hitting snoozeDear Diary,

I had an especially long day today working at Starbucks.  My shift started at 4:30 a.m., which is a time only policemen and crack whores are out and about.

I mean, who is going to come to Starbucks at 4:30 a.m. for a spiced latte?  The cops aren’t because they are at the donut shop grabbing another bear claw, and the crack whores aren’t going to come in and spend their spoils from a hand job on a tall coffee.

image.jpgEither we are charging too much for a coffee, or the “ladies” aren’t charging enough for a handy.  Despite the obvious lack of customers, my boss made me come in at 4:30.  Douche.

The first part of my shift wasn’t too bad because I slammed a double expresso and got the jump start of energy I needed.

I wanted to borrow a needle from the crack whore down the street and inject the expresso straight into my veins, but something about her cracked lips, dirty hair and torn skirt told me that hygiene wasn’t a priority for her.

Although I wanted to wake up, I didn’t want to contract a social disease doing so.  I stuck with drinking a double expresso.  It did the trick and gave me a good few hours of energy to get through the day.

Unfortunately, around 9:30 the caffeine wore off and I began to feel the effects of my late night the night before.

My head began to pound and I was reminded that although grain alcohol is cheap, it doesn’t seem like that great of a bargain the next morning when you burp it up and smell like the inside of a lumber yard.

I was just about ready to go on my break when a woman came stumbling in the door.  She was blonde, her hair was askew, and she smelled like dog food.

Judging by the looks of her hair, it was obviously quite windy outside, although a glance out the window revealed no wind at all.  Clearly this lady was a mess.

As the door closed behind her she got her $5.99 Target clearance purse stuck in the door, which didn’t seem like much of a loss considering it already had a torn strap and didn’t match her outfit; although nothing on her outfit matched either.

Her purple cardigan was cute, but the black tank top she wore underneath it suggested she was either color blind, homeless, or both.

I considered faking diarrhea and running away from the counter just to avoid this disaster, but I didn’t want to be the girl who cried wolf…or rather the girl who cried shit.  So I stayed.

girl covering earsThe disaster woman walked up to the counter and greeted me with a broad smile and a loud “Hello.”  She then went on to ask me how my day was and if I had a good holiday.

Who was this lady?  She also talked at a high rate of speed and since my expresso had already worn off, I couldn’t understand anything she said, although I’m pretty sure she may have mentioned something about animals.  Whatever.

I asked her what she wanted.  She ordered a venti non-fat pumpkin spice latte.  Yeah, because what this hyper woman needed was more caffeine and sugar.

I can’t even imagine what this crazy woman would be like once she was charged with additional energy.  Her head might explode, or maybe it already did, which would explain her “interesting” hair do.

I began making the drink for her, trying to hurry so she would stop chit chatting with me.  I wasn’t sure she was allowed to be out in public by herself, and I wanted to get her out of the store before her guardian came in looking for her.

I finished making the drink and handed it to her at which time she gave me a dirty look and told me she wanted double whipped cream.

This isn't the crazy lady, but it might as well be.

This isn’t the crazy lady, but it might as well be.

WHAT?!  This lady was clearly insane.  I tried to explain to her that it wasn’t logical to order a non-fat drink and then douse it with whipped cream but she seemed unmoved by my logic.

She also became agitated and told me if I didn’t give her double whip, she would “cut me.”  Based upon the length of her ungroomed fingernails, I figured she might just do it.

I doused the drink in fatty whipped cream and looked back at her.  Judging by the size of her thighs, it was clear she was no stranger to the whipped cream.

She handed me her credit card to pay and I looked at her name, mostly so I would know it when the reporters interviewed me later about the obvious delusional customer I helped.

Her name was Lisa Newlin.  That just sounded like a crazy person.  I noticed that when she put the card back in her purse, she had her keys clipped to her purse with a special clip.

Yeah, that was probably for the best.  This woman obviously couldn’t find anything.

Although I was around her only a few short minutes, Crazy Lisa managed to somehow reference dogs three different times in three different contexts.

Quite honestly, I’m not even sure how she accomplished this, as it is no simple task.  Although considering she talked about 500 words per minute, maybe that wasn’t so hard for her.

handing credit cardShe thanked me for her drink and turned around to leave.  At that moment the music in the store changed to a song by Journey, and Crazy Lisa did a fist pump in the air in celebration of the song.

This would normally have been fine, but she pumped with the hand holding her purse.  Didn’t I tell you she wasn’t the brightest?

Because she obviously had a mental deficit, as evidenced by her brown shoes and black pants, she didn’t realize her purse was full and a few items flew out, including a candy bar and a pair of socks.

She didn’t seem to notice and continued out the door and away from the store.  I can only hope she wasn’t actually going to operate a vehicle, as she seemed to have significant difficulty with the automatic door.

The rest of my shift was fairly uneventful, and I kept one eye on the TV, looking for a report of a lady hopped up on sugar and caffeine terrorizing the town wearing shoes without socks.

No such report came on, so I can only assume she returned to her caregiver and told him about the amazing day she had when she went inside Starbucks all by herself.

I’m pretty sure she is probably laying in bed right now staring at some sort of mobile hanging over her bed.  Or at least I hope so.

I guess that’s it for now.  I need to get to sleep because tomorrow I have to be at work at 4:30 again and listening to Muzak while exhausted is a form of torture that should be reserved for only the worst of crimes: like child abuse…or wearing white after Labor Day.

Love,

Julie


Today is Cyber Monday….a day where lazy couch-dwellers like myself are able to shop for deals on line without having to leave the comfort of our homes.  I’m far too important to be bothered with standing in line at a store for the newest Twilight t-shirt.

After all, now I’m an important columnist…and I already have my new shirt.  Team Jacob all the way.

Instead of leaving my house, I’d rather lay in bed (sans bra) and shop for bargains wearing nothing more than my bathrobe and pizza stains from my earlier snack.

Staying home is so much more comfortable, and it saves gas, which helps the environment.   What can I say?  I’m a giver, and no one judges me at home when I have gas.

Well, my dogs probably do, but since I feed them, they ignore it.

baby and laptopI’ve  never participated in Cyber Monday before, which I realize is shocking considering I love to shop and would prefer to do it without pants, although Target employees tend to look down on that behavior.

I’m pretty sure the Wal-Mart employees wouldn’t even notice.  This year I decided to try my hand mouse at Cyber Monday.

I decided to stock up on some of my favorite things since there were such great deals on line.  I assumed that everything sold on line was on sale for Cyber Monday…kind of like a yard sale for on line purchases.

Except on line there would be no lemonade stand and the creepy kid selling a Dixie cup of lemonade for a dollar.

Inflation my ass  kid, you’re robbing me blind!

Imagine my surprise when I realized that Cyber Monday isn’t nearly as all inclusive as the media would have you believe.

Here’s a few things I discovered are NOT on sale for Cyber Monday.

P0rn

sexy lady in hatI know, right?  Can you believe it?  How is porn not included in the Cyber Monday deals?  Honestly, that’s why I thought the internet was invented…so that down-trodden husbands everywhere could enjoy some time alone without having to purchase yet another VHS tape of Girls Gone Wild.

The internet and porn seem to go hand in hand…er…hand in…..wait….never mind.

Don’t the Cyber Monday people think that p0rn purchasers are entitled to some discounted merchandise on this cyber day of shopping?  Don’t they deserve a break too?

After a double shift at 711, shouldn’t they be allowed to vent their frustrations by watching a one legged woman make sweet love to her cable repair man?  Isn’t that the dream?

I would think that those regular internet porn purchasers deserve a break in fees, even if it’s just one day a year.  But then again, maybe not.

If they’re too stupid to realize there’s free p0rn on other sites, maybe they deserve to get the shaft on the deals.  (Pun intended).

Alcohol

champagne corkNaturally, when I heard of Cyber Monday, my first thought was liquor.  Of course, I can tell you that my first thought was of purchasing toys for little kids, or coats for the homeless, but you know I would be lying.

I immediately considered how much liquor I could purchase on line for a discounted price.  I poured myself some Grey Goose and decided to investigate further.

Unfortunately, I discovered that the alcohol providers weren’t feeling the holiday spirit, and none of them were interested in offering deals for Cyber Monday.

I would think the holidays, above all other times of year, would be the perfect time to offer deals on alcohol, as people everywhere require it to deal with their families for the holidays.

No, not everyone? It must just be my family then.

How dare they not reduce the price of my precious Grey Goose?  I need it to ensure I get through the season without  insulting my cousin’s shoes.

Seriously, they were ugly.

But I suppose the alcohol distributors are smarter than we give them credit for, and probably drunker too.  They obviously took a simple economics class and they understand the law of supply and demand.

Well played liquor.  But in my world, I demand a large supply of liquor, so keep it coming.  And yes, I will pay full price.  I’m a sucker.

Food

dog with bowlAfter my disappointment at the lack of sales on alcohol and porn, I decided to ease my pain with food.  I was confident that some food services would have Cyber Monday deals.

After all, there are lots of places where you can order your food on line.  Surely one of them would have a Cyber Monday deal.

I decided to try my go-to on line ordering spot: Domino’s.  Where else can I get a pizza, Diet Coke and a chocolate cake delivered to my door?

It also comes with a side of indigestion and heartburn.

I got on line and began placing my order on the website, making sure not to knock over my drink in the process.  After all, I just discovered I couldn’t get more vodka at a reduced price.

Imagine my surprise when I went to check out and the order was not immediately reduced simply because it’s Cyber Monday.

delivery guyDid Domino’s really expect me to pay full price for my food on Cyber Monday?

Didn’t they know that pizza is a staple for fat lazy people who don’t want to leave their house, and that’s what Cyber Monday is all about?

How dare they not provide at least a small discount for the holiday?

As I paid with my credit card, and upgraded to an extra large, I realized that Domino’s was smart not to join in on Cyber Monday. Much like the alcohol providers, it knows that people like me will always overpay for the luxury of being lazy and overweight.  It’s the American Way.

That’s as far as I got on the investigation of Cyber Monday.  All that searching made me tired and thirsty, so I gave up for the night.

Hopefully you all had better luck with the Cyber Monday deals.  If not, there is still time to grab a last minute bargain and have it shipped directly to my home.

And if you find a deal on liquor, find out if they can ship it by the case…hypothetically of course.

 Thanksgiving-

 

It’s Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday of the year! What other holiday focuses completely on over-eating, drinking heavily, and then repeating the process?

Okay, maybe I just described a normal Tuesday night at my house, but whatever. On Thanksgiving I don’t have to hide the fact that I ate an entire box of 100 calorie Hostess packs.

I love Thanksgiving, not only because it encourages us to stuff our faces and then nap, but also because it reminds us to be thankful for things in our lives. So I decided to make a list of some of the things I’m thankful for.

Isn’t that what this holiday is about? Well, that, and drinking heavily to to numb the pain of listening to Aunt Edna talk about her colonoscopy for the 5th time, but you get the point.

I also wanted to make a list of things I’m thankful for to counter-balance the recent posts I’ve made complaining about things.  I shall hold off on Occupy my Couch Round 3 for today.

Starbucks has a drive thru

coffee and donutDuh. This is a no-brainer. I am addicted to Starbucks. That’s no secret. One look at the inside of my car, with empty venti cups strewn about will tell you I can’t get enough of that place.

There may or may not also be random Fiber One bar wrappers in my car as well, but don’t judge. I like to be regular.

I hit up this joyous place nearly every day, and they take a significant portion of my salary each and every year. That’s okay, as long as they make with the pumpkin spice latte.

So I’m thankful they’ve finally decided to start putting drive thrus in the Starbucks locations.

Whew! I can’t be expected to actually get out of my car and walk inside to order my 500 calorie drink, heavy on the whip.

That’s ridiculous! And since I’m very important, I don’t have time to park, get out of my car, and walk into the store only to be exposed to blaring tunes of Michael Buble.

I can just sit in my car and rock out to him. That doesn’t require any physical activity.

So I’m thankful that Starbucks continues to not only contribute to my broke bank account, it also continues to contribute to my expanding waist line and my dedication to a lack of exercise. Cheers!

The house next door to us is vacant

house for saleNo, I don’t want to use the neighboring house to have a party with my friends where we play spin the bottle and chug from a bottle of Apple Pucker, although that does sound like a delightful night.

Rather, I’m thankful the next door house is vacant because I don’t like to get fully clothed to let the dogs in and out for their potty breaks.

That’s a lot of work, and as you discovered from the segment above, I’m extremely lazy.

When there was someone living in the house next door, I would have to throw on a robe (or pants) when I let the dogs out.

Now that it’s vacant, I don’t have to be bothered with fully clothing myself just to let my dogs do their business on the oak tree.

I hope that house always remains vacant, because I can’t be bothered to fully clothe myself whenever my dogs need to pee, but I also don’t want to be arrested for indecent exposure (again).

Someone invented DVR

remote and tvI’m far too important to be bothered with commercials. Don’t the networks know I have better things to do than watch Wilford Brimley warn of the dangers of diabetes?

I always find it humorous that I watch these commercials with some sort of sugary treat in hand.

When I sit down to a good episode of Gossip Girl or America’s Next Top Model, I can’t be bothered with commercials reminding me I need to clean my house or call my mother.

I want to know why Chuck Bass is acting strange. Get on with it!

Fortunately, DVR allows me to fast forward these annoying interruptions so I can get back to making fun of Tyra Banks and her over-dramatic diatribes and her over-active behind.

Dog bones

dog with bone on noseWith three dogs in the house, it can get a little hectic.

But sometimes I just want to sit down and relax, and not be bothered by barking dogs and a nagging husband.

The bones fix one of those two problems.

I realize that giving my dogs bones to stop them from being assholes may not be the best way to handle the situation, but it’s the easiest way, and it keeps me from having to do any real work, so I support it.

That way I can get back to eating my brownie and watching reruns of Roseanne without any judgment from the dogs.

And believe me, I get my punishment from giving the dogs bones, as the gas the bones gives our dogs will peel the paint right off your walls, or at least burn your nose hair.

It’s a vicious cycle, but at least this lazy solution ensures my husband will never have nose hair sticking out. It’s a win-win.

Citi Card knows my spending habits

hands and credit cardI received a text this morning that Citi Card detected unusual activity on my account. I immediately called back, ready to get to the bottom of who was fraudulently using my card.

The nice recorded voice asked me to verify some charges, as they didn’t seem like the charges I would regularly make.

I listened in anticipation, ready to mount my revenge on the thugs who obviously stole my number.

She began listing the charges, all of which were my husband’s. However, I appreciate they know that I wouldn’t spend only $14.00 at a pizza joint. They know me better than that.

A girl needs some bread sticks with her pizza! I’m glad Citi Card knows I prefer to charge things at the grocery store, the gas station and the liquor store down the street (usually after 10:00 p.m.)

Obviously a charge to Whole Foods at 8:00 a.m. would draw suspicion.

In all seriousness, I am so thankful for so many amazing people in my life, and I’m also thankful for those of you who read this blog and encourage me to keep writing.

It’s an outlet I truly enjoy and I couldn’t do it if I knew no one was reading it.

So open another can of cranberry sauce, loosen your pants, and enjoy this day. I know I have so many things to be thankful for, and I’m sure you do too! Happy Thanksgiving!

kids yellingI feel like complaining.  Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the protesting going on across the nation, or maybe it’s because I know the pumpkin spice latte at Starbucks will be going away soon.  So long my dear, sweet friend.

Whatever the reason, I’ve decided to pick up where I left off with my last set of grievances and do a second round of Occupy My Couch.  So let the airing of grievances commence!  (To be yelled in Frank Costanza’s voice)

Why is it that fat men on TV are always with smoking hot women?

woman in dot patternThis always seems to blow my mind, and when I was single, it certainly didn’t give me hope for the future.

Fortunately, I managed to snag a hot thin guy, which I suppose makes me the fat, gross one in the relationship….wait…I don’t like that.  Would an example better demonstrate my point?  I thought so.

Although I loved King of Queens, I had difficulty believing the relationship between husband and wife.

Are the American viewers really supposed to believe that a 90 pound, adorable Carrie Heffernon would really go out with a 300 pound delivery driver who eats constantly and sweats in places I didn’t know existed?

How dumb do they think we are? Considering the fact that 2 Broke Girls is still on the air, it’s clear we actually are fairly dumb.

However, I’m pretty sure if this was a real life scenario, Doug would approach Carrie at a bar and offer her a PBR and a plate of wings.

holding hands2That’s certainly the way to this girl’s heart, but most likely not hers.  She would reject him in a second, and if he didn’t leave immediately, she would have him kicked out of the bar.

I just don’t believe she’s madly in love with him. Why don’t TV shows tell it like it really is?

Two semi-attractive people get drunk in a bar, make some bad decisions, and a miserable marriage is born, complete with a Hydrocodone addiction and an active subscription to Playboy.

Now that’s an American marriage!  I would watch that show, most likely while noshing on wings and PBR).

Why must they call these new phones “smart phones?”

I know I sound like an old woman, and maybe I am, but I don’t like the description of “smart phone” for a phone that does several things.

Not so much that I don’t agree that the phone is smart, but because I feel bad for the other phones. Does that mean the other phones are dumb?

blackberryIf someone is rocking a Nokia flip phone circa 2006, does that mean their phone is stupid?  Was there an IQ test given to determine which phones are smart and which ones aren’t?  What did that test entail?

And why is it deemed a smart phone simply because it has the ability to email,call, text, and save Jimmy from the well? Does that really make it smart, or just a good mulit tasker?

My shift manager at my high school job was a great multi tasker, but I’m pretty sure she couldn’t figure out how to open a box of condoms, which is why she was constantly knocked up, and unpleasant.

two girls on phonesSo the ability to multi task doesn’t automatically make someone smart.  It just makes them efficient.

Hence, I refuse to refer to them as “smart phones.”

Rather, I shall call them efficiency phones, because that’s what they are.

I realize this suggests they come with a toilet in the kitchen and a landlord whose done prison time for cat porn, but I still think the moniker is better than “smart phone.”

Why do only a few types of restaurants deliver food?

You knew at least one of these complaints would be about food.  Come on.  I will never understand why only a limited type of food establishments deliver food to my door.

Granted, Domino’s has removed me from their delivery schedule because of a recent incident involving profanity and a threat of “cutting” the supervisor, but who could blame me?  They forgot my chocolate lava cakes.  Totally justified.

delivery guy1 I can’t tell you how many nights a week I’m lazy and wish someone would deliver me some enchiladas and cheese with a side of lasagna.

Why is it that only pizza, Chinese food and Jimmy John’s deliver?  Okay, I get it with Jimmy John’s.  They are “freaky fast.”

But I don’t want a Turkey Tom every day of my life…just on Thursdays.  And is it that hard to believe that someone who is too lazy to leave their house to get dinner would want a different type of fatty food other than straight carbs?

Wait…I don’t really want anything but carbs…I just want carbs smothered in melted cheese.  Whatever.

I realize it doesn’t make sense to have salads delivered to your door.  I mean, what idiot would order a salad for dinner?!  An asshole, that’s who.

I just can’t believe that in a country where we can program our DVR from the toilet to record Gossip Girl.  Don’t judge. XOXO.

A girl can’t get some chips and salsa delivered to her doorstep for a reasonable charge.  How un-American!

Until I get the answers to some of these very important questions (and a comfortable bra), I will continue to occupy my couch (bra less), and I will do so with pride…and with pizza and Jimmy John’s in my hand.  Together we stand…..er….sit!

guy eating burgerI’m an eater.  I realize this is shocking, but it’s true.  I fantasize about nachos and cheese the way teenage boys dream of boobs.  If eating was a sport I would be champion of the universe.

Have you seen the way I can put away a burrito?

So when I discovered the amazing goodness that is “food trucks,” I nearly wet myself with joy.  Seriously, I was drinking a Diet Coke and nearly spilled it all over my pants.

For those of you not familiar with this ingenious concept, a food truck is exactly what it sounds like…a truck filled with food.  T

hese food trucks drive around and sell food out of the truck.  It’s kind of like an ice cream truck, only without the creepy music and the sex offender driving the vehicle.

Some of these food trucks park downtown during my lunch hour, but since I don’t usually take a lunch hour, I rarely go to the food trucks.

I feel as if more than an hour should be devoted to eating, so I choose to boycott it completely and eat at my desk while perusing the latest orthopedic shoes fashions.

So when my friend The Nanny (not her real name, and not to be confused with Fran Drescher, who is super annoying), a fellow foodie, told me the food trucks were going to convene at a location near my house, I stocked up on Tums and told her I was in.

toy truckWe got a group together of people who love food as much as we do, and we agreed to meet at the happy place.

As I drove to the food trucks, I felt like a kid at Christmas or Hanukkah.  I’m soooo p.c. getting ready to open presents.  Would I have tacos?  What about a sandwich?

The one question I didn’t ask myself was “Will I have dessert?”  That would just be a ridiculous question.  That’s like asking if Charlie Sheen’s career is over, or if he would like another line of coke.  Duh.

I pulled up and saw people and cars everywhere, which meant the food would probably go quickly.  I mean, how many tacos can one small truck hold?

And I knew I would eat at least a third of its actual holding capacity.  I needed to get on it.

I  felt compelled to get to the trucks and protect my meat…literally.

Fortunately, the universe knew I needed some fish tacos ASAP, and a parking spot opened up, which I snagged quickly.  I threw the car in park, and practically ran to the food trucks.

guest checkOkay, it wasn’t so much a run as a jalk….and not so much a jalk as a brisk walk…and not so much a brisk walk as a regular walk.  I didn’t want to inadvertently work out prior to eating.

I found my posse.  Yes, that’s what I’m calling them…my posse.  I also met my husband there, as I sent him to the ATM to get us some cash. I  figured the food trucks didn’t want to be paid in apple pie flavored gum, Cheez-Its and a half empty bottle of water.

Yes, I’m a half empty kind of gal.  Matt and I secured our spot at the table with our posse (it sounds so cool), and we walked around the food trucks trying to decide what to eat.

Now I love my husband for many reasons, but one of them is his willingness to look away when it comes to me and all things food related.  Most people would be disgusted with my love of food trucks.

He and I agreed on the same food truck to start our feast.  We love the Cha Cha Chow truck so much, as their tacos are amazing.

We stepped up and placed our orders.  Matt went first, and then it was my turn.  I told her I wanted 3 tacos.

taco1She then asked a stupid question; would I like just the tacos or the tacos with a side of fries.  Really?  You had to ask that question?  My elastic waisted pants and my over sized sweater didn’t give you the heads up that I was here to party?

And by “party” I mean eat.  I gave the woman a disapproving glance and told her I wanted the tacos with fries.  After all, I was American.  Jeez.

Matt and I grabbed our food and headed to the table. I literally grabbed it from him, as I saw him eyeing my fries.  We sat down with our posse and began to eat the delicious goodness that is food from a food truck.

Approximately 3 minutes later, when all the food was devoured, we then began discussing what we would eat next.  After all, we couldn’t just have one meal.

The food trucks drove all the way to our part of the county to sell some food and we didn’t want to let them down.  That wouldn’t be neighborly.

We agreed we wanted to hit up one of the dessert trucks, but we couldn’t decide which one to go to, as they both had different and unique items on the menu.

Naturally, we chose the food truck closer to our table.  We weren’t there to work out.

I ordered a chocolate peppermint cupcake and wasn’t disappointed.  It was delicious!

woman with cupcakes

Not my friend Truffle.

My friend Truffle (not her real name), ate her entire cupcake before we even returned to the table to eat it. Clearly she’s awesome

I devoured my cupcake, barely coming up for air.  It was so wonderful that I wished I would have ordered more than one.

I looked up to see that another one of my friends had purchased two cupcakes.

She said one was for now and the other was for later.  I reminded her that it was later and I wanted her cupcake.

She wouldn’t budge, which is probably for the best, as I didn’t really need another cupcake.

I also didn’t need that third taco, but that didn’t stop me.

We chatted for a while and then headed to our cars to leave the food trucks to the other patrons.  I was happy I got to eat at the food trucks, and I was also happy I had friends who loved food as much as I did.

As I drove away I thought about what I would eat next.  After all, there was a grocery store just around the corner and I could use a little something to munch on…

stack of booksI have some amazing news to report. (No, Arrested Development is not coming back for another season.  I know….it’s devastating).  But, I am going to be an aunt!

My brother and his wife are expecting their first baby, and naturally, I’ve decided to make their pregnancy all about me.  Isn’t it?

Since I’m not planning on having children, I’m excited at the prospect of being an aunt and spoiling the child, and then returning him or her to my brother when the smell of poo permeates the air.

That that smell may or may not be from the baby.

Since I’ve never been an aunt before, I need to figure out what kind of aunt I want to be before the baby comes.

This isn’t something I want to play by ear, as my role will clearly have a large impact on this child’s life.  Duh.  I’m such a big deal.

I began thinking about what kind of aunt I want to be and determined the best way to decide would be to look to other aunts I’m familiar with and see if I can mold my behavior after them.

Here are a few of the aunts I looked to for guidance.

1.  Aunt Jemima

pancakesNow this is my kind of aunt!  Her love of pancakes and syrup makes me love her more than my own aunts, and  I don’t even know Aunt Jemima.

One look at her smiling face and I can almost taste the delicious syrup that will send me into a  food coma for the rest of the afternoon and begin my early onset of diabetes.

Although I would love to model my aunting style after Aunt Jemima, all I know about her is that she makes a mean syrup and she looks great in plaid.

But since I can’t so much rock the headscarf the way she can in her photo, I think I may have to pass on modeling myself after her.  However, I will continue to purchase copious amounts of her syrup and pour it on everything from toast to stir fry.

2.  The aunts from Sabrina the Teenage Witch

girl in witch costumeThese crazy aunts lived together and performed magic, all the while raising their niece.  Although I’ve been known to be a bit of a witch at times (just ask my college roommates, or anyone who wears Teva sandals in my presence), I don’t think I’m this kind of witch.

Plus, these aunts always had a black cat hanging around and since I’m allergic to cats, I won’t be able to follow in their footsteps in that regard either.

The only magic I’m familiar with is Mr. Clean’s Magic Eraser.  However, I truly believe that eraser is pure voodoo, as my refrigerator handle has never looked so clean. 

Maybe instead of actual magic, I could just learn card tricks instead.  But then I’d probably be that creepy aunt who finds quarters behind people’s ears and has a purse with an endless supply of scarves tied together.

Nope.  I don’t think I can follow in the footsteps of these magical shoes.

3.  Aunt Fran from Mama’s Family

For Better or For Worse

Photo credit:
http://themamasfamily.wikia.com/wiki/Fran_Crowley

Mama’s Family is by far one of my favorite shows, and I still curse TBS for taking the reruns off the air and replacing it with approximately 100 episodes a day of Saved By The Bell.  I’m not sure I am capable of modeling myself after Aunt Fran for a few reasons.

First, she was Mama’s younger sister, and I’m certainly not the younger sister in my scenario, although my youthful skin makes me look 5 years younger, thanks to Walgreen’s generic Oil of Olay cream.

I also can’t be Fran because she is uptight and a spinster, and I’m neither of those things.  The only thing I’m uptight about is when the waiter fails to refill my drink, or when the waitress at Red Lobster skimps me on the butter rolls.

Do I look like someone who only wants 3 rolls?  Pu-lease.

Perhaps what’s most disturbing about Aunt Fran is that she choked on a toothpick and died at The Bigger Jigger bar.  Although I love the name of the establishment where she spent her last moments, I don’t want my life to end choking on an item that isn’t food.

If I must go choking on something, I want it to be a cheesecake covered in chocolate, not a piece of pointy wood.  Sorry Fran, but I’m moving on.  May you rest in peace.

4.  Aunt Bee from The Andy Griffith Show

beeWe all know Aunt Bee.  She’s the homely woman who dressed like “the help” and was always ready with an open ear and fresh pie.

I could take after Aunt Bee in the pie category, but would prefer to purchase them in the frozen food section and claim the large purchase is for the party I’m hosting.

In reality, of course, it would be for my night at home alone watching reruns of The Biggest Loser.

However, there is no way I will regularly wear a dress the way Aunt Bee did, unless my new niece or nephew wants to refer to my stained bathrobe as my “fancy dress” that falls open from time to time.

Aunt Bee was also known as “Aunt” throughout Mayberry, and I’m not sure I will take this title to that extreme, as I don’t think my disheveled appearance and vodka breath scream “loving parental figure.”

And that’s another thing; Aunt Bee didn’t drink liquor.  Well that most certainly won’t be me.

Rather, my niece or nephew will probably refer to my glass of clear liquid as “Auntie’s medicine” and will know that after a few doses, she passes out and farts uncontrollably.

Come to think of it, I don’t think I can model myself after Aunt Bee at all.  I’m way too mouthy, and entirely too gassy.

5.  Auntie Anne

pretzelNow this is an aunt that I can get on board with.  This aunt is the queen of all carbs, which is the kind of aunt I want to be.

Nothing says “I love you” quite like carbs covered in butter and topped with cinnamon and sugar.

Come to think of it, that might be the photo greeting on my Christmas cards this year, as it encapsulates everything I represent.  I’ve not met Auntie Anne personally, but I frequent her store quite regularly, and if I had to guess, she is quite sassy and smells like buttermilk.

I could be this type of aunt, only instead of smelling like buttermilk, I would smell like cashews and dog hair.

We definitely have the love of carbs in common, which is a good thing, and how I usually determine who my friends will be.

I just don’t trust someone who doesn’t love carbs.

After looking to these inspirational aunts, I’ve decided that although I love syrup and carbs, and I prefer to steer clear of toothpicks after Aunt Fran’s demise, I am going to be the only aunt I know how to be…which is to just be myself.

I realize this is probably scary to my brother and his wife, as I’m sure they don’t want their child’s role model to be a dog lover who considers the buffet at Ponderosa to be her happy place.

But I can only be myself, and I hope my niece or nephew will love me for it no matter what.  They better….or they won’t make it into my will, and I know there will be a fight over my collection of cups with naughty photos on them.

Lisa holding will

Doesn't this woman look constipated?

Doesn’t this woman look constipated?

I’m something of a rebel.  I like to break the rules at times, as I typically find rules to be a waste of time and energy, except for Rules of Engagement on CBS.  That show is hilarious despite David’s Spade’s character.

I don’t like to be bogged down by rules, which is why you should never agree to play any sort of board game with me.  I will cheat and then lie about it.  But I will completely deny this admission.

I also rip labels off mattresses and drink alcohol when on medication despite the warning label not to.  I find it enhances my buzz and helps me forget the idiotic things I do while drinking.  It does, however, add to the confusion when trying to determine how I got a new injury.

As you know, I volunteer at a local animal rescue shelter where they are probably sick of me, but haven’t figured out how to stop me from showing up. I think they’ve just learned to deal with me.

Little do they know the best way to get me to stop going anywhere is to require me to (1) work out or (2) not eat while I’m there.  Don’t tell them though.  I like it there.

Every Sunday night I train new volunteers to work at the shelter.  Yes, I sculpt young minds (and old) into volunteering machines.

hose fight with dog

NOT what we do at the shelter

I like to tell myself I have an impact on the shelter, but I know that all I’m really doing is cracking jokes and talking about dog poo for a few hours.  Which is probably what I would do at home anyway, so why not do it at the shelter?

One Sunday a few weeks ago I headed down to the shelter for my training shift, and as I got closer, I noticed there were cars everywhere.

I couldn’t find a parking spot within at least a mile of the shelter, which was ridiculous considering the shelter isn’t in a popular part of town for a Sunday afternoon.

A Tuesday morning at 2:00 a.m. for a crack purchase?  Yes.  But 4:00 p.m. for volunteering?  Not so much.  It took me a moment to realize that people were everywhere because of the parade celebrating the Cardinals’ World Series win.

Now, I’m a fan of the Cardinals and the World Series, as both give me an excuse to eat and drink excessively all in the name of sportsmanship.  Anytime I can drink until 1:00 a.m. on a Monday with an excuse other than “because vodka tastes delicious,” I’ll take it.

But I don’t like it when sports interfere with my life in a bad way…like parking…or preempting reruns of The Big Bang Theory.

I continued my quest for a parking spot, convinced that not everyone in St. Louis was attending a stupid parade where candy was most likely not thrown at the viewers.  What’s the point of going to a parade if there’s no chance of free candy?

handicapped spotI drove around for several minutes looking for a parking spot and grew irritated.

Didn’t people know I was a very important person and needed to be at the shelter soon to impart my wisdom on others?

After growing tired of driving around the block looking for a parking spot, I decided to do something horrible and rebellious…something I would never do in other circumstances and would only consider in times of great duress…I parked in a handicapped spot.

Okay, okay. Before you judge me, please follow my logic.  First, there was nowhere else to park.

This in itself should be a compelling enough reason, but I can provide more reasons why this was the only option.

Second, the parking lot where I parked was for a building that wasn’t open, so I wasn’t keeping handicapped people out, as the building was locked and not in use.  The building was keeping handicapped people out.  Not me.

Third, I hate walking anywhere, which is why I don’t live in New York.  If there was a way I could have parked on the sidewalk outside the shelter door, I would have done so.  I checked the sidewalk, and my car just wouldn’t fit.

handcuffs2Fourth, I’m important.  Didn’t you get that?

I decided to roll the dice and keep my car parked in the handicapped spot, as it was the only spot available within a 2 mile radius, and you know I’m strongly against exercise.

I parked my car and exited the vehicle quickly, all the while pretending to limp so in case anyone was watching me, they would think I was handicapped and justified in parking where I did.

I limped to the shelter and decided that if anyone asked, my affliction would be polio.  I knew nothing about polio, but I figured neither did anyone else, other than that FDR had it.

I also know it was sometimes confused with the sporting event and other times with short sleeved shirts.

With the public’s limited knowledge of polio, I could make up the symptoms on the spot, and hopefully use it to explain why my clothes didn’t match and I was wearing two different types of socks.

I spent a few hours at the shelter, all the while wondering if I would be busted for my horrible crime, or if I would get away with it.  All of a sudden I knew how Kasey Anthony and OJ Simpson felt.

fingerprint sheetWhen I was ready to leave, I exited the shelter and began slowly walking to the handicapped spot where I last saw my car, Deiter.  I was happy to see he was in the handicapped spot where I left him.

I approached, scared there would be a ticket on my windshield.  As I got closer, I realized there was no ticket, nor was there a boot on my tire.  I succeeded!  I beat the system!  It felt so amazing!

I was on top of the world and considered continuing my crime spree by failing to use my turn signal all the way home, but decided I would cut my losses and return to my boring life as a law abiding citizen.

Well, maybe I will be a law abiding citizen for the most part.  I’m still not paying $6.00 for an 8 ounce soda at the movie theater when a smuggled in Diet Coke from my fridge will do.

yell with megaphone

Occupy Wall street has received a lot of attention over the months for its supporters’ protests and signage.  As someone who works downtown in a city where the protesters congregate, I’ve noticed that some of the signs complain of legitimate problems, such as unemployment and health care.

However, some of the signs are random and completely irrelevant, as I’m confident that although some may not like our city’s mayor, he really isn’t a vampire.

suit guy on couchI’ve seen him at night…eating garlic.  Back off.

So in the spirit of Occupy Wall Street, I decided to make a list of some of my issues and problems.  I can’t make a sign and stand in protest all day, as my job actually expects me to work all day (can you believe it?).

That, and I’m lazy and don’t want to stand for hours holding a sign.  That seems too much like work, or exercise, and I’m not a fan of either.  Instead, I will write some of my grievances here.

Hardly anyone will see this post, but at least it doesn’t require me to use poster board and glitter.

Here it goes:

Why don’t shampoo and conditioner bottles have the same amount of product in each of them?

tub with bubblesHow is it that I can purchase 24 ounces of shampoo, but only 16 ounces of conditioner?

Shouldn’t they be the same sized bottles?

I mean, I have the same amount of hair on my head to both wash and condition.  Is Biolage suggesting I could use more shampoo because my hair is in need of more cleaning than conditioning?

This is most likely true, as I often find my hair has a few strands covered in mascara and a few strands covered with some sort of dipping sauce.

And why is this done by all brands, not just Biolage?  Paul Mitchell is in on it too, which I would suspect, as I don’t trust a guy with hair that nice.

This rule also applies to Antonio Banderas.  No one trustworthy has locks like that.

I’m not into doing math, so the different sizes and ounces is frustrating, as I can never properly calculate how many shampoos and conditioners to buy at once.

Instead, I miscalculate, run out of one of them, and improvise by using Noxema as a substitute.

It doesn’t make a great conditioner, but I smell like candy canes all day, so I’m usually happy.

Why do all shows go to commercial at the same time?

girl with tvCan’t a girl flip back and forth between House Hunters and Project Runway without always finding commercials on both channels at the same time?  Is it that much to ask?

Apparently it is, as clearly HGTV and USA Network are out to get me.

I refuse to watch commercials, as the ads will simply remind me that I need to do laundry, clean my house, or go for my yearly prostate exam.

Wait..that last one might not be right…

Instead, I will head to the refrigerator for ice cream on these commercial breaks and boycott the advertising entirely.  Ha!  Joke’s on them.

However, if I keep heading to the fridge for ice cream, I may need to watch some commercials about laxatives and weight loss pills.

Either way, this conspiracy just makes me use my DVR more, which allows me to leave the house for a trip to Dairy Queen, so I guess everyone wins.

Why is The George Lopez show on nearly 24 hours a day?

Photo credit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:GeorgeLopezsitcomcast.jpg

Photo credit:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki
/File:GeorgeLopezsitcomcast.jpg

I like a good sit com about an alcoholic mom who likes to hoe it up with the men, but how is this show syndicated?  Was there a buy one episode get the rest of them free special?

If there was, that’s obviously why Nick at Nite plays these shows constantly; although I can’t imagine it generates a lot of revenue.  I suspect the only people who watch this show are immigrants and drunk people, or sometimes a combination of the two.

And yet, I find myself getting sucked in every time I hear the theme song.  And why is the theme song “Low Rider?”  Couldn’t they come up with a less offensive stereotypical song?

And the characters are jumping on a trampoline?  Really?  That’s all you could come up with for the opening credits?

Someone was clearly stoned when that concept was created, most likely over a bag of Doritos and a pound of M&Ms.

Why must Facebook constantly confuse me with their format changes?

I’m a simple girl.  I need something that’s easy on the eyes and easy to use (like Jake Gyllenhaal).

Photo credit: http://www.jakegyllenhaal.com/

Photo credit:
http://www.jakegyllenhaal.com/

For instance, if I’m in a meeting or don’t want to talk to someone, I will look at Facebook on my phone, furrow my brow and shake my head. 

I like to think this makes people think I’m reading an important email, but I may just look like I’m constipated and in denial about my bowel issues. 

So thanks to Facebook and my confusion over where my status updates are located, the community as a whole thinks I constantly have to use the restroom and that I’m always irritated.  

Wait, that might not be too far off. 

Whenever anything gets complicated and requires me to think, I lose interest.  That’s why I have yet to update my iPhone despite having it for several years.

It may run at a snail’s pace, (which is faster than I can physically run), but I know where everything is and how to use it (as does my 5 year old neighbor, as that b#@$# always changes my password).

But Facebook seems to change their format every time I log on.  Okay, maybe not every time I log on, as I seem to use it fairly regularly as a decoy for my importance.

Why does “top shelf” liquor literally have to be on the top shelf?

shelfYou knew at least one of my complaints would involve liquor didn’t you?  It’s no surprise that I like my vodka.

If you haven’t figured that out by now, you are either an idiot, or drunk on whiskey, and I don’t know which one is worse.  How can people drink that stuff?

I’m also a vodka snob, and like the expensive stuff.  Of course, I have no problem buying a purse, underwear and salad dressing from the same clearance bin at Walmart, but I like my vodka to be of the highest quality.  I mean, I have standards after all.

My beef (mmmm…..) isn’t with the high price of the delicious goodness, it’s with the location of the product.

I realize they call it “top shelf” liquor, but must they really put it on the top shelf?  (My parents put it on all their shelves.  I have photos.)

I mean, we have a Chinese restaurant down the street and I’m pretty sure no one from China would come near that cuisine, nor would they claim it.

Don’t liquor stores know they don’t have to be literal about the location?  It can be “top shelf” and be located on the middle shelf, strategically between the Hershey’s Kisses and the Tylenol P.M.

Doesn’t everyone buy those three things together?

guy with signNow  I’m not one to overexert myself when reaching, unless I’m reaching for ice cream…or Joel McHale, so I don’t want to have to utilize any energy reaching for my beloved liquor.  I want it to be in an easily accessible location.

Come to think of it, I would prefer to just drive through and pick it up…or have it delivered to me at home, and then served chilled with water and a lime, and a new episode of Project Runway.

No one should have to work to get good liquor.  Put it on the middle shelf.  I may be working class, but not when it comes to my drinks.

Okay, I guess I will stop my complaining for now, but I have a feeling I will complain more later, so stand by.  At least this way I don’t have to stand in the rain with a sign.

Rather, I can do my complaining sans bra and contacts…the way our forefathers intended it.

I’m sure you’ve all seen the photos from the website http://www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com/.  If you haven’t, go there immediately after reading this blog, but not before.  Seriously.  Don’t do it now.

If you haven’t been to the website, you don’t have to be a genius to figure out the content of the page.  (I would suspect you also don’t have to be a genius to be featured on the page either.  Actually, I’m pretty sure everyone featured there has an IQ lower than a stick of gum).

I’ve been a fan of this site for a few years because it always gives me a good chuckle, and an urge to dial the Department of Children and Welfare Services.  I’m not sure what makes people think these poses are appropriate, but I’m happy they do because it gives me plenty of laughs.  Here is one of my favorites.

This photo can be found at
http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/2009/08/04/pile-o-denim/

I like to call this photo “Hop on Pop” because that’s exactly what happened.  There are so many things wrong with this photo that I don’t know where to begin.

So let’s start with the obvious question:  Are these people drunk?  I hope they are, as this is the only way I can view this picture without getting the urge to scrub my body with steel wool to get the incest off.

But seriously, whose idea was this photo?  Was this planned or did they all just feel the need to spoon each other for the camera?  Do they do this at home?  They look quite comfortable in this arrangement, which makes me think this isn’t the first time they’ve done this.

And whose idea was this pose?  If it was the photographer’s idea, I suggest that photographer be put down immediately.  (I’ve convinced myself the photog is a guy.  Duh).

I’m not sure if I like it any better if it was the dad’s idea, as that probably makes him a pedophile in some way, which makes me uncomfortable…almost as uncomfortable as he must be buried under that pile on.

And after Dad had this brilliant idea for the pose, did he then come up with the idea for the location or was the location the inspiration for the pose?  I know nothing says “Let’s all lay on top of each other in denim” quite like a large body of water.

That’s why I don’t like family trips to the beach.  There’s too much pressure to pile on each other as the urge is so strong with the water right there.  It’s too hard to resist.

And why denim?  Is the denim to make them all comfortable so they can try to forget that they are in an extremely uncomfortable position?

I don’t think denim fabric is strong enough to wash away the feel of little Johnny’s naughty parts crushed against his brother Alvin.  That’s a memory that will require lots of therapy and a strong heroin addiction to forget.

And really with the denim shirts too?  A regular black or white polo wouldn’t do?  Well, maybe that would add too much contrast to the photo, and there’s already enough going on in this picture without any further distractions.  Although, apparently little Jimmy on top didn’t get the memo that it was light colored denim tops and not dark.

denim zipper

I have a feeling this kid has a closet full of these denim shirts in varying shades, and he simply grabbed one for this photo.  It’s good that he likes the look of these shirts, as it will suit him well when he gets to prison in a few years.

Perhaps what is most disturbing about this photo (aside from the obvious enjoyment this family gets from pressing their privates together), is that Mom and Dad aren’t laying together.  I would think it would be natural to have Mom lay on top of Dad.  Well, not natural, but logical.

Although if they were going for logical, they wouldn’t have chosen a grassy knoll by the river as the spot for their family portrait.  I feel like Alvin (the kid on top of Pop…keep up) probably volunteered to hop on pop first.  His smile is all too genuine and he looks a little too excited about the photo and his positioning.

This picture makes me sad; not necessarily because it paints denim in an unfair light, but because I’m pretty sure this photo is hanging proudly over someone’s mantle somewhere.

Well, maybe not so much a mantle as a 1972 black and white TV…and maybe not so much a TV but a dumpster.  Either way, this photo definitely makes me feel better about my family photos…and it gives me a great idea for next year’s photo shoot!