On This Snowy Saturday...

Getting home from work was LOADS of fun. All roads, including the interstate, were untouched. Some assclown decided that when there is snow on the ground, red lights are merely a suggestion and almost plowed into me as I was crossing the intersection.

I-70 caked with snow, and not a plow is sight. However, there was the tool in the Ford truck who defiled it by putting low-profile dubs on his POS. Then had the audacity to wonder why his truck was spinning in circles in the middle of the interstate. He deserved a pecker slap just for doing that to an F-150, and rust holes big enough to fit my head through.

Let's not mention the 4 car pile up on I-70.

Or what about almost getting run off the road by a snow plow on Blue Ridge because he wouldn't get in his own fucking lane when he saw an oncoming car...me. Douche!

A city that works? My ass!!!

Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler!!!

I love Mardi Gras! I may have mentioned it before, but I do.

I had planned on going to New Orleans this year for the festivities, and I was REALLY excited about it. But in the end, it just wasn't financially doable. With the bathroom remodel, a potential new roof this summer, not to mention that I spent more money than I planned on just a few months ago on my Caribbean vacation...my checking account was raising the white flag.

Toast and I were lamenting not being able to go this year (as she was also planning on joining us), and she was just going to "stay at home, make gumbo, and pout" for the weekend. I don't know how we got on the subject of St. Louis, but in an effort to salvage our plans, we decided to check out the Soulard Mardi Gras, because a trip less than $250 was much more reasonable than a trip that was escalating to $1000.Well Hell Michelle also joined us for a short-notice weekend jaunt to the Gateway to the West.

In a rental, we hauled ass to St. Louis on Friday, averaging 82mph, because there is only one good way to get to St. Louis...fast. We made a brief pitstop at Ozarkland, which is not so much a cheesey redneck souvenir shop, but an experience. Where else can you find a kitten on a shirt with the word "Missouri" bedazzled on the front? Or a resin of a confederate flag and a big mouth bass jumping over it? Pink cowboy hat with a rhinestone brim?With Toast fully mortified, and ourselves in possessions of fuzzy hats in Mardi Gras colors, we left Ozarkland behind, but forever to dwell in our hearts.

Finally in St. Loius, and driving around in circles, we finally found our hotel. A bus from Lawrence pulled up right when we were taking our luggage inside, and half the population of Larryville spilled out of the bus onto the sidewalk. Little tanorexic bleach blonds in Ugg boots and KU shirts. Jeebus, there is no escaping them!

Deciding dinner was in order, we boarded the metrolink (STL rail system), and rode the rail for an hour before we decided we didn't know where we were going, and just went back the way we came. Meanwhile, I saw across from a nicely dressed guy on his cell phone, explaining the concept of "dumpster diving".

"Yeah, you know what dumpster diving be?...Well, you go in those dumpsters and get stuff out that people throw away...You can find all kinds of food and stuff...The corn is okay because it has a husk, but apples aren't good...But I don't like that it's dirty...And there are mice and rats...Why can't the dumpsters be clean, yo!"

He was too well dressed to be homeless (his shoes alone were $300 pair). Too fashionably dressed to be a Freegan. But definitely not smart enough to realize that it's dirty because its a FUCKING TRASH DUMPSTER!!

Fun rail ride over, we found a nice little sushi place on the Landing called The Drunken Fish. If you are ever in St. Louis and have a hankering for some delicious sushi, check this place out.

At the end of the night, we retired to our room and rested for the big day-o-fun.

The next day, we bundled ourselves in layers because it was a robust 27 degrees outside. Thank God for the fuzzy hats!The parade lasted 2 hours, and we got pretty good parade watching spots, scored a shit-load of beads, and nary a nipple was exposed. After the parade, we waited another half-hour to use the bathroom, and walked around. Some of the key sights seen: a man in a kilt flashing people, a couple unremarkable boob flashings (mine look better), a dude pissing on a dumpster (cleaning it, perhaps?), and thousands of drunk people milling about. At some point, Michelle started counting Ugg boots because apparently, it's now required that you own a pair when you attend a college in the Midwest. For the boys, it's RealTree camo gear or a Carhardt jacket.Twelve hours later, she stopped counting at 340 pairs of Uggs, namely because we got tired of counting...and all the girls started looking the same and it was hard to keep track of who we counted and who we didn't. For Saturday's entertainment, Michelle and I sat in the lobby to watch, and possibly, make fun of the drunk, obnoxious people that rolled in through the lobby. We had free drink coupons to the hotel bar, but the bar had been closed early because the drunken KU botards were representin' to the point they had to close. Assholes.

So, we just sat and observed our own personal drunken ant farm. Of note:

-Cleetus and Co. did try to invite us up to their hotel room to "party". Michelle told them no, but if they waited ten minutes, some easy girls would return and they would be more than happy to help them out.

-Bubba yelled at me "Tits for Beads". I declined and observed that he looked like he had two of his own to look at.

-Drunken Lady hurts her ankle and falls down in the hotel lobby. She slurrily yells at the Barbie Clan in the corner for watching her, and me for smiling at her. In my defense, I wasn't smiling...I was smirking.

Because Michelle is a Librarian, and she has huge undercurrent of Geek Mojo, the biggest nerds in the entire hotel gravitate towards where we are sitting, with weak-assed jello shots in tow. Med Student Nerd is clearly not in his element among drunken Larryville, and excuses himself early. Law Student Geek and Architect Geek are equally unremarkable. But Michelle, who has drank 3 pink lemonade and vodkas while waiting for the Drunk Obnoxious People to arrive, has now turned into one.

So, during that time frame, she demands that one girl fall on her face, loudly debates whether one girl is a call-girl or just a rich college girl, calls one KU student gay (he pretty much deserved it), and yells at countless drunken college students for various infractions like playing the hotel piano poorly, having the douche-bag hair cut, wearing pajama pants, leaving their garbage in the lobby, being part of a group who's biggest aspiration was to have sex in the elevator, and just being boring.

Around 3am, I call it a night. As I cross the lobby to the elevators (which were up and running by that time), Michelle yells, "Fuck you and your Apple Bottom Jeans!"

Back in the room, Michelle has returned for a drink refill. Because I am done for the night and I have a big drive home to make in the morning, Toast is tagged in to watch Michelle for the second shift because we don't want Dangerboy to be mad at us if his wife gets arrested, although I am fairly confident that someone is probably going to punch her before the night is over. That shift only lasts an hour, and the Duo returns where Michelle unceremoniously genuflects before the Porcelain God. ("Prodigiously!" explains Toast)

It is now 4:45 am.

Later that morning, we prepare to leave, but not before a green Michelle spews like a KC fountain outside the elevators into a St. Louis newspaper. Who says print news isn't relevant???

We make it home without incident...carrying beads, memories, a bad hangover, and clothes that were put under boil order before they could be washed.

Aside from the college students behaving like, well, children who had found the keys to Mom and Dad's liquor cabinet, it was a fun weekend, but cold. It was so cold, I could've cut glass with my nipples.

An experience I may or may not want to repeat again. Cold being a factor, the college students being another. I'm told it's warmer in NOLA, and college students are easy to avoid if you stay off Bourbon Street. Toast and I discussed going to NOLA, maybe next year. We'll see what the new year and the economy bring.

Meanwhile, I will be at the blogger meetup tonight, handing out some beads. Flashing optional, but I may make you work for them.

And I'm Going For It!

My workouts have been relatively uninspired as of late. Spending 30 minutes on an elliptical machine is just not interesting to me. My workouts have always been more productive when I had something to work towards. Not a new, smaller pair of jeans, but more like an event. I've done a couple 5K runs in my past, and always enjoyed the training that went with them. I was working towards a goal, and I always felt a greater sense of accomplishment when I crossed the finish line.

I have friends who participate in triathlons, and have always been interested, but the idea of a full-blown Ironman scared the hell out of me. Then, I learned that triathlons came in all shapes and sizes. Then, I found this. After looking over the site, I found myself getting excited in the way I would get excited about those 5Ks I used to run in.

So, by God, I'm going to do it. I'm going to compete in my first triathlon.

This year.

Or die trying.

I have until August to get ready for it. Actually, there's a triathlon at Shawnee Mission Park some friends were telling me about that's in July. We'll see where I am as that date comes closer, but for now, I'm shooting for the Smithville event. I've been trying to drum up other ladies who might want to participate with me. After all, misery loves company.

I've always been a strong swimmer, as well as biking. However, the running might be the biggest challenge. I went to the gym tonight to swim, just to see how long it would take me to swim half the required distance. Aside from the goofing off with Mom, and gawking at a guy with the second finest ass I've ever seen, I did 250 meters in 30 minutes.

Pathetic, I know.

At this rate, it will take me an hour just to swim across the lake. And I'll be too exhausted to even get on the bike, much less ride the damn thing.

I know I have a lot of work ahead of me, but I've got some good mentors, not to mention my own cheering section, of whom I know will be there on August 1st, holding signs made in my honor, and roses to greet me when I cross the finish line.

Right????

Finally, something to work towards. The smaller jeans will just be icing on the cake.

Tales of the Homeowner: The Shower

When I bought the house, one of the things that clearly did not impress me was the shower. Apparently, the in the 70's, the one-piece units for bathtubs and showers were the new hotness. I can imagine the sales pitch touting the fact that you no longer have to mess with grout. What they failed to mention were that not only were these things butt-ass ugly, they also consumed more space than a regular tub/shower.To top it all off, it leaked into the downstairs laundry room whenever I used it. Which meant I really couldn't use it until it was fixed, and had to use the hall bathroom. The same one Brother uses.The only decent thing was the shower head...and that was something I bought and installed myself.And it didn't even have a door. Instead, I had to put up a shower curtain.

You can't just change out a shower the way you can just change out a light fixture. It takes a certain amount of time and preparation. I'd been agonizing over this shower since I moved in. It wasn't until I went to the Home Show last year and bought a shower panel, did a new plan formulate in my head.

It wasn't until these past couple of weeks, did we actually start working on it. It's my fault, I couldn't decide what I wanted. I'm sure it drove Mr. Recommendation nuts. When tile was purchased, Mr. Recommendation tore out the old one, where we found suspicious water damage coming from the roof, in addition to a 50 foot chain with no clear purpose, and a whole mess of old wasp nests. Nice!

First, the new shower pan went in. Then, the backer board was installed, building a little recessed area where I can put my soap, shampoo, razor, and maybe my foot when the need arises. The next item on the list was the tile. I picked out the color, Mr. Recommendation created the pattern. I'm not a micro manager with such things, and he has good taste, so I let him have creative liberties on the tile. I figured I would be happy with whatever he created.I was right.

The next item was the shower panel. The much celebrated, and apparently "ostentatious" by one person who saw it in the box, shower panel. Six fixed body jet goodness, overhead rainfall shower head, and handheld shower nozzle to get the hard to reach areas. One of the many great things about the new shower is that it freed up a good 4-6 inches of elbow or whatever room. From there, Mr. Recommendation installed the shower door is selected. My one regret is that I wasn't as mindful when it came to shower doors. I selected a pivot door without realizing that there would also be an overhead component of the frame that the door attached to. Now, tall people have to duck to get into my shower. Not that I have tall people who are going to go into my shower, but you never know. At any rate, I'm toying with the idea of converting it to a steam shower down the road, and the door will probably have to be switched out should I decide to go ahead with it. But for now, it works, and there's no more ghetto-fabulous shower!!Tah-dah! The finished product. Next week, we're going to start planning the rest of the bathroom. Mr. Recommendation has dropped some really good ideas. One of which being a heated tile floor, wainscoting, and a possible laundry chute from the bathroom to the laundry room. When the entire bathroom is completed, its going to kick some serious ass.My inaugural shower was everything I hoped it would be. I even bought a new puff for the occasion.

Mr. Recommendation is available for home improvement jobs, so if you are interested, drop him needaquote@live.com.

GB Housekeeping

I've been doing some rearranging with my links there on the right side of the page. I've not deleted any...even though Toph hasn't blogged since last year and I constantly ride his ass about it. Okay, maybe not constantly. More like once in a while.

When I see him.

If I happen to think of it.

He has really good work stories to tell, much better than mine. Maybe if you go over to his blog and we nag him together, he'll start posting again. I've tried to entice him to come to blogger gatherings with the promise of beer, but to no avail.

I moved some of the out-of-town folks where they belong. Added a couple. Anticipating moving one out-of-towner back to the local section as soon as she moves her ass back to KC.

So, if you don't see your link, let me know and I will add it. I used to click on every single link to check for updates. That is, until I found the wonderment that is the Google Reader.

On a side note, the shower is now completed, and my inaugural shower was everything I had imagined it would be. Brother calls the new shower ridiculous...too many nozzles for such a little space. Hah! I suspect he'll be sneaking in there to try it out some night while I'm working. Indy is already planning a day where he gets really dirty in his backyard, only to come over to use my shower later. My shower is going to the new hotness of KC. Everyone is going to want to visit.

I'll post pictures of the shower here shortly.

Later, dudes...

Happy Hallmark Day!

Ahhh...it's that time of year when people lose their minds and drop serious coin in an effort to fully express their love and appreciation for the object of their affection. Either that or further their cause to finally get laid by that special someone who may be holding out. My disdain for VD (Valentine's Day) has been well documented. If only for the fact that so much emphasis is put on the one day, and the rest go ignored. Dammit! I should be worshipped for the Goddess I am every single day of the year!! Save for some bank holidays. And doctors appointments. If you are going to spend money on someone, at least make it practical. I once dated a guy who gave me a little basket filled with stuff I liked and I actually wanted, like those little rings that make your eggs perfectly round for English muffins. The boyfriend is long gone, but I still have the egg rings and still use them frequently.

Indy spotted me at work, scribbled down a "Valentine Wish" on a kleenex, and chased me down the hall to present it to me with much flourish. I spent the remainder of the morning waiving the tissue around and announcing to everyone that Indy gave me VD. I might have left off the word "card".On a side note, this has been a strange week for me and the opposite gender. Earlier this week, I got a random message from the lawyer I dated briefly so many years ago telling me to delete him from my contacts because he was "in a relationship with a woman he loved". The weird part being that I haven't talked to him in a year or so since he gave me his number for referrals when he was unceremoniously dumped from his job as prosecutor after he got busted for drunk driving. I don't know what initiated this, I would assume that maybe all the exes got the same message. So, I just shrugged and did as asked, even though I had contemplated full disclosure by telling him that he sucked in bed and had a tiny penis.I'm pretty happy with my current personal life, none of which I will divulge at this time. I don't expect him to do anything for me today because that's not how we roll. If he did, I would almost expect his offering would require a couple AA batteries...and a can of Reddi-Whip.So, here's to another Valentine's Day. I think the best ones in my life were when I was a kid and we had fun Valentine's Day parties in elementary school. Before anal parents were created, you could still have home-baked treats brought in, and the rest of the afternoon was pissed away by eating said treats, swapping cheap Valentine cards, suckers, and red hots, and showing your ass because your mother had the misfortune of being the Class Mother for that particular party.

Those were the days!!!

On Notice!

Hey you, stupid Mother of the Year at Quick Trip on 40 and Sterling this morning. You, in the crunched up minivan.

Did you know it was 20 degrees outside this morning? I know this because I was freezing my ass off while I was filling up my gas tank.

You, on the other hand, wouldn't have known it because you sent your son out, who couldn't have been more than 10 years old, to fill up your welfare wagon. All while your fat ass stayed inside the warm minivan, shoveling muffins in your face. Your boyfriend, du jour, sitting next to you doing the same damn thing.

I saw you. I'm sure you noticed the blond in scrubs, giving you the glare of death. I hope those muffins gave you food poisoning.

That's all.

Pop Culture Blather and the Shower

Mr. Recommendation has been working hard on my new shower. Who knew such a small space could elicit such colorful language. And not in a good way. We'll not even talk about the water damage we found when we pulled out the old shower.

But at the end of the week, I have a lovely new shower. The only thing missing is the door, which is in the box in the garage, and I am told will take many hours to install because my tile is harder than the ACTs to Kansas City School District high school students, and drilling through such will take time and lots of specialized drill bits.

Because I'm an impatient sort, I wanted to try my shower out AS SOON as the sealant was dry. So, I put the shower curtain back up and took my new shower for a test run.

Thus far, I'm not impressed with the handheld nozzle. Something is rattling around in side it, so I suspect that could be the reason water just trickles out of it like piss out of an 89 year old man with prostate problems. Meh. I'll be replacing it. However, everything else...the fixed body jets, the overhead rainfall head...work beautifully. I can already tell I'm going to be spending some quality time in this shower.

Earlier, while Mr. Recommendation was working, I happened upon the NAACP Image Awards on television. Right about the time Mohammed Ali was being presented with his award. Was it just me, or did anyone else find that him sitting in that chair, shaking all over the place, extremely painful to watch? I cringed outwardly whenever the camera would pan to him.

I find the whole stink about Chris Brown somewhat interesting. First off, I don't even know who Chris Brown is, and I couldn't even pick out his song if I heard it. I do know that he beat up some other artist who happened to be his girlfriend, and that his "career" is at risk for going down the crapper. Radio stations are banning his songs right now, people are up in arms. Chris Brown should take heart and look at R Kelly. The man had sex with and pissed on a minor...and FILMED IT...and still managed to not get into trouble. AND...America still loves his music. Except me. I still think he's a pig.

Don't even get me started on the one-man circus that is Michael Jackson.

There's hope for Chris Brown yet. Even if it is true that his girlfriend gave him herpes.

However, I do hope that the next woman he slaps around has a good right hook. Or a cast iron skillet. Or a good right hook while holding said cast iron skillet.

Or just a good, old fashioned case of gonorrhea.

Somethings to Be Excited About

The master shower remodel is coming along swimmingly. Instead of a big, gaping hole filled with old insulation, a 50 foot chain with no purpose, and a myriad of little wasp nests, I now have an enclosed shower with customized tile job. Monday will be Grout Day. Wednesday will be Seal the Grout Day. Thursday will be Install the Shower Panel Day. And Friday will be the maiden shower of my brand new Car Wash Master Shower.

I'll post pictures. Not of me in the shower, but of the before and after shots of the shower. It will empty. Sorry!

I just got news that one of my BFFs is moving back to KC, which is very exciting stuff. Now, my movie-watching buddy will be here, and I will no longer be the last person that gets to see the new hotness of movies.

And in other news, Brother and Company made an announcement that they are expecting a bundle in the course of nine months. This was an unplanned event, because Brother apparently was under the impression he was unable to sire children. Well, all it takes is one little swimmer with Michael Phelps talent to prove that assumption wrong. Brother and Co. wanted to wait another month before telling folks outside the family, but he's apparently made an offhand comment on his Facebook profile about thinking of names. And he's told friends.

Brother, it would appear, can't keep a secret worth shit.

Everyone is excited. Twins run on the side of Company, so it is entirely possible that the one bundle of joy could be two. Hee!

So, I will be an Auntie again. Another grandchild for Mom, who will really get to hone in on he grand parenting skills because Redneck Brother and family live an hour away, and this batch of grandchildren will be close by. She's pretty much given up on me producing any grandchildren for her. I know this because she announced it to complete strangers on the cruise ship.

The only grandchildren I currently offer are the four-legged, furry variety.

Another Nostalgic Moment

I love Facebook.

Say what you will about Facebook being of the devil and whatnot, I love the fact that with Facebook, I've been able to get in touch with people I went to grade school with. Not the assholes who bullied me. But I did learn with a great deal of satisfaction that those same people now work minimum wage jobs working the local gas station schlepping iced drinks and cigarettes. And they said I would never amount to much!

Karma, it would appear, is a bitch.

Anyway, it was with Facebook that I got in touch of some of my former classmates from my high school days. One of which being the guy I had a HUGE crush on my senior year, but was too shy to do anything about. He wasn't the most popular guy, but he was an athlete and well-liked. And, he was blond. Back then, I was partial to blonds. Before I matured and moved on to not-so-tall, dark, and handsome.

Seeing his profile, made me think of what could probably be the most embarrassing moment in my high school career.

My senior year, I was a member of the drill team, dance team, spirit squad...whatever the hell they call it where you dance at halftime and don't cheer. We did not have an award-winning squad. In fact, the only thing that sucked worse was our marching band (that tied for last place in competition). That is why I tried out for drill team. Anything to get me out of marching with the crappy marching band without actually quitting band altogether (because I was still planning on becoming a music teacher at the time).

Because I was a saucy little package back then, and I had mad dancing skills, I made the team. I was issued my uniforms, and charged with the mantle of dressing in the little pleated skirt and shaking my ass for the entire town of Harvard, Nebraska on most Friday nights.

And speaking of the pleated skirts...we had to wear them to school on game day.

I was taking computer class, and my work space happened to be next to my crush at the time. His name was Tim. Tall, blond haired, blue-eyed, Basketball God Tim with a last name I still can't even spell right. It was game day, so I was dressed in my short pleated skirt. Did I mention it was short?

I went to push away from the desk to go get something from the printer when the wheel of my chair caught on the carpet, and backwards I went. The next thing I know, I'm on my back, feet in the air, barely-there red pleated skirt up, flashing those bright red matching bloomers, and Tim's face peering down at me.

If ever were a time where the earth could open up and swallow you whole, that would have been the most ideal time.

Our computer teacher asked if I hurt anything, and I just laid in that spot. Rooted by sheer terror and embarrassment, I answered, "Only my pride, sir."

I'm sure Tim didn't think much of it, but I was mortified, and remained so for the rest of the year. Nothing ever came of my crush. We graduated. We moved on, and Tim none the wiser. I became a nurse, and he became the very thing I loathe and despise...a physical therapist.

Just a fun little story I thought I would share, so if you excuse me, I need to make an appointment with my shrink.

Cap'n Tripps Revisited

Sick. That's what I am. The skin on my nose is chafed because of all the nose blowing I've been doing. Kleenex with lotion helps some, but not much.

I'm willing myself to feel better. I can't call in this weekend, otherwise that sucks up my PTO for my Mardi Gras trip.

If you need me, I will be in bed. Sleeping.