Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Happy Randoms - April 2015

Just a few of my random thoughts/rants/observations from the past month....

A colleague and I were talking about how wonderful it would be to have three Fridays every week. Or a holiday every month. Or a month of Sundays. It all sounded AWESOME, especially the month of Sundays. And then I realized a month of Sundays would be AWFUL because it would mean 30 days without Chick-fil-A.


I've been binge-watching MI-5, which is a BBC spy drama series. The United Kingdom is apparently a very dangerous place to be. Probably because they only have four (typically very attractive) spies and a computer geek protecting the country at any given time.


I got a pedicure after work today, and while my toes were gettin' all pretty, I had the massage chair on the highest "hurt so good" setting. It was working the kinks out of my shoulder blades so well that I kept getting this mental image of a Cold War-era Communist Russian woman named Olga kneading a large ball of bread dough to feed her comrades. It was that good of a massage.


I thought mahjong was the game little old ladies played to relax and keep their hands busy while they gossip. And then I downloaded a mahjong app. I am not relaxed. I am super frustrated. ‪#‎ConcentrationForGrownUps‬‪#‎AllTheSymbolsLookAlike‬

Saturday, April 25, 2015

I need a small business loan so that I don't have to change out of my pajamas.

Over the years I've had a few really great ideas for starting my own business. For example, if Texas ever legalizes pot, I'm going to open a 24-hour food delivery service that specializes in donuts, macaroni & cheese, and tacos and/or burritos to profit from pot users' munchies while keeping high people out of their cars and off the streets. Naturally, the company's name would be "4:20 Midnight Munchies" and the delivery vehicles would be referred to as the "Baked Mobiles." For the record, I don't smoke pot. I've never even tried it. That's just not my thing. But making money off people who do smoke pot? That could totally be my thing.

Today I've decided to open a drive-thru grocery where you call in your grocery list in advance, and then pick it up in 30 minutes at the store drive-thru window. Naturally, the company's name would be "Window Shopping". Get it? You do your shopping at the drive-thru window?  

Anyway, the idea for "Window Shopping" comes from the fact that now, like right-this-very-minute now, I need a few things from the store. But it's not worth putting on real clothes to go to the store for a few things. I'm just not one of those women who considers it acceptable to wear my pajamas at Walmart, despite the fact I bought said pajamas at Walmart. So how great would it be to just call the store and say "I need a gallon of milk, a bottle of zin, a box of Little Debbies, a package of tortillas and some raspberry chipotle jam. Be there in 30." Because, while I may have enough pride to not wear my pajamas in public, I'm not above wearing them in the car as long as I never have to actually get out of the car. I've put alot of thought into this. I consider my car, aka AIR FORCE ONE, to be an extension of my personal space. My apartment is also an extension of my personal space. So, being in my car is like being in my apartment. And being in my apartment is not the same as being out in public. Ipso facto, it's TOTALLY okay to wear my pajamas in the car. 

I've really been brainstorming on "Window Shopping" and so far I've only found one obstacle to becoming a small business owner. One fairly large obstacle. It turns out that I'm not only too lazy to get dressed to go to the store, I'm also too lazy to start my own business. 

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

I really should have my own Secret Service detail.

In case you didn't know already, I'm a pretty important person. In fact, I'm the president's daughter and I'm getting home via Air Force One today. 

See, I recently took a mini-vacation to have a few days free to FINALLY get my braces off and spend a little time with my folks. (BeeTeeDubs, my teeth look fabulous. See for yourself.)

My trip to see the parents had a specific mission: trade cars. Sadly, Big Red (my Pontiac Grand Am/longtime boyfriend) was really starting to act his age. Electrical problems, window problems, and an engine that I didn't entirely trust to drive long distances were ruining our relationship, so I finally admitted it was time to take Big Red away to a farm to live with the other old motors like himself. (No really. That's not a euphemism for "putting him down." My parents live on a farm, with an old pickup and a couple of old tractors and lawn mowers.) Anyway, the plan was to trade Big Red for my Mom's Chevy Impala. And we did. And the Impala is WONDERFUL. Quieter, better gas mileage, radio controls on the steering wheel...but I digress. As usual.

Mom and Dad know that I have a habit of naming my cars, so naturally they asked what I was going to name the Impala. I had been thinking about it, but hadn't really settled on anything. You have to drive a car before you know it well enough to give it a name. (I've always wondered how parents pick out their kids' names before the babies are even born. That little "Tucker", might turn out to totally have an "Ed" personality, ya know? But since the Universe has made it clear I should never have children, I suppose I don't have to worry about it). Anyway, we tossed around a few ideas, and even tried to come up with a name that would be a clever play on the color of the car. In case you're wondering, the car is tan, but Chevrolet calls it "Sand." There was Sandy (nixed because I have friends named Sandy), and Mojave and Sahara since those are deserts, and deserts have sand. (I nixed Mojave because just...no. And I nixed Sahara because it's too close to Brangelina's daughter's name.) I was thinking about AlesSANDro, but that's a name better suited to a Ferrari. I decided to defer until I could think of something AWESOME.

The day after the car swap, my parents' little town was having one of those trade days/craft show/community event things that little towns have to bring in the big city folks and their big city money. My Mom was scheduled to work a table that morning for the  "Friends of the Local Nature Park" club. (That's not the ACTUAL name, of course, but I can't remember the real one.) Anyway, Mom was manning the table because she's not only in the club, she's also the club president. Their table was full of park maps, event schedules and a craft opportunity for any kids that came by. And we all know that a big box of Crayola markers is like a magnet for little kids. Two little girls came over and colored for quite awhile, mostly oblivious to the adults around them until....

Mom had walked away to talk to someone she knew, so I was left with the park club table and the little girls. A lady walked up and I started giving her the club spiel that Mom had been giving. I was pretty knowledgeable about the park and club info, but the lady still managed to ask a question that I didn't know the answer to. I told her that the club president had momentarily stepped away; I was just filling in since I was the "president's daughter."

Suddenly, one of those little girls' heads popped up whiplash-fast and she asked (dead seriously), "YOU'RE OBAMA'S DAUGHTER?" 

Now, it takes alot to leave me speechless, but that did it. The lady I had been talking with went red-faced from laughing so hard. And the poor little girl just looked confused. 

Since then, every time I see President Obama on TV, I think of that little girl, and that weekend, and the car swap....and I finally came up with a name for my car. A name suitable for a president's daughter. I have named my car AIR FORCE ONE. 


Dear NSA, 

I have no doubt that this blog post made all of your key-word alarms go off. I also have no doubt that after reading this you've figured out that I'm not dangerous to anyone but myself and the English language, and that you need a more exciting job. 

Thanks for visiting the blog and for keeping us safe.