Herppy Mernday!

Please let me introduce you to the best "word game" ever. If you are ever in a silly mood, and are hanging out with people that have a sense of humor- this will entertain you for hours. You simply add the "er" sound to each and every word you are saying. I will go ahead and give you some examples:

• Road rage, immediately diffused:
• "God Honda- why can't you pick a lane!?"
• "Gerd Hernda- whery cernt yer perck er lern!?"

• Guy at bar repellant:
• "No thanks, I already have a drink."
• "Ner thernks, Er erlready herve er drernk."

• Liven up basic conversation:
• "Hello, how was your weekend?"
• "Herllo, her wers yer werkend?"

Still don't get it? Let me provide you with one of the best sentences said using the "er" accent. I was watching a Harry Potter movie*- the one where Ron is starting to feel his teen hormones kicking in and sneaks off to another part of the castle with a girl- and my friend looked at me and whispered "Theyre gerna der it in the turret!" Perfect.

Now that you are fluent in Leila language, please spread the knowledge to anyone who is willing to listen (or to people that you can physically over power... just tie those people up and make them learn). 

*I have recently started scanning my growing collection of posts and realized that I a) mention sea creatures, b) reference some dorky sci-fi movie or movies based on magic or c) talk about my obsession with food in pretty much every post (in some, I do more than one). Think what you would like of me, but I would like my loyal readers to know that 50% 40% 30% of my day to day operations are not based on one of those three topics. When I do achieve my destined cat lady status, this percentage might change. I mean- dream big or go home, right.... gotta have something to look forward to?

Things NOT TO DO when you are hungover

Since I started drinking in college, I have been trying to figure out if there is a way for me to make money for the monstrous hangovers I get. I have yet to meet anyone that can match my ability to almost die after a night of heavy drinking. If you are thinking to yourself "why do you keep drinking like that if it makes you feel that way?" you need to stop reading right here. I don't need your negative rationale on my blog. Well, actually, I will answer your question and then you need to stop reading. First of all, when I drink I become very good looking. A few libations also give me the ability to reveal my amazing dance moves. My smile becomes brighter, and my eyes become a little bluer. Also, I become wicked funny and smart (which is pretty tough because I am already pretty funny and smart as is, so I guess I can just go ahead and call alcohol 'magic juice' because it brings me to a level that would be seen if Tina Fey and Stephen Hawking had a kid). So, there is your answer. If you asked that question, you can go ahead and leave my blog now. Go read The Wall Street Journal or something.

For those of you who understand the beauty of things like Irish Car Bombs followed by shots of Goldschlager, please continue reading because I am about to bestow another life lesson on you. The next time you find yourself in a blurry haze trying to piece together the remnants from the night before, figure some things out before proceeding with your day.

One: How hungover are you? Wait, that shouldn't be number one.

One (take two): Are you still drunk? If you are, you might think that you are going to have a fine day because you still feel a little good and you don't realize that the ethanol poisoning has not kicked in yet. BEWARE. Don't make any plans to do anything quite yet. Let that buzz make its way through your body and THEN decide if you have the capability to be a functioning member of society that day.

Two (once you have answered one as a 'no'): How hung over are you? Now this is a tricky question. Much like Dante's Inferno, there are many different levels to a hang over. They range from fuzziness that will recede in a few hours (this would be the first level, where you hang out with the unbaptized or those virtuous pagans, which sounds a lot like my typical Friday night) to an all out knocking on death's door hang over, making atheist bargain with God, where your head may explode at any moment and you can vomit at the drop of a hat or by seeing fake blood on TV (this would be the center of Hell, where the worst of the worst are being chewed on by Satan himself).

Once you determine which level you are on, you can figure out how to proceed with your day.

Levels One through Three: Go ahead and get your shit done. If you have an option for a little more sleep, take it. If you don't, be forewarned that you will probably feel pretty crummy after your very unproductive day at work or what not.

Levels Four through Six: BE CAREFUL. These are some tricky hang overs. They will allow you to get out of bed and function, but will catch up with you very quickly and unexpectedly (much like a bad burrito). They also come with physical signs that make you appear incredibly "torn up" to the rest of the public. These include (but are not limited to): smeared makeup (even if you put on fresh makeup before you left), mismatched clothing, clothing worn incorrectly, sloppy ass hair, squinty eyes, terrible breath, and body odors that strongly resemble the bar you were in the night before. When you find yourself experiencing one of these hangovers, please make a note of some of the worst things you could possibly do at this point (and these are all from past experience):

• Going to a Mardi Gras warehouse that sells every form of bead, trinket, and bullshit that can be thrown from a float in quantities from one to a gross. I did this and decided to buy my mom a $10 necklace (which I refer to as Hoo Hoo beads). You can only guess her response if you have read this post. If you can't guess, it was something along the lines of "Why did you waste your money on this shit? I am not wearing these heavy things anywhere. I'll just give them to a stranger or something."
• Going anywhere with fluorescent lighting. This includes Wal-Mart, the mall, the grocery store, etc.
• Going anywhere that might contain children. This includes Wal-Mart, the mall, the grocery store, etc.
• Going anywhere that might contain other people. This includes Wal-Mart, the mall, the grocery store, etc.
• Going to the Gynecologist. True story. Horrible, but true story. 
• Going to the gym. 

Levels Seven through the Center: DON'T DO ANYTHING. 

• Pull the blinds down. Put the A/C on real high and get some heavy blankets. 
• Turn whatever crappy TV marathon on (my personal choice is Real Housewives of Anywhere or America's Next Top Model) and put the volume on low (just in case NeNe starts yelling, you don't want to have to find the remote- which is usually right next to you or underneath you). 
• Eat things that will be OK coming back up. My personal preference is spaghettios or plain potato chips. 
• Don't watch or look at anything that could make you queasy. One time, my roommates and I were watching an episode of VH1 "I love the 90s" and they showed a clip from Nickelodeon Double Dare- the show where kids would compete and if they lost, some green gooey liquid would be dropped on their head (aka Gak). The instant the Gak appeared on our screen, I high tailed it to the bathroom and lost the Mexican food I had put down as a base the night before. 

Please keep this post in mind the next Sunday (or Tuesday) morning when you wake up feeling like hell. 

Crap My Mom Says, Part Dos

One time Anne, Dan's sister (get all of your rhyme jokes out now), came over to our house for something. My mom was the only one there at that point. As Anne let herself into my house, my mom, who was hanging out on my couch, was caught off guard.
Mom: Who's there!?
Anne: Just me, sorry- I am just coming over for a little bit.
Mom: Oh- yeah- that's fine. I just don't have any pants on.
*Remains on couch watching TV.*

While my coworker was on her honeymoon, I volunteered to "pet sit" her leopard spotted gecko, Karl. My mom was in town on a night that I had to go feed Karl, and I convinced her to come with me. I threw his mealworms into his terrarium and excitedly stood there, waiting for him to come do his lizard thing and sneak up on them all slow like and then WHAM eat an unsuspecting worm.
Mom: What are you doing? You fed him, let's go.
Me: Wait a few minutes. Don't you want to see him eat one? It's awesome.
A few minutes seconds pass.
Karl does nothing.
Mom: This is the dumbest pet I have ever seen. Let's go.
Me: Come on, wait a few more moments.
Mom: No, I have so much better shit I could be doing.
Me: Like what?
Mom: ANYTHING other than watching some stupid lizard. Let's go.
Me (defeated): Alright... Bye Karl...

During a family trip to the beach, my parents and I went to eat at McGuire's- the best Irish restaurant in the Redneck Riviera! One of my many talents includes being able to find the biggest, sweetest, most potent drink on any menu and our trip to McGuire's allowed me to show off my skill by ordering an "Irish Wake" (please see below).

My parents must be so proud of me. No, seriously- they must be because
they are the ones who took the picture.

Needless to say, after one Irish Wake, I was feeling pretty good and I ordered one "to go." I put it in the console in the front seat on the way home and planned on finishing it at the condo. Well, my eyes were much bigger than my liver that night and I barely made it a few sips into my second drink. The next morning, I sadly poured out my bad decision only to find a hair clip in the bottom of the jar. And I am talking a serious hair clip.
Me: Gags audibly.
Parents: What?
Me: What the fuck!? Look at what was in my drink. That is disgusting! Do you think that the waitress did that!? I am disgusted. Why would anyone put that in someones drink!?
Parents walk over to the sink.
Mom: Ohhhh- that's where my clip went. I took it off in the car last night and put it down but then couldn't find it. I guess I put it in your drink.
*Picks it up and fixes her hair.*

Two animals you NEED to know about

Last summer my family took a trip to the beach. My mom went in early on Friday and my Dad and I met her out there later that night. It got dark before we got there and we took a road in that skirted the coast. The only lights on the road were our car lights and the reflection of the moon in the ocean- I know this all sounds romantic, but it was me and my dad, and we had just inhaled a huge quantity of Taco Bell and were now suffering the consequences. Anyway, sand crabs kept running across the road and through our headlights. I laughed and told my Dad that we were lucky they weren't those crabs that could pop your tires.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"You know- those huge crabs that can do damage to your car."

"No I have no idea." (Or maybe his response was "You just made that story up, there ain't no girl crab like that.")

When we got to the condo, I immediately pulled out my ipad and started doing some research. My parents and I were hanging out on the balcony, watching a storm come in, when I finally found what I had been looking for- the coconut crab. These are huge crabs that live on islands in the Pacific and eat fruit (hence 'coconut' crab) and dead animals. They also like shiny things (that is the only thing I have in common with them) and have been known to steal pots and pans out of people's windows (ok, well make that two things I have in common with them). Once I found all of this out, I immediately added "Places where coconut crabs live" to my list of "Places I NEVER want to go." My dad, however, said they were awesome and he would like to meet one and just tap it on its head.

I apologize in advance, but I am going to include a picture of one. You can call me in the middle of the night if you wake up in a cold sweat from this.

Does this give you goose bumps? I think I would opt to never
take out the trash again (which really wouldn't be very different from
what I do now).

After we finished googling "coconut crabs," my dad told me about pistol shrimp. This animal is not nearly as disgusting as a the coconut crab and certainly lives up to its bad ass name. These little guys are kind of like normal shrimp, but have one big ass claw. They can snap this claw to produce a bubble that zooms out and reaches temperatures of over 8000 degrees F, and a pressure level of over 200 decibels (whatever the hell that means). They sneak up on their prey and shoot a big ass bubble at them, and stun the shit out of them and then eat them. Now, that is pretty bad ass.

I was giddy with my new knowledge and couldn't wait to start incorporating the idea of these two animals into my everyday life. When I got back to work, I immediately told everyone about the coconut crab and the pistol shrimp (which comes with its own sound effects: peow peow).

A few weeks after we went to the beach, a new cat made its way into my parents life. As often happens, he adopted them, and after feeding him (and swearing that they wouldn't keep him), they named him and took him in. He was young and was not neutered. One day, while I was home, my mom was bitching about having to take him to the vet to have him "fixed," or in my mom's terms "have his nuts chopped off." I suggested that she just find a pistol shrimp and let it take care of the job. We could hold Rastus in place, lift his tail up, and 'peow peow,' he would be fixed. My mom said no.

Now that I have introduced you to two of the most amazing creatures ever, you should spread the crustacean love even further. Tell your friends about pistol shrimp and tell people you dislike (especially little children) about coconut crabs. You can thank me later.

Fish are people too...

Well, kind of.

If you haven't noticed, I am quite the animal lover. I come by it honestly- from both my mom and my dad. One of the family friends always says that if she is reincarnated, she wants to come back as one of  my family's pets. They have it good. Even the fish.

When I was a junior in college, I hit a little bit of a low point and decided that I needed something to cheer me up. My friend, KTO, and I were at Wal Mart when we found the solution. Bettas! Almost simultaneously, we picked out our fish and had the same exact thought "I shall name you ------ and you will be the best Betta ever." Well, I don't really know if that is what she thought, but since she doesn't have her own blog, we won't ever find out.
 

My fish was Levi the Leviathan (swimming in the sea of Galilee... glub glub glub) and hers was Moto.

Little did I know Levi the Leviathan was about to teach me a big ass life lesson. When you are depressed, buying a fish will not fix anything. It only makes things worse. Especially if they are an anorexic fish and your roommate's fish is a huge fatty. Katie and I would feed our fish at the same time and you could hear Moto chomping down on his fish niblet from the next room over. Levi, on the other hand, would suck in a pellet and then, in a French accent, spit it out and say "peh... you call this food?" I hated him and his stupid fish guts.

At some point, I tired of my Betta and passed it on to my mother. She says she can't remember what happened to him, but I am pretty sure he was given a funeral at sea... before his time.

I don't know what happened to Moto either, but at some point KTO purchased another Betta, whom she named "Blech." Her reasoning was that she would never have another fish as good as Moto, so why even try. Blech didn't wait around for Levi's fate. He went ahead and did the job himself by jumping out of his bowl. I would too, if my owner named me Blech.

I reestablished my relationship with the fish world last December. Around Christmas, my mother made the mistake of sending me to PetCo with her credit card. I purchased what was on her list, but also came home with two Bettas. One for me and one for her. My parents' cats immediately tried to befriend the fish:

As you can see, Coconut was incredibly friendly. She was just trying to say 'hello':

Rastus, on the other hand, was just a little thirsty. I mean, can't a cat catch a break?

My mother laughed at the inter species interactions for about thirty minutes straight and then immediately got over the idea of owning a fish. She selected her fish (the red one) and walked to the neighbors house. She let herself in and told the two girls that lived there (ages six and nine) "look at what I got y'all for Christmas!" This was immediately met by squeals of delight and their mom looking at my mother with a real sarcastic "Thanks, Cathy." (Sorry, Sherry...)

While my mom's run of owning a fish lasted less than an hour, my fish, Frederick, made it back to New Orleans, where he is alive and well.

No fish were hurt in the writing of this blog.****


****Except for these:

Mmmm mmm KTO says. Gimme that fish/seaweed.

Mmmm Mmmm some bigger fish says. I already got your fish.
Mmmmm Mmmm I say. I like Modelo.

A Direct Message from the Karma Gods...

My parking situation at work is not ideal. There is only street parking and when school is in session, finding a parking place within a five minute walk to work is a blessing. In fact, one time I almost killed a biker while I was pulling into a spot. I was too busy trying to beat my coworker to the spot to notice any pedestrian action going on around me. We both saw the open space and made U-turns to get it, and I pulled out in front of a car and zoomed into the spot. Was it worth almost knocking that man straight off his bike? Maybe.

Needless to say, summer brings the joy of a few extra minutes of sleep and access to a lot more parking. However, my coworkers and I still get excited when we see that perfect spot- NOT in a 2 hour parking zone, and only a stone's throw away from the front steps of work.

Therefore, a few months ago, when I saw one of these parking spaces that came with a "is this too good to be true" moment, I pinched myself- realized it was true- and then put on my blinker to parallel park.

At this point in the story, I think you should know that my "Driver's Education" consisted of me driving my "instructor" to the mall and us going shopping for a cowboy hat for his girlfriend. The majority of that two hour driving session was spent between Spencer's and PacSun. Needless to say, parallel parking was not a high priority in my education. This does not mean that I do not know how to parallel park. I can and I often do. But if I am in a high stress situation (e.g., the Mercedes SUV behind me pulls straight up my butt and then loses patience and speeds around me while scraping their wheels on the curb by the street car line), I get a little unnerved and don't perform my best p-park job ever.

So after the Mercedes a-hole sped away, I calmed down and backed my car into the spot and slightly bumped the car behind me. (They're called bumpers for a reason, right? Right?) I got out of my car- looked for any scuffs or scrapes and saw nothing. I exhaled out of relief and leaned into my car to grab my bag as I noticed something move out of the corner of my eye.

A bobble head doll.

Of Jesus.

On the dashboard of the car behind me.

Shaking his head while casting his judgmental gaze upon me.

"Awww Christ," I murmured as I walked my incredibly short walk to work, "this is going to be a really bad Wednesday."

My favorite "room service" ever

No, it's not what you're thinking- that is, if you are thinking something gross. If you are thinking something along the lines of an individual sized pizza, some tater tots, and a hot fudge sundae, you are close- but no cigar. The best thing I ever had delivered to my hotel room was a live gold fish. Or at least it held the "best room service" title for about two hours.

During one of my work trips, I found a great deal on The Hotel Monaco in downtown Portland. If you have not had the chance to stay at one, a Hotel Monaco is pretty swanky. Almost to the point that I felt like someone would escort me to my room while holding a stereo that was playing a walking theme song of my choice. Mine probably would have been Gangsta's Paradise. Just saying.

After my usual 'scope out the room and then flop on the bed for ten minutes' routine, I picked up the hotel's guide book. I was thumbing through it when something caught my eye.

Whhaaaattttt!!!???? Now this really tickled my fancy. I immediately threw the book on the floor and, trying to hide the high level of excitement and anticipation in my voice, called down and requested a fish.

I eagerly paced the room while I waited for my new friend to arrive. I already imagined all of the things I was going to tell him about and all of the great photos I was going to take of him. It was a dream coming true- a pet of my own on the road with me.

When there was a knock on the door, I made myself wait for at least five seconds before I opened it. "Yes?" (I pretended to have forgotten why someone might be knocking). "You called for a fish?" "Oh yeah- just put it over there." The dream deliverer set up my new best friend on my bed side table and then put a little placard next to the bowl: the fish's name. Andy Warhol. Clever.

I was so excited. I called my then boyfriend and woke him up (it was pretty late his time).
"Guess what!?"
"what.....?"
"I got a gold fish delivered to my room!!!!!"
"Ok?"
"No- you don't get it. He is a real fish and his name is Andy Warhol."
"It's midnight."


While he was right- it was getting late, and I had a lot to do the next day, I just couldn't sleep. I stayed up and watched tv and kept stealing glances at Andy.

Me: furtive glance

Andy:

Me: another furtive glance


Andy:

Things were going well between me and my new friend.

I finally started to calm down and realized how worn out I was, so I decided to get ready for bed. At this point, I noticed that Andy was not looking so hot. He was swimming kind of funny like. Really fast spurts, then not at all. Then for a while on his side. Also, the water had changed colors pretty quickly. Now I'm no goldfish expert, but I knew something was not right.

I called the front desk and let them know that something was wrong with my goldfish. I could almost hear the eye roll from the receptionist. As I waited for a knock, I gave Andy some encouraging words. "It's going to be ok, buddy. Just hang in there."

Pretty soon the "dream deliverer" returned to check it out. He took one look at the bowl and said "ohhh yeah. Something is definitely wrong. I'll go get you a new one." A new one? I hadn't even gotten to know this one yet. Just give him some medicine and he'll perk right up. But, alas, Andy was whisked away and I waited patiently for my new friend. I wonder what he will look like. I wonder what his name is. Will he like me?

The man returned quickly with my new fish. He got him all set up in the same place and then left the room. I went over there excitedly to meet my new friend, then I saw his name card.... Andy Warhol. Well, that was about all I could handle for one night. My first friend died after hanging out with me for only two hours and then my new friend wasn't even good enough to get his own new name. This was horrible.

I decided enough was enough and went to sleep. As I turned the lights off and got in bed with a big sigh, I didn't even say goodnight to "Andy."

Category: Things I Eat With a Spoon

Some things in life are too good to enjoy as intended. There are a few delicious items that make me forego a knife, fork, or suggested "serving size." Who makes up these serving sizes anyway? THREE AND A HALF servings for basically anything you buy in an airport store? Who do they think I am? A freaking hobbit? Surely that 3 is there by mistake... it only felt like there was .5 servings of goodness in that bag of gummies.

I digress.

Before I even get into the food that makes me go weak in the knees, let me reveal a little quirk of mine. I HATE big spoons. HATE them. They are just unnatural. They feel weird in my mouth and hold too much. I just don't need that many cheerios at one time. I don't want that much soup in one bite. During my freshman year in college, I would stand in the cafeteria and pull spoon after spoon until I found a teaspoon. Even now, I would rather hand wash a teaspoon (and I don't hand wash anything) rather than use a big stupid clown spoon. Unless of course, it is while I consume the following items.

Get ready peanut butter.... here I come!

• Peanut butter. I am seriously considering naming my first child George Washington Carver (regardless of the gender) to pay my respects to the man that invented the heavenly bliss that is peanut butter. Often times, I intend to eat it with an apple, but then find myself two bites into the apple when I just turn all of my attention to the peanut butter. One of my favorite tricks when I am a few drinks in is to roll a big spoon full of peanut butter in a bag of chocolate chips. This is a move that I am always impressed with at the time, but then question later when I go to make a recipe that requires a whole bag of chocolate chips (without dried peanut butter flecks in them). 

Screw you apple! I lurve peanut butter!!!

• Caesar salad dressing. Thank god for the Romans for inventing this concoction. Wait, it wasn't invented by the Romans? Then why do they call it Caesar? That's plain wrong. Nonetheless, there has to be some sort of voodoo mixed into its creamy deliciousness. It's probably unicorn horns. The grocery store near me sells their Caesar salad dressing in bulk- it is there right next to the "Betta Chedda" dip (which my dad loves, but I don't really like... so I am not sure how it is Betta than anything). I sometimes find that salad needlessly limits the amount of dressing I can consume, so here I will opt for a big spoon to get the job done.
• Chocolate syrup. If I am only given one option of the type of chocolate syrup- I will take it, regardless of the brand. But if given an option, I will always opt for Magic Shell. That shit is heart stopping, spine tingling, speech halting, universe shaking good. They really nailed it when they decided to name it Magic Shell. Actually, they probably should have just dropped the "Shell" part. Another one of my favorite tricks involving spoons and food is to fill a big spoon up with some Magic Shell and stick it in the freezer. Most of the time I get too impatient for it to freeze completely, but I am never disappointed with the results. If I have the urge to eat it as designed (over ice cream), I go with the ratio of three parts Magic Shell to one part ice cream. 
• Soft cheese. Crackers should be ashamed of themselves for insinuating that they are the perfect accompaniment for cheese. As I mentioned in my blog, I do have a soft spot (no pun intended- get it- cause eating a lot of cheese can give you quite a few soft spots AND soft cheese is the only cheese you can eat with a spoon) for goat cheese (especially with some balsamic vinaigrette.... mmmmm mmmm). When I am at a function with other people, and have to behave like I am a part of society, I will dip a stupid cracker into the cheese. But at home, if the urge strikes, I'll go at that cheese with a big shiny spoon.