We saw a lot of colleges represented today at our weekly hunting/gathering expedition to the Land Of Evil, i.e., Wal-Mart. I had on Dexter's outgrown hoodie that has a small Sparty on it. Until you look closely, it appears that Sparty is flying the bird, but actually, he's pointing his index finger. I love that shirt. The frozen wing selection was quite depleted, I had to get store brand bleu cheese dressing (it was that or Kraft low fat and really what's the point then?) and too bad I don't own Anheuser Busch stock, because I'd be a rich girl. Add in the threat of the Great Blizzard Of 2013 and Wal-Mart was particularly annoying. Martin was thrilled to announce that he got the last multi-roll package of Angel Soft*.
I'm relieved to see that both Michigan State and Memphis are wearing normal uniforms, not ridiculous costumes. A couple of the coaches need to invest in some better suits. Seriously guys, I know you can't afford Tom Ford, but at least hit the Burlington Coat Factory or Men's Warehouse and skip JC Penney. Coach Izzo always looks nice, as if he puts some thought into it. Bob Crean has a nice sense of color and texture. Hey, what's the NCAA tournament without a little fashion commentary? The girls over at Fug could pick up a few straight guy readers if they'd just feature NCAA playoff uniforms.
The Memphis coach is like twelve. He's chewing gum and I have to wonder if its grape Bubbilicious and I keep expecting him to blow a huge bubble any time now.
Charles Barkely is adorable. I want to put him in my pocket and take him home. Except I bet he eats an incredible amount. He's just so huge and so adorable, like puppies and rainbows and unicorns adorable. I want to pinch his cheeks and I bet he gives wonderful hugs. He's wearing a vest, normally the kiss of death unless you're a four year old boy, but on him, it's adorable. Now I'm inspired to watch his episode of Saturday Night Live, where he was adorable. (Love you, Netflix. You give me old SNL and Frasier. That helps me overlook the endless Dr. Who, Top Gear and original Star Trek.)
The Adorable Charles sounds sick today. Allergies or a bad cold. Still such a gentleman/good sport, he is still there, commenting. (He just sang! Adorable.)
Who the hell ever heard of Florida Gulf Coast University? I sure haven't until today. They beat Georgetown. This is why I watch this tournament.
Mia's latest career path is a dog/cat vet and moving zoo animals. How thrilled do you think I would be if she went to State? I have two cousins and an aunt within 20 minutes of E.L. and I would certainly not hesitate to
The Brit has this obsession with paper products. I think he ran out of toilet paper once and now, every time he goes to a store, any store, even a gas station that has a grocery section, he buys the biggest package he can find. I have enough paper towels, toilet paper and Kleenex to soak up Lake Michigan. I will be wiping my butt in high style far into the Apocolypse.
Life Lesson Of March 23, 2013
If you have horribly bleached spaghetti texture hair with a huge pink (badly) dyed poof of pink at the front and no teeth (meth is a wonderful drug), no one is going to take you seriously. Ever. About anything. And calling me a stupid bitch whore? And asking why am I even there, why do I have that job? I have to keep my mouth shut but let me know when you have ever shifted your lumpy ass off the couch and did something so crazy as get a job. But you can't, since you're "disabled". It's obviously not physical, since you get around just fine, especially to smack your kids in public. If it's a mental issue, you can't possibly be on your meds and act the way you do, so maybe you should get a job and let someone who is truly disabled collect that exorbiant amount of money you get for sitting on your lumpy ass on the couch.
Oh wait. I've seen your mother. With whom you still live at the age of thirtysomething. Explains a lot. Starting with the importance of dental care.
Michigan State 70 Memphis 48.
Lucas Oil Friday. I should be there. I am off on Friday for the holiday. (Sound of wheels turning/grinding.)
My mother-in-law has stage 7 Alzheimer's disease. It's a terrible disease. Her mind is somewhere to the southeast of Jupitar. She lived with us for a year. When we finally placed her in a nursing home, the doctor was amazed we had dealt with it that long. I was her primary caregiver. I am obviously an inherently evil person, because the pillow crossed my mind more that once.
I had a plate of Chinese food thrown at me.
We put combination locks on the front and back door to prevent unauthorized escape.
I could only leave my house when a nursing aide was here and that was chancy at best. Public comments included, while dining at IHOP and observing two late middle age woman who were obviously Indiana Farm Girls, "I wonder if they're lesbians?" and in Meijer, while sitting on the meat case while I park the cart near you, while you systematically remove my items and stick them in the meat case while I continue the shopping, "At least we're the right color."
Let me note, I am in no way built or inclined to deal with getting my ass kicked. I am forever grateful to those sweet fellow Hoosiers who could only say, "Oh honey. Bless your heart." And didn't kick my ass or take it personally.
Clothing was hidden so it was not worn all at the same time. It really is possible to put on three pair of pants at once, you know. Of course, one pair will be worn on the arms. In August. In Indiana. Where the tempertures this summer reached the Ninth Circle Of Hell ranges. As you do.
Sample conversation, taking place at 1:30 a.m.:
THAT WOMAN: Brit! Who is that woman in our bed? (hitting and slapping said woman)
BRIT: What the hell, Mum? Go back to bed.
TW: Get that slut out of our bed! (hitting and slapping said slut.)
BRIT: (big sigh) Come on, Mum, back to bed. She's my wife, you're my mother.
TW: (Hysterical laughter) I'm your mother! Ha!
Fists were thrown.
Hair was pulled.
Hot mugs of tea were hurled. Amazingly, not by me.
Depends were hidden. (Suprise Lisa! A smelly little treat for you!)
Bennie the Dog was tormented and nearly fretted himself to death.
We are assured that she will be granted Medicaid, since the $10,000 weeks at the locked Alzheimer's unit are ludicrous, but it's a fight. Even though the Brit's Dad worked for General Motors and has excellent Blue Cross, Alzheimer's is covered 50%.
It's the $10,000 a week place or a place that won't take care of her but will house her, shove serious tranks down her throat and let her play in her own shit.
Please explain to me again why national health care is a bad idea.
Privacy And My Sense of Cringe or Dubya Is An Artist
Was anyone really surpried when the head FBI dude pretty much admitted at some geek conference that they track everything?
Every time our doorbell rings unexpectedly, I assume the Eff Bee Eye has finally come to get me. After all, they see my Internet browsing history and know which books I have checked out of the library and who I call and what I text and obviously, I am a disturbed individual. Crime, and death, and 9/11 Truth (still don't wholly buy it, but it makes me ponder), and cooking and all those lefty books about minimum wage and hate crimes and the memoirs, oh the memoirs alone would send me away.
I love a good conspiracy theroy as much as the next girl, but I do always feel like I've got Big Brother right next to me. When I first heard that someone had hacked Dubya's email, after the inital shock of realizing he actually could figure out email wore off, I shuddered at the invasion of his privacy.
Then,those three little words popped into my mind.
War. In. Iraq.
And then, four more.
Weapons. Of. Mass. Destruction.
Yeah, sorry, Dubya. Your email got hacked. At least no one died in combat as a result of that, right?
Boo effing hoo.
You paint some weird shit. I think you need glasses because you're perspective is whack.
Side note: Best comment on Gawker is "Barbara is going to run out of room on the refrigerator."