Merry Christmas... from the family

Yea. So the Holidays. I just finished my sixth and final family celebration, (I feel your brain moving, "Oh girl..I KNOW...Ive got this crazy relative..." or "OMG my uncle is so trashy...") Alas, this is the time to shush and accept that you will not trump my family's dysfunction, nor would you want to. Just take it..take it all.
We'll start with my Nana, poor thing just lost her husband of 70 years and to top it off, has Alzheimers. My aunt, who typically puts up with her 36 year-old son, Cash, who has a coke-fried brain, has been living at home for fifteen years, works at a strip joint and among his many other attributes, suffers from turrets..decided to bring Nana home with the two of them. My Aunt decided to entertain some folks at her place, and in the middle of the extravaganza, a SWAT team rushed her home. Yes way. Apparently, Cash money heard a helicopter overhead paired with sirens, and escaped out the back window for fear that the authorities were "after" him. (For God knows what...but another arrest would definitely hurt his new business venture, door-to-door insurance sales...huge untapped market ((he hopes to gain peoples trust by simply handing potential clients his social security number)). As it turns out, the cops were actually after a robbery suspect, and were prompted to their residence when an unidentified man crawled out of a window and took off running...way to keep your cool, Cash. Needless to say, Auntie needed some scotch (or twelve) and proceeded to get smashed at the dinner table, telling it "like it is" and making the extended family members (not on scotch) think (or realize) we are space aliens. However, the woman does deserve a cape for what she puts up with. And Nana, even in her forgetfulness, does somehow remember that I am single now..i.e. DEAD if I don't breed immediately, so she took Christmas as the perfect opportunity to try and set me up with my 29 year-old cousin...Incest aside, I really just don't think he was that into me. However, there is my other cousin that dabbles in gay porn..those two may be a better fit. Meanwhile, on the other side of the family..a storm was-a-brewing. My mother throws fancy holiday parties, despite the fact that no one in her family appreciates it. My grandma Gracie decided she'd pour Sprite into the Merlot, my twice-removed aunt tried to steal the ham, my cousin fell down the stairs, named his new son Stanley Kubrick, and to top it off this years gift exchange only consisted of beer and liquor...but I digress. The real star here is my cousin, Crystal (who's mother sells blown-glass dragons, we have several entrepreneurs) carts around six kids..one of which is a new addition (not by birth, but by a drop off by a random woman who claimed Crystal's husband, Rodney was the father), happily decided to bring all the kids up to the party...that is until she got in an argument with two of her teenage girls. Big mistake..one of the kids called DE FAX and went to stay at the father's house (former Jesus impersonator), and to get revenge, Crystal then called DE FAX on the father harboring the girls...it was an all-out DE FAX war. What...an extravaganza. At least my other cousin brought pot (medicinal of course). Uncle Ron loves pot almost as much as he loves his cherry red Miata covered in Tasmanian devil decals. He loves that car so much that he actually went to court (Judge Joe Brown) to defend his ownership. In conclusion, today marked the end of the effing jackassery that is my family during Christmas..and it ended with me having to meet the woman my stepbrother has been sleeping with behind his wife's back for the past year. And the beat goes on...pa rum pa pum pum. Love thy lineage.

"When that doctor asked me son how did you get in this condition? I said hey sawbones I'm just carryin on an old family tradition."-Hank Williams Jr (Duh)

I haven't wasted enough of your time? Heart the Jesco http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZX0F1fGEfKA

Ayo..

Hi. So, I watched the local news this morning, which is sometimes more entertaining than a COPS marathon (or at least in Atlanta it is), and it got me to thinking..if it's not setup that reporters interview only toothless, socially and grammatically-challenged morons (and I can attest that it's not, my stepmother works at FOX News...having to scroll subtitles on someone who is actually speaking English is unnecessary extra work), then when did the wheels fall off the wagon with humans and our ability to communicate? Didn't we all go to grammar school? Four score and seven years ago, it was called "Grammar School" because you were actually taught to properly speak several languages. We can't even get English right in 2009...and it's no wonder. Every day this world becomes more tech savvy (pick up a Sky Mall magazine), who even "talks" on the phone anymore? My poor parents had to learn how to text just to stay in touch with me..and what's a land-line? Even when going to the grocery store, you can completely avoid all human interaction with the self-checkout lanes..(which let's be honest, a handful of us actually know how to use these..most folks get a little cocky on the touchscreen and have to have a cashier come over anyways..please place that last item scanned in the bag, please place the last item...please wait for assistance). Anything you can do in person you can do faster on a computer, fill out a few forms and voila..shits handled. The dating world is a complete disaster because of it..no longer do you organically and genuinely meet people, an online questionnaire decides for you who you should go out with based on common interests...but doesn't that take the fun out of getting to know someone? Could you imagine if we all just walked around town passing out applications, and chose who we wanted to meet based on their answers..completely nixing the entire introduction? Like a self checkout lane for friendships and relationships, and just like the ones at the grocery store, I'd be willing to bet at some point we'd call in the cashier for assistance.. because we'd realize our lives lacked variety and spontaneity. It seems like the more we come up with gadgets to speed up life, we're killing the fundamentals and losing our God-given tools to just be people... no more shiny happy people holding hands. I can't wait to see what ends up replacing the airline industry. We're all for freedom and for pleasure, but nothing ever lasts forever...everybody wants to rule the world.


“One day soon the Gillette company will announce the development of a razor that, thanks to a computer microchip, can actually travel ahead in time and shave beard hairs that don't even exist yet”-Dave Barry

"Somebody told me, you had a boyfriend, that looked like a girlfriend..."

Call me old-fashioned, or just plain old, but I really love gender-specific roles. I love being a girl and having doors opened for me, and as much as it raises a few eyebrows, I actually love not having to call the shots and being told what to do when I'm in a relationship..it's very relaxing, and I am too indecisive to pick the place to eat (no problems however telling you will NOT be taking me), and I love that my time with my friends is very much MINE. It has to be mine because guys don't give a shit what girls chat about, they don't care about who's zoomin who and who wore what to what party and blah blah...most heterosexual men would rather be water boarded that listen to lady garb gossip..or at least they should. Part of what makes men so sexy to me is that there is so much of them that is nothing like my girlfriends. I get something completely different from both scenarios...night with a guy vs night with the girls- polar opposites..keeps life balanced. However, Every now and then the two paths cross, and a man will get stuck with my friends and listen to our banter...literally listening, it's all the man can do...no opinion allowed...really. Even if you are asked to comment, don't..you will be wrong. More importantly, do not EVER repeat what you hear...once you have broken this cardinal rule..you are a woman. A Chaka Khan listenin, vodka slammin, pantie dancin, period havin WOMAN. Man gosspiers are the most unattractive of the male species, because they possibly have the "She-mone" hormone (not the Michael Jackson slogan). Let the he said/she said be our thing, our man-interpreted flaw that is trademark to the vagina. Many men think of a woman's purse as a dark layer of secrets..an African safari of foreign objects...just wouldn't go there, apply this same theory to our girl/girl relationships..stay out of that shit. I get that we are ridiculous..I get that you don't get us, but as much as you hate to admit it..you love women because you get from us (besides the obvious) what you don't get from your boys. Unless you like girls who are boys, who like boys to be girls, who do boys like they're girls, who do boys like they're boys;) Which if that's the case, cwall me honey for cwauffee twalk..we'd love to have another girlfriend.

"Women do not snore, fart, or belch; therefore, they must bitch or else they will blow up."

"You're so vain, you probably think this blog is about you."

Hey. Since I'm pretty new to this blogging thing, I decided to do some surfing on the American Online to see what exactly people blog about, specifically females. My findings are that every girl that happens to be "single" and living in a "city" (Social Circle to Provo UT) seems to think they are Carrie Bradshaw (for those of you living on another planet..that'd be "Sex and the City"). All the gripes are the same...every girl writing is exceptional, oddly perfect, none of their friends can even believe they are single, so hot, a rare bird, one of the few "catches" out there that just hasn't met "the right guy" yet because all guys are afraid of a "strong and independent woman," all are commitment-phoebes that only think with their dicks, and they are all basically under qualified freaks that shouldn't even have the audacity to ask for her coveted number. Get the fuck out of here...and let me just preface before I dig any deeper here, I am short...really short, 28, recently single, have fake blond hair, bleach my teeth, wear padded bras, have hair extensions, don't always keep up with my pedicures (or manicures), I say/do dumb things when I drink (and when I don't drink), can't type with both hands, am a selfish only child, talk excessively (insert your own opinion here)...to say the least...I am a very flawed girl...far from perfection. With that said, I'm no saint, but I dig it (flaw #455, dumb hippie jargon) when someone gives me a compliment. I've seen what goes into approaching a girl...sometimes, long before he even walks up, he's either had a pep talk from his buddy, or he's on a bet for a number close. Walking up to a group of girls is an even bigger risk...ever fallen down the flight of stairs in the middle of East Andrews? (I have..flaw #456, clumsy as shit ((Flaw #457, sailor mouth)), getting rejected while your friends are watching is probably the equivalent to that feeling. It's a compliment to have ANYONE hit on you, because it takes courage...and you (believe it or not) are not perfect either. I do get that some guys are over the top (refer to sexy man in photo with me..but Barry was harmless, I entertained him), you don't have to be a complete bitch to get them to move along..(you don't have to take that $12 drink either). All of the fabulous singletons writing these blogs have two things in common..1) no one seems to be "good enough" for them and 2) They are all single. I smell a parallel. Hey Gloria, if everybody wants you, why isn't anybody calling?

"She really has an over-inflated sense of self confidence that stems from nowhere."-John Teitter, Bang! Salon

The car is not the home.

I love a long road trip alone...my music, junk food, truck stop shopping, stopping whenever I want and talking to myself...I get to feeling like I'm right at home. But I am not at home, I am in public..in times, even on display. Ive heard the stories of people and the things they've done in their cars; Peeing in cups, peeing in pants, peeing out windows, applying makeup, Strokin', watching DVD's (of ALL genres) and if you have a VHS player in your car...you are my hero, dancing, knitting, sleeping, and the ever-so-popular picking of the nose. However, It's what Ive seen with my own eyes that has made me realize that some people get so accustomed to their automobiles that that leave reality. A month or so ago, a few of us were on the road home from Alabama, when I looked next to us to see a man who appeared to be having a medical issue, his face was convulsing, and he was dry heaving..so it seemed. I made eye contact with him, and he lifted himself off the seat to show all of us his glory...yep..he was "taking care of himself" and lucky us, we came in at the finish. He then fish-tailed off the next exit and we had an awkward ride home in silence..suddenly all of my Zaxby fries looked like little penises. Ew. That is actually the second time Ive seen that, (you know who you are Mr. driving south on GA 400 in your tan Chevy Avalanche with Gwinnett tag and UGA sticker)...sick bastard. There was also the car I was next to in traffic recently, elderly couple, wife is driving and smoking with the windows up..hubby is in the passenger seat hooked to an Oxygen tank. If I had a dollar for every person Ive seen picking his/hers nose, I would have $87.50 and be rich (kids count as .5). We are all on the road for one reason, to get someplace. Eventually you will arrive at your destination, and make that place the one you do these things at (except for you, oxygen tank lady..who is probably related to Tawny Kittain). The Ostrich buries its head in holes because it believes if it can't see you, you cant see it...but we are not Ostrich and the car is not home...so get you finger out of your nose and your hand out of your pants.

The little engine that could.

I'm just not that far off from a dream catcher..I've got the Indian in me (Native, not dot, to be PC((because "dot" Indian is PC)). I go after crazy ideas and dream a little more than anyone with half a brain cell should...look about as silly as a leather and feather air freshener..but what the hey, the worst anyone could ever tell you is "no," right? I am told "no" a good bit, but I just keep on keepin' on..we were the "Fayette Christian Falcons" growing up, and I really was crazy about the National Football League "Atlanta Falcons." In my far fetched mind, I always thought we were somehow affiliated with the NFL team..and I WAS GOING TO BE A FALCONS CHEERLEADER...dammit. Tryouts were concluded, but that just didn't stop me at 5 yrs old from joining in team practices, telling my mom to pick me up late, giving directions on how/where to get my uniform and saddle oxfords...I had it all figured out..except how to actually get ON the team. That was, until I pitched an only child fit after about 6 practices (that I just showed up at...couldn't keep a beat to save my life). Being the Christians they were, the school let me on the team..only later to kick me out for thinking I was Michael Jackson (again, whole nuther' blog). Either way, it set the precedent, that I could have what I wanted..anything was possible. I really wanted cheer for our middle school team, but was terrible..never made it..(didn't help either that I was ugly as shit). So the whole time, I was working hard in gymnastics and cheering for the local rec team..of course when high school tryouts came around, everyone made fun of me.."How are you going to make high school when you couldn't even make middle school?!"..well, I made it...and I was still ugly as shit. I went off to college and turned 18, and I knew I wanted to cheer on the REAL Falcons, but soon found it was not cheering as much as it was technical dance..5 years later, and about eleventy thousand dance classes..I was on the team. Never gave up..fell a few times..looked like a loser most of the time..cried in interviews..wore the wrong outfits..but I kept on..(and the ugly as shitness diminished a little too, no I did not get a boob job). I went after it, and that's just one example of the ridiculous lengths I'll go to in order to achieve..so needless to say, I greatly appreciate people that get that, and drill just as hard. One of those people, is a guy I met about four years ago, and the first night I ever hung out with him, he told me he was going to open a bar someday. Already having a business of his own that was pretty much he and his friends brainchild, I knew he'd somehow manage to pull it off eventually..but it wasn't until he teamed up with someone who cares deeply (and daydreams constantly) about his current business, and keeps it her main priority, giving him time to focus and put the wheels in motion...that he got in touch with his inner shaman feathers, and did it. With that said, a huge congratulations is in order to Trey Humphreys and John John Delladona, a social messes own..on yet another business venture, the newest owners of "Pool Hall" in Buckhead! May all of the ugly as shit dreamers such as myself come and sit and drink at your new Atlanta hotspot!
*DISCLAIMER-Dreamcatchers, however, are not ugly as shit, and I think everyone should have several in your homes, cars and businesses..if you want to look wise

"Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm."-Winston Churchill

"I guess I should've known, by the way you parked your car sideways, that it wouldn't last.."

That's because WHO would ever be friends much less involved with, anyone who takes up two parking spots? You have GOT to be kidding me...actually, I take that back, I WOULD like to hang around anyone that rationalizes this jacka*s move, for the sheer joy of cracking into their warped minds. I get it, door dings suck..they really do, I actually go out of my way to park far away and space myself out fairly (ok, I don't drive in circles looking for a close/perfect parking spots, that's a whole nuther' blog...especially when folks do it at the gym..but I digress),anyway.. so when it does happen, I am ultra mad..but at the end of the day, it's just a car. Anyone who is that obsessed with their car (I don't care if it's the latest Subaru..which you 2 fast 2 furious boys seem to be over-enthusiastic about these days..that royal blue color..with the clear tail lights..)it's an object, and in my findings, it's an object that is more likely to be keyed or damaged when showing your tragic uncoolness, by inconveniencing other patrons that would like a parking spot. Thanks!

I am colorful because I come from color.

Politely put. We've all got them in our families...you know, the ones that you would worry if you ever married someone decent, may run for the hills if they met? In my case though, it's really my ENTIRE lineage. However, by some miracle, my parents are fantastic...like a typical girl, dad is my hero..which is nice, kept me solid (by "solid" I mean "not slutty"), and mom is just the strongest woman I know, if that's not a damn dream in itself..I also have great step parents...yep, GREAT. But then theres my great aunt, "Millie" who was made to live at home and take care of her father until he died, she was 68 when the old bastard finally kicked the bucket (he was an ass), turning great aunt Millie loose in the social scene at 68 and a VIRGIN..yes, a virgin. Now she is pushing 94 and GETTING IT at her retirement community...the Jewish towers in Atl, (not only is she not Jewish, no one in our family is...so this begs the question, "Who did she sleep with?.") When I was 13, she gave me a pair of thongs with jingle bells on them, and told me to "Get with the times and not wait as long as she did." At the last family function, aunt Millie went on to tell a story about a guy in her building she was sleeping with, apparently he was also sleeping with another 90-ish damsel across the hall who claimed to be constipated in an attempt to cut aunt Millie and her beau's date short...but aunt Millie was no fool...she put on her sexiest lingerie and "seduced" him into not going to the store, and aunt Millie said (in her southern accent that borederline needs subtitles) "Honey, I tell you what, that old scallywag is still sittin over there stopped up." Sassifaction...are blogs supposed to be this long? That's just one relative...oh Lord, this was a bad idea.