Feline Drama

I've never been a cat person. I like dogs. They're goofy and loyal and, even though they might be more trouble, they show more love, and it's worth it.

However, until my living situation changes, I cannot have dogs.

If it were only me, I would choose to instead not have a pet. But...David is a cat person. He loves kitties. He is a cat whisperer of sorts - he can get stray, skiddish ones to come up to him...all cats love him. It's bizarre.

I am my mother's child. I've always though cats were worthless and pretty much left them alone save for one failed cat experience in high school...which didn't end well.

So please.....everyone....humor me and allow me to make a crazy cat lady post today. Even though David is really the crazy cat lady of the two of us, but he didn't have to go to the vet with them this morning, I did. But yeah, just this one time, I promise. No more cat posts.

Anyway, when we lived in our apartment in New Orleans is when David started the cat business. He wanted a kitty. He needed a pet. So...one of the Ducat cats had some kittens that were old enough to take away from their mom when I was home one weekend, and I picked one out and brought her home with me. She was cute and tiny, but cuh-razy, so we decided to call her Couillion (Cooey for short). She's been with us a couple years now. Mostly keeps to herself. Isn't too much trouble except for the occasional hairball vomit. Does crazy stuff like pees in the toilet (and doesn't miss...if I could only get her to flush, we'd be in business). She's a cat...and she's grown on me. I kinda like having her around.

Now, as many of you know, about a week ago David decided to pick up a kitten that was walking around in the middle of the road in the S-curve in Hayes - the cat whisperer strikes again!!! I wasn't happy about it, but whatever. I did put my foot down, though. The foot has spoken. This is the last one. He is not allowed to rescue any more animals. Dogs, cats, whatever. NOT HAVING IT!

So...since HE decided to play kitty savior...I had to take today off work (that part I'm fine with) to bring them to the vet.

While at the vet, I discovered that the new kitten is a boy and not a girl as we originally thought (I'm thinking of calling him Fred. He's definitely a Fred.), and that Cooey has all of a sudden turned into the Antichrist.

She HATES the new cat. Hisses and growles these deep, dog-like growles. Gets all tense and freaked out and pissed off when the new cat is around. She's NEVER done anything like that before. Never. She's also never been bad or weird or had any trouble at the vet. So what do I do? Yay! Let's take them to the vet together!

Right after putting Cooey in her little carrier, I knew it wasn't going to be good. She was already hissing at me.

Fred went first. Got his ear mite treatment, a shot and also some flea meds. He was a trooper and gives kisses like a dog. Fred was fine.

Then it was Cooey's turn. I put her carrier up on the exam table to take her out...I could hear her hissing. So we decided to take the top off of the carrier....she started growling then. Then she swatted and bit at the vet and the assistant. Then jumped off of the table and hid in the corner of the room...growling these deep, whole-body growles and hissing when anyone would go near her. They got a towel thinking covering her face would help (?), but to no avail. The doctor kept jumping backwards in terror. Cooey kept trying to bite them and scratch with her back legs. I was freaking horrified. I'd never seen her freak out on the vet like that before.

She couldn't even get all of her vaccinations because they couldn't keep her still long enough to give her a shot. They will have to wait for that until they have her under sedation for her spay surgery next week.

So...anybody want to cat sit? hahaha

Trying not to play favorites here, because I know that will only make things worse...but I'm really liking Fred better at this point.

Anyway...again, I'm sorry about the cat post. It won't happen again. I just almost had a stroke today and needed to share.

How Did THAT Happen?

Short post about a random, odd piece of Americana....

The foam finger.

If you're a freaking dork like I am and keep yourself up at night thinking about how silly crap like this came to be...Well, I've done your work for you today, my friends.

Behold!




And just as a little bonus....

If you haven't seen this most horrifying, embarrassing display of douchebaggery, you really, really should. It's so....eeeesh. It hurts my soul, but I love it at the same time. The faces. I spent a little too long getting screencaps of the horrible faces this afternoon. It's screencap GOLD.

I always thought he'd be a big dumb goofball...but no...he's just sooo....soooo....painfully.....gross. And he thinks he's the best thing ever, too. You can tell. He's like the skeezy dude always trying to mack on chicks by showing them his tattoos. The necklace. The hair. The jacket. The saucer eyes. I just can't take it. Too much. Too sad and hilarious at the same time. I think my head is about to explode.

hahaha....it's like I just told you all, "This stinks! Here, smell it!" But in this case, you really should smell it. If for no other reason than to say that you have smelled it. And it smells like douche, leather and Rogain with a splash of bong water.

(Via Lainey Gossip)

Farts Will Always Be Hilarious

Now that I have a basically serious job in the health care realm...I'm starting to realize more and more that people are not too keen on potty humor...

I read an article recently about how "shocking" branding is becoming more popular in the health care industry. The examples in the article were some rough sketches for a gastroenterology facility that incorporated butts and toilet paper and things like that in the logo. That was considered super cutting-edge.

As a frequent crosser of the "too gross" line, I sometimes have trouble with the boundaries of what is acceptable to society when it comes to that kinda stuff...and what is not.

I get it. People don't want to be grossed out. But seriously...people should get over it. It's like the book says...Everyone Poops. Are you really that offended by something that you are a daily (hopefully...otherwise you should see Jamie Lee about her yogurt) participant in? Grab a heaping bowl of Colon Blow and read on...

There are few things in this world that are funnier than a good poop joke. My sister, who is a flippin' medical doctor, once said, "It doesn't matter who you are. Farts are funny." And damnit, she's right. Farts are funny.

I'm not sure what sort of sense of humor a poop joke-teller would be classified under. It wouldn't be a "dry" sense of humor...so......wet? (sorry.)

But seriously....it never gets old. One of my favorite examples is the Fat Bastard fart scene from Austin Powers In Goldmember. It's glorious. (For you, Duckit.)

Then there's the classic.

And this classic, too.

At this point, don't most of us think this stuff is funny? Maybe I just have a juvenile sense of humor. But I'd certainly rather my entertainment be more of the childish, doodie joke variety than the depressing.

Some examples:

I hated Atonement, Legends of the Fall (stills only, please...I can't even watch it on mute...still too depressing), Requiem for a Dream (eeesh), The English Patient, most every war movie, effing 21 Grams, Seven Pounds (sorry, Duckit), etc. etc. etc. In fact, the movies on that list are so depressing that it almost becomes comical. Like, "Oh, what now...is the pregnant young wife gonna get hit with a ricocheted bullet and die?" and then BAM! Pregnant young wife gets hit with ricocheted bullet and dies.

Life is depressing enough. I don't need movies to bring me down. And, really, I don't even mind so much if it's at least slightly balanced with funny or happy stuff. And REALLY funny or happy stuff. I'm not talking about when little girls are dancing through a field of flowers in one of those heavily-music-ified scenes where you know that's the end of the goodness and something terrible is about to happen. I'm talking about this.

That is all. Thanks for reading. Talk to y'all tomorrow. And poop on!

Gee...Thanks.

It's hard to pick out a good gift for someone. What I often do is buy the person in question something that I want and then get super mad when they aren't as excited about it as I would have been and tell myself that I should have kept it and gotten them the cheaper gift I originally had in mind. (I never express this outwardly, of course...what kind of a heartless shrew would I be if I did that?)

But seriously...gifts are super weird. At what point did it become necessary to give gifts for so many things? Christmas, birthday, graduation, retirement, new house, anniversary, wedding, baby, just "because." It's too much.

And rather than acknowledging that it's all too much, and that, if I never speak to you anymore, I probably don't want to give you a pricey gift nor do I expect one from you - we keep the gift-giving tradition alive. And some are even passive-aggressive about it. Like when people re-gift....or when they give stupid old crap that was clearly free (or darn close to it) and that has absolutely nothing to do with your personality or the occasion. Like dollar store shower gel that smells like old lady armpit. Nobody wants that shit. Nobody. I think there is a certain point where "It's the thought that counts," just isn't true. What does it say to you if I'd give you some stank ass shower gel? It either says, "I hate you and this is what you deserve." Or "I totally forgot about this, so I stopped at the dollar store on the way over here and grabbed the cheapest and first thing I saw." At that point...seriously...don't bother. Even just a card with a nice sentiment and nothing else inside is better than that crap. I would rather have nothing than mystery shower gel that's been collecting dust on a dollar store shelf for 12 years and smells like gardenias and minge.

It's also just as uncomfortable when people give really inappropriate gifts of the other end of the spectrum...too familiar...too pricey...too much.

Like, if it's someone you don't know that well...don't effing buy them clothes. I've gotten some of the most laughably bad clothing as gifts from people who barely know me at all. I won't go into specifics because I don't want to offend anyone...but unless you know someone super well (and even then, it's a stretch...unless it's a baby because they can't yet choose their own wardrobe) don't get them clothing....

And it's also just as tacky to get some lavash, extravagant gift when you don't know the person that well. If you have to look up their phone number, don't drop hundos or thous. I don't care how rich and fabulous you are. Well....maybe not. Maybe if I were rich and fabulous I would buy a bunch of ridiculously expensive stuff for people I don't really care about. I can't say what I would do...because I've never been there.

I've also recently become aware of websites that offer "Gift Ideas" for various "types" of people. These suggestions are rarely very good and also almost always suggest things that are stupid expensive. What to get the gadget guru? An iPad! At the bargain price of $800! While you're at it, get him started with several e-books! Only five bucks a piece! And make sure he's got the best photos with his new fancy pants camera...only $1,700! That's not a gift. That's a mortgage payment. That's a used car (a crappy one, but still). That's a new wardrobe.



Ok, doesn't look like the rain is going to let up anytime soon, so I'm gonna get while the gettin's good.

Do Ya Know What It Means?

In honor of my Sunday Treme watching, I figured I'd post tonight about one of my most favorite New Orleans experiences.

It wasn't long after Katrina, I had just gotten back in the city and, needless to say, everything was chaotic. People were freaked out. Everyone was saying stuff about New Orleans being a lost cause, and that there was no need to rebuild. It was pretty shitty. I had school coming up. A bunch of my friends from school and from regular life were still away...would they return? No one really knew.

It was that sort of restlessness and turmoil and depression that everyone was going through that made the bars the meeting places. Upon returning to town, my first stop was my local bar (which I will report on in more detail in a later post) to see which of my friends were back, where everyone who wasn't back was, and how everyone was doing.

It was during this time that I met one of the most wonderful, colorful characters that I've ever had the pleasure of meeting in my entire life. Mr. Walter Payton. No, not this Walter Payton. This Walter Payton.

I walked into my local haunt one evening and saw one of my best friends talking to this gentleman at the end of the bar. So, I walked on in there, had a seat next to them, ordered my usual Miller High Life, and began talking to them.

Now, I was a 21-year-old Tulane student. This guy could have brushed me off as a youngster who knew nothing in life or about the city or anything yet (it wasn't all that long ago, but I really had waaaay less knowledge of the world then than I do now...and I know I still have a lot yet to learn). But he listened to my gripes, my worries and concerns, and everything else I had to say about post-K life in New Orleans with a sympathetic and wise ear, and then he told me one of the best things I've ever heard in my life.

He said something to this effect. I don't remember direct quotes, sadly. But this is what he said:

Once you live in New Orleans...and really live here...it gets to you. It gets inside you. Something in you changes forever. And even if you move away, you'll never get that feeling out. It's the River that does that to people. The River gives makes music. It puts off a note. An F note...The note of love. Once you experience that, you will never be the same.

Then, I thought it was probably the coolest thing I've ever heard and the best reason why every New Orleanian past and present is a die-hard. Now, when I think about him saying that, it makes me want to cry because I miss that place so much. I miss the laid back. I miss the late nights of good friends and good times. I miss everything being a reason to celebrate. I miss the whole city, good and bad (and believe me, there was lots of bad, which is why I moved away).

But, the bottom line is that Mr. Payton is one of the coolest, sweetest people I have ever met. He took the time to listen to a dumbass Tulane kid, and he gave me some of the best words of wisdom that I will ever receive if I live to be 115 years old. He is a true New Orleanian (no matter where he lives) and he will beat your ass at the hand-slap game (the one where you put your hands under someone's and try to slap their hands...and vice-versa) EVERY FREAKING TIME.

If I ever see him again, I would love to give him a big hug, buy him a drink, and tell him what a huge impact he made on me...a silly white girl Tulane kid...when I was at a very low point.

Thank you, Mr. Payton!

All Byyyyy Myyyyseeeeellllf

A lot of people tend to think that being alone or doing things alone is the worst thing that could ever happen. I'm sure being alone and cooped up in the house for an extended period of time could send anyone to Crazytown [see Geezerville post again]...that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about venturing out and doing things on one's own. I do it often, and I love it.

It's been a very, very long time since it was easy to just decide on a whim to do something with my friends and then do it immediately. We're all older now. People have commitments and responsibilities. It's hard to coordinate schedules. It's hard for everyone to agree on an event. It's just not the same as being 16 or 17 and piling in the car to go see a random band or movie, or go to the mall...or do anything really. People have shit to do. Including me.

Which is why, when I have the time and the "envie" to do something, I started doing it by myself. I get to go exactly where I want to go, at exactly what time I want to go. There's no waiting, no last-minute cancellations, no negotiations, no 30 minutes of "You decide!" "No, YOU decide!" "Well I'm not deciding." "Well, I'm not either...so you're gonna have to!" AHH! (It really would have paid off for me to have more demanding, decisive friends...But then we probably wouldn't have gotten along so well...)

For me...the slowest eater on the planet...it's really nice at restaurants. I can eat my food at the pace I'm comfortable and don't have to have everyone sitting there waiting for me or watching me eat after they've finished. People seem to watch me eat anyway, though. I eat in such a slow, calculated, OCD way that it tends to be interesting for people to watch. I'm used to it by now...but it's still nice to get a break from feeling like I'm holding everyone up while I'm taking my sweet time.

And movies. Movies are nice and fun to see with other people...but I do enjoy a movie alone. It's easier to pay attention. I always get more out of movies I see alone because I'm just not as comfortable when other people are there. I don't know why. I think it might be because I'm big on seeing people's reactions. One of my favorite things to do is watch a movie that I've seen with someone who's watching it for the first time - I know that's strange...but I love to see other people's reactions to funny things. What parts do they laugh at? Etc. Yes...I'm one of those weirdos that will look at you throughout the movie. Don't judge me.

Another good thing about seeing a movie alone is that you only have to scout a seat for yourself. You don't have to coordinate bathroom times with everyone else. And also, if you have to go during the movie, you don't have to try to find the rest of your party in the dark during the best part upon your return. You can just have a seat at the first available spot. Brilliant! And, perhaps the best reason to go it alone is if you have movie buddies who can't shut their traps. It's a movie! Not an open forum. We'll talk about it later in the car if you want, but for right now...stop talking...please. Unless it's a Twilight movie, then we can laugh and mock it the entire time because everyone else in the theater has seen it 12+ times already anyway. As long as we're careful. I would hate to get knifed by the pre-teens in the parking lot.

The only thing I don't like to do by myself is shop for clothes. Clothes shopping is one of the most traumatizing, horrifying things a girl can go through (unless she's skinny and loves herself A LOT). The sizes are always jacked up...too big, too small....Why does this even come in my size if it makes anyone wearing it who is larger than a size 4 look like a sack of potatoes? Why is everything on this shirt big except for the tiny boob area? FYI, big girls typically have big boobies. Why are the arm bands cutting off my circulation on this shirt that fits otherwise? They expect girls to be HUGE with skinny arms and teensy boobies. And that is just usually not the case.

So, rather than attempt to go this alone, I like to have my besties by my side. People who understand. People who will tell me what's good and what is not, and who will be honest about it. People who will laugh with me when my jugs look obscene but my waist is swallowed in that top that we all thought would be so cute. People who will help me rummage through sale racks to find the perfect thing. And people who will cry with me when those pants make my ass look like the surface of the moon.

And then we all go get milkshakes to expand the craters in our asses. Because that's what friends do!

By the way...ice cream in any form is also always better with friends.

Random Hilarity

I didn't post yesterday because it was one of those days where I get home from work and feel like someone let all of my air out. Completely deflated and tired and blah. Incapable of making a sentence.

So, since I flaked out on you, I'm now compiling a few things that always make me laugh, and a couple of funny recent discoveries. If you've seen them already, I hope you enjoy them again. If you haven't, then I hope you love them or the first time.

• Trey Parker and Matt Stone would be so much fun to hang out with. Saw this episode of South Park for the first time last night and laughed my ass off. This was my favorite part.
• A good Ludacris song always puts me in a better mood. This reminds me of his old school stuff like "Roll Out." So funny! My favorite part is the way he says "Macy's." Cracks me up every time.
• This delightful gem of a photo.
• And this one, too.
• The shirt that my boyfriend and my best friend's hubby should each own (for fancy special occasions).
• This look. Is it tough? Should I be frightened? I say it's hilarious and he looks like he needs to take the Activia challenge. Or get with Gwyneth about her poop diets (see below).
• And the crazies who love, appreciate and obsess over that look.
• This pretentious nonsense courtesy of Madame Paltrow. It's not supposed to be funny, but it so, so is. Dawn simulator? Kale juice? Shut your snooty, rich mouth, Gwyneth! And stop telling us about your colon-cleansing poop diets!
• Coco's Tweets. I love this giant ginge and his awesomeness. Leave me alone! It's all I have left! At least until he's on TBS, for which I will have to get cable.
• Dlisted. The bestest celebrity gossip blog in the world, and the one I prefer to get all my Hollywood drama from. Michael K and I have a very similar world view and sense of humor. (Not for the squeamish or faint of heart, though.)
• Hours and hours of fun. And so educational!

Please, feel free to add your favorite internet amusements in the comments.

Oh, and I've got a running list of potential topics that I'm itching to write about. So expect some good stuff this weekend. I don't know if I'll get to post more tonight since my boy just returned from a work trip and I must have beers and hand-holding and smooches, but I will definitely be back tomorrow.

Be cool, mah babehs!

Defensive Sleeping

Most of you in serious relationships and/or marriages probably know this all too well...

Sometimes sleeping with your significant other (I'm not talking about sexy times...just sleepy times) can be lovely and comforting, but for some, it can also cause severe bodily harm or deep emotional scars.

Let me preface this by saying that I'm not exactly a sound, motionless sleeper myself. I do a lot of tossing and turning, shifting around, elbow jamming in the back, leg crossing (it's weird, but when I sleep on my back, I prop one foot up atop the other bent knee...like sitting cross-legged while laying down. It's super bizarre) etc. But I've had the occasional bit of bad luck with the significant other sleepage, and I've heard stories from friends who have as well, so here's a few of the worst offenders:

Let's start with the Sleepwalker. They are the worst. The incidents are usually scary at the time, but hilarious in hindsight. Especially when they involve sleepwalking with urination. Especially when that urination happens in a very inopportune place like a closet, a chair, a dresser drawer, in the oven, etc. They say you should never wake a sleepwalker because it's traumatizing for them. Ok then...let me go pee in your oven and see how you react, you PC dumbass. Not only will I wake the sleepwalker's ass up, but my wakeup tactic will probably involve screaming, kicking and/or punching. (if you've never tried...it's often very very difficult to wake a sleepwalker, plus it's hard to remain calm when someone is juggling knives or attempting a flight of stairs or peeing all over the house).

Then there's the Sleeptalker. In my experience, it's always a bunch of nonsense gibberish...not really like it is on the movies where people divulge deep, dark secrets or embarrassing stuff. It's just a random word thrown into a bunch of "mmmahhha whaahsithsi cohhhh." Usually pretty harmless, but still strange and potentially annoying.

And that brings me to the Snorer, which, depending on the volume, pitch and timbre of the snore, can either be quite soothing or the worst offender on this list. Sometimes it's nice and repetitive and melodic and can actually help you sleep...like a washing machine. But damn the snores with the rattles, gurgles, pops, and sudden bursts of insane volume that not only wakes you up, but startles you so much that you have to make a bathroom trip. Those snore bursts usually wake up the snorer as well, but they don't realize that...they think YOU woke them up with your bathroom escapades. Because everyone sooo loves getting up out of a dead sleep to walk along the cold floor and try not to run into anything or stub a toe on their way to the bathroom. Maybe you turn a light on in that scenario. I never do. Turning a light when it's still dark outside after a heavy sleep is too much like morning death. I can't handle it. It's jarring and horrendous. As bad as the snore burst - perhaps worse.

The Sweater is up next. In the wintertime, this is fantastic. When your bedroom is warmer than 60 degrees, though...not so great. And, if for some reason the Sweater also likes to snuggle, morning showers rather than night ones become an absolute necessity. Nothing says love like being glued together by heat and sweat throughout the night. Basking in the ambiance. Basking in the ambiance.

Finally, there's the Wrestler. Not "restless" but "wrestler." Restless is not a strong enough word to describe some of the crazy street fighting that can happen in the bed. It's a guerrilla war zone. Hand to hand combat. Better file down your toothbrush and make a shank, because it gets ugly in there. They sit up and then come crashing down, slamming their head into your face or body. They flail about, sending flying elbows and fists all over you like a hail of gunfire. They kick. They shove. They don't stop until they've taken up the entire bed with their shenanigans. And, worst of all, they sleep like baby rosie-cheeked cherub angels the entire time. Bastards.

These things usually spark some sort of retaliation on the part of the poor significant other who has to endure it. (Unless they, themselves are cherub angels...in which case...stop reading this blog.) So then of course there's some name-calling, aggressive eye-for-an-eye action, more elbow throwing...etc.

I think what I may start doing instead is propping myself up slightly and staring at him with cold burning hatred for as long as it takes. Like the scary possessed lady on Paranormal Activity did in that one scene, except I won't actually get out of bed because I'm lazy and am not actually possessed by a demon (ok, like five days a month, tops). Maybe just a light touch on the face to wake him up. Then when he wakes up, act like I had no idea I was staring at him like I was trying to eat his soul...

...It's just something weird I do in my sleep.

Sessy Beard

I don't know why or where it comes from. I realize it's extremely unpopular these days to think this type of look is attractive, but I have a penchant for scruffy dudes, as many of you may have noticed. David isn't usually too scruffy, but he's always rockin some type of beard action. Especially in the winter. And I loooove it.

For some reason my heart turns to goo when I see a giant beard or goatee. I am more likely to talk to someone who looks this way than someone who is clean-shaven. I think it's because a massive beard automatically indicates that this person isn't all metrosexual or overly concerned with looking "hot" by today's standards (which, as you've probably noticed, I am not either). They probably don't have a big fancy-pants schmoozing sort of job, which probably means that they're not snooty pretentious. If they're drinking beer...even better! Musician? Ding ding ding!

I'm sure there have been a few gatherings where the unidentified Yeti was with me...

I know that system is flawed. Obviously not everyone with a beard is nice or funny or even slightly attractive (Unabomber). I just can't help it. I think beards are better.

Jon Hamm from Mad Men - better with a beard.
Ryan Reynolds - better with a beard.
Ryan Gosling - better with a beard.

And, despite popular opinion, I even like the Brad Pitt beard. (Although no Brad Pitt will ever beat THIS BRAD PITT - which is also a facial-haired Brad Pitt.)

How...having said all that...there is a major difference between hot beard and creepy facial hair.

Remember AJ from the Backstreet Boys? (You do...don't play cool and act like you don't) - That, my friends, was bad facial hair.

Some others that automatically set off my "douche alarm" are:
Soul patch
Fu Manchu (unless you're an old biker dude or Sam Elliot)
The Hitler
This sorta nonsense.
And when people who can't properly grow it really, really try to.

I am also not a fan of the mustache. When accompanied by a beard, a mustache isn't so bad...but you're playing with fire if you expect your mustache to be able to stand alone, in my opinion. You're flirting with pedophile-middle-school-gym-teacher or 70s porn star comparisons. Ladies loved Burt Reynolds and Tom Selleck...maybe that was just a 70s and 80s thing and has waned in popularity?

Every year, my friends in New Orleans used to have a mustache-growing contest. Just mustache. And they'd see who could get the best mustache growth, and also, who could go the longest without shaving it because of significant other/work/other reasons. The results were always hilarious. I wish I had some photos of that to share.

So, bottom line, beards are good when they're effortless and indicate a lack of vanity. But anything, including facial hair, that involves too much try-harding is going to fail miserably...like AJ from the Backstreet Boys.

Mom

In honor of Mother's Day, I'm gonna get a little sappy (for me) and write about some of the many things I've learned from my mom, who is super kickass amazing.

1. Have manners.
I truly think they're dying out. So many times I've witnessed people skip out on saying please, thank you, etc. I'm 25 years old, but my mom would still smack me with a hairbrush if she ever heard me be rude to someone...even by omission of please and thank you.

2. Be helpful.
I've noticed more and more lately at gatherings that don't involve my family - people don't help. People like to sit around and not busy themselves with the work that's going on. Food preparations, cleanup, helping someone lift something, things like that. From my mom, I've learned to get off my ass and lend a hand. The smallest task can help someone more than you know.

3. Less is more.
Beauty and worth doesn't come from how much makeup you cake on your face or how much money you spend on your clothes. It comes from what kind of person you are and how you treat other people. It's a simple thing, but one of my favorite lessons from Mom, and definitely one that a lot of people are missing out on.

4. Weird is a good thing.
My mom has the most warped, disgusting sense of humor ever. My friends often tell me that I'm a regular crosser of the "too gross" line, but I certainly get it honestly. My mom has a gift. She's got this fantastic way of making something that, if someone else were to describe it, wouldn't be so bad, but she gives you this stomach-churning description that makes you visualize whatever it is to the fullest extent.

5. Cry when you have to, but don't get bogged down in it.
She's been through a lot of tragic, horrible stuff, yet she keeps going and always handles herself with class, grace and fierce integrity. I wish I had half of her strength - which is always there, but, magically, never comes off as "hard" or unapproachable.

6. Think for yourself.
People are full of shit. Develop trust over time. Figuring something out for yourself is more rewarding. And, of course, the good ole' "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me."

7. Try new things. Learn new things.
Routines can be good, but deviating and doing something new can make for a much more exciting and educational time. Also, as smart as my mom is, she's definitely not a know-it-all type. She's always willing to learn something new.

8. Don't judge.
No matter their race, gender, sexual orientation, income level, whatever- all people deserve respect. Period.

9. Nothing like a little elbow grease.
Don't be afraid to get your hands dirty.

10. Don't be a damsel in distress.
Make your own life. If you don't know how to do something, learn. Fight your own battles. Don't wait around for someone else to come to your rescue.

Love you, Mom.

I'll be back to my usual snarky self tomorrow. I promise.

Oh, and sorry about yesterday's absence. I was playing with (and trying very hard not to pinch) my newest nephew. He's an adorable, chunky little cutie pie...the urge to pinch was strong....but I didn't.

He did rip quite a bit of my hair out though, so perhaps a light pinch would have been ok.

Potpourri...I Don't Get It.

I understand wanting to have a house or car or office that smells nice. I'm big on smells. There was a commercial for something once that said that scent is the sense that has the closest ties to memory. I don't know the science behind all that business, but I think it's bound to be true. When I smell certain things, I automatically think about other times I've smelled it - where I was, what I was doing, etc.

A good example of that is Dial soap. The orange kind. It makes me think of being a little kid and washing my hands at Mawmaw Nucy's house before lunch (or before touching anything in her house - "tidy" would be the understatement of the century to describe Mawmaw. A cousin of mine once said that Mawmaw's floor was cleaner than most plates he eats off of. That's probably not false. And that's not an insult against his plates.).

A bad example of that is disgusting dirty bathroom rotten crotch mixed with B.O. The first time I had the luxury of basking in this delight was when I went on my trip to Europe. It was hot. Euro ladies were sweaty and wearing tight pants. I had to pee really badly. There was no escape. I have since smelled that odor one other time...at Jazz Fest.

Then there's the same old story about certain perfumes or colognes reminding you of people. That's just how it is. Scents stay with you, for better or worse.

Having said that, I don't get potpourri. Now I'm not talking about the spray kind, or the candles or bags (that you aren't supposed to open) or whatever other sort of incarnations that crap comes in that I'm unaware of because I have allergies and just generally am not super girly enough to care about that sort of crap anyway....

I'm talking about the dyed wood shavings and acorns and leaves and shriveled, dried up fruits and whatever other kinds of ridiculous crap they put in that stuff. What is all that? And, more importantly, why??

Why can't you just have something that will scent a room without looking like a dish of bar snacks? (Funny story: My grandpa, while on a trip with two of his grandsons and in a full-blown bout of crazy [see previous post on Geezerville], actually grabbed some of the "decorative" potpourri out of a dish, mistaking it for delicious treats, and ate it.) Are they trying to poison the elderly with red and blue dyes and whatever else is in that stuff? Was this type of potpourri developed by deranged children of the wealthy who want their parents to snack on it during a bout of crazy so that they can quickly collect their inheritance?

It's not like it's always different types of foliage in this stuff either. Oh no. The scents, or "flavors" as my sister would say, don't necessarily correspond to what the artificially-colored compost is. There's still twigs and berries in it no matter if it's "Mountain Berry" or effing "Vanilla Meadow." There might be a cinnamon stick thrown in for good measure if the scent is cinnamon-based, but I think that may be the one exception.

What I'm getting at is...do we really need dishes in our house full of snack impostors that will confuse old people, small children and perhaps even pets? It's really not that pretty, so it's not like it would make a killer centerpiece. It's artificially-colored and scented. It's a waste of time and space, and it's going to kill The Greatest Generation and Man's Best Friend. Do Gramps and Fido a favor and get a candle.

-Sidenote- Do y'all remember the big scandal when the spray cans of potpourri...the ones with the big flower display photos on the can...had hidden wieners in them? I've gotta meet the dude who did that. That's the prank of the century right there. All the old ladies and soccer moms spraying cans of potpourri around their houses that have a picture of your junk hidden on it like Waldo. Priceless.

Something in my teef?

I'm sure you've all experienced it...

You're having a conversation with someone (particularly of the serious and/or work-related variety) and they keep breaking eye contact to stare at something else on your person during that conversation...

Maybe you're one of the ones who are guilty of it. Maybe you don't realize you're even doing it. Maybe, if asked, you wouldn't have any idea why you broke eye contact to stare at my teeth/hair/chin/face/boobies and wouldn't have the slightest clue what you were even looking at...but seriously, stop it.

For someone with a warped sense of humor like me (and perhaps a splash of paranoia...ok, more than a splash. An upturned "handle" of paranoia), I lose focus on what we're talking about and begin to obsess over what you could be seeing that I didn't realize was there. My thought process shifts to something like this:

Is it a giant bean skin stuck in my teeth from my lunchtime burrito? Spinach or a large chunk of black pepper perhaps? Is my cleavage about to consume a small child? I didn't think I wore a boobie top today. Did my top lose its shape and therefore turn into a boobie top without me realizing it? Is there some sort of bug crawling on me? OMG what kind of bug is it? Did someone draw all over my face last night without my knowledge and it didn't all come off during my morning bath? Did they draw a wiener? God, please don't let it be a wiener. What if it is a weiner and they can't quite tell what it is just yet? Maybe I should shift around to obscure the view. Holy crap, it's hot in here. I'm probably flushing now with embarrassment and self-consciousness. Great. Just perfect. Now my face is technicolor crawfish red and my child-eating cleavage is practically a glowing neon sign on the door to Boobtown. Press release? What press release? SHIT!

So please, friends, for my sanity and that of those like me, try to maintain eye contact during conversation. You could save someone a trip to the looney bin.

Happy Cinco de Mayo

In honor of Cinco de Mayo, I have a few beers to drink and an episode of Jeopardy to watch, so short post today, mi amigos.

I'll be back tomorrow. I promise.

Hasta Luego!