Someone thinks I’m epically awesome

And no, I didn’t pay them to say that.

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The equally awesome Sandra from What Sandra Thinks seems to think I’m awesome. Thanks, Sandra!

This is cool recognition because it’s, well, epic.

PS: I categorized this post under Random Crap but this is by no means crap. I think I may need a category for awesome awards?!!

The Award Rules:

1. I know you are Awesome, tell us why.
2. You are my friends and tell us about others.
3. Be creative. It’s alright if you can’t be.
4. I give no questions to be fully answered but let yourself go here. Thank you.

Here we go…

1. I can’t give any reasons why I think I’m awesome because most of the time I think I’m a complete goofball. So unless you think goofballs are awesome, I’m just a plain ole nut. However, I can provide a ton of reasons why I think I’m fun to hang out with. Here’s three of them: Wine. Laughter. Loyalty.

2. There are so many wicked awesome blogs out there and to name them all would be impossible. I will, however, give a shoutout to some new blogs I’ve discovered that are well worth your attention.

No Love for Fatties

Ben’s Bitter Blog

The Shameful Sheep

3. Creativity comes hard for me. So I get involved in a lot of things to see what sparks an idea. Recently, I’ve been training my dogs to catch soft chewy treats in their mouth. Training is not going so well. Here’s a video clip of Wiki trying to catch the treat…in slow motion.

4. I love to make people laugh. I also love to laugh. I sometimes get laughing so hard I can’t stop and it’s usually at the worst moments, such as a funeral, performance review or the doctor’s office. I love our two dogs. I’m an introvert. I’m married to an extrovert. An extrovert who thinks introverts are exhausted extroverts. I hate to cook and do dishes so we go out to eat. A lot We always sit at the bar. My go-to drink is red wine but I can be talked into a Ketel One martini, up, with a twist. I love to travel. The more exotic, the better. I’m driven. I usually take on way too much and then lose my mind trying to meet all of the deadlines. And most importantly, I’m grateful for everything I have in my life.

 

The 5 Things Only Those Who Are Babies When They Are Sick Will Understand

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  1. I know you were sick last week and I avoided you like you had the plague. And I can see how you might have perceived my behavior as insensitive. But this is different. I’m actually sick. I need you to stay home and and check my vitals. And make hot soup. And spoon feed me. And hold my hand. Please.
  2. No, I wanted the tissues with aloe in them. How am I supposed to blow my raw, bloody nose on this sandpaper? My head is about to explode and all I’ll have to clean up the mess is this box of generic one-ply tissues? Am I not worth quilted, scented 2-ply tissues? And what about the sugar free cough drops. The lemon mint ones. I absolutely need those. I’m not supposed to be under any unnecessary stress. This is not helping. Cough. Cough. 
  3. Can you Google how many people die each year form the flu. I want to know my odds here. And don’t move those papers on my desk. It’s my last will and testament. I can feel myself slipping away as I speak.  I love you, good-bye.
  4. I’m not being dramatic. I am dying. I have a 104 degree temperature. Feel my head. It’s hot, right? It’s the swine flu. Why me?? I wash my hands. I even got a flu shot? Can you hear the pain in my throat? And look at me. I’m anemic and pale. I look like I should be in a casket. This is so unfair.
  5. I will not rest until I know who gave me this cold. What is you? It was, wasn’t it. When I find out I’m going to cough and sneeze on them and I won’t feel bad about it. I refuse to be the only one suffering.

I’m Being Eaten Out of House and Home

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A rare moment when Wiki and Hobbs are both sleeping (or at least still). I can finally focus on some writing, and home repairs. LOL

They’ve been devils this week. Here’s a list of what they’ve eaten:

  • Antenna from internet router
  • Tea light candle
  • My Visa credit card
  • My health insurance ID card
  • All of the flowers from an Iris plant
  • Part of our down comforter
  • Two corners of a throw pillow
  • 11 socks
  • Part of a pair of jeans
  • A rather large portion of the bottom of our leather couch.
  • A 6 foot section of baseboard
  • The shoelaces from 2 pairs of my gym shoes

I have literally sprayed the entire house with sour apple. Let’s see if that works.

 

I’m Not a Hot Meth

Me: Hi, I’d like to purchase two boxes of Advil Cold & Sinus please.

Pharmacist: I’m sorry but you’re only permitted one box per year.

Me: Why?

Pharmacist: Our company is working with local law enforcement and health agencies to reduce the use of methamphetamine.

Me: You mean like crystal meth?

Pharmacist: Yes.

Me: Do you have any idea how many boxes of these pills I’d need to make crystal meth?

Pharmacist: Yes, I do. That’s why we limit purchases to one box per person.

Me: Did you watch Breaking Bad? It’s not a simple process. I don’t even have a mobile home to set up a meth lab in.

Pharmacist: Do you want to purchase the one box?

Me: No. I want two boxes. I have a cold and I take two pills at one time. That one box won’t last me a few days.

Pharmacist: Only one box, sir. I’m sorry.

Me: Do you see me? I have all of my teeth. And they’re white. I’m not a meth addict.

Pharmacist: Well now that you mention it, I do see a brown tooth in there.

Me: Ugh. That’s a temporary crown.

Pharmacist: From here it looks like a snaggle tooth. A methy snaggle tooth.

Me: IT’S TEMPORARY!!

Pharmacist: And I see some acne on your forehead. Another telltale sign.

Me: I’m allergic to soy. Oh my God. I ate a meatball last night made from soy. It makes me break out.

Pharmacist: You seem edgy. Something making you anxious?

Me: Yes, you are. Can I please have my pills?

Pharmacist: We’re begging now? Seems like you’re desperate.

Me: I’m not desperate. I have a sore throat and stuffy nose. I just want my pills.

Pharmacist: License?

Me: Here. (I hand him my license). The address is not updated on my license. I moved recently. And it’s a bad picture.

Pharmacist: Hmmmm.

Me: What?

Pharmacist: I see in our records that you purchased a box in March of this year.

Me: It’s November.

Pharmacist: I’m sorry. Only one box per year.

Me: I WANT MY FUCKING PILLS. PLEASE!!!

Pharmacist: Yeah, you and every other pilly punk in here.

Me: Look. Just listen to me for a minute. It’s been a rough week. I’m stressed out. I’m not a meth addict. I’m just sick.

Pharmacist: You’re covered in dirt, you have a brown tooth and you have acne.

Me: I told you. The brown tooth is temporary. I’m getting it replaced in a few days once my insurance company clears up a billing error. It should have been replaced by now. (The pharmacist raises his eyebrows in mocked excitement). And I’m dirty because I moved all of our outdoor furniture into the shed. Ugh. Never mind. Just give me the one box.

Pharmacist: That’ll be $9.08 please.

(I reach into my picket and realize that I don’t have my debit card. I pull out a handful of crumpled dollar bills and change and slap it onto the counter. The pharmacist rolls his eyes. I start to count the money.)

Me: I know this looks white trashy but I forgot my debit card. Okay, here’s a five and three more singles. That’s eight. And here’s some change. Let’s see. 25, 50, 60, 65, 68. I’ve got $8.68. How much do I owe you?

Pharmacist: $9.08.

(I turn to the lady standing behind me. I hold my hand up and partially cover my mouth so she won’t see my brown tooth.)

Me: Hi. You wouldn’t happen to have 40 cents I can borrow? I’m short and I don’t have my debit card. I’m usually pretty good about having it on me. It’s been a rough day and I could really use the help.

Lady: I’ve been watching this entire exchange and there’s no way I’m supporting a drug habit.

Me: I’m not a meth addict. What is wrong with you people? You know what, forget it. I’ll suffer through the cold. It’s not worth the aggravation.

(I grab my money and walk away, but not before I overhear the woman talking to the pharmacist.)

Lady: It’s so sad. Another wasted life.

Me (shouting from two aisles away): When I get my new tooth and my acne clears up, I’m coming back. Then we’ll see who’s crazy.

(I’m looking forward to returning soon:))

 

November: Osage County

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On this day, I wanted to let you all know that I am thankful for each and every one of you. Some of you I know well while others I know through the Blogsphere. But all of you are important to me. Thank you:)

To show my appreciation, I’ve dug up this morsel out of my head from the past. I hope you enjoy.

—–

Setting: 10 people sitting around our dinner table trying to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner. I’ve changed names to protect, well, everyone.

Margaret (in her late sixties): So Claire, are you going to formally introduce your new boyfriend to us.

Claire (wearing dark eye shadow and black lipstick, and looking completely disinterested): Grandma, I told you. He’s not my boyfriend. We hooked up once in the back of his pickup truck at a Marilyn Manson concert. That doesn’t mean we’re dating.

(The boyfriend’s face is covered with long, jet black hair. He flips his head to the side momentarily pushing his hair away from his face, exposing pale skin and a patch over one eye.)

Aunt Beverly (mid sixties and tipsy): When your mom and I were your age, we had a wild side as well. Isn’t that right, Margaret.

Margaret: Beverly, you hush now. Not in front of the kid. (She laughs.)

Timmy: Grandma. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m 12 now. And besides, I’ve seen a real vagina.

Stella (Timmy’s mom): Timmy! Word selection??

Timmy: Sorry. I’ve seen a actual vagina.  I walked in on Kim and Paul last night. They were in the laundry room. At first I thought he was banging his hips against the washing machine. I couldn’t see well. It was dark. So I flipped the light on. It wasn’t the machine he was banging.

Claire: Wait, Paul isn’t here yet. He’s arriving tonight, right?

Kim (early forties): Timmy, sweetie. You’re telling fibs now. Your older brother Hunter was stretching me out. (She turns her head left and right). I have fibromyalgia.

(Everyone glared at Hunter. He kept his chin down and continued shoving mashed potatoes into his mouth.)

Margaret: Fibro what? Is that a yoga stretch?

Claire: Yeah, it’s also called The Hungry Cougar.

Beverly:: No wonder the towels came out especially fluffed. (She winks at Kim). Good for you, girl. That’s what I think. We’re not getting any younger. Get in there while your eggs are still good. I probably let a dozen good ones go to waste.

Jim (Margaret’s husband): Beverly??

Beverly: Well, I’m sorry Jim. But I speak the truth. In our generation there was too much pressure for women to find a man and produce children. It wasn’t fair. (She reaches into her pocket and retrieves something and pops it into her mouth.) I should have been a lesbian. Take some pressure, off.

Kevin (Margaret’s grandson): Oh yeah, a lesbian in the 1950s. That would have been an easy life.

Claire: Are you still taking pain pills?

Beverly: Oh don’t be silly. I’m just taking a little relaxer. These holidays stress me out.

Kevin: Maybe you shouldn’t drink if you’re taking pills.

Beverly: What would Jesus do? (She lifts her wine glass and takes a substantial sip.)

Jim (Rolls his eyes): Here we go.

Stella: Why do you always have to bring Jesus into it.

Beverly: Oh relax, Stella. Loosen that fucking bun a little bit and have some fun. I know you have it in with Jesus. I’m just kidding you.

Kevin: Jesus is fictional. He was created so that people didn’t feel insignificant in the world.

Stella: What are they teaching you in school these days? If you mother were here right now. Honestly.

Kevin: Aunt Stella. I’m sorry but it’s a little silly that people have convinced themselves that they know exactly who this Jesus was and what he wanted. It’s a cult.

Stella: That is–

Beverly: You know what’s silly? That I’ve had an empty wine glass for several minutes and not a single one of you jumped in to help me out. Timmy, honey, can you go get Auntie Bev some wine.

Stella: It’s completely outrageous that you would call Jesus fictional. So an entire religion was made up?

Kevin: Well, yes.

Jim: Hey Everyone, it takes a village now. Let’s keep that in mind.

Beverly (who now has a replenished glass of wine): I’d like to porpose, propose, a toast. (She stands up). This woman over here. (She points to Margaret) is like a sister to me. (Margaret is actually her sister). She was there when I was down and out. She came to my defense on more than one occasion. She’s the Jesus we should all be focused on. Okay, there was that one time when she screwed the boy I was interested in. It took a long time to forgive her, didn’t it Margaret, but I did. Blood is thicker than wine. Or is it wine is thicker than water. You get my point.(Her voice gets louder). This woman is un-fucking believable. You wouldn’t have anything to be thankful for today if it weren’t for her. Our dear Margaret.

Kevin: Your relaxer has kicked in, I see.

Beverly: Oh fuck you, Kevin. Ivy League Kevin. I could debate the shit out of you from now until next Sunday. I don’t need a fancy certificate to tell me I’m smart.

Kevin: You’re a drunk drug addict. Doesn’t take much intellect to pull that off.

Beverly: You little shit. (She lunges across the table at Kevin, gets her leg trapped in her chair, and face plants onto the table.)

(Everyone jumps up to help her. Well, almost everyone. Claire and her boyfriend start to make out, and Hunter grabs a roll out of the basket on his end of the table. Jim gets Beverly back into her seat. Beverly continues to thrash her arms toward Kevin, mashed potatoes and gravy dripping from her face. Paul walks into the room holding flowers and a bottle of wine.)

Paul: Happy Thanksgiving!

Everyone in unison: Fuck you.

 

My Moon is Descending

My sister wants me to visit a medium she says is spot on. Her request reminded me of a visit I made to a psychic a few years ago.

Psychic: What brings you here today?

Me: I’m looking to get my taxes done.

(A blank stare froze her face momentarily.)

Me: Obviously, I’m joking. But if you have to ask me why I’m here, doesn’t that sort of contradict the whole psychic thing?

Psychic: I’m a spiritual medium, not a mind reader. I offer two services. Card reading and speaking to people who have passed.

Me: Passed what? Kidney stones?

Psychic: Passed away.

Me: Oh, yeah. Okay. I’d like to do both actually.

Psychic: Great. I’ll get the cards set up.

(She sifts through some junk on her desk and then pulls out an oversized deck of cards. She carefully places several cards onto the table and forms a diamond shape. One by one she turns the cards over so they are face up.)

Psychic: Hmmm. This is interesting.

Me: What’s interesting? Why do you have that look on your face? Am I going to die soon? Is that what the cards are telling you? I knew it. Holy crap. I knew it. Oh my God. When? Where? How? It’s a terrorist attack, isn’t it? Those Bastards. Let me guess. New York City, right? I’m going there next month. Wow. All of a sudden it’s really hot in here. Whew. Am I having a stroke?

Psychic: Calm down. I was commenting on the positioning of your cards. (She points to a card on the outside of the diamond.) See here. Your moon is descending into Jupiter.

Me: Ma’am, my moon has descended into a lot of places, more than I wish to discuss here, but Jupiter ain’t one of them.

Psychic: No, this means you’re likely to experience financial hardship soon.

Me: Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m dropping $150 on this reading. I could have told you that. What else are the cards telling you?

Psychic: There’s significant energy coming from your arcana.

Me: Oh yeah. Sorry. I had Chipotle for lunch.

Psychic: My Dear, you have many secrets. You’re expending too much energy protecting those secrets.

Me: No, that’s still the Chipotle. I’m squeezing really hard.

Psychic: You should release some of that energy. It’s limiting your potential, particularly with your planets out of alignment.

Me: I don’t think you want me to release that energy just yet. Let me hold onto it a while longer. At least until my moon and Uranus are no longer in close proximity.

Psychic: Someone is here with us. Someone is coming through.

Me: Who?

Psychic: He’s telling me B. Someone with a B name?

Me: No clue.

Psychic: Or maybe it’s an S. A large older man with an S name. White hair.

Me: Santa?

Psychic: Oh wait a minute. He’s speaking to me.

Me: Tell him I want a new iPhone for Christmas. The 128 gigabyte one.

Psychic: He says he’s sorry. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

Me: Wait. Uncle Sherm? He was an asshole. When I was a kid he used to dress up like Santa and sneak into our house to drop our gifts off. My parents thought it would be cool if we woke up and came out to the living and stumbled upon Santa. Well, one Christmas Eve I heard a noise coming from down the hall. So I got out of bed and crept down the hall to see what it was. It was uncle Sherm. He was dressed like Santa but I knew it was Sherm. I could smell the whiskey. He was bent over placing gifts under the tree. I wanted to surprise him. So I snuck up behind him and screamed MERRY CHRISTMAS, SANTA!! Well, I scared the shit out of him. Instinctively, he extended his arms and swung around. He knocked me straight into the Christmas tree. It took him and my parents two hours to extract me.

Psychic: Is there anything you want to tell him.

Me: Yes. I should have pushed you into the fireplace, you drunk prick. I had tinsel coming out of my nose for three solid months. Do you have any idea what it’s like for a boy to go to public school with silver tinsel hanging out of his nose?

Psychic: People who have passed don’t harbor earthly feelings. It’s all peace and love and forgiveness.

Me: Yeah, okay. It’s uncle Sherm. Watch this. Tell him I’m the one who found his whiskey stash in his basement and poured it all onto the grass in the backyard. He was pissed but he couldn’t tell anyone because he wasn’t supposed to be drinking.

(The psychic paused for a moment before her eyes popped open wide.)

Psychic: I stand corrected.

 

Real Neat Blog Award

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Wandering Soul (https://wanderingsoul2015blog.wordpress.com) generously nominated me for the Real Neat Blog Award. I will assume the “Neat” part refers to interesting and not tidy because I’m completely disorganized. Regardless, I am truly honored.

Here are the questions I have been asked to answer.

  • Which is your favourite movie and movie character? Minnie from The Help. When I think of the person trapped inside of me, I immediately think of Minnie.
  • What is your favourite book and the one lesson you learnt from it?  The Hunger Games. Lesson: Make sure you know how to shoot a bow and arrow because you just never know…
  • If you could say one thing to one person – living or dead, what would that be? Me to Kim Kardashian: Stop.
  • What would be that one piece of advice you would like to give a new blogger? Just be yourself. And if no one likes the true you, then pursue acting instead.
  • What is biggest fear? Oh boy. This question feeds right into my anxiety. I have a running list of fears that now totals 122,828. However, I’d say it’s spiders. I actually wrote a post about a recent spider encounter, or as I refer to it, “The scream heard round the world.”

https://wanderlushed.com/2015/10/20/2-pound-flying-spider-thingy/

I nominate:

Sass and Sauce
What Sandra Thinks
kidscrumbsandcrackers
Stephellaneous
Emmasbrain

These blogs are ridiculously awesome. I’m inspired by the impact they’ve had on me and my writing.

The Rules:

  • Thank and link the blogger who nominated you.
  • Answer the questions the person who nominated you provided.
  • Nominate other bloggers. Try to nominate 7 if possible.
  • Create new questions for the people you nominate
  • Display the logo somewhere on your blog – only if you want to. It’s an award!

Here are the questions I have for the nominees:

  1. Red wine or white wine?
  2. What is the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you?
  3. Tell us two true things about you and one lie. And then let’s see if we can guess the lie.
  4. If you were holding a puppy in one hand and your least favorite child in the other and someone tossed a bottle of wine toward you, which one would you drop so you could catch the wine? Be honest now.
  5. Wart ise yoour’e fvartie wrod? Oops, sorry about that. I wrote that last question after a few glasses of wine and I couldn’t see the keyboard. I’m in a better frame of mind now. The question is: What is your favorite word?