…for this week.
The only one I see though is Ally over at Two Normal Moms
Head on over to read her Memoir Monday, and I’ll be back to blogging when I feel like it.
It got to the point where my blog life was more stressful than real life, and that shit isn’t going to fly.
I got 99 problems but a blog ain’t one. That’s real.
I’m out.
Thats right, I’m not doing a Memoir Monday today. Don’t worry though, if you did one, I’ll link it up at the bottom of this post and direct everyone your way.
What I have for you today is something a little different, and not at all what you’re used to seeing here.
You see, there is this little girl, and she has cancer. Neuroblastoma to be exact. Here’s the kicker. She’s 16 months old.
I have some cancer experience. However, I cannot even fathom what these parents are going through, and I don’t want to. I’ll be honest when I say that I haven’t read much of the blog, which you can find here. I just know that the support that they are being shown is incredible, and I figure it’s my time to help in whatever miniscule way I can.
Brandy over at Think Tank Momma and I are going to be doing a weight loss challenge. From now until June 30th, we are going to be dropping some serious weight. All we ask you to do is sponsor us. You can give whatever you want per pound, and I can promise you that I will drop the weight. I weighed yesterday, I’m at 314 pounds. I have 114 more to my goal, but I’ve lost 56 so far.
Now this weight loss has even more of a purpose, but how much more is up to you.
Here is the button that Brandee made up for us.
Here is the button for the blog.
And here is the button to donate through Paypal.
Click on monkey to donate…please help!
So Brandee over at Think Tank Momma has this new thing where she asks people to post healthy recipes. It’s called Share a Spoon, or something like that, and anyway, it’s a wicked good way to get some ideas for a “lifestyle change” like I’m going through now.
This week it’s all about lunch, and I have a soup that will blow your socks off. So without further ado, here is the recipe. If you’ve ever been to Olive Garden and had their Zuppa Toscana soup, this tastes almost exactly like it, sans potatoes.
1 cup of spinach (I put spinach in everything. On a related note, I have a mysterious anchor tattoo on my lower arm.)
1 cup of red beans (I swear to God, if y’all use white beans for ANY of my recipes, you’re a racist.)
4 ounces of ground turkey (No fatass, you can’t use hamburger or sausage or bacon or ham or anything else. Use turkey, dammit, or I’ll be pissed.)
1 tblsp of garlic (You should really not plan on getting any afternoon delight after this soup.)
1/2 cup of diced onion (I like Vidalia, they’re sweet…like me!)
2 tblsps lowfat ranch dressing (Yes. As a matter of fact, I DO put ranch in everything. I’m from Oklahoma, bitch.)
1 cup of skim milk (Hell, you could use water that is heavily calcified, that’s all skim milk is.)
1 tblsp of olive oil (I think a serving size is 2 tblsps, but you really only need one.)
Saute the onion and garlic in the olive oil until soft. Don’t burn that shit, or you’ll wind up eating something that tastes like burnt hair wrapped around a tangled knot of broken dreams and cabbage farts. Appetizing, eh?
Add the ground turkey and COOK THOROUGHLY! Don’t play around with turkey. You start talking about “medium rare” turkey, and you’ll be pulling worms outta your butt faster than you can blink. Cook that shit, yo.
I’ll really be surprised if ANYONE wants to try this recipe now.
Then throw in the spinach, I really only like to use the frozen kind, but fresh would work. Just don’t use canned. Then add the red beans, stir it all up, and add the ranch dressing and milk. Stir to mix, bring to a boil, and let it simmah for about 10 minutes. It’ll be hotter than two muskrats makin whoopie in a wool sock in a dryer in the middle of August, so let that shit cool down a bit.
Enjoy plain, or with a few saltines, either way is a good choice. This soup is LOADED with protein, and it only has about 600 calories if you stick with 1 tablespoon of EVOO and skim milk. Everything I added is one serving size, but the end result might be enough to break into 2 portions, in which case you are cutting the calorie count in half, which is never a bad thing.
I ate this soup for dinner the other night, and it filled me smooth up. I didn’t want anything to snack on afterwards. It’ll definitely hold you after lunch until dinner, and might even help you make a smarter choice on dinner because you won’t be as hungry.
So there it is, my bowl to yours, my homemade soup. Y’all think of a name for it, I don’t feel like it.
Yesterday I tweeted for ideas to use for a “blog art show,” because I’m grasping for ideas on what to write.
I got two responses, which is two more than I expected, because God forbid y’all actually tweet back at me for anything.
Anyway, here you go!
The first one was done for Jeff over at Badly Drawn Monsters
Don’t ask me what kind of dinosaur that one on the right is. Near as I can tell, it’s a wingless pterodactyl.
The next one up is for Lauren over at (Mis)Adventures in Theatre, and it is my masterpiece for the day.
That is my interpretation of the song Poker Face, by Lady Gaga. Yes I know my characters have an absence of hands. That is the surrealism in my work.
Or something like that.
Yeah, I get bored easy. I’ll take requests for the next round though, you can just leave them in the comments.
Y’all have a good Tuesday.
(Hey y’all. This little thing is called Memoir Monday, and I’d be thrilled if you gave it a shot. Just jot down a story about yourself, grab my code down there, and I’ll link you up to be read by all my wonderful blog buddies. The only rule? It has to be true. I am personally doing what I can to help cure your case of the Mondays. Thanks for playing along!)
This is not a “no means no” story, and I didn’t try to start up a conversation with a woman or teenager in a dark alley somewhere.
I volunteered to be pepper sprayed. Yeah. I’m an idiot. And this wasn’t your every day, over the counter mace. This was 5 million Scouleville unit, law enforcement grade pepper spray. It was the real deal.
Let’s start at the beginning.
You’ve all heard me tell tales from the jail, and this is another. When I was in my late teens/early twenties, I worked for a local sheriff’s department. The stories from there would fill a book, like the time a penis touched someone’s nose, but probably a shorter book than most folks would want to read, unless of course you’re illiterate, then you really can’t even understand what I’m saying right now. Fuck you, you illiterate bastard. See? For all you know, I just told you that you have nice hair.
I’ve wandered a bit off track.
So this guy came to the jail one day, very official looking, badge and everything, and said he was there for our pepper spray training class. Said that if we wanted to use it, we had to go through training in order to know exactly what we were doing to people, the effects during and after spraying, and so on and so forth. We all sat down to listen to his lecture, which included a lot of “you should really use this as a last measure…blah blah blah.”
They’re CRIMINALS. If they so much as asked me politely for a roll of TP, I’d yell at them and pull my pepper spray out and ask, “You want some of this? Eh? Then shut the hell up!”
I wasn’t really liked by the general population.
That was fine with me, so long as they stayed on the other side of those bars.
After he finished with his lecture, he told us he would need a few volunteers to help demonstrate the debilitating effects of this wonderful spray. I of course jumped up to head out the door to get some inmates for this testing, because honestly, who else would we use? I mean, it was like having lab rats in cages back there.
The instructor took my getting up to be a sign of me volunteering, and so I was quickly escorted out to the “yard” which was a parking lot/smoking area for the trustees. Once there I was told to put my back against the wall and look up. It was at this point that I knew I was going to have a bad day.
“Here it comes!” and the spray hit me in the face. (PEPPER spray, you sick fuckers) Nothing. I didn’t feel a thing. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t burn, and I didn’t drop to the ground spasming in paroxysms of agonizing torment. I blinked a couple of times and said, “Oh. Is that it?” I WAS A HERO.
The instructor was pretty upset, and he decided to try again. He shook the can a bit, then said, “Here it comes!” and again caught me full in the face. The crowd of onlookers could only stare in astonishment as I wiped my face and said, “Nothing.”
The instructor was worked up real good at this point, and he decided to try a final time. “Here it comes!” Nothing. As in, nothing hit me in the face. I opened my eyes…and it was there. He finally had figured out what I was doing. Apparently, I have eyelids that are comparable to the finest steel traps. Seriously folks, I have bulletproof eyelids. I guess I was closing them each time the spray hit, because, well, I mean, who wouldn’t?
But the third time, he got me. I’m here to tell you guys, it fucking HURT. It was probably one of the most painful experiences of my life. I rubbed my eyes so much, it got in my nose. This produced snot like you wouldn’t believe, which I then moved back into my eyes, my hair, my ears, and my mouth. I stood in the drunk tank shower for 45 minutes trying to wash the pain away, much like that time in the alley with my scoutmaster…wait. No, wait. Pepper spray. That’s the story, right?
I finally got calmed down enough to talk, and one of the people I work with said, “Travis, can I take you anywhere?” I said, “Hell, it’s cooler.” The rest of the afternoon was a blur of pain and sniffling, and finally I was told I could go home. As I was walking out of the door, the officer that sprayed me said, “When you take a shower, make sure you lean forward so that residual spray doesn’t run down your body and get tangled up with your tackle.”
I didn’t listen.
Folks, that second round of pain was almost as bad as the first. Pepper spray on your balls is probably one of the worst feelings EVER.
Did I learn a valuable lesson about pepper spraying inmates? As much as I hate to say it, I sure did. I only sprayed on more the entire time I was there, and I really felt bad about it afterwards.
Moral of the story?
Always lean forward in the shower after you’ve been pepper sprayed because you volunteered on accident because you’re a cocky douche who thought inmates weren’t people.
Other Non-Pepper Sprayed Walks Down The Memory Alley Today: (GO READ THEM!)
Madmother’s Memoir Monday: Like Sands Through The Hour Glass…
Micki’s Memoir Monday: My Dad And The Epic Deodorant Fail.
Daffy’s Memoir Monday: Oh Yes, I SMASHED It.
Juicebox’s Memoir Monday: RAWRRR! Mighty Pipe Power!
Kate’s Memoir Monday: The Time I Left My Bra In A Bar.
Barb’s Memoir Monday: Meeting More Bloggers!
Brain: Hey guys!
Back: What the fuck do you want?
Brain: Umm… Well, I just thought…you know, that we should be getting up?
Back: You can kiss my ass. You try to move a muscle, I’ll ruin your day. Try me.
Legs: I’m with him on this. We need at least 8 more hours of downtime.
Brain: Seriously? I’m awake! You can’t expect me to lay here for 8 more hours!
Back: You’ll do it, or you’ll suffer the consequences.
Legs: Yeah, what he said.
Stomach: I don’t mean to be a bother or interrupt, but I’m feeling a bit neglected here too.
Brain: You shut the hell up, Stomach. You talk to me one more time, and I’ll cut you off.
Stomach: Okay… I’m sorry.
Brain: That’s right you are. You kicked my ass this weekend, and now it’s my turn. Salad. That’s all you’re ever going to eat again.
Stomach: But a steak sounds so goo…
Brain: I SAID SHUT THE HELL UP!
Stomach: Okay…
Back: Are you a stomach or a pussy?
Penis: HEY! I HEARD THAT!
Back: Yeah, yeah. Sorry.
Brain: I feel like we need to do some negotiations…
Legs: Alright, whaddya got?
Brain: Just let me get up, we’ll skip the morning exercise, cook a nice fatty breakfast that will give me no energy, and then just sit in the recliner.
Back: That sounds pretty good… What do you think, Legs?
Legs: I like it, but this slick fucker tricked us the last time.
Brain: I did. And I apologize for that, I really do. But I’m being honest here, guys. This time I’m for real.
Legs: How do we know you’re not lying? How do we know that you’re not going to get on the Bowflex, and eat a big bowl of *shudder* oatmeal?
Brain: That deception is a part of my past. It’s a new lazy leaf I’ve turned over today. Hell, it’s so lazy, I’m not even going to turn it over. Fuck healthy. You have my word.
Stomach: YAY!
Brain/Legs/Back: SHUT UP!
Legs: Alright man, I’m going to trust you. I’ll give you some leg power here… There ya go… Alright, I’m on the floor, Back, you got it from her?
Back: You swear you aren’t tricking us again?
Brain: I swear man. Honest Injun.
Back: Alright, here ya go… Nice and easy… Yep, you’re up and ready to go.
Brain: HA! I’m going to take a shower, work on the Bowflex, eat oatmeal, and EXERCISE LATER! And, for your insolence, I will work harder today!
Legs/Back: DAMMIT!!!
Back: You just wait till tomorrow morning…
Brain: We all know I’m smarter than you. I will win again tomorrow morning too.
Penis: Hey, you got time to rub one out?
And this is why I am constantly late for work.
(Hey y’all. This little thing is called Memoir Monday, and I’d be thrilled if you gave it a shot. Just jot down a story about yourself, grab my code down there, and I’ll link you up to be read by all my wonderful blog buddies. The only rule? It has to be true. I am personally doing what I can to help cure your case of the Mondays. Thanks for playing along!)
Well, if you missed it, you should probably be kicking yourself pretty hard right now.
Go on. I’ll wait.
IT WAS AWESOME! TAR 2010 went off without any major hitches, and Daffy, Coffeypot, Jeff, Ed, Bambi, Barb, Kid Funk, The Missus and I all had a blast!
P.S. You can click on most of those names for links to blogs.
The Missus, Kid Funk and I literally skidded into Missouri via hydroplaning early Friday afternoon, and then we had all kinds of adventures with retarded Missouri semi truck drivers. I swear, if it wasn’t for the fact that my little Japanese built car wouldn’t be crushed beneath them, therefore ending our lives, I would have gone head to head with some of them. We also outran tornadoes and huge storms the whole way up, but we made it to The Lou relatively unscathed. The weather took the “Tornado Alley Roundup” moniker a bit too seriously.
We checked in, met everyone but Daffy and Jeff, who would arrive later, and then the fun began. By fun, I mean free drinks in the hotel lobby. Folks, I’m not kidding when I say this; I am the fattest lightweight you’ll ever meet. I was 3 drinks in and feeling pretty good, and we all ran across the street to go to the Hard Rock, where I had never been.
What followed was proof positive why I should never drink, and I am absolutely sure there will be pictures to go along. I wound up dancing the YMCA in front of the entire restaurant with a lesbian who kept wanting to lead, and we may or may not have had a dance off. Since I have two moves, the Moneymaker and the Bunny-Hop, she won quite soundly. I got a free drink mixer in the shape of a guitar, so I’m calling that a win. Between all of us gentlemen, I’m also fairly sure that there wasn’t a waitress in the place that didn’t get sexually harassed.
When we left, it was raining, and so it was quite the little run back over to the hotel, which sobered us up, so we had to drink more beers in the hotel bar. Daffy showed up, Bambi and Barb left us for good to go to some wedding that we couldn’t crash, and then everyone pretty much went to bed. Kid Funk spent about 30 drunken minutes trying to “set the auto feature” on the coffee machine in the room, which turned out not only to be broken, but also to have never featured an auto option. The Missus and I slept in a single full size bed, and I have to tell you, since the Tyra show, when we last did that, we’re about 70 pounds lighter, and so it was a lot easier, but still wicked lame.
Day two brought us round to the free hotel breakfast, a swim in the pool for myself and The Funk, some hot tubbin, and then we all gathered up to figure out the events for the day, which turned out to be the worst planning job in the history of time. We went out to the Arch, and you have my word, it is still standing. One of the security guards was a Duke fan, so he was cool. This was also where we met up with Jeff, and I even waved to him while he was stuck on a bridge. Speaking of Duke, Ed was a very good sport about having to hold up his end of the bet and wear a Duke hat all weekend.
.jpg)
After the Arch, pretty much all plans fell apart, and we went to the mall thing they had there at Union Station. That was a blast, mostly because Coffeypot told penis jokes during lunch, and Daffy told lame jokes about vaginas being licked while she colored. We have video of that, but there is also video of me dancing, so I won’t draw till you do, guys.
.jpg)
From there we decided to go our separate ways for a bit, get refreshed for some bar hopping in the evening. Jeff and I decided to go down to the pool, where we chilled in the hot tub for a bit before meeting the ENTIRE CAST of Jersey Shore. I shit you not, and These folks were dead ringers, and they were every bit as stupid. They were there from Arkansas for a bachelor party, I really don’t think I have to say more, but here is a picture to clear it up.
.jpg)
Then we got drunk. Jeff, The Missus, Kid Funk and myself all had a little drinking time in our room, and there was Jager, 151, beers, and more Jager. That was NOT including the gin and tonics I had, the margaritas The Missus had, and the beers we all had for the free drinking time in the lobby. Shit got real, folks.
.jpg)
We got downstairs to meet up with everyone, and it was there that we discovered a drunk Cards fan passed out in a chair in the middle of the lobby. I got called an asshole by the desk clerk, but I managed to get a picture, and then later I got a video as they put him on a luggage cart to take him back to the room. That will follow later.
.jpg)
I’ll be real honest when I tell you I don’t remember a lot about the evening. I remember that Coffeypot drove us around, I remember winding up seeing a Lamborghini in the parking lot of the Four Seasons hotel and casino I was in briefly, and I remember sitting out in the street having the best damn bruschetta and the worst damn calamari I’ve ever had in my life, watching about 34 brides to be go by enjoying bachelorette parties. From there, I know we left, and I know I got back to the room, and I know I woke up the next morning.Of course, this can only be confirmed because I am typing this up now.
.jpg)
Kid Funk and Coffeypot
.jpg)
Me and The Missus
These are just a few of the pictures, but I will post more later this week. I made all of the TAR folks promise to put up a Memoir Monday today, so be sure to check back often for updates today! This was definitely the most fun I’ve had in a LONG time, and I definitely can’t wait for a sequel, which I hope you’ll all join!
.jpg)
Other Memoir Monday’s This Week. (GO READ THEM!)
Ed’s Memoir Monday: TAR 2010
Kid Funk’s Memoir Monday: TAR 2010
Coffeypot’s Memoir Monday: TAR 2010
Daffy’s Memoir Monday: TAR 2010
Jeff’s Memoir Monday: TAR 2010
Barb’s Memoir Monday: TAR 2010
Bambi’s Memoir Monday: TAR 2010
BigSis’ Memoir Monday: I Hold The Lock, But Who Holds The Key?
Lauren’s Memoir Monday: That Time I Was Homeless. (Kind of)
Angel’s Memoir Monday: Double Dipping Again.
Dame’s Memoir Monday: Confessions Of A Former Control Freak.
Taylor’s Memoir Monday: The Evil That Is Mary Kay.
Annie’s Memoir Monday: I Love You, But I Want To Kill You.
Madmother’s Memoir Monday: Wandering With A Wise Woman.