tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-238880462024-03-07T21:05:43.837-07:00Weenit.blogspot.comUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger336125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-58001114381594006192011-03-30T13:14:00.001-06:002011-03-30T13:16:52.750-06:00I had anther bizarre dream last night...It's been a while since I've dreamed about zombies. These is something so psychological, yet so frightening about these very specific dreams that makes me enjoy them so much. Though my life is in constant danger and I spend the whole dream running and afraid, it also makes me feel very alive. Though in this particular zombie dream there were also tigers, but I'll get to them in a minute. The dream started in the streets with zombie people grabbing and clawing at me, they were much closer to me than they usually get in these dreams. I was with a group of strangers and one man in the group told us he knew a safe place. He lead us to an apartment building where he lived. There were cops and military men outside fighting off zombies. We went inside and took stairs to his floor. When we opened the door to his floor things got a bit weird. Instead of each apartment being segregated by a long hall and locking doors the whole floor was completely opened up. Each apartment was sectioned off by counters and stair rails, but you could stand in the kitchen or living room of any given apartment and yell across the floor to your neighbors. We struggled trying to figured out witch apartment we were looking for considering none of them were marked. We were worried we might enter the wrong apartment and intrude on a hiding tenant who might mistake us for zombies. Eventually the man who led us to his apartment shows up and directs us to his apartment where he begins to disperse household items for use in self defense against the zombies. Things like knives and scissors and other solid hard objects were handed out. I ended up with a knife which I was concerned wasn't sharp enough. All of the items were close range impact weapons and I couldn't help but think I wish I had a gun or something that I could use to defend myself from them zombies at a distance so I didn't have to get so close. <br />
It was about this point in my dream that zombies began to work their way into the building. I was trying to stab them in the heart or neck with my knife but I felt like I just couldn't get enough force to make my attacks effective. So I kept looking for other sharper knives. Then suddenly my sister was there. She had been bit by a zombie and was turning into one. She started to come after me so I attacked her with my knife in the chest. She went down and then it seemed like suddenly we had our hold back on the building. I realized without further defense the zombies would end up taking over eventually so I went and got us two tigers. The dream did not describe how or where I got the tigers, I just suddenly had them. Around the outside area of the building was a fence so we kept the tigers outside near two swimming pools. the idea was that if zombies got over the fence the tigers would eat them. It worked. The zombies were no longer a threat to me, but now the tigers were. I suddenly had a whole new set of problems. I was afraid of the tigers turning and attacking on me, they were pooping all over the place including in one of the pools. And then we were not sure how we would feed them. I ended up giving them pretzels, bread, and frozen hamburger meat as a meal shortly before I woke up from this dream.<br />
When I did finally wake up I had a pounding headache, as I often do when I was such intense dreams for such a prolonged period of time.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-77344275366873182832011-02-24T17:19:00.001-07:002011-02-24T17:19:38.231-07:00Bostons don't like camping...Niamh ( pronounced Neav) is snubbing me while Annibell tries to get the dirt out of her eyes. What a couple of pussies.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgqvq-BZoP-fTCqWSlZvz90jABq9kicd9lJGPrFX87O_fYF5X_8i8H5UCrqtIsceB4GcuhthcIBMRYbwm8XVR_dryQYuzaa9hyShSe90J70KCmNBvPVjbbmXwJi_Clt4KsWld1A/s1600/everything+038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgqvq-BZoP-fTCqWSlZvz90jABq9kicd9lJGPrFX87O_fYF5X_8i8H5UCrqtIsceB4GcuhthcIBMRYbwm8XVR_dryQYuzaa9hyShSe90J70KCmNBvPVjbbmXwJi_Clt4KsWld1A/s400/everything+038.JPG" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-55693808297775285992010-04-28T09:18:00.006-06:002011-02-24T16:34:43.152-07:00Annibell, so smart...OK, maybe I lie. I wonder where I went wrong?<br />
<br />
<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/noMDVj4Kzi0&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/noMDVj4Kzi0&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-22380205756758458842010-04-20T17:48:00.002-06:002010-04-20T18:08:41.851-06:00Dear drunk insurance lady...I'm sure you have all seen one of those moments where two girls are fighting because one girl hit on the other girls boyfriend. Kind of like this... (P.S. This video is so not appropriate for work)<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZOrNGP9GYTo&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZOrNGP9GYTo&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />Yep, that was almost me, almost. If only I had an ounce of fight in me. Sadly, I'm full of hugs and marshmallows and rum, none of which are good for putting sleazy insurance ladies in their place. Also, I probably would have lost and, dammit, I'm too pretty for jail! <br /><br />Anyways, my point is this, I've never understood the whole "two girls fighting over a boy" thing before. I've seen it happen, I've been mistaken for a sleazy insurance lady before, and I always thought it was a jealousy thing. I don't believe in jealousy. I think it's more a symptom of an underlying emotion rather than it's own emotion. For example, if a girl sees another girl hit on her boyfriend she might feel jealous because she is insecure in her relationship and with herself and worries her boyfriend might just go for the bait.<br /><br />Except there I was at some smokey giddy up bar in Coalville with my super handsome boyfriend when he ran into the girl who handles his family's insurance account. And do you know what she did? After my boyfriend introduced us? While I was standing right there? She hit on him! as in flirting and body language and standing too close and, seriously, wtf? Who does that? Anyways, I won't lie, it pissed me off. And not because I was jealous but because it was completely disrespectful. <br /><br />So now I get the whole, "Bitch, stay away from my man" thing. I suddenly feel humbled. I'm bringing the dog's spray bottle with us to the bar next time just in case we run into that girl again. Someone needs to teach her a lesson.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-76795077131701550832010-03-30T14:42:00.002-06:002010-03-30T14:50:48.804-06:00Dear Virgin Mobile...Please go fuck yourself. Without lube. Just you and your dry flaky hand.<br /><br />In fact, I bet <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">that</span> is what you're doing right now, instead of fixing my broken service. What else could you have been doing for the last THREE months? Seriously, and every time I call about it things only get worse. Which leads me to believe you must just be fucking with me.<br /><br />It's not nice, so knock it off please.<br /><br />All I want is to be able to drunk text people and receive their responses, is that too much to ask? seriously, text messaging is a very <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">ineffective</span> tool if it only works one way. I feel like a deaf person having a verbal conversation with someone else. They may be picking up what I'm laying down but I'll be damned if I have any clue what's going on.<br /><br />This sucks.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-25985100146010055072010-03-10T16:42:00.020-07:002010-03-15T19:09:14.873-06:00Weenit does 24hrs of Lemons (a picture blog).<div style="text-align: left;">So there I was in this amazing city called San Francisco, I'm sure you've heard of it, somewhere on the west coast? California? No? Not ringing any bells? Wikipedia it and lets move on...</div><div><br /></div><div>So there I was in the gorgeous city with the boyfriend drinking something called a <a href="http://www.drinksmixer.com/drink440.html">Ramos Fizz</a>, yeah, it's a fucking cocktail with a raw egg in it. You wouldn't think liquor and raw egg mixed well but there are apparently many things I need to learn.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/justin_fizz.jpg" /></div><div><br /></div><div>Anyways, there we were drinking Ramos Fizz in my newest favorite city in the USA. It was awesome. And hot, as in sexy hot, not hot hot, it is San Francisco in march after all.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">then the very next day I follow Justin to the <a href="http://www.24hoursoflemons.com/">24 hours of Lemon</a>s competition, and all the class and beauty of San Francisco went out the window, or exhaust...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></span></div><div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_263.jpg" /></div><div><br /></div><div>Yes ladies and gentlemen, that is a grown man wearing a diaper, on the OUTSIDE of his pants! Who has the number to FailBlog? This is what 24 hours of lemons is all about.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>Watching a lemons race is a lot like watching a gay pride festival. Except, there are race cars instead of floats, and rednecks and gear heads instead of gays. I'm still trying to decide which one gets weirder. More on that later. </div><div><br /></div><div>The basic rule of Lemons is that your car must be a complete piece of shit. For example...</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_358a.jpg" /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">Yeah, that thing is a race car, as in, it actually drove in the race... Fast. However, I think the license plate is new...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_360a.jpg" /><div><br /></div><div>And they had a very frightened passenger...</div><div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_357.jpg" /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here are a few other Lemons cars...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_254.jpg" /><div><br /></div><div>The side of the Mini says, "100% free or BMW parts." Also free of windows, passengers seats, any class at all...</div><div><br /><div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_262.jpg" /></div><div><br /></div><div>Ever wonder what they do with the old demolition cars? Now you know.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_288.jpg" /></div><div><br /></div><div>this one I just don't get.</div><div><br /></div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_270.jpg" /></div><div><br /></div><div>Yeah, Lemons.</div><div><br /></div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_276.jpg" /><div><br /></div><div>Officially, this is the fastest hot dog I have ever seen, ever.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_319.jpg" /><div><br /></div><div>On the side of their car it said, "Pilots do it better!" Too bad their car crapped out at the beginning of the race.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_256.jpg" /><div><br /></div><div>Read the bumper stickers on this one and you'll know why it was my favorite Lemons float, I mean race car.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_258.jpg" /><div><br /></div><div>Here is the boyfriends race car, also known as the most boring lemons car ever. Agreed. But the driver was hot. No really, covered in sweat.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_260.jpg" /><div><br /></div><div>Yeah, that, not a Lemons car. It's stupid enough, just not shitty enough. Also, I'm willing to bet it's full of nerdy Asians, or midgets. They are the only people that could ever fit in that thing. Or maybe kids, smart kids.</div><div><br /></div><div>By far, my favorite part of the Lemons race was the penalties. Unlike Nascar, Lemons makes you complete annoying, time wasting tasks before they will let you back out on the track. One wall was covered in penalty options.</div><div><br /></div></div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_346.jpg" /><div></div><br /><div>This penalty is called the "Bart Simpson". The offending team had to write a phrase of the judges choice on there car fifty times. </div><div><br /></div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_355.jpg" />"I'm a big poopie head." And "I will not pass under yellow."<div><br /></div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_354.jpg" /><div></div><br /><div>This guy had to write, "I drive a race car, not a lawn mower." I guess Lemons doesn't like it when you drive in the grass. Lesson learned.</div><div><br /></div><div>This next one is called the Bob Ross. They make you don a silly wig and paint a picture on your car from a Bob Ross picture book.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_352.jpg" /><div><br /></div><div>These guys did an amazing job considering...</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_351.jpg" /></div><div><br /></div><div>This is called the chain gang...</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_323.jpg" /></div><div><br /></div><div>In the end the Alice In Wonderland team won. I guess that's what happens when you take your Lemons racing so serious.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_363.jpg" /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Excuse me, who parked their sheep here? Yeah, there were fucking sheep at the race. Mother. Fucking. Sheep.</div><div><br /></div><div> <img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_329.jpg" /></div><div><br /></div>This one wanted to eat me. I'm pretty sure sheep are evil.<div><br /><div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_325.jpg" /></div></div><div><br /></div>Here are a few other awesome things I saw at the Lemons race. Powered by Black and Decker...<div><br /><div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_374.jpg" /></div><div><br /></div><div>Kids on mechanical bulls. Dangerous? Or awesome? Both!</div><div><br /></div></div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_369.jpg" /><div><br /></div><div>No Lemons race is complete without Evil Knievel. Wait, aren't all the drivers that get in those race cars kind of Evil Knievels?</div><div><br /></div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_321.jpg" /><div><br /></div><div>Did I tell you how hot my boyfriend is? He is a beast, and this is his sexy face.</div><div><br /></div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_372.jpg" /><div><br /></div><div>Long story short, 24 Hours of Lemons was awesome, weird, but awesome. A few other things I saw in San Francisco include the Golden Gate Bridge. I always wanted to see it, so now I have. Someone remind me to cross that off my bucket list.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_246.jpg" /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And this one is for Lindsay. Rainbow tunnel. Of course you would San Francisco.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://www.shoeish.com/uploader/images/everything_250.jpg" /><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-31010032941009987882009-04-16T10:21:00.002-06:002009-04-16T10:27:46.773-06:00You're never safe in Fargo, ND...So, vacation is over, my relationship with Michael is over, and apparently, so is my good <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">rapor</span> with the crew scheduling guys.<br /><br /><br />I've been back to working reserve five days, and I have been stuck flying all five of those days! But I ran into my buddy Enrique and he's been on reserve all month and hasn't flown once...<br /><br />Damn that island monkey!<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ok</span>, I'm not racist, I'm just a little sad I have to go to Fargo today. Fargo is cold, and cold, and did I mention cold? Because it is very very cold. Plus, I still have to blog to you all about my fantastic vacation, meeting Heather Armstrong, and "the Break up". Did you know men don't like it when you tell them to man up on your blog? Well they don't, and I just don't give a damn!<br /><br />I hope those <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Levees</span> hold, I don't want to get stuck there like my baby sister was last month!<br /><br />Anyways, I "should" be back tomorrow, at which time I "will" get around to posting lots of silly pictures of me and other various drunk people.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-76346766306698542632009-04-14T14:25:00.002-06:002009-04-14T14:37:58.769-06:00Conversation of the week...My sister Mindy and I were drinking cocktails after a rather <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">inappropriate</span> boat ride where my mother <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">proceeded</span> to show the "old ladies gone wild" side of herself after a few too many drinks when this conversation happened...<br /><br />Me: "I think mom is one drink away from doing something she will wake up in the morning and regret."<br /><br />Mindy: "Or one drink away from shitting herself." (long story, but it has happened before)<br /><br />At this point our drunk mother comes stumbling up to us and Mindy holds her cocktail out to her with a grin on her face and says, "Hey mom, want another drink?"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-37644991349525843022009-04-07T13:36:00.002-06:002009-04-07T13:44:40.002-06:00Happy birthday to me! Come on, sing along everyone...Today is my 25<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Th</span> birthday, you know what that means, right? Lower insurance premiums! So, the birthday curse has hit yet again, but I think the birthday goodness came out and kicked it's but all over the place. Things we not working as I planned, my family was giving me a migraine over everything, and I almost lost it. I came seconds away from canceling the trip and running through the streets with a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">machete</span> dicing up mail boxes (isn't mental illness grand). Long story short, the BF won't be <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">joining</span> me in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Havasu</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">like</span> planned, but aside from that things worked out.<br /><br />And on top <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">of</span> it all I learned a few things. First of all, I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">may</span> need to see a therapist. Second, I don't think the BF can man up when the going gets though and just enjoy it. Now I need to spend my vacation trying to decide if I have room for someone like that in my close and personal intimate life.<br /><br />I'll be seeing you all in a week so I can tell you all about meeting my idol and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">interweb</span> goddess Heather Armstrong of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Dooce</span>!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-51732254094985775482009-04-01T19:31:00.003-06:002009-04-01T20:23:41.280-06:00To call, or not to call?In July of last year I went somewhere far away and visited that boy from my past, you know, the one I use to dream about all the time. Anyways, I won't write much about that weekend because it's something I keep very private and very close to my heart. But I will tell you this, it helped me let go. I don't know why, and I don't know how, but submerging myself in his world helped me be <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">OK</span> with the fact that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">I'm</span> not a part of his world. Maybe it was because his world is hot and sticky and full of mean people, city of brotherly love my ass!<br /><br />Anyways, I got a bit drunk some time last week and found my way to his <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">myspace</span>. I ended up sending him an email that I instantly <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">regretted</span> the second I hit send. Dude, my computer <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">totally</span> needs a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">breathalyzer</span> on it or something. Drunk dialing is bad enough but with email they have a written account of your debauchery to hold over your head.<br /><br />Jesus save my soul!<br /><br />Anyways, much to my surprise, said boy responded to my email with a very prompt "Your cell isn't working, call me!"<br /><br />Call him? Oh God, why? What do I have to say to him? "Hey stranger, heard you were in town a few months after I came to see you, I called while you were here, kind of felt like you went out of your way to avoid me and my calls, why? Did I do something wrong or did you just have enough of me back at your place?"<br /><br />I won't lie, a small part of me does want to call him, the part of me that thinks it has something to prove. But <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">what do</span> I have to prove? That I can go on without him? That it's been nearly eight months since I said goodbye to him and it hasn't even phased me. Yeah I bet that's it.<br /><br />So I'm sure I'll spend the end of my evening tonight doing just what I have done every evening for the last week, sitting by the phone with a cocktail in one hand, the receiver in the other, dialing the first few digits of his number, and then hanging up. The number of drinks I have consumed directly correlates to the number of digits I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">successfully</span> dial before my nerves get to me. Maybe tonight I'll go for one more cocktail and finally make that call so I can stop obsessing over it. And with any luck I'll get his voicemail and leave a message that he will, no doubt, never return.<br /><br />It drives me bat shit insane that I've managed to distance myself from him so well in these recent months and still he is wasting my time and running circles in my head. It's moments like these that make me wonder if I did something wrong and karma is kicking me in the ass for it, or if I'm simply paying it forward for the great things to come.<br /><br />Ok, it's time for mommy to have a much needed margarita...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-63201368758771595532009-04-01T19:01:00.005-06:002009-04-01T19:26:42.773-06:00Wow...So, it was like three months ago that I put up a post declaring my rebirth into the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">blogopshere</span>, and since then, nothing. It took the reprimands of my close loved ones to get me a little focused.<br /><br />"Bad blogger, naughty blogger, now go sit in the corner with your laptop and don't turn around until you have written something witty!" my mother said as she <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">whipped</span> me with a newspaper.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Ok</span>, maybe it didn't quite go like that. Truth is, I sat down two months ago to write you all about what has been going on in my life but that post got so long and list-like that I forgot what I was doing and became distracted by something shinny.<br /><br />So here is what <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">happened</span> to me in the last few months...<br /><br />Some time before December 22: I get stupid drunk and snog with Photo Mike, which leads to us becoming "Us".<br /><br />December 22: Tony wrecks his dads car after picking Rose and I up from the Sports Authority where we just bought wool socks for our <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">snowboarding</span> trip that next day. The impact broke two bones in my face, and broke my left ring finger in about ten different places. I still have not used my new board!<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">December</span> 29<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Th</span>: I have surgery to put my finger back together, and spend the next week or two lying in bed popping <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Vicodin</span> and watching Vin Diesel movies. The surgery forces me to miss my New Years eve in New York watching the ball drop and drinking overpriced martinis at Manhattan's trendiest.<br /><br />January: I think it's wise to acquire myself a cute little urinating poop factory we call Annabell, and consequently, I fall head over <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">heads</span> for my little pointer mix.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">February</span>: I get a huge tax return and buy a car. I'm not any good at this driving thing so wish me luck.<br /><br />March: I have more surgery to remove some of the metal placed in my finger to hold the bits in place, more <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">vicodin</span> follows.<br /><br />April 1st: I've recovered from the accident, aside from the lack of feeling in the top left side of my mouth, or the fact that my finger only bends sixty degrees. But if you can overlook all that, I guess you could say I'm recovered.<br /><br />But more importantly, it's April fools day and no one has managed to pull a prank on me yet. Granted, I am huddled here in a corner keeping close watch out the window for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">AJ</span>, or any of his little minions to come sneaking along.<br /><br />P.S. Has anyone seen <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Google's</span> April fools prank? Autopilot <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">gmail</span>, I love it!<br /><br />Anyways, I guess now it's time to get back to real life. I've been sitting around the last three months recovering from this accident with little no more to do than google the names of every person I know that I've gotten so accustom to a little thing called sitting on my ass. Going back to work tomorrow is going to be tough on me, and my soft ass. Want to know what the most ironic thing about this whole situation is?<br /><br />Next week I start my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">pre</span> scheduled vacation.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-34807144134005849732008-06-24T17:34:00.003-06:002008-06-24T17:54:58.823-06:00But Popeye ate it.Five year <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">olds</span> don't like creamed spinach.<br /><br />Who knew?<br /><br />Funny thing is the little sprout would rather eat plain boring spinach than creamed spinach. Call me crazy but, I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">figured</span> if I toss some cream cheese and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Parmesan</span> cheese on it he would like it better.<br /><br />But of course, I forget, he hates cheese. The mention of the "C" word makes him vomit in his mouth. Is it just me or isn't cheese a weird thing for kids to hate? And more so for mine because he is half Italian. Don't those people love cheese so much they sleep with a block of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Parmesan</span>, or is that just my ex-mother in law? I mean, they put it on everything else, so why not their pillow?<br /><br />Or their spinach?<br /><br />Hew, speaking of Italian, some guy on our plane Sunday threw up pizza. It was amazing how far he projected it, pizza vomit was everywhere. It hit the ceiling, the walls, even other passengers who then began to throw up themselves. You know how dominoes work? The first one knocks over the second, which then gets the third? Yeah, it was like that on a plane, except the dominoes were people, and instead of falling over they were throwing up.<br /><br />We were delayed an hour while the airport crew cleaned it up. And what's even better is that because of this one guy vomiting and causing everyone else to vomit some big country star missed his connecting flight to some place. I think his name was Jack Green from the Grand Ol' Oprey, but hell if I know who he was.<br /><br />I bet if pizza vomit guy knew he was going to make Jack Green miss his flight and have to sit in a plane that stunk like pizza vomit he might have reconsidered eating the whole pizza. But not me, I would have had two.<br /><br />Speaking of celebrities, my co-flight attendant thinks we had one of the guys from Office Space on our plane, though I could never figuere out which guy it was. When it comes to celebrities, I really suck. I mean, as much as I love Vin Diesel, he could bend me over the chair and take me from behind while he recites lines from Chronicles of Riddick and I still wouldn't reconize him.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-64165494596480091322008-06-12T12:58:00.003-06:002008-06-12T13:07:48.443-06:00My sister is gone...Can everyone say "Goodbye Mindy and Dan"?<br /><br />How about a good '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ol</span> Canadian "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Eyh</span>"?<br /><br />If I wasn't so busy flying about the continent I might have a moment to miss her; that will just have to wait till I get home I suppose.<br /><br />But really, my siblings and I have always been very close, geographically I mean. We never lived more than a few minutes apart, and I liked it that way. Even when I lived in the city, it was a short trek up or down the highway for a friendly hello, drink, joint, line of coke, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ect</span>... (I'm just kidding)<br /><br />Mindy had to go and ruin that. She loaded up her shotgun, her snow pants, and plans for world domination. Oh, I almost forgot about her husband and the dog.<br /><br />She took them as well.<br /><br />but the worst so far was when they left.<br /><br />We were all hugging goodbye, which I just happen not to do so well, and of course I teared up a bit. And what did my friends and family do?<br /><br />Made fun of me, of course.<br /><br />Don't blame them, blame their fathers for not hugging them enough as a kid. I most certainly do.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-11059512503704361782008-06-01T21:26:00.004-06:002008-06-01T21:46:05.777-06:00Pictionary made me do it...I spent my evening last night playing a four hour game of Pictionary with twelve of my closest relatives. First, let me start by saying that sitting for four hours and doing any single activity with my relatives is just asking for it. There was so much yelling, and tension, and insanity going on around me I can still hear a ringing in my ears.<br /><br />Second, my God fearing and wholesome uncle, the one I can't talk about vaginas in front of, was sitting across the table from me when I pulled an "all play" card that read "skeet."<br /><br />Do you guys know what a skeet is? I didn't, at least not what the word really means. The only meaning of "skeet" that I know is the slang meaning which refers to ejaculation.<br /><br />Long story short, I thought I was screwed. I mean, I had a serious moral dilemma. I could draw the image of what I knew "skeet" to mean, and risk an execution, or I could toss my turn.<br /><br />What do you guys think I did?<br /><br />I drew a stripper on a stripper pole, and a man with a handful watching her (in stick figure art of course).<br /><br />And my partner got it on the second guess! Yeah, I'm good.<br /><br />And the best part, my uncle did not freak out and banish me from his house.<br /><br />Good call Tamy, good call.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-19521754863468354802008-05-31T10:58:00.002-06:002008-05-31T11:05:24.312-06:00Weenit's quote of the day...As we were all sitting about the table with a few beers and discussing previous drunken mishaps, the topic of my sister's ability to always fall down the stairs when she is drunk came up.<br /><br />And let me emphasize this special ability she has by saying that, if you are married and tend to often walk around with bruises covering your body, people do not believe you when you say you fell down the stairs.<br /><br />But in my sister's case, it's the truth.<br /><br />And somehow in the midst of our discussion my sister's husband said something that lit her fire and she proceeded to drunkenly threaten his physical well being.<br /><br />His response to her threats of physical abuse was, "What are you going to do? Fall down the stairs at me?"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-60910715801146924612008-05-23T10:47:00.006-06:002008-05-23T11:14:40.900-06:00Single parents date too...There is something that has been festering inside of me like one of those little alien babies waiting to burst out of my belly.<br /><br />When we broke up, Mack pulled the kid card on me...<br />(Seriously dude, fuck you.)<br /><br />Anyways, I am a firm believer that if you enter a dating scenario with someone who is open and honest with you, with someone who tells you they have a kid before you even agree to the first date, that if you do agree on that first date, you forever loose your right to use that kid card.<br /><br />So here is the thing. I always tell anyone I intend to get involved with that I have a kid, but I ease it into our inital conversation. First I charm them with my wit and my pearly white teeth, then I drop the bomb on them.<br /><br />It's a true and tried process that never fails.<br /><br />Except I think it does fail, because once I get to the part where I tell them, well, I'm not one hundred percent sure what goes on in a guys mind, but I assume they have to that point decided I'm a pretty awesome chick, so me having a kid isn't so bad.<br /><br />Except it is, and later on in the relationship they pull out the kid card and shove it in my face and say shit like, "If we become more serious down the road then I'll have a lot more responsibilities with your son."<br /><br />And to that I once again say, fuck you.<br /><br />And mostly because it's untrue. I need no help with my son, and he still has a father who takes great care of him. The only responsibility any man in my life would ever have towards my son would to be a good role model. But, then again, I know that can be asking too much for a man who likes to spend all his free time at a bar drinking beer and playing pool with his buddy.<br /><br />But the thing that really gets me steaming about the fact that he illegally pulled the kid card on me is that I don't really think my kid was his problem.<br /><br />He had other problems, but not enough balls to lay it all out on the table. What a man.<br /><br />I think from now on when I meet someone the first thing I will say to him is "Hi, my name is Tamy, and I have a kid." Before I charm them with my devilish good looks and whit.<br /><br />That way I get to see their first reaction, which we all know is the truest reaction. Because really, the next time a boyfriend pulls the kid card on me, I'm likely to punch him right in the face.<br /><br />P.S. Fake teeth? I mean, really? How could anyone not laugh at that. Pick the fucking wedgie and get over it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-81094429659688543912008-05-13T13:26:00.003-06:002008-05-13T13:35:35.739-06:005am, too early for doctors and nurses...Ya know how whenever shit hits the fan, it really hits the fan? Like, one thing can't go wrong without taking everything else with it.<br /><br />My last stride was when my son woke up at 5am and wasn't breathihng. That warranted us a trip to the ER, where it took four hours to stop the massive asthma attack he was suffering.<br /><br />The only good thing about the whole event was that my son was here with me, a chronic asthmatic, and not at his dad's house where his cough could have been mistaken. <br /><br />I wish I could lay down and sleep for the next century, but I can't get my sick kid to stop chasing the dog about the house. For christ sake, what do parents have to do to get their kids to understand their limits? <br /><br />Couldn't the doctor give me some sedatives or something? I mean for me, not the kid...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-11847907599177588152008-05-10T13:56:00.003-06:002008-05-10T14:02:11.420-06:00Retard baby...The best way to get your spirits up when your feeling a bit down is to go through the old photo boxes. And at this very moment that is what my entire family is doing, so I thought I would join in. I need a little cheer.<br /><br />And let me tell you, we found some great stuff, I mean great for blackmail, great to blowup poster size and hang on your wall, just great. <br /><br />I even found pictures of my sisters picking wedggies, so great.<br /><br />However, I did eventually have to leave the room from embarrassment, as my mother found a good handful of photographs of me as a baby making these awful faces. And when I say awful, I don't mean screaming and crying awful, I mean awful like when someone catches you making a bad face, your body contorted in between motions. I've been dubbed the retard baby. Great.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-56811704116202968232008-05-09T23:39:00.004-06:002008-05-09T23:50:08.868-06:00I't's harder on me than most have considered...In less than two weeks my sister and her husband are moving to Canada! Yes, Canada! And the truth is, it hadn't sunk in until today when they began to pack their trailer full of all their great stuff, stuff I often use. It made the move real for me when Dan told me they were taking an early trip up to Canada so he could secure a job, and so they could drop off a load of their stuff. Wow, this is really happening.<br /><br />It's just so weird, and a little scary, because both my sisters and I have always lived so close to each other we could throw a cat and hit one another. But really, I've never been more than a thirty minute drive away from one of them, and now I'll have to cross an international boarder and travel miles just to see one of them, the one that will soon have babies.<br /><br />I mean, why couldn't the crazy, fertiless one go? I mean, she won't be giving me any nieces or nephews to hug and spoil and teach dirty jokes to. Why couldn't she be the one to go?<br /><br />But more importantly, how will I cope with the fact that the strongest bond I have, the one I share with my sisters, breaking?<br /><br />I want to go back to the days when my sister and her husband would think about moving, but never make any real plans.Those were the days...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-82893966852348194552008-05-07T21:39:00.004-06:002008-05-08T22:33:12.004-06:00Marshmallow....I was sitting by the fire tonight, mesmerized by the flame, my mouth salivating with the thought of roasted marsh and mallow goodness, but my mind was salivating at the thought of my trip to St. Louis next week.<br /><br />It will be the first trip I intend to take with my flight benefits at my new job. Why St. Louis? Because my good friend Rosie Posie is in St. Louis.<br /><br />Hey, speaking of fire, and speaking of Rose... Let me tell you a story...<br /><br />Rose and fire make a dangerous combination, especially if you happen to be standing below a window when Rose and fire decide to tango. Mostly, because Rose likes to throw things that have caught aflame out windows. I know for a fact she's done it with at least one toaster. One time she almost burnt a McDonald's down. Ok, that might me getting a bit drastic, she simply caught the change machine on fire and then threw it out of a window, at least I think she threw it out the window as it was on fire and she was next to a window. So what else would she have done with it?<br /><br />Anyways, one time she took her long criminal career of fire starting to a whole new level when she tried to burn down my mother's house. Keep in mind that I said tried, because she has never successfully managed to burn something down, just start the fire. It's kind of like a hit man who only injures his targets, never takes them out. That is Rose. And how do I love her so...<br /><br />Anyways, Rose, being the newly discovered woman she was, decided a nice hot oil treatment would do her beautiful locks a bit of good. So what did she do? First, like any good analytical person, she read the directions on the box of V05 hot oil treatment (Don't tell her I said this, but I think that was where she first went wrong, with the selection of oil, not the directions). Although, I fear she may have also read those directions terribly wrong, as they called for a hot towel to wrap around your head after the oil treatment is applied. Naturally, someone would assume that meant a moist wet towel, maybe one soaked in hot water. But not Rose. She took the directions as literally as they were written. So, she found one of my favorite purple towels and tossed it high and dry in the microwave for way too fucking long. When she pulled it out of the microwave it was so hot it was smoking. Apparently, smoke does not warrant a toss out of the window, but mearly walking it outside and setting upon a wooden chair on our wooden deck.<br /><br />Now, I was never a girl scout, but I do happen to know the effect wind has on something smoking. Hmmmm...<br /><br />Do you see where this is going? Yeah, that towel caught fire, burnt a hole right through the wooden bench and the deck, and then the ash ran havoc on my neighbors AC unit which then ran havoc throughout his house.<br /><br />And when we came home and found no remnants of the towel, but a hole burnt through the deck, we didn't know what to make of it. Rose latter figured it out, though she was slow to the conclusion, teenagers...<br /><br />I can't wait to see Rose next week, so we can't set the town on fire, figuratively of course.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-31767699857835531892008-04-29T18:56:00.003-06:002008-04-29T19:06:40.280-06:00It's not the first time...Picture this...<br /><br />Me, rolling fifteen miles an hour down a hill on roller blades. At the end of the hill is a busy road of traffic.<br /><br />(Did I mention I have not worn a pair of roller blades since high school?)<br /><br />Well, I haven't. And as I came closer to the busy road of traffic, I realized I didn't know how to stop or slow myself down... SHIT! And, I was picking up speed.<br /><br />So, what did I do? I found the softest thing I could find, and used it as a brake. In my case, the softest thing I could find was a parked car. So now I've gone and torn something in my arm, a muscle I assume. My neck hurts from whiplash, and the couple standing by as they pointed and laughed gave my ego a good bruise.<br /><br />But don't worry, the parked car was ok.<br /><br />Lesson learned: Always know how to stop before you start. That metaphore also works well when it comes to the topic of drugs and alcohol.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-81729144649568968022008-04-28T09:54:00.003-06:002008-04-29T11:34:46.038-06:00Ugh, too much whiskey...The nice thing about working for an airline is that I am finding myself with a lot of time off, it's been time well spent drinking whiskey and then recovering from the hangovers. And now that I can squeaze my way on to the computer for the first time in a while I thought I would put together a little video for you all. Enjoy.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="350"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1v0yQaTHgcE"> </param> <embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1v0yQaTHgcE" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"> </embed> </object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-39116812037499155312008-04-24T23:34:00.002-06:002008-04-24T23:38:39.167-06:00I am not blogging about my cousin...So, the best part about living with distant relatives is not picking on them, it's about collecting blackmail and using it against them...<br /><br />Ask Eric.<br /><br />I am so enjoying our drunk nights together...<br /><br />Ohh, I hope he hasn't been taking notes...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-59787232884071520792008-04-21T21:31:00.002-06:002008-04-21T21:36:03.542-06:00because of my childhood...nothing is better than turning on an old rerun of The Drew Carey show to see guest actor Tim Allen being forced to do his famous grunt! Agh,reminds me of the summers of my adolesence. Can I please have some Fresh Prince now?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23888046.post-12867836783282265892008-04-17T16:41:00.003-06:002008-04-17T16:46:07.543-06:00One day and counting...So, gues what?<br /><br />Tomorrow is my last day of FA school (that's airline talk for flight attendant). Anyways, I only have one last test, one last frigging day of pure hell. Yes, FA school is pure hell. Ok, maybe I am being a dit dramatic, but seriously, I intend to consume more burbon this weekend that I have even consumed in my entier life, ever. <br /><br />And then if I can work my way around the massive hangover I'll be sure to have, I'll pop online and give you guys the best picture/written/video blog of the whole ordeal. really, you'll feel like you've just spent a few minutes in hell when you are done watching it as well.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1