And now? A very "special" Christmas post

Today 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.

Almost.

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.

First? Fail.



Then? Double fail.



Oooh, look. Half-way there.



And, um, no.



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.

Jason is going to dig out the Christmas stuff this weekend so we can have our photo shoot.

Wish me luck. Because, as you can see, I need it. Bad.

In the meantime, I'm in love with this video. Researching hair colors brought me to it.

Don't ask. Just enjoy.

I wrote a whole post about poop and I thought who would like it better than you guys?

No seriously. A whole post about poop. And there are even pictures. None of which are of poop.

So, you know, enjoy.

Patrick Swayze May Not Be Kicking Ass In Tight Pants Anymore, But I Can Still Be Picky

When 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"?

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."

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:

This man gets his own show:



or


They bring this show back with Sam still traveling:



or finally:



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.

I feel the way you are looking at me and I don't know WHAT your problem is.

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.

Also? There are not enough shows with eye patches these days.


***

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.

If they just added a bearded Kenny Loggins to the crime fighting team we would have had the BEST action hero trio in history.



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.

Team 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.

And, two days later, I finished off the second book "New Moon".

My thoughts:

Ralph Macchio Better Get To Working Out, This Barrel Ain't Going To Jump Itself

I'm coming to understand AND come to terms with the fact that:

1) I'm totally misunderstood
2) I'm obviously a genius
3) I'm a totally misunderstood, obvious genius that is about to rock your world

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!"

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.

But I never have.

Last night though, it wasn't a movie that I created. I created two television shows, right in my little head.

No, that was not the Earth moving, that was you, totally impressed by me. Quit acting like it's something new.

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.

Right.

Now.

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:

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.

I'm talking ladders, monkeys, barrels. Holy shitness! Hosted of course by Ralph Macchio looking JUST LIKE THIS:



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.

Yes I do scare myself, why are you asking?

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:



Think of the lead up to the premiere of each season. I mean, COME ON!

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.

Well... it does in my head.

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:

"Stacy and the No Shirt Guy"

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.

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.

I know.

Not as awesome and frankly I'm confused, but whatever. I'm sure it'll fly.

So there you go.

I am a freaking genius.

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.



Uh yeah, I think we know that Ol' Mr. Macchio might not make this cut, eh?

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?

Oh and to please you guys too. Here is his wife shirtless:

Oh Heyll No, I Don't Want Donald Sutherland's Face, We're Talking Keifer Here

And that? Is a mostly true story. Right up until the part where the zombie stabbed a bitch in a fast food Chinese restaurant.

Go forth. Share the legend.

***

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.

I love Jobstopper Granny. This morning? Every 3 inch fingernail was a different neon color. Rad.

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.

Icy, cold pools of carbonated freeze.

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.

So yeah, I bring you zombie goodness in a cold, wet bra with what can now be described as breasticles.

Resurrection

In 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.

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.

You've been getting a lot of that here.

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.

This post and the following are for you. My little stick figure zombie lovers.

Enjoy:



That's right kids, I will be sharing renditions of my real life as told through stick figures and zombies here too.

You? Are so freaking welcome.

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.

Also? Even if I die in December, you make them wait until August to bury me. Do you hear me?

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.

Yeah YOUR short attention span, that's what I said.

Awesomocity - The Home of Bullshit

I'm pretty sure awesomeocity IS Richard Milhous Stabone.




This is the room where I throw shit that doesn't fit in the closet or the junk drawer or look particularly pleasant anywhere else.

Next time? Call before you come over so I can clean up a little, jerkoid.