- You know you live in a small town when the Chamber of Commerce marquee flashes “Kelly Copeland is the Bunco Queen!” as you drive by.
- The Saltine crackers with the unsalted tops – are they still really Saltines?
- Sometimes, I am actually as fabulous as I think I am.
- A couple years ago, a rock bounced up from the highway and cracked my front windshield. I was singing “Safelite repair, Safelite replace!” for about three weeks. At work. At home. Out in public. It’s still somewhat shameful to recall those dark days.
- Whatever program randomizes my SMS pass codes for my server at work is rather pervy. Today alone, I got pass codes with “fux,” “sex” and “tit” in them. Password Porn. It happens so often now, it isn’t even interesting anymore.
- The other day, I was hungry and called my mom to take me to dinner at Costco. Sometimes I send my dad back for seconds (and thirds), because he doesn’t get all bent out of shape asking for extra samples like my mom does.
- Years ago, before I started that awful smoking habit, I had the most outrageous sweet tooth. That disappeared when the nasty habit took over. Even though I quit, to this day I’d rather have a Lay’s potato chip over a brownie, hands down.
- Ernest Hemingway said, “Write drunk; edit sober.” He also wrote while in the nude. Drunk naked blogging. That would kick ass!
- Thanks mucho to @Katjaneway who warned me of the dangers of owning a pygmy goat. I’m wavering now, but a part of me is still convinced that my life would be complete if only I owned a tiny goat.
- I have strict instructions for my parents in the event I lapse into a coma. Someone MUST pluck the hair that grows out of the mole on my cheek. Also, if I die, they are required to keep a shrine up for one year. A pink shrine. Cremate my ass, and no funeral, nope. I don’t want to be mourned, but I do want to be idolized. And there must be glitter. Lots of glitter.
- Don’t hate me because I have a mole on my cheek that grows a hair. It’s not like I have a mustache or anything like that. And I pluck on a regular basis.
- I have had a strict policy for YEARS now that I answer the phone when and if I want to. Not at work, of course – there, I am always available! - but at home after hours, hell yes. Just because it rings doesn’t mean you have to answer the fucker.
- My first trip abroad was over 11 years ago (and pre-9/11 – back then, you could fly drunk). We had a layover in Boston, so we hit the pubs. At the time, I hated taking photos, so I didn’t own a camera and I borrowed my mom’s. (Pre-cell phone camera days, obviously.) We got so blitzed at this one Irish pub that I put the camera on the ground next to my purse, then left an hour later without it. I called my mom the next day from England: “Mom, I’m okay, I’m fine!” She was beside herself, thinking something had happened. Then I told her I lost her camera. Best way to break bad news to a parent is to make it sound like you barely escaped death. They forgive much easier that way.
- P.S. I told her the truth later. She didn’t find it as amusing as I did.
- P.P.S. Since then, I have bought my own camera. Funny, I never managed to lose it.
- I would love to see all the weird shit people put on flower delivery cards. I bet florists have some stories to tell. They probably also know who are having illicit affairs.
- I am one of those people who, when they see a bag by the side of the road, thinks there is a dead body inside.
- I also get really sad about roadkill. Even if it isn’t actually roadkill. “Poor bag!”
- I brake for squirrels. And birds.
- Online window shopping is about my most favorite vertical thing to do. Drunk online shopping is worse than a one night stand, though. No diseases, true, but four $40 t-shirts in the same color but different sizes? Bitch, please, just go to bed the next time!
- I don’t get text messages and emails that just say “Hi!” If you are going to distract me from my day, you better have something to say.
- Never buy into a cryptic Facebook status update that makes you wonder what is wrong. “So sad.” “Oh, depressed again.” “I can’t take much more.” Honey, I am the QUEEN of attention whores…at least make it interesting, please.
- It’s taken every fiber of my being to NOT get another dog. No, I don’t want a replacement for Mr. Swirly (as if that exists!), but it really is too quiet around here!
- There are around 650 calories in a bottle of white wine (give or take). Or, as the non-BF calls it, a “serving.” If I cut out lunch and dinner, I’ll still make my daily intake goal!
- I totally had to Google how many calories were in a bottle of white wine.
- Grief makes people do weird things. I stopped eating and cried constantly when I lost my first Min Pin. With Mr. Swirly’s passing, I’ve been making jokes about what a crazy, swirly dog he was. I prefer the laughter over the crying. Even though I do still cry a little bit. He was a great dog. A dog like no other. I dare people to show me a stranger little fucker than that dog. He walked backwards and tried on my flip-flops. I still miss him
- Sometimes, I don’t know when to quit. Like now. I guess this is the end of this!
You’re welcome. Perhaps maybe if it was truly tiny. And trained. Like an indoor pet. But even pygmy goats are a bit larger than a medium sized dog. Oh also, I loved this list. Some of them are totally true for me too lol
I’m still debating the pygmy goat. Hell, I don’t need something that gives my dogs shit, though!
Losing a pet sucks! As for the wine it sounds like a win win to me. haha Isn’t it funny how we can lose our PARENTS stuff but ours somehow always stays in our possession?