Move Over Jason Bourne...

So. If you have read my "about me" section (and you know you have since you are all dying to know as much about me as possible, right?) you may have noticed that I mentioned my undying love for Jason Bourne -- not Matt Damon -- Jason Bourne.



Uhhh...yes please! Seriously Jason, you don't have to point the gun at me -- I'll do anything you want, just ask. (Boone, tell him how subservient I am. TELL HIM NOW!)

Yes, he is fictional, but that is why it's safe for me to have the hots for him.

Ode to Jason Bourne:

Oh Jason, how I love your guts out. You are a total stud -- all fluent in a bazillion languages/customs, with passport and cash stuffed boxes stashed all over the world. And guns, even though I am a Democrat and think they should be illegal(ish).

How I swoon over your totally kick-A marshal arts skills, super evasion skills, and wicked awesome espionage skills.

How I wish you would tell me I look tired and like I need a vacation, because at least I would know you can see me (hopefully through a scope, because dang...you look good behind a gun)(but I oppose them in real life)(mostly).

How I wish I could be a passenger in a car chase with you at the wheel, because seriously, how do you get away? H.O.T. (even though I get motion sick just watching your movies, but still).

Amen (pretty sure that's how you end an "ode").

P.S. How I am sure you are also a good speller, because typos are a huge turn-off to me and that would just kill it.

Ummm..where was I? Oh yeah -- I guess this post was titled "Move Over Jason Bourne", so after all that, why would I want him to move over?

I'll tell you why. Because I am pretty sure he doesn't play the guitar. At all. And definitely not like John Mayer -- who is not at ALL attractive to me until his songs flow into my eustachian tubes (that was for Randy) and then...YOWSA!

I sort of try not to look at him, because his facial expressions kill it like Jason's (theoretical) typos do. Exhibit A:


And B:



I mean really. Is that necessary?

Anyway, if you just close your eyes (tightly) and sit on your couch on a Saturday night and watch Austin City Limits featuring John Mayer, I can pretty much guarantee that you will start rocking out like nobody is watching (because Boone fell asleep at 7:17, and then again at 9:25, and then for good at 10:32).

Ode to John Mayer:

Oh John, how I don't really think I can write an ode to you, because my words are the mold on the cheese of lyrical goodness that spill forth from your weirdly flexible lips.

But I dig your music, even if you are fugly sometimes, and if you ever sang to me personally I. would. die.

Amen.

P.S. Your music is hot enough that I might even let your typos go and still rock out to you in my living room on Saturday night.

Updates, Corrections, and Clarifications Galore

Keaton's UPS Poop Story

Apparently there has been some confusion on the magnitude of the mess Keaton made in this story. He didn't actually poop all over the living room -- he went in the toilet and just never...um..."cleaned up" before sitting on the couch. It could have been much worse. It has been before.


Washing "Bane of my Existence" Machine

Still running. Still balanced with the same wad of paper towels Boone stuck under the leg on March 19, 2008. Freakin' Kenmore. IHateYouIHateYouIHateYou.


Dear Diet Coke...


I never meant to hurt you. We had some good times together, but I didn't know what was missing in our relationship until recently. I liked you the way you were in the old days. I liked you liked you when you debuted in Cherry flavor, and I was head over heels for you when you came in Vanilla Coke Zero -- in fact, I literally shook with excitement!

I wasn't looking for anything new, but I stumbled upon something that turned my world upside-down.

I never knew I could feel this way about someone else, but Crystal Light Energy makes me SO HAPPY! Sototallyhappyandabletoleaptallbuildingsandrunfasterthanever! I thought I could make it work with both of you, but I found myself resentful when it was your turn. I only wanted to see you when it was too late in the day (after 12:00) for my new squeeze. And that's not fair to you.

The truth is, you make my teeth darker, and you make me kind of belchy, and my husband is a dentist and knows the evils of carbonation. And then, you just disappeared. I looked for you for two weeks, but you are nowhere to be found. Maybe you read the writing on the wall, I don't know. Regardless, it was the last straw (pun intended). It's over. You were good to me, but once you go pink, well, you know.

Bissell Steam Mop

Yep, I still love it. Just like when I got my Dyson, the subsequent cleanings haven't been as jaw droppingly awesome as the first one, but that's just because the thing totally kicks-A. I know that I am personally responsible for the purchase of at least 2 more Bissell's, and I gotta tell ya, I think I know what it feels like to be a man now, spreading my Steam Mop seed throughout the land. Or something. OK, that may be a really gross analogy, but it stays. Deal with it.

(And Deb -- my neighbor bought one after my glowing review the first time around. She has a lot of hardwood and LOVES it. The only less than stellar comment I have heard {thanks for tainting the story, Emma} is that if you have REALLY deep grooves/grout lines, the fibers in the cleaning pad aren't long enough to get into them. I haven't had that problem at all, but you know, full disclosure is my middle name.)

Just the Facts, Ma'am

Ok, this is a totally non-partisan message, really and truly. It will probably never happen again so savor the deliciousness. There's an awful lot of mud slinging going on at this point in the campaign, and I think most of us -- regardless of political affiliation -- can agree that both sides are using some half-truths and distortions in their ads. Especially the 527's.

For the sake of our country (and just because truth is kind of a good thing to have), I beg everyone to check out the sound bites and false claims you are hearing about on FactCheck.org
before you believe that Obama supports infanticide or McCain claims to have invented the Blackberry. It is a non-partisan organization that researches and debunks false claims on both sides.

And finally...

Be Still My Heart (and my butt. Seriously. Quit jiggling)


There are no words...

Confession Part II

So I have a bit of a potty mouth. It's a bad habit for which I have no good excuse -- except for these:

1. Sometimes it's just flat out funny to swear. If you do it all the time it loses it's appeal, but who doesn't die laughing when a little kid drops a bomb? (I'm talking 8 and younger here -- not pre-teens or full blown teens.) When used sparingly you'll score every time. This is factual.

2. Sometimes "Dang it all to heck!" just doesn't do it for me. No catharsis whatsoever. It's like eating low fat ice cream -- what's the point?

3. Sometimes I am dramatic (no really, I am) and I just throw a little something extra in for shock value and added punch. I suppose this is slightly hypocritical considering what I recently wrote about Bear Grylls. But still.

I find myself swearing the most in two situations (let's see how many numbered lists I can pull off in one post, in honor of all my UMC gals;):

(This list will be in reverse order, because I'm cool like that)

2. When my mom or Boone's parents come to visit.

Let me clarify that they are not in any way doing anything that makes me want to swear. I think I just know I can't let anything fly in front of them, so the rebel in me makes up for it by going to Food Lion and cussing my way through the produce section. I am not exaggerating when I say I have just strung expletives together for absolutely no reason while in the grocery store. Boone may have joined me. (And we laughed our heads off)


1. When I am asleep -- specifically in my dreams.

I don't know what the deal is on this one. It's really what prompted the whole post. In real life, I don't drop the big ones, just the little cute swears.

But when I am asleep, so help me I say anything and everything in the book. Strung together. Loudly. It's like I have nocturnal Tourette's or something. I swear so much in my dreams that I feel guilty about it when I wake up. And it's not like in these dreams I am having normal conversations with a random *&%$#@* filled line here and there. I am tearing someone a new you-know-what. I reach some level of all out rage in my dreams that I never experience in real life (excepting when the DVR cuts the last 8 seconds off of The Office).

Anyone else have this problem? And I'm talking rage/cursing enough to make a sailor blush in your sleep.

I don't want to know about the other things you do in your dreams that make you feel guilty, you pervs.

P.S. Apparently I like the word pervert a lot. Who knew?

I pay HOW MUCH for TV?

OK. What the crap is up with Man vs. Wild on Discovery Channel?

Let me back up a bit...

Every so often Boone and I find ourselves facing a DVR that is totally caught up (unless we want to watch Backyardigans for the thirteenth time that day). Occasionally we anticipate this little snag in our nightly ritual and rent a movie or just read or stare at computers. But sometimes we decide to take a trip down memory lane -- back to the days before we had the DVR -- and just browse our billion channels to see what's on.

The answer, in case you were wondering, is NOTHING.

But that didn't stop us! First, I am embarrassed to admit that we watched some show on E! (never a good sign) that was like a highlights reel of worst TV dating show moments. We watched people get drunk and throw up on first dates. We watched people try on lingerie (yes, both people) on first dates. We watched some skanky girl "impress" her date by putting both her feet around her neck. On the first date. At the dinner table. In public.

Needless to say, it was an uplifting program and I feel smarter and more enriched having watched it tonight.

But things got really good when Boone switched to Man Vs. Wild. If you haven't seen it, this weird (but hot-ish) guy named Bear (OK really? Isn't that a bit much?) goes out into various wilderness settings and "survives". Boone is all outdoorsy and likes to watch stuff like this from time to time to keep up on his man skills. You know, in case he's ever in a plane crash in the arctic circle or falls off a cruise ship in the Indian Ocean.

So today cute little Bear was in the Okeefenokee swamp here in the good old south, surviving his heart out. I have seen his show a few other times, but I have always thought he just overdoes it a bit. He's like a survival hypochondriac -- everything is always REALLY BAD, but he always pulls though with some luck (read: cheating) in the end. And in the middle. Pretty much throughout the whole show.

Anyway, the overacting and staging is not my biggest complaint. I get that if he was all soothing and mellow nobody would watch (except yeah they would, because he's hot. Ish! Hot-ish!)

But he crossed the line from annoying hot guy to "don't come near me psychopath" tonight when he reached down and caught a water snake that was swimming around his ankles, held it up to the camera to identify the species, reassured us that is was not harmful (phew!), and proceeded to bite the snake's head off. He threw the head behind him and took a massive bite out what was left, and in between bites explained that we should probably squeeze the rotting fish out of the snake's body so we wouldn't get sick. I'll be sure to keep that in mind the next time I catch a snake with my bare hands and start eating it alive.

I sat through this scene with an expression of horror mixed with sick fascination plastered on my face, and turned to Boone who was grinning like crazy as he said, "Dude! This guy is all about shock value!"

Oh wait. Maybe that reaction was in regards to McCain picking Palin. (Come on, I HAD to say something...)

Anyway, it got better/worse. About 10 minutes later he was wandering through the swamp again flinging all kinds of factiods at us about the climate of the south, native species, etc., when he came upon a 6 foot alligator. At first he was all cautious, kind of whispering as he got closer about the now recovered gator population, and about how humans are encountering more gators recently since their numbers are back up. And he got a little closer, telling us about how powerful they are. Closer. And boy are they fast when they need to be. Closer. And man are they ever tasty.

Whaaaa? And I thought, no way. No way is he going there. Except oh yes he is.

He throws himself on top of this alligator, clamps its jaws shut, and uses his pocket knife to stab it in the neck and sever the thing's spinal cord. With blood everywhere, he hauls it up onto his shoulder and continues marching around the swamp, all the while giving us a rundown of the cholesterol levels of gator meat.

Now, I am not all PETA-ish, but this is just sick. The guy isn't really trying to stay alive. He is not alone and starving to death. He is on cable TV and he just devoured a live snake (which he opted to kill with his teeth instead of his knife) To slaughter this animal who was just minding his own business in the swamp -- just to prove you can -- is disgusting. Frankly, I am kind of surprised that Discovery is okay with stuff like that. All morals aside, it was freaking gross to watch.

And yet, I couldn't stop. Boone was asleep at this point (it was 9:36 after all) and I still left it on the channel! I looked up the show's page online and saw pictures of him eating all kinds of animal parts and drinking blood out of hearts and junk. Point being, it's not like this was some isolated incident. The whole show is based around Bear being a hunky, British, overacting, cheating faker of a survivalist know-it-all/psychopathic killer. What is wrong with us as a human race that we accept this as entertainment? How desperate are we? And what does it say about me that as yucked out as I was I left it there until the end?

I think I am going to claim shock on this one -- that I was too stunned to move -- although if that is really the case (it's not -- I was too lazy to bend over and pick the remote up off the floor), I'd better watch my back before Bear comes to rip my flesh from my bones while Boone sleeps through it.

The joke would be on Bear though. I have inhaled so many Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches today that the guy would probably fall over dead halfway out my door. I'm no low cholesterol gator...

Extra credit, if you please

I have a request for whoever controls our weight (Satan) -- I think that we should get bonus points whenever we are in a particularly tempting food situation and we control ourselves.

For example, it's really not terribly impressive for you to behave well nutritionally when you are home and (sometimes) junk is not readily available. Unless you are all PMS-y -- in which case -- 10 points to you (and anyone who lives with you) just for surviving life for those 3 to 7 days.

But what about those times you arrive at someone's house and they hand you a huge piece of cake and you politely decline? Or when someone brings donuts into work and you don't have any? Or the biggest test of all, if you are out at a Girl's Night and everyone else orders dessert (you know, because none of us get "caught" if we all do it, right?) and you just ask for another water with lemon*?

If life was fair in any way, shape, or form, we would totally get extra credit for times like those. And we would have the option to either A) immediately deduct 1000 or so calories from our bodies, B) save our credit to negate the times we cave and pig out, or C) magically tack the calories we avoided onto someone who looks better than us in a swimsuit.

This is my proposal. Now all I need is a meeting with Satan (which is probably already scheduled due to my behavior in Chinatown)...

*I'd quit ordering any drinks with lemon at restaurants if I were you -- those things are crawling with fecal matter. You've been warned.

My hall bathroom smells like old salad

It really does and it's making me crazy. I have washed every towel, rug, and washcloth more than I can count. Still salad-y. I have taken all the garbage out (duh) and then soaked the trash can in Lysol. Still salad-y. I have cleaned every (literally) stinking inch of the stupid bathroom and it still has an odor that reminds of closing time at Olive Garden. Plugging in an air freshener is not an option because 1) the only outlet is at counter height and RIGHT by the door, so you get blasted when you walk past by fake flowers/clean cotton/cloves, and 2) I'm sort of trying to get to the root of the problem, not just cover it up.

Also, I just needed to prove to myself that I still have the ability to post something short and without pictures.

P.S. If you have noticed this at my house and decided not to tell me, shame on you! That is the house equivalent of letting me walk around with a booger hanging out of my left nostril.