My sister is a stateriot (think patriot). She even has pictures of the state flag on her return address labels.
Robert Duvall is also a stateriot. He told Esquire that VA was the the next best thing to heaven. He used to live in the same town as me. Heaven? Maybe not but his current farm appears to be pretty awesome.
This term "stateriot" came to me today when I saw the address label (also why does my 21 year-old sister have return address labels?). I feel as if a real word for the love of one's state should exist. I am consulting Google as I speak...fruitless.
My attempts were feeble but if you Google stateriotism you'll get results. Also if you know what the real word for loving your state is let me know.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
The Trifecta
New gang in town ya'll. (And we may have stolen someone else's' gang name and I mean no disrespect.) We are the Trifecta and we have a handshake.
It involves a three-way super-white fist bump.
This fist bump was conceived over Italian Wedding Soup as my mother ran off to take a call from a man she met on the internet (really? yes, I don't fib about said things).
So respect to the Trifecta.
Respect.
It involves a three-way super-white fist bump.
This fist bump was conceived over Italian Wedding Soup as my mother ran off to take a call from a man she met on the internet (really? yes, I don't fib about said things).
So respect to the Trifecta.
Respect.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
The Old Mind is a Slippin'
So I'm not old. But my mind is just plain exhausted (I need to learn to spell that word, and experience [which is just spelled right on my own for the first time, ever]). I'm having bizarre nightmares. Like my unborn child (in the dream) burned my hair off my head and I had to get the rest of it cut off. For those of you who don't know I'm going through a balding period. I was wearing my bangs straight down, I was deciding if I needed a haircut the other day and was messing with my bangs, I can't wear them straight down any longer because I have two major holes in my hairline. Balding periods suck, and apparently I'm having anxiety of this one.
Anyhow, my anxious mind thought of two very clever things in the course of the day for me to write to you about. I have since forgotten. I just remember thinking that you would have enjoyed them.
Also, I have a brain tumor, self-diagnosed. I keep having strange tingling on my scalp and shoulder. Same two places, so I know it must be corresponding places in my brain. I thought about plotting my symptoms into WebMD but come on, I wanted to be a doctor at one point, I know what I'm talking about: Something clever.
Anyhow, my anxious mind thought of two very clever things in the course of the day for me to write to you about. I have since forgotten. I just remember thinking that you would have enjoyed them.
Also, I have a brain tumor, self-diagnosed. I keep having strange tingling on my scalp and shoulder. Same two places, so I know it must be corresponding places in my brain. I thought about plotting my symptoms into WebMD but come on, I wanted to be a doctor at one point, I know what I'm talking about: Something clever.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Goat Cheese: So Good, So Bad
As a cheese person in a cheese family I've always been a bit underwhelmed by the household cheese variety. Part of it is financial and part of it fear so when I branched out to goat cheese it didn't surprise me that the $7 log turned moldy before I could finish it. No one else will venture to its wonderful tangy smoothness.
Tonight though I was making butternut squash and tortellini soup. It's alright, my mom is a huge fan. Anyhow, I'm cooking the tortellini separately so that it is fully cooked come the final product. I pop one of those bad boys in my mouth and then it happened:
Goat cheese napalm plastered the roof of my mouth, sizzling as the skin festered and bubbled. No amount of panicked gnashing helped. My teeth and tongue fought tirelessly in vain.
The worst part, no one made me a milkshake for dinner. I had to eat the soup stuff with my mouth all raw. I guess the moral of the story is not to eat hot goat cheese. It's good but deadly.
Tonight though I was making butternut squash and tortellini soup. It's alright, my mom is a huge fan. Anyhow, I'm cooking the tortellini separately so that it is fully cooked come the final product. I pop one of those bad boys in my mouth and then it happened:
Goat cheese napalm plastered the roof of my mouth, sizzling as the skin festered and bubbled. No amount of panicked gnashing helped. My teeth and tongue fought tirelessly in vain.
The worst part, no one made me a milkshake for dinner. I had to eat the soup stuff with my mouth all raw. I guess the moral of the story is not to eat hot goat cheese. It's good but deadly.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
"Tonight, Pinky, We Take Over the World!"
It's a cartoon reference to mice. It's ok if you don't get it.
I'm just writing to thank all you international folk who have stumbled upon this here blog for reading. I would like to thank my continual support from Canada and the UK but must add that I'm thoroughly enjoying the Colombian and Iranian readership. And Croatia, thank you Croatia for you're views!
Though the people who read this blog and tell me they read this blog say I'm amusing I have received some criticism from my mother that I am not positive enough. Let's consider this a step in the right direction.
I'm just writing to thank all you international folk who have stumbled upon this here blog for reading. I would like to thank my continual support from Canada and the UK but must add that I'm thoroughly enjoying the Colombian and Iranian readership. And Croatia, thank you Croatia for you're views!
Though the people who read this blog and tell me they read this blog say I'm amusing I have received some criticism from my mother that I am not positive enough. Let's consider this a step in the right direction.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
A Note on How Prude I Really Am
Cover thy self!
I'm all about being comfy with your body, hell, clothes are something of an option...while in your own home. The gym locker room is not, however, clothing optional. I know that at some point in changing or showering you have to strip down. I do it too. But at no point is it alright to stand stark naked with your wet hair wrapped in a towel and chat with someone across the room. Not a single instance. Save the nudey talk for the bedroom or even your kitchen, as long as I'm not standing in it.
I'm working on the assumption that these middle aged women who prance around in public spaces in their birthday suits are missing something at home. I missed my chance to take human sexuality classes in college but working on the basic understand that at some level all people need some type of physical love in order to keep them in a good head space otherwise people end up flashing cars as they drive down the highway or something. I don't want to see your naughty bits, please have a bit of shame and cover up (especially if you are using the locker next to mine and as you approach said locker I am bent rummaging for something in my bag which I have placed on the floor. I don't need a face full of your naked nethers.)
Please undersexed mid-lifers for my give up the sin verguenza for me.
I'm all about being comfy with your body, hell, clothes are something of an option...while in your own home. The gym locker room is not, however, clothing optional. I know that at some point in changing or showering you have to strip down. I do it too. But at no point is it alright to stand stark naked with your wet hair wrapped in a towel and chat with someone across the room. Not a single instance. Save the nudey talk for the bedroom or even your kitchen, as long as I'm not standing in it.
I'm working on the assumption that these middle aged women who prance around in public spaces in their birthday suits are missing something at home. I missed my chance to take human sexuality classes in college but working on the basic understand that at some level all people need some type of physical love in order to keep them in a good head space otherwise people end up flashing cars as they drive down the highway or something. I don't want to see your naughty bits, please have a bit of shame and cover up (especially if you are using the locker next to mine and as you approach said locker I am bent rummaging for something in my bag which I have placed on the floor. I don't need a face full of your naked nethers.)
Please undersexed mid-lifers for my give up the sin verguenza for me.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
What it Means to be American
We like to pretend to be Canadians when we're abroad in hopes of catching less flack being of los Estados Unidos. And I say we because it's a pretty common thing though I've never attempted it. I believe my volume and girth (which is not to say that I weigh some ungodly 400 lbs but I am thick and thick stands out in a lot of places) give me away.
I never did understand why flag waving patriots who cackle at Canadian accents (have you ever heard the accent of the American Southeast? Seriously its both endearing and grating, talking that slow makes you sound "slow" and yet hot!) buy Canadian flag patches for their jackets and backpacks (and readers of Canada raise your hand if you have your country's flag sewn onto any if not all of your personal belongings). The rest of the world sees right through you for the following reasons:
1. You are loud, covered it, I know but one day you'll be abroad and in a quite moment happen upon other Americans and you'll see what I mean.
2. You are overweight. There are fatties in other countries but not like there are here, I'm not judging, I'm just saying.
3. You are dressed too casually, I once read a piece by Amy Tan that described how her Chinese mother seemed to not be able to put outfits together in any sort of subtle color scheme and as Tan was Chinese-American she was embarrassed by it. Americans we do that, in a way. And while not everyone wears athletic shoes, t-shirts, jeans and baseball caps at the same time, these items of clothing in any combination will make you stick out.
4. You are prude. Or I am prude. Really, we are prude. I'm so prude I don't understand how prude I am. Causal extramarital affair, though widely practiced, it is super-un-American in that it is shameful. I hear that this is the case in some other places, but still casual sex makes your mother wince and I think that by the time you become your mother you'll wince too. Also, I hear you have the clap.
5. You can't spell in English, your native tongue, which you believe everyone should speak fluently. I lumped a few things in here but you understand it I hope. I hate having to speak Spanish because as it is my second "language" I can't for comfortable sentences without first having my inhibitions wiped away with a bit of booze. I had to yesterday, the person I was talking to didn't understand a bit of English and I can't blame him this language is a bit of a challenge. But he was making me uncomfortable with my Spanish because he wasn't reacting like he recognized the words that I was saying. So I don't expect everyone to speak English. I can't spell though. I have the handy-dandy spell check on the computer but anyone who has ever received a text message from me knows that letters don't make sense to me. Also I often am told that my misspellings are forgivable because I am American and don't know any better! I am both comforted and offended.
So my loud, fat, sloppy, prude monolingual friends stop pretending to be Canadian. Be as American as you can because you'll either be helping America's reputation or hurting it but there is no need to be hurting (or helping?) Canada's reputation (sorry Canada).
I never did understand why flag waving patriots who cackle at Canadian accents (have you ever heard the accent of the American Southeast? Seriously its both endearing and grating, talking that slow makes you sound "slow" and yet hot!) buy Canadian flag patches for their jackets and backpacks (and readers of Canada raise your hand if you have your country's flag sewn onto any if not all of your personal belongings). The rest of the world sees right through you for the following reasons:
1. You are loud, covered it, I know but one day you'll be abroad and in a quite moment happen upon other Americans and you'll see what I mean.
2. You are overweight. There are fatties in other countries but not like there are here, I'm not judging, I'm just saying.
3. You are dressed too casually, I once read a piece by Amy Tan that described how her Chinese mother seemed to not be able to put outfits together in any sort of subtle color scheme and as Tan was Chinese-American she was embarrassed by it. Americans we do that, in a way. And while not everyone wears athletic shoes, t-shirts, jeans and baseball caps at the same time, these items of clothing in any combination will make you stick out.
4. You are prude. Or I am prude. Really, we are prude. I'm so prude I don't understand how prude I am. Causal extramarital affair, though widely practiced, it is super-un-American in that it is shameful. I hear that this is the case in some other places, but still casual sex makes your mother wince and I think that by the time you become your mother you'll wince too. Also, I hear you have the clap.
5. You can't spell in English, your native tongue, which you believe everyone should speak fluently. I lumped a few things in here but you understand it I hope. I hate having to speak Spanish because as it is my second "language" I can't for comfortable sentences without first having my inhibitions wiped away with a bit of booze. I had to yesterday, the person I was talking to didn't understand a bit of English and I can't blame him this language is a bit of a challenge. But he was making me uncomfortable with my Spanish because he wasn't reacting like he recognized the words that I was saying. So I don't expect everyone to speak English. I can't spell though. I have the handy-dandy spell check on the computer but anyone who has ever received a text message from me knows that letters don't make sense to me. Also I often am told that my misspellings are forgivable because I am American and don't know any better! I am both comforted and offended.
So my loud, fat, sloppy, prude monolingual friends stop pretending to be Canadian. Be as American as you can because you'll either be helping America's reputation or hurting it but there is no need to be hurting (or helping?) Canada's reputation (sorry Canada).
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