It has been a hell of a week. I’ll be back on Monday with a Memoir about Wednesday.
Other than that, here are some pictures to get you through the weekend.
As per usual, I’ve made them over at BigHugeLabs
Yeah… That’s my little brother.
This is what NY TV is like. Honest.
Also, what’s the one song on your iPod you never skip? The answer I like best gets a special shout out on Tuesday!
Mine is Push by Matchbox 20.
That’s all, folks.
Have a great weekend, and get your Memoirs ready for Monday!
Folks, Blogger doesn’t make a template that will hold the day I had yesterday, but I’ll try to blog about it on Monday. That’s why this post is a day late, but with BigSis at Speaking of Witch, it’s never a dollar short.
See how I made her name big? That’s so you’ll click on it and go follow her. She’s a funny lady, as she proves here right…..NOW!
Travis is one of the funniest people I know. At first, I was honored that he invited me to guest post. Then, I started worrying about what to post. I certainly don’t want to disappoint him, or his 213 followers. Wow. I think I was number 48 to join the band wagon. Travis, you are my hero. So, anyway, I decided that what makes me laugh the hardest is other people’s discomfort. So, I’ll share with you a glimpse into growing up with my parents… On the secret of their long marriage: “Our pre-nup was that whoever left had to take the kids.” 41 years later they are still married, because apparently neither of them wants us. Still!
Whenever we’d been hustling along and my mother would fall behind my father would tell her to hurry up. She’d say, “I’m coming!” And he’d say, “Hell, you aren’t even breathing hard yet.” I was much older before I learned what he meant and was retroactively disgusted that my father had such a dirty mind.
Around the same time there was a dirty joke that my father used to tell. The joke was always whispered so that I couldn’t hear it. All I heard was the punch line: “Hardly anyone eats parsley.” Flash forward a few years and I heard the whole joke. It starts off: “What is the difference between parsley and pussy?” Yup – major retroactive EWWW!
And, on a less disturbing note, I remember how much fun my parents used to have drinking and partying with their friends at “the rivah.” After one festive night the adults were all hung over. Instead of admitting this to a bunch of middle schoolers, they told us that they must have eaten some bad shrimp. We still tease them about eating a bad shrimp. So, if you know me at all, that explains a bit of why I turned out the way I am. And, if you don’t know me, please come by and visit anytime. Thanks Travis!I sat down to watch the Olympics last night, and Michael Phelps was doing an interview about how truly awesome his awesomeness truly is.
Sometime during the interview, I started asking myself some questions. Just wondering if he was really who he says he is…
Then a Subway commercial came on, and that sealed it. In the commercial, he swam through a corn field, some pavement, and concrete. That’s when I knew.
Michael Phelps has been cheating in the Olympics.
No, it’s not drugs. It’s not doping. It’s not some super human adrenaline based ball shrinking steroid. It’s not even the fact that he listens to puppies being murdered on his iPod before every race.
It’s this photo I dug up after the interview.
Michael Phelps is Aquaman.
Oh, believe me. I gasped in astonishment too.
How come we didn’t see this sooner?
Because the cheating bastard grows a beard the second he gets out of the water. It’s like Clark Kent’s glasses. Who knew?
Some of you may be having trouble believing this, so I’m going to quote some facts.
1.) Aquaman’s name is Arthur Curry. If you make an anagram out of that, you wind up with arc hurry rut. You know what, I honestly forgot where I was going with this.
2.) Look at the body types. Nuff said.
3.) I’m pretty sure I saw people misting him down during the interview. Matter of fact, the boy always looks wet. This ties in with Aquaman’s inability to be out of water for more than an hour. I say someone needs to trap him in a building somewhere. If he starts getting twitchy at 45 minutes, we’ll know the truth. Just don’t actually KEEP him from getting water. Have you ever seen a pissed off blue whale? It wouldn’t be worth it.
4.) Look at the picture. He’s clearly talking to a fish. Aquaman talks to fish.
5.) Aquaman fought the Nazis. Michael Phelps is Jewish.
6.) Phelps swam through CONCRETE. Have you ever tried that? Try it. Right now. I’ll wait. Back? Yeah, I bet you’re pretty skinned up, too. Aquaman could swim through concrete with a swimming start. Thank you Subway for the clincher.
So there you have it, folks. Final, stone cold proof that Michael Phelps is Aquaman.*
As a superhero, I really don’t think he should be allowed in the Olympics, and here’s why: First off, if you let one join, everyone is going to want to join. The next thing you know, we’re having to send men up into space to verify that Superman DID in fact land on Pluto in the long jump, and that shit takes time. I mean, you’re looking at the 2012 Olympics lasting about 65 years. And that’s no good. Second, you’d have a mass uproar about why these douchebags haven’t actually been helping anyone out, finding Osama Bin Laden, stopping terrorism, etc. And lastly, I’m pretty sure Usain Bolt is the Flash. Proof there? Ummm…his last name is BOLT. Also, he won the hundred yard dash with his arms out like wind sails, turning around and telling everyone at the starting line to not even take off. So yeah. It makes other athletes feel bad. And we don’t want anyone feeling bad at the Olympics. Hell, that’s why we have curling…
…The Canadians have to have SOMETHING to win…
*All information used in the above post may or may not be completely false, except that he listens to puppies being murdered, therefore I base this claim on absolutely nothing.
(Hey guys and gals. It’s Memoir Monday time! This is where you write down a story about yourself, steal my button down there, drink a beer, and call it all a win. The only rule is that it has to be true, other than that, there are no rules. I need you to join this week! Once you post, let me know, and I will link you up down there for all my kick ass bloggy followers to go and read! Y’all are the greatest, and I love you. If you want to see all the Memoir Monday posts, just click on the brand new button!!)
I’ve always been an incredible speller.
Well, except for spelling “throw.” And “tetanus.”
This is the story of how that all got started. I was in the first grade, still pretty green around the edges and that jazz. I led a very sheltered home life, and profanity was not something I was familiar with at all.
My first grade teacher was Mrs. Pirkle. She was meaner than a cobra in a briar patch and about 6 months older than Moses.
It was Christmas time. Being in first grade, I was still extremely impressionable. I had heard a song during this holiday of Jesus, one that went…”Jingle bells, Batman smells, granny had a gun…” Yeah. The one that goes on to say the “N” word.
So I came home one night and performed this rousing parody for my parents at the dinner table. My father laughed, and my mother almost blew her top. This caused my father to stop laughing and to threaten me with my life the next time this situation arose.
Enter the day of the Christmas party. My mother made a delicacy back in those days known as Pecan Tassies. These things were amazing. They were ambrosia. They were LEGIT, son. I was trying to get her to bring some of those magical morsels of pecan-y goodness in to the party. And she was telling me in no uncertain terms that there was no way that was going to happen.
It was a rowdy day at school as the excitement for the party and presents built. There were lots of threats thrown out by Mrs. Pirkle to “cancel the whole thing if y’all don’t SHUT UP!” At one point, she left the room to go to the office, and this is when my world came crashing down.
In the front of the room, a young man named Justin stood up and spelled out a word. “F-U-C-K.” After he was done, he sat back down. I was a smart kid. I was an ambitious kid. I knew how to spell and I knew how to sound out words. If you needed something sounded out, I was your guy. Hell, I still am. So I did it. I stood up very quietly, cleared my throat and said…
“That spells fuck!”
Some of the BIGGEST potty mouths I graduated with looked at me on that day and gasped as if I’d just committed murder. It was the biggest frame-up I’ve ever experienced. Even Justin turned on me. Some little shit RAN next door to tell the other first grade teacher on me. I was in SO much trouble. The other teacher came back, stories were told, and I’m pretty sure at one point I was accused of rape.
I was sent out into the hallway while my mother was contacted. I waited. And waited. And eventually the teacher came back and said that they couldn’t reach my mother at home, so I was just going to have to miss the party and the present exchange. I was RELIEVED. I damn near pissed myself in relief standing there on the wall. MY MOTHER DIDN’T KNOW!!! It was the best moment of my first grade life. I wasn’t in trouble just yet! Hooray!
As I stood against the wall counting my blessings, I felt the draft created by the front doors of the school opening up. As I turned my head to look, I FELT the presence much before I actually saw her. My mother. My dear, sweet mother carrying an armful of pecan tassies and smiling the smile of a mother who has tricked her son and is about to surprise him and make him a hero. Then she saw me on the wall.
The bladder loosening feeling returned, but this time it was in fear. Pure, unadulterated fear in it’s rawest state. The second she saw me standing against the wall, I knew my life was over. I started trembling and crying and carrying on so bad that 3 different teachers came out to check on me, which I’m sure made my mom even MORE mad, because I was drawing attention.
The story was shared by the teacher, and I was immediately escorted from the school, and beaten beyond belief by my dear, sweet, pecan tassie surprising mother. Which, by the way, I didn’t get to taste a single one of. My father came home, and if I was expecting more laughter, I was WAY wrong. I was beat again, and sent off to bed.
And that’s how I learned that saying fuck in the first grade will get you in ALL KINDS of trouble.
Other Non-Profanity Laced Walks Down The Hall Of Memory Lane: (GO READ THEM)
Daffy’s Memoir Monday: A Thief In The Night.
BigSis’ Memoir Monday: What Are We Teaching Our Kids?
Greg’s Memoir Monday: It Was So Cold…
LMJ’s Memoir Monday: The Day I Found Hubby Face Down On The Floor.
Josh’s Memoir Monday: Piercings.
Corrie’s Memoir Monday: Blanket Wars.
Juicebox’s Memoir Monday: Mitzi.
Aimee’s Memoir Monday. **ROOKIE**
Meeko’s Memoir Monday: 2.22.10
LB’s Memoir Monday: Our Wedding.
I’ve recently hit 220 followers, and I’ve been stuck there longer than…well, me on your mom.
So at the end of this, I’m going to list some people you should be reading because they are funny and make me actually laugh. I’m doing this in the blatant hope that they’ll all shamelessly promote ME and maybe get me over this friggin hump.
Until then, here are a couple of posters I made over at BigHugeLabs.
And yeah, I totally stole the “idea” from Moog. And he’s the first guy you should be following. Unless you love Jesus, puppies, kittens, good parenting, God, the church, the Bible, your self-esteem, etc.
And here’s my list. Click on their names to go see em, then hit the follow button. If your name doesn’t make the list, don’t feel bad. I still love you. Swearz.
MoogEdDaffyAdrienzgirlCarolLeeTamaraThat One MomLiluMr. JenksThe Office ScribeJeffMandyShineFrickinehLilyErinJoshuaSally-Sal
Seriously. I hate making lists. If you want your name to be on there, then tell me. Hell, I’ll add it. Sort of a circle of life type thing.
Oh, and a special shout out: Shine? You’ve done your part. Thanks.
For those of you who don’t know Shine, or don’t know know why I typed that. Just click that sentence. It’ll shed some light on that last poster.
Have a good weekend, I love you all, and let’s get me to 250 by Monday. Thanks.
Folks, it’s TMI Thursday time with the one and only Lilu over at LivitLuvit. She’s a peach of a gal that really does her best to get everyone on the internet to do something embarrassing or nasty on Thursdays, and so far, she’s done a good job. This is my contribution this week. If you want more of this, please for the love of all that is holy and pure, click the picture of those old people having more fun than you did last night.
Just click play.
I’ll take care of the rest.
And just because I know some of you are TRULY worried, I’ll go ahead and tell you. It’s SFW. (safe for work)
I know.
There aren’t really words to describe it.
And yeah, I tagged it with kittens so it would get more hits.
Hello everyone! Today is a guest post from Kiera over at Imperfect Daisies. Click on her name there to go visit and follow and stalk and torture and…yeah I’m going to stop there. Anyway, she’s a blast, and she’s married to a man that refuses to read her blog, so go over there and make him jealous! There will be many more guest bloggers through the coming weeks on Wednesday, so get ready! She also would like me to tell you that there will be pictures of the following trip on her site today!
Olympic Wisdom, Firsthand
I went skiing last week for the first time in 6 years. What I remember from being 17 was loving the exhilaration of it. I remember going fast, and I remember walking down one of the hills because I was too scared. That’s about it. Being 17 one doesn’t think or observe too much- unless it’s effects him or her directly.
I was so pumped to going skiing again for my hub’s birthday. We brought along my parents and got a condo so that they could watch the kids enjoy this mini vaca with us. As soon as the kids went to bed, we snuck out to hit the slopes. My experience was entirely enjoyable but I observed so much more. So just in case you’re a very, very novice skier, here are a couple of things I learned/observed about this wonderful winter sport.
- There’s no need to carbo load like you’re an Olympian: Before skiing, we went to eat dinner at the locally brewery. Typically when we go out to eat I still like to eat semi healthfully, but this time I figured we would be skiing and after all, skiing is one of the best workouts, right? So I ordered a homemade pasta dish with beef, beef, beef, and the thickest, starchiest most delicious noodles you’ve ever had. I didn’t stop at the halfway point either. I’m pretty sure I downed a pound of pasta with a pound of beef and tomato sauce. And beer. After we were through skiing for an hour and a half, I happily asked Mr Incredible how many calories he thought I’d burned. He said, “one hundred.” ONE HUNDRED? I consumed a month’s worth of carbs and more cow than I can stomach to think. One hundred calories? “Well, you have to think, Kiera, half of the time we were skiing we were on the ski lift.” “But what about skiing being the most calorie burning exercise????” “Yea, cross country skiing is.” ;lkjhfds weight gain.
- Poles are not for dragging: silly me! My whole entire life, I thought poles were meant to hinder momentum. I’d literally drag my poles down the hill with me every time I’d skied. Fail. After I had taken a spill or four is when Mr Incredible (my husband) told me to ski across the hill instead of straight down. The poles are to help you pivot. Who woulda thunk it.
- Dressing the part does not mean that you will look better: As we were riding the ski lift up to our second run, there was a girl going really, REALLY slow with her skis turned in and her poles high up in the air. I asked Mr Incredible what she was doing (maybe on the verge of a gelande jump? (I totally thesaurus dot comed ‘ski jump’) maybe she was going to gain crazy speed and then go into the woods, just to appear in 13.4 seconds at the bottom (or top!?!?) of the hill?) Mr Incredible laughed and replied, “that’s what you look like.” Oh. But she had on a white and grey matching coat, ski pants, hats and gloves. And a helmet. With goggles. That’s when I, too, looked down and realized that I had a North Face ski jacket with Spyder ski pants. And goggles (circa 1987 from my parents’ house). I like to think that I’m always the exception. But I’m a bargain shopper. I bought that ski gear for the same amount that you paid for yours at Walmart. So I am the exception. So anyway. Don’t be fooled by the people who dress like Shaun White.
- Keep you pants on: This is the ski version of the Mile High Club. Next time you’re on a ski lift check out the nearby trees. If you play a little game of Eye Spy, you too may see the various undergarments and Mardi Gras beads scattered on the trees. Or maybe it’s just us Western New Yorkers. My imagination does not just stop at ‘chilly.’ I won’t go into too much imaginative detail other than 1) ew. 2) chilly. 3) HOW? I literally could not get my oversized hat off while I was sitting in the ski lift with the bar down. My poles were getting stuck on the safety bar while being tangled around my wrists. Not to mention that I have to concentrate on keeping my skis straight so they don’t knock into something we’re passing. So how, my dear teenaged friends, how do you manage to take anything off from underneath all of your gear and then toss it into the trees with still enough time to recover and ski off the lift? How? Do you regret it when it’s you versus the wind going down hill? Edify me someone. ANYONE.
I’m honored and overwhelmed (in a good way) for being able to guest blog over here at Travis’. Hope I could provide as much enjoyment as you, Travis :)by Travis Sloat
Senior Staff Writer, Blogger Gazette
It was a terrible scene in downtown Internet tonight as the Myspace/Facebook war came to a head in a brutal fashion. “It was awful,” one eyewitness reports. “One of the apps actually flew right by my face, I think it was Farkle.”
Super Farkle, who survived because of it’s superness, was quoted as saying, “I loved my little brother. He was great to kill time with, and now he’s been killed by those bastards. I have to go tell Momma Farkle that her baby’s been shot.”
Super Awesomest Most Awesome Crazy Awesome Bubble Awesome Blaster also survived, but not without a serious injury to its awesomeness. “I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself,” it blooped sadly.
There were heavy casualties on both sides, but it appears Facebook has emerged the winner, due to it’s all around not being as lame-ness. “It really came down to the Mafia Wars app,” said Facebook. “Ours just had more experience. We think a lot of that has to do with the fact that our Mafia Wars players, while still being retarded, are a lot older than the 10 year olds that use Mafia Wars on Myspace. This gave us a tactical edge, because we weren’t getting grounded from it, and we were able to continue attacking after bedtime.”
Bystanders say that the Farmville app did absolutely nothing for Facebook, and it just seemed to “lie there.” A lot of “creepers” from both sides were able to use the corn field as a place to hide while they commented on pictures. One person said, “There was always a sneaking suspicion that Farmville was the most useless app in Facebook, and tonight proved it. Multiple crops were destroyed, and the app is in ruins.” Users of the app say that they’ll be back up and annoying you with “black mystery eggs” in no time at all.
“The I-Heart app kept going around keeping everyone pumped up,” said a lucky survivor. “I really owe my life to it. When it gave me that Stone Heart that meant I had been hurt before but I was going to get through this, it really encouraged me, so I hit the like button.”
The Bumper Sticker apps for both sites went straight for each other, sending out shots like, “I fell in love with our friendship,” “Ninjas are better than pirates,” and “FAIL.” Several people said that this was a clash of the titans, with no clear winner. “It kind of hit a stonewall when they got to the last 5 pages,” said a witness. “They just kept talking about how much they loved Twilight. It seems that Facebook is more Team Edward, I can say that.”
Being able to add music to your profile turned out to be a disaster for Myspace, as it was constantly bickering within itself for a soundtrack to fight to. Justin Beiber turned out to be on a lot of playlists, but there were votes for “Birthday Sex” and several Taylor Swift songs as well. In the end, every Linkin Park song was played, and since they all sound exactly alike, there wasn’t much confusion, but it wasn’t very inspirational.
Facebook took a hit when the Cafe World app served a lot of the Mafia War people some bad Italian food.
Both side’s Astrology apps were asked if this was predicted, and after glancing surreptitiously at the Texas Hold ‘Em apps, they both said, “It just wasn’t in the cards.”
Twitter was called to comment on the war, and said this. “I really think that it was a terrible thing that happened. I know both of them pretty well, and I think that it could have reached a more po…” When asked to clarify, it said simply, “I have a 140 character limit. I really can’t give details.”
In the end, Myspace limped off defeated, and Facebook held the high ground. It was certainly not a celebrated victory. Countless apps laid dead in the street. There were thousands of status updates being posted about needing a neon clown fish or needing crops watered. There were calendar apps marking the day of the war as well as your birthday. “I’m A Sexy HAWT Gurl69**” was right back to making mass friend requests in Myspace, and was successful in convincing several single guys that she actually wanted them.
“It’s a sad day for social networking,” said our resident expert. “Right now, both are spending some time on their Island Paradise apps and doing a little reflecting with the Quote of the Day apps.”
In other news, tension is mounting in the Blogger/Wordpress camps. Both parties have remained peaceful up to this point, but a spokesperson for Blogger as told us that “Shit is getting real.” We’ll have more updates for you as that story develops. (Hey guys and gals. It’s Memoir Monday time! This is where you write down a story about yourself, steal my button down there, drink a beer, and call it all a win. The only rule is that it has to be true, other than that, there are no rules. I need you to join this week! Once you post, let me know, and I will link you up down there for all my kick ass bloggy followers to go and read! Y’all are the greatest, and I love you. If you want to see all the Memoir Monday posts, just click on the brand new button!!)
I really don’t like American Airlines.
This hasn’t always been the case, and truth be told, wasn’t even the case when I took off from Tulsa. Although it sort of blossomed there. Let’s go back to the beginning…
It was Tuesday morning. Our flight was a 9:45 in the morning and I didn’t want to be late. We left our house at 8 to make the hour drive to the airport. When we got there we were met by a sweet little old lady that was around 237 years old. I don’t remember her name, but she had a voice that you’d want in your head all the time.
“Let’s just go right over here, guys. Okay, we’re just gonna slide this card right in here…okay, now see? It’s not charging you anything at all, no it’s not. It’s just checkin to see who you are. That’s right. See? Yeah, just finding out who you are. Is this you, Alicia? Well isn’t that just a pretty name? And are you Travis? Yes you are. So we’re just going to push a few more buttons…and there you go! Look at you! All booked up! How easy was that? Yes it was.”
I’m pretty sure she scratched my head and kissed me on the cheek. I loved that lady.
However, that was the last nice person we met.
Enter airport security.
Yeah. I haven’t flown since the 9/11. I’ve heard all the jokes about security, but I just thought maybe they were exaggerations. I was wrong.
We just tried to do what everyone else did, but for me, that wasn’t good enough. I left my cell phone strapped to my belt and my money clip in my pocket.
I beeped.
“Do you have any metal on your person?”
“Umm… Yes?”
“Is that a cell phone?”
“Yeah.”
(shakes head) “Sir, you ought to know you can can’t carry that through a metal detector. And a money clip? Sir.”
“Can we please take it easy on the people who haven’t flown before?”
At this point, a line started to form behind me, and I’m pretty sure I saw the glint of a sniper scope in a birds nest ready to take my head off, so I quit my bitching, stripped balls naked and did the helicopter with my cash and prizes through the detector.
Okay, not really.
We were seated together for our 2 flights to New York. I gave her both the window seats on the way, so that I could get them on the way back, not knowing what would happen…
The seats on airplanes are really small. I will use a quote from Family Guy about “Anal Point” as a reference. “It’s like a really small parking space. At first you think there is no way you’ll get in, but then you tuck in the side mirrors, and whadda ya know, you’re in there.”
I got the buckle on in my first 2 flights with some trouble, but not much.
We landed in New York, and the trip happened, which is another blog for another day. Then we got snowed in a day. So our flight (and EVERYONE ELSE’S EVER) were switched to Thursday out of Newark, NJ airport.
That flight was headed to a layover in Chicago, and I got a window seat.
But.
Since there were so many people, we wound up getting this response to what turned out wasn’t actually a ticket in our hand.
“Folks, you’re promised a spot on the plane, but only if there aren’t enough people on it already and only if that guy over there by the window comes up to me and tells me that a pink cow has just wandered across the tarmac carrying a suitcase full of oranges and wanting a connecting flight to Montana.”
Um. Yeah.
It wasn’t that bad. But it was pretty close. I’ll spare you the details of the wait, but I had a long talk with Ginger Mandy while I was there. If you don’t read her blog, you should. (shameless blog plug, FTW!)
I also tried to purchase a t-shirt to wear home because I was wearing a hoodie with a sleeveless shirt under it. At the place of business I was in, I said, “Do y’all have anything bigger than an XL?” The attendant said, “No.” And I said, “Do y’all not get many fat people through Jersey?” The room went completely quiet. So yeah. I guess being husky isn’t allowed in the Newark airport. And while it may be tolerated, jokes about it certainly aren’t.
Since EVERYONE AND THEIR FUCKING MOTHER is utilizing carry-on space now, and since we were in GROUP FUCKING SIX and pretty much the last people on the plane, it so happened that they ran out of carry on space, and we had to check our bag. I was furious, but what can you do?
We got on seats near the front of the coach section, close enough to smell what first class was getting to eat, which pissed me off. I also couldn’t get my seatbelt buckled on this plane. Which adds credit to my theory that they don’t like fatties in Jersey. I tried for 20 minutes to get the flight attendant’s attention, but she was up front suckin off the first class people. I finally got the extender, (heh) and I calmed down a bit.
Then we just sat there.
And we sat there.
And we were just sitting there and I was starting to get the swamp thighs because I have husky thighs and they don’t like to be stuck together for that long because they start to sweat and make my balls feel like they’re in a humidifier and that’s no good for anyone.
Then the captain comes on.
“Folks, this is your captain and I just want to say that we are currently waiting on the catering for this flight. It was supposed to be catered in Chicago, but it has to be done here. I know that currently one of our fat coach passengers is suffering a case of sweaty balls, and I’d just like you to all join me in making fun of him for being fat and asking for the seatbelt extender.”
Cue laughter.
Not really, but he did say the part about the catering. We were waiting on the damn FOOD. My thing is, if I’m the fattest person on the plane, and I can go 2 hours without cramming food down my gullet, then you can too. That’s real.
Finally we took off, and get to Chicago without incident. We go through a similar ticket experience. We find out that we aren’t sitting together, which upsets me, but then The Missus pulls off the best bullshit she has EVER done.
“What seat do you want?”
“Well, I want the window seat. You owe me.”
“Okay.” (pretends to do some calculating) “They’re both window seats.”
“That’s fine, just pick one and I’ll take the other.”
“Okay, I want this one because it will board quicker.”
She boards the plane.
Then I board the plane.
As I am walking to my seat, I look up at the chart, and I find out that my seat is NOT a window seat.
That’s okay, because it’s an aisle seat.
NOT.
I AM IN THE MIDDLE FUCKING SEAT.
So of course I start wondering what the people in the seats beside me will think about a 350 pound guy sitting next to them. As it turns out, that should have been the least of my worries. You see, the man to my left weighed about 350 pounds, and the man to my right probably tipped the scale at about the 300 mark.
Did you read that?
That’s 1000 pounds of man in one row.
Have you ever driven a car that’s really needing alignment, and you almost have to keep the wheel turned the whole time you’re driving so that it keeps the car going straight?
Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s what the captain had to do to balance us out THE ENTIRE FLIGHT.
I plopped down between those two fatties, and we formed a super suction seating arrangement that allowed me to not even have to fasten my seat belt. If that plane had crashed, our row would have been the safest one on the plane. The g forces required to suck me out of that spot cannot be calculated even by the smartest of computers. It was the safest I’d felt the entire trip.
The Missus? She was in a window seat at the back of plane chatting it up with a Chapel Hill fan.
I pulled out my iPod to try to make the trip go by faster, but lo and behold, the guy to my left wanted to chat it up about everything from what I did for a living, to what I was doing in New York, to how my dad died. Seriously. I’m going to let everyone here know what the etiquette is when someone behind you puts on a pair of headphones.
You ready?
SHUT THE HELL UP!
There. You’re all caught up, and now you know why I hate American Airlines.
Other Non-Squished Flights Down Memory Lane: (GO READ THEM!)
Bambi’s Memoir Monday: And This Is Your Name?
BigSis’ Memoir Monday: Old And Dried Up? Not Yet!
Greg’s Memoir Monday: At The Train Station.
Corrie’s Memoir Monday: The Unimaginable Happened.
Josh’s Memoir Monday: Inked.
Daffy’s Memoir Monday: If You Can’t Take The Heat, Get Outta The Kitchen.
Kat’s Memoir Monday: Memories.
Kate’s Memoir Monday: Busted. (again)
Juicebox’s Memoir Monday: Old School Style.
LB’s Memoir Monday: More Mardi Gras Mayhem.
Scribe’s Memoir Monday: Welcome To The Chop Shop.
Well folks, here I am.
A small town Oklahoma boy that survived the Big Apple.
I came back with a fedora, some sunglasses, a shot glass, and thousands of words spinning in my head dying to become stories.
I’m going to write those now. I’m going to spend the entire weekend writing.
In other words, I’m going to feed you, baby birds. I promise.
I’m going around trying to catch up on reading today, and rest assured, I’ll get to you. I may not leave a comment, but please know that I read your post and loved it.
Memoir Monday will be back in full swing on Monday. We broke a record last week with the number of people that joined in, and I WANT MORE! Thank you so much if you participated, or if you are planning to participate. We’d love to have you!
For those of you who are just DYING to know, the show will air April 23rd. I can’t blog about any part of that until April 24th.
There will also be a video posted of my trip, probably on Monday. Props again to Carol for sending me that camera. I’m going to leave the sex scene on there when I ship it back, because that’s how I roll.
Thank you guys for putting up with the constant tweeting and FB updates while we were there. We had a blast, and I can’t wait to tell you about it!
Yep. Right now, at this very moment, 9:45 AM.
I’ve only flown once before, and that was when I was wicked young. The Missus hasn’t flown at all.
I’ve already asked her if we’re going to join the Mile High Club, and this was the response.
“Travis, we can’t both fit in one of those bathrooms…”
Damn.
Can’t say I didn’t try.
I just made you laugh while I’m on an airplane.
Zing.
“Start spreadin the news.
I’m leavin today.
I want to be part of it…
New York, New York.” -Ol’ Blue Eyes
(Hey guys and gals. It’s Memoir Monday time! This is where you write down a story about yourself, steal my button down there, drink a beer, and call it all a win. The only rule is that it has to be true, other than that, there are no rules. I need you to join this week! Once you post, let me know, and I will link you up down there for all my kick ass bloggy followers to go and read! Y’all are the greatest, and I love you. If you want to see all the Memoir Monday posts, just click on the brand new button!!)
Today we have a new segment here on Memoir Monday, as well as a new button! The button was designed by Tamara over at Cheapskate Mom, who will do a great job! Go give her some bidness! Today is Photo Memoir Monday, and I know a lot of you have joined on, and I thank you so much! So… Without further ado, I give you my pictures!
It took 17 years for me to meet her, another 2 to figure out I wanted to marry her, and 7 years later, I’ve realized that I’ve never made a better decision, and in all reality, it was probably actually the last good one I’ve made.
Other Photo Memoir Mondays Today. (GOREAD LOOK AT THEM!)
Matt’s Memoir Monday: Tequila.
Corrie’s Memoir Monday: Don’t Come Home Without A Watch.
Greg’s Memoir Monday: Meeting My Sister.
Erin’s Memoir Monday: Random Thoughts On The Degrees I’m Not Using.
Daffy’s Memoir Monday: Picture MM, The Debut.
Josh’s Memoir Monday: Picture, Or How Travis Stole My Idea From Two Weeks Ago.
Brandee’s Memoir Monday: Proud Momma.
Sharon’s Memoir Monday: Picture Memoir Monday. PLEASE READ DISCLAIMER AT BOTTOM!
Lauren’s Memoir Monday: The Gulf.
Lily’s Memoir Monday: Is It Date Rape If You’re Married?
LB’s Memoir Monday: Mardi Gras Mayhem.
Kim’s Memoir Monday: Eloping Edition.
BigSis’ Memoir Monday: The Photo Edition.
Mandy’s Memoir Monday: My Lighter Days.
June’s Memoir Monday
Juicebox’s Memoir Monday: The Shit Edition.
Sal’s Memoir Monday: I Made Copies.
Moog’s Memoir Monday: Panning For Golden Showers.
Nancy’s Memoir Monday: Valentine Fail.
Bambi’s Memoir Monday
Kat’s Memoir Monday
Kristin’s Memoir Monday: The Picture Debut.Today is February 6th.
He would have been 49 today.
It’s been almost 10 years since he’s been gone, and the one thing I’ve learned is this.
The pain doesn’t ever leave. But the good news is, time does tend to dull it a bit.
This picture was taken 9 months before he died. From right to left, back row: Brian Sloat (My Dad), me, Brad (The Groom)Front row: Jordan (The Liar), Josh (The Youngest)
Tick tock hear my life pass by.Can’t erase and I can’t rewind. Of all the things I regret, the most I do, Wish I’d spent more time with you. -Skillet
I love you dad.
Yeah, I got this from Moooooog, but I refuse to call it a meme, because we’re men and we don’t do that shit.
Anyway, we make em over at BigHugeLabs.
Some of you remember that I posted a picture of this sign this past fall. I’m proud to say that this gentleman has a certain, “moxy.”
Then this next one I made in honor of the last season of Lost.
If you don’t know what Lost is, you’re probably on the show. That’s real.
God, I hate that show.
And now, what you’ve all been waiting for, details (deets?) on the TYRA SHOW! Featuring your one favorite bloggy buddy, ME! Oh, and The Missus.
We fly out to New York on Tuesday, and will be taping the show on Wednesday, and then flying back in on Wednesday night. The show is called “The Cheapest Mate In America.”
That’s all I’ve got. Apparently, in the contract that we have to sign, it says that I can’t blog about the show until it airs. So. Rules is rules, even if they infringe ever so slightly on my 1st Amendment rights, much the way I slightly infringe upon a Golden Corral when I visit. Yeah…
Once again I want to give a shout out to Tamara at Cheapskate Mom, who got this whole thing started, and also a shout out to June from 3! A Charm, who sent me a Flip video camera to document my journey! And June, I’m sorry, but I can’t possibly find a miniature donkey, some grape jelly, a Slip & Slide, and a seven iron in just a week. And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to film myself naked on all those things. Sorry about that. Maybe next time?
Folks, last but not least, I want to apologize again for not being around to visit all your blogs. I’ve been a bad Travis, and I know it. Once it gets less crazy, I’ll be back in the middle of things faster than Robert Downey Jr. in a liquor cabinet. Swears.
I love you all, and have a good weekend!
Folks, it’s TMI Thursday time with the one and only Lilu over at LivitLuvit. She’s a peach of a gal that really does her best to get everyone on the internet to do something embarrassing or nasty on Thursdays, and so far, she’s done a good job. This is my contribution this week. If you want more of this, please for the love of all that is holy and pure, click the picture of those old people having more fun than you did last night.
If I could, I’d like to outline my sexual education for you.
It didn’t take place in a classroom, nor any other part of school, such as the gym teachers office, or in the janitor’s closet, or out on the football field one night after the Spanish teacher got done telling you why he was unhappy in his marriage.
It didn’t take place in a church, and it wasn’t personally taught to me by a priest, or any other clergyman that was forbidden to marry.
It consisted of my mother almost, but not entirely chucking a book by Dr. James Dobson into my room when I was in the 6th grade, saying, “Here Travis, I picked this up at the library, you should read it!” And running out of my room back into her protected little housewife bubble.
It also partly consisted of a prank some older girls pulled when I was in the 5th grade that involved them leaving little scraps of paper on the floor of the gym that said, “A woman get’s pregnant by a man putting his penis into a woman’s belly button…”
I still won’t put a load anywhere near one of those things.
The book had a chapter in it called “Sex” or something like that.
I turned right to it. Hell, I thought it might have pictures.
Instead what I read was a graphically detailed chapter of how a p goes into a v, and how babies are made. They didn’t get right into the “parts” so to speak, but they gave me the basic idea of things, which I was sorely needing, because I was starting to be the kid that “didn’t get” jokes at school.
It also taught me how to masturbate.
Now. Before I go further, I’d just like to say that I am sure that when Dr. Dobson wrote that book, he didn’t envision a child starting a habit that, 15 years later, has developed into a hobby that he’s mastered much like a young Asian boy masters karate and meditation.
However, that’s what happened.
But I’ve wandered off the point a bit.
The point is, I didn’t know certain things about a woman’s body. Hell, I’ll be honest, I’m still in confusion about that g-spot thing. That’s real. And don’t give me any of that “Poor Missus” shit, I don’t think she even knows where the damn thing is at. It’s like finding a set of keys in a lake that you’ve been looking for for 8 years, then turning around in excitement to tell your wife about it, and knocking them back into lake you pulled them out of.
Anyclimax, I was 16, and I was at my first girlfriends house. We had been dating while, long enough that we were using the “L” word, and I was getting handjobs pretty regular, and I still thought regular handjobs were a pretty cool thing.
Somehow, the topic of her period came up. This sparked a question in my brain. A question that I thought I could trust her not to laugh at.
“Hey. When you have to pee and you have a tampon in, do you have to take it out to pee?”
cricketcricketcricketuncontrollable laughter and finger pointingcricket
I was pretty ticked off.
“Travis, we have a pee hole. It’s right above the vagina… Did you not know this?”
“No. I didn’t. Thanks for laughing at me.”
So yeah… That’s how I found out that a woman doesn’t pee through her vagina.
Maybe next time I’ll tell you about Kid Funk diagramming where the clit is for me.Ladies and gents, I give you the man that needs no introduction, ED!
After you read, you better go to his blog and check out his hilarity. Click on this sentence.
Here his is!
First!Ha!Usually that’s what people do in the comment section, but since I’m the first guest poster in this new series of guest posters on Travis’ blog, that means I WIN!Sadly, all the other posters will be TRYING to follow me……”The Original”, which is somewhat like “The Situation”, only less orange-y …….and disease-freer.(That last part was for you, Tamara! Stop blaming me for your drip! The rash maybe, but not the drip.)I’m Ed.I’ve been a follower of Travis’ since he had only about 16.Back then, (before he sold out to The Man) he was like a poor man’s version of Larry The Cableguy.You know, before Nutrisystem……………When Larry was still fat and funny.Yes, the good old days.That’s when our Bromance was still new.I would read his blog, he would read mine.We would trade comments.Occassionally, we would g-chat.Maybe even a phone call or two.And of course, we exchanged tons of nudie pics or ourselves.But not anymore! Oh no.Now, he’s all busy with his NEW “friends”………..You all.Kicked me to the curb faster than Samantha did Lindsey.There was a time, before the Man-ymoon ended, that we planned our World Domination together.We even had ideas for a secret commune compound of funny bloggers, from which we would rule the comedic world.Then he hit 200 followers, and I was left in the dust while he chased his dreams at the video store.So now, our Man-love is one-sided.While he’s off with his legion of fans and Blackberry bitches, I’m now the proverbial fat kid waiting to get picked for kickball.“Pick me, pick me! PLEASE! Pick me!”Hell, even my own wife and kids love Travis more than they do me. L
Seriously though, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with this guest post.The last time I appeared on Travis’ blog, other than in the comment section, was for his 100th Post Roast.And since I spent the whole time saying mean things about him and the other roasters, I figured I should be nice this time.It’s just like momma always said, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all!”And so……………Well folks, it’s going to be a busy week.
Why?
Some of you already know.
Some of you don’t, so here it is.
The Missus and I…
ARE GOING TO BE ON THE TYRA BANKS SHOW!
And for sure, it’s all thanks to Tamara over at Cheapskate Mom.
I won’t be around too much this week, because I’ll be packing and shit. Tomorrow is a guest post from Ed, and there will be guest posts for like the next 8 weeks on Wednesday.
I love you guys, and I love you even more TAMARA!!!
*This is not a joke. It is for realsies. Thanks to June over at 3! A Charm for sending me her Flip video camera so that I can record my whole experience from packing to coming back, and everything in between!
(Hey guys and gals. It’s Memoir Monday time! This is where you write down a story about yourself, steal my button down there, drink a beer, and call it all a win. The only rule is that it has to be true, other than that, there are no rules. I need you to join this week! Once you post, let me know, and I will link you up down there for all my kick ass bloggy followers to go and read! Y’all are the greatest, and I love you. If you want to see all the Memoir Monday posts, just click on the book!)
Before we get started, I just want to say that next week we’ll be debuting a NEW BUTTON! I’m so excited! Tamara over at Cheapskate Mom made me one up real nice!
Also, I really want to do a PICTURE MEMOIR MONDAY next week. It can be one picture, or two, or whatever. I just want it to tell a story. Matter of fact, you can tell a story WITH the picture, telling us what it’s about, or you can just post a picture. I have to prove to some people that I was skinny in the 7th grade, and I intend on doing that.
So there you have it. NEXT WEEK IS PICTURE MEMOIR MONDAY! Let’s get 50 people involved in it!
Ladies and gents, I’ll be honest. Every once in a while, I have a great deal of trouble pulling a memory out of this fat head of mine, dusting it off, and picking up the remains to type in some sort of legible form for y’alls enjoyment.
This week, however, proved to be an exception.
Yesterday was the beginning of the week.
I already want it to be over.
You see, my mom got me out of bed at 8 to help her move. She’s moving from a house that is pretty sizable, into a house that, while very nice, is about a third as big as the one she was in.
We received the information, “I’m packed and ready to go.”
I’ve gotten you some pictures:
This is packed picture number 1:
Number 2:
Here is what fell out of the couch as we were carrying through the doorway:
That’s a pencil, a butter knife, 3 cough drops and a plastic wrapper. McGuyver could turn that shit into a moving truck. That’s real.
And, for your viewing pleasure, this is The Youngest.
He is hard at work here, looking sexy for you ladies. Appreciate that.
I guess this would be Part 2.
You see, after I did all that moving business, I had to go to work.
5-10 shift, easy and slow.
Just like your mom. OH SNAP!
Or so I thought.
You see, my MANAGER was supposed to open the store at noon. I guess he decided that he didn’t want to do that, being the manager and all. He thought that I was supposed to open, and he was wrong. So the store didn’t get open till 3, and even then, he MADE ANOTHER EMPLOYEE OPEN instead of coming up there and doing it himself.
Yeah. He’s a douchefuck.
So he calls me, and wants me to go in earlier than 5, since he has forced someone to go up there that wasn’t supposed to. I say sure.
I showed up at 5.
Fuck my manager. That’s real.
When I get there, there is a line beginning to form at the poor sumbitch he’s got in there’s register. I had to go to the back to count the drawers, so I grab a key and get to it.
When I come back up front, the line is a bit longer, and the guy runnin the register is having some troubles. The customer he was helping was very patient and understanding, but such was not true for the rest of the customers, who were duly upset because the place of business that they usually frequent WASN’T FUCKING OPEN ON TIME. I had to step over and help the guy with the transaction, and shit started getting real.
The friction. It was palpable.
Anytension, finally someone broke. This guy, who from henceforth be known as The Bastard, spoke up and said, “Y’all need to hurry the hell up.”
I said, “Sir, we’re working as fast as we can.”TB: “Yeah? Well, you need to check me the hell out.”Me: “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you not to cuss in front of the customers.”TB: “Whatever. Just hurry the hell up.”Me: “Okay sir, please leave the store.”TB: “Yeah? You fatass. You’re so damn slow, you fatass.”Me: “How clever, sir. You made fun of the first thing you noticed about me.”
It was quiet for a second, and the line ERUPTED into laughter. The Bastard was quite literally LAUGHED out of the store. On his way out, and I shit you not, he THREW his movies at me. THREW. THE. MOVIES.
I ninja dodged that shit, and almost said, “Who’s slow now, bitch?”
I didn’t, because I think that would have crossed the line he did, and that’s not classy.
Was it over?
Naw.
Here’s Part 3.
At almost closing time, a middle aged Asian man walked up to the counter and asked me my thoughts on the movie Paranormal Activity. I haven’t seen it, because I don’t like scary movies, because I like to sleep at night. However, I told him I’d heard a lot of mixed reviews. He then said this:
“Well, my wife wanted it. I’ll give her shizzle about it if it’s bad.”
I’m going to give you a second to let that sink in…and while you’re waiting, here’s a picture of what the guy looked like.
It is at this point that I would just like to say:
Congratulations, Snoop. You win. You got the Asians. You had some competition with those Hello Kitty backpacks, but you win.
Yo bizzles. Fo rizzles, I’m out fo shizzle. Y’all keep it rizzle.
Other Non-Moving Truck Drives Down Memory Lane: (GO READ THEM!)
Corrie’s Memoir Monday: How To Handle Sibling Fighting.
Josh’s Memoir Monday: Part 2 – The Rest of the Story
Big Sis’ Memoir Monday: The Tooth Incident
Daffy’s Memoir Monday: An Italian and A Redneck or Helmets May Prevent Jail Time
Greg’s Memoir Monday: Rothenburg
Ed’s Memoir Monday: If Only I Had Owned A Black Leather Jacket.
LMJ’s Memoir Monday: Playing With Special Balloons.
Brandee’s Memoir Monday: Don’t Mess With The Kamden.
Kate’s Memoir Monday: ‘Tis The Season.
Nancy’s Memoir Monday: Tales From Middle School.
Erin’s Memoir Monday: The Aqua Net In My Purse, Or Why Those 80’s Bangs Didn’t Work Out So Well For Me.
Meeko’s Memoir Monday: My First Job.
Kys’ Memoir Monday: Johnny Depp Is The Only Pirate For Me.
LB’s Memoir Monday With A Moral: Don’t Bite The Hand That Feeds You!
Mandy’s Memoir Monday: On A Tuesday.