Z is for Zero, Zip, Zilch, Nada

OK, nada doesn't start with a "z" but it's the last day of the A-Z Challenge so I figured WTH?

That's right people, slap my ass and call me Judy, we did it! Well, I did it. I don't know if you stuck it out or not. I want to give a shout out to my new followers, especially the ones that comment frequently...yup, that's right, I show favoritism. It is one of the things we love about me. My kudos (not to be confused with cooties) can be bought with flattery, oooooo, and money if anyone wants to send some of that my way.

I have taken you through Lesbian Torcher Chambers (not literally), introduced you to the growing Epidemic of Kids for Sale ("E" post) and imparted wisdom on you like the danger of touching Habanero and genitalia (if you didn't read my post for "H" trust me on this one, just don't do it). We have come up with some wonderful ideas (Undateable labels - "U" post). I warned you about Santa ("S" post) and yoga ("Y" post). Told you about the new way to insult people on Facebook ("G" post). I have shared personal information with you about how wanted I am ("J" post), the embarrassing time I hit on a doctor after I came out of surgery, which most of you considered my funniest post ("I" post) or at least until my "O" post, my kick-ass Rock Star capabilities ("R" post) BTW, Barfly and Andrew still no tickets available for the shower show, sorry! I also told you about the time I went psychotic over a Garage Sale sign ("P" post) and I told you about my drug addicted dog ("D" post).

I feel like we have grown close. I have found some great blogs (and some strange ones) since this challenge started. On that note, please leave me a comment and tell me your favorite new blog and others you really like.

Now, my ass is taking a break. My brain hurts. I will start blogging again next week. If you just can't do without me before then, check out some of my old posts, because I don't know if you know this, but I'm pretty freakin' funny;) I hope you will continue to follow me. Remember if you enter your email address above, my little ol' blog will arrive at your email every week. (That's how I follow some of my favs).

Now a big congrats to all of you that finished this challenge. It's Miller time! OK, not really because I hate beer, but it sounds better than saying it is "Yellow Tail Cabernet Sauvignon Merlot blend time."

Cheers!

**Side note: I'm getting published (pen name is Shay Stone)!  Buy my book and make me rich please and you will forever be my besties:) More info to come. **

Y is for Yoga

Y is for yoga you gotta be out of your damn mind!

Everyone talks about how great yoga is for your body. You always see these really healthy, chilled out, fit people in their all white flowing clothes or leotards (even men) on television talking about how great yoga is and how it has transformed their lives.

Yeah, it's bullshit.

I am incredibly flexible...always have been. So I thought yoga would be a fun, new, easy way to stay in shape. I also liked saying, "Namaste," so that definitely sweetened the deal for me. Plus, I think it would be cool to describe someone other than those that smoke weed, as being Zen.

So I went to my first class. It started out simple enough. We did some stretching and were told to hold a pose the instructor referred to as "Tree" or as I call it "Falling Tree." Still, I thought this isn't so bad...a little boring and slow moving, but not so bad.

Yeah...the teacher was just screwing with us at that point. She introduced us to more poses with serene names like, "Triangle" and  "Lotus," that we "transitioned" into fluidly...well, she transitioned into them fluidly. The rest of us looked like the Titanic right after it hit the iceberg. Then just when we thought we were kind of getting it...

She got crazy.

It was like someone hit the fast forward button and the next thing we knew it was "Triangle to Tree!"

"Tree to Downward Facing Dog into Cobra!"

"Cobra to Scorpion into Turtle into Downward Facing Dog humping Scorpion!"

"Cobra eats Scorpion. Downward Facing Dog Kills Cobra Sleeps under Tree."

Wait, what?!? Room spinning...Dizzy...Woman Hits Floor.

Or at least that is the pose I assume they thought I was doing because it took them a minute to notice anything was wrong and get to me. I know this because I had passed out somewhere between Downward Facing Dog and Turtle and basically ended up looking like Clusterf%#k. You don't truly know what a clusterf%#k is until you wake up on the floor with your head on the ground looking at your own ass.

I was dizzy. I was bruised. I was sore. But I sure as hell wasn't ZEN! That was when I decided to invent my own pose. I call it Woman with Wine Glass. Namaste.

**Remember if you like it, share it! Click FB or Twitter on the link above. Spread the laughter**

X is for the X Factor

I have determined that the letter "x" is stupid. I have racked my brain trying to come up with something clever and witty that begins with "x".

Yeah, no such word exists.

I tried xylophone. Nothing funny about that unless you bash someone you don't like in the head with it...then it's pretty cool.

Next I tried Xanadu. But there is nothing funny about Xanadu. It is a magical place where women (muses) skate around the earth in flowing white dresses inspiring men to achieve their goals and wildest dreams while occasionally bursting into song. You will be happy to know, by the end of the movie, Olivia Newton John's character, Kira (who rocks some sweet feathered hair and schmanzy '70's metallic geisha kimono, much like the one I wear when I get out of the shower) accomplishes her purpose by inspiring Sunny to open the adult disco skating rink he has always dreamed of owning.

And come on, who hasn't spent their whole life dreaming about opening a skating rink for grown-ups? I know when I get together with my friends, they are always commenting on how there is no place for adults to go to skate and really let loose. The rinks around town are flooded with pre-teen and teenage kids that are too young to use fake IDs to get into bars (braces and acne are always dead giveaways to bouncers). If only there was a Sunny around today to open a place where you could drink, skate, fall down and break your neck while your friends point and laugh as they try to figure out who is going to face forward and who is going to skate backward during the "Couples Only Skate."

I contemplated blogging about X-rays. I remembered hearing something about a guy shooting himself in the head with a nail gun, so I googled it. OMG, people! I cannot believe the number of people that have "accidentally" shot themselves in the head with a nail gun, most of which, didn't even know they had done it. Seriously, how do you not know you just shot yourself in the head? Evidently, they hadn't hit any part of the brain they actually used because in each incident the guy would carry on about his day, then end up in the emergency room the next day complaining of a pounding headache.

OK, first, I can't help but notice it usually, no it always seems to be men that do this. Don't these things come with some safety mechanism like a helmet or at least a warning label that reads: DO NOT SHOOT SELF IN HEAD? You know someone brought it up and someone else said, "Come on! It's common sense. No one would be stupid enough to put a nail gun to his head and pull the trigger." Isn't there a minimum IQ you should have to have to operate one in case you have an accident. I mean, let's face it, some people cannot afford to lose any more brain cells.

Next I moved on to the XYZ Affair. I thought GREAT! I can finish my A-Z challenge in one shot. But it was all of this history/bribery/boring French crap and I don't speak French other than Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir? And while that might get me laid, it won't make for an interesting post.

I know Xanax! Oh sorry, I didn't mean to write about Xanax. I meant to go take so I can stop stressing over this dumb letter. Yep Xanax will make it all better.

 Gotta say, when it comes to this letter I think I really nailed it;)

W is for Wilford Brimley

Wilford Brimley is pissed.

Why you ask? Because you have been slacking.

"But Shay", you say, "I have been working all day. I come home, take care of my family and then do my A-Z challenge like a good little blogger."

Well, let me ask you this: When was the last time you checked your blood sugar?

See, that's what I thought!

Seriously, can someone tell me why he is so pissed off? I will be sitting in my living room, watching TV, not bothering anyone, then BAM! there he is on my screen, with his red, bulldog like face and his overgrown, furry caterpiller mustache all up in my business, like a total hard ass telling me, "You check your blood sugar and you check it often! There's no reason not to."

Excuse me Mr. Brimley, but I do have a valid reason not to: I don't have diabetes. So, why are you going all postal and yelling at me?

Do you get paid on every diabetes or as you say, "dibeetus", kit you sell? Are you pissed because you have to prick your fingers and think everyone should suffer and feel your pain?

All I know is I don't come into your living room and make you suffer the same things I have to go through. Have I ever gotten pissy with you and demanded, "You get a pap smear and you get it often!" I didn't think so!

I don't know why you are so angry. Maybe you are mad that you can't eat things with sugary goodness or maybe you are upset because Our House got cancelled.

All I know is you better back off, Brim or I will start spiking your food with pixie stix. So, Mr. Brimley, you check your blood sugar and you check it often and leave me in piece to eat my Reese's peanut butter cups! You don't scare me!

Well maybe a little... seriously, what is with that mustache?

V is for Victoria's Secret

Well, I have done it! I have discovered the secret (no pun intended...OK, maybe it was a little intended) to weight loss.

It's not a pill or some crazy fad diet where you have to put cayenne pepper in lemonade, turn around three times, then drink it while standing on your head. Nope, it is something much simpler than that and it is something every woman has (and a lot of men have too, but for different reasons). I am of course talking about the Victoria's Secret catalog.

Think about it. I don't mean to get all infomercially on you, but people spend millions of dollars on weight loss powders, treadmills and exercise bikes with the belief that if I have it in the house I will be more likely to use it. And what happens? You use it for about a month and then it becomes something you hang your clothes on. Well, not the weight loss powder. That becomes something that you put in the cupboard thinking oh I will use it again soon. Then 10 years later, while digging around in the cupboard for a box of Twinkies, you find it and wonder who the hell bought that? Was it here when I moved in? 

My weight lose solution is much simpler. Get a Victoria's Secret catalog. Find a picture of the model with the body you would most like to have. Stick it on your refrigerator. Every time you go to get something to eat, you will see the picture and it will remind you that she probably isn't going into her refrigerator to eat chips and dip, chocolate cake, a big hunk of cheese, fried chicken, or all of the above (although she may being sniffing it, then putting back and going to fill up on a delicious Tic Tac). This is usually enough to make me turn around and snack on dry cereal or drink herbal tea.

It works for men too. They can see the picture and think about how a girl like that would be more apt to be into a guy with a six-pack as opposed to a man with a keg.

See? Isn't it brilliant? I do have to warn you about one possible problem that I ran into. I mean literally. I almost broke my nose when I walked into the refrigerator door with my eyes closed. In fact I should probably go to the hospital now. Just let me grab a Twinkie first.

U is for Undateable

OK, first off, it is telling me undateable isn't a word and I'm telling you, I think it should and here's why.

Have you ever dated (or even married) someone, looked back and been like what the hell was I thinking? I have to tell you, I have dated some real winners. There was the boy I dated for a week in 8th grade that continued to stalk me well into my twenties; then there was the one that forgot to mention he was a drug dealer;  the one that neglected to mention he was a stripper until I told him I was going to a Bachelorette party and he was afraid he might be the entertainment; there was the alcoholic; the one addicted to pain killers; and, my personal favorite, the possible devil worshiper.

Yes, I have dated some beauties. Now, in my defense, I didn't know any of this when I started dating these guys. It's not like each was wearing a sign: "Hi my name is Ralph. I'm a Scorpio. I love long walks on the beach and oh yeah, I used to worship the devil." In fact, that guy, in particular had brought me to a Catholic church because, apparently, he had converted back.  Turns out having, Satanic beliefs make it hard to pick-up chicks. Who knew?!?

So here is my idea. I think that everyone should have to wear a warning label attached to all of their clothes. Seriously, wouldn't it be so much easier if when you meet someone you could peek at their warning label and be like Yeah that's not too bad or Holy shit! Stay away from me you psychopath!

Just think of all the time and headaches it could save. You meet someone attractive and are just about to give them your number when you say, "Hang on. Turn around. Let me read your label."

"Extremely needy;"
"Mama's boy";
"Crazy eyes";
"Like to dress up like a baby and be spanked;"
"It depends on which one of her personalities is out that day;"
"All woman...NOW;)"
"RUN!!!!"

It could be used when hiring employees:

"Slackass;"
"Will take credit for your work;"
"Looks up porn all day...on your computer"
"Already banging the boss"


And it could be applied to possible new friends:

"Will sleep with your boyfriend;"
"Yankee fan;"
"Farts and blames it on the dog;"
"Have you seen Single White Female?'

Oooo, and the labels could be different colors:

RED: TOTALLY UNDATEABLE  (Equivalent to "Dry Clean Only")
You'll get it, love it the first time you wear it, then you will end up paying for it over and over again until it costs 10x as much as what you initially paid for it.

YELLOW: ON THE BRINK (Equivalent to hand wash separately, lay flat to dry)
Do you really like it because it might be a pain in the ass to maintain?

GREEN: JACKPOT! (Throw it in with anything. It 's fine).
Just don't let this person read your label.

So who's with me on this? I would say lets write our Congressmen and ask them to put it on the ballot, but I have a feeling they would be the last ones that would want to get the Un-dateable/employable/friendable Bill passed. Imagine that label:

Cheats on wife; accepts bribes; still calls his mother "Mommy;" hates dogs; steals from constituents and is a closet cross dresser.

Or it could just read Politician. (Basically the same thing).


**Remember, if it made you smile, share it by clicking the FB/Twitter link above. Spread the laughter**

T is for Toddlers and Tiaras

I swear, there should be a test given before you are allowed to have children...and maybe even sex because sometimes, it seems that only stupid people are breeding, and we already have enough of those in the world. As proof of my theory I would like to direct you to Toddlers and  Tiaras.

Or as I like to call it: Pimp My Daughter.

I have never watched this show. I have only seen clips and have been so appalled by the general idiocy of the whole thing that I figured, what a perfect subject for a blog that calls out stupid people!

In order to get a grasp on it I forced my self to watch some clips. And I mean literally forced my self as in I held a gun to my own head. About half way through the clips I seriously thought about pulling the trigger to end my misery. Then I realized, hey I'm not the one that needs to be shot; the mothers and fathers of these children are.

Pageant Moms are crazy. The way you can tell they are crazy is because one of the things that every one of them seem to say at one point is, "I'm not crazy." Usually they are making this proclamation while they are convincing their daughters to permanently dye their blond eyelashes black, shellacking them with tanning spray, bleaching their teeth or having them dress up like hookers to perform on stage. And no, I am not talking about the usual Tammy Faye Baker inspired make-up and hair. No, I am referring to the mother that dressed her approximately 4 year old daughter like Julia Robert's character in pretty woman.

These parents will be the exact same parents that will be mystified when some pedophile targets their kid. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Pageant? This is Roman Polanski. I would like to cast your daughter in my next movie."

It is quite obvious that these mothers, none of which are exactly lookers, are trying to live vicariously through there daughters. Maybe the mother takes pride in being told her daughter is beautiful because she feels the little girl must have gotten some of  her looks from her. Or maybe her own mother refused to let her play with dolls as a kid so she went out and created her own living breathing one that she could dress up and play with every day. Or maybe she is just nuts! Many of the mothers are shown walking around "playing" with the daughters' crown on their heads.It is also quite possible that she has looked at her daughter and realizes she has peaked and wants to get the kid some momentum from when she was considered pretty before those days are long gone. (Sorry, I know that sounds mean but some of those kids, well, I've seen roadkill that is cuter and has more personality!)

Yes, the children on these shows are the kind of kids that you would want to smack if you saw them in a restaurant. If you are at McDonald's, OK, you expect children to be running around like they just ate a pillowcase full of Halloween candy. But when you are at a restaurant like Applebee's or Ruth's Cris and you see a kid throwing a tantrum and running up and down the aisle like a maniac, be honest, you have thought about tripping them as they run by. It's OK. Don't feel bad, we all have. Some of us may have even done it. Hey, don't look at me like that! I would never actually...alright I did, but just that once, well twice...alright I do it at every restaurant I go to.  Don't judge me!

Anyway, the kids are absolute terrors, throwing tantrums when they don't get their ways and totally running their parents, who just look at them and talk about how cute they are. But they are not cute...they should be the poster children for birth control. I watched a clip where one little girl just stared at herself in the mirror, sticking her butt out and her, well, where she will have boobs someday, and making sexy, pouty faces at herself, totally oblivious to the 3 people that were screaming her name right behind her. I also saw a boy...yes, apparently he competes and draws his inspiration from RuPaul, was home-schooled yet still couldn't read the word "cake". He was at least 7! Apparently, his teacher/mother was not the sharpest tool in the shed. Yet, the boy knew how to be fierce! Which is a good thing given that he was probably gay...or at least will be perceived that way when he prances around in his crown and sash should he ever actually win one of the pageants.

I am just glad to see that these parents are focusing on what is important...outer beauty. They are teaching their kids that hey, you don't have to be smart or kind. That's for ugly people. You just need to smile and shake it like a porn star. Now come here honey because you are way too homely to win. Let me spray paint your face really quick and put this 9-pound wig on you. Where's your g-string we got from Victoria's Secret, princess? 

Note I said Victoria's Secret and Not Fredrick's of Hollywood. I mean only trashy toddlers shop there.

Ahhh, that's a good lesson for us all.


**Remember if you like it, share it. Click the share buttons at the top. Spread the laughter**

S is for Scary Ass Santa

Santa. That jolly old fat man that comes around every December 25th bringing presents to girls and boys and spreading joy across the world. He is a terrific role model and the epitome of happiness.

Or is he...

Have you ever thought about it. I mean really thought about it. The truth is he is a grumpy bastard that believes he is above the law. Seriously. I have documented proof. May I present you with:

Exhibit A: He is in a gang and is an Extortionist.
That's right. He is the Kingpin in a notorious Elf gang. They hide out at the North Pole eating cookies, getting high on sugar as they build countless toys that he will use to blackmail children into being good.

Exhibit B: He is voyeuristic and illegally spies on children.
"He sees you when you're sleeping. He knows when you're awake." Well if that doesn't scream pervert, I don't know what does!

Exhibit C: He speeds.
That's right, Santa's got a lead foot. How else can he deliver all of those presents in ONE night?

Exhibit D: He is a Cat Burglar

OK, he doesn't steal cats, but he does break into people's homes, eats their cookies, drinks their milk, and gets soot all over the carpet. He leaves presents that distract people from noticing what else he took. Ever notice how something will suddenly be missing right after the holidays. Usually someone will blame a klepto cousin or a forgetful spouse, which I think is exactly what the fat man is counting on. P.S. I also think he is a re-gifter. How else do you explain my Barbie Dream House and Malibu Barbie just mysteriously disappearing (AND when I first got it, it wasn't in a box. It was already put together right there in my living room!)

Exhibit E: Tax Evader
Have you ever heard of Santa paying taxes? I didn't THINK so. And how does he get all the money to pay for these toys? How does he pay the elves? IF they are elves. Much like an overseas Apple factory, no one was ever allowed into his workshop. Perhaps, and this is just my theory, he is using children and calling them "elves" to avoid dealing with child labor laws.

Exhibit F: Little Kids are TERRIFIED of him
Ever notice how kids are crying, screaming and wetting themselves when they sit on his lap?...and rightfully so. Have you ever seen any movies or cartoons with Santa in them? Let's break some down: 

A Christmas story - Mean Santa. Every kid that sees him screams, cries, and one even wets himself. Then, when Ralphie tries to tell him what he wants, Santa goes all judgmental on him ("You'll shoot your eye out, Kid"), then gives him a boot to the face; 

Bad Santa - Drunk Santa. Billy Bob Thorton...enough said.

Year Without A Santa Clause - Wussy Santa. Santa feels unappreciated and cancels Christmas (Boo freakin' Hoo Santa. Try being a mom!) 

Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer - Racist. He was all up in Rudolph's grille when he was taking his flying lessons. But the minute Rudolph's black nose came off revealing his red one, Santa is all like, Rudolph, you suck and even scolds his dad on his freak kid saying, "Donner, you should be ashamed of yourself. What a pity. He had such a nice take-off too."

Really you fat, balding, overgrown ELF! You're picking on Rudolph?!? You walk around like a pimp wearing your red suit and hat trimmed in white fur. How many baby seals did you have to club to get that?!?

And don't even get me started on the whole Island of Misfit toys!

So the next time you are sitting around and you hear Clement Clarke Moore's famous 'Twas The Night Before Christmas:

"His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow."

Stop and think: Is this a poem or an APB being put out on a criminal?

Hey, you can do what you want. All I know is I'm locking my doors and windows; lighting a fire in the fire place, and I'm going to be extra naughty...you know, just in case;)

R is for Rock Star...

I am a Rock Star. In fact, not only am I a Rock Star, but I am a rock star with incredible vocal range. I have been known to belt out an Olivia Newton John melody and follow it up with a head banging song by Disturbed. Oh yeah, that's right. I'm that good.

So why have you never heard of me? Probably because I mainly do small venues like my shower or car. A lot of people seem to like my car performance. I can tell because when I am belting out Lady Marmalade's Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir? and getting my best Christina on, I can see them pointing and laughing at me through their window. They are of course jealous of my amazing voice (even though they can't hear it) and of my kick ass driver seat choreography. Oh that's right...with me, you don't just get ear candy...you get eye candy too.  I'm poppin' -n-lockin' like a crazy person, which sometimes causes  me to hit the brake instead of the gas, so if you ever see me driving, don't follow too closely. Just sit back in the next lane and enjoy my sweet Jagger like moves. 

(By the way, why is everyone so obsessed with having "moves like Jagger" ? Has anyone ever seen him dance? It's not pretty and sure as hell isn't something to brag about.  He looks like a duck or a pigeon trying to take a shit. Seriously, it isn't good.)

My shower performance is pretty racy as I perform naked. I tried getting all dressed up in leather complete with chains and sleazy zipper top, but my chains kept rusting, so I decided to go al naturale. I have 2 microphones that most would say look a lot like a conditioner or shampoo bottle. I get down and dirty, although I do not pop -n- lock because it is too slippery and the last time I tried that, I fell out of the shower and into the toilet. In that instance, I had the moves like Courtney Love.

I usually have an audience for my shower show. Three dogs and my cat, also known as my groupies. My cat isn't so much into the vocal aspect of my show as much as she is mystified by the fact that I am allowing water to pour all over me; a concept that both fascinates and terrifies her. She paws against the door in a Don't worry Mom, I  am trying to help you. I just can't open this damn door because I have no opposable thumbs kinda way.

My dogs howl. The reason why is still undetermined. I am not sure if they hate my singing (as if!) or if they are trying to audition to be my back-up singers. I would never tell them this but I wouldn't hire them as they are incredibly off-key. Maybe I'll refer them to Brittney Spear's where their vocal talent won't matter.

By now, you are probably dying to catch one of my shows, but I am sorry to say, that much like Jagger, you will get no satisfaction. I have stage fright. OK, I guess it isn't stagefright as much as it is the fear that people will hear my voice without the proper acoustics that my car and shower provide, boo me unmercifully and throw lettuce, tomatoes and other vegetables at me. Why do they throw those things? Do they want me to make a salad while I am singing? 

Anyway, your only hope of catching one of my performances is if you see me driving. Then you can at least get the joy of seeing me Dancing In the Streets and busting my moves like Jagger. But don't worry, I promise not to shit on your windshield.

P is for Psycotic

I believe we have known each other long enough that I can tell you this story without having you judge me too harshly. I would first like to say that I am probably one of the sanest people you will ever meet and, if you had ever met my family, you know what an accomplishment that is because they are almost all nuts. ("Nuts" being the medical term because I don't know how to spell bwbwbwbwbw -yes I just put my finger to my lips and made the crazy sound).

Anyway, I rarely ever argue. I'm more of the calm cool headed one that sits down, talks and tries to resolve things. That's what makes what I'm about to tell you so out of character.

See, it started with me having a very rough day. The doctors had screwed up my medicine causing my heart to race and giving me adrenaline shakes. I just wanted to sit down, have a cup of tea and relax. As I got cozy, I reached for my cup and found my now-ex-husband sucking up my tea with the Shop-Vac. He thought it was funny; I did not. Still I didn't say anything.

Next my friend called me to inform me that when she was driving my sister-in-law (we'll call her She-devil) home, as She-devil got out of the car, my dog's bone...the one she had just stolen from my house...had fallen out of her pocket, unbeknownst to her. Still, I said nothing.

The next day, we were having a garage sale that was advertised as being from 8am-2pm, so imagine my surprise when "professional garage sale hunters" started pounding on my door at 6am to see if they could see the items I had for sale.Still I kept my mouth shut.

I even kept my mouth shut when my ex, claiming he didn't know I used it every day, put my Gazelle glider (yes I bought one) outside and sold it for $20. I only had it for five months.

I left my ex to handle the garage sale and went to get lunch to bring back home. That is when I noticed some assholes had put their garage sale signs 1 inch in front of all mine so that no one could read my signs. Still, I didn't say anything, I just simply pulled my signs and put them 1 inch in front of their's. Maybe it was childish, but they started it and I was going to finish it. Call me whatever names you like, just remember I'm rubber and you're glue; whatever you say bounces off me and sticks on you!

At the end of the day after the sale was over, I went to collect my signs. I noticed this one schmanzy sign that my neighbor had loaned to us was missing. This is when I lost my mind.

I drove to the other sale, got buzzed into their neighborhood and there it was. My sign with the big old arrow, but with my address crossed off and their address put in, which, fortunately for me, made them easy to find. I pulled up to their house and while the lady and her husband were talking to a driveway full of customers, I yelled out my window, "Is this your garage sale?"

"Yes," she answered smiling.

"I know you stole my sign."

"What? No I didn't. That's my sign."

"Really? You are going to bold face lie to me? You crossed out my address," I said holding up and shaking the sign.

Silence.

"Well I just want to tell you that I hope you made a lot of money on your garage sale because you are going to need it for bail because I am going to the police right now to have them arrest your thieving ass!"

Like I said, I lost my mind. I did go to the police dept, but it was just a small local one that was closed on the weekend so I didn't report her.

That took place in Florida. Now you may think that is the end of my sign drama. Sadly, it was not. Six years later, I moved to Georgia. I had a sign in front of my house with one of those "Take One" things you can put fliers in. It got stolen. It seems there is some sort of sign stealing ring. They take them, then sell them off for parts. This drudged up my previous sign ordeal. So when I was driving and saw that someone had stolen one of my business signs and wrote their garage sale information on it, I did the only thing I could. I crossed out the garage sale info, put a piece of paper over it that read:

"Free Stuff. Moving. Everything Must Go"  I left their address on there. Then, not quite satisfied I wrote: "*And Don't Forget to Ask Us About Our Free Massages.*"

To this day, I am not sure why these events made me so mad. Apparently I have strong feelings for my signs.

Told ya, completely lost my mind.   

**Remember if you like this post click share at the top of the screen. Everyone can use a good laugh;) **

O is for Oh No You Didn't

We have to talk. See, I have done my best to shield you from this, but now I feel I have no choice. It has gotten too bad...too out of control and well, I need you to protect yourselves.

You see, it seems there has been an outbreak of epic proportions. Lately, stupidity seems to be spreading like wild fire. At first, it seemed to be somewhat quarantined to the redneck, political and teenager communities. And while we would occasionally see everyday people, maybe even someone we knew, show symptoms of stupidity, for example anyone that ever sported a mullet or wore parachute pants, eventually, they would come to their senses. But since Walmart opened and reality TV became popular, stupidity has become almost unstoppable. To illustrate my findings, I have put together a few examples for you.

Example #1: This morning I was listening to the news and (I will be doing some paraphrasing here), this was the broadcast in a nutshell:

"At approximately 4:15am a man's car broke down on I-75. As he tried to cross the highway to get help, he was struck by a vehicle and killed. And boy that isn't going to make the commuters that are going to have to deal with those traffic delays this morning very happy."

No shit! I kid you not. All I could think was yeah, I'm thinking the guy that got killed and his family aren't going to be too thrilled about it either. Morons!

Example #2: A bride-to-be wanted to lose weight, so instead of doing something normal like, oh I don't know, diet and exercise, she decided to have her doctor put in a feeding tube. A feeding tube! And the idiot doctor did it. Apparently, it is all the rage in France and Italy, but it still relatively new here in the U.S. She is doing all of this so she can fit into her wedding dress. True, she will be too malnourished to stand or remember anything from her wedding day, but hey, at least she'll be skinny.

Now before you guys go getting all judgmental and thinking about how vain and self-centered this act was, you should know this: Many people that saw her thought she had some terminal illness. That is why she stopped picking her daughters up from school. You know, so they wouldn't have to explain that Mommy wasn't dying; she was just an idiot.

And they say kids don't have good role models these days.

Example #3: One of my former employees was arrested recently. Turns out she was cooking and selling meth out of her house. I know what you are thinking. Someone ratted her out and she got busted. Of course, you would think that; you have a brain. Apparently, she fried her's on meth which is why she called the police and asked them to come arrest her neighbor because he failed to pay her the $20 for the meth she just gave him.

Now if you see someone doing something stupid, please take your hand, walk up to them and high 5 their face. This may 1) Help them snap out of it; or 2) Give you enough time to run away so that you don't catch it, because much like kooties, stupidity is contagious.

After you have come into contact with a stupid person, be sure to watch for any warning signs that you may have contracted the stupid virus. Here are some things to watch for:

1) Going to a friend's house, seeing they have a new couch or bedroom set yet still not being able to stop yourself from saying, "Oh, did you get new furniture?";

2) Talking to someone on the phone and saying something like, "Yeah, I'm about to leave, but I can't find my phone." 

*Note: There are variations of this that may include not being able to find your glasses that are on your face or your car keys that are in your hand.

3) Being a Yankee fan (Go Red Sox!);

4) You begin understanding and identifying with the cast of the Jersey Shore;

4) Finally, and this one goes out to my niece, when being given directions and told to go left at the fork in the road. asking, "But what if someone moves it?"

These are all telltale signs of stupidity. If you notice any of these symptoms, report to the nearest library or turn on the Discovery channel or PBS immediately. Refrain from watching any reality TV or having conversations with anyone named Bubba. And if that doesn't work, call me. I will be happy to high 5 your face.


**Remember if this made you laugh, share it by clicking the FB or Twitter share tab above. Everyone can use a good laugh**

N is for Ninnie

Ninnie is my best friend. Before you ask, Ninnie is her nickname and no I didn't give it to her. She had it when I got her.

We met in 7th grade where she hated me on sight. How could a person hate someone as wonderful and incredibly funny as me? Well because she is a bitch. Don't worry, she knows she is a bitch. It is one of the things that I love about her. Anyway, our last names were back to back in the alphabet so we got seated by each other and were forced to work together. By the end of the first day, we were on good terms. When she came in on Halloween dressed as a giant chicken, I knew I had found my best friend for life.

Ninnie's family had a cabin at a place called Skidway Lake. (Honest, I'm not making that up. I don't know who the brain child was that came up with that catchy name, but I imagine they had done a little thinking and a lot of drinking when they did.) Do to the name of it, it took a little convincing for me to go with her to the cottage, but once she assured me it wasn't laden with carnies and criminals, I figured eh, what the hell! 

One of the things to do in Skidway is to go canoeing. We packed a lunch, had her dad drop us at the rental place and started our adventure. Now I had never been canoeing before, so when Ninnie told me that we would get in the canoe,  float down the river, stop at the occasional beach along the path, relax and sunbathe I believed her. Turned out she was a big fat liar.

We started down the river, paddling nice and slow, enjoying the scenery... that's when we came to the rapids. OK, they weren't the huge ones that you see on TV where people get tossed from the boat; these were about a gradual 6ft drop of sharp rocks jutting out from beneath the surface. We tried to ride down them, but our canoe got stuck. So, we got out and did the only thing we could, we carried it down the slippery rocks incurring scrapes and bloody shins as we did.

She told me she had forgotten about that part, but assured me the rest of the river would be smooth sailing. We paddled for a short time, observing these huge silver bugs about the size of our palms swimming in the water.

"What the hell are those?" I asked.
"I don't know, but they're big," she replied.
"Do you know if they bite?"
"I don't know."
"Thanks, you've been a big help."

We continued down the river, trying to flick away any of the large silver creatures that attempted to invade our boat, when we saw some people up ahead getting out of their canoes and carrying them around this big tree that had fallen and blocked the path. Not wanting to have to get out of the canoe and brave the bugs, Ninnie came up with a brilliant plan.

"Ha! Look at those assholes getting out of the canoes to go around the tree. Morons! We'll just go under it."

"Do you think we'll fit?' I asked.

"Sure. Look at the opening. We will be able to go right under," she assured.

As we reached the tree, is was clear the opening wasn't as big as we had thought. We tried to change direction so we could go around, but the current was too strong and pulled us under it. And when I say us, I mean me as I was in the front of the boat and had to lay down to avoid hitting my head on the trunk and branches. That's when it got wedged. Ninnie's half of the boat was still sticking out. I looked up and saw about 10 spiders crawling above me and screamed for her to get me out. She tried pushing with her hands, but had no luck. She then used her paddle, pushing against the tree, getting me out far enough so that I could push my paddle against a part of the tree. Now out, we immediately flipped the canoe over to try to get out any spiders that were in it.

"You have a spider on your back," she said pointing.

"Get it off!" I screamed as I flailed about and tried to see it, looking like a dog chasing its tail.

She made a frowny face and shook her head no backing away from me and the spider. Somehow I managed to brush it off me, which caused her to jump back about 5 feet, clearly scared it was going to swim over, climb on her and make her his bitch, knowing that now, I wouldn't help her if it did. Lucky for her, it didn't.

We carried the canoe around the tree, and were attacked by mosquitoes that acted like we were steak on an all-you-can-eat buffet. We got in, went another half a mile and then SPLASH!

"Nin? Where'd you go?"

I looked back to see her standing in waist deep water, soaking wet, chasing me and her paddle down the river.

"Stop!" she yelled trudging through the water.

"How the hell do you want me to stop? These things don't exactly come with brakes." We heard a bunch of laughter coming from above. Turns out she had fallen in front of the first and only beach we saw. Naturally, no one helped. They just stood there pointing and laughing. Somehow I had managed to hold the boat with my paddle against the river floor long enough for her to get in.

"How much longer 'til the end?" I asked exasperatedly.

"About 4 miles..."

Thankfully, the rest of our trip was pretty calm. Ninnie was now dry from the sun and we got to relax. Still, by the time we reached the end,  we couldn't wait to go home. We saw people docking, getting out of their boats, and pulling it up the beach.

"Land!" Ninnie yelled.

We raced to the shore.

"Get me out of this damn thing," Ninnie said, as she exited the canoe, expecting to be in about 1 ft of water. Only she had jumped out the wrong side and fell into the 8ft drop-off, sinking like a rock. She swam to the shore and was dripping wet by the time we reached the beach where her father stood waiting.

"You girls have fun?" he asked as Ninnie and I, sunburned, starving, with mosquito bites everywhere, tried to get in the truck. "No, no. Not you," he said looking at Ninnie, "You're not getting my truck all wet. Get in the back."

"Wow, you were right, that was relaxing," I said to Ninnie as she sat shivering in the back of the truck. "Do it again tomorrow?"

"Well yeah. Duh."


**Please, if you like it, share it. Click the FB or Twitter link above. Spread the laughter.**

M is for the Monster in my Fridge

If you are anything like me, you have probably spent some time pondering the great questions in life:

Why are we here? What is the meaning of life? Who are the "they" in the those sentences, i.e."You know what they say, you can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink" or "You know what they say, it's always darkest before the dawn" (Well DUH! When else would it be the darkest)? 

While these thoughts often leave us baffled, there is one of the great mysteries of the world that I am happy to be able to solve for you: How do you know when sour cream has gone bad?

This question perplexed me for quite a while. How do you tell if sour cream has gone sour? I mean sour is in the name. Hasn't it already gone bad? Yet we still eat it. 

Well, one day I found out the answer. I was making something that called for a 1/2 cup of it. When I went into the refrigerator and picked up the sour cream, it moved. Startled, I set it back on the shelf and thought WTH? I looked around to see if anyone else had seen it, then remembered I was home alone, my dogs were outside and my cat was next to me but was too busy inappropriately licking herself to have noticed. I stood there and watched for a second to see if I could detect any more movement. Nothing. Assuming I had imagined the whole thing, I grabbed the container again.

I'm not sure what happened next. All I can tell you is I opened the container, saw something green that abruptly jumped out of my hand, growled at my cat and was last seen heading North on I-75. Clearly, it had gone bad. But it didn't stop there. I had noticed some other strange things. The cheese was turning green. The eggs, well they were bad too. There was something in the back behind the crisper drawers that I can only assume used to be some sort of fruit or vegetable. It was now furry, possibly rabid, and smoking a cigarette. As I reached for it, I think it tried to bite me. Obviously, the sour cream was the ring leader in some evil plot to take over the refrigerator. I had discovered it just in time because it apparently it was also trying to convince some bread and onions in the pantry to join them. I grabbed some tongs and removed the furry monster from behind the drawer. It, the cheese, and the eggs met their demise in the garbage disposal. 

I still have my suspicions that the sour cream was not acting alone. Every once in a while, the strawberries start to get that white fur on them that I now recognize as a gang tatt. The milk tries to go bad sometimes, too. But my money is on the baking soda. It has been there the longest, sitting in silence, plotting, just waiting for the day it can escape and catch up with the sour cream and take over the world.

Until then, another evil plot has been foiled. I don't want to go calling myself a hero, so I'll let you do it. Meanwhile, be on the lookout for that gangsta sour cream, and keep your refrigerators locked. I hear it's looking for a new hideout.

*Remember to spread the laughter. If you liked this post, or any others, please share them.*

L is for Life According to Alcohol

Stages of life by alcohol: 

Pre-21 - You know you shouldn't drink but you do anyway (Damn peer pressure). Get drunk off one wine cooler or some Boone's Farm or pretend that you like beer even though you don't yet. Make fun of the people that act like they are drunk when all you really gave them was orange juice and only told them there was Vodka in it but there wasn't. Eat mounds of McDonald's, Burger King or Taco Bell. No hangover.


Young Adult 21+ - Drink way too much, go home, sleep for 12 hours, wake up with no hangover then go out & do it again the next night.

Adult - Have a few drinks, go home, sleep, wake up with a slight hangover, maybe do a shot of what you were drinking the night before (if you can stomach it) to make hangover a little better; 

Adults in Early to Mid-thirties -  Take 2 Advil before you even go out the door. Have a drink or 2, go home, sleep, wake up after 2 hours, drink some Pedilyte, have a pretty decent size hangover, spend the next day taking Advil, drinking Gatorade and laying around; 

Adults 35+ - Drive past a bar or THINK about going to one, have trouble sleeping, wake up with a major hangover, feel like someone hit you with a shovel, can't get off the couch all day. Reminisce about your youth.


Tom Petty once sang:

"I don't know but I've been told, you never slow down, you never grow old." - Last Dance with Mary Jane

Now it's too late for me, but to the rest of you out there, I guess the thing you should take away from this is don't stop drinking because the minute you do, it's all over. 

Gotta go throw up now because apparently now I can get a hangover from just writing about alcohol. So in the words of the great Chevy Chase, "Hallelujah! Holy Shit! Where's the Tylenol?" 

*Remember, if this made you laugh or at least put a smile on your face, please click the the FB or Twitter share tab at the top of my blog. Spread the laughter. Everyone can use a smile. *

K is for Kiss This!

For all of you guys out there that don't know how to pick up women and aren't really into the bar scene, hold onto your sweatpants because now you can meet and make out hot chick without ever leaving your room.

Allow me to explain. See Keidai Ogawa is a nerd. Don't worry. I'm not being mean. He knows he is. He is also well, a little strange. Let me rephrase that, he's a whack job!

Still this nerdy, whack job status did not stop him from getting a...well...let's call her a girlfriend. It seems that our buddy Keidai grew up staring at an anime poster. But after a while staring wasn't enough. He wanted more and he knew by the way it was always looking at him that it wanted more too. So he did the only thing he could. He got freaky with it. Yup, he was getting all hot and heavy with his wall. 

This guy, whom I am guessing has his parents beaming with pride and will soon be revered as a Geek God has created a poster that will make out with you. Yes, make-out. It is called a pochuter. Chu is Japanese slang for kiss, combine that with poster and you get pochuter (which loosely translates to guy that can't get a date). "She" senses how close your head is to her and leans forward towards the kiss and even blushes after you make out. He is hoping to make her smell like shampoo (I'm guessing Windex-she is a poster after all), whisper sweet nothings (How YOU doin'. my 3-dimensional lover) and is going to add flavor to her lips, which apparently right now, taste like paper. My vote is for a nice subtle wallpaper glue flavor. 

Oh, where to begin. First, she sounds like a bit of a slut to me just hanging out in guys rooms waiting to get it on, but whatever. I mean imagine having a friend over. You go to get something to drink only to come back and find your buddy making out with your wall. How can you forgive something like that?

"Dude, That's my girl!"

'I'm sorry man. I don't know what to say. She kept looking at me and the closer I got the more she leaned in and I don't know how to tell you this but...dude she kissed me back. Ask her."

"Is this true? How long has this been going on?  I guess that's how I got this cold sore on my lip!"

They break-up he takes her down, rolls her up and puts her in a box under his bed. They make up and she is back on his wall. He gets a new poster and she feels used. The two girls stare each other down whenever he isn't around. It is a vicious love triangle. Your basic boy meets poster. Boy gets horny. Boy makes out with poster. Poster screws around and breaks boy's heart. I've seen it a thousand times.

Second, think of how it will affect society. If all these smart guys are staying at home making out with their walls who will bring about cold fusion? Cure cancer? Invent the 3rd version of the Snuggie? Not to mention who will the brainy girls hook up with to make genius babies? You can't have a meathead and a smart girl make a baby. Meat trumps brains. And it's not like geek boy and anime poster will have a child. I mean, what would it even look like? Confetti?

"Oh look, he has his daddy's eyes and his mommy's one-dimensional figure. Goochy-goochy-goo. Awww, crap I dropped him. I'll never get him out of the carpet!"

Is it just me or is this totally creepy? I mean, you know it isn't going to stop there. One day his parents are going to walk in on him humping the wall and his mom will be all like, "I am NOT cleaning that up!"

And that's just one of the awkward scenarios the guy's poor parents will encounter. Imagine having to introduce her to friends:

Mom: "Marge, Tom, I'd like you to meet our son's girlfriend, Vistaprint."

Marge: "Ummmm...nice to meet...you know she's a poster right? She doesn't say much, does she? Wait, is she trying to kiss me?"

Mom:"Yeah, she is a bit of a slut."

Tom: "She's hot. But does it bother you that..."

Dad: "That my son's dating a poster? No. I'm just glad he finally got laid."

Tom: "How do you know that?

Dad, taking a swig of Jack Daniels: "Let's just say I know."

Son: "Yeah Dad, I totally nailed her."

*Remember if you like this post, please share it. Just click the FB or Twitter link at the top of the page. Spread the laughter*

J is for Jealous

You should know, I am a very wanted women (and not just because of the vomit pliers - see last post for those of you that are like "Vomit pliers! I have to get me some of those.").

See, I had been ignoring my junk email. One day I clicked on it because someone had sent me something that I didn't get so they told me to check it. And thank God they did!

I have had SO many people trying to contact me. First of all, and try not to be too jealous, but I may have already won an iPad, which totally kicks ass because I don't even remember entering to win one. I am sure one of the good people at my magazine subscription or credit card companies, knowing I could use an iPad, were thoughtful enough to sell my information. They are always looking out for me.

Second, well, I haven't dated in awhile and I really had no desire to, that is until I found out that I have Jewish Singles, Black Singles, Christian Singles, and Lesbian Singles all just waiting to meet me! Me! I had no idea I was so popular. I also got one for Single Gay Men, but I think that was just actual junk mail. (I knew I shouldn't have cut my hair that short!) I also got an invitation to a Lesbian Torture Clinic where they will abuse me and throw urine on me until I am no longer gay. I was tempted, I mean it's been a long time since I had some urine thrown on me, but it is in Ecuador and I would have to get my passport renewed, and well, I'm not gay so I decided it would be too much trouble to go and deleted that email.

Oh! And apparently, my Viagra is ready. Thank God because my vibrator could really use a boost! I mentioned that I hadn't dated in awhile, right? Yeah, I have a vibrator. Get over it.

And, well, I am almost hesitant to tell you this because you are going to be SO freakin' jealous. Alright, I can tell you are just dying to know so I'll tell you, but remember you asked for it. Come here and put your ear really close to the computer. I have to whisper this because I'm not suppose to tell anyone. You see, there is this Arabian prince that is being held against his will by insurgents. He has $40 million dollars, that's right MILLION, that he has to get out of the country. Now he had told me that if I provide MY bank account number and password, he will let me keep $10 million just for helping him out. He may even marry me once he escapes! Can you believe it? I get $10 million bucks just for providing my bank account info. You can't make that kind of money selling penny stocks or with a cleverly orchestrated pyramid scheme! (By the way, and I realize this has nothing to do with this post, but Madeoff? REALLY? They thought it would be a good idea to fork over a couple million dollars to a guy named Madeoff?!?)

Lucky for me my Arabian prince is legit. I sure hope he's cute! 

Told you this post would make you jealous I am a highly sought after, free iPad having, Viagra vibrator totin', soon to be millionaire princess. It's good to be me.


*Remember if you like this post, share it! Spread the laughter :) *

I is for I'm Sexy and I Know It

If you have read some of my other posts, you may remember I was in a car accident years ago. If you are new to my blog, I am sure you just assumed I had a head injury anyway. I had to undergo seven surgeries, one of which was a condylotomy.

What is a condylotomy, you ask?

Well, allow me to paint you a picture. You are taken into an operating room.  The last thing you see before you are put under is a bunch of nurses and surgical staff sitting around eating peanuts and Cracker Jacks as a doctor in a baseball uniform holding a bat, strolls up to you taking his final warm-up swing. Wait a minute! Is this pillow shaped like home plate? HELPPPP! The last words I heard were, "Batter up!"

Next thing I know, I am waking up with my jaw broken and mouth wired shut. Still bleary-eyed from the anesthesia, my focus lands on this hot intern. Okay, I guess I should back up a little. Before I was taken down to surgery, I was sitting in my sexy hospital gown with no make-up on, as nervous as could be, and I saw him walking by. We shared a smile. It wasn't one of those bow-chicka-bow-wow smiles. It was more like a "Dude, I'm about to go into surgery and I'm scared" grin while his was like a "Yeah, I know. I'm going to slip in the operating room and check out your boobs while you're under." 

OK, so back to where we were. I'm out of surgery and in recovery. Hottie intern comes over as I am coming too. He tells me he get my mom and dad to which I yell through clench jaw "Pstb! Flghbsbbs sytp rghstfe," which somehow he knew was jibberish for, "No, please. They will make me talk and won't leave me alone." Like a true prince, he went out and told them I was okay, but they couldn't see me until I was in a room.

He came back, and for the next 4 hours, he never left my bedside. He told me how he went to school to be a pediatrician and was now doing his internship. He shared some other stuff  I was too drugged up to remember.

"You know, you're a really great listener."

Yeah, morphine will do that to you.

"I'm sorry it's taking so long for them to get you a room," he said, his kind brown eyes promising he would stay with me until they did. People that had come out of surgery after me had already been taken to their rooms hours ago. But I still had no room.

"Hmbfffffqt ftd bpfffft mmrt ffffffffffffffft," I replied. (Jibberish for "As long as I'm in a room by the time Friends come on, we're good.")

"Oh, you're a Friends fan? Well, don't worry. I'll make sure you're in a room in time to watch the season finale."

"Ffffpbt, (thanks)," I muttered, smiling. At least, I think I was smiling.

Several hours later, my room finally became available. My handsome brown-eyed intern wheeled me up himself instead of tasking the orderlies with the job. 

"See, I told you I'd get you up here in time for Friends. I've got connections," he said with a wink. "Unfortunately, I don't think I'll make it home to watch ER." 

OMG! Is he hitting on me? Does he want me to ask him to stay and watch ER?

Just as I was contemplating how to make my move, my mom and dad came in, full of concern, and drilling me with questions.

"You don't want to make her talk right now.  She needs to rest, so please don't ask her any questions because she can't and shouldn't answer them right now," he informed my parents, giving me another wink. I gave him a big smile...or not, I was pretty doped up. He squeezed my hand, whispering something to me that I don't recall,  and then left my room.

The next morning, I woke up hoping I would get to see the hot intern before my parents came to get me. My mind wandered to the previous night. Had he wanted me to ask him to stay? What sweet nothing had he whispered in my ear? Just then my mom entered the room, gasping and making one of those horrified faces you see people make when they see something terrifying like a car crash or when they remove the lid of a really great box of chocolate, only to find someone else ate the last piece and left the empty box on the counter (those people should be shot by the way).

"Oh my God, look at her face," my mom exclaimed. I guess she thought I'd still look the same or that the swelling would go down overnight, but it hadn't. My dad tried to cover with an, "You're always beautiful to me" comment, so I knew it must be bad.

"Can I have a mirror?" I asked and viewed myself for the first time since the surgery.

Two ice packs were wrapped around the sides of my face tied together in a big ol' sexy over-sized bow on top of my head and under my chin. My cheeks looked like I was a squirrel packing nuts for the winter. My face was a lovely tie-dye combination of black, purple, and yellow with the slightest whisper of green - colors I had never seen before and would never see again in nature or anywhere else. This blend of colors extended from my insanely puffy eyes all the way down to my swollen neck.

Damn, I looked hot!

I did what any normal person would do. I laughed. 

"Don't forget these," the nurse said handing me what looked like a pair of pliers. Remember to keep them with you at all times."

"Why? What are these for?" I mumbled.

"Don't you remember?'" my mom asked. "When the intern was leaving last night, he handed you these and whispered, "These are in case you throw up so you don't choke to death on your vomit.'

Has a man ever spoken such sweet, thoughtful words to a woman? I knew I should have asked him out. He definitely wanted me. Any girl with ice packs tied to her purple-blue face and comes with her own vomit pliers just screams "Catch!" Doesn't she?