Christmas 2010: Here I am, curled up on a chair in the dining room, sipping on some hot tea and typing on my BRAND NEW COMPUTER. I seriously have the best parents ever. I've been without a computer for almost two years because my 2005 model decided to all but burst into flames. This one is so fancy. You should see the design on the top. I may become one of those brooding, coffee-house-dwelling computer nerds. (If only I wasn't terrified of spilling coffee on this baby. Yeah, the hot tea I am sipping is actually sitting on an end table behind me. I am treating this thing like my first-born.)
What a terrific Christmas though. Actually, what a terrific year. I love looking back on the past year and reflecting on all of the wonderful things/people/places that have been brought into my life. I don't mean to brag, but I have the most beautiful family in the entire world. You should have seen my nephews today. That AJ - wow - melts my heard with a flash of his smile. And he's so smart. I know all aunts are supposed to say that about their nephews, but for real. I am expecting this kid to go all Mensa on our asses. And that Bo - he is growing so fast. He's a beautiful little boy with flawless skin. I swear he's going to start crawling around any minute.
The past year has been extremely amazing in the lives of JessandJacy. We both graduated college (I in May and Jacy in December). We welcomed little Bo into our lives, as well as wonderful new friends. We've maintained tremendous friendships with our existing friends.(We even saw a few of them get married!) And we have an amazingly supportive family to be thankful for every day. Our lives our wonderful.
And now, as 2011 approaches quickly, we are embarking on another new journey. Last week, I accepted a position at the University of Oklahoma in Norman. And guess what? My little sis will be joining me! Norman's a college town -- what better place to pursue her hair styling career? We've spent the last few days looking for apartments. Yes, this is really happening. And we couldn't be more excited.
Thank you all (or y'all since I'm an Okie now) for being there to support us this year. It's been a real rollercoaster, but worth the ride. I am so anxious/excited for this new year to start and for our lives to finally take off. I know this is freaking corny and not my style at all, but I am really truly blessed.
That being said, please continue to follow our lives in 2011. We love to share our experiences with everyone. Jacy and I will be together again (for the first time in six months), so some weird stuff is bound to happen. And I'll be there to document and blog every stupid thing she...errr....I mean WE do.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
-Jess (and Jacy)
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Update
Wow, I suck. I've made you all wait nearly three weeks for another blog. I'm sure you've been pressing F5 over and over again for days - wishing, waiting, hoping, PRAYING for a new blog. (In that day-dreaming head of mine, that's really what y'all are doing.) Well hold onto your britches, because here it is!
Okay, honestly, you can probably just skip this blog. It's more of a tell-all about what's been going on in my life. Nothing too crazy.
So much has happened since November 21, 2010...like...THANKSGIVING! Granted, I wasn't able to make the long trip back to Nebraska, but I didn't make my way to Norman, Oklahoma, for some good old-fashioned fun. I come from a small family, so our turkey days are pretty quaint. Get in-get out. Well, my friend, Kylie's family is a bit different. We had five turkeys. FIVE. One baked, one broiled, one fried, one roasted and one most likely baked underground for 48 hours inside a pig carcus. Seriously, this family goes ALL OUT.
No time for a food hangover though because immediately after dinner we went to see Burlesque (so bad it was good) and THEN we headed to Target at 10 p.m. to sit out under the stars all night. Yes, folks, we did Black Friday in ultimate fashion. Kylie is a die-hard. She didn't care that it was 27 degrees out and the snot from our noses was freezing as soon as it hit our upper lips. She packed thermoses (thermi?), sleeping bags, hats, gloves and even reclining folding chairs to keep us warm all night. Things were going great until the people behind us let some of their friends cut in line. Yeah, the people behind them didn't like that too much. They threw a hissy. Come to find out, though, some people got shot in Oklahoma City (only 30 min to the North of Norman) that same night because of a feud sparked from cutting in line. Scary shit. But luckily we were able to get in and out of Target at 4 a.m. with no gun shot wounds. Only a few shopping cart nicks.
And for the best part of the weekend: Kylie's bachelorette party. Here's the scoop - Ky had zero idea of what was going on for her party. She was told to look all dressed up and then we were all meeting up at 6. But we had one slight problem. At about 6 p.m., Kylie tried on her bride-to-be outfit and, GASP, she didn't think it fit! (She didn't try it on in the store before hand.) Oh the drama! Little-did-she-know, that we weren't partaking in any male stripper business. Nor were we even going out on the town. We, instead, were taking pole dancing lessons! So really, she could completely slum it and it wouldn't matter. But I couldn't TELL her that because that'd ruin the surprise.
So after coaxing her into a different outfit, we were on our merry way to Morgan's house. Two steps into Morgan's house and Kylie realized what was going on.... She had just spent TWO FREAKING HOURS doing her hair/make-up and none of that mattered because we were just going to drink/dance all night anyway. Man she was one pissed off cookie. But after getting over the initial shock, she cheered up and we hopped on a party bus to take us to pole dancing lessons.
Here's the deal about the pole dancing... You've seen me before, right? If so, you know I am probably the most unsexiest person in the world. However, after about a bottle-and-a-half of champagne by myself, I was convinced I was Jenna-freaking-Jameson. I'd catch myself looking in the mirror making sex eyes at myself. Yeah, it was really disgusting. Then I'd try wrapping my leg around the pole and sliding down it, but my hands aways got stuck because I guess I have really sweaty hands? I needed some damn chalk or something. Could you imagine a stripper who stopped every two minutes to chalk up her hands? That was me. My favorite part was at the end when we got to strap these little Middle-Eastern skirts around our waists and shake it like Shakira. The champagne made me believe I was Shakira. Until everyone pointed out that I had the skirt on backwards. I'm an embarrassment to the sexy-women community.
Okay, so that was only one weekend of my past few weeks. Last weekend was the Big 12 Football Championships. And all sorts of stuff in between. But for now, I must go. I have Christmas parties to attend. Stay tuned for next time when I discuss conspiracy theories (seriously, I went to the JFK museum last weekend. I have things to share.)
Okay, honestly, you can probably just skip this blog. It's more of a tell-all about what's been going on in my life. Nothing too crazy.
So much has happened since November 21, 2010...like...THANKSGIVING! Granted, I wasn't able to make the long trip back to Nebraska, but I didn't make my way to Norman, Oklahoma, for some good old-fashioned fun. I come from a small family, so our turkey days are pretty quaint. Get in-get out. Well, my friend, Kylie's family is a bit different. We had five turkeys. FIVE. One baked, one broiled, one fried, one roasted and one most likely baked underground for 48 hours inside a pig carcus. Seriously, this family goes ALL OUT.
No time for a food hangover though because immediately after dinner we went to see Burlesque (so bad it was good) and THEN we headed to Target at 10 p.m. to sit out under the stars all night. Yes, folks, we did Black Friday in ultimate fashion. Kylie is a die-hard. She didn't care that it was 27 degrees out and the snot from our noses was freezing as soon as it hit our upper lips. She packed thermoses (thermi?), sleeping bags, hats, gloves and even reclining folding chairs to keep us warm all night. Things were going great until the people behind us let some of their friends cut in line. Yeah, the people behind them didn't like that too much. They threw a hissy. Come to find out, though, some people got shot in Oklahoma City (only 30 min to the North of Norman) that same night because of a feud sparked from cutting in line. Scary shit. But luckily we were able to get in and out of Target at 4 a.m. with no gun shot wounds. Only a few shopping cart nicks.
And for the best part of the weekend: Kylie's bachelorette party. Here's the scoop - Ky had zero idea of what was going on for her party. She was told to look all dressed up and then we were all meeting up at 6. But we had one slight problem. At about 6 p.m., Kylie tried on her bride-to-be outfit and, GASP, she didn't think it fit! (She didn't try it on in the store before hand.) Oh the drama! Little-did-she-know, that we weren't partaking in any male stripper business. Nor were we even going out on the town. We, instead, were taking pole dancing lessons! So really, she could completely slum it and it wouldn't matter. But I couldn't TELL her that because that'd ruin the surprise.
So after coaxing her into a different outfit, we were on our merry way to Morgan's house. Two steps into Morgan's house and Kylie realized what was going on.... She had just spent TWO FREAKING HOURS doing her hair/make-up and none of that mattered because we were just going to drink/dance all night anyway. Man she was one pissed off cookie. But after getting over the initial shock, she cheered up and we hopped on a party bus to take us to pole dancing lessons.
Here's the deal about the pole dancing... You've seen me before, right? If so, you know I am probably the most unsexiest person in the world. However, after about a bottle-and-a-half of champagne by myself, I was convinced I was Jenna-freaking-Jameson. I'd catch myself looking in the mirror making sex eyes at myself. Yeah, it was really disgusting. Then I'd try wrapping my leg around the pole and sliding down it, but my hands aways got stuck because I guess I have really sweaty hands? I needed some damn chalk or something. Could you imagine a stripper who stopped every two minutes to chalk up her hands? That was me. My favorite part was at the end when we got to strap these little Middle-Eastern skirts around our waists and shake it like Shakira. The champagne made me believe I was Shakira. Until everyone pointed out that I had the skirt on backwards. I'm an embarrassment to the sexy-women community.
Okay, so that was only one weekend of my past few weeks. Last weekend was the Big 12 Football Championships. And all sorts of stuff in between. But for now, I must go. I have Christmas parties to attend. Stay tuned for next time when I discuss conspiracy theories (seriously, I went to the JFK museum last weekend. I have things to share.)
Sunday, November 21, 2010
So Nice
I'm just curious - could someone tell me if I have, "I'M FRIENDLY. TALK TO ME" written across my forehead? If I did, would you tell me? For some reason people LOVE to talk to me. (Yeah, remember Big Burtha, the massage lady from a few months ago who told me about her obsession with cat mystery novels?) Don't get me wrong, I usually like to talk to people. But generally if you're missing all of your teeth, have a mullet and a mustache and a "Free Bird" shirt with a named tag that has "Billy Bob" scrolled across it, you and I probably won't have much in common.
Evidently I was looking like a super friendly dog lover when I stopped in to get a soda at a local gas station today. Instead of a Coke and a smile, I got a full ear. While filling up my to-go cup at the soda fountain, the store clerk (Billy Bob) said, "Hey girl, come here and check out this dog wearing sunglasses in that BMW." Convinced I was being punked, I pretended not to hear him. Alas, he did not believe my poor attempt of being deaf. He made his way over to the soda fountain to tap on my shoulder and direct me to the window.
Indeed, there was a dog wearing sunglasses sitting in the front seat of a blue BMW. As the car backed away from the curb, the dog casually made his way up and out of the sunroof. Miracle of miracles. "Is this real life?" I mumbled to myself out of Billy Bob's earshot.
Oh it was real life. In fact, Billy Bob knew the owners of the dog real well. They trained their dog to wear sunglasses. "You know how most owners train their dog to sit or shake? Well, these guys taught their dog how to wear sunglasses. Isn't that awesome??" Billy said.
"Really!?" I said with faux interest. "You mean to tell me they weren't strapped on or anything?!?"
"No, m'am. The dog just saw his mother wearing sunglasses and thought he'd try them out too. He doesn't know any different than to wear sunglasses." (Billy Bob sounded as if the dog had gone to Sunglass Hut, picked up a pair of Ray Bans and put them on with his opposable thumbs.)
"Wow, that's wild. Well my family used to raise Weimaraners, so I know all about dogs that like to dress up." (He stared at me blankly - had no idea what a Weimaraner is.) "You know, the grey dogs you see in calendars that are all dressed up? We'd dress them up and let them ride shotgun around town with us," I said (this was only a half-true story.)
"Oh really? Well my dogs are stupid. I have an Australian Sheppard who rocks. But I have this other little mutt that I want to kill."
"Oh, herm, well then why don't you kill him?" I asked. "HAHA! I'm just kidding - but why don't you find him a good home?"
"Oh I can't kill him considering what happened to his owners," he said.
"Oh, what happened to his owners?" I asked, hoping to hear his adopted dog was one of those that ate the face off of its last owner.
"His owner, my roommate, was murdered recently, so I have to take care of his dog now."
Murder? Seriously? Wow, I wasn't too far off with the face-eating-dog theory. That shit got me really interested.
"Your roommate was murdered?! How? Recently? Here? Where?" I inquired .
"Yeah, didn't you hear about the murder in Irving back on August 26th?"
"No..."
"Oh girl, this is such a bad neighborhood. I want to move as soon as I can." (Um, Billy Bob, clearly you're contributing to the 'bad neighborhood' if you lived with some guy who got murdered. Not exactly on the up-and-up....)
He continued, "Yeah, my roommate was killed by his ex-girlfriend. I even talked to him that morning. Creepy, huh dude? They were going to the park together on a date and then it happened."
"Um, WHAT HAPPENED?!"
"She stabbed him to death," He said blankly.
"Oh, so that's why you have his dog, huh?"
"Yup, she couldn't take care of it because she's in jail. So be careful around these parts," Billy Bob said with a creepy grin on his chin.
"Okay...reallll sorry about your roommate. I'd better go, my friend is waiting for me." Yeah, I was really creeped out after his weird smirk. DON'T STAB ME AHHHH.
"It was great talking with you sweetheart. Come back and see me sometime!"
"Oh, yes, I will," I said as I ran into the magazine rack - almost in a dead sprint - I was trying to get out of there as fast as I could. "Fuuuck that hurt."
"Be careful girllll, see you sooooon!"
So, please, PLEASE tell me if I just look overly friendly. I think it's great to be nice and share smiles with people every now and again. But if I never hear another murder story, I think I'll be okay.
Evidently I was looking like a super friendly dog lover when I stopped in to get a soda at a local gas station today. Instead of a Coke and a smile, I got a full ear. While filling up my to-go cup at the soda fountain, the store clerk (Billy Bob) said, "Hey girl, come here and check out this dog wearing sunglasses in that BMW." Convinced I was being punked, I pretended not to hear him. Alas, he did not believe my poor attempt of being deaf. He made his way over to the soda fountain to tap on my shoulder and direct me to the window.
Indeed, there was a dog wearing sunglasses sitting in the front seat of a blue BMW. As the car backed away from the curb, the dog casually made his way up and out of the sunroof. Miracle of miracles. "Is this real life?" I mumbled to myself out of Billy Bob's earshot.
Oh it was real life. In fact, Billy Bob knew the owners of the dog real well. They trained their dog to wear sunglasses. "You know how most owners train their dog to sit or shake? Well, these guys taught their dog how to wear sunglasses. Isn't that awesome??" Billy said.
"Really!?" I said with faux interest. "You mean to tell me they weren't strapped on or anything?!?"
"No, m'am. The dog just saw his mother wearing sunglasses and thought he'd try them out too. He doesn't know any different than to wear sunglasses." (Billy Bob sounded as if the dog had gone to Sunglass Hut, picked up a pair of Ray Bans and put them on with his opposable thumbs.)
"Wow, that's wild. Well my family used to raise Weimaraners, so I know all about dogs that like to dress up." (He stared at me blankly - had no idea what a Weimaraner is.) "You know, the grey dogs you see in calendars that are all dressed up? We'd dress them up and let them ride shotgun around town with us," I said (this was only a half-true story.)
"Oh really? Well my dogs are stupid. I have an Australian Sheppard who rocks. But I have this other little mutt that I want to kill."
"Oh, herm, well then why don't you kill him?" I asked. "HAHA! I'm just kidding - but why don't you find him a good home?"
"Oh I can't kill him considering what happened to his owners," he said.
"Oh, what happened to his owners?" I asked, hoping to hear his adopted dog was one of those that ate the face off of its last owner.
"His owner, my roommate, was murdered recently, so I have to take care of his dog now."
Murder? Seriously? Wow, I wasn't too far off with the face-eating-dog theory. That shit got me really interested.
"Your roommate was murdered?! How? Recently? Here? Where?" I inquired .
"Yeah, didn't you hear about the murder in Irving back on August 26th?"
"No..."
"Oh girl, this is such a bad neighborhood. I want to move as soon as I can." (Um, Billy Bob, clearly you're contributing to the 'bad neighborhood' if you lived with some guy who got murdered. Not exactly on the up-and-up....)
He continued, "Yeah, my roommate was killed by his ex-girlfriend. I even talked to him that morning. Creepy, huh dude? They were going to the park together on a date and then it happened."
"Um, WHAT HAPPENED?!"
"She stabbed him to death," He said blankly.
"Oh, so that's why you have his dog, huh?"
"Yup, she couldn't take care of it because she's in jail. So be careful around these parts," Billy Bob said with a creepy grin on his chin.
"Okay...reallll sorry about your roommate. I'd better go, my friend is waiting for me." Yeah, I was really creeped out after his weird smirk. DON'T STAB ME AHHHH.
"It was great talking with you sweetheart. Come back and see me sometime!"
"Oh, yes, I will," I said as I ran into the magazine rack - almost in a dead sprint - I was trying to get out of there as fast as I could. "Fuuuck that hurt."
"Be careful girllll, see you sooooon!"
So, please, PLEASE tell me if I just look overly friendly. I think it's great to be nice and share smiles with people every now and again. But if I never hear another murder story, I think I'll be okay.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Get A Life
I just needed to share this fun little ironic story. A story that proves I seriously need to get a life. Tonight, I hit an all-time TV-watcher's low.
I went to the Nebraska vs. Kansas watch party tonight at a neat little (well, big) bar called Cape Buffalo. Unable to find seats at a table in the main bar area, my crew made their way to a small area with nice comfy couches. When we sat down, I noticed a cute family off to my right. They looked SUPER familiar but I just could not place them for the life of me. Did I babysit for their daughter? No. Did I work with the husband/father? No. Had I seen the wife/mother in a mall? No.
Well, I was in a Husker bar afterall, so I was sure I had bumped into them in Lincoln at some point in my life.
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn't know these people in real life. I knew them from TV! WE tv to be exact. They were from freaking BRIDEZILLAS!!
A couple of months ago, my coworker and I were talking about Bridezillas. I mentioned that I am absolutely obsessed with WE tv and Bridezillas and she mentioned that she had a friend who was on the show. So, she found the webisode for me and we watched together after work one day. The whole episode looked so familiar and I was sure I'd seen it before (I'm awesome and watch reruns over and over again.).
Anyway, my coworker's friends are the Brizezilla people that were at the bar! And I, with all of my premium cable knowledge, RECOGNIZED THEM.
Small freaking world.
I went to the Nebraska vs. Kansas watch party tonight at a neat little (well, big) bar called Cape Buffalo. Unable to find seats at a table in the main bar area, my crew made their way to a small area with nice comfy couches. When we sat down, I noticed a cute family off to my right. They looked SUPER familiar but I just could not place them for the life of me. Did I babysit for their daughter? No. Did I work with the husband/father? No. Had I seen the wife/mother in a mall? No.
Well, I was in a Husker bar afterall, so I was sure I had bumped into them in Lincoln at some point in my life.
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn't know these people in real life. I knew them from TV! WE tv to be exact. They were from freaking BRIDEZILLAS!!
A couple of months ago, my coworker and I were talking about Bridezillas. I mentioned that I am absolutely obsessed with WE tv and Bridezillas and she mentioned that she had a friend who was on the show. So, she found the webisode for me and we watched together after work one day. The whole episode looked so familiar and I was sure I'd seen it before (I'm awesome and watch reruns over and over again.).
Anyway, my coworker's friends are the Brizezilla people that were at the bar! And I, with all of my premium cable knowledge, RECOGNIZED THEM.
Small freaking world.
Friday, November 12, 2010
What I've Learned...
Well friends, I've done it. I have been in the great state of Texas for almost five months now. I didn't think I would make it this far. In fact, I almost didn't. Although I appeared happy-go-lucky for the first few weeks here (ha, ha!) I was actually miserable.
Mind you, this was the first time I have been away from Nebraska for more than two weeks in my entire life. And I'm not going to bullshit you: IT'S BEEN SCARY AS SHIT. Moving away to college was much, MUCH easier because you have built-in friends at the dorms. In college, I met some of my best friends while brushing my teeth in the community bathroom. But here, I actually have to leave my house in order to make friends. Quite terrifying to say the least.
After getting over my initial culture shock (and missing my family and friends terribly!), I've actually enjoyed myself. I work a lot on weekends, so I haven't had much of an opportunity to experience the full flavor of Dallas. But since moving here, I've been compiling a list of things I've learned/seen/done. So I thought I would share them with my oh-so-faithful readers.
1. Driving Nightmare!
We have roads that look like this here:
I come from a place where roads look like this:
(Okay, not QUITE like this. I think this might be a desert.)
There are sometimes, when I'm trying to merge onto a freeway, that I literally close my eyes and veer left, hoping for the best. Oh, and did I mention that I drive a Grand Prix. I LOVE my car, but everyone down here drives a BMW/Lexus/Batmobile. Do you know how much pressure is on me to drive less ignorant down here? If I hit the freaking Batmobile, my insurance will drop me because repairing one headlight costs more than all of my college loans combined.
2. Watch out for old women!
You know how highways have marquees to tell you if a child is missing and what not (Amber alerts, I think they're called)? Well, down here, the only signs I ever see are "Missing Elderly Woman" signs. For some reason, elderly men never go missing. But watch out for those elderly women! The signs don't have descriptions of the missing elderly woman on them, so how the heck am I supposed to spot her? Do I report any and every elderly woman who looks lost? And how do I report if they don't give me a phone number? And, the biggest question, how does someone misplace their grandmother? Watch her ass. It's not like she's going to BOLT out the door.
3. There are Huskers EVERYWHERE.
I repeat: There are Huskers EVERYWHERE. Last night, I went over to Fort Worth to work a TCU volleyball. I started chit-chatting with the official scorekeeper and it's like she spotted me and KNEW I was a Nebraskan. It's like we bonded without ever saying we were born and raised in Nebraska. She said something about how she reffed some games for Chadron State a few months ago. We chit-chatted about Chadron State and her family in Western Nebraska until I realized, "Oh my gosh, I'm from Nebraska, too!" So then I mentioned I was from Nebraska and then we all of a sudden had so much in common.
Oh, and not to mention the time I was in Norman, Oklahoma, for a football game a few months ago. I was wearing a Husker Alumni shirt (no, I didn't wear THAT to a Sooners game) and some lady came up to me and asked me where I was from. Come to find out, her dad (or was it grandpa?) built the church I grew up in. I'm telling you, Nebraskans are freaking everywhere. And they can sense other Nebraskans around them. It's weird.
4. I prefer cowboys.
Before I moved to Texas, I was a businessman sort of gal. Love me some men who wear suits and ties to work every day. All of that has changed down here. Give me a man who works with his hands on a ranch all day. Now I'm prowling for cowboys. There is something so damn sexy about a Texas cowboy. It's like they're more legit than Nebraska cowboys (even though I know that's not the truth). But everytime I see a guy in a Cowboy hat, I think to myself, "Could this guy be the next George Strait?" Even if he's missing all of his teeth and half of his hair, I'm still drawn like a moth to a flame.
Okay, that's my list for now. Sorry it's only a list of four items. I decided if I go any longer, I might completely bore you to death. (Well, actually, my lunch break is up and I don't want to appear to be a slacker.) I'll add more items at a later date.
Thank you all for your love and support on my journey!
Mind you, this was the first time I have been away from Nebraska for more than two weeks in my entire life. And I'm not going to bullshit you: IT'S BEEN SCARY AS SHIT. Moving away to college was much, MUCH easier because you have built-in friends at the dorms. In college, I met some of my best friends while brushing my teeth in the community bathroom. But here, I actually have to leave my house in order to make friends. Quite terrifying to say the least.
After getting over my initial culture shock (and missing my family and friends terribly!), I've actually enjoyed myself. I work a lot on weekends, so I haven't had much of an opportunity to experience the full flavor of Dallas. But since moving here, I've been compiling a list of things I've learned/seen/done. So I thought I would share them with my oh-so-faithful readers.
1. Driving Nightmare!
We have roads that look like this here:
I come from a place where roads look like this:
(Okay, not QUITE like this. I think this might be a desert.)There are sometimes, when I'm trying to merge onto a freeway, that I literally close my eyes and veer left, hoping for the best. Oh, and did I mention that I drive a Grand Prix. I LOVE my car, but everyone down here drives a BMW/Lexus/Batmobile. Do you know how much pressure is on me to drive less ignorant down here? If I hit the freaking Batmobile, my insurance will drop me because repairing one headlight costs more than all of my college loans combined.
2. Watch out for old women!
You know how highways have marquees to tell you if a child is missing and what not (Amber alerts, I think they're called)? Well, down here, the only signs I ever see are "Missing Elderly Woman" signs. For some reason, elderly men never go missing. But watch out for those elderly women! The signs don't have descriptions of the missing elderly woman on them, so how the heck am I supposed to spot her? Do I report any and every elderly woman who looks lost? And how do I report if they don't give me a phone number? And, the biggest question, how does someone misplace their grandmother? Watch her ass. It's not like she's going to BOLT out the door.
3. There are Huskers EVERYWHERE.
I repeat: There are Huskers EVERYWHERE. Last night, I went over to Fort Worth to work a TCU volleyball. I started chit-chatting with the official scorekeeper and it's like she spotted me and KNEW I was a Nebraskan. It's like we bonded without ever saying we were born and raised in Nebraska. She said something about how she reffed some games for Chadron State a few months ago. We chit-chatted about Chadron State and her family in Western Nebraska until I realized, "Oh my gosh, I'm from Nebraska, too!" So then I mentioned I was from Nebraska and then we all of a sudden had so much in common.
Oh, and not to mention the time I was in Norman, Oklahoma, for a football game a few months ago. I was wearing a Husker Alumni shirt (no, I didn't wear THAT to a Sooners game) and some lady came up to me and asked me where I was from. Come to find out, her dad (or was it grandpa?) built the church I grew up in. I'm telling you, Nebraskans are freaking everywhere. And they can sense other Nebraskans around them. It's weird.
4. I prefer cowboys.
Before I moved to Texas, I was a businessman sort of gal. Love me some men who wear suits and ties to work every day. All of that has changed down here. Give me a man who works with his hands on a ranch all day. Now I'm prowling for cowboys. There is something so damn sexy about a Texas cowboy. It's like they're more legit than Nebraska cowboys (even though I know that's not the truth). But everytime I see a guy in a Cowboy hat, I think to myself, "Could this guy be the next George Strait?" Even if he's missing all of his teeth and half of his hair, I'm still drawn like a moth to a flame.
Okay, that's my list for now. Sorry it's only a list of four items. I decided if I go any longer, I might completely bore you to death. (Well, actually, my lunch break is up and I don't want to appear to be a slacker.) I'll add more items at a later date.
Thank you all for your love and support on my journey!
Friday, November 5, 2010
Friday Blues
It's Friday. TGIF, right? But for some reason I kind of feel like singing the Friday blues. I don't mean that figuratively, I mean that quite literally. In about two seconds, I may pounce on this desk and play fake air guitar while I sing about how I feel like a stroke victim today. I don't mean that in a mean way. I just haven't been able to see straight all day because the sun glared into my eye balls for the first two hours of work. I keep seeing these little black and yellow patches everywhere I look (and it's been about seven hours...maybe I should get that checked out).
But in all seriousness, I think that there might be something wrong with me. Like I've been watching too much Glee. For some reason, I have this continuous urge to belt out in song. Last night I even turned my urge into reality. My roommie's dog kept whining at me and I had zero idea what he wanted from me. So, at the top of my lungs, I belted out "What do you want from me?" by Adam Lambert. Needless-to-say, the dog stopped his whining and hid in a corner, probably deathly afraid of me and my terrible voice.
Not to mention I have had the Glee themesong stuck in my head for three weeks straight. Dododododododododd. See, it's still there! I have no idea what to do. I think I may need to go to a looney bin.
Hmm...other than me clearly being obsessed with Glee, I've made a BIG change in my life. I am completely and 100 percent DONE WITH TWITTER. Well, me personally. I still have to Tweet for work, but my Goldschwager account is gone. Finished. And I am not sad at all. It seems like the Twitter world has sure missed me because I've had SO many people wondering where I've been. Yeah, not at all. Seriously people, you really didn't notice I left? I've wasted so much effing time tweeting and you can't even tell me goodbye! Bullshit.
At first I thought Twitter was pretty cool. I could follow all of the celebs that I so dearly loved. And then I realized that celebs are stupid. For instance, I used to love Kim Kardashian before I started following her on Twitter. Now I think she sucks. She has like 1 billion followers and she tweets about the dumbest shit. Do I really care that she wore a stupid Little Red Riding Hood costume for Halloween? No, no I don't. How freaking original. She should take a page out of Heidi Klum's book and go as something really kick ass (seriously, Heidi rocks - Google her Halloween costume from this year.) If I had unlimited amounts of money, I sure as shit wouldn't go as Little Red Riding Hood. That's just insane.
I realized that since I don't care about someone as famous as Kim Kardashian, then who the hell cared about my insignificant tweets? That's right, NO ONE DOES! And I don't care about yours either. When I want news, I'll tune into other, more reliable websites. And when I want to hear what you're eating for breakfast, I'll text you and ask.
I'm signing off now after my Friday blues/Twitter rampage. Enjoy your weekends folks! And instead of Tweeting about how awesome your life is, can you just go out and have a real-life awesome life? Thanks.
But in all seriousness, I think that there might be something wrong with me. Like I've been watching too much Glee. For some reason, I have this continuous urge to belt out in song. Last night I even turned my urge into reality. My roommie's dog kept whining at me and I had zero idea what he wanted from me. So, at the top of my lungs, I belted out "What do you want from me?" by Adam Lambert. Needless-to-say, the dog stopped his whining and hid in a corner, probably deathly afraid of me and my terrible voice.
Not to mention I have had the Glee themesong stuck in my head for three weeks straight. Dododododododododd. See, it's still there! I have no idea what to do. I think I may need to go to a looney bin.
Hmm...other than me clearly being obsessed with Glee, I've made a BIG change in my life. I am completely and 100 percent DONE WITH TWITTER. Well, me personally. I still have to Tweet for work, but my Goldschwager account is gone. Finished. And I am not sad at all. It seems like the Twitter world has sure missed me because I've had SO many people wondering where I've been. Yeah, not at all. Seriously people, you really didn't notice I left? I've wasted so much effing time tweeting and you can't even tell me goodbye! Bullshit.
At first I thought Twitter was pretty cool. I could follow all of the celebs that I so dearly loved. And then I realized that celebs are stupid. For instance, I used to love Kim Kardashian before I started following her on Twitter. Now I think she sucks. She has like 1 billion followers and she tweets about the dumbest shit. Do I really care that she wore a stupid Little Red Riding Hood costume for Halloween? No, no I don't. How freaking original. She should take a page out of Heidi Klum's book and go as something really kick ass (seriously, Heidi rocks - Google her Halloween costume from this year.) If I had unlimited amounts of money, I sure as shit wouldn't go as Little Red Riding Hood. That's just insane.
I realized that since I don't care about someone as famous as Kim Kardashian, then who the hell cared about my insignificant tweets? That's right, NO ONE DOES! And I don't care about yours either. When I want news, I'll tune into other, more reliable websites. And when I want to hear what you're eating for breakfast, I'll text you and ask.
I'm signing off now after my Friday blues/Twitter rampage. Enjoy your weekends folks! And instead of Tweeting about how awesome your life is, can you just go out and have a real-life awesome life? Thanks.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Up In The Air
You may have noticed I've been M.I.A. for a while on jessandjacy.blogspot.com. I'm sure you don't give two beehives where I've been, but I'm going to tell you anyway: I've been on Jessica's Midwest Travel Tour (coming to a city near you). In the past week and two days, I've made my way to Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, Texas and am currently in Oklahoma. And I am exhausted. I'm pretty sure if I closed my eyes right now, I could sleep for weeks. But I'm not going to do that. "Just keep running," as my nephew would say.
The thing I've learned most over the past few days is that I could never, ever be like George Clooney's character in Up In The Air. I've seen that movie a few times and thought I could relate to him. I absolutely love staying in hotels, so I thought he had the best life ever. I mean, come on, maid service 24-7? I'd never have to pick up after myself again. However, the actual travel part blows with a capital B.
After traveling through DFW, MCI, OMA and OKC in a matter of days, I cannot STAND airports. I hate the stink. I hate the people. I hate security. I hate feeling all sticky/sweaty/greasy after spending all of 12 minutes in an airport. I hate the 13-year-old zits I have acquired since spending 12 minutes in the airport. I hate shuttles. I hate parking. But most of all, I HATE RENTAL CARS.
Case-in-point: A situation like today's. Traveling went fine. (Well, minus the part where I went to Starbucks in the terminal to get an iced green tea UNSWEETENED and they gave me a damn SWEETENED green tea. disgusting. Also, why do they call terminals terminals? That's a very scary thought. Terminal diseases are very scary. I'm probably going to Google that.) But things were not so super when my travel group loaded up in our rental: A brand new Toyota Prius. The car looked great. It had great features, a great hatchback.
However, the actual driving part wasn't so great. In fact, it never happened. We piled into the vehicle, only to find out none of us knew how to reverse the damn thing out of its parking spot. I drive a small boat around Dallas, so I know nothing of this thing called "fuel efficiency." But evidently Priuses (or Prii?) are fuel efficient. After scouting out my first one today, I've decided they're driving inefficient. Any car that quiet can't be trusted.
We pulled out the car's manual, trying to find a solution. Then I whipped out my smartphone to Google "how to reverse a prius out of a parking stall." But no avail. So, we all exited the vehicle and made our way back to the Heartz desk to ask for a different Toyota model.
This isn't my first bad encounter with rental cars though. In fact, my first experience driving a rental car made me swear off ever driving one again. A couple of Aprils ago, while I was on my first NCAA National Gymnastics trip to Stanford, I had an epic rental car FAIL.
I had made my way with the gymnastics team to Stanford's gymnasium for practice. I could have just stayed at the hotel, but decided to check out practice instead. Not to be unprofessional here, but what 20-year-old girl wouldn't want to sit in the stands and watch boys with no shirts on do extremely flexible and strong gymnastics moves? Hot. Mid-way through my gymnastics trance, one of the coaches threw me a set of car keys and asked if I would drive back to the hotel to print off the event sheets. Since I was being a worthless and somewhat perverted pile, I agreed to the task.
I had only driven a minivan one other time in my life. And I'd never driven a rental van period. Nor had I ever driven in Palo Alto, California. NOR did I have any inkling on how to get back to the hotel. But I was trying to be that cool chick who knew how to drive and navigate, so I accepted the task blindly. I probably should have turned back and made one of the assistant coaches go to the hotel after I had driven three miles in the wrong direction. But instead I stopped at a gas station and asked directions to the hotel and found my way in great shape.
However, this is the part that gets hairy. Parking. I've never been a great parker at all. Once I backed into a car in a highly populated area after a Kenny Chesney concert and drove away. And I can't count the number of times I've hit lightpoles with my rear bumper. But this time was different. This time, I decided to try my hand at parking in an underground parking lot beneath the hotel. All was going well...no cars to speak of in the parking lot, so I thought I was home free.....
UNTIL I SIDE-SWIPED A FREAKING POLE WITH THE RENTAL VAN! And it wasn't a little tiny side-swipe. I'm talking a huge, drunk-kid-crashed-his-car-into-a-telephone-pole side-swipe. I heard the pole hit the car (because the car didn't hit the pole... that would make me a bad driver...that pole came out of NOWHERE!) so I backed the car up, only to hear the pole hit the car again. By this time, I had picked up my cell phone and called the only person I could think of... my pops. HE would know what to do! Dad normally wouldn't answer the phone in the middle of the afternoon, but he was in for his half-hour break to watch Judge Judy. I could sense his anger when he answered the phone. Our convo went something like this...
"Dadddddyyyy, what are you doingggg," me asking my father what he was up to, while I was sobbing my eyes out.
"I'm watching Judge Judy, why?" My dad sounding very pissed off here because I was bugging him.
"I, I, I need your help (insert sniffing and sobbing here)" - Me
"Jessica, is everything okay," Dad paused the Judge and sounded very concerned.
"Well...I hit a pole hit my carrrrrr (sobbing and whining here)," -Me
"You DID WHAT?! Where are you?"-Dad
"I'm in Palo Alto," - Me
"Is that close to Lincoln," -Dad
"I dunno...California's quite a ways from Nebraska...." - Me
"Oh J*s*s C*r*st, Jess, what do you want me to do about it? How bad is it? You pulled me away from Judge Judy for this?!!?!?!" -Dad irritated at me.
After a nice long convo with my dad, he decided that I needed to own up to my mishap. So I summoned the courage to sheepishly tell the coaches what I had done. I found my way back to the gymnasium (and yes, I did manage to print off the sheets they had asked for) and walked my tear-stained face in to explain the situation. While two of the coaches laughed their asses off, the third was not to quick to smile. Evidently, the van was under his name instead of the University's name (like the other two rental cars). Sooo, any damage done to the van was on HIS insurance instead of the University's policy. Go figure.
All worked out okay. Luckily, Cali is full of autobody shops, so the coach sweet talked some guy into helping him pop out the dent and repaint the scrapes. The rental car company never knew. I got grief from all 14 gymnasts and a handful of coaches and trainers, but I lived to tell the tale.
On that note, I'm going to bed. I say goodbye to Stillwater tomorrow and head back to Dallas in the morning. Goodnight all!
The thing I've learned most over the past few days is that I could never, ever be like George Clooney's character in Up In The Air. I've seen that movie a few times and thought I could relate to him. I absolutely love staying in hotels, so I thought he had the best life ever. I mean, come on, maid service 24-7? I'd never have to pick up after myself again. However, the actual travel part blows with a capital B.
After traveling through DFW, MCI, OMA and OKC in a matter of days, I cannot STAND airports. I hate the stink. I hate the people. I hate security. I hate feeling all sticky/sweaty/greasy after spending all of 12 minutes in an airport. I hate the 13-year-old zits I have acquired since spending 12 minutes in the airport. I hate shuttles. I hate parking. But most of all, I HATE RENTAL CARS.
Case-in-point: A situation like today's. Traveling went fine. (Well, minus the part where I went to Starbucks in the terminal to get an iced green tea UNSWEETENED and they gave me a damn SWEETENED green tea. disgusting. Also, why do they call terminals terminals? That's a very scary thought. Terminal diseases are very scary. I'm probably going to Google that.) But things were not so super when my travel group loaded up in our rental: A brand new Toyota Prius. The car looked great. It had great features, a great hatchback.
However, the actual driving part wasn't so great. In fact, it never happened. We piled into the vehicle, only to find out none of us knew how to reverse the damn thing out of its parking spot. I drive a small boat around Dallas, so I know nothing of this thing called "fuel efficiency." But evidently Priuses (or Prii?) are fuel efficient. After scouting out my first one today, I've decided they're driving inefficient. Any car that quiet can't be trusted.
We pulled out the car's manual, trying to find a solution. Then I whipped out my smartphone to Google "how to reverse a prius out of a parking stall." But no avail. So, we all exited the vehicle and made our way back to the Heartz desk to ask for a different Toyota model.
This isn't my first bad encounter with rental cars though. In fact, my first experience driving a rental car made me swear off ever driving one again. A couple of Aprils ago, while I was on my first NCAA National Gymnastics trip to Stanford, I had an epic rental car FAIL.
I had made my way with the gymnastics team to Stanford's gymnasium for practice. I could have just stayed at the hotel, but decided to check out practice instead. Not to be unprofessional here, but what 20-year-old girl wouldn't want to sit in the stands and watch boys with no shirts on do extremely flexible and strong gymnastics moves? Hot. Mid-way through my gymnastics trance, one of the coaches threw me a set of car keys and asked if I would drive back to the hotel to print off the event sheets. Since I was being a worthless and somewhat perverted pile, I agreed to the task.
I had only driven a minivan one other time in my life. And I'd never driven a rental van period. Nor had I ever driven in Palo Alto, California. NOR did I have any inkling on how to get back to the hotel. But I was trying to be that cool chick who knew how to drive and navigate, so I accepted the task blindly. I probably should have turned back and made one of the assistant coaches go to the hotel after I had driven three miles in the wrong direction. But instead I stopped at a gas station and asked directions to the hotel and found my way in great shape.
However, this is the part that gets hairy. Parking. I've never been a great parker at all. Once I backed into a car in a highly populated area after a Kenny Chesney concert and drove away. And I can't count the number of times I've hit lightpoles with my rear bumper. But this time was different. This time, I decided to try my hand at parking in an underground parking lot beneath the hotel. All was going well...no cars to speak of in the parking lot, so I thought I was home free.....
UNTIL I SIDE-SWIPED A FREAKING POLE WITH THE RENTAL VAN! And it wasn't a little tiny side-swipe. I'm talking a huge, drunk-kid-crashed-his-car-into-a-telephone-pole side-swipe. I heard the pole hit the car (because the car didn't hit the pole... that would make me a bad driver...that pole came out of NOWHERE!) so I backed the car up, only to hear the pole hit the car again. By this time, I had picked up my cell phone and called the only person I could think of... my pops. HE would know what to do! Dad normally wouldn't answer the phone in the middle of the afternoon, but he was in for his half-hour break to watch Judge Judy. I could sense his anger when he answered the phone. Our convo went something like this...
"Dadddddyyyy, what are you doingggg," me asking my father what he was up to, while I was sobbing my eyes out.
"I'm watching Judge Judy, why?" My dad sounding very pissed off here because I was bugging him.
"I, I, I need your help (insert sniffing and sobbing here)" - Me
"Jessica, is everything okay," Dad paused the Judge and sounded very concerned.
"Well...I hit a pole hit my carrrrrr (sobbing and whining here)," -Me
"You DID WHAT?! Where are you?"-Dad
"I'm in Palo Alto," - Me
"Is that close to Lincoln," -Dad
"I dunno...California's quite a ways from Nebraska...." - Me
"Oh J*s*s C*r*st, Jess, what do you want me to do about it? How bad is it? You pulled me away from Judge Judy for this?!!?!?!" -Dad irritated at me.
After a nice long convo with my dad, he decided that I needed to own up to my mishap. So I summoned the courage to sheepishly tell the coaches what I had done. I found my way back to the gymnasium (and yes, I did manage to print off the sheets they had asked for) and walked my tear-stained face in to explain the situation. While two of the coaches laughed their asses off, the third was not to quick to smile. Evidently, the van was under his name instead of the University's name (like the other two rental cars). Sooo, any damage done to the van was on HIS insurance instead of the University's policy. Go figure.
All worked out okay. Luckily, Cali is full of autobody shops, so the coach sweet talked some guy into helping him pop out the dent and repaint the scrapes. The rental car company never knew. I got grief from all 14 gymnasts and a handful of coaches and trainers, but I lived to tell the tale.
On that note, I'm going to bed. I say goodbye to Stillwater tomorrow and head back to Dallas in the morning. Goodnight all!
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Worth Sharing
I was just reading through my second-to-last blog to check for spelling/grammar errors because I always catch some about two weeks after I post. I am seriously world's worst person with an English degree. I rely heavily on Google for all of my spell-checking needs (I just spell-checked the word "grammar." It's that bad.) Ask me about literature and I'll tell you that I think Harry Potter is the best book ever written. I'd never recommend Jane Austen. Why in the hell would you read books that put you to sleep? I need wizardry and wands in my novels. See, WORLD'S WORST ENGLISH DEGREE PERSON.
But anyway, let me go back to why I was writing this entry - my blog from two blogs ago. The one where I mention Grey's Anatomy and the spider that flew out of the guy who looked like a tree.
For some reason, the mentioning of "tree" in my article brought me immediately back to the worst possible thing that could ever have happened to a fat girl (fat girl = me). It's a memory that I choose to repress. Actually, it's not so much that I repress the memory, it's more like I try to pretend the memory was a dream (or more like a nightmare). But it's not. And the mentioning of the man who looks like a tree made me remember this very, VERY vivid memory.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Picture this: Jessica, age 8 or 9 or even 10. Fat. Really fat. Unsure of whether she was a boy or a girl. Short, dark hair. Probably permed because her mom liked to torture her with perm rods. Jessica was probably wearing overalls with a red shirt. She was a Husker fan. And also a fan of overalls. Oh, and Doc Martin's. She had to wear Doc Martins because she had old woman bunions. Get the picture? Jessica was fat, unfashionable, in man shoes and in no condition to do what she did.
But unfortunately Jessica thought she was a monkey. Jacy and Jessica spent a lot of their summer days playing in their "fort" at the end of their drive way. Their fort was magical and full of trees, but no trees were worth climbing because their limbs were so high off the ground. However, the tree right in front of Jessica and Jacy's home was perfect for tree climbing. Jacy somehow managed to hoist herself up into the tree with ease. Probably because she was small and gangly, not unlike a monkey. Although Jessica was about 100 lbs bigger than Jacy, she thought she was just as small and gangly as her younger sister. Kind of like how Saint Bernards think they're Chihuahuas when they live with a bunch of Chihuahuas.
Anyway, after watching Jacy climb the cottonwood tree with ease, Jessica was convinced she could do the same. She put her left leg in between two branches and pushed off her right foot to get into the tree. However, once she stood up (in the tree), she realized her left foot was stuck. Probably due to her bulky wide width shoes and bunions inside. "Oh, no big deal," she thought, "I'll just jiggle my foot a little bit and I'll be able to set my foot free." However, the jiggling made the situation WORSE. She was really stuck. Jessica began to cry and told her sister to get her mother to come out to help. While Jacy pushed on Jessica's foot, their mom pulled on Jessica to try to release her from the tree. Nothing seemed to work.
Jessica's not quite sure what happened next; however, she does know that her neighbors from down the road showed up with a chainsaw. Whether they coincidentally came to visit and just happened to bring their chainsaw along for the ride or whether Jessica's mom called the neighbors for help, Jessica doesn't know. Either way, she knew exactly how cats felt when the fire department was called to get them out.
The neighbors came over, chainsaw in tote, ready to CUT the poor, fat girl from the tree. Jessica, evaluated the pros and cons of keeping her leg. On one hand, if they chainsawed off her leg, she'd weigh at least 50 lbs less than what she did. On the other hand, she wasn't a huge fan of pirates. So, she begged the chainsaw neighbors to let her keep her leg. They chuckled at her and said that they'd cut off the limb of the tree before they took any of Jessica's limbs. "Fewww, that was a close one," Jessica shouted with joy, "I get to keep both of my thunder thighs!" (Which eventually proved useful for young Jessica, who would later adopt the cool nickname, Iron Horse, because of the power her thunder thighs provided. Squatting more than most high school boys could? I.H. could.)
Just as the lumberjacks began to start up their chainsaw, Jessica somehow pulled her foot out of her shoe to step safely down from the tree. Jessica saved both herself and the tree from getting chopped down! Jessica thanked the neighbors graciously for all of their help and then ran to her room to cry for hours. What did her neighbors think? They were surely going to tell the whole town how they almost had to cut a poor little piggy out of a tree.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Yes, folks, I am the poor little piggy. Luckily they didn't tell many people about my prepubescent self. And no, folks, I've never tried climbing a tree since. Actually, later on in elementary school when I was forced to climb the monkey bars for P.E. Fun Day, I refused. I'm pretty sure my P.E. teacher thought it was because I was too fat for the monkey bars, but in reality, those monkey bars reminded me too much of trees.
Just thought I'd share this memory I pulled out from my brain's vault. You can laugh. I don't care. I know I was a chunky monkey. I've accepted it.
But anyway, let me go back to why I was writing this entry - my blog from two blogs ago. The one where I mention Grey's Anatomy and the spider that flew out of the guy who looked like a tree.
For some reason, the mentioning of "tree" in my article brought me immediately back to the worst possible thing that could ever have happened to a fat girl (fat girl = me). It's a memory that I choose to repress. Actually, it's not so much that I repress the memory, it's more like I try to pretend the memory was a dream (or more like a nightmare). But it's not. And the mentioning of the man who looks like a tree made me remember this very, VERY vivid memory.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Picture this: Jessica, age 8 or 9 or even 10. Fat. Really fat. Unsure of whether she was a boy or a girl. Short, dark hair. Probably permed because her mom liked to torture her with perm rods. Jessica was probably wearing overalls with a red shirt. She was a Husker fan. And also a fan of overalls. Oh, and Doc Martin's. She had to wear Doc Martins because she had old woman bunions. Get the picture? Jessica was fat, unfashionable, in man shoes and in no condition to do what she did.
But unfortunately Jessica thought she was a monkey. Jacy and Jessica spent a lot of their summer days playing in their "fort" at the end of their drive way. Their fort was magical and full of trees, but no trees were worth climbing because their limbs were so high off the ground. However, the tree right in front of Jessica and Jacy's home was perfect for tree climbing. Jacy somehow managed to hoist herself up into the tree with ease. Probably because she was small and gangly, not unlike a monkey. Although Jessica was about 100 lbs bigger than Jacy, she thought she was just as small and gangly as her younger sister. Kind of like how Saint Bernards think they're Chihuahuas when they live with a bunch of Chihuahuas.
Anyway, after watching Jacy climb the cottonwood tree with ease, Jessica was convinced she could do the same. She put her left leg in between two branches and pushed off her right foot to get into the tree. However, once she stood up (in the tree), she realized her left foot was stuck. Probably due to her bulky wide width shoes and bunions inside. "Oh, no big deal," she thought, "I'll just jiggle my foot a little bit and I'll be able to set my foot free." However, the jiggling made the situation WORSE. She was really stuck. Jessica began to cry and told her sister to get her mother to come out to help. While Jacy pushed on Jessica's foot, their mom pulled on Jessica to try to release her from the tree. Nothing seemed to work.
Jessica's not quite sure what happened next; however, she does know that her neighbors from down the road showed up with a chainsaw. Whether they coincidentally came to visit and just happened to bring their chainsaw along for the ride or whether Jessica's mom called the neighbors for help, Jessica doesn't know. Either way, she knew exactly how cats felt when the fire department was called to get them out.
The neighbors came over, chainsaw in tote, ready to CUT the poor, fat girl from the tree. Jessica, evaluated the pros and cons of keeping her leg. On one hand, if they chainsawed off her leg, she'd weigh at least 50 lbs less than what she did. On the other hand, she wasn't a huge fan of pirates. So, she begged the chainsaw neighbors to let her keep her leg. They chuckled at her and said that they'd cut off the limb of the tree before they took any of Jessica's limbs. "Fewww, that was a close one," Jessica shouted with joy, "I get to keep both of my thunder thighs!" (Which eventually proved useful for young Jessica, who would later adopt the cool nickname, Iron Horse, because of the power her thunder thighs provided. Squatting more than most high school boys could? I.H. could.)
Just as the lumberjacks began to start up their chainsaw, Jessica somehow pulled her foot out of her shoe to step safely down from the tree. Jessica saved both herself and the tree from getting chopped down! Jessica thanked the neighbors graciously for all of their help and then ran to her room to cry for hours. What did her neighbors think? They were surely going to tell the whole town how they almost had to cut a poor little piggy out of a tree.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Yes, folks, I am the poor little piggy. Luckily they didn't tell many people about my prepubescent self. And no, folks, I've never tried climbing a tree since. Actually, later on in elementary school when I was forced to climb the monkey bars for P.E. Fun Day, I refused. I'm pretty sure my P.E. teacher thought it was because I was too fat for the monkey bars, but in reality, those monkey bars reminded me too much of trees.
Just thought I'd share this memory I pulled out from my brain's vault. You can laugh. I don't care. I know I was a chunky monkey. I've accepted it.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
I'm A Creep
After my third straight hour of watching E! this afternoon, I came to the conclusion that I am a real creep. No, I wasn't watching normal E! shows like "Keeping Up With The Kardashians," or "Spin Crowd" (even though I am obsessed with both of those shows). In my first hour, I watched E! Investigates Odd People. The second hour was spent watching E! Investigates Jaycee Dugard. And for the third hour, I watched Too Young To Kill.
For the better part of my ONE free afternoon, I sat around and watched a bunch of weirdos killing each other. That's really, really creepy. What if my coworkers ask what I did all weekend? Am I supposed to tell them that I watched a documentary about a guy who thought he was a vampire start a cult and eventually kill his girlfriend's parents for their blood? No, that makes me sound like a weirdo.
But I personally feel like I was being more educational than creepy. For instance, The Odd People documentary was pretty cool. I learned about cranial conjoined twins, who are pretty famous. They appeared on the Jerry Springer show and have made quite a name for themselves. You've probably never heard of them though because the one chick can't decide on a name. She didn't like the name her parents gave her, so she decided to legally rename herself "Reba." But Reba wasn't unique enough for her because her favorite country superstar's name was Reba, so she eventually changed her name to George (yeah, because that's an original name). The girl named George even appeared in some Hollywood flick. Or would it be both girls? Although they claim they are their own people and I don't doubt that, I think both of them would have appeared in the same movie if they were conjoined at the head. But George insisted that she was the only famous one.
The Jaycee documentary was good, but it pissed me off. I honestly couldn't concentrate on the story line because the narrator kept pronouncing Jaycee's name wrong - kind of like how people pronounce my own Jacy's name wrong. Hey friends, it's not "J. C." or "JAY see," it's Jacy. One word. Like Lacy. Do you say "LAY see?" No you don't. It's a flowy name. Say it like that. Maybe my ears are just weird nowadays. Or maybe it's my concentration. Either way, I find it really hard to watch sitcoms anymore because of the laugh tracks. So, the slight mispronounciation of Jaycee made me zone out for the rest of the show.
But I was all ears for the killing kids one. It was honestly a great documentary to play in light of all the bullying tragedies happening right now. This is me really not being sarcastic at all - PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, don't be mean to people. It's awful. Bullying causes people to do really tragic things, so be nice. But the vampire kid in the show was an exception. I have no idea why he wanted to be a vampire. But, none-the-less, he convinced a bunch of kids to also be vampires. And this was back before being a vampire was cool. If someone wanted to start a vampire cult today, I wouldn't question it at all. But this was 10 years ago. Anyway, the '90s version of Edward Cullen convinced his cult-mates to cut each others arms and suck each other's blood. So technically they didn't kill anyone - well, until he beat his girlfriend's parent's brains in. He got sentenced to life in prison, but somehow still managed to find love. I guess some criminal justice major was studying his case and ended up interviewing him and falling in love with him. They got married and are very happy together. Well, sort of together. I bet they haven't consumated anything and probably never will considering he's serving life without parole. That's some freaky writeaprisoner.com shit.
On that note, I'm now off to watch my favorite serial killer, Dexter...
Don't judge me.
For the better part of my ONE free afternoon, I sat around and watched a bunch of weirdos killing each other. That's really, really creepy. What if my coworkers ask what I did all weekend? Am I supposed to tell them that I watched a documentary about a guy who thought he was a vampire start a cult and eventually kill his girlfriend's parents for their blood? No, that makes me sound like a weirdo.
But I personally feel like I was being more educational than creepy. For instance, The Odd People documentary was pretty cool. I learned about cranial conjoined twins, who are pretty famous. They appeared on the Jerry Springer show and have made quite a name for themselves. You've probably never heard of them though because the one chick can't decide on a name. She didn't like the name her parents gave her, so she decided to legally rename herself "Reba." But Reba wasn't unique enough for her because her favorite country superstar's name was Reba, so she eventually changed her name to George (yeah, because that's an original name). The girl named George even appeared in some Hollywood flick. Or would it be both girls? Although they claim they are their own people and I don't doubt that, I think both of them would have appeared in the same movie if they were conjoined at the head. But George insisted that she was the only famous one.
The Jaycee documentary was good, but it pissed me off. I honestly couldn't concentrate on the story line because the narrator kept pronouncing Jaycee's name wrong - kind of like how people pronounce my own Jacy's name wrong. Hey friends, it's not "J. C." or "JAY see," it's Jacy. One word. Like Lacy. Do you say "LAY see?" No you don't. It's a flowy name. Say it like that. Maybe my ears are just weird nowadays. Or maybe it's my concentration. Either way, I find it really hard to watch sitcoms anymore because of the laugh tracks. So, the slight mispronounciation of Jaycee made me zone out for the rest of the show.
But I was all ears for the killing kids one. It was honestly a great documentary to play in light of all the bullying tragedies happening right now. This is me really not being sarcastic at all - PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, don't be mean to people. It's awful. Bullying causes people to do really tragic things, so be nice. But the vampire kid in the show was an exception. I have no idea why he wanted to be a vampire. But, none-the-less, he convinced a bunch of kids to also be vampires. And this was back before being a vampire was cool. If someone wanted to start a vampire cult today, I wouldn't question it at all. But this was 10 years ago. Anyway, the '90s version of Edward Cullen convinced his cult-mates to cut each others arms and suck each other's blood. So technically they didn't kill anyone - well, until he beat his girlfriend's parent's brains in. He got sentenced to life in prison, but somehow still managed to find love. I guess some criminal justice major was studying his case and ended up interviewing him and falling in love with him. They got married and are very happy together. Well, sort of together. I bet they haven't consumated anything and probably never will considering he's serving life without parole. That's some freaky writeaprisoner.com shit.
On that note, I'm now off to watch my favorite serial killer, Dexter...
Don't judge me.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Random Things Pt2
I honestly have nothing to say right now, but I figured it's been a while since I've touched base so here I am.
First off, I'm watching Grey's Anatomy right now and holy cow, there's a guy on this episode who looks like a freaking Africa tree. And while Dr. Bailey was chopping off his tree-like warts, a HUGE spider flew out at her! I feel all itchy right now. My ears keep tingling like they do when I find a tick on my body. Ga-ross. It's weird how something on TV makes me feel so disgusting. Ooo.... now McDreamy is opening his shirt. Hmm.....currently TV is making me feel disgusting in a whole different way.
What's new with me you might ask? Well, let us discuss.
Football is in full swing right now and I'm running around like a mad person. I worked last week's OU vs. Texas game (or Texas vs. OU game, depending on who you ask). Since OU won, I will refer to it as the OU vs. Texas game. What an experience! I was so happy to finally be back working football games. I love working games. And I get to work another one on Saturday (Texas A&M vs. Arkansas). I've heard about the A&M yell leaders, so I'm super excited to get a chance to see them. I'm not sure how I feel about a bunch of guy cheerleaders, so I'm interested to see how this goes down. I'm not at all sexist, but if you know me at all, you'd know that I'm a huge cheerleading fan. "Bring It On" is one of my guilty pleasures. And now that I've found Hellcats, I can continue to feed that pleasure. I think it's because people always want what they can't have and I really, really wish I could have been a cheerleader. I would give my right tit to be able to do so much as a summersault, so cheerleading is completely intriguing. Not to mention, I'd love to me super thin and super tan and be able to wear a skimpy cheerleading outfit. Oh and I'd love to be able to use "like" more than I do now and sound okay doing it. Like, don't ya think?
Sorry, I got off on a cheerleading tangent. I didn't mean to. I'm just so passionate. I will seriously stay up late at night and watch cheerleading competitions on ESPNU. I just think cheerleading is so underrated. The other day, Mike and Mike in the Morning were discussing whether or not cheerleading is a sport and they decided that it wasn't. I nearly called in to give them a piece of my mind. Can Mike or Mike do a double-axel-triple-barrel-half-turn-flippity-doo while still managing to smile and cheer? And there I go again....bahhh.
What else is new?
I hooked up my Skype cam for the first time last weekend and got to meet my handsome nephew. That kid has feet almost as big as mine! (Okay, not really, that was me exaggerating.) But you know how you can judge how big a dog is going to get by how big his paws are? I'm just saying, I'm going to start investing in this kid right now. I call dibs on being his agent. I'm really predicting a future NFL career-turned pro-baseball career out of this kid. I got to see AJ, too! And believe me, that kid won't need sports to be popular. He can just look at you with his big gorgeous eyes and long eyelashes and make you melt. He's going to be a Zack Morris. I'm totally calling it right now.
Speaking of Zack Morris, I've discovered something. I am not a morning person at all. Come to think of it, I'm really not quite sure who is... (Maybe my parents? They're always up at the ass-crack of dawn.) But there is one thing that makes me WANT to get up in the mornings. One thing that makes me set my alarm for 6 a.m. every day. What's that you say? A big ol' cup of Folgers? NOPE. It's SAVED BY THE BELL on TBS! I'm really addicted. I started watching about 6 weeks ago and just recently, Zack and Kelly got married in Vegas. Now TBS is starting over from episode 1 again (with Miss Bliss and all!) Granted, Saved By The Bell didn't start getting good until Slater entered the picture, but I don't mind that Nikki chick and that other Slater wannabe. Yesterday TBS threw me for a loop though because they played "Yes, Dear" instead of Saved By The Bell. I got really pissed off and had a really bad day. What the heck is Yes Dear anyway? Was that even ON TV? But they got their senses back and played SBTB again this morning.
Thinking of mornings - one morning, I discovered that my left rear blinker wasn't working. I drove around on it for a while, but realized that it is really, REALLY tough to drive around Dallas with no left blinker. Don't let Southern charm fool you. Texas drivers are real assholes. Don't count on ANYONE letting you into your desired lane on a busy morning. And forgetaboutit without a blinker. At one point, I was sticking my hand out the window POINTING to the lane I wanted to get into. When that didn't work, I just started veering and praying to God that someone would stop. They always did.
Anywho, I'm poor as a pauper, so I couldn't really afford to take my car to a shop and spend 50 bucks to get a blinker fixed. So, I decided that I was Jessica-mutha-truckin'-goldschwager and I was going to DO IT MYSELF. After much googling and looking in my car's owner's manual, I was confident in my skills. I went to Walmart and bought the right bulb, then I found a few tools to help me out. After nearly tearing my trunk apart, I finally decided to call my parental units and ask for their help. I figured, hell, my dad took apart tractors and shit, surely he'd help me. After the first two seconds of my phone call to my 'rents, I found out they had zero faith in my abilities. I heard my dad shouting in the background, "Tell her to take it to some place like Green's (being the local one-stop full-service shop in my hometown)." Mom: "Genneee, there isn't a place like Green's in Dallas. It's a bit bigger than places in Nebraska!" Dad: "Well tell her I couldn't even change a blinker if I wanted to, so she needs to take it somewhere."
Well, they were no help. So I hung up, thoroughly pissed, and read the manual one more time. Then, after popping off my entire tail light, I figured out how to change the bulb. I called my parents five minutes later to gloat, gloat, gloat. So, basically, I'm a better mechanic than my dad. Just sayin.' (just kidding Pops. I've seen your skillzzzz.)
Okay, this girl is hitting the hay. I have a busy weekend planned after hitting up some FUN tomorrow night. And I have Saved By The Bell to look forward to in 6 hours!
First off, I'm watching Grey's Anatomy right now and holy cow, there's a guy on this episode who looks like a freaking Africa tree. And while Dr. Bailey was chopping off his tree-like warts, a HUGE spider flew out at her! I feel all itchy right now. My ears keep tingling like they do when I find a tick on my body. Ga-ross. It's weird how something on TV makes me feel so disgusting. Ooo.... now McDreamy is opening his shirt. Hmm.....currently TV is making me feel disgusting in a whole different way.
What's new with me you might ask? Well, let us discuss.
Football is in full swing right now and I'm running around like a mad person. I worked last week's OU vs. Texas game (or Texas vs. OU game, depending on who you ask). Since OU won, I will refer to it as the OU vs. Texas game. What an experience! I was so happy to finally be back working football games. I love working games. And I get to work another one on Saturday (Texas A&M vs. Arkansas). I've heard about the A&M yell leaders, so I'm super excited to get a chance to see them. I'm not sure how I feel about a bunch of guy cheerleaders, so I'm interested to see how this goes down. I'm not at all sexist, but if you know me at all, you'd know that I'm a huge cheerleading fan. "Bring It On" is one of my guilty pleasures. And now that I've found Hellcats, I can continue to feed that pleasure. I think it's because people always want what they can't have and I really, really wish I could have been a cheerleader. I would give my right tit to be able to do so much as a summersault, so cheerleading is completely intriguing. Not to mention, I'd love to me super thin and super tan and be able to wear a skimpy cheerleading outfit. Oh and I'd love to be able to use "like" more than I do now and sound okay doing it. Like, don't ya think?
Sorry, I got off on a cheerleading tangent. I didn't mean to. I'm just so passionate. I will seriously stay up late at night and watch cheerleading competitions on ESPNU. I just think cheerleading is so underrated. The other day, Mike and Mike in the Morning were discussing whether or not cheerleading is a sport and they decided that it wasn't. I nearly called in to give them a piece of my mind. Can Mike or Mike do a double-axel-triple-barrel-half-turn-flippity-doo while still managing to smile and cheer? And there I go again....bahhh.
What else is new?
I hooked up my Skype cam for the first time last weekend and got to meet my handsome nephew. That kid has feet almost as big as mine! (Okay, not really, that was me exaggerating.) But you know how you can judge how big a dog is going to get by how big his paws are? I'm just saying, I'm going to start investing in this kid right now. I call dibs on being his agent. I'm really predicting a future NFL career-turned pro-baseball career out of this kid. I got to see AJ, too! And believe me, that kid won't need sports to be popular. He can just look at you with his big gorgeous eyes and long eyelashes and make you melt. He's going to be a Zack Morris. I'm totally calling it right now.
Speaking of Zack Morris, I've discovered something. I am not a morning person at all. Come to think of it, I'm really not quite sure who is... (Maybe my parents? They're always up at the ass-crack of dawn.) But there is one thing that makes me WANT to get up in the mornings. One thing that makes me set my alarm for 6 a.m. every day. What's that you say? A big ol' cup of Folgers? NOPE. It's SAVED BY THE BELL on TBS! I'm really addicted. I started watching about 6 weeks ago and just recently, Zack and Kelly got married in Vegas. Now TBS is starting over from episode 1 again (with Miss Bliss and all!) Granted, Saved By The Bell didn't start getting good until Slater entered the picture, but I don't mind that Nikki chick and that other Slater wannabe. Yesterday TBS threw me for a loop though because they played "Yes, Dear" instead of Saved By The Bell. I got really pissed off and had a really bad day. What the heck is Yes Dear anyway? Was that even ON TV? But they got their senses back and played SBTB again this morning.
Thinking of mornings - one morning, I discovered that my left rear blinker wasn't working. I drove around on it for a while, but realized that it is really, REALLY tough to drive around Dallas with no left blinker. Don't let Southern charm fool you. Texas drivers are real assholes. Don't count on ANYONE letting you into your desired lane on a busy morning. And forgetaboutit without a blinker. At one point, I was sticking my hand out the window POINTING to the lane I wanted to get into. When that didn't work, I just started veering and praying to God that someone would stop. They always did.
Anywho, I'm poor as a pauper, so I couldn't really afford to take my car to a shop and spend 50 bucks to get a blinker fixed. So, I decided that I was Jessica-mutha-truckin'-goldschwager and I was going to DO IT MYSELF. After much googling and looking in my car's owner's manual, I was confident in my skills. I went to Walmart and bought the right bulb, then I found a few tools to help me out. After nearly tearing my trunk apart, I finally decided to call my parental units and ask for their help. I figured, hell, my dad took apart tractors and shit, surely he'd help me. After the first two seconds of my phone call to my 'rents, I found out they had zero faith in my abilities. I heard my dad shouting in the background, "Tell her to take it to some place like Green's (being the local one-stop full-service shop in my hometown)." Mom: "Genneee, there isn't a place like Green's in Dallas. It's a bit bigger than places in Nebraska!" Dad: "Well tell her I couldn't even change a blinker if I wanted to, so she needs to take it somewhere."
Well, they were no help. So I hung up, thoroughly pissed, and read the manual one more time. Then, after popping off my entire tail light, I figured out how to change the bulb. I called my parents five minutes later to gloat, gloat, gloat. So, basically, I'm a better mechanic than my dad. Just sayin.' (just kidding Pops. I've seen your skillzzzz.)
Okay, this girl is hitting the hay. I have a busy weekend planned after hitting up some FUN tomorrow night. And I have Saved By The Bell to look forward to in 6 hours!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Boo!
I know Jacy and I look like tough cookies, but looks sure can be deceiving. We are actually the two goosiest girls in the entire world. Honestly, I never used to be a goose at all. I have always had a passion for scary movies and Halloween. And I always loved to scare the shit out of Jacy any chance I got. I was one of those evil sisters who would see her in her room all alone and I'd pop into her room with a, "Boo!" She'd always scream bloody murder and then punch me and I'd always gloat around for a while. I knew I got her good if she punched me.
But two years ago, my perspective on all things scary changed when I saw "The Strangers." A lot of my friends say that this movie didn't scare them. But it made me believe in the endless possibilities of my murder. For instance, the house where the scary stuff happened was in the country. Seriously, why did these filmmakers find it okay to film in the middle of a perfectly content and underpopulated country? Did Michael Myers kill people in the country? Candy Man? Hell no. Oh, and then the freakiest part for me is when the killers freaking killed the killees at dawn. What murder is performed in THE MORNING?! No one wakes up and gets killed. No way. Murders always happen at about 1:00-2:00 a.m.
That summer I lived with two guy friends, so I was sure that I'd be okay once I got home to the safety of their big muscles (ha!). But they found that night to be a great night to not be home. So, I did what any sane and scared girl would do. I locked all the doors, closed all the blinds and slept with a baseball bat clutched in my hands.
Now, two years later, I'm still as scared as ever. For some reason, being home alone in the country never scared me growing up. Dad showed me where he kept his pistol and he showed me how to insert the cartridge and I was convinced I could shoot any intruder on site. But in the city I can't exactly carry my pistol around. Or maybe I can? I'm not sure. I'm in Texas. Do the rules really apply to Texans? I do know that they believe in that eye-for-an-eye awesomeness. But that really scares me because what if I kill my killer before he kills me? Then will I be sent to an electric chair?
Instead of having a pistol close at hand, I have nothing. I thought I had locks on my doors, but my roomie informed me that the gate to our backyard isn't ever locked. (Don't get any wise ideas to come rob me. A) I don't have anything worth robbing and B) You don't know where I live. So ha!) We live in a town with 39,000 people! I can see not locking doors in small-town, Nebraska, but with 39,000 people? Yeah, too many bad things can happen to people with unlocked doors in that big of a city. My roomie assures me everything is fine and that her dog will protect me. However, I've heard about the Urban Legend where the girl hears a "drip, drip" sound that sounds like a faucet in her bathroom and it was actually her dog's blood dripping into the bathtub. Then the killer comes out from behind the corner and kills her. I don't trust dogs any farther than I can throw them.
Although there have only been, like, three murders in my new town's history, I don't want to take chances and be the fourth. (Did I mention that two of those killings happened this past summer?) For some reason, I'm not scared of dying when my roommate's home. I think that she'll protect me. But the other night I was home alone and I was convinced it was my night to die. (This is the same night my friend, Maggie, sent me an email telling me about the dream she had where a sumo wrestler made his way into her bedroom. Evidently, it was a very lifelike dream, so she bolted out of bed and turned on the lights to check for sumo wrestlers. I didn't want any of that funny business going on in my bedroom.)
Since it was my night to get killed, I found it only fitting to have a nice supper. Shrimp it would be. After eating my shrimp, I caught up on my Showtime shows and put on my nicest PJs. After all, I needed to look semi-decent for when the hunky police officers found me. I also left my day's makeup on just in case. Just as I was settling into bed, I thought, "HEY, I can prevent my death. I'll show my killer! muahahaaa," so I went in search of a key to lock the back door. After nearly tearing the house apart, I came up with ziltch.
Nearly defeated, I just happened to glance down at my gym bag and see my lock and key for my gym locker. HOLYSHITAKERISOTTO! I could save my own life. So I took the padlock and found a way to lock up the latch on the backyard gate. The only way a killer was getting me is if he took an axe to the fence in the backyard. Which I hoped I would hear.
I went to the bathroom and washed the makeup off my face. Then, for safe measure, I pushed my other bed in front of my bedroom door to make sure I could hear my intruder before he tried to attack.
I'm seriously thinking about buying a pistol. Or maybe I'll settle for a lock on my bedroom door...
But two years ago, my perspective on all things scary changed when I saw "The Strangers." A lot of my friends say that this movie didn't scare them. But it made me believe in the endless possibilities of my murder. For instance, the house where the scary stuff happened was in the country. Seriously, why did these filmmakers find it okay to film in the middle of a perfectly content and underpopulated country? Did Michael Myers kill people in the country? Candy Man? Hell no. Oh, and then the freakiest part for me is when the killers freaking killed the killees at dawn. What murder is performed in THE MORNING?! No one wakes up and gets killed. No way. Murders always happen at about 1:00-2:00 a.m.
That summer I lived with two guy friends, so I was sure that I'd be okay once I got home to the safety of their big muscles (ha!). But they found that night to be a great night to not be home. So, I did what any sane and scared girl would do. I locked all the doors, closed all the blinds and slept with a baseball bat clutched in my hands.
Now, two years later, I'm still as scared as ever. For some reason, being home alone in the country never scared me growing up. Dad showed me where he kept his pistol and he showed me how to insert the cartridge and I was convinced I could shoot any intruder on site. But in the city I can't exactly carry my pistol around. Or maybe I can? I'm not sure. I'm in Texas. Do the rules really apply to Texans? I do know that they believe in that eye-for-an-eye awesomeness. But that really scares me because what if I kill my killer before he kills me? Then will I be sent to an electric chair?
Instead of having a pistol close at hand, I have nothing. I thought I had locks on my doors, but my roomie informed me that the gate to our backyard isn't ever locked. (Don't get any wise ideas to come rob me. A) I don't have anything worth robbing and B) You don't know where I live. So ha!) We live in a town with 39,000 people! I can see not locking doors in small-town, Nebraska, but with 39,000 people? Yeah, too many bad things can happen to people with unlocked doors in that big of a city. My roomie assures me everything is fine and that her dog will protect me. However, I've heard about the Urban Legend where the girl hears a "drip, drip" sound that sounds like a faucet in her bathroom and it was actually her dog's blood dripping into the bathtub. Then the killer comes out from behind the corner and kills her. I don't trust dogs any farther than I can throw them.
Although there have only been, like, three murders in my new town's history, I don't want to take chances and be the fourth. (Did I mention that two of those killings happened this past summer?) For some reason, I'm not scared of dying when my roommate's home. I think that she'll protect me. But the other night I was home alone and I was convinced it was my night to die. (This is the same night my friend, Maggie, sent me an email telling me about the dream she had where a sumo wrestler made his way into her bedroom. Evidently, it was a very lifelike dream, so she bolted out of bed and turned on the lights to check for sumo wrestlers. I didn't want any of that funny business going on in my bedroom.)
Since it was my night to get killed, I found it only fitting to have a nice supper. Shrimp it would be. After eating my shrimp, I caught up on my Showtime shows and put on my nicest PJs. After all, I needed to look semi-decent for when the hunky police officers found me. I also left my day's makeup on just in case. Just as I was settling into bed, I thought, "HEY, I can prevent my death. I'll show my killer! muahahaaa," so I went in search of a key to lock the back door. After nearly tearing the house apart, I came up with ziltch.
Nearly defeated, I just happened to glance down at my gym bag and see my lock and key for my gym locker. HOLYSHITAKERISOTTO! I could save my own life. So I took the padlock and found a way to lock up the latch on the backyard gate. The only way a killer was getting me is if he took an axe to the fence in the backyard. Which I hoped I would hear.
I went to the bathroom and washed the makeup off my face. Then, for safe measure, I pushed my other bed in front of my bedroom door to make sure I could hear my intruder before he tried to attack.
I'm seriously thinking about buying a pistol. Or maybe I'll settle for a lock on my bedroom door...
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Insanity Is Inherited, We Get It From Our Kids
As most of you know, my sister and her hubby welcomed a bouncing baby boy to their repertoire last week. (I don't think that's the proper use of repertoire; however, I've been drinking wine since 6:30, so sue me.) His name is Bo Michael Grant Popsicle (Pospichal) and he was born right as summer turned to fall. I've seen pictures and he looks absolutely gorgeous. (Just like his big brother) I'm dying to meet him!
Welcoming a little one into the family makes me think of how INSANE my mom must have been around 1990. Jan had it bad in so many ways. Not only did she have a 2 year old and a 2 month old, but she also had a freaking 12 year old. Now that I think of it, my older sister must have had it bad, too. Twelve years old and two baby sisters? That is about the time that the school nurse has a "special talk" with sixth graders to learn about the birds and the bees and the sugar plum trees. My sister must have been mortified to know what my parents were up to! Contacting storks to drop of baby sisters at the front door? Serious embarrassment I'm sure.
Despite the certain embarrassment we caused Gina, my madre assures me that Jacy and I were angels growing up. We never cried, we never fussed. We just ate and slept. (Kind of what I do now...) The same cannot be said for Gina. Evidently she liked to raise hell. Remember that time you scaled a grain bin? Love you, Ginaaa! Don't kill me. Anyway, as much as mom assures me we were easy kids, I really don't believe her. We were sneaky snakes. Well, I was at least. I blame it on middle child syndrome. I also blame my tattoos and piercings on that disease. Though, I must say, I don't think Jacy was too much of an angel herself. Once she bit a chunk of skin out of our friend's back at daycare after he pissed her off. Oh and she tried to drown my friend, Mary, in our crick.... But back to me and my evilness...
I think for the first 14 years of my life, I convinced Jacy to do things that I never wanted to do. I was always to ashamed/scared to ask my parents for anything, so I'd speak through Jacy. Most of my scheming involved food. Hense how I got to be overweight. Me: "Hey, Jace, do you feel like chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream tonight? I just saw a commercial for it on TV and you looked like you could use some ice cream." Jacy: "Hey MOMMMM, Can you get us some ice cream?" Bingo, worked like a charm.
But I was evil in so many different ways. I remember getting spankings. Oh, and I remember the distinct taste of Lava soap as it scrubbed my taste buds. The Lava was used for my potty mouth. You know, like calling my dad an asshole after I stole a sucker from our local grocery store. He wanted me to give it back and I thought he needed to know he was being an asshole. I was five. I do want to let you know that I did not learn my sailor language from my parents. My best friend growing up had two older brothers that taught him every cuss word in the book. He, in turn, felt the need to use those four-letter-words while we were playing at recess.
I was quite demonic towards Jacy. I'm surprised she even talks to me now. Although she was a gawky little f*ck, she was still skinny and cute and I was 100 percent jealous. She was also terrific at fishing. On one particular fishing trip, she caught six catfish. COUNT THEM! SIX! I caught none. She bragged about it. I don't care for braggarts. So, I got her back a few years later after dad gave her a real nice fishing pole for her birthday. I slammed the rod in our front door as we headed out for a fishing trips. I tried to make it look like an accident. No one believed me. I remember trying to outrun my dad. Lesson: Never try to outrun your dad (unless, perhaps, he's in a wheelchair). You will never win that battle.
Oh, and then there was the time I got jealous that Dad was taking Jacy for a ride on his snowmobile before he took me on a ride. Mind you, he was going to take me for a ride AFTER Jacy went for a spin, but patience was never one of my virtues. So, I decided to run up behind Jacy and push her off the snowmobile as Dad was about to go. I was built like a linebacker, so I'm sure Jacy's thud on the ground hurt her like a mo' fo'. Not my smartest Jess moment. Being unsafe around snowmobiles really doesn't sit well with Papa Schwag. I made it as far as our back porch before I was real, real sorry.
All of this talk about how awful of a child I was makes me really want to go out and have some little rugrats of my own in, like, 10 to 15 years. Though I honestly can't wait to shove Lava down their helpless little throats. Child protective services is probably keeping an eye on me now...
Welcoming a little one into the family makes me think of how INSANE my mom must have been around 1990. Jan had it bad in so many ways. Not only did she have a 2 year old and a 2 month old, but she also had a freaking 12 year old. Now that I think of it, my older sister must have had it bad, too. Twelve years old and two baby sisters? That is about the time that the school nurse has a "special talk" with sixth graders to learn about the birds and the bees and the sugar plum trees. My sister must have been mortified to know what my parents were up to! Contacting storks to drop of baby sisters at the front door? Serious embarrassment I'm sure.
Despite the certain embarrassment we caused Gina, my madre assures me that Jacy and I were angels growing up. We never cried, we never fussed. We just ate and slept. (Kind of what I do now...) The same cannot be said for Gina. Evidently she liked to raise hell. Remember that time you scaled a grain bin? Love you, Ginaaa! Don't kill me. Anyway, as much as mom assures me we were easy kids, I really don't believe her. We were sneaky snakes. Well, I was at least. I blame it on middle child syndrome. I also blame my tattoos and piercings on that disease. Though, I must say, I don't think Jacy was too much of an angel herself. Once she bit a chunk of skin out of our friend's back at daycare after he pissed her off. Oh and she tried to drown my friend, Mary, in our crick.... But back to me and my evilness...
I think for the first 14 years of my life, I convinced Jacy to do things that I never wanted to do. I was always to ashamed/scared to ask my parents for anything, so I'd speak through Jacy. Most of my scheming involved food. Hense how I got to be overweight. Me: "Hey, Jace, do you feel like chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream tonight? I just saw a commercial for it on TV and you looked like you could use some ice cream." Jacy: "Hey MOMMMM, Can you get us some ice cream?" Bingo, worked like a charm.
But I was evil in so many different ways. I remember getting spankings. Oh, and I remember the distinct taste of Lava soap as it scrubbed my taste buds. The Lava was used for my potty mouth. You know, like calling my dad an asshole after I stole a sucker from our local grocery store. He wanted me to give it back and I thought he needed to know he was being an asshole. I was five. I do want to let you know that I did not learn my sailor language from my parents. My best friend growing up had two older brothers that taught him every cuss word in the book. He, in turn, felt the need to use those four-letter-words while we were playing at recess.
I was quite demonic towards Jacy. I'm surprised she even talks to me now. Although she was a gawky little f*ck, she was still skinny and cute and I was 100 percent jealous. She was also terrific at fishing. On one particular fishing trip, she caught six catfish. COUNT THEM! SIX! I caught none. She bragged about it. I don't care for braggarts. So, I got her back a few years later after dad gave her a real nice fishing pole for her birthday. I slammed the rod in our front door as we headed out for a fishing trips. I tried to make it look like an accident. No one believed me. I remember trying to outrun my dad. Lesson: Never try to outrun your dad (unless, perhaps, he's in a wheelchair). You will never win that battle.
Oh, and then there was the time I got jealous that Dad was taking Jacy for a ride on his snowmobile before he took me on a ride. Mind you, he was going to take me for a ride AFTER Jacy went for a spin, but patience was never one of my virtues. So, I decided to run up behind Jacy and push her off the snowmobile as Dad was about to go. I was built like a linebacker, so I'm sure Jacy's thud on the ground hurt her like a mo' fo'. Not my smartest Jess moment. Being unsafe around snowmobiles really doesn't sit well with Papa Schwag. I made it as far as our back porch before I was real, real sorry.
All of this talk about how awful of a child I was makes me really want to go out and have some little rugrats of my own in, like, 10 to 15 years. Though I honestly can't wait to shove Lava down their helpless little throats. Child protective services is probably keeping an eye on me now...
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Grumpy Old Woman
That's exactly what I am. I'm an old, old woman. Like Rose Dawson-at-the-end-of-Titanic-when-she's-throwing-the-diamond-into-the-ocean old. And for some reason I'm trapped inside some random 23-year-old's body.
No, I didn't come to this realization when I was plucking a gray stray out of my head. (Mostly because I've convinced myself that they're just sporadic blondes sprouting up instead of grays.) I came to this undeniable conclusion as I was sipping on straight black coffee at a diner this morning before I went into to work.
For some reason, this morning I had this grand idea to wake up before the rooster crows, primp, watch a little Saved By the Bell: The College Years!, and go to the local diner an hour before I needed to be at work. You know, just in case they'd be busy. Before leaving my house, I grabbed a John Grisham novel to read while I sat and waited for my food. You know, just in case some handsome young fellow found well-read women appealing.
(I'm convinced that's how me and my future husband will meet. He'll find me alone and longing for a stranger at some diner or coffee shop and say, "The novel you're reading definitely tells of your intellectual nature. I'm impressed by your ability to choose work by such an impressive author like Stephanie Meyer, who wrote four coming-of-age fiction novels and one brilliant novella. The Twilight Series is filled with such depth, such suspense! What did you think of the part where Bella's inner turmoil caused her to doubt her outward love and affection for Edward?" And then, after agreeing that Stephanie Meyer was the best author of all time and that we'd raise our kids protestant, he would end with, "Say, little lady, what are you doing for the rest of my life?") Let's just say my imagination has convinced me that I need to spend every other day in a meet-cute scenerio. Hense the coffee shops and diners early on Friday mornings.
Once I entered the diner, I was greeted with a "which of these things is not like the others" sort of look when I made may way into a seat at the bar between two 70-year-olds with chattering false teeth. The waitress took my order - eggs, toast, sausage - and I took to my book, carefully eyeballing every feller (geezer) who walked by. Oh and did I mention that I also ordered RYE toast? What 23-year-old orders rye? I bet half the girls my age don't even know that rye is an option.
Two bites into my decadent rye smothered in apple butter, I had an epiphany - kind of like seeing myself from the outside in. Like I was outside of the diner's retro windows, peering inside to see a hopeless girl alone at the bar. I felt like Ebenezer Scrooge revisiting his ghosts of Christmas pasts. Who was this girl? And when did she turn 98?
Then I realized. Oh. My. Gosh. I have always been this way. An image of eight-year-old Jess scraping her mom's windshield before school every wintery morning flashed before my eyes. Ooo, and an image of Jess setting her alarm for 6 a.m. on her day off to make sure her sister was up for school/work/anything on time. Another of Jess, backpack slung on shoulders, tapping her foot impatiently as her mother and sister were two seconds late for departure for school. And one more of Jess arriving to her first day of work 45 minutes early, pressing the "HALP! LET ME IN" button before any of her coworkers had even started their morning commutes.
After my brief self-actualization, I shoved the rest of the bread into my mouth and made way for the cash register. I tipped a hearty amount - because I wanted to be perceived as young and wealthy. And because old people are way more persnickety about their money than young people.
At that moment, I decided to make a vow. May these grays - er, I mean blondes - no longer grow from my scalp. I am (a young) woman. Hear me ROAR. Look, I even stayed up until 1:07 a.m. on a Friday night. Watch out world, Jessica (or should I go by Jessi. That sounds youthful, right?) is BACK.
Oh jeez, I just referred to a Helen Reddy song and used the words "hearty" and "persnickety" in the past two paragraphs. I'm hopeless.
No, I didn't come to this realization when I was plucking a gray stray out of my head. (Mostly because I've convinced myself that they're just sporadic blondes sprouting up instead of grays.) I came to this undeniable conclusion as I was sipping on straight black coffee at a diner this morning before I went into to work.
For some reason, this morning I had this grand idea to wake up before the rooster crows, primp, watch a little Saved By the Bell: The College Years!, and go to the local diner an hour before I needed to be at work. You know, just in case they'd be busy. Before leaving my house, I grabbed a John Grisham novel to read while I sat and waited for my food. You know, just in case some handsome young fellow found well-read women appealing.
(I'm convinced that's how me and my future husband will meet. He'll find me alone and longing for a stranger at some diner or coffee shop and say, "The novel you're reading definitely tells of your intellectual nature. I'm impressed by your ability to choose work by such an impressive author like Stephanie Meyer, who wrote four coming-of-age fiction novels and one brilliant novella. The Twilight Series is filled with such depth, such suspense! What did you think of the part where Bella's inner turmoil caused her to doubt her outward love and affection for Edward?" And then, after agreeing that Stephanie Meyer was the best author of all time and that we'd raise our kids protestant, he would end with, "Say, little lady, what are you doing for the rest of my life?") Let's just say my imagination has convinced me that I need to spend every other day in a meet-cute scenerio. Hense the coffee shops and diners early on Friday mornings.
Once I entered the diner, I was greeted with a "which of these things is not like the others" sort of look when I made may way into a seat at the bar between two 70-year-olds with chattering false teeth. The waitress took my order - eggs, toast, sausage - and I took to my book, carefully eyeballing every feller (geezer) who walked by. Oh and did I mention that I also ordered RYE toast? What 23-year-old orders rye? I bet half the girls my age don't even know that rye is an option.
Two bites into my decadent rye smothered in apple butter, I had an epiphany - kind of like seeing myself from the outside in. Like I was outside of the diner's retro windows, peering inside to see a hopeless girl alone at the bar. I felt like Ebenezer Scrooge revisiting his ghosts of Christmas pasts. Who was this girl? And when did she turn 98?
Then I realized. Oh. My. Gosh. I have always been this way. An image of eight-year-old Jess scraping her mom's windshield before school every wintery morning flashed before my eyes. Ooo, and an image of Jess setting her alarm for 6 a.m. on her day off to make sure her sister was up for school/work/anything on time. Another of Jess, backpack slung on shoulders, tapping her foot impatiently as her mother and sister were two seconds late for departure for school. And one more of Jess arriving to her first day of work 45 minutes early, pressing the "HALP! LET ME IN" button before any of her coworkers had even started their morning commutes.
After my brief self-actualization, I shoved the rest of the bread into my mouth and made way for the cash register. I tipped a hearty amount - because I wanted to be perceived as young and wealthy. And because old people are way more persnickety about their money than young people.
At that moment, I decided to make a vow. May these grays - er, I mean blondes - no longer grow from my scalp. I am (a young) woman. Hear me ROAR. Look, I even stayed up until 1:07 a.m. on a Friday night. Watch out world, Jessica (or should I go by Jessi. That sounds youthful, right?) is BACK.
Oh jeez, I just referred to a Helen Reddy song and used the words "hearty" and "persnickety" in the past two paragraphs. I'm hopeless.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Women In Sports
Wow, check out this link...I discovered this AFTER I wrote the blog. http://deadspin.com/5638872/a-gallery-of-ines-sainz-galleries/gallery/
Yesterday morning, Jacy tweeted the following: "Anyone annoyed with the reporter who tattled on the Jets for catcalling to her? Thanks for making it harder for women to be taken seriously."
I had heard all about the incident on Mike and Mike in the morning, so I knew what she was talking about. But in case you don't know, here's briefing on the situation...
A female reporter (Ines Sainz) who works for some no-name TV station (well at least I've never heard of it) called TV Aztecha was all pissed off because she evidently went into the Jets locker room and players were catcalling her. I guess even the head coach whistled at her. So, she demanded an apology from the Jets or ELSE (or else what? I really don't know.)
Jacy and I had a mini-text message fight on who got to blog about this. Since I'm the one blogging, I guess I won. I felt like this topic hit a little more close to home for me since, well, I am a woman and I have worked in sports for five years. I show up to work on time, I work hard, I hardly ever take a day off and I'm not bad at my job. In fact, I'm pretty good at what I do. Here's the deal though, I work on the opposite side of sports than this Ines Sainz lady. Rather than being a sideline reporter, I do more of the writing/behind-the-scenes stuff. In fact, I'd probably jump for joy and write a blog about how a bunch of professional footballers were catcalling me and my thunder thighs!
Being more of a behind-the scenes kind of gal, I see a LOT of female reporters. I also get to see the shit they wear. Now I'm not trying to bring everyone down. I absolutely love and respect Erin Andrews. She's frickin' gorgeous and would typically be the type of girl I would hate, but she knows her sports. She's not pretending to be someone she's not. She also doesn't dress like a skank on the sidelines (and I can verify this because I got to see her at the Nebraska game last season and she was 100 percent covered up. It might have had something to do with it being -30 degrees out).
Here's my point: The women who do dress like dime store hookers are most likely to get catcalled. It's a fact. And it's not the men's fault. Hell, this Ines lady was in THEIR locker room! What was she even doing in there? There's no reason for that. If a man waltzed into a women's locker room, do you know how much shit would hit the fan?
If you're a typical women, you're probably thinking, "Wow, Jess, have you no self-respect? Don't you think women should be respected?" Sure I do. And that's why this lady demanding an apology from the Jets is irking me. Instead of laughing off the catcalls and whistles and holding her head high, she's drawing attention to herself and women in sports. You can't tell me Erin Andrews has never been whistled at. Hell, I'm pretty sure I whistled at her. Take it as a compliment!
Anyway, where I'm going with this is that some ladies ask for the attention. This Ines lady was certainly asking for it if A) she was in the locker room and B) evidently she was clad in very little clothing. For example, I saw a wannabe news reporter covering a football game at Nebraska who was donned in a FOOTBALL JERSEY and KNEE HIGH BOOTS. Now, I'm sorry, does that girl really think that she's being respectful of herself in a long football jersey? Does she really think she's being taken seriously as she's on the sidelines? No WAY! But same goes for the girls who wear "professional" clothing that is two sizes too tight or six inches too short. These women may be the smartest people in the world, but when they look like they're "asking for it," then they're not going to be taken seriously by anyone, let alone a bunch of half-naked football players in a locker room.
Women in sports deserve respect. I deserve respect for the work I do. It's a man's world in sports. How many professional sports are for women? Basketball? Volleyball? No major American sports are played by women. It's very, very tough for women to crack into sports media and sound legit. I hate to say it, but it's true. Women need to stick together and be SMART out there. Throw away your work-appropriate MINI SKIRT, PLEASE!
Anyway, I'm sorry for this rant. But I just want it to be known that not all women are on Ines's side. She needs to be respectful of herself before she can gain the respect of men in sports. Who knows? Maybe I'd be singing a different tune if I wore a size 2, but I'm doubtful.
Yesterday morning, Jacy tweeted the following: "Anyone annoyed with the reporter who tattled on the Jets for catcalling to her? Thanks for making it harder for women to be taken seriously."
I had heard all about the incident on Mike and Mike in the morning, so I knew what she was talking about. But in case you don't know, here's briefing on the situation...
A female reporter (Ines Sainz) who works for some no-name TV station (well at least I've never heard of it) called TV Aztecha was all pissed off because she evidently went into the Jets locker room and players were catcalling her. I guess even the head coach whistled at her. So, she demanded an apology from the Jets or ELSE (or else what? I really don't know.)
Jacy and I had a mini-text message fight on who got to blog about this. Since I'm the one blogging, I guess I won. I felt like this topic hit a little more close to home for me since, well, I am a woman and I have worked in sports for five years. I show up to work on time, I work hard, I hardly ever take a day off and I'm not bad at my job. In fact, I'm pretty good at what I do. Here's the deal though, I work on the opposite side of sports than this Ines Sainz lady. Rather than being a sideline reporter, I do more of the writing/behind-the-scenes stuff. In fact, I'd probably jump for joy and write a blog about how a bunch of professional footballers were catcalling me and my thunder thighs!
Being more of a behind-the scenes kind of gal, I see a LOT of female reporters. I also get to see the shit they wear. Now I'm not trying to bring everyone down. I absolutely love and respect Erin Andrews. She's frickin' gorgeous and would typically be the type of girl I would hate, but she knows her sports. She's not pretending to be someone she's not. She also doesn't dress like a skank on the sidelines (and I can verify this because I got to see her at the Nebraska game last season and she was 100 percent covered up. It might have had something to do with it being -30 degrees out).
Here's my point: The women who do dress like dime store hookers are most likely to get catcalled. It's a fact. And it's not the men's fault. Hell, this Ines lady was in THEIR locker room! What was she even doing in there? There's no reason for that. If a man waltzed into a women's locker room, do you know how much shit would hit the fan?
If you're a typical women, you're probably thinking, "Wow, Jess, have you no self-respect? Don't you think women should be respected?" Sure I do. And that's why this lady demanding an apology from the Jets is irking me. Instead of laughing off the catcalls and whistles and holding her head high, she's drawing attention to herself and women in sports. You can't tell me Erin Andrews has never been whistled at. Hell, I'm pretty sure I whistled at her. Take it as a compliment!
Anyway, where I'm going with this is that some ladies ask for the attention. This Ines lady was certainly asking for it if A) she was in the locker room and B) evidently she was clad in very little clothing. For example, I saw a wannabe news reporter covering a football game at Nebraska who was donned in a FOOTBALL JERSEY and KNEE HIGH BOOTS. Now, I'm sorry, does that girl really think that she's being respectful of herself in a long football jersey? Does she really think she's being taken seriously as she's on the sidelines? No WAY! But same goes for the girls who wear "professional" clothing that is two sizes too tight or six inches too short. These women may be the smartest people in the world, but when they look like they're "asking for it," then they're not going to be taken seriously by anyone, let alone a bunch of half-naked football players in a locker room.
Women in sports deserve respect. I deserve respect for the work I do. It's a man's world in sports. How many professional sports are for women? Basketball? Volleyball? No major American sports are played by women. It's very, very tough for women to crack into sports media and sound legit. I hate to say it, but it's true. Women need to stick together and be SMART out there. Throw away your work-appropriate MINI SKIRT, PLEASE!
Anyway, I'm sorry for this rant. But I just want it to be known that not all women are on Ines's side. She needs to be respectful of herself before she can gain the respect of men in sports. Who knows? Maybe I'd be singing a different tune if I wore a size 2, but I'm doubtful.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
A Few Things...
I haven't written a blog in FOREVER. My complete apologies. My life has been so busy lately! Just as the dog days of summer were getting me down, then football season started and my life has been a whirlwind. So, I just thought I'd update my readers on a few things...
1) I worked at Cowboys Stadium last Saturday (Sept. 4) and, although it looks like something out of Star Trek, I was completely impressed. Although I will probably be killed by some Nebraska folk if I even THINK about cheering for the Cowboys, but I will say that if I get the chance to go to a Dallas game in that stadium I'd go in a heartbeat. Right now I'm choosing to watch Big Brother over the Cowboys vs. Redskins game though, so I think y'all are safe. I'm a bandwagon Saints fan all the way.
2) Speaking of the Saints, Reggie Bush is hot. He so does not deserve to get his Heisman stripped away. I think all beautiful men should get Heismans.
3) Also, speaking of bandwagoning, I've adopted the Rangers as my baseball team. I think this is fair considering Lincoln's "Saltdogs" were the closest thing I ever got to seeing to professional baseball in Nebraska. I love Joba Chamberlain, so I've always cheered on the Yankees. However, when I saw that the Rangers swept their series against the Yankees this weekend, I caught myself doing a little "hoorah" and a fist pump. I belong on Jersey Shore.
4) I discovered womping and I'm addicted. Let me preface this: Womping is not kicking someone's ass, nor is it any kind of sexual activity. Rather, it's a newly-invented dance move by my Norman friends. This weekend, I was invited to Norman to go to the Oklahoma vs. Florida State game (eeeeeek!). The night before witnessing a great FSU womping, I went out and did some real life womping on the dance floor. Right now, I'd like you all to get out of your chair, stand up, place your feet hip-width apart and then think of the word "womp." Now, as your thinking of the word "womp," start dancing how you think the word "womp" would make you want to dance. Yes, folks, this is WOMPING. And it's awesome. It's like being on drugs only not being on drugs. It's just letting your body womp. The best songs to womp to are wompy songs. For instace, do you remember Genuwine's song "Pony" back in the '90s? If not, go YouTube it. Those huge bass beats in the backgrounds? The ones that sound like someone is shoving a microphone down his throat and making frog-like sounds? Yeah, those are wompy noises. Now try dancing to it. You'll probably look like you're actually riding a pony. That's a start. Womp like I did this weekend and you'll probably burn 2,000 calories and have every man, woman and child laughing at you. It's glorious.
5) Big Brother is ridiculous tonight. The season finale is this Wednesday, so tonight is kind of a "recap" of the season. If you've never seen Big Brother, then you live under a rock. It's great unscripted fun. But tonight is completely scripted. It sounds like the producers told the last three contestants to walk around the house aimlessly talking about the past three months they've spent together in the house. In fact I'm pretty sure that's what they did. It WAS really awkward to watch three great-looking guys walk around the house trying to recall the shit they did all season. But then I muted it and now I'm just watching three great-looking guys walk around. I feel a little perverted. Ah well, I'm only human.
EEEeKK, my favorite white guy-trying-to-be-black is on TV right now! EMINEM! His eyes are very scary. He looks surprisingly sober. I like doped up Eminem better maybe. Look at him trying to get his act together! But a sober Eminem means the VMAs are on MTV right now and I'm stoked to hear Chelsea Handler's opening act, so I'm out.
I hope I caught y'all up with my first few weeks of August. I'll leave you with these parting words... ride it, my pony, my saddle's waiting, come and jump on it. Thank you Genuwine.
1) I worked at Cowboys Stadium last Saturday (Sept. 4) and, although it looks like something out of Star Trek, I was completely impressed. Although I will probably be killed by some Nebraska folk if I even THINK about cheering for the Cowboys, but I will say that if I get the chance to go to a Dallas game in that stadium I'd go in a heartbeat. Right now I'm choosing to watch Big Brother over the Cowboys vs. Redskins game though, so I think y'all are safe. I'm a bandwagon Saints fan all the way.
2) Speaking of the Saints, Reggie Bush is hot. He so does not deserve to get his Heisman stripped away. I think all beautiful men should get Heismans.
3) Also, speaking of bandwagoning, I've adopted the Rangers as my baseball team. I think this is fair considering Lincoln's "Saltdogs" were the closest thing I ever got to seeing to professional baseball in Nebraska. I love Joba Chamberlain, so I've always cheered on the Yankees. However, when I saw that the Rangers swept their series against the Yankees this weekend, I caught myself doing a little "hoorah" and a fist pump. I belong on Jersey Shore.
4) I discovered womping and I'm addicted. Let me preface this: Womping is not kicking someone's ass, nor is it any kind of sexual activity. Rather, it's a newly-invented dance move by my Norman friends. This weekend, I was invited to Norman to go to the Oklahoma vs. Florida State game (eeeeeek!). The night before witnessing a great FSU womping, I went out and did some real life womping on the dance floor. Right now, I'd like you all to get out of your chair, stand up, place your feet hip-width apart and then think of the word "womp." Now, as your thinking of the word "womp," start dancing how you think the word "womp" would make you want to dance. Yes, folks, this is WOMPING. And it's awesome. It's like being on drugs only not being on drugs. It's just letting your body womp. The best songs to womp to are wompy songs. For instace, do you remember Genuwine's song "Pony" back in the '90s? If not, go YouTube it. Those huge bass beats in the backgrounds? The ones that sound like someone is shoving a microphone down his throat and making frog-like sounds? Yeah, those are wompy noises. Now try dancing to it. You'll probably look like you're actually riding a pony. That's a start. Womp like I did this weekend and you'll probably burn 2,000 calories and have every man, woman and child laughing at you. It's glorious.
5) Big Brother is ridiculous tonight. The season finale is this Wednesday, so tonight is kind of a "recap" of the season. If you've never seen Big Brother, then you live under a rock. It's great unscripted fun. But tonight is completely scripted. It sounds like the producers told the last three contestants to walk around the house aimlessly talking about the past three months they've spent together in the house. In fact I'm pretty sure that's what they did. It WAS really awkward to watch three great-looking guys walk around the house trying to recall the shit they did all season. But then I muted it and now I'm just watching three great-looking guys walk around. I feel a little perverted. Ah well, I'm only human.
EEEeKK, my favorite white guy-trying-to-be-black is on TV right now! EMINEM! His eyes are very scary. He looks surprisingly sober. I like doped up Eminem better maybe. Look at him trying to get his act together! But a sober Eminem means the VMAs are on MTV right now and I'm stoked to hear Chelsea Handler's opening act, so I'm out.
I hope I caught y'all up with my first few weeks of August. I'll leave you with these parting words... ride it, my pony, my saddle's waiting, come and jump on it. Thank you Genuwine.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Leapin' Lizards
Creatures. You'd think I'd be used to them by now since I lived out in the boonies for 18 years of my life. I just found out a few weeks ago that people really shouldn't get too close to deer because evidently they attack humans. Who knew? Shoot, my family had two pet deer, Bambi and Faline, that my dad rescued after their mothers had been hit by cars. It was a sad day when we were forced to let them go out into the wild because, evidently, housing a deer is illegal. Oh, the hazards of having a game warden as a family friend.
Wow, I have no idea why I started talking about deer. That was weird. Back to creatures.
Typical Nebraska creatures don't bother me at all. Oh, that's where I was going with the deer thing. Yes - not even deer scare me! Skunks? Yeah, a little because no one within a mile radius would want to be around me. Coons? No. I knew people who had coons as pets. They seemed so cuddly. Snakes? Hell yes, but they're the devil in disguise.
There is one, non-devilish creature that continuously freaks me out and I have no idea why. LIZARDS. And, unfortunately, Texas is full of the little buggers.
I think I'm most freaked out by them being able to get into the house. When I think of lizards, I either think of A) pets or B) things by lakes. Granted, I do live by a lake, but I feel like a lizard shouldn't make its way into my bedroom unless I got it certified from Petsmart. (Is it Pet's Mart or Pet Smart? I've honestly never known.)
About a week ago, I was talking with my friend, Maggie, on the phone and saw something dart across my room and out into the hallway. I figured it was just a grasshopper or something, but curiousity got the best of me so I went to take a look-see. Out in the hallway, an asshole lizard blended in with the carpet and proceeded to jet across the top of my foot and into the office. I think Maggie probably went deaf with all of my hootin' and hollerin'. I immediately had every desire to catch it by the tail and throw it in the toilet.
...But then I thought of PETA and how I'd probably be arrested. So, instead, I threw a tin can over the top of it and promised myself to let the little bastard out the back door when I got off the phone with Maggie.
Except for I didn't. Instead I forgot about it until the next morning. Thinking I'd find a dead lizard, I lifted the tin, KLEENEX in had, ready to throw him down the toilet unintentionally. But the way he jolted toward my big toe told me he wasn't ready to meet Jesus yet. Thankfully, my roommate helped a sista out and somehow coaxed him into a Sonic cup to let him outside.
This kind gesture of my roommate made me believe that she was one with lizards. For once, I felt safe from being attacked by something scaley in the middle of the night. Until a couple nights later when I heard a scream from the kitchen. I thought my roomie was being killed, so I hustled out there prepared to fight. That's when I discovered my roomie definitely disliked lizards, since one caused her to scream bloody murder. I saw the bugger hanging from the backdoor like a window cling.
It wasn't quite as easy to wrangle like the smaller one. It wouldn't fit nicely in a cup and it was clinging to a door instead of prowling on the floor. Every part of me wanted to be brave and just cup my hand around it...until I thought of it revealing razor-sharp teeth and chomping through my hand. The grabbing it idea was out of the question. Using teamwork, we escorted the lizard to the floor and then, using my best "workin' cattle" attitude, I convinced the lizard to make its way outside.
I saw another one at work today and it was smaller and less intimidating. I tried capturing it in a cup to send back for Maggie so she could name it Jessica and think of me every time she fed it a fly. Unfortunately, Jessica didn't like my idea and tried committing suicide against the bathroom wall. I'm so over lizards.
Just pray I don't get eaten by one tonight as I sleep. Spooky.
Wow, I have no idea why I started talking about deer. That was weird. Back to creatures.
Typical Nebraska creatures don't bother me at all. Oh, that's where I was going with the deer thing. Yes - not even deer scare me! Skunks? Yeah, a little because no one within a mile radius would want to be around me. Coons? No. I knew people who had coons as pets. They seemed so cuddly. Snakes? Hell yes, but they're the devil in disguise.
There is one, non-devilish creature that continuously freaks me out and I have no idea why. LIZARDS. And, unfortunately, Texas is full of the little buggers.
I think I'm most freaked out by them being able to get into the house. When I think of lizards, I either think of A) pets or B) things by lakes. Granted, I do live by a lake, but I feel like a lizard shouldn't make its way into my bedroom unless I got it certified from Petsmart. (Is it Pet's Mart or Pet Smart? I've honestly never known.)
About a week ago, I was talking with my friend, Maggie, on the phone and saw something dart across my room and out into the hallway. I figured it was just a grasshopper or something, but curiousity got the best of me so I went to take a look-see. Out in the hallway, an asshole lizard blended in with the carpet and proceeded to jet across the top of my foot and into the office. I think Maggie probably went deaf with all of my hootin' and hollerin'. I immediately had every desire to catch it by the tail and throw it in the toilet.
...But then I thought of PETA and how I'd probably be arrested. So, instead, I threw a tin can over the top of it and promised myself to let the little bastard out the back door when I got off the phone with Maggie.
Except for I didn't. Instead I forgot about it until the next morning. Thinking I'd find a dead lizard, I lifted the tin, KLEENEX in had, ready to throw him down the toilet unintentionally. But the way he jolted toward my big toe told me he wasn't ready to meet Jesus yet. Thankfully, my roommate helped a sista out and somehow coaxed him into a Sonic cup to let him outside.
This kind gesture of my roommate made me believe that she was one with lizards. For once, I felt safe from being attacked by something scaley in the middle of the night. Until a couple nights later when I heard a scream from the kitchen. I thought my roomie was being killed, so I hustled out there prepared to fight. That's when I discovered my roomie definitely disliked lizards, since one caused her to scream bloody murder. I saw the bugger hanging from the backdoor like a window cling.
It wasn't quite as easy to wrangle like the smaller one. It wouldn't fit nicely in a cup and it was clinging to a door instead of prowling on the floor. Every part of me wanted to be brave and just cup my hand around it...until I thought of it revealing razor-sharp teeth and chomping through my hand. The grabbing it idea was out of the question. Using teamwork, we escorted the lizard to the floor and then, using my best "workin' cattle" attitude, I convinced the lizard to make its way outside.
I saw another one at work today and it was smaller and less intimidating. I tried capturing it in a cup to send back for Maggie so she could name it Jessica and think of me every time she fed it a fly. Unfortunately, Jessica didn't like my idea and tried committing suicide against the bathroom wall. I'm so over lizards.
Just pray I don't get eaten by one tonight as I sleep. Spooky.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Friday Night Lights
**Before I discuss my night last night, I want to take a moment to ask you to put a Chambers family in your thoughts and prayers as they struggle through the loss of their beloved son and brother, Clint. Clint started kindergarten with Jacy and graduated with her, so I know she's definitely hurting right now too. Clint was a really wonderful young man. He was also so polite and was always quick with a smile. He died doing what he loved - bull riding. I know he will be missed dearly by all of those who knew him. May he rest in peace.**
On my way to work yesterday, I drove past a ton of signs advertising the Coppell High School football game. I was immediately intrigued - high schools advertise football games?! What kind of alternate universe was I living in? Then I quickly understood. Dorothy, I'm not in Nebraska anymore. I'm in the land where showy football games were all but invented - TEXAS. Everything is bigger here. And my new town of Coppell is the home to the Coppell Cowboys, a class 5A football team. Class 5A is the largest (as in school population) of any class in Texas. Texas 5A football is where legends are born.
Where I come from, eight-man football is more prevalent. While most people have never even heard of eight-man football, that's what I grew up on (well, besides watching Huskers games on TV). Our tiny Chambers High team maybe, maybe could get 300 people to attend its games, well at least when I was back in high school. We didn't have cheerleaders or half-time shows. Up until a few years ago, we didn't even have a "press box" worthy of being called a press box. It was more like a death trap. I swear the whole thing shook when someone tried to scale its ladder. Don't get me wrong, Nebraska high school football is great, too. It's where corn-fed beasts are born (insert Jared Crick/Joel/Jeff Makovicka here). I love my Nebraska high school football, but I wanted to see what the Texas hype was all about.
I immediately decided that I wanted to attend this game and I was dragging my roommate, Liz, with me. I had second thoughts though because admission to the game was eight freaking dollars. EIGHT DOLLARS? To watch kids play football? I paid less for a Rangers ticket a few weeks ago - and they're top of the American League West! But then Liz assured me that her brother's family had season tickets, so we could just borrow one of theirs and split the cost of a general admission ticket. I was all in. Then I took a double-take at Liz's text message. Season tickets, huh? To a high school football game? That's ridiculous that they even offer season tickets. Season tix are for colleges.
However, as we entered the parking lot, my mind began to sway in the direction of "Man, season tickets are a good idea here." Liz and I got to the game about 45 minutes until kickoff and the parking lots were already nearly full. Fans tailgated on the lawns in front of the stadium as we made our way to the gates to purchase a GA ticket. The stadium's hustle and bustle was quite the sight! Verizon FIOS and ESPN even set up shop inside the stadium to lure fans to purchase something in exchange for a free blanket, stadium chair or cooler/grill combo. Liz and I got our own Coppell Cowboys fleece blanket after purchasing a Showtime package through Verizon - such suckers we are. :)
We got some grub - Yes, I got BBQ - and made our way to our seats. "Ladies, these seats are reserved." "Um, ladies, keep moving, these seats are reserved. You can sit at either side of the stadium or in the student section." I thought, "Yeah, right, like all of these reserved seats will be taken. Ha!" Well, sure as the sky is blue, those reserved seats were filled to the brim. As were the general admission seats we were in.
Oh - and the field - I swear there were more people on the field than were in the seats! Cheerleaders and select band members and boosters and Coppell's own version of the Roughnecks and a huge dance crew were all lined up on the field. As the Cowboys made their way onto the field, they were proceeded by smoke-machine produced fog as they ran out of a huge, blow-up helmet. The Star Spangled Banner was played, the fight song was sung and the kickoff was, well, weak to be frank. The kicker wasn't great. I expected more from him.
The game was slow, but the Coppell Cowboys gained a 7-0 cushion heading into halftime. And that's when the fun began. HALFTIME. If you know me at all, you know I'm a humungo band geek. Seriously, I had a terrible time giving up my sax. I joined UNL campus band to satisfy my thirst for music. I'd even secretly sneak out of my dorm room freshman year to sit in front of the belltower and listen to the band practice in the early mornings. I'm THAT geeky.
So, when I heard Coppell's band was BOMB, I had to stay until half-time. But before the band got a chance to play, a dance group called the Lariettes (http://www.chslariettes.com/ ) took the field. Being a dance junkie as well, I was completely intrigued. This group was amazing. Five captains took the field first and did some out-of-this-world synchronized leaps and kicks. Then, without any warning, they did a little salute and ended in a leap-into-the-freaking-splits move. I whimpered outloud as my hands made their way to my groins in pain. Holy hell that had to have hurt. But it was sure cool. Then the entire dance team lept and kicked onto the field in their cute little hats and fringy little outfits. AH-DOOR-ABLE! I've never seen a more in sync group of 50+ dancers. Their choreography was impeccable.
After being thoroughly impressed by the Lariettes, the band had a lot to prove. And they did it. I swear the band was bigger than Nebraska's band. It was HUGE. I couldn't get over the dynamics they had on the field (music-wise). I felt like I was at a symphony. I'm not even kidding when I say I actually had to wipe a tear from my cheek at one point. A high school marching band could sound THAT good? Wow. WOW.
I was satisfied after half-time, so Liz and I packed up our stuff and headed to a late-night movie. The Cowboys ended up winning 13-0 last night.
If you haven't gathered my overall assessment of Texas high school football from my flattering words, please let me leave you with this: I'm on the Coppell website right now figuring out how to get season tickets.
Here's me being a giant goon...
On my way to work yesterday, I drove past a ton of signs advertising the Coppell High School football game. I was immediately intrigued - high schools advertise football games?! What kind of alternate universe was I living in? Then I quickly understood. Dorothy, I'm not in Nebraska anymore. I'm in the land where showy football games were all but invented - TEXAS. Everything is bigger here. And my new town of Coppell is the home to the Coppell Cowboys, a class 5A football team. Class 5A is the largest (as in school population) of any class in Texas. Texas 5A football is where legends are born.
Where I come from, eight-man football is more prevalent. While most people have never even heard of eight-man football, that's what I grew up on (well, besides watching Huskers games on TV). Our tiny Chambers High team maybe, maybe could get 300 people to attend its games, well at least when I was back in high school. We didn't have cheerleaders or half-time shows. Up until a few years ago, we didn't even have a "press box" worthy of being called a press box. It was more like a death trap. I swear the whole thing shook when someone tried to scale its ladder. Don't get me wrong, Nebraska high school football is great, too. It's where corn-fed beasts are born (insert Jared Crick/Joel/Jeff Makovicka here). I love my Nebraska high school football, but I wanted to see what the Texas hype was all about.
I immediately decided that I wanted to attend this game and I was dragging my roommate, Liz, with me. I had second thoughts though because admission to the game was eight freaking dollars. EIGHT DOLLARS? To watch kids play football? I paid less for a Rangers ticket a few weeks ago - and they're top of the American League West! But then Liz assured me that her brother's family had season tickets, so we could just borrow one of theirs and split the cost of a general admission ticket. I was all in. Then I took a double-take at Liz's text message. Season tickets, huh? To a high school football game? That's ridiculous that they even offer season tickets. Season tix are for colleges.
However, as we entered the parking lot, my mind began to sway in the direction of "Man, season tickets are a good idea here." Liz and I got to the game about 45 minutes until kickoff and the parking lots were already nearly full. Fans tailgated on the lawns in front of the stadium as we made our way to the gates to purchase a GA ticket. The stadium's hustle and bustle was quite the sight! Verizon FIOS and ESPN even set up shop inside the stadium to lure fans to purchase something in exchange for a free blanket, stadium chair or cooler/grill combo. Liz and I got our own Coppell Cowboys fleece blanket after purchasing a Showtime package through Verizon - such suckers we are. :)
We got some grub - Yes, I got BBQ - and made our way to our seats. "Ladies, these seats are reserved." "Um, ladies, keep moving, these seats are reserved. You can sit at either side of the stadium or in the student section." I thought, "Yeah, right, like all of these reserved seats will be taken. Ha!" Well, sure as the sky is blue, those reserved seats were filled to the brim. As were the general admission seats we were in.
Oh - and the field - I swear there were more people on the field than were in the seats! Cheerleaders and select band members and boosters and Coppell's own version of the Roughnecks and a huge dance crew were all lined up on the field. As the Cowboys made their way onto the field, they were proceeded by smoke-machine produced fog as they ran out of a huge, blow-up helmet. The Star Spangled Banner was played, the fight song was sung and the kickoff was, well, weak to be frank. The kicker wasn't great. I expected more from him.
The game was slow, but the Coppell Cowboys gained a 7-0 cushion heading into halftime. And that's when the fun began. HALFTIME. If you know me at all, you know I'm a humungo band geek. Seriously, I had a terrible time giving up my sax. I joined UNL campus band to satisfy my thirst for music. I'd even secretly sneak out of my dorm room freshman year to sit in front of the belltower and listen to the band practice in the early mornings. I'm THAT geeky.
So, when I heard Coppell's band was BOMB, I had to stay until half-time. But before the band got a chance to play, a dance group called the Lariettes (http://www.chslariettes.com/ ) took the field. Being a dance junkie as well, I was completely intrigued. This group was amazing. Five captains took the field first and did some out-of-this-world synchronized leaps and kicks. Then, without any warning, they did a little salute and ended in a leap-into-the-freaking-splits move. I whimpered outloud as my hands made their way to my groins in pain. Holy hell that had to have hurt. But it was sure cool. Then the entire dance team lept and kicked onto the field in their cute little hats and fringy little outfits. AH-DOOR-ABLE! I've never seen a more in sync group of 50+ dancers. Their choreography was impeccable.
After being thoroughly impressed by the Lariettes, the band had a lot to prove. And they did it. I swear the band was bigger than Nebraska's band. It was HUGE. I couldn't get over the dynamics they had on the field (music-wise). I felt like I was at a symphony. I'm not even kidding when I say I actually had to wipe a tear from my cheek at one point. A high school marching band could sound THAT good? Wow. WOW.
I was satisfied after half-time, so Liz and I packed up our stuff and headed to a late-night movie. The Cowboys ended up winning 13-0 last night.
If you haven't gathered my overall assessment of Texas high school football from my flattering words, please let me leave you with this: I'm on the Coppell website right now figuring out how to get season tickets.
Here's me being a giant goon...
Friday, August 27, 2010
It Ain't Easy Bein' a Pedestrian
I have seen a lot of weird and sometimes funny shit happen to people. I've seen a lady fall face-first on a treadmill (funny). I've seen my best friend slip on ice and get a concussion (scary). I've seen a football player's leg completely be facing the other direction after a play (gross).
Typically, when I think of people getting hit by cars, I think FUNNY. Also, when I think of people getting hit by cars, I think of places like New York City, Chicago or Los Angeles. I sure as hell don't think of Arlington, Texas. After yesterday, I now feel that Arlington pedestrians should fear for their lives.
My fellow intern, Laura, and I took a trek to Arlington yesterday to get a tour of Cowboys Stadium. It was every bit as awesome as everyone said it would be. I even got to see the infamous whiteboard that Bo Pelini left marks in after smashing a chair into it post-2009 Big 12 Championship game. I could feel the anger as I pushed my index finger into the dents.
After an exhausting tour - because the stadium is, like, a mile or two in circumference - Laura and I hit the road to go get some Sonic and head back to the office. As we were driving down a street next to Rangers Ballpark, I heard Laura saying, "What is he doing? WHAT IS HE DOING?! HE'S NOT SLOWING DOWN." So I looked up from my cell phone (I was a passenger) just in time to see the pickup in front of us collide with a pedestrian who was crossing the street.
It seriously looked like a scene from Cruel Intentions. You know, the one where Ryan Phillippe gets hit by a car and rolls over the top of the car and dies? Except for this lady didn't roll over top of the pickup. Instead, the impact caused her to fly, like, 10 feet in front of the pickup. The force even knocked her out of her shoes! The poor lady screamed and screamed and rolled back and forth in the middle of the street. (Thank God she was moving - that meant she wasn't paralyzed). Then a crowd gathered around and all we could see was blood covering her face. It was really scary. Really not funny at all.
I'm not entirely sure what the hell the driver was doing. Perhaps texting while driving? He had his phone in his hand as he popped out of the car and into the street to see if the woman was okay. And what in God's name was that woman doing? She just walked right into it! She clearly wasn't paying attention either.
A few days ago, a Metroplex biker was seriously injured by a hit-and-run, too. This madness is for the streets of New York! Not for the quaint Dallas, Texas. (quaint? Ha... yeah, not so much).
Anyway, this scary experience has forced me to be less of a distracted driver. Please do the same. Keep our pedestrians safe!
Typically, when I think of people getting hit by cars, I think FUNNY. Also, when I think of people getting hit by cars, I think of places like New York City, Chicago or Los Angeles. I sure as hell don't think of Arlington, Texas. After yesterday, I now feel that Arlington pedestrians should fear for their lives.
My fellow intern, Laura, and I took a trek to Arlington yesterday to get a tour of Cowboys Stadium. It was every bit as awesome as everyone said it would be. I even got to see the infamous whiteboard that Bo Pelini left marks in after smashing a chair into it post-2009 Big 12 Championship game. I could feel the anger as I pushed my index finger into the dents.
After an exhausting tour - because the stadium is, like, a mile or two in circumference - Laura and I hit the road to go get some Sonic and head back to the office. As we were driving down a street next to Rangers Ballpark, I heard Laura saying, "What is he doing? WHAT IS HE DOING?! HE'S NOT SLOWING DOWN." So I looked up from my cell phone (I was a passenger) just in time to see the pickup in front of us collide with a pedestrian who was crossing the street.
It seriously looked like a scene from Cruel Intentions. You know, the one where Ryan Phillippe gets hit by a car and rolls over the top of the car and dies? Except for this lady didn't roll over top of the pickup. Instead, the impact caused her to fly, like, 10 feet in front of the pickup. The force even knocked her out of her shoes! The poor lady screamed and screamed and rolled back and forth in the middle of the street. (Thank God she was moving - that meant she wasn't paralyzed). Then a crowd gathered around and all we could see was blood covering her face. It was really scary. Really not funny at all.
I'm not entirely sure what the hell the driver was doing. Perhaps texting while driving? He had his phone in his hand as he popped out of the car and into the street to see if the woman was okay. And what in God's name was that woman doing? She just walked right into it! She clearly wasn't paying attention either.
A few days ago, a Metroplex biker was seriously injured by a hit-and-run, too. This madness is for the streets of New York! Not for the quaint Dallas, Texas. (quaint? Ha... yeah, not so much).
Anyway, this scary experience has forced me to be less of a distracted driver. Please do the same. Keep our pedestrians safe!
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Soap Box Part 7
I'm on it again, only this time for good reason: MY LAST NAME!
I think I was a little spoiled growing up with my mom as a teacher in the same school I attended because everyone knew her name - Mrs. Schwager. Up until college, I never had anyone mispronounce my name. (What can I say? I was a big deal. People knew me. HA!) My family would get the occasional telemarketer looking for "the Shwayjers," but for the most part, people were respectful and knew how to say my name.
This past week, I've had at least five people mispronounce my last name. That's just unacceptable. If your last name was, "Ogihoihhaoihgioh," I'd sure as hell try to figure out how to pronounce it before attempted to say it. Now, I know there are some instances where you don't get the opportunity to ask someone how to pronounce their last name before saying it.
Case-in-point, when I'm answering the phones here at work. When I first started here, I wasn't 100 percent sure how to say a few of the last names. Sometimes I'd get callers asking, "Hey, who would I talk to about football?" And I'd say, "Oh, that's Joni. Hold on one moment before I transfer you." I could have gone ahead and butchered Joni's last name, but I didn't want Joe Blow caller to think that's really how he should say her last name. If he did ask for a last name (which happened once before I figured out how to say it), I said, "I just started here, so I'm unsure how to pronounce her last name, but it's spelled..." Sure, it made me sound like a shmuck, but probably lesser of a schmuck than if I would have just thrown out some rando last name to Joe Blow caller.
Anyway, my last name should be relatively easy to pronounce. Did you know the "schwa" sound is the most common vowel sound in the English language? So why the truck are you failing to figure how to pronounce my easy-ass last name? Remember how I changed my last name to "Goldschwager" on Facebook? I did that to help people out. You've heard of the magical beverage called Goldschlager, right? The one with the shards of real gold in it? The one that supposedly cuts your throat and stomach with the gold shards to make its alcohol enter your bloodstream quicker? (Goldschlwager is badass. Kind of like me.) Well, my name is said like the "schlager" part of Goldschlager. Simple.
Or, if you don't know that alcoholic beverage, here's how my name is pronounced: Schwogger or Schwaaahhhger. (Like saying Ahhhh at the doctor's office). And if you're really unsure, ask me or Jacy.
I know this is a petty little thing to get upset about, but I just want to make sure my ancestors get the recognition they deserve for giving me such an awesome last name.
Now, who's thirsty for some Goldschlager?
I think I was a little spoiled growing up with my mom as a teacher in the same school I attended because everyone knew her name - Mrs. Schwager. Up until college, I never had anyone mispronounce my name. (What can I say? I was a big deal. People knew me. HA!) My family would get the occasional telemarketer looking for "the Shwayjers," but for the most part, people were respectful and knew how to say my name.
This past week, I've had at least five people mispronounce my last name. That's just unacceptable. If your last name was, "Ogihoihhaoihgioh," I'd sure as hell try to figure out how to pronounce it before attempted to say it. Now, I know there are some instances where you don't get the opportunity to ask someone how to pronounce their last name before saying it.
Case-in-point, when I'm answering the phones here at work. When I first started here, I wasn't 100 percent sure how to say a few of the last names. Sometimes I'd get callers asking, "Hey, who would I talk to about football?" And I'd say, "Oh, that's Joni. Hold on one moment before I transfer you." I could have gone ahead and butchered Joni's last name, but I didn't want Joe Blow caller to think that's really how he should say her last name. If he did ask for a last name (which happened once before I figured out how to say it), I said, "I just started here, so I'm unsure how to pronounce her last name, but it's spelled..." Sure, it made me sound like a shmuck, but probably lesser of a schmuck than if I would have just thrown out some rando last name to Joe Blow caller.
Anyway, my last name should be relatively easy to pronounce. Did you know the "schwa" sound is the most common vowel sound in the English language? So why the truck are you failing to figure how to pronounce my easy-ass last name? Remember how I changed my last name to "Goldschwager" on Facebook? I did that to help people out. You've heard of the magical beverage called Goldschlager, right? The one with the shards of real gold in it? The one that supposedly cuts your throat and stomach with the gold shards to make its alcohol enter your bloodstream quicker? (Goldschlwager is badass. Kind of like me.) Well, my name is said like the "schlager" part of Goldschlager. Simple.
Or, if you don't know that alcoholic beverage, here's how my name is pronounced: Schwogger or Schwaaahhhger. (Like saying Ahhhh at the doctor's office). And if you're really unsure, ask me or Jacy.
I know this is a petty little thing to get upset about, but I just want to make sure my ancestors get the recognition they deserve for giving me such an awesome last name.
Now, who's thirsty for some Goldschlager?
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Mother Knows Best
To start off, this is Jacy writing a blog entry! How is it that Jessica can think of so many things to write about, yet I can never come up with something? I really need to start holding up my end of this blog. I might as well since I end up getting blamed for what Jessica writes anyway. Ha. But that's beside the point. What is the point, is that you should always listen to your mother, even if it is against your best judgement. Storytime...
I want to clear the air though when I say that I, like Jessica, have really cleaned up my act and rarely party anymore. Which was pretty obvious, because I went to my first party in a long time last Friday night and I forgot the cardinal rule of partying: When everyone disappears and gets quiet, you need to disappear and get quiet too.
It was the UNL students' first weekend back at school. Big weekends like this are deemed "No Tolerance" weekends by the police, which means that if you get busted at a party, you WILL get charged. It's dumb to even go out on this weekend, but it doesn't stop hundreds of kids. And at least a hundred of those kids were at the party we were at. It was only a matter of time before the cops arrived. My friend and I had made our way down to the basement of the house where we were chatting to a few people, when suddenly we realized it was eerily quiet. We looked up the stairs, and sure enough, there were flashlights beaming down into our faces. With our tails between our legs, all of us in the basement ventured to the top of the stairs with the hopes that the cops will do what they usually do and give us a nice "Go home," and let us be on our way. Instead we were greeted by multiple cops saying "Line up against the side of the house!" and a cameraman shoving a camera into our faces. My friend of course covers her face and said "Oh my gosh, this is embarassing, I can't have my face on film," while I of course ask the cops, "Are we gonna be on MTV?!" After they shot down my hopes of getting famous, my only other thought was that we were going to be on "Cops." And NO ONE wants to be on Cops.
This is when I started planning my escape. If I wasn't going to be on MTV, there was nothing good that could come of this. I knew that an MIP was headed my way and I could NOT afford that. There were probably only about 10 of us there while around 5 cops hovered like vultures. My odds of getting away with a 2:1 ratio were not good, especially when we were lined up against a wall with a lady cop scanning us up and down with her flashlight. I was wearing about 4-inch wedge heels as well, so I had to do something about that. While leaning against the wall I claimed, "Oh, standing this long is making my feet hurt!" and non-chalantly slipped of my shoes right in front of the cop. Lady Cop's first mistake: Don't let a girl about to get an MIP take off her high heels. No good can come of that. One of the cops asked, "Who owns this house?" and we all looked at each other and just shrugged. He responded with "You all came to a party and none of you even know who lives here??" Seriously, Cop Dude, dumb question. We're college kids. We don't exactly do a background check on the owner of every party house we go to. Then he started asking who was all not 21. Eventually, one by one, the minors' hands went up. Not mine though. I was determined they weren't going to know my secret. But then the thoughts of asking for my I.D. and procuring started running through my mind, so I threw up my hand after the final call for the minors.
Then the cops started checking the 21-year-olds' IDs. The ones with a valid ID, they allowed to leave. This is when my mind started really going a million miles an hour. "If they're allowing the 21-year-olds to leave, there's a reason they're keeping us here! They would have let us go by now if we weren't going to get charged. Mom always told me no matter what the situation to RUN from the cops." That's when it hit me what I had to do. A couple of years ago (before I ever even had my first drink) I was at a party that got busted. Everyone ran besides four of us. The two of us that weren't drinking got let off, and the two that were got MIPs because they didn't run. After that time, Mom (and Gina) told me I was an idiot for not running, and to ALWAYS run no matter what, because the cops aren't going to shoot. So I was standing there in front of the cops weighing my options. I could stay and possibly get let off but most likely get an MIP, or I could run and get away, or get an MIP and a Resisting Arrest. But, if I stayed and got an MIP, I'd get yelled at not only for the charge, but because I didn't run. If I ran and got caught, I could simply blame it on Mom because she told me to. I made my decision.
The second Lady Cop turned her head for a split second, I dashed. With my heels in hand, I ran like I had never run before. My bare feet went over driveways of rocks, sticks, yards, sidewalks, and streets. NOTHING was stopping them. Seriously, I almost wish the cameraman would have gotten that part of it, because I could have sent that film to any college and had a full-ride track scholarship. After zooming about three blocks, I swerved off to the left to an unlit neighborhood and hurdled over a fence into a backyard. I did take notice that they had beautiful landscaping, with lots of rock gardens and little ponds...and lots of bushes. So I dove into a bush.
I stealthily tiptoed and dove from bush to bush, trying to get further back in the yard. Every now and then small group of fellow flee-ers made their way through the backyard too. Of course, I had to tell someone what I was going through.
Me - "Jessica, I almosy just got an mip. Right wben the cops turned I sprinted for al I was worth. I'm in bushes now."
Jess - "Jacy! Be fuckin careful! U don't have that money."
Me - "Which is why I ran"
Me - "They had collected a little group of six minors and I was one of them. So I claimed my shoes were uncomfortable and slipped them off then took off running."
Jess - "Jacy Schwager. Go break into the nearest house."
Me - "Already hid in their landscaping."
Jess - "Be stealth. Turn off ur phone."
Me - "I once again, just kep thinking 'Hunger Games.'"
Me - "Some guy was even video taping it."
Jess - "Jacvy TURN OFF UR FUCKING PHONE AND HIE."
Me - "I'm in my car now."
Jess - "If you don't turn off ur phone now I will get you like a sword butterfly."
My friend had walked from the party since she was of age, and had taken refuge in my car and convinced me to do the same. After about 20 minutes of hanging in a bush, I navigated my way out of the backyard, which was much more difficult than it seems. She informed me that after my fellow minors saw me sprinting away, they followed suit and did the same. As I had told another friend, I hope the cops didn't plan on using the filmed footage for anything, because several minors sprinting away right in front of their noses probably doesn't reflect well on them.
Apart from a couple boo boos on the soles of my feet, I made it away safe and sound and misdemeanor free. Thank you, Mother, for your advice.
I want to clear the air though when I say that I, like Jessica, have really cleaned up my act and rarely party anymore. Which was pretty obvious, because I went to my first party in a long time last Friday night and I forgot the cardinal rule of partying: When everyone disappears and gets quiet, you need to disappear and get quiet too.
It was the UNL students' first weekend back at school. Big weekends like this are deemed "No Tolerance" weekends by the police, which means that if you get busted at a party, you WILL get charged. It's dumb to even go out on this weekend, but it doesn't stop hundreds of kids. And at least a hundred of those kids were at the party we were at. It was only a matter of time before the cops arrived. My friend and I had made our way down to the basement of the house where we were chatting to a few people, when suddenly we realized it was eerily quiet. We looked up the stairs, and sure enough, there were flashlights beaming down into our faces. With our tails between our legs, all of us in the basement ventured to the top of the stairs with the hopes that the cops will do what they usually do and give us a nice "Go home," and let us be on our way. Instead we were greeted by multiple cops saying "Line up against the side of the house!" and a cameraman shoving a camera into our faces. My friend of course covers her face and said "Oh my gosh, this is embarassing, I can't have my face on film," while I of course ask the cops, "Are we gonna be on MTV?!" After they shot down my hopes of getting famous, my only other thought was that we were going to be on "Cops." And NO ONE wants to be on Cops.
This is when I started planning my escape. If I wasn't going to be on MTV, there was nothing good that could come of this. I knew that an MIP was headed my way and I could NOT afford that. There were probably only about 10 of us there while around 5 cops hovered like vultures. My odds of getting away with a 2:1 ratio were not good, especially when we were lined up against a wall with a lady cop scanning us up and down with her flashlight. I was wearing about 4-inch wedge heels as well, so I had to do something about that. While leaning against the wall I claimed, "Oh, standing this long is making my feet hurt!" and non-chalantly slipped of my shoes right in front of the cop. Lady Cop's first mistake: Don't let a girl about to get an MIP take off her high heels. No good can come of that. One of the cops asked, "Who owns this house?" and we all looked at each other and just shrugged. He responded with "You all came to a party and none of you even know who lives here??" Seriously, Cop Dude, dumb question. We're college kids. We don't exactly do a background check on the owner of every party house we go to. Then he started asking who was all not 21. Eventually, one by one, the minors' hands went up. Not mine though. I was determined they weren't going to know my secret. But then the thoughts of asking for my I.D. and procuring started running through my mind, so I threw up my hand after the final call for the minors.
Then the cops started checking the 21-year-olds' IDs. The ones with a valid ID, they allowed to leave. This is when my mind started really going a million miles an hour. "If they're allowing the 21-year-olds to leave, there's a reason they're keeping us here! They would have let us go by now if we weren't going to get charged. Mom always told me no matter what the situation to RUN from the cops." That's when it hit me what I had to do. A couple of years ago (before I ever even had my first drink) I was at a party that got busted. Everyone ran besides four of us. The two of us that weren't drinking got let off, and the two that were got MIPs because they didn't run. After that time, Mom (and Gina) told me I was an idiot for not running, and to ALWAYS run no matter what, because the cops aren't going to shoot. So I was standing there in front of the cops weighing my options. I could stay and possibly get let off but most likely get an MIP, or I could run and get away, or get an MIP and a Resisting Arrest. But, if I stayed and got an MIP, I'd get yelled at not only for the charge, but because I didn't run. If I ran and got caught, I could simply blame it on Mom because she told me to. I made my decision.
The second Lady Cop turned her head for a split second, I dashed. With my heels in hand, I ran like I had never run before. My bare feet went over driveways of rocks, sticks, yards, sidewalks, and streets. NOTHING was stopping them. Seriously, I almost wish the cameraman would have gotten that part of it, because I could have sent that film to any college and had a full-ride track scholarship. After zooming about three blocks, I swerved off to the left to an unlit neighborhood and hurdled over a fence into a backyard. I did take notice that they had beautiful landscaping, with lots of rock gardens and little ponds...and lots of bushes. So I dove into a bush.
I stealthily tiptoed and dove from bush to bush, trying to get further back in the yard. Every now and then small group of fellow flee-ers made their way through the backyard too. Of course, I had to tell someone what I was going through.
Me - "Jessica, I almosy just got an mip. Right wben the cops turned I sprinted for al I was worth. I'm in bushes now."
Jess - "Jacy! Be fuckin careful! U don't have that money."
Me - "Which is why I ran"
Me - "They had collected a little group of six minors and I was one of them. So I claimed my shoes were uncomfortable and slipped them off then took off running."
Jess - "Jacy Schwager. Go break into the nearest house."
Me - "Already hid in their landscaping."
Jess - "Be stealth. Turn off ur phone."
Me - "I once again, just kep thinking 'Hunger Games.'"
Me - "Some guy was even video taping it."
Jess - "Jacvy TURN OFF UR FUCKING PHONE AND HIE."
Me - "I'm in my car now."
Jess - "If you don't turn off ur phone now I will get you like a sword butterfly."
My friend had walked from the party since she was of age, and had taken refuge in my car and convinced me to do the same. After about 20 minutes of hanging in a bush, I navigated my way out of the backyard, which was much more difficult than it seems. She informed me that after my fellow minors saw me sprinting away, they followed suit and did the same. As I had told another friend, I hope the cops didn't plan on using the filmed footage for anything, because several minors sprinting away right in front of their noses probably doesn't reflect well on them.
Apart from a couple boo boos on the soles of my feet, I made it away safe and sound and misdemeanor free. Thank you, Mother, for your advice.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Meowsage
Rarely do I ever treat myself to anything. Sure, a manicure or pedicure every now and then, but I never get facials or get my hair done often or get massages. So, when I noticed that a massage clinic called "Massage Envy" offers a $39 50-minute massage for first-timers, I was all over it. I signed up for a massage on Thursday night at 6 p.m. I arrived a bit early, so I was escorted into a dark room with leather coaches and a fish tank. Another man, probably in his late 20s, sat in a couch across from me. He appeared to be taking a snooze, so I carefully sat down in my leather seat, but it still made a little "squish" sound. He woke up abruptly and stared right at me and said, "hi." I said "hi" back and picked up my phone to pretend I was texting someone (so he wouldn't talk to me). Then he got an angry look on his face and said, "YOU WOKE ME UP." I gave him a weird smirk and thought about darting right there. He could have had a gun. But I kept my cool and kept playing games on my phone. He got called up for his massage, so I sat for another 10 minutes waiting for my lady to come get me.
Finalllyyy, a really cute girl came in, so I figured she was my masseuse. I was wrong. My masseuse was the gruff older woman behind her. The gruff woman didn't introduce herself. She just took my hand between hers and said, "I hear you have headaches. We'll take care of that real soon (insert thick Southern drawl here)."
Okay, so she claimed to be a miracle worker. I trusted her.
One thing I absolutely hate if I get massages is when someone talks to me while I'm getting massaged. I like to close my eyes and zone out. She did not feel that I needed to do so. So, she embarked on some small talk with me. I answered shortly so she would stop talking. She didn't.
She asked me where I was from. "Nebraska." She asked me if I got allergies in Texas. "No." Oh, she assured me I would get them. "No. I eat Texas honey for breakfast. I should be fine." Well, honey was the wrong topic to bring up. She was in fact a beekeeper. "Bees are cool," I said. She didn't like normal honey bees. She liked killer bees. In fact, she had a method to keep killer bees from killing her. "Yeah, I'd just plop down in a lawn chair if I saw them after me." Um...okay...yeah that's a dumb idea. "Well, see, then I'd be holding a button to activate an automatic sprinkler system. Wet killer bees can't fly."
This chick was weird, but she was giving a great massage. So I put up with her talking. That was until she asked me what I like to do for fun. "Um...well, I go to movies a lot. And I read quite a bit - "
That's when she cut me off. She, too, likes to read. She likes to read science fiction. But she also likes to read mystery novels. Not just any kind of mystery novels. Oh, no. She likes to read cat mystery novels. Novels where cats interact with people. Novels where cats go out and kill other cats and then there's a detective cat to solve the murder mystery. However, instead of telling me about the stories, she actually started doing CAT VOICES.
"...well, ol' Joe Grey stumbled down the alley and made his way to the murder scence. 'Well, folks, what happened here...meow."
She also described to me, in detail mind you, the names, sizes and breeds of every cat in the novel.
All of a sudden she stopped mid-cat voice and grabbed a muscle on my neck pretty hard. "You know, Jessica, if I pinch this hard enough, you will have a stroke."
I jolted out of bed and said, "Okay, I think I'm good. I'll get dressed now."
Next time, I'll pay the 40 extra bucks to get a normal person to do my massage thank you very much. Man there are some weirdos down here.
Finalllyyy, a really cute girl came in, so I figured she was my masseuse. I was wrong. My masseuse was the gruff older woman behind her. The gruff woman didn't introduce herself. She just took my hand between hers and said, "I hear you have headaches. We'll take care of that real soon (insert thick Southern drawl here)."
Okay, so she claimed to be a miracle worker. I trusted her.
One thing I absolutely hate if I get massages is when someone talks to me while I'm getting massaged. I like to close my eyes and zone out. She did not feel that I needed to do so. So, she embarked on some small talk with me. I answered shortly so she would stop talking. She didn't.
She asked me where I was from. "Nebraska." She asked me if I got allergies in Texas. "No." Oh, she assured me I would get them. "No. I eat Texas honey for breakfast. I should be fine." Well, honey was the wrong topic to bring up. She was in fact a beekeeper. "Bees are cool," I said. She didn't like normal honey bees. She liked killer bees. In fact, she had a method to keep killer bees from killing her. "Yeah, I'd just plop down in a lawn chair if I saw them after me." Um...okay...yeah that's a dumb idea. "Well, see, then I'd be holding a button to activate an automatic sprinkler system. Wet killer bees can't fly."
This chick was weird, but she was giving a great massage. So I put up with her talking. That was until she asked me what I like to do for fun. "Um...well, I go to movies a lot. And I read quite a bit - "
That's when she cut me off. She, too, likes to read. She likes to read science fiction. But she also likes to read mystery novels. Not just any kind of mystery novels. Oh, no. She likes to read cat mystery novels. Novels where cats interact with people. Novels where cats go out and kill other cats and then there's a detective cat to solve the murder mystery. However, instead of telling me about the stories, she actually started doing CAT VOICES.
"...well, ol' Joe Grey stumbled down the alley and made his way to the murder scence. 'Well, folks, what happened here...meow."
She also described to me, in detail mind you, the names, sizes and breeds of every cat in the novel.
All of a sudden she stopped mid-cat voice and grabbed a muscle on my neck pretty hard. "You know, Jessica, if I pinch this hard enough, you will have a stroke."
I jolted out of bed and said, "Okay, I think I'm good. I'll get dressed now."
Next time, I'll pay the 40 extra bucks to get a normal person to do my massage thank you very much. Man there are some weirdos down here.
Monday, August 16, 2010
On The Radio...
My favorite part of starting up the work week you ask? My morning commute! Honestly, I hate the Dallas traffic to no end. (That's why I leave my house at an insanely early hour to get to work before the traffic is completely terrible.) But there is one thing I completely adore - Dallas radio stations! More specifically, their advertisements/public service announcements. I don't recall memorable ads in Nebraska, but there are two ads I absolutely love down here.
1) The breastmilkcounts.com PSA
2) The Natalie Merchant advertisement
1) Where do I even begin with the breastmilkcounts.com public service announcement? Everything is so RIGHT about that commercial. First off, my favorite part is the creepy guy narrating the thing. He sounds SO into breast milk, as if he has some sort of special connection women providing whole milk to their young infants. (Which he probably does...in a sex offender/perverted way). Also, did you know that breast feeding is 100 percent A-OK in public in Texas? That would explain why I saw a women breastfeeding her newborn while walking in the mall a few weeks ago. As if pregnant women in public being legal isn't enough, now they're just allowing breastfeeding? (Only kidding - of course pregnant women are okay to be in public. I just can't live my pregnant women blog down.)
Also, did you know that women who breastfeed burn over 600 calories extra per day? How do I sign up for that? Do you have to have a kid to breastfeed? Is breastfeed one word or two words? I actually have no idea. So forgive me if I've been spelling it wrong.
2) This morning, I heard an awesome ad for a Natalie Merchant concert and immediately wanted to go. Well, until I realized Natalie Merchant was not the singer of the Dawson's Creek theme song and then I didn't really care. (FYI the singer of "I don't wanna wait" is Paula Cole I guess. Who knew? They sound exactly the same!) Anyway, this ad was especially great because the guy narrating the ad was whispering. I'm sorry sir, I can't hear you. Is the Natalie Merchant concert a secret? I think I heard it was at an AT&T performing arts center downtown, but I'm not completely sure. Either way, it sounds really elite and secretive. Sign me up! If only I could have heard the date and time of the concert...
Thanks to those two commercials, I'm ready to start my Monday off in the right direction! Here's to another work week, folks. Hope y'all have a blessed day.
1) The breastmilkcounts.com PSA
2) The Natalie Merchant advertisement
1) Where do I even begin with the breastmilkcounts.com public service announcement? Everything is so RIGHT about that commercial. First off, my favorite part is the creepy guy narrating the thing. He sounds SO into breast milk, as if he has some sort of special connection women providing whole milk to their young infants. (Which he probably does...in a sex offender/perverted way). Also, did you know that breast feeding is 100 percent A-OK in public in Texas? That would explain why I saw a women breastfeeding her newborn while walking in the mall a few weeks ago. As if pregnant women in public being legal isn't enough, now they're just allowing breastfeeding? (Only kidding - of course pregnant women are okay to be in public. I just can't live my pregnant women blog down.)
Also, did you know that women who breastfeed burn over 600 calories extra per day? How do I sign up for that? Do you have to have a kid to breastfeed? Is breastfeed one word or two words? I actually have no idea. So forgive me if I've been spelling it wrong.
2) This morning, I heard an awesome ad for a Natalie Merchant concert and immediately wanted to go. Well, until I realized Natalie Merchant was not the singer of the Dawson's Creek theme song and then I didn't really care. (FYI the singer of "I don't wanna wait" is Paula Cole I guess. Who knew? They sound exactly the same!) Anyway, this ad was especially great because the guy narrating the ad was whispering. I'm sorry sir, I can't hear you. Is the Natalie Merchant concert a secret? I think I heard it was at an AT&T performing arts center downtown, but I'm not completely sure. Either way, it sounds really elite and secretive. Sign me up! If only I could have heard the date and time of the concert...
Thanks to those two commercials, I'm ready to start my Monday off in the right direction! Here's to another work week, folks. Hope y'all have a blessed day.
Happy...
FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL! Who doesn't love the first day of school? (Well, I don't right now because I have to get up significantly earlier to fight the traffic.) My mama starts up another year of teaching today, so I just wanted to wish her and all of the educators good luck and a Happy First Day of School!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Hail Damage
Would you like to hear about something that really gets me down? Something that diet and exercise alone will not take care of? Mother-effin-cellulite! I swear to God I am the only person in this world with massive amounts of cottage cheese ass.
I just wrapped up about an hour worth of Facebook stalking tonight. In that time, I came to realize that none of my Facebook friends or friends of their friends have cellulite. (Well, at least the ones who just posted recent pictures of themselves). They all have perfectly contoured thigh muscles underneath their shorty short shorts. It's complete BULLSHIT! You wanna know when I discovered my first dimple? I was in KINDERGARTEN. I mean, granted, I was a foot taller and 100 lbs heavier than any kid in my class, so I should have expected a few dimples on my ass here and there, but not when I was a kindergartener. It's insane. Oh, and you know what guys really don't find sexy? Yeah, they'd rather have their cottage cheese for supper. They don't want to see their girlfriend wearing it. (On a side note - why don't guys get cellulite? Cursed Eve for eating that Goddamned apple! ROAR!)
I've stuck to my weightloss plan religously for the past month and have seen awesome results - almost 12 lbs so far! But I think my cellulite has settled in on my thighs for life. Does anyone know how the hell to get rid of it? I tried Kim Kardashian's Nivea plan and it epically failed. I should have gathered it would considering she doesn't have any damn cellulite. If she did, she sure as hell wouldn't have been dating my future husband, Reggie Bush. Or perhaps that's why he dumped her? Hmmm. Interesting. Now I'm seeing a common theme here...the Kardashians are evil! They've made me spend money on cellulite creams and QuickTrip only to be disappointed. I will NEVER buy a thing from them again! Wait, have you seen their new self tanner though? Kourtney always has a fantastic glow. Maybe that'll be my next/last Kardashian purchase.
On another note, you know what else gets me down? Fake nails that haven't been filled or cut for well over a month. Yeah, I know, it's disgusting. Shoot me. I've painted them so you can't really tell where the fake ends and the real begins. I'm contemplating chewing them off, but I think that would get super messy. Welp, this is where my blog ends because my nails keep getting stuck between the keys of my laptop. C'est la vie!
Seriously though, if you know any get-rid-of-hail-damage-quick creams, please hit me up!
I just wrapped up about an hour worth of Facebook stalking tonight. In that time, I came to realize that none of my Facebook friends or friends of their friends have cellulite. (Well, at least the ones who just posted recent pictures of themselves). They all have perfectly contoured thigh muscles underneath their shorty short shorts. It's complete BULLSHIT! You wanna know when I discovered my first dimple? I was in KINDERGARTEN. I mean, granted, I was a foot taller and 100 lbs heavier than any kid in my class, so I should have expected a few dimples on my ass here and there, but not when I was a kindergartener. It's insane. Oh, and you know what guys really don't find sexy? Yeah, they'd rather have their cottage cheese for supper. They don't want to see their girlfriend wearing it. (On a side note - why don't guys get cellulite? Cursed Eve for eating that Goddamned apple! ROAR!)
I've stuck to my weightloss plan religously for the past month and have seen awesome results - almost 12 lbs so far! But I think my cellulite has settled in on my thighs for life. Does anyone know how the hell to get rid of it? I tried Kim Kardashian's Nivea plan and it epically failed. I should have gathered it would considering she doesn't have any damn cellulite. If she did, she sure as hell wouldn't have been dating my future husband, Reggie Bush. Or perhaps that's why he dumped her? Hmmm. Interesting. Now I'm seeing a common theme here...the Kardashians are evil! They've made me spend money on cellulite creams and QuickTrip only to be disappointed. I will NEVER buy a thing from them again! Wait, have you seen their new self tanner though? Kourtney always has a fantastic glow. Maybe that'll be my next/last Kardashian purchase.
On another note, you know what else gets me down? Fake nails that haven't been filled or cut for well over a month. Yeah, I know, it's disgusting. Shoot me. I've painted them so you can't really tell where the fake ends and the real begins. I'm contemplating chewing them off, but I think that would get super messy. Welp, this is where my blog ends because my nails keep getting stuck between the keys of my laptop. C'est la vie!
Seriously though, if you know any get-rid-of-hail-damage-quick creams, please hit me up!
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