Mr. Heisman

Dear Mark Ingram,

I offer my heart felt sympathy to you and your knee.  I have really missed you lately.  Long time, no see, man.  So...I would like to make you an offer you can't refuse. 

My meniscus.  Or my whole knee.  Take your pick.  You=need healthy meniscus. I=need an excuse to not go to the gym + want to see you play Saturday (90% want to see you play, 10% want to be lazy).

I may not have your quads, hammies, or fast twitch muscles, but I love to watch you run, so I know my knee would treat you well and work very hard while your original knee recovers to its full Heisman glory.

I'm not sure if this agreement violates any NCAA rules, so we will keep it just between us.  I would like an autograph, however. And maybe a hug.

So think about it, let me know what you decide, and I will be anxiously awaiting your return to the gridiron.

Your friend,

A.

Hamburglar

Me in my super sweet eye mask with Lamb-E (like Wall-E)

I have a slight insomnia problem every Tuesday morning when I try to sleep after working 12 hours Monday night.  I think I'm the only person who can stay awake 24+ hours and be dead tired yet unable to sleep.  It's led to tears, over reacting, and copious complaining.

Being the woman of action that I am, I...took action and bought an eye mask.  Not only does it block out every photon of light, but it also blocks sound (it goes all the way around your ears).  It came with a pair of free ear plugs and a warning.  If you wear earplugs with your Patented Sleep Master Mask TM you will not hear anything.  Including your alarm. 

I wouldn't go that far, but it definitely helps.  I am totally willing to deal with looking like the Hamburglar to catch a few more Zzzz's. I do have a small fear of a bed intruder or house fire sneaking up on me.  I would rather not wake up to a fire fighter hacking down my door to find me unconscious channeling Zorro.  (The mask actually does not impair my sense of smell, so maybe the smoke would wake me?)  I guess that's the price I have to pay for day time beauty sleep. All 4 hours of it.

Marginally Entertaining

I fell down on the job last week.  My apologies.  I think I need a husband, pet, or small child to make my blog more interesting.  I would especially like a pet or small child that I could rent or borrow periodically to cure my blogger's-block. 

Instead I have this...

A dog that would choose death by tortilla chips if given the chance.  At least she went organic!

And an uninvited guest that creeps around late at night.

This is not an actual picture of the perpetrator, but an artist's rendition. Courtesy of Wikipedia.

A mouse is in my house!  I would be happy to share with him, but I can't deal with his messy ways, and according to Wikipedia, mice are not housetrain-able.  In spite of their propensity for carrying deadly infectious disease (ie., the Plague), I find mice cute.  But this one has to go.

Because he's so cute, I can't bring myself to set out any traps.  I'm afraid to use the glue traps because I know I'll forget to check it and remember only when the stench of dead mouse permeates my house.  Or when I hear its screams for help at 1 am.  Plus you have to drive the mouse 1 mile away from its nest to release it.  I know the thing would get loose and take up residence in my car.  Or bite me.  Then I would be probably be exposed to rabies.

 

This is how I think.  Rational?  Not hardly.  But guess who has 79 contingency plans encompassing all possible outcomes...97% of which end in total catastrophe?  ME.  

So...I "researched" mice on the world wide web, to find they have a natural aversion to mint.  I doused cotton balls with peppermint extract and set them under my dresser (his main hangout) and haven't seen the fuzz ball (or his poo) since.   

Case closed...for now.

Come One, Come All!

Today marks the kickoff of The Inner Hippie's 1st Annual Membership Drive!  I can't meet my goal of being a stay-at-home blogger unless we increase readership, people!  Gotta get those ad sales going!

Alas! How will I ever fulfill my delusions of grandeur and make millions complaining about how crummy things are?

What, you think I do this for fun?  Puh-leaze.

And I certainly don't write about anything that's meaningful enough to induce a sense of emotional catharsis.

I just feel called to grace the blogosphere with my inner musings.  I mean, I won 2nd prize in the Kindergarten writing contest for my story about pigging out at DQ with my family. (A story which is slightly less amusing now that Alabama is the 2nd fattest state in the nation.) So I was born for this.

But really, thank you for reading, and especially your comments.  They excite me and make me happy!  And even if no one reads what I write, I still enjoy it.  So there. (Between us,  it's better when people do read :)

This Little Piggy

This little piggy made front page news in the Advertiser-Gleam.  There aren't a lot of "news-worthy" events in Guntersville due to the rarity of murder, rape, and grand larceny. And the fact that the all the bass fishing tournaments are over for the summer.  And the fact that football hasn't started yet.

But this little piggy made front page news (Front and Center actually).  Apparently he is running loose in a nearby neighborhood, subsisting on apples, figs, and whatever he can forage from neighborhood gardens. To this point, he has evaded capture by locals, animal control officers, his owners, and ME.

Apparently he escaped while his family was moving into their new home.  No one has come forward to claim him.  My theory is that they fear being charged with possession of a farm animal in the city limits.  I'm pretty sure it's illegal to have a pig inside the "city." Not that I agree with that statute. 

Because if I can catch that little piggy, he is all mine.  I have wanted a pig since 2004 when I saw Uptown Girls and fell in love with Rae's pig Mu.

I don't want a regular farm pig.  No, I had to fall in love with the $5000 + micro-pigs, which this little piggy suspiciously resembles.

So if I can catch that little piggy, I will love him and squeeze him and take him home with me!  Wonder if I can use a food trail to lead him right to me?

Jersey Shore

I just Jersey Shored myself.  Someone please stop me!  I don't want to watch this trainwreck...yet I can't stop myself either.  I've been looking forward to today since the season premier last Thursday.

My brain is going to slowly turn to mush.  Just wait.

But be a good friend and stop me from fist pumping, GTL-ing, tatting, or clubbing.  I already spray tan since Obama implemented that horrible tanning tax, but that was pre-Jersey Shore obsession.

Let A Little Festus Into Your Heart

Below is Festus, Fun Fest's mascot.

Festus brings us Fun Fest. Fun Fest is a 2 week long event, culminating in a wonderful combo of food, music, fireworks, and hot air balloon races. 

Breakfast with the Balloons (you wake up at the CRACK of dawn to eat fast food and watch the balloons take off...I always go back to sleep.  Festus doesn't like cranky people!)

I wonder if they would let me ride?

This is my friend Zac Brown and his band.

ZBB was followed by the Best Fireworks Ever

I know, it's awesome.  Don't worry, Festus is very open hearted. You can come with me next year!

Jeg Much?

Jeggings from http://styletips101.com/fashion/how-to-wear-jeggings.html

I tried on a pair of jeggings today.  These weren't the jeggings for me, but the search for the perfect pair of jeggings has commenced.  This was really an unexpected discovery.  I'm not a big fan of skinny jeans (skinny jeans are for skinny people...not those of us with bubble butts). And I really don't like stretch jeans either. To me, anything over 1% Lycra and you're out.  Personally, I like the stiffest jeans I can find.  No, they are not comfortable. But they do act like a little like Spanx if you know what I mean ;)

But jeggings!  The comfort!  The bliss!  The ease with which you can sit down! For that level of comfort I can throw on a long top (to cover the bubble) and be totally happy!

What was wrong with the pair I tried on you ask?  They had a creepy exposed elastic waistband that looked suspiciously like maternity pants.  For all I know, they were maternity pants. I have been known to cross the border into Maternityland unknowingly and unintentionally (The Bohemian trend gets confusing!)

Fish Eye

Please note the ~CrAzY EyEs~ in this picture.  It's what I like to call "Fish Eye".  I get a little excited when I catch a fish this size.  And I can say "when I catch a fish this size" because it happened 2 more times that night.  Not only was I excited about the fish, I was also glad we hadn't been struck by lightening yet.  I don't remember much about the conduction of electricity, but I'm pretty sure water, aluminum boats, and graphite fishing rods are all efficient electrical conductors.  Hence the ~CrAzY EyEs~  and the Cheshire cat grin.  There may have been some celebratory jumping up and down going on too. 

Yes, I just used squiggles and alternated CAPS and lowercase letters.  Yes, I feel like a fourth grader.  But, I also think it fully conveys they way I felt when this picture was taken.  So forgive me just this once...PLEASE!

Cease and Desist!

I just need to share that Facebook's personalized ads are kinda freaking me out.  I had an ad for a wedding dress and an Alabama divorce lawyer up at the same time.  Do you think FB is trying to drop hints?

Dear FB,

If you think the BF and I are not going to make it, just come out and say it.  I know you will be wrong because you are just all about starting drama anyway.  And if, one day, I find myself needing either a wedding dress or a divorce lawyer, I will be proud to say I found neither through Facebook.  Consider this a cease and desist with the creepy, intrusive ads.

Most respecfully,

A.

The Reluntant ATV

The Corolla is a driving MACHINE. It has capabilities well beyond those of any other compact, entry level car. And aside from those nasty acceleration rumors, it makes a mean off-roading machine.


The Corolla pushed its limits last week. Frankly, we pushed each other’s limits much further than I would ever hope to become comfortable with.

It started with the word “DETOUR” somewhere between the Peach Place and Columbia, TN. (The happiest place on earth is Peach Place, near Farmer’s Exchange, TN. Don’t Google it because it won’t show up…it’s small and remote, and definitely unincorporated. But glow worms live there. You know you want to go.)

I take the DETOUR, hoping for frequent arrows pointing me back towards that highway that leads to I 65. 5 + miles later, there are no arrows, no traffic to follow, and Garmin has directed me to “Turn Left in 0.5 miles”. I turn left onto a dirt road (not uncommon in this area), with instructions to follow it for 1.6 miles. I then turn onto another dirt road. At this point, I’m concerned, but reassured when Garmin says I will be back on a highway in roughly 7 miles. But the road grows narrower, increasingly remote, and starts to resemble a hiking trail more than a road.

Incidentally, the Nashville area flooded—severely— recently. There were landslides (the reason for the detour) and bridges and roads were washed away. I could see huge ruts in the road from water gushing over it. I thought about turning around, but I didn’t know another way to get back to the highway, so I decided to keep going unless I was forced to turn around.

As a raccoon ran across the road, Garmin reminded me to turn on Leatherwood in 0.3 miles. Leatherwood?! Isn’t that the guy from Texas Chainsaw Massacre? Eff. Just keep going…6 miles. Not that far. You can do it.

As the road became narrower and more remote I was really regretting my decision. I came upon a house, pleased I was nearing civilization, and hoping I would live to see Guntersville again. The house was part of a pig farm. The road ran directly between 2 pig pastures. I panic at this point, realizing that no one wants to live near a pig farm, I actually eat these things, and I am so lost it hurts. I have no cell phone service, my car is roughly 95% likely to get stuck, and I am going to have to jog back to the pig farm on Leatherwood Rd to use their phone. If they even have one. I seriously doubt they even have electricity, seeing as the last telephone pole I saw was forever ago. I pray, beg actually, for some pavement. Or my mountain bike. Or my Jeep…why did I get rid of that thing?

I need a pep talk…Just 5 more miles. 5 more miles of the steepest hills, on the worst “road” in history, surrounded by the thickest woods in the Continental US. I drive fast, narrowly avoiding the 18 inch water ruts, attempting to keep some momentum to climb these hills. Otherwise, it would be game over. My tires would spin and rut out that “road” in an instant. Gravel smacks my pretty black car. 1.8 miles from the Holy Highway Grail, I have to stop and drag a limb out of the road.

I thought about taking pictures, but I couldn’t beg God for pavement, avoid a nervous breakdown, dodge ruts and limbs, and snap pictures. I’m just not that good. Plus, this was quickly becoming a situation I might really want to block out for the rest of my life. If I even made it out of here.

If you ever need to dump a body, I know the place. It’s remote, travelled rarely (at the most), and surrounded by pig farms and hunting land. I would suggest using a 4-wheel drive vehicle to get there.

Anyways, about the time I’m really about to lose it, I suddenly see pavement and look at my phone to see 3G.  I squeal into a BP and slam it into park.  I consider chugging a 40, but stress binge on Combos and Coke instead.  It was a completely anticlimactic finish to the detour from hell. I’m getting my car serviced next week, and I’m pretty sure the Toyota man will be wondering why there are huge clumps of gravel and dirt under my car. Let’s just hope I didn’t bust anything on my off road adventure.  I'm pretty sure that fix won't come so cheap.

Pac Man

I totally forgot how awesome Pac-Man was.  That is, until Google set that as it's logo over the weekend.  I would love to post a screen shot, but let's face it...I'm not that tech savvy.  So, go check it out at http://www.google.com/pacman

Maybe it's just me, but Pac-Man is a lot easier now that I'm older.  But it's just not the same with out that arcade smell and a fountain Cherry Coke.  Still, I'm feeling a new hobby coming on!  And yes, Mrs. Pac-Man is there too!

As a semi-professional bridesmaid, I will soon be in my 5th wedding, and I can honestly say I have enjoyed every one of them.  Since Wedding Season is upon us, I felt led to share a gift idea and some wedding do's and don'ts.


Do Buy the Couple a Unique Gift:



Don't Get Drunk and Monopolize the Bride's Time by Encouraging Her to Do Things She Will Later Regret:



Don't Use Tent Poles as Stripper Poles and Tear the Tent Down/Ruin the Wedding: 





Lastly, Don't Do This at Your Wedding: 



Isn't that just some food for thought.  Happy Wedding Season!

Last Fling

I am exhausted.  I feel like I'm 100 years old and got run over by a truck.  Pretty Mary K's bachelorette party was this weekend.  It was a major success, but apparently I can't stay up past midnight without feeling like I'm going to die the next day.

Friday night included massive amounts of rain, poor visibility, and some outstanding Mexican food.  Saturday morning included a brisk walk, followed by a beach side lunch and laying out.  The waves were the biggest I have ever seen in the Gulf, and the wind was unrelenting, but it was somehow still warm and enjoyable!  The massive oil slick stayed away too.

Saturday night we held an extremely fun lingerie shower in our room.  I believe this was the Bride's favorite present.  Yep.  It's a Vegas Showgirl outfit from Unclaimed Baggage.

Next we went to hear dueling pianos where the band got the Bride onstage and forced several men to sing to her.  We were one of six bachelorette parties, and the only one that got this special performance.  It was the best concert ticket you can get for $8 (They basically only play your request if you cough up a tip)

I think it's safe to say fun was had by all!

Porky

This is the birthday card Dr. J gave me.  He chose it because it reminded him of my dog Sadie, better known as Porkysnort (Porky for short).  We call her Porky because her entire day revolves around food.  She digs up moles by day, then comes inside to walk around the kitchen and snort out any crumbs on the floor.  She has tipped over my trash can to eat the crust from a strawberry Fiber One poptart.  I have seen her devour bell peppers and bananas. Sadie will also to come running to the name "Fattie McButterpants"...especially if she hears a crinkle that vaguely sounds like the Beggin' Strips bag opening.

Here's Porky in Mole Hunting Mode:

 Do you see the resemblance between Birthday Dog and Porky????  If Porky ever got the chance, she would tear into birthday cake too.

Terms of Engagement

Sometimes, there are just basic life rules everyone should know to follow.  Like instinctively KNOW.  I could write up a whole list, but I'll spare you. 

But if you choose to protest/picket/lobby/convene/riot/march (regardless of the issue), proofread your signage before said protest/picket/lobbying session/convention/riot/march occurs.  And definitely proofread your signage before the media shows up.  As a generalization, grammatical and spelling errors weaken your stance and make you look dumb.  Especially when your political gathering makes national news.

Jacked from Wikipedia.  This is a GOOD example of a protest sign.

 It is not vulgar, and contains no errors.  It is also within

the confines of free speech because it does not threaten

anyone.  This protester did not get arrested.

You got it.  I judge you when you use poor grammar, even though I am a repeat offender myself.  If you read TIH, you know my grammar is lax. I throw commas in randomly.  Who knows what justifies one anyway?

But spelling and homophones (Ex: There, their, they're)! Watch out!  You see, you (the offender) die a little inside every time you use the wrong homophone.  You also cause my blood pressure to go up, which causes me to die a little inside too.  There is spell check, and there's another thing called a dictionary.  A dictionary is very portable, making it useful to create signs on the floor of your van once you arrive at said protest.

What brought this rant on you ask?  Apparently, common perception is that the Tea Party is an uneducated bunch. However, a study conducted by NPR (seriously) showed many are highly educated.  Here is my guess as to how that incorrect perception began:

For more evidence as to how a lack of regard for the English language weakens your political stance and makes you look dumb, please see Copyediting Tea Party Protest Signs from The Christian Science Monitor.  So the next time you choose to publicize your opinions via written media, remember spell-check and the dictionary are your friends!

P.S. I have absolutely nothing against the Tea Party.  I do have something against people who make conservatives and Southerners look dumb.  We aren't.

To Don't List

I promise my blog is not defunct.  I am just insanely busy right now. I honestly used to thrive off being super busy.  I got to the point that I didn't know what to do if I didn't have 29+ things on my to do list.  I felt lost once everything was crossed off.  But right now...not so much. 

Let's see, it's the end of the semester, I just started a new job, I have finals for the next 2 weeks, and I also want to enjoy my birthday this weekend.  This is the best time of the year to have a birthday, except for the fact that it is always crazy busy. 

I had a really fun weekend, and I promise to post some pictures soon.  Let's just say, I went turkey hunting for the first time and it was a very big success.  Like 22 pounds big. 

Funny story: After I left clinicals today, I went to Belk still wearing business casual attire.  3 people asked me if I worked there. (Who knew Dress pants=Belk sales lady). One said "I hope you don't get mad at me for messing up all these shirts...I can't find my size", while I was clearly clawing through them with the finesse of toddler.    I finally said I DO NOT work here!  Now I feel bad about being snippy.  Good thing I knew the guy.

Radio Ga Ga

Ever since I quit listening to the Q, I've been all but oblivious to pop music. I just don't really like it. I'll enjoy an extremely catchy tune every now and then, but I really tune most of it out. The Recently Played list on my iPod makes me look like a 60 year old weirdo. That said, Lady GaGa has really gotten to me. I totally prejudged her, completely blew her off, and was all wrong.


Dear Lady GaGa,

Please accept my apologies for assuming you were just another over-processed blonde that sings loudly and wildly off key while producers scramble to Auto-Tune you into submission. I also apologize for assuming that you have a small rat-dog that lives in your purse and travels everywhere with you.

Additionally, I think your sense of style is interesting at best, but I realize it is probably like a reverse disguise. I'm sure you are able to roll out of bed and hit up Starbucks in your PJ's without being recognized or starting rumors that you have some sort of addiction. It's an interesting method, but I can understand why you would employ it. Why else would you meet the Queen with red latex on? I only hope you use natural make-up or else your blood glitter levels are likely approaching the upper limit of tolerable human consumption. I also want to thank you for your cool beats that helped me tolerate 30 minutes on the cardio machine from hell today. I got to eat a piece of cake because of that.

So, thanks again. Sorry for the early write-off. Keep the tunes coming, it really is Radio Ga Ga!  Also, where do you buy your clothes at????

Don't Eat These Cookies

I Google things obsessively. Every time I think of some little "I wonder if...." I Google it. This habit has morphed into obsession since I started grad school and online classes.


You don't even want to know the things I Google for class. You couldn't handle it. Now that the Google tool bar is oh-so-kind enough to make search suggestions based on things I've searched before, I'm forced to acknowledge the extremely weird things I have Googled.


It's bad when you simultaneously embarrass and weird yourself out. I hope my mom never uses my computer. I really don't want to explain why I have Googled "herpes" 27 times, or why I have watched 3-4 videos on draining abscesses, or YouTubed multiple "female" exams. (It's school! Really! I swear!)
Today reached a new level with an image search for "myiasis". Don't look. Really. You can't handle it. If you feel like Curious George today then Wikipedia "myiasis". But remember, curiosity killed the cat.


Personally, I'm going to purge all my internet files and pour bleach in my eyes.

Ann Disaster

I had an incident last week, that until now, has been quite difficult to think about. I fancy myself a delightfully decent cook. I don't come up with my own recipes. But I'm a great direction follower, and if I'm feeling adventurous I will embellish recipes liberally.
But last week, I failed miserably at making peanut butter cookies. I would like to blame it on being a bad recipe, but I'm not entirely sure that was the issue. Instead of being chewy, peanut buttery, and delicious they tasted like baking soda. Yuck.
It was a major ego blow, especially after I had really talked 'em up to Dr. J. He was nice about it, and told me it wasn't my fault and that it must have been a bad recipe, then downed a scoop of tiramisu frozen yogurt. And I agreed.

But my incessant desire for perfection left me feeling dissatisfied and generally aggravated. I needed to know WHY these cookies were gross. I reached an epiphany while reviewing the recipe. The epiphany was followed by a sinking feeling. I may or may not have (I really don't know...just suspect) used 1 tablespoon of baking soda when I needed a teaspoon. Oops. In America, people are innocent until proven guilty. So I didn't tell anyone. Until now.

Please don't tell anyone I can't measure!

I'm retrying (new recipe) peanut butter cookies in the am and I hope to share them with friends this weekend. I do my best work under pressure.