This isn't really a post

Hey y'all. I'm sure you've heard that google reader is about to bite the dust. And if you're like me, and shamelessly lurk and read blogs until ungodly hours of the morning, you're going to need a place to go. Don't fret! I have the answer. You are so welcome.

Go Follow my blog with Bloglovin! It's completely free to sign up, and it puts all your favorite bloggities in one place. Super convenient.

Like I said, this isn't really a post. But I'll be back with some craziness soon, promise.

Always,

L

'Lotta Rage? Little Rascals.

Y'all. This week? Someone let the crazies out. More specifically, me. I'm on the loose, two glasses (read:cups. Like the big ones) in, with unsupervised access to the Internet. So there is a very real possibility this might not make sense. But that sounds like your problem, not mine. Write drunk, edit sober: Take 1.

So I posted this on insta the other day:


and for the most part it was extremely well received. I'm lookin at you ma, Frankie says relax! I made it out alive and well enough to tell the story. So I thought I'd expand on it a little.

I'm not sure where you live, but in my world, every single road I drive on is under construction. Side eye: 121 & 114. Oh, right. I have a mildly related confess sesh. That traffic all of you are having to deal with every friggin day? It is God's direct attempt to teach me patience for the 900th time. Which makes me solely responsible for the terrible cluster...and for that, I'm sorry.

I know you've all heard the "women are bad drivers" stereotype. That's also probably my fault too. I'm good at a lot a few like 3 things. Driving isn't necessarily one of them. Although I'd like to point out I didn't get my first and only speeding ticket until I was 25. So in the grand spectrum of bad, I'm just to left of below average. To counteract this, I try and be a courteous driver, and pay it forward when I can. But nothing irritates me more than people who flat out ignore warning signs. Ones that say things like "this lane ENDS"...as in, no more pavement, so get over. Now. Yes you, princess. The construction workers are even looking out for the women idiots and put up 20 of them, in bright shiny colors, with flashing arrows so even the blind have zero excuse. If you're new to this route? You get a free pass. ONCE. But I swear on all things Southern that I see the same people ignoring the signs every.single.morning. Don't believe me? One lady drives a tan Buick, has a bad bleach job, chain smokes with her windows UP, and has a student on the honor roll. Yes, im that observant. She is not alone. There are an unlimited number of drivers "cutting" (for lack of a less kindergarten phrase). They think its totes adorbs to go speeding past everyone who READ the signs, until surprise! they run out of pavement and are forced to slam on their brakes so they dont DIE. And finally, because they live in the land of self righteous entitlement, they get grouchy when no one will let them over... like its some big mystery what happened. To these people, on behalf of all drivers, I'd just like to say: we hate you.

So today. Despite my better judgement, and even though it was clearly my turn, I let what I can only assume was a drunk truck driver in an 18 wheeler go in front of me. Mostly because I saw him blindly fly across 4 lanes of traffic and oh-hi-you-are-way-bigger-than-me-please-go-ahead-and-for-the-love-don't-squish-red-car-Thanks-and-Gig'em. I didn't even get mad. I just let him merge. Its traffic, he's clearly late for his meeting at some douche canoe convention (which explains the trailer), so I paid it forward. Calm, cool, collected.

Now, imagine my surprise when Mr. Yaris (yes, I know. I'm was as just as shocked as you are) comes flying up outta nowhere, honking at me like I'm in the way and wants to jump in front of me. NOT.HAPPENING.BRO. I don't do that level of nice before 9am. I do side eyes, exaggerated huffs, grunts, and sarcasm. And since Big Rig just helped himself to a piece of my patience, you can take a number, sweet cheeks. This is a matter of principle. Now, Sit down. Consider this penance for your terrible choice in car.

I know I sound delightful (*ahem*) but it was very evident I had the right of way, and this particular morning I was going to take it.
What I hadn't anticipated was the driver of the clown car FLIPPING OUT on me for making him follow common driving etiquette. He rolled down his window and started cussin me. Hard. And, since obviously that wasn't enough, flipped me off with not one, but both hands. We are literally at dead stop, playing some twisted version of chicken, so I got to see all of this in slow motion. And y'all, I don't know what it was, but his utter lack of emotional control made me pull out my go to argument winner. The Little Rascal wave. This is a staple in mine and Nate's marriage arsenal, along with punching each other in the face ...but thats old news. Honest to God, if you are ever on the losing end of a fight, do it. People don't know how to react and you'll win by running away default. Today's encounter with Yaris was no exception. Maybe he thought i did this:


Because the face he made?

Priceless.

Something about the look, combined with the knowledge that I had, with very little effort, ruined this guy's ENTIRE LIFE (at least in that moment) made me start laughing uncontrollably. You know, because I'm really mature. It's not that serious. In fact, nothing in my life is as serious as this man's stance on his morning commute.

If it makes you feel better, I let a caravan of church buses get in front of me in the go fast lane without batting an eyelash. I really am a courteous driver. I just have a zero tolerance policy for cuttsies. And truck nuts. Moral of the story? Bitches get stitches. Side stitches. And today it was from a hysterical case of the giggles. Oops.

Always,

L



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Sometimes...

All you need is your bubba. I miss you, E.

"The End of Time"
-The Band Perry

Here I am, standing firm, as the ground shakes beneath me.
I send you away with my own hand.
I try and try to remember, that for now it's for the better, but there's a Southern kind of tragic blowing in. Oh it feels like the beginning of the end...

Well the Alabama moon, fell from the sky, and the sweet tea wells ran dry...
Somewhere out there, you're finding yourself, but back home it's the end of time...

I'm scared to death, pick up your phone: outside, I hear the bells ringing. Bringing ruin to all that we have ever known. Pick up your phone, I need an answer. Come home and call off disaster! Cause I feel tonight our Cotton Land might fall. Oh I'm cracking like the plaster on the walls...

Well, all of the cotton, it died in the fields. The little babies cried the blue from their eyes. Somewhere I'll bet, you're living it up...but come home, before the end of time...

I'm so proud of you...and I miss you like crazy these days. Can't wait to hug your neck when you get home.

Always,

Sister

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Perspective, Level: Husband

Conversation with Nathan:

Me: Today sucks. It's raining, my head is pounding, my hair is ratchet, I'm tired, I'll never understand taxes, and we're out of chocolate milk.

Nate: Oh. Is that all?

Me: ......???

Nate: Well, I just mean, it could always be worse.

Me: I doubt it. Obviously you weren't listening.

**to which, he responded with the following picture ..(that I was unaware existed, until today)**

Nate: You could be back there. Getting admitted into the hospital. Missing Thanksgiving. All while I force you to wear newspaper hats and photograph you for my own entertainment. Oh, just as an aside, you should feel confident in my ability to support you as a candy striper if my corporate gig ever falls through. I've got mad skills. I don't know what you're complaining about, you're so lucky.

Touche', husband. Touche'.

Also? You're a dead man.

Always,

L

Murder, revisisted.

Title explaination here.

Recent phone conversation with my husband.

*RING*

Nate: Are you serious right now?

Me: Um, Never. Doing?

Nate: You know what I'm doing, I'm upstairs.

Me: Ok fine. I'll play your game, semantics police. What are you watching.

Nate: The Hobbit. This is ridiculous. We are in the same house.

Me: Come down here and hang out with me!

Nate: Again, no thanks. I told you I'm not watching a documentary on Jeffery Dahmer. I don't care if it was at SXSW, it's weird.

Me: Oh that's already over. And it.was.AWESOME.

Nate: Awesome? I'm sure his victims would beg to differ.

Me: Whatever. Now I'm watching this show about a lady who killed her husband with horse tranquilizers and then burried him in the desert.

Nate: I'm actually afraid to grow old with you.

Me: I don't know why. You'd never see it coming.

And then he hung up on me...?

Rude.


Always,

L

These are a few of my favorite things

If you’re new here, HI! If you’re a repeat customer, DOUBLE HI! Now that we’re all acquainted, I want to share something with you. I’m a dog person. That is also an extreme understatement, but I'll let the following story explain...

So it’s December, and we’re moving into our new house. Yay! WEEE!! SO EXCITED. But wait…I hate packing. And moving. And unpacking. So as you can imagine I was just a peach to deal with at the time. Which is probably why I found myself in a truck, full of our crap, driving to Fort Worth, at night, all.by.my.self. (cue Celine Dion, because I know for a fact you just hummed that song to yourself).

Something else you should know about me, besides the dog person thing, is that I require an abnormal amount of “adult” supervision for someone who is technically a grown up. That’s pretty much the main reason I got married. I digress. So I’m driving a truck full of stuff, and have almost successfully made it back to the house without incident or injury…and that’s when I see it.

THE MOST HORRIBLE THING I’VE EVER WITNESSED.

Ya’ll. This guy is walking down the street, and has an adorable little pitbull trotting along behind him. For a split second I assumed this was the man’s dog, until he (and I’m not even a LITTLE bit joking) turns around and roundhouse kicks this dog in the face.

I’m gonna let that shock sink in for a minute.

Seeing red? Because I had murder written all over my face. So, being a “dog person”, I roll down the window and scream at the guy. Turns out I’m a bad ass (just let me) because he ran off. So I pull into the parking lot nearest to the dog and as soon as I get out of the truck he runs up to me. THE sweetest. And since it is cold, I decide I’m gonna bring him home for the night and deal with the consequences of the previously mentioned grown up I live with later. Ask forgiveness, not permission. DUH.

I get homeless dog in the truck, and am about to climb in after him when some moron lays on their horn. This scares the already terrified pup and he jumps out of the truck and runs straight into the intersection.

Yes. I flipped out. Yes. I jumped in the truck and followed him…into a not so nice neighborhood. Sketch would be putting it nicely.

And here goes round 2 of saving this dog. I know, I'm the nicest, right? Remember that...

I park the truck, jump out (leaving the door open) and start walkin in the dog’s direction when I hear this guy laughing. I look up, and he’s standing in the doorway of his lair, cackling. Thinking maybe this is his dog I’m chasing, I ask. He says no. Indignant, I ask what the hell is so funny…and he just gives me one of those head jerks toward somewhere behind me. So, naturally, I turn around…and quickly see what he finds so damn amusing.

My truck? The one with half our belongings in it? Is steadily BACKING ITSELF STRAIGHT INTO THE STREET. I have to sprint, SPRINT to catch it, jump inside and slam on the e-brake to make it stop. Which it does…literally 15 feet shy of hitting the building across the road. Turns out I didn't put it in park, so much as I did reverse.

OH and you’ll love this. The dog? It followed my stupid running ass, so when I slammed on the brake, the door, which was STILL open, nails the him right in the face as it swings closed. So…yeah. He’s not exactly speaking to me.

EPIC. FAIL. Level: I almost wiped out an entire neighborhood.

Moral of the story is I didn’t save the dog, but the ice cream I rewarded myself with for not killing anyone was delish.

Oh right, I’m also an ice cream person. Dogs and ice cream. Just a few of my favorite things.

Always,

L

Midnight Rooftop Adventures

Alternately titled: Reason number 5,362 that my husband should never be left unsupervised. Especially at night.

What up moonpies!? Certainly nothing since I last blogged, right? Honestly, what could possibly go down in a measly four months? Maybe your life is different, but mine has been super uneventful. Just: closing on our first house, Thanksgiving, unexpected two week hospital stay, moving into aforementioned new house (with as much grace as a pack of blind/deaf sled dogs), Christmas, Yanke visit, New Year, Valentines, and Saint Patty's.

Happy 2013 Y'all. I suck. Whatever.

How about I make it up to you with an awesome story about my careless husband and his special needs dog, mkay??

The first thing you need to know is that Nate has the most obnoxious work schedule ever. He never works more than TWO days in a row, before he gets a day off. Ass hole corporate America goon. This really isn't important, except that it irritates the ever loving fire out of me that he gets to stay up late/sleep in EVERY Wednesday and Thursday. Rude.

Moving right along. Cue Wednesday night. Mr. "ha ha it's my Saturday and I'm gonna stay up late and play video gamesssss" is doing a stupid happy dance as I drag my butt to bed. Annoyed.

Ya'll, what happened that night, I couldn't make up even if I day drank tequilla and did a head stand. He calls me FRANTIC the next morning on my way to work. Heavy breathing and all. And this is the story he tells me:

"So I was playing Xbox. And Lady had to pee. And I didn't want to go alllll the way downstairs (*insert eye roll here*) so I just let her out on the rooftop deck. Anyway, there was this zombie I was killing and all the sudden I heard something above my head. I thought it was just the surround sound so I ignored it. Then I remembered about the dog, so I opened the door to let her in...and she was GONE.

*heart stops* *I envision mass paranoia as I report to the authorites that my handicapped, common sense impared pitbull is now on the loose*

Nate continues: So I walk all the way to the edge of the railing, and turn back towards the house, and I find her... ON THE ROOF. And I quote, "like the SANTA part of it!!!" (translation: the very top).

THE ROOF YA'LL. Dog. On the roof. Husband. In his underwear, yelling at said dog. At midnight.

Me? Laughing so hard invisioning all of this that I choke on my chocolate milk. Don't start with me. 26 year olds can drink chocolate milk for breakfast. It's very hipster. Now pay attention!

Ridiculous story short, he climbed over the railing, picked her up, and carried her back to the safety of the deck. The dog and my half naked husband both survived with no injuries. Except to their pride, because I obviously ridiculed him to no end, and then blogged about it. Wife of the year, I know.

Marriage is awesome. I can't wait to embarass our future children together.

Always,

L

P.S. Dear neighbors: relax. We will get the hang of this grown up thing one day or another. We're here to help God teach you patience. You're welcome.