So I tell the husband: Hey when Gibbs the Pug loses his shit he looks exactly like the bad guy from "The Apple Dumpling Gang Rides Again."
And the husband is all: What?
Me: You know, Crazy Eyes! They guy from the movie "The Apple Dumpling Gang Rides Again?" He's the guy. With the Crazy Eyes.
Husband: You mean the beloved character actor Jack Elam who appeared in more than 100 westerns?
Me: No. I mean the guy from "The Apple Dumpling Gang Rides Again!"
Husband: Honey, that's Jack Elam. He's known for being the villain in westerns. He's a famous character actor.
Me: Maybe so… but I know him from….
Husband: YES, we know you know him from "The Apple Dumpling Gang Rides Again."
Me: WHAT!? It's an American classic!
Husband: Yeah… it's exactly like "Casablanca" or "Miracle on 34th Street."
Me: Yes! Like "Pete's Dragon," "Pippi Longstocking" and "Darby O'Gill and the Little People."
Husband: ???
Eh. Sometimes you have to just walk away and call it a draw.
And Gibbs?
Totally looks like beloved character actor Jack Elam, the bad guy from "The Apple Dumpline Gang Rides Again" and western genre villian.
7/29/10
Crazy Eyes
7/26/10
This Post Contains Both Brains and Guts, Yet No Zombies
I'm a guts sort of girl.
Ewww? That sounds really gross doesn't it? Like, YUM! Guts! Its what's or dinner! That's not how I meant it, but of course I said it in the most gag-inducing way possible. You're welcome and, no, I don't know why you come to this site either. Yes, perhaps you should rethink our friendship. And if you don't know me but are here anyway (hi Pig Whore!), then you really should examine the wrong turns you've made on the Interwebs that have brought us together. Also, consider a hobby. Running, perhaps?
But I digress.
Guts. That's what this is about. I think there are two kinds of people in the world: Brain People or Gut People. Either you think it out or you act it. Brain People make lists, they weigh out the pros versus cons, believe in budgets and floss daily. They eat the same thing for breakfast and wake up after the exact number of snoozes every morning. Have a big decision to make? Like buying a car. They research that shit, print out Carfax Reports then consult the Kelly Blue Book.
Now I'm not saying I never do those kinds of things. Because I do. In fact, I am the Queen of Google. If I'm unsure about something, I'm going to investigate and educate myself. It's just that when it comes down to it, the numbers don't really matter to me. In the end, I'm going to go with what FEELS right.
I have – and always will be – ruled by my gut. I don't really think about it, I just jump in. And this hasn't always served me well. There have been times that my mother has gotten supreme satisfaction out of giving me The Look.
You know The Look. It says, "Come here my sweet child, I'll wrap my arms around you and give you a hug… but just to be clear, I totally fucking told you so."
As far as I can tell, The Look is one of the few perks of having children. Rearing a child is thankless, hard work, only complicated by a barfing/pooping, wild creature that thinks they know everything and that you are an idiot. But being able to have that moment where you are RIGHT and they were WRONG and now they know it must be so satisfying and you get to whip out THE LOOK!
You know when you're really being a compulsive dumbass when people you barely know give you The Look. Like when my husband and I got married. The clerk at the Montgomery County Courthouse in Conroe, Texas, tried to make small talk with me while we filled out the marriage certificate paperwork.
Clerk: "How long have y'all been together? Was it a long engagement?"
Me: "No, not really… Well, honestly, we've only known each other for six months."
Pause. Silence. She was waiting for me to add, "Just kidding!" But when I said nothing, she just stared and then there it was! I was getting THE LOOK from a total stranger.
And yes, it's true. Six months together and we got married. It was really stupid and my marriage license should have been stamped in giant red letters that read: STUNTS ARE PERFORMED BY PROFESSIONAL. KIDS, DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.
By all rights, the husband and I should not have made it. I was incredibly young and stupid and together we were like two unstable chemicals that shouldn't be mixed. When we were together we burned white hot, but too much of one or the other and somebody's going to need a hypobaric chamber and extensive skin grafting. It's one of those relationships that just wasn't meant to be. The equation didn't balance. And yet here we are five years later and I have a marriage that I am proud of and a husband that not only adores me – all of me – but constantly pushes me obtain all the things in life I want.
Right now, I'm wrestling with a major decision. Something that will either be a giant investment in my future or huge waste of time, emotion and money. It’s the biggest adult decision that I've ever had to make. I can't discuss the particulars just yet, as I haven't signed the dotted line. I haven't taken that leap of faith.
More than ever I'm trying to make myself fall into the category of Brain People. I'm trying to slow down and think it out. Is this investment worth it? Will it make us or break us? What are the pros and cons?
Which is not really working for me. It just makes me dizzy and more confused about time zones.
I'm a guts kind of girl.
And my right now my gut is telling me to stop being such a pussy.
Ewww? That sounds really gross doesn't it? Like, YUM! Guts! Its what's or dinner! That's not how I meant it, but of course I said it in the most gag-inducing way possible. You're welcome and, no, I don't know why you come to this site either. Yes, perhaps you should rethink our friendship. And if you don't know me but are here anyway (hi Pig Whore!), then you really should examine the wrong turns you've made on the Interwebs that have brought us together. Also, consider a hobby. Running, perhaps?
But I digress.
Guts. That's what this is about. I think there are two kinds of people in the world: Brain People or Gut People. Either you think it out or you act it. Brain People make lists, they weigh out the pros versus cons, believe in budgets and floss daily. They eat the same thing for breakfast and wake up after the exact number of snoozes every morning. Have a big decision to make? Like buying a car. They research that shit, print out Carfax Reports then consult the Kelly Blue Book.
Now I'm not saying I never do those kinds of things. Because I do. In fact, I am the Queen of Google. If I'm unsure about something, I'm going to investigate and educate myself. It's just that when it comes down to it, the numbers don't really matter to me. In the end, I'm going to go with what FEELS right.
I have – and always will be – ruled by my gut. I don't really think about it, I just jump in. And this hasn't always served me well. There have been times that my mother has gotten supreme satisfaction out of giving me The Look.
You know The Look. It says, "Come here my sweet child, I'll wrap my arms around you and give you a hug… but just to be clear, I totally fucking told you so."
As far as I can tell, The Look is one of the few perks of having children. Rearing a child is thankless, hard work, only complicated by a barfing/pooping, wild creature that thinks they know everything and that you are an idiot. But being able to have that moment where you are RIGHT and they were WRONG and now they know it must be so satisfying and you get to whip out THE LOOK!
You know when you're really being a compulsive dumbass when people you barely know give you The Look. Like when my husband and I got married. The clerk at the Montgomery County Courthouse in Conroe, Texas, tried to make small talk with me while we filled out the marriage certificate paperwork.
Clerk: "How long have y'all been together? Was it a long engagement?"
Me: "No, not really… Well, honestly, we've only known each other for six months."
Pause. Silence. She was waiting for me to add, "Just kidding!" But when I said nothing, she just stared and then there it was! I was getting THE LOOK from a total stranger.
And yes, it's true. Six months together and we got married. It was really stupid and my marriage license should have been stamped in giant red letters that read: STUNTS ARE PERFORMED BY PROFESSIONAL. KIDS, DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.
By all rights, the husband and I should not have made it. I was incredibly young and stupid and together we were like two unstable chemicals that shouldn't be mixed. When we were together we burned white hot, but too much of one or the other and somebody's going to need a hypobaric chamber and extensive skin grafting. It's one of those relationships that just wasn't meant to be. The equation didn't balance. And yet here we are five years later and I have a marriage that I am proud of and a husband that not only adores me – all of me – but constantly pushes me obtain all the things in life I want.
Right now, I'm wrestling with a major decision. Something that will either be a giant investment in my future or huge waste of time, emotion and money. It’s the biggest adult decision that I've ever had to make. I can't discuss the particulars just yet, as I haven't signed the dotted line. I haven't taken that leap of faith.
More than ever I'm trying to make myself fall into the category of Brain People. I'm trying to slow down and think it out. Is this investment worth it? Will it make us or break us? What are the pros and cons?
Which is not really working for me. It just makes me dizzy and more confused about time zones.
I'm a guts kind of girl.
And my right now my gut is telling me to stop being such a pussy.
7/20/10
Time Keeps On Slipping Into The Future
Yesterday I spent half an hour trying to figure out the time difference between Central and Pacific Standard Times. There's a really important phone meeting I have tomorrow and I wanted to make sure I was there at the right time. Much to my chagrin, people on the West Coast set the time. And suddenly all that education I am still paying for became completely useless and I forgot how to tie my shoes.
So I started googling. That led me to an online "time zone converter." Which was awesome, ya know, for people who understand Zulu time. Which is like Military time, only for aviators. And I know that because I had to thoroughly research that in order to move forward. Seriously, though, why would they put it in Zulu time. IF I CANNOT FIGURE OUT THE TIME ZONES IN REGULAR OLD STANDARD HOURS AND MINUTES, WHAT MAKES THEM THINK I'M GOING TO KNOW SHIT ABOUT ZULU??? I suspect this is the product of the same people behind anything you buy at Ikea and put together with an Allen wrench.
Anyway, by the time I figured out what Zulu time was, I had convinced myself that there was daylight savings time mixed up in there somewhere too. Because? Why the fuck not. Apparently I'm time zone dyslexic.
Just before that tiny little vein in my forehead exploded, I literally phoned a friend. And not just any friend – someone who lived on the west coast for number of years and would KNOW these things. And then they tried to logically explain to me how to figure this shit.
Them: Count backward two hours for L.A.
Me: But my meeting is with people in San Francisco.
Them: It’s the same time zone, dork.
Me: But there's something about daylight's saving time.
Them: Arizona doesn't observe DST.
Me: DST???
Them: Jesus. Just answer your phone at 6 p.m. your time. I have to go now, my head hurts.
Did I miss like an entire week of third grade when they taught us this? I don't think so. My mother was a teacher and my best friend's dad was principal. Not a lot of hooky getting played when you hang with the warden. I think this is some Mississippi schools bullshit. Like how evolution "doesn't exist." Thanks for nothing, Franklin Elementary School. I'm pretty sure its your fault I can't spell for shit either.
So I started googling. That led me to an online "time zone converter." Which was awesome, ya know, for people who understand Zulu time. Which is like Military time, only for aviators. And I know that because I had to thoroughly research that in order to move forward. Seriously, though, why would they put it in Zulu time. IF I CANNOT FIGURE OUT THE TIME ZONES IN REGULAR OLD STANDARD HOURS AND MINUTES, WHAT MAKES THEM THINK I'M GOING TO KNOW SHIT ABOUT ZULU??? I suspect this is the product of the same people behind anything you buy at Ikea and put together with an Allen wrench.Anyway, by the time I figured out what Zulu time was, I had convinced myself that there was daylight savings time mixed up in there somewhere too. Because? Why the fuck not. Apparently I'm time zone dyslexic.
Just before that tiny little vein in my forehead exploded, I literally phoned a friend. And not just any friend – someone who lived on the west coast for number of years and would KNOW these things. And then they tried to logically explain to me how to figure this shit.
Them: Count backward two hours for L.A.
Me: But my meeting is with people in San Francisco.
Them: It’s the same time zone, dork.
Me: But there's something about daylight's saving time.
Them: Arizona doesn't observe DST.
Me: DST???
Them: Jesus. Just answer your phone at 6 p.m. your time. I have to go now, my head hurts.
Did I miss like an entire week of third grade when they taught us this? I don't think so. My mother was a teacher and my best friend's dad was principal. Not a lot of hooky getting played when you hang with the warden. I think this is some Mississippi schools bullshit. Like how evolution "doesn't exist." Thanks for nothing, Franklin Elementary School. I'm pretty sure its your fault I can't spell for shit either.
7/12/10
Naughty
So yeah it's been a while. This feels like that first phone call after a first date -- awkward but necessary if we're going to move forward. Thank you for answering on the first ring.
It's been so long since I posted that I have received hate mail. Hate mail that didn't involve criticism of my being fat, profane or a bad animal owner. I think that might be a first for me. I'll have to disappear more often. The Random Assholes of the Internet are way less pointed in their shitty emails when they think you might be dead. My favorite reads: "Hope you aren't dead yet."
Well, rest assured I'm not dead. Yet. I've been on something of a hiatus. No posting. No Ragmonster making. No extraneous work of any kind. In fact, I've just returned from a vacation to New York and the wedding of my baby sister. And some where in there I turned 30!
So that's what I've been up to. Marrying off my beautiful baby sister, taking a work-free respite and hitting the big 3-0.
While we were away, my mama kept our dogs for us. And well I'm really fighting sleep right so I'll just give you the quick version: Deuce was a dickhole. He peed in her bed. For spite. He peed on mama's little tiny dog. He peed on the floor in such a way that created a boobie trap and threw her to the ground.
Guess who's never being invited back to his grandparents?
Ever since we got home Deuce has been on a bit of a douchy kick. Growling. Hiking. Pooping places one should never poop. We think he's punishing us for leaving him. The nerve! And he has been in such a mood that his "Naught Ear" has been at def con 1. Constantly. Like it's stuck that way.
And, yall, it takes all my will power now to just THUMP the shit out of that ear. THWAP! Take that Naught Ear!
Let the bad pet owner emails commence.
-- Post From My iPhone
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
