Sunday, January 08, 2006
Monday, December 13, 2004
Lunch Time Commercials by Bonnie Ransonette
Hi. For those of you who don't know, I'm Laurie's baby sister. As you will soon tell, we tend to have a very similiar way of looking at things. I, too, have certain commercials that just tend to irritate me.
For example, there is a new fiber commercial out that talks about how regular these three men are that work together because they take the same fiber. One takes a tablet, one eats a wafer and the other drinks powder in his morning juice. Well, to prove how regular they are, the commercial shows these three men going to the restroom together at the same time every day. Is it just me are does that thought just seem rather gross? For one, imagine the smell. Two, maybe its just men, but I know most woman hate doing "serious" business at work, let alone with other people in the room.
The other problem with this commercial is that they always show it at the same time every day while we're at lunch and trying to eat. Its bad enough that the commercial world thinks that every ache and pain needs a visible personality like Digger, the ugly toenail guy. Now they have an ugly critter for our migraines and, yes, these too are always shown while we're at lunch. Not to mention the bears crapping in the woods.
Our other complaint at lunch is that, while we're sitting there stuffing our faces they have to show a Victoria's "half naked" Secret commercial. Please. Her real secret is that you have to weigh twelve pounds for her stuff to look good.
To correct this I say soap operas should never have commercials. Yeah, that's the ticket.
For example, there is a new fiber commercial out that talks about how regular these three men are that work together because they take the same fiber. One takes a tablet, one eats a wafer and the other drinks powder in his morning juice. Well, to prove how regular they are, the commercial shows these three men going to the restroom together at the same time every day. Is it just me are does that thought just seem rather gross? For one, imagine the smell. Two, maybe its just men, but I know most woman hate doing "serious" business at work, let alone with other people in the room.
The other problem with this commercial is that they always show it at the same time every day while we're at lunch and trying to eat. Its bad enough that the commercial world thinks that every ache and pain needs a visible personality like Digger, the ugly toenail guy. Now they have an ugly critter for our migraines and, yes, these too are always shown while we're at lunch. Not to mention the bears crapping in the woods.
Our other complaint at lunch is that, while we're sitting there stuffing our faces they have to show a Victoria's "half naked" Secret commercial. Please. Her real secret is that you have to weigh twelve pounds for her stuff to look good.
To correct this I say soap operas should never have commercials. Yeah, that's the ticket.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
The Chikin Eeter by Davie Burton
My work wife has asked me to relay this story for all the world to read. After debating about the embarrassment it will and has already caused me, I decided to throw caution to the wind and deliver this disturbing yet true story. A couple of years ago I got involved with a man who I will call Randy the Roofer. Why Randy the Roofer you ask? Because his name is Randy and he is a roofer. With that said, one could probably determine the sheer stupidity of this man by the fact that he allows his roofing business to go by the name of “Randy the Roofer.” However, in my blinded-by-love eyes, I thought the sun rose and set in Randy’s ass. That is until Valentine’s Day two years ago.
Randy’s birthday is the day before Valentine’s Day. I decided that I would make him a lovely birthday dinner and invite his brother and sister-in-law to join in the celebration. After inquiring about what he would like to eat, Randy said he would like fried chicken. Since I never really fry chicken I consulted with my wonderful Mother who fries the best chicken in the world. I painstakingly worked on this birthday meal and it was a delicious success. Randy’s brother and his wife raved over my fried chicken as well as the rest of the meal and the dessert. Randy, of course, was not feeling well so he could not enjoy my chicken at the time it was served. Actually, Randy never feels well. Randy whines and moans about everything. I thought the chicken was quite good myself; however, I do not suck the marrow out of the bone of a piece of chicken before I have decided I’m through with it and it is now ready to be thrown into the trash can. I then cleared the table, threw the scraps of remaining chicken from the plates into the trash and wrapped the rest of the chicken up and put it in the refrigerator for later enjoyment.
The next day was our first celebrated Valentine’s Day together. After listening to Randy on the phone with his brother talking about how we would celebrate our Valentine’s Day together, I began to get excited. He told his brother that he would have to consult with me prior to making any plans for the evening because it was our first celebrated Valentine’s Day together. I felt all warm and tingly inside anticipating a happy day with the man with whom I was in love. After deliberating over the fact that he had just paid to have my vehicle repaired, he determined that no real gift was in order. That was fine with me as I did not think in materialistic terms at the time because just being with him was all I really wanted. I gave him my loving Valentine’s card and he handed me the receipt for the repairs he had done on my vehicle. How thoughtful he was.
Finally, it came time to discuss our Valentine’s Day dinner. Randy decided that it would be best that we have a nice steak dinner together at home because he had not bothered to make reservations anywhere and of course one must make reservations on Valentine’s Day because there are people out there who do know how to celebrate the day properly. We made our grocery list and set out to the store to buy our Valentine’s Day goodies. It occurred only slightly to me that I would be the one doing all the work on this lovely Valentine’s Day dinner, but alas, I was in love. Randy and I ran into a friend of his who was buying a bottle of nice wine for his Valentine’s Day “date” who he had not known for nearly the time Randy I had been together. The wine was going to be consumed after the nice dinner he made reservations for a week prior to Valentine’s Day. On his way out of the checkout line he swooped up two lovely bouquets of wild flowers and explained that one was for his date and the other for his mother. Hearing this nice gesture, Randy in turn grabbed a bouquet of flowers—for his mother.
Upon our arrival home, I began to unpack groceries and began to prepare our steaks for the grill. I had to move the left over chicken I had wrapped up to make room for the other groceries so I knew that this chicken had not been opened or touched. While I was leaning into the refrigerator and Randy was standing next to the trash can, I stood and looked into his eyes only to see him eating a piece of my fried chicken. I thought for a moment, opened the refrigerator door, saw the wrapped chicken that had not been touched and I came to the only conclusion I could. I looked at this man who I was in love with and who I knew I would be kissing and I realized that he had pulled a piece of unfinished chicken from the trash can and was now eating it right in front of me. Of course he denied he did such a thing, but I knew better because in a moment of clarity that day it finally came to me what a cheap, disgusting pig of a man Randy truly is. For this reason, Randy is no longer known around here as Randy the Roofer. He is now referred to as the Dumpster Diving Chicken Eater.
Randy’s birthday is the day before Valentine’s Day. I decided that I would make him a lovely birthday dinner and invite his brother and sister-in-law to join in the celebration. After inquiring about what he would like to eat, Randy said he would like fried chicken. Since I never really fry chicken I consulted with my wonderful Mother who fries the best chicken in the world. I painstakingly worked on this birthday meal and it was a delicious success. Randy’s brother and his wife raved over my fried chicken as well as the rest of the meal and the dessert. Randy, of course, was not feeling well so he could not enjoy my chicken at the time it was served. Actually, Randy never feels well. Randy whines and moans about everything. I thought the chicken was quite good myself; however, I do not suck the marrow out of the bone of a piece of chicken before I have decided I’m through with it and it is now ready to be thrown into the trash can. I then cleared the table, threw the scraps of remaining chicken from the plates into the trash and wrapped the rest of the chicken up and put it in the refrigerator for later enjoyment.
The next day was our first celebrated Valentine’s Day together. After listening to Randy on the phone with his brother talking about how we would celebrate our Valentine’s Day together, I began to get excited. He told his brother that he would have to consult with me prior to making any plans for the evening because it was our first celebrated Valentine’s Day together. I felt all warm and tingly inside anticipating a happy day with the man with whom I was in love. After deliberating over the fact that he had just paid to have my vehicle repaired, he determined that no real gift was in order. That was fine with me as I did not think in materialistic terms at the time because just being with him was all I really wanted. I gave him my loving Valentine’s card and he handed me the receipt for the repairs he had done on my vehicle. How thoughtful he was.
Finally, it came time to discuss our Valentine’s Day dinner. Randy decided that it would be best that we have a nice steak dinner together at home because he had not bothered to make reservations anywhere and of course one must make reservations on Valentine’s Day because there are people out there who do know how to celebrate the day properly. We made our grocery list and set out to the store to buy our Valentine’s Day goodies. It occurred only slightly to me that I would be the one doing all the work on this lovely Valentine’s Day dinner, but alas, I was in love. Randy and I ran into a friend of his who was buying a bottle of nice wine for his Valentine’s Day “date” who he had not known for nearly the time Randy I had been together. The wine was going to be consumed after the nice dinner he made reservations for a week prior to Valentine’s Day. On his way out of the checkout line he swooped up two lovely bouquets of wild flowers and explained that one was for his date and the other for his mother. Hearing this nice gesture, Randy in turn grabbed a bouquet of flowers—for his mother.
Upon our arrival home, I began to unpack groceries and began to prepare our steaks for the grill. I had to move the left over chicken I had wrapped up to make room for the other groceries so I knew that this chicken had not been opened or touched. While I was leaning into the refrigerator and Randy was standing next to the trash can, I stood and looked into his eyes only to see him eating a piece of my fried chicken. I thought for a moment, opened the refrigerator door, saw the wrapped chicken that had not been touched and I came to the only conclusion I could. I looked at this man who I was in love with and who I knew I would be kissing and I realized that he had pulled a piece of unfinished chicken from the trash can and was now eating it right in front of me. Of course he denied he did such a thing, but I knew better because in a moment of clarity that day it finally came to me what a cheap, disgusting pig of a man Randy truly is. For this reason, Randy is no longer known around here as Randy the Roofer. He is now referred to as the Dumpster Diving Chicken Eater.
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Ryan and Marvin Take the Cake by Tracey Blackmon
Ryan and Marvin won 1st place in the Holiday category of the Lad & Dad (Boy Scout) Cake Bake. It was an auction too. Ryan’s cake went for $40 (I quit bidding at $35 – I said no cake was worth that much-it would have gotten in the $50-$65 range). Some poor schmuck got our prize-winning confection. Did I mention that I am feeling guilty today and made Ryan muffins as a peace token? Marvin was way stressed over this cake. I had to sign something saying I didn’t help with the cake. The Boy Scouts take their Cake Bake/Auction seriously.
Marvin and Ryan attribute their success (did I mention they won 2nd place last year? I paid $60 for that cake!) to the "Egg Drop Tradition." Basically, Ryan gets to stand in the middle of the kitchen and drop an egg on the floor. Marvin gets to clean it up. This tradition started by accident last year when Ryan was in charge of cracking the eggs. Ryan’s version is to slam the egg on the side of the bowl and let go. The result is a culmination of half egg and shell in the bowl and half sliding down the side of the bowl, down the side of the dishwasher to pool on the floor. It's great! The joys of childhood.
Marvin realized last night, much to his horror, that all the girls’ trophies (which are many) are for sports and both of Ryan’s trophies are for cooking. Poor Marvin. We may have a chef in the family….. I am OK with that. Hey, son, go whip up a seven course meal.
I’ll have pictures next week of the awesome 1st place cake. I forgot I could take a picture with my camera phone and e-mail myself. What a dummy!
Thanks for letting me share Ryan and Marvin’s victory with you (did I mention that we were so shocked – we thought we would not win and get the cake back for $10?). The judges had great taste (no pun intended)!
Marvin and Ryan attribute their success (did I mention they won 2nd place last year? I paid $60 for that cake!) to the "Egg Drop Tradition." Basically, Ryan gets to stand in the middle of the kitchen and drop an egg on the floor. Marvin gets to clean it up. This tradition started by accident last year when Ryan was in charge of cracking the eggs. Ryan’s version is to slam the egg on the side of the bowl and let go. The result is a culmination of half egg and shell in the bowl and half sliding down the side of the bowl, down the side of the dishwasher to pool on the floor. It's great! The joys of childhood.
Marvin realized last night, much to his horror, that all the girls’ trophies (which are many) are for sports and both of Ryan’s trophies are for cooking. Poor Marvin. We may have a chef in the family….. I am OK with that. Hey, son, go whip up a seven course meal.
I’ll have pictures next week of the awesome 1st place cake. I forgot I could take a picture with my camera phone and e-mail myself. What a dummy!
Thanks for letting me share Ryan and Marvin’s victory with you (did I mention that we were so shocked – we thought we would not win and get the cake back for $10?). The judges had great taste (no pun intended)!
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Smothered in Love: When Guys Get Too Clingy - By Lily White and Trippin' Billy
INTRO:
We've all heard about the book that's flying off the shelves titled, "He's Not That Into You." While it states the obvious, it’s quite an entertaining little read. We all know what to do when our men aren't into us: Drop him like he's hot (no pun intended). Well, what exactly happens when he is TOO into you? Read along and discover that you're actually not alone in the suffocating world of clingy boyfriends.
LW:
Contrary to popular belief, it is not always girls who tend to fall head over heels first. In our quest for finding Mr. Right we find ourselves in many different predicaments. We're either just biding our time with Mr. Right Now or we are really trying to figure out if this could be the person we have searched for our whole lives. I suppose 95 percent of the female population is used to getting treated like last years dog crap ran over twice. We are used to giving our all, just to fall short of being the best thing that walks into our guys’ lives. Then it happens. A turn of events, a moment captivated by disbelief when we find ourselves not having to do all the chasing in a relationship. We can sit back and relax. Then it comes to our realization that this guy is just TOO CLINGY! Sure some may say, “Women are never satisfied.” But come on, guys. You have known this girl, what, five seconds? Chill out. You don't have to be automatic best friends with her friends. You don't have to meet the parents and you sure as heck don't have to leave little notes proclaiming your sincere affection and devotion to her. Let all those moments reveal themselves in time.
TB:
As a general rule, guys don’t get clingy. If they’re “into you” they’ll call, they’ll ask you out, and they’ll want to hang out with you. Eventually, if it all works out, they will tell you they love you and perhaps perhaps perhaps after a while of getting to know one another they’ll ask you to marry them and be the mother of their children. This is acceptable boyfriend behavior. So when does it cross the line into asphyxiating? Here are a few examples of clingy (from my personal files):
I have a friend who's in a situation like Trippin' Billy’s old one. Her boyfriend leaves her little notes all the time, tells her he misses her two minutes after he just saw her and wants to be with her every waking minute of the day. Once you start doing something over and over, it doesn't become as special. She's lucky to have him, I must say. She's very used to dating jerks and been through a lot in her life, but finally a good one comes around. Sometimes she's confused and she doesn't know what to do. Clingy boyfriends aren't necessarily a bad thing if you're a clingy girlfriend. I believe everyone needs time alone. Otherwise, you're going to drive each other straight up a wall. I just think if you're not completely happy, then realize that good things come to those that wait. :) One day there will be someone who gives you that feeling, that feeling that only true love can give you. Wait for that person. They're out there. When you find it... you'll know.
TB:
Very special. But the topic here is guys who are too clingy. Guys who are too clingy have the uncanny ability to think that any girl is “the One” for them. I heard a really good line (in a movie trailer – yes, it’s trite to quote a movie trailer, but just hear me out) the other day. It said, “If you believe in love at first sight, you never stop looking.” Everything happens so fast and it’s wonderful and beautiful, and there are things all around us telling us that “this is sooo right!” Now, I believe in signs from God just as much as the next zealot, but just because the leaves on the trees made you think of some obscure poem you know from college whose author happens to have a surname that’s similar to my third cousin’s doesn’t mean we are fated to be together. It means you are chemically imbalanced. Stay away from me, stalker.
It all boils down to chemistry. You’re either compatible or you’re not. Somewhere out there is a girl who will want to drive and always pay and have her arm dislocated at the shoulder by a clingy boyfriend. Keep him on his meds, honey, and remind him that I will have that restraining order enforced should he forget his place.
LW:
If my friend in this situation actually breaks up with her boyfriend, I don't think it's not because she's just not that into him. I think she's scared to actually let herself fall for someone and also it may be because of his crazy ex-girlfriend (refer to previous blog entry about ex-girlfriends). She doesn't like smashed pumpkins in her yard or notes given to him by his ex. Give her some time. She'll sort it all out. She knows what a wonderful guy he is, and if it's meant to be, it'll most definitely happen!
Remember; take care of yourself and each other.
We've all heard about the book that's flying off the shelves titled, "He's Not That Into You." While it states the obvious, it’s quite an entertaining little read. We all know what to do when our men aren't into us: Drop him like he's hot (no pun intended). Well, what exactly happens when he is TOO into you? Read along and discover that you're actually not alone in the suffocating world of clingy boyfriends.
LW:
Contrary to popular belief, it is not always girls who tend to fall head over heels first. In our quest for finding Mr. Right we find ourselves in many different predicaments. We're either just biding our time with Mr. Right Now or we are really trying to figure out if this could be the person we have searched for our whole lives. I suppose 95 percent of the female population is used to getting treated like last years dog crap ran over twice. We are used to giving our all, just to fall short of being the best thing that walks into our guys’ lives. Then it happens. A turn of events, a moment captivated by disbelief when we find ourselves not having to do all the chasing in a relationship. We can sit back and relax. Then it comes to our realization that this guy is just TOO CLINGY! Sure some may say, “Women are never satisfied.” But come on, guys. You have known this girl, what, five seconds? Chill out. You don't have to be automatic best friends with her friends. You don't have to meet the parents and you sure as heck don't have to leave little notes proclaiming your sincere affection and devotion to her. Let all those moments reveal themselves in time.
TB:
As a general rule, guys don’t get clingy. If they’re “into you” they’ll call, they’ll ask you out, and they’ll want to hang out with you. Eventually, if it all works out, they will tell you they love you and perhaps perhaps perhaps after a while of getting to know one another they’ll ask you to marry them and be the mother of their children. This is acceptable boyfriend behavior. So when does it cross the line into asphyxiating? Here are a few examples of clingy (from my personal files):
- Telling a girl you love her on your first date. (Did anyone else feel the air suddenly sucked out of the room or was that just me?)
- Calling at 6 p.m. with the expectation of talking until 11. (I guess you don’t have any interests outside of me… Can anyone say “stalker”?)
- Incessantly calling her cell phone when you know she’s out/busy just to say “I don’t know why you even want to go out. You should want to stay home and talk to me.” When she finally stops answering, leaving whiny voicemails about how she must not really love you. (Dating two weeks at this point, poindexter.)
- Leaning over while she’s trying to drive (yes, I was driving) and clutching her arm, then pouting when she tells you it’s irritating. (There’s a difference in holding hands and pulling off my right arm, ass.)
- Sending 1500 emails a day saying “I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you.” (C’mon, man, that’s just ridiculous. We all like to hear it, but only when we reciprocate the feeling. And even then we don’t want to hear it 500 times in succession, making our eyeballs/eardrums bleed.)
- Sending a letter professing your “undying, legend-worthy love” (his words, not mine – the f’king drama queen) twice a week doused in cologne and expecting the same in return. (We should all buy stock in Calvin Klein.)
- Proposing marriage after two months. (It just doesn’t happen like it does in the movies, so please save your wretched romantic ideals for someone who’s buying them.)
When I’m with a guy, I want him to be a MAN. Act like a man. If I wanted to date a girl, I’d be a lesbian.
I’m not saying I want a guy to walk all over me and treat me like crap. I want love and respect just like any other woman does. I just don’t want all the baby-talk bullsh*t that comes with a clingy boyfriend. I want my space. The last thing I want to be known as is “so-and-so’s lap dog” and I certainly don’t want a guy to be mine. I want exclusivity and intimacy without overdosing on each other’s company. (A bit difficult to manage in a distance situation, but do-able.)
I have a friend who's in a situation like Trippin' Billy’s old one. Her boyfriend leaves her little notes all the time, tells her he misses her two minutes after he just saw her and wants to be with her every waking minute of the day. Once you start doing something over and over, it doesn't become as special. She's lucky to have him, I must say. She's very used to dating jerks and been through a lot in her life, but finally a good one comes around. Sometimes she's confused and she doesn't know what to do. Clingy boyfriends aren't necessarily a bad thing if you're a clingy girlfriend. I believe everyone needs time alone. Otherwise, you're going to drive each other straight up a wall. I just think if you're not completely happy, then realize that good things come to those that wait. :) One day there will be someone who gives you that feeling, that feeling that only true love can give you. Wait for that person. They're out there. When you find it... you'll know.
TB:
Very special. But the topic here is guys who are too clingy. Guys who are too clingy have the uncanny ability to think that any girl is “the One” for them. I heard a really good line (in a movie trailer – yes, it’s trite to quote a movie trailer, but just hear me out) the other day. It said, “If you believe in love at first sight, you never stop looking.” Everything happens so fast and it’s wonderful and beautiful, and there are things all around us telling us that “this is sooo right!” Now, I believe in signs from God just as much as the next zealot, but just because the leaves on the trees made you think of some obscure poem you know from college whose author happens to have a surname that’s similar to my third cousin’s doesn’t mean we are fated to be together. It means you are chemically imbalanced. Stay away from me, stalker.
It all boils down to chemistry. You’re either compatible or you’re not. Somewhere out there is a girl who will want to drive and always pay and have her arm dislocated at the shoulder by a clingy boyfriend. Keep him on his meds, honey, and remind him that I will have that restraining order enforced should he forget his place.
LW:
If my friend in this situation actually breaks up with her boyfriend, I don't think it's not because she's just not that into him. I think she's scared to actually let herself fall for someone and also it may be because of his crazy ex-girlfriend (refer to previous blog entry about ex-girlfriends). She doesn't like smashed pumpkins in her yard or notes given to him by his ex. Give her some time. She'll sort it all out. She knows what a wonderful guy he is, and if it's meant to be, it'll most definitely happen!
Remember; take care of yourself and each other.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
A Reason for the Word "B*tch"
A Chat About Ex-girlfriends
By Ms. Gingerbread & Dr. Hoz
Gingerbread:
There are a few things in this world that can bring out the sailor in me. Bad drivers. A poorly coached football game. And crazy, jealous, manipulative ex-girlfriends. I have tried many, many times to understand the ex-girlfriend frame of mind. After all, I myself am someone’s ex-girlfriend. It should be relatively easy to break down the emotions that a poor, unstable little girl is having with regard to my current love interest. After all my thinking, I just can’t nail down why the crazy b*tches just don’t let it go.
Dr. Hoz:
There is a reason for the EX in front of girlfriend. It means FORMER. In the PAST. NO LONGER. Which means, when you see your ex with a new girl (who is way prettier than you ever thought about being and who is not deranged) chill out, take a deep breath. Then realize life just isn't fair. Go jump off a bridge and make the world a better place for us all.
Gingerbread:
Amen. We all date and break up and cry and wallow for a while, but then we get over it. We pick up our baggage and move on to the next destination.
Dr. Hoz:
I'm sure that when a girl sees her ex-boyfriend with a new girl, her stomach twists in a thousand knots and her head starts to spin. She ponders on what to smart off. But before you let it all out in a fit of rage, let me just give a tidbit of advice. I'm sure Gingerbread would agree with me on this one: To all you crazy EX-girlfriends out there, DON'T come up with a frivolous statement like this: "Hey, Girls, have fun with my leftovers tonight." Well, let me put it to the crazy EX-girlfriends like this. He's not yours anymore. He's free for the taking. Thank you for the leftovers. They are MIGHTY good and the NEW girl will enjoy them, not just tonight, but for many nights to come. Face it. He's just "not that into you" anymore. If he were, he'd still be with you. If you still don't understand...you're the infamous EX-girlfriend, and as N’SYNC once said "Bye Bye Bye."
Gingerbread:
I completely agree. If everything was so fan-freaking-tastic when you two were an item, then why the f*** are you exiled to EX-dom? It’s because you are a psychotic, over-medicated crazy person that needs mommy to do your dirty work. You know, Hozzle, I hate letting these chicks raise my blood pressure. I’m sure I know what I’d do if I did happen to get thrown into the same room with this insane sapling rather than give her the a** kicking she so righteously deserves: I’d smile. I’d be polite. Chat her up even. Throw out some of those passive-aggressive, back-handed compliments like, "That’s an interesting outfit… It’s so… different."
Hoz:
Just know...the grass is greener on the other side. Now that your ex has moved on to someone much more deserving of his love and affection than you ever were, you're green with envy. What did you expect? For no girl to ever realize how extremely cute and hilarious this guy is? Not to mention his impeccable ability to strum his beautiful manly fingers across the strings of his guitar that he holds so closely to his chest to make amazingly gorgeous music. Your loss, honey. Thanks for breaking his heart. The new girl is there to put together the pieces, and we will have a fabulous time doing so.
Gingerbread:
Yes, absolutely. Might I add that third-party involvement in disputes is usually reserved for celebrities and politicians. And you (yes, you the doped little c**k tease – I’d say something like "weiner tease" to be clean, but it just sounds so corny!) are nowhere near special enough or smart enough to deserve it. I know you must be certifiably nuts if you threw away a person that is so genuine and focused. It’s too late to dumpster dive and expect to find him there.
Hoz:
Crazy EX-girlfriends, put the phone down. Don't call your ex demanding to know if you're crazy or not. You are. You're in fact the craziest ex-girlfriend of them all. You don't really know what's going on in his life anymore. Just know that he's happy. That girl he's hanging out with now probably makes him laugh so much. :) Don't you want him to be happy? That's what I thought. It will be okay. Time marches on and you'll find someone equally as crazy as you and you will find a mutually satisfying happy place. Just leave your ex alone. Cya!! In my closing statement, I'd like to add that I've had a wonderful time collaborating my thoughts and ideas on this project with Gingerbread. She's a very intelligent and respected individual.
Remember take care of yourself, and each other. :)
Gingerbread:
Thank you, Hoz. It’s been very gratifying to explore this interesting, enigmatic, and ultimately unanswerable topic with you as well. Ladies (and guys, I guess), why should EX-es frustrate us so? They are EX-es. Emphasis on the EX. We should love the EX-es. They have given us what could be the greatest thing to ever happen to us. If it weren’t for the ex, he wouldn’t be who he is: a beautiful, thoughtful, funny, intelligent, overall wonderful person. The bottom line will have to be this: Don’t get bogged down with the baggage… especially when it’s not even your baggage. Thank you. Thank you for delivering him straight to me…
…b*tch.
By Ms. Gingerbread & Dr. Hoz
Gingerbread:
There are a few things in this world that can bring out the sailor in me. Bad drivers. A poorly coached football game. And crazy, jealous, manipulative ex-girlfriends. I have tried many, many times to understand the ex-girlfriend frame of mind. After all, I myself am someone’s ex-girlfriend. It should be relatively easy to break down the emotions that a poor, unstable little girl is having with regard to my current love interest. After all my thinking, I just can’t nail down why the crazy b*tches just don’t let it go.
Dr. Hoz:
There is a reason for the EX in front of girlfriend. It means FORMER. In the PAST. NO LONGER. Which means, when you see your ex with a new girl (who is way prettier than you ever thought about being and who is not deranged) chill out, take a deep breath. Then realize life just isn't fair. Go jump off a bridge and make the world a better place for us all.
Gingerbread:
Amen. We all date and break up and cry and wallow for a while, but then we get over it. We pick up our baggage and move on to the next destination.
Dr. Hoz:
I'm sure that when a girl sees her ex-boyfriend with a new girl, her stomach twists in a thousand knots and her head starts to spin. She ponders on what to smart off. But before you let it all out in a fit of rage, let me just give a tidbit of advice. I'm sure Gingerbread would agree with me on this one: To all you crazy EX-girlfriends out there, DON'T come up with a frivolous statement like this: "Hey, Girls, have fun with my leftovers tonight." Well, let me put it to the crazy EX-girlfriends like this. He's not yours anymore. He's free for the taking. Thank you for the leftovers. They are MIGHTY good and the NEW girl will enjoy them, not just tonight, but for many nights to come. Face it. He's just "not that into you" anymore. If he were, he'd still be with you. If you still don't understand...you're the infamous EX-girlfriend, and as N’SYNC once said "Bye Bye Bye."
Gingerbread:
I completely agree. If everything was so fan-freaking-tastic when you two were an item, then why the f*** are you exiled to EX-dom? It’s because you are a psychotic, over-medicated crazy person that needs mommy to do your dirty work. You know, Hozzle, I hate letting these chicks raise my blood pressure. I’m sure I know what I’d do if I did happen to get thrown into the same room with this insane sapling rather than give her the a** kicking she so righteously deserves: I’d smile. I’d be polite. Chat her up even. Throw out some of those passive-aggressive, back-handed compliments like, "That’s an interesting outfit… It’s so… different."
Hoz:
Just know...the grass is greener on the other side. Now that your ex has moved on to someone much more deserving of his love and affection than you ever were, you're green with envy. What did you expect? For no girl to ever realize how extremely cute and hilarious this guy is? Not to mention his impeccable ability to strum his beautiful manly fingers across the strings of his guitar that he holds so closely to his chest to make amazingly gorgeous music. Your loss, honey. Thanks for breaking his heart. The new girl is there to put together the pieces, and we will have a fabulous time doing so.
Gingerbread:
Yes, absolutely. Might I add that third-party involvement in disputes is usually reserved for celebrities and politicians. And you (yes, you the doped little c**k tease – I’d say something like "weiner tease" to be clean, but it just sounds so corny!) are nowhere near special enough or smart enough to deserve it. I know you must be certifiably nuts if you threw away a person that is so genuine and focused. It’s too late to dumpster dive and expect to find him there.
Hoz:
Crazy EX-girlfriends, put the phone down. Don't call your ex demanding to know if you're crazy or not. You are. You're in fact the craziest ex-girlfriend of them all. You don't really know what's going on in his life anymore. Just know that he's happy. That girl he's hanging out with now probably makes him laugh so much. :) Don't you want him to be happy? That's what I thought. It will be okay. Time marches on and you'll find someone equally as crazy as you and you will find a mutually satisfying happy place. Just leave your ex alone. Cya!! In my closing statement, I'd like to add that I've had a wonderful time collaborating my thoughts and ideas on this project with Gingerbread. She's a very intelligent and respected individual.
Remember take care of yourself, and each other. :)
Gingerbread:
Thank you, Hoz. It’s been very gratifying to explore this interesting, enigmatic, and ultimately unanswerable topic with you as well. Ladies (and guys, I guess), why should EX-es frustrate us so? They are EX-es. Emphasis on the EX. We should love the EX-es. They have given us what could be the greatest thing to ever happen to us. If it weren’t for the ex, he wouldn’t be who he is: a beautiful, thoughtful, funny, intelligent, overall wonderful person. The bottom line will have to be this: Don’t get bogged down with the baggage… especially when it’s not even your baggage. Thank you. Thank you for delivering him straight to me…
…b*tch.
Got Milk? Hell no!!! By Darlene Totels
Like every morning I awakened at 5:30 a.m. and followed into the normal routine of brewing a pot of coffee. Waking to the aroma and anxiously awaiting that first cup as my Harley mug sits patiently on the counter waiting to be filled ... my peaceful mode soon turns POSTAL!!!!! I open the refrigerator to find only a smidgen of milk and my body begins this uncontrollable convulsive mode as I pour this OH SO GREATFUL of a smidgen into my cup. Savoring every sip that I possibly can (knowing I will be unable to have that 2nd cup) ... my coffee is getting colder by the minute with these turtle sips that I'm taking trying to make the cup last longer. By this point I'm worse than a heroin addict going through withdrawals knowing that 2nd cup isn't going to happen.
Now I live two houses down from a Cafe but do you think at 5:30 a.m. it is a consideration to walk down two houses with my hair looking like I stuck my finger in a light socket and wearing my t-shirt, spandex shorts and pink fuzzy slippers to walk in and get a GLASS OF MILK!!!! HELL NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
I would rather dwell on the fact that the "MOST WONDERFUL MAN IN THE WORLD" that I live with had been home since 1:00 p.m. the previous day and didn't stop to get milk on his way home from work ... nor did he stop and get milk on his way back from getting pizza last night.
Do I consider the fact that he cleaned the kitchen and unloaded the dishwasher and reloaded with the dirty dishes or that he picked up around the house. NOOOOOO ... I'd rather dwell on the fact that I CAN'T HAVE MY 2nd CUP OF COFFEE.
As he finally strolls out of bed at 7:00 a.m. I glare at him as he fixes his cup of coffee with his vanilla creamer foo foo stuff or whatever that stuff is that he uses in his coffee. My body is in shock at this point from not having the 2nd cup of coffe so I'm beyond the convulsive stage. My mind however is still a wee bit postal and am debating on whether I want to say something about having NO MILK! I'm doing this mental debate in my mind ... NO MILK SAY SOMETHING ... WONDERFUL MAN CLEANED THE KITCHEN ... KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!
Well believe it or not ... I kinda kept my mouth shut especially after he massaged my feet and put lotion on them so my postal brain turned to MUSH after that. As I kissed him goodbye I did mumble ... "by the way ... we're OUT OF MILK."
Now I live two houses down from a Cafe but do you think at 5:30 a.m. it is a consideration to walk down two houses with my hair looking like I stuck my finger in a light socket and wearing my t-shirt, spandex shorts and pink fuzzy slippers to walk in and get a GLASS OF MILK!!!! HELL NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
I would rather dwell on the fact that the "MOST WONDERFUL MAN IN THE WORLD" that I live with had been home since 1:00 p.m. the previous day and didn't stop to get milk on his way home from work ... nor did he stop and get milk on his way back from getting pizza last night.
Do I consider the fact that he cleaned the kitchen and unloaded the dishwasher and reloaded with the dirty dishes or that he picked up around the house. NOOOOOO ... I'd rather dwell on the fact that I CAN'T HAVE MY 2nd CUP OF COFFEE.
As he finally strolls out of bed at 7:00 a.m. I glare at him as he fixes his cup of coffee with his vanilla creamer foo foo stuff or whatever that stuff is that he uses in his coffee. My body is in shock at this point from not having the 2nd cup of coffe so I'm beyond the convulsive stage. My mind however is still a wee bit postal and am debating on whether I want to say something about having NO MILK! I'm doing this mental debate in my mind ... NO MILK SAY SOMETHING ... WONDERFUL MAN CLEANED THE KITCHEN ... KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!
Well believe it or not ... I kinda kept my mouth shut especially after he massaged my feet and put lotion on them so my postal brain turned to MUSH after that. As I kissed him goodbye I did mumble ... "by the way ... we're OUT OF MILK."
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Can I drive?! - by Anonymous
It's my sophomore year in high school and I had just turned 16 and just gotten my drivers license. Eight delightful days later I was ecstatic because I got to drive my mom's brand spankin' new Acura TL to get my hair done for my brothers wedding which was later that day. On my way back home, I pulled out onto Highway 365 and I got hit by a HUGE maw maw car. Needless to say it totaled my mom's car and only put a crack in the old man's submarine. I looked real cute in all the pictures with my puffy eyes from crying all day long and the bruise on my forehead.
I was banned from driving after that. Well, one summer night... I was spending the night at one of my friend's houses. She was still 15 and since we were bored and I was 16, we decided to sneak her mom's car out of the garage and go cruise the streets on Nederland/Groves. Well, of course.. being girls.. we had to drive by the houses of the guys we had crushes on!
We were driving down Roosevelt. I remember it clear as day. It was probably about midnight and before we got to Adam's house, we got scared because we didn't want him to be outside for some odd reason. So, I turned around in the driveway of a little blue house. I obviously cut the wheels too fast and I got stuck in the ditch on the side of her driveway.
Doing everything I possibly could to get the car out.. it wasn't budging, scared that if I turned the steering wheel the other way, we'd go bumper first into the ditch. So, we get out of the car...only to see red and blue lights coming down the street. Scared as ever, my friend & I just stood like deer in headlights thinking...No way, they aren't coming for us! Sure enough.. the lady that lived in the little blue house must have been CRAZY and called the cops on us, because she thought we were burglars.
The cop looked at us in our pj's & bunny slippers and must have known what good innocent children we were and he helped get the car out without calling our parents. (WHEW!) Still to this day.. I will NOT back out of driveways with ditches on either side.
Thank you, drive thru.
I was banned from driving after that. Well, one summer night... I was spending the night at one of my friend's houses. She was still 15 and since we were bored and I was 16, we decided to sneak her mom's car out of the garage and go cruise the streets on Nederland/Groves. Well, of course.. being girls.. we had to drive by the houses of the guys we had crushes on!
We were driving down Roosevelt. I remember it clear as day. It was probably about midnight and before we got to Adam's house, we got scared because we didn't want him to be outside for some odd reason. So, I turned around in the driveway of a little blue house. I obviously cut the wheels too fast and I got stuck in the ditch on the side of her driveway.
Doing everything I possibly could to get the car out.. it wasn't budging, scared that if I turned the steering wheel the other way, we'd go bumper first into the ditch. So, we get out of the car...only to see red and blue lights coming down the street. Scared as ever, my friend & I just stood like deer in headlights thinking...No way, they aren't coming for us! Sure enough.. the lady that lived in the little blue house must have been CRAZY and called the cops on us, because she thought we were burglars.
The cop looked at us in our pj's & bunny slippers and must have known what good innocent children we were and he helped get the car out without calling our parents. (WHEW!) Still to this day.. I will NOT back out of driveways with ditches on either side.
Thank you, drive thru.
The Little Satin Pillow - by Carly Latiolais
I’m a newlywed. I was married in September of 2003. It’s been a little over a year now, and so far this marriage thing has turned out ok. After talking to other married couples, I have found that my husband is much more sensitive to the woman’s plight in life, but he had to be. He grew up the baby of six kids...all girls. And I want to applaud these ladies for bringing him up right.
But sadly, he’s still just a man and has a long way to go. Here’s why:
A friend of mine at work is getting married. Just having done it, I’ve been helping her as much as possible. I made her bouquet, went with her to pick out her dress, and she’s borrowing my shoes, my head piece, and some jewelry. She’s been having trouble finding a flower girl basket and a ring bearer’s pillow she liked, so I offered to let her use mine.
This is the part of the story where I must give you the background of my own wedding.
Kody, my new husband, and I have known each other for quite a while. We went to the same church and I have loved him since I was 10 years old. We finally started dating in September 1996 and 4 ½ years later we were engaged! That gave me 2 ½ years to plan my wedding. As I started planning, I slowly evolved into the "Wedding Nazi". I even took a job at a fledgling Bridal Shop, to get ideas for the wedding and discounts on my accessories. Because the Bridal Store had just opened and money was tight, I wasn’t always paid in cash, but in merchandise.
While walking through the store picking out my "paycheck", I saw what had to be my Ring Bearer’s Pillow. It was gorgeous. A small satin pillow encased in antique gold organza with a collection of pearls and other sparkly things in the center accented with metallic gold ribbon. Perfect! It exuded just the right amount of class and elegance. I picked up the pillow and was instantly transported to the day of our wedding. I pictured the Ring Bearer, in his little tux, marching in perfect unison with the drone of the Church organ playing "Here Comes the Bride". In his hands, perfectly level, was the pillow, atop of which rested the circular, golden symbols of mine and Kody’s undying love for each other. (This didn’t happen by the way – the ring bearer ran the complete length of the aisle dropping the pillow several times before reaching the Altar, whereupon he threw it on the ground and sat on it, but anyway...) I had to have this pillow.
Unfortunately, the rest of the collection that matched this marvelous pillow had been discontinued, so I spent the next few months traveling to obscure places in search of the elusive flower girl basket and Memory Album. Once all the pieces were found I carefully packed them into my Tub O’ Wedding Crap until the day arrived where my treasures would be unveiled for all the world to see.
Fast forward over a year later and I’m now in the process of trying to locate my wedding memorabilia. I rummage through my Tub and locate my flower girl basket and my Memory Album, taking a few moments to bask in the glory of each item. I dig deeper in the Tub and find our plane tickets from the Honeymoon, my petticoat, an invitation, hmmm...where’s my pillow? I searched through my Halloween decorations, my Christmas decorations, and some of Kody’s boxes...where’s that damn pillow? I call my sister-in-law, whose son was my ring bearer, then call my mother-in-law. Both dead ends. Almost in tears, I call my mom and my younger sister, neither one gives any inkling as to where my beloved pillow might be.
I’m lost. I don’t know where else to look.
With no other options, I sit on my couch and begin to tear up. I flash to a few years in the future, at the moment I would have grabbed my little toddler’s hand just as she reached for the little satin pillow that would be displayed on our bookshelf, and say, "No, no, precious one. That pillow is too special to play with. I’ll tell you the story another time."
I begin to weep.
I flash a few years further into the future to the time my children would look up at me and ask me about the day me and their daddy got married. Pleased that they finally asked, I would have gotten the little satin pillow off the shelf, along with the basket and pictures and we would spend the entire day reminiscing and watching the wedding video laughing, and crying.
I begin to sob.
Then I flash to the day my daughter or son would tell me they were getting married and ask me for my permission to use mine and their father’s basket, cake server, and, yes,...the little satin pillow.
I begin to wail.
At that precise moment, my husband walked into the house after spending the afternoon playing horseshoes. Noticing I’m obviously upset he rushed to my side to console me. I began to blubber about how I tried to find my beautiful little satin pillow but came up empty handed. I told him how our future family heirloom has vanished never to return and how our children will never be able to use the same pillow that held our wedding rings, the once insignificant pieces of jewelry that will now forever be worn by us showing the world our commitment to each other. (Ok, we never actually put our rings on the pillow, but that doesn’t make for a great story, now does it?)
Kody listened to me, intently, hanging on my every word, nodding in agreement, as I poured my heart out. I thought how lucky I was to have this sensitive, wonderful man who was just as worried about our little satin pillow as I was.
I finished telling him my tale of woe and hung my head in despair. We sat in silence as I waited for his words of wisdom, his plan for how we were going to get through this tragedy.
Kody, softly and tenderly, took my tear-stained face in his large, loving hands and said, "It’s just a pillow."
Ass.
But sadly, he’s still just a man and has a long way to go. Here’s why:
A friend of mine at work is getting married. Just having done it, I’ve been helping her as much as possible. I made her bouquet, went with her to pick out her dress, and she’s borrowing my shoes, my head piece, and some jewelry. She’s been having trouble finding a flower girl basket and a ring bearer’s pillow she liked, so I offered to let her use mine.
This is the part of the story where I must give you the background of my own wedding.
Kody, my new husband, and I have known each other for quite a while. We went to the same church and I have loved him since I was 10 years old. We finally started dating in September 1996 and 4 ½ years later we were engaged! That gave me 2 ½ years to plan my wedding. As I started planning, I slowly evolved into the "Wedding Nazi". I even took a job at a fledgling Bridal Shop, to get ideas for the wedding and discounts on my accessories. Because the Bridal Store had just opened and money was tight, I wasn’t always paid in cash, but in merchandise.
While walking through the store picking out my "paycheck", I saw what had to be my Ring Bearer’s Pillow. It was gorgeous. A small satin pillow encased in antique gold organza with a collection of pearls and other sparkly things in the center accented with metallic gold ribbon. Perfect! It exuded just the right amount of class and elegance. I picked up the pillow and was instantly transported to the day of our wedding. I pictured the Ring Bearer, in his little tux, marching in perfect unison with the drone of the Church organ playing "Here Comes the Bride". In his hands, perfectly level, was the pillow, atop of which rested the circular, golden symbols of mine and Kody’s undying love for each other. (This didn’t happen by the way – the ring bearer ran the complete length of the aisle dropping the pillow several times before reaching the Altar, whereupon he threw it on the ground and sat on it, but anyway...) I had to have this pillow.
Unfortunately, the rest of the collection that matched this marvelous pillow had been discontinued, so I spent the next few months traveling to obscure places in search of the elusive flower girl basket and Memory Album. Once all the pieces were found I carefully packed them into my Tub O’ Wedding Crap until the day arrived where my treasures would be unveiled for all the world to see.
Fast forward over a year later and I’m now in the process of trying to locate my wedding memorabilia. I rummage through my Tub and locate my flower girl basket and my Memory Album, taking a few moments to bask in the glory of each item. I dig deeper in the Tub and find our plane tickets from the Honeymoon, my petticoat, an invitation, hmmm...where’s my pillow? I searched through my Halloween decorations, my Christmas decorations, and some of Kody’s boxes...where’s that damn pillow? I call my sister-in-law, whose son was my ring bearer, then call my mother-in-law. Both dead ends. Almost in tears, I call my mom and my younger sister, neither one gives any inkling as to where my beloved pillow might be.
I’m lost. I don’t know where else to look.
With no other options, I sit on my couch and begin to tear up. I flash to a few years in the future, at the moment I would have grabbed my little toddler’s hand just as she reached for the little satin pillow that would be displayed on our bookshelf, and say, "No, no, precious one. That pillow is too special to play with. I’ll tell you the story another time."
I begin to weep.
I flash a few years further into the future to the time my children would look up at me and ask me about the day me and their daddy got married. Pleased that they finally asked, I would have gotten the little satin pillow off the shelf, along with the basket and pictures and we would spend the entire day reminiscing and watching the wedding video laughing, and crying.
I begin to sob.
Then I flash to the day my daughter or son would tell me they were getting married and ask me for my permission to use mine and their father’s basket, cake server, and, yes,...the little satin pillow.
I begin to wail.
At that precise moment, my husband walked into the house after spending the afternoon playing horseshoes. Noticing I’m obviously upset he rushed to my side to console me. I began to blubber about how I tried to find my beautiful little satin pillow but came up empty handed. I told him how our future family heirloom has vanished never to return and how our children will never be able to use the same pillow that held our wedding rings, the once insignificant pieces of jewelry that will now forever be worn by us showing the world our commitment to each other. (Ok, we never actually put our rings on the pillow, but that doesn’t make for a great story, now does it?)
Kody listened to me, intently, hanging on my every word, nodding in agreement, as I poured my heart out. I thought how lucky I was to have this sensitive, wonderful man who was just as worried about our little satin pillow as I was.
I finished telling him my tale of woe and hung my head in despair. We sat in silence as I waited for his words of wisdom, his plan for how we were going to get through this tragedy.
Kody, softly and tenderly, took my tear-stained face in his large, loving hands and said, "It’s just a pillow."
Ass.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
For my shy friends...
I'm creating this blog for my friends to have a place to post things until they're brave enough to venture into the world of blogging on their own.
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