I Love Andy Samberg - Part 1

IT'S TRUE!

His face says it all.

After years of writing off Saturday Night Live for not being funny any more, I flipped it on when Feyoncé™ was gone and I was bored out of my mind. (Mind you, this was before my intense internet addiction and affliction for blogging and bloggers, so I still did things 'offline' at that point in my life... *SIGH*).

He did a music video skit about Iranian President, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (pronounced mah-MOOD ah-mah-dih-nee-ZHAHD). I was actually belly laughing HARD as he lounged on the piano and Samberg romanced him with his witty lyrics in "Iran So Far".




Oh, and did I mention, ADAM LEVINE and JAKE GYLLENHAAL are in this, too? So hilarious and awesome.

The lyrics (Not owned by me - all rights reserved to NBC/SNL, etc.):

They say true love comes only once in a lifetime
And even though we're from opposite ends of the earth,
My heart tells me you're the one for me, Mahmoud

I remember when it started -
Saw you on the news
You were hatin' gays, I was eatin' food
But I was feeling you, and even though I disagreed with almost everything you said
You ain't wrong to me, so strong to me, you belong to me
Like a very hairy Jake Gyllenhaal to me
Mahmoud makes my heart beat right out of my chest
My mind says no, but my body says yes
Nuclear threat? The only threat I see
Is the threat of you not coming home with me
Our love for each other's like when atoms collide
Can't express how I feel, Hey, yo Adam let's ride

And Iran, Iran so far away
Is your home, but in my heart you'll stay

He ran, for the president of Iran
We ran together to a tropical island
My man, Mahmoud is known for rilin'
Smilin', if he can still do it, then I can
They call you weasel, they say your methods are medieval
You can play the Jews I can be your Jim Caviezel
S&M, nestlin' when we're wrestlin'
You can be the port that I park my vessel in
So I try to mute the tv but you can still see me
With your sleepy brown eyes, butter pecan thighs
And your hairy butt...
Yeah

And Iran, Iran so far away
Come home, and in my arms you'll stay

Used to look at the stars and dream
'Round the world same stars were seen
And a twinkle in your eyes Mahmoud
Talk smooth to me, without a tie
Your pants high waisted, damn so fly!
We can take a trip to the animal zoo
And laugh at all the funny things that animals do
Like Eugene you got me straight trippin' Boo
Hope you look in my eyes and say "I'm trippin', too"
You say Iran don't have the bomb but they already do
You should know by now, it's you

And Iran, Iran so far away
Is your home, but in my heart you'll stay

You crazy for this one Mahmoud
you can deny the holocaust all you want
But you can't deny that there's something between us
I know you say there's no gays in Iran
But you're in New York now baby
It's time to stop hiding,
And start living...

One

*Jakey appears*

There is hotness overload in the video... Adam Levine dressed in white, looking all smoulderingly hot and serious while he sings along to this ridiculous song... Jake G. making a hot little cameo... Andy Samberg with his passionate expression of lust for the Iranian President...

Adam Levine looking white hot in his white suit, singing with Andy Samberg. Loves it!!

This was what got me back into Saturday Night Live, but more so had me in love with Andy Samberg!

Andy Samberg lookin' good in slippers.

Little did I know this would only be the tip of the Samberg iceberg for my love of all things Andy...

Part 2 - To Be Continued...

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April Fool? Or Wii Schooled?

So yeah... Feyoncé™  and I were talking about if we had ever fallen victim to full blown April Fools Day trickery.

I recalled a hazy memory of my sister's failed attempt to cover my dad's toilet bowl with clear plastic cling wrap, but I could have dreamt it. I'm not very accurate when it comes to childhood memories. (Self-preservation, perhaps? Just kidding, Mom).

So we basically had a brief, not noteworthy conversation.

I said that I thought the trickery part of the day only went until 11am or noon or something, and Feyoncé™  thought that I was trying to trick him. I honestly thought that was true.

Anyway, turns out I got fooled on April 1st.

I turned on the Wii Fit balance board... and the goddamn thing said
"Balance... Board... Not... Working"... and I starting thinking, aw fuck shit crap darn, I don't want to have to pay to get the damn thing fixed, I wonder if there even is somewhere to get it repaired... will I have to ship it somewhere...?

And then it pops on a damn star hat and says "April Fool's!!"

This appeared word by word... effectively schooling AND pissing me off at the same time. Goddamned Wii.

So, I got jacked by a bloody children's game accessory. (After getting chin electrocuted once before... I think it's out to get me).

Then? Was supposed to visit with a friend, went out to my car in the garage, and realize I had left the trunk open for two days.

BATTERY.COMPLETELY.DEAD.

So I had no boost, no jumper cables, and no one to help me push the car out of the garage.

SO I freakin' inadvertently played an April Fools joke on myself. Awesome.

It only stung for a moment.

And yes, I realize it's mid-May.

I'm just MIA and scrounging Blogger for unfinished draft posts. Thanks Blogger!

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Recumbent Bike From Hell

I have a feeling that when I say I don't care much for exercise, I am not alone.

I mean, don't get me wrong... I know it's really good for me, I want to maintain a  somewhat  not-really-even-close  pretend  healthy body, it's crucial to my well being, and I  DO  don't want to exist as a couch potato.

But it's SO HARD to motivate myself to exercise. The 30-Day Shred has now become the 90-Day Shred (every third day... you do the math! HA!). It's almost approaching the 120-Day-I-Exercise-Sporadically-Not-Quite-"Shred".

I have a wedding dress I must fit in to, but I hear the Hershey Eggies and Cadbury Mini Eggs calling my name. The Bulk Barn had me on a watch list.

So I decide to mosey on down to a little hole-in-the-wall gym.

It's desolate. It has random tables throughout. It has some ancient gym equipment.

And two recumbent bikes (what, don't judge, a regular bike is NOT a woman's friend. It hurts the junk. There, I said it).

NORMAL person recumbent exercise biking? riding? cycling.

I get my gym gear on. I try to do some Jillian Michaels' warm-up moves by memory. Big muscle-y dudes are watching and judging me. I fail with my memory recall, and half-ass my moves.

I am quite certain I look like I am mildly challenged.

So not PC, but yet, so accurate.

I proceed to the recumbent bike, I get on, adjust the seat.... and find there are no fucking foot straps to hold my feet in.

Seriously?... REALLY?

Who presents so much of a threat to themselves and a gym's insurance policy, that they require restraint-less foot pedals on a bike that doesn't have direct downward gravity on its side?

For once, not me.

For the next 35 minutes, I struggle to keep my feet from flying off the foot pedals.

I was water bottle-less, watching eleventeen year olds silently batting eyes at each other and holding hands on a muted television tuned to MTV, while they pumped 106.1 K-Lite FM radio in the background.

The soundtrack to my workout?

Kissed By A Rose, by Seal.

Christ.

With a little more "light hits from the 80s, 90s and today" and a little less cowbell/enthusiasm/interest. And slightly less feathers.

This is why I hate exercising.

That is all.

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*Blogger Intimidation

No, I don't actually mean the host of our little corners of the interwebs.

I mean other Bloggers.


I have been expanding my reading list and finding new bloggers (somewhat randomly) and I am realizing that the more hilarity I read from other people, the more idea-less/writer's block-full I seem to be.

Sometimes a good idea will hit me while I am on the toilet, or in the car,  and  or just about to fall asleep, and I make a fleeting, useless mental note to start a draft when I am back at the computer.

That never happens, so instead, you get photos of my junk drawer. Literary genius, I say!

Then I read other people's blogs and see how funny they are and feel like I might as well roll up shop, draw the metal bars across the windows, pack my stuff up and go do something productive OFFLINE. *GASP*

Source: SomeECards

I've been "getting around" to vacuuming upstairs since... uh... forever ago. Not doing so well there.
Gaining weight? Actually doing well, thankyouverymuch.

Anyway, I'd really appreciate it if you other bloggers stopped being so damn funny/engaging/witty/quick/crazy. It would make it A LOT easier on me.

Or ALOT easier (thanks Allie Brosh):

The above is the work of Allie Brosh from her awesome blog Hyperbole And A Half.

Off to go try to be creative...

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Hard To Buy For Mom? I've Got The Perfect Mother's Day Deal For YOU!

Have you found that Mother's Day has snuck up on you somehow this year?

Tired of the old lame bourbon & cigarettes daisies and teapot go-to gifts for mom?

Well, well, let me tell you that I have found the utmost thoughtful/creative gift-giving for your mom this Mother's Day. It's elegant. It's simple. And despite what you may think of my language or taste, it will not compromise her dignity.

As you may well be aware, I am a girl that loves a good deal. I've previously written about my spa deal experience as well as my other spa deal threesome experience. Perhaps you read my Old Navy post and my irrational love of all things on sale (not in my size)?


These new deal sites like Groupon, TeamBuy, WagJag, Snaggies and DealTicker get me all warm and fuzzy in the pants. Let's say that one purchase alone saved me about $700 plus on wedding flowers.

So, needless to say, I scan these sites regularly. I found this gem. And I thought of you guys.

Oh, and of Mom, of course!


So, MOM, this one's for you:

If you can't read it, it reassures you that the new system brings "elegance", "simplicity" and "dignity" to the procedure of having a hose put up your arse.

I know you are all likely SORELY disappointed that there is a maximum of one voucher per person for the colon cleansing of your lifetime, but never fear! You CAN buy more as gifts!

Get one for mom! Gramma, too! Boss seeming a little anal-retentive lately? Gift her/him as well! Think how dignified and elegant they'll feel!

You can thank me later.

p.s. Is anyone else intrigued by the "+ More" in the spa's name?? Just me?

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I Dropped The Goddamned Ball Once More...

So... for some time I have been pondering actually purchasing a nice little dot com domain to go along with this ridiculous blogging habit of mine.

Feyoncé™ was always like "WHY?" when I said I should pay money and register this Seriously Really witty shizznat*.

Well folks, I took a little lookie-loo, and someone else registered this shizznit* in February. I dropped the ball and I am not amused. Another Canadian, no less, too.

And I know there is a multitude of fonts and that I didn't invent the goddamn ellipses... but STILL... seeing someone else's blog with the title "Seriously... Really?" in Arial italics in the header doesn't make me happy in the pants, as Aunt Becky would say.

So, sucks to be me. It's not like anyone clicks on my ads. Or like I'll be famous. Or like this is my livelihood or anything. But it would have been neat to have a dedicated URL. I realize it's my own damn fault, and it doesn't really matter. A blog is a blog is a blog, and I never registered.

I also just want to be whiny. So there's that, too.

Oh well, early bird gets the worm. (However, as noted by a friend, S, the second mouse gets the cheese. So now I want cheese).

~~leaves laptop and forages fridge for cheese... "mmmmmmm"~~

*I am not a "homey", nor socially knowledgeable, nor a Snoop Dogg fan, therefore I know not the difference between shizznit and shizznat. Deal with it. Word.
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Inspired By A Meatbag

Sending a shout out to my pal, Organic Meatbag. (Glad yer pup is enjoying spring!)

Question for you all:

What's the difference between a white plastic bag and Michael Jackson?












Wait for it...








Okay....






What's the difference between a white plastic bag and Michael Jackson?




One's white, plastic, and dangerous for children to play with... and the other is used at the grocery store.

I suppose there IS suffocation risk...

WHAT?!?! Too soon? Not soon enough?



You Know I'm Bad, I'm Bad-
You Know It
(Bad Bad-Really, Really Bad)

You Know I'm Bad, I'm Bad-
Come On, You Know
(Bad Bad-Really, Really Bad)

And The Whole World Has To Answer Right Now Just To Tell You Once Again,
Who's Bad . . .?

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StephanieC's Car Tips

Car Tips for Savvy Women (& Men)

(Also refer to: Top 11 Tips: Become An Awesome Winter Driver!)

- Mechanics do not find it particularly cute or endearing when you refer to car problems with the words "thingy" "light thingy" "exclamation point light thingy" or "touchy brakes". You may also discover that you feel like a tool when uttering these words/phrases. They are also thoroughly unhelpful.

- Thank the gawds for that beeping noise "thingy" that reminds your stupid arse that you have, once again, forgotten to turn off your headlights.
Note to HONDA: Please make a similar noise for leaving the trunk open for longer than, say, a day, so as to avoid missing coffee with a friend because the driver was too stupid to realize she [read: ME] left the trunk open for two days in the garage with the intention of removing a bag of dog food. (Resulting in a dead battery. OBVIOUSLY).

- Some people use a parking brake.
Note this.
When you are trying to figure out why your car will not move from it's holdless parking spot in front of the mechanic's, stop revving and think for a moment. Then check the parking brake. Put the car BACK in PARK before removing the parking brake. Drive as normal.

- Always have a set of jumper cables. Never depend on your significant other for them, especially if he/she travels, isn't home very much/avoids you/points and laughs when you leave your trunk open for 2 days.

- Be sure to call your father and ask how to connect the jumper cables/generally what to do/find out how you managed to be so mechanically and automobile inept, despite his mechanic's license and your sister's penchant for shop classes.

- Believe the "low fuel" light. That shit doesn't lie. Usually.

Confucius say: "He who does not see low fuel light will walk a long road to understanding". Okay, I totally made that shit up. OBVIOUSLY.

- Do not agree to flash your boobs for a free ride to the nearest gas station, when proposed on the side of the road. The offering party will likely snicker and drive off without you.

- Make sure your cell phone is charged. Don't rely on your car charger, especially if you've left your trunk open for days.

Look Ma, no hands... operating the car. Also? Smooooooth phone.

- Remember that a bluetooth headset is NOT hands-free if you must search for it for 15 minutes, in order to fish it out from the bottom of your purse with one hand.
(It is also not hands free if you need to unlock your cell phone with a series of numbers, navigate through a menu, select a synching option, and mess around until it is finally functional all the while driving.)
Plan ahead for crap like that, idiot. Also, be aware that many GPS units have built-in bluetooth.

That's it for now.

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How Do You Know? Trust Me, I KNOW.

So, in what can only be described as a loss of 121 minutes of my life, Feyoncé and I watched the unusually-stabby-rage-y-feeling inducing crap film called "How Do You Know" last night.

It had all of the components a few of the components  a component  some of the components to make a decent film:

• Paul Rudd
• Reese Witherspoon
• Owen Wilson

I love Reese! I love Paul! I am happy that Owen is doing much better, after his suicide attempt a few years back.

I know that you will want those 121 minutes of your life back.

But it WAS.JUST.AWFUL.  For the first 40 minutes, I kept telling Feyoncé that the line/idea/segment/part of the movie was unnecessary, ridiculous, pointless, not-at-all believable, painful to watch, or out-of-line and/or slightly demeaning in some ways to the strong character Reese plays.

My personal opinion? About the first 100 minutes of the movie were what you normally see in the "deleted scenes" special edition section of a DVD, because it was irrelevant and boring.

The last 20 minutes were bearable. Owen had a few pretty funny one liners. That was it.

*sigh*

It brought out rage close to Michael Bublé levels.

And we all know THAT can't be good for me. Or Feyoncé. Or you, dear friends.

Quick summary of all that is StephanieC:

• I have been feeling very shitty emotionally and physically the past few days.  
• I have been searching for literally hours and hours and hours and hours trying to find a honeymoon that fits for us, that is unique, and it is driving me crazy(ier).
• I ordered my bridesmaids' dresses.
• Some door-to-door asshole rang the door THREE times on Good Friday morning, while Feyoncé was on a work call in the basement and I was trying to get my bearings while falling out of bed.                You would think a large, unruly Great Dane STANDING UP ON THE INTERIOR OF THE DOOR would deter someone from at least the SECOND doorbell ring, but, NO.  You have no idea how much effort it takes for me to try to get him wrangled and locked away, just to tell you that I am not interested in your cookbooks/religion/fundraising sausage/overpriced chocolate bars/notice that there is a potentially-fatal gas leak and we need to leave the premises immediately . It's not worth even answering the door.  Once Feyoncé got there (while I was restraining the great beast) she asked if he had been sleeping (well you didn't really give a shit one way or the other, didja now?? HMM?)!

Don't bother to ring a second or third time. Just run.

He's sweet inside, but even I would run from a face like that looking back at me AT EYE LEVEL, if I was schlepping door-to-door.

• Icing on the cake? Feyoncé hasn't been feeling well either, so he went to lay down for a bit. And someone else came by door-to-door.  A ringin' away.  *CUE DOGS BARKING THEIR HEADS OFF*.   I struggled beside Schultz to get door-front window real estate, so my face was visible in the doorway and I waved the guy off.   That's right.   Made a *shooing* motion.   At least it worked, and he didn't have to see my pajama pants. Or smell my breath.

I'm holding out on writing any more blog stuff until I get out of this mental pissy state.
Or until Cesar Milan can come here and teach me calm assertive leadership when it comes to strangers at the door.

That last picture of Schultz is sort of helping a bit...

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Glade, Febreze & Britney = Poison To The Senses

Now, first off, I'd like to say that I am pissed that my secret boyfriend happened to produce a segment on his show making fun of air fresheners on the very same day that I was mentally compiling a post about the same thing.

I'm also pissed that his show aired twice and I only happened to see it last night (I still love you, Stephen Colbert).

The item(s) in question? Air Fresheners. I will also take it a step further and include "fabric refreshers".

Now, I have a sensitive nose. I can smell smoke from miles away, nasty perfume from quite a distance, chemical and cleaner smells make me feel ill.

That leads me to question ... who the hell willingly and intentionally sprays some combination of potentially toxic (or at the very least, probably not HEALTHY-TO-INHALE) chemicals into the air and takes a huge, lung-filling breath of that air?

You've all seen the commercials. To me, it's a better-perfumed version of spraying Windex or Fantastik cleaner, then leaning in to suck up all that is unnatural/chemical based/potentially toxic.

Those Febreze fabric refresher commercials show a mom sniffing her nocturnal-emission-aged son's sheets, showing a face of disgust, then being promptly informed she can freshen that shit up.

KID: "UUUh Mom?" *squirms in chair* "You might not want to pur your face in that..."

Would you ever consider spraying a can of chemicals and immediately inhaling? Unless you were George Carlin using whipped cream and doing "whippits"? No good can come from this.

Also? Last I checked you can wash coats, and bath mats, too. Man, this commerical AND PRODUCT pisses me right off.

Are you that fahcking lazy you need to spray down your coat? Seriously? I mean, really?

Mind you, my house always smells like dogs (and sometimes fried onions/omelletes), but I'd still rather spare myself exposure to a can full of "vanilla lavender" chemicals in a can.

And no, I don't wear perfume, either.

Febreze on anything other than an attempt to conceal the urine smell on a chaise that a puppy may or may not have peed on is just not okay.

Also? Mattresses that have that aroma that Rihanna talks about in her latest song. HA! Just kidding.

Finally, that Britney Spears and Rihanna combo is awful. Someone took pity on Britney and included her in S&M, and let's just say that Rihanna has a real right to be pissed off. The song has been butchered. Someone needs to tell Britney to unplug her goddamned nose when she sings.

Be prepared for ear bleeding:

Listen to the atrocity here.


So there ya go. Nice random post for a Wednesday.

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Samuel L. Jackson to Disney: "I've had enough of these motherf*cking cats on this motherf*cking plain!"

Oh that's right babies.

First, someone made the mistake with snakes.
They made Samuel L. Jackson mad.

VERY mad. With snakes.

Samuel L. is pissed... at motherf*cking snakes on his motherf*cking plane...

Don't you remember? Clip NSFW:



Snakes on a plane.

So now, of course, when Disney needed a narrator for their nature movie about two cat families in the African Savannah, who did they call?


That's right bitches: Samuel L. Motherf*cking Jackson.

Really Disney?

For CATS on a PLAIN.

I saw the commercial preview as I was about to do the 30-day shred (more like the "90-day Shred" if you only do it every 3rd day)... and I couldn't help but laugh and make that immediate connection between his last movie involving creatures.

Even the animals are surprised at Disney's choice of narrator.

On the bright side... everybody together "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw":

Cats on a motherf*cking plain. Hey... wait a second...

Please tell me someone else finds this amusing, too?

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Someone Thinks I'm Versatile! (Everyone Else Just Thinks I'm Crazy)

So through random algorithms produced by the interwebs, Sam over at A Redhead Named Sam felt it fitting to bestow the Versatile Blogger award on little ole me.

I have most certainly been called worse...  ;-)

*blushing*

Sam has described me, and I quote:

"Random is right...there really isn't a cohesive theme to this blog unless you consider humor and randomness a theme. I guess, in that context, it is. Anyway...moving on. If you like The Bloggess, you'll probably enjoy this one too. *I* enjoy it - if that influences your decision at all. ;)"

Thanks for the award, Sam!

I am supposed to:
1.) Tell all of you 7 facts about myself.
2.) Tag 7 of fellow bloggers to do the same.

Facts Away!

1) I can always tell what kind of silverware I am pulling out of the clean dishwasher rack before seeing it, just based on the weight (e.g. knife, spoon, fork). I am eerily accurate. It is a totally and completely useless skill. And apparently my number one fact about myself

2) Lately I have not felt the slightest bit funny, had the slightest desire to blog, nor feel that I have had any quality content. I have also failed to deliver two guests posts.

3) I consistently scratch the crack of my butt with my engagement ring. It's big and sharp and continually reminds me that I should be using a washcloth. Also reminds me that I will likely blind small children and puppies with this bad boy. (Look out, Ella!)

4) I love love LOVE Stephen Colbert and think he is hilarious. Only in character. The only time I like him out of character is when he is still technically in character, but is cracking up laughing trying to stay IN character. He consistently makes me laugh and I love it. I've also seen Jon Stewart in stand up comedy twice, and the first time, I laughed so hard that my stomach was killing me and my cheeks hurt from smiling for so long.

Stevie boy is on the right. I LOVE him!

5) I watched 3 seasons of True Blood over the course of a long weekend, non-stop back to back. I ate, slept, dreamed everything Bill and Sookie. It's so bad it is good. I love True Blood. (Do the things I like count as things about me? No? Too bad).

6) =
=
[

(Ella, the puppy, typed that one for me).

real #6: I am dying to go to one of those gorgeous over-water bungalows in Bora Bora where you can walk right from your hut into the water. They are stunning and RIDICULOUSLY expensive. A girl can dream.

This goes into the mother-frikken OCEAN. It's pure paradise in Bora Bora! Me want!

7) I always ask Feyoncé to play online Scrabble, then bitch and moan the ENTIRE time because I have shitty letters/no idea what words to make/am losing/know I will lose/used to kick his butt, but never do any more.

The following are 7 neat blogs that you should check out if you haven't already:

1) D'Artagnan ("Dee") over at Support Your Own Agenda
2) Mrs. Hyde over at A Bitch Called Mom
3) Brucie over at JADIP
4) Kage over at Sex, Sequins + Sociopaths
5) Jewels over at Jewels Turning 30 (aka Turning 30: A Journey of Self Exploration)
6) Oilfield Trash over at his accurate 10% theory blog, Make Daddy A Sammich
7) Jeff over at Content Unrelated

Check 'em out.

Later gators.

____________

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Freebie Friday: Funny Stuff That Isn't Mine

Here it is,

mah lame Friday post. Free e-cards that are frikken hilarious (and are totally not mine).

Thank you SomeECards!

Don't deny it. Mine even overheats. Control your jealousy.

It's true. I hate funerals.

This is true for every blogger Narcissist.

I say do one thing, and do it well. This is mine.

And on that note...

Happy Friday!

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Hoarders - The Beginning

First off - Hello to all the new followers and visitors to the blog! Let me wow you with some mundane shit  crazy-talk  ridiculousness  stuff.

So, Feyoncé wanted to do some purging and cleaning and sorting.

Apparently this is "all the rage" during "spring time". And yes, I have put spring in quotes, because this mother-effing snow won't piss off, so it's a pretty questionable spring time if you ask me.

Anyway, I immediately became defensive and wanted to save every extra toaster, bread bag plastic tie and odd-shaped glass container that I own... you know... just IN CASE.

In case of a large influx of 50 loaves of bread that show up without closure tags    in case of really impatient company and not enough bread slots, resulting in exceptional delays of toast delivery    because plastic is the devil and I am one crazy bitch.

You know, just in case we need it some time. It's so much easier if it is already around, as opposed to having to go out and buy new stuff.

So then I took a look around, and realized that some stuff was piling up ridiculously. The stuff you see all of the time, but your mind sort of cancels out the ugliness/ghetto-fabulousness/clutter/dirt/fur pile-up, just because it's always there. Like the great dane drool all across the walls.

I present to you Exhibit A of how I am becoming a Hoarder. The famed "junk drawer":

Prepared to tie bread, open wine, cut a bitch with a utility knife, and plug a sink with a warped drain stop.

I had every single bread bag tie that has ever entered this house since 2007. I shit.you.not. Why? I have no idea, because I also had every single elastic band that has ever made its way through the door. And twist ties, too, for good measure.

I tried to throw a bunch of shit out, and made some progress. I cleaned off some cupboards and re-organized (though, admittedly, didn't actually get RID of too much stuff).

Seriously, who gives a shit about my junk drawer? Really?

Oh well, at least ONE SINGLE FREAKIN' DRAWER has been cleaned. And Feyoncé did a drool wipe-down.

Does that count as spring cleaning? I say yes!

___

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Win & Fail

So, sometimes I feel like the ultimate shitty blogger.
No good thoughts, no witticisms bringing the house down with lols, ROLFLOLs, or people choking on their chicken wing and dying due to my hilarious content.

I realized today that I promised to guest post at two other bloggers' sites... Bruce at JADIP and Krissy at Talkative Taurus.

I went all wedding-y and did stuff, and was sick and down and out in between, then went to California, was in hospital, came back home, now suffering nightmares and unable to sleep through the night. I never guest posted.

Full of the AWESOME.

I have also been given an award by Sam at a Redhead Named Sam, chosen at random, but have yet to make mention of it. So... I get a big helping of FAIL for that.

On the other hand?

I WIN on Wii.



I am currently ranked #1 on all of Rock Band 3 for "Blow At High Dough" by the Tragically Hip (an awesome Canadian band who never were able to crack North American mainstream). I did vocals solo on expert. Boo-yah.

The smarter it gets, the further it's gonna go. #1 on Rock Band 3

I also did 10-fucking-straight-minutes of hula hoop on the Wii fit. I'm sure I broke no records, but people. 10 MINUTES OF HULA HOOP. That has to count for something, right?

10 minute Wii hula hoop: Not for pussies the weak.

RIGHT?

Okay, so the actual number of spins is about that number divided by 5 (What?!? They throw 5 hoops at you and add it to your total... not my fault!)

No?

Goddammit.

Fine, here is an adorable picture of my sleeping puppy Ella (with me trying to protect her lady-like-ness):

Sleepy puppy with some class.

___

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Have I Mentioned I Hate Cleaning?

So, I rolled my lazy ass out of bed somewhere around the noon-mark yesterday (mothers everywhere, feel free to hate on me).

As soon as I was up, Feyoncé was already cleaning up papers, putting crap away, doing laundry, saving lives and giving money to the poor.

I felt like I had enough energy to eat. Maybe, MAYBE even go to the store to get fruit to have with my wheat and dairy-laden waffles and coconut yogurt.

After I bravely faced the hoardes of slow-moving elderly shoppers at the jam-packed grocery store, fought through same drivers in the parking lot, grabbed a coffee and made it home, I was ready for a nap again.

What did I end up doing, you ask?

Well, Feyoncé was talking about this "spring cleaning" phenomenon that I am vaguely aware of. He went to the store and ran some errands.

I ended up cleaning the front entrance way.

On my mother-effin' hands and knees.
Using a mother-effin' toothbrush to get all the dog drool and dirt and grossness that couldn't be reached with regular, upright cleaning methods.

People, a MOTHER-EFFIN' toothbrush.

I inhaled all kinds of "Fantastik" cleaner, I Swiffer wet-jetted that vinyl flooring like no other assault it has likely ever seen in its life. I think I vaccuumed before washing about 3 times, just to be sure. And I used that weird pointy, funnel-down-to-a-point edge attachment.

Yes, I used central vaccuuming ACCESSORIES, I was so hard core.

The soundtrack to this wondrous (if not atypical) cleaning event?

It's pure gold... bellbottoms.

Oh yeah, Abba, on full blast, so as to hear it over the vaccuum, scrubbing, swearing, sweating, and brushing. (As in mother-effin' toothbrushing the wood floor trim).

Feyoncé came home. I could tell the music was jarring to him. So while I was on my hands and knees, Feyoncé literally said the music needed to be turned down.

WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!?

But... they're so HAPPY, honey... it's ABBA?!?

I'm on my mother-effin' knees cleaning the mother-effin' quarter-round wood trim, and he DARES to try to soften/quiet/stop the ABBA?

I was angry... I need the music to motivate.  (p.s. I would have been much happier playing with a kite instead.)

Anyway, the poor guy ALSO worked his butt off doing the mile-high stack of dishes, to the only slighty-quieter ABBA soundtrack.

I later found out that he truly, deeply hates ABBA, that it was an awful experience for him, and, when asked, he was hard pressed to tell me ANY OTHER POSSIBLE MUSIC I could have played that would have been worse for him. (My apologies on the abuse of the comma there).

Anyone else need loud music to clean?
Clean their floors/rim with a toothbrush?

Anyone else think Swiffer is total BULLSHIT, since it makes it LOOK clean, but makes it sticky, which will ultimately just attract more dirt, requiring you to Swiffer again, causing an endless vortex of swiffer-squirting-then-sticking-then-resquirting?

No? Just me? 

FINE.

__

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Bummed Out - Wedding Dress Woes

So...

Yeah, I am getting married in the fall of this year.

I searched high and low, hunted, tried on a bunch of dresses, alone, to try to figure out what styles I liked and what type of dress was in my budget. I ended up buying one (at a good price).

I finally got a photo of me in it not too long ago, and I have come to the conclusion that I do not like the dress. Well, I don't LOVE the dress.

[EDIT: Folks, the money's been spent, it is final sale, it's a DONE DEAL. I'm not buying two dresses!]

There were two others I was undecided on, at a bridal store that had tenants living above the shop who chain-smoked, as all of the garments in the store smelled like cigarette smoke (even in garment bags!).

I have a crazy sensitive nose, so I knew that the odour would drive me batshit crazy(ier), so I ruled them out. I didn't want to spend another $150+ to dry clean out the cigarette smell.

Tonight I looked at side by side pictures, and I'm wondering if I made the wrong choice. The other dress would have been more than double after alterations, but I am thinking it was a much prettier dress. Maybe?

A truly gorgeous gown needs more ties. And tying up. And under-boob.

I knew I would have buyer's remorse to some degree, especially since I decided in a matter of hours to buy the dress I did, without being allowed to take a photo of myself in it (a picture can tell you so much that you can't initially see just in the mirror).

I think it needs a longer train at the back... like this, but longer:

I need a wedding dress with a serious train. Fo' rizzle.

I made two trips to the bridal store, 35 minutes away, in a period of 4 hours to first try it on myself, then come back with my mom, sister and niece to check it out (right before closing time). Normally I take my time and weigh out every possible option. I only impulse buy when it comes to sugary things at the checkout lane in Walmart.

I had hoped to look as stunning as this bride... so close, and yet so far.

Maybe I can make some minor modifications with a local seamstress to make it just a little different at the front. Maybe?

Also? The veil I ordered came in on Monday, and it isn't what I expected. At all.

So yes, I know these things are trivial, but I am feeling really shitty about it right now. So there.

Maybe I'd feel better if it seemed like my tits were trying to fly off in opposite directions?

/ rant, bitch whine.


I hope my wedding make-up looks as nice as this (photo stolen from Moooooooooooooooog, Midget Man of Steel):

Smooth and flawless wedding make-up.

____

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Rhetorical Questions

• Sears, why do you suck so much? You have shitty, overpriced stuff. Your clearance prices, return policies, and catalogue ordering all suck donkey balls.
• Grandma, why a gift card to Sears? (see above) (just kidding Grandma, you got Winners, that rocks...  but I mean it! Next year please just donate to the SPCA!)
• Why is it that it doesn't matter how many times I check to make sure I turned on the correct stovetop burner before walking away from the stove, I manage to damage something/use the wrong burner/melt the cordless phone? Seriously!?
• Why is sitting in a salon chair for hours SO BLOODY awkward? I guess that is why people tell their hairdresser their life story. What the hell else do you do for four-freakin'-hours?
• Why do people with the nicest homes have the cheapest, easiest-to-tear, sandpaper-to-butt toilet paper?
• Why is it that Shopper's Drug Mart always makes you wait a minimum of 30 minutes for a single prescription? I know you want store sales, but dude, can't you see I'M SICK?!?
• Why does it feel somehow wrong to "poke" someone on Facebook? I reciprocate because it seems like the right thing to do... but I feel so dirty afterwards...

Pokity poke-poke. Either could result in blinding.

*POKE*.


___

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Friday Freebie: Puppy + Laptop + Ebay

Here is the first (and last? who knows) installment of ~*Friday Freebies*~.

This is where I dole out useless shitty tips for your okay, mostly my own  amusement.

This Friday? Combined laptop and puppy management.

You are welcome in advance for the sound quality and my annoying talk-to-puppy-voice.



Happy Friday!

And thanks to all 2 of you who will actually WATCH the video~!

_____

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California Doomed: I'm On A Boat Y'all. For 8 Effing Hours...

[EDIT: To clairfy - we WERE on the water for 8 hours due to the weather conditions... I'm not just really bad at adding 3.5 + 3.5!]


So... for our trip we decided to do something romantical-ish and touristy, so Feyoncé suggested a trip to Catalina Island, in California. We'd take a ferry from the Balboa Island/Newport Landing area, and see Catalina Island for a few hours.

My understanding was that this was a LARGE FERRY.

Cue "I'm on a boat y'all":
(Be warned - heeee-larious, but explicit, NSFW lyrics)
(p.s. Are you living under a rock if you haven't seen this before?!? Andy Samberg cracks me up)



So, yeah. (I love this song for it's ridiculouness and the voice modifier thingie, just FYI).

There was definite risk involved, as you may know I experience debilitating nausea for at least some part of my day, typically every day.

I thought that with some extra nausea medicine, a large stable-ish boat, and the distraction of adorable water creatures (you know, dolphins, whales, T-Pain, the Little Mermaid, Sebastian, Flounder, etc.) that I might make it out okay, as I typically don't experience sea-sickness (ironic, in a way).

Ariel & crew. I assumed we would probably spot them while   whale watching   dolphin watching   looking at the water inevitably not see them because we are curled up in the fetal position on a metal bench trying to desperately retain body heat.

The description on the website is as follows:

3.5 hours on a boat y'all. One way. To Catalina Island. *crickets*.   Inside tourist tip: The sundeck is only sunny if the sun is out.

But I only briefly looked at it. I thought Feyoncé said 2 to 2.5 hours each way. I totally wasn't paying attention, because he did indeed tell me 3.5 hours. It's right there on the website. I think I got it mixed up in my head with a different speedboat option that was shorter. Who the fuck hell knows with me, anyhow.

Well, along with Oilfield Trash's 10% rule, anyone who knows me knows that randomly odd/weird/bad/awkward shit happens to me all the time.

This place keeps count of how many dolphins and whales are spotted on the tour. The board had big claims for the previous days:

Me and my motherffing shitty luck.... Hmm, no dolphin count for our Catalina Island  nightmare "journey".

Yay! I thought. The sun is out! I smiled. "It's turned out to be a gorgeous day!" I told Feyoncé.

This all held true. For approximately 20 minutes.

Oh HAI dock! Lovely day! Surely the clouds will burn off like they always do, says Feyoncé! Yay! Um... clouds? CLOUDS?

Then it turned cold. The sun disappeared. The 20° C weather dropped. The wind picked-up as the boat chugged along. At a snail's pace. To allow us to see the dolphins and whales.

I had bare feet and flats on. I lost feeling in my toes. I had on a t-shirt, a wool sweater, a wool cardigan, and a gore-tex windbreaker with a hood. I was still cold.

Oh wait! A dolphin! Yay! Look guys! Here is the best photo I got of ALL of the hundreds  thousands  dozens  tens   8 dolphins we spotted!



The best part?






I captured the whale we got to see in the same shot!






This was actually really awesome...





Please don't steal and re-use this photo, I know it is neat, but it is mine.





Okay.






Here goes.







Ready?

You may or may not notice that there are no dolphins on this Catalina Boat Tour photo. I have also included all of the zero whales we saw. Gorgeous, yes?

Yup.



But, I did get this:





And that summarizes what turned out to be 8 HOURS ON A MOTHER-EFFING BOAT Y'ALL.


We were so cold on the way back that I was literally curled into a human-turtle on the metal seat I had (backless, of course). My guy did his best to try to shield the wind and help me keep warm. He even gave me his socks on the way back, so my feet wouldn't be as icy.

The dock and Express boat at Catalina Island.

Interesting aside - I didn't feel great throughout (that's standard for me), but once I went into the enclosed bathroom area, it was like total vertigo. I was so violently nauseous and ill I had to keep staring at the skyline, and I couldn't let anything touch me or I knew I would start intensely heaving.

Pretty water... once feet were firmly planted on Catalina Island.

On the plus side:

• Got to spend time with my guy
• The water looked pretty, once we were firmly on land.
• The boat left late, leaving us with just over an hour to see Catalina Island. (p.s. There is nothing to see there, and the restaurant smells like a bouquet of mould).
• One spot on the hill did have a lovely view.
• It made for a... story, I suppose.
• The sun was mostly out for the time on the island, and part of the boat ride. (A small, cold part).
• Neither of us puked.
• Neither of us had to stand the entire time like some people did (there aren't enough seats on the boat).
• I had a Charleston Chew chocolate/candy bar and a banana for lunch so I wouldn't puke anything heavy. The cashier at the local store at the beach had no idea what I was asking her until I stopped saying "chocolate bar" and corrected myself to say "candy bar".

Catalina Island boat ride from hell?

So, don't go to Catalina Island, man.

They claim to have seen hundreds and thousands of dolphins and a few whales almost every other voyage.  They gave us a free 2.5 hour whale watching card once we docked. Safe to say I will not be redeeming that.

____

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