Evolution of a dog's name: Hank.

Hank the Tank
Hanker the Tanker
Honker Tonker
Honkey

No. The irony is not lost on me. We have a black dog that we call honkey. 

Which brings me to my favorite line in a current song, "Damn! That's a cold ass honkey."

Formal Sunday and proper pickle placement.

Our friend, Tall Jay, not to be confused with Small Jay, has hosted "formal Sunday" for the last couple of years. We get all dressed up and watch football. This year, he's taken "formal" to another level. Last year, formal meant no jeans, suits for boys, cute dresses or slacks for girl. This year, "formal" for the girls means sequins and pearls. Omg. The formal part of formal Sunday was cancelled today. Mainly because it was cold as balls. So. For future weeks, I can pull out my turquoise dress from my friend Amy's Bat Mitzvah in 1993. It's amazing. Somewhere on my old blog, there's a picture, but I'm too lazy to go find it right now. Picture this... knee length with layers of tulle under the skirt, sequined sweetheart neckline, puffy off the shoulder sleeves. Fashion plate, baby. 

Anyway. Jay grilled burgers tonight. Everyone in the free world knows I cannot eat a hamburger without pickles. Not happening. So before I went over to Jay's, I asked... do you have pickles. Yes. Okay.

What did he have? Dill. Pickle. SPEARS. How the balls am I supposed to enjoy a hamburger (which is merely a vessel for pickles) with SPEARS? Omg. Yes, he got yelled at.

Not only do I need approximately 10-12 pickles per hamburger, they have to be placed in just the right position to ensure at least one pickle per bite of burger. If they fall out, they're replaced. They have to be the right temperature and the right thickness. I'm sort of pickle snob. Clearly.

Manic Monday.

So. Ready for a schizo post? Here goes.

-I spent a majority of yesterday playing the new Tetris app I downloaded on my itelephone. The last thing I watched on television last night (this morning) before going to sleep (taking a nap) was All American Handyman. So guess what my short dream was about? Yep. The stars of All American Handyman were INSIDE the Tetris game on my itelephone, placing the blocks where I wanted them. By using mini cranes. Yeah...

-I'm allergic to toothpaste. I've never quite figured out what ingredient it is specifically, but regular ol' toothpaste makes me break out like a 14 year old boy. Seriously. Huge, massive ass things on my face and around my mouth. So. I avoid puberty (again), by using Toms of Maine. I typically order it online from the Toms store and buy 3-4 tubes at a time. Which comes to a whopping $20-$30 dollars per order. Sometimes I hate the fact that I spend that much on freaking toothpaste, but then I remember the potholes on my face if I choose to be cheap. Gah. I'm typically so low maintenance.

-Tomorrow our countertop people are coming to measure! Squee! So we're looking at two-ish weeks and then WE GET OUR KITCHEN BACK! I mean, after what will be (by that point) 12 weeks without one, you can imagine my excitement.

-I lose earring backs as often as most people change underwear. I wear the same studs every day of life, with exceptions like my wedding and the wedding we went to last weekend. Other than those days, I wear the same exact ones. And I play with the backs. I twist them. I pull them off and on. I lose them... So I go to Target and buy the little card of cheapo earrings and use the backs. Because of this, I have an abundance of random tacky little earrings in my nightstand.

Flops = love.

A few years ago, I bought some Havaianas. And I adore them. I wear them almost daily. It's either these shimmery brown ones, or my black J. Crew flops (which broke this past summer and it was too late in the year to reorder new ones... so sad). I have other sandals and wedges, but you know. Flops are my besties.

During the year, I either wear flops or riding boots daily. Rarely an in between. I don't give a shit what society (or my grandparents) feel is appropriate for the season. I wear flops year round. Every year. In any weather. I mean, I have other shoes. Cute camel peep toes I got from BR this year? I wear them for special occasions (like the wedding we're going to this weekend). Black heels? Funerals. Sperry's? To accompany Bob to the golf course. Toms? For work. Born and Patagonia slides? I own them. I don't wear them. Oh. By the way, my feet HATE socks.

So you can see from the following pictures, a) my reluctance to purchase new flops once mine are worn in and b) how my foot "wears" flops. Side by side. Brand new never worn beside 4 year olds worn (almost) every day. And also you get to see a kitty ass. He said he needed to be in the pic.

God only knows what my knee, foot, and back docs would say if they saw this pic. I'd be in an operating room stat. Having something fixed.

Cheerleader Zombie Hunter. Uh...

Have ya'll seen the commercials for Lollipop Chainsaw? Apparently it's some sort of new game. For some sort of game console. If it ain't N64, this girl doesn't give a good got damn.

So I had to use The Google to see what this Lollipop Chainsaw stuff was all about. To save you some time, I'll just tell ya'll what is says...

Via wikipedia, "It features Juliet Starling, a cheerleader zombie hunter fighting zombies in a fictional California high school." Oh and apparently while she's fighting zombies, she carries around the severed (yet still living) head of her boyfriend, Nick. Yeeeeeeah.

Riddle me this, batman: Who the balls are they targeting with this game? What demographic is going to play that? 16 year old female cheerleaders? Probably not. I remember being a 16 year old cheerleader, and I sure as hell wasn't interested in playing shit like that. MarioKart on N64? Hells yeah. But only if it was raining outside. On a Saturday. When no boys were around to flirt with.

So who then? If any of you peeps out there find this answer, please gawd let me know.

Denim jeans and shaving things.

I'm bored. And when I'm bored, I think about random things that I overhear and/or see and/or realize.

For example, "denim jeans" is redundant. If you don't agree, look up the definitions. They're basically the same word. So why do people say denim jeans? What else would jeans be made of? Linen? I think not.

Also, I'd like to let you know that I royally suck at shaving my knees. No matter what razor, what shaving cream, or the condition of my skin, I still suck at it. I'd love to know the shaving secrets of other grown ups please. Because my knees look like those of a 14 year old girl. Not very hot at all.

On a similar note, I can't operate a weedeater either. That magical height above the grass where you're supposed to hover? I can't physically do that. I either smack the ground or do nothing at all.

So. Since I can't shave my knees or weedeat, I think I'll go get a pedicure.

Buttonless.

So I finally gave in and let go of my blackberry. I allowed Bob and Noreen (at the ATT store) to convince me to get an itelephone. If you know me well, you know I've loved my blackberry for years, mainly because it has actual buttons. I need buttons. And still do. This itelephone conversion isn't going awesome. I love all the things I can do now, but gah. It takes me forever.

Like this post. My first ever post from my itelephone. (And by the way, itelephone is a recognized word in this cellular telephone.) This post has taken me longer to type than the ones from last year with my broken arm. Gah. The price of technology.

Parking. (And not the fun kind)

I've been told for years that I'm not a fantastic driver. In fact, my Daddy's opinion is that I'm one of the worst drivers ever. But you know what they say about opinions... But I've never had a wreck (currently knocking on wood) and I've never actually gotten an actual speeding ticket (don't misunderstand... I get pulled over A LOT). I'm just fast. Lead foot, if you will.

Anyway, when it comes to parking, I have a slight issue. It's not parallel parking. No, I cut my teeth parallel parking on Louisiana Tech's campus. My main building was on a street with parallel parking. If you didn't know how to do it (like much of the student population at Tech), you didn't get a spot. Or if you did get a spot and you didn't park correctly, your car was booted. For the record, I never got a boot.

So I can basically parallel park a bus. Then if needed, I can back the bus into another parking spot. I'm an excellent backer-upper. You see, my issue is pulling into parking spots. I know, right? Sounds, uh, dumb.

I NEVER pull all the way into parking spots. I think I have and then I come out of the store and the front of my car is SEVERAL feet away from the parking line. Even if I concentrate on it, for some reason, I can't pull all the way in. I mean, I'm not one of those cars with the ass hanging out in the driving lane. I have an itty car, so it rarely pokes out. And once I get my new car (a Mini Cooper), my lack of ability to pull all the way in will be a good thing. Don't you hate it when you think a spot is empty and then you realize a damn Mini Cooper is already occupying that spot? I won't do that to people. You'll be able to tell my Mini is in the spot, because it won't be all the way in there anyway.

My con will become your pro. See, we all win. I think.

Sunglasses (and Bob) can brighten any day.

So I'm back in Charlotte. After a FULL day of travel Thursday and a FULL day of bullshit yesterday, I was very happy to retrieve Bob from the airport last night. It's been a long week without him.

Yesterday was an exercise in keeping tears at bay. I failed. Multiple times. I had a job interview, but was turned away in the lobby because I don't have a North Carolina drivers license (a requirement per their insurance policy). I went to get a license afterward, but got lost, then realized I didn't bring proof of residence, then got stuck in traffic on the way back home. The tears they were a flowin'.

Sweet Bob and I have been looking for me some new sunglasses for the last month. I found some I adored in the mall, but we convinced ourselves not to purchase them that day. And we haven't been able to find them since. Of course. So Bob, after hearing about my fabulously shitty day, came home from his trip last night with THREE pairs of Ray Bans so I could pick my favorite. This boy could not be more amazing.

So now if I have another shitty day, I can hide behind my super cool new sunglasses.

Bathroom humor?

So since we're talking about house stuff, our downstairs guest bathroom has new reading material. The ESPN magazines and Victoria's Secret catalogs are still in their place of honor in the magazine basket. However, there's some juicy new stuff in there.

If you're wondering, why, yes. That is the guest book from our wedding. The print of our first song, Etta James, At Last, with the signatures and well wishes of all our wedding guests surrounding it. In the john. So everyone can read it while they're relieving themselves. You can see it from standing and in the mirror while sitting. Perfect spot. Yep.

I wanted to put it somewhere I would see it everyday. Where the guests to our home would see it as well. And since there's a 70 inch television (yes 70 inch- we can discuss later) above the mantle, the guest bathroom seemed like the next logical choice.

So if you ever come to our home, please take an extra moment in our toilet to see one of our most favorite pieces of wall art. Right above the shitter.

The answer.

So. Someone asked me why I waited until after the wedding to make our new blog "public." Easy answer. Privacy.

Bob and I both have some fairly psychotic skeletons in our closet. (Really, it's just him, but I say we to make him feel better.) While I wanted to continue sharing our lives and wedding planning with ya'll, I didn't want to risk the skeletons interfering. And trust me, "they" would have.

So now that the wedding is over and nothing can be ruined or effed with, here we are. Public. For all the world to see. Anyone who doesn't like it at this point is going to have to get the hell over it and move on. Finally. Please.

To makeup or not?

If you were a reader of my other blog, you may remember that I don't wear makeup. I mean, I'll wear a brush of loose powder and some Blistex. And that's it. I probably need more, but I just don't have time for all that nonsense. The last time I wore a full face of makeup was 7th grade, right after it was "allowed" by school. And my Mama.

So for the wedding, I had a hair and make up trial at the salon in Memphis. I explained to chickie that I don't wear makeup on a normal basis, so please just put don't make it thick or obvious. Yeah. Bob barely recognized me. That bad. Somehow she completely changed the shape of my face with makeup. And I'm not exaggerating. I looked like a fat faced streetwalker. Straight up. No thanks.

In preparation for my "photo session" tomorrow, I hit up Sephora. And did a run through tonight. The result? I look like me. With a smidge of makeup and flawless skin.

I'm super crazy excited about my pictures tomorrow. I can't wait to see Bob's face when he sees them. I just love that boy so much and I'm so excited to do something this special for him!

Code words and Captain Bob.

Since being with Bob, I now talk in airport codes. I'm in LIT now, but will be going to MEM en route to CLT in a couple of weeks. Bob left out of DEN yesterday, came to LIT last night, flew to ORD twice today, and then back to CLT.

Ridiculous.

In other news. Bob is officially Captain Bob! His final check/training flight was today and he was finally named Head Fred this afternoon. I'm so proud of him! He's been flying for the military for so long, and went straight into airline upgrade training after his most recent deployment. That boy has had so many things going on in his head the last 8 weeks... training, a death in his family, the wedding, my move, his friends still deployed... A lesser man wouldn't have made it. But my Bob did! Congrats, sweets!

Sympathy brakers.

On today's edition of things I don't understand....

Sympathy brakers.You know who they are. You're driving along minding your own business on a 4 lane road. You're in the outside lane behind someone. Someone in the inside lane brakes. AND THEN SO DOES THE PERSON IN FRONT OF YOU. It drives. me. crazy. Person in front of me: why the balls are you putting on your brakes? You're not stopping. No one is in front of you.

I don't get it. At all.

There's only one way to cook them. I know.

So enough of all this lovey dovey stuff... Let's get back to my day to day life, which is pretty comical, if I do say so myself.

So I don't own a microwave. My closet sized apartment kitchen does not have the space to accommodate one. It wasn't aesthetically pleasing to have a big honking thing on my counter. Instead of a microwave, I have an oven and a toaster oven.

A few weeks ago, I forgot this fact. I went to Kroger and, in an effort to simplify my life, I purchased 3 boxes of Lean Pockets. Uh. Yep.

As I was driving home, I realized my fatal mistake... I don't own an effing microwave. Son of a bitch. Anybody need three boxes of Lean Pockets? I got 'em for you...