funny crap my husband says, September 2014 (1)Hey guys!

Summer is over which means I’m in a perpetual state of sadness.  However, one of the few things that lifts my spirits is posting some of the funny crap my husband said when he wasn’t trying to be funny.

I’ve had a rough few weeks recently and this guy has gotten me through them with a lot of laughs.  (And bourbon.  I’ve had a LOT of bourbon these last 2 weeks.)

Since I love you guys, I’m sharing some of the wonderful nuggets of wisdom my husband shared with me this past month.  I really need to market him into a 1-900 number of inspirational sh*t.

Lover Not A Fighter

Matt:  “I’m totally amorous.  If I was a drink I’d be an amorous-o-sour.”

Inventor

Lisa: <Walks into room to find Matt laying on the couch.> “I thought for sure you’d be drinking a glass of wine.

Matt:  <Points to glass of wine between his legs> “I’m hands-free with this b*tch!

Buddhist/Spiritual Adivsor

Matt: “I could totally be a Buddhist if it wasn’t for all that silence stuff.”

photo (1)

He was NOT happy I took this photo.

Scientist

Lisa:  “Close the curtains. People can see inside the house now that it’s dark.”

Matt:  “No they can’t.”

Lisa:  “Yes they can. You can see inside the house when it’s dark outside and light inside the house.”

Matt:  “No. It’s the opposite of that.”

Lisa:  “So you’re saying you can see inside the house when it’s light outside and dark in the house.”

Matt:  “Of course not. It’s the opposite of that. It’s science honey. I can’t explain it.”

Considerate Spouse

Matt:  “Ouch!  Ouch! This is hot!“<Throws bag of steamed vegetables at Lisa>  “You take it!

Speaker of Sweet-Nothings

Matt:  <laughing>  “I want to say something but it’s gonna creep you out.”

Lisa:  “Just say it.”

Matt: “No. I’m creeped out just thinking about it.”

photo (2)

Please excuse my humidity hair. New Orleans is humid y’all!

A Jokester

Lisa: “That’s a Matt Newlin joke.” 

Matt: “No it’s not. I wouldn’t ever say something so lame…unless it was about a horse that had to be put down.” <Gives a Goddamned sh*t-eating grin>

Doctor Love

Lisa:  “I need to get my birth control prescription.”

Matt:  “Where do you go for that? Do you go to a urologist? Or maybe a HERologist?

World’s Best Listener

Lisa:  “And so I was thinking…

Matt:  <Gets up and leaves the room> “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Lisa:  “I was in the middle of telling you a story.”

Matt:  “I knew where it was going.”

We really do love each other!

We really do love each other!

Tom Hardy’s #1 Fan

Lisa:  “Isn’t Tom Hardy bisexual? I thought he was.”

Matt:  “Tom Hardy is not bisexual. He’s just so straight that he bangs guys. That doesn’t make him bisexual.”

Steel Trap Memory

Lisa: “What else did you say the other night when we were talking about going to Mexico?

Matt: “I don’t know. You know I don’t listen to myself.

So what was your favorite Matt Newlism of the month? Tell me all about it!

neonAs my dear readers know, I had a birthday this week.  Normally I love my birthday because it’s an excuse to eat cookie cake without people passing judgment on me (or at least if they do, they keep it to themselves).

When I was a kid I anxiously counted down the weeks until my dig day, knowing I would finally be a year older and closer to being an adult.

When the day finally arrived, my parents would wake me up singing “Happy Birthday.”  I always pretended to hate it, but secretly I loved the attention, even if my dad was off-key.

In the years leading up to my 20s, I continued to look forward to my birthday.

The 21 birthday is a coveted one because it means you can throw away the fake ID, or at least give it to another deserving soul.

The 25th birthday marked what I believe to be the age when people would start taking me seriously.

They didn’t.

Birthday in VegasOnce I got into my 30s, however, I stopped counting down to birthdays with excitement and started counting down with read.

I began thinking of those final days as the last moments I would be young and I cringed with each passing day as my birthday drew near.

This year I realized that’s not the way I want to live my life.  I turned 34 this year.  Yes, 34.  I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m in my mid-thirties and am no longer the young woman I used to be, and I’m okay with it.

Yes, I’m starting to see sun spots on my face and my chest is starting to show signs of years sunbathing with baby oil.  My feet are starting to ache when I stand too long and my stomach is far more sensitive than it used to be.

matt and lisa on mopedThe scars from my gallbladder surgery hurt when I eat too much and I know that sitting on bleachers will irritate my sciatica.

I know all of this, and yet I’m not sad.  I”m happy about it.

Why?  Because those sun spots on my face and chest are from vacations with my loved ones and afternoons at the pool with friends.

My aching feet are from years of exploring the world, hiking a mountain, walking across The Brooklyn Bridge and running a 5k.

My sensitive stomach is from years of drinking beer at the bar and eating at five-star restaurants in Beverly Hills (all the while wondering if we were going to be kicked out for being “commoners”).

Matt and Lisa Family Mexico 2011My gallbladder scars are from when I was hospitalized and became friends with my roommate.

My sciatica acts up when I sit on bleachers because of all the years of basketball games, World Series games, tailgating and college bowl games.

Yes, my body may be more achy than I’d like for it to be.  Yes, my skin may not be as resilient as it once was.

But my soul?  My soul is enriched more each year because of the life experiences I’ve had.

I’m not the person I was when I was 25 and for that I’m grateful.  I don’t want to be that person. It’s not that she was a bad woman; I liked her when I was 25.

But now, I’m the new and improved model.  I may have signs of wear and tear, but I think I’m better than ever.

Matt and Lisa on Beach-dark hairSo this year, I’m celebrating turning 34.  I don’t mean just that I’m having some cake and a day at the spa, although I certainly will do those things.

Rather, I’m talking about celebrating the 33 years I’ve been on this planet, creating memories and enjoying those people I love.

I’m going to look back over my years and take note of my accomplishments and my failures, because both have made me who I am.

I will also look forward to getting older instead of dreading it.  I will embrace each coming year, knowing I’m a better person each year because of the life I’m living.

Lisa with iceeSo when people wish me happy birthday, I won’t roll my eyes, mostly because the shingles on my eye won’t let me roll them.  But I also won’t roll my eyes and complain about getting older.

I will thank the well-wishers and remind myself that my birthday truly is a happy time.  It’s a time to celebrate life and making it through this crazy world one more year.

I will definitely drink to that (and then wash it down with cake).

 

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Love my stuff?  Of course you do!  Then please share it everywhere!  Then you can say you knew me when…

NKOTBI’ve always loved New Kids On The Block (or NKOTB for those of you into abbreviations).  But then again, who doesn’t?

An all American boy band who wears t-shirts with cartoon strips and Bill Cosby inspired sweaters?  <swoon>

Five boys who know how to hit a high C like they’re making sweet love to it?  <swoon again>

Throw in some lightly feathered mullets and the dream weavers perched on a precariously low traffic light only to randomly pose for a photo for their album cover?

<triple swoon>

The album cover on the right is my favorite, and not just because it highlights the fact Jordan has enough eyebrow hair to weave a blanket for the homeless.  That’s just an added bonus.

Rather, this cover perfectly captures why I break for NKOTB.  I mean, what’s not to love about this?! (Aside from Joey McIntyre’s high waisted mom jeans.  Really Jo Jo?)

photo credit: marcia.furman via photopin cc

photo credit: marcia.furman via photopin cc

This photo demands respect. I challenge anyone not to give props to Donnie with that sassy hand on his hip. Those geometric patterns on his sweet cotton sweater says he’s good in art class but he also knows how to unhook a girl’s training bra with the flip of his Swatch-adorned arm.

<swoon again>

Let’s not forget about Jordan.  In this picture he looks like he was being goosed by someone passing by.  Perhaps he was.  If so, it was most likely a pedestrian who actually wanted to use the traffic signal to cross the street and didn’t appreciate 5 pubescent boys mounting it for the camera.

What about Jonathan Knight?  He barely made it into the photo, but that’s okay.  His boldly striped t-shirt/sweatshirt combo made him halfway visible, which is all he ever wanted.

The biggest question I have about this cover, aside from why the police didn’t shut down the photo shoot that was undoubtedly interfering with traffic, is why Danny in the center of this photo.

Seriously, why?

This is me and one of my besties at the NKOTB concert this year.  I swooned (and sweated) a lot.

This is me and one of my besties at the NKOTB concert this year. I swooned (and sweated) a lot.

That’s one mystery I’ve never solved, and I’ve spent countless hours drooling staring at this cassette tape.

This album cover is what made me first fall in love with these wacky kids, and 25 years later, I still want to kick it with the New Kids.  If only I could. As one of the greatest bands of all time, NKOTB still knows how to put a skip in my step and a throb in my loins.  (Well, all of them but Danny.)

Naturally, when I found out there was a NKOTB cruise, I knew I had to get in on it.  Or just physically get on it.  On the boat.  Not on the guys.  (Unless they’re into that sort of thing.)

Unfortunately, my dream of sailing the high seas while hitting high Cs (and drinking Hi-C) was not to be.  Cruising with the New Kids sold out in 3 minutes flat, and I’m not talking about a B flat.

Sadly, I wasn’t one of the lucky girls to get a ticket.  I can’t say I’m not devastated.  I could, but I’d be lying.

photo credit: Corey Ann via photopin cc

photo credit: Corey Ann via photopin cc

What was so perfect about the cruise was it was in “Summertime” which is my favorite time of year.  That, coupled with the fact those boys have “The Right Stuff” to get a “Block Party” going, makes me a sad girl.

I guess I shouldn’t be too upset about missing it.  I’m sure it’s just a bunch of “Cover Girl“(s) going, and I don’t want to be a part of that.

However, I’m considering approaching one of the lucky ticket holders and asking her to sell me her ticket.  Maybe I should be upfront and just ask her to “Please Don’t Go Girl.” Who knows?  It might work.  Stranger things have happened.

After all, Danny got married.

I’ve always been such a super fan of theirs, and I’ve supported their entire career.  “Didn’t I?” I know if I went on the cruise they’d “Treat Me Right” and we’d have a great time.  I’m probably even become their “Favorite Girl.”

Maybe they’ll have another cruise and I can get tickets for that one.  I will remain optimistic.

Until then, I will take it “Step by Step” and stay “Hangin’ Tough” until the new cruise date is announced.  I’m hoping I can go the next time around, as “I like the remix (baby).

I’m sad I can’t go, but “Whatcha Gonna Do About It?”

To my dearest New Kids, please plan another cruise.  I promise “I’ll Be Loving You (Forever).

This is me drinking beer at the NKOTB concert in June 2013. I've dreamed of this moment since the 6th grade.

This is me drinking beer at the NKOTB concert in June 2013. I’ve dreamed of this moment since the 6th grade.

ambushed.jpg<<<<<<<I’m re-posting this one, as it happened over Christmas, but it’s one of my all-time favorite stories, and it’s such a funny memory.  I think you will enjoy, assuming you like pubes humor.

If you don’t like humor about pubes, you probably shouldn’t be reading this blog anyway…

ENJOY!>>>>>>>

Beautiful, right?

Beautiful, right?

Yes, I realize that brilliant graphic above and the title of this post isn’t how you spell “ambushed.”  I was trying to give you a hint as to what this blog post would be about, and I wanted to do it creatively, because I’m awesome that way.

Hopefully you can look past the spelling and look to the hilarity of the story.  You should, because the story is amaze-balls.

And before we go any further, how awesome is my drawing for this one?  I did it on Paint and it only took me an hour.  I’m so talented.

Every year, Matt and I go to Mexico to celebrate the Christmas holiday.  By “celebrate” we mean we lay in the sun all day, drink fruity drinks, and occasionally look at each other and say “Oh crap, its Christmas!  I totally forgot!”

We don’t go to Mexico because we don’t like Christmas; we just don’t like cold weather, or obligatory functions, or any kind of holiday that requires purchasing gifts.  (If you have a job and/or a bank account, you can buy yourself a gift.  I’m not waiting in line to get you a gift card to Starbucks.  FYI.)

drinks on the beachThis year was no different and we spent the holidays lounging on the beach, silently passing judgment on people as they walked by. (Sometimes not so silently, depending on the quantity and potency of the cocktails.)

We don’t do this to be mean, but mostly just to entertain ourselves, and because there are some seriously freaky people in this world…or at least in Puerto Vallarta over the holidays.

A few days ago I was scanning my surroundings, just taking in the scenery.  Okay, so what I was really doing was looking around for the waiter on the beach to check on the status of my refill of my Bahama mama drink.

He was nowhere to be found (probably/hopefully because he was making me another drink).  Instead of finding the waiter, I found something far better.

A young woman, probably in her early 20s, was walking up the beach from the water.  She was skinny and wearing a tiny bikini.  As I looked at her, I noticed something on her crotch area.  Immediately, I suspected she somehow got seaweed caught on her leg while she was in the ocean.

Because I’m a super caring person (and because I wanted to check on my drink status), I decided to get up  further investigate.  I figured if she had seaweed on her lady parts, she would probably want to know so she could remove it.  It’s the least I could do.

photo credit: jenny downing via photopin cc

photo credit: jenny downing via photopin cc

Oh god, how I wish it was seaweed on the inner parts of her legs.  If only….

As I approached, I realized it wasn’t seaweed, but rather an explosion of pubic hair coming out of her bikini and crawling down her legs.

I say it was crawling because I swear it was alive and quite mobile.  I saw it swaying in the wind and immediately imagined what it would look like when she was in the water.

The movement of it would most likely be confused by a snorkeling 10 year old as a different kind of seaweed.

It looked like it was busting out of her bikini bottom, as if it was trying to escape the constraints of her tiny cotton suit.  I could almost hear it gasping for air, or at least for a good shampoo and conditioner.

Naturally, I alerted my husband immediately.  I feel like this is one of those obligations a wife has to her husband.

In addition to honoring and cherishing, blah blah blah, I think there’s something in the vows about promising to alert your husband at the sighting of out of control bush at a beach.

photo credit: •●pfaff via photopin cc

photo credit: •●pfaff via photopin cc

If it isn’t in the vows, it should be, because that’s the kind of stuff that can break up a marriage otherwise.  I’m a caring wife that way.

Matt’s reaction was similar to mine.  He was horrified and happy, all at the same time.  We were both completely intrigued and decided to try to get a closer look.  Who was this creature who felt so uninhibited as to display her female whiskers.

Also, we wanted to make sure we took our camera to capture a photo of this remarkable sighting.  After all, I’m a journalist and this was just the kind of investigation you, my readers, depend upon.

I failed.  Just FYI so you don’t get all excited about seeing a photo of an untamed bush, and then you get disappointed when you don’t find it.  Part of you knew I would fail because I’m not really that great of a journalist, and I think posting photos of a stranger’s bush might put my blog into a porn category.

I’m not ready for that kind of traffic yet, so for now, you’re going to have to use your imagination.  Plus, this isn’t that kind of blog.  I try to keep it classy, people.

As we got closer to her, we confirmed what we already knew.  It was an overgrown forest between her legs.

No, it wasn’t a forest, it was a goddamn jungle.  Perhaps she wasn’t capable of trimming or removing it because it was just too strong…like maybe it was the Hulk Hogan of pubic hair.  I wondered if it wore a bandanna and called everyone “brother.”

bush.jpg

Please note the image is an artist rendering.  It’s not an actual photo.

I could only imagine what kind of sheers would be needed to slay that dragon down south.  Perhaps that’s why it was so out of control.  No razor could tame it.

No blade would step up to the task.  What she needed was Arthur from Disney’s beloved “The Sword in the Stone.”  Perhaps he was the only thing strong enough to tame that mane.

*Of note:  Arthur is also known in the movie as “Wart” which poses an interesting question about whether the massive bush was hiding something more serious…like herpes.  It also demonstrates my uncanny knowledge of Disney movies and characters.

Perhaps the only thing that would knock out a mass of hair that size would be a fire.  But then again, if she used that method, she would have a burning bush, and I don’t think that’s what Moses was talking about in the Bible.  However, he was in the dessert sand, so perhaps there’s some truth to this theory…

We approached cautiously, careful not to alarm it. I couldn’t help but say “It looks like she has two dead animals plastered to the sides of her legs.”

I bet two dead animals would smell better than what she’s got going on down there,” was my humble husband’s response.  I suspect he wasn’t wrong.

Blond Boy Crying

We followed her flowing fringe until “Miss Bush” arrived at her destination.  Unfortunately, it was not the salon for a wax.  Rather, she met up with her “friends” who were lounging on chairs on the beach.  The reason I use the term “friends” so loosely is because anyone who lets another person go out in public with pubic hair like that, is no friend at all.

Am-BUSHEDBut her friends got what they deserved, because she began talking to them while continuing to stand…while they continued to lounge in their chairs.  This provided a front row viewing of the lady mustache she was sporting.  (I just made up that term “lady mustache.”  Let’s make that a thing.)

It was obvious by their faces that her friends were aware of the vagina wig.  (There’s another one! “Vagina wig” is pure gold!  I can’t stop with creating these slang terms!)

But funnier than the faces of her friends staring down the barrel of her beard, was the face of the clearly traumatized 14 year old boy standing nearby.  I’m completely serious.

Matt and I had to stifle our laughter at that poor, tortured soul who was horrified and wanted to look away, but couldn’t find the strength to turn away from the lady sideburns.

(That’s it.  I’m going on the road with this act and all the names I’m making up for a woman’s bush.)

I wanted to comfort the poor lass, and tell him not all women’s genitalia looked like the base player from Guns ‘N’ Roses.  (Slash may have been an ugly dude, but he knew how to stroke that guitar.)

I also wanted to give him this month’s edition of Playboy to show him what classy pubic hair look like, but Matt left it on the plane for an uncomfortable stewardess to find.  (He finds this prank hilarious.  He also likes to whip it out in the middle of the flight and make the person next to him extremely uncomfortable.  And I’m talking about whipping out the Playboy magazine, not something else, you perv.)

It was at that point that we decided to go back to our lounge chairs and stop staring at the freak show of frizz.  It was starting to look angry and I swear that thing waved at me as we walked by.

We returned to our lounge chairs stunned and scarred from what we just viewed.  We knew we would never be the same, and for as long as we lived, the Mexico Christmas vacation of 2012 would forever be known to us simply as “Bushapalooza.”  We’re having t-shirts made.

photo (75)My husband I just went to Las Vegas for a “vacation.”  I use the term loosely because my idea of vacation is chilling by the pool, reading a book and silently judging the women who think they look good in a thong bikini.  (They don’t.)

Vegas is the opposite of that, with the exception of women in thong bikinis.  There’s lots of those.  There’s also lots of men in thong bikinis too.

Vegas doesn’t discriminate.

I’d never been to Vegas so I didn’t know what to expect.  When I arrived I was overwhelmed and wish someone would have prepared me for the shit show I was stepping into.

Because I’m good to you like that, I’ve made a list of a few things you should know if you are going to Vegas.  I’d like to prevent others from experiencing the horror that was my first time there.

Here it goes…

1.  There’s shopping.  Lots and lots of shopping

photo credit: Marshall Astor - Food Fetishist via photopin cc<

My favorite indulgence!
photo credit: Marshall Astor – Food Fetishist via photopin cc<

I’m a fan of capitalism and free market, but Vegas is ridiculous when it comes to shopping.  Not only are there shops and stores everywhere you go, there are people on the street corners hawking everything from water bottles to free cds of their music.

Right, like the guy in the street with the stinky pits and the nasty teeth is going to be the next big music star.

Wait. Is that how Kid Rock was discovered?

Vegas doesn’t just slap you in the face with commerce, it punches you in the nose and then the stomach, and while you’re keeled over in pain, it gives you an atomic wedgie….and then it charges you for the experience.

Make sure you bring cash; not only for the shopping, but also for the alcohol you will need to numb the pain of the sucker punch to the wallet.

2.  Penny slots aren’t actually penny slots

My winnings!

My winnings!

Don’t be fooled!  Remember #1 above where I talked about how commerce bitch slaps you?  (I hope so, as it was only a few lines ago.  If you’ve forgotten, you should probably see a doctor about that.)

Although the penny slots say they’re a penny, they’re big fat liars with their pants on fire.  While it’s true they take pennies, it takes 40 of them for one spin of the slot, or in this high tech world, a push of a button.

There is no other option other than to bet $0.40 a spin.  Maybe if you’re a high roller you can afford such ridiculousness.  I, however, cannot, partly because of item #3.

3.  Everything costs a million dollars

These nachos, a margarita and a mojito at the pool cost $70.00...BEFORE TIP!

These nachos, a margarita and a mojito at the pool cost $70.00…BEFORE TIP!

Want a small Diet Coke fountain soda?  That will be $5.00 plus tip.

What about a small bottle of water?  That will also be $5.00 plus tip.

Neither comes with a happy ending.  Believe me, I asked.  For that price, I’d expect at least a butt grab, but the waiter was NOT on board with my advances.

Before you come out to Vegas, might I recommend taking out a second mortgage on your house just to pay for dinner and drinks?  And don’t eat too much, as that will force you to go to the restroom.

Although Vegas charges you for every single indulgence, they can’t seem to put anything other than 2-ply toilet paper in the restrooms.

You probably have to pay extra for additional ply.

4.  Bling is everywhere

bling at pool

This is an actual photo of someone at one of the pools in Vegas. BLING!

Make sure you pack your sunglasses because it gets extra bright when the sun reflects off the sequined bikinis at the pool.

I’m not sure if it’s a requirement in Vegas that all women be adorned with glitter, sequins or rhinestones, but I suspect it is.  From teenagers to grandmas, nearly every woman sparkles with the finest rhinestones Hobby Lobby has to offer.

Here’s a tip:  Pack a glue gun with extra glue sticks.

You can make a killing offering to glue fallen sequins back on outfits.  You should probably offer to glue the legs shut of some of these sparkling women, although I wouldn’t recommend going anywhere near their jackpot.

You will NOT come out a winner, I can assure you.

5.  There aren’t free drinks on the casino floor

http://www.flickr.com/photos/pablito_garza/8360706964/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/pablito_garza/8360706964/

Contrary to popular belief, you aren’t served free alcohol while you’re gambling.  They make you pay for that too.  (See #3 above.)

Come to think of it, perhaps they give out free drinks, but only to people betting more than $0.40 a spin on the Airplane! slot machine. (The slot machine is just as much fun as the movie, although it doesn’t say “Surely you can’t be serious,” when you bet the minimum. Wouldn’t it be cool if it did?)

That’s all the tips I have for Vegas virgins.  The irony of that sentence is that no one in Vegas is a virgin.  No one.

If you’d like one final overriding tip, might I suggest you go somewhere else for your trip and avoid Vegas all together?

Yes, I might.

Things you should kow before going to Vegas

how to play vegas bingoMatt and I have birthdays that are 3 years and 3 days apart.  Judging by my lack of crow’s feet, you know I’m the younger of the two.

I’m also a liar.

Every year we do something special for our birthdays, which usually involves a vacation.  No matter what we do, an iced cookie cake is always involved.  We take our birthdays far too seriously not to include cookie cake.

This year we went to Vegas to celebrate.  It was my first time there and judging by what I saw, I will most likely never return.  I know they say “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” but much of what happened in Vegas continues to haunt my nightmares.

As I repeatedly reminded Matt, “Vegas is not my jam.”  (Grape jam, however, is totally my jam.)

photo credit: vsmoothe via photopin cc

photo credit: vsmoothe via photopin cc

It takes forever to walk anywhere in Vegas and with 100 degree heat and not a beer in sight, it makes for a long afternoon (for Matt, as he has to hear me complain.)

To make the trip more enjoyable, I decided to make a game out of the freak shows we saw.  I created a Vegas Bingo card, and Matt and I tried to find all of the items on the card.

I’ve included our Vegas Bingo card below, complete with the color key so you can know the degree of difficulty for each item.  For those of you that are color blind, I’m sorry you can’t see the color scheme, but you should easily be able to figure out which sightings are more rare than others.

So here you go:  Vegas Bingo, Lisa Newlin style.

vegas bingo key

Vegas Bingo

113It’s summer time, which means it’s time to hit the pool instead of hitting the gym.

Yeah right, like I hit the gym the rest of the year.

If did, I probably would enjoy the pool a bit more.  Hence, my theory for how to survive the swimsuit season.  Read about it here.  It’s an awesome idea.  (Duh).

So now that you’re equipped to go to the pool and not feel bad about how you look in a swimming suit (because you read my post), you need a few more staples.

Not stomach staples.  You look great the way you are.  Didn’t you read my swimsuit theory?

Read about the five things you need to take to the pool here.  Yes, I’m making you go to another site.  Deal with it.

You know you’d click just about anywhere to learn about what to take to the pool.  So one more click!

arrows

http://www.inthepowderroom.com/read/me-time/2013-06-a-summer-survival-kit-for-the-pool.html

arrows up

(RECIPE AT THE BOTTOM OF OF THIS POST)

Back CameraThis Memorial Day, my friend St. Frick (not his real name), invited us to his house for a pool party.  St. Frick is known for his ability to throw amazing parties (and his ability to shove five profane words into a sentence comprised of only three words.  It’s a talent).

We knew we would be in for a good time and we knew the only logical answer was to tell him we would be there.

We arrived at his place and discovered he and some other friends were already in the pool.  Judging by the various beer cans strewn about, they also appeared to have started the party without us (although I still contend a party doesn’t start until I arrive).

I immediately headed to the pool house to grab some libations and catch up with our friends.  I opened the refrigerator and this is what I saw:

At first I thought they were sliced lemons, which would go nicely with my Grey Goose, but upon closer inspection I realized they weren’t lemons, but Jello shots in a lemon rind.

Is that what it’s called?  A rind?

I was beside myself with joy.

Back CameraI decided to try one of them immediately.  After all, I didn’t want to be rude.  I was his guest and I was raiding his fridge to see what free stuff I could find.

What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t do a Jello shot (or three)?

They were delicious.  I decided to have a few more and bring them poolside for others to enjoy.  They were refreshing and alcohol laden, which are two of my favorite things.

I grabbed a couple more and sat on the edge of the pool.  It was like I was being healthy and eating fruit by the pool…if fruit was made of three parts gelatin and two parts vodka.  (If it was, I would eat a lot more fruit).

What kind of person comes up with this idea?  Obviously an awesome person.  I just didn’t know who would be brilliant enough to come up with this recipe.

Normally, if I’m motivated enough to make Jello, it’s done in a dirty bowl with cracks at the bottom courtesy of the time one of my dogs used it as a chew toy.

Don’t judge.  The bowl still works…just think twice about eating Jello when you come to my house…and watch for dog hair.

Back CameraDo you see these amazing Jello shots?  Look how perfectly sliced they are!

Upon closer inspection, I was amazed to discover there were no slices of skin on them, nor were there bloody lemon peels (or rinds.  Are we calling them rinds?).

Maybe it’s just me, but I’m pretty sure I would slice a finger straight off if I was going to slice up these lemon Jello shots.

Naturally, it would be my husband’s finger I sliced, and not mine.  After all, he would be the one holding the lemons while I sliced them.

After several Jello shots, a girl can’t be expected to hold the lemons steady.

Oh yeah, I may have forgotten to mention that when I make Jello shots I’m usually wasted on several of the shots by the time we get to the slicing portion of the recipe.

But everyone is like that, right?

recycleAs if these delicious gems of goodness weren’t already perfect, I realized there was another plus to them.  They are environmentally friendly!

You know my love of animals and of this beautiful planet (which is made even more beautiful by the presence of Jake Gyllenhaal and Andrew Garfield).

So with this recipe I can load up on liquor without feeling guilty about the environment.

I don’t need to be worried about filling the landfill with little Jello shots cups (mostly because when I eat these I will be too blitzed to think straight).

Actually,I’m probably helping the environment by doing Jello shots this way.  I am using biodegradable material for good use, while also supporting recycling.

I’m so considerate.

This is yet another way to give back to Mother Earth while drinking to excess.  Who knew being an environmentalist would be so fun?

The best lemon jello shotsDoes this mean I can stop shaving my arm pits?

Another bonus to these shots is that neighbors going through my trash (or just looking out their window to see me sprawled out on the lawn), won’t judge me for the large amount of plastic containers strewn about me and my body.

Rather, they will assume my drinking caught up with me and my liver finally gave out.  This makes for a peaceful afternoon nap on the front lawn…the perfect way to spend a Saturday.

What’s that you say?  Your neighbors don’t go through your trash?  Sure.

Whatever.  Keep telling yourself that, but do yourself a favor and go outside some night and see if your Us Weekly magazines are still in your trash can.

My guess is they’re not, as the nosy neighbor down the street wants to keep up with the Kardashians but can’t afford a magazine subscription (or cable…or the internet….those fricking Kardashians are everywhere).

So since I’m totally awesome and you guys are just dying to know how these Jello shots are made, I will tell you.  It’s actually fairly easy.  Here it goes:

RECIPE

1.  Cut several lemons in half. (You can also uses oranges, limes or watermelons)
2.  Scoop out the insides of each half lemon so it’s hollow.  (I suggest dumping the insides of the lemon into a large container of Grey Goose and water.)
3.  Make Jello as per the instructions.  (If you are making this for a party that I will be attending, please multiply the alcohol content by two.  Who am I kidding?  Multiply it by three.)
4.  Pour the liquid Jello into the halves, making sure not to overfill them.
5.  Place the lemon halves in muffin pans to hold them upright.
6.  Place the lemon halves in the refrigerator and allow the Jello to set.
7.  Once the Jello is done,  remove the lemon halves and slice the halves into smaller pieces.

Yes, it’s that easy.  I know.  Can you believe it?

And if you make this recipe, I will require you to bring over the equivalent of three whole lemons of Jello shots.

You didn’t think you were going to get this recipe entirely for free, did you?

311

It’s the holiday weekend, which marks the beginning of summer, or as I like to call it, the beginning of BBQ season.

Summertime is the perfect excuse to always have french onion dip in your fridge, and at least 3 bags of Ruffles potato chips in the cupboard.

Okay, since it’s not 1932 and you don’t have a cupboard, you can keep them in your pantry.

But with all the fun of the summer months also comes the dreadful swim suit debacle.

Questions like “why didn’t I start a diet in January?” or “why do I eat so many carbs?” or “how is 2 Broke Girls still on the air?” regularly float through my head this time of year.

Seriously, who watches that show?

A better way to view theWith the dreaded bathing suit season comes the thought of dieting, hunger, and the inevitable bad mood that follows when you cut off access to this girl’s carbs.

However, this year I have a different point of view to the bathing suit season.

Instead of starving myself and forcing those around me to become alcohol dependent, as that is the only way to deal with me when I’m trying to eat less than 3,000 calories a day, I’ve come up with a new approach.

Isn't this a better site to see on the beach than flabby thighs?

Isn’t this a better site to see on the beach than flabby thighs? (I’m sure she’s reading Immanuel Kant….or maybe it’s just a book with pretty pictures. Where’s Waldo may be over her head.)

I’m not going to focus on how I look in a bathing suit. I’m going to focus on those around me and how they look in said bathing suit.  (Not mine.  They can wear their own suits.)

I realize this doesn’t immediately make sense, but neither does Justin Beiber getting another album.  Bear with me.

I’ve decided that during the summer months when I’m lounging by the pool, I’m only going to surround myself with skinny people with awesome bodies.

Yes, you read that right.

I am willingly going to be the fattest person in my entourage instead of realizing halfway through the day that I’m the lovable fat friend and the only one in the group wearing Spanx and still looking overweight.

Instead, I’m going to embrace it and make a conscious effort to be around only skinny people.

The reason?  No, I’m not a masochist, although for some reason I continue to buy the Greek veggie dip telling myself every time “this time it’s gonna be good.”

Aside from that form of self torture, I’m not really into that.

But I figure if I surround myself with skinny people who look good at the pool, my view for the day will be delightful.

These chicks seem pumped about the idea.

These chicks seem pumped about the idea.

As far as the eye can see I will view attractive, bronzed bodies with minimal cellulite and the ability to walk without their legs rubbing together.

It will be perfection!

After all, I’m not the one who has to stare at flabby arms and a gut filled with Chipotle…that’s my friends who have to do that!  Suckas!!!!

I think this idea is fool proof and it will be effective immediately.

I realize this seems like discrimination, but I like to think of it as a beautification requirement where I am surrounded by “happy little bodies,” which are much like the “happy little trees” Bob Ross used to paint, although hopefully these bodies will have less bush.

Yes, I really just made that joke.  Low brow?  Yes.  Hilarious?  Also yes.

So if I ask you to go to the pool with me this summer, you should take it as a compliment.

Aside from the fact you will have the honor of chilling with me poolside and partaking in my awesome snacks, of which you can only have one, you should also be happy to know that I consider you a hard body who will make me feel better about myself.

And isn’t that really what friendships are all about?

Rental carI recently went to Florida for vacation.  Okay, it wasn’t vacation so much as it was a “If I don’t get out of here I’m going to lose my mind” trip.

I take those pretty regularly, as I’m frequently on the verge of losing my mind.  You should know that if you read this blog.  Actually, if you read this blog, you most likely believe I’ve already lost it.

It’s not an illogical assumption.

IMG_3472

This is the kind of view I need when I work. Not a homeless man peeing on the sidewalk.

Whenever I go to Florida I rent a car.  I don’t need anything flashy, as I like to keep a low profile.  I don’t want to draw attention to myself in my tankini and pale legs.

I usually rent the cheapest car there is, which frequently doesn’t include power windows.  It’s okay.  I need the work out.

This trip was no difference, and I got a sweet ride, complete with automatic windows AND automatic locks.  I was ballin’.

I like to go to the same beach every day.  It’s down a long strip on A1A, which is Beachfront Avenue.  I’m confident the beach I frequent is the area Vanilla Ice sang about in his catchy tune that was completely stolen from David Bowie.

I drove around forever in my rented ride, feeling every bump and pothole in my less-than-luxurious automobile.  I finally located a spot on the street and parallel parked that bad boy.

street with cars

Who could find anything on a street like this?

I’m an amazing parallel parker.  This has nothing to do with the story, but I felt it was relevant.

I pumped approximately $20.00 into the meter, because I knew this particular municipality would give you a ticket if you were even one second over your expired time.

As always, I had a million things running through my head, so I grabbed everything I needed and scurried away to the beach for some relaxation.

Just kidding.  I scurried away to the beach to work, but it felt better than sitting in a stuffy office.

After several hours on the beach, I headed back to the car, excited to use my automatic unlocking device.  One problem:  I had no idea where my car was.

Sure, I could walk up and down and look for it…if I knew what it looked like.  I didn’t.

In all the rush of getting the car and getting to the beach, I completely forgot to pay attention to the type of car I rented.

Things like color, make, size and model were details I suddenly wished I would have noted. It was time for some investigative work.

lisa with key

My only clue…the key to finding my car. Pun intended.

Looking at the keys told me it was a Toyota.  Great.  It’s not like that was one of the most popular cars on the road.  Yeah, that wouldn’t be difficult to find.

So I did what anyone would do in that situation.  I walked up and down the street clicking the unlock button, looking for my rental car and hoping the battery in the clicker was good.

Fortunately, the fine automobile I rented had a charged battery in the clicker, and I was finally able to locate my rental car.  It’s a Toyota Yaris, in case you were wondering.

Make no mistake, that’s something I won’t forget anytime soon.

IMG_3453

I named her Helen.
Isn’t that parallel parking job awesome?