Search Term Saturdays

This Saturday, I’m dedicating the Search Terms to the bad spellers who have stumbled here. Now,  I know, I know, entering a search term is hardly a senior thesis, and the usual rules of grammar and spelling don’t apply. But these just gave me a chuckle.

“the girl who plaid Faith Evans”

I have no idea who that girl was. But thank heaven she didn’t stripe her. Or, God forbid, paisley her.

“real housewives of orange county knewed“

Now, there are two ways to take this query.  Did someone from the Appalachians wonder what the stars of the show had knowledge of? (As in: “She knewed he was fixin’ to leave her fer Miss Jenkins!”) or were they hoping to click and find Vicki Gunvalson and Jeanne Keough naked? The internet being as it is, I suspect the latter. And I aim to please…I’m not sure which two of the housewives these are,  but I’m fairly certain all of them look a lot like this with their clothes off:

Oops! You Forgot One!

Michelle…a dear friend from high school (and actually, if memory serves, my date for the Snowball Dance senior year) left this very lengthy comment on my post regarding the numerous car accidents I’ve had over the years. Since no one took me up on my offer to guest blog, and since this is one of the stories I said merited it’s own entry anyway, I scooped up her comment and turned it into a guest  blog. (I hope she will forgive me) While I’d like to clarify a few points after her, our memories of the events of 13 years ago are amazingly similar. (THIRTEEN YEARS, Michelle! Can you believe we are this damned old??)

“Do you recall the first night J got the Mazda Protege….?

Well, let me recap… After a very elegant midnight dinner at the Waffle House (not the Pancake House) The Villager and J had to drive me back to my parents house. The Villager loves a new classy car even if it isn’t a convertible, so into the drivers seat he goes.

Now typically the Villager would take the northbound exit off of Interstate 64/77 which is an easy gliding exit where you can hit the gas even harder as you exit and get a head rush coming down the hill. However, the southbound exit ramp is the polar opposite. As soon as you exit at 70 mph you must enter a hairpin turn that is a suggested “25 MPH”. We exit the interstate, radio full volume blasting “Ini Kamoze, Here comes the Hotstepper.”

The Villager hits the gas not realizing in his delirious “driving a new car daze” that he just took the hairpin exit. Suddenly his mistake is staring him in the face in baby poop yellow, “25 MPH.” Nothing about his reaction suggested we were going to survive without rocket launching the car over the edge and into the ravine on the other side of that yellow sign. Everything around us had been hurled into a slo-mo reality where events were similar to a 60rpm record on a 45rpm spin.

His body actually curled into a ball in the drivers seat! Elbows in at the chest, hands fanned out beside his head, and a loud, very southern flaming cry of “HELLLLP ME!, HELLLP ME!” came out of his mouth as he turned to the back seat to look me dead in the eye. At this point knowing I was probably going to die, I didn’t care. The Villager’s reaction to the realization of his mistake was priceless. I laughed hysterically. I could not help myself. I have no idea what J was doing since I was paralyzed with laughter.

The hysteria the Villager saw in my eyes must have broken his state of terror. He immediately jack knifed in the seat and placed both feet on the brake. The car began squealing like a baby pig. Not a single hand was on the wheel. He was still crying for help and I was laughing. The car skidded through the gravel at the side of the ramp and up over a pole reflector before it finally came to a halt. Radio still blaring our favorite tune and yes, the Villager was still hollerin’ for help. I had tears running down my face, was not breathing, and devoid of muscle control as I laid limp again the passenger seat trying to gain control. Finally, the Villager turned the radio off and was quaking in his seat knowing that once again he had wrecked yet another vehicle.

I gained some form of control and was able to peek into the passenger seat to see J’s facial expression after her “brand spankin’ new that day car” had just been wrecked. She was white as a ghost and looked to be in a state of shock with her mouth open and staring at the Villager. Before I could help myself I let out another peel of psycho giggling. Amazingly J began laughing too. I didn’t know if it was a stress reaction or if she couldn’t hold it in after hearing my uncontrollable cackle. Upon further inspection the car didn’t fare too bad. Only a couple of hundred dollar damages. Anyway, just didn’t want ya to think the Villager is as innocent in the drivers seat as he makes it seem. lol!! He is actually hell on wheels!!!!!”

Yes, Michelle is right. On a cold Christmas night back in high school, I wrecked a friend’s car. On the very day her parent’s surprised her with it. It was 12 hours old. The plastic was still on the floor. No one had even bothered putting the keys onto a real key ring.

And while I don’t recall screaming “Helllllllp meeeee!” and am absolutely certain that if I did, it would be neither southern nor flaming, Michelle’s account is almost an instant replay. Though I think I hit three small reflectors and one big arrow. (didn’t I?)

But here is where Michelle leaves off. J did not want her parents to know what had happened! She and I took the car to the dealership and were assured that it could be repaired in ONE DAY if we got it in early in the morning. But they couldn’t take it for A WEEK! Now, by some miracle, the only damage was about a six inch gash in the front bumper. But J spent the better part of that week finding things to do in the evening so she wouldn’t have to get the scarred car home in the daylight. Now, my memory gets a little fuzzy here, but best as I can recall…we put the car in the shop, and while it was there J scheduled the dealer to do the installation of the CD player (it was a dealer installed accessory in those days, and the dealer hadnt been able to put it in before Christmas). At the end of day one in the shop, the car wasn’t ready. Turns out it was a brand new color of paint for that model year, and they didn’t have it yet. Now at this point, I can not recall if J broke down and told her dad about the mangled bumper, or if the dealership somehow let it slip, but he found out. (it may well have been that he called wondering why it was taking a week to install a CD player) But she told him SHE had been driving. Only I didn’t find know she told him…so imagine my shock when J’s dad is thanking me for being such a good friend and insisting I take back the $300 I’d “given” her. (naturally, I had paid for the damage I caused). There was a panicked look on J’s face that told me to keep my mouth shut. So, I accepted the money with some babble about “Oh Im sure she would do the same for me.” I don’t think J’s mom found out about the damage for years, and I am certain that neither of them learned the truth of who was driving until we were in college. Oddly enough, it was that same car that was later rear ended by a bicycle, a University Services van, and then sent to that great parking lot in the sky by a speeding teenager in a pickup truck.

Adventures in Car Land

In a previous post, I recounted for you a few of the …ummm… misunderstandings I  have had regarding traffic laws. I hinted then that those were just the stories of tickets and warnings, and that there was another chapter to be written on accidents.

And here it is.

Before I start, I feel inclined to knock wood, pray, burn some sage, and send a check to Pat Robertson in order to protect myself from further bad luck when I assure you that my driving record has been clean for years now.

The first accident I ever had was when I was probably fourteen. I grew up in a private neighborhood of only a handful of families. I think everyone had five or more acres (it was country y’all!), so the homes were far apart. For much of my time there, the main road into the neighborhood was gravel and stretched for over a mile from our driveway to the “main road”. The first mile or so of the road had NOTHING on it–pastures to one side, some wooded areas on the other. The stretch of road that people actually lived on was (and still is) heavily canopied by trees and only wide enough for one car to pass safely–but it was rare that any two cars came along at the same time. So it was common to see kids riding bikes, four wheelers, motorcycles and, yes, even cars between homes or just up and down the road for fun. It was HUGE when I first got to drive on our street. I have loved all things automotive (well…except for changing tires and oil) since I was a kid and couldn’t wait to have my own car. So from the time I was 13 or so, I was allowed to drive between the house and the “main road.”

I’d done it dozens of times without incident. Dozens! One day, mom, sister, grandma, and I were going somewhere. (No doubt out to shop, because that was what we always did.) I asked if I could drive. Now, my grandmother is a nervous sort of woman. The sweetest, kindest thing you will ever meet, but more nervous than a crack baby. She instantly objected to my going anywhere near the steering wheel. Mom assured her that I was actually quite good, and that was that.

I backed down our driveway and started cutting the wheel to line myself up in the road. Our driveway sat at the fork of the only two streets in our neighborhood. Ideally, you back out of the driveway–the rear of the car stops somewhere along the narrow bank of trees between the two roads and you pull forward. As I was about to shift into drive, either mom or grandma gasped.

“WHAT?” I said.

“Nothing. Nothing. I thought we were going to hit the trees.” Well we weren’t…but the outburst distracted me and I didn’t realize that I was still in reverse when I hit the gas again.

BAM! We hit the tree. It was a self fulfilling prophecy.

But it wasn’t the last time I’d  crash before even getting out of the neighborhood–or even the last time I would crash without a license. While in possession of nothing more than a learner’s permit, I took my mom’s car to Wal-Mart ALONE. (It was probably with her permission, because we’ve long established that she is nuttier than squirrel poop). Along the way I crashed into the back of a slow moving Chevy. Visions of prison danced through my head. But luckily, the other car was driven by none other than the father of my 5th grade teacher. She was a few car lengths behind us, and after she vouched for me, he kindly went on his way without calling the police. And I wrote a while back about my first car…so this might sound familiar, but a year or two after I hit the trees coming out of the driveway, mom had two large posts installed  so that it might be “gated” off to keep cars from using our driveway as a turnaround area. One Christmas break,  my sister, a friend, and I decided to go see a movie. As I maneuvered down the driveway, careful not to hit any of the other cars that lined it, I was met with a sudden THUD as the drivers mirror snapped back against the fender. I had backed the entire driver’s side of the car down the pillar at the end of the driveway, scraping off half the paint I’d had put on just a few months earlier.

That car was barely back from the shop when I drove it into a concrete light post at the mall…obliterating the front end  (and my friend Red’s knee).

I’ve already told you about the accidents that happened just days before my twenty-first birthday (Rear ended by a bike, then hit head on, all within 24 hours!) so I won’t bore you by recounting them again.  But a few months before that, in the same car, I was rear ended in a curve by a University Services van. What makes that incident remarkable is that I was dropping a friend off for class at the moment of impact, her legs were on the pavement and she turned to say something to me just as the van bumped us. She did a quick “Wilma Flintstone” and managed not to fall out on the road.

A late-night run for food in college ended badly when  I somehow launched my car up and over a handicapped ramp at the corner of the Pizza Hut parking lot–shredding a tire, a rim, and the rocker panel in the process. The body shop did a wonderful job patching that up, but that car was laid to rest a year later when, just weeks after moving to a new town out of college, a ditzy mom in a big SUV tore the rear end off of it in a parking lot.

That car’s replacement didn’t fare much better. It was a year old when I was rear ended by a news van as I waited to get onto the highway near my office. That intersection would prove to be particularly irksome–as I was sideswiped there the following year, and a year after that, rear ended AGAIN. That’s right, kids, three wrecks in three years all within site of each other. Please note, none of them were my fault.

I just realized that I’m up to about a dozen fender benders at this point. And I’ve intentionally left out a few that, like the 21st birthday crashes, merit a blog of their own. I didn’t realize there were so many until I started writing them down. Ok, gonna go send another check to Pat Robertson…

TMI Tuesdays

Whilst doing cartwheels through the interwebs, I came across a blog called “TMI Tuesdays” which basically hands out 5 questions every week. They are often raunchy, personal, and embarassing. And since I had a blast with the recent string of interviews, I’v decided to “participate.” Each Tuesday, I will answer their questions here. (I encourage anyone else to do the same!) Here’s this week’s questions:

1. What was the last movie you saw in a theater?

“Milk” –a great movie!

2. What is your favorite movie theater snack?

Popcorn! Or nachos, but they tend to be hard to eat in the dark, and I wind up with cheese dripped all over my crotch.

3. Have you ever snuck in ‘outside’ food into a theater?

No, but just yesterday I had a conversation about it…apparently if you are a woman, it’s easier to do since they have the purse and all.

4. Have you ever made out in a theater?

No, I haven’t. But once in the eighth grade, a group of us caught a glimpse of a chick from the ninth grade with some dude’s hand down her pants.
5. What is the ‘farthest’ you have gone in a theater?

Once I sat all the way at the top row. As far as anything sexual, sadly, I don’t think I’ve ever even been groped in a theatre.

UPDATE: I forgot the bonus question: What is one of your favorite movie sex scenes?

 Well, here it is, long but worth it. (excuse me while I go have a cool shower)

Monday Morning Mish Mash

1. Has anyone ever tried any of the traffic-generating sites? I signed up for Blog Explosion the same week I started this blog, along with a few others. While there are some things about it I don’t like, it has remained a good way to find other bloggers, and is a site full of distractions that also bring people to you.

2. I had no plans at all for the weekend, and yet it turned out to be quite busy. Friday night, grabbed dinner with friends and decided to go have A DRINK. Well one turned into, I don’t know, seven. Next thing I know, I’m getting home at 3:30 AM.

3. I went to Asheville, NC for dinner and a movie Saturday. There’s an awesome movie theatre there that shows artsy sorts of films that are always wonderful but rarely have what it takes to be commercially successful. We saw the Oscar-nominated movie “Milk”, which was easily one of the best I’ve seen in a while. Sean Penn gave the best performance of his career. Go see it if you have a chance.

4. On Sunday, I attended the annual RV and Boat show. It was overwhelming. Who knew there were so many options for boats and campers? I was shocked to see that most of the campers were, to put it nicely, tacky as hell. I thought for $140,000 you’d get something tasteful, but apparently you have to spend several million on a coach built Prevost (what most celebs use as their tour bus). I’ve never seen so much polyester upholstery, and tacky “gimmicks” in my life. (A holographic “fireplace” in one, a peel and stick looking grandfather clock in another!)

I did however, fall in love with a Sea Ray yacht that could be had for the price of the average McMansion (pictured above).  I was amazed at how well they use every inch of available space. The boat was full of cozy(or claustrophobic) little “spaces” that seemed perfect for curling up with a good book on the open waters. Ahhh…maybe one day.

Search Term Saturdays

Many of the unusual search terms that bring folks here, while bizarre, clearly come from someone seeking information. But the ones this week…not so much. I scratch my head as to what these folks thought the interwebs might have held for these conundrums:

“Why is there a turd floating in the pool?”

Really? You had to get online for an answer to this? It’s because someone took a dump in it. And it’s floating because someone with a high fiber diet left it behind, and thankfully, they didn’t have corn last night.

“oh no he’s butt sexing me oh no”

Like RIGHT NOW as you are searching? You must not mind it much or you wouldn’t have dragged yourself over to the computer. Just tell him to stop. Or relax and try to enjoy it. What do you want the internet to offer you here?

“how to make your room like abercrombie”

OK this one might actually have wanted some information. So, I’ll try to help. First, take some of their cologne/perfume/body spray, whatever it is…and by “some” I mean three or four gallons. Pour it all over your carpets, your mattress, your draperies. You should be able to smell your room from the next neighborhood. Then, cover your room with wrinkled clothes. Then, find a couple of super-hotties to stand outside your door in their underwear and look disinterested.

Enough Already!

I was eating dinner last night and the folks on Entertainment Tonight were talking about it. The interwebs are abuzz. The Today Show did a piece on it. Then this morning I go to check my email and their is a link to an article about it. I’m talking about the First Family’s wardrobe and I am puzzled as to why we even give a shit. That President Obama got his bow tie from J. Crew is of no interest to me. That Mrs. Obama chose a young, relatively unknown designer for her ball gown is an admirable (and fashionistas might say) gutsy move, but not one that deserves headlines.

Now, I was anxious to see what she would wear for inauguration, but only because the red and black number she wore the night Barack accepted the nomination was, to my eye, a monstrosity that made her look like the Bride of Satan emerging from the fires of hell. (Apologies to Narciso Rodriguez–it would be a fine dress for a cocktail party, but it looked like something from the Penney’s sale rack on national TV)

I thought the Isabel Toledo outfit Michelle wore for the swearing in was gorgeous. The color complimented her complexion perfectly. That it was exquisitely made was obvious, and it had a timeless, yet trendy appeal that suited her very well.

But then came the much-talked-about Jason Wu Ball Gown. That I seem to be the only one who didn’t like it probably says more about my fashion sense than it does about the gown, but the damned thing looked like something you’d wear to a country prom! Or maybe as a SECOND wedding dress. The single strap bothered me, I can’t decide if it looked more like an afterthought, or like it had lost it’s twin. And it seemed like she had to constantly adjust it to keep from tripping on the hems. And all those skinny bangle bracelets. Was there a sale at Claire’s or what?

Let’s hope all this wardrobe nonsense is over. We ought to be much more concerned with how he will lead the country than where he got his socks and what her coat is lined in.

The Heavy Burden Of An HOA Officer

The third term of my tenure as a member of my Homeowner’s Association is drawing to a close. I’ve served as the Chairman of the Architectural Committee, on the pool committee, as Board Secretary, and co-runner of the neighborhood website and forum.

And damn it, I quit!

It is a thankless and aggravating job. Granted, it isn’t terribly time consuming, and I feel that the board as a whole is a very fair group that does a wonderful job of preserving property values and the look and amenities that drew us all to buy here in the first place. Most of the neighbors share the goals of keeping it a nice place to live. And ALL of them agreed to the covenants before buying because no one wants to live next to these people:

Which is why I am left scratching my head when people think that those covenants, for whatever reason, don’t apply to them or their situation. And these are not unreasonable rules:

1. You can not park on the street. There’s a reason for that. The streets are narrow. If cars are  parked on the street, there’s only room left for one car at a time to drive through, and the neighbors will have to do a 12-point turn to get out of their driveways. There are no addendums to the rule that say: “UNLESS your 35 year old son moved home.” or “EXCEPT when your garage is so full of crap you can’t get a car in there” or “UNLESS you have a two inch penis and  bought a 40-foot long truck to make up for it that won’t fit in your driveway.” NO PARKING ON THE STREET. Is is really that difficult?

2. Minor children must be accompanied by an adult at the pool. Another simple one that would seem to be common sense. But no! “MY kids are well behaved!” Great, no one said they weren’t. “I was just up the street.” Swell…your kids shoulda been up there with ya. “We pay dues for the kids to use that pool!” No, apparently you pay dues so you can have an Olympic sized babysitter during the summer months, and trust me when I say no one else wants to make sure your kid isn’t running on the deck, shitting in the water, or (for teens) getting head in the cabana.

3. Trash cans are not to be left on the curb. It looks terrible and, once empty, it doesn’t take much wind to send them into the road. If left out full, it’s an invitation for dogs, raccoons, and bugs. Bring it out the night before pick up and take it in the night of. Simple as that. “There’s no room in my garage!”  Then stick it in your back yard, behind the fence. Or park it in your dining room. The rest of us don’t really care what your reasons are for not following the rules, or what adjustments you might have to make so that you can….we just care that you do. So hike your lazy ass the 22 foot down to the end of your driveway and pull it somewhere out of sight.

Then, of course, there are the whiners. For these people, the dues are never low enough, there is always fault to be found with the landscaping, the pool maintenance, the rules are over-enforced, the rules are under-enforced, and there ought to be SOMETHING the board can do about everything from dogs barking in another neighborhood to overgrown lots outside our subdivision. And the first to scream is the last to act. You can bet your ass the lady who complained that the pool wasn’t opened promptly at nine has never once volunteered to be part of the committee that opens it. And the person who most loudly protests for more street lights, newer pool furniture, and more flowers at the entrances will be the same one who is bewildered and infuriated at an increase in association fees.

So with my term ending, I plan to leave it to someone else. I’ll bring in my trash can, keep my car off the streets, and pay my dues when I’m supposed to but somebody else can worry about whether or not to allow someone to replace their Bermuda grass with fescue.

It’s Hard Being a Celebrity

You know how it is…you give one interview and then everyone is calling your agent wanting one and next thing you know you’re trying to juggle Leno, Letterman, and Rachel Ray.  OK, so I volunteered for all of these and I don’t even have an agent, but that really is me at the Beverly Hills Hotel. (And, yes, I know I still owe Red some questions–but it’s hard to ask probing questions of someone already so open about her sex life and bodily functions) Today’s questions come from Snooty Primadonna

1. I was mildly shocked to learn you’re just 31. Do you consider yourself to be a mature man or just the average bloke?

JUST 31? Most of the time, it doesn’t sound so bad, but then sometimes I’ll realize that my driver’s license is almost old enough to get a driver’s license.  Or that I’ve been out of high school an amount of time equal to my entire K through 12 experience. Or that when my parents were my age I was already in school. But to answer, I guess I’m just average. Some days I feel over the hill and other days I still feel like a kid. I’ve got all the trappings of adulthood (except a child or two of my own) but I still watch cartoons and play video games and drag the Lincoln Logs out of the garage from time to time.
 
2. What’s  the most romantic gesture you’ve ever made?

While not romantic in the flowers and candlelight sort of way, I can pat  myself on the back for the surprise birthday party I threw when the honey turned 30. Very nice location, tons of food, drinks, and friends (including many who flew in from all over the country) and, best of all, it was all kept a secret for MONTHS. Actually, now that I think of it, candelight was involved there–because just moments before we arrived, a branch fell and knocked out the power. A quick thinking guest who had helped me plan the whole thing, actually had a bag of tealight candles in her car and saved the day while other guests scampered to the Home Depot for battery operated lights.

3. Are you ever embarrassed when people catch you singing and rocking out to a song in the car, or playing air guitar, or playing the steering wheel drums?

I am one heckuva car singer, and I can play the hell outta the steering wheel drums, but air guitar, alas, is a gift I was never given. I probably SHOULD be embarassed, but maybe it’s the kid in me that won’t allow it. With the advent of bluetooth and other hands-free cell phone devices, I trust that people next to me at the stoplight are giving me the benefit of the doubt when they see my lips moving. When I had my convertible that was a different story…there’s  no denying that you’re belting one out when the top is down for all at the light to hear.
 
4. It has been my observation that there are two types of men when driving. Those who pick their noses & those who don’t. Which are you?

I don’t. Unless of course you are tailgating me, at which point I will dig deep into my sinus cavity to find something to flick onto your windshield.
 
5. If, for some reason, you were to be chosen for the reality show “Survivor”, what would be the one luxury item you would bring?

This is a great question for today because Survivor is actually hosting an audition very near me, and a coworker and I were talking about how well we might fare on the show the other day. And I know without a doubt that I would not do well at all. I would starve before I would eat bugs or raw critters or whatever it is they subsist on. And the thought of getting that dirty without a nice hot shower at the end of the day is inexpressably horrifying to me. But if I could only take one luxury item, it would be a nice bed and bedding (that is TOO one item!). I’m sort of the Princess and the Pea anyway…I have trouble getting to sleep if the pillow is too flat, too lumpy, too firm, too soft, or too poofy. (which is why I have to buy new ones every six months). If the sheets are too rough or too rumpled, I will likewise toss and turn. If the blankets are too stiff or too heavy, insomnia awaits me. So lying down on the floor of a jungle with a palm frond over me is totally out of the question.

The Most Awesome Music Video EVER!

I have never heard of the group Pistol Youth before. Their newest song is called “In My Eyes” and is not the usual sort of thing I listen to, but the video is AWESOME. They picked some classic Golden Girls moments to highlight!

stolen, shamelessly, from OMG.