Tag Archives: Leahwould

A Prince’s Meal

The other day, J and I took his kiddo to the library for a little while to enjoy some books. When we walked in, I glanced over the rows of children’s books, nostalgia taking hold. I remember wandering through aisles like those when I was shorter than the shelves, and picking out hardback-covered books full of my favorite characters like Clifford and Amelia Bedelia.

In total, Lil Guy picked out about 5-6 books to read. We carried them to the comfy chairs set up at the south end of the library to have some adventures in our imaginations. Among the books chosen, there was one that involved a Prince and his eating habits. I will not name the book or the author here, but I’m sure you can google it and figure out what it is.

This book begins with our main characters, the Prince (who is around five or six years old) and his mother and father. It tells of how the Prince will only eat dry toast and nothing else, because he is such a picky eater. Throughout the pages, the King and Queen take their son to various lands so that he may try all the fare of the entire world, from the western hemisphere to the eastern!

At this point, I’m thinking “Wow! What a nice way to introduce different food cultures to young children!”

But, at every part of the world, the Prince refuses to eat a thing. Absolutely nothing. As much as his mother and father rave about the tastes and the wonders, he remains stubborn, with his mouth shut tight.

Here is where I begin to think, “How the fuck is this kid still alive?? It takes several, several days to travel the world, especially since they aren’t flying!! He couldn’t possibly be alive if he didn’t eat SOMEthing!! Is there a part of the book where the parents are making him eat?? Is he sneaking food and just messing with his parents so he can travel the world??? This kid must be malnourished as fuck!”

Towards the end of the book, the last place the family visits is Africa. The boy has yet to give in and try anything whatsoever. His parents keep trying and trying, showing them their faces of pleasure and how much they are enjoying the wonderful cuisine. They urge and urge the young Prince, but to no avail.

At this part in the book, I’m thinking, “This must have a Dr. Seuss sort of twist and any moment, the boy will finally give in, try something, and then be so delighted that they would travel back to all the places and he would happily eat everything presented to him. A sort of “Sam I Am” affect! Where else could the story possibly go??”

Then, I turned the page.

What happened next was a native of the country, someone who appeared to be an old, wise man, came strolling by. He asked what was wrong, and the parents explained their plight.

“Here is the moment.” I thought. “The moment where the wise old man convinces the young boy to merely taste ONE morsel…and it will all be over from there. You shall have your day, Sam I Am!!!”

But continued to read, I saw the picture of the old man pull a bottle from his bag. A red bottle. (I looked at J, and he was making the same face as me. A face that said “Wait a second…is that…?? NO! No Fucking way!….”

WAY.

It was a damn bottle of Ketchup!!! The “wise” man explained to the kid that he could just PUT KETCHUP ON EVERYTHING, AND IT WOULD TASTE GOOD!! The Prince totally fell for it!! He tried the ketchup, and loved it, and proceeded to put KETCHUP on ALL OF THE WORLDLY FOODS!!

At the end of the book, J and I were both flabbergasted!!!! Of course, J’s Lil Guy didn’t see an issue and was ready for the next book. (Thank GOODNESS, I don’t THINK it put any subconscious thoughts in his mind.)

I couldn’t help but continue to wonder, though… WHAT was the point of that?? Were they TRYING to teach kids that it’s okay to not eat what’s put in front of you, unless there is ketchup on it?? Was the author saying that KETCHUP is the God of all foods!! That it is some magic liquid that makes all the vile tastes of the world magnificent??

SERIOUSLY!!????

I’m sure the author has a child who only eats ketchup on everything, and decided to write about it. But for the LOVE OF MAN, why would you want to spread that as a message to young minds!!???

It should have been cheese. ;)

Just the Tip

When I exited my car, there was nothing unusual about the night. It was around nine o’clock, and my intentions were to spend the remainder of the evening watching television with The Boyfren, while sipping beer and laughing profusely (because Rick & Morty).

It was the perfect plan for a Monday.

As I stood up from the driver’s seat, I glanced into the neighbor’s driveway. What sat there, curiously peering at me, was a fuzzy brown and white cat. It made me smile.  I had seen this cat before and knew that was a sweet one.  I quickly made plans in my head to pet this kitty before heading into the house.

While devising my strategy for approaching the feline without scaring it away, and watching the cat to make sure I knew where it went if it moved, I absentmindedly swung my car door shut…RIGHT ONTO MY PINKY FINGER!! I’m not talking a “shut and bounce back due to finger being in the way” sort of swing, either!  That fucker LATCHED on me!!!

My initial reaction was shock! As quickly as it happened, I reached over with my other hand and opened the door, freeing my now-bleeding pinky finger.  Luckily, I had smashed just the tip.  (Zing!)

At this point, I was thinking to myself that the cute cat could go fuck itself! It was probably laughing inside with the most adorably evil kitty laugh.

Now my goals for the next hour changed from petting cats and laughing at television to the following:

  1. Do not klutzily hit finger on any object while rushing into the restroom.
  2. Assess the wound.
  3. Do not faint.
  4. Clean the wound.
  5. Continue NOT fainting.
  6. Bandage the wound.
  7. Seriously follow through on the not-fainting goal.
  8. Make Boyfren bring ice pack and pain-numbing shots of liquor to me for the rest of the night.
  9. Do not faint.

I know it can be difficult to achieve all of one’s goals in a night, but I can say I succeeded this time.

Now, three days later, I have a black and purple fingernail, and a pinky that is truly pissed at me for typing this up…because it hurts.

New life goals to add to already existing ones:

  1. Stop breaking fingers.
  2. Do not be distracted by cats when car doors are open.
  3. Do not faint.

Evil Lurks

I swear, there was murder in its eyes—all eight of its eyes lusted for my blood. I didn’t see him at first, but I could feel that evil gaze as soon as I walked into my bedroom.  I had just exited the shower and my only goal was to dry my hair in peace.  As I reached for the hair-dryer, I glanced something dark and sinister in my peripheral vision.  It was above me, on the wall—the most fuzzy, black arachnid I had ever seen!  He wasn’t gigantic, but he was formidable in size enough so that I jumped back in terror.  Staring directly at me, he began to move across the wall in my direction.  He was either murderous, completely pervy, or BOTH!

It was decision time! This spider had to go!  I grabbed a shoe…but then I stopped.  If I smacked at this thing and missed, it would merely fall to the floor, and would land directly in my open bins full of makeup, etc.  At that point, he could potentially escape into the mess of things, recuperate, and then carry out his revenge on me later as I slept!

What were my other options? He was too high on the wall for me to try to catch him and release him to the wild.  I could have gone to the next room to grab some sort of bug spray with which I could attack him, but I was afraid that if I turned my back at all, he would escape and hide from me, while of course plotting my demise.  My contemplations increased, and I began to panic.

This is the instant, that crucial turning point, where the boyfren walked into my house. That moment looked like this:

He walked up to my bedroom door (unbeknownst to me) and peered in, puzzled, to find that I was standing there stark naked, holding one shoe like a baseball about to be pitched, but frozen in place, staring up at the wall, and yelling at my cats, “Why don’t you two do your jobs?? Why can’t you track down and kill the spiders?? YOU HAVE ONE RESPONSIBILITY IN THIS HOUSE BESIDES LICKING YOUR ASSHOLES, AND THAT IS TO KILL THE CREEPY/CRAWLY THINGS!!!”

With poise and ease, Justin grabbed a Kleenex, and disposed of the murderous perv-spider. JUST LIKE THAT!  As if it was a simple gesture!

My hero!

Now…I simply wait for the spider’s family to avenge his death. They always do.  (Isn’t this like the tenth blog I’ve written about spiders????)

Monday Wins

This morning, I awoke ready for more sleep (typical). I had to muster all my strength just to drag myself out of bed and into the shower.  I had just finished shaving one of my legs when something abruptly startled me.  An alarm started loudly to go off!  Sounding repeatedly, it was an ear-piercing, dreadful beeping that nearly made me fall to the ground in surprise.  I immediately turned off the water in the shower and grabbed a towel (Fuck it—I’ll just leave this soap all over myself!), all while the huge beep resounded in the house.  At this point, I wasn’t sure if I was hearing the blasting of a smoke alarm or the carbon monoxide detector, and started to wonder if I was going to keel over dead right there on the spot!

The cats were freaking out. They both darted around like little bolts of black and white fur lighting.  It was a further challenge for me not to trip on the little punks.

I bolted to the origin of the sound, dripping a trail of water as I moved along, and HOPING my feet wouldn’t slip out from under me! I found where the noise was originating and was slightly relieved to realize it was indeed the smoke alarm, and not some “hidden odorless killer gas alarm”.  I snatched the it from the wall, and pressed the button.  No change!!  Still an enormous BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!!!!!!!

“What, what whaaaat??? Why doesn’t the reset button work??  Is there invisible smoke here?? Is this thing haunted??  AM I ABOUT TO DIE????”

There was no other choice… I had to disassembling the thing. I couldn’t pull it apart at first, and my ears thought they were dying from the loud noise reverberating through the house!  I momentarily debated on throwing it against the ground as hard as I could to try to break it open, while at the same time vaguely wondering if blood was dripping out of my ear canals, because the sound felt THAT painful!  After some seconds of fumbling, I was finally able to remove the battery, and that made the insanity-invoking bleeps stop!

In short, this was me this morning:

Naked, dripping soapy water all over the floor, battling a smoke alarm, hoping not to die with only one shaved leg.

Happy Monday, Ya’ll!

Classy…Maybe?

We (my band and I) played a show last Saturday night. It went extremely well, and the venue was spectacular.

Well…except one, teensy thing…

When I arrived, there was an hour before we took the stage. The crowd in the room was thick, and pushing my way through the steampunk-themed guests was a challenge.  Approximately 10 minutes passed before I made my way from the front door to the coat rack and then to the back of the room, where the stage was set up.  At that time, it occurred to me that Mother Nature was calling.  I glanced around the area and could not find where the restrooms were located.  I found someone who had been there since the event began and asked, discovering that they were near the entrance of the huge hall, from where I’d just fought through throngs of people to escape to the stage!

Well…it’s either fight my way back through the hoards or pee my panties…

So the challenge was on! I felt like a rogue, helplessly outnumbered, darting and squeezing through the crowd. Five minutes later, I was back to the front of the building, and soon, I knew, sweet release would come my way!

I ambled into the Women’s room, and immediately headed to the furthest stall. On my final approaching step, my foot slipped from under me!  Stumbling slightly, I did not fall to the ground, but that is how I noticed there was a puddle there.  I glanced at the water under my foot with momentary puzzlement, and then peered into the stall.  The toilet bowl was filled to the brim with water!  It had obviously overflowed at one point and the damage had not yet been contained.

FUCK!!! I’m standing in piss-water!!???  (At that moment, I had a flashback to the last time something like this happened to me: https://leahwould.com/2014/11/18/1321/ )

Nature was still calling at that moment, and I decided to put the fact out of my mind that someone else’s diluted urine was now on my shoe. I entered the second stall, and at a glance, re-exited a split second later.

This one, too???

A quick peek into the final open stall confirmed my fear—all three toilets were filled to the brim with light-yellow water and wads of toilet paper.

Oh Fucking Craptastic! I have THREE People’s diluted piss-water on my shoe!!!!!!!

I had to find a different bathroom, and fast, because if I didn’t, I’d be adding more UNDILUTED piss to my shoes…and the floor. I looked at the sink for a moment.

Hmm…that COULD be…NO! No effing way… I was NOT peeing in the sink at an upscale fucking venue!! Put the thought out of your mind, Leah! JEEZ!!!

I rushed out of the room and immediately reported the issue to the table of volunteers next to the front door. When I asked where a different bathroom was located, I received three bewildered stares.  These girls had no idea where another one was.  I’m willing to bet they were starting to panic, themselves, due to the fact that drinks were in abundance and they would likely need the facilities soon as well.

One of them pointed towards a man in a police uniform and told me that he might know where another bathroom could be found. I asked him, and his response was unexpected.  I figured maybe there was a single stall upstairs…or somewhere in the back of the building.

NO.

He explained that the bathroom I could use would be found in a different building altogether! I had to walk outside in the freezing cold temperature, while wearing my short, sleeveless dress and heels, to the end of the block, and into that corner building!  That is where I would find salvation.

OH! Is that all!!?

Not to mention I was still holding back Niagra Falls, because at this point, the entire can of Monster Energy Drink I’d slammed in under 10 minutes beforehand had decided to rear its ugly head in the form of “YOU GOTTA PEE NOW!!!!”

So I began the trek down the block. The temperature was bitter and the wind chill was even worse.

Well…at least if I piss myself, it’ll probably freeze instantly into a giant pee-cicle that I could merely chuck down that alleyway or something…

I arrived at the corner building, and walked into the front door. In the back of that room, I saw a group of ladies in a huddle, talking.  I assumed they were there for the bathroom, too.

“Hi! Are you waiting for the bathroom??”

They all gave me a knowing smile and said that they were finished with that single-room restroom…. But there was criteria to using it…

Criteria???? What?? There are bathroom rules for using the BACKUP Bathroom??? What the fuck??

One woman continued, “The water pipes leak, so you have to turn the water off after using the bathroom. It’s turned off now, so just turn it Lefty Loosy (Yes, she felt the need to tell me which way to turn it, as if I was some sort of idiot.) to turn the water back on, and be careful, because it sprays out a bit when you do that, and then when done, turn it Righty tighty!  Remember, Lefty loosy first, and then righty tighty when finished!”  (I am quoting this person.)

I nodded, but pretty sure my mouth was agape at the fact that not only was this bathroom messed up, but the way this woman talked to me like a child was seriously disturbing.

I entered the bathroom as the gaggle of women exited the building. Sure enough, as I turned the water on, there was a bit of a spray-back, but I dodged it.  I smiled, because FINALLY, I would have reprieve.

And I did….

As I finished, I heard another group of people walk into the next room. I made mental note to tell them about the water situation as I walked to the sink to wash my hands.

While distracted by my thoughts, I pumped the soap….IT SHOT STRAIGHT TOWARDS ME!! The soap’s aim was apparently NOT my hand that was poised underneath its spout, but instead, my dress and legs!!

I stood, frozen, for just a moment, with soap on the bottom of my dress and running down my leg!

Fuck!! I have to take the stage in thirty minutes, and now I look like I have a load of jizz all over me!! DAMN IT!!!!!!! And where are the paper towels!!???

Frantically, I look around the tiny room. After thirty seconds of sheer panic, I found refuge in a small cabinet.  I wipe my legs and frantically scrubbed at the bottom of my black (with a now-whitish spot) dress.  I can hear the people outside of the door becoming impatient.

I peered down at my dress, thankful that the lights onstage should hide the fact that there was now a guilty-looking spot in a not-very-inconspicuous place.

Fuck it.

I made my exit.

I gave a quick warning about the broken water and the soap monster, all the while not making eye contact with the new victims of the bathroom. Hopefully their luck would be better than mine.

Soon after this debacle, I took the stage, and I held everything in my bladder for the rest of the night.

A Fate of Fire

It’s never a pleasant experience to wake up and realize you slept in the wrong position. The body decides to punish this mistake by throwing a kink in your neck…or your shoulder…or BOTH.  This was me on Saturday morning.  Then it followed me all day….like a little kink-puppy.

I made the assumption that another night’s sleep would force it away. We all know what assuming does, though, and Sunday morning brought the pain!  I stretched, I massaged it, I rolled my back with a foam roller, and even rolled a tennis ball under my shoulder blade.  (THIS was extremely painful as well.)  All this to no avail.

Luke offered to drive to the store and purchase some muscle rub cream, and I consented. Upon his return, the cream was rubbed into my neck, right shoulder, and part of my back.

What came next was not expected. My skin burst into metaphorical flames!

Holy shit!! This is how this works??  They distract you from your regular pain by giving you pain that is equal to what one finds in the depths of hell???  Or was I turning into a lava beast!??

Damn; damn; damn!! Lava beasts can’t have pet cats! Or boyfriends…or any friends, for that matter!!  I wasn’t ABOUT to let this happen.

I began to frantically wipe at my skin with a towel.

Luke looked at me, questioningly. “Don’t do that! You’ll wipe it off!”

“That’s sort of the POINT!! It’s trying to kill me! It wants to ruin my LIFE!!!”

I had demon slime on my skin, and he wanted me to LEAVE it there!!? NO!!!

Luke then explained that creams like IcyHot had about 2.5% of the working ingredient, and the cream I had slathered all over my skin contained 10% of the stuff!

Lashes!! I’d been given lashes with whips covered in razor blades and fire!!  This was no cream!  It was all a lie!!  How did I manage to consent to this!!??

I wanted to curl into a fetal position while cuddling with ice cubes, but I resisted. If I could get through this, then I could handle anything.  A walk on the sun would be mere child’s play to me after THIS!  In fact, the sun would have to be my home.  A lava monster can’t live on earth.

The minutes seemed like years. I sat there, burning, and contemplating my fate.

Finally, slowly, but surely…it ended. I survived.  I conquered.

Today, my neck continues to hurt. I’ll let it.  I’ve been to hell.  I’m not going back.  I escaped the fate of becoming the Lava Monster.

Now, I face Monday.

Related: I have some CVS Muscle Rub in my purse, currently, if anyone else wants to taste death.  I’m keeping it handy for my enemies.

The Day is Only Half Over…

Things you MIGHT have learned today:
– A cat is not an effective alarm clock. Even if it does want and beg for food at 5:00am, it will likely snuggle you back to sleep…at least for awhile…. before waking you up to the sounds of ripping book-pages next to your head. Even the gagging sound of a cat barfing will not necessarily wake you up, though you’ll be busting out some interesting dance moves after arising from bed and stepping in kitty vomit.

– As sanitizing as it may seem to use hot water to clean various objects, the same is not true for merely any scalding liquid. It would NOT behoove you to accidentally use coffee to clean your keyboard. It turns out that it merely makes things a bit stickier than before. A can of air will effectively spray and splash the liquid from the keys to all over your computer screen and desk, so using it to clean up the aforementioned spilled coffee is also a bad idea.

– The moment you realize the seam is coming undone NEXT to your zipper in your pants is the moment you realize that not ONLY do you need to lose a few…or twenty…pounds, but it’s ALSO the moment you know you should probably not stand or walk around too much at work while wearing those un-fitting pants. Also, those slacks are bastards. They should be destroyed, along with your bathroom scale. (Obviously, your ass and thighs are doing a good job of obliterating them, though, so at least you got that going for you.)

– Relying on ONLY caffeinated beverages for breakfast is potentially a bad idea. Relying on Cheez Its for lunch…is an even worse idea.

– Do not try to un-jam your co-worker’s electric stapler with objects from your desk. You’ll likely end up with staple-remover induced cuts on your hand and a failed attempt at being mechanically inclined. Besides that, look at all the paper clips you just ruined!!

Klutz Factor Today: Level 7

Blunders happen.

So does gravity.

Especially when it comes to me.

And, of course, oatmeal has to be involved as well.

It wouldn’t be a typical Monday without me slopping Quaker’s Oatmeal onto my shirt…..and pants…WHILE AT WORK.

Of course, grabbing the nearest thing next to me to clean it up resulted in Kleenex dissolving onto my just-washed, black slacks.

So now there is a light-colored stain right next to the crotch of my pants….and on the boob of my shirt.

Welcome to my life.

Power…Jinxed.

All I really wanted was some morning caffeine.  Just a little bit of energy….Oh! Who am I kidding?? I wanted ALL THE ENERGIES coursing through my veins!!!!  I wanted to be able to SLAM THROUGH WALLS, to TOPPLE DOWN THE ROOFTOPS, to……

Okay–Not really………I had no desire to smash walls or buildings or any other “Hulkish” activities.

My desire, TRULY, was to consume an energy drink…of ANY sort!  Sure, typically I prefer to drink a Monster, but since I had no time today to run  to the store to buy one, I mentally settled on purchasing whatever drink was available in the first floor’s vending machine.  My mind was set…even though I didn’t want to be tempted by all the beautiful junk items downstairs, I had to take that risk….for me….for caffeine…..FOR MANKIND.

I forced Heather to join me in my trek…no one wants to endure a “walk of shame” alone.

The elevator ride down the eleven floors was electric with anticipation; I smiled at what I knew would be coming my way.

One minute later, Heather and I stood before the glorious, food/beverage-giving machines.  I quickly skimmed the rows of drinks, and my hopes began to diminish….I couldn’t see anything but soda, juice, and water.

BUT THEN………..

There it was.  The row on the bottom left held the power.  The drink stood proudly in a shiny, red can with the word, “VENOM” plastered across the front.  The words continued around the can, and all I could see of them was “Death Adde…..”

This….was…THE ONE.  It was death in a can, and I WANTED IT.  I could almost feel the energy flowing through the vending machine glass….

A smile spread across my face as I read the price: $2.25; I had brought $8 with me.  I was FULLY prepared.

I fed the appliance my three dollar bills and pressed the designated Letter/Number combination for the can of joyness.

The arm-like apparatus for retreiving beverages began moving up…..it passed the row with my drink….then it moved back down…passing it again….then it moved up and stopped, as if it was contemplating its life.

“Wait for it…..waaaaait for it……”  I began to drool.

*kerplunk, kerchink, ding, ding, kerching….*

Those are the noises the machine made when it spit $3 of quarters back at me.

“WHAT THE—-??  NO!”

I couldn’t believe it…I WOULDN’T stand for this!  I began to furiously insert the quarters into the machine…25 cents…50…75…1 dollar…1.25…1.50….I smiled as I force-fed the machine….but then….

*kerching*

Puzzled, I tried to insert a different quarter.

**KERCHINK**

I then began rapidly thrusting quarter after quarter into the machine…It only needed three more quarters to reach the desired price….Just…three…more!!!!

**Ching, Ping, Plunk, Plink…**

“WHY WON’T YOU TAKE THE QUARTERS THAT YOU JUST GAVE ME????” I yelled at the machine.

Heather is sitting back in horror, and probably wondering why she agreed to travel downstairs with a crazy person.

I kept INSISTING on trying again and again! 

“It’s jinxed!  It HAS to be!! SOMEONE JINXED this fucking thing!!!”

I press the button for the machine to give my quarters back to me again….and attempt to bribe the thing once more….but TO NO AVAIL.

“It’s right THERE! It’s staring me in the face!  MY SOURCE OF POWER IS TRAPPED IN A GLASS CAGE! Whyyyyyyyyyyy!!????????????”

I resist the urge to bang my head on the glass and then slump down into a pile of defeat.

Retrieving my handful of quarters from the spiteful vending jerk, I turned to leave, my face covered in mortified disappointment and anger.

I could feel the pity from Heather glancing at me, but it gave no consolation.

And now…….

I DO want to smash something!

Today’s Random Thoughts, Non Sequiturs, Etc.

The boss man leaves to acquire some Chipotle.

I stare at my half-eaten grapefruit…and its juice stings my papercut.

THE DAY IS FULL OF INJUSTICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*Stabs Grapefruit.*

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I remember the first time I did my own taxes, when I was seventeen.

The manual forms were found at the library.

It was EZ!!!!!  Ha!! Ha ha ha!!!

(Pretty sure I’m the only one laughing at my made-up joke.)

**Crickets Chirp.**

——————————————————————————————————

Someone is coughing incessantly across the room full of cubicles.

They must be eating a grapefruit, too.

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I have an orange bell pepper in my lunchbox today.  I cut it up this morning; half of it gets added to my sandwich, and the other half, I eat on the side.  One of the pieces had some seeds left on it.  I debated on eating it anyways, but then remembered that in OTHER peppers, the seeds are the hottest part! 

So, what if this mild bell pepper had a secret HOT KICK…found…in its evil seeds!!!!!???

I threw the evil seed into the trashcan.

———————————————————————————————–

(20 minutes later)

**Googles Bell Pepper Seeds.**

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A Memory from the Rock Band Days

The band had just finished a fast-paced song, and the dance floor was clearing out as the mood changed to slow and sweet.  (In other words, everyone in the crowd was heading to get a refill on their beer before returning to slow dance in front of us.)  I stood, singing a rock ballad (probably Journey or Bon Jovi), and stared into the crowd.  After years of singing on a stage, I had no nervousness, and could easily watch and/or interact with a crowd while belting out a tune. 

As I glanced to the right of the dance floor in front of me, I noticed a young woman wandering to its edge, tugging her man behind her.  I assumed it was the regular “forcing the man to dance with her” situation.  This was fairly common.  I’ll admit I’ve been guilty of doing this from time to time.  But as I continued into the second verse, I took a closer look at the couple. 

I recognized that the woman was one of the avid dancers from during the previous song, someone who had been jumping around with so much glee(and by ‘glee’, I mean ‘drunkenness’) that she had fallen quite a few times, mid-dance.  A little too many twirls and whirls for her, I suppose.  Again, I’m guilty of this from time to time as well, so there’re no judgments here!  I always enjoyed watching people have a good time to our music.

Then, I took a closer look.  She was remaining poised by the edge of the dance floor with her guy.  I found this odd since she was so happy to dance all over that floor just a few minutes ago, so I decided to pay a little more attention to what was going on.  That is when I noticed her pointing towards the ground while saying something to her man.  My eyes followed where she was pointing (discreetly, of course), and that’s when I saw it. It was like, for a just a moment, in total sloooooow motion……

BEHOLD!! THE CHICKEN CUTLET!!!  (

Men, if you don’t know already, I’m talking about the fake, rubber boobs that some women put into their bras to amplify their cleavage.  Spoiler alert!!!)

It’s a good thing my mouth was ALREADY agape at this point, because if it hadn’t been, my jaw probably would have dropped at that point.  Apparently, while dancing previously, the fake, rubber bra-stuffer had come right out of her shirt!  Not only was it sitting there on the dance floor, but she was not even willing to retrieve it!  She commanded her man do it. 

And YES….he did.  He fetched it and brought it back to her…..back to it’s home…next to her boob.

IT TOOK EVERYTHING IN ME NOT TO BURST INTO LAUGHTER, MID-SONG!!!

I managed to keep my composure.  Don’t ask me how, I haven’t a clue!! 

To this day, that band-days memory gives me grins. :)

A Typical H & L Conversation

You probably know Heather as my only guest blogger on here thus far.  She and I, as I’ve mentioned, have very similar thinking patterns.  So, a typical conversation for us goes a little like what you will read below, which was an actual convo we had today.  It’s mostly quoted, though a few parts are slightly paraphrased.

Also, Heather, I love you…thank you for allowing me to share our craziness on the internets…where EVERYONE can see it.  (Regretful yet?  Too bad! *grin*)

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Heather: I’m back down to ***lbs, and that’s after repeatedly eating candy for dinner!  Universe is throwing me SERIOUS BONES this week.

Me:  SO I SHOULD JUST EAT CANDY FOR DINNER!!?????  I think the Universe took your extra lbs and stuck them on me instead.

Heather:  YES, THAT’S THE SECRET….eat candy…and hoard things.  The weight will MELT OFF!!  LIKE THE CHOCOLATE ALL OVER YOUR FACE AND HANDS!! 

Me: Baaaahaha!! I love that visual.

Heather: Me too.  Partially because eating that much chocolate would make meh pret-tay happeh.

Me:  You’re talking to a girl who’s eaten three of those mini Snickers bars today….and who is now eyeing the candy dish……..AGAIN.  (Yes, I ate two or three more candy bars after this….because I need to ‘lose weight’. *wink*)

Heather: I’ve been soothing my soul with whoppers (at home) and Jolly Ranchers (here). 

(Let me clarify that Heather is NOT talking about giant hamburgers, but rather, the small malt ball candies….just in case you were confused.  If it were me, I probably WOULD be talking about the burgers…because malt balls are gross, awful creations.)

Me: And I’ve been satisfying mine with Snickers (here) and Doritos (at home)…….

………..

………..(pause for reluctant confession)…….

………And Twix. (here and home)

Also, I found that carrots are bearable again…….IF YOU CHASE THEM WITH A SNICKERS!!!!!! EVERYWHERE.

(Something was said about having hummus for carrots and forgetting hummus exists and yadda yadda…)

Heather: This basil and chive hummus (pretty unique) tastes like sunshine and rainbows!

Me: I’ve always wondered what those taste like!! Please tell me they also taste as if they’re laced with glitter!!!

Heather: They taste like filthy leprechauns.

Me:  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!                 Thank you for that…thank you for my SPITTING WATER ONTO MY KEYBOARD out of laughter!! That f*cker needed a cleaning anyways….it was full of Snickers crumbs, I’m pretty sure…

Heather:  Ha! I turned my keyboard upside down a couple weeks ago and used the canned air……gross.  I could’ve made a second meal out of what came out.  (Was that too gross of a visual?  Probably.)

Me: At least it would have likely been a high-protein, high-fiber meal….complete with a topping of skin flakes…or SCURF, so I’m told!  Did you ever hear that term?? I bet you have.  Beth shared it with me.  She HATES the word.  I should Instant message it to her now.  I think I will……

(I most assuredly did……..she said it was a “low, low blow”. Hee hee…)

Have a Happy Tuesday, Ya’ll!!

A Limit Reached

Today, I reached the maximum capacity for banana intake.

For a really long time, I would only eat, on average, one banana per YEAR.  I am a HUGE texture person when it comes to eating, and eating something that has the same texture as what I imagine shit would have does NOT sound appealing.  (My GAWD…it’s the similar shape of poo, too!!!  Also, you’re welcome for THAT visual. Ha!)

Still, I know that it’s a quite regular fruit to eat for most, and my once-a-year eating would only happen, surely, because my body was telling me that I needed potassium or else MY MUSCLES WOULD CRAMP INTO OBLIVION!!!!

But, for the past few weeks, I discovered that I WAS actually able to stand eating bananas again, just like I’m sure I did when I was a one year old with no choices but mushy food.  Plus, it was an easy breakfast to grab that has protein.  Win-win? 

Not this morning.

This morning would have been my third day in a row to eat a banana for breakfast this week.

I took my first bite….”Why does this taste….different?…”

I took my second bite….”No…it tastes the same, but………………….

 

the……………………….

 

texture…..”

**BLARGH!!!**

On my third bite, I began to literally gag on the banana!  (Go ahead….Insert innuendo/joke here….I know you want to!) ;P

I spit that fruit-crap back out and into the trash, then threw the remaining banana in with it!  Not only did I THROW the offending food into the trash, I fucking PITCHED it in there!!   Batter up, Trash can!!! 

So my threshold was reached.  It took a total of 8-10 bananas in three weeks, but at least now I know.

Maybe I’ll try bananas again….next year.

How Am I Married?

Sometimes, I am amazed at how ANYONE can put up with my peculiar self, let alone be MARRIED to me.

The other day, while driving and talking to Shannon on the phone, I saw a blimp in the sky.  Shannon then became the brunt of my somewhat one-sided phone conversation that went something like this (spoken at roughly 100mph):

Me: I’m pretty sure I see a blimp in the sky!!  Maybe it’s just a balloon.  You know how they use those big balloons for car dealerships?  Nah..no way! It’s too far up there!  That couldn’t be a regular balloon.  It’s GOT to be a blimp!

Shannon: Oh….?

Me: It IS! That’s a blimp!  It’s the MetLife blimp!  I wonder if they give people rides!  I want a blimp!  We could ride in a blimp and then skydive from it.  No…wait…it’s not high enough for sky diving….WE COULD BUNGEE JUMP!! Perfect!! Do you think they give bungee jump rides in blimps!?? Surely not the MetLife blimp.  That’s life insurance, right?  I doubt a life insurance company would endorse bungee jumping.

Shannon: What?

Me:  BUNGEE JUMPING!! I wonder what it costs to rent a blimp.  Think anyone rents them?  We should have a blimp party!  There can be lights and giant speakers and loud music.  A dance party in a blimp!!  Think it’s big enough?? They should definitely rent out blimps for dance parties!! I wonder how many people could fit in a blimp…A party blimp would certainly be bigger than a regular blimp.  It’d by like a party bus….that FLOATS!!

WHERE CAN WE RENT A FLOATING PARTY BLIMP???

Shannon: Uh…..

———————————————————————————————————-

Shannon and I recently discussed the fact that his suitcase is now missing a wheel…not long after, this text conversation happened:

Shannon: I just smelled my arm pits, and they stink.

Leah: Hahaha!  Why aren’t you wearing deodorant?

Shannon: I am.

Leah: Must’ve worn off.  It may be your suitcase wheel took it.  They ran off together. 

Shannon: LOL Yup

Leah: It’s better this way.  You may be stinky, but they’re happy now.

Shannon: Sacrifices

———————————————————————————————————————–

Now is the moment that Shan realizes he could, at any second, become the victim of my blog.

A Morning Battle #leahwouldblog

This morning, the bed won.

Hands down.

I was unable to escape from it in time to begin my day as I would have liked; its weapons were stronger than mine.

I was prepared, too!  I had every intention of waking up at 5:00am, gathering everything for my day, showering, and then going to yoga by 6:30am. 

Last night, I set two alarms–my regular alarm clock and the one on my phone.

My first mistake:  I started a movie last night before bed, and even though I’ve seen it countless times, I still stayed up to finish it.  Because I’M AN ADULT!  I can stay up and watch movies if I WANT to!!!!!  (Ha!  I’m learning that this statement becomes less and less true, the further into adulthood I climb.) 

The first alarm rang this morning; “Shot at the Night” by the Killers, along with the buzz of the vibrating phone, began to echo through my room and into my dreams, but not enough to bring me out of REM sleep-land.  Instead, my hand took on a life of its own and swiftly pressed the “snooze” option on the screen. 

Five minutes later, the alarm clock begins to wail.  My hand, again, comes to life, and apparently was on the bed’s side in this battle, because it (LESS THAN SMOOTHLY) slapped the alarm clock, forcing a snooze.  (I imagine at that moment that it looked warily around with invisible, slanted eyes before settling back under the covers.)

This happened at least five more times before my trusty (or hungry) cat, Buddy Van Bizzle Dizzle, decided to attempt a “rescue”.  As my phone began singing and buzzing AGAIN, Buddy quickly jumped to the nightstand and proceeded to plop himself down on top of the phone.  Now, when my hand roamed around, searching for the snooze option, it could not be found.  The phone was invisible to the sightless hand.  There was only a vibrating/singing cat.  I can only imagine the cat’s smug look on his furry face as he watched my hand flail about, tapping every other inch of the nightstand except for where he sat.  This lasted merely a minute.

When the hand finally figured out what was going on, he pushed the cat over and off of the iPhone. 

**POKE** (Snooze option on screen)

NOW…cue the alarm CLOCK!!  This time, there were no problems in snoozing further.  Even a cat of Buddy’s monstrosity could not cover an entire clock in time. 

Mr. Bizzle Dizzle had not quite given up, though. 

After the button was hit on the clock yet another time, the cat decided to use desperate measures.  He reared back…set his sights high, then LUNGED!!

I was awoken suddenly with a giant ball of fur wrapped around my head, with back claws digging into my neck and teeth scratching my scalp!  This lasted a full 2 seconds before the cat jumped back down and started licking my hand.  Obviously, he was hungry, and this was his way of threatening to eat my head if I didn’t get up and feed him NOW.

I looked at the clock.

“FUCK!  I need to get up! I’m late!!  Wait…what’s going on?”

The sheets had wrapped around me like a giant cotton python!  Amidst all the snooze-hand-flailing, I had been turning in my sleep so that now I was trapped in a coccoon of linens!  I began thrashing around as soon as I knew I was in danger of being trapped further.  A sense of sclaustrophobia and panic began to grip me.

AT that moment, BOTH alarms  began chiming and singing at the same time. 

“UGH!!”

**WRITHE!**

“WHY!!??? ….Aaaaarrrrrggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!”

*SMACK*

*THWACK*

I escaped the bed, and the alarms had been silenced for good.  But I had already lost, for the bed kept me in its clutches long enough to make me late, for both yoga and work.

Until the next time, BED…..until next time….