Two Words, People: Garth. Brooks.

Who watched Garth Brooks on tv last night? This girl.  I had forgotten how much I just really love Garth Brooks because he retired. I mean, I had forgotten because he retired. I don't love him because he retired. When he retired I was actually like, dude? ... but the thunder?? ... who's gonna roll it???  (The thunder, people. Who's gonna roll the THUNDER. I know how y'all think, I know where your mind just went.)
But last night I watched Garth Brooks, and at first I was like, Garth!!! You're back, dude!!
And then he weaved old school music into his show and THAT SHIT WAS ART, PEOPLE, and I was like, oh crap, I forgot how awesome you are.
And then he played short pieces of his songs in between and I pumped my fist in the air and was all, AND THEY CALL THE THING RODEOOOOOOO!!!!
And then I was like, dammit you just played George Strait, I freaking love you.
And then he sang with Trisha Yearwood and it was all flashback to the duets from back in the day.
And then he slowed shit down and I was all, if tomorrrrooooowwww nevvvvvveeerrrr cooommmmmeeesss. 
And then he sang Shameless, and I was rocking out, and yelling the last line with him all, I'M SHAMELESSSSSSSSS!!!
And then he said, "alright! Thanks for coming out!" And I cut my solo short because I did a double take to the tv screen all, wtf, Garth???  I think you forgot one very important piece to this puzzle.
And then he sang The Piano Man, which is one of the greatest songs of all time, and I love it because Billy Joel is the freaking bomb, and I sang, sing us a song you're the piano man!! but it wasn't exactly what I was waiting for, because hello? this is a Garth Brooks show .........
And then he strummed his guitar all slow and started
.......... Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots, and ruined your black tie affair .....
And I sang at the top of my lungs, in my living room, and relived the bad-ass-ness that was the music of my formidable years.  And it was awesome.  Garth Brooks, yo.  Garth Brooks.

Don't Worry, I Won't Be On The News

Today was Black Friday, and my aunt found a killer deal on a new refrigerator. So she, my mom, my younger cousin, and I went to the store in my truck to go pick it up.  And when we saw it for the first time, my cousin was like, wow ... you could fit a body in there.  And I was like, totally.  And the guys that lifted onto the bed of the truck were all, uh here you go, but all we can do is lift it on here, we can't tie it down for you, or maneuver it for you, or provide you with any other help that we know will be useful "because of the store policy", so you're pretty much screwed.  Ok, so maybe they didn't actually speak the last part, but you could tell that they were totally thinking it.  But my cousin was like, ugh whatever, we'll figure it ourselves, because we're women, yo, and she totally just jumped onto the back of the truck because she's nimble like that.

Let me tell you, driving that appliance home, while it was standing (and slightly leaning) precariously on the bed of a truck, holding on to dear life by bungee cords, was no picnic.  I practically had a mini-coronary every time we hit a bump (or fucking railroad tracks), and silently said a prayer to the baby Jesus that I wouldn't be on the news at night because the refrigerator had tipped over the side of the truck and fallen onto a poor traveling troubadour like how the shit went down in The Wizard Of Oz.  So I drove the 20 miles from the store to my aunt's house at 35mph.  And we got there the next day.  Not really.  It took less than an hour.  But it felt like it took a day.  And when we got home, my aunt was all, do you need a drink?  or a change of pants?  And I was all, uh yeah, probably both.

And then some more of the family showed up to help unload the fridge because there's a bunch of us, and we're everywhere, dude.  And after moving the truck back and forth half a dozen times, and lining up next to it, they slid and lifted that bitch off the truck and onto the porch.  Because we drink arsenic water, and have Hulk-like tendencies.  (You'd have to have read my previous posts to get that one ;) -- see how cool it is that I've written a few posts now, and y'all are reading them, and now I can go back and REFERENCE shit in my own blog? That's freaking awesome, yo.)

But the doorway to the house was too narrow, so we had to take the doors off.   Of the refrigerator, not the house.  Because we couldn't take the doors off of the house.  We checked.  And my older cousin slapped her forehead, and was all, dude!! why don't we just take off the handles?  And we were like, oh shit! that'd be way easier!  And then they took off the handles, but it still wasn't enough, so we had to go back to taking off the entire doors.  Of the refrigerator, not the house.  And then, finally, the doors came off, and we got the refrigerator inside and into the kitchen, and everybody was like, hell yeah! good work team! high five!

But then the doors (of the refrigerator, not the house) needed to go back on, and apparently putting them back on proved a little more difficult than taking them off.  Because when they were back on, they were slightly uneven because one was an inch higher than the other, and since all of us have OCD, we were like, noooooooo!!!!!!  whyyyyyy!!!!!  And then my older cousin and my mom and my aunt stood on chairs to see the top of the refrigerator, and the guys were holding the doors steady, and there was some banging and cursing and mumbling, and then my older cousin was all, THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE!!!!!!!!, and then we heard a thump, and the higher door dropped an inch, and the doors were even, and balance was restored to the universe.

And then one of the guys compared the dropping door to a testicle, and I laughed way more than I probably should have, because apparently I'm a lady, but it was freaking hilarious.  And it would be way weirder for me NOT to laugh at testicle-related humor, because, well, you know, I'm me.

I took a picture of the refrigerator after it was set up and plugged in because it just looked so beautiful.  And it drew me in, like the lights of the spaceship in Close Encounters Of The Third Kind.  And I followed the lights because they promised feasts and deliciousness.  It was awesome.



This is the most beautiful refrigerator I've ever seen.  Because the lights freaking glow, dude.

Um, This Is Pretty Much Just An ADD Ramble

So I opened up the computer this morning so that I could work on a post for today, but I got totally distracted and wrapped up in the news stories that showed up on my home page instead, and now I can't even remember what the hell I was going to post about in the first place.  But ... I DO know that a scary-ass water creature (that looks like Satan's welcome mat) was found in Florida, a giant-ass ice circle (that was apparently -- and disappointingly -- NOT made by aliens) was found in North Dakota, AND Family Guy killed off Brian.  What the hell, world?  He was totally the fucking heart of the show.

Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving, yo.  May your pants be stretchy.

Bacon Mayonnaise, Dude

Apparently, The Travel Channel is having a mini-marathon of the Food Paradise shows today, and I was doing ok until they got to the sandwich episode, and somewhere after the po' boy, and the steak sandwich with bacon mayonnaise, I think I may have lost consciousness for a second (on account of the hunger), because the next thing I knew I was crawling my way to the kitchen desperately looking for something equally delicious to eat, and just when I thought I wasn't going to make it, I called out "Wilson!" as I reached out my arm, and collapsed on the floor.

Ok, that may have been an exaggeration.  But, still.  I don't know who's more sadistic.  The people at The Travel Channel for making such a deliciously taunting show.  Or me for watching it.  But, c'mon, you guys... BACON MAYONNAISE?  That shit is straight out of the Book of Deliciousness.

Suit Up, Ref

Ok, so I was watching football yesterday and it occurred to me that when the Ref comes on the field to recite the official NFL Rule Book, it really reminds me of when Barney quotes the Bro-Code.  And then I imagined Doogie Howser telling the Ref to suit up, and I laughed so hard I almost couldn't breathe.  By myself.  In front of the TV.  And then I stopped for a second and wondered if  laughing hysterically in a room with no one else in it, at a joke that no one else knew about, was one of those moments that totally affirms my weirdness.

Yes. The answer is, yes.

Except Nobody's Tried To Kill JR

So did I tell y'all about the time I came rolling up to my house and there was a vehicle from the state in my driveway?  No shit.  It had the official state seal on the door and everything.  And I was like what the fuck?  And I walked inside, expecting to see men with black suits and dark glasses talking into their wrists, (and I was mentally preparing myself because I was secretly like oh shit ... please tell me this where I meet Tommy Lee Jones.  Because let's face it people, he's old, but he was pretty fucking hot back in the day.) but it was just a couple of normal looking people sitting at the kitchen table with my mom.  And I gotta say, I was more than a little disappointed.  Because meeting Tommy Lee Jones would have been fucking awesome.

Turns out, Not-Tommy-Lee-Jones was telling my mom that the surrounding ground water in our area has arsenic in it.  I know what you're thinking... Are you fucking kidding me?! Arsenic?! How are you still alive?!  And here's the answer:  Because it's like ALL of the superhero stories where the toxin doesn't kill you but enters your blood stream and transforms you all cool like, and then you end up becoming the fucking Hulk.  Which is awesome.

At least, that's what I would've said if Not-Tommy-Lee-Jones hadn't mentioned that the levels of toxic-ness weren't concerningly high (by the way, spell check just said that "concerningly" isn't a real word. and to spell check I say, fuck you, it most concerningly is).  APPARENTLY, adding a little chlorine to the mix would solve the problem right up, and my hopes of becoming The Hulk went down the drain when Not-Tommy-Lee-Jones ordered a chlorine-pump-filter-thing.

A few days later, I came rolling up to my house, and Not-Tommy-Lee-Jones's sidekick was halfway under the kitchen sink installing the chlorine-pump-filter-thing, and I was pissed because he had to "temporarily" shut off the water to the house, and I had to freaking pee because I had been holding it for like the last five hours.  So I ran next door to my grandma's house. (And because I know you're going to ask,  because everybody does .... yes. I live next door to my grandma.  And my aunt.  And my uncle.  And my cousin.  And less than 5 minutes away is another one of my aunts, another uncle, and another cousin.  Because it's like fucking Dallas, yo.  And we're the fucking Ewings.)

Shortly after Not-Tommy-Lee-Jones's sidekick installed the chlorine-pump-filter-thing, Not-Tommy-Lee-Jones realized that there was actually TOO MUCH chlorine in the water, and said to take the shit out.  So Not-Tommy-Lee-Jones's sidekick had to come back and uninstall the chlorine-pump-filter-thing.  So now we're back to arsenic.  Which is fine by me.  I've apparently been drinking the shit for more than 20 years, it tastes a hell of a lot better than the chlorine water, and my hopes of one day becoming The Hulk are restored.  That is, until Not-Tommy-Lee-Jones comes back in a few weeks to kill the dream again.

Gandalf's A Fucking Sales Wizard

I love the bookstore for so many reasons.  They have awesome books.  They sell coffee.  Like Tom Hanks said, "cheap books and legal addictive stimulants".  It's always a win-win for me.

And, at the bookstore people leave you the hell alone. 
Once, I went to a big beauty department store (one that I had not been to since it opened a few years ago, and I really just went to look around and see what kind of awesome shit I could find there). And there was a sales lady there who followed me around the whole store asking me if I needed anything.  And at first I was like, no thanks I'm just looking around.  And then she asked again, and I was all, really, I'm good, but thanks.  And then she asked me again, with specific emphasis on the fact that she could "color match" me, and it took me a minute to figure out that she was talking about matching actual make-up to me, and not referring to some sort of weird beauty cult thing that I figured would cost a thousand bucks to make it to some sort of underground level where you'd be showered with nail polish and color swatches.  And just as I was about to explain this to the sales lady, I noticed that her face was like 5 shades lighter than her neck, and I was like, uh no thanks, and quickly walked away.  Because at that moment, a beauty cult didn't seem so unlikely after all.
But the employees at the bookstore know that they don't have to follow you around the whole store sending you subliminal messages to join their order.  Because they're cool enough to know that if you're having trouble finding something, you'll be smart enough to ask.  And then they'll be like, ok sure, let me look that up for you.  And then they'll find whatever you're looking for, and you'll say cool thanks, and then that's shit's over.

And the bookstore is quiet.

And then there's THIS.

Because where else, other than the fucking awesomeness that is a bookstore, could you find books about Middle-earth and America's Founding Fathers sitting on a table, side-by-side.  On sale.  Admittedly, I'm not very well-versed in either, but for a buck less, Middle-earth seems like the better deal to me.  Because Gandalf knows how to make a fucking sale.


Because Monday Fucking Sucks

Today at work I had to look at my calendar 8 fucking times before I committed today's date to memory because I kept typing in the wrong date on shit, and my co-worker was like, could you just put the fucking calendar in front of you already?!  And then I looked at the next week, and I was like seriously, yo? Next week is fucking Thanksgiving?  And then she was like no shit, dude.  We've got exactly 4 more days to get shit done because everybody's packing up and leaving this joint for a week.  And I was like seriously, yo?  And she was like, for real, yo.  So then we made a plan to get 2 weeks worth of work done in 4 days.  And then we cried.  And by cry, I mean had mini panic attacks and contemplated the benefits of moving to Timbuktu.

Or for short ... MORON

Have you ever known somebody whose head was just stuck so far up their own asshole that when they talk it sounds muffled?  Yeah. It's been one of those days.  I'm no doctor, but I think it should be called Are-You-Fucking-Kidding-Me-Right-Now Syndrome.

It's Like What Happens When The Gremlins Get Wet

I was supposed to measure out enough pasta for 3 people.  I lost my concentration when I was pouring the noodles into the boiling water, so now we'll be eating this for the next 5 days, because when those things hit the water, they expand and explode like the goddamn gremlins.  At least it's good, though.  I wish I could remember what it was that distracted me.  And why boiling water and hot steam apparently weren't enough to keep me focused.  ADD, you guys.

Awww SIF

I don't really know what PS actually stands for.  All I know is that when I have to use it, it's usually because of a shit! I forgot! kind of moment.  So my PS's will now be SIF's.  Unless I forget.  Which is completely possible.  Because if I remembered shit in the first place, I wouldn't even need SIF's.

Sort Your M&Ms, People

Here's the problem.  Fruit is delicious.  But M&Ms and cookies are even MORE delicious.  They're filled with chocolate and sugar, and the M&Ms are all different colors, and the cookies are filled with all sorts of other wonderful deliciousness.  Fruit is kind of a one-hit-wonder.  You eat it, and it's good, but it's the same all the way through, and then you're done.  And for someone with an attention span as horrible as mine, it's kind of a problem because my taste buds get bored.  Cookies are filled with so many different kinds of ingredients, and M&Ms are very OCD friendly.  Because, yes, I do sort them into color piles before I eat them.  So, to all of the doctors that say we need to up the intake of figure-friendly fruits, I say ... um, sure, ok.  but as soon as they make grapes as tasty and sortable as M&Ms, and apples shaped like Oreo's, my success rate will probably be a little higher.

PS:  my mom just asked me how many people probably sort their M&Ms into color piles.  um, I'm guessing a lot, because that's the only way to eat them