December 20, 2010
December 16, 2010
Bangers and Mash
Banger Beans and Mash
I might have just a wee little bit of an innocent crush on Russell Brand. I just saw Get Him to The Greek and rather enjoyed it.
Hold on don’t get your knickers in a knot! I don’t find him more attractive than my husband by any stretch of the imagination. He’s just… interesting. In a sort of makes me wax sentimental for my mid-twenties kinda way.
But I would never be attracted to him, not even if my husband were passed on and resting comfortably in heaven. Should I out live my pookie bear, I will be too distraught and heart broken to breathe, let alone pant.
Not that Russell Brand makes me pant. My husband does, and even if he had never been born just the promise of what might be an earthly version of someone with his soul would be enough for me to wait an eternity for his incarnation.
Which is not to say that while waiting I might not be tempted to partake in a brief liaison with Russell Brand, if the opportunity should arise, just so that I might practice some pleasure techniques that men seem to enjoy, for when my soul mate, my husband, arrived in my life.
Let’s be clear here… if my husband had never been born, nay, his whole family line had never been born, lest I meet one of them and see in them the lineage that might produce someone as perfect for me as my husband, I might, just might, find Russell Brand a wit bit attractive.
And should I meet Russell Brand, were properly wooed by him and decided to gift him with carnal knowledge of my temple, I would do such naughty, nasty, unspeakable things to the limey bastard that Katie Perry would blush and join a convent.
That is to say if and only if my husband had never been born.
I might have just a wee little bit of an innocent crush on Russell Brand. I just saw Get Him to The Greek and rather enjoyed it.
Hold on don’t get your knickers in a knot! I don’t find him more attractive than my husband by any stretch of the imagination. He’s just… interesting. In a sort of makes me wax sentimental for my mid-twenties kinda way.
But I would never be attracted to him, not even if my husband were passed on and resting comfortably in heaven. Should I out live my pookie bear, I will be too distraught and heart broken to breathe, let alone pant.
Not that Russell Brand makes me pant. My husband does, and even if he had never been born just the promise of what might be an earthly version of someone with his soul would be enough for me to wait an eternity for his incarnation.
Which is not to say that while waiting I might not be tempted to partake in a brief liaison with Russell Brand, if the opportunity should arise, just so that I might practice some pleasure techniques that men seem to enjoy, for when my soul mate, my husband, arrived in my life.
Let’s be clear here… if my husband had never been born, nay, his whole family line had never been born, lest I meet one of them and see in them the lineage that might produce someone as perfect for me as my husband, I might, just might, find Russell Brand a wit bit attractive.
And should I meet Russell Brand, were properly wooed by him and decided to gift him with carnal knowledge of my temple, I would do such naughty, nasty, unspeakable things to the limey bastard that Katie Perry would blush and join a convent.
That is to say if and only if my husband had never been born.
December 15, 2010
How's Your Heavy Breathing?
I’m volunteering at the local NPR station again today. I call members and thank them for their donation. It’s fun, I get free cookies and a tour of the studio, but they won’t let me be on the air. Not yet anyway.
It would be so much fun to be on air. I’ve been told I have a face for radio, so there’s that. At least I think it would be fun, I never really tried. Sometimes things seem fun until you really know what it takes to do it.
Like body piercing.
I have also thought about being a voice over artist. I mean you just talk into a microphone, how hard can that be? So I talked to a guy who knows a guy, and I found out you have to possess some skills besides a functioning voice box.
I wish I had done that research before I started applying for jobs. Turns out phone actress and voice over artist are two totally different things. I nearly hyperventilated during the audition.
It would be so much fun to be on air. I’ve been told I have a face for radio, so there’s that. At least I think it would be fun, I never really tried. Sometimes things seem fun until you really know what it takes to do it.
Like body piercing.
I have also thought about being a voice over artist. I mean you just talk into a microphone, how hard can that be? So I talked to a guy who knows a guy, and I found out you have to possess some skills besides a functioning voice box.
I wish I had done that research before I started applying for jobs. Turns out phone actress and voice over artist are two totally different things. I nearly hyperventilated during the audition.
December 12, 2010
Too Much Money?
Can you have too much money? And does it make you stupid?
We went for a stroll on Park Avenue in Winter Park, central Florida’s tres' posh neighborhood, just to see the latest in what we can't afford.
People parade the shop and bistro lined street in their finest couture and shod in the hippest of boots. Not hip boots like waders, just hip boots, like leather and zippers and heels.
No lie, I saw a woman, or something that used to be a woman, pushing two dogs that probably cost more than my car, in a stroller. Dogs in a stroller! If I were her I would want to be pushed in a stroller because I would not want my nine zillion dollar boots touching the ground where dogs, when not in strollers, do what bears do in the woods.
But if I had all the money, my boots would probably be waders so I could fish in the same river where our lab would dive for sticks. Well, maybe if I had all the money, and it had indeed caused stupidity, I would hire another dog to get the stick for him.
We went for a stroll on Park Avenue in Winter Park, central Florida’s tres' posh neighborhood, just to see the latest in what we can't afford.
People parade the shop and bistro lined street in their finest couture and shod in the hippest of boots. Not hip boots like waders, just hip boots, like leather and zippers and heels.
No lie, I saw a woman, or something that used to be a woman, pushing two dogs that probably cost more than my car, in a stroller. Dogs in a stroller! If I were her I would want to be pushed in a stroller because I would not want my nine zillion dollar boots touching the ground where dogs, when not in strollers, do what bears do in the woods.
But if I had all the money, my boots would probably be waders so I could fish in the same river where our lab would dive for sticks. Well, maybe if I had all the money, and it had indeed caused stupidity, I would hire another dog to get the stick for him.
December 11, 2010
Sunscreen and Mittens
I love to take walks this time of year. Sometimes in the evening, but usually I walk in the morning making sure to wear my sunscreen.
It's so funny to me to put on sunscreen and mittens, but I love it.
December 8, 2010
Cat Piss Coffee and Fish Burps
Since I am now way north of 40 and all my points have gone south, I am now doing things such as taking fish oil capsules for my health. I eat oatmeal every morning and only one cup of coffee. Too bad it tastes like cat piss.
But let’s start with the fish oil capsules. They make you burp. Now mix that with oatmeal. That is a taste you don’t want to have to live through twice. I think I’d rather have the heart attack.
At the warehouse club we bought a bag of Costa Rican coffee that is as big as your head for like ten bucks, but it tastes like caffeinated cat piss. Apparently you can buy cat shit coffee, and somehow I am pretty sure that would be better than this stuff.
So this morning I am dealing with oatmeal/ fish oil burps, cat piss coffee after taste, and flap jack tits. Wonder what’s for lunch?
And Wayne wants to complain about hot chocolate chili burps… please!
But let’s start with the fish oil capsules. They make you burp. Now mix that with oatmeal. That is a taste you don’t want to have to live through twice. I think I’d rather have the heart attack.
At the warehouse club we bought a bag of Costa Rican coffee that is as big as your head for like ten bucks, but it tastes like caffeinated cat piss. Apparently you can buy cat shit coffee, and somehow I am pretty sure that would be better than this stuff.
So this morning I am dealing with oatmeal/ fish oil burps, cat piss coffee after taste, and flap jack tits. Wonder what’s for lunch?
And Wayne wants to complain about hot chocolate chili burps… please!
December 4, 2010
Happy Holidaze
Hollandise makes me happy too.
Merry Christmas, it’s time to do the cards; my apologies to anyone receiving a card from me with their named spelled wrong. One year I wrote in a card, Dear Jeffery, then addressed the envelope, Mr. Geoffery … Truth is, I was little drunky that year, I usually misspell names only one time per card.
This has been going on my whole life. When I was about ten, I wrote I love you Aunt Runt in the dirt on the side of her and Uncle Bill’s trailer. The irony is, she was a six footer in stocking feet. I know she must have found that funny, because she told everyone in the family. And they thought it was funny. And they still do. Let it go people or I’m not coming to the reunion next year!!!
My mom tells me Einstien couldn’t spell, so there’s comfort in that. Keeps me from thinking I’m dump.
People haven’t always been kind to me about my poor spelling, and I defiantly didn’t find them funny. I had a teacher once, who was probably hated when she was a child and was passing it along. She disliked my whimsical attitude toward spelling, life, and the school structure in general. She once made me spell obnoxious aloud in front of the class until I got it write. What a bitch!!!
So perhaps my laxadiasicle approach to spelling is a kind of rebellious stance. Like a lot of rebellious stances that have been in place since one’s youth, it often is tantamount to shooting one’s self in the foot, but it could just be that I am smart and creative and my mind works too fast and just like Einstein, I am a genios too.
Merry Christmas, it’s time to do the cards; my apologies to anyone receiving a card from me with their named spelled wrong. One year I wrote in a card, Dear Jeffery, then addressed the envelope, Mr. Geoffery … Truth is, I was little drunky that year, I usually misspell names only one time per card.
This has been going on my whole life. When I was about ten, I wrote I love you Aunt Runt in the dirt on the side of her and Uncle Bill’s trailer. The irony is, she was a six footer in stocking feet. I know she must have found that funny, because she told everyone in the family. And they thought it was funny. And they still do. Let it go people or I’m not coming to the reunion next year!!!
My mom tells me Einstien couldn’t spell, so there’s comfort in that. Keeps me from thinking I’m dump.
People haven’t always been kind to me about my poor spelling, and I defiantly didn’t find them funny. I had a teacher once, who was probably hated when she was a child and was passing it along. She disliked my whimsical attitude toward spelling, life, and the school structure in general. She once made me spell obnoxious aloud in front of the class until I got it write. What a bitch!!!
So perhaps my laxadiasicle approach to spelling is a kind of rebellious stance. Like a lot of rebellious stances that have been in place since one’s youth, it often is tantamount to shooting one’s self in the foot, but it could just be that I am smart and creative and my mind works too fast and just like Einstein, I am a genios too.
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