Tornado

Sorry there hasn’t been a recent update, guys and dolls. I’m trying to piece together my shamblie mess of life right and school has completely taken over. Well, mostly school, a little bit of watching that show Roswell and a smidge of having a daily glaring contest with the white hair that tends to mock me every day I style my hair. You think I’m exaggerating but this white hair that’s just chilling right on the hairline of my forehead is an asshole. It won’t even style with my bangs! Everything looks all nice and put together and this bitch just sticks straight up while screaming, “WHATEVAH, WHATEVAH! I DO WHAT I WANT!”

If you guys follow me on Facebook (if you don’t you should. The link is right over there to your left. No, your other left! LEFT! LEFT! There ya go.) then you may have seen a few updates about a tornado last week. I went to work and the co workers and I were evacuated twice to walk across the parking lot and into the basement of the barracks next door. Yeah, I know it totally makes sense to me too. There’s a tornado but we’re going to need to walk outside and possibly get blown away so you can get to shelter, even though you’re in a building with a perfectly good space to protect yourself that doesn’t smell like ass and feet.  

As we moseyed across the parking lot and into the building we noticed that we would not be the only ones there. There was a large group of military members sitting against wall pretty quietly and we came strolling in laughing and giggling like an obnoxious group of school kids. We didn’t know how long we would be there but I made sure to not only grab my purse but my lunch bag, just in case. Some of us had the local news pulled up on our phones and others (me) were getting text messages from family members (mommy) with updates. Mom kept telling me when there was a tornado touch down and when it was heading in my direction. Our new friends started to pass out MRE’s (Meals Ready to Eat) and as I got mine the little plastic brown bag brought back all kinds of memories of field trips in elementary school.

                                                                 


Co-worker dubbed them, "Man candy" and "Chris" stupid hand.



I am, what is often referred to as, an Army Brat. I grew up with my dad being in the military and all of my friends growing up were in the same situation. Sometimes when we went on field trips our parents would give us an MRE for lunch, instead of the traditional snack pack. What is an MRE you ask? This, my friend, is short for Meal Ready to Eat and it’s not the most appetizing thing, ever. However, on this tornado day, stuck in the smelly basement I took the offer of an MRE because these generally come with candy and this fat girl is all about candy. I was massively disappointed to find that my MRE did not come with M&M’s or Skittles. Instead, it came with these cookie texture wheat crackers and cheese spread with bacon. There was some other stuff but it didn’t matter because damnit, this chick wanted M&M’s.

                                                                  

I was really excited.

After about an hour and a half we were given permission to go back to work. Oh happy day. About 15 minutes after we all signed in the tornado sirens started going off again and naturally we all froze in terror and looked to our boss to see if we had to pack up again. He waited about 20 minutes before giving the ok for us to panic, grab our shit and run across the parking lot, again. We met with our new friends again except this time they were just as obnoxious as we were. They even ordered a pizza, twice! And what’s worse, THEY DIDN’T EVEN SHARE! The second time around we decided to stand by the doors and take pictures. Ok, “Chris” and I weren’t exactly standing by the door as much as we were standing in the middle of the parking lot and staring at the really dark, almost black clouds that were heading in our direction. That’s what we do here in tornado alley, we don’t run for cover, instead we stand outside and take pictures. WELCOME TO OKLAHOMA!

The Biebs

I never understood the whole Justin Bieber obsession. Even when he first came out (haha, totally didn’t intend that) and most of the girls (and some of the dudes, you know who you are) were all fan girling over the 13 year Usher “prodigy.” They were all “Oh my gosh he’s so adorable,” and “oh my gosh, I love his music.” And I was like, “oh my gosh! Shoot me in the face.” It also creeps me out when older women fan girl him considering he still looks about 12, even when he’s walking around without a shirt. He just looks like some 12 year old with spray painted abs. Like the ones that one guy you dated a while back did as a way to impress you but instead it just rubbed off on your clothes. Oh, that wasn’t you? My bad, I guess that happened to someone else I know.

While we’re on this topic of the Biebster and his fashion, can someone please explain to me the whole sagging phenomena?? I mean, this giant toddler has brought sagging to a whole new level. Even as a teenager I never thought the whole walk around with your jeans around your ankles in public look was attractive. One time while I was living in Wales I was with a group of friends waiting at the bus stop to go out for the evening. And by going out for the evening I totally mean go to the library and study. Ok, now that I’ve completely fooled the parentals, if they’re reading this, what I was really doing was going out to the pubs so that I could part take in fun times with booze and friends. Anyway, there was this guy with another group of people (mostly girls) and he was SAGGING! It may have been the booze from the pre gaming but something came over me. I slowly walked towards this idiot with his sagging jeans and colorful underwear, grabbed his pants and pulled those bitches down! And everyone at the bus stop laughed at his Sponge Bob underwear. I don’t know why he suddenly felt so modest; we all practically saw his underwear already.

 

Who finds this attractive?!! And WHY!?!?

BACK TO THE BIEBSTER! He looks like a 12 year old wearing a poopie diaper and girls think this is attractive? Oh, and let’s not forget this is a genius who snuck his pet monkey on a transatlantic flight and was totes surprised when German officials were like, “umm, got documents of this monkey? No, well, we’re going to quarantine it for a while because it could be carrying the rage virus like the monkey from 28 Days Later.” Let’s also not forget his latest comment about Anne Frank. Haven’t heard this one yet?

So, the Biebs is currently in the Netherlands as he has a concert there or something coming up and decides to take a tour of the Anne Frank house. And when I mean he decides to take a tour I mean that his security clears the entire place so he can walk around (monkeyless) without other tourists all up in his biz. He then leaves this gem of a comment in the guest book:

"Truly inspiring to be able to come here. Anne was a great girl. Hopefully she would have been a belieber."

I personally think she would be a One Direction fan. At least they don’t wear sagging skinny jeans.

On a completely unrelated note, my thoughts and prayers are with those that were affected by the Boston Marathon explosions.



Oh Mr. Rogers.



I Believe

I love horror movies and I’ll watch about anything except the ones about aliens. They terrify me because I honestly believe that aliens do exist and the movies when the aliens invade Earth and destroy everything could actually happen. To me it seems a little egotistical to believe that we’re the only intelligent life in the entire, gianormous galaxy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those crazy, alien obsessed types that believe every little thing means that an alien was nearby. I have a headache and stomach ache, ALIENS ABDUCTED ME! We all know that I don’t jump to conclusions like that at all. Nope, totally not me, I’m always really calm and rational. Yet, I can totally feel you giving me the side eye. Ok, fine, maybe SOMETIMES I overact.

A few weeks ago “Chris” suggested that I watch the movie, The Fourth Kind. I wanted to watch it when it came out in theaters but I think I faked an excuse after I found out it was about aliens and not demon possession like I had originally thought. As I watched the movie I was also simultaneously texting “Chris” various messages along the lines of. “SWEET BABY JESUS WTF?!?!” and “well that’s unfortunate, OH MY GOD WHAT THE HELL?!?” Maybe one of these days I’ll create one of those reaction videos of me watching another terrifying alien movie just for you guys. Maybe not, it’ll just be me with my blanket wrapped around my face and watching the movie with my hands over my eyes while peeking between my fingers.

This is just some background information for the real story I’m about to tell you but first I want to make sure that you’ve seen The Fourth Kind? Ok, good, so you know about the correlation between the owls and aliens. What, you didn’t see the movie? I can’t believe that you lied to me. You haven’t seen the movie and now want me to explain the correlation between owls and aliens? Ok, well you dragged it out of me. The abducties that were in the movie explained that on the nights they woke up at 3:33 am and were abducted, they always saw this barn owl. Sometimes it was sitting outside the window and other times it was actually inside the house just staring at them. It was determined that the aliens use owls as a type of surveillance, a way to watch us before they snatch us up and start probing us in our no-no areas.  Ok, now that you’re all caught up I’ll tell you about what happened last night.

I was driving home from work (I work an evening shift 3:30pm-midnight) and as I turned into my neighborhood I noticed this giant, orange ball in the sky. It was pretty far off but it just hung there for a good twenty minutes without moving. It was still just chillin’ in the sky when I pulled up to the house so I did what just about anyone would have done, I stood in the drive way for about 10 minutes staring at it and wondering if it really was aliens. I figured it might be a good idea to have some type of evidence and since my purse is like Mary Poppins bag, it took a few minutes of me fumbling in the dark to find my phone. By the time I looked up it was gone. Not one trace of whatever it was left in the sky.

I’m going to be honest, I was kind of creeped out at this point. I was texting both “Chris” and “Sean” that I was fairly certain whatever it was it could not have been from this earth. As I was walking to the front door I suddenly heard the loud flutter of wings fly past my face, I screamed like a little girl and ran inside the house. I’m pretty sure it was an owl sent to spy on me. I totally heard it screech, “She’s home! The bitch is home!” I know, that was a rude owl.

Here are copies of some of the texts that were sent to “Chris” and “Sean” in my several moments of fear:

“There’s something in the sky.”

“Never mind, it’s gone.”

“I’m scurrrrrrrrrrd!”

“I don’t want the aliens to probe me.”

“DON’T LET THEM TAKE ME!”

“Oh god, I heard something in the back yard. It’s an alien, I know it is.”

So here’s what probably happened. I live next to an army base and the giant, orange orb was probably just a flare from some night training. Also, there was probably a bat or something just hanging out by my house and me stomping up to the house and jingling my keys scared it. I think my version is more plausible.  

I'm Not Old Enough

Yesterday I was getting ready for work when I made this horribly tragic discovery. I think I’m still in a wee bit shock over it and since I’m not one of the Glee kids I can’t dance and sing about it. So instead, I’ll present you with a limerick I wrote for this very occasion.

There was a pretty young girl name Rose

Who was styling her hair in corn rows

When she had a sudden fright

As she saw a single strand of white

And she shouted, “Aw, hell no!”

Guys, it’s not even a grey hair, it’s white! It skipped the whole grey process and just went straight for white. Before you give me the lecture about the whole aging gracefully and it’s just a matter of time, no. I’m not old enough to have WHITE hair! Here’s a list of things that I’m old enough for:

Rent a car

Drink booze

Vote (and not American Idol voting, I mean legit presidential stuff voting)

Smoke ciggies

Fight for my country (but since I’m not a dude I don’t have to worry about the whole being drafted thing)

Get tattoos

Go to R rated movies

Drink booze at R rated movies

Get married

Get divorced

Be convicted as an adult

Adopt a kid

Buy a hand gun

Buy lotto tickets

Pawn stuff at a pawn store

But here is a list of things that I shouldn’t do at the age of 27:

Freak out over a white hair on my head

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I could dye my hair and be done with it. First of all, that’s not the damn point. No matter how much I dye my hair that evil white hair will still be there, mocking me and calling me an old hag even when I know for damn sure I’m not. Second of all, I kind of can’t dye my hair at the current moment. A few months ago I discovered this color stripping product at WalMart and since I was in the mood to go from dark brown to bright red I figured I would give it a shot. Also, I’m kind of addicted to dying my hair. What? I get bored and dye my hair. I don’t like the current color so I change it.

The color stripping stuff smells like a couple of old eggs that were sitting in a jar of perm solution out in the sun on a hot, summer day. In short, it stinks. However, it did bring my hair from a dark brown to blonde/orange clown hair color. The box claims the stuff is less harmful than bleaching but I’m starting to wonder how true that is considering my hair hasn’t been able to hold a color since. I would dye it and the color would fade within a week. I would try again and get the same results. It ended when mom told me to give the hair dying a rest so my poor strands can recover and I have about a month to go before I can fix this mess and get rid of the demon white strand.

No, No white hair! This is a picture a friend photoshopped of
me as Grumpy cat. In my defense, I'm not super stoked about this
whole winter weather in the spring time.

Exactly.

Also, if you guys take a gander over to the left side of this post, scroll all the way to the top you'll see tabs that say Facebook and Twitter. You should click on them. Now, so I can facebook stalk you keep you informed when there's a new blog post!

Ham Saturday

My brother and I have created a new holiday and we have named it, Ham Saturday. It falls on the Saturday right after Easter and it usually happens because ham dinner was not served on Easter Sunday. Basically, we just wanted some ham so we came up with an elaborate holiday.

When I woke up Easter Sunday I zombie walked into the kitchen to get some water and noticed the crock pot was in use. Did I bother peeking inside said crock pot to confirm what was cooking? Nope, just grabbed a bottle of water, glared at the dog that barking outside and went back to my room to crawl under the covers again. Eventually I woke up and zombie walked (again) to the kitchen to get some food but became distracted by the Easter basket my mom made. Yes, I’m 27 and my mom still makes me an Easter basket. Haters, to the left please.  

Cut to me sitting on my bed, disheveled looking and taking inventory of my goodies. As I started to eat the ears from the chocolate bunny (I know, you’re suppose to eat the whole head so you don’t hear it scream) the smell of ham wafted into my room. Naturally, I assumed ham was cooking in the crock pot so I immediately texted my brother, “Ham!!!!!!!!” He then replied, “On my way!!!!!!” In case you haven’t noticed, we like ham.

I was still in my room devouring the chocolate bunny when my brother came to the house, made a bee line to the kitchen and discovered that I was mistaken about the contents of the crock pot. He came into my room with a bowl in his hands and said that the white bean soup was pretty good but there was no ham in the kitchen. What I believe may have happened was that I had my windows open and the smell of a neighbors Easter Dinner drifted slowly and seductively into my room. Baby brother left and in my fit of irritation I just pulled the covers over myself and watched TV until I fell asleep.

And that, dear readers, is why we celebrate Ham Saturday.

Ham Saturday is a formal affiar

Even Sven was waiting on Ham Saturday



I meant to take a picture of my plate with ham and all the sides. I ate it before I realized I wanted a picture.
So here's a picture of a side ways half eaten ham.

Also, guys, do you know what today is? It's "Seans" birthday!!!!!! Happy birthday you oldie!

That my friends is a chocolate and Bailey's Irish Cream cake that I made from scratch.

I know you guys have been dying for a picture of "Sean." It's pretty legit.



The Lizard and the Turtle

My brother and I spent a majority of our early childhood begging and pleading our parents for a dog. We already had two cats but they were pretty boring. Well, except for Lucky, she was the devil reincarnated. You think I’m joking but this heffer would walk up to me, act all nice and sweet and out of no where she would grab my leg with her claws, bite me and run off. According to mom my screams of bloody murder were "overly dramatic."

This cat put so much fear in me that I was scared to turn a corner without some kind of confirmation that Lucky wasn’t hiding behind something. When I was 6 I was walking out of the kitchen when I saw this little white paw peeking from behind a corner before quickly disappearing. Cautiously, I took a tiny step forward but couldn’t see if she was still there.  My parents were in the living room and in full view of what was happening and with a voice filled with fear I asked if Lucky was behind the corner. They tried to hide their laughter as they reassured me that Lucky wasn't going to kill me. They said that last part with sarcasm and air quotes. 

We evetually came to love each other. She loved cat nip the most, though.

I may have been 6 but I could tell by the way my evil loving parents laughed she was there, lurking and waiting for me to walk into her death trap. After about 15 minutes of my parents convincing me that it was safe for me to walk into the living room, I mustered up all the courage my tiny body could and stepped forward. Wouldn’t you know it, that cat zipped out of her hiding place so fast she was just a white and brown blur, scratched my legs and bit my foot before darting off in the other direction. I spent the next 20 minutes crying and screaming about my parents being liars. One day I would find out the truth about Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny.   

Several years later my brother and I wanted our own unique pets seeing as how we had grown tired of the dog and cats. I got a gecko and couldn’t settle on calling him Reptar or Godzilla. My brother got a turtle and named him Eartle. REAL ORIGINAL BABY BROTHER. Mom hated Reptar/Godzilla, however, she was totally smitten with Eartle the Turtle. She thought it was disgusting that Reptar/Godzilla could lick his own eyeball, ate live crickets and was a lizard. The turtle ate dry pellet food, sat in a tank of water and hid in his shell anytime someone came near him.

Boring. Ass. Turtle.

Actual photo of my gecko. Way cooler then some lame ass turtle.

Oh how she fawned over that stupid turtle while she stuck her nose up at my precious gecko. I bet you’re rolling your eyes and thinking, “Oh Rosie, you’re reading too much into this.” For the record, I am not. Eartle the Turtle met his untimely death when my dear, simple brother decided to give him a bath with dish soap. A lot of dish soap. Not only did Eartle get his own little casket (decorated shoe box) but he got a ceremony in which my brother and dad spoke kind words about the damn turtle. Dad mentioned something along the lines of, "Farewell sweet prince."  The casket was placed in the hole in the back yard and as my brother was covering it up with dirt my dad placed an American flag near the cardboard tombstone. At this point I’m pretty sure I heard a tiny troop of ants give good ol’ Eartle the 21 Gun Salute while playing Taps.

Want to know what happened when Reptar/Godzilla died? He got a Walmart bag and was tossed in the trash can. I’m not bitter. Not one bit. Nope.