Loaner Phone Part 1: Contact list

Last June I jumped feet first into the world of smart phones with my Samsung Moment. It was love at first touch. Over the next few months, my Samsung Moment failed me again and again while I became increasingly dependent on it. I feel like my Samsung Moment and I need to go to couples therapy.

The first problem was last summer when the plug port became bent because I dropped it too many times when it was plugged in for no obvious reason. Sprint replaced it with a refurbished phone.

The second time was a right after I got back from maternity leave. The phone was often unresponsive and wouldn't hold a charge for more than an hour. I took it in and Sprint replaced it with a refurbished phone.

Three or so weeks ago, my Samsung Moment was unresponsive again and would power down for no reason and then take hours to restart (even plugged in). Once at work I waited two hours for it to restart. A few nights later I plugged it in while it was restarting, woke up with Baby Blogworthy at 3 am and it still wasn't charged after four hours and had pretty much set my pillow on fire with the overheated battery. I pulled out the battery and it finally started.

The next night it crashed for real. After my phone tried to load for almost 12 straight hours, the battery died and it sort of gave up on life.

Although I'm only 18 days from an upgrade, Sprint wouldn't let me go ahead and give them my cash monies for a new phone. Instead, they sent my Samsung Moment away YET AGAIN. I get it back today, but for the weekend I was stuck with a loaner phone.

Oh, people, this loaner phone. It wasn't so much the phone as the condition of the phone. It's as if the Sprint people were like, "crap, this woman's phone is DONE and we need to get her something fast. Quick, check the back. Nothing? Seriously? Ok, think. Think. Wait, didn't someone just turn in a phone? Yeah, yeah, yeah, get that one! where is it? Oh here it is, in the trash, right under this banana peel. Brush the coffee grinds off it and I'll get it set up for her."

My sister has this phone because she has an iPad for awesomeness and doesn't need a smart phone.

However, I'm sure her's doesn't include the following:

- A hole in the casing
- A crack in the camera lens
- Half the keypad missing
- A contact list that contains the following names: Jit;  Kevin White Boy; Mikey Crip Walk; Moneek; No Hands; Nu Nu Nu; Toy Shipmate Sis and; Unc Bucket; B Smooth; Back Door; Cuz Boo; Black Ass; Fatboy; Rolemodel Lil Chris; Roo Block; and Spank. (All typed directly from the contact list on my Loaner Phone)


By the way, I guess I didn't mention they had forgotten to erase all the other person's information from the phone? Yeah. That happened. Creepy, huh? 


There was a work number in it and I called it. It was a KFC. Take from that what you will.


The Loaner Phone took on a new life at work Friday. My work friend, who was one work day away from a vacation and was stressed became instantly obsessed with Loaner Phone and we collectively spent the rest of the day inputting the contacts them into the Royal Name Generator. 

Marchioness White Girl Lulu Tcott of Alachuashire.

 

Marchioness Toy Shipmate Ticky Sis Andberton of Gainesvilleshire.

 

Prince Back Fearnsley Doorskitt of Gainesvilleford.

Now, tell me, how can a person be sad about their non-smart Loaner Phone when it provides that kind of entertainment? But I didn't know exactly how entertaining that phone was until I discovered the text messages....


Dun, dun DUUNNNN!! Come back tomorrow for the conclusion to my Loaner Phone saga.

Meanwhile, what do you think the text messages said, based on the contacts list?

See ID

Hubby and I went out on a lunch date yesterday to Fridays.

Remember back in the day when Fridays had super peppy servers with all the flair? Our server was a throwback to the golden days of Fridays flair. Flair = fun, right? That's what we learned from Office Space. What he lacked in actual flair (because Fridays is far to upscale for flair these days) he made up for in enthusiasm. Flair aura, if you will.

"Hey guys, I'm Todd, I'll be takin' care of ya today. Can I start you off with somethin' to drink? Perhaps one of our famous lemonade slushes [editors note: famous in what circles?]."

"Water for me." "Sweet tea, please."

"Good good! I'll be right out with those beverages, guys!" *knocks on the table with his fingertips*

You know. One of those guys. And if he was legally able to buy an adult beverage, I'd be shocked, is how young he looked. Clearly he took his Fridays training very seriously. He probably took notes. He probably keeps a training crib sheet tucked safely inside his notebook he uses to write down people's orders.

Anyway, we order, he brings our food, we eat, it's good and all. He checks on us 14 million times and refills our drink and does everything right, even if he's sort of driving me crazy with all the fake enthusiasm for the state of our lunch.

He brings the check and my hubby pulls out the Discover (card that pays you back).

This is where I need to tell you a critical piece of information about my husband. He has a name that has become popular as a girls name in the recent past. Often, if you do a search for his name, several young teenage girls will also show up in the results. He's used to it by now, but I still get real pissy about it the same way I do when someone calls me Allison or Amber instead of Amanda.

Todd the server comes back with the card and stands next to me while looking at my husband and says the following:

"So, does [insert my husband's name here] know she is paying for your lunch today?"

Silence.

Crickets.

You could hear a pin drop.

We weren't sure what to say. Was he suggesting we stole the credit card? Was he trying to be funny because my husband handed him the card with what he thought had my name?

Hubby said slowly, "well. That....is...me...."

The kid turned about 18 shades of red and asked to see my husband's ID, since the credit card does say "See ID" on the back. I'm not sure why he didn't just see ID to start out with. Maybe he was just trying to be personable. Maybe he knew I was getting the afternoon sleepies and I needed something to get my blood boiling. He definitely failed at the first and succeeded at the second.

Here is how I felt about it:

The take-away here? Use your context clues. If a man pulls a credit card with a basketball design on it out of his wallet, it's probably his. Sometimes men have girlie sounding names and always see ID first, just in case.

The Fat Lip

When Baby Blogworthy was born, I called him my little sleep terrorist. As much as I'd anticipated life with a baby, as many books as I'd read and A Baby Storys I watched, I was pretty unprepared for the reality of having a newborn.

Sometimes it seemed like it was me against Them. And Them included pretty much everyone in my house.

Not in a cruel way, you understand.  The baby was so unpredictable, the hours so wonky, my time asleep so few and far between, it was hard to find a balance and to work together as a team. Between the baby's crying, my husband's work schedule and basketball practices/games, I was close to losing it many a time. I felt like everybody else got him when he was sleeping peacefully and I got to tend to him when he was screaming his head off or wide awake at 3 am.

After awhile, when life slowed down, my Hub and I started working together. Then it was us against him.

Us against blowout diapers.

Us against a baby who refused to sleep in his bassinet.

Us against the huge mountain of baby laundry that seems to accumulate magically.

It got even better after I went back to work. One time I came home and Hub had done 4 loads of laundry (included baby laundry) and put it all away. And the baby was happy and sleeping and snuggly when I got in. HUSBAND FTW.

Every once and awhile we have some team building exercises that include laughing at our baby. I'm talking about stuff like, giggling when Baby Blogworthy farts or making him dance to I Like Big Butts.

We also like to laugh at Fat Lip.

Fat Lip is the look babies give you when they have been surprised and are displeased by said surprise. Here is a typical chain of events the lead to a Fat Lip:

• Baby is happy and smiling
• Something scares baby (Hubby making a weird face, for instance)
• Bottom lip starts to curl out slowly
• Eyes squeeze together
• Scream blows out of those little lungs
• Tears may form

It feels like slow motion as you watch the whole thing unfurl. Hubby describes Fat Lip as the following:


"The Fat Lip Cry: There is no do-over. You can't take it back, the damage is already done. Once you get the fat lip, you can't turn it back into a smile. You can't reverse it. What I'm saying is that you're basically a goner because all H breaks loose."

And while it should make us really sad for him, which is his ultimate goal I'm sure, it really just makes us laugh hysterically. I mean, we still say "It's OK sweetie, Daddy is being silly", we just laugh, too. It makes us feel like we're winning the war against baby-ness, even though we're actually losing this particular battle.

Watch out for Fat Lip. It will sneak up on you when you least expect it!

Taco Bell continues to appall and disgust me

Been awhile since an Ad Nauseous, huh? well, it's because I don't watch much TV anymore. Actually, that's untrue: I'm back on my schedule of watching TV on my DVR like a normal person instead of live daytime TV.

Occasionally Every other night, we watch sports, which are of course, best enjoyed live. And let's talk about target audience for, say, an NBA game: probably male, probably the 18-35 demographic, right?

And here comes Taco Bell from stage left with their new Quad Steak Burrito commercial:



At first glance, it's pretty clever. Haha, lounge singer. Hehe, funny lyrics. I like when he says "That's like a whole honkin' cow"! Teehee, see how they are making fun of small portions? And how that guy just wants his mound of steak and he wants it now?

Then it worms into your brain and makes you insane.

After you've heard it enough, it loses all meaning. Clearly, Hubby and I no longer realized what the product was, as shown by this conversation:

Me: (singing along) Five pounds of steak!!! Five pounds of Stteeeaaakkkk!
Hubby: Yeah, that's what it is. Five pounds of steak. Who could even eat five pounds of Taco Bell steak anyway? Sheesh.
Me: Ok smarty, what *do* they say?
Hubby: They say five kinds of steak.

(some time passes)

Me: Wait, how can there be five kinds of steak?
Hubby: Well. you've got the butt, the ribs, the thighs, the breast. And I don't know, some other part. Five parts of the cow.

So, this commercial is not only NOT advertising five pounds or five kinds, but there isn't even a five in the song at all.

In conclusion, big time fail on this one, Taco Bell. You suck and so does your steak and so does you ad team.

Wordless Wednesday: CUTE BABY ALERT

Humor me, please.

Two words: SWEATER VEST.

Already laughing at his Mommy. Just wait till he finds out I'm not that funny.

Hello, I'm @babyblogworthy and I'm awesome.

Was my photographer kidding me with these pictures? I die. Seriously. I'm dying and now I'm dead from cuteness. 

Next blog, we'll return to our regularly scheduled non-mom-blog post.

Our photos were taken by Cindy Taylor Photography.

The day I went crazy over a banana

I love bananas.

I eat a banana every day for my mid-morning snack. You know, because of my ravenous monster baby. And although I'd rather eat a hash brown or cookie, I try to stick with healthy stuff while I'm at work. It's so people wont' get all judgy with me.

I'd also like to say that eating this daily banana has kept me from having ridiculously painful evening leg cramps. A little free advice to other pregs out there from me. You're welcome.

(When I typed "cramps", I first spelled it c-r-a-p-s, something else you other pregs are probably intimately familiar with. I almost left it like that.)

Anyway. Bananas.

I got this bunch of bananas at the store the other day. Actually, I almost put them back on the banana shelf because the top two in the bunch were enormous. Like, they made me physically uncomfortable to look at. I'm thinking to myself, that's like a banana and a half -- who can eat a banana that large?

But I brought it to work with me and had to capture the moment for Twitter.

It's as long as my keyboard! I mean seriously!

This is where all y'all who aren't on Twitter are gonna get jealous. My Twat friends saw this picture yesterday. Along with this status.

Then Surferwife got into it. She was the ONLY person who commented on my big banana, and I am ashamed for the rest of you. I thought for sure I'd get some kind of reaction from you closet pervs but whatever. Surferwife is pretty much my main instigator and troublemaker on Twitter. She's like my friend in college that would sit with me and talk the whole time so we'd both get in trouble.

Later I tried to bribe Liz with a gigantic banana into making her response to me her 10,000th Tweet. I was 9,992. But apparently she just doesn't like big bananas.

Later than that, Surferwife told me I was out of control and it was the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

So what's the point of this random blog?

1. Bananas are delicious.
2. Sometimes they are too large.
3. If you don't have Twitter or use it regularly, you're seriously missing out on awesome stuff like this.
4. I can make a blog entry out of just about anything, apparently.
5. This post is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S. (What one of you did not have that song already running through your head? We cannot be friends if you didn't.)

I'm sure you sickos have lots to say about this banana post, try to keep your heads out of the gutters as you are responding lest I write a blog about my love of the word "balls".

What's your favorite fruit? Do you have Twitter? Would you like to follow me (it's @amandaaustin). Are you disappointed that I haven't written for, like, a week, and I put up gibberish like this?

A fairytale about plants

I have had a craptacular few days because ridiculousness is just boiling over into every aspect of my life. Sometimes I wonder how many times I'm going to say to myself "Is this really happening?" and/or "what is wrong with people?" and/or "am I taking crazy pills?"

So in honor of this week in ridiculous and so I can laugh so I won't cry, I'll be weaving some tales of a few of the best and then at the end of the week I'll have y'all vote for the most ridiculous for an It's Blogworthy award! Sounds fun, huh? Now for tale numero uno, otherwise known as "The Wicked Witch of Plantopia and Her Bushes".

Plantopia....a beautiful place to be. 

One upon a time there was a lush, exotic place called Plantopia, where luscious green trees soak up golden rays and liquid sunshine, where shrubs and bushes flower, bloom and vine all over God's creation, and where nature knows no boundaries, enveloping everything from cars and fences to small animals who don't move quickly enough. Long, long ago, in the Before Times, plants grew unabated, and the residents of Plantopia grew weary that their belongings were so often overtaken by the glorious leaves of these wild and wonderful plants. They named the ones with sharp tools to be "lawn care guys", the only ones who could tame the plants. And so lawn care guys gently cut back the vines and branches so the good people of Plantopia could once again drive their cars. And it was good.

But there was one woman in Plantopia who loved many things. She loved teeth, children, children's teeth and various types of dental surgery. She also loved plants -- loved them so much that she didn't want the lawn care guys to touch them. She loved her precious plants, the way the branches reached for the heavens, the way the vines looped through the fence and into everyone's property. She loved the wild and untamed look and savored looking outside at the beautiful greenery overtaking all her neighbors' possessions. She dared any lawn care guy to touch her precious, what was rightfully hers.

Then one day, a kind hearted, puppy adopting, cat hugging, RC driving man noticed the Wicked Witch of Plantopia's plants were overtaking his yard and trimmed the bushes. A few days passed and she discovered what he'd done. She was furious. She sent one of her slaves to talk with this kind man. The kind man told the slave he'd happily talk to the Wicked Witch and would meet at her lair.

When he got to the lair, he was greeted with a terrible surprise. She was very mad that her beautiful bushes were trimmed and wanted the kind man to pay....WITH HIS LIFE.*

*Ok, maybe not his life, but definitely with some money.

The kind man realized quickly that the Wicked Witch had a pickled brain that didn't work like anybody else's. He tried to reason with her. He tried to tell her that he was doing her a favor.

"BUT MY PRECIOUS!" she screamed. "YOU MUTILATED MY PRECIOUS!"

It was just a trim, the kind man said, the bushes will grow back within a month or two.

"YOU KILLED MY PRECIOUS! VAANNNNDDDAAALLIIISSSMMM!"

The branches were so out of control, he continued, I was trying to help you out.

"LIAR! ALL LIES! CUT OFF HIS FINGERS AND I'LL EAT THEM FOR DINNER!"

The kind man told the Wicked Witch he would help her by buying new bushes, but now the kind man is afraid  she's going to use her pickled brain to think up some really hairbrained scheme and/or eat his dog. Mercy.

But for real, y'all, hub cut down some bushes and our crazy ass neighbor called the cops on him and threatened to file vandalism charges and the words "vandalism" "mutilated" and "liar" were all thrown around, which is the long and short of this particularly ridiculous tale.

To be....continued?

Do y'all have crazy neighbors? Would you enjoy Plantopia? 

I've got a case of pregnancy brain

This is how I feel.

You guys, I swear, if I could bottle up pregnancy hormones and get Cathy to review them on Booze Day Tuesday, every distillery, brewery and other booze making establishment would go out of business and I'd get that cool billion I've always dreamed of because pregnancy hormones cause a drunk feeling that really can't occur any other way.

I mean, y'all know my husband. He buys RC hummers. He obsessive compulsively locks his car. He makes ridiculous comments during the Bachelorette. He is basically silly all day, every day but even he calls me out on my ridiculousness when I have that perfect combination of sleepiness and being pregnant that makes me feel like I've tied one on. Besides the fact that it's horrible for your growing child and you shouldn't do it, there's a reason pregnant women shouldn't drink and that's the fact that we would act so insane and uncontrollable even that one girl who always gets drunk and cries at parties will say "what's with that hot mess? she needs to lay off the sauce, pronto!"

While I didn't realize how drunk they would make me feel, preg hormones also make me incredibly forgetful. I'd heard of this pregnancy phenomenon but I was all, MALARKEY there is no such thing! My brain was, is and forever will be sharp as a tack! Oh, how wrong I was. Two stories to demonstrate:

• We were filling out our registry info at Target one Saturday night after a pretty long, intense nap. I typed in my name and then our house number: 4748. Hubby looked at me and said, "really? You know that's not right." I tried again. 5758. He looked shocked and asked me to try again. People, we've lived in this house a year now. I know my house number, but for some reason, that night I couldn't think of it. He kindly filled me in and then promptly put his head in his hands and walked to the bench when I pulled WV from the list of states to complete our address. WE HAVEN'T LIVED IN WV FOR GOING ON 3 YEARS. 
• I was in the onesie bathroom at work, the one where people always leave their 'fragrance' behind even though there is a larger bathroom down the hall with better ventilation BUT I DIGRESS (because this bitter pill is getting hard to swallow). I washed my hands and turned toward the paper towel dispenser to pull out a sheet. It was the kind that you just pull to advance to the next towel (no cranks or buttons). No paper to pull. I thought to myself, hmm, must have gotten new paper towel dispensers with cranks. No cranks. I panicked and wiped my wet, clean hands on my jeans, then walked out, hoping another dispenser would be working. The dispenser next to the sink didn't have a crank either. What the? OH, it's an automatic dispenser..no cranks or pulling needed, just the wave of my hot little hand. Mercy.

Hubby has gotten used to my bewildered looks on the daily, inability to remember simple tasks and other foibles but thankfully I only have 15 more weeks until my brain begins to function again.

Have you ever forgotten your own address? Did you have preg brain? Do you have preg brain right now? Do you know what blog you're reading? Do you remember how awesome the show Friends was, cause I'm sort of re-obsessed right now.

image via

HUMMER TIME

Having a baby on the way has apparently awoken a part in Hubby's brain that has long been dormant, a part that loves Matchbox cars and video games. Maybe it's the eager anticipation of having a little boy to pal around with, or maybe it's that having a baby is a BIG FREAKING DEAL and he wants to get all the immature out of his system in the next 4 months, but all I know is that we've spent more time in Toys R Us lately than any two so-far childless adults should.

As an aside before I get into this story, I want to buy this for my son when he's older:

That, my friends, is a mudpie maker. It comes with a real, working sink and mixer. JUST ADD DIRT. I think it's the most evil genius thing I've ever seen in my entire life.  I want him to mix and serve mud pies in a REAL way, and I won't even mind cleaning him up because it's just that cute to me.

We were there Saturday to buy a changing table pad and apparently it was also a Christmas in July sale AND we had a 20% off coupon (or two, apparently) and the wait was just too much for him. Hubby needed a radio-controlled car and he needed it in the WORST way. He hadn't mentioned an RC car at all before, like ever in our 5 years together, but according to him, he had a burning desire to drive a tiny car 2000 ft and back and nothing else would do.

We had a "discussion" at Toys R Us about it. He picked up a "Cars" themed RC car and said, "This would be perfect for our son." I was all, our son doesn't even weigh a pound yet. I hardly think this is the appropriate toy for him. He countered by saying that this type of toy would probably last for awhile and that our baby would just LOVE IT! It was $25. I suggested all the things that would be a better use of $25.

He walked to the next aisle and saw an even better RC vehicle that was $30. Hubby thought long and hard about it and then asked what I thought. I told him that if I was mad about a $25 RC car, why would I think a $30 RC car would be better? It was a humongous yellow Hummer, and he said it looked sturdier and would last longer. Although I still had a hard time figuring out why he needed it, I said "WHATEVER", threw down the changing pad and walked to the bathroom. I was hoping he'd make the "smart decision" to not buy it when I met him at the car, but there it was in all it's yellow glory, hanging out in the back seat of the car.

A car in the back of a car. Who would have thunk it?

The batteries needed to charge for 8 hours before he could play with it. He took it from the box, left the box in the kitchen for cats to play in, and "parallel parked" it next to the TV. We waited and waited and waited. Around 9 PM he looks at the dog and says, "Truffles....only 2 more hours...get excited!" And I asked why we were supposed to be excited?

He looked at me with a smirk and said, "It's HUMMER TIME" and then proceeded to hum the tune of Hammer Time and it was probably the best moment of my whole week and totally worth that $30.

So it gets charged up and he has the BEST time driving that son of a beast around the house. Of course the dog hates it with a white, hot passion and will bark incessantly at it and the cats are scared out of their wits. But who cares when there is a tiny vehicle to drive around? He drove it across the living room and into our bedroom and back, did a few donuts, rammed into my shoes and then parallel parked it again for the night.

Sunday he took it out on the open road. Imagine an RC car cruising down the street with a grown-ass man behind the controls and try not to laugh. He brought it back in the house and harassed our animals with it until the battery died. He had to manually parallel park it and I had to resist the urge to make a "Hummer Parking Only" sign.

Monday evening I was getting ready for bed when I heard the telltale buzz of the Hummer coming to greet me. I thought Hubby would be right there in the dining room, wheeling away, but it was just the lone Hummer, staring at me with it's creepy headlights. I looked into the living room and Hubby was sitting on his lappy pretending like he didn't drive it.

And I have to say it made me laugh. A lot.

Is this what I have to look forward to when my son is old enough to play with Hubby?

Let's talk about value. Hamburger value.

Where did this week go? I just realized I hadn't posted a blog since last Friday. It's like in my head I was blogging but in reality I wasn't.

So, sorry about that. Besides work business, I've been suffering from a FUN HANGOVER after our weekend trip down Orlando way. This was our last hurrah because our seasonal passes expire and we aren't going to renew right now because of the BABAY.

I'd like to tell y'all a little story about our dinner in Orlando Sunday on the way back at a place called Five Guys Burgers. It's a chain, but I don't think there are all that many locations. They sell hamburgers with lots of different toppings, thick cut french fries (with optional cajun seasoning), I think hot dogs and drinks. That's it.

The walls are all decorated with their own kudos. Like every time they were mentioned in any magazine when the chain started, the owners made copies for every franchise to hang on the walls, and when I say that I mean ALL walls, like all up and down the counter, in the bathrooms, wherever there is a vertical surface there is either a copied newspaper article or quotes from said articles in 1000 point red type. It's a little on the tacky side; I mean, just let the tasty burgers speak for themselves, ya know?

The most mind boggling thing about the decor is the articles don't proclaim them to be the best TASTING burgers or most UNIQUE burgers, but the best VALUE in burgers. There are two problems with this:

1. Walmart stuff is value. Publix bogos are a value. Redbox machines are a value. But there's something about a restaurant focusing on value rather than taste that just seems wrong to me. I mean, we can all agree that McDonalds hamburgers wont' break the bank, but we can also agree that they will make you feel like death. Right?
2. FIVE GUYS BURGERS IS NOT A VALUE. Join me as I weave this tale of overpriced food:

Hubby and I were tired, cranky and ready to get home. It was 9 and they closed at 10 so I'm sure they felt the same. We walked in and the first thing the guy said to us was, "WE'RE OUT OF CHEESE!" like that was the determining factor in us staying or leaving (as that was no option because it was the only place open). And I'm all, well that's a bummer, I guess I'll just get something beside cheese. Hubby ordered his bacon hamburger and I ordered mine with mushrooms and onions. Then the guys says to me, "WE'RE OUT OF MUSHROOMS TOO! EVERYTHING BUT MUSHROOMS AND CHEESE!" I'm all eye-rolly with him but changed my order to onions and mustard only. Then Hubby tries to pay with our Discover card and he says, "Hm, it says 'not a valid transaction, THAT'S SO WEIRD" and about that time Hubby realized they dont' take Discover card.

Cearly we're dealing with Einstein over here working at Five Guys, but I  decided to go into mini-meltdown mode and said "You've GOT to be kidding me right now. I have to walk away." I sat down and started steaming about it mumbling about how a HAMBURGER PLACE can possibly run out of cheese. There wasn't a store you could run out to and grab a hunk of cheese before your supply truck rolls in? No? not even the Quiznos next door?

Hubby brings the food to the table and hands me the receipt for.....$17 BUCKS.

Excuse me, but in what universe is $17 for two burgers, one fry and one drink a value? I'm going to refer back to my breakfast chart from last blog:

It should be easy to understand why I had such a fit. I feel like a chart would also best represent my feelings after this meal:

Before we left, I went to the bathroom and discovered why Five Guys were so delusional in thinking the food there was a good value. I was washing my hands and reading one of the articles when I noticed the publishing date -- 1996. The article stated that Five Guys had one heck of a burger and a good value, too: only $1.75 for two big, juicy, fresh, hand-pattied burgers. I read some others -- 1990, 2001, 1998 -- not one media outlet has proclaimed them BEST VALUE in at least 8 years. Maybe it's because one hamburger now costs $4.50! I mean let me just hand you my wallet and pin number so you can take all of my money! It's good but not that good! Bev's Better Burgers in this podunk little city near us is just as good -- if not better -- and her burgers cost $2!

My rage turned to pity when I saw this:

It just.....it explains a lot. I'll leave it at that.

Then yesterday we were on a quest to find some shorts that I can button and saw a building under construction that looked eerily like the Five Guys decor...sure enough: Gainesville is getting a Five Guys. I am encouraging all my friends here to mortgage their houses so they can try it at least once.

Have y'all heard of this place? What do you think?

The one where you all adopt cats from me

Monday night I had the weirdest dream and I just remembered what it was. It was so bizarre that I thought I'd throw it out there for you guys to analyze.

Hubby and I owned one of those beach stores, like you know the touristy shops that sell shells and hermit crabs and obscenely overpriced bathing suits? There is one of them in St. Augustine Beach and we stop there all the time to just look at the junk. But the dream store was all tiki hutty and cool.

In my dream we LIVED at the store. Like there was an upstairs part of it and that's where we lived, and there was a restaurant attached somehow that was a cross between a Captain D's and a Perkins.  So let's get this straight: home upstairs, beach shop downstairs, Captain D/Perkins attached. The restaurant has nothing to do with the rest of the dream, I just knew it was there.

So I'm dream cleaning the store one minute and the next minute I'm carrying in a whole box full of cats in all sizes and colors, and I put them under one of the clothes racks, but the clothes racks were all the way down to the floor. When I was little I loved hiding inside the racks that held long clothes. It was like a little tent or something. But that's what it was like in my dream -- a tent for dozens of cats. I guess I was trying to hide them?

Anyway, I was desperate to find homes for all these kittens because I knew I couldn't keep them all. I wasn't afraid they would get out from under the clothing rack. I frantically started making calls to see if people would take them and got a lot of response FROM MY BLOG FRIENDS. Like all y'all came to my beach shop and left with a kitten. And you took all the mixed color kittens, all the orange and gray tabbies, calicos, and white kitties, but left all the black ones. How could you. Black cats are beautiful, mysterious, wonderful creatures.You're all dead to me.

Then the weirdest thing of all, there was one cat that was pink with a white face and I said "Surferwife would freaking LOVE this pink cat! It's a strawberry cat!" and I swear to God dream-me said it was a strawberry cat. So Hubby was all "Who do you know that surfs?" and I said, "DUH Monique, but she doesn't surf, she's just married to a surfer" and I took off with my pink cat in a box to find her.

Now, I'm a dedicated Surferwife reader, but I don't' know if she likes cats and I also don't' know how she feels about the color pink.

Some things I can piece together from this dream:

• I may have too many cats
• I need to take a trip to the beach STAT
• I play Farmville far too often because the cat looked just like a Farmville pink cow, except it was a cat
• Lay off the guac before bed, sisterfriend
• I read too many blogs

I feel like Dorthy in the Wizard of Oz...."and YOU were there! And YOU were there!" and I'm pointing at all y'all out there in the Interwebs when I say that. I freaking love you guys. And cats. And Farmville. And the beach.

Any thoughts on this bizarro world dream?
Image via

Get your mascot head on, it's time to play ball!

Is your bracket ready? Did you decide based on team color? Or the the fact that you want to go to California on vacation? Or you saw the player on that one team on TV and his hair looks nicer than yours will ever look, so you choose the other team to win?

Now that you've made those decisions, time to make some more...get ready people, it's the mascot bracket!

College sports have the most amazing mascots ever. I get so excited when I go to games and get to take pictures with or close to mascots. Sort of like Salt on her honeymoon.

I do my mascot bracket as if one mascot was  fighting the other. And I'm very literal about it, too. Like the Richmond Spiders? Will totally get smashed by the St. Mary's Gaels (and I don't even know what a Gael is). Birds that "look tough" will beat birds who do not and insects. Small cats will beat birds, insects and some people. Big cats will beat small cats, all people and bears, but not grizzlies (because in my mind, grizzlies are much bigger and scarier than regular everyday bears). People will beat small animals like dogs, all birds and insects.

I presume people are unarmed, that's because I want all cats (small and large) to advance. People mascots are lame. But I also presume that some people mascots are stronger than others. An unarmed UTEP Miner is going to be stronger than an unarmed Vanderbilt Commodore because I think of commodores as sort of uppity and they totally hide behind their big canons, so unarmed a miner who works all day in a dark, dingy mine swinging a pickax or whatever miners use, has big muscles and therefore could beat a commodore. Feel me? This is why, if you're a mascot, you should pick an occupation that will give you big muscles.

This is the fuzzy logic I use to construct my mascot picks.

My final four are the Houston Cougars, Oakland Golden Grizzlies, Montana Grizzlies and Old Dominion Sassy Pawed Lions (it's something else but that's my name for it because he has an awesome sassy paw and crown).

The Final Four matchups were a toughy for me because I really didn't want to decide between two grizzlies.

I wrote it in and Hubby said, "Do you want it because you want it to win, or because you think it would really win?"  And I was all, "In my heart I know the grizzly would win." So he said, "What if the bear was walking backward and the lion jumped on his back?" And I said, "If I made that happen this round, I'm just going to have the same decision to make when the Sassy Pawed Lion plays a grizz in the next round. I'm just going to go with the grizz."

Golden Grizz wins because it's golden.

My sister, the wonderful Sarah from Princess and the Blog, has a different way of doing things. Here she is in her own words!

My bracket is based on a structured hierarchy:

• Birds beat humans
• All other animals beat birds
• Cats beat all other animals

If two teams play each other and have the same mascot, I will go by what the actual mascot looks like, the school color or school name.  Anything that is not a human, bird, or animal gets placed depending on my mood. A bad mood will result in “A tree? That is a terrible mascot. It loses.” A good mood will result in “Look at that tree’s googly eyes! How cute! Win!” Typically these type of mascots only beat humans and birds.  I always will place rare mascots (turtles, beavers, ducks) above run-of-the-mill mascots (bulldogs, wolves, bears).

I thought the MidWest division was the most difficult this year. There was a whole section of non-animals, so I ended up picking a "worthless nut" that is a cute mascot compared to the other 3 mascots it was playing against; I had to choose between two different hawks; and there was a major upset where the extremely cute Testudo, the diamondback terrapin from Maryland beat Shasta the cougar from Houston.

Actual bracket. See how upset I was about some of these match-ups? A Spartan vs. a guy with a mustache.  Bird vs. bird. Cowboys vs. Yellowjackets vs. Gauchos vs. Buckeyes.

I can pretty much copy over my bracket year-to-year because I use the same hierarchy every year.  Apparently it was quite humorous to certain people that actual know a thing about basketball (like my husband) thought it was funny that I had 3 of the 4 #1 teams being beat by #16 teams. IT TOTALLY COULD HAPPEN…At least in Sarahland. This year, like any good year, I end up with all cat-related mascots in the final four. What can I say? I’m a crazy cat lady.  

My three runners up this year are:

• The Clemson Tigers.  Clemson almost didn't make it out of the first round because they faced the Missouri tigers...that is, until I saw they have a tiger AND tiger cub mascot. It is like 2 cats for the price of one! Win and Win.
• Rufus the Ohio University Bobcat. I like him because his name is Rufus, he is from Ohio (which is where I work!) and I think bobcats are really cute in real life.

• Cosmo the Cougar from BYU. This division had some really tough cat-competition (the Pitt Panthers and the Vermont Catamounts were runners up).  Cosmo gets the edge because I really like his name. Plus the Pitt Panther is kind of creepy looking and I couldn’t find any good pictures or information on the Vermont Catamounts.

My pick for winning it all? 2 words:

OLD DOMINION

Now, I have no affiliation with Old Dominion. I didn’t go there, my family didn’t go there. Yet every year that they are in the tournament, I choose them to win. I just know that one of these days, they will be the Cinderella story and I will win me some big bucks!! It is totally plausible that an 11 seed could win it all, right?? However, the real reason I like them is this:

LOOK AT HIM! HE is a CAT, with a CROWN and a SASSY PAW. He is the king of all cat-related mascots and in my book, that wins, hands down.

Who won your mascot bracket?

Beware of the Man Cold

I mentioned last post that we're in the middle of Man Cold 2010 (the sequel). It's brutal. Hubby is a teacher, so his biggest work hazard is his school is a petri dish of germs. It's not even a public school, either. It's a Christian school, and *somebody* isn't doing their job praying hard for healthy students.

This isn't the first Man Cold of the season here at my house. No, Man Cold 2010 struck in mid-January. It was proceeded by Christmas Man Cold 2009. And in between, the kidney stones fiasco. So yeah, basically my home as been an infirmary for the better part of 3 months.

I had a cold, too, around Christmas. And then also picked up some weird chest cold in January. But the sink can only hold so many dishes and Hubby was out of clean undies, so I kept chugging along. Can't keep a good woman down.

Anyway. Man Cold. These two words can strike fear into every wife or girlfriend's heart. They can cause white hot rage to burn from her skin and muscle strain from all the eye rolling. It's been this way from the beginning of time, you know. Below is a cave drawing of a pre-historic Man Cold:

 

Authentic cave drawing.

That's clearly a woman who is angry with caveman who has a Man Cold. And she's apparently about to hit him with some pre-historic animal bone (good call, lady). That's a stone pillow and trash can. So I've been told.

Remember how Henry VIII had Anne Bolyen beheaded? It's a little known fact this happened because she warmed up his chicken noodle soup by putting it in a bowl in the microwave instead of warming it up gently on the stove. DUH.

How do you know you have a Man Cold happening in your home?

1. Do you have a man who lives with you?

If yes, go to question 2. If no, you do not have a man cold in your home.

2. Please answer "yes" or "no" to the following questions:

• Are there wadded up, wet tissues littering the floor surrounding, but not actually IN, the trash can?
• In the past two hours have you been told any of the following? "I feel horrible." "I'm the sickest I've ever been." "I'm going to lay down on your lap." "I think I might have pneumonia."
• Have you been asked, "Do I feel hot to you?" more than once in the past three days?
• Have you cleaned up more than five different, half-drunk glasses of juice or ginger ale from the coffee table?
• Are there more than four bottles of ibuprofen, NyQuil or other other-the-counter medications on your kitchen counter, dining room or coffee table?
• In the past 24 hours, have you had to explain that ER doctors don't typically treat common colds?
• Has your man spent more than 4 non-sleeping hours in bed between 9 AM and 11 PM?
• Have you been asked to move from the couch because the man wanted to completely stretch out?
• Have you been snapped at more than four times in the past week because you forgot a fork, napkins or beverage?
• Did you say "Oh, you poor thing" at all in the past 7 days?

If you answered "yes" to two or more of these questions, then friend, you are in the midst of a Man Cold. My deepest sympathies to you.

I know I'm not the only one. Here's a WebMD article on the phenomenon. What do y'all do to stay sane during Man Colds?

The super creepy world of Toddlers and Tiaras

My quest to find  the best reality/trainwreck shows has introduced me to some real doosies.

There's the Real Housewives of Orange County, wherein no part of their bodies are real; What Not to Wear, wherein the snarky hosts pick apart some unsuspecting frumpy Momma and give her a complex; Policewomen of Broward County, wherein the lady cops are badass; 18 19 Kids and Counting, wherein some freakshow parents are raising a cult of creepy kids; and Super Nanny, wherein parents who probably don't have any business raising kids are taught how to raise their kids.

Image via

And then there is Toddlers&Tiaras, part of the lineup on ratings whore juggernaut, TLC, and it's not-quite-as-good counterpart, Little Miss Perfect (found on WE).

So, T&T documents the detail in which these girls go to win cash and prizes, not limited to crowns with ridiculous amounts of , trophies taller than them and puppies. Yes, puppies.

But in the super sub-specialty of this show, there is this particular episode featuring the WV Walk of Fame that was so terrifyingly awesome, I had to take detailed notes so I could write about it, and my words will NOT do it justice; I suggest you all run right to your DVRS and search for the WV Walk of Fame episode of T&T.

I keep wanting to call it the WV Walk of Shame, but that's about 10-12 years too soon for these girls.

Each show follows two or three girls. The one I'd like to talk about is named Jayla. Jayla, how can I say this in the most PC way possible. I can't. Jayla's Dad, Dwayne, I'm 99.9999999% sure this pageant dad is gay, although he's married to Jayla's Mom. But Dad loves him some glitz pageant,  y'all.

Here is a video of Jayla's Dad.

"My husband does her routines. It's just a Dad and Daughter thing, I guess," Jayla's Mom says with all the enthusiasm of a person headed in for a root canal.

Dwayne gets down to this pageant business. First, they make a stop at the dress maker to check on her super-fancy dress. "It looks just like we drawed it [sic] Jayla!" Indeed!

After they get home, Jayla practices with a little help from Dwayne, who is sashaying, sassy walking and pouting right along with Jayla. Then, they bond a little more during the spray tan session with Dwayne's personally owned spray  tanning gun. He says that tanning makes them look leaner and healthier. Because, come on, nobody likes a porky looking 6-year-old child. And what's healthier than the illusion of skin cancer? NOTHING.

"Jayla, YOU'LL BE DARK!!!!" (Sir, please put down the spray gun.)

Later, at the pageant, Dwayne is there to cheer on his little girl, but lest you think he's nothing but a selfless, supportive father, his real motive shines through when he puts the crown she won on his own head and said, "Look, Jayla, I'm wearing your CRROOWWWNNN!!"


Some other gems from this episode:

• A mom said she spent $3000 on a dress for her daughter. The daughter just likes the sparkles.
• This pageant has all ages, including tiny babies who came right out of the womb and were dressed in a pink sparkly gown; their hobbies include: being carried and trying to hold their heads up (I presume, because what else do babies do?)
• Jayla's hobby is  "helping her daddy to make her a fashion diva".
•  One mom says: "she's not fake when she does this, it's all her." Oh you mean other than the fake hair and teeth and lashes?
•  The pageant director says:  "The problem with red carpet wear isn't with the child, it's with the mom. You can't just go out to Walmart and buy something. That's not what the judges are looking for." So, something classier then? Like Target?
• Jayla later is crying her eyes out because she's tired and hungry and Dwayne says that it's been stressful and fun. FUN?
•  Everyone at this pageant gets a crown and trophy and no money. 
•  One little girl has a stage name, Tootie. She honest-to-God has a split personality and also talks about Tootie in the 3rd person, like it's someone else. She says: "I get to be perfect. I LOVE to be perfect." and  "Tootie won 10 grand. They're a lot of pretty girls in the world and they can't all win. Unless they are Tootie." Well that's just a mental breakdown waiting to happen after the first bad grade she gets in high school or college.

I swear these little girls are prettier than me. Where's my fake nails and spray tan and hairdresser? Life is so unfair.

What are they teaching in medical school these days?

Continuing on my series of medical related posts this week, I'd like to tell you all about the conversation I had with a resident today who was calling our department asking about patient photography.

The media team had a meeting the other day about how we're going to handle non-media requests. We get them occasionally from doctors or other employees who just have basic questions. The media director made us a little fact sheet telling us exactly what our department is responsible for, where to refer them and what forms they will need.

Dr. Dbag: Hi, I'm a surgical resident. I'd like to take a picture of a patient for a case study.
Me: Ok, well let me grab my handy little fact sheet tell you our policy. We don't' handle photos used for education. You don't' need written authorization as long as the patient has signed Consent form #09809234809234890.
Dr. D: What's that?
Me: It's a consent form. I'm not exactly sure what it is, but Legal Services will be happy to explain it. I just don't know because we don't usually handle this type of request.
Dr. D: It's ok. Where can I find that form?
Me: Let me check for you on our intranet. Because I don't have it on hand. Because we don't typically handle these types of requests. [ checks ] Hm, I can't seem to find it. You can call Legal Services and see where it is.
Dr. D: [ silence ]
Me: Or I will call them and call you back, how about it? Can you give me your phone number?
Dr. D: Actually, let me give you my PAGER so you can PAGE me back.

So I called legal services, who told me where to find the form, but that all patients are asked to sign the form before surgery if they do, in fact, give their consent. I thought, score, problem solved. I paged Dr. Dbag right back.

Me: I found out from Legal that your patient should have signed the form before he/she went into surgery. You can find it in his/her chart.
Dr. D: What if it's not on his/her chart?
Me: Well. [pause] it should be. Like it's supposed to be; its' part of the paperwork they fill out before a surgery. If it's not, there is a problem.
Dr. D: What if he/she doesn't' have a chart? He/She was admitted from a clinic.
Me: So he/she's going to have surgery shortly....? If so, she can sign it before he/she goes in.
Dr. D: He/she already had surgery.
Me: Wait. What? So what are you photographing?
Dr. D:  His/her incision site.
Me: Did he/she have surgery at our hospital?
Dr. D: Yes.
Me: That form should be a part of the medical record, then.
Dr. D: Where do I find that?
Me: I'm non-clinical, I really am not sure. I would maybe suggest asking the charge nurse on the floor. It has to be attached to the medical record somehow.
Dr. D:  You mean I can find it online?
Me: Well. [pause because I'm thinking, really? am I seriously still on this call?] I don't think it's readily accessible online. Ask the charge nurse and she will be able to give it to you.
Dr. D: Well, what if it's not in the files.
Me: You know who could answer that question better than me? The charge nurse. And if it's not in the files, I'm sure the charge nurse would be able to find the form for you.
Dr. D: It's just that....this seems very vague. What exactly do I need to fill out to take these pictures?
Me: [ headexplosion ]

THEN he asked if we have a camera to use, like what part of "this isn't our responsiblity" don't you understand? And isn't doctoring 101 "how to find a chart"? And this was a resident! Not even a full fledged doctor!

I can't wait till the new media person starts.

Kidney Stones are my worst enemy and other ER stories

If you follow me on  Twitter, you might have noticed that I was at the ER for a good part of 8 hours on Thursday night. I'm here to tell you the two following truths:

1. Kidney stones are an evil affliction that Mother Nature came up with on "one of those days" just to get back at the human race for doing whatever it was that pissed her off that day. Mother Nature needs an attitude adjustment.
2. You will find all manner of people in an ER after 9 pm, most of whom have no business being in the ER.

This was Hubby's second bout with the 'stones in a year, and now we're calling him Stony. We laugh so we don't cry. I've never had them nor do I want to, but from what he tells me, they are extremely painful, maybe even more so than anything else known to man including but not limited to breaking bones and childbirth (to which I say, on behalf of all women who have experienced childbirth, "THE HECK IT'S MORE PAINFUL THAN CHILDBIRTH" - presumably).

He was fine at 6:30 pm and then suddenly it hit him -- intense pain in his side, nausea, diarrhea, vomiting. We waited an hour and a half and around 8:45 decided a trip to the ER was in the cards, if for nothing else than for the pain. I mean, there's nothing that can be done about kidney stones except just let them ease on down and out. 

We rushed to the ER. Well, OK, it was more of a leisurely drive to the ER because I took what I thought would be the shortcut, but we hit every. single. light on the street. While Hubby was taking another trip to the bathroom, I checked in with the volunteer manning the desk.

Me: Hi, I just brought my husband in. He has terrible kidney stones and is in a lot of pain. I wanted to go ahead and check in while he's in the restroom.
Desk Lady: You have to register with the nurse at the cart.

Wait, what? Cart? Like a coffee cart? Or a storage cart? Apparently, yes, the first check-in station is with a triage nurse sitting at a little cart with a computer. Cart Nurse wrote Hubby's name on one of those phone message pads, handed it back to me, and asked me to check back in with Desk Lady.

An hour later, he got his vitals checked.

Two hours later, we got to the triage room.

During our two hour wait, we got to know some really lovely people, including the lady in a wheelchair who kept making pretend phone calls and had been waiting since 3 pm and was ready to go home without being examined; the lady who wandered around wrapped in a blanket and asked when she could get her pain medicine because she was in some kind of unidentifiable pain (but not so intense that she couldn't walk around and talk on her cell phone); and the kind fellow who kept asking the triage nurse not only how long the wait would be, but who would pay for his visit (great question, sir, great question indeed).

And let me mention the shoe situation up in that ER. It was like a slipper factory exploded. Or like the whole waiting room was on Oprah and she was giving away slippers, (and YOU get some slippers! and YOU get some slippers! and YOU get some slippers!). Or as if the only way to get into heaven is if you were wearing slippers. I'm pretty sure the only people wearing actual shoes with soles were me, Hubby, Desk Lady and Cart Nurse.

Four hours later, Hubby ran to the restroom in a hurry and in so much pain he couldn't stand up straight. He passed the stone in the restroom.

Four and a half hours later, we got a room with a view. Of the TV. If you tilt your head and scoot the curtains around a little bit.

Five hours later, he gets some pain medicine (finally).

Five and a half hours later, the first doc (a resident) came to see him.

Six hours later, the admissions lady came around to ask if I'd like to pay today, be billed later, or have it deducted from my paycheck.

Six hours and 15 minutes later, the attending physician came by to check on him. She ordered a CT scan.

Six hours and 30 minutes later, he gets a CT scan.

Seven hours and 30 minutes later, the CT scan comes back negative, but he's given pain medicine and sent home.

During our time in the room, we overheard a couple interesting stories. One lady came in with what she explained as a "bruised coccyc" but it turned out to be a rectal cyst. It got very quiet when the hot doctor snapped his gloves for a rectal exam.

Then another lady came in with abdominal pain and vaginal bleeding.

Nurse: Do you think it could be your period?
Lady: No.
Nurse: When was your last period?
Lady: January 4.
Nurse: !? So. It's February 4. Which is 31 days from your last period. So it COULD be your period, right?

Then he continued to explain how a menstrual cycle works. To an adult woman. Who presented to the ER for CRAMPS.

Y'all, I couldn't make this up.

Jake "The Bachelor" waxes poetic about nothing

Hey, y'all, it's lunchtime. I just warmed up my Progresso Light Sodium Chicken Noodle soup, only 90 calories per serving (which is half the can, who eats half a can of soup?) and now with 60% less taste!

I am taking a few moments while I pick the questionable chicken by-product out of this bowl to  catch up on some blogs.

Say, did you know Jake, this year's Bachelor, has a blog? It's true! I bet he has some really amazing things to say! Because he's really clever and unique and interesting!*

*And by that, I mean has a nice set of abs. 

Here are the highlights from this week's blog:

Let’s start with Tenley. What a doll face!

Yes, let's start with that doll face, Tenley. Although I'm sure he meant that in the same way my grandmother would say it, I also have to point out she literally looks like a doll. On the next date, he'll offer her a butterscotch and make her sit on his lap, OH WAIT he already does that. Halfway there, Gramps.

 I always say, “Great minds think alike,” so what a cool coincidence that both of our fortune cookies said, “KISS ME!” It still makes me smile. By the way, Tenley and I both burned our hands making those fortune cookies!

Wow, what a touching, magical, producer-inspired memory y'all created together. Good thing you had that fortune cookie or you might never have had that special first kiss. And also, inappropriate punctuation alert at the end of the paragraph; it might be a good place for an emoticon or something, since that appears to be the level of his writing skills.

Castello di Amorosa provided an incredible backdrop to a fun, romantic, yet stressful and awkward date with Gia and Vienna. At this point, I was really over group dates.

I just wish he'd specified which part was fun and romantic and which part was stressful and awkward. Cause he didn't look too very awkward when he was sucking face with Gia. And I'm also glad that we're on the same page with the group date situation, because we were really over it about 8 seasons ago.

At midnight the power is cut off, which coincidentally left Vienna by herself in a pitch-black maze of tunnels. She was lost for almost an hour! LOL! 

Oh, man, being lost in a pitch-black abyss with no one but a cameraman and an ancient oil lamp to guide your way is SO HYSTERICALLY FUNNY. I almost choked on this flavorless chicken broth because I was laughing so hard.

Let's just think about that last sentence, shall we? We've got the subject, predicate and punctuation succinctly displayed in four characters, because there's nothing weird about a grown man using LOL as a free-standing sentence.

I wanted to let [Ali] take control and plan the date and she did one heck of a job! We had an absolute blast and I think Ali thoroughly enjoyed getting to show off her neighborhood. I want a woman that trusts my decision-making skills so I remember how good it felt to have that conversation with Ali in front of the Golden Gate Bridge, putting all the drama behind us.

Wait, what? You want a woman who trusts your decision-making skills, so you let her make the decision about the date? Is he saying he wants her to trust his decision to let her decide? Or maybe he's just stringing together some random words in hopes that some part of this blog will make sense? Or maybe I don't speak "crazy"? Does anyone who reads this blog speak crazy, and can translate for us?

If you can believe it, this is going to be one of the most dramatic episodes this season.

I've believed the ABC promo monkeys every other week when they proclaim the next week's episode "Most. Dramatic. EVER." so why wouldn't I believe it now?

Fly Safe everyone!!! –Jake Pavelka

That's his sign-off, you guys. Fly safe. Excuse me while I take some Advil to get rid of the headache from the anvil they keep dropping on us to make sure we know he's a pilot. 

[Cue the 138th version of "On the Wings of Love"]

And if all that isn't cheeseball enough, check out his promo shot:

Photo via People TVWatch

Can't wait to see what he has to say next week!

Personifying food is why I'm fat

Yesterday, Hubby and I went to Texas Roadhouse for lunch. It's a tradition that started 5 years ago when we went out "as friends" for the first time. We had chatted online for 8 months or so before we actually met for the first time. That's a long story for another blog. But anyway, the first non-date date was at Logan's Roadhouse, but when we moved and there isn't a Logans down here, so Texas Roadhouse is the next best thing. I would never have dreamed that 5 years we would be where we are now, but I do know that I felt a spark with him during that non-date date that I never felt with another guy. We had the same phone and I tried to sneak a picture of him so I could show my friends how cute he was. We were pretty much inseparable from that point on.

I love him very much.

But that's not why I'm here. I'm here to admit  I have a very bad habit of personifying food. Actually, I personify everything: clothes, animals, books. But the food thing is really disturbing. Like yesterday at lunch, I'm eating salad and I have the tiniest bit  left, but then our food came. And I'm thinking, I'll just let her take the bowl, it's fine. I knew if I ate it, I would be too full and wouldn't finish my dinner. So the waitress comes to the table and she's like, can I take this out of your way? and I'm all, SURE! and then in the back of my head, I hear the salad saying, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Like literally screaming at me. In my head.

I mean, this happens all the time. Like I will be eating chicken, and there will be one piece left, and I will be STUFFED to the brim, push my plate away and then I'll hear that one last piece of chicken say to me, "You're just going to....leave me?" and play the world's saddest song on the world's smallest violin with it's piece of chicken arms, and I get so bent out of shape that I'll eat the last piece of chicken and then my stomach will hurt all evening.

What is wrong with me??

I will just keep eating and eating until I'm ginormous because I feel sorry for uneaten food. There is no hope for me.

Papa Johns has good pizza, but odd workers

What is it with me and weird interactions with restaurant workers?

Living in a college town is always a treat because you have a wide variety of young, awkward students trying to make a couple bucks in the middle of their busy schedules of going to class, drinking and taking naps. They are experts at only one thing: uncomfortable conversations.

University of Kentucky is playing today and we decided to get pizza at Papa Johns. I went to pick up the pizza in my UK shirt and hat and the following conversation occurred with the young fella behind the counter:

Me: Hi, I'm picking up a pizza for Austin?
Worker: Ok, that'll be $10.67. So, is Kentucky playing today?
Me: Yes, they are.
Worker: Who are they playing?
Me: Auburn.
Worker: Cool. I'm looking forward to the Vikings game tomorrow.
Me: Oh yeah. I guess we might watch that, too. [which is of course, me making conversation]
Worker: Oh, you watch sports? Some girls don't like to watch sports. I mean women. I mean females. I mean ladies.
Me: Yeah, well I usually read  while my husband is watching.
Worker: Like what?
Me: ....!?
Worker *blink*
Me: You mean, what do I read?
Worker: Yeah...
Me: Magazines, usually. US Weekly. You know, gossip magazines.
Worker: So, like, you get to find out what Angelina Jolie is up to.
Me: [laughing] Right, who got married, who broke up, who's on drugs, who lost weight.
Worker: [laughing] Who died!
Me: Um, yeah?
Worker: Ok, have a great day! Go Auburn!

Was he trying to hit on me, or just doesn't know how to have a normal interaction with another human?

What would YOU call 30 pianos on one stage?

I took piano lessons for about 7 years in middle school and high school. I don't want to say I hated it, because I truly didn't. It was fun learning how to play, especially at Christmas or to be a showoff or whatever. My piano teacher was nice. She was the organist at our church and was very intelligent, musically. My sister and I had back-to-back lessons at her house after school once a week. Mom drove us until I was 16, and once I started driving, were always late. We would say things like, "oh, traffic was really tied up, I'm surprised we actually got here at all!" which would be a decent excuse if we didn't live, like, 4 blocks away.

I never practiced. Ever. Ohh, how I hated practicing. I would get to my lesson and not be able to play without screwing up the notes and then say, "Hm, this is SO weird, I just practiced this before I left and played it perfectly! Are you sure there isn't something wrong with your piano? The keyboard feels weird. New bench? The light is so dim in here. Or too bright. And did you turn the heat on? I think the change in atmosphere just  threw me off. Why don't you get this all straightened out and we'll try again next week, ok?"

Every year, the music department or music teachers group or whoever it was, organized this big recital. All the piano teachers in the city gave their students two or three songs to learn. Most of them were duets; in total, there were maybe 15 songs. Then we would meet in an auditorium where they set up 30 grand pianos on the stage, and we all got up there and played the songs we learned in unison, there was a conductor and everything. What I'm talking about here is 60 kids playing the same song on 30 different pianos AT THE SAME TIME.Did I just blow your mind? It gets better.

The name of this magical musical extravaganza? PIANO-RAMA, Y'ALL.

I just told that story at work and they were all, really? Where was this? and I said, Huntington, WV, of course, the most awesome place in the world for unison piano playing, DUH.

What is the point of 30 pianos at once? Answer: to use the phrase Piano-Rama.

P.S. I just searched for Piano-rama on Google Images and this is what came up:

What?

If this doesn't give you the creeps, I don't know what will.