Brantley-isms (cuz it's been a while)

We went for our daily family walk this morning. As it turns out, seven AM is too early for mascara so I improvised in order to become suitable for the public eye.
Giant aviator sunglasses that make me look like a mosquito? Check. Ball cap? Check. Mismatched shorts and shirt (didn't really help the look, but) check and check.
As we approached the top of a hill, one of our three town police men (That's right, I said three. Please don't rob me.) slowly drove past us. Brantley gave me a heads up. "Look out. It's the po-po." He whisper shouted.
"Thanks, babe. Are we doing anything wrong?" I asked.
"Well I'm not, but you're dressed like you're casing the neighborhood."
"Thanks. Anything else?"
"You run kinda gay."
"Awesome."

A Moment in Palooza Pop Culture

Dear news media outlets, the status of Lindsey Lohan’s freedom is NOT news. I do not care how long she is serving, what the view from her window looks like, or whether her cavities were searched upon entering jail. But since you brought it up, what did that search turn up? If they didn’t find an eight ball, then they weren’t looking hard enough.

Everyone is gaga over Lady Gaga, and I too have to hand it to her. As strange as she is with elaborate costumes and controversial lyrics, I’m more than a little envious of her amazingly fit physique. I’m guessing she does Pilates though, because it can’t be easy to do crunches with your penis tucked between your legs.

Lastly, this photo of Jersey Shore's, "Snooki", and her father almost speaks for itself. I’m sure we all have a picture taken with our dads in front of a malt liquor display. Totally not judging about his hand placement, either.

Ode to Sunny A. Fish

Seems like yesterday we brought you home.
No longer a bowl would you roam.
But you had to be sheisty, and not one bit feisty
When you came down with a deadly syndrome.

Godspeed, Sunny. You were a great fish, for almost three solid days. We will never forget you, until we return to the pet store tomorrow.

Ms. Communication

When Brantley left for work today, his car wouldn't start. I have no idea what the deal is there, but he asked me to call the insurance company and arrange to have it towed to a mechanic. As I was on the phone with a lady at Geico, she began asking me a series of questions. Our conversation went as follows,

Nice Geico lady: "What is the urine color?"
Me: "Ummm, yellow."
(Her line of questioning did strike me as a little detailed, especially for a car insurance company, but I'll talk about urine with just about anybody.)
Nice Geico lady: "That's interesting. I've never seen a yellow one before."
Me: "I don't think I understand the question."
Nice Geico lady: "What is the YEAR AND COLOR...of the Saab?''
Me: "Ohhh, gotcha. It's a 2005 and it's gray, unlike my urine."

I had a good laugh, especially when she told me in a sassy voice, "Honey, the only fluids I deal with is oil and gas!"

Deep Thoughts

The Barefoot Bandit could've hidden out in the deep south and remained virtually unscathed for the remainder of his days (while sporting a cheesy mustache, NASCAR t-shirt, and carrying his barefoot baby). Instead, he chose to hide out in the Bahamas where people wear shoes. Live and learn, my friend.

the Mask

I was on my way to a writer's meeting yesterday evening when I passed someone on the interstate who was driving and applying makeup at the same time. I could make a "farding" joke here, but I won't because I'm classy. This brings me to my question, how on earth can you do these two things at the same time? I have enough going on in the car with all of my drinking and texting, but applying makeup? That's too much. If I even attempted applying makeup while in the passenger seat, I would arrive at my destination looking like a whorish clown, at best. I think I will continue to play it safe for me and everyone else between here and the liquor store, by applying my mask prior to leaving the house. My only alternative is to risk being seen in public with a naked face and possibly being mistaken for Rocky Dennis.

Life is a Highway (and I Can't Read a Map)

My search for a gently used car has finally come to an end with a good result. I did, however, give up one luxury gadget in the trade, a navigation system. I am, what is known as, "geotarded", which means that I could get lost in my own neighborhood, let alone an unfamiliar city. Sadly, I have even gotten lost WITH the navigation system before. Often times I could feel the frustration in the voice of navigation lady as she directed me on where to go, and one time I swear she said, "Please make a legal U-turn, damn it."

My most recent trip without navigation lady was to Birmingham a couple of weeks ago. My dad was in the hospital and my sister had given me directions over the phone. I was nervous about it, but I psyched myself up and headed out. Long story short, I got lost and finally hit rock bottom when I got directions from a one-armed man who was standing on the street, somewhere on the north side of Birmingham. He became a little exasperated with my follow up questions and finally pointed with his stump and instructed me to, "turn right where you see that homeless guy standing and...blah, blah, blah." It was hard to pay attention with him waving that stump around. His directions did, however, get me close enough to find the hospital and all's well that ends well.

I imagine the new car will result in one of two things. Either, I will see an improvement in my geotardation, or I will buy myself a Garmin. Either way, expect a lot of adventures. I'll keep you posted.

Luke-isms (a first)

I couldn't wait for Luke to learn to talk. It seemed to take forever and I was ecstatic when he began putting sentences together. However, the more he speaks, the more aware I become of his (sometimes unwanted) opinion. And, thus Luke-isms were born...

I placed his dinner of grilled chicken and peas in front of him tonight, only to hear him say, "Ooooh Mommy, stinky foot. No ma'an. No ma'an."

"Hush and eat your peas, please."

"Ahh-kay."

"How Stupid do I Look?"

It's only Tuesday and it's already been a long week. I started the process of trading my car last week and I had forgotten what a complete nightmare it can be. I consider myself a pretty savvy shopper and a darn good haggler, but I'm drawing near the end of my rope. Considering how many days I've been at this, it's a surprise that I've only had to say twice, "How stupid do I look?" Yesterday, at the dealership, Brantley pounded his fist on the desk and dropped an F-bomb. This may seem dramatic, but he does that when buying anything, which explains why he's no longer allowed in Amen Corner.

We will hopefully be done with this dark spot by tomorrow, so I can go back to being a "nice person." It takes a lot of energy to take on an evil persona. And, just so you know, my doppelganger has a goatee and sunglasses...it itches.

In closing, I will only say that I don't support stereotypes, however, used car salesmen are SONS OF BITCHES. Had Anne Frank met one before her untimely demise, she wouldn't have kept her sunny, "everybody is good deep down," attitude.

Thank you. That is all.