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.

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 ( ) 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!

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?

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."
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


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.

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 PSA
2) The Natalie Merchant advertisement

1) Where do I even begin with the 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 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.


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!


Here's the deal, folks. Although this blog says, , it's mostly my writing and mostly my opinions. Sometimes Jacy gets on here to write, but for the most part, it's all me and what I think. So, when you read something on here that truly pisses you off, you can attack me. Do NOT attack my sister. However, just like Perez Hilton, I have the freedom to express my opinions how I want because, well, it's MY blog. If I wanted to hear your opinions, I'd go to YOUR blog.

The blog is designed to let me vent in what ever fashion I want. Whether it be through a funny story or down right bitch-fest. It helps me vent. This blog leaves Jacy and/or I with a reservation of rights to say how we feel and how our opinions are not necessarily fact. However, we can call them like we see them because, well, it's our blog.

I've finally found a place to vent whatever rage I have through this outlet (blogging) and by GOD I will do so. When I smell phonies, I'll blog about them. When I encounter shitty people, I'll write a blog. When I see some girl fall on the treadmill, I'll write about her. When I walked across campus with my underwear showing, I wrote about it. Get the picture? And I'll say it one more time. This. Is. My. Blog.

So, if you have any problems with what I write, I'd say to check yourself at the door first because what makes you think I hold society's opinions? (just read the pregnant women blog if you want an example....who doesn't love pregant bellies? Just me. Society loves pregnancy). But, if you must confront me, just do it. Reply to one of my posts or shoot me an email. Please don't curse me out or fly off with the F-word. I do love the F-word, but it makes you people sound uneducated in confrontation. Try something more like, "Hey, bitchface, why'd you write such blasphemous stuff?" (The word, blasphemous, would help me recognize that you are indeed educated and you can critique my views. The word, bitchface, would make me laugh.) Chances are, I'll tell you why I wrote the post and deal with the situation in a mild manner. Then I'll remind you that this is my blog and I'll do what I want. Capeesh?

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

What Time Is It? Band-time! HUH!

All day Thursday, I had a song in my head that would just not go away. No, it wasn't the latest Eminem ft. Rihanna song. (you know, like normal songs that get in people's heads). It was an old high school marching band song because I'm a giant nerd face. I couldn't think of the name of the song, so I thought I would ask Jacy what the song was. I didn't call her (like a normal person would do). Instead, I texted her. Yes, because that seems logical.

"Do you know the name of that band song that goes "doo doo doo doooo doo doo doo doooo doo doo doo doot doot do dooooo, da da da daaaa da da da daaaa da da dat dat da da. da da da da da da da do do do do do do do doot doo do daa daaa daaa daaaa."

Our sisterly connection didn't work immediately. She replied with, "I tried figuring it out, but I can't. :(:(" Then a few minutes later she replied with, " I know which one you're talking about! Frick. I can't think of the name."


Sure enough, we figured it out together --- Alexander's Ragtime Band.

Goo-Goo Gaa-Gaa

There is one thing Jacy and I share completely different views on...Pregnancy. Jacy thinks pregnancy sounds fun and just loves how cute pregnant women are. I do not. Do you think it's a coincidence that I try to avoid my older sister while she nears her due date? (Well, I mean avoid in the sense of seeing her. I'll talk to her, facebook her, etc.) No, no coincidence there. I really don't like pregnant women.

That was a pretty bold statement, I know. And it's not that I don't like pregnant women from a "man their hormones are out of wack" sort of way. It's more like a "I wish I could see pregnant women from the shoulders up" way. That's right, folks. I'm completely and utterly grossed out by big, bulbous bellies.

I wish people could be more like animals when they're pregnant. Can you tell when a cat's having kittens? NOPE! Then, miraculously, while you're mowing the lawn one day, you see a pack of little baby titties coming at your mower and you have to swerve to avoid them. Where the F did they come from? You don't remember your cat being pregnant. That's because you thought your precious cat should have just laid off the Meow Mix. But she was not just having a food baby.

Why can't people be more like cats? I like discretion when it comes to pregnancy.

When I was in Cancun a month ago, there was this really beautiful woman walking around in a two-piece swimming suit. From the front, she looked awesome. From a profile view, I saw her belly and wanted to puke. Everyone around me is like, "Isn't she just glowing?" "Isn't she just precious." No, d-bags, she's pregant and on a beach! Is that even healthy?! Shouldn't she be inside watching WE-TV or something?

Oh, and why is it okay for pregnant women to refer to themselves as "mommy?" That part almost grosses me out more than them actually being pregnant. I hate when I see Facebook statuses that say, "10 more weeks until I become a MOMMY." While being pregnant, did these women somehow develop the braincells of their offspring? I'm okay with people calling their own mother's "mommy." But referring to themselves as "mommy" is not okay. It's like they've resorted to baby talk. And it's creepy.

I love new life and I love babies, so please don't think of me as a hater. I just really wish pregnant women would cover themselves up more (i.e. Wear the cute preganacy clothing Target offers.) Please avoid swimwear at all costs.

Someday, if I ever choose to have kids, I'm just going to gain a tremendous amount of weight so people can't tell if I'm fat or pregnant. That's the way to roll.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Hopped Up

I'm going somewhere where no Schwager has gone before. I'm giving up...gasp... CAFFEINE!

Every since I can remember, my mom has had a Diet Coke glued to her hand. And, before that, my diabetic grandmother sucked down regular Coca-Cola. Even the thought of regular Coke makes me want to hurl. My mom and dad drink a pot of coffee together every morning and my sister, Gina, is addicted to tea. And Jacy, well, Jacy would drink every pop in sight if possible. However, her absolute fave is Orange Hi-C. (double yuck!)

Then there's me. When I form an addiction, I don't go halvsies on it. I go all-the-way. And I have two addictions. 1) Caffeine and 2) Frozen Yogurt. And I don't have any plans to give up No. 2. I have to support my local yogurt shops! But caffeine on the other hand? I think I can sacrifice caffeine.

Or so I thought...

I'm going on day two without caffeine and I feel like crying because my head hurts soooo damn bad. Seriously, I feel like someone has driven a golf tee into my temples and is now launching golf balls off of my head every five seconds. It's miserable. And, I can't fix the headache because the only thing that gets rid of my terrible headaches is Excedrin Migraine. You don't happen to know what the key ingredient of Excedrin Migraine is by chance, do you? Yeah, it's caffeine. Go-frickin'-figure. And the alternative to OTC Migraine meds are my prescription headache meds and they cost, like, $4 a pill. I think I'll suffer.

So why give up caffeine? Well, word on the street is that coffee dehydrates you. Not great for someone who has started working out more. For every cup of coffee I drink in the morning (which is around seven cups), I have to drink double that in water to stop feeling thirsty. OH, and did I mention I have three or so diet sodas per day? I guess that's not too hot for anyone? I guess fake sugars in diet sodas preserve fat cells and they make the fat get fatter. FML. Did I know any of this? Nope! But thanks to Jillian Michaels, she's filled me in on quite a lot in her book "Master Your Metabolism." I may be too scared to eat again. Everything we eat is bad for us - including caffeine!!

I'm sure I'll have the occassional cup o' Joe every so often, but seriously, giving up coffee is worse than giving up Runza. Coffee was my security blanket. It woke me up in the morning and helped me be more productive in the afternoon. Now I feel like a sloth. HELP!

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Throw Back

I've decided my blogs have become a little dry. Instead of filling y'all with fun stories, I've used this to bitch about things that drive me crazy. (Did you notice how I used y'all? I'm not entirely sure what I used before y'all. Did I really say "you all" or "you guys"? If so, that sounds completely stupid. Seriously, next time you are talking to a group of people, keep track of what you say instead of y'all. I'm curious. But I'm in the South now and by God, I will use y'all. You should try it!)

Anyway, I thought this would be a great time for an old school story. It was the Fourth of July back in 2004 and Chambers was having its usual Fourth of July festivities back when Chambers had awesome Fourth of July festivities. Every year, Chambers held a Road Rally, where a group of people would set forth in a car on a kick-ass scaventer hunt. Usually the Road Rally takes place around the country roads of Chambers. However, in 2004, the makers of the Road Rally decided to take it "off road." So, me and my friends, Bryan, Tim, Brett and Brady went on the Off-Road Rally in Tim's bronco. He had taken off the top of his bronco, so we were flying around the country roads with the wind whipping through our hair. Well, mostly my hair. I think they all had short hair. Well, except for Tim. He always kept his kind of shaggy.

Anywho, I should have known the day was going to spell disaster when we were on a section line and the bronco took a bull hole and flew us up out of our seats at least three feet. I banged the shit out of my head on bronco's roll bars and nearly knocked myself out. The Road Ralley was especially hard, so after I was half-looped, we decided not to finish and instead wreak havoc around town. The boys had bought a huge box of illegal fireworks full of bottle rockets, heavy duty black cats and artillery shells.

We would light the artillery shells and then throw them out the sides of the bronco. On Dyke street (yes, there is a street in Chambers called Dyke street. However, no visitors would every know this because people had stolen the sign every time a new one would be put up. Hello? Dyke street? Who wouldn't steal that sign?) is where our little accident happened. Brett lit a black cat and threw it out the side of the bronco. We waited a second for the "pop." But the "pop" was more like a "HOLY SHIT BOOOOOMMMM!" right in our ears.

Instead of throwing the black cat off to the side, Brett thew it behind him and right into the box of illegal fireworks. That's when all hell broke loose. I'm talking World War III took place right in Chambers, USA. One tiny little black cat set off every single artillery shell, bottle rocket and chain of black cats in our entire box.

You know in war movies when gunshells are shot into the dirt and dirt goes flying up into the air 10 feet? Yeah, that's what was happening to our box. Cardboard was flying everywhere. Bottle rockets were zooming past our heads, into our shirts, through our hair and several made their way into our skin.

Tim was smart and parked the bronco right in the middle of Main Street and Dyke and we bailed like 76 clowns out of a Volkswagon. However, I don't deal well with scary situations, so I started giggling like a 12-year-old school girl. Mid-giggles, my leg got stuck on seatbelt, so while everyone else was 100 feet away from the bronco, I was dangling out the side trying to get out. Then I started laughing super duper hard. Then, between the laughter and being scared shitless that the bronco was going to blow, I peed my freaking pants. (I never told the guys I peed my pants though. They wondered why my jeans were soaked in between my crotch. I said I spilled my soda in the chaos. Little did they know I wasn't drinking a soda.).

Side note: Actually, maybe it's just Tim who makes me pee my pants. When Tim, Maggie and I went to a haunted house as 8th graders, a monster from the house stole Mags. I was so scared and nervous that the monster was a real killer and had taken Maggie into a room to kill her that I started laughing uncontrollably. Then I peed my pants. It's a defense mechanism. I'm pretty sure Tim knew I pissed myself then, so he should have assumed that's what happened this time around. I'd be awful in a scary movie scenario. I'd just pee everywhere.

Finally, I got my leg un-caught and I ran away with the boys as the bronco was lighting up the middle of Main Street. My sixth grade teacher and our school lunch lady got quite the show, as they were sitting on their front porch while the whole fiasco went down. Oh small towns...instead of calling the fire department, they sat and watched us as we nearly went up in flames. I can still hear their laughter ringing in my head.

The firecrackers stopped eventually and luckily we were all okay. I still have a burn mark on my stomach from a damn bottle rocket that went through my shirt. And I still have the embarrassment of pissing my pants.

Moral of the story: Parents, let your teenagers play with illegal fireworks. Makes for great stories and awesome battle scars.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Good Grief

I've realized that this is the second post I will have posted today and I'm sorry about that. But when I get on my soap box, it's very hard for me to slip right off...

Tonight I'd like to bring up a very grave issue... DEATH. (I'm sorry, I really like puns of any sort. Bare with me, there will probably be even more.) Death definitely sucks. It's, like, the worst thing ever really because, well, once you're gone, you're gone. Unless you believe in reincarnation, which I don't. I do believe in angels, but that's a whole other topic. Anyway, I am no stranger to death. Death has kind of lingered around my family since my brother died in the '80s. All four of my grandparents had died by the time I was 21, two friends had passed away during college and several of my mom and dad's friends and family had passed on. Not to mention the countless souls of friends-of-friends who were lost over the years. Death is sad. Death is traumatic. Death is awful. But, unfortunately, it's inevitable. It never gets any better.

However, here's where my soap box really begins: What happend to good, old-fashioned grieving? What happened to slipping on something black, going to a funeral, having a good cry, sharing a good laugh about the person and then remembering that person in YOUR HEART forever. Maybe commemorate them with a tattoo or heck, maybe buy them a beautiful flower pot for the base of their gravestone. Maybe visit their family often or, if you live far away, write their family a beautiful letter about the person you miss each and every day. Or, do what I do, and think of those people often and say a little prayer for the friends and families of those people. Or, write a blog containing wonderful stories about that person, but please don't update me every 10 second how sad you are. Or write intimate details about the deceased on his or her Facebook wall. Not to be cruel, but that person will never be able to delete the things that go on his or her wall, so don't embarrass them in the afterlife!

Unfortunatly, social media has ruined the act of grieving. Now, I feel that grieving is such a public display that it loses all of its value. It seems as if people are trying to "show off" who knew the deceased best by sharing every intimate detail about that person on Facebook or on Twitter. I get it, you miss the crap out of that person, but why can't you shoot them a text message? Or, better yet, TALK to them. (Again, I believe in angels and I feel like angels can hear me when I feel like talking to them...but maybe I'm a minority.) Why must grieving be such a display? Today, a young soul from a neighboring town was lost today. All over my Facebook feed, young people were sharing their memories and "RIPs."

One person, who had bolted out of school today crying like they had lost her sibling (or so I heard), got on Facebook this afternoon to write on the deceased's wall. Then they changed their picture to one of them and the deceased. Then they wrote a status about how much they will love and miss the deceased. Not to discredit the grieving of the crying person, but I clicked on wall-to-wall interaction between the grieving and the deceased and there were only THREE Facebook interactions starting about eight months ago between the two. I'm sure it's very, very sad for the grieving person, but how well do you know someone in eight months? And, if you did form a wonderful friendship, wouldn't you write on each other's walls more than just three times in eight months - especially if you're going to display your great distress over their death all over Facebook?

I know people grieve in different ways. But people don't have to be so public about their sadness. Show some respect for the deceased. I know you will always love them, so act in such a way as to make yourself a better person for them.

And please, if I die tomorrow and I hear that you've read this blog and still write lots of crap about me on my Facebook wall, I will haunt you like Casper, okay? Do something nice and get my portrait tattooed on your forearm. I'd like that better. ha!