Memory No. 2
This one takes place a little over a year ago. It is Monday February 10, 2008 . The reason why I know this is because the next day I left for Nashville driving a rental car after it is snowed and then iced. The ice was so thick, that when I got home from the gym that morning, I had trouble making it up our gently (and I say gently because it is virtually flat) sloping drive way without backing up and getting a “running” start. Also, the snow was thick enough that the car didn't even dent it or cause it to crack. Yikes.
Anyway, Monday Feb. 10, 2008 , my mother made toast.
On Tuesday, February 11, 2008, the toaster was still out while I loaded the rental car for Nashville and prayed that the roads wouldn’t be that bad and the traffic would have some sense (they were and they didn’t).
I returned home on Friday, February 14, 2008 . The toaster is still out! My mom has been home by herself for an entire week and has left the damn toaster out. Honestly, I shouldn’t be shocked. My mother doesn’t believe in picking up after herself, that’s why she has servants – I mean children. But I watched and waited and even scraped her bread crumbs into the sink and washed them down the drain. However, I was not going to put that damn toaster up.
A week goes by and the toaster is still sitting out on the counter taking up space.
Two weeks. Three weeks. An entire month has passed. My mother has not made toast since Feb. 10, it is now March and still the toaster sits out.
I was furious. Did she really think I would put it away? I haven’t used that toaster since I quit working at the bank and had easy access to the organic market and the five-grain organic wheat toaster waffles I used to eat. If I had to put it away, it was becoming another man’s treasure.
But I knew that would piss her off and cause me to have to buy a new toaster. So, like a mature, degree-holding, employed adult, I put the toaster under her bed.
March turned into April, then turned into May. No one knew of my nefarious plan. Not my brother, my dad, or my sister who was on a “sabbatical” in Florida living with her boyfriend during these past few months.
Finally, one June day, my mother was in the kitchen making noise, messing up the cabinets I take great pains to keep tidy (she is not allowed to empty the dishwasher because she throws things on top of each other and I have to go behind her redoing everything).
“Where is my toaster?” she asks.
I say nothing. Andrea’s completely confused and tells mom she doesn’t know.
“It’s been missing since the end of April,” she says. Technically the end of March, but apparently it took another month for her to get her “toast” fix. She looks right at me. I shrug my shoulders. “You probably threw it away,” she says.
I look right at her knowing she can tell exactly when I’m going to lie and say “I can honestly tell you that I did not throw your ridiculous toaster away,” with as much pomp and arrogance as I can muster.
She studies me but decides I am not lying. And I’m not. I didn’t throw her toaster away, I simply moved it. “Well,” she says.
“What did you do with it the last time you used it,” I say sweetly. I know, I am Daughter of the Year.
She swishes her mouth around as if she wants to say something, but really she is in the wrong here. Plus, she can’t prove that I did anything with the toaster. Maybe she should’ve put it away.
Fast forward to September.
Mom is in her room cleaning because she wants to put the house on the market. Apparently there was a lot of junk under her bed and she was cleaning all that out when I receive a call at work.
“I found my toaster.”
“Oh, really? Where?” I asking feigning ignorance. I feign so well over the phone when my face can’t give me away to her.
“You know damn well where.”
“I do…hmm,” I say still acting clueless.
“Under my bed, Erin Nicole! Where I’m sure you put it.”
“Me? Why would I put the toaster under your bed. It belongs in the appliance cabinet.”
“Well, it was just you and me in the house at the time and I didn’t put the toaster under my bed.”
“That’s right,” I say in my sickeningly sweet voice, “You didn’t put it up at all.” I know, I know, I am really asking for it, but I can tell my mother is more amused than pissed and I can get away with this right now.
“I just can’t believe you,” she says and hangs up.
I smile, pick up my cell phone and text Andrea (who has now heard the entire story): Mom found the toaster.
Friday, January 30, 2009
The Mini-Bomb in the Kitchen
Ah…Memory…All alone in the moonlight…I can smile at the old days…
Sigh…
Our house is for sale.
An old college friend is moving to town.
Either way, it’s safe to say I’ll be moving from the house that we attempted to make a home after our parents decided that they secretly hated each other. Not that it was ever the home our Springhaven home was. That was house awesome. Loads of room, a basement all for our childhood and teenage pleasure complete with a big-screen TV, bathroom, and mini-kitchen, another big-screen upstairs, and enough room to where five of us were never on top of each other. Now THAT was a home.
This house…not so much.
But that isn’t to say that we haven’t had some good memories in it.
Cue Deuteronomy and Grizabella…
Some days ago I was home from work around 5:30 and Andrea was working her late night at the shop. I started cutting up chicken to marinate for a couple of hours until she got home. My eyes strayed to the wall above me where dark spots of water and oil vaguely stained the cheap spray-paint paint the builder used. The spots are gone now, but the memory remains.
Flashback about two years ago.
I was coming home late from working at Acros. Andrea was excited for me to get home because she was getting dinner ready, something she wanted me to try (an idea from Rachel Ray). I get home and see her cutting chicken and then rolling it in flour. As she is doing this, she has a skillet with olive oil on the burner heating.
“Do you smell that?” she asked referring to the smell coming off the burner. It was our first time cooking with olive oil, please DO NOT JUDGE.
I shrugged my shoulders. I was just beginning my cooking education compliments of my teacher, Andrea.
“That can’t be right,” she said. I ignored her. Until she got the bright idea to pick the hot skillet with the hot olive oil up, carry it to the sink, and proceed to turn on the water. I learned in chemistry class that oil and water don’t mix, but cold water and hot oil REALLY do not mix. A hiss of smoke went up in the air as soon as the water hit the skillet and I swear my sister made a mini-bomb in our kitchen.
Oil went everywhere.
It spilled over into the living room (across the bar), staining the carpet and coating the couch with oil, it flew up the wall, damn near reaching the cathedral ceiling, and it got all over Andrea.
“My face! My face!” she shouted and began stomping in place. I grabbed her long enough to look. Her face was fine, but she was going to have some ready-blotchy burn spots on her arms for awhile. I let her know it was fine (thank god the skillet was tilted away from her), and then let her go inspect the damage.
We did resume cooking. No more water was used. The meal was great, and is one of our favorites.
Fast forward to a year later…
I’m at work and the phone rings. It’s for me. It’s my mother.
“What’s all over my wall?” she says.
I shrug my shoulders not really knowing what she is talking about. The night from a year ago isn’t exactly in my memory.
“Something is all over my wall…above my sink…it’s a stain. Did you and Andrea get alcohol all over the wall making margaritas or something?”
“Oh that,” I say as nonchalantly as possible, channeling Liar, Liar, “that was already there,” I say.
For a minute, she’s speechless. “What do you mean that was already there?” she snidely asks.
“I’m saying, you just now noticed it. It’s been that way for a year.”
This isn’t what she wants to hear, but she allows me to recant the Oil Bomb Story for her.
“Well, you two are going to have to paint that,” she says to me. “I thought about calling your sister earlier, but I knew she’d just lie to me.”
“Ok, Mom,” I say and get her off the phone. I’m so excited to call Andrea and tell her this, it was absolutely hilarious. And we laugh about it.
Sigh…
Our house is for sale.
An old college friend is moving to town.
Either way, it’s safe to say I’ll be moving from the house that we attempted to make a home after our parents decided that they secretly hated each other. Not that it was ever the home our Springhaven home was. That was house awesome. Loads of room, a basement all for our childhood and teenage pleasure complete with a big-screen TV, bathroom, and mini-kitchen, another big-screen upstairs, and enough room to where five of us were never on top of each other. Now THAT was a home.
This house…not so much.
But that isn’t to say that we haven’t had some good memories in it.
Cue Deuteronomy and Grizabella…
Some days ago I was home from work around 5:30 and Andrea was working her late night at the shop. I started cutting up chicken to marinate for a couple of hours until she got home. My eyes strayed to the wall above me where dark spots of water and oil vaguely stained the cheap spray-paint paint the builder used. The spots are gone now, but the memory remains.
Flashback about two years ago.
I was coming home late from working at Acros. Andrea was excited for me to get home because she was getting dinner ready, something she wanted me to try (an idea from Rachel Ray). I get home and see her cutting chicken and then rolling it in flour. As she is doing this, she has a skillet with olive oil on the burner heating.
“Do you smell that?” she asked referring to the smell coming off the burner. It was our first time cooking with olive oil, please DO NOT JUDGE.
I shrugged my shoulders. I was just beginning my cooking education compliments of my teacher, Andrea.
“That can’t be right,” she said. I ignored her. Until she got the bright idea to pick the hot skillet with the hot olive oil up, carry it to the sink, and proceed to turn on the water. I learned in chemistry class that oil and water don’t mix, but cold water and hot oil REALLY do not mix. A hiss of smoke went up in the air as soon as the water hit the skillet and I swear my sister made a mini-bomb in our kitchen.
Oil went everywhere.
It spilled over into the living room (across the bar), staining the carpet and coating the couch with oil, it flew up the wall, damn near reaching the cathedral ceiling, and it got all over Andrea.
“My face! My face!” she shouted and began stomping in place. I grabbed her long enough to look. Her face was fine, but she was going to have some ready-blotchy burn spots on her arms for awhile. I let her know it was fine (thank god the skillet was tilted away from her), and then let her go inspect the damage.
We did resume cooking. No more water was used. The meal was great, and is one of our favorites.
Fast forward to a year later…
I’m at work and the phone rings. It’s for me. It’s my mother.
“What’s all over my wall?” she says.
I shrug my shoulders not really knowing what she is talking about. The night from a year ago isn’t exactly in my memory.
“Something is all over my wall…above my sink…it’s a stain. Did you and Andrea get alcohol all over the wall making margaritas or something?”
“Oh that,” I say as nonchalantly as possible, channeling Liar, Liar, “that was already there,” I say.
For a minute, she’s speechless. “What do you mean that was already there?” she snidely asks.
“I’m saying, you just now noticed it. It’s been that way for a year.”
This isn’t what she wants to hear, but she allows me to recant the Oil Bomb Story for her.
“Well, you two are going to have to paint that,” she says to me. “I thought about calling your sister earlier, but I knew she’d just lie to me.”
“Ok, Mom,” I say and get her off the phone. I’m so excited to call Andrea and tell her this, it was absolutely hilarious. And we laugh about it.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Christmas Morning with the HKs - Never a Dull Moment
Christmas morning dawned bright and way too early for me. We had been at my uncle’s house until about 11:00 p.m. celebrating and drinking from his top-shelf stocked bar (that’s how we roll), when we headed home. Being the ridiculous HKs that we are, we didn’t go to bed right away. We popped in a movie. But before we sat down and vegetated in front of the TV, Andrea went into her room to talk to Hansi Baby, giving her brother and her sister plenty of time to stow little slips of paper into 10 particular DVDs. We’ll get to this in a minute. So, we tucked in and watched a movie, then hopped into bed later in the evening.
In years past (back in the day when we young) we would literally wake up at the ass crack of dawn to open our presents. Even once we stopped believing in Santa Claus because our p arents properly spoiled us, so we couldn’t wait to see what we had received. However, in the recent years, we’ve known exactly what we are getting, so the novelty of waking up early has lapsed. Our mom waking us up has replaced the HKs waking their parents up in a crazy, gift-opening dementia that has to be dealt with immediately. So she gets us up at 8:30 a.m. I think she is on crack.
Mom puts Kevin’s present in front of him and then Kevin, Andrea, and I divvy up the gifts from us to us (Did they make any sense?). Andrea’s first gift she opens is from me. Probably not the best gift to open at 8:30 in the morning after an evening of family-drinking, but what the hell.
“I already know it’s empty,” she responds rather ssarcastically, I must note, and proceeds to tear off the wrapping paper. She makes sure to cuss me a few times because I wrapped it as tightly as I could and then like a true bitch, I taped the box together like tape was going out of style.
“So that’s where my tape went,” my mom responds. Too bad this is the tape that Andrea bought.
She unwraps it and says, “Merry Christmas. Now, let’s put a smile on that face and play a Christmas game. Go grab the DVD this quote is from.” With her glasses on (because it’s too early and she didn’t want to deal with contacts), she looks up at me with her spectacled eyes and says, “Dark Knight,” and she makes no20effort to do as the directions say and get the movie.
“You have to go get it,” I tell her as I laugh and record the ensuing shenanigans.
She opens up the Dark Knight and grabs out another piece of paper. I get a dirty look. “Yippi, ky, yea, mother fucker,” she says exasperated. And then grabs Die Hard but gets annoyed at Kevin and me, and let’s us know that she is not reshelving the DVDs. I order Kevin to pick up after her. Perks of being the oldest.
“Four for you Glen Co coa, you go Glen Cocoa,” she says and manages a chuckle. She knows which DVD it is, but I have to guide her to where the movie is shelved. (High school movies, some drama, and horror are currently kept in the LBs room. And yes, I did work at a video store in college.). She grabs and reads: It puts the lotion on the skin or else it gets the hose again. I.e, Silence of the Lambs, an HK Supreme Favorite.
And so it continues for a total of 10 movie quotes, and Andrea bitching and moaning the entire time as she opens more DVDs to find more quotes. Finally she opens Sleeping Beauty (Maleficent is magnificently evil) and finds a poem that tells the whereabouts of the presents. Andrea reads it and stumbles over one word, “begets,” pronouncing it “beg-its.” Kevin and I crack up as we correct her. She makes sure we know it is early and that we are ridiculous.
She goes off in search of my closet and a purse that is in it for it holds her Christmas gift. She comes back and cusses some more because once again, The Christmas Wrapping Bitch has struck again and wrapped her present tighter than a Bolivian wraps a cigar (obscure Seinfeld reference, sorry). She unwraps it finally and sees three CDs – The Veronicas, Pink, and Paramore. After thanking me, she begins to pry them apart. Not exactly easy since I got little slap-happy with the tape once more.
However, she got her present unwrapped and then it was…Kevin’s turn…
Poor Kevin. He had already suffered at his older sister’s clutches when she decided to play the ‘ole wrap a box in a box’ trick for his birthday present – AC/DC Rock Band. But since he’s the most likely culprit behind leaving the garage open that aided in someone relieving me of my Ipod (Don’t worry little, bastard, I’m getting an Ipod touch that will say in engraving on the back “Stolen from Erin Hobgood), I wasn’t too upset to play another trick on him.
“Santa” was generous enough to get Kevin an Ipod touch for Christmas. “Santa” wanted to play a trick on Kevin and enlisted the assistance of her most devious, witty, and creative elf – Erin Hobgood. Since Erin had lost her Ipod, she had no problem pulling another trick on her brother (And yes, I agree the third-person thing is a little creepy, but I’m sticking with it).
So Erin came up with a Christmas poem, printed it out, and “Santa” took the Ipod out of the case and put the poem inside. Kevin opened his gift and got real excited until he opened the case and saw that no Ipod was indeed inside. He pulled the paper out and read it. The Ipod was being held for ransom. If Kevin did his Newsie dance, we would hand it over. He tried to plead ignorance, so with the help of another clever elf, Andrea, Kevin did the George Costanza “Marissa Tomei” dance and then proceeded to do The Rock’s little turn and shake dance from the Movie Be Cool. You know, the scene where he is in the Boot Mart trying on the powder blue suit with the red boots…yeah…Kevin did that.
And I have it recorded. But if I show it to anyone, I will probably lose a hand…maybe an entire arm.
In years past (back in the day when we young) we would literally wake up at the ass crack of dawn to open our presents. Even once we stopped believing in Santa Claus because our p arents properly spoiled us, so we couldn’t wait to see what we had received. However, in the recent years, we’ve known exactly what we are getting, so the novelty of waking up early has lapsed. Our mom waking us up has replaced the HKs waking their parents up in a crazy, gift-opening dementia that has to be dealt with immediately. So she gets us up at 8:30 a.m. I think she is on crack.
Mom puts Kevin’s present in front of him and then Kevin, Andrea, and I divvy up the gifts from us to us (Did they make any sense?). Andrea’s first gift she opens is from me. Probably not the best gift to open at 8:30 in the morning after an evening of family-drinking, but what the hell.
“I already know it’s empty,” she responds rather ssarcastically, I must note, and proceeds to tear off the wrapping paper. She makes sure to cuss me a few times because I wrapped it as tightly as I could and then like a true bitch, I taped the box together like tape was going out of style.
“So that’s where my tape went,” my mom responds. Too bad this is the tape that Andrea bought.
She unwraps it and says, “Merry Christmas. Now, let’s put a smile on that face and play a Christmas game. Go grab the DVD this quote is from.” With her glasses on (because it’s too early and she didn’t want to deal with contacts), she looks up at me with her spectacled eyes and says, “Dark Knight,” and she makes no20effort to do as the directions say and get the movie.
“You have to go get it,” I tell her as I laugh and record the ensuing shenanigans.
She opens up the Dark Knight and grabs out another piece of paper. I get a dirty look. “Yippi, ky, yea, mother fucker,” she says exasperated. And then grabs Die Hard but gets annoyed at Kevin and me, and let’s us know that she is not reshelving the DVDs. I order Kevin to pick up after her. Perks of being the oldest.
“Four for you Glen Co coa, you go Glen Cocoa,” she says and manages a chuckle. She knows which DVD it is, but I have to guide her to where the movie is shelved. (High school movies, some drama, and horror are currently kept in the LBs room. And yes, I did work at a video store in college.). She grabs and reads: It puts the lotion on the skin or else it gets the hose again. I.e, Silence of the Lambs, an HK Supreme Favorite.
And so it continues for a total of 10 movie quotes, and Andrea bitching and moaning the entire time as she opens more DVDs to find more quotes. Finally she opens Sleeping Beauty (Maleficent is magnificently evil) and finds a poem that tells the whereabouts of the presents. Andrea reads it and stumbles over one word, “begets,” pronouncing it “beg-its.” Kevin and I crack up as we correct her. She makes sure we know it is early and that we are ridiculous.
She goes off in search of my closet and a purse that is in it for it holds her Christmas gift. She comes back and cusses some more because once again, The Christmas Wrapping Bitch has struck again and wrapped her present tighter than a Bolivian wraps a cigar (obscure Seinfeld reference, sorry). She unwraps it finally and sees three CDs – The Veronicas, Pink, and Paramore. After thanking me, she begins to pry them apart. Not exactly easy since I got little slap-happy with the tape once more.
However, she got her present unwrapped and then it was…Kevin’s turn…
Poor Kevin. He had already suffered at his older sister’s clutches when she decided to play the ‘ole wrap a box in a box’ trick for his birthday present – AC/DC Rock Band. But since he’s the most likely culprit behind leaving the garage open that aided in someone relieving me of my Ipod (Don’t worry little, bastard, I’m getting an Ipod touch that will say in engraving on the back “Stolen from Erin Hobgood), I wasn’t too upset to play another trick on him.
“Santa” was generous enough to get Kevin an Ipod touch for Christmas. “Santa” wanted to play a trick on Kevin and enlisted the assistance of her most devious, witty, and creative elf – Erin Hobgood. Since Erin had lost her Ipod, she had no problem pulling another trick on her brother (And yes, I agree the third-person thing is a little creepy, but I’m sticking with it).
So Erin came up with a Christmas poem, printed it out, and “Santa” took the Ipod out of the case and put the poem inside. Kevin opened his gift and got real excited until he opened the case and saw that no Ipod was indeed inside. He pulled the paper out and read it. The Ipod was being held for ransom. If Kevin did his Newsie dance, we would hand it over. He tried to plead ignorance, so with the help of another clever elf, Andrea, Kevin did the George Costanza “Marissa Tomei” dance and then proceeded to do The Rock’s little turn and shake dance from the Movie Be Cool. You know, the scene where he is in the Boot Mart trying on the powder blue suit with the red boots…yeah…Kevin did that.
And I have it recorded. But if I show it to anyone, I will probably lose a hand…maybe an entire arm.
Confession Obsession!
Last night, Rock of Love Bus was on TV. I had waited an entire week for it, only to see girls wear skimpy outfits in a faux-trip down the aisle for Bret and see one girl actually a piercing ring to Bret as a wedding gift. If you can’t figure out where the piercing is from, I can’t help you. Taya was great, as always, but we didn’t see enough of her! And what is up with Brittanya. SKANK CITY with her “wedding gift” piercing ring.
Although, the Fatal Attraction thing with the ex-porn star who wants to be a singer/song writer is pretty interesting. Brittany , with her disgusting boobs was upset that she didn’t win the solo date w/ Bret because she poured her heart and soul out into five pages of wedding vows. So at the “reception” she comes out in a bikini that would look skimpy on a skinny 12-year-old and proceeded to do a headstand in Bret’s lap, putting her flabby ass and her feminine bits in front of his face. I think I would’ve puked when she did the spread-eagle right in front of him, but whatever. Then there was her meltdown when she didn’t get a VIP pass despite answering all the questions (her confession) and then proceeded to create drama citing race as an excuse as to why one girl got a pass. Clinical? I think a positive showed up. Medicate this girl fast.
But other than Brittaney and her “this is my last chance to have a baby,” Fatal Attraction craziness, the show was pretty tame. No choking, real bad-mouthing, and craziness really occurred.
BUT! VH1, what would I do without you and your washed-up Teen Idols. Confession of a Teen Idol was on, the second show of the season, and the promise the first one showed came through.
The men got to watch as a focus group was shown picture of them “then” and picture of them “now.” The critiques were harsh. Eric Knies from The Grind and the original Real World didn’t like how the bad-mouthed his beard. David Chokachi from Baywatch was upset when they said he was only a pretty face. Also from Baywatch Jeremie Jackson heard himself get compared to a rapist. Then the were the older guys, the only really worth noting is Christopher Atkins from the Blue Lagoon. The women liked him (he does possess a certain Robert Redfordish appearance).
After the focus group came the stylist. She totally ripped up apart some of the older crowd. Their dress, their style…and it was great to see them defend their choice of wardrobe. Seriously, guys, she styled Angelina and Brad, I think she knows what she’s talking about more than your wife, girlfriend or whoever. Eric once again had a conniption because she tore his look apart. I’m not sure if he’s just in it for the drugs, but his holistic thing…not working…get over it. If you want to be a movie star, you have to move on.
This is worth a watch at least once. Anyone can imagine drama amongst females because most females seem thrive on drama, but men being dramatic! HILARIOUS! Anyway, get a clue, guys! This ain’t the Ice Capades! And Christopher Atkins, you are my fave!
Although, the Fatal Attraction thing with the ex-porn star who wants to be a singer/song writer is pretty interesting. Brittany , with her disgusting boobs was upset that she didn’t win the solo date w/ Bret because she poured her heart and soul out into five pages of wedding vows. So at the “reception” she comes out in a bikini that would look skimpy on a skinny 12-year-old and proceeded to do a headstand in Bret’s lap, putting her flabby ass and her feminine bits in front of his face. I think I would’ve puked when she did the spread-eagle right in front of him, but whatever. Then there was her meltdown when she didn’t get a VIP pass despite answering all the questions (her confession) and then proceeded to create drama citing race as an excuse as to why one girl got a pass. Clinical? I think a positive showed up. Medicate this girl fast.
But other than Brittaney and her “this is my last chance to have a baby,” Fatal Attraction craziness, the show was pretty tame. No choking, real bad-mouthing, and craziness really occurred.
BUT! VH1, what would I do without you and your washed-up Teen Idols. Confession of a Teen Idol was on, the second show of the season, and the promise the first one showed came through.
The men got to watch as a focus group was shown picture of them “then” and picture of them “now.” The critiques were harsh. Eric Knies from The Grind and the original Real World didn’t like how the bad-mouthed his beard. David Chokachi from Baywatch was upset when they said he was only a pretty face. Also from Baywatch Jeremie Jackson heard himself get compared to a rapist. Then the were the older guys, the only really worth noting is Christopher Atkins from the Blue Lagoon. The women liked him (he does possess a certain Robert Redfordish appearance).
After the focus group came the stylist. She totally ripped up apart some of the older crowd. Their dress, their style…and it was great to see them defend their choice of wardrobe. Seriously, guys, she styled Angelina and Brad, I think she knows what she’s talking about more than your wife, girlfriend or whoever. Eric once again had a conniption because she tore his look apart. I’m not sure if he’s just in it for the drugs, but his holistic thing…not working…get over it. If you want to be a movie star, you have to move on.
This is worth a watch at least once. Anyone can imagine drama amongst females because most females seem thrive on drama, but men being dramatic! HILARIOUS! Anyway, get a clue, guys! This ain’t the Ice Capades! And Christopher Atkins, you are my fave!
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Excitement after a long day!
Guess what! 90210 was new tonight! I KNOW! What a treat, to work from 8:30 a.m. to 8:30 p.m. then come home and find the sister has made me her awesome chicken and rice dinner and that 90210 IS NEW!
Is there anything better than that?
Oh right!
Perhaps not only do I have my delicious meal, a new 90210 episode, I will also have Derek Jeter waiting on me hand-and-foot, buttering my rolls (And NO nasty thoughts on that one!), and then he will clean the mess and suggest we continue entertaining ourselves in the bedroom (Now there are plenty of nasty thoughts).
Anyway!
90210!
Well, Sean, the son is gone. You have to love the "long lost" son that your high school sweetheart gives up who tracks you down with the help of a PI and then tells you later he needs $200,000 to settle his late father's gambling debt. Seriously Harry? You were SHOCKED when Sean left? GET A CLUE, DAD!
Naomi, I wanted more Naomi. Drama surrounds this chick AND I LOVE IT! She DEALS with it. Adriana, follow your friend's lead. Don't turn back to drugs because you're knocked up, DEAL WITH IT! And then Brenda starts talking about how she wants a baby. SOLUTION, Adriana!
Dixon, the chick with a girlfriend who admitted to having boyfriends in the past...SHE WANTS YOU! Obviously this girl's gate is swinging every which way, and she wants you. The look on her face when you were cuddling with Silver at the end...She's after you, buddy. KEEP AWAY! She ain't Silver!
Not a bad episode, but not the best. After their two-month hiatus, I expected more. Like, instead of Adriana being preggers, make it Annie. Shake up her "perfect" little life. Her goody-two shoes ass is annoying and needs to be knocked down a peg.
The cheerleading chick has a girlfriend? Are we serious? It doesn't matter, she still wants Dixon. Maybe they want a guy to include in a three-way, I don't know, but having a girlfriend is stupid and doesn't mean she's not after Dixon.
Sean took Naomi's mom for $200,000? Why not have Sean "working" with her to bilk Harry out of his money! PERFECT! That, I would absolutely love.
AND WHERE WAS NAOMI? WE NEEDED MORE! SHE HAS THE EXCELLENT LINES, SHE'S PLOTTING AND DEVIOUS! LESS ANNIE, MORE NAOMI! WOOHOO!
Is there anything better than that?
Oh right!
Perhaps not only do I have my delicious meal, a new 90210 episode, I will also have Derek Jeter waiting on me hand-and-foot, buttering my rolls (And NO nasty thoughts on that one!), and then he will clean the mess and suggest we continue entertaining ourselves in the bedroom (Now there are plenty of nasty thoughts).
Anyway!
90210!
Well, Sean, the son is gone. You have to love the "long lost" son that your high school sweetheart gives up who tracks you down with the help of a PI and then tells you later he needs $200,000 to settle his late father's gambling debt. Seriously Harry? You were SHOCKED when Sean left? GET A CLUE, DAD!
Naomi, I wanted more Naomi. Drama surrounds this chick AND I LOVE IT! She DEALS with it. Adriana, follow your friend's lead. Don't turn back to drugs because you're knocked up, DEAL WITH IT! And then Brenda starts talking about how she wants a baby. SOLUTION, Adriana!
Dixon, the chick with a girlfriend who admitted to having boyfriends in the past...SHE WANTS YOU! Obviously this girl's gate is swinging every which way, and she wants you. The look on her face when you were cuddling with Silver at the end...She's after you, buddy. KEEP AWAY! She ain't Silver!
Not a bad episode, but not the best. After their two-month hiatus, I expected more. Like, instead of Adriana being preggers, make it Annie. Shake up her "perfect" little life. Her goody-two shoes ass is annoying and needs to be knocked down a peg.
The cheerleading chick has a girlfriend? Are we serious? It doesn't matter, she still wants Dixon. Maybe they want a guy to include in a three-way, I don't know, but having a girlfriend is stupid and doesn't mean she's not after Dixon.
Sean took Naomi's mom for $200,000? Why not have Sean "working" with her to bilk Harry out of his money! PERFECT! That, I would absolutely love.
AND WHERE WAS NAOMI? WE NEEDED MORE! SHE HAS THE EXCELLENT LINES, SHE'S PLOTTING AND DEVIOUS! LESS ANNIE, MORE NAOMI! WOOHOO!
Monday, January 5, 2009
I LOVE ROCK OF LOVE 3!!!!!!!!!
I’m going to be the first to admit it – I’m already addicted to Rock of Love 3. As tacky, ridiculous, raunchy, and dirty as it is, we’re only one show into the season and I am PSYCHED to see the rest. You don’t even know. I have faithfully watched Rock of Love, Rock of Love 2, and Rock of Love Charm School (pathetic, I know), and this just…wow! And the show can be summed up in a quote from one of the characters (and one of my favorites), Taya.
Taya: I’ve posed for Penthouse and I have more class than these girls.
WOW.
Seriously….THAT says something.
Of course, Taya isn’t any old Pet, she was Pet of the Year. And yes, she pretty much rocks. And when girls got drunk and groped and stripped on stage, she kept her clothes on. When girls took shots out of there cookies (YES, SOMEONE TOOK A SHOT OUT OF ANOTHER GIRL’S CHINA!), she clearly had her pants on. She stayed sober and out of trouble and was not a “Hot Mess” like some of the other girls.
While Taya was sober and classy, there was Marcia. No, she didn’t do a China shot, she had some class about her, but you have to love a chick that drinks a half a bottle of vodka, pukes, makes out with Bret, throws chips at a girl, and finally chokes the same girl, but gets to stick around! SERIOUSLY! She’s a fucking trouper and a half! And anyway, the girl she choked, totally deserved it. She started in on the Brazilian Bombshell the first night, making fun of her. Marcia tried to act mature, but the reflex to pour a drink on her was too great (again, who can blame her), and the same Juliette Lewis-look alike made fun of her the next day, then poured a drink on her. So Marcia choked her. “I mean, why would you waste alcohol like that? It’s disrespectful.” Marcia said in her interview. Exactly. EXACTLY!
Then there’s Beverly. Beverly is so NORMAL and cute looking. I mean, Taya and Marcia are just so damn hot, but Beverly is the girl next door. And she’s been a Bret fan since she was little. At the concert, she sang all the words to Bret’s songs. He noticed, and pulled her aside and talked with her. Awesome chick! And Juliette Lewis-look alike Skankasaur tried to start shit with her. Then China Shot Gia helped and “tried” to throw a drink at her but missed. WHO MISSES WHEN YOU THROW LIQUID AT SOMEONE? It kind of goes everywhere! But Beverly took it like a champ, and China Shot went home, while Beverly stayed. HA!
Anyway, you can BET I’ll be there next Sunday at 8p.m. CST when the second episode airs!
Bret, you may be old, tired, and all out of juice, but let these girls squabble, drink, and choke each other and I AM THERE! WOO! Drama, drama, drama!
Other favorites:
Samantha
Maria
Mindy
Taya: I’ve posed for Penthouse and I have more class than these girls.
WOW.
Seriously….THAT says something.
Of course, Taya isn’t any old Pet, she was Pet of the Year. And yes, she pretty much rocks. And when girls got drunk and groped and stripped on stage, she kept her clothes on. When girls took shots out of there cookies (YES, SOMEONE TOOK A SHOT OUT OF ANOTHER GIRL’S CHINA!), she clearly had her pants on. She stayed sober and out of trouble and was not a “Hot Mess” like some of the other girls.
While Taya was sober and classy, there was Marcia. No, she didn’t do a China shot, she had some class about her, but you have to love a chick that drinks a half a bottle of vodka, pukes, makes out with Bret, throws chips at a girl, and finally chokes the same girl, but gets to stick around! SERIOUSLY! She’s a fucking trouper and a half! And anyway, the girl she choked, totally deserved it. She started in on the Brazilian Bombshell the first night, making fun of her. Marcia tried to act mature, but the reflex to pour a drink on her was too great (again, who can blame her), and the same Juliette Lewis-look alike made fun of her the next day, then poured a drink on her. So Marcia choked her. “I mean, why would you waste alcohol like that? It’s disrespectful.” Marcia said in her interview. Exactly. EXACTLY!
Then there’s Beverly. Beverly is so NORMAL and cute looking. I mean, Taya and Marcia are just so damn hot, but Beverly is the girl next door. And she’s been a Bret fan since she was little. At the concert, she sang all the words to Bret’s songs. He noticed, and pulled her aside and talked with her. Awesome chick! And Juliette Lewis-look alike Skankasaur tried to start shit with her. Then China Shot Gia helped and “tried” to throw a drink at her but missed. WHO MISSES WHEN YOU THROW LIQUID AT SOMEONE? It kind of goes everywhere! But Beverly took it like a champ, and China Shot went home, while Beverly stayed. HA!
Anyway, you can BET I’ll be there next Sunday at 8p.m. CST when the second episode airs!
Bret, you may be old, tired, and all out of juice, but let these girls squabble, drink, and choke each other and I AM THERE! WOO! Drama, drama, drama!
Other favorites:
Samantha
Maria
Mindy
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Kevin Down Under
“I broke-ded my phone,” Kevin told me when he got into the car.
“Well…that certainly sucks,” his sober sister driver told me.
“No, Erin, I just…the battery fell out…I have to put it back in.”
“That’s what she said.”
“Fuck you, Erin,” Kevin said as I pulled away from the bar.
I knew it was going to be good when I got a text message from my brother that said, “Underneath your clothes there’s an endless story.” After that, one of my friends sent me a message that said Kevin was going to be trashed by the time he got home.
Finally, I got a phone call from Kevin. I answered and heard:
“When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer. I’m down on my knees, I want to take you there. In the midnight hour, I can feel your power. Just like a prayer your voice can take me there.”
He sang to me and then immediately launched into the upcoming verse. He paused a few times to shout at me to dance, but other than that, he never broke verse. It was my own little private show. And I loved every minute of it.
Anyway, I never have him in the car, and he’s blathering his drunken-nonsense while trying to put the battery back into his phone. Once it’s inside, he throws the phone against the dash and yells at it. Of course, I look at him like he’s a drunk, crazy person.
“Well, Erin, I just hate that phone. I’d love to fucking throw it as hard as I can. I’d like to throw it and hit a road sign.”
“That would be fun. Why not go to New York and throw it off the fucking Empire State Building.”
“Well, because I still have like two years left with this phone, and if I do that, I’ll have to pay $300 for a new one.”
“That wouldn’t be fun, so yeah, I see your point,” I tell him as we turn off of Diamond Avenue onto First Avenue.
“Hey, is Wendy’s open!” he asks me. It is 1:30 a.m.
“No, but I think Taco Bell is.”
“Well, fuck a bunch of Wendy’s,” he says. This conversation is copied several times, with the name of the restaurant changing as we pass Arby’s, Ritzy’s, Dairy Queen, McDonald’s, and Burger King (even though it is across the street from Taco Bell) before we arrive in the Taco Bell drive thru.
Kevin is leaning over me perusing the menu when the speaker crackles to leave. Apparently, in his drunken stupor, Kevin imagines that the speaker is either at a low volume, or the workers are deaf because he’s yelling at them to see if they have the great big, giant burrito. They don’t. Kevin says some choice words and continues to peruse the menu, settling on the number eight – 3 soft shell tacos.
I drive around to the window and Kevin starts digging in his wallet for money. It’s five dollars and change. He’s counting his one’s, but he only has four one’s and no change. This proves a problem, and the drunk fool starts blathering on about how he doesn’t want to break a fifty. I grab his wallet, recount the ones and see he at least counted right, and then I grab his debit card out and hand it to the worker.
We continue home and he asks about my sister who was flying in from Ft. Lauderdale. I tell him she couldn’t get a flight home, she had to be routed to Louisville and that dad is picking her up, and she’ll be home when we get there. He decides he wants to call, an idea I nix for a couple of reasons. The main reason is that if Andrea is still with my dad and she hands him the phone, he will agree to a dinner that he will have no recollection of agreeing too tomorrow morning, and Andrea and I will have to go along for the fun. Not that I don’t like dinner with my dad, but it’s always Sunday dinner, and Sunday is a sacred day – Do Nothing Day.
So I tell him about Andrea. How her plane landed, but no one could de-board because of a medical emergency. They were held on the plane for over an hour, when the ambulance finally arrived. My advice is, if you plan on having a heart attack, waiting for an hour on the ground for an ambulance to arrive is not going to help your situation. Kevin insists that the medical emergency is a brain tumor because then they’d have time to operate, whereas the heart attack…well…you’re gone.
We finally get to the house and Kevin grabs his meal and his Ipod Touch and stumbles up the driveway into the garage door that he opened (and I closed). The dog’s cage has been moved and he gladly starts talking about how he had to move it. I would applaud his efforts, but really he was the only one who ran into, and that was more often than not because he was drunk. Andrea opens the door into the garage knowing full well her little brother is drunk.
“I moved the dog’s garage…I mean cage,” Kevin says slurring and stumbling all over the cage in the effort to show off his work.
“That’s nice,” she says and we both pull him into the house. He sits on the couch, shoving soft shell tacos into his mouth as we both try to get the full story out of him.
While he’s eating, we turn out attention to Andrea and the medical emergency. We also find out that the airport has lost her luggage, which is kind of a big deal because her scissors are in there and she’s a hairdresser and has appointments in the morning. Kevin finishes his tacos and stands (staggers more) and tells her that if he was there, he would’ve told them all to “Suck it.”
“They can suck a dick!” he says and repeats. “Suck a fucking dick,” he says with his voice raised until mom yells from her bedroom that he is being too loud. He looks panicked/annoyed and then he rises up and crashes onto his knees on the carpet.
Andrea and I have to hide our giggles and laughs, and Kevin crawls over to where we are sitting and starts apologizing for rousing our mother. He decides it is time for bed, but wants Daisy with him. Daisy is terrified of him at the moment, and she starts running from. Kevin bends down to pick her up, but she takes off and he ends up face-planting into the carpet.
Andrea and I laugh even more. And finally we get him tucked into bed. Then we stayed up and watched Team America because Pearl Harbor sucks, but not as much as I laughed last night.
“Well…that certainly sucks,” his sober sister driver told me.
“No, Erin, I just…the battery fell out…I have to put it back in.”
“That’s what she said.”
“Fuck you, Erin,” Kevin said as I pulled away from the bar.
I knew it was going to be good when I got a text message from my brother that said, “Underneath your clothes there’s an endless story.” After that, one of my friends sent me a message that said Kevin was going to be trashed by the time he got home.
Finally, I got a phone call from Kevin. I answered and heard:
“When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer. I’m down on my knees, I want to take you there. In the midnight hour, I can feel your power. Just like a prayer your voice can take me there.”
He sang to me and then immediately launched into the upcoming verse. He paused a few times to shout at me to dance, but other than that, he never broke verse. It was my own little private show. And I loved every minute of it.
Anyway, I never have him in the car, and he’s blathering his drunken-nonsense while trying to put the battery back into his phone. Once it’s inside, he throws the phone against the dash and yells at it. Of course, I look at him like he’s a drunk, crazy person.
“Well, Erin, I just hate that phone. I’d love to fucking throw it as hard as I can. I’d like to throw it and hit a road sign.”
“That would be fun. Why not go to New York and throw it off the fucking Empire State Building.”
“Well, because I still have like two years left with this phone, and if I do that, I’ll have to pay $300 for a new one.”
“That wouldn’t be fun, so yeah, I see your point,” I tell him as we turn off of Diamond Avenue onto First Avenue.
“Hey, is Wendy’s open!” he asks me. It is 1:30 a.m.
“No, but I think Taco Bell is.”
“Well, fuck a bunch of Wendy’s,” he says. This conversation is copied several times, with the name of the restaurant changing as we pass Arby’s, Ritzy’s, Dairy Queen, McDonald’s, and Burger King (even though it is across the street from Taco Bell) before we arrive in the Taco Bell drive thru.
Kevin is leaning over me perusing the menu when the speaker crackles to leave. Apparently, in his drunken stupor, Kevin imagines that the speaker is either at a low volume, or the workers are deaf because he’s yelling at them to see if they have the great big, giant burrito. They don’t. Kevin says some choice words and continues to peruse the menu, settling on the number eight – 3 soft shell tacos.
I drive around to the window and Kevin starts digging in his wallet for money. It’s five dollars and change. He’s counting his one’s, but he only has four one’s and no change. This proves a problem, and the drunk fool starts blathering on about how he doesn’t want to break a fifty. I grab his wallet, recount the ones and see he at least counted right, and then I grab his debit card out and hand it to the worker.
We continue home and he asks about my sister who was flying in from Ft. Lauderdale. I tell him she couldn’t get a flight home, she had to be routed to Louisville and that dad is picking her up, and she’ll be home when we get there. He decides he wants to call, an idea I nix for a couple of reasons. The main reason is that if Andrea is still with my dad and she hands him the phone, he will agree to a dinner that he will have no recollection of agreeing too tomorrow morning, and Andrea and I will have to go along for the fun. Not that I don’t like dinner with my dad, but it’s always Sunday dinner, and Sunday is a sacred day – Do Nothing Day.
So I tell him about Andrea. How her plane landed, but no one could de-board because of a medical emergency. They were held on the plane for over an hour, when the ambulance finally arrived. My advice is, if you plan on having a heart attack, waiting for an hour on the ground for an ambulance to arrive is not going to help your situation. Kevin insists that the medical emergency is a brain tumor because then they’d have time to operate, whereas the heart attack…well…you’re gone.
We finally get to the house and Kevin grabs his meal and his Ipod Touch and stumbles up the driveway into the garage door that he opened (and I closed). The dog’s cage has been moved and he gladly starts talking about how he had to move it. I would applaud his efforts, but really he was the only one who ran into, and that was more often than not because he was drunk. Andrea opens the door into the garage knowing full well her little brother is drunk.
“I moved the dog’s garage…I mean cage,” Kevin says slurring and stumbling all over the cage in the effort to show off his work.
“That’s nice,” she says and we both pull him into the house. He sits on the couch, shoving soft shell tacos into his mouth as we both try to get the full story out of him.
While he’s eating, we turn out attention to Andrea and the medical emergency. We also find out that the airport has lost her luggage, which is kind of a big deal because her scissors are in there and she’s a hairdresser and has appointments in the morning. Kevin finishes his tacos and stands (staggers more) and tells her that if he was there, he would’ve told them all to “Suck it.”
“They can suck a dick!” he says and repeats. “Suck a fucking dick,” he says with his voice raised until mom yells from her bedroom that he is being too loud. He looks panicked/annoyed and then he rises up and crashes onto his knees on the carpet.
Andrea and I have to hide our giggles and laughs, and Kevin crawls over to where we are sitting and starts apologizing for rousing our mother. He decides it is time for bed, but wants Daisy with him. Daisy is terrified of him at the moment, and she starts running from. Kevin bends down to pick her up, but she takes off and he ends up face-planting into the carpet.
Andrea and I laugh even more. And finally we get him tucked into bed. Then we stayed up and watched Team America because Pearl Harbor sucks, but not as much as I laughed last night.
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