Holy stinking crapballs, it is hot as a you know what outside!! I am totally not kidding you when I say that my buttcrack immediately started sweating as soon as I walked out of my house today. I frigging hate that. There is truly nothing worse than feeling like you have a greasy buttcrack, and believe me, I would know. Maybe I should break down and finally shave my legs to help cool me off. . . Nah, just kidding. That would actually require me to bend down, and we all know that ain't happening!
You know what is ticking me off about this heat wave? That it ends tomorrow. Yep, that's right. It is going to rain on both of my days off. In case you didn't know, I am so well thought of where I work that I was blessed with the fantastic days off of Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Actually, they don't hate me, that's just the way the chips fell this year, but stillllllll! I wanted to dig around in my empty flower beds, and maybe address the beautiful dandelions that are peppering my yard. But noooooo. The heat wave clearly only exists to make my buttcrack sweat. I think I'm going to start dragging my butt across the floor like a dog to dry it off. What?! It itches too!
Monday, April 27, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
I Really Like That Fella!
I thought I would take this opportunity to tell you all that I am really stuck on my old man. Some of you know him and some of you don't. And if you don't, you are really missing out. He is smart and funny, a great friend and a good father, a loving husband and a good man.
He really enjoys the simple things in life. Everyday he heads to UDF to get the newspaper and something to drink for himself and for me. You may be asking yourself, "Self, why doesn't he just subscribe to the newspaper and buy canned drinks from the grocery store to keep at home?" The answer is simply that he enjoys the task of heading to UDF and doing something nice for me everyday.
He loves to hunt, especially deer hunting. Every year he counts down the months, weeks and days until his big hunting trip at the end of November. He and a whole group of his buddies head down to Adams county every year for gun season. He really enjoys being in the woods and protecting humanity from those bloodthirsty deer (he assures me that they are truly vicious creatures worthy of extermination).
After the days hunt, they all return to camp and act like boys do. They eat like they are starving, they drink beer like they've never tasted it before, and they tell stories and make fun of each other until their sides ache from the laughter. I know this will sound weird, but I love the way he smells when he comes home from his trip. He always smells like a combination of campfire and dirty dog (I told you it was weird). But I love that smell because it means that he is back at home, and I can't wait for him to proudly regale me with tales from the hunt.
He, much like myself, wouldn't rather be any other place in the world than our trailer on Lake Cumberland in Kentucky. He's been going down there with his family since he was a little boy, and I think he is glad that in me, he has finally found someone who loves it there like he does. I always cook on the charcoal grill like he likes, we listen to the awesome classic rock radio station that Nancy, Kentucky has, and we relax. He takes me out on our boat and he never complains, no matter how many hours I want to spend fishing. Even when it's pouring down rain. And freezing cold.
He loves the history and the military channels and could spend hours watching the shows they play. Whether it's about World War I or Navy Seals training, he likes it all. He watches Saving Private Ryan every time it comes on television and is an unfailing supporter of the men and women who fight for our great country. He is very proud to be an American, and tells me that one of the regrets he has in life is not joining the military.
He also loves Elvis Presley. He has a countless number of Elvis performances on DVD and VHS that he watches regularly (especially when he is buzzed after we come home from a bar). He admires Elvis for many reasons and thinks it is despicable the way that Priscilla lives off of his memory. Some of his favorites are the gospel songs that Elvis sings, and he had them playing at the funeral home when his daddy passed away.
He is a strong leader. The people that work for him would follow him into the fire, no matter the situation. He leads by example and has an unbelievable work ethic. He is honest and fair, and always stands up for what is right, no matter how unpopular it may be. He is nothing if not real and true. He doesn't have a fake bone in his body.
He cracks me up with the weird and vivid dreams he has that he tells me about. He often dreams about zombies and how he and I are killing them to save ourselves. Just today he was telling me a about a dream he had that we were hanging out with Brett Michaels from the band Poison. He said that I kept asking Brett if his hair was a wig and trying to snatch it off his head.
I'm a little embarrassed to say that it was a dream of mine that prompted this post about my old man. I have a crazy crush on Dwayne Johnson, better known as "The Rock." Last night I dreamed that Dwayne was in love with me and trying to get me to run away with him. Even in my dreams, I am totally and unconditionally in love with Kelly Hamilton. Without hesitation but with a raised eyebrow, I told the stupid old Rock to pound salt. The Rock ain't got nothing on my old man. I prefer the smell of Ralph Lauren Romance and wintergreen Grizzly any day.
He really enjoys the simple things in life. Everyday he heads to UDF to get the newspaper and something to drink for himself and for me. You may be asking yourself, "Self, why doesn't he just subscribe to the newspaper and buy canned drinks from the grocery store to keep at home?" The answer is simply that he enjoys the task of heading to UDF and doing something nice for me everyday.
He loves to hunt, especially deer hunting. Every year he counts down the months, weeks and days until his big hunting trip at the end of November. He and a whole group of his buddies head down to Adams county every year for gun season. He really enjoys being in the woods and protecting humanity from those bloodthirsty deer (he assures me that they are truly vicious creatures worthy of extermination).
After the days hunt, they all return to camp and act like boys do. They eat like they are starving, they drink beer like they've never tasted it before, and they tell stories and make fun of each other until their sides ache from the laughter. I know this will sound weird, but I love the way he smells when he comes home from his trip. He always smells like a combination of campfire and dirty dog (I told you it was weird). But I love that smell because it means that he is back at home, and I can't wait for him to proudly regale me with tales from the hunt.
He, much like myself, wouldn't rather be any other place in the world than our trailer on Lake Cumberland in Kentucky. He's been going down there with his family since he was a little boy, and I think he is glad that in me, he has finally found someone who loves it there like he does. I always cook on the charcoal grill like he likes, we listen to the awesome classic rock radio station that Nancy, Kentucky has, and we relax. He takes me out on our boat and he never complains, no matter how many hours I want to spend fishing. Even when it's pouring down rain. And freezing cold.
He loves the history and the military channels and could spend hours watching the shows they play. Whether it's about World War I or Navy Seals training, he likes it all. He watches Saving Private Ryan every time it comes on television and is an unfailing supporter of the men and women who fight for our great country. He is very proud to be an American, and tells me that one of the regrets he has in life is not joining the military.
He also loves Elvis Presley. He has a countless number of Elvis performances on DVD and VHS that he watches regularly (especially when he is buzzed after we come home from a bar). He admires Elvis for many reasons and thinks it is despicable the way that Priscilla lives off of his memory. Some of his favorites are the gospel songs that Elvis sings, and he had them playing at the funeral home when his daddy passed away.
He is a strong leader. The people that work for him would follow him into the fire, no matter the situation. He leads by example and has an unbelievable work ethic. He is honest and fair, and always stands up for what is right, no matter how unpopular it may be. He is nothing if not real and true. He doesn't have a fake bone in his body.
He cracks me up with the weird and vivid dreams he has that he tells me about. He often dreams about zombies and how he and I are killing them to save ourselves. Just today he was telling me a about a dream he had that we were hanging out with Brett Michaels from the band Poison. He said that I kept asking Brett if his hair was a wig and trying to snatch it off his head.
I'm a little embarrassed to say that it was a dream of mine that prompted this post about my old man. I have a crazy crush on Dwayne Johnson, better known as "The Rock." Last night I dreamed that Dwayne was in love with me and trying to get me to run away with him. Even in my dreams, I am totally and unconditionally in love with Kelly Hamilton. Without hesitation but with a raised eyebrow, I told the stupid old Rock to pound salt. The Rock ain't got nothing on my old man. I prefer the smell of Ralph Lauren Romance and wintergreen Grizzly any day.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Coming of Age
What in the hell am I doing here??! Airing out my cooter?
And I'm sorry to say that it looks as if I am filling my britches with an exceptionally large dump!I'm sure you all will be happy to know that my birthday went off without a hitch! Turns out that I frigging love Dave and Busters, not that that's any big surprise. I went running through that place, game to game, like a seven year old kid. Again, not that that is a big surprise to anyone on the planet who has ever spoken to me for even 5 seconds. Not that it mattered to me in the slightest, but it seemed that the people who accompanied me had a good time too. . . not that I even noticed.
I even wore a "special" birthday outfit. It was a little weird, and I am quite certain that the people who went out with me were a little embarrassed to claim me. But that didn't even come close to deterring me from wearing it. I had on my knee-high camo rubber boots over a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt that said "STINK BAIT" on it. Needless to say, I looked fucking HOT!
So, I was thinking about it and thirty-one seems like an awfully big number. I can remember when I thought eighteen was old. You want to hear a funny story about when I turned eighteen? I don't really care if you do, I'm gonna tell you anyway.
When I turned eighteen, I decided that I wanted to take full advantage of being that age. . . by buying cigarettes. . . even though I didn't smoke. I happily and proudly strolled into the nearest gas station to buy a pack of fags (for all you morons out there, that's what English people call them). I enthusiastically told the clerk that I would like to buy a pack of Marlboro lights (because that's the brand that everyone that I knew smoked), and to my delight, he asked me for my I.D. He studied it closely, looking from it to me about fifty-two times. I can't say that I blame him for being skeptical about my age because I'm fairly certain that I was still wearing a training bra at that age.
When he finally agreed that that was indeed me in the picture, and that it did in fact say that I was old enough to buy the smokes, he reluctantly sold me the pack. In that moment, I remember truly feeling like a grown up. I rushed out of the gas station and jumped into my boyfriends car, showing off the token of my adulthood.
At that point, I decided that just buying the cigarettes was not enough. I thought it best to smoke one too, you know, to prove my grown up status. Keeping in mind that I was not a smoker, I instructed my boyfriend to pull over into a vacant lot. At the time it seemed like the most logical place for an adult to smoke.
I hopped out of the car and opened up the pack of cigarettes. I threw one in my mouth and asked my boyfriend if he had a lighter (I didn't think that far ahead!). He dug around in his car and found some matches. I pulled a match out, struck it, and lit up my cigarette. For a brief moment I felt super cool and mature. But then I inhaled deeply and all of that cool mature bullshit ended abruptly!
My whole world started to narrow and fade to black. I started sweating and my knees felt weak. In case you haven't guessed what was happening, I was fainting!!!! My boyfriend had to grab me and sit me down in the car before I passed out and busted my head open. I took that cigarette and threw it down on the ground. At that moment I felt very young and naive, and I guess looking back on it, I was exactly that.
I mean, seriously!!! Fainting from smoking a cigarette?! What a lame-ass! If I could go back in time I would punch my young self in the taint for being such an idiot!! Clearly I had not yet blossomed into the mature and insightful adult that am now. Yeah, I'll just leave you with that thought. . .
I even wore a "special" birthday outfit. It was a little weird, and I am quite certain that the people who went out with me were a little embarrassed to claim me. But that didn't even come close to deterring me from wearing it. I had on my knee-high camo rubber boots over a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt that said "STINK BAIT" on it. Needless to say, I looked fucking HOT!
So, I was thinking about it and thirty-one seems like an awfully big number. I can remember when I thought eighteen was old. You want to hear a funny story about when I turned eighteen? I don't really care if you do, I'm gonna tell you anyway.
When I turned eighteen, I decided that I wanted to take full advantage of being that age. . . by buying cigarettes. . . even though I didn't smoke. I happily and proudly strolled into the nearest gas station to buy a pack of fags (for all you morons out there, that's what English people call them). I enthusiastically told the clerk that I would like to buy a pack of Marlboro lights (because that's the brand that everyone that I knew smoked), and to my delight, he asked me for my I.D. He studied it closely, looking from it to me about fifty-two times. I can't say that I blame him for being skeptical about my age because I'm fairly certain that I was still wearing a training bra at that age.
When he finally agreed that that was indeed me in the picture, and that it did in fact say that I was old enough to buy the smokes, he reluctantly sold me the pack. In that moment, I remember truly feeling like a grown up. I rushed out of the gas station and jumped into my boyfriends car, showing off the token of my adulthood.
At that point, I decided that just buying the cigarettes was not enough. I thought it best to smoke one too, you know, to prove my grown up status. Keeping in mind that I was not a smoker, I instructed my boyfriend to pull over into a vacant lot. At the time it seemed like the most logical place for an adult to smoke.
I hopped out of the car and opened up the pack of cigarettes. I threw one in my mouth and asked my boyfriend if he had a lighter (I didn't think that far ahead!). He dug around in his car and found some matches. I pulled a match out, struck it, and lit up my cigarette. For a brief moment I felt super cool and mature. But then I inhaled deeply and all of that cool mature bullshit ended abruptly!
My whole world started to narrow and fade to black. I started sweating and my knees felt weak. In case you haven't guessed what was happening, I was fainting!!!! My boyfriend had to grab me and sit me down in the car before I passed out and busted my head open. I took that cigarette and threw it down on the ground. At that moment I felt very young and naive, and I guess looking back on it, I was exactly that.
I mean, seriously!!! Fainting from smoking a cigarette?! What a lame-ass! If I could go back in time I would punch my young self in the taint for being such an idiot!! Clearly I had not yet blossomed into the mature and insightful adult that am now. Yeah, I'll just leave you with that thought. . .
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Man, I feel old.
I am fast approaching my 31st birthday, which is on April 17th. I really can't believe I am that old!! It seems like only yesterday I was turning 21 (and what an enormous deal I made out of that birthday!! I'm surprised I even survived it!), not ten years ago. It's amazing how much difference a decade makes. . . . or not really.
Would it surprise anyone to know that I am celebrating my birthday at Dave and Buster's? My first choice was, of course, Chuck-E-Cheese, but I have been assured that Dave and Buster's is just as fun, but without the kids. What's wrong with kids? They are aerodynamic and easy to throw, and I am certain that if I didn't win any tickets, I could easily steal theirs!! And their candy! I love candy!
But I digress. After Dave and Buster's, we will be returning to the city of neighbors to finish off the evening. I am super excited! And please, I know what you are all thinking. I mean it when I say I am not offended by cash gifts!! Or personal checks. Or large quantities of alcoholic beverages. So fret not, little friends!
I also wanted to let everyone know that my armpit is sore. Not for any good reason, either. I just woke up today and it was sore. Did I ever tell you about the time that I sprained my buttcrack in my sleep? These things happen in my world.
In other news, I was reading where a lady was attacked by a polar bear at a zoo in Berlin. . . . after she climbed down a fence, over a wide hedge full of thorns, over a large concrete wall, and swam through a moat to where they were. I am totally not making this up. I know the ending that everyone is hoping for. . . that she croaked in a feeding frenzy, complete with toes and butt cheeks flying. But sadly, she survived.
I guess what I am trying to say is that I am hoping someone will buy me a polar bear for my birthday so it can bite off my defective armpit. A girl can dream, right?
Would it surprise anyone to know that I am celebrating my birthday at Dave and Buster's? My first choice was, of course, Chuck-E-Cheese, but I have been assured that Dave and Buster's is just as fun, but without the kids. What's wrong with kids? They are aerodynamic and easy to throw, and I am certain that if I didn't win any tickets, I could easily steal theirs!! And their candy! I love candy!
But I digress. After Dave and Buster's, we will be returning to the city of neighbors to finish off the evening. I am super excited! And please, I know what you are all thinking. I mean it when I say I am not offended by cash gifts!! Or personal checks. Or large quantities of alcoholic beverages. So fret not, little friends!
I also wanted to let everyone know that my armpit is sore. Not for any good reason, either. I just woke up today and it was sore. Did I ever tell you about the time that I sprained my buttcrack in my sleep? These things happen in my world.
In other news, I was reading where a lady was attacked by a polar bear at a zoo in Berlin. . . . after she climbed down a fence, over a wide hedge full of thorns, over a large concrete wall, and swam through a moat to where they were. I am totally not making this up. I know the ending that everyone is hoping for. . . that she croaked in a feeding frenzy, complete with toes and butt cheeks flying. But sadly, she survived.
I guess what I am trying to say is that I am hoping someone will buy me a polar bear for my birthday so it can bite off my defective armpit. A girl can dream, right?
Sunday, March 29, 2009
I Hate the "C" Word! (and it's not the one you think)
CANCER. There I said it. What a dirty, rotten, no good thief cancer is. I know some of you out there may not think that I am capable of deep thought or reflection, but believe it or not, I do have a softer sensitive side. As of late, cancer has reared its ugly head in my life and I would like to take a moment to share the impact it has had on me here.
Several months ago, a friend of mine from high school, Melissa, passed away after a graceful, inspiring, and courageous battle with breast cancer. Melissa and I lost touch shortly after high school, and unfortunately I learned of her passing through her obituary. I harbor quite a bit of guilt and regret because of that. Contained within her obituary, was a link to a blog that she had been writing, detailing her experiences with cancer http://www.fortscancersux.blogspot.com/. To say that her blog was moving would be a gross understatement.
After reading her blog, I was in awe at the way that she shared her journey in such an open, honest and naked way. And through all of the painful awfulness that cancer brings, she remained unfailingly positive and rock solid strong. It got me to thinking about why on earth something as terrible as that would happen to such an amazing person.
I guess what I am trying to say is that I am almost 31 years old. And in my time on earth, I have known quite a few people, most of which I would classify as good and a few I would have to say are down right bad. But of those many good people I have known in my life, there are a few that I can only describe as shiny. You know what I mean. They are special and neat and good and true, and they are an absolute joy to be around. Whether you know them a lot or a little, you know without a doubt that you are better for knowing them at all. Melissa was one of those shiny people.
Unfortunately, another shiny person in my life is in the clutches of stage four cancer. He's my friend Phil. I don't claim to be a smart woman, so I don't know the ins and outs of his type of cancer or what affect it is specifically having on his body. All that I know is that it's bad, it has moved too painfully fast, and I don't know what the future will hold.
Let me tell you a little about Phil. He is someone I work with and that I can't help but admire. Phil's job entails investigating and bringing to justice those who commit crimes against children. He is the best at what he does. He is patient, dedicated, humble and relentless. And he always has a smile and a moment of his time for everyone. He is just one of those shiny people.
So I decided to honor Phil like I wish that I would have had time to honor Melissa. I wrote a little poem for him and this seemed like the best place to post it. Everyone loves you buddy, and we are all praying for your recovery.
An Officer's Tribute
My dear friend in blue,
the truth you always sought.
The weakest who were wronged
were the ones for which you fought.
My brother in the badge,
your faith in justice shown.
No matter how fierce the battle,
no victim was left alone.
My true and honest champion,
your quest for right's been won.
The peace your work has given
will never be undone.
My role model and inspiration,
you're what a man should be.
A father and friend to his own,
and to all others that he sees.
My hope and guiding light,
I hope to live like you have done.
Your selfless acts of kindness prove
that you are truly God's son.
Phil, you are my hero,
but I'm just one of thousands strong.
And we will walk you through this journey,
hand in hand, no matter how long.
Several months ago, a friend of mine from high school, Melissa, passed away after a graceful, inspiring, and courageous battle with breast cancer. Melissa and I lost touch shortly after high school, and unfortunately I learned of her passing through her obituary. I harbor quite a bit of guilt and regret because of that. Contained within her obituary, was a link to a blog that she had been writing, detailing her experiences with cancer http://www.fortscancersux.blogspot.com/. To say that her blog was moving would be a gross understatement.
After reading her blog, I was in awe at the way that she shared her journey in such an open, honest and naked way. And through all of the painful awfulness that cancer brings, she remained unfailingly positive and rock solid strong. It got me to thinking about why on earth something as terrible as that would happen to such an amazing person.
I guess what I am trying to say is that I am almost 31 years old. And in my time on earth, I have known quite a few people, most of which I would classify as good and a few I would have to say are down right bad. But of those many good people I have known in my life, there are a few that I can only describe as shiny. You know what I mean. They are special and neat and good and true, and they are an absolute joy to be around. Whether you know them a lot or a little, you know without a doubt that you are better for knowing them at all. Melissa was one of those shiny people.
Unfortunately, another shiny person in my life is in the clutches of stage four cancer. He's my friend Phil. I don't claim to be a smart woman, so I don't know the ins and outs of his type of cancer or what affect it is specifically having on his body. All that I know is that it's bad, it has moved too painfully fast, and I don't know what the future will hold.
Let me tell you a little about Phil. He is someone I work with and that I can't help but admire. Phil's job entails investigating and bringing to justice those who commit crimes against children. He is the best at what he does. He is patient, dedicated, humble and relentless. And he always has a smile and a moment of his time for everyone. He is just one of those shiny people.
So I decided to honor Phil like I wish that I would have had time to honor Melissa. I wrote a little poem for him and this seemed like the best place to post it. Everyone loves you buddy, and we are all praying for your recovery.
An Officer's Tribute
My dear friend in blue,
the truth you always sought.
The weakest who were wronged
were the ones for which you fought.
My brother in the badge,
your faith in justice shown.
No matter how fierce the battle,
no victim was left alone.
My true and honest champion,
your quest for right's been won.
The peace your work has given
will never be undone.
My role model and inspiration,
you're what a man should be.
A father and friend to his own,
and to all others that he sees.
My hope and guiding light,
I hope to live like you have done.
Your selfless acts of kindness prove
that you are truly God's son.
Phil, you are my hero,
but I'm just one of thousands strong.
And we will walk you through this journey,
hand in hand, no matter how long.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Spring Has Sprung
Hello everyone! I'm sure you all were wondering if St. Patty's day bested me, since it has been so long since I've blogged. But it did not! As a matter of fact, my friend Moose and I had a stinking blast on St. Pats, and would deem it a total and undeniable success! We started the day off around 2:00pm and headed down to Flannigans where we drank a considerable amount of beer. I even consumed a large wiener covered with sauer kraut (which seemed to please the vendors so much that they took a picture of me eating it! I'm sure that picture is sure to pop up at the most inopportune time!!).
Then it was on to Taggart's to continue the drunken debauchery. My old man met us up there to join us in the drunk fest, and egged me on to break my cardinal St. Patty's day rule! And that wily old fuck prevailed! It was at that point that I switched over to jager bombs, and truly began to defile myself. And despite the addition of the potent bombs to my already decently buzzed bloodstream, I managed to close down the bar before heading home to brick city. Even with my liquor-soaked liver, I managed not to puke the day of or the day after!! So, like I said, it was a total success.
Since St. Pat's, I even ventured down to my favorite place in the whole wide world for a nice four day getaway. I speak of none other than Lake Cumberland in beautiful Nancy, Kentucky. My old man's family has had the same place down there for nye on fifty years (I totally stole that line from Reba). We even have a slip (or dock for you non-lake folks), which is hard to come by down there. It was a fabulously relaxing little trip, complete with fishing, quad riding, good food eating (made by me of course. I'm quite the little chef, I'll have you know!), a little beer drinking, and good uninterrupted sleep! I even caught a six pound small mouth bass, which of course I am having mounted to hang on my wall.
Other than that, not too much else to report. My birthday is fast approaching though, and I wanted to let you all know that I'm not offended by cash gifts. Just in case you were wondering.
Then it was on to Taggart's to continue the drunken debauchery. My old man met us up there to join us in the drunk fest, and egged me on to break my cardinal St. Patty's day rule! And that wily old fuck prevailed! It was at that point that I switched over to jager bombs, and truly began to defile myself. And despite the addition of the potent bombs to my already decently buzzed bloodstream, I managed to close down the bar before heading home to brick city. Even with my liquor-soaked liver, I managed not to puke the day of or the day after!! So, like I said, it was a total success.
Since St. Pat's, I even ventured down to my favorite place in the whole wide world for a nice four day getaway. I speak of none other than Lake Cumberland in beautiful Nancy, Kentucky. My old man's family has had the same place down there for nye on fifty years (I totally stole that line from Reba). We even have a slip (or dock for you non-lake folks), which is hard to come by down there. It was a fabulously relaxing little trip, complete with fishing, quad riding, good food eating (made by me of course. I'm quite the little chef, I'll have you know!), a little beer drinking, and good uninterrupted sleep! I even caught a six pound small mouth bass, which of course I am having mounted to hang on my wall.
Other than that, not too much else to report. My birthday is fast approaching though, and I wanted to let you all know that I'm not offended by cash gifts. Just in case you were wondering.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Getting my ducks in a row on St. Patty's Day Eve
Well, I'm gearing up for everyone's favorite green tinged holiday. That's right folks, St. Patty's day is here again. Would you all believe me if I told you that this year is the first year I will be partaking in the St. Patty's day festivities? It's the truth, or tru dat for the slang-sayers out there. How is that possible you ask, what with my penchant for parties? The answer is simple..... I mother stinking work a lot. And this is the first year that the god's saw fit for St. Pat's to fall on my regular day off. Not only that, but I also have Wednesday off. A perfect built-in recovery day. If I didn't know any better, I'd say my participation this year was meant to be.
So, how does one prepare for St. Pat's, you ask? Well, in my strange little universe, it goes a little something like this. I started by laundering and laying out my St. Patteroo attire. It will consist of the following:
1. My most comfortable dark blue, multi-pocketed, elastic-waist having(what?! I hear green brewskis can cause bloating and gas!) jeans.
2. My favorite green john deere shirt that says, "I would trade my husband for a john deere tractor." (which is a true statement, by the way)
3. Cleverly decorated Saint Pat-hole sockies.
4. Comfortable, yet stylish green converse chuck taylors.
5. The sought after shamrock antennae.
6. Fashion forward shamrock-shaped sunglasses (my eyes are sure to be light sensitive from the green beer)
7. A fine, and eclectic array of St. Patrick's temporary tattoos (which came straight from Ireland....or Walmart. Your choice.)
8. Several stands of green beads made from the finest gems, that were mined from the coveted Dayton area....... fine gem mines.
9. And absolutely nothing underneath. Well except that I've decided to paint green shamrocks to cover my hoots and my coot, just to show my dedication.
Tonight, I plan to get a good night's sleep in order to be rested up and ready to go tomorrow. I will roll out of bed around noonish (I'm not quite hardcore enough to do the 9:00am bullcrap, unless you mean still going by 9:00am on the 18th!). Plus, I like to think of noon as my 9:00am anyhoo. I have my no-fun-having-but still willing to drive my drunken butt around-designated drivers set up. I've pledged to stick to beer all day, and will drink no hard alcohol no matter how nicely you ask me. And I think that about covers it.
What's the big deal you ask? It's just Saint Pat's day. It's only March 17th, you say? People do this crap every year and it's nothing new or exciting. You think I'm getting my hopes up that it will be something spectacular and life changing, only to be sorely disappointed by its mundaness. But worry naught, little buddies. All of my preparation is not to ready me for the Saint Patrick of Ireland Day, but rather to ready old Saint Pat for me. That's right, I said it. So look out green beer drinkers, here I come. You might even learn something.
I'll let you know how it goes.
So, how does one prepare for St. Pat's, you ask? Well, in my strange little universe, it goes a little something like this. I started by laundering and laying out my St. Patteroo attire. It will consist of the following:
1. My most comfortable dark blue, multi-pocketed, elastic-waist having(what?! I hear green brewskis can cause bloating and gas!) jeans.
2. My favorite green john deere shirt that says, "I would trade my husband for a john deere tractor." (which is a true statement, by the way)
3. Cleverly decorated Saint Pat-hole sockies.
4. Comfortable, yet stylish green converse chuck taylors.
5. The sought after shamrock antennae.
6. Fashion forward shamrock-shaped sunglasses (my eyes are sure to be light sensitive from the green beer)
7. A fine, and eclectic array of St. Patrick's temporary tattoos (which came straight from Ireland....or Walmart. Your choice.)
8. Several stands of green beads made from the finest gems, that were mined from the coveted Dayton area....... fine gem mines.
9. And absolutely nothing underneath. Well except that I've decided to paint green shamrocks to cover my hoots and my coot, just to show my dedication.
Tonight, I plan to get a good night's sleep in order to be rested up and ready to go tomorrow. I will roll out of bed around noonish (I'm not quite hardcore enough to do the 9:00am bullcrap, unless you mean still going by 9:00am on the 18th!). Plus, I like to think of noon as my 9:00am anyhoo. I have my no-fun-having-but still willing to drive my drunken butt around-designated drivers set up. I've pledged to stick to beer all day, and will drink no hard alcohol no matter how nicely you ask me. And I think that about covers it.
What's the big deal you ask? It's just Saint Pat's day. It's only March 17th, you say? People do this crap every year and it's nothing new or exciting. You think I'm getting my hopes up that it will be something spectacular and life changing, only to be sorely disappointed by its mundaness. But worry naught, little buddies. All of my preparation is not to ready me for the Saint Patrick of Ireland Day, but rather to ready old Saint Pat for me. That's right, I said it. So look out green beer drinkers, here I come. You might even learn something.
I'll let you know how it goes.
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