…annnnd the company I keep (who also lets me blog about them)

My friend Ojeda is a regular source of entertainment and hilarity for me. We’ve known each other for about 6 years now, and as much as he drives me nuts he keeps me grounded… and constantly laughing. On a regular basis he says something that makes me stare at him and say “you know when you’re old you’re gonna be the most racist old Cuban man in the retirement home” and “You know can’t tell stories about tampons in public! Out loud!!” and “no, we will not steal Star Wars toys from that five year old” (see previous post).

Me and my Cuban Brotha from Anotha’ Mutha’ (who makes some meat cuban pork)

Being Cuban, he often pulls out these off the cuff statement regarding Cuban culture, and then looks at us all like we’re nuts for looking at him like he’s nuts.

Example from last Sunday:

BFE, Ojeda and two of our fairly normal (heh) friends are strolling around the World Showcase at EPCOT, and stop in the Outpost are to look at the shops. Ojeda spots a collection of beautifully carved elephants.

Ojeda: You know, it’s customary in Cuban households to have an elephant in your house somewhere.

**We are stare blankly**

Ojeda: You know, an elephant statue.

**We continue to stare blankly**

Ojeda: It’s for good luck. But it’s only good luck if the elephant’s ass is facing the front door. That’s the way it works.

***We continue to stare blankly**

Ojeda: Shut up! It’s my culture!!!!!

I love him to bits. He’s like the crazy Cuban brother I never had, because that would be weird and require a lot of explaining. And considering he’s confused Alabama and Georgia before, asking “what’s the difference??” he’s definitely not Southern enough to be my brother. But considering we both have zero filter, there’s a good chance we are still related.

Today’s email between me and Ojeda about plans we all have for tonight. I’ve highlighted the craziest parts in bold red for easier reading.

From: Ojeda
To: Peach
Subject: Tonight’s dinner

I want to let you know there’s a small possibility I may not be able to attend the dinner tonight.  I’ve been having the runs all this morning and still in the afternoon.  I’m also breaking a bit of a sweat and fear I may be coming down with something.

I really want to go, however, because it’s a special dinner and I want to be a part of it.  But in case I feel too sick, I wanted to give you advance notice.

I plan on working late in the office and then heading straight to the hotel.  So it’s best to reach me through email until around 7pm when I’m outside of the office and in cell phone range.

Ojeda

_______________________

From: Peach
To: Ojeda
Cc: BFE
Subject: RE: Tonight’s dinner

Oh no friend!!!! This is no good.

I’m sorry you’re sick. Maybe try flushing you system with some water and maybe Gatorade/ powerade? The bad thing about being sick like that is the dehydration that comes with it. It becomes a never-ending cycle because you are losing electrolytes.

I really REALLY hope you can make it but I understand if you cannot be there. Your health is important. If there’s anything you need, please let us know!

-          Peach

_________________

From: Ojeda
To: Peach at Work
Subject: RE: Tonight’s dinner

I’ll definitely keep you posted.  And you’re right about the hydration.  There’s no Gatorade in the office, but I’ve been keeping myself hydrated with a lot of water.  My body, however, is still cramping and I feel the movement to you know where.

Believe me, I want to go…and I expect to.  But just giving you a heads up.  I even wore a collar shirt for today.

Ojeda

________________

From: Peach at Work
To: Ojeda
Subject: RE: Tonight’s dinner

Things that will help your stomach too – the BRAT diet:

Bananas

Rice

Applesauce

Toast

-          Peach

_________________

From: Ojeda

To: Peach at Work
Subject: RE: Tonight’s dinner

Oh, good thing you told me what it stood for.  I was about to go to the nearest elementary and chew on a spoiled kid.

Ojeda

__________________

From: Peach at Work

To: Ojeda

Subject: RE: Tonight’s dinner

I’m totally blogging this.

-          Peach

____________________

From: Ojeda
To: Peach
Subject: RE: Tonight’s dinner

Thanks…I enjoy being part of the blog

Ojeda

This is the company I keep. I hope this explains my crazy, even if it’s just a little bit. No normal person gets emails about the runs, and no normal friend would send them.

I am grateful for my crazy friends, though. Who else would go along with my insane schemes?

Or let me blog about them?

 

The Company I Keep!

So right now I’m standing in line at the Disney’s Hollywood Studios during Star Wars weekends. Woohoo! For a undercover Star Wars nerd like me, this is awesome! We’ve already seen stormtroopers and Bobba Fett, and we might get the BFE carbonized later!

So we’re chillin in line at the Toy Story. This little kid next to us has THREE lightsabers. Three! All hanging from the belt of his Jedi uniform. My friend Ojeda looks at the young padawan, and does a quick calculation. "That kid has lightsabers, and there are three of us", he says, rubbing his chin like a diabolical mad scientist. So then the BFE and Ojeda join forces and tell me to ambush the kid, tell him to "use the force" and then drop kick him and steal his lightsabers. Meanwhile padawan’s mother, Darth Ma, switches from giving the two of them the stinkeye to casing me like I’m crazy enough to follow their plan. Which for a swift moment I did ponder. Except there was no clean exit for a get away.

See how the company you keep can pull you towards the dark side of the force??

Introducing Our New Team Mascot, The Florida Fighting Conch!

My muscle man.

 

My fiance, the BFE is truly the best. He cooks, he LOVES vacuuming, he doesn’t mind cuddling, he kills spiders when I find them scary, and he even cuts his parents’ grass for them. He really is a good guy.

 

 

He also makes high-pitched screams like an emotionally hysterical woman when faced with a simple ocean mollusk in his hand.

 

This past Mother’s Day weekend we headed down to SoFla (that’s South Florida for you non-Floridians) to visit his parents, soak up some beach time and generally enjoy a mini-break away. The morning of our first full day, BFE and I headed to the beach as soon as we could wipe the sleep and crust out of our eyes and whip on our bathing suits.

 

It was a beautiful day at the beach. A light breeze, the soft lapping of the waves, crystal clear water , only a few geriatric snowbirds walking the sand for shells, and powder white sand. It was great.

 

We waded out into the ocean, using our water proof camera to take pictures under the water and explore. Things were fine until I mentioned that my foot scraped over a weird shell. Moments later, BFE ran over it too, and dove down to investigate. It was this beautiful shell! So pretty and intricate. BFE turned it over in his hand, and we realized that the shell was home to …a CREATURE!

The pictures we took are REALLY bad, so I found this on the ‘net. See the eyes? They bore into your brain and steal your soul.

 

It stuck its little eye stalks out and peered up at us, while we huddled together, peering back. BFE insisted that it was a hermit crab that was missing a leg, but before I could decide, the shell disappeared from BFE’S hand!

 

The creature had reached out of the shell with its “toe” and tried to touch him! In sheer blind panic, he threw his head back and SCREAMED “waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” while flapping and tossing his hands about in the air with complete abandon of composure and tossed the shell further out into the water. It was a high-pitched womanly scream reserved for Hitchcock horror films. The whole episode happened in seconds and the shell was gone.

 

I couldn’t believe it! It was the coolest thing we’d ever found at the beach and it was just… gone. I railed at him, calling him a “woman” for screaming like that. In the meantime, he utterly ignored me and had already booked it halfway back to shore, telling me that if I wanted to see it again, I needed to find it myself.

 

I did find another one fairly quickly, and was examining it while calling for the BFE to grab the camera when it TOUCHED me with its “toe”.

 

The TOE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It’s coming for you BFE!!! Eeeeee!

 

 

In a repeat performance of BFE’s epic meltdown, I screamed “yahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” and tossed it up in the air, which the shell landing back in the water with a big plop. I flew over to BFE, yelling “Omigod omigod omigod it TOUCHED me! It touched my hand!” While hopping up and down in the water waving my affected hand around like an idiot. I made a huge scene, but I did not care. The creature TOUCHED me with its TOE.

 

In the meanwhile, BFE just stood there, shaking his head and, in a move that was clearly borrowing some of my sass, said “mmhmm… who’s the WOMAN now?”

 

We found a third shell and this time I tried to buck up and hang on to it while he ran to our umbrella area on the sand to grab our camera. When it wriggled in my hand, I dropped it AGAIN. As I’m digging in the sand and water to find it again, I use our sand pail and shovel (yes, I brought a sand pail to the beach. I’m five) to pick it up and walk to the shore. The whole time I was making my way to shore I hopped to and fro while yelling omigodomigodomigodhurryupbeforeittouchesmeagain.

 

Keep in mind that until then, we were on what was probably the quietest part of the beach.

 

My antics caught the attention of an older woman and her husband, who had a blanket near ours. She came over and explained that what we’d found was a Florida Fighting Conch, and the “toe” that touched me was what it used to pull itself across the sand on the ocean floor. She said that putting it on the sand would kill it and we really shouldn’t attempt to take it home. Home?!?! Like we’d found a new pet or mascot and wanted to keep it?!?! Puh-lease. We took pictures and released the conch back into the wild.

 

Seriously, though. Doesn’t “Florida Fighting Conch” sound kinda like a slightly lame college mascot?

 

 

For the rest of the weekend, I couldn’t look at the BFE without thinking of him screaming like a little girl and tossing this tiny little three-inch shelled creature away from him because it “looked” at him and tried to touch him.

 

When we got home, I told his parents, and it became the running joke for the rest of the night. The next day I called my mom while she and my dad were driving back to Georgia from a family visit in Illinois, and she laughed so hard and so long that she woke my dad and eventually had to pull over to the side of the road so she could recover her composure.

 

The BFE is still the best, he just lost a few man points, although he did gain points for humor and scream creativity. I know I shouldn’t have laughed so much, and I probably shouldn’t have told both sets of parents and written a blog about it, but honestly, what would you have done???

 

Go TEAM FIGHTING CONCHS!!!!!

“Expecting to Have a Good Time, Of Course!”

Before you ask , NO I AM NOT PREGNANT!

When I was a young un’ working at a major theme park in Georgia, I learned one VERY important rule: NEVER ASK A WOMAN IF SHE IS PREGNANT. NEVER. EVER. Ever, ever, ever. The fallout if you are wrong could be nuclear.

Back at the theme park I worked in the entertainment and events areas, but I remember one year where the park was open on what was traditionally a school day and since the majority of its workforce was in high school, they drafted the rest of us (the college students and full-timers) to work in the rides department to keep the park functional. I was sent through a day long rides class and taught operational safety, how to handle guest situations, etc.  It was entertaining and educational and very very hilarious.

The funny thing is, after all that training, I only worked one ride, and that was all it took to make a complete fool of myself. In a 6 hour shift I managed to get gum on my pants and then rip those same pants, from the front to the back, right up the middle. Being an “indoors girl”, the sweat and heat had made me quickly droopy and limp like a banana peel. My pants stuck to me like an old snake-skin that I couldn’t shed, and when I lifted my leg to cross over a gate, I heard a RIIIIIIP! The horror and embarrassment of that incident is still with me to this day, and that was just one day over 9 years ago.

The key thing I learned from my GRAT class (General Ride Attendant Training) was that there were quite a few rides that pregnant women could not ride. If you spotted a guest whom you thought was pregnant you were obligated to walk over and quietly ask:

“Are you expecting??”

Then there were basically three outcomes you could expect from this question.

1 – The woman, being pregnant, know what the word “expecting” means, and says yes. (You REALLY hope for this answer)

2 – The woman, being pregnant, does NOT know what the word “expecting means, and is confused. (You really hope NOT to get this answer if she is in fact pregnant, because this means that her state’s education system probably failed her somewhere along the line)

3 – The woman, NOT being pregnant, does NOT know what the word “expecting” means and looks confused (again, another response you HOPE to get)

(I should note here that the BFE, after proofreading my blog, offers up option #4: that the woman, NOT being pregnant, DOES still know what the word “expecting” means, and what he refers to as “a major nuclear holocaust” erupts, and the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse appear out of nowhere, and while ululating “lilililili” like Xena the Warrior Princess, and similar to the “Avengers Assemble” battle cry, take your dumb theme park trained ass out, leaving nothing but a smudge of grease on the ground and the light smell of sulfur in the air. But I digress.)

 

If you get the first response, you move forward with explaining that the ride she’s in line for may not be appropriate for her safety and enjoyment. Typically New Mama understands and leaves the line and waits for her party at the exit line.

If you get the second or third response – and honestly, this is always a bit risky – when they quizzically ask “Expecting what?” You say “Expecting to have a great time, of course!” and get the eff out of there.

 

If  you get the 4th response well… I really don’t know. Pray for rain?

 

To date, I have never had to use this second response. I cannot imagine how you would even begin to try to jokingly say that to a woman without feeling super stupid. All you can do is smile that crazily psychotic and phony smile that all theme park employees master within three months of employment, and just try to make it into a “aren’t you excited to be here??!?!?!?!” kinda moment. I can just visualize trying to do this:

Dorky College Peach, in a nervous voice: “Excuse me ma’am (lowers voice) …are you expecting?”

Eight Months Pregnant Park Guest from Alabama, wearing a shirt in Bama colors that says “It’s A Girl!” with an arrow pointing  down to her ginormous pokey-outey belly, stares down Dorky College Peach, sizing her up: “What do you mean??? What are you trying to say??? Expecting what?”

Dorky College Peach, suddenly realizing that her $8 an hour job would not pay for the medical bills she’s about incur after getting her ass kicked by pregnant woman: “Um… nothing. Just… expect to have a great time on this ride.” (scampers towards break room to recover her dignity and rock quietly in corner in the fetal position.)

To this day, I REFUSE to ask anyone, friend co-worker, stranger, relative… I refuse to ask them if they are pregnant unless they tell me specifically. I will not congratulate them on their baby unless I or someone I know has received a baby shower invite.  I don’t care if you are wearing maternity clothes with thoughtful mom-to-be prints on them, with scampering bunnies and birds all about the hem, and rubbing their bellies while talking about painting the spare bedroom for their “newest addition”. I don’t care if you walk past me, heavily pregnant and carrying a floral arrangement and Mother’s Day balloon to their desk, until you are LITERALLY GIVING BIRTH ON THE FLOOR IN FRONT OF ME I WILL NEVER ASK. Not unless you tell me first.

Two examples why:

1 – I was working as a veterinary assistant (I know, it was completely random) and one of the other assistants was pregnant. A new vet started with the clinic who confused me and pregnant girl, and asked me if I was expecting. The look of horror and upset on my face pretty much said it all. Granted, pregnant girl was only 4 months along, but I was horrified that someone would ask me that! I wasn’t even really a big girl at the time. I went to the back and cried. Then headed home and ate like, 4 donuts. The rest is history.

2 – My friends Case and JT told me this story: while meeting with a clearly pregnant client over lunch, no one would say anything. She dropped hints, made random statements, and still no one said congratulations or asked any questions. Until she said that her baby was due the following week. Meaning this chick must have been like, over 8 and a half months pregnant and had been desperately tugging at her jacket to try to pull it shut over her huge pregnancy belly. As soon as she said the baby was due, everyone at the table was like “ohhhh! Ok, we were wondering!” No one had the balls to say anything. LOL

I’ve known people who are kinda chunky, and just hold all their weight in their midsection. Still I never ask. One girl I knew would always rub her belly, and would lean back in the seat with her hands on her belly akin to your typical pregnant woman. I was scared to death to ask her, and to this day I’m glad I never did.

So the moral of the story is this: Unless you have nerves of steel or work in a theme park backed by bunnies and mice, NEVER EVER, ever ask a pregnant woman if she’s expecting, at least not until her water breaks. If you ever do decide to be brave and ask, take my advice: ask the “Are you expecting?” question, and always, always be prepared to run away.

Maaaa! Mama! Mummy!! Mummy!! Mum! Mum! Mum!

Sometimes it’s really fun to be a little awful, if you know what I mean.

I am totally jazzed, actually I’m PSYCHED about the Mother’s Day card I put in the mail to my mom yesterday.

There were a lot of cards to choose from… sappy ones, poem-y ones with pictures of flowers on them, ones with puppies, black and white photos kids holding hands. A couple of them that I guess are supposed to be from smart alecky college kids or teenagers that have pictures of animals dressed in hop clothing and saying things like “remember when you told me to clean my room?”

I was having a hard time choosing which one to send, a smart-alecky one, a poem-y one, or one with puppies… and THEN I found THE card:

I added the word bubble

She’s going to love it.

I even added a heartfelt message inside the card:

“Mother!!! Did this card make you gasp aloud in shock or roll your eyes? Then its done its job and is worth every penny.

I wanted to send you a Mother’s Day card that is as crazy and random and hilarious as I am… it I cant be there in body, then at least I’m there in spirit!

So Happy Mother’s Day Ma!

I hope you have a wonderful day full of surprises, laughter and love.

And pictures of hot dudes “

And then there’s the other part:

“MAAAAAAAA!

(and the card reads: I figured you’ve got enough pictures of flowers and cutesy animals by now)

You have to admit, he is pretty cute!

Happy Mother’s Day!”

Then there’s the final parting shot on the back that speaks for itself:

“I can’t think of anything clever o say. I’m sexy, not witty.”
Yes mam, you are.

This card ROCKS. It ROCKS SO HARD THAT I DO NOT KNOW THAT I CAN HANDLE IT. I hope when I have a kid I get a card like this.

Now I’m wriggling in anticipation of my mom getting this card. She and my dad are traveling this weekend, so she probably will not see it until late Sunday or Monday. I have a feeling that I’ll know the moment that she opens it.

Happy Mother’s Day!!!

A Big Ol’ Peach In A Lil’ Ol’ Orchard

Just sayin’.

You wanna know something random that annoys me?  When people assume that, because I’m a big girl, I want to sit in the front seat of the car. Like I am too fat to sit in a normal seat and must be accommodated. Like, when there’s a group of us and we are taking all the seats in the front and back, including the middle seat, I automatically get shotgun. Like I’m just sooo big that I’ll squish everyone in the backseat with my bigness and all the skinny people will be unable to breathe because they are smothered by my elbow fat and smushed against the window, desperately trying to flag down passing motorists for help.

 

Yeah, I’m going for the gut today (no pun intended). Sometimes people just assume that you’re too big to cope with everyday life and have to somehow be handled differently. Not that I MIND getting shotgun, it’s just rude when it’s decided that I should ride in the front, typically by others while I’m standing RIGHT THERE but not by actually asking me or flat out saying “hey big girl, you ride in front ’cause you’re big” . Big fat peaches have feelings just like the little peaches. No need to talk about me like I’m not there. I CAN FUCKING HEAR YOU and it’s rude.

 

You know what else bugs me? Assuming that somehow my day-to-day is different because I’m plus sized. I shop, go to work, go to church, walk around theme parks, drive my car, hit the beach, hold my fiance’s hand, and I do all of this without sweating profusely due to fatigue, wearing muumuus or having to use a scooter. In the grand scheme of things I’m very fortunate that I can pretty much do the stuff I want to do, and not be hindered by size or health or whatever.

 

I’m not minimizing the fact that I need to lose weight: I know this. That’s not the point. It’s my own struggle, no need to take any of my issues on to yourself. When I need something, I’ll ask for it. I’m not putting discomfort upon you, so why should you care what my deal is? If I am not encroaching upon you, leave me be.

 

When I lived in Georgia, I rarely felt out of place because I was a big girl. I worked with theater people that were obsessed about their weight and would often comment about how “fat” they were. I’d think “really??! REALLY?!?!” but ultimately just keep it to myself, since each person sees themselves differently, and to one person a size 6 IS fat, etc., etc. I didn’t think too much of it on a regular basis until I moved to Orlando, and I’m surrounded on a daily basis by skinny white chicks who call each other fat, guys that call girls fat, and places that make you feel like you’re too big to be in the room. Somehow, somewhere in the equation, “fat” began to equal “ugly”. It sucks because I unintentionally bought into that idea, and let my self-identity suffer as a result.

 

At my lowest point of self-esteem after moving here to Orlando, I remember leaving a club downtown because I felt like the fattest, ugliest girl in the room. My friends were all getting hit on, and I felt like the fat ugly chick that skinny girls always bring along just to make themselves feel better. Not that my friends felt this way! The exhaustion of always putting on a happy face and smiling even though I felt like a loser finally got to me, and I retreated. I’m ashamed to admit that this happened more than once. It’s sad, and I hope that no one ever feels the way I did.

 

I’m not sure when things began to change but I got better at hiding when people’s unheeding comments hurt my feelings. So much so that it surprises my friends sometimes when I finally do admit how vulnerable  I get about the little stuff, like not being able to fit on the Harry Potter Ride, or going to try on wedding dresses at a boutique and being told that they don’t have dresses in my size. A confident exterior is just that, an exterior. Sh!t still hurts.

 

Eventually keeping up the strong exterior makes it easier to be stronger inside too. I’m getting there, slowly but surely. Having someone that loves you, just REALLY LOVES you for who you are, no change necessary, helps. A lot of stuff doesn’t bug me anymore, but every once in a while, something stupid like giving me shotgun because you think I’m too big to sit in the back, really sets me off. My busty-ness and big peach shaped ass bother you? SUCK IT! And scoot over, ’cause I wanna sit in the back.

 

 

Friendship Status

 

Based on my investigations (and wild speculations) I think that a friend of mine has just relegated me to “associate” level of friendship status. Has this ever happened to anyone else?

 

How to know if you’ve been downgraded from friend to “work friend” or “sometime friend” or “associate”:

 

1. You no longer receive texts outside of Monday – Friday, 9am – 6pm.
2. Actually …you no longer receive texts at all.
3. You hardly ever see their posts on Facebook anymore, suggesting that you’re clearance status has been changed.
4. You invite them to parties, which they decline, but do not say why.
5. You are no longer invited to events outside of work related stuff. And that includes lunches outside of the break room!
6. You find yourself no longer really sharing what’s going on in your life, because catching them up from the last time you talked would take too much time.
7. Most of your communication takes place via email, and usually only when they need something, like a dog sitter or a ride to the airport.
8. When they ask “did you cut your hair?” you look at them like they’re nuts because a) you cut your hair like, a month ago or b) your hair is exactly the same.
9. Conversations are mostly weekend discussions, movies and… yeah. That’s pretty much it.

 

 

I’ve been suspecting this for a while, and with the recent decline of my invitation to our engagement party, I think all the pieces are falling into place and it all makes sense now. I’m a work associate. I have been moved from the friend group into the work associate group. Getting booted out of the group stinks. Well at least now I know where I stand.

I don’t know if I’m the only one that ever had to deal with this, but when I was in high school, I had three distinct friend groups:

- School friends

- Church friends

- Work friends

 

Mixing those friend groups was like crossing the red and black wires on a car battery. Or whatever those bad wires were that you were never, EVER allowed to let touch for fear that’s you’d become a science experiment on how tasing can go horribly wrong. While I don’t technically know what would happen, the fear of a massive explosion or epic tasering pretty much stopped it from trying it out. Occasionally I would have one friend from this group, and one or two from that group… and just hold my breath and pray. It’s not that I was different people with each group, it’s just that each group had it’s own distinct personality, and priorities, and taboos. Different jokes, and stories that didn’t make sense outside of those in the know. Telling the “Jessica are you STILL eatin?” or the “who’s your Superman now???” jokes to the wrong groups just simply doesn’t make sense. And then I feel awkward.

 

As an adult, it’s nice to have friends that you can mix and match into different group settings. The ones you can take to a drag show, a house party and a church, and everything’s just fine. The ones that go with the flow, and know how to relax and have a good time outside of the safe confines of their normal group. Kinda like those garanimals outfits that kids wear, and the pants will match with any shirt and the shirt will match any shorts, or skirt, etc, allowing little kids the liberty of putting together the outfit that suits their personality for the day without looking like a rag bag of random clothing. Using the kids’ clothing/ garanimals simile is pretty fitting because only the immature nut bags would cut a fool and make horses’ asses out of themselves while being introduced to other friends while at the aforementioned drag show, house party or church.Those nut bags are the ones that would also shit inside their own garanimals clothing and ruin the whole look of the outfit. And have to change into something else. Something way less cool. Shitting in your clothes sucks and is definitely no cool. And let’s face it, garanimals is pretty fricking cool.

 

 

It’s nice having garanimal friends because you can take them anywhere and know that they’ll have a good time and not offend, get moody, cry, or eat all the snacks/ use all the toilet paper at someone’s house. You know the topics that garanimal friends bring up in mixed company? Disparaging jokes about their mutual friend, weather, tv shows, anything the group can easily find common ground one. You know what topics garanimals DON’T bring up? Abortion, immigration, why you think President Obama is/ isn’t a good president, marriage amendments. Introducing one friend into another group is kinda like introducing different parts of your brain to each other, and hoping that your psyche’s Id doesn’t eat them both during the introductions. Your friends are a reflection of who you are. Why wouldn’t you want to share the best parts of yourself with the people that matter the most to you?

 

So getting back to being downgraded… all I can guess is that I didn’t reflect that part of my “associate’s” best self, that she decided that being my friend works best at arm’s length. Who knows why these shifts happen. Maybe she saw just a bit too much crazy in my one day, or maybe our friendship journey together is just simply drawing to its natural close. It’s a bummer because my crazy is pretty awesome.

Maybe it’s because I’m her nut bag friend that she doesn’t want to introduce to other friend groups, which is a shame. I hear I’m a pretty fun nut bag. Right????

 

 

 

Is it wrong that i laughed?

Ok, sitting in the Dominican hair dresser’s shop, and waiting my turn.

If you’ve never been to or heard about a Dominican hair salon before, they manage ALL hair types, because the Dominican Republic has all types of people. So you’ve got Haitians, Cubans, Jamaicans, Puerto Ricans, and plain old brown folks like me all sitting here waiting to get our ‘do done. And there’s Spanish music playing on the background, and it’s all just really kinda cool.

Annnnywayyyy, so this Spanish mother and daughter are sitting on the couch too, and I could not resist chuckling over the following exchange:

Mother, looking at her phone: oh, today’s cinco de mayo.

Daughter, staring off into the distance: oh yeah, that’s right. What is that again?

Mother: I dunno, when the Mexicans celebrate… Something.

Daughter: wait, isn’t that tomorrow?

…Is it wrong that i chuckled to myself?

In my opinion, this supports my theory that only drunk people needing an excuse to party really give a flying fart in space about Cinco de Mayo.

We’ve Known Each Other For So Long….

Ever see something that makes you laugh and laugh every time you see it… and then it gets stuck in your head and you snicker quietly to yourself at random moments throughout the day?

Here are a few that have been rattling around in my mind recently. A couple of them are rather old, but I stumbled across them in my email, and had a good laugh all over again. So I have to share them! We all need a good laugh, right?

 

Bear in mind that some of these are video clips or blog clips so you might have to click on them to view the content.

 

Tell me you won’t have this song stuck in your head allllll day now. Thank Rick Astley! It’s his fault. Jerk.

Bunnies are soo cute! Kung Fu Bunnies are sooo bad ass.

 

 

Click on image for Busty Girl Content. Trust me, it’s funny! Hail to the Big T!tty Commitee! BTC Unite!

 

This is just flat out funny. When you start thinking about it, it starts to make sense, no?

 

Amen! See yall on the porch! With drinks!

 

 

For people that have no idea what I do. Click to watch this video. “Janet!! That is NOT what your CVB said.” ROTFL

 

I don’t watch Saturday Night Live (because it’s never funny to me) but for once this clip made ma literally LOL…

 

For the nerds out there. If you’re not following George Takei on Facebook, what are you doing?!?!

 

 

And one of my all-time favorites, the Swagger Wagon:

Someone sent this to me like 2 years ago, and it’s so funny I’ve kept it in my email. HILARIOUS video. The only thing funnier? Spongebob singing “This is why I’m hot”

 

It Never Stops

**UPDATE: And before anyone asks, I did fill out the survey after my initial visit, and I did try to close the account myself online, and there is not an option to do that.

Some of you may recall my original post after getting pimped out by David’s Bridal. If you did, you already know this is a sore subject with me! So after getting a TEXT MESSAGE from a vendor affiliated with David’s Bridal yesterday afternoon, along with thrice daily emails from them even after I requested to be removed from their mailing lists, I got on their website and sent the following email:

I would like to close my online account information with David’s Bridal.

I have repeatedly opted out of every newsletter you have sent to my email address, yet I still continue to receive them daily, sometimes 2-3 a day! This is too much! In addtion, I am receiving information and phone calls… PHONE CALLS… from your “vendor partners”. Your store in GA that I visited even shared my information with a REALTOR. This is over the top and needs to end. I am very dissatisfied with my service. I thought I’d found the right dress for my wedding at your location, and was planning to buy, but I am no longer interested in doing business with your company. The store atmosphere was almost like a zoo, and to top it off the nonstop emails are bordering on harassment. I even had someone text me!

Please close my account and stop sharing my information immediately. I no longer have an interest in purchasing my wedding dress from your company.

 Thank you,

 Renee McLendon

Is this harsh? Maybe! Or maybe not harsh enough! I am so over it. I don’t care. I WANT THEM TO KNOW HOW PISSED I AM ABOUT THIS.