because behaving is boring

Category Archives: Tomfoolery

While visiting my parents on Sunday I discovered a bunch of old shirts my mom had kept (I’m fairly certain she’s kept everything my brother and I ever touched). They were all from my elementary school days and as a joke I decided to try them on. I grabbed the first one I saw and started pulling it over my head, singing “Fat guy in a little coat…”

Imagine my surprise when the Indiana Beach shirt I got when I was six actually fit. Ok, it was definitely tighter and way too short, but I didn’t care.

Next, I tried on a shirt my mamaw gave me when I was 7:

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No freaking way.

I grabbed the next shirt in the pile, my fifth grade cheerleading sweatshirt:

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I was so excited that I ran downstairs to the kitchen where the BF and my dad were chatting. I paraded myself in front of them (completely interrupting their grown up conversation), making sure to do some pathetic toe touches and other cheerleader-type moves in the most obnoxious way possible. But seriously, I fit into something I wore in fifth grade and I had a baby five months ago.

I’m kind of proud of that.

Sort of related…I was in Wal-Mart the other day with a friend and we were looking at little girl’s shoes for her daughter. I pointed at a pair of sparkly black flats and said that I wished they were in grown up sizes. My friend laughed and said “I’ll bet those fit you…” 

They did. I can wear little girl’s size four sparkly flats. I almost bought them just because, but they were ten dollars and I’m a tight ass.

I guess the moral of this story is that you can have a broken thyroid, have a baby, and carry around a giant fibriod (yes, it’s still there) and still come back from all of it. 

Sweet!

 

 


My mom and I were standing in the kitchen talking yesterday when she suddenly got a confused look on her face. She ran her hands over the counter, then lifted the coffee cup and stared at the bottom of it for a minute.

Mom: Am I leaking somewhere?

Me: You know, I think you are!

Mom looked from the coffee cup to the counter a couple more times trying to find the source of the leak…

Mom: But where?!

I reached over and dabbed at her ear with my sleeve.

Me: You’ll want to get this stopped… I mean, you don’t want to lose any more than you already have.

Mom: Get what stopped? Lose more of what?!

Me: … Brains, mother. Looks like you’re leaking brains.

Mom: …

Me: Seriously, I’d see a doctor about that.


Yesterday, my dad and I were talking about the Colts game when mom walked up waving a piece of paper. When there was a break in the conversation, she said what she needed to say and headed back to the kitchen. I asked if she had been waving that paper to get permission to speak.

Mom: Well, I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were talking about football…

Me: THAT’S RIGHT WOMAN! NOW GET IN THE KITCHEN AND MAKE ME A SAMMICH!

On a completely unrelated note…

Joy. Pure, bottled joy.

I picked up some Sriracha hot sauce while I was at the store today. Have you tried this stuff?! It’s amazing. I’ve got recipes bookmarked, but for now? Hell, I’d be happy just eating it with a spoon.

Please go buy this as soon as possible. Your taste buds will thank you.**

 

**I am not being paid to say this… The lovely people that make Sriracha hot sauce don’t know who I am. I’m just telling you guys because I love you.

OH, and while I’m updating this here blog o’ mine…

Yesterday I wasn’t able to watch the Colts game because I had to run an errand in Lafayette (which is about 30-45 minutes away) so I had to settle for listening to it on the radio.

Side note: Listening to a football game while driving probably isn’t the best idea. I got quite a few strange looks from other drivers.

Anyway, on the way home I listened to the post-game show. I happen to follow them on Twitter, so when some guy called in suggesting we trade players for yet another new quarterback I felt the need to respond.

Imagine my surprise when all of a sudden I hear MY NAME on the radio…And MY TWEET being read. Even better? The guys both agreed with me, then went on to explain why.

Celebrity status achieved? I THINK SO.

 


I can be the nicest person you’ll ever meet…but sometimes? I get these urges to do mean things just because I think they’d be funny.

I don’t act on them.

Well, I rarely act on them.

When I see someone bent over to pick something up, I have this urge to get a running start and give that person a really hard slap on the ass. Oh, okay…I’ve done that a time or two.

If someone is squatted down I want to reach over and give them a little push on the shoulder to knock them over.

When I see people jumping on a trampoline, I want to yank it out from under them when they’re mid-air.*

When I’m walking through the mall and I get behind a person that’s too busy texting to walk I want to step on the heel of his/her shoe.

Last Friday morning I went to the grocery store with my mom and grandma. Mom was looking at something on a shelf when I noticed a giant box full of dodge balls. I went as far as to pick one up and bounce it on the floor a couple of times…the whole time arguing with myself.

Look! She bent over! How funny would it be to throw this ball at her ass?!

No…No…It’s not okay to throw a ball at your mother’s rear end in a grocery store.

Oh come on…It won’t hurt…it’ll just be funny…

How would you feel if someone did that to you?

But… no one is going to do it to me. And it will be funny!

You’re a jerk.

BUT IT WILL BE FUNNY!

I must have looked deranged standing there holding that ball and laughing to myself. I had conjured up a mental image of the ball leaving my hands, gracefully floating through the air in slow-motion, and bouncing off of my mother’s backside. I’m laughing as I type this, actually. I’m so mean.

By the time I finished replaying the image in my head, mom stood up. Unbeknownst to her, she had narrowly escaped being the target of my meanness.**

 

 

*Yes, I realize that yanking a trampoline out from under someone while he or she is midair could actually hurt him or her. That’s why I’ve never actually done it.

Plus? I’ll bet it would be hard to get it completely out from under a person in time.

** I love my mother. HI MOM!

 


I’m tired of working for ‘the man’ (whomever that is). I want to be the boss, the decision maker, the head cheese.  I want to delegate the really crappy stuff  (uh, you know, the work).

The problem has always been that I just have NO idea what I could do that would make money. It seems like every good idea has been taken and that’s a real problem. Yesterday I think I came up with a solution.

One of my coworkers was telling us about a mobile mechanic that she hired to change the oil in her car. I guess this guy comes to wherever you are (so in her case, work) and changes your oil or makes repairs. I’ll admit, it seems like a great idea.

I believe I can make it better.

Ok.

How about…

Proud Mary Rollin’ Mechanic!

So you make an appointment, and as the mechanic is pulling into your driveway (parking lot, whatever…) he (or she!) honks the horn to announce his arrival… And the horn plays the ‘doot doot doot doot’ and ‘rollin’…rollin’ parts of the Tina Turner version of Proud Mary.

I’m so not done.

When your friendly mechanic gets out, he (or she…And I’m tired of saying it this way so just assume I mean he OR she from now on) is wearing a full Tina Turner sparkly dress, wig, heels getup.

AND.

While changing your oil or fixing your car, the mechanic SINGS and sometimes DANCES to Proud Mary.

Of course, each mechanic would be certified, trained in dance and voice, and prices would be reasonable.

It’s a lot more productive than dinner and a show, huh? Hell, if you want you can eat your dinner while watching your mechanic! Dinner, oil change and a show. All for the low-low price of…um…$39.99 (dinner not included)?

What do I know about reasonably priced oil changes? Mine cost $80.00 a pop.

Anyway.

PROUD MARY ROLLIN’ MECHANIC, GUYS!

 


I don’t have much to talk about today, but here’s a fun picture for your entertainment:


The other night, I sent The Boyfriend a text to see if he was off work.

B: I’m actually negotiating a price on a truck right now (not his words)

Me: Show him your boobs. Bet the price will drop.

Me: OR! Throw an old fashioned on the table. Guys help each other out all the time.

B: I was actually thinking cash plus a trade.

Me: Well…it’s risky but it might work.

 

Then, one evening last week The Boyfriend sent me this random text:

B: You missed Jersey Shore.

For a second, I couldn’t figure out why he felt the need to tell me that. I’ve never even watched a full episode of that show. Then (because my phone is retarded) an earlier text from him came through asking if I wanted to come over to see it.

Me: Sorry, I just got the message about coming over to watch it.

B: I was messing with you. Jersey Shore, really?

Me: Well you are fond of Keeping up with the Kardashians…

B: I’m over that.

Me: Oh, right. Sorry, Khloe and Lamar.

B: That didn’t help, just got old. At least Paris Hilton’s a self proclaimed ho. Those other girls are under the impression they’re good people.

Me: True…So Paris has a show again? Is it your new favorite?

B: I don’t know. I’m over her, too.

Me: Well what are you going to watch? Real Housewives?

B: Dunno

Me: Maybe Miley Cyrus will get a reality show now that there’s a vid of her smoking pot on the internet.

B: I was hoping Lindsey Lohan would get one.

Me: I’d watch that…Chick’s a total trainwreck. Too bad Britney didn’t have one when she went off the deep end.

Me: That would’ve been quality entertainment.


The state of Indiana has passed a law that (as of today) makes it illegal to text while driving. From what I understand, the fines would be up to $500.00 for such a horrendous offence.

Did you catch the sarcasm? I hope so.

Come on, people. I realize that texting while driving distracts the driver and can lead to accidents…but this law isn’t going to stop anyone. The people that will obey this law are the very same people that already don’t do it.

I’m sure there are some people that are busy rubbing hands together in anticipation of just how much money the tickets will bring in, though.

Since we’re busing making laws that make being distracted while behind the wheel illegal, I propose a few more:

– Listening to music while driving. Everyone gets a little too into a song on the radio now and then and kinda slacks on paying attention for a second. Also, you have to take your eyes off the road to change the radio station. Better hand out some fines for that.

– Parents, you’d better start thinking of ways to transport your kids without driving. Nothing is more distracting than trying to drive with a tantrum-throwing toddler in the backseat. I should know, I drove to Texas with a pair of (2 and 5 year-old) siblings in the back and their mother in the passenger seat blocking out the screams. Yeeeesh.

– Talking to passengers in your car. You know, why don’t we just make it illegal to have any passengers, period?

– You know how you sometimes hear about a guy that’s so busy checking out an accident while passing it that he causes another wreck? Well now it’s illegal to look at all. IN FACT, let’s make it illegal to have accidents because they do tend to be a distraction to other drivers.

– In-dash DVD players. Sorry, you might be tempted to watch your favorite episode of Leave it to Beaver on your way to work so now you just can’t have them at all.

– Being too caffeinated while driving. You’re all hopped up and looking around everywhere…HEY LOOK! THERE’S A BIRD! OH, A BILLBOARD! AND THERE’S A WHITE CASTLE! OOPS! THE GUY IN FRONT OF ME JUST CAME TO A SUDDEN STOP AND I DIDN’T NOTICE ‘CAUSE I SAW SOMETHING SHINY!

– We all know driving while drunk is bad. Why not start handing out tickets for driving while DUMB?

 

 


Many, many moons ago, I tended bar at a local establishment. The place burned to the ground not terribly long after the events of this story took place, but the memories live on in my heart.

A little dramatic, right?

On this particular day, I was sitting on the other side of the bar. It was a little after 5:00, and my friend Cat had just opened, so the only patrons that had wandered in happened to be myself and our neighbor, Brett.

We were attempting to come up with some new drink recipes when Brett informed us that he had made up a new shot. Curious, Cat began to mix the concoction according to his instructions. I don’t recall the recipe, but I remember Bacardi 151 was involved and it all sounded horrible. Once she had placed it in front of Brett, he lit the shot on fire and downed it.

While Brett was patting himself on the back for his great feat of bravery, two new guys walked through the door. They were obviously college students who looked like they might have only recently turned 21. Maybe it was the wide-eyed look of innocence on their faces that gave it away…maybe it was the fact that they were both wearing clothes that seemed to have been picked out and freshly ironed by their mommies that morning. At any rate, Brett and I watched the newcomers closely as they sat down at the bar and ordered.

One of them seemed quite taken with Cat, and in a misguided attempt to impress her he accepted the challenge Brett extended to try this wondrous new shot. Cat mixed it and handed it to him, and he was about to knock it back when Brett shouted “WAIT!”

Startled, Mr. J.C. Penny set the shot on the bar and gave us all a questioning look. Cat already knew what was coming and immediately put on her disapproving face.

“You’re not doing it right if you don’t light it on fire, dude.”

The kid looked down at the shot and then back at Brett a few times and you could see the wheels turning in his head. On one hand, he wanted to impress the lovely Miss Cat. On the other…well, it’s a flaming shot. Eventually, he looked to me as if I would become his ally and steer him in the right direction. I believe this was his fatal mistake. I gave him my friendliest, most encouraging I’m-on-your-side look and said, “Well what are you waiting for? Do you need a lighter?”

Cat stood behind the bar, hands on her head, yelling at him NOT to take the flaming shot (that had mysteriously been lit by now) but Brett and I were yelling over her to JUST DO IT ALREADY!

The next thing we knew, the kid had the shot in his hand and was slowly bringing it his lips…after a brief hesitation, he tipped his head back and emptied the shot glass into his mouth.

And then immediately did a flying leap off of his bar stool, slapping himself about the head, neck and face screaming “MY FACE IS ON FIRE! MY FACE IS ON FIRE! I’M ON FIRE!

I tried to be concerned, I really did…I might have even moved to put him out…But it was really hard to see what was going on through my tears of laughter. I stood there, clutching my stomach and practically howling with that special kind of laugh that makes you look like you need medical attention while, I assume, Cat and Mr. J.C. Penny’s friend extinguished him.

Cat was rather upset with Brett and I, and she completely failed to see the humor in the situation.  I even detected a hint of blame in her attitude.

The kid was perfectly fine. In fact, he stuck around for a few more drinks and even left his phone number for Cat. She obviously never called him.

 

**I would just like to mention that the fire that destroyed this bar was not in any way related to the events in this story.

 

 


My mom refuses to get a cell phone. I have one, my brother has one, my dad has one…hell, for a while even my grandma had one.

She could never figure out how to use it and frequently thought it was broken because the battery was dead but still…

It’s frustrating to me that mom won’t join the rest of the civilized world and just get a damn cell. She’s the only person I know that I can’t get a hold of if she isn’t at home. For the most part, it just annoys me that I can’t call her if we’re meeting somewhere and I’m running late. I also spend a lot of time worrying that she’ll have a wreck or there will be an emergency and no one will know. I can’t help the worrying…I got it from my mother. YOU’D THINK SHE’D UNDERSTAND.

I’ve tried to reason with her, but it usually goes like this:

Me: Mom, I really wish you’d get a cell phone.
Mom: I don’t need one.
Me: But what if you have a wreck and are laying dead in a ditch somewhere?!
Mom: Well if I’m dead I can’t use the phone anyway.
Me: Good point. What if you’re ALMOST dead in a ditch somewhere?
Mom: I’m not getting a cell phone.

She’s getting stubborn in her old age.

Just kidding! I mean, she IS stubborn, but…Uh…Moving on…

I got to thinking about it one day, and if she got in a wreck and couldn’t communicate, the paramedics could find someone to call by going through her cell phone book or call history. I tried bringing this up to her but it didn’t sway her at all. I really do worry that something will happen to her and no one will know who to call…

So I’ve decided to go a different route.

I’m going to write my mother’s emergency contacts somewhere on her body. I’m thinking the lower back might be best because she wouldn’t notice it right away.

That’s right, an emergency contact tramp stamp.

Since I can’t get my hands on a real tattoo gun I’ll have to settle on a permanent marker for my artwork. I’ll have to figure out a way to do this while she’s sleeping and it’ll likely have to be a little at a time so I don’t get caught before it’s all finished.

The way I see it, I’ll get my way somehow. Either my mom will discover her emergency contact tramp stamp and give in about getting a cell phone OR she won’t see it and I’ll be able to have some peace knowing that my mom has “IN CASE OF EMERGENCY CALL ASHLEE AT XXX-XXX-XXXX” written on her back.



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