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!

Disclaimer

Here's the deal, folks. Although this blog says, http://www.jessandjacy.blogspot.com/ , 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?

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."

SHE KNEW WHAT I WAS TEXT-MESSAGE SINGING!! WAHOOO!!

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

jessandjacy.awesomesisterlyconnection.bandgeeks.blogspot.com/saxesrulefrenchhornsdrool.html

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.

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!

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.

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!