Finger Licking Good

I have for years wanted to secretly tape people eating buffalo wings, and start a web site called "people of buffalo wings", or some other clever title. Why? Because its hilarious!

Seriously next time you go to a wing place, just people watch for a while. There are so many types. 

Some shove the entire wing in their mouth and gnaw off all the meat and sauce in one stealth move. I envy those people. 

Don't confuse these people with those who suck on the bone, the stealth wing eaters know when to call it quits and move on to the next. The bone suckers will have the bone so clean you could make a necklace out of it. It's also accompanied by smacking of the lips and a lot of grunting. 

Some take delicate little bites as to not make a mess of their face and hands. News flash, when your eating sauces laden food you eat with your hands, it's unavoidable. Suck it up, and get a little messy. 

There are the people like me, who have a slight overbite and I can't eat wings "normal". I have to use a fork, or my fingers to get the meat off the bone. It's ridiculous, but my love of chicken wings, spicy garlic to be exact, is stronger than my self consciousness of my caveman approach to wing deliciousness in my belly. 

I have a bad habit of wiping my hands/face after each bite and go through about 6 napkins. The freedom eaters could care less and enjoy the sauce all over and wait until they are all done to wipe up. 

I have to say, the little wet naps they provide really don't do too much except make your hands feel weird. I wash my hands before I eat and again after. I'm that weird obsessive compulsive hand washer person. 

Anyway you eat a wing is correct, because unless I am mistaken there are no etiquette guides on chicken wings? But it's still hilarious to watch people eat them. I only noticed this because someone told me they have never seen anyone eat wings the way I do, and then I had to check out the competition. 

Speaking of which I did that competition at a local joint where you have to eat 6 super hot wings in 5 minutes. I did it, and will never do it again. my mouth was on fire for two days. I like my sauces medium or below, thankyouverymuch. 

Lickety Split

Not only does the term "lickety split" confuse me, it's also just weird. Telling someone you'll be there "lickety split" is a phrase that we say but have no idea what we are saying. How fast exactly IS lickety? Is there a sound barrier that is broken? Is it faster than the speed of light or sound? I am befuddled.

And this phrase wasn't even what my intention was to blog about. But I thought it was a clever title for what I was originally going to write and then I go off in an entirely different direction.

Licking. I was going to talk about licking. By now, you are wondering to yourself just exactly what direction that is heading. Well hold yourself together this is a PG-13 post. When I say licking I mean as in a ice cream cone, sucker or other frozen treat that we use our tongue as tools. 

The fact we lick ice cream comes, or Popsicles cracks me up. Could you imagine eating anything else that way? "Oh thanks for the steak, I'll have this licked clean in no time". I can just imagine a fancy restaurant and all the patrons licking their food. No utensils required. Soup would be my favorite one to watch. Unless it was clam chowder. 

And some people, myself included are biters. I love to bite my ice cream, I love the way the cold feels on my teeth. I have found that a lot of people are very sensitive to this and not a lot of people bite. It's a good thing how we eat ice cream and Popsicles is not how we are introduced to others "this is Ronnie, she's a biter". 

I told you this was PG-13, so get your minds out of the gutters!

Oil Change Conspiracy

I am pretty sure as soon as a woman brings a car to a dealership there is a little flashing light that goes off to notify the mechanics. *inexperienced car lady approaching, up-sell in full force"  And before you get all offended, this is directed at myself and other women who leave car stuff to their husbands, boyfriends, brothers, Dad's etc. So settle down. 

I know nothing about cars, hell I am the first to admit that I am a terrible driver, and I know 99% of people will agree with me. The other 1% are either too young to know better, or drunk. I never took drivers Ed. I failed my driving test about 7 times. I didn't even get my license till I was almost 21 and I think only because the instructors at the license bureau finally got tired of seeing me and finally passed me. With a 71. (70 is passing).  It always seemed a little fishy when I showed up for my driving test and the instructors were huddled together pulling out straws. 

I am pretty sure you will be shocked that I can't even drive a stick shift. Many people have tried, and failed, to teach me. I can't drive a car that requires me to use both feet and hands at the same time. I need one foot free to tap along to music and the other hand free to flip off people who honk at me because I am driving 50 in the fast lane. Plus, shifting gears makes really weird crunching noises which only results in having to buy new car parts. 

You would think with all the brothers I have I would have learned a little something about cars. Nope. Mostly, they just wanted me to stay far away so I didn't hurt myself. I am pretty sure if I had to, I could change a tire, but to save an expensive hospital bill, we pay for roadside assistance. 

So, I am getting an oil change in the Ford, and our Edge is one year old, excellent shape and we get oil changes regularly. Sure enough the guy tries to sell me on all sorts of things, most of which I am pretty sure are made up. And He keeps calling me Veronica, so I call him by a completely wrong name every time he comes out to tell me that my coffee filter is dirty. Which is ridiculous because I don't even drink coffee. 

And the only tv in the waiting room is on ESPN. As soon as I find the remote I am changing it to lifetime. If I have to sit here in misery then only a lifetime made for tv show starring a washed up 80's star will help. Not because I want to watch it, but the expressions of the men having to listen to it would be hilarious. 

When You're Sliding into Home....

And your pants are full of foam, diarrhea cha cha cha.

Remember this song? If not, you either didn't have brothers, or elementary school classmates who sang this, and the other 4 or so verses to this crappy tune.

I can not understand why kids (and some grown men) think the word or action of fart, poop, toot etc. is hysterical. Whenever one of the kids says one of these words they can't stop laughing and then it's a 20 minute discussion/more laughing session about it.  

Men are proud of their farts and poops. They congratulate each other on farts like they are nominees for an award. And what's with the amount of time they spend in the bathroom? Why do they get a half hour of privacy, but the second us ladies go in, they or the kids are knocking at the door wanting something. The kids could be playing down the street, or taking a nap, but sure as shit the second you lock that door, there they are.  And men, the smell. Omg. How do you sit in that?! And for the record, please do not spray that scented air fresher around after your ass explosion. The only thing that does is enhance the shit smell. Just turn on the fan, or open the window and shut the door until the all clear signal is given and it's safe to go in. 

But women are a whole different animal. 

I know we all do it. We all fart, too. but we will hold it in and sit through the worst gas pains and cramps not to fart in front of our friends. Even the lady in the public bathroom stall who is pretending to cough and/or blow your nose in the attempt to hide the fact you are popping. I know what you are doing, no one spends more time then they have to in a public stall.  But generally us girls don't talk about it (well most of us) like the men do. But we will talk about periods, tampons, cramps, yeast infections, etc. like its nothing, to anyone, even strangers.

I wish I could be on a regular poop schedule, at the same time every day. It would be great. Most men are like clockwork, and I envy that schedule. I would love if people would be like, hey where is Ronnie, and the response would be "oh it's her poop time". I want a set schedule of 20 uninterruppted time every day! Instead, I just have to wait until my body decides that itstimetogorightnow and hope that there is a bathroom nearby.  If it happens and I am at work, I wonder how long I have left of the day, because we might be able to hold it until I get home. And then as soon as I get in the bathroom, I get 5 constantly interrupted minutes to myself, unless I forget to lock the door, and then it's a poop party, and the kids are wandering around me like flies.

And I am so very thankful that the kids are finally old enough to wipe away their own poop. Yes, I still check to make sure, because I don't want them to have dingleberries, and cleaning poop stains are a pain in the, well, butt (haha). But the fact they get the brunt of it makes me happy that I don't have to do it anymore. I fully support early potty training. Poopy diapers on kids over 2 is gross. Especially if they don't tell you right away and they sit in it and spread it around. Bleh.

 

 

Thumbs Up, 7-Up

Does anyone remember playing this game in elementary school? Everyone had to put their heads down on their arms and stick their thumb up in the air. A couple people were appointed to push the thumbs down, and then the people with the thumbs pushed down had to guess who did it. Then it was their turn to be the thumb pushers. Now, mind you, this was a game we played in my time, (80's) before we had any kind of cool technology gadgets the kids have these days.  We shared a couple of TV's for all the grades, and I think the entire elementary school shared 6 computers, located in the library, and the only games we could play on them were "Oregon Trail, Pit Fall and Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego".

This led me to think of other days at school, that I loved, or hated. 

I remember my favorite days  in gym class were with the big parachute, and all of us secretly hoping that we could be on top of it and bounced up in the air. Sadly, our gym teacher never agreed.

My worst day at gym was when you walked into gym class and saw the ropes hanging down, and the gym teacher expected you to scale them to the top, and back down. I was a skinny, active kid, however, anything involving having to heave myself up 10 feet was probably going to end up in disaster. I could barley ride my banana seat bike up the street with out running into a parked car. 

I also remember in music class one of our activities was to learn "The Hustle". (It's a dance) I still remember bits and pieces of it to this day, but I can't break it out and be the hit of the party due to the fact NO ONE plays that song. I am still suspect that no one ever did back then either. I am 99% sure our music teacher was a hippie and smoked a lot of pot. Mostly because almost all of the songs we sang in choir were John Denver songs, Puff the Magic Dragon, and songs about sunshine bringing us happiness. Although, we used to sing "Rainbow Connection" and to this day, I still love that song and get nostalgic when I hear it.

We also got to go to Casa Bonita every year with the choir group, so pretty much everyone was in it, because you got to miss a day of school to hide in Black Bart's Cave, be chased by a gorilla, break a pinata full of hard candy, and eat 600 sopapillas.They don't have the pinata anymore, probably because some dumb kid hit another kid with the pinata stick, instead of the pinata. BUT they still do have the worst food I have ever eaten, so at least not too much has changed.

The class I hated most was Math. My brain just doesn't like math. And I would like to take this opportunity to tell Mrs. Maske, that yes I will ALWAYS have a calculator on my person, thanks to technology. She thought it was important for me to learn how to add and subtract, IN MY HEAD. Malarkey, I say. Who does that? Oh, well, I found out a lot of people do. Showoffs.

My report cards always said the same things "If Ronnie applied 5/3rds of her aptitude of reading toward math, she would improve". or "Ronnie is not working up to her full potential in math". blah blah blah. 

BUT, I have redemption. Reading. I am not lying when I say I was at a 6th grade reading level when I was in 1st grade, and every year moved up to higher levels. I started reading when I was 4. I can read and comprehend a 300 page book in less than 2 hours. In my mind, I have superhero reading powers. Although, when crimes are happening, I don't think that is going to come in handy. "Stop thief, I have a Kindle, and I am not afraid to use it"! I guess in the 80's when I had then entire set of Encyclopedia Britannica's (remember that annoying kid?), I could have at least used them to hurl at criminals. Except, I would miss the criminal entirely and probably hit innocent old ladies. 


I remember once we had a reading contest at school, and if you read the most books, you won an award and a special lunch trip to Little Caesars. Pizza Pizza, say what?! What fool wouldn't want to participate in the goal of all you can eat crazy bread?!

Well, I was truly a book nerd, and read all the time, so this was a really easy contest, and finally something I was good at. (That field day scam is a bunch of bullshit, but that's another story). I was wayyyy ahead of everyone else in the contest. A particular parent, and one of the teachers above my grade thought I was lying about how many books I had read. My friends in class, and my brothers and parents had to defend me.. It got so bad, I had to go to the principal's office, and one of the teachers and parents who didn't believe me made me give a oral synopsis of all the books I read, or they said I had to forfeit the contest. We got through about 20 before she realized I wasn't lying.

I wish at the time I would have been way ahead of my age, because I would have thrown my hands in the air and said "take that motherfuckers", dropped my (imaginary)mic and walked out.
Instead, I stood there trembling and about to cry because I was so mad they thought I was lying, and I was taught to respect teachers and parents, so I didn't know how to defend myself better.
Long story short, I won the entire contest.

My last thing to talk about, is how awesome recess was. We had a wooden structure, that was about 8 feet high, and I am pretty sure rotted through in many places from years of rain and snow. We were forever getting splinters, or scraping ourselves climbing it. We jumped off of the top of it into gravel. Nothing like the rubber, safe play equipment these softies have these days surrounded by sand or grass. Oh and we had two giant tires. Yes, tires.  One blue, one pink. If you tried to go in the blue tire, the playground aid would blow her whistle at you. If you tried to climb them you got in trouble. I remember they always smelled like pee. We also had these gymnastic type bars, and us girls figured out if you tied your sweatshirt together, and sat in it on the bar, you could flip around over and over.
The principal put the kabosh on that after some dumb kid fell off one of the bars, and cracked her elbow. And for that, I am sorry.
But you know what, we always had fun. We didn't have the cool playground equipment kids have now, but we didn't care. We played games, or tag, and lava monster, or kickball, and had a blast.

And of course, on rainy days, we go to play "Head's Up, 7-Up". :)

Pen OCD

I have pen OCD. I can only write with certain pens, and if I have the wrong pen, I have to search around and/or steal another person's writing utensil until I find one that I can use, or I feel like my writing is off. I have learned to carry my favorite types of pens with me in my purse, car, laptop bag, suitcase, etc. just in case.


I am not that way about anything else, (well, I might be, but I am not admitting to it), but to this day, if someone at work in a meeting takes my pen, or borrows it from my desk, I will follow them around the office like a mosquito at a blood bank until I get it back.

Once, when I was younger and worked in a small office (about 20 people) people were forever taking pens off my desk. I hid my favorite pen in my drawer and put crappy pens on my desk. But one day I left my favorite pen out, and someone took it. I sent an email to everyone at work, asking who took my pen, to which my boss replied that my email was "an inappropriate use of company email".  My response to that was to yell across the office "who took my pen?!"Apparently, that was inappropriate as well. I tried to explain that it was my favorite pen, and he said "it's just a pen"! That was the first time in my life that I wished I was magic and my pen was a wand so I could do something cool with it and then say "JUST a pen, huh"!?  Instead, I rolled my non-magic eyes at him, and walked away. (Side note -  we got along great, and I worked there for a long time)

Since then, I have calmed down a little bit about people taking my pens, (not even a little) and can afford to buy whole boxes at a time now to always have on hand, but the smart ass in me is still there. Recently, someone in a meeting asked if they could borrow my pen, so I licked it, and handed it over. My co-worker looked at me like I was crazy. I am hoping that I get a reputation of "pen licker" or something of that sort, so people finally leave my pens alone.

I carried a Watermelon

If you know that quote, then you clearly have excellent taste in movies, and know it is from one of the GREATEST movies of all times, Dirty Dancing.

(The original, not that two bit piece of shit part 2 they tried to fake us into believing would be good. I saw about 10 minutes of it before realizing stabbing a fork in my leg would be more entertaining to watch)

I pretty much feel like Baby did in that scene, in most of my life. I am always a dollar short, day late, and trying to figure out the joke everyone else is laughing at, that I pretend to get, only to wonder what the hell is so funny. I usually get it about 2 days later in the most inappropriate places like work meetings, or in a waiting room at a Dr. office, and I laugh out loud, and then realize that everyone is staring at me, and try to cover it up with a cough, but it's too late, they now think I am nuts.

This is why lame jokes make me laugh and laugh. Most of my friends and family are aware of my love for stupid jokes, and humor me when I tell them "I have a joke for you". BUT I have found a niche in the 6-12 age sector. They think my jokes are hilarious, and by default, it makes me cool. I am worried about when the kids get older and realize that my jokes have not gotten any better, they will suddenly avoid me like the plague. I may have to learn sub-lingual messaging so when they are asleep I can convince them I am still funny and cool.

Because I know you are all now on pins and needles waiting to hear some of my award winning jokes, I will tell you a couple.

Q: What do you call a fake noodle?
A: An Impasta 

Q: What do you call an alligator in a vest? 

A: An Investigator 

Q: What do you call two spiders that just got married?
A: Newly-webbed

and finally

Two T.V.'s got married, the wedding wasn't much, but the reception was great. 

See? Told you they were terrible. I do know some terrible, filthy jokes, that my brothers tell me, but I won't repeat any, because I don't want to offend anyone.

I am NOT Falling for You....

Once upon a time, in my early twenties, I went on a blind date with this guy. You know how you can tell it is going to be a disaster from the get go? That's how this date went.
The first thing he said to me when I answered the door was, "wow, your hair is too long, you should cut it, but you have a cute face and body so that is okay". Um, okay.....I chalked it up to him being nervous, and we walked to his car. Inside his car, he had a garter hung from the review mirror. That was only cool, well, never. His car was also a complete mess. I had to clear off the seat myself, as he said "just throw that stuff on the floor". I was barley seated before he took off at full speed down the side street, and driving like a maniac. At this point, I thought about just opening the car door, and flinging myself out taking my chances with road rash and broken bones. I thought that might be less painful than sitting in this filthy car with this guy who was now blasting some heavy metal crap at full volume, while attempting to talk yell at me. He also kept rolling down all of the windows, including mine, to which I would promptly roll back up, not because I really cared at this point what my hair looked like, but my "too long" hair kept whipping me in my face.

We finally got to the restaurant and it was one of those places where they have a huge outdoor patio, and to get to the main doors, you have to walk up a long walkway, in front of all the people on the patio. As we were walking up, I was not paying attention, because my mind was focused on how the hell I was going to make it through dinner, and all of the sudden, BAM. I tripped and totally fell over a step, onto the concrete, skinning my hands, and knees. For half a second, I contemplated pretending I was unconscious so an ambulance would have to come and rescue me away from this date. Instead, I looked up to the sound of everyone on the patio applauding. It was the first time in my many years of klutziness that anyone had appreciated it, so I stood up and bowed, and people laughed. I figured it would make for a good conversation for them later on. My date however, was mortified. He looked at me like I was crazy and said "aren't you totally embarrassed? I am so embarrassed for you". I just gave him a scathing look, and we continued on into the restaurant. I wiped some of my blood from my hand on the back of his shirt so that made me feel better. I have no idea why at this point I didn't just ask him to take me home, maybe I really had hit my head and was losing it.

We were sat at a table, and ordered drinks. I ordered a beer, to which he promptly made fun of me for ordering. I have no idea why. Boy wonder ordered a Manhattan. I asked him if he got a senior discount with that drink, and he clearly did not think that was funny, because he said "I don't get it".

He then starts yapping about his house he shared with 3 other guys, (and probably cockroaches and other various bugs), talking about this "awesome hot tub" they had. He suggested after dinner, we go back to his house and sit in the hot tub, and then he followed that up with this gem: "No suits allowed", and winked. It was at this point that I knew I needed to escape. I told him I had to go to the bathroom, and I walked out the door to the patio, out to the parking lot, and hid behind another building until my friend came and picked me up.
Thus ending my first, and last, blind date.

Best Hair Day... EVER

This is me in Elementary school. I think maybe 3rd or 4th grade? I am holding a book that I bought (aka - my parents bought) for the library. Inside the book it says my name and has a copy of this picture. I like to think that I am giving anyone who checks this book out a good laugh when they see this, if it is even still in there. I am actually more surprised this photo has not ended up on "Awkward Family Photos" or some other game/show where they make fun of old pictures. It wouldn't offend me in the least, because this photo is hilarious, and I don't judge my younger self. How can I? Look at the outfit I am wearing.

Take a minute to let that hair-don't sink it. It was the 80's and I had convinced my parents that I wanted a perm. My Dad actually gave me the perm. When he was younger and in the air-force, he got his Barber license which included learning how to do perms. (Disco hair anyone)? AND he was actually very good at them. He had a regular little side business for a few years in the 80's with me, my friends and the mothers of some of my friends. This was not his job, just something he did on the side to ensure that our family didn't go at least a week with out the stench of Oglive Home Perm penetrating our noses for 3 days at a time. My Dad is a great guy like that.

Broke Back Wallet

For the 2nd year in a row, I have correctly announced who would be winning the Kentucky Derby (before the race, smart asses).

Last year, I told my boss who was at the Kentucky Derby, via text, to bet on "I'll Have Another" Which she did and won a couple thousand dollars off a $10.00 bet.
Not only did she NOT give me a cut of the winnings, she didn't even bring be back souvenir! I would have been happy with a shirt that said "I correctly guessed the winner of the KD and all I got was this t-shirt".

I thought about watering her expensive plant with Orange Juice, but since I never made a stipulation in my text about sharing the winnings, I had to get over it.

Did I learn my lesson this year? No.

Matt and I were sitting on the couch, and they were showing the horses, and the horse named "Orb" caught my attention. I said to Matt, and he can verify this ridiculousness "Hey, that horse has my initials! Matt looked at me like I was crazy and said "what"?. I said "O - for OH, and RB for my name'
Get it? OH-RB.....
I thought I was pretty clever. Matt thought I was nuts. Pretty normal occurrence.

AND who won?

 

Next year, I am betting. But I am not telling you on who. :)

10 Things I hate about FB

So, I admit, I love Facebook. It's fun to see what everyone is doing, and to check out their pictures. If you pretend that you don't do the same, then you are either lying to yourself, or you don't have an account.

Regardless, here are ten things I dislike about FB. And before you go on a rant and tell me if I don't like it, I can just delete my page, remember this is my blog, and I can say whatever I want.

1. People over the age of 18 who write statuses to get attention. Example: "Oh I am so upset right now.....". Prompting suckers to comment with "Oh, what's wrong" and the author of the original comment will say "I don't want to talk about it".
Ugh. Your pathetic attempt at a pity party is ridiculous. Go volunteer at a Jr. High school where you can hang out with people who have the same drama as you.

2. Games. I do play some games, I love WWF, and Songpop. But I don't play them through FB. The constant requests every 3 seconds about giving them another life, joining their gang, or helping them guess the picture, are annoying. I try to hide the apps so I don't get the requests, but it's like trying to brush your teeth while eating Oreo's.

3. When people literally copy my original status and post it as their own. Really??

4. When people get super pissed if you don't comment on their status. I have seen a person post a status, and the next day, post another status about how pissed they were that no one commented on their original status. Settle down.

5. Duck Face. STOP IT. You look really stupid.

6. When people think every post you write is directly related to them.

7. When people post a picture and the caption says "OMG, I am so hideous".

8. When people want you to vote for a friend of a friend of a friend's baby in some baby contest. Unless I know the friend, or their baby, I am not voting.

9. Drama. I know I said that one before, but I have listed it twice because it's so ridiculous.

10. Anyone over 18 who change their relationship status to "it's complicated, to "in a relationship" 15 times a day.


With that said, there are a lot of things I love about FB. I like to see what people are up to, pictures, videos, recipes, etc. It's a great way to stay in touch with people you wouldn't normally be able to. :)

Pot Luck

I am always weary of Pot Lucks. Unless I know the person, their hygiene habits, and have witnessed their homes, I am probably not going to eat what someone brings, unless it's store bought, and hasn't been opened yet.

I have witnessed many disgusting habits of particularly gross co-workers such as: not washing after using the restroom, picking their faces, noses, ears, etc. Filing their toenails AT their desk. (barf) Wiping their snotty nose with their bare hand.. I could go on, but I am gagging a little just writing this. It's truly disgusting.
I have even been witness to a co-worker who had to be asked by management to take a shower, and manage their hygiene better, multiple times. I knew this person, I had seen their house, which surprisingly, was very clean. They had two bathrooms, that held two working showers, and bathtubs. I know they worked because when I pretended to use the bathroom, I turned on the faucet to see if water came out. It did.
This is the type of person who always brings things like rice krispie treats, because they can get their dirty gross hands all over the food they will serve to others. They should really call what they brought "fecal matter shit bars".

So this is why I am cautious of the food being brought to these events. When the suspect asks my why I am not eating what they brought in, I always make an excuse up like "oh, I'm just not hungry", or, "I ate what you brought first, and it was so good" or my food allergies stop me from eating it. *wink*

It's also hilarious to watch the people who are first in line. They start hovering about 10 minutes before the official start time and get right up in the front of the food, plate(s) in hand, rearing to go. They pile so much food on their plates like it's their last meal. Especially when there is something really good, and a limited quantity, they don't give a shit how many people are behind them and take 3 or 4 of whatever it is.

Things That Hurt

These are all occurrences that I have experienced, so I am justified in stating that they do in fact, HURT.

1. Sitting at your desk, forgetting that you have ear plugs in your ears, and also attached to your laptop, you get up to go do something, and about lose an ear.

2. Stapling your finger, not once but twice in a matter of ten minutes.

3. Punching yourself in the lip, causing it to bleed because you were sure that hair on your arm was really a giant spider trying to eat you.

4. Getting into a car, and the person driving starts to drive while I am midway through getting in, resulting in my foot getting ran over. (no broken bones, just a big giant bruise).

5. Sitting at the Dr. office, waiting for results of an x-ray (where I had two broken toes), and as she is talking to me, the giant framed in heavy wood picture on the wall falls down, and nails me in the head.

6. When you have the flu, and they stick the q-tips up your nose, into your brain to test what kind you have.

6a. When the nurse who just jabbed your brain drops the q-tip on the floor, and has to do it all over again. I won't say out loud the names I called her in my head. (Nurses put up with a lot of shit, so I forgave her pretty quickly. Even when she lost my blood vial and had to do those over again too).

7. Falling off a boat dock, (sober) in between the boat and dock, scraping the entire side of your body from shoulder to foot on the wooden dock.

8. Being on a boat outing with family and friends, my brother and I were sitting on the front of a boat in front of the glass windshield. (totally legal) Along comes another boat in the no wake zone we were in, speeding past us, creating a huge wake which resulting in my brother and I going through the windshield of the boat. We had so much blood everywhere we looked like we were just massacred. Walking from the dock to the car, people were gasping and asking if we were okay. My Mom, being the RN that she is, said it wasn't necessary to go to the hospital, or Dr. She took us home, pulled out all the glass (that we could find)and even put stitches on my leg. Pulling tiny shards of glass out of your body for two weeks is not fun.

9. Being bit by three different dogs. One in my face, one in my foot, one in my butt. And people wonder why I am scared of dogs.

10. Those old school pony-tail holders with the balls at the end. When you pulled them back to put in your hair, lost your grip and they sprung back and smacked your knuckle.

Something Smells Fishy.

If you are the person who re-heats fish, or any kind of seafood, in a community microwave, where the smell wafts through the air and pollutes all of your co-workers noses, you are an asshole. Additionally, if you have seafood leftovers that you aren't going to eat, throw them in the trash, tie the trash and bring out to the dumpster. Especially if it's on a night where the cleaning crew won't be in. That is not a good smell to walk into the next morning at work.

If you are this person, then I can only assume that you also burn popcorn.

Why 16 Year Old Clothing Store Associates Piss Me Off

Ugh. There is nothing worse than a cute little size 2 sales girl who giggles at everything you say, and calls you "hon" or "sweetie". When this happens, I feel myself throw up a little in my mouth, and I think swallowing it would better than the catastrophe of clothes shopping/trying on that is about to happen.

It's not them personally I dislike, more so their lack of understanding what happens to your body after you get older; your hips get bigger, and your metabolism doesn't just slow down, it head on collides with a giant stop sign. They mock you by knocking on the door of the dressing room you are in and bringing you a x-small shirt and say "hi hon, thought this would go great with the pants you are trying on". I often ignore them, even when they ask if everything is okay, because I am pretty sure they don't want to hear my response. I have often thought in my head would go one of two ways:

1. A quote taken from one of my favorite movies, Bridesmaids: "Why don't you go fuck yourself". I laugh every time I see that scene, or think it in my head. In my opinion it's a good response for any crappy situation. But then an image of my Mom pops in my head and she HATES the "F" word, so I refrain.

2. The second response would be directed towards the girls who call me "hon": "Listen sweetheart, why don't you take this x-small tank top that would probably cover one of my boobs, shove it up your ass, and go get me a medium. Thanks Doll"

But, I remember once I was a skinny teenager, and forgive them for their ignorance. Although I never called anyone "hon" "sweetie", especially people older than me.

After sickening sweet sales girls in clothing stores, trying on jeans has to be the worst possible activity ever. Seriously. I either need to drink a lot before going, or steal an anti-depressant from someone at a Kenny G reunion concert. Or go with my Mom, because she will be totally honest and not let me buy something hideous.

Here are some things I would rather do then try on jeans:

1. Root Canal with no Novocaine
2. Surgery with out anesthesia
3. Watch Gigli and Jersey girl for 2 days straight
4. Wait in line at the DMV, and then when it is just about my turn, go to the back of the line
5. Pluck all my leg hair, one by one

I think This is Broken

So. Here it is. My Blog. I will give everyone a fair warning. Actually, 2.
1. If you are here to judge my writing, grammar, punctuation etc. then you should probably leave now. As I am not being graded on this, nor is it going into some best seller book (at least not yet), I am not overly concerned with those aspects.

2. If you are easily offended, you might want to join a 12 step program, and jump right to whatever step forgiveness and acceptance are. I don't have time to hand hold, or convince you that anything I write is not directly related to you.

With that said... Welcome to my Blog.

How I came up with this witty title of my blog:
When I refer to something as being broken, more often than not, it has to do with a bone in my body, or something that I have fallen onto, into, or been even remotely near, causing whatever it is, to break. This is why I decided to call my blog this. It sums my life up in 5 words.

I am what you may refer to as a graceful person... Okay..fine "Klutz". My family and friends call me Grace. I am pretty sure I have funded wings in hospitals, any many children of Dr's college funds with all my trips to the ER and Dr. I am pretty sure at this point, I could open my own pharmacy/Dr office out of my house, and be able to cure 90% of people's problems, just from experience. I think I might even know more than 3rd year students who are getting their Doctorates. I have tried convincing a few of my friends who are about to give birth to let me help deliver their babies, but, they all said no. And it is probably from fear I will drop their baby more than they are scared to let me perform medical procedures on them. Or both.

I have a strong suspicion that someone is secretly filming my life, and wreaking havoc to create scenarios in which I fall over perfectly even sidewalks, run into walls, walk into doors. etc. There might even be a sports bar in Vegas where people are betting on me and the outcomes of my daily life. If this is the case, I want in!

Well, that said, here is my blog. Read at your own risk.

Pattycake, Pattycake, Baker's Man.

I think I took that nursery rhyme literally, and have since baked pretty much everything, "as fast as I can".
I am an excellent cook. Many people can verify this. I love to make dips, and appetizers especially.
But baking? That's where shit just got real. Real Bad.

I am fully aware I am a terrible baker. My idea of baking is either asking my Mom, or friend to do it for me, or buying it from the bakery at the store. I can even get through the cookies that you only have to break apart, and stick in the oven, pretty easily.

Regardless of this known fact about myself, I often get this wild idea that I should bake something and THIS time, my baking attempt will turn out so good, Martha Stewart will be at my door to congratulate me.

For Hal's 2nd birthday, I decided I would make her a Minnie Mouse cake. I bought the pan from Wal-Mart, some cake mix, frosting and headed home to make this amazing masterpiece.

Well, for someone who is terrible at math, mixing exact ingredients even with the correct mixing utensils, is torture. I had to call Matt three times to ask him how much 1/4 + 1/4 was, or something similar. I think he was starting to really worry on the third call, so I resorted to my friend Google for the answers.

I finally got the cake mixed up, poured it in the pan, and baked it. Since we live two blocks away from the fire department, I wasn't too worried about baking home alone. I set the timer on the oven, and my phone, so I wouldn't forget it was in there.

The cake finally cooled, and armed with the picture that came with the pan, I set about frosting it. I had decided in my head, that since my Mom is an excellent baker and when she was younger, she worked in a bakery, that frosting genes would somehow have been passed down to me.
Wrong.
I didn't buy enough frosting to cover the entire cake. Nor did I buy enough black frosting for the ears. I bought a tiny tube, for the eyes and mouth. Duh. Luckily I had Oreo's and crushed those up to make the ears and nose.


Here is a picture of the masterpiece.