Mornings - Like Mondays, Only Worse.

So, I'm obviously not a fan of mornings at all. I'm sure those of you who are reading this probably know that. I am a vicious, evil, catty mess until I've either had a bath/shower or a caffeine jolt...or at least gotten a chance to move around a bit. You do not want to have a conversation with me if I've been up for less than a half an hour - which is why you should NEVER, under ANY circumstances, call me early in the morning or late at night. If you think I might be sleeping...don't do it.

My sister loves to tell this story to illustrate my morning evil...

She was finishing high school at Louisiana School at the time, and was home for the weekend. I was 2-3 years old. For some reason, everyone was gone. It was just she and I left home alone together...and it was in the morning.

I came into my kitchen as I usually did in the morning....wearing a bitchface and my pjs....and sat at the table.

My sister was new and didn't know the drill. She had no idea that I couldn't properly function without my morning hot chocolate. So she probably said something like, "Morning, Boober! Do you want some breakfast?"

I then probably gave her the death stare (which is like the bitchface if the bitchface were making a bitchface) and screeched, "I WANT MY HOT CHOCOLATE!!!!!!" - I was super charming as a child...really, I was.

So she proceeds to try to make my hot chocolate...first she used the wrong cup, so I had to correct her about that as well. I had to have it in my coffee mug with the bear on it. Always.

And it had to be the correct temperature, which meant there was a certain amount of time my mom would heat it up in the microwave, which Sara didn't know about, so first it was too hot and we were going to have to let it cool. After much crying and protesting and schooling, I finally got my hot chocolate.

Now, contrary to the way I am today in taking my sweet and precious time with food and beverage, I would GOOZLE my morning hot chocolate. I mean...me as a tiny two-year-old would gulp that stuff down without setting the mug down until it was all gone.

Then I'd of course get a horrible stomachache. So I'd put my head down on the table and moan and wail and writhe in agony. Sometimes I'd spew...but usually not. Then...once that passed...I'd jump down and be ready for the daily activities.

I guess my morning rituals have always been slightly off....

Which is why I don't get you morning people. How do you do it? What are you on? How do you wake up and immediately want to TCB? Making all kinds of noise and jumping right into work. Or worse...GETTING UP EARLIER THAN YOU HAVE TO so that you can do things like exercise or "enjoy the day"......

Umm..."enjoy the day" my ass. You know what makes an enjoyable day for me? Sleep. I don't want to get up at 5am so I can watch the news and see the sunrise. I see the sun SET every day, and it's just as marvelous. I can also see the news at night or in the afternoon, but ya know what? I don't watch it then either, because it effing sucks and is depressing, and if I wanted to be depressed all the time, I'd have chosen my other possible career paths of social work and counseling.

So yeah...share your secrets, Morning People. I need to know how you do it. But, in the meantime, don't mess with me in the morning. Especially on the road. I'm talking to you, bus drivers and others who think it's fun to pull out in front of the angry girl in the little car who is late for work and go five mph below the speed limit.

See? Less than a week and I've posted another entry. I'm trying! Still got lots to discuss, my dears. Stay tuned. And check this regularly...even if I don't put a Facebook link...because I don't always get to do that.

Stay or Go?

Short post today (yes, I know it's been a while, and YES, I will really try to be better about regular postings. It's just really difficult because I'm po' and live in the stone age and don't have a functioning computer with the internets at my house, so instead of having the luxury of coming home after work, I have to go to a place with a functioning computer and internet, write the blog (which takes me over an hour usually) and then do whatever obligatory visiting is required for the blogging place in question. By that time, I don't get home until 7pm, which is a pain in my ass. Especially when not many people read this thing anyway. If more of you read and commented, it might be worth the effort. Thanks to those that frequently do. You guys own my heart. I may sound bitter. Sorry. It's really not about this. I actually really enjoy blogging. It's the important "real job" part and having to spend so much time doing it that I hate.)

Anyway, today's post is about something I often think about while watching talk shows...both daytime and night time, but particularly the night time ones.....

I judge people by whether or not they stay for the subsequent guests.

You know. When they move down a chair and stay and listen to the lesser-known or not-as-hot-right-now star gab about what they're promoting as well...

I realize some people are big shits (I meant to type "shots," but that made me laugh, so I'm rollin' with it) and have zillions of other places they could be as soon as they wrap up the interview, particularly if they're promoting a new movie, because that is always crazy and chaotic.

But c'mon man. Really? You've got more important things to do than the TONIGHT SHOW (I miss my Coco sooo soooo much)? Or Letterman? Or even effing Late Night with Jimmy Fallon? Please. Give me a freakin' break.

It's like their time is soooo soo valuable, they can't spare an additional ten minutes? Or, worse, they are such big shits (staying with it) that they couldn't POSSIBLY give up the focus of attention to someone else on national television? Couldn't possibly take a backseat for TEN FREAKING MINUTES even though they were first and we had to sit through their whole thing? Give me a break! Those egomaniacle turds should calm the eff down.

So yeah, it always makes me like someone more if they stay for the second interview. It shows that they have more character, that they care more, that they aren't so self-obsessed that they can actually sit through the cameras and questions being directed toward someone else for ten minutes. Especially in that business. The Hollywood "Look at me" business.

Recently I saw Robert Pattinson on the Tonight Show. The biggest star in the freaking universe right now. And HE freaking stayed. So, no excuses for anyone else. None.

Speaking of Rob, I've had a post about Twilight planned for a while now. Why I love to hate it. A review, of sorts. That will probably be this weekend. Still have Road Rage post and Milan Lounge post to work on as well. Plenty of stuff planned. Just have to make myself better at this regular posting thing. Sorry, guys. I promise that I'll try to be better. Stick around.

The Importance of Cheese

Let me first wish Johnny Depp a very happy birthday today. 47 years young and still the best example of pure, concentrated awesomeness that has ever existed. I love him. Yeah yeah, he's cute and all that...but he also exudes charm and cool and always does and says and wears interesting things. Just a friggin awesome human being. Someone who actually belongs here and isn't just taking up skin. Ok, I'm done.

Anyway... today's entry is about cheese, since cheese keeps interjecting itself into my day today.

Ahh, cheese. Glorious cheese. There are few finer things to me than cheese. I like all kinds. I like fake process cheese food products. I like the finest French cheeses. Hard cheese, soft cheese, melted cheese. ALL delicious. Except for cheese sauce that is made from a powder or comes in a large can. That is the only cheese I am not a fan of. Give me cheese...not cheese sauce....unless the cheese sauce is made from melted cheese....


Which brings me to the highest and most exalted of all cheeses in the my cheese hierarchy....queso dip. I'm not talking about that shit you buy in a can at 7-11. I'm talking about delicious Mexican restaurant queso. Being a fatty, I would swim in a vat of queso until I got queso ear. I could drink it out of a dish. I eat it not only on chips, but on other items of foodage that I order from Mexican restaurants. It is the stuff dreams are made of. Queso...the true nectar of the gods (it's sorta liquidy....so I guess nectar rather than ambrosia?).

Anyway, I've been doing pretty well with the not consuming everything in sight thing since I've quit smoking (today is day five....the days in general are getting easier, but when those urges kick in, I still want to kill someone). So today, I decided to reward myself with a special queso treat from El Tapitio. So yummeh, right? Yeah...yeah it is.

So I get my delicious queso and salsa and chippies....get in my car to go back to work with it, and begin my very careful drive back. That means taking curves and turns carefully, avoiding bumps, not changing lanes, etc.-to avoid queso and salsa spillage.

So wouldn't you know that some half-witted, probably drunk, crusty loser shit for brains fuckface (scuse the language, but that's nothing compared to what I screamed at him in my car) had to be on the road near me as well. We KNEW this was going to happen, right? So he decides to drive like a dumbass (get almost all the way into the left lane before making a right hand turn in his freaking TOYOTA TACOMA....IT IS NOT A SEMI, YOU MORON!, speed up and slow down, swerve, and participate in other acts of road-losery). Then came the kicker. I was trying to be good and get away from him by getting around him on a two-lane road. I'm in the left, he's in the right. So I speed up a bit...and then just as I'm right beside him, he decides to put his blinker on and attempt to get over - almost hitting me. I had to slam on my brakes to avoid a collision, sending my queso container flying onto the floorboard of my car. Don't mess with my queso, dude. I'm a hungry chunky chick...I just quit smoking...I've been in a very violent mood for the past few days...and all I wanted was queso. If it would have spilled, I may have followed him to wherever he was going and slung some eff words at him (or beat him with my purse). But, since it didn't spill, I did what any self-respecting lady would do in the same situation....I honked my horn like a banshee and flipped him off while clearly mouthing a stream of obscenities. He turned off after that. Road rage WIN!

And I still got to enjoy my queso! So...all in all, not a bad day for the Noonies.

Oh, and I almost forgot! I got so caught up in the queso road rage story that I was about to forget to show you guys this! (for those of you who haven't already heard about this life-altering piece of amazingness!)

Effective July 1st, Subway will begin tessellating their isosceles cheese slices for more even sandwich coverage! Fatties of the world REJOICE! Hahaha.

And on a final note, today's queso incident was not an isolated bad driver encounter. Tomorrow (or whenever), I plan to concoct a blog about all of the causes of my violent road rage, so stay tuned, because that one should be fun (and hopefully interactive....be sure to leave your comments below!)

Long Time No See

Hello again, everyone. It's been a while.

Just wanted to assemble a brief blog today just to let you guys know that I'm still here and haven't given up on this or anything. Here's what's been going on lately...in no particular order.

It was Memorial Day Weekend....family was in town. Nieces and nephews were in town. Sisters and their significant others were in town. David did some delicious barbecuing. We drank too much and ended up singing songs (well...I think that may have just been me and David. I don't remember. It was fun, though). Good family holiday get-together fun. I'm not ever going to interrupt family holiday get-together fun to write a blog...I don't care what that blog may be about. It's not as important as family time.

So...before the Memorial Day festivities began and my family got here, I spent that Friday evening/Saturday watching Lost Season 4. Then after everyone left...Lost Season 5. I'm nursing my enormous crush on Jeremy Davies...

Ok, I know...I know. He's totally not my type (except that he usually has facial hair). I like giant, scruffy, viking-esque dudes who look like they can burp the alphabet and would kick your ass if you said something bad about Lemmy. Those are my typical crushes. It's my general rule of the swoon. Techno Viking = Hawt. Zakk Wylde = Hawt. Russell Crowe circa Mystery, Alaska = Hawt. I can't help myself. It's not something I can control. If I could, I would.

Which is why my crush on Jeremy Davies baffles me tremendously. I don't know why it exists or how it developed, but every single time I see him in a movie...I want to make him some rice and gravy and give him a big hug. But...like...in a crushy way. Weird, right? I know!

Even though he always plays the totally UNsexy, quiet weirdo character....it's ALWAYS there for me. I ALWAYS would. Even in Saving Private Ryan, where he is such a horrible coward...I'd still. I'd still. Even in Secretary with that bad, bad sex scene (THE HAND!)....I'd still. Even in Rescue Dawn where he's immaciated and horrifying looking...I'd fry him some chicken, make him a milkshake, and I'd still. Like, when I saw him in Helter Skelter, which was AWFUL...I totally got the appeal of how so many people fell under Charlie Manson's charismatic spell. ...oh, and I'd still.

So anyway, I'm finishing up Season 5 of Lost tonight. His character, Daniel Faraday, is totally about to croak. I can tell. Which will not make me a happy camper. And, at this point in time....not making me a happy camper = me throwing something through a car window, howling at the moon and running into the forest to be with the other crazy night beasts.

I quit smoking (in case you couldn't tell). It's the third day today. My second attempt at quitting ever. So like...Volume 2, Issue 3. Last time I was living with my friends, and I remember laying on their couch in the fetal position for an entire day while crying and eating a half gallon of ice cream. This time, I want to tear your face off and throw it at passing motorists. I want to yell at people. I want to spin around like the Tazmanian Devil and wreak havoc everywhere I go. I want to rip my hair out and set it on fire, then chew my arms off and throw them in that fire as well. I want to destroy priceless items. I want to make people cry. I want to piss in someone's cheerios. I want to run outside, smear dirt on my face, and scream at old people. My skin is crawling. I want a cigarette so badly...so so so badly. But I won't. So yeah...day 3. It's actually not as bad as I thought it would be...hahaha.

Everyone wish me luck as I continue my journey of nicotine withdrawals into even darker crazier wacko craziness. Yaaaaaay. I'll try to collect my thoughts tomorrow to get a blog out for you guys. In the meantime, stay gold. ....mmm....Camel Turkish Gold......NO!