do is take a day to honor such an eloquent, amazing man. In fact, in a town here known for constant shootings, a whole fifty people marched down the street to honor fourteen shooting victims. At the same time my mom and I both said variations of "only fifty people honoring fourteen?" You have to understand, this is a large area with nearly twenty thousand people, and each year that probably drops by a hundred with all the shootings. I wish I was kidding, but no. There are a lot of shootings there. The odds of there being that many shootings in one area are almost negligible. It just seemed a little...awkward?
But seriously, guys, today is an amazing day honoring an amazing man, who, unfortunately, was far ahead of his time and it ended his life. It's good to see that his legacy lives on and is being honored.
In other news that has nothing to do with anything, my mom decided one of the ladies at work is her mentor. She just doesn't know it. That's how we do things in Pennsylvania. We make you surprise mentors.
There is no doubt in my mind that Helena is related to this clown. She was sleeping in the living room when I went into the kitchen. I bent down for two seconds and stood up to find her standing behind me, completely still and staring at me. There's a lot of things that don't scare me; dead people, snakes, singing munchkins and lawn gnomes, but she scares the hell out of me. I guess that means I'm left with nothing but holy. If she starts scaring the holy out of me, I'll worry.
The highlight of my very odd day, however, was Shemar Moore on The Talk. He's something of a playa-playa (I'm sorry, but I'm trying to get the lingo right. I know it's funny coming out of the whitest girl in all of the world. That's my trademark.), but my gosh is he gorgeous.
While he was on the show, I was emailing my awesome Australian friend about something that happened last night, and decided to tell her he was on the show. Not thinking anything of it, I titled the email Shemar Moore and Last Night. It took me several minutes to realize what was wrong with that, but once I did I laughed like a sixteen year old boy, or, you know, like myself, and then promptly hit send. Since nothing I say about the email title is going to be allowed on blogger or not get me in trouble with my mom and Aunt Bev, who would probably agree with it but never admit it, I'm just going to talk about last night to clarify that one had nothing to do with the other. However, if you thought it did, please come over here and rub off on me. You have a much more fabulous idea of my life than what is reality and I want it all up in my business.
Last night I was minding my own business and happily typing away while talking to my awesome Australian friend, when I very, very suddenly felt like someone had whacked me over the back of my head with something very hard. The pain was unreal, and for two seconds I blacked out. While blacked out, I got an image of a man, mid forties to mid fifties, wearing a black windbreaker jacket with cuffs like you would see on a sweatshirt. He had a large piece of wood, about four inches thick, a foot and a half wide, by two or three feet long. He took it and absolutely impaled a girl on the back of the head, right where I had felt like I'd been hit. It happened so fast, but the image was very vivid, and as soon as he hit the girl, I came to again.
When this happened, I felt blood just pouring out of my head, down my neck, and forward down my shirt and over my wonderfully perky ta-tas. My mind started racing. I put my hand up to the back of my head. It was wet, warm and gooey. I started to mentally freak out, wondering how someone got in the house, how the dogs didn't notice, where the person was now, why they would hit me over the head; my mind was racing. I pulled my hand away to survey the damage and...nothing. I looked down at my chest. Nothing. I put my hand back up and I felt it again, my head still throbbing and my vision going in and out. I got up, went to the bathroom, got another mirror and put it behind me and realized there was nothing wrong with my head. There was also no one in the house. I was fine, but I didn't feel fine.
My vision repaired itself slowly, and the pain lessened, but the feeling that there was blood gushing out of my head didn't. Eventually, I couldn't take the sound of any noise, so I turned the volume off on the television. I sat here for awhile, talking to said awesome Australian friend and trying to keep my wits about things. Talking to her was my way of knowing I was okay. Had there been anything actually wrong that would have otherwise caused the pain, I would have quickly become delusional, not been able to type, not been able to string sentences together, etc. None of that happened. For all intents and purposes, I was totally fine. Nothing at all had happened to me.
After about an hour, I still felt like I was bleeding profusely. It was so profound that every few minutes I would automatically put my hand up to my head and make sure that I wasn't bleeding. Even though I knew I wasn't, the feeling was just profound, so real, that my body subconsciously responded by checking my head. I was still sitting here minding my own business, perplexed but trying to talk about anything but that, when I heard someone screaming. This is exactly what I heard.
"Get it off! Get it off! Get it off! Get it off! You sick son of a bitch! Get it off!"
It was coming from my living room, so I thought nothing of it. The TV remote was next to me. I simply moved and hit the mute button and the sound came back on. I thought, holy shit, what show came on after My Fair Wedding with David Tutera? This is WE Channel for goodness sake. Then I looked up and realized mute was still displayed across the screen and another wedding show was playing. Not just that, but Greta must have heard it because her little fanny had left my side and was nowhere to be seen. My only response was, "oh my damn."
I had pretty much figured when I realized I was not actually harmed that this had to do with a new spirit. However, I had never been physically impaled this way. I have had aches and pains, sharp ones even, but it wasn't the same. One time I woke up and my kneecaps felt broken. Later that day a young lady by the name of Kara came to me. Her kneecaps had been broken. As soon as I saw her, my pain went away. A few times I have felt pain where the spirit, who was standing in front of me, had been harmed. But I had never been sitting there and actually felt like I had been impaled, and then having a flash of a man hitting a woman in the same place over the head, followed by the sound of a girl screaming in my living room with no explanation. But apparently it wasn't over yet.
I couldn't sleep. I still couldn't shake the feeling that I was bleeding. I felt like the blood was gushing out of my bed even three hours later. I was awake, fully awake. Do you all remember how I said my ankle was hurting me yesterday for seemingly no reason? I had forgotten about it. The pain had thankfully gone away the longer I sat down. Just when I was unsuspecting of it, I felt someone grab my ankle. When I say I felt someone grab my ankle, I don't mean that I felt someone kind of lightly touch it. I mean I felt someone put both of their hands around my ankle with the severity of an angry abuser and then I felt this horrible, horrible pain, like someone had just snapped my ankle in half. The pain was dissimilar to the pain I had earlier in the day. It burned and it felt like my foot had been detached from my body. It was an hour before I could put any weight on it or think straight, and yes, I still felt like I was bleeding profusely from my head.
Eventually, I had succumbed to the idea that it was nearly five am and I had to try to go to bed. I got up, shut off all the lights, turned on only the back porch light, let Greta Hayley out, and turned around to see a girl standing across the kitchen from me. When I say I saw a girl, I mean that I saw her as clearly as I saw the table in front of me, as I saw Greta go outside, as I saw anything else in the room. No, I was not hallucinating. I was not that tired. I am used to being up extremely late. I saw a full bodied person who looked just the same as you and me, no transparency to speak of, or and, ifs or buts about it. And I didn't just see her for a second. I saw her for several minutes. I just stood there and stared at her, taking in exactly how she looked so that I could search missing persons, or deceased persons records for her, because, since she hadn't spoken to me and given me a name, it was all I had.
Although she wasn't standing next to me, I could tell she was somewhat tall, somewhere around 5'8 or so. She weighed around 125-130 pounds. She was very shiny. I know that sounds funny; it did to me, too. At first I thought she was wet, but I saw no water dripping off of her, so I couldn't tell for sure. She had long, dark, wavy, not curly, hair that looked like she had shellacked it in hairspray, as it was glistening and immobile, that fell around her breast line. She was pale skinned, had gorgeous cheek bone structure, but her cheeks themselves were full and naturally rosy. She was wearing red lipstick, and although she probably had other makeup on, she looked fresh faced, like she did not. Her eyes were a bright, seemingly unnatural color blue. She looked to be around eighteen or nineteen, but I had a suspicion that she could be older and she looked young for her age, as the way she was built indicated that she was probably more early to mid twenties.
She went away on her own and Greta was ready to come in. I let her in and we went to bed. After getting comfortable and cuddling into bed, shutting off the light, and hoping I could sleep when I felt like blood was pouring out of the back of my head, I started to hear a dripping sound. Frustrated, I got up figuring that something in my freaking bathroom, which is on the other side of the wall from where my head is at on the bed, was leaking or I hadn't turned a facet off well enough. After searching my bathroom, the house, and making sure it wasn't raining outside or nothing was dripping, I came to the conclusion that it was not an actual problem. This left me with the conclusion that the girl must have been wet, and although I couldn't see her at the moment, was dripping in my room. The sound never did go away, but eventually I fell asleep.
I woke up today feeling like my head was still bleeding, that I had been impaled in the back of the head, and like my ankle was broken. Thus why I didn't really do much with my day. It's unbelievable the kind of pain that comes with feeling like you've been whacked over the back of the head when you really haven't. I tried to make something out of my day, but my body was not having it at all. The less I forced myself to move around, the less it hurt. I can see fine and everything, but there's just this pressure on my head. I realize, though, that's it's not me having an actual problem. Like I said, if it was me, I would not be able to articulate anything and would be pretty sick and in the hospital by now, since this started nearly twenty four hours ago.
I have searched high and low and I believe I found my girl. This is the first time I've not been positive, because the only thing that isn't bang on about her are her eyes. They are a greenish-blue. However, her eyes seemed unnaturally blue when I saw her, so she could have had contacts in or been trying to tell me something. I identified her first by her picture, which I always do, before clicking on the picture and finding out any information about her. I want to be sure and not put ideas in my own head. This particular girl, however, is 5'7, one hundred and thirty pounds, fits bang on with who I saw last night minus the eyes, and was found drowned with her ankle broken and a bump on the back of her head where I felt like I got it, although the medical examiner will not release her official cause of death. I'm not sold it's this girl since I'm still feeling the repercussions of not actually getting hit in the head, but unless she gives me a name, or I find out otherwise, I'm going to assume it's her for now.
Guys, please be kind to others and please be careful. There are a lot of twisted people out there who have no regard for themselves, or human life in general. I don't want any of you to be my next special friend. Please, please be safe, be vigilant, but don't forget to live your life and don't paralyze yourself with fear. Just think and be careful. I love you guys.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Auto Correct is Insifgnifigkant
I made a Wal-Mart employee hate me today. It was all my fault and I was kind of a jerk, but I laughed internally just a little, because the workers at this Wal-Mart are generally mean. Plus, I secretly felt like I was getting back at the lady who told me I couldn't use my perfectly good coupons there. Let me explain.
We have two Wal-Marts in our area, both around twelve minutes away from my house in opposite directions. Soon we will have a third. Every time we go shopping we have to stop and think what Wal-Mart we want to go to. The first one is more centrally located and there is a Target right down the road if you can't find what you want. The second Wal-Mart is out in the middle of somewhat nowhere, as opposed to fully nowhere, and there isn't another store you can go to if you can't find what you want at that Wal-Mart. However, the first store is five times as busy and you spend most of the time trying to get around people. The second store is usually like a ghost town, but people are exponentially dumber there, and the employers are rude. It seems like a lose / lose, so when you head out that day for Wal-Mart, you have to figure out if you're in the mood to get ran over, or in the mood to deal with rude and stupid.
Today we chose rude and stupid. To be fair, it's a total different set of people that shop the second Wal-Mart. You get more farmers and country folk and, well...rednecks in pajamas, whereas the other store is a little higher class. I'm not saying that rednecks in pajamas are stupid. I'm just saying they tend to stand in the middle of the aisles all the time, oblivious that they are not the only ones in the store, which is not a smart thing to do, and then bitch at you if you nicely ask them to move, because obviously they own the store. One time a lady went everywhere I went and always would go around me then stop right in front of me so I couldn't get around her. When I asked her to please move, every single time she got angry with me. So when I say stupid, I'm not talking about uneducated stupid, I'm talking about no common sense stupid.
A few months ago I was at the second store and I had a bit of an incident that I don't think I've told you about yet. If I have, bear with me. I haven't been back to the store since, but because we had just gone through a bad snowstorm and are beginning to recover, and another one is coming in tomorrow, I figured the other store would be super busy and we'd take the least busy store. I was skeptical about how this was going to go when I went to check out, though.
The last time I was there, I took my purchases and coupons to the register. I handed the cashier the coupons, and after she was done scanning everything she went through and scanned the coupons. I'm not going to lie, I had enough coupons to make a cute little old lady proud. About half didn't scan, and the only reason I got some of the stuff was because I had coupons. Substantial coupons. The lady looks a me, hands me the coupons that didn't scan and says, and I quote, "If they don't scan, I can't take them." I stared at her in disbelief for probably about a minute and then ask her why, since they were still good. She wouldn't give me a reason past it being Wal-Mart policy. She even asked the lady at the register next to her, they exchanged a strange look, and she agreed. I told her I knew it wasn't Wal-Mart policy since I had coupons that wouldn't scan before, because there's always some in the bunch, at both that Wal-Mart and the other one, and they always put them in by hand. She said no, she couldn't take them.
I have a bullshit meter on me about a mile wide. I told her that I didn't want any of the stuff that the coupons that wouldn't scan were for. She told me that I should just take it. I almost jumped across the counter and ate her, but I decided human flesh wouldn't taste good, so I told her that I didn't want it again. She went and got the manager. Long story short, I thought the manager was going to bludgeon her to death with the scanner, but didn't want to do it with witnesses. The manager firmly told her that if they didn't scan, she was supposed to put them in. As I figured, the lady just didn't want to put them in, but she didn't want to go through over two hundred dollars in groceries and pick out and take off what items went to the coupons that wouldn't scan more, so she got a manager since she had put herself in a corner by telling me she couldn't take them. She couldn't suddenly act as if she could. I knew she just didn't want to do her job. I've not trusted those employees since. Plus, my mom worked there for a Christmas and has her own stories about the ineptness of that particular Wal-Mart.
I think I was still a little bit of a Grinch toward the whole store since that incident that wasted twenty minutes of my life, and got me bitched at by an employee because she didn't want to do her job. I was super Grinch-like because I needed a price on something today, and there was a guy who worked there walking around me pricing stuff with his price gun, and he just ignored me as opposed to helping me when I requested it. I didn't even exist to him. There's more than one person there that doesn't want to do their job.
Anywho, when I decided I didn't want something today, I just left it there. Now, folks, I always take my stuff back and put it where I got it originally, even if I'm nowhere near there. I don't like making someone else pay for my indecisiveness. I understand that the people who work there have a lot to do, and they don't want to be there as much as I don't want to shop there, maybe even more. But today I was just a jerk. I know I was, but I took out my last experience at that store on someone else. I'm sorry, someone else.
Unfortunately, the guy who works there happened to see me do it. Apparently, he's the only employee in the store who does his job. I felt really bad until he threw a fit about it like a three year old and flew over mumbling to himself. About twenty minutes later my ankle started to swell up for seemingly no reason and I barely got through the store. Now it hurts like a mother trucker and I'm staying off of it because it hurts to walk on it. So there, the universe got me back for being mean to an employee. I get it universe. Ha, ha. I had it coming.
Other notable moments from today includes the automatic spell check on my email. I've never had an issue with it like I do with, say, the T9 on my phone. Then today came around. I spelled insignificant in an email to my friend. It auto corrected it to insifgnifigkant. That's a copy and paste, Squirrel Monkeys. I would like you all to Google that. It's not even a word. I'm so confused. It took my correct word and made it into a non-existent word. Good for it.
Also, for those of you who have been with me for awhile, you're familiar with my bowling skills and the infamous story where my friend and I bowled against a drunk friend, and our scores together didn't match his. So anyone who can do this is basically a superhero in my book. Especially after that dance. Or, you know, "dance." And I think that girl is the most awesome person ever. She took being embarrassed so well.
We have two Wal-Marts in our area, both around twelve minutes away from my house in opposite directions. Soon we will have a third. Every time we go shopping we have to stop and think what Wal-Mart we want to go to. The first one is more centrally located and there is a Target right down the road if you can't find what you want. The second Wal-Mart is out in the middle of somewhat nowhere, as opposed to fully nowhere, and there isn't another store you can go to if you can't find what you want at that Wal-Mart. However, the first store is five times as busy and you spend most of the time trying to get around people. The second store is usually like a ghost town, but people are exponentially dumber there, and the employers are rude. It seems like a lose / lose, so when you head out that day for Wal-Mart, you have to figure out if you're in the mood to get ran over, or in the mood to deal with rude and stupid.
Today we chose rude and stupid. To be fair, it's a total different set of people that shop the second Wal-Mart. You get more farmers and country folk and, well...rednecks in pajamas, whereas the other store is a little higher class. I'm not saying that rednecks in pajamas are stupid. I'm just saying they tend to stand in the middle of the aisles all the time, oblivious that they are not the only ones in the store, which is not a smart thing to do, and then bitch at you if you nicely ask them to move, because obviously they own the store. One time a lady went everywhere I went and always would go around me then stop right in front of me so I couldn't get around her. When I asked her to please move, every single time she got angry with me. So when I say stupid, I'm not talking about uneducated stupid, I'm talking about no common sense stupid.
A few months ago I was at the second store and I had a bit of an incident that I don't think I've told you about yet. If I have, bear with me. I haven't been back to the store since, but because we had just gone through a bad snowstorm and are beginning to recover, and another one is coming in tomorrow, I figured the other store would be super busy and we'd take the least busy store. I was skeptical about how this was going to go when I went to check out, though.
The last time I was there, I took my purchases and coupons to the register. I handed the cashier the coupons, and after she was done scanning everything she went through and scanned the coupons. I'm not going to lie, I had enough coupons to make a cute little old lady proud. About half didn't scan, and the only reason I got some of the stuff was because I had coupons. Substantial coupons. The lady looks a me, hands me the coupons that didn't scan and says, and I quote, "If they don't scan, I can't take them." I stared at her in disbelief for probably about a minute and then ask her why, since they were still good. She wouldn't give me a reason past it being Wal-Mart policy. She even asked the lady at the register next to her, they exchanged a strange look, and she agreed. I told her I knew it wasn't Wal-Mart policy since I had coupons that wouldn't scan before, because there's always some in the bunch, at both that Wal-Mart and the other one, and they always put them in by hand. She said no, she couldn't take them.
I have a bullshit meter on me about a mile wide. I told her that I didn't want any of the stuff that the coupons that wouldn't scan were for. She told me that I should just take it. I almost jumped across the counter and ate her, but I decided human flesh wouldn't taste good, so I told her that I didn't want it again. She went and got the manager. Long story short, I thought the manager was going to bludgeon her to death with the scanner, but didn't want to do it with witnesses. The manager firmly told her that if they didn't scan, she was supposed to put them in. As I figured, the lady just didn't want to put them in, but she didn't want to go through over two hundred dollars in groceries and pick out and take off what items went to the coupons that wouldn't scan more, so she got a manager since she had put herself in a corner by telling me she couldn't take them. She couldn't suddenly act as if she could. I knew she just didn't want to do her job. I've not trusted those employees since. Plus, my mom worked there for a Christmas and has her own stories about the ineptness of that particular Wal-Mart.
I think I was still a little bit of a Grinch toward the whole store since that incident that wasted twenty minutes of my life, and got me bitched at by an employee because she didn't want to do her job. I was super Grinch-like because I needed a price on something today, and there was a guy who worked there walking around me pricing stuff with his price gun, and he just ignored me as opposed to helping me when I requested it. I didn't even exist to him. There's more than one person there that doesn't want to do their job.
Anywho, when I decided I didn't want something today, I just left it there. Now, folks, I always take my stuff back and put it where I got it originally, even if I'm nowhere near there. I don't like making someone else pay for my indecisiveness. I understand that the people who work there have a lot to do, and they don't want to be there as much as I don't want to shop there, maybe even more. But today I was just a jerk. I know I was, but I took out my last experience at that store on someone else. I'm sorry, someone else.
Unfortunately, the guy who works there happened to see me do it. Apparently, he's the only employee in the store who does his job. I felt really bad until he threw a fit about it like a three year old and flew over mumbling to himself. About twenty minutes later my ankle started to swell up for seemingly no reason and I barely got through the store. Now it hurts like a mother trucker and I'm staying off of it because it hurts to walk on it. So there, the universe got me back for being mean to an employee. I get it universe. Ha, ha. I had it coming.
Other notable moments from today includes the automatic spell check on my email. I've never had an issue with it like I do with, say, the T9 on my phone. Then today came around. I spelled insignificant in an email to my friend. It auto corrected it to insifgnifigkant. That's a copy and paste, Squirrel Monkeys. I would like you all to Google that. It's not even a word. I'm so confused. It took my correct word and made it into a non-existent word. Good for it.
Also, for those of you who have been with me for awhile, you're familiar with my bowling skills and the infamous story where my friend and I bowled against a drunk friend, and our scores together didn't match his. So anyone who can do this is basically a superhero in my book. Especially after that dance. Or, you know, "dance." And I think that girl is the most awesome person ever. She took being embarrassed so well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
