Happy Snow Year's Eve everybody!
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Secret Keeper
I am one. And a darn good one at that, because I managed not to tell ANYONE the best news I've received in my LIFE: Jake and Samantha Kelly are going to have a child! Look how happy and punny they are!!! (I'm not gonna lie; I didn't get it at first. PREG-O! Get it? I'm sure you did since you're all smarter than me.)
That's right! I'm so excited! I feel like I'm going to be an aunt...even though I won't tell the kid to call me his or her aunt, 'cause I feel like that's just confusing for everyone.
I bought some new facemashing software for the occasion, 'cause I'm too impatient to wait and see what this kid's gonna look like. So without further ado, here are three possible faces (and name suggestions) for Sam and Jake's children.
Child Number One: Emily Gray Kelly (flows nicely, no?)
Child Number Two: Razor Punch Kelly
And, last but not least, Angus O'Banioflanahan Kelly
Congratulations, guys! Two of your children are going to be adorable!!!
That's right! I'm so excited! I feel like I'm going to be an aunt...even though I won't tell the kid to call me his or her aunt, 'cause I feel like that's just confusing for everyone.
I bought some new facemashing software for the occasion, 'cause I'm too impatient to wait and see what this kid's gonna look like. So without further ado, here are three possible faces (and name suggestions) for Sam and Jake's children.
Child Number One: Emily Gray Kelly (flows nicely, no?)
Child Number Two: Razor Punch Kelly
And, last but not least, Angus O'Banioflanahan Kelly
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Stressmastime
Let me just start out by saying: Yes, I realize that replacing the word "Christ" with "stress" is a good way to guarantee myself a front row seat in hell. So to those of you who are now worried about my salvation: First of all, thank you for your concern, and/but second of all, there's no need to worry; God thinks I'm hilarious.
So I love Christmas as much as the next guy. In fact, I'd go as far as to say I love Christmas arguably more than the next guy. But I gotta tell ya, this year, Christmas was kind of a beast, and I can't say I'm sad to see it end. Maybe it's because before we reached our final destination of quality time with loved ones, thoughtful gifts, and delicious food, we had to make a pit stop in Stress-Induced Mental Breakdownsville (and this time I'm not talking about Amarillo.)
The trip was all planned out: At one o'clock in the afternoon on Thursday, December 23rd, Gary, Sarah and I would embark on the familiar journey home to Dallas. Sarah and I spent the morning making sure all our work was finished and thanking God we didn't have to drive this time since Gary would be with us and he never lets us drive because we're women. JUST KIDDING. We never drive because we both prefer sleeping in the least flattering positions imaginable - mouths wide open, chins doubled, drool trickling down onto our sweatshirts - to paying attention to the road.
At about 11am when I spoke to Gary, I was surprised to hear he was still at work. On days like this one when he goes in at 4:30, he usually gets off around 10 or so. He told me something was wrong with one of the trucks and that he might not be able to leave right at 1. That was ok though, I told him; Sarah and I would just go grab lunch for all of us and we would leave as soon as he got off.
So at about 1:30, while Sarah and I were standing in line at Smashburger, I sent him a text message telling him not to accept any free food from his boss because I was picking him something up. A few seconds later my phone rang, and I just knew it was Gary calling to tell me that his boss had forced free food on him, yet again, and that he didn't need me to get him anything. Peer pressure, I'm tellin' ya.
I was wrong. What he was calling to tell me was that Sarah and I should go ahead and leave without him because he had no idea how much longer it was going to take to fix the truck, and he couldn't leave until he got it moved off the pad. Apparently the trucks are too big to be towed, and as Gary is the only mechanic on staff in Colorado Springs, he was going to be stuck there until it was fixed.
"Okay," I thought, "it's okay. I'm sure he'll get it fixed in no time, and he'll just be a few hours behind us."
He didn't, and he wasn't. He talked to every mechanic in the company, and no one had any idea what was wrong with the truck.
Sarah and I arrived at el Hotel del Morte at around 10pm, and I spent the next six and a half hours alternating between formulating an escape plan in the event that the scary old dude who stared us down as we tried to find a parking space figured out where our room was and came to deliver the ultimate punishment for accidentally shining our headlights into his window (use the coffee maker to bust out the window -- it's all good, there wasn't a coffee pot in it anyway, so that's the only use it'll ever get); listening to our across-the-hall neighbors scream at each other about how they each felt like they had done more work carrying their bags inside and how they had been cheated into paying for their 72 oz steak over a technicality involving insufficient dinner roll consumption; and trying my damnedest* not to give in to the sheer, paralyzing terror that threatened to overtake me, lest I poop my pants.**
This was all on top of doing everything I could to get Brutus to keep it together. He talks a big game, but when stuff goes down, he's about as useful a protector as a stuffed animal -- maybe even less, because stuffed animals can't run away and abandon their owners with impressive speed at the slightest sign of danger.
We got to our parents' house around noon, and Gary was still at work. He had worked a twelve hour day followed by a fourteen hour day, and was now about seven hours into Christmas Eve, and I was starting to brace myself for the possibility that we might not be together on Christmas day. Of course it would have sucked for me, but it would have been even worse for him - all alone in an empty house without even the dog to comfort him.
So with nothing else to do, I started making plans to steal the Gary Way sign from the mobile home park his family lived in while we were in high school. (Illegal, schmillegal. Sometimes making up for a depressing Christmas alone calls for a little schmillegal activity.) Luckily, neither Carly nor I ended up getting arrested (I asked her to help me because for some reason, she just strikes me as the exact kind of person with whom it might be fun to share a jail cell) because by some Christmas miracle, Gary managed to stumble upon a temporary solution to the problem with the truck. It would only start for 45 seconds at a time, but that was long enough to get it off the pad and set him free.
By another Christmas miracle, my parents are the most wonderful people on earth and bought Gary a one-way ticket home so he wouldn't die in a fiery car crash after falling asleep at the wheel. (This isn't the reason they're the most wonderful people on earth -- I think they might have just been born that way -- but this is one example of the kind of wonderful things they are prone to doing at any given time.)
So in the end, Christmas turned out to be awesome, but it also sorta made me wanna die.
THE END
*Damnedest: It's a word. I know that because I initially misspelled it and was corrected by the good people at Apple.
**THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH IS ONE SENTENCE! I WIN!!!
So I love Christmas as much as the next guy. In fact, I'd go as far as to say I love Christmas arguably more than the next guy. But I gotta tell ya, this year, Christmas was kind of a beast, and I can't say I'm sad to see it end. Maybe it's because before we reached our final destination of quality time with loved ones, thoughtful gifts, and delicious food, we had to make a pit stop in Stress-Induced Mental Breakdownsville (and this time I'm not talking about Amarillo.)
The trip was all planned out: At one o'clock in the afternoon on Thursday, December 23rd, Gary, Sarah and I would embark on the familiar journey home to Dallas. Sarah and I spent the morning making sure all our work was finished and thanking God we didn't have to drive this time since Gary would be with us and he never lets us drive because we're women. JUST KIDDING. We never drive because we both prefer sleeping in the least flattering positions imaginable - mouths wide open, chins doubled, drool trickling down onto our sweatshirts - to paying attention to the road.
At about 11am when I spoke to Gary, I was surprised to hear he was still at work. On days like this one when he goes in at 4:30, he usually gets off around 10 or so. He told me something was wrong with one of the trucks and that he might not be able to leave right at 1. That was ok though, I told him; Sarah and I would just go grab lunch for all of us and we would leave as soon as he got off.
So at about 1:30, while Sarah and I were standing in line at Smashburger, I sent him a text message telling him not to accept any free food from his boss because I was picking him something up. A few seconds later my phone rang, and I just knew it was Gary calling to tell me that his boss had forced free food on him, yet again, and that he didn't need me to get him anything. Peer pressure, I'm tellin' ya.
I was wrong. What he was calling to tell me was that Sarah and I should go ahead and leave without him because he had no idea how much longer it was going to take to fix the truck, and he couldn't leave until he got it moved off the pad. Apparently the trucks are too big to be towed, and as Gary is the only mechanic on staff in Colorado Springs, he was going to be stuck there until it was fixed.
"Okay," I thought, "it's okay. I'm sure he'll get it fixed in no time, and he'll just be a few hours behind us."
He didn't, and he wasn't. He talked to every mechanic in the company, and no one had any idea what was wrong with the truck.
Sarah and I arrived at el Hotel del Morte at around 10pm, and I spent the next six and a half hours alternating between formulating an escape plan in the event that the scary old dude who stared us down as we tried to find a parking space figured out where our room was and came to deliver the ultimate punishment for accidentally shining our headlights into his window (use the coffee maker to bust out the window -- it's all good, there wasn't a coffee pot in it anyway, so that's the only use it'll ever get); listening to our across-the-hall neighbors scream at each other about how they each felt like they had done more work carrying their bags inside and how they had been cheated into paying for their 72 oz steak over a technicality involving insufficient dinner roll consumption; and trying my damnedest* not to give in to the sheer, paralyzing terror that threatened to overtake me, lest I poop my pants.**
This was all on top of doing everything I could to get Brutus to keep it together. He talks a big game, but when stuff goes down, he's about as useful a protector as a stuffed animal -- maybe even less, because stuffed animals can't run away and abandon their owners with impressive speed at the slightest sign of danger.
We got to our parents' house around noon, and Gary was still at work. He had worked a twelve hour day followed by a fourteen hour day, and was now about seven hours into Christmas Eve, and I was starting to brace myself for the possibility that we might not be together on Christmas day. Of course it would have sucked for me, but it would have been even worse for him - all alone in an empty house without even the dog to comfort him.
So with nothing else to do, I started making plans to steal the Gary Way sign from the mobile home park his family lived in while we were in high school. (Illegal, schmillegal. Sometimes making up for a depressing Christmas alone calls for a little schmillegal activity.) Luckily, neither Carly nor I ended up getting arrested (I asked her to help me because for some reason, she just strikes me as the exact kind of person with whom it might be fun to share a jail cell) because by some Christmas miracle, Gary managed to stumble upon a temporary solution to the problem with the truck. It would only start for 45 seconds at a time, but that was long enough to get it off the pad and set him free.
By another Christmas miracle, my parents are the most wonderful people on earth and bought Gary a one-way ticket home so he wouldn't die in a fiery car crash after falling asleep at the wheel. (This isn't the reason they're the most wonderful people on earth -- I think they might have just been born that way -- but this is one example of the kind of wonderful things they are prone to doing at any given time.)
So in the end, Christmas turned out to be awesome, but it also sorta made me wanna die.
THE END
*Damnedest: It's a word. I know that because I initially misspelled it and was corrected by the good people at Apple.
**THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH IS ONE SENTENCE! I WIN!!!
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
A Question For George Strait
Alright, Georgie, let's get right to the point. I know you didn't actually write "Amarillo by Morning," but you certainly made it popular. So my question is this: Have you ever actually been to Amarillo? I had the misfortune of spending a few sleepless hours there a few nights ago, and, I'll be honest - it did inspire me to write music. But all the songs I wrote came out with titles such as:
"Amarillo - Where Dreams Go to Wither and Die"
"Putrid Hellhole of Pain"
And, my personal favorite,
"Please Don't Bury Me Here After I'm Inevitably Murdered in this Hotel"
So I was just curious as to what on God's green earth would compel someone to go there. I know the song's about making it to a rodeo...or is it? Let's take a look:
Amarillo By Mornin'
Up from San Antone
Everything that I got
Is just what I've got on.
When that sun is high in that Texas sky,
I'll be buckin' at the county fair.
Amarillo By Mornin'
Amarillo I'll be there.
They took my saddle in Houston,
Broke my leg in Santa Fe.
Lost my wife and a girlfriend,
Somewhere along the way.
After a careful reconsideration of the lyrics, I think I'm starting to catch the real meaning: This guy has lost everything, and is now heading to Amarillo to die. (Hey, that sorta fits right into my first song!) Why anyone would choose to have their last breath come in tasting of cow pies and unhappiness, I'll never know, but to each his own I guess.
"Amarillo - Where Dreams Go to Wither and Die"
"Putrid Hellhole of Pain"
And, my personal favorite,
"Please Don't Bury Me Here After I'm Inevitably Murdered in this Hotel"
So I was just curious as to what on God's green earth would compel someone to go there. I know the song's about making it to a rodeo...or is it? Let's take a look:
Amarillo By Mornin'
Up from San Antone
Everything that I got
Is just what I've got on.
When that sun is high in that Texas sky,
I'll be buckin' at the county fair.
Amarillo By Mornin'
Amarillo I'll be there.
They took my saddle in Houston,
Broke my leg in Santa Fe.
Lost my wife and a girlfriend,
Somewhere along the way.
After a careful reconsideration of the lyrics, I think I'm starting to catch the real meaning: This guy has lost everything, and is now heading to Amarillo to die. (Hey, that sorta fits right into my first song!) Why anyone would choose to have their last breath come in tasting of cow pies and unhappiness, I'll never know, but to each his own I guess.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
2,922 Days of Summer
Eight years ago today, Gary Gray gave me a wet willy, kissed me, and demanded that I go out with him. In that order. I cried at the time, but I've been laughing ever since.
Here's the not-so-short photographical story of one-third of our lifetime.
Once upon a time, I was sixteen with braces.
I met a young Marky-Mark in the lunch line and it was love at first sight.
For me anyway. He took a little persuading because he was a tough guy.
I fed him...
...sedated him...
...and bought him a pony.
Eventually he realized he couldn't live without me.
We dated...
...and dated...
...and dated some more.
We both finished high school...
...and then it was off to the real world - a.k.a. Community College.
In the real world, if you're on a lake, you're required to have ridiculous nails.
We worked together at Red Lobster - The Unhappiest Place on Earth - and somehow made it out alive, although it did take us several months to recover from the black hole that had replaced both our hearts as a result.
I don't know what to say about this picture, except GOSH Gary's had that shirt for a long time.
I don't know what to say about this picture, except GOSH Gary's had that shirt for a long time.
Gary moved to Colorado for five months, where without me, he slowly started to lose his mind.
I visited him in hopes of curbing the insanity. He taught me to spin-cast and I caught bigger fish than he did.
After that he took up fly fishing just to spite me.
We climbed a mountain! In jeans for some reason!
Then Gary became a man. You can tell because of the impressive beard.
(Hey, there's that shirt again!)
We wore lots of matching shirts and hair colors.
(OH MY GOSH THE SHIRT!)
We took a whole bunch of pictures that look like this:
And sometimes Gary made me dinner.
I guess you could say we were two peas in a pod.
One thing led to another...
...and BAM! Happy Ever After.
We loved each other very much...
...and one day we decided to take that love and pay an exorbitant amount of money for a dog who would eventually chew a hole in our carpet -- and that's not the only place.
He also chewed a hole in our hearts.
We discovered that I can fit inside this duffel bag...
...and now that's where I sleep at night.
THE END.
(This isn't really the end -- I mean, we're not getting a divorce or anything -- it's just...I like saying The End at the end of a story because it's a good way to tell people I'm done talking and that it's okay for them to leave.)
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Shakin' Baby Syndrome
Welp, I'm headed home to celebrate Christmas with my family! I've written what is sure to become another hit song in honor of the occasion. It goes a little something like this:
Over the armpit*
And past the slums**
Look out, Texas
Here we come...s!
*New Mexico
**Still talking about New Mexico
Merry Christmas everybody!!!
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Buhhh
It's 9 pm and I should be packing since I'm driving to Texas tomorrow...but I just heard the most disturbing statistic on the radio, courtesy of John Tesh, and I felt compelled to share it with you.
Apparently, a recent study showed that TWENTY PERCENT of divorces today involve Facebook in one way or another. Private messages and pictures uploaded to Facebook are being used in more and more divorce cases as evidence of infidelity.
Staggering, no? According to John (and if John Tesh says it on the radio, it must be true) Facebook can be dangerous to a marriage because it facilitates reunions between old flames, often leading to a rekindling, and in some cases, an affair.
So what lesson can we take away from all this?
Hide your kids, hide your wife, and hide your exes from your news feed.
Apparently, a recent study showed that TWENTY PERCENT of divorces today involve Facebook in one way or another. Private messages and pictures uploaded to Facebook are being used in more and more divorce cases as evidence of infidelity.
Staggering, no? According to John (and if John Tesh says it on the radio, it must be true) Facebook can be dangerous to a marriage because it facilitates reunions between old flames, often leading to a rekindling, and in some cases, an affair.
So what lesson can we take away from all this?
Hide your kids, hide your wife, and hide your exes from your news feed.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Really? Really. Really?!
Let me just start by saying: I would.
It all started with Snapfish. My phone is supposed to be set up with Snapfish to make it easy for me to upload photos from my phone to the web, but for some reason it's never worked for me. Operator error, I'm sure...but for some reason, this morning I thought I'd give it another shot.
Lo and behold, it worked! I was so excited! I've had all these pictures of Gary's belly just piling up on my phone and no way to share them with the world at large!
Only slightly more important than the belly pics were several precious pictures of our little nephew James. I was so excited to see them on the "big screen" if you will. (I will! Get it? Cell phone screen to computer screen? Eh? Eh?) Look at his little nose! His little cheeks! His little eyelashes! His little shirt with a bear on it!
Wait...that bear looks familiar...
Oh no. Oh no. Ohhh nonononononono. Really?!? Is this possible?!? Could I BE this stupid?!?!?
Oh yes, my friends. It most definitely is possible, and I really am this stupid.
The bear looked familiar because I purchased an adorable little outfit this weekend featuring the same bear. And the same striped sleeves. And the same brown pants. For James.
In case you're a little slow on the uptake (and obviously, who am I to judge?), this means that I bought him a shirt that he not only already has, but was wearing one of the two times we've been in the same room together.
EPIC FAIL.
It all started with Snapfish. My phone is supposed to be set up with Snapfish to make it easy for me to upload photos from my phone to the web, but for some reason it's never worked for me. Operator error, I'm sure...but for some reason, this morning I thought I'd give it another shot.
Lo and behold, it worked! I was so excited! I've had all these pictures of Gary's belly just piling up on my phone and no way to share them with the world at large!
Only slightly more important than the belly pics were several precious pictures of our little nephew James. I was so excited to see them on the "big screen" if you will. (I will! Get it? Cell phone screen to computer screen? Eh? Eh?) Look at his little nose! His little cheeks! His little eyelashes! His little shirt with a bear on it!
Wait...that bear looks familiar...
Oh no. Oh no. Ohhh nonononononono. Really?!? Is this possible?!? Could I BE this stupid?!?!?
Oh yes, my friends. It most definitely is possible, and I really am this stupid.
The bear looked familiar because I purchased an adorable little outfit this weekend featuring the same bear. And the same striped sleeves. And the same brown pants. For James.
In case you're a little slow on the uptake (and obviously, who am I to judge?), this means that I bought him a shirt that he not only already has, but was wearing one of the two times we've been in the same room together.
EPIC FAIL.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Christmas Beef
As many of you may know, I pretty much listen to Christmas music at all times. I listen to it all day at work. I listen to it while I'm making dinner. I listen to it while I'm taking naps. I listen to it in the shower while I'm washing the dog pee out of my hair.*
So with only a few precious days left until Christmas (and, coincidentally, the tragic end of the social acceptability of my constant caroling), I've been feeling a little sad that it's almost over...but then this weekend happened.
I was at Kohl's with Sarah, patiently waiting while she tried on some clothes for work when I heard a familiar song begin.
"Ahh, Stevie Wonder," I thought to myself. "You sure know how to sing a Christmas son - WHAT?!? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!"
Why the sudden fit of rage, you ask? Because it was not Stevie Wonder.
Long story short, hearing "What Christmas Means to Me" whined out by Jessica Simpson was just about enough to ruin Christmas forever.
I composed this letter and plan to send it as soon as I can afford to buy stamps:
*Of course that happened to me.
So with only a few precious days left until Christmas (and, coincidentally, the tragic end of the social acceptability of my constant caroling), I've been feeling a little sad that it's almost over...but then this weekend happened.
I was at Kohl's with Sarah, patiently waiting while she tried on some clothes for work when I heard a familiar song begin.
"Ahh, Stevie Wonder," I thought to myself. "You sure know how to sing a Christmas son - WHAT?!? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!"
Why the sudden fit of rage, you ask? Because it was not Stevie Wonder.
Long story short, hearing "What Christmas Means to Me" whined out by Jessica Simpson was just about enough to ruin Christmas forever.
I composed this letter and plan to send it as soon as I can afford to buy stamps:
Jessica,And while we're at it, has anyone else been struck by the irony of hearing Christina Aguilera - some of whose other hit songs include the disturbingly suggestive "Candyman" and another that's just straight up called "Dirrty" - recite the Lord's Prayer during her rendition of "O Holy Night"? I was just wondering.
You are the worst. You damn near ruined my Christmas, and as punishment I hereby strip you of the honor and privilege of being called a Texan.
Also, I think you owe Stevie an apology.
Here's hoping you get a paper cut today,
Emily
*Of course that happened to me.
Friday, December 17, 2010
IT'S PIZZA DAY!!!
My favorite thing about Weight Watchers is the fact that once a week, I get to eat whatever I want for one meal. This is my ninth week on the diet, and I've started to notice a pattern: All I ever want is pizza with garlic sauce.
Any time I have to use my extra points for anything besides pizza with garlic sauce -- well, let's just hope you never meet me during one of those weeks. But there's no need to avoid me this week, because THIS WEEK IS PIZZA WEEK! I've been anxiously awaiting this night for at least 5 days. Pizza's pretty much all I think about.
Well, pizza, and dogs with people hands.
HAPPY PIZZA DAY!!!
Any time I have to use my extra points for anything besides pizza with garlic sauce -- well, let's just hope you never meet me during one of those weeks. But there's no need to avoid me this week, because THIS WEEK IS PIZZA WEEK! I've been anxiously awaiting this night for at least 5 days. Pizza's pretty much all I think about.
Well, pizza, and dogs with people hands.
HAPPY PIZZA DAY!!!
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Special Sense of Humor
I know I've mentioned this in the past, but I'm not sure all of you fully comprehend just how "special" my special sense of humor can be, so I thought today I'd take a little time to let you in on the crazy.
Many of you are probably unaware that I dabble in songwriting. That's right. I wrote something new yesterday and I thought I'd share it with you. You're welcome in advance.
It's called "Sticky Hands" and it is set to the tune of "Particle Man" by They Might Be Giants.
If you're unfamiliar with the song, you obviously didn't watch enough Tiny Toons as a child. Not to worry; it's not too late for you. Here's a little refresher.
Without further ado, here's the song that made me laugh 'til I cried.
Sticky hands, sticky hands
My name's Emily, I've got sticky hands
I ate an orange; it stuck to my hands
Sticky hands
If the rhythm isn't quite making sense in your brain, you're probably not squishing words together enough in the second line. Maybe someday I'll post a live performance so you can get the full effect. I take my music very seriously, and I expect you all to do the same.
Also, I must give credit to Sarah for writing the second half of the third line - which, in my opinion, really brings the whole song together.
Many of you are probably unaware that I dabble in songwriting. That's right. I wrote something new yesterday and I thought I'd share it with you. You're welcome in advance.
It's called "Sticky Hands" and it is set to the tune of "Particle Man" by They Might Be Giants.
If you're unfamiliar with the song, you obviously didn't watch enough Tiny Toons as a child. Not to worry; it's not too late for you. Here's a little refresher.
Without further ado, here's the song that made me laugh 'til I cried.
Sticky hands, sticky hands
My name's Emily, I've got sticky hands
I ate an orange; it stuck to my hands
Sticky hands
If the rhythm isn't quite making sense in your brain, you're probably not squishing words together enough in the second line. Maybe someday I'll post a live performance so you can get the full effect. I take my music very seriously, and I expect you all to do the same.
Also, I must give credit to Sarah for writing the second half of the third line - which, in my opinion, really brings the whole song together.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Lightbulb!
This weekend, Sarah and I had an idea that is going to revolutionize the way people everywhere do their grocery shopping. (I say Sarah and I both had the idea because that is what happened. When two people are as in sync as we are, simultaneous inspiration becomes laughably commonplace. We practically share one brain; one brain that has the size and processing capacity of two gigantic, super-powerful brains.)
So here's the idea: Blinkers on shopping carts. Amirite? Amirite?
We were struck with this little epiphany like a bolt of lightning while mowing down innocents with our plastic bulldozer full of frozen goods. Somehow, amidst the loud squishing of unwashed bodies hitting the floor and the angry screams in our wake, we both heard the ding! that could only mean one of two things: a) after six long hours, the single mini cupcake we put in the E-Z Bake Oven this morning was finally done...but considering we were standing in the middle of Wal-Mart, it was more likely that b) that ding was announcing the arrival of a revelation that would make us both millionaires.
As you all know, Sarah and I primarily do our grocery shopping at Wal-Mart, because we secretly enjoy the excitement and mystery of whether or not we're going to be abducted in the condiment aisle. (Here's another idea for any of you budding entrepreneurs out there: I dare someone to open a grocery store that neither price gouges me nor attracts patrons who might literally gouge me.)
As Wal-Mart is not exclusively a grocery store - they are also purveyors of low-quality Christmas gifts of all kinds (which are particularly appealing to the drooling cretins who inhabit my neck of the woods) - it gets mighty busy this time of year, which takes an already unpleasant experience and ramps it up to an aneurysm-inducing cocktail of hate, failure and unhappiness.*
So America, let's get this cash cow a-mooin'! Join Sarah and me as we significantly decrease the margin of grocery-related injury in this great country of ours! Together, we can transform the bungled chaos of navigating crowded grocery aisles into an ordered, efficient and (dare I dream it?) downright enjoyable experience.
*Apparently it doesn't have to be this way. I have heard tell of a Wal-Mart in the northeast quarter of Colorado Springs that is clean and organized and does not make make alcoholism seem like a healthy lubricant for the weekly grocery trip, but I dismissed these impossible fairy tales at once, convinced that Leah was just playing a dirty trick on me because I'm so gullible (a fact which I tried to rectify by refusing to believe Gary when he told me that armadillos carry leprosy, only to find out that that's actually true. I DON'T KNOW WHO TO TRUST ANYMORE!)...that is, until last Saturday, when I saw the dream materialize in front of my very eyes.
It was clean and organized, not to mention sparkly and good-smelling and...could it be? Are those good looking people I see over there in the produce section? YES! THEY ARE! Look, that lady appears to have washed her hair in the last 24 hours! That's no naturally occurring shade of blonde; she's got professional highlights!!! And she's wearing a North Face jacket! Not only is she not homeless; SHE LOOKS LIKE A SNOB! IT'S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!!!
So here's the idea: Blinkers on shopping carts. Amirite? Amirite?
We were struck with this little epiphany like a bolt of lightning while mowing down innocents with our plastic bulldozer full of frozen goods. Somehow, amidst the loud squishing of unwashed bodies hitting the floor and the angry screams in our wake, we both heard the ding! that could only mean one of two things: a) after six long hours, the single mini cupcake we put in the E-Z Bake Oven this morning was finally done...but considering we were standing in the middle of Wal-Mart, it was more likely that b) that ding was announcing the arrival of a revelation that would make us both millionaires.
As you all know, Sarah and I primarily do our grocery shopping at Wal-Mart, because we secretly enjoy the excitement and mystery of whether or not we're going to be abducted in the condiment aisle. (Here's another idea for any of you budding entrepreneurs out there: I dare someone to open a grocery store that neither price gouges me nor attracts patrons who might literally gouge me.)
As Wal-Mart is not exclusively a grocery store - they are also purveyors of low-quality Christmas gifts of all kinds (which are particularly appealing to the drooling cretins who inhabit my neck of the woods) - it gets mighty busy this time of year, which takes an already unpleasant experience and ramps it up to an aneurysm-inducing cocktail of hate, failure and unhappiness.*
So America, let's get this cash cow a-mooin'! Join Sarah and me as we significantly decrease the margin of grocery-related injury in this great country of ours! Together, we can transform the bungled chaos of navigating crowded grocery aisles into an ordered, efficient and (dare I dream it?) downright enjoyable experience.
*Apparently it doesn't have to be this way. I have heard tell of a Wal-Mart in the northeast quarter of Colorado Springs that is clean and organized and does not make make alcoholism seem like a healthy lubricant for the weekly grocery trip, but I dismissed these impossible fairy tales at once, convinced that Leah was just playing a dirty trick on me because I'm so gullible (a fact which I tried to rectify by refusing to believe Gary when he told me that armadillos carry leprosy, only to find out that that's actually true. I DON'T KNOW WHO TO TRUST ANYMORE!)...that is, until last Saturday, when I saw the dream materialize in front of my very eyes.
It was clean and organized, not to mention sparkly and good-smelling and...could it be? Are those good looking people I see over there in the produce section? YES! THEY ARE! Look, that lady appears to have washed her hair in the last 24 hours! That's no naturally occurring shade of blonde; she's got professional highlights!!! And she's wearing a North Face jacket! Not only is she not homeless; SHE LOOKS LIKE A SNOB! IT'S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!!!
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Guys You Wish You Were Friends With
Hey everybody! Today's the office Christmas party, and can you believe they're letting me rap in front of everyone? If you do, you're wrong. No matter how fun and awesome my job is, I'm afraid that dream will never come to fruition.
I am singing though, so I really do have to go over there early to rehearse. While I'm gone, please enjoy this video. PEACE OUT!
I am singing though, so I really do have to go over there early to rehearse. While I'm gone, please enjoy this video. PEACE OUT!
Monday, December 13, 2010
I'M IN LOVE! I'M IN LOVE AND I DON'T CARE WHO KNOWS IT!!!
I don't know who invented Weight Watchers, but YES I DO BECAUSE I JUST LOOKED IT UP!
Jean Nidetch, I'd like to shake your hand/kiss your face/slap you on the butt and tell you GOOD GAME, because thanks to you I've lost five percent of my body weight over the past 8 weeks.
Let me say that again for those of you who may have been skimming. FIVE PERCENT! 8 WEEKS! SLAP ON THE BUTT!
I'd tell you exactly how much weight that is if I didn't suspect that you're all proficient enough in mathematics to use that information to figure up how much I weigh...and that's just not something I'm prepared to do just yet. But if things keep going this well, you can bet I'll tell you one of these days.
I feel like doing cartwheels. I feel like shouting from the rooftops. I feel like cyberstalking Jean Nidetch until I find her home address and then sending her a giant bouquet of flowers.
Some of you may be thinking that 5% is not that big of a deal...but some of you have also probably never been overweight. Losing weight is hard. Being on a diet sucks - especially during the holidays. But if this diet had a face, I would kiss it right on the mouth. In public! In front of everyone! I love it!
This is the first time I've reached any kind of weight loss goal, and gosh darn it, I plan on enjoying my success.
FREE HUGS AND SMILES FOR EVERYONE! See Emily Gray to receive yours.
Jean Nidetch, I'd like to shake your hand/kiss your face/slap you on the butt and tell you GOOD GAME, because thanks to you I've lost five percent of my body weight over the past 8 weeks.
Let me say that again for those of you who may have been skimming. FIVE PERCENT! 8 WEEKS! SLAP ON THE BUTT!
I'd tell you exactly how much weight that is if I didn't suspect that you're all proficient enough in mathematics to use that information to figure up how much I weigh...and that's just not something I'm prepared to do just yet. But if things keep going this well, you can bet I'll tell you one of these days.
I feel like doing cartwheels. I feel like shouting from the rooftops. I feel like cyberstalking Jean Nidetch until I find her home address and then sending her a giant bouquet of flowers.
Some of you may be thinking that 5% is not that big of a deal...but some of you have also probably never been overweight. Losing weight is hard. Being on a diet sucks - especially during the holidays. But if this diet had a face, I would kiss it right on the mouth. In public! In front of everyone! I love it!
This is the first time I've reached any kind of weight loss goal, and gosh darn it, I plan on enjoying my success.
FREE HUGS AND SMILES FOR EVERYONE! See Emily Gray to receive yours.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Salsa Dancing DILKARAMO!!!
The D stands for dog.
What's that you say? You want MORE salsa dancing dogs??? Alright, people, I'll do what I can, but I don't - JUST KIDDING! HERE YA GO!
You're welcome. Happy Friday everybody!
What's that you say? You want MORE salsa dancing dogs??? Alright, people, I'll do what I can, but I don't - JUST KIDDING! HERE YA GO!
You're welcome. Happy Friday everybody!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Our Tannen Is the Bomb
JUST LOOK AT IT!!! IT'S SO BIG AND SO BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!!
MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA!!!!!
I can't really explain away the maniacal laughter...I just really love Christmas.
And THAT'S RIGHT! The tree is being protected by our very own live-in guard bear, Beary Gray.
He's such a jolly ol' fella. Wait a minute...Beary! Where are your pants?! I'm tellin' ya, I can't take him anywhere.
Having a tree in my living room just feels right...so I'm considering keeping one in there year-round. We'll decorate it with flowers and baby bunnies in the spring, nappy dread locks and a spray tan in the summertime, and paper hand turkeys and unbuttoned pants in the fall.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
When Hearts Attack
This is a story about how my dog almost killed me. It's not funny.
This morning while I was getting ready, Brutus started making some plunger-like sounds, indicating that he was about to throw up all over my carpet. I ran to open the back door for him, and he gladly scampered outside because he has manners and he doesn't like making a mess inside.
He did his vomity business, and I waited in the open doorway to see if he was ready to come back in. He was still looking a little green, so I decided to let him hang out in the backyard for a while.
About ten minutes later, I opened the door again to welcome him back inside. Usually he comes running at the sound of the sliding door, but I didn't see any sign of him. I was sure he was hiding in his favorite spot behind the shed, so I slipped on the ugly croc knockoffs I keep next to the back door for occasions like these (and which Gary is not above wearing from time to time in a footwear emergency, even though they're women's shoes and about fifty sizes too small) and went to investigate.
I crept up to the shed and then pounced to the back side, gotcha-style, but Brutus was nowhere to be found. This is the point when I started to panic. I called his name a couple of times but received no response.
Then the crazy started to set in. At this point I was already crying, imagining the absolute worse scenarios possible while running through the house calling his name on the off chance I had let him in already and had just forgotten. I hadn't.
I threw on a jacket, grabbed his leash, and ran out the door, prepared to run all over downtown until I found him. I was sure he was dead. Huskies are born runners, so I knew the chances of me finding him on foot weren't good. Maybe I could flag down a car to help me look for him...
Except I quickly realized that wouldn't be necessary, because the moment I stepped out the front door, I saw him. He was just chillin' in my front yard, frolicking and jumping around my mailbox. When he saw me he ran up and licked my hand. Then he turned, ran up onto the porch, and waited patiently, tail wagging all the while, for me to open the door.
Naturally, as soon as we were both safely inside, I collapsed into a shaking, sobbing, post-almost-traumatic heap of pathetic patheticness.
The End
This morning while I was getting ready, Brutus started making some plunger-like sounds, indicating that he was about to throw up all over my carpet. I ran to open the back door for him, and he gladly scampered outside because he has manners and he doesn't like making a mess inside.
He did his vomity business, and I waited in the open doorway to see if he was ready to come back in. He was still looking a little green, so I decided to let him hang out in the backyard for a while.
About ten minutes later, I opened the door again to welcome him back inside. Usually he comes running at the sound of the sliding door, but I didn't see any sign of him. I was sure he was hiding in his favorite spot behind the shed, so I slipped on the ugly croc knockoffs I keep next to the back door for occasions like these (and which Gary is not above wearing from time to time in a footwear emergency, even though they're women's shoes and about fifty sizes too small) and went to investigate.
I crept up to the shed and then pounced to the back side, gotcha-style, but Brutus was nowhere to be found. This is the point when I started to panic. I called his name a couple of times but received no response.
Then the crazy started to set in. At this point I was already crying, imagining the absolute worse scenarios possible while running through the house calling his name on the off chance I had let him in already and had just forgotten. I hadn't.
I threw on a jacket, grabbed his leash, and ran out the door, prepared to run all over downtown until I found him. I was sure he was dead. Huskies are born runners, so I knew the chances of me finding him on foot weren't good. Maybe I could flag down a car to help me look for him...
Except I quickly realized that wouldn't be necessary, because the moment I stepped out the front door, I saw him. He was just chillin' in my front yard, frolicking and jumping around my mailbox. When he saw me he ran up and licked my hand. Then he turned, ran up onto the porch, and waited patiently, tail wagging all the while, for me to open the door.
Naturally, as soon as we were both safely inside, I collapsed into a shaking, sobbing, post-almost-traumatic heap of pathetic patheticness.
The End
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Commercialism
So...anybody watched TV lately?
I have! I had the opportunity to wield a remote control for an entire week while I was home for Thanksgiving, and ya know what it taught me? That paying for cable is not worth it. Hundreds of channels at my disposal and there was still nothing I cared to watch.
More importantly though, it taught me that Tim Allen is back - in a big way. Yes, Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor has lent his velvety voice to not one, not two, but THREE advertisements for my own personal viewing pleasure.
I'm sure you've seen them. There's one for the Chevrolet Cruze, one for Campbell's Soup, and one for Pure Michigan. (The third ad in this list has eluded me for some time, but thanks to Google I managed to track it down. Also thanks to Google I learned that Tim Allen was arrested in 1978 for cocaine possession. Tim, Tim, Tim. Not setting the best example for Brad, Mark* and Randy, are we now? Oh, Randy. Sighhhhh.)
So...I guess...you're Tim Allen, it's been years since you were in your prime, and you think to yourself, "Self, this voiceover thing ain't half bad! They never make you shave and you can come to work in your underwear! You should capitalize on this." So you walk into the middle of the street, raise your hand high and shout, "HEY! I'M TIM ALLEN! HIRE ME AND I WILL SELL YOUR PRODUCTS AND/OR PROMOTE YOUR STATE'S TOURISM INDUSTRY -- TO INFINITY...AND BEYOND!"
And of course it works, because honestly, who doesn't wanna buy stuff from Tim Allen? He's like the father you never had, but who sort of raised you because you watched way too much television as a child.
THE END
*Remember Mark? Not JTT, and not the one with the rat tail. No, not JTT! I know you miss him, but try to focus, please! He was the little one who started out cute but grew up to be so awkwardly awkward that I wouldn't be surprised if he was the sole reason they cancelled the show.
Well anyway, I thought you might all be interested to know that when he was 17, he married a 33 year old woman with whom he started a vegan cheese company. A few short years later she divorced him and took all his money, and they all lived awkwardly ever after. The End.
Now go watch Wild America (because I can tell you've stopped listening to me and are now only thinking about Jonathan Taylor Thomas) and transport yourself back to a time when things were simpler; back before Devon Sawa resurfaced as a creepy old man on the "hit" show "Nikita". (The quotation marks are meant to denote sarcasm when used the first time...not the second time. Sort of. To be honest, sometimes even I can't tell anymore.)
I have! I had the opportunity to wield a remote control for an entire week while I was home for Thanksgiving, and ya know what it taught me? That paying for cable is not worth it. Hundreds of channels at my disposal and there was still nothing I cared to watch.
More importantly though, it taught me that Tim Allen is back - in a big way. Yes, Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor has lent his velvety voice to not one, not two, but THREE advertisements for my own personal viewing pleasure.
I'm sure you've seen them. There's one for the Chevrolet Cruze, one for Campbell's Soup, and one for Pure Michigan. (The third ad in this list has eluded me for some time, but thanks to Google I managed to track it down. Also thanks to Google I learned that Tim Allen was arrested in 1978 for cocaine possession. Tim, Tim, Tim. Not setting the best example for Brad, Mark* and Randy, are we now? Oh, Randy. Sighhhhh.)
So...I guess...you're Tim Allen, it's been years since you were in your prime, and you think to yourself, "Self, this voiceover thing ain't half bad! They never make you shave and you can come to work in your underwear! You should capitalize on this." So you walk into the middle of the street, raise your hand high and shout, "HEY! I'M TIM ALLEN! HIRE ME AND I WILL SELL YOUR PRODUCTS AND/OR PROMOTE YOUR STATE'S TOURISM INDUSTRY -- TO INFINITY...AND BEYOND!"
And of course it works, because honestly, who doesn't wanna buy stuff from Tim Allen? He's like the father you never had, but who sort of raised you because you watched way too much television as a child.
THE END
*Remember Mark? Not JTT, and not the one with the rat tail. No, not JTT! I know you miss him, but try to focus, please! He was the little one who started out cute but grew up to be so awkwardly awkward that I wouldn't be surprised if he was the sole reason they cancelled the show.
Well anyway, I thought you might all be interested to know that when he was 17, he married a 33 year old woman with whom he started a vegan cheese company. A few short years later she divorced him and took all his money, and they all lived awkwardly ever after. The End.
Now go watch Wild America (because I can tell you've stopped listening to me and are now only thinking about Jonathan Taylor Thomas) and transport yourself back to a time when things were simpler; back before Devon Sawa resurfaced as a creepy old man on the "hit" show "Nikita". (The quotation marks are meant to denote sarcasm when used the first time...not the second time. Sort of. To be honest, sometimes even I can't tell anymore.)
Monday, December 6, 2010
The Eternal Struggle
This morning, like so many times before, I grappled with my archenemy.
I was foolish enough to hope our meeting would be brief, but that just wasn't in the cards. This would be a fight to the death.
Tapping out was not an option; Gary had left for work hours ago, and through no fault of his own, Brutus is pretty much useless in situations like these (although he did do a wonderful job of saving me from Lord Voldemort in a dream I had last night. He always comes through when it counts.)
More than once I considered giving up, but the thought of admitting defeat was so humiliating that I knew I must win this battle even if it killed me.
After ten solid minutes of kicking, screaming, grunting and cursing, my nemesis finally gave way and I emerged victorious. The quickly emerging soreness in my muscles was nothing compared with the satisfaction of knowing I had beaten the odds using nothing but my bare hands, sweat and tears.
There will be pickles on my sandwich today. Oh yes; there will be pickles.
I was foolish enough to hope our meeting would be brief, but that just wasn't in the cards. This would be a fight to the death.
Tapping out was not an option; Gary had left for work hours ago, and through no fault of his own, Brutus is pretty much useless in situations like these (although he did do a wonderful job of saving me from Lord Voldemort in a dream I had last night. He always comes through when it counts.)
More than once I considered giving up, but the thought of admitting defeat was so humiliating that I knew I must win this battle even if it killed me.
After ten solid minutes of kicking, screaming, grunting and cursing, my nemesis finally gave way and I emerged victorious. The quickly emerging soreness in my muscles was nothing compared with the satisfaction of knowing I had beaten the odds using nothing but my bare hands, sweat and tears.
There will be pickles on my sandwich today. Oh yes; there will be pickles.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Keep It Goin' Keep It Goin' Keep It Goin' Full Steam
These kids are a little too old for me to KARAMO, but perhaps I could mentor them after-school style.
Happy Friday!
Happy Friday!
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Yeah! (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah...Y-Yeah)
Watch out!
Gary's job's ridiculous, under trucks lookin' so conspicuous.
And rowl! When you hear that engine growl, if you hold the truck steady he gon' fix it now.
Forget about game; I'm a spit the truth: He won't stop till he get his boss to buy him food.
So give him the ribs and it'll be into that pork; he'll bend over to the plate with a knife and fork.
He left the fat and he took the rolls, if they aint buttered then he prob'ly gon' lose control.
How you like him now, with his Dickies holdin' over two hundred pounds, and
Wrench crank, don't forget the grease. Gary Gray fix trucks like Midas, please.
Four in the mornin' when he leaves he's dead, but he be gettin' off work before I get out the bed.
Gary's job's ridiculous, under trucks lookin' so conspicuous.
And rowl! When you hear that engine growl, if you hold the truck steady he gon' fix it now.
Forget about game; I'm a spit the truth: He won't stop till he get his boss to buy him food.
So give him the ribs and it'll be into that pork; he'll bend over to the plate with a knife and fork.
He left the fat and he took the rolls, if they aint buttered then he prob'ly gon' lose control.
How you like him now, with his Dickies holdin' over two hundred pounds, and
Wrench crank, don't forget the grease. Gary Gray fix trucks like Midas, please.
Four in the mornin' when he leaves he's dead, but he be gettin' off work before I get out the bed.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Weyell...
I had this whole rant planned about how much I hate the "Christmas Shoes" song because I can't believe someone would make up something so depressing just to make a few bucks...but then it turns out it's based on a true story, which is even more depressing. Nice try, "Christmas Shoes", but now I just hate you more for thwarting my blogging plans.
Then I was gonna tell you about how my turkey sandwich was dry and boring yesterday, so I put a very thin layer of mayonnaise on the one I made today and it turned out to be spectacular...
Then I realized I may have hit a wall. I swear sometimes I'm interesting...today is just not one of those times.
So here's a video of a french bulldog puppy fighting a doorstop.
Then I was gonna tell you about how my turkey sandwich was dry and boring yesterday, so I put a very thin layer of mayonnaise on the one I made today and it turned out to be spectacular...
Then I realized I may have hit a wall. I swear sometimes I'm interesting...today is just not one of those times.
So here's a video of a french bulldog puppy fighting a doorstop.
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