Tag Archives: hilarious

The Peach-Bean Strategem

Standard

I know, I know. It’s been like 80 years. My bad yall.

 

In my defense, I’ve spent the last year in a whirlwind: engagement, wedding, now we are expecting!! Holy smokes right?

 

The Bean (yes, we call our son-to-be The Bean) is due in about 3 weeks, and I am so ready. As excited as we are about having our Bean here with us, this has been one long, long long pregnancy. I’ve gone through night sweats, day sweats, crazy dreams, swollen ankles, gigantic growing boobs, a waistline that refuses to give up the ghost resulting in a “B” belly silhouette that just makes me look fatter, broken underwire (while I was wearing it), waistbands of underwear just popping at work, swollen fingers that can’t wear my wedding rings, senseless crying, and many other ailments. I can no longer feel the urge to pee (thanks to my shifted bladder), so I just wear panty liners and do a lot of precautionary bathroom visits. I toddle about like a penguin from place to place bringing humor to whoever sees me, and get stuck in chairs in an endearing habit that the hubs calls “turtling”. My boss and GM have offered to buy Segway for me to get around the hotel. I’ve considered taking them up on it.

 

10157226_10101375613606327_723051025_n

What you can’t see here is that the elastic in my underwear’s waistband is busted, as is myunderwire… and my dignity.

 

All of this will be worth it once The Bean is here! Right?!?

 

So… anyway… that’s my excuse for being such a horrible slacker on my blog. I have missed this. So many stories and hot messes that I haven’t shared, hilarities that I didn’t document in their full glory. I hope I can make up for that.

 

For example, I’ve had one client recently tell me that she didn’t realize that I was pregnant, but just thought I was getting fatter (!) while another was trying to add up on her fingers the months between my wedding and due date to make sure “it added up right”. I swear on my life this stuff is really true. And I missed blogging about it.

 

Then there’s the creepy lady in the Honeybaked Hams that as snifing me and talking about how we have the same credit cards in a nutty, “Single White/ Black Female” kinda scenario… and the lady in the Asian restaurant we go to that gave the Hubs a high-five for… and I swear on y life this happened… for KNOCKING ME UP! Yes. YES. Her words, not mine. Hubs was grinning from ear to ear. I turned red, a pretty amazing feat for a brown girl.

 

So much I’ve missed in my blogging hiatus.

 

Right now I’m just focused on one goal: Evicting the Bean. I love him so, but that will not stop me from serving him with a notice to vacate. The doctor keeps saying “big people have big babies” and seems to be on this mission to convince me that my baby will be born as the Son of Hulk, but so far nothing. The back and forth game of will he/ won’t he is pushing me to the edge, and I’m ready to take this into my own hands.

 

I call it the Peach-Bean Strategem, after one of my favorite episodes of Doctor Who, the Sontaran Strategem.

There are several steps to this process, and we will carefully follow each one to ensure a swift victory:

  1. Start eating spicy food more often.
  2. Enjoy more bouncy time on my yoga ball.
  3. Um… physical congress (yall get my drift)
  4. More walks (or penguin toddles) around the lake by our house.
  5. The tried and true method: the Eggplant Parmesan from Scalini’s.

 

# 5 is really the piece de resistance… the no-holds barred, guaranteed final step in the Bean Eviction Notice… women in Atlanta have been standing by this recipe for years. Messy Jessy the BFF added this one to my Strategem. As a Peach myself I feel I stand a good chance of this working for me too.

 

Bee (yall know him as the BBE, BFE, now the BHE   – Best Husband Ever) seems willing to go along with the plan. I can’t tell if he’s truly on board, or just afraid of his pregnant wife who seems to be endowed with superhuman strength, yet still seems to todle like a penguin, and get stuck in chairs like an upside down turtle.

 

Granted, the Peach-Bean Strategem may be as doomed as the Sontaran Strategem ( read the synopsis of the episode), but I’m sure it will make for some good stories. In the interim I plan to spend some quality time with the Bee, go do adult stuff that I probably won’t be able to d much of for a few years(any suggestions welcome), and take lots of naps in between my plotting, spicy food and yoga ball humping.

Yall pray for us…

 

image0031

Advertisements

Say NO to Sag… and YES to tricorn hats!!

Standard

Ok, I guess I should start by apologizing profusely for yet again letting an absurd amount of time pass between posts. What stinks is I’ve had so many things ruminating about in my brain, and just no time to share them!

 

This gem I’ve held on to since Saturday, just dying for a few minutes to tick-tack-type it onto my blog. But let me go back a few months, to Thanksgiving. The BFE and I did something that I do my best to NEVER do, unless it is an absolute emergency.

 

We went to Wal-Mart. On Thanksgiving Day, no less.

 

We were taking a dish to a friend’s potluck Thanksgiving Day dinner, and needed a couple of missing ingredients to put it all together. As we are walking in, a young man in front of us stops and bends over to pick up one of the turkey fryers that was on sale, exposing approximately 8-10 inches of red plaid underpants in the process. I couldn’t help myself: “Hey, I can see your underwear!!”

so no to sag

Not ok.

Plaid Guy, pauses, gives me a look that clearly says WTH: “Um… thanks?” Walks away.

BFE tugs my sleeve. “What’s wrong with you??”

Me: “Well it was obviously NOT a secret, I mean, he must have wanted us to know. He even had on decorative undies for the occasion! Christmas is coming!!”

BFE shook his head. I had to hear a lecture throughout our tour of Wal-Mart on how if the guy had bene rude to me then B would have had to deck him, and how he didn’t want to hit people, etc. etc.

pants on the ground

Honestly, I hadn’t seen the “sagging” pants trend in quite a while before this happened, and had forgotten that it was a “thing”.

 

Fast forward a few months, I come across another dude; this guy had clearly put some effort into his outfit, had everything coordinated and tidy, and he was, dare I say it, DAPPER… except for the 8-10 inches of undergarments staring (because “peeking” doesn’t even cover it), staring out at everyone from the back of his ensemble.

why

Sporting plaid for the holiday season – festive sagging!

Ok, first of all, how do they stay up? Normally your rear end acts as a natural “shelf” for pants. Do you walk about holding them constantly with one hand? What if you have a two-handed project, like carrying your fast food to the car, or walking the dog and picking up his poo with a bag? Is it a conscious effort to color coordinate the draws with everything else? Do they really think girls find them sexy? Like a girl’s gonna go “oooh, he’s displaying his clean and coordinated panties as a part of a normal highly stylized contemporary mating ritual, I must get with him and make him mine”? Finally, what purpose does showing everyone your unmentionables serve? Now we’re mentioning them, so are they technically still “unmentionables”? I have so many questions.

no ok

What’s funny is I’d forgotten about color coordinated guy until I saw something that sparked even more questions. Driving home from work the other day I saw I young man, probably 13, 14, 15. He was shirtless and showing off his bird chest, kinda in that defiant way, like he’s trying to own it, even though clearly puberty hasn’t come for a visit yet? Anyway, he’s walking down the street, bird-chested and shirtless, with sagging pants. Le Sigh.

 

But that’s not the best part! He was sporting a – wait for it – tricorn hat.

 

Yeah, like Yankee Doodle Dandy, Bee-yotch!

Yeah, like Yankee Doodle Dandy, Bee-yotch!

A TRICORN HAT! Like Captain Jack Sparrow was back, ready to take over the central Florida area!!!

 

Outside of tacky Disney tourists and bad Jack Sparrow Halloween costumes, I thought tricorn hats had disappeared from regular circulation, but here’s bird chest guy, strutting down the street a-la John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever, pimping a dingy, dusty tricorn hat. It was so effing weird.

Not as weird as these guys, but close.

Not as weird as these guys, but close.

I’ve had a few days to think on this, and I’ve come to the conclusion, what if guys stopped with the sagging pants as a “thing” and made tricorn hats the new “thing”??

 

Even women could get in on the new style, and totally rock them. I mean, I would look sooo bad-a$$ in a tricorn hat. You could wear big ones, small ones.

so rock this

I would SO rock this hat.

They could become the statement pieces at fashion runways and you could rummage at Marshall’s and TJ Maxx to find discount designer tricorns. You would know that the trend has reached its peak when you see Ryan Seacrest sporting on E!.

Glamourshots ain't got nothin' on my Olan Mills pics with my new tricorn hat!!

Glamourshots ain’t got nothin’ on my Olan Mills pics with my new tricorn hat!!

I’m serious!!! Say NO to sag, and YES to tricorn hats!!!! Who’s with me??!!!!

Road Trip!!

Standard

So…  with tomorrow being Thanksgiving , and the holiday season of traveling to and fro and visiting friends and family is about to begin! It got me to thinking back to about a month and some change ago, when I went home to Atlanta for a quick weekend jaunt, and the BFE and I took Ojeda with us.

 

God bless. It was a hot mess.

 

There’s something about guys – you out them in groups, and they conspire and join forces on the craziest sh!t. We left Orlando really early and I guess the early morning rush combined with their general loopiness to great a cacophony of mayhem and foolishness. Pretty early in I decided to journal all of the stuff that happened on our ride up – otherwise no one would believe it. So here it goes…

 

 

5:41 am – BFE and Ojeda come up with a new product that turns your farts into floral smells. They nominate me as the spokesperson and even come up with a commercial. The slogan: “do it with dignity”.

 

6:04 am – BFE drove and I played with Google Sky Map while the stars were still out. HOW HAVE I NEVER KNOWN ABOUT THIS APP?? So neat!

 

7:21 am – We stop at Mickey D’s. Ojeda argues with the cashier over coffee. Dude keeps asking him “How do you want your coffee?”, and O keeps responding, “with cream and sugar”, only to get a response from cashier dude of  “yes but how do you want it?”I could see O turning red and immediately add this event to our trip report.

They ask for a name for our order and I toy with the idea of giving them the name “Primrose Everdeen” so I could yell “I volunteer as tribute!” I know it’s cliche but I do not care.

 

9:04 am – While driving through Tifton, GA (the Reading Capitol of the World) and BFE gets cut off by a large SUV. We pass the vehicle, curious to look at the driver, and debate whether it was a redneck version of Pat from SNL or Honey Boo-Boos mama. Then BFE and O contest that Tifton, GA could not possibly be the reading capitol of the world. I tell them both to stfu.

 

9:20 am – BFE and O argue that computers have only 3 uses for guys: email, facebook and porn. Apparently girls only use computers for email, facebook and pinterest.

 

9:26 am – Pass an old, run-down farmhouse. Ojeda, my Southern-illiterate friend, asks, “is that a plantation?” I tell him to stfu. He asks if plantations are like haciendas. I tell him again: stfu. BFE giggles.

 

10:14 am – We argued over whether pandas and koalas are bears. Fact: koalas are marsupials and pandas are bears. Also discussed acid rain. For some reason, BFE mimics acid rain with a disco beat. Strange. He drives on in silence.

 

10:24 am – Stop at Pilot plaza outside of Macon for gas and bio break. I see a gas truck there. I point and laugh “Bahaha where do gas trucks get gas?!” No one laughs. Guys begin serious discussion of diesel versus gas, and fuel planes fueling mid-air, etc. I don’t understand how fuel planes are more interesting than my gas truck joke. Boys suck.

 

10:36 am – B asks whether to take 75 N through Macon or 475 around Macon. After much debate we decide to take 75 N. O jokes, “you know whichever route we take it is going to be the wrong one!” Immediately the speed limit drops from 65 to 55. B’s all like, “we should have taken 475!” I think he just said that to be on O’s side. Just sayin.

 

10:41 am – Pass sign that says in all caps “lust drags you to hell”. Ain’t that the truth. Interesting change from all the anti-abortion signs, “truck driver lounge/ massage” advertisements and stripper billboards that you usually see in South GA and North FL.

 

10:51 am – Learned something new today. B and O argue about the origin of mobile homes. B says mobile homes are called such because they are from Mobile, AL. O insists it is because they are mobile. Research on the snopes.com website confirms that D is correct.

 

11:00 am – Ojeda reads myths from snopes.com and we guess whether they’re true or false. We’re obviously running out of material.

 

11:40 am – Traffic slows for accident. Ojeda rolls down window and signals to driver driving Dodge Caravan in next lane to see if we can get over. Driver looks at him and then stares straight ahead, continuing to edge forward with no knowledge of O’s request. String of 4 letter words ensues. Once we pass accident BFE floors it to stream past Dodge Caravan dude while I fist pump in the air. I didn’t see it but suspect that Ojeda flipped him off.

 

12:04 pm – Finally – THANK YOU SWEET BABY JESUS! – we arrive in Atlanta. Ojeda yells “ATL Dirty South B!tches!!!! …Oh mylanta!”  out the window with complete abandon. We check in on Facebook at the Pink Pony South. We have arrived!

The Badass, The Mushroom and The Little Guy

Standard

Sliding into my seat at the Mellow Mushroom tonight, I looked around at my friends Reyes, Love and Bryce and just giggled. I was giddy with the story I needed to tell them, and eventually that giggling turned into full on laughter as I started the story:

________________________________

A few days ago while having lunch with my friend Stee she tells me a story about the newest guy in her life… apparently their love was “forbidden”. Well forbidden by company policy at least, and she accidentally spilled the beans to some of her work friends during a drunken night out.

Bear in mind, my friend Stee is one of the most badass people I know – she’s not afraid of anything, speaks her mind without hesitation. She always makes me laugh with the stories she tells about life, boys and work. At our engagement dinner, she had me cackling with her description of how break a guy’s car windshield without getting caught by using a brick tied to a rope. I’ve never asked her how she seems to have first hand knowledge of this particular how-to skill, I just take it all in as part of the Stee Package. The Stee Package is full of unexpected hilarity and by proxy, adventure. So when she starts to tell me a story, I listen, because I know it’s going to be good. There’s also the chance that I’ll learn a new how-to skill. :p

According to her, the gaffe where she blurts out her new dating status came about after her work friends kept talking about the new Moroccan guy, not knowing that they were together… she got irritated after hearing them say over and over:”he’d be so cute if only he were taller”.

I stopped her there. “What do you mean… if he were taller?”

She gave me a funny look. “He’s a little… short.”

“Ok. So? How short?”

“Um… 4’11?”

….?

_________________________________

I paused in telling my story to my friends at the Mellow Mushroom to gauge their reaction, and just as I thought, they proved why they are my friends. They laughed. Lord help us all, they laughed. Ever since Stee told me this story earlier in the week, I’d been holding in my laughter, knowing that by laughing any more than I already had that I was proving that I was pretty horrible! Granted, I’d already proven I was a horrible person, because of what happened after Stee told me his height:

“I’m sorry, did you say 4’11?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep, I’m pretty sure. Why?”

I began howling like a hyena. “Because that makes him a little person! You’ve been hooking up with a little person! That’s hilarious!” I continued laughing until I cried. gasping for air, tears squeezing out of my eyes.

“Shut up!!! He’s not a little person!” Then she said the immortal words that sent me over the edge: “Stop making fun of my little man!”

The did it for me. I was screaming, knees buckling, laughing all of the air out of my lungs. We were standing in the restaurant parking lot, and I braced myself on the trunk of her car to keep from falling down with convulsions of laughter. It wasn’t his size that made me laugh, it was just the irony of it all. Of course, she would be the one to hook up with a little person from Morocco! To see her indignant look was all too much. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – I have nothing against… little people. I have the utmost respect for them. It’s just that you were 5 foot 9, and he’s 4 foot 11. How is it that you never told me about this guy??”

“It’s no big thing – it’s not like we’re dating or whatever. I’m getting transferred to another city, so we always knew it was only temporary. I just don’t see the big deal.”

“Ok, ok, fine. I’ll respect your … little relationship… bwahahahahaha!” I just couldn’t help myself. “You’re hooking up with a little person!”

“He’s not that little! He comes up to here”, indicating the base of her nose. “I only have to bend down this far to kiss him… see?” She inclined her head down, as if ducking under a low doorway. It looked like she was trying to break her own neck. I just laughed harder, if that was even possible.

I begged her to let me blog about it. “Don’t make fun of me and my little guy!”

I tittered, “can that be the title of my blog?” She ignored me. I laughed some more.

By this point we’d made our way into the restaurant for lunch, and had taken a seat. I was determined to compose myself and finally pulled it together. We chatted about other topics, and things were back in track until Stee started looking over my shoulder with a funny look, then looking at me, then back over my shoulder. Finally, I look over my shoulder and see… a littler person waiting to be seated with some friends. I looked at Stee, and she burst into laughter. It’s like he’d been placed there, at that moment, in that restaurant just to drive home the point. We are horrible people.

___________________________

When elating this story to my friends at the dinner table, I was a little nervous that they would think I was a horrible person, but as I told them the story, they responded as only my friends would: by laughing like howler monkeys. I turned to Reyes, telling her that I’d been worried all week about telling any of my friends, in the event that they would think me a horrible person. Earlier in the week, I’d told the BFE about about it, adding that I planned to blog about it. Being the kind, good-hearted half of me that he is, the BFE cautioned me against it, since some people might be offended. At dinner tonight Reyes reminded me that I’m not friends with any of those people. All of my friends would find it funny.

I explained that I wasn’t sure how to tell the story, as much as I wanted to share it with others. How to relate the details? To give the gist and cadence of our conversation? Telling it as I told my friends at dinner tonight was the only thing that made sense.

I don’t know why but after relating my story to my friends I relaxed and smiled. I think it’s knowing that I have such appalling friends that would laugh at my story really made me feel better. I know – I’m terrible for laughing at my friend’s shenanigans, and there will be some people reading this that will be appalled and offended by my post. All I can say to that group is that at some point, everyone has a moment of political incorrectness, and if they’re lucky, they’ll have friends around to laugh at them and tell them it’s okay.

Two things came out of this: I have exactly the kind of friends I should have, and love & attraction can be found anywhere, even between the badass and the little guy.

The Rules

Standard

This evening while I was doing my part to get us packed for our big move in 2 weeks I came across a cache of dusty self-help books on one of my bookshelves.

 

One book was “Sexy at Any Size” (a really good book actually), another was the Bridget-Jones inspired “Becoming a Goddess of Inner Poise“…still yet was the snarky “He’s Just Not That Into You“. DID NOT LIKE. THAT BOOK.

 

Then I stumbled across self-help GOLD.

 

My copy of “The Rules: Time-tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right“.

 

Yeah, that’s right. Like many single women, I was handed this book by a well-meaning friend, and actually tried to live by some of the bat-shit crazy rules in this book until I realized trying to live my life by rules set forth on a paperback book was insane and made me look like a controlling social engineer from the depths of crazy-land.

 

It’s funny, it specifically talks in the book about how if you break the rules in this book, you will not find a successful relationship. I personally believe that if you don’t break a few rules in this book, you’ll walk around like you’ve got a stick up your ass. Following this list of arbitrary rules didn’t really work for me. It wasn’t until I broke a few of The Rules that my dating life actually got interesting, and went from the “wishing and reading the Rules” stage to the “living and laughing and leaving the Rules behind” stage.

 

Some rules I effed up on:

 

Broken Rule #1 – Be a “Creature Unlike Any Other”

Hmph. This rule was mostly about keeping a certain amount of mystery in your relationship. I guess I broke that one the first time I peed with the door open. He literally screamed. Now he tries to hand me bank slips to look at while I’m in there with my underpants around my ankles, having personal time and reading Adele’s article in an old Rolling Stone. I’m all like,”What is this?! What do I do with this?!” and He’s all like “I dunno.” Neither of us finds it strange that the interaction is happening while one of us is pantsless.

On 4th of July I pulled  a prank that involved telling him to lift my leg (pantsless of course) and then farting directly into his face. Again, he screamed. And gagged. And laughed.  Almost a week ago and I still cry with laughter about that, and so does he.

Speaking of pantsless… I guess introducing him to my “Pants Off Friday” celebrations probably blew up Rule #1… unless it actually supports #1. I’m pretty sure dancing around without my pants on Fridays makes me a “Creature Unlike Any Other”

 

 

Broken Rule #5 – Don’t Call Him and Rarely Return His Calls

I always returned his calls. I was always so excited to hear from him that I didn’t have the self-control to be coy and all not-calling-back right away.

 

 

Rule #6 – Always End Phone Calls First

Um… yeah, like the first 2 months he was ALWAYS the one that hung up first, usually because he fell asleep while I was talking excessively. See Broken Rule #5

 

 

Broken Rule #14 – No More Than Casual Kissing on the First Date

I guess now’s the time to tell the Story of the Cold.

The BFE and I met through online dating. When I finally bullied him into asking me out, we jokingly came up with a code: if he tried to kiss me, and I wasn’t feeling it, I would just say “I have a cold”.

Our first date was a movie… while we’re sitting there, he leans over and is all like “Hey, I don’t have a cold”… I laughed and kissed him. I haven’t stopped kissing him yet. 🙂

Our good-bye kiss after he walked me to my car lasted about 25 minutes. I don’t think I ever left so happy. I guess technically it wasn’t “casual kissing”. 🙂

 

 

Broken Rule #17 – Let Him Take the Lead

Are you kidding me? What is this, 1925? See Broken Rule #14… he kept beating around the bush so I finally got him to ask me out. I kinda let him believe it was his idea. So in theory he took the lead… right?

 

 

Broken Rule #22 – Don’t Live with a Man (or Leave Your Things in His Apartment)

Whatever. He moved in with me, so I didn’t actually move in with him. It was the best thing we ever did.

 

 

Broken Rule #31 – Don’t Discuss the Rules with Your Therapist

That smacks of someone desperate to hide their crazy. I’ve said it before, and I’ll said it again: “In the South we don’t hide our crazy. We sit it on the front porch and give it a cocktail”. My friends are my therapists, and the idea of having to hide some element of my nutjob personality from my friends is exhausting. I once tried to explain the rules to my friend Kev, and I could visually SEE part of his life force draining away due to the sheer tedium of all the rules.

 

 

I guess each person has to decide for themselves if The Rules is something they want to do. I just felt it was a bit antiquated for me and my lifestyle, along with somewhat crazy and most importantly, a set of rules specifically designed to hide the best parts of yourself from your partner.

I mean, yes, some of that stuff is common sense, and is designed for those girls that get so excited with each new prospect that they shoot straight for Stage 5 Clinger. I agree – you probably shouldn’t go all stalker-y on potential new date guy, but seriously? Why should I hide who I am? How could I NOT share Pants Off Friday with the dude that might end of being my Baby Daddy? If you can’t take me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best. And that means no Pants Off Friday for you!

Baton Bob

Standard

Okay, so like 10 years ago, I was walking to class in downtown Atlanta (I went to school at Georgia State University), and as I was crossing Peachtree Street to head into my classroom, I spied the most peculiar sight: a grown a$$ man marching and dancing down the street, head held high, wearing sunglasses, a tutu and marching band boots (you know the ones I’m talking about, that the baton girls wore), swinging a baton and blowing a whistle. It was crazy, and slightly exhilarating to see this random sight in the middle of a very blah school day. I remember texting friends about what I’d seen – keep in mind, TEXTING at that time was on a alphanumberic keyboard and took a lot of time. Obviously I really wanted to share what I saw.

 

It wasn’t until three days ago (as in 2012!!!) that the identity of this baton-twirling man was Baton Bob.

I had no idea who Baton Bob was until I was looking at one of my favorite blogs When In Atl (it’s the best place for keeping up with my hometown hilarity) and they posted up an article about Baton Bob getting harrassed.

Suddenly it all clicked. I remember Baton Bob! Omigosh, by my recollection he’s been marching and whistling and twirling his baton faithfully through the streets of Atlanta for over TEN YEARS. Amazing that it’s the same guy! To think that I remembered him from all these years. The sight of his one-man parade mesmerized me so much that day; I can still remember it like it just happened.

I’m saddened that someone went as far as to threaten his life, just because they didn’t care for his “lifestyle”. Who gives a flying fart in space about his “lifestyle”?? So what… he’s a little left of center.  We all are (granted, he more than most). The man gets joy out of performing in the streets, why exert the energy and negativity to threaten to kill or hurt him? I’m constantly surprised by the number of douches the rest of us are forced to come into contact with every day. How does his behavior afect you? He’s not harming himself or anyone else. I can personally state that seeing him brought a little joy back into my day that day. He’s like an effing Santa Claus, spreading joy. Who would want to kill Santa Claus?? douches.

What would Christmas have been like if Santa Claus delivered your presents in THIS outfit? Woudl there have been disco music involved? Just asking.

 

What happened to the Southern adage, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothin’ at all”?  Another favorite of mine was “Bless your heart”, which is used when you don’t know what to say, or you think the person’s an idiot. Typically this is said inconjunction with another statement and often behind the person’s back. Southerners are NOT very confrontational. Which is why I’m shocked that this ignunt fool got all up in Baton Bob’s grill. How mad must he have been?

 

Granted, we might believe in Southern Hospitality, bit there’s always just a pinch of crazy in that mint julep.

  

I mean, are you just that angry and bitter that not everyone falls in with your description of “normal”? Did someone pee in your cheerios when you woke up this morning and that made you into the cranky, self-righteous TOOLBAG who think’s it’s your God-given mission to rid the city of those you deem unacceptable? Or are you just mad that SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE is having… (Lord help us all)… FUN???? Puh-lease. get a grip. Better yet, get a hobby. I’d suggest baton-twirling, but I bet you won’t be as good at it as Baton Bob.

 

Hell, I wish I had the guts to parade down the street with a fricking baton and march to the beat of my own drummer. If someone tried to tell me I was wrong for doing it, I’d probably throw one of my marching band boots at them. Probably not right to answer hate with violence, but I bet they couldn’t fus as much if their mouth was swollen shut.

 

Pretending to wave at my subjects while walking the streets of Disney’s Animal Kingdom is about as close as I’ll get to pulling a Baton Bob. Unless alcohol is involved.

 

I think one of the number one problems we have these days is the number of people that get personally involved in $hit that’s none of their business (example: other people’s uteruses, but don’t get me started) and don’t get involved in enough stuff that’s everyone’s business (i.e., voting, community work, education, the arts).

I’m glad to hear that people are supporting Baton Bob, though. It reminds me alittle of the drama that’s going on with the bus monitor that got harrassed by a douche canoe of $hitty students. Clearly those boys lacked any type of home training. My mom would have whupped my a$$ from sunup to sundown if I’d done something as atrocious as this. After reading another one of my favorite blogs, Angrivated, he mentions that people stood behind her so firmly that they raised enough money to not only send her on vacation but let her retire. Kudos!

Even though I got an update on Baton Bob because someone threatened, it was nice to hear that he’s still alive and high-stepping, bringing a little mirth to the merry citizens of downtown Atlanta. I admire his resilient soul. How about a bit fist (baton?) pump in the air for Baton Bob!!!

 

Now if only I can find out about the whereabouts of the sausage man… this dude that used to standon the street corner near my high school, wearing sickeningly tight bike shorts. Then the circle will be complete.

Bonnie and Clyde say Northerners are LOUD!

Standard

and sometimes, I think my BFE is one of them. Yeah, he has loud moments.

Yes, I said it! After years of keeping this to myself, I am finally saying it. Northerners are effing LOUD. And I think all the years in the Northeast have affected the brains of my deep South honey.

What’s making me speak the truth on Northerners now? Because loud Northern tourists interrupted the ending of the movie that the BFE and I snuck into yesterday afternoon. They actually completely RUINED the shawarma joke from the end of the Avengers movie, and I’m pissed. I worked hard to sneak into that movie, dammit.

Oh, did I not mention that the BFE and I went all Bonnie & Clyde yesterday?? Ok, what had happened was…

Bee and I (I call the BFE that a lot) were planning to go play a round of golf in the morning, but unfortunately Hurricane Beryl had different plans for us… so we came up with a Plan B, which was to go see Men in Black in the morning instead. Since Nature has a sick sense of humor, it turned out to be a beautiful day, but since we didn’t wake up in time for an 8 am tee off, it didn’t matter. Plan B was in effect. Thanks Beryl!! Heffer.

Um, has anyone BEEN to the movies recently? And paid FULL PRICE and had to empty their child’s college fund to do it? Good grief. I remember early in our courtship Bee and I went to the movies and dinner. By then, I should have known for sure that he really liked me, because a 3-D movie for 2 adults in the dining theater (“fork & screen”) on a Friday evening was $38, and that’s before dinner. Now that he’s “put a ring on it” and we’re saving for a new place of our own and a wedding, going to a matinee movie is actually a fricking LUXURY.

Matinee for 2 people should have been $12 total – 6 bucks for each person, but because the ONLY options at all to see Men in Black were either 3-D or 3-D fork & screen, our cheapest option was the 3-D, at $11 a person. So we were already determined to get our money’s worth. Even before we swiped our card at the ticket kiosk I’d already decided that we would keep our 3-D glasses instead of “recycling” them after the movie. We paid for those, dammit!

I’m the kinda girl that has no shame hitting up the Wal-green’s before a movie and getting boxes of Swedish Fish and Mike and Ikes for $1 apiece and sticking them in my bag. I will also grab a Dasani and stick it in there too. Once in high school I brought a Wendy’s combo in my satchel, drink included, and when I waited in line to see the Harry Potter movies at midnight I popped microwave popcorn at home for all my friends and brought it to the line in baggies. Times are tough, you know??? Now that I’m out of college with a fully time job, I had started to think that I didn’t have to resort to those tactics anymore, but with skyrocketing ticket prices and fruit cups that cost 4 DAMN DOLLARS (more on that later) a girl and her Bee gotta do what they’ve gotta do.

So, fast forward to the end of the MIB movie. I’m feeling all heartstrings-tuggy because the end is a little touching. Bee leans over, flips up his bug-eyed 3-D glasses that we’re totally NOT recycling after the movie, and says “Wanna go sneak into another movie??”

I snapped out of my mushiness immediately, look down at the $11 3-D glasses in my hand and decide that perhaps the best way to get my money’s worth is to not only take them home, but to take them into another movie theater first. So I giggle and agree to play “Bonnie” to Bee’s “Clyde”. After a quick pee break, we grab a meal from the concession stand and head into the 3-D theater for the Avengers.

In all fairness, buying 2 hot dogs (plain), 1 medium cherry coke and 1 small popcorn cost us about the price of two tickets. By the way, did I mention that I originally reached for a fruit cup in lieu of the popcorn, only to find that the fruit cup that the Target deli sells for 79 cents was $4.50 at the movies??? I actually asked the cashier, are yall HIGH??? He admitted that in the entire time he’s worked there, he’s never seen anyone actually BUY a fruit cup, which both grossed me out and intrigued me. Hmmmph. Well now I know why. So at this point I’m thinking that bringing our own 3-D glasses plus buying the overpriced food was a fair trade for a movie, right?? Right?

We nonchalantly sidle into the theater and settle in for an AWESOME movie, the whole time Bee’s giggling because I’m muttering the lyrics “breakin’ the law, breakin’ the lawwww” under my breath. It was all worth it though!!! Avengers was AWWWWWWWEEEESOMMMMMEEE!!! If you haven’t seen it, GO!! One of my favorite funny parts of the movie was Tony Stark talking about shawarma… which later relates to a bonus scene after the credits.

So there we are, all delinquent and Bonnie & Clyde-espue watching this silent but funny final scene, and these LOUD ASS NORTHERNERS spoil the final scene by preemptively yelling out “hahahahahaha! Shawarma!!!  Hahahaha!! They walk out, loudly guffawing and yelling about effing shawarma. In that LOUD obnoxious voice that only comes from north of the Mason-Dixon line. The Boston Baked Beans sound that makes you want to stab your eyeballs out.

As we walk out, I whisper to Bee, “Northerners are so LOUD”. He looks at me like I just told him that puppies make great grilling steaks, and then shot his dog. I’d forgotten that he spent quite a few years in the Northern part of these United States and that he too is occasionally prone to the Loudness Syndrome. Regardless of his crazy stink eye, I stood by my statement. People always make it sound like Southern folks are always the rowdy obnoxious cousins that you never want to bring to a tea party, but I swear that Northerners are the loudest. The LOUDEST.

If that makes me prejudiced, shoot me. I don’t think it does, though, since I’m not singling out any particular race, just everyone on the eastern seabord of the United States that regularly sees snow every year. Perhaps as much as I crack on my friend Ojeda about his random statements that I’m convinced will make him the crankiest old Cuban man in the old folks home, the truth is that I’ll be right along side him, wearing my 3-D glasses that I stole from the AMC, poking my retirement home roommate from Rochester, NY with my pokin’ stick, telling her that she “breathes too loudly, just like all them Northerners”.

So… back to our Bonnie & Clyde scenario. Bee and I finish watching our movie and happily toddle on home hand in hand, fueled by our delinquent acts. It was totally fun to be so bad, and completely clandestine (well, it was until I blogged about it). I pulled my 3-D glasses off my head and slipped them into my bag.

Yes, I KNOW it was wrong to sneak into another movie for free, and it’s terrible to say that EVERY Northerner without fail is a loud pain in the butt. I definitely would not encourage the movie sneaking habit in any kids I will eventually have, and I would certainly encourage my children to never stereotype people, because that’s wrong. But this isn’t the “goody-goody, how many nice things has the Peach done today” blog! Thank goodness for that. I’d be effed.

My only regrets? That we didn’t buy the larger sized drink when we were at the concession stand haggling about the $5 fruit cup and that I wasn’t prepared with an appropriate “Bonnie” outfit. That chick wore some seriously cute outfits. And that cherry coke was DAMN good. Slurp.