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.