tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16274230666555771902024-03-05T11:13:55.557-08:00A Question Of WanderlustWanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-62278120551163633162010-03-25T07:19:00.000-07:002010-03-25T07:24:20.976-07:00Where the hell have I been?The last few months have turned into officially the longest funk I've had in over a decade. It's not been awesome and I'm a giant pansy. I realize this. <br /><br />Writing is just not happening for me. Maybe it's because I'm lazy, mostly I think it's just because I don't have anything to say that can't be said in 10 lines or less. <br /><br />However, if you feel the need to keep up with what I'm doing (or not doing), what I'm saying (or not saying) I do have a Twitter account @sharibooms. And I finally caved and started a tumblr. You can find me <a href="http://houseofbooms.tumblr.com/">here</a>. There you can hang out with my current Joy Division obsession, the voyage to my next tattoo, pictures of me and mine and other assorted hooey. <br /><br />I don't know if I'll come back to traditional blogging anytime soon. <br /><br />I know, go cry yourselves to sleep. Soak your pillows. <br /><br />The end has come.Mrs. Boomshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327877419678061633noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-14306789717465719322010-02-04T17:40:00.000-08:002010-02-04T17:54:43.817-08:00So I Grumbled... A Lot...I did. When the merger was happening I grumbled a lot. And I feel it was rightfully so because, to be frank, I had the best job in the world. I'm sure there are people out there that would disagree and argue with me that I was full of shit, but as it stood, I had the best job in the world. <br /><br />The best job in the world for me. <br /><br />And I was heartbroken. That job was the squishy landing pad that I went to every day in the months and few years following the death of my son. <br /><br />It wasn't my home away from home. It was just my other home. <br /><br />I always knew what I was walking into. There were no politics, only smiling faces. And while you can't like everybody, I have managed to be surrounded by truly kind and talented people for the last almost four years. <br /><br />I was crushed. <br /><br />It's begrudgingly that I admit to you that I am happy in my new job. I'm not only surrounded by those same wonderfully talented people, but I'm now surrounded by over 200 other talented people. <br /><br />Who all dress better than I do. <br /><br />They probably smell better too, I'm not sure, I think if I sniff them at this point, I might never get the chance to sniff again. <br /><br />I'm kidding. <br /><br />Mostly. <br /><br />So yeah, I was a little titty baby because I complained about losing the awesome place that I worked in where we could bring our dogs to work and we had a keg. Where we had a pool table and hobos in the alleyway. <br /><br />What's the trade off? What did I end up with?<br /><br />Well, I'm still a titty baby, but now, I'm a titty baby that does not have dogs in the office anymore. I do have the ability to watch TV on my Mac at my desk. And I no longer have a keg in the office, I now have four. No longer do I have a pool table in my office, I have to settle for ping pong. And hobos... Don't get me started. Less hobos, more strippers. We are right across the street from a strip club where the guys start lining up at 10:00 am to get inside. <br /><br />I also get to work with an awesome Motion Graphics and FX department. And I have resources galore and some crazy amazing clients, that I'm sure you know, with commercials that my company created that I know you've seen. <br /><br />That's me...<br /><br />Titty baby. <br /><br />PS. I have yet to find the zombie department. <br /><br />I'm pretty sure it has to exist though. <br /><br />And the Journey department. Or maybe Foreigner. <br /><br />I already found the techy nerdy guy that walks around in the Joy Division T-Shirt.Mrs. Boomshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327877419678061633noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-18970672801016881882010-01-20T17:05:00.000-08:002010-01-20T17:34:28.795-08:00T-Minus Two Days...Two days, that is what I have left in my current office. Monday we make the move to Hans and Dieter and I have to tell you, I'm not sufficiently medicated. <br /><br />Tomorrow I get half of the Blackberry/Laptop combo that is known as the "corporate umbilical cord". The other half comes next week, with orientations and training sessions and corporatey horseshit. <br /><br />I mean horseshit with the utmost of respect, because frankly, I used to be fully on board the corporatey horseshit train. Choo Choo mother fucker. <br /><br />Did I mention that on a normal day there are five of us in my office that do my particular job and today there was just me. Me, with my office in boxes and a nonfunctioning printer and copier. All the tools of success.<br /><br />So when my co-worker who hadn't answered a call since noon yesterday, who didn't call in before noon today told me that something "wasn't as high a priority as you think it is." after he sat on this huge "to do" list for a week that I was given LAST NIGHT, I dutifully informed him that I did indeed "have the priority straight, especially since we're down for two days moving our office (jackass)." He conceded. <br /><br />What I'm saying here is that, while I came back to blogging, I need leniency. Delicious,sweet leniency because I'm undermedicated, overworked and trying to determine the fine line between stomach irritation and ulcer. Have no worry, because tomorrow I will have that Blackberry and I will have webMD at my fingertips, even in the CAR, to determine if "hole in stomach lining" is worth adding to my resume. <br /><br />And have I mentioned that my hair is mostly detestable? Well it is, but I greatly believe my perspective on that will change after my doctor's appointment next week, because one way I always know that the doldrums have settled in is when I feel the need to shave my head and just start over.<br /><br />Which now that I have laid all of this out, I suppose that I should look at this whole office moving experience as shaving the head of my career and starting over. Only there will be no party in the back of my new mullet. Just business all over. <br /><br />Business all over. <br /><br />Choo choo mother fucker<br /><br />Ps... I promised a BoomTube Saturday night and I might have to move it to Friday. Jason and I have decided to get a hotel room at the casino and get away from the kids for a night before they end up on the side of a milk carton. <br /><br />Please don't call child protective services.Mrs. Boomshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327877419678061633noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-50171145955135139752010-01-08T12:29:00.000-08:002010-01-08T13:03:34.759-08:00Two Things...Two things happened today:<br /><br />1) I toured the company that bought us and what is to become our new office in two weeks. I can sum it up pretty well with this...<br /><br />Imagine a Post Modern, all white, Dutch German mental hospital where men named Dieter and Hans might be walking around in black turtlenecks and off in the distance you hear the faint sounds of screaming. Suddenly those sounds comes to an abrupt halt. "Vould you like some Ice Cream? Be careful sitting in the chair, it's made out of three sticks and a sea shell, but really, sit there and admire this painting. It was painted by a recluse from the Swiss Alps who lost his arms saving kittens from Nazis and overly enthastic PETA protestors known simply as "The Huggers". He paints completely with his toes. We discovered him on You Tube." says Dieter. Or maybe Hans. <br /><br />From now on I will merely refer to my company as Hans and Dieter. <br /><br />2) When I picked my son up today he did not stop talking for a solid hour and a half. He only paused for quick breaths. <br /><br />...And that is why I just opened a beer at 2:30 in the afternoon.<br /><br />The end.<br /><br />PS I think my office was decorated in Stanley Kubrick for Ikea.Mrs. Boomshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327877419678061633noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-59224285570644996562010-01-06T14:59:00.000-08:002010-01-06T16:26:19.023-08:00Christmas Cat, The Furry Little Gift That Keeps On Pooping.Two days before Christmas, Jason and I picked up the kids and took them to the animal shelter with the brilliant idea of getting a Christmas kitty. <br /><br />Well, actually, let's rewind for a second. <br /><br />For months we've been pestering Jason about getting a cat. My daughter would pull out the standard tween girl "awwww, look at the cute kitttttyyyy" whenever there was a cat in her eyeline. <br /><br />"No. No more pets.", he would plainly say. <br /><br />And then I would start in, "Yeah, but you love cats. They are so cuddly and cute."<br /><br />"You're not helping me here. No."<br /><br />Best of all, our son looooooves the titties. And he yells about it all the time. In the pet section of the discount store, "Mama, I love titties!"<br /><br />"So do I kid", announced the old man next to us as I weakly smiled, my eyes darting side to side to see who was listening to his reptitious decree. The old man stroking the cat toys a little too fondly. <br /><br />"Dada,I LOVE TITTIES!", he would announce, unprompted. <br /><br />"Me too son, me too... but NO!"<br /><br />And while The Dude does love the mammaries, the ones he so lovingly calls boo-boobs as he sticks his tiny hand down my shirt, it's really just his inability to pronounce the "K" sound that leads to these declarations of his amorous thoughts. <br /><br />So it is with all of this in the back of his mind, Jason tells me one cold night that we would be getting a Christmas kitty.<br /><br />I feel a little guilty repeatedly referring to him as the Christmas kitty, because this seems to denote some kind of miraculous gift or loving creature of our Lord. Like he may have been in the manger with sweet Baby Jesus. I'm quite sure that is not how his legacy will play out down the road after he kicks the feline bucket. <br /><br />Gathering up the kids, we told them only that we'd be going to help someone for the holidays. As we pulled in, Monkey Girl's face lit up, but she tried to contort it to her duck-lipped poker face. It's not very pokerish. Walking into the building we quickly realized that pretty much every other harried parent on the planet had the same idea and mostly piss poor moods. Which is totally not the good deed demeanor, just so you know. <br /><br />This is where I stop to ponder why exactly we picked this particular cat. Eying the bank of cats and all their cattiness felt a little surreal. Some were in rooms behind screen doors, like some wealthy little penthouse dwellers, others in stacked kennels, those were studio apartment cats. And then the ones that just randomly roamed and jumped on you - hobo kitties. Crazy ass hobo kitties. <br /><br />It was all a blur of fur and flying paws. Sweet little kitty come hither looks and others swatting at their friends paws and looking like they'd shank you with catnip scented shivs if you even thought about saying "here kitty kitty..."<br /><br />I noticed the Christmas kitty first. He looked me in the eye and perked up, making that little "brrrr" noise that indicates they want to love you. "Let me love you, nice lady" his bright little eyes flashed at me. I called everyone's attention to him and at that very moment he stood up and turned around and we all gasped simultaneously. Christmas kitty was missing a leg. <br /><br />Yeah, YOU try walking away from a homeless, three-legged, bright eyed brrrring kitty two days before Christmas with two kids mewing "aaaawwwohhh, poor little kitty cat." "Mama! I want titty! I want that titty. Mammmmmaaaa... TIIIITTTTTY!"<br /><br />"Give us that one, quick give us the tit- er, kitty with the three legs."<br /><br />And as I watched three-legged Christmas kitty start to swat at his neighbors feet, it all came flooding back to me. <br /><br />Cats are total dickheads. Nocternal assholes. Batters and jugglers of the noisiest trinkets hidden in dark corners in the night. <br /><br />But it was too late. The kids were locked in on him and the paperwork was nearly complete. <br /><br />So now here we are, the proud owners of a three-legged douchecat. <br /><br />Christmas came and went. <br /><br />New Year's Day came and went.<br /><br />And still, kitty has no name. We call him kitty. We call him Pauly Walnuts when we're putting in effort. Mostly? We call him A-hole or Jerkface. <br /><br />And even though I sound like the asshole here, you should know, we love kitty. And you have no idea what a complete doucharang you feel like when maybe you might toss a handicapped cat off the couch and he doesn't land on his feet. Instead he thunks, clumsily onto his little furry tail bone that still shows the regrowth of fur from where they shaved his butt when he his leg removal surgery. <br /><br />You will hate yourself and question your upbringing. <br /><br />And there isthe shame. Lots and lots of dirty shame. <br /><br />Until three-legged kitty attacks your head in the middle of the night and as you are torn from your peaceful slumber and trying to process the burning, the stinging and the sound of ripping flesh (and the PAIN, what the hell is going on?!) then his claws dig in deeper as his one back foot slips out from under him and he is clinging to your bleeding scalp for dear life. The writhing, the flailing, the caterwauling. No really, what the hell is happening to my head? And finally kitty falls off, but not before he struggles to catch himself all the way down your left side before he crashes in a furry lump and then morphs into a hobbling flash of crazy yowling.<br /><br />Handicapped kitty is no ninja. <br /><br />More like sloppy, drunk hobo.Mrs. Boomshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07327877419678061633noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-18974837312300378872010-01-06T06:50:00.000-08:002010-01-06T07:05:39.889-08:00Corporate Droneness, Not For The WeakSo I've been on this ridiculous, subconsciously imposed blogging hiatus, and it's come to the point where I either start again or we might find that the oven door doesn't close with my neck in the way. <br /><br />I was promoted at work and it turned my days and my mind to a pile of steaming... well, pile. <br /><br />In the midst of the promotion my awesome, family-like small company sold themselves to the highest bidder. The beginning of this new year has a decidedly more corporate existence. Which is decidedly not mega. <br /><br />I woke up yesterday and I looked at this strange brunette in the mirror. Getting into my car felt stiff and awkward and then I walked into a place that I had a hand in creating and it just felt foreign and down right weird. Then it was capped off with further unfamiliarity and depression catalysts when I filled out a horseshitty amount of corporatey paperwork and I felt my soul shrivel. The whole day was just entirely out of body. <br /><br />Out of body and bordering on splitting into multiple personalities. <br /><br />Like I need help with being weird. <br /><br />I guess what I'm saying is I HAVE to come back here and do this or... or... these stupid life insurance policies that I'm looking at will equal woohooo, partay, look who won the lottery day for the mister. <br /><br />It's this or living with the absence of a soul and identity. <br /><br />And when the hell did I start writing like an angsty, 14 year old honors English student's diary reads?<br /><br />Meh. <br /><br />Also? I haven't drawn a zombie in months. <br /><br />I'm dead inside.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-24949554645717170342009-11-03T07:37:00.000-08:002009-11-03T07:44:41.411-08:00I Don't Know If You've Heard, But My Job Is Kind of Scarce These DaysI just wrote the longest post I've wrote (I'm changing this to written and in my mind going "WTF is wrong with me", but want you to see what a grammatical jerk I am right now) in a long time, but it wasn't here. It was at my other blog.<br /><br />Mostly? I don't feel like writing about my job and possible lack thereof all over again. And really? Cutting and pasting it just what a chump would do.<br /><br />And while I mostly try to own my chumpness, I'm going to save you from it. Me and my chumpness that is and just allow you to either skip it or go <a href="http://houseofbooms.blogspot.com/2009/11/halloween-is-over-and-now-i-have-to-ask.html">here</a> to read all about it. <br /><br />This has given me a really good excuse to use the word chump repeatedly. Because like so many other good terms from the 80's, that one has gone to the wayside, like jive turkey. Which, I'm mostly sure, is a synonym for chump. <br /><br />Speaking of the 80's, SYFY (so stupid SciFi, really) has been showing the original V mini-series in a marathon the last few days and there is nothing chumpish or jive turkey like about that shit.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-46089081871943576722009-10-27T14:13:00.000-07:002009-10-27T14:14:09.112-07:00And now? A very "special" Christmas postToday I am stuffed full of Kansas City barbecue goodness and it feels like the kick off to the holiday season for me, because I'm THAT full. In arranging to feed my office, I may have also picked up a huge pumpkin pie and chocolate cake to get a jump start on the over-eating that is up ahead us. Combine that with the pumpkin bread I made last night and I'm almost ready to jump into the spirit of the season head first.<br /><br />Almost.<br /><br />All of this leads me to our annual holiday card. I started thinking of ideas for our card this year and realized we didn't do a picture card last year. In looking through the pictures I took for the card last year I see why. I really had little to work with.<br /><br />First? Fail.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-KWcenCiJEfKkeOw0YyfyQxeK5Xya5khZLtBmspFT2OrC0UJShzNlfOdtocfjijxQhmB6-x_psgp3zD38ibzeNTjErQqhNGM1WUjPGCjLaOqOhgRo_am2RCiMIrrlGNoRCtiC9aWjwkE/s1600-h/Christmas+Pola1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-KWcenCiJEfKkeOw0YyfyQxeK5Xya5khZLtBmspFT2OrC0UJShzNlfOdtocfjijxQhmB6-x_psgp3zD38ibzeNTjErQqhNGM1WUjPGCjLaOqOhgRo_am2RCiMIrrlGNoRCtiC9aWjwkE/s400/Christmas+Pola1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397387515816426706" /></a><br /><br />Then? Double fail. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvvmZC0BQDqPl1_8MQ9bi1InS42QnIf3jZ_O-Ncse2jIZC04ncqZl3etyc5yAfr8z8zjxmHZ5jJs0h-Cf44j16BAXQ57sLA2WAqpvn86mObmIYykV2yiPc8qee55Myw1K9_g98isaFCBg/s1600-h/Christmas+Pola2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvvmZC0BQDqPl1_8MQ9bi1InS42QnIf3jZ_O-Ncse2jIZC04ncqZl3etyc5yAfr8z8zjxmHZ5jJs0h-Cf44j16BAXQ57sLA2WAqpvn86mObmIYykV2yiPc8qee55Myw1K9_g98isaFCBg/s400/Christmas+Pola2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397387513673963282" /></a><br /><br />Oooh, look. Half-way there.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2m7aje1ihWS3PJquiR1-Wod16Pz1JAe41SpsPj_r92BHgvzO0zndTBtHkHF6TqAEXHCrF4Pl3u_JY4iRubjjp13kWteL3qg9g4ERxbH8FUQ1zXJgFuntbim6OfxvozF7fCumMypPiJI/s1600-h/Christmas+Pola3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2m7aje1ihWS3PJquiR1-Wod16Pz1JAe41SpsPj_r92BHgvzO0zndTBtHkHF6TqAEXHCrF4Pl3u_JY4iRubjjp13kWteL3qg9g4ERxbH8FUQ1zXJgFuntbim6OfxvozF7fCumMypPiJI/s400/Christmas+Pola3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397387506930047010" /></a><br /><br />And, um, no. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUIGO25HdI0re5h_MZ1lyL3lB1MzNIVIpT7GLCwlTaE8hxYH6m-a7Nk9XVcItr-wcvohoSgi7TZcryVPINRn1J9XVn8DXi93n3jyIEdGYMi7jS-_fVPKBHN3t4kDhRXBmU7khXIetVDTM/s1600-h/Christmas+Pola4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUIGO25HdI0re5h_MZ1lyL3lB1MzNIVIpT7GLCwlTaE8hxYH6m-a7Nk9XVcItr-wcvohoSgi7TZcryVPINRn1J9XVn8DXi93n3jyIEdGYMi7jS-_fVPKBHN3t4kDhRXBmU7khXIetVDTM/s400/Christmas+Pola4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397387497727891346" /></a><br /><br />Thinking back to the year before that, I did pictures of the kids as gifts and it took about 50 shots to get one workable shot. <br /><br />Jason is going to dig out the Christmas stuff this weekend so we can have our photo shoot. <br /><br />Wish me luck. Because, as you can see, I need it. Bad. <br /><br />In the meantime, I'm in love with this video. Researching hair colors brought me to it. <br /><br />Don't ask. Just enjoy. <br /><br /><br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tAOcRFSiP2c&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tAOcRFSiP2c&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object>Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-5105923754870351602009-10-22T11:03:00.001-07:002009-10-22T11:04:16.811-07:00I wrote a whole post about poop and I thought who would like it better than you guys?No seriously. A whole <a href="http://houseofbooms.blogspot.com/2009/10/we-kind-of-felt-like-we-should-have.html">post</a> about poop. And there are even pictures. None of which are of poop. <br /><br />So, you know, enjoy.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-91830023515812622862009-10-20T09:07:00.000-07:002009-10-20T09:16:42.927-07:00The Walking DeadContrary to popular belief I have not, in fact, been bludgeoned, shoved into the trunk of a car, driven out into the woods and dumped into a deep hole in the ground wrapped in a bloody sheet. <br /><br />It's just not true. <br /><br />See? Here I am typing. Rigor mortis would never let me type this freely. <br /><br />So what exactly have I been up to? <br /><br />That is a really good question and if you think you came up with that one all by your little self, you are dead wrong. Hence my "contrary to popular belief" opener. <br /><br />Truth is, I got sick to death of the internet. After two solid years of blogging, I was just over it. <br /><br />I didn't want to write another post, tweet another tweet or design another blog header. <br /><br />I was tired of everything I created being made with the help of a keyboard and a mouse. I didn't want to spend one more evening with my laptop, caring what faceless people were doing. <br /><br />So I put my hands on the canvas and paintbrushes that were dormant in my closet. I pulled out the piles of fabric that lay untouched. And? I taught myself to knit.<br /><br />And did you know that there is relatively no drama involved in any of that, but a tremendous sense of self and accomplishment. <br /><br />Yeah, weird, huh? <br /><br />So what did I do? I created another blog. This time I'm doing it along with my husband because the two of us are never idle. There is always music to be made, things to be painted, old crap to be thrifted and projects to be created. <br /><br />I hope you <a href="http://houseofbooms.blogspot.com/">enjoy</a>. <br /><br />Chance are, you'll probably be bored. And I'm fine with that.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-51789253357430757712009-09-17T08:09:00.000-07:002009-09-17T08:44:36.793-07:00Jenny Lawson Wants To Sleep With My Husband Or She Wants Me To Perform A Prison Style Shanking For Her, Either Way I'm FineThe other day I noticed that my husband had tweeted something about how he didn't understand why everyone would hate <a href="http://thebloggess.com/">The Bloggess</a>. I was a little perplexed and told him that was ridiculous, who would hate her? But then she responded:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhdRuIriM7C0_TiXZTs-3iU22O9dDjprJZBtIYdCpWcHse5Ksh1r0ZrrPRColkFkHxH7_GcWFzQ4uDM1fDTwL9ysXLcXCNp-ncMfRYkc9nYmE3dhrO3SuxgrKIAY3AMhvp2M9_kDVBSI0/s1600-h/@JBCheatingBloggess.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhdRuIriM7C0_TiXZTs-3iU22O9dDjprJZBtIYdCpWcHse5Ksh1r0ZrrPRColkFkHxH7_GcWFzQ4uDM1fDTwL9ysXLcXCNp-ncMfRYkc9nYmE3dhrO3SuxgrKIAY3AMhvp2M9_kDVBSI0/s400/@JBCheatingBloggess.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382454619217080146" /></a><br /><br />Moments later I get this in my inbox:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Pz7gGH6gTcuLVOTfrDpsixCmzqUBsJKBuctP6iI62Jly79zZwptXi7dpqUoiuBxu4nKCH1CgYgjFO8KFI26OyH7iALdI7TWLqaLHsXj1wxe2yng4Aa2Tsj331aH4AiH0YZ5sRnSkfZM/s1600-h/TheBloggess.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 228px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Pz7gGH6gTcuLVOTfrDpsixCmzqUBsJKBuctP6iI62Jly79zZwptXi7dpqUoiuBxu4nKCH1CgYgjFO8KFI26OyH7iALdI7TWLqaLHsXj1wxe2yng4Aa2Tsj331aH4AiH0YZ5sRnSkfZM/s400/TheBloggess.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382454891016754898" /></a><br /><br />So I DM'd the mister and told him she was following me all of the sudden and he said "I told her that you like to shank people." Totally true and fair enough. But I was onto her (click to read):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_jMSC3s2cXUOgCBVYfTmmHI0XF0E-KjJjfct0lEPOPPHjjITcmkA-pgykba5LHHiWd48psRxBzoInjriDqpyMFAo7sxEwmpG0m-7bXw6LU6FdG7LgEsQqrB4Z2nl8Dtpucz7xq9PRjI/s1600-h/Cheating+Husband+Twitter+BB.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 193px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_jMSC3s2cXUOgCBVYfTmmHI0XF0E-KjJjfct0lEPOPPHjjITcmkA-pgykba5LHHiWd48psRxBzoInjriDqpyMFAo7sxEwmpG0m-7bXw6LU6FdG7LgEsQqrB4Z2nl8Dtpucz7xq9PRjI/s400/Cheating+Husband+Twitter+BB.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382455446260919922" /></a><br /><br />And then she was quiet. <br /><br />Until today:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyZQj9gcIbmvpbr_WMSdIEtxkQ65mYT8FEs8tL7ej2DcFpzJZ1xZdL0u8IMUbQAwQjIjIJSYIil9GgncjdEQRyAbxlL8kNtozbralB7S7M9NLuq1gSvYpEOfEJotO8PzWyxhbHJ2USDA/s1600-h/CheatingBloggess.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyZQj9gcIbmvpbr_WMSdIEtxkQ65mYT8FEs8tL7ej2DcFpzJZ1xZdL0u8IMUbQAwQjIjIJSYIil9GgncjdEQRyAbxlL8kNtozbralB7S7M9NLuq1gSvYpEOfEJotO8PzWyxhbHJ2USDA/s400/CheatingBloggess.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382455951364054514" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Y0o7KMIvnPlSJSO6CmOphtZlTUOvdqpOwLxZTktWIkWjhr29JMrrzHNTacOI3Ku0ln_o98fqICbfVcraoCWW0GZrSkw_fTSp_Bbhn1xMDpNoBgFo2Ku7FKTBdPERYZgNllcuc67P8R4/s1600-h/Ask+The+Bloggess.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 236px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Y0o7KMIvnPlSJSO6CmOphtZlTUOvdqpOwLxZTktWIkWjhr29JMrrzHNTacOI3Ku0ln_o98fqICbfVcraoCWW0GZrSkw_fTSp_Bbhn1xMDpNoBgFo2Ku7FKTBdPERYZgNllcuc67P8R4/s400/Ask+The+Bloggess.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382455943160406722" /></a><br /><br />If my husband comes home smelling like Crazy and Wolverines, I'm going to be very upset. However, if this is just a ploy to get to me and my shanking abilities, well... All you had to do was ask because I won't hesitate to cut a bitch. <br /><br />Okay, that's a lie. I totally hesitate, every time, but that is just so I make sure I hit a major organ. <br /><br />If you're going to do it, do it right. <br /><br />All of this really happened, except for the part where she wants to sleep with my husband, I made that part up. However, I know the rest of you do. I'm onto you.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-77504274720353814062009-09-15T13:03:00.000-07:002009-09-16T07:31:24.704-07:00Patrick Swayze May Not Be Kicking Ass In Tight Pants Anymore, But I Can Still Be PickyWhen the mister and I were at lunch today we overheard a news story about someone being held hostage for 18 years. And he was all, "how can you be held hostage for 18 years"?<br /><br />And that's when I said, "Easy, I've held you hostage for the last five. You call it marriage, I call it "hostage negotiation."<br /><br />He laughed so he didn't believe me, but I have terms if anyone wants to hear them. My "husband" is being held hostage until at least one of the following things happens:<br /><br />This man gets his own show: <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwdSLdD45SHfRZunaTbRgDsP8Nsjgl41596IibKjHDwilCCq9sIWP107-LvuEgX5r-o8GUMrnN7TX6rlUvSiz1goua98Ke-Euod_qhixo1nBM0TD7Z17GM7gWCCOHE5QpKt7dLYUIXao4/s1600-h/scott-bakula.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 289px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwdSLdD45SHfRZunaTbRgDsP8Nsjgl41596IibKjHDwilCCq9sIWP107-LvuEgX5r-o8GUMrnN7TX6rlUvSiz1goua98Ke-Euod_qhixo1nBM0TD7Z17GM7gWCCOHE5QpKt7dLYUIXao4/s400/scott-bakula.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381791181011560770" /></a><br /><br />or<br /><br /><br />They bring this show back with Sam still traveling: <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSKmzV_6z09WqKZqY4nsXYAyaFC4Gh6JDMaQUfNoC7qOVUSGmmhbv4xuF9wbKnA2poYBTpZfMdoYRwEhlbToGqCjReIwkJqymIy5_2r80TUSKj7bP4wFs3ba4K8DAe3XYvHWB-lkXYkAQ/s1600-h/quantum-leap.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 366px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSKmzV_6z09WqKZqY4nsXYAyaFC4Gh6JDMaQUfNoC7qOVUSGmmhbv4xuF9wbKnA2poYBTpZfMdoYRwEhlbToGqCjReIwkJqymIy5_2r80TUSKj7bP4wFs3ba4K8DAe3XYvHWB-lkXYkAQ/s400/quantum-leap.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381791169986337938" /></a><br /><br />or finally:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirtEM-oUyNTAGyVRmBzjeIhcX9kXerMjM_zzgh6_CvV8Nfol8Tc2xxK0YoxGtVXjVaY_CzgBG8SzoO7lm9WBW_qJ7FyirFx6BrCvkxQxRyRJOFFYbKXQnx5OdCqIZu68yUtV2zw5krEgo/s1600-h/airwolf.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirtEM-oUyNTAGyVRmBzjeIhcX9kXerMjM_zzgh6_CvV8Nfol8Tc2xxK0YoxGtVXjVaY_CzgBG8SzoO7lm9WBW_qJ7FyirFx6BrCvkxQxRyRJOFFYbKXQnx5OdCqIZu68yUtV2zw5krEgo/s400/airwolf.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381791161070504306" /></a><br /><br />That's right, somebody needs to reanimate at least half of this picture and put a zombie ass Airwolf on the air. Mostly because there is nothing wrong with a reanimated Ernest Borgnine that I can figure out. <br /><br />I feel the way you are looking at me and I don't know WHAT your problem is. <br /><br />Oh and he's not REALLY being held hostage. I think he likes it here and the idea of these shows being on the air. <br /><br />Also? There are not enough shows with eye patches these days.<br /><br /><br />***<br /><br />I kind of think they missed the real opportunity with the movie Roadhouse, because Patrick Swayze and Sam Elliot wearing tight pants and kicking beer bottles out of ruffians hands was legendary.<br /><br />If they just added a bearded Kenny Loggins to the crime fighting team we would have had the BEST action hero trio in history.<br /><br /><br /><br />PS: Evidently I have to clarify, just because Ernest Borgnine is alive doesn't mean he doesn't need to be reanimated. Plus? Who wants to spell out Jan Micheal Vincent all the time? I have to use this joke more than once, you know.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-60584094200687991232009-09-14T07:45:00.000-07:002009-09-14T08:11:30.992-07:00Team Jake Needs To Kick Team Eddie's AZZ, I'm All Team Louis and Can't Believe I'm Even Bothering...Friday afternoon, I picked up my daughter's copy of "Twilight". Yes, I wanted to beat myself with the book. <br /><br />And, two days later, I finished off the second book "New Moon". <br /><br />My thoughts:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0fMeT0yC9_kbB7UAnMv02OBwID4Emh68zHkbsug9RPYm6At21KoaQZbfakEHX6r9I7Dkn-tJTVHoeaA7hP29gN3cEFuYGU0Rk_M9NBooylYoQh0mZH6TaT3bmXtY3NI89j9YX1wycQ8/s1600-h/Edward_Cullen.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0fMeT0yC9_kbB7UAnMv02OBwID4Emh68zHkbsug9RPYm6At21KoaQZbfakEHX6r9I7Dkn-tJTVHoeaA7hP29gN3cEFuYGU0Rk_M9NBooylYoQh0mZH6TaT3bmXtY3NI89j9YX1wycQ8/s400/Edward_Cullen.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381337617730186402" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdpkxXWQ-bea9e0TduF86htOa-peABgW5N8L87JXxIsS1fo1GJNXL8Y2FlTwfs5OmRSQ_foXw1K7iyOQKPXRS05t-IxoMoTCA-ZTPxeEU7l8xO8MgUPmoUp8T8190ZD1Zq6nhkNYN1cQ/s1600-h/vampirebill.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdpkxXWQ-bea9e0TduF86htOa-peABgW5N8L87JXxIsS1fo1GJNXL8Y2FlTwfs5OmRSQ_foXw1K7iyOQKPXRS05t-IxoMoTCA-ZTPxeEU7l8xO8MgUPmoUp8T8190ZD1Zq6nhkNYN1cQ/s400/vampirebill.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381337372155795922" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy35fNus1Afr5BsD1s0mw8q5Kle0XESdkOsRnsP86Je4Lt8qTQuzXcK2spvIy-_6z8oG22NcxTuyZNzvbtcDP1bFkR2Fc54zppR3Iido2xz7UIMnTw328jxH5mi3K92lJpW7voOGCSl_Y/s1600-h/louis.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 274px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy35fNus1Afr5BsD1s0mw8q5Kle0XESdkOsRnsP86Je4Lt8qTQuzXcK2spvIy-_6z8oG22NcxTuyZNzvbtcDP1bFkR2Fc54zppR3Iido2xz7UIMnTw328jxH5mi3K92lJpW7voOGCSl_Y/s400/louis.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381335664317002210" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM5YKuezDsrsTv535-m169YzYf95SQPJvstxf0arod_5TC5rDcdGiPy-WZhT2Rvy6bo7wS58U6dVXa39bDDUF9vrja6239mNRtTz1KrT8UwcOkzq2C2OxkMoCZSgl6Y5w5HKNbB6RbK_M/s1600-h/Eric.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM5YKuezDsrsTv535-m169YzYf95SQPJvstxf0arod_5TC5rDcdGiPy-WZhT2Rvy6bo7wS58U6dVXa39bDDUF9vrja6239mNRtTz1KrT8UwcOkzq2C2OxkMoCZSgl6Y5w5HKNbB6RbK_M/s400/Eric.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381335662322511346" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8dLFaiqOVQRq2Uo3bRg52BiEWr8PRsloLj3TT2SC_XXr_jyXELbRtG_OYpQ8vMNDW3M3AdbFkBbkMbkkFq_mMNSLeyxyj2rSgZOzGY6g99RwCkjDhoTu8TYyDJ1h5JAUSxrOnQDSLZ_I/s1600-h/Lestat.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8dLFaiqOVQRq2Uo3bRg52BiEWr8PRsloLj3TT2SC_XXr_jyXELbRtG_OYpQ8vMNDW3M3AdbFkBbkMbkkFq_mMNSLeyxyj2rSgZOzGY6g99RwCkjDhoTu8TYyDJ1h5JAUSxrOnQDSLZ_I/s400/Lestat.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381335658075922690" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzSVdHx8FvoVUldX31LqEeARFMypHGK_2GlagLJ9Lil_-seHoHAoOB8aBGG3a2eTPHbxOR01CchYOvNUeMcpSqMS0eTGheF-cc-0l8VXwJAm4ZbJwqRWMpz_2EIg1qfWmpjMtEI2mGsU0/s1600-h/soylent.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 182px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzSVdHx8FvoVUldX31LqEeARFMypHGK_2GlagLJ9Lil_-seHoHAoOB8aBGG3a2eTPHbxOR01CchYOvNUeMcpSqMS0eTGheF-cc-0l8VXwJAm4ZbJwqRWMpz_2EIg1qfWmpjMtEI2mGsU0/s400/soylent.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381335652607310690" /></a>Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-37105159168301119302009-09-10T08:27:00.000-07:002009-09-10T11:29:00.866-07:00My Black Hole Has Been A Very Busy PlaceIf you all think that I've fallen off the face of the Earth, it's because I have. And then? I just spent the last five minutes reading a blog post by none other than DOOCE. A blog post where she name drops and the best part is she name dropped Kourtney Kardashian and Peter Frampton. To which I can only say that I would be more impressed if you could please have an encounter with James Taylor, whom I'm positive, because of his mellow stage presence, must be a royal bitch backstage. Can you imagine the rage issues that must be buried there?<br /><br />Now, you're probably all, why the heyll would she be reading DOOCE? And yes, that woman has enough people reading her, she doesn't need my help. And I assure you, it's quite simple. Last week I received an email from someone who was absolutely positive that I had emailed <a href="http://dooce.com/2009/09/01/greatest-email-history-internet">DOOCE herself</a>. Reading the email, I was totally perplexed. So then I went to check it out for myself and let me assure you. There is someone else out there that would rant and rave using such descriptive means as shivs and zombies and I don't even know them! <br /><br />I was also impressed that someone, anyone, would think that I could pen something so volatile and well crafted. But alas, no. And let me clear the air, I have not emailed DOOCE either. <br /><br />Well not recently or with malintent. WINK! And yes, I make up my own words all the time. Enjoy. <br /><br />***<br /><br />As I told you before I also had the pleasure of meeting (and excuse me while I drop the best name bomb of all) <a href="http://yo-mamasblog.blogspot.com/">Miss Yvonne</a> from Yo Mama's Blog. And she's everything I hoped she would be. I have low expectations, easy to meet. <br /><br />She far exceeded them though. And I should have written this sooner so that I could remember all the complete bullshit nonsense we talked about. I recall there was pussy on pedestals and bags of water hanging with pennies in them. And none of that was even slightly made up. <br /><br />We met at a place where the frozen margarita machine was invented. They tell you this and then they back peddle and say well there was a slushy machine before the margarita machine but we were the first ones to put BOOZE into a slushy! And I'm all, wow, just wow and thank you. <br /><br />And because of those frozen margaritas in which they put a sangria swirl, oh heyll no, you are not playing fair you margarita nazi's... We started lunch like this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63tjbAYHAqo8OCIKaet2_iUGQ3CaQNlcKvvMEC8JcJJNcJlRJThL6ENHJUlU0azDzcReXXgNnpNIaag_yjTtT3n2Dxw38U5FRthsXgDWdxML5kG1A9FMr012DbXT8Y5eIkS9UoWZmTuY/s1600-h/Miss+Yvonne+Normal.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 282px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63tjbAYHAqo8OCIKaet2_iUGQ3CaQNlcKvvMEC8JcJJNcJlRJThL6ENHJUlU0azDzcReXXgNnpNIaag_yjTtT3n2Dxw38U5FRthsXgDWdxML5kG1A9FMr012DbXT8Y5eIkS9UoWZmTuY/s320/Miss+Yvonne+Normal.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379865893746847426" /></a><br /><br />But look, I'm lying, because do you see all those glasses lined up? Right, we were totally faking it! It took us forever to get a shot where we weren't doing this (and we're not sneezing, swear):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAsetrHR_7s-8B3Hg2xKf0dDIOvoHXsuSN5v6_6eTBwDuFcUgGD7_8o7KjidLuCDxmCxuooM_VE8sBvrQFicYE74NNj4FavZbuwMm35G36X56ddzQKOhHlK_21EN2_bloV4Gmgl8NQX3M/s1600-h/Miss+Yvonne+Sneezing.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 262px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAsetrHR_7s-8B3Hg2xKf0dDIOvoHXsuSN5v6_6eTBwDuFcUgGD7_8o7KjidLuCDxmCxuooM_VE8sBvrQFicYE74NNj4FavZbuwMm35G36X56ddzQKOhHlK_21EN2_bloV4Gmgl8NQX3M/s320/Miss+Yvonne+Sneezing.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379866224011568338" /></a><br /><br />And do you see how pink I am? I am so boozy flushed and had just laughed my ass off so much, it was embarrassing... For everyone else around us. Our waiter was totally bamboozled and mostly walked up right at Miss Yvonne was doing things like yelling pussy or spitting food across the table or I was hand gesturing REALLLLY BIG and about cracked him in the nuts. <br /><br />Also? I ate a great brisket taco and I'm not even using that as code for something else. <br /><br />But see, then Miss Yvonne busted out the gifts. And I got all dorked out.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB05lrbTgyNgXIlWD6bUTxJSgQ45CYg90Kejly4ed8X3ifdM9fnEKDqeFzrS_e1CqwL1_Wbnj86oz12iyzbr0q35CwoH5lHhMxP93oZm83hCKxLAUhSceXBhbaQIyyIRbOFdgr79xh39c/s1600-h/JourneyMode.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB05lrbTgyNgXIlWD6bUTxJSgQ45CYg90Kejly4ed8X3ifdM9fnEKDqeFzrS_e1CqwL1_Wbnj86oz12iyzbr0q35CwoH5lHhMxP93oZm83hCKxLAUhSceXBhbaQIyyIRbOFdgr79xh39c/s320/JourneyMode.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379866984099153906" /></a><br /><br />I assure you, you would be that dumbstruck if you had all the crotches of every member of Journey that close to your frozen booze-laden slushy flushy face too. <br /><br />But seriously? This right here? <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZAqbkh1awAcNgj_otWMdDqvdPEct407MLwEtNPuQZn8V8XKPAIdbYqglxP3x3i-Ev9DqM3EF-lcLPA-As1sITAVuhyhDPUSS1tkbBssyewTyVYyWQzKTbZac1wbosaHAF_BEl9Up3Fs/s1600-h/Backstage.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZAqbkh1awAcNgj_otWMdDqvdPEct407MLwEtNPuQZn8V8XKPAIdbYqglxP3x3i-Ev9DqM3EF-lcLPA-As1sITAVuhyhDPUSS1tkbBssyewTyVYyWQzKTbZac1wbosaHAF_BEl9Up3Fs/s320/Backstage.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379867399871668034" /></a><br /><br />Yeah, that was a total jinx! <br /><br />Miss Yvonne, you and your signs are total jerk faces. You know... if signs had faces. I never saw backstage! Not even close. However, that might be one of the best pictures ever taken of me. Mostly because I'm pointing at the funbags with a total look of glee on my face. Oh and because she's a really good photographer. Whatever!<br /><br />***<br /><br />I also have had the pleasure of helping a fellow blogger get a <a href="http://www.slouchingmom.com/">new look</a>. <br /> <br />I hope she loves it! She was a pleasure to work with. <br /><br />So there you go. I've been very, very busy people. Not-penning manifesto like emails to DOOCE (all caps!), posing with photoshopped righteousness glued to paint sticks and prettying up the internet. <br /><br />I'm pooped.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-65105250046926351292009-09-03T06:56:00.000-07:002009-09-03T08:03:15.722-07:00Ralph Macchio Better Get To Working Out, This Barrel Ain't Going To Jump ItselfI'm coming to understand AND come to terms with the fact that:<br /><br />1) I'm totally misunderstood<br />2) I'm obviously a genius<br />3) I'm a totally misunderstood, obvious genius that is about to rock your world<br /><br />So now you're probably sitting there and you're all, "Well yeah, she's misunderstood. I mean have you read this shit? Who WOULD understand it." And to that I say, "Dude, quit being a dick. No one likes you anyway!"<br /><br />Many times in my mostly adult life, I've had dreams that play out just like movies. And if I had half a brain I would have woken up and instantly put pen to paper (because this is obviously 1950) and written a screenplay right then and there. <br /><br />But I never have. <br /><br />Last night though, it wasn't a movie that I created. I created two television shows, right in my little head. <br /><br />No, that was not the Earth moving, that was you, totally impressed by me. Quit acting like it's something new. <br /><br />In retelling the dreams to my husband this morning I sort of realize that I've got one total winner and one kind of loser. And chances are, the loser would be the one to make it to the air waves. But seriously, I'm about to lay some wicked awesome on you. <br /><br />Right. <br /><br />Now. <br /><br />So the Awesome Show would just absolutely HAVE to be on G4. It has kind of a Ninja Warrior-esque feel to it, but get this:<br /><br />It's a dance competition. There are TONS of those right now, I know. However, this one has a twist. It's a dance-off in a Karate Kid tournament like setting but? And this is the best part. It's played out on Donkey Kong like levels.<br /><br />I'm talking ladders, monkeys, barrels. Holy shitness! Hosted of course by Ralph Macchio looking JUST LIKE THIS:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2HFS_HIN4giNKyGXgS6NCNK4lYyLCpa2hTXPw0go8hTRsWymhXWO-IeE-4Vbl7-XpFYwWzAsgIvRnLsCE-wFSuJe_QDJoeXyrBbDb4nsexhafOqH9OgH5vHe5pv3yLIN-yZLvTPrrsBw/s1600-h/ralph-macchio.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2HFS_HIN4giNKyGXgS6NCNK4lYyLCpa2hTXPw0go8hTRsWymhXWO-IeE-4Vbl7-XpFYwWzAsgIvRnLsCE-wFSuJe_QDJoeXyrBbDb4nsexhafOqH9OgH5vHe5pv3yLIN-yZLvTPrrsBw/s400/ralph-macchio.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377246373688360754" /></a><br /><br />Well a hybrid of that actually. Because I want to take his old man face on the right and put the stupid young kid expression on the left on it and top it off with that headband. I still want to call him Daniel LaRusso, but I'm pretty sure we have to let him be Ralph to host the show. <br /><br />Yes I do scare myself, why are you asking?<br /><br />And Mr. Macchio, we have to call him this, he's mature now, will be totally shouting at you from a set that looks a little like this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijEc3kLfjmuWO1hvNjQ7sZiLYnNIx3xZ7R2doYkgE1RCHaX0q7usgRNR4GTEqGmiCqTzu0im72yju_70bOfeE1W34iYSkE9KoSzgGXthW5xBcIhbQtWJoeGnAvhe30X9ys6Bqbtzx0L3o/s1600-h/20090512-Donkey_Kong.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijEc3kLfjmuWO1hvNjQ7sZiLYnNIx3xZ7R2doYkgE1RCHaX0q7usgRNR4GTEqGmiCqTzu0im72yju_70bOfeE1W34iYSkE9KoSzgGXthW5xBcIhbQtWJoeGnAvhe30X9ys6Bqbtzx0L3o/s200/20090512-Donkey_Kong.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377247137951907954" /></a><br /><br />Think of the lead up to the premiere of each season. I mean, COME ON! <br /><br />So like those conceptual geniusi (more than one genius for you non-geniusi) that NEVER make it very far on Project Runway but seem to tromp all over, making foam on everything on Top Chef, I get that this could take a little getting used to. Fucking A Badness like this doesn't happen every day. <br /><br />Well... it does in my head. <br /><br />So, to soothe the masses, I'm pretty sure that CBS is going to pick up my next show that I dream-concepted and add it to their Monday night line up. Because with Two And A Half Men and How I Met Your Mother I picture y'all to be watching:<br /><br />"Stacy and the No Shirt Guy"<br /><br />Of course there is a spin on this right? I don't dream-concept the mundane. Stacy is ONLY in the premiere episode. The main character is No Shirt Guy. His name is actually something like Mike or Bill... maybe even Ryan. The pilot episode is Ryan on a first date with Stacy and through a series of mishaps and no real fault of his own he ends up with no shirt on. <br /><br />And in every episode he ends up on some date that was set up in a quirky manner and he always ends up being No Shirt Guy.<br /><br />I know.<br /><br />Not as awesome and frankly I'm confused, but whatever. I'm sure it'll fly. <br /><br />So there you go. <br /><br />I am a freaking genius.<br /><br />And just to help you get a visual here, I'm giving you Ryan Reynolds shirtless, who obviously ended up this way through a series of high jinx mishaps (because he has on a snorkel and he's supposed to be on a date, High Jinx)... Or I just Googled "Ryan Reynolds Shirtless" and was then overwhelmed by the results. Seriously? Y'all need to find something to do. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6sQBQ1ebbigvC0AE7B4baGhVXTg7Voctn4Ird2C-a8CUJ1yTpAzurzAQjBs-MH82BVOuXjxrIVqrTezyv1-XNmncu8J8IlM9WUrtDCkcQ_YTgM146puaShppVQhgGNCq0gWVrnxM_w_g/s1600-h/ryan-reynolds-shirtless-entertaiment-weekly.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 276px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6sQBQ1ebbigvC0AE7B4baGhVXTg7Voctn4Ird2C-a8CUJ1yTpAzurzAQjBs-MH82BVOuXjxrIVqrTezyv1-XNmncu8J8IlM9WUrtDCkcQ_YTgM146puaShppVQhgGNCq0gWVrnxM_w_g/s320/ryan-reynolds-shirtless-entertaiment-weekly.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377247769119027986" /></a><br /><br />Uh yeah, I think we know that Ol' Mr. Macchio might not make this cut, eh? <br /><br />Ryan, put a shirt on. GROSH! Sigh. He's not half as good now as he was on Two Guys, A Girl and A Pizza Place, right?<br /><br />Oh and to please you guys too. Here is his wife shirtless:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQdzjXH0MCm_OO3XxjWIMVvfnb8tPm8WX0gJ9jUo_JPk0caCkA_gYkWx2sh09Y6H9Mtd0Qh52si8oV9BsFfUc21uRQGLTrV-PHAkjR8wod3F-eGBTf5cNNRFPTabTon8_EI6QNTaIGWog/s1600-h/scarlett_johansson_4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQdzjXH0MCm_OO3XxjWIMVvfnb8tPm8WX0gJ9jUo_JPk0caCkA_gYkWx2sh09Y6H9Mtd0Qh52si8oV9BsFfUc21uRQGLTrV-PHAkjR8wod3F-eGBTf5cNNRFPTabTon8_EI6QNTaIGWog/s320/scarlett_johansson_4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377251529606042514" /></a>Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-54732429863558304952009-09-02T12:18:00.000-07:002009-09-02T12:25:37.736-07:00A Conversation With The MisterMy phone rings:<br /><br />I answer.<br /><br />"Hey"<br /><br />Mister: "Hey, I have a question."<br /><br />"Uh, okay, shoot."<br /><br />Mister: "So... Do you wear underwear when you wear tights?"<br /><br />"Well, yeah, but a lot of people don't."<br /><br />Mister: "Oh that wasn't really my question anyway, but I thought it would be hot if you didn't wear any with them."<br /><br />"Right. Well let me help you with that, my grandmother didn't wear any under hers."<br /><br />Mister: "Oh. Ugh, Ack, seriously? I didn't even do anything today to deserve that!" <br /><br />"I know, I feel bad. I kind of bothered myself with that one."<br /><br />Mister: "Jeez. Well I noticed that there was a hole in those and thought it might be for, you know, "breathing"."<br /><br />"Actually, those were brand new and tore yesterday, so I'm a little angry. But also? You inspect my undergarments way too closely."<br /><br />Mister: "Yeah, I probably do." <br /><br />"No, you definitely do. But you had like a real question, right?"<br /><br />Mister: "Yeah, I do, but why do you know that about your grandma?"<br /><br />"Uh she changed in front of me when I was little. You know. " <br /><br />Mister: "No, I don't know. Let's keep this a secret."<br /><br />"Eh... It's too late to worry about it. I mean, look at me. It's not getting any better if people don't know why I'm like this."Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-8993915359951055902009-09-02T07:06:00.000-07:002009-09-02T07:40:56.533-07:00I've Gone All Sorts of "Falling Down" On You Today. Now Give Me the Coke For Fifty Cents and Get Out Of My Bat's Way!While perusing blogs, in general, when I get to the one that is chock full of complaints, ranting, raving and broad scale "the whole world is full of douchebaggery", I tend to skim and then skip.<br /><br />So what I'm saying to you right now is, if you do that - if you skim and skip the open letters to assholes blog posts - then you might just want to carry on. My feelings won't be hurt. However? Tune in for the next segment of open letters and see if you made the list. Wink. <br /><br />So let's get this going, because I haven't got all day to whine like a titty baby:<br /><br /><br />Dear Co-workers,<br /><br />I ain't yo bitch. It's just not so. So don't act like it is. It's NOT actually my job to load the dishwasher. But I do it. Keeping the office running in general, IS my job. So when you pile six disgusting ass glasses in the sink (seriously, what the heyll ARE you people doing to these glasses, GRODY! I should probably call the authorities on your weirdness.) because the dishwasher is full of other disgusting glasses, I'm a little cranky. <br /><br />I have to run the dishwasher, unload it and then reload just to even be comfortable in that room. Which isn't even a room because we HAVE NO DOORS IN THIS OFFICE! I can see you drop yo'stuff and run away. <br /><br />Also? We don't have a garbage disposal. So that smell that you bitch at me about all the time? Yeah, that's because your lazy mug dropped some nasty down in the sink and then left it there. Because evidently your mother works here. And your mother is about to whup your booty. <br /><br />I totally mean this in the kindest way possible. Y'all is lazy and inconsiderate.<br /><br />Signed, <br /><br />Not Yo Mama<br /><br /><br />Dear Summer of Discontent,<br /><br />Now that you are winding down, you HAVE to give me a break. You just kind of have to. Something has got to give. I feel broken and battered. I feel life weary and haggard. <br /><br />Yeah, I slap a smile on my face and force it until it finally feels right. And yeah, I make this look easy in person, but do you see my knuckles? They are white and really tired. I'm looking at some lethargic knuckles here that would kind of rather take a nap than sit here all clenched up all day long. There are actual little half moon shapes dug into my palms from my finger nails. <br /><br />What I'm saying is, let the heyll up. I get it, life is tough, expect the unexpected, man up, pull up my diapers, walk it off, rub some dirt on it, carry on, keep on truckin', keep on keepin' on and what not. <br /><br />But listen to me, I'm done. I'm cooked, I'm fried and I'm toast.<br /><br />You know how I know? The dishwasher just pissed me off. That? Is totally ridiculous.<br /><br />Love, <br /><br />Seriously, Back On Up Out Of Here<br /><br />PS? Expect the unexpected? Don't make me kick you in your lady box, Life. That is just mucked up. <br /><br />PPS - Just toss a bitch a bone already. <br /><br /><br />***<br /><br />Oh and one more thing:<br /><br />My lunch with <a href="http://yo-mamasblog.blogspot.com/">Miss Yvonne</a> was exactly what I expected. I laughed so hard my face hurt afterwards.<br /><br />As soon as I have some Miss Yvonne Approved - Photoshopped All To Heyll pictures, then I'll share. The bitch is lucky she lives so far away, otherwise? I'd be all stalky, up in her grill and forcing her to let me sing Journey into her karaoke machine.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-33041818359036855832009-09-01T08:25:00.001-07:002009-09-01T08:27:33.798-07:00I'm almost just nearly positive that I went through the looking glass...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIPPR2hKv1HXfVanr86gpHDSbVp54bwaeTq43aRVefRc_oQpixgUcUInAxMbBIwHJnJK2e0KBLJUSFcIO01b5d-XXuqEqpKGnfG-yOoJOo2wWS-yli9FW9IZVqvfFWKZraiqxX0oBJqik/s1600-h/Wonderland.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIPPR2hKv1HXfVanr86gpHDSbVp54bwaeTq43aRVefRc_oQpixgUcUInAxMbBIwHJnJK2e0KBLJUSFcIO01b5d-XXuqEqpKGnfG-yOoJOo2wWS-yli9FW9IZVqvfFWKZraiqxX0oBJqik/s400/Wonderland.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376520726786340082" /></a><br /><br /><br />I'll be back soon.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-54912446985827499182009-08-26T08:14:00.000-07:002009-08-26T10:59:01.325-07:00Welcome to Hoboville, Population: Who Will Pay Me FirstThe mister and I own a couple of places we like to call "rental property". We call it that because that is what it is. In the last two months we've had the fantastic fortune of having both of our places go without a tenant, at nearly the same time, unexpectedly. <br /><br />Let me give you some advice. Don't rent to family. Just don't. Because even your sister won't hesitate to break her lease if she wants to buy a house. And you will feel more than a little bad about kicking your sister in her lady box when you have the initial, "thanks for screwing me" reaction. <br /><br />It's bad for family dynamics.<br /><br />Also? Just because someone is a martial arts expert, doesn't mean that he is an upstanding individual. It just doesn't. And I was going to have the guy who told us "I moved out yesterday, by the way" teach my son about discipline. Oh but it does stop you from getting all up in their face and demanding yo money when you realize he can break most of the bones in your torso. <br /><br />Just sayin'. I like my torso. <br /><br />So what happens after they move out? What happens after the initial raping of your bank account? Well then, its time to find new renters. <br /><br />And if you think for one minute that the finest weirdos come out on the internet, you've never seen anything until you see what emerges from "For Rent" signs posted on street corners. A little bit like low income Night of the Living Dead. <br /><br />But with more beer cans and large dogs. And many, many, many grubby faced children.<br /><br />So far? My favorite prospect is the guy who takes care of his niece and nephew because their parents are incarcerated. And I'm not even playing here. He seems awesome. <br /><br />At eight o'clock this morning Jason got a call. The first thing he heard was the crack of a beer can, followed by a burp. And then? The slurring happened. <br /><br />I'm not entirely sure how it all went down, but all I know is that "Drunk Mike" wants to sell us a house for $50,000 and then buy ours for $60,000. Now I know I was never the best at mathematics or even just understanding things, but I don't see how this benefited Mike at all. <br /><br />I'm pretty sure it's a drunken triangle scheme. Mostly because I can't figure out how it works, what the benefit is or why this guy called to begin with. <br /><br />It is my assumption that he just tripped on the sign with Jason's phone number on his stumble home. I think he meant to call for help.<br /><br />And Jason thought the people with four kids, wanting to live in our two bedroom on $1600 a month income was a loser situation, or that it was a bad sign that we were getting numerous "Do you take Section 8?" calls. <br /><br />Look, I know I look like an asshole here. People have to live, they have to make bad situations work, they just don't have to do it in my house. I'm kind of crazy fond of renters that are more than one step away from hobo-ville.<br /><br />However, I'm pretty sure we're going to get rich quick if we just stick with "Mike". <br /><br />Also? I asked Jason if he thought it might be one of our dad's calling. <br /><br />He didn't even laugh as much as he said it at the same time I did.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-57916815976939659652009-08-25T09:34:00.000-07:002009-09-10T11:29:20.486-07:00Miss Yvonne's Battleship Is My BitchThis weekend I will be traveling to Dallas to see Depeche Mode. No, this is not an invitation to loot my house. I have a security system, nosy neighbors and something else akin to the trap that Kevin MacAllister set in Home Alone for the bumbling Wet Bandits. And you CAN'T be the Wet Bandits. You have to be original if you are going to loot my house. Seriously. I'm sure you can have some sort of low rent bandit brainstorm to come up with something else. <br /><br />Other than seeing the BEST BAND THAT EVER EXISTED AND I'M NOT EVEN SURE THEY DO, THEY ARE THAT AWESOME, SO AWESOME THEY HAVE TO BE FREAKING HOLOGRAMS, I'm going to do something else that is high on the awesome scale. <br /><br />I'm going to meet this <a href="http://yo-mamasblog.blogspot.com/">chick<br /></a>. <br /><br />Right?<br /><br />I know. <br /><br />Already, I've made a huge mistake and given her my cell phone number for purposes of "hooking up", and I mean for freaking lunch, pervs. It's a huge mistake, because armed with the knowledge of my digits AND that I had a low battery yesterday, she went into full attack mode and sank my texting battleship.<br /><br />At one point it looked like I might have won the war when her battery was low and I got a text that read "ur fault" which was the sign that she was totally attacked on her way to the car and her mostly dead phone died just as the attacker was nailing her with a foam sword and taking her measly $3 cash for meth to suck up their noses through <a href="http://yo-mamasblog.blogspot.com/2009/08/suck-on-this.html">penis straws</a>. <br /><br />Turns out I totally didn't win though, because she lambasted me with bullshit until my phone was beeping for mercy. She? Is such an asshole. <br /><br />In making plans for lunch, we tossed out the idea of a salad bar in a strip club. Regardless of the sneeze guard, we're just not sure how much the state of Texas is really doing to protect us on this one. <br /><br />My next mistake was letting her know the hotel I would be staying at. Mostly, because I'm sure she is the owner of a Billy Idol lip curled clown mask that will be peering into my peep hole at all hours of the night. <br /><br />She thinks I'm teaching her to air punch, but no. Because a properly air punching, Billy Idol, lip curled, clown mask would be way too much for my heart to take. My heart has way too much strain as it is hauling all this massive cool around. <br /><br />Really, I've said too much, because at this point, I'm mostly positive that I'm ahead in this weird little scoring system she has for who has officially sunken whose battleship. <br /><br />Seriously? No points for being gross. Even if you were BORN that way. Pshaw... You kiss Captain Carl's mom with that mouth?<br /><br />And your cat DOES dance in your panties for your renter. I know it. <br /><br />Basically, what I'm saying is that you all are going to be so jealous and mostly upset that I'm not recording what will invariably be either the most rad conversation that ever existed, or the catalyst for what will finally drive Jason AND Captain Carl over the edge.<br /><br />And no, Miss Yvonne, just because your husband has a bad ass name does NOT mean you win. Quit being all givey with points to yourself.<br /><br />Your battleship is my bitch.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-71268652991390452352009-08-20T18:07:00.000-07:002009-08-21T07:00:51.337-07:00Oh Heyll No, I Don't Want Donald Sutherland's Face, We're Talking Keifer Here<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuO8CstfaGARt2y1e-C3r6Rb71bxL-yGBcYL3I1C3-VabdsMcWhUONDwlyqSlS8Fc-m3FLb1OOvEIjJoAfaHvTvzOT618n_OTCVJ4jcaWFVgK6xDrABbqhJHFX_Bj3pLvF_J8g93GoMes/s1600-h/zombieblog+002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuO8CstfaGARt2y1e-C3r6Rb71bxL-yGBcYL3I1C3-VabdsMcWhUONDwlyqSlS8Fc-m3FLb1OOvEIjJoAfaHvTvzOT618n_OTCVJ4jcaWFVgK6xDrABbqhJHFX_Bj3pLvF_J8g93GoMes/s400/zombieblog+002.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372217889756729490" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNtIszu4YzxI4Cfv4g8nspUmCCONvUqWnqjZnzPj1UytogFee1OJJuiuWILcl52P-HezLnjzjJxgZ3LEF0x1m5diIuNX1Fm2e8GgpF78k5Y816YK8rl8642tJ_BfYKb1LUmmxzFDEj7LM/s1600-h/zombieblog+003.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNtIszu4YzxI4Cfv4g8nspUmCCONvUqWnqjZnzPj1UytogFee1OJJuiuWILcl52P-HezLnjzjJxgZ3LEF0x1m5diIuNX1Fm2e8GgpF78k5Y816YK8rl8642tJ_BfYKb1LUmmxzFDEj7LM/s400/zombieblog+003.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372217883779415874" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzqtK6l5z1q9yohWQvd1k_j6O9OfDLNh8nPIxDK9xxV_w7cHUFs_oQPirqQjfZYCF-AXWqaMTmS1MMbL06db4QbdXPdTgeEQNelV-GzOd8nAzWhbMAUtVosrWA7cb8Zt6_0FwDeIoNMqM/s1600-h/zombieblog+004.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzqtK6l5z1q9yohWQvd1k_j6O9OfDLNh8nPIxDK9xxV_w7cHUFs_oQPirqQjfZYCF-AXWqaMTmS1MMbL06db4QbdXPdTgeEQNelV-GzOd8nAzWhbMAUtVosrWA7cb8Zt6_0FwDeIoNMqM/s400/zombieblog+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372217872317203954" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEQ-CxFt1h_qqf9hcKkhziQ-f0s11Go_3EOtGXhneQkx-H8q7iBS0AXawt8nHVqzdJcnY8mvN_KQAQ-mNgpANVfKX5lUOgSknS7GIefazfcwhN9IGE96pGN7RghTF5D1YiAg2oaMjHfrE/s1600-h/zombieblog+005.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEQ-CxFt1h_qqf9hcKkhziQ-f0s11Go_3EOtGXhneQkx-H8q7iBS0AXawt8nHVqzdJcnY8mvN_KQAQ-mNgpANVfKX5lUOgSknS7GIefazfcwhN9IGE96pGN7RghTF5D1YiAg2oaMjHfrE/s400/zombieblog+005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372217867071352658" /></a><br /><br />And that? Is a mostly true story. Right up until the part where the zombie stabbed a bitch in a fast food Chinese restaurant. <br /><br />Go forth. Share the legend. <br /><br />***<br /><br />PS. This morning when I woke up I realized that our house was entirely sans any kind of diet, caffeinated beverage. So after going on a morning rampage of evil and dropping the kid off, I swung through my fave McD's to see Jobstopper Granny. <br /><br />I love Jobstopper Granny. This morning? Every 3 inch fingernail was a different neon color. Rad. <br /><br />When I got my tasty beverage, I rushed to gulp it down and immediately a good portion of it ran right down my cleavage. Like it made a beeline for the breasts. So I quickly stuffed a napkin down there, but just as I was jamming the napkin down, the liquid ran under my boobs where it began to form icy pools. <br /><br />Icy, cold pools of carbonated freeze.<br /><br />PPS... Did I mention I was on the highway entrance ramp when the pools formed? Swerving and yelling "It's pooling, It's pooling! Oooh, It's cold! It's cold and it's pooling." - I then realized just how NOT pliable my bazooms are. <br /><br />So yeah, I bring you zombie goodness in a cold, wet bra with what can now be described as breasticles.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-87580860464317318012009-08-20T17:55:00.000-07:002009-08-20T18:06:41.879-07:00ResurrectionIn the last two years that I've been blogging, I've found out a few things. The most important being that I have a varied audience. <br /><br />There are those that seem to enjoy my matter of fact way of writing. Where I don't pull any punches and usually bare some facet of my deranged soul. <br /><br />You've been getting a lot of that here.<br /><br />I have also found that I have this other faction of followers (you all cult like, folks) that are some how intrigued by the bizarre shit that makes me laugh.<br /><br />This post and the following are for you. My little stick figure zombie lovers. <br /><br />Enjoy:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaKqrKB-JLG3gEk5pjX0eQzkLBxnkSWgbT_BqrdqJDyME524vsjmwG8FgrJgCgXPACO7NqWADTKtwL6ZKfoEPKo0djscubJRpIb9RcbL4110lydHx_guTvB7E9xhWllJ4fkP8rHehsons/s1600-h/zombieblog+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaKqrKB-JLG3gEk5pjX0eQzkLBxnkSWgbT_BqrdqJDyME524vsjmwG8FgrJgCgXPACO7NqWADTKtwL6ZKfoEPKo0djscubJRpIb9RcbL4110lydHx_guTvB7E9xhWllJ4fkP8rHehsons/s400/zombieblog+001.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372215175604508194" /></a><br /><br />That's right kids, I will be sharing renditions of my real life as told through stick figures and zombies here too. <br /><br />You? Are so freaking welcome. <br /><br />And now that it's obvious how much of a legend this is obviously going to make me, please write down that just like Michael Jackson, I want to be buried on my birthday. Yes, my birthday is in August, yes it's the day Elvis died AND the same as Madonna's birthday. What I'm saying is that I am so destined for stick figure greatness it's just ironic that I DON'T have a stick figure. <br /><br />Also? Even if I die in December, you make them wait until August to bury me. Do you hear me? <br /><br />I'll write this out in detailed zombie stick figure instructions because I am well aware of your short attention span. Who, whoa, a car is coming, what, where?! Oooh run.<br /><br />Yeah YOUR short attention span, that's what I said.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-87068343846705428392009-08-20T06:56:00.000-07:002009-08-20T07:15:37.875-07:00The Beginning Of The End Of AwesomeMonkey had been gone, visiting her relatives in New York. For a month and a half, gone baby gone. <br /><br />When she returned she had the customary massive amounts of luggage that she drags back with her, bursting full of clothes her grandmother has doted upon her with. It's good to be Monkey.<br /><br />The suitcases sat in our entryway for several days. Thrilled to have her home, but busy with things weekdays busy you with, I let it sit there. <br /><br />I took a quick peek inside to see what she got and what she still needed for that fashion show runway walk that is the first week of school. The weekend before school started we took her to fill in the missing pieces and to find that first day outfit that would surely set the tone for the entire year. The outfit that would make or break my baby's entire fifth grade existence. <br /><br />When we got home, Jason told her to take her suitcase in her room, along with her new clothes and unpack and organize everything that made up her wardrobe. <br /><br />Arms hung at her sides, hiney hiked up in the air and a sourpuss that indicated she was just informed that her very existence was TOTALLY RUINED, she stomped off down the hall to the room that I had spent three and a half hours reorganizing just days before. <br /><br />After a moment, I followed her down the hall and cracked her door. "Hey Monk? You just got totally spoiled, so try to ditch the 'tude and have fun with your new clothes okay?"<br /><br />I've never actually seen a sullen AND blank look until that moment. I was obviously a complete asshole. How dare I stand there all... assholey like that?<br /><br />I skulked back the living room, put in my place. How dare I? Seriously? I have some mothering nerve!<br /><br />Then she stomped out of her room and slunk down the stairs to acquire more hangers. As she pounded back up, her look still giving away the fact that she is forced to live in this Shitsville of a house, Jason stopped her.<br /><br />"Hey Miss! Your mother and I just took you out and got you all kinds of nice things. Your attitude needs to get lost, like now!"<br /><br />"But... I don't... I mean.."<br /><br />"You heard me! You knock it off. Straighten up and FLY right!"<br /><br />She dirty looked him and stomped off again... As her back turned I looked at Jason and silently mouthed, "straighten up and fly right?" with a quizzical smirk.<br /><br />As her door shut, hard, he looked at me,"God..."<br /><br />"Yeah babe, you really just said that. So tell me, do you feel like my dad or just SOUND like him?"<br /><br />"Shut up."<br /><br />"Hey I think a teenager just drove fast down the street, you better go yell at him to slow down! Oof, is that a footstep on our lawn? Go get 'em!"<br /><br />I think he may have hiked his hiney in the air and stomped off then. I'm not sure. I was too busy wondering when I married Dad.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-51566423178005201162009-08-19T06:00:00.000-07:002009-08-19T08:00:16.896-07:00And Then They Called 911 Because I Wanted My Damn Chicken NuggetsWhen I apply my make-up I close one eye. His eye. His eye is the one that is a little longer and more almond shaped. Unlike her more cat-like eye. (She is cat like. She yawns when I think she should care most.) My husband always looks at me like I'm a little special when he watches me. And by special, I don't mean that I've touched his heart as much as I'm sure he's positive that my mind is touched. <br /><br />When I'm tired or frustrated, I rub my forehead with the first three fingers on my left hand. Mostly because there is always an ache there. A small, thudding ache just behind my eyes at all times. The eyes that look like theirs but together make mine. I'm almost kind of sure that the ache is that thing that grows on my mind like that Stephen King book where he had his underdeveloped twin brother growing on his brain. I mean, that's normal, right? <br /><br />There is nothing prolific or profound in this. It sounds more like I'm cuckoo (which I still think should be spelled cookoo, but then you would think that was cook - koo, so screw it.) <br /><br />It's just that, I don't think I've ever noticed enough about myself to truly know me. <br /><br />I seem to withhold opinion on myself. Generally, not about others though. I've got all kinds of opinions on you mutha fuckers. I just don't have time to waste on myself. <br /><br />I'm made up of all these separate little parts I've gotten from here or there. But I don't really know how they all work together. I'm guessing probably like those McDonald's toys we got in Happy Meals as a kid. You know the ones you snapped out of the frame and then snapped together and they always had a wobbly useless wheel and you were all, "I ate that shitty burger for this piece of plastic travesty. Pshaw! This sucks." <br /><br />Only I don't think I said "travesty" then. Unless they printed it ON the Happy Meal box which if they did, would already make those things about 100 times more educational than they are now. But your mistake is looking for education at McDonalds. Don't you know you find that stuff (education) on TV. <br /><br />And that? Was the most contrived horseshit ever "crafted" into sentences and then piled into a mostly malformed paragraph. <br /><br />You should demand your money back. For real.Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1627423066655577190.post-71348229182211880422009-08-18T07:28:00.000-07:002009-08-18T07:37:00.338-07:00While I'm White Knuckling it Through Tomorrow...While I'm turning inside myself, into my safe cocoon of "Oh heyll no, I'm not sad"...<br /><br />I want to give you more than just Richard Milhous Stabone. I want to give you more than just a crisp new blog to look at. Because I'm all full of myself and I'm pretty sure you're supposed to CARE a lot about what these electronic pages hold. <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0VcGJZpfl1c&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0VcGJZpfl1c&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />If the combination of this song and Barney's legs don't make you smile... well, let's just not say it out loud, okay?Wanderlust Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12301906407866069570noreply@blogger.com3