This is just one of my favorite things

Processed dessert-cake foodstuff with "creme filling."

I'd like to get a look at the loopy-loop machine that makes this magic happen.

Brings back fond memories (and a bit of a tummy ache... and a perplexing aftertaste, but I'll get over that... Right? Why am I suddenly sweaty and dizzy? Whoa! Was that a cramp? How long were those things in the vending machine? Oh, lordy, the unpleasantness).

Well, it used to be one of my favorite things.

Fun with ancient neighbors

It's a good thing I like my little house, because along with my HOA, I have grumpy-ass old-lady neighbors to contend with.

The kind who smile at you and say vicious things behind your back (one neighbor in particular went on a tirade about me to a couple of strangers--those strangers happened to be my parents. Oops). 

I'm sure I give them scads of stuff to gossip about. Like the fact that I sometimes have men over and I'm not even married! Scandalous. (It's one man, BTW, and it's been the same man for years, but I'm sure he's been translated into A different man every weekend!).

In the middle of last week, a package was delivered to my house by mistake (big mistake. The numbers weren't similar and the street was wrong; I think the UPS guy just shrugged and dropped it).

I brought it inside and vowed to drop it off on Saturday (because I don't feel like knocking on strangers' doors after dark after work when I'm tired anyway).

On Saturday, I went for a walk and found the address. I could have left it on the porch, but, glutton for punishment that I am, I rang the bell. A dour-faced woman answered the door, and I introduced myself as a neighbor and explained that her package got dropped at my house by mistake.

Where do you live? she demanded.

I gave her a veeeeery vague description of where I lived.

You must have brought it inside, because I looked on a number of doorsteps for this!

Well, yes, I brought it in. I didn't want something to happen to it.

Well, I called the company and said someone must have taken it and they told me they'd have to send me another one. Now I have to call them back. Thanks. 

[Door closes.]

Oh no... the accusation that I was out to steal your stupid package is thanks enough.

I'm sure her old-lady order from Lands End would have been quite the haul.

Cell phone pettiness

Last night, I went to call Beau (number six on the old speed dial) and chuckled to myself.

He used to be number three, because that's his favorite number.

But then, a few years ago, we had a hiccup. We broke up (my recollection)/were on a break (his recollection). When he came to his senses and we got back together, I demoted him to number six and gave him a stupid ringtone.

Which is silly, really. He's never going to call himself from my phone, and he'll never be around to hear the ringtone.

Sadly, I must admit that the whole thing made me feel better.

(I told you it was petty.)

Another bad date

When I was about 15, a new family moved into the house next door. They had a son my age named Todd. My folks thought it would be nice for me to offer him our extra ticket to a college football game (which, in Norman, Oklahoma, is THE social event of any Saturday during the fall).

We watched the game. Didn't have much to talk about, really. So I started reading the banners attached to the planes that were circling overhead.

Billy Bob's Cajun Chicken, I read.

Um, excuse me, Todd interrupted. I believe it's pronounced CAAH-HOOON.

End. Of. Date.

Take off, hosers

I despise my HOA (if you don't know what an HOA is, count this among your blessings).

I typically don't read the newsletters they send out because it's usually a bunch of angry tirades followed by Come to the Neighborhood BBQ! Fun for all! 

Um, no thanks. You've slapped my hand enough times that I don't think I could properly hold one of your grilled delicacies now, you asshats. 

You can tell who they are by the clipboards. They walk around the neighborhood with clipboards, carefully scrutinizing each house. If they don't like your front door, they mark it down. If they don't like your window fan, they mark it down. If they don't like the flower basket you have on your front steps, they mark it down.

And when they're done with the demerit patrol, they send out petty little notices demanding that you right the wrong or pay a penalty and risk having the indiscretion go down on your permanent record. And they don't sign their names either (they're smart enough in that respect); they sign off as The Architectural Committee.

Sigh.

This is what I spied in the latest newsletter before I crumpled it up and threw it out:

With the cold winter temperatures, we hope you've all disconnected your hoses. However, because it is winter, hoses should not be out. Hoses out in winter make our development look trashy. If you'd like to keep your hose, please store it in your garage. 

That's right. They're threatening to steal our hoses.*

Really?

WTF IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE? HAVE THEY NOTHING BETTER TO DO WITH THEIR TIME?

*Luckily, my unsightly wintertime hose is behind my fence. I've avoided the clipboard mafia wrath... this time.

Holiday-weekend discoveries

A new favorite TV show.
An Idiot Abroad is the funniest damn thing I've seen in a long, long time. Send a grumpy Englishman to the seven wonders of the world, make each trip as miserable as possible, and watch the magic happen.



When I say I'm not going to spend any money in the bookstore...
It means I'm going to spend $27.

Winter's Bone is an amazing movie. 
I've officially seen all but one of the best-picture nominated films (I refuse to watch a guy saw his own arm off; I'm sure it's a beautiful, artistic experience, but no). Winter's Bone won't win, but it's so gritty and stark and good that it should.

I can wake up Beau WITH MY MIND.
On Saturday evening, Beau and I were watching TV. He'd dozed off about 25 minutes beforehand. Suddenly, I wondered if I could wake him up just by staring at him. So I opened my eyes wide and thought WAKE UP! as hard as I could. His eyes fluttered open in two seconds. I was beside myself with excitement.

Sadly, he did not share my joy.

A sign of age?

My bangs were annoying me last night.

So I cut them myself.

Which would have been fine, but then I cut 'em a little more.

And then I needed to even them out, so I cut a little more.

In short, it was a bit of a massacre.

Yet, strangely, I had/have no qualms about walking around in public looking like this. When I see myself in the mirror, I just chuckle a bit and move on. (In a bit of irony, I admitted this to beau, and his only response was I cut my hair last night too!)

I think back to a Bangs Massacre in the late 80s (the Big-Bang Era) when I refused to leave the house.

Why don't I care now?

Have I lost my vanity or have I lost my pride?

Toss-up.

But I guess a reduction in vanity or pride is a good thing, so I'm running with it.

My new motto

I'm stealing it from Michael Douglas.

Put forth your best effort... and then f&%k it.

I love it. If you've done your best, what's the point of worrying?

When did my shopping list become so boring?

I texted myself my shopping list last night (it's the electronic equivalent of the sticky note or a string around the finger):

• Cat food
• Fabric softener
• Toilet paper
• Dish soap
• Diet soda

Sigh. If I looked into someone's cart and saw those items, there'd be no compulsion to make friends or even to look up and see what they looked like. Just some sorry-ass woman with cats and housework and/or a dirty house.

Seems like my shopping lists were so much more interesting when I was in my 20s when the list was more likely to include:

• Sparkly lipgloss 
• Tequila
• Condoms (sometimes; don't judge)
• Frozen pizza
• Ice cream
• Sheets with cowgirls on them (which I still have and love, thank you very much)

THAT'S the cart of a fun person.

Sigh. I might have to throw some sparkly lipgloss in the cart tonight for old times' sake.

ENGRISH!

One of my coworkers went for "Nice Chinese Food" and found this wrapped around the chopsticks. I've typed out (verbatim) the "directions" for your enjoyment.

Welcome to Chinese Restaurant.
Please try your Nice Chinese Food With Chopsticks
the traditional and typical of Chinese glonous history
and cultural.

Learn how to use your chopsticks

• Tuk under tnurnh and held firmly
• Add second chcostick hold it as you hold a pencil
• Hold tirst chopstick in original position move the second one up and down Now you can pick up anything:

PRODUCTOF CHINA

Le mew... le mew...

Any time you feel like this country is a mess, take a look at Italy and you'll feel a little better.

Berlusconi is one of the more ridiculous leaders of our time. Ever wanted to watch a penis lead a country? Now's the time. Just turn on your TV.

He's filled his cabinet with sexy women and been caught with underage prostitutes.

And when women staged protests, his response was a wave of the hand and the statement that he's always tried to make women feel special.

Awwww (and ewwwww).

The man is a cartoon.

And then it hit me. The man is a SPECIFIC cartoon.

He's Pepe Le Pew.

He has no idea how much he stinks, and he thinks all women love him. He even LOOKS a little like Pepe.

Think about it and see if you don't agree.

Post Valentine's Day report

Valentine's Day is very polarizing. Lots of expectation and resentment.

I think it's kind of fun if you don't take it too seriously (how seriously can I take a day that warrants my driving all over town to find my mom a pink and red stuffed hippo?).

Beau chatted with his best friend the on February 12 and heard "It's a f**ckin' Hallmark holiday. She's ["she" being his girlfriend and the mother of his children] not getting ANYTHING from me."

That'll show Hallmark.

Beau and I don't go all out. We went to a movie (The Fighter; it was pretty good.) on Saturday, and we made each other gifts.

Beau made one of my dreams come true: a fat-free, calorie-free pink sprinkle donut that never goes stale.

He's so talented!

And I made him something he loves almost as much as he loves me: Italian meatballs. :)

They're uncooked. Unfortunately, my valentine has the flu, so I'm freezing them until he can enjoy them.

I hope you had a great day yesterday, everyone!

Romantic Valentine's Day story

I have a lot of thick curly hair. Which is fine by me; it's low-maintenance and pretty much styles itself.

But the first time Beau told me he thought it was pretty and he put his hand in it...

he couldn't get it back out. :)

(P.S. If you click the link, you'll find the reference at the 1:43 mark)

I hear...

that the new ginormous Starbucks Trenta cup is large enough to hold an entire bottle of wine (with about five ounces to spare).

That's my kinda sippy cup.

Wine jokes aside, who the f**k can drink that much coffee in a sitting? In a DAY?

Prepare for the Type A in your life to become even cuddlier. 

*Sigh*

Must our nation supersize everything?

I've been driving by your house, Valentine

You are about to see the creepiest direct mail campaign ever.

It came in a pink envelope.

Kent Whipple wants to be my plumbing/furnace valentine.

The Card.

 The card is innocuous enough. But THE LETTER is not to be believed.

"Whenever I see someone doing work at your house, I wonder if they know we are neighbors and that I could be their plumbing/furnace valentine?"

"P.S. If  I see someone else's truck in your driveway when I drive by, that's ok. I'll drive by and choke back a tear."

The Dukes of Hazzard

YEEEEE HAWWWWWWW!

When I was a little kid, I loved this show. It made Friday night that much more exciting (after all, I already got to stay up past my bedtime, which was a huge coup).

I didn't understand what bootlegging or moonshine were, but I understood car chases and silly police deputies. And I had a huge crush on Bo Duke. It was high-brow entertainment!

But there was one thing that always rang false about the show.

No, it wasn't the fact that one car could never survive all of those ridiculous jumps (though it couldn't--they demolished over 300 cars in the filming of the series).

It was this: even as a little kid, I never believed that anyone, even a hillbilly, would name their son Luke Duke.

Warm, toasty tootsies

Along with my collection of winter coats, I have quite an array of winter footwear as well.

But nothing is better for a snowy day than these Sporto boots.

They're cute, they're warm, they're comfortable. And they're absolutely waterproof. You can tromp through the snow with impunity! One caveat: They don't breathe, but rubber boots aren't really supposed to, are they?

They're pricey, but at this time of year, you can usually find them in the bargain section at DSW. 

You won't be disappointed.

Another phrase I loathe

"No offense."

If you find yourself saying this, you've obviously said something offensive.

So either own up to it and apologize or STFU.

Nine things I noticed/learned over the weekend

1. Playboy has three new scents for women. If you want to smell like implants, spray-tan, or Photoshop, YOU'RE IN LUCK!
2. If you buy an iPod shuffle at the Apple store, ask for the orange one. Asking for tangerine will get you a confused look and a head scratch. 
3. Teenaged girls are stupid enough to wear daisy dukes and spaghetti straps to the mall in near-blizzard conditions. Was the attention worth the frostbite, girls?
4. At Cherry Creek Mall, the Shorts in the Snow phenomenon runs rampant.
5. A hipster douchebag in Urban Outfitters wore an eye patch; it went so well with his ensemble that I honestly think it was an ironic (eyeronic?) eye patch. 
6. I saw it with my own eyes: a teenager wore shorts so baggy that he pantsed himself in the mall with the mere act of walking. It. Was. Awesome. (How hard is it to wear pants that fit? And, yes, I know I sound old when I complain about this.)
7. American tradition or not, when it comes to the Super Bowl, I'm pretty much just in it for the food.
8. Though she likely thought so, the fact that Fergie's boobs had light bulbs and sparkles all over them did not make up for the heinous Super Bowl halftime show.
9. Some folks party like kings in the parking garage. Check it out:

Peppermint Schnapps (90 Proof) and Keystone Light, baby!!!

Sick day

I woke up yesterday with a cough, a fever, the inability to breathe through my nose, and an overall feeling of meh.

After I called in to work to explain that I didn't want to do my Typhoid Mary impersonation, I hung up and did what any other 37-year-old, red-blooded, sniffly American would do.

I called my mom.

At the end of the day, we all need someone to make a fuss over us when we're sick. And when I call them, I'm completely honest: I just called to whine about being sick and get a little attention.

And I immediately feel better. Dad puts on his concerned voice and asks what I'm taking for it. Then he puts Mom on and she really pours on the pity. It feels so good when you feel that bad.

Midway through the morning, Dad called from the pharmacy to ask what kind of medicine I needed. He told me he'd send it over with mom later on.

In the meantime, I sat on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness (daytime TV is only good for white noise while you nap) with my furry heating pad.

That's Daisy, on my lap, under the electric blanket. Smart cat.

A couple of hours pass, and then I see Mom tromping up the sidewalk in the snow with grocery bags. She brought me tea, tissues, orange juice, a trashy magazine, and something that almost made it worth being sick:

Valentine cupcakes!

She. Is. The. Best.

Pounders Ink

Time for a shameless plug.

Beau has incredible artistic talent and I'm pretty proud of him. 

It would be awesome if you decided to Like him on Facebook.

Guilt-coated issue

I own a few coats.

I live in Colorado, so that's understandable, right? But you know it's getting out of hand when fellow Coloradans are stunned enough to remark Where do you store all of those?

It's not as though I have a whole bedroom devoted to coat storage; I just converted my kitchen pantry into a coat closet when I bought the place. (I wasn't much of a cook back then anyway--not like the Campbell's soup recipe gourmet that I am now.)

A few months back, Mom and I were shopping at some outlet stores in the mountains and she brought over an adorable orange pea coat for me to try on. She loved it on me and told me I should get it.

I already have an orange pea coat, I said.
Oh, Mom replied, I thought you had an orange rain coat.
I have an orange raincoat too, I mumbled.

That's right, I already own an orange pea coat and an orange rain coat. I'm to the point of repeating ridiculous colors.

And when one of my dearest, best friends announced to me that she was moving to Australia to be with the love of her life, my first thought was I'm going to miss you so much!

My second thought was That's a warm climate. For the love of God! What about your coats, woman???

Sigh... I think I have a problem.