The lesson Mary-Kate Olsen taught me, that Ashley never could.

"Yes. Yes, you are."

That is what the flannel wearing, Budweiser drinking, Joe Dirt doppleganger told me when I asked him the simple, yet pertinent question- "Are we in the parade?".

Now in order for you, as the reader, to fully appreciate this scenario, I must rewind a few hours. Earlier that lovely Saturday, my niece Zahra, my nephew Ethan and myself piled into my mint condition 2002 Ford Taurus, affectionately named Talan, and drove to the center of scenic AuGres, Michigan. We parked Talan, and found our spot on the grassy knoll, with a plethora of other classic car enthusiasts. Ok, the truth? We were bored and thought it might be fun to watch and possibly mock the plethora of classic car enthusiasts. So, for a good 30 minutes, we watched and waved as tons of old makes and models puttered through the streets. After a while of this adventure, Zahra, Ethan and I were getting antsy. We decided to go pick up Zahra's friend and be on our way. After making weaving through the crowd of crazies, we hopped in Talan and began our journey. At first, everything appeared normal. Sure, people were still sitting on the curb with lawn chairs and beer, but it was, afterall, AuGres, Michigan. Then.... the further we went, a few things jumped out at me. First, the aforementioned beer drinkers, were spraying water ALL OVER the road. Secondly, they were yelling things like, "PEEL OUT!!!" and "Show us what this Ford's got!!!!" Thirdly, some people were giving us the finger. 

Then, like Kristen Stewart in the Twilight Saga, realizing that she should find better company than vampires and werewolves, it all became clear. Crystal clear. We.Were.In.The.Parade. 

I'm embarrassed. There we were, smack dab in the middle of an awkward sandwich- circa 1963. So- what did we do? We embraced the suck. We swallowed our pride, ignored our obvious ignorance into the quite intricate classic car circuit, and we paraded our little hearts out! We waved. We smiled. I think we even found some random mints in my back seat to throw out the window to the kids. I was like the freaking parade queen and the crowd LOVED me. I was on fire. 

Yes... my car, the great Talan, has seen his fair share of adventure. Talan keeps me on my toes. Talan once decided to take a personal day on the way to Ohio in the pouring rain, in an area of the country that I can only assume was the inspiration for such Blockbusters as The Hills Have Eyes and Jeepers Creepers. Talan has been through the ringer. To assist you in your understanding of the beast,  below is a list of Talan's Fun Facts:

1. The number of famous people Talan has driven. (Michael Salgado, aka the mexican Justin Timberlake)

2. The number of engines Talan has gone through.

3. The number of people that have puked in my car.

4. The number of unidentifiable stains Talan has accrued over the last 9 years.

5. The number of times that Talan has scratched my Britney Spear's Greatest Hits cd. 

Yes, Talan has had his fair share of expeditions, and I can honestly say, that similar Knight Ryder, that car TALKED TO ME. THAT CAR LOVED ME. And I loved him. 

However, if LOST has taught us nothing else, we have learned that all good things must come to an end. Sometimes you have to wake up from that amazing dream you were having about Tyson Beckford. Sometimes you have to say goodbye to that amazing friend. And sometimes, you are half a mile away from home, and some Vin Diesel wannabe decides to try his hand at Tokyo Drifting... into your car.... The same car that once would not release your Maroon Five cd from the player for 3 weeks. 

Yes. Talan has been considered, by the Liberty Mutual Insurance Group, a total loss.

The cold hard facts:

broken back axle. 

The BFF and I were almost home last Wednesday, when out of nowhere, a lead footed male that shall remain nameless, blew through a stop sign and into the side of us. If the BFF hadn't seen him coming, we would have been completely TBoned, and I'm not sure how I would be writing this blog right now. Unless heaven has wi-fi. Which, I'm sure it does. So on second thought, I would still be writing this blog, but I would totally let Jesus do a guest post. =) So, after we waited 2 hours for a tow truck, I got the privilege of going through the issues of insurance. I am now close to purchasing a new (to me) car, and hopefully I will be back on track. 

So, I ask myself.... what do I do? What do I do when I lose the only thing I had left of my dead father. What do I do when something completely out of my control, ruins a goodly portion of my month. What do I do, when life isn't fair? After a week of tears, prayers and fetal positions, I have decided what I do.

I, my friends, embrace the suck.

In the movie Beastly, Mary-Kate Olsen plays this crazy girl that casts a spell on the hottie of the movie, in order to teach him inner beauty. And after she does this, she encourages him to "embrace the suck". I laughed when I heard it. I didn't get it, at first. There are many things I would like to embrace- Zac Efron, pizza, also the entire cast of GLEE..... but the suck- the random crappy-ness of life..... I'll pass.

To embrace the suck, sucks. I assure you of this fact. Life can suck. I won't lie to you about that. satan is a total douchebag, and thanks to his clever sales pitch in the Garden of Eden, we are subject to the suck. However, we don't have to fear it. We don't even have to ignore it. Sometimes, we have to embrace it. 

This week, I have been a biotch fo sho- I have snapped at people that were trying to help me, I've questioned God's love for me multiple times, and I wont even start to list the amount of Eminem songs that I have compared to my own life. (You know, because a broken down Taurus is EXACTLY like having a drunken mother and no father)

I've been far from a trusting Christian. If the trusting Christian is Amy Grant, I'm Ke$ha. If patience is Yao Ming, I'm the world's shortest man. Yes, I fell victim to the suck. I allowed it to put me over the edge. However, I've decided I don't want to do it anymore. I instead, have decided to take a page out of Jesus's book (The Bible- perhaps you've heard of it), and embrace said, suck. We just celebrated Easter, and this entire week, I failed to remember, that Jesus didn't simply ignore his doom, or throw a fit about it. He, in some ways, embraced it. Jesus realized what He had to do, and He did it. And it sucked. 

I'm gonna try to be a little less Leanne, and a little more Jesus. 

I'm going to embrace the suck that life brings, because God's got my back, and he can turn the suck into something amazing.... He's taken many gross situations and made them good. He can do it with anything. Except for that new show Mob Wives.... and also, maybe The Situation.

**Thanks for reading! Hope this post wasn't too depressing!!!** =)

College Professors..... and also- Usher.

These are my confessions...

Like Usher's sex addictions brought to the surface, Imma be honest about something- I DO NOT blog well. AT ALL. Shocker, I know! =) I just recently started this technological voyage, and much like Chris Columbus back in '92, I kinda suck at it. However, I have been reading a few blogs. If you haven't read my BFF's blog, you have to. If you've never heard of Jon Acuff, hate your life- then read Stuff Christians Like. And finally- my guurrrllll Jaime. She's awesome. Ok another confession- she's not actually my "gurl" at all. I've never even met her. Buuutttt.... she writes an awesome blog! Jaime and her family are missionaries to Costa Rica , but she's totally normal! I LOVE her writings. She has the humor of Bob Hope, the wisdom of Ghandi and the ability to keep it real like my man Marshall Mathers, ya'll! HOLLA!!! Even though Jaime claims to have the monopoly on the VeryWorstMissionary, I think I'm definitely the very worst something. I, Leanne, am the very worst Sunday School Teacher. Don't believe me? Well, you should. I once compared Esther being picked for queen, to Tyra's search for America's Next Top Model. I once gave the kids a coloring page that portrayed Shadrach in the fiery furnace, looking not distressed at all, but more like a metrosexual hair stylist from LA. I also once ate every pink starburst in the entire pack, right in front of their eyes, because a fight broke out over that delightful strawberry flavored candy. Yea- I'm the worst. However, I think my "epic fail"- my Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction if you will, came last week. I was talking to the kids about Easter and explaining that there are other religions in the world that don't believe the same thing that we do. One of my *whitecoughwhite* students said, "Other religions? Like Mexican?" I almost spit out my Diet Coke.
I swallowed.
No honey- Mexican is a nationality, not a religion.
One of my hispanic students just looked at me and shook his head almost as if to say, "Miss Leanne- this girl clearly "mexi-can't". Somewhere along the way, this girl got some green, white and red wires crossed. I think that happens to me more than most people. Sometimes I get my wires crossed. Sometimes I think its ok to yell at random children in WalMart. Sometimes I call people by the wrong name. Yup- sometimes I feel like my life is the mis-education of Leanne.

Education. The key to not being a dumbass. I think this quote should go on every school wall in America.  There are so many types of learning styles and teachers, that I have decided to make a handy dandy list of my Top 5, and what they do. I've also cross referenced them with specific TV shows they are most like.

You're welcome. 

So- LET'S DO IT! 

1. LOST- aka Dr. Denny

Doppleganger: GLEE's Sue Sylvester

Theme Song: "Bad Reputation" by Joan Jett

Nemesis: The Review Sheet

This teacher lives a life of mystery. Much like the island of the unknown, you can almost NEVER guess what this professor is thinking, so you can forget knowing what's going to be on the test. 

I've never cried after a final exam. Ever. Until Educational Psychology with Dr. Denny. I studied for 7 hours straight, and I was still only 50% sure where the test was even being held. Like the plane crash victims followed Jack Shepard into the jungle, I blindly followed my fellow classmates to the library in search of "practice tests" to prepare myself. Three hours later, I was only certain of one thing. No matter how many times you try to smuggle the answers out the front door, they catch you. Yes- this type of teacher takes pride in their element of mystery. The beauty of the unknown, my friends. 

2. America's Next Top Model- aka Mr. Davis the science teacher. 

Doppleganger: Al Boreland

Theme Song: "Big Bang Theory" intro music

Nemesis: A full roster

At the beginning of this semester, there were 50 students all wanting to pass this class. Now, only twelve of you stand before me. But statistically speaking, only one of you will make it to final exam week. Let me remind you of what you are competing for- 3 over-priced science credits and the satisfaction of a job well done. It's good to be a winner. 

Yes, you know this teacher. You and fifty of your closest friends set out to tame the beast, knowing that similar to Survivor: Timbuktu, only a few of you would outwit, outplay and outlast. I never understood why the teacher wanted to make science even more difficult than it already was, but I didn't think about it for long. I was too busy filling out my drop/add slip. SO LONG SUCKA!!! I'll be taking this class at HCC. 

3. Buffy the Vampire Slayer- aka Dr. Richter.

Doppleganger: Dopplegangers are evil

Theme Song: "The Devil Went Down to Georgia"

Nemesis: Satan. DUH!

I've never been attacked by a vampire. That has never happened. Though, if he looked anything like Angel, I'm not 100% sure that I would fully spurn his advances. 

CONFESSION: I've never had a Dr. Richter class, but I've had a plethora of psychology major friends tell me the exciting hijinks of the man in high waters. Anyone that has been in parochial schooling, knows the teacher that I am referring to. The one that thinks satan is behind everything that goes wrong, when in reality, most of the time, it comes from Billy in the back row. "Daily Battle"- that is how Dr. Richter describes life. A bit much, in my opinion. Apparently, students in his class are warned that "the devils in the details". I cannot say I wholly disagree, but let's not go overboard, Buff. Not EVERYTHING in life is a drag out fight between good and evil. I mean, even though I would look completely badass, I'm not going to walk around with a stake in my pocket at all times. Either way, I would put Buffy on the side of good. Her outfits in seasons 1-4: different story.  

4. Super Nanny- aka Mr. Partridge. 

Doppleganger: Mel Gibson with the voice of Rocky Balboa.

Theme Song: "Soul Survivor" by Young Jeezy ft. Akon

Nemesis: Freshmen Boys

Super nanny converts unruly toddlers. Mr. Partridge converts unruly freshmen. I secretly think my college put Frank Partridge in all of the 100 level history classes, to keep down the Abercrombie wearing, "Dashboard Confessional" listening, douche-bag freshmen riff raff.

Mr. Partridge, in his no-nonsense, ruff voice, would earn class respect, but at the same time, whoop your ass if he had to. Yes, he would tell you that you were "making his ulcers bleed", but everyone knew that those were tears of happiness and a job well done. Well, you know, a job well done, my second time taking the class.

5. Burn Notice meets Masterpiece Theatre- aka Dr. Lexie Wiggins aka "Sexy Lexie". 

Doppleganger: You don't need one when you're that awesome

Theme Song: "Fresh Azimiz" by Bow Wow

Nemesis: Professors that use text books

Dr. Wiggins was my history teacher. He was pretty much the man. I don't think the CIA ever burned him, but it was only because they knew better. He knew everything there ever was to know about the Civil War. Mostly, because he was there when it happened. I remember many fun times in a Wiggins class, but my favorite was the time he wore one of those "mock turtleneck sweatshirts". I mean, there's really no way you can top that. Right? He also wore a golfing hat alot and opened doors for the ladies... He was pretty much a pimp.

I know for sure that I've missed many other types of teachers, but  for now, this list will have to do. What about you? Any crazy teachers that you remember? Any favorites? Mine was Mr. Mckeen my history teacher in high school... He might deserve his own post =) 

  

BB Guns and Beyonce.....

"I think she's gone crazy. No really. I think she might kill the boys". That's what our family friend, Hip told my sister Lenice, one Saturday afternoon. And the fact of the matter is..... Hip was correct. I had gone crazy. Not like Ricky Martin, "livin' la vida loca", "cool and sexy" crazy. No- I was less Ricky... more, Jesus at the temple when the people decided to have a garage sale. I like to think I'm a pretty calm person. Ok, that was a lie. I at least like to think it takes alot to make me truly angry. I tend to view myself as one of those big dogs that sits there patiently as the little kitten bites at her ear. You see... I'm adorable, because I don't eat the kitten. Well, usually I don't eat the kitten. In this particular incident, I didn't have a desire to simply eat the kitten, I had a drive to DESTROY said kitten.

I want to tell you that after you have been shot approximately 733 times with an air soft gun, that the BB's feel as if they are little heavenly kisses from Zac Efron. I want to tell you that the metal ones from my dad's old Daisy BB gun, are more bark than bite. I want to tell you these things, to comfort you at night when you crawl into your safe bed, in your safe house..... but I would be lying to you- and I don't want to do that.

It was a nice day for a big ribeye on the ole' grill, that Saturday. I'm the grill master of our house, you see. And when I grill.... I grill. Lenice, my nephew Ethan, Hip and his 2 teenagers, Sienna and Isaiah, were all over from some delicious grub. Per the usual, Hip was barking orders at me from the porch. 

"Low and slow, Leanne", he would say.

"That's what she said, Hip". I would reply.

"Don't burn those wings, Leanne!!!", he would yell.

"I will cram these wings straight up your ass, Hippy!!!!" I would yell back. 

*Let me just say that I could write an entire blog post on men and their ability to do nothing, yet criticize EVERYTHING. Buuuttttt- I digress.*

Well, things were nice that day. Lenice and Sienna were inside, making pasta salad and Ethan and Isaiah were outside, in Lenice's car, "jammin'" to some tunes. I was attempting to grill dinner with welts the size of dollar coins all over my body, compliments of a certain nephew and his new found buddy the "air soft 5000". Ok. Within that past week, I was a victim of every type of terror you could imagine. I'm out mowing the lawn- DRIVE BY!!! I'm reading in my room- "Aunt Leanne, I need a hug. PSCYH!!! Sneak attack!! Yes, I had been hit more times than Tupac, Biggie, and 50 cent combined, but I still had all of my original teeth, so I was confident I would pull through. I was also sure that my act of grabbing Ethan by the throat and threatening to go "Rodney King" on his ass if shot me again, was sufficient. It had been hours since my last beating, and like Nagasaki after the attack, I was starting to put my life back together. 

Then, it happened. It was all quiet outside. Too quiet.  The only sound, was the soft bass of lil' Wayne's latest hit blaring on the radio. Suddenly, lil' Wayne became louder... Hmmm.... I turned around just in time, to see my nephew, ala Cuba Gooding Jr. in Boyz in the Hood, quietly roll down his window just enough for the gun to stick out.  I was frozen by fear. I saw the blood lust in his eyes. I saw his finger on the trigger. I knew it was over. With a smile that would have sent shivers up Hannibal Lecter's spine, I was met with a swift, single shot to the thigh. 

I can't tell you 100% for sure, what happened after that. I guess they say that's how the rage blackouts work. All I remember is running over to the car as fast as I could, while Ethan rolled up the window. I swear to you all, as I got to the car and began pounding on the window like an angry mother gorilla, Ethan and Isaiah just laughed. The angrier I got, the harder they cackled. Without regard for human life, or for my sister's driver side window, I continued to pound on that car with the fervor of one, Stewie Griffin , beating up the "Bird is the Word" record. I screamed every word in the book. I mean, literally- I stood there... In the driveway... grill utensil in hand, crying.. SCREAMING every profane word I knew.... at my nephew. 

Yes, dear friends... Hip was right on. I had gone crazy. And you know what? To this day, I don't remember ever being that mad. Before then, or after then. Until recently.
I work at an office. We do workers' compensation billing. However, if you were to walk around our building a time or two, you might get the wrong idea. There are a select group of girls that like to dress as if they are providing workers' compensation.... for Hugh Hefner. It.drives.me.INSANE!!

Hey Beyonce- I'm so beyond glad that you've embraced your inner "bootylicious girl", but pull your skirt down a few inches, you're embarassing yourself. So, because, if I see one more girl like this, I might explode, I have decided to draft the following letter. I will be walking around the office tomorrow, (fully clothed) posting this "friendly reminder" to all the trashy cubicles. What do you think?

Dear [skanky] co-worker-

   Hey! I want to start off this document with a disclaimer. This letter, does not come from a place of jealousy for your "HOTT" body. I assure you. This letter, instead, comes more from a place of concern- for both my eyes, and the guy in cubicle 18, that is smiling alot with a bunch of 1's in his hand. 

I like your outfit. I do. I think, that it would look really nice if you were Jesse from Saved by the Bell's character in Showgirls, or Nicki Minaj. But there is a harsh reality that I am forced to introduce you to. This isn't Nebraska Avenue. This is a job. I know you probably think I'm Amish, the way I wear clothes. Pants that Abercrombie didn't have to paint on this morning. Shirts that aren't one centimeter away from an NC-17 rating. You know me- I'm old school. I like to keep it classy. 

I'm honestly not sure if you are trying to look seductive, or if you're just going to the Rhianna concert after work. The truth is- I DON'T CARE. The Laker's cheerleaders wear more clothes to their job. Just Sayin'. So because I'm nice, and want to feel like I'm going to work, not a nudist colony,  I made you a nice checklist for your cubicle. Please detach the bottom portion of this letter and keep it with you. The directions are simple. Before you come into work, read the 5 questions below. If you answer, "YES" to any of these inquiries, add one item of clothing for each yes answer. 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

1. If you turn on a KE$HA song right now, are you completely prepared to be an extra in one of her music videos?

2. If you saw Britney Spears right now, would she say your pants are "Toxic"? 

3. If someone put a FOUR LOKO in your hands right now, would it look right at home?

4. Are your *coughstrippercough* heels so high that you might actually trip and fall, break an ankle then be able to file a workers' compensation claim?

5. Would Sir-Mix-Alot wanna get witcha and take yo picktcha? too much?  

Howabout you? Any skanky girls in your office? Feel free to vent....... 

"Takin' Out the Trash".....

Let me see it.
No, wait. You look at it first, then tell me what it says.
No!
Ok seriously, give it here- Ah! After you look and tell me the verdict.
No. Ok. Stop. Let's not do this at all.
But we have to. You've already peed on the stick, just let me see it and I will look.
No! I'll look! Ahhhh!!!!
Ok, AWESOME!!!! There's just one line!
Yay!!! You're not pregnant!! Ok, congrats. Let's go, we'll celebrate! I'll buy you Chick-fil-a.

No, that wasn't an excerpt from last week's episode of the Secret Life of the American Teenager. It was a real life, real white trash moment that I had, in a Target bathroom with a friend at college. My super strict, super Christian college, I might add. NO- before we go any further, I was the one assisting with the test, not taking it. I have been unwanted pregnancy free for 26 years, and holding.
Nope. This was just another day in the life of Leanne "LTRAYNE" Little. You know me.... I like to keep it classy.

I'm sure its hard to believe, but that's not my most white trash moment. Not by a long shot. No, that, my friends, is simply the tip of the WalMart clothes wearing, flip-flops in any weather, no bra to the gas station, iceberg. I once got a HORRIBLE migrane and threw up all over my aunts' really rich friends' bathroom. Not just any bathroom. A nice bathroom. A bathroom that would be worth more than I would go for on the black market. I once yelled " I LOVE you more than any man I know!!!" to the Chickfila attendant that gave me an extra handful of honey roasted BBQ sauce. I also, once asked the lady in the Walgreens Pharmacy drive-thru to grab me a 20 oz diet coke.

However, NONE of these moments, no matter how K-Fed-tastic they were, no matter how much WetNWild hooker red lipstick they applied, could ever amount to, what the Little Family will forever refer to as the "Mall Incident of 2006". Yes, tensions were high that day, that my sister Lisa, the two nieces, Arielle and Zahra and myself strolled into the ole' Sears and Roebuck.

My father, the great Larry L. Little, had been in hospice care, and we knew that the end was near. For someone with the personality of applesauce, this would have been a tough time, so you can imagine how intense things were with my two "spirited" nieces.

As the story goes, we were in search of funeral appropriate attire for Arielle and Zahra. While REL and I looked around one area, Zahra and Lisa scoured the teen section. OK. Now, I would be re-miss NOT to warn you right now... FIESTY. NIECES. ON. BOARD. These aren't your precious Zach and Cody, ride a skateboard through a hotel lobby, siblings. They would be more Kardashian, less Bobbsey.

After a while of shopping, REL and I made our way back to Lisa and Zahra. When I came on the scene, I knew something wasn't right. Judging by the amount of steam coming from Lisa's ears, and the screams of adolescent rage resounding from inside the dressing room, something was about to go down. As I walked into the fitting room, I was greeted by a shirt, that had, in some random Harry Potter turn of events, sprouted wings and was flying towards me. I ducked. Phew! That demon possessed V- neck barely grazed my shoulder. However, before I could whip out my wand and render future flying fashions inaffective, I realized that the clothing was not possessed at all. No, it was my 15 year old niece. Zahra began to hurl clothes out of that dressing room like freaking hall of fame pitcher, Charles "the chief" Bender at the bottom of the ninth. I knew something needed to be done. A simple calm voice would not suffice. I needed to act quickly. As "Lose Youself" by Eminem began to play in the background, I knew that even though my palms were indeed sweaty, I only had one shot.... One opportunity... I sneaked closer. As Zahra picked up another cashmere grenade, I moved slowly, as to not alarm the beast. I had almost inched my way to the door of her lair when she looked up. OH NO. RED ALERT!!!! She had made eye contact, locked on to her target, and she had her Fazer on Kill....
What happened next, could have (and should have) been taped and used for a variety of things:
1. America's Funniest (but also saddest look into the future of this country) Videos
2. When Animals Attack
3. WWE SMACKDOWN
4. River Monsters Unhooked
or...
5. her Jersey Shore audition tape.

Zahra, with the force and determination of a mother rhino, stormed out of the Sears fitting room, pushing past myself and Lisa on her way out. Oh no, I thought to myself.... THE BEAST IS FREE. To my, (and Sears) dismay, there was only one thing standing in the way of Zahra's full store rampage. One final front. One last line of defense. A General Custer's Last Stand, if you will.
Arielle.

As I quickly sprinted towards the door, I looked up just in time to see Zahra, with the fervor of a day after Thanksgiving shopper, SHOVE Arielle into a rack of LEI jeans. You may wonder how I know they were LEI jeans. Well, when you see apx 137 pairs of them flying off the rack in perfect unison, you take notice. I knew this wasn't good. I put down my Auntie Anne's phenomenal lemonade, and took action like that bald, stocky body guard from Jerry Springer. You know, the one that everyone can recognize, but NO ONE can tell you his name. Suddenly, I became the ring master. I attempted to separate Cena and Hogan into their respective corners. However, I wasn't able to pull them apart until they both got in a few quality jabs. When Andre the Giant and Sugar Ray Leonard finally calmed down, we had drawn quite the crowd. We were receiving more disapproving stares than the time Ethan ran his motorized scooter into that ENTIRE rack of bras at WalMart. Apparently, a Little Family Showdown Throwdown, is something of a spectacle. I just wish I could have charged some Pay Per View type admission to the event. If so, I wouldn't be paying 100+ dollars a month in student loan payments, I can assure you of that fact.
Well, when the final bell sounded, we walked out of that Saginaw, Michigan mall a little worse for wear. But within the hour, we were (somewhat) laughing about the whole ordeal. And as we drove back home, drinking our Mountain Dew and listening to Kid Rock, we were in agreement that no matter what----- our family can out- trash your family any day of the week.

White Trash Moments.

Britney had a few.
Charlie Sheen had a few.
I've had a few.

And if I'm guessing right, so have you. So what's your worst white trash moment?

WARNING!!!! This blog is about nothing. Also- BACON.

** For the full illustrated effect, please click on the links throughout this blog **


Zac Efron.


Pizza. 


Rhianna.


Chickfila.


Mark Salling.


Four of the above- mentioned items are amazing. They are pretty, happy, heavenly things that have been exquisitely wrapped in bacon. One of these things has fire engine red hair, and the ability to make me both homicidal and suicidal, simultanesouly.


I work in a business park. Be jealous. Yes, I have my very own 9-5 office setting of bliss. Across the road, lies Mecca- also known as-The Circle K. My co-workers and I often make the trek to "the 'K", before and after work, or on our lunch break. Why? you may ask. The answer is easy. F'REAL. Yes. F'REAL. No, I'm not talking in some random "jive" "hipster" Vanilla Ice lingo. A F'REAL is a beverage ney- an experience of wondrous sorts. First, you select a cup of frozen greatness from a freezer below the counter. After extracting the dainty foil lid with a cute, encouraging saying, you insert your cup into the F'REAL machine. OFF WE GO!!! UP, UP AND AWAY!!!! Your frozen cup of nothingness is transformed into a thing of beauty. Like a butterfly emerging from the cacoon, your F'REAL descends from its glorious perch, to bring you good tidings... Your F'REAL is ready.
Sometimes I have a rough day. Sometimes, my nephew Ethan and four of his closest friends, purchase $5 bb guns from the Ohio South of the Border Festival, and shoot me with them all night. Sometimes I try chewing tobacco for the first time, and throw up all.over.Michigan. And sometimes, the toddler that the YMCA pays me $8.00 an hour to supervise, pees on me. Yup, sometimes thing are rough, but I know that I can settle into a nice F'REAL at the end of a long day. When I bring that milkshake, malt or smoothie to my lips, I feel as if the Circle K has conversed into my own sweet, sweet oasis. Everything is right in the world. Mark Salling and Zac Efron are there- shirtless, vying for my attention. Chickfila and Marcos Pizza are present, as well, fully clothed, serving delicious chicken minis and pizza pies! Chris Brown is smacking around Rhianna in the corner. Oh wait, I guess she decided she likes that.... now. But, I digress. (as I often do) 


Bottom Line: I LOVE that F'REAL machine. If i thought it was possible and it wouldn't land me behind bars, I would do my utmost to pro-create with this machine. But really, I just want the BFF to design a distraction, and I will Winona Ryder my way out of the Circle K. I want to steal it. 


If we're not counting Backstreet Boys sensation Nick Carter's heart, I have never stolen anything in my entire life. I've had something stolen from me once, though. I had my BRAND NEW mint chocolate phone STOLEN from me, by whom I can only assume was satan himself, at an American Eagle while shopping with Arielle and Zahra. RECAP: Never stolen anything. However, I'd be willing to break that claim, if it was for that piece of metallic euphoria. (ok, that sounded.... bad?)


Someone told me something funny one time. They told me that "stealing something" was on their bucket list. Hmmm.... not sure how I feel about that. I know bucket lists are fun, and they can make you really step out of your comfort zone, but I don't know how I feel about stepping out of the comfort zone and into the Fox River State Pen. #justsayin... Alas, I do have a bucket list... and #1- MEET EMINEM. 


Don't care how it happens. Don't care if it's legal. (Because as we both know, my love for this fast talking adonis, super-cedes the laws of this natural world) I'm gonna make it happen. And when I do, I need to know what to say. Ok, lets be honest- aside from ripping off my shirt to reveal my Eminem full-back tattoo complete with old english letters, I probably won't do anything. Shock will more than likely set in, and I will become mute. (Oh, hallelujah! The day Mary Louise has been waiting for!) So- I decided, that in order to save myself the awkward, embarrassing moment that I'm sure we will one day laugh about and tell our grandchildren, I will simply hand him "The List" below. YES. I have made a list of all the things that Eminem and I have in common. After reading this, he will know we are meant to be together. What do you think?


1. Eminem is from Michigan, I am from Michigan.
     Sure, he's from the large metropolitan area of Detroit, and my hometown had one stop light, but come on! We're practically married already. 
2. We both call soda, "pop".
     That's completely legit.
3. He grew up on the 8 Mile, my parents owned a house on 8 Mile. 
     Ok, so one 8 Mile was on "the wrong side of the trax" in D-Town and Mary Louise and Larry resided in Pinconning, MI. But coincidence? I THINK NOT.
4. Eminem had blonde hair, my nieces have blonde hair.
     Ok, some might say that this is a stretch, but its definently not!! I mean, what are the odds?!?
5. He likes to wear over-sized grey sweatpants, I am over sized.
6. He has a song named "Stan", I used to work with a guy named Stan.
     Sure, Stan was a 50 year old man with sausage fingers, but the similarities are there!!
7. Eminem has a crazy mother, my sisters have a crazy mother.
     See that? How I took the heat off of me?? GENIUS.
8. Eminem talks fast,
     everyone but God has toldmethatIspeaktoofastbutIdon'tcarewhattheysayEminemcanunderstandmejustfinethankyouverymuch.
9. Eminem had a prescription drug problem, I take apx. 17 Excedrin a day. 
10. Eminem writes songs about his crazy ass family. If I were to write songs, they would, most likely be about my crazy ass family. The album would be called "How Much Time Do You Have?" It would go platinum. My 1st hit, "White Trash/Pretty House" would ignite Billboard's Top 100 with the fire of a Taco Bell Volcano Cheesy Double Beef Burrito. In my ballad, "Run", I would regale fans with my account of the time Arielle chased Ethan around the front yard of my mom's new house, with a rifle. (ok, it was a bb gun, but it looked really scary!) And finally, my dance/techno club jam "The Smudge" would light up dance floors across America, with recollections of Zahra putting her bare rear end up against my mother's picture window. 


Well, there's my list. The TOP 10 Reasons Eminem and I could go the distance. If I notice the list going south, I have a back up plan. I intend to throw on my grey hoodie and rap "Lose Yourself". So good or no good? 


What about you? What's #1 on your bucket list? 

The Observer...

TV. I LOVE it. It can make you laugh, cry, and if you're my sister Lenice, and it's Michigan football season, it can also give you a very unique form of Tourettes Syndrome. 
Drama. Comedy. Action. No matter what the subject, sometimes it's just fun to waste some time in front of the ole' "boob tube". Yes. I called it that. What?!? My parents were old when they had me, and that's why I have weird looking thumbs, call my wallet my pocket book and say things like "boob tube". So there. Also, my parents' age at the time of my birth, explains my mild case of ADH- Oh LOOK!!! A shiny piece of metal! Wait. Where was I? Oh, that's right. TV. I LOVE IT. 
LOST was my all time favorite show, and now, similar to Michael Jackson, it is gone. too soon? Although ESPN, The Office and GLEE have done their best to fill the mysterious island sized void in my heart, recently,  they have been accompanied in their efforts, by FOX's scientific thriller: Fringe. 


Fringe is a show my BFF encouraged me to start watching a few months ago. It is awesome! Mystery, science, humor and also: Dawson's Creek breakout heartthrob Joshua Jackson!! So, I'm watching Fringe on DVD and I'm almost halfway through the 2nd season. In every episode, there is one common character that presents himself. He is called "The Observer". The Observer is hella creepy. He just observes the "goings ons" around the globe. So far, there are three of these scary men, and they all look the same. And by same, I mean, a less hot version of Matt Hasselbeck, QB for the Seahawks. They wear black suits, black hats, eat lots of pepper on their food, and I'm approximately 73.6% sure that at least one of them is living in my closet. All of that, is the creepy part. 
There is a sad part. The sad part is, that they just observe. They are NOT ALLOWED TO REACT. They have been around forever. They have witnessed the sinking of the Titanic. They remember the Alamo. They witnessed Lincoln's assassination. But that's it. Those crazy men weren't able to save Leo from that huge ass iceberg, they weren't able to- well, you know, participate in whatever happened at the Alamo, and they weren't able to chase after Boothe, or high-five him- whichever side of the coin they found themselves on. They.just.watched. BORING!!!!!


I've recently decided that I don't want to be an observer. It sucks raw eggs. I want to be a do-er. Now don't get me wrong, I've had some smashing good times just observing. I once observed my niece Arielle attempt to exhibit her historical knowledge by telling me that Anne Frank was the lady who wouldn't go to the back of the bus. I've observed an open pack of Levitra in my parent's dresser. (WTF?!?!) And finally, I've observed how not amused certain people can become when you attempt to reenact entire portions of "Billy Madison" at their expense. Yes. I've done my fair share of observing, and its great. But come on!!! We don't want to be a generation of watchers do we? 


I would encourage you to NOT be just another observer. Let's make a change! We have been standing on the sidelines for far too long!!! (que Gangsta's Paradise background music) 


We need to rise up! So I think that from now on, I'm gonna tell that extra joke. I'm going to give that extra smile, and I'm going to take a page out of my man Eminem's book and "stop living down there, and start living up here!" (8MILE reference!! woot woot!)  Let's do it!


Because in the end, the Observers may have pimp-tastic fedora hats and their own 897 character written language, but they don't have any of their own experiences. They have nothing to show for their time. No scars, no broken hearts, and certainly no collectable shot glasses. I'm ok with a few scratches, a few tears and maybe even a few hospital bands- I think it is well worth the life of a do-er. =) 

Douche-bag-ery: A How To Guide.

My niece Arielle, came down to Florida to visit me last week. We had an awesome time! While my precious 21 year old niece was here, we ate way too much, slept way too little, and we found a moderate amount of trouble to get into. One of the exciting things we did while she was here, was the Plant City Strawberry Festival. The festival means one thing. CHOCOLATE COVERED BACON!!! While we were waiting in line, something extremely ridiculous happened. Three teenage boys were waiting in line, and while they did, one of the kids, we'll call him douche-bag 1, continued to use the "f" word. No, not even that "f" word... The teenager did not stop using the word faggot and/or fag the entire time we were in line. All I could do was pray to God that he would send a steroid ridden gay man with a taste for chocolate covered bacon to our line at that exact second. I CANNOT handle douche-bag-ery like this. When did we as a society, decide it is acceptable to treat people disrespectfully just because they are different? So, in the light of these #dumbass children, I have decided that everyone should embrace their inner douchebag. Not sure how? No problem! Below, is a fool proof plan to successfully become a douchebag. Feel free to use any or all of these things! Let the douche-bag-ery begin!

TO BE A DOUCHEBAG:
1. HATE ON THE GAYS.
     Hey! Lets all persecute one group of people based on a single characteristic of their life! We should also try to take away some of their rights as Americans. No, I promise it will be great! You don't think so? Well, all I know is that it worked out awesome for the blacks and the Jews!
2. PARK YOUR CAR AT THE PUMP, THEN DON'T GET GAS, BUT INSTEAD GO INSIDE, BUY A MONSTER ENERGY DRINK AND THEN LEAVE.
    Dear unidentified Rossford, Ohio driver,
       Do it one more time. I dare you. No, go ahead. However, be warned. The next time you park your fancy nancy car next to the pump and don't buy gas, I will cram that Monster can so far down your throat...... ok, Drive Safe!
3. PRETEND YOU'RE HURT AT WALMART SO YOU CAN RIDE THE MOTORIZED SCOOTERS. aka MY NEPHEW.
    The freedom of the road. The breeze in your hair as you fly by the frozen foods. There is an intoxicating thrill that you receive when you are riding those lanes like the Sons of Anarchy around Walmart in that scooter. However, there is a price to pay. The price of douche-bag-ery.
4. LITTER. ALL THE TIME.
    Go ahead. Throw your 55 oz. styrofoam cup and plastic lid out the window. You deserve it. You've had a long day. The 13 year old boy who crashed his Walmart scooter into the security guard then spent the next 30 minutes yelling "I've Got My Rights!!!" will need something to pick up during community service. Of course, I'm not sure how the endangered Misalka Eagle feels about you polluting his home. I would ask him, but he's dead. Blunt force trauma to the skull via Big Gulp.
5. MESS WITH MY FAMILY.
   You know how they have those TV shows where the people are screwing with the baby moose, and then the mother comes onto the scene, guns blazing like Will Smith and Martin Lawrence in Bad Boys 2, "BLUE POWER! MOTHER F-"... I digress... They should make a show called "Overprotective Aunt". It could air right after the Jersey Shore. It would be alot of me yelling. All the time. Don't mess  with my fam. I'm not afraid to hand out ass kickin's like starburst.
6. REF LITTLE LEAGUE BASKETBALL AND HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE DOING.
   I'm not normally a belligerent person. Really, I'm not. However, when the state of Ohio decides to employee blind referees to officiate my nephew's basketball games, I get a bit testy. I swear some of these refs don't know the difference between a basketball and a basket- something witty. It's ok though, because in addition to being blind, most of these refs barely push 5 foot. Super.
7. WEAR A BLUETOOTH.
   I'm 99% confident that when Mattel finally takes my advice and comes out with the "douche-bag" barbie, in addition to having "The Situation's" body and a spray tan, there will be a standard issue bluetooth headset. I think it goes without saying. If you follow numbers 1-6 to a T, PLEASE don't neglect the hands free cellular device. I mean, how are people going to know that you are a douchebag if you are using a normal cell phone. It's embarrassing. I mean, holding the phone up to your ear? What are you- a caveman? You might as well be wearing acid wash jeans and one earring.

I hope these 7 tips help you become in tune, and release your inner douchebag. Because after all, if you can't beat 'em.... park at the gas pump, buy them all Monsters and bluetooths, then throw the cans out the window. But if you could do me one favor, try to hit a ref while you're at it. =)

*** Thanks for listening to me rant!!! ***
Also, a special thanks to my BFF for inventing the term "douche-bag-ery".... =)