All I'm saying is that just because you have a blue wheel chaired handicap tag hanging from your rear view mirror that allows you special parking privileges, you do not have free rein to drive like a flipping moron through the streets of Charlotte.
Just sayin'. Or honkin'. Or cursin'.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Squanto... So Hot Right Now...
Around this time in Knoxville, TN second graders citywide are beginning to read about the chronicles of Squanto (or Tisquantum, if we're being accurate). Squanto really did little to further the Western world other than aiding the Pilgrims in surviving their first winter and teaching them to colonizing.
As a young, naive second grader myself, I was mesmerized by Squanto's life. In his biography we learned about how Squanto feasted on corn meal to survive the cold winters. To teach us more about what this kind of existence meant, my teacher Mrs. Brown decided to bring cornmeal for us to munch on as we read one morning.
Naturally my fellow students spit and spat and ranted and raved at being forced to taste such a chalky and unfulfilling substance. Of course, being the ultimate people pleaser/brown-noser/teacher's pet, I was delighted to demonstrate my ability to fake fondness over anything. As such, I devoured my own serving of cornmeal as well as helped myself to the many leftovers around me. Before we had finished chapter six, yours truly had consumed no less than a pound of the dried corn granules.
Needless to say, my stomach struggled to process the equivalent of a bushel and a peck (with no hug around the neck) of cornbread muffins. Not a Thanksgiving goes by now that I don't thank Squanto for his mighty contribution to American civilization and my own digestive fortitude.
As a young, naive second grader myself, I was mesmerized by Squanto's life. In his biography we learned about how Squanto feasted on corn meal to survive the cold winters. To teach us more about what this kind of existence meant, my teacher Mrs. Brown decided to bring cornmeal for us to munch on as we read one morning.
Naturally my fellow students spit and spat and ranted and raved at being forced to taste such a chalky and unfulfilling substance. Of course, being the ultimate people pleaser/brown-noser/teacher's pet, I was delighted to demonstrate my ability to fake fondness over anything. As such, I devoured my own serving of cornmeal as well as helped myself to the many leftovers around me. Before we had finished chapter six, yours truly had consumed no less than a pound of the dried corn granules.
Needless to say, my stomach struggled to process the equivalent of a bushel and a peck (with no hug around the neck) of cornbread muffins. Not a Thanksgiving goes by now that I don't thank Squanto for his mighty contribution to American civilization and my own digestive fortitude.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
True Story Tuesday: The Sun, I Swear, Is Bleaching Out My Gorgeous Hair
Yesterday I was talking to Queen Bee Swain about her luscious locks. She confessed to me that she still uses Sun-In (I know, I know, I'm trying to avoid the passing of judgment too). When she asked what I used to touch up my own strands I explained to her my almost-unconditional love for Clairol Frost 'N Tip. In the spirit of being honest, though, I also had to explain why sometimes I'm less than thrilled with it.
You see, readers, I have an absurdly large noggin. The poor thing is ginorm. Unfortunately, Frost 'N Tip employs the use of a cap through which to pull your locks. The chapeau is "one size fits all," in name, but not in reality. Each highlighting session becomes a battle between myself and the cap. If it isn't popping off, it's ripping or stretching, and all around not fitting. In fact, as it so happens, one times while struggling to secure the cap in place, I tied it tightly under my chin to insure a proper fit. After pulling the hair through the necessary holes, Little applied the peroxide mix. Suddenly I started feeling a smidge woozy and promptly passed out.
What we'll do for the price of beauty! Perhaps Queen Bee has the answer. I may just need to shift from my blackout-inducing 'do dye to something a bit more 7th grade and questionable.
You see, readers, I have an absurdly large noggin. The poor thing is ginorm. Unfortunately, Frost 'N Tip employs the use of a cap through which to pull your locks. The chapeau is "one size fits all," in name, but not in reality. Each highlighting session becomes a battle between myself and the cap. If it isn't popping off, it's ripping or stretching, and all around not fitting. In fact, as it so happens, one times while struggling to secure the cap in place, I tied it tightly under my chin to insure a proper fit. After pulling the hair through the necessary holes, Little applied the peroxide mix. Suddenly I started feeling a smidge woozy and promptly passed out.
What we'll do for the price of beauty! Perhaps Queen Bee has the answer. I may just need to shift from my blackout-inducing 'do dye to something a bit more 7th grade and questionable.
Monday, November 16, 2009
No Time Like the Present
I love giving people presents. Love it. A lot. A ton. Bushels. One of my favorite things in the world is finding that perfect gift to give someone. I spent three months dyyying over the fact that I had found every episode of Pete & Pete on tape to give to my brother for Christmas. Last year I had my mom's SuZeeBee business cards redesigned, and I was jumping out of my skin for her to open it.
One of my favorite gifts I have ever bestowed upon a loved one, though, happened to be received by my sweet crustacean pal, Lobster. Generally our gifts are seafood-themed, but in my heart, I knew one gift that would complete her life. A Tamagotchi. Do you ladies remember these fun toys? If not, I will refresh your memory. According to experts:
"Tamagotchi is a tiny pet from cyberspace who needs your love to survive and grow. If you take good care of your Tamagotchi pet, it will slowly grow bigger, healthier, and more beautiful every day. Bit if you neglect your little cyber creature, your Tamagotchi may grow up to be mean or ugly. How old will your Tamagotchi be when it returns to its home planet? What kind of virtual caretaker will you be?"
Not convinced about them? Tamagotchi are straight up, amazing. They fit on your keychain and alert you to all of their needs... when they need to eat, defecate, play and cuddle. I was thrilled to present this slice of Japanese heaven to my Lobsterita for her 21st birthday. Needless to say, her exuberance was as full of zeal as mine.
But only for a short while. As it happens, Tamagotchi are needy and high maintenance. While my darling Lobs napped, Tamagotchi chirped. It needed food. It needed love. It needed play time. And while she is many things, Lobster is not patient when it's naptime. Unequipped with a silence button, the 'gotchi was incessant. In sheer frustration, the Pinching One threw it against a nearby wall in one last attempt to find slumber. She was successful as the Tamagotchi died a slow, miserable, digital death.
So perhaps my gift was unsuccessful, but it's the thought that counts, correct?
One of my favorite gifts I have ever bestowed upon a loved one, though, happened to be received by my sweet crustacean pal, Lobster. Generally our gifts are seafood-themed, but in my heart, I knew one gift that would complete her life. A Tamagotchi. Do you ladies remember these fun toys? If not, I will refresh your memory. According to experts:
"Tamagotchi is a tiny pet from cyberspace who needs your love to survive and grow. If you take good care of your Tamagotchi pet, it will slowly grow bigger, healthier, and more beautiful every day. Bit if you neglect your little cyber creature, your Tamagotchi may grow up to be mean or ugly. How old will your Tamagotchi be when it returns to its home planet? What kind of virtual caretaker will you be?"
Not convinced about them? Tamagotchi are straight up, amazing. They fit on your keychain and alert you to all of their needs... when they need to eat, defecate, play and cuddle. I was thrilled to present this slice of Japanese heaven to my Lobsterita for her 21st birthday. Needless to say, her exuberance was as full of zeal as mine.
But only for a short while. As it happens, Tamagotchi are needy and high maintenance. While my darling Lobs napped, Tamagotchi chirped. It needed food. It needed love. It needed play time. And while she is many things, Lobster is not patient when it's naptime. Unequipped with a silence button, the 'gotchi was incessant. In sheer frustration, the Pinching One threw it against a nearby wall in one last attempt to find slumber. She was successful as the Tamagotchi died a slow, miserable, digital death.
So perhaps my gift was unsuccessful, but it's the thought that counts, correct?
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Lowering Expectations Everywhere
My best friends in the world are the ones that I only see at the gym. They see me when I'm make up free, wearing gross clothes and sweating like a man. We chat, we converse (sometimes they share their wigs), we share tips... everything is wonderful.
However, nothing on this earth beats running into one of those exercise buds at the grocery store on a normal day, because no matter what you have on, they will fawn and gush over how pretty you look. Because you see, when people see me working out, they see me at my ultimate lowest level of attractiveness, and anything else is an improvement.
I discovered this phenomenon to be the case waaay back in high school. Unlike many of the other girls who spent the week before prom primping and getting beautified, I slummed it. Understand, that I never, ever, ever dressed down for school (I was that kid who dressed up on exam days). I wore a ponytail every single day leading up to the event, jeans, nastiness... then on the day of the actual prom, my pretty-quotient was upped extraordinarily thanks to what my peers had to compare it to for the week leading up to the big day.
A lot of trouble to go to? Maybe, but strategy is half the battle, my friends, and that part I have nailed down tight.
Don't forget to submit questions for my sister to answer! Questions like, "Is your sister the most amazing person on the planet?" or "How in the world do you live with someone so perfect?" are perfectably acceptable.
However, nothing on this earth beats running into one of those exercise buds at the grocery store on a normal day, because no matter what you have on, they will fawn and gush over how pretty you look. Because you see, when people see me working out, they see me at my ultimate lowest level of attractiveness, and anything else is an improvement.
I discovered this phenomenon to be the case waaay back in high school. Unlike many of the other girls who spent the week before prom primping and getting beautified, I slummed it. Understand, that I never, ever, ever dressed down for school (I was that kid who dressed up on exam days). I wore a ponytail every single day leading up to the event, jeans, nastiness... then on the day of the actual prom, my pretty-quotient was upped extraordinarily thanks to what my peers had to compare it to for the week leading up to the big day.
A lot of trouble to go to? Maybe, but strategy is half the battle, my friends, and that part I have nailed down tight.
Don't forget to submit questions for my sister to answer! Questions like, "Is your sister the most amazing person on the planet?" or "How in the world do you live with someone so perfect?" are perfectably acceptable.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Flesh & Blood
This bliggity blog is going through some changes. While I try to determine some direction, let's play a fun game of "Assssk Myyyy Sissss" (that was supposed to be my really good game show host voice). Over the next 48 hours you'll have the opportunity to ask my sweet little sister anything your heart desires - about her, about me, about my precious pup... whatever! She'll answer them (and buy me some time). Sounds like fun to me! And I hope it does to her too, since I didn't tell her we were playing. All right, start asking!
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
True Confession Tuesday
I've gotten really, really good at painting my nails at my desk and not getting caught. Doing so then requires at least 10 minutes of doing nothing so they can dry properly. I would very much like to feel guilty about this time waste, but alas, I don't.
What do you do at work that you know you shouldn't?
What do you do at work that you know you shouldn't?
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