What is a Dude?

My six year old niece and her take on who is a "dude".

Me: DUDE! Stop it.

Zoe: Stop calling me a dude. Dudes are not girls, dudes are boys and I'm not a boy. Neither are you.

Me: Whatever Dude.

Look Both Ways Before You Pick Up That Magazine

Mark stayed home sick yesterday and at one point he decided to venture out to the grocery store for some medicine or something. Mark is the kind of guy that will pick up every free magazine or paper at those exit doors. Car magazines, apartment magazines, The Rage, The Nashville Scene. Any of those he will pick up. One for every place he occupies. The car, the bathroom, the living room, the shed. You will find them everywhere. Well as he was leaving yesterday he picked up what he thought to be a Holiday Edition of the Rage. After going through it, he decided it best to call me. Maybe just to reclaim his manhood, but here is what he said on the phone. Not exactly word for word, but here:

Mark: You all the magazines and stuff at the grocery store when you leave?
Me: yeah
Mark: Well I picked one up that said Holiday and brought it home. When I got home I started looking through and on the first page there was this big picture of a guy in like this seductive pose with twinkies in his mouth and on his shirt.
Me: Gross.
Mark: yeah, I know, so then I flipped to the next page and there is this guy in a santa hat lifting weights without his shirt on. I was like "What the hell!" and flipped back to the cover and guess what?
Me: smirk um what?
Mark: The paper is called HoliGay

Okay, so how does this stuff happen to him? Random things like this. A mild case of dyslexia? Or what about the toilet paper thing? Stress and forgetfulness? It just cracks me up. The front cover of the magazine was kinda funny. It's entertaining how the same sex promotes products like heterosexuals do. Sex sells people.

Annoyed

I may have written about this before, but I can't help but become baffled every time Mark tries to use iTunes. I guess every time he tries to do anything with the computer. I know, I know, he can't help it. Unlike me, staring at a computer all day, he stares into mouths. Still, why is it that I have to walk him through how to use iTunes 2 or three times a week. Maybe I wouldn't be so bothered if I was standing right next to him, but no, he will yell across the house for me to help him when I'm in the bathroom or have my hands elbow deep in dishwater. Every single time he wants to buy or load a song to his iPod, I have to remind him how to do it. He's the same way with cleaning too. If the dog vomits on the floor, he freaks out and asks me what to do. "What do I do LeAnna, what do I need to do?" Do you have any idea how many times he's cleaned up puppy accidents? Well, it's quite a few times, which lead me to think that he would know how to handle the situation. Instead, I get yelled at for help, while I'm in the shower. Oh, bless his heart. Sometimes I could kick him in the earlobe and no doubt he feels the same about me. It can't make him too happy when I roll my eyes a thousand times because I think he should know how to do something by now.
I guess he would probably get pretty annoyed with me too if I asked him a billion times in a week how to work a cavatron and x-ray machine.

I'm a Heartless Bitch

I was listening to a radio personality, Dennis Prager. He's conservative and for me full of common sense. I happened to be listening to the Ultimate Issues Hour title "Worshipping Nature". I started to pretty much laugh my ass off because of how ridiculous these people were being. I guess I shouldn't knock it til I've tried it, but come on! So, I started to IM a friend and she sent me the actual video of this extremist group of pantheists with Earth First that Prager had mentioned and of which used clips for his show. Here it is:



Seriously, what has my problem been all these years. I should have known better than to befriend a human instead of that energy filled rock. Oh and for that matter how much more of a heartless bitch could I be. I'm typing on my keyboard that is sitting on, GASP, a WOODEN DESK!!!!!
Now, all I have to say is get a life. Am I the only person here who thinks this is kind of ridiculous? I respect nature in all of it's glory. It's an amazing part of what God created and it houses some of the most beautiful creatures and things on this earth, but like my husband said, worshipping a tree? It's like worshipping seaweed. Seaweed is a plant to and I don't see them worshipping seaweed.
To see a forest fire or a huge chunk of forest lost to a housing development is certainly devastating, but I'm not going to sit a cry my heart out harder for an emotionless tree and lifeless rock than I would for another human being. I get the feeling that human life to these people is just second on the list to their friends the rocks. I use green friendly products, I recycle, take my own bags to the store, buy organic and do the best that I can to live a healthier life all around for myself and the environment, but this is extreme. I could never sit and honestly think that a tree was listening to me. They were created for us. Whatever use they may be for, wether it's shade, a cabin, a pencil or paper, meditation, etc, they were put here for us. Now I certainly don't ever want there to be a day like in Total Recall where we all live on Mars with fans propelling our wind and no trees in sight, but I think I will stick to worshipping in my church and befriending good old fashioned people all the while enjoying instead of mourning over what is actually an abundance of trees on this planet. I will do all of this while at the same time enjoying my computer sitting on my wooden desk. Maybe I really am a heartless beeotch.

TP in my bung hole.

Yeah, well, Mark will kill me, be embarrassed and get over it, but this one is too funny not to share. Now, don't get me wrong, I am more than happy to embarrass myself and my family or friends, anonymously of course, anytime. I love Mark to death, but this one just cracked me up.
So, my huband is a super clean kind of dude. I'm talking borderline extreme metrosexual. I can go a day or two without a shower where as he can't stand to even sit on the couch in the morning without one almost. He has a great little routine: Shit, Shower, Shave, with a few face manicures, deoderant rubs, tooth flossing and brushing, toe cleaning, a little pomade rubbing, and cologne spraying. I don't think I have met a more clean person hygienically, in my life. He will occasionally take three showers a day. This drives me crazy because I don't see the sense in it. It's not as if he just went and rolled in around in a pile of dog poo. He does, however, not care very much about his boxers. He will wear them until the crotch pretty much falls out. I tend to wash those and use them as dust rags. Notice I didn't say sanitize wash, that's how super clean he is.
So, last night when I got home, he came running out of the bathroom, in just his boxers, to give me a welcome home hug. He pressed me up against the wall and loved and kissed me, asking if I had a good day. Then he started talking about going to work out and how his day went. He released his love grip on me and started to walk back to the bathroom. That's when I noticed what looked like a piece of fabric from his boxers hanging from his crotch. I'm thinking "My goodness, why doesn't he just go get some without a hole . . . umm . . wait a second." As I look closer I burst out laughing. He's all "What's going on? What's so funny?" I pinned him down on the bed, still laughing my ass off and confirm my realization. It was toilet paper! He still had toilet paper in his undies, stuck in a butt cheek. Totally embarrassing I know, but too hilarious. He then tried to make excuses for himself. "I was in a hurry at work and just pulled my pants up really quick and . . . um . . . um. . . yeah." He's laughing this whole time too, but it was classic. This is a rare moment in the clean like of Mark, to find a long piece of toilet paper hanging out of his boxers and still clinging to his toosh.
I then decided to make up for my ridicule five minutes later, wink wink. Hopefully he will remember that after he reads this. I'm sure it was worth it.

That's what she said

I have this one friend who I frequently chat with or text. For some reason I tend to be a bit more witty online and writing so I thought I would share an amusing chat I had with her the other day. Open up your dirty mind because, that's what she said.

M: Will this work?
Me: That's what she said.
M: hmmmm. 65 days baby. Did it?
Me: you doing kegals?
M: haha. gross
Me: nope nothing
M: SHIT HOLE!
Me: Do I need to come back there?
(pause)
Me: wow. we need to save this conversation, it's dirty.
M: hahahaha, OH MY GOSH!! Ok, let's try this. I'm gonna send you an email
Me: you think that will help?
M: Wait for it to load. The more you watch the funnier it gets
(Pause)
M: Did it work?
Me: hang on
M: Come ON!
Me: Nope, it says I have to be his friend.

And . . . That's what she said.

I Peed in the Lake

I've been sitting and thinking about what I could write today, or yesterday, or a week ago. I've decided. I will talk about my "I can't pee in the lake" syndrome. Yes. I cannot do it. The last two times I have gone to the lake, I have had to swim to shore and squat in the woods. I constantly get razzed about it, even by my husband. They all make it sound so easy when in fact, aside from wakeboarding, it's the hardest thing I have tried to do.
This past weekend I went to the lake with some friends for an end of the summer/beginning of fall softball season. We had drinks, food, kamikazes going down slides and busting noses and me . . . swimming to shore with my flip flops in hand ready to drown from the mile long swim that Michael Phelps would have mastered in half a second. Believe me, I try. I try so hard I think I might shoot my entire bladder out, but nothing happens. It's almost as if there is zero gravity for my bladder when I'm in water. It just sits and floats. This wasn't a problem when I was 5. Here I am in the woods squatting, with who knows what watching me. Creepy. I begin to make my way back to the boat and once I'm there, struggling for my life to make it in the boat, I decide that I just need more beer, because there is not way in HELL I am swimming back to shore. That's it, beer will certainly help keep my mind off of peeing in the lake and then, I will just do it. Soo, no, that didn't work either. As I am sitting in the boat in pain and not wanting to swim back to shore and look like an even bigger douche than I already am, I realize that everyone is on one side of the pontoon boat and the other boat is anchored on the other side. There is a step and a ladder on the other boat. One of my friends is sitting in the boat and as I begin to make my way to the other boat, she keeps an eye on me.
Now the ladder on this boat pushes into the step. It can come all the way out, or just a little, not dipping into the water. I came up with the clever idea to kind of make it a make shift toilet seat. I pulled the ladder out just enough to where I was sitting above the water. My friend peeks around and says "Anything yet?" Oh, she's onto me. 'Nothing yet'
As she turns away . . . sssssssssssssssss. Awesome! I grab my noodle ( I'm talking about a swimming noodle for you with the dirty mind) and swim away. When I bob my head out of the water, what do I hear but HUGE applause. "LEANNA PEED IN THE LAKE!!!!! WHOO HOOO!" Well, thanks to my make shift toilet and everyone being on the other side of the boat, peeing success was possible. I can guarantee you that it probably will never happen again because I won't have a pontoon boat posing as my bathroom door. I will be swimming to shore, slipping on rocks and living up to my last name.

Hit on by a Lady

Yesterday I had to venture into PetSmart to grab some food for Mark . . . I mean Lola. I haven't been in the cat room in a while so I decided to drop by. After a few other people left, I went in and socialized with all these precious, yet sick cats. They all accept for two looked like they were all coming down with Feline Upper Respiratory. They were all cute just the same. After I had been in there a minute, a nice woman and her husband walked in. She asked me if I knew a lot about cats and well, yes I do. I have two of my own, worked in a veterinarians office and have done my best to become familiar with them by any sort of reading. Needless to say I know a ton about them. She made me stay in the room so I could interact with a few of the cats so she knew which would be best for her son. The couple had decided they wanted to surprise their 29 year old son with a precious furry something for companionship. Apparently he was recently in a motorcycle accident and they felt he needed a friend.
As I was sitting there petting a few of the animals, still sweating from running, my hair every where and my face bright red, she blurts out "If your single, my son is pretty cute." I was actually quite starteld, told her I was flattered that she thought I was cute seeing the way I looked, but I was married. I actually thought it was funny and then I had a sudden thought. I know it totally doesn't matter at all, because Mark is a hotty po-totty, but I wondered if looking at me she thought that I was just good enough. I mean, what does her son look like? Am I sort of ugly? Is he sort of ugly? It kind of made me drop my self-esteem a bit. All in all it really doesn't matter, but I would like to know what cute is to her. Some people are just out of your league or just don't fit with you. I mean Mark and Angelina Jolie? I don't think so. Me and Matthew McConaughey . . . actually, there's a chance there. Wether someone comes up and asks you a question like that or you see someone hot on TV, you are always going to wonder if you are an "out of leager" of just something to be satisfied with, even when you have Mr. or Mrs. Right. It's intimidating.

Concert

I am going to a concert tomorrow with the one who is a magnet for disaster. I am about 85% positive that she will get hit in the head by a drumstick . . . in a crowd of over 1000 people . . . in the very back . . . sitting down in the grass . . . while everyone else is standing up. Then we will get VIP because the drummer feels terrible. Yup, I'm predicting it to happen. I will let you know how it goes.

Bone

Ok, for all of you kids out there . . . Earmuffs or I guess in this case, a blindfold. My sister-in-law is going to beat me down and call me a heifer when she reads this. My brother may sit on my head but it's too good to resist. I think so anyway. The other night I went to eat with my sisters-in-law and when I dropped the eldest off I decided to stay a moment. We get out of the car and my brother is enjoying the summer night on the patio. Here is the conversation that almost immediately started. Brace yourself.

We walk to the table and sit.
CB: I love my wife.
C: (sits down in a chair across from CB and crosses her legs) Oh I have to fart so bad. (BRRRRRRrrrrrrrrr)

Note: Those of you that know C know that she is not one to just let er rip. In the what? 14 years I have known her I have never heard her BRRRRRRRrrrrrrrr!

CB: C!!!!!! MY GAAAAAAAHHHH!!

moments pause while CB gains his composure and C sits as if it never happened

CB: I wanted to bone you tonight too.

BUUUUAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Mark and iTunes

I am wondering how it is that I can explain iTunes to Mark about a million times and he still calls me a million more times to figure out how to navigate through it. Bless his heart. My phone rang about 6 times from him today for iTunes questions. He does it on purpose, I know because any idgit can figure it out after 2 attempts at downloading a song. Plug in iPod, click and drag songs to pod, eject pod. Three simple steps that he seems to not be able to remember. I can't complain. He would totally punch me in the earlobe if I called him six times and asked him how exactly you are supposed to brush your teeth at a 45 degree angle.

Accident Prone

I love my sister-in-law, but really? How can one person be so prone to retarded disaster. Let's see, first her daughter sits on her hand and breaks her pinky. Then she has her husband try to pop it back in place only for that not to work leading her to need pins in her pinky. Then, it's in it's healing process only to be broken again by daughter number 2. How?!!! My goodness, let's not hope anything else happens, Oh . . . WAIT! She goes to a beach and her boob falls out in front of a ton of on-lookers and her father. I don't see how it could get much wor . . . Spoke to soon. Here is my accident/embarrassment prone sister-in-law on July 4th in Georgia at a party in a culdesac. I can see it now. She's doing her thing and enjoying the night and fireworks, probably telling someone her boob story when suddenly BAM!!!! She, and I'm not even kidding, gets hit in the leg with a firecracker. Yes! Out of 60 people in a huddle, she's the one that gets hit and ends up with second degree burns. How does this happen? We are supposed to be going to a sounds game tonight and let me tell you, she would be smart to put on a suit of armor. Knowing her it will turn into a Fever Pitch type of moment where she gets knocked out by a foul ball. I guess it would only add to her arsenal of horrifying stories. None of which have any kind of lesson to be learned really. Unless you count her, "Don't eat Wendy's before a surgery" lesson. I will leave that one to the imagination.

Sorry I Missed Your Party

http://www.sorryimissedyourparty.com/

This site was too hilarious not to share. I wasn't able to make it a links so copy and paste.
Have Fun!!

The Beach Incident

Ok, although I wasn't at the once in a lifetime event, I have to say that my sister-in-law asked for it. Yesterday, as I was just about to start my afternoon job, my phones starts to ring. I pick up the phone and inevitably here "Hey heifer." That is her pet name for me. Well, we begin, or more like I begin talking her ear off about things that have been going on since she's been out of town. After about 20 minutes, I finally break for air and allow her to talk. Boy am I glad that I did. My sister-in-law can be a bit of a drama queen so when she said "I have to tell you what happened", I'm thinking that she did something so grotesque that she made her sisters water break. No, no, it's even better than that. Here is her account of what happened that fateful day on the beach:

"Well dad, sis, Zoe, Aiden and I decided to go to the beach. I grabbed Zoe and started to go out so that she and I could rides some waves. (Zoe is her munchkin). So we're out there riding waves and having a great time and then all of a sudden I see this big wave coming and Zoe is all "Here comes another one, a big one" I said ok are you ready, let's go and hold on. Well, right as we were about to jump the wave broke a little earlier than expected and knocked me off my feet. I pick up Zoe, both of us sputtering delicious salt water and trying to catch out breath from the unexpected bashing from the wave. As I am doing this I can hear my dad yelling at me. I'm thinking 'oh gosh he thinks I'm out to far'. So I start to make my way back into the shore and my dad is still yelling at me. What is his problem? All of a sudden he bursts out laughing still yelling my name and once I get closer yells "PUT YOUR BREAST BACK IN." OH . . . MY GOSH!!! I WAS MORTIFIED. Not only were there a ton of other people at the beach, but my poor dad had to see that. It could possibly give him nightmares for the rest of his life; or a great story to tell at poker games. So, I casually tuck in my double D and as we are moving towards shore my daughter says "Mommy, do we have to go back in because your booby fell out?" 'Yes sweetie, that's why we have to go back in'. Oh my poor dad."

All I have to say is, sis, stop wearing teeny bikinis that barely cover your assets. If you want to show off your stuff, there are nude beaches for that. Love you.

Exercise America.

Well today I feel like I am in a drunken stupor. This past weekend I slept in 2 hours longer than I should have and for some reason I have not been able to catch up. It also irks me that I am inside on a day like this. Therefore I would like to make a small proposal; offer a bit of wishful thinking. I think that it would be a great idea for offices/business to make it a requirement to get atleast 30-45 minutes of exercise during the day. This also will include your lunch hour making your break a total of 1 hour and 45 minutes. It wouldn't be a bad idea. Each business can set up a small gym in an area of their building or get discounted memberships to gyms and require employees to do this in order to keep their health insurance. Who knows, it could possibly benefit people by having less doctor's appointments. It would help relieve everyday stress, rejuvenate you for the remainder of your day, get you out of the office, build up your immune system and possibly create a healthier America. After I work out I usually would rather have a salad than a big fatty filled fast food hamburger. Then, at the end of the month every month, a so-called reward lunch would be catered for everyones progress. Not a bad idea, but still just a proposal and wishful thinking. Then I guess there is the problem of having to sit in the cubicle next to the really heavy breather who sweats a lot any way and smells like onions after they eat lunch.

Okay. Maybe not such a great idea.

Competitive For No Good Reason

Anyone who knows me is aware that I have been a bit of a jock since I was 5. My dad, through my screaming and tears, put me in cleats and a jersey when I was 5 to play my first game of softball. Story goes that the first time I actually hit the ball, I never turned back. This sport consumed my life. So much so that all my vacations were at a ball field in Florida instead of on a beach.

I like to think that I was pretty damn good at the sport. I was always on the all-star team as a kid, on the best travel teams, came away with a few awards in high school and in college. My friends will probably tell you that I was a bit intense. Not so much as some people, but to them it was a good laugh. No one ever took it as seriously as I did. I thought it was what I was going to do for the rest of my life. Obviously that didn't happen. I get out of college and I have no idea what to do with my afternoons. You would think that any normal person would be swimming in the freedom, but I felt so incredibly bored. I waited until May for summer ball to start and ended up playing co-ed slow pitch. I guess you can call it the losers way of hanging on.

I have played co-ed for about 4 years or so. I do enjoy it, especially since I get to play with a few of my favorite college buddies/players. We laugh and cut-up and kick everyones ass. Well, last night I realized how ridiculously competitive I am. We had a make up game, making this the third game out of 5 or so that I have attended due to rain-outs. We had two extra players come and play with us. They were both a little younger and, like me, played fast pitch or, play fast pitch. I wasn't having the best offensive night. I was hitting hard, mostly to short, having to beat out the throw. I had a few good hits other wise. Well, one of the new girls started hitting shots and burning the guys in the outfield. This is something that I usually do. At one point she hit one that took off and when I got in one of our guys said "Looks like we have another LeAnna on the team". Now I have no idea why, because again this is co-ed, but I was most certainly in denial about this so-called "other LeAnna". I was thinking to myself, 'yeah right' there is no way some little chickie is going to come in here and think she's better than me. After that, I started asking my husband really stupid questions prompting him to be all "OH GOD, HERE WE GO AGAIN. GET OVER IT!".

I'm not really sure where to go from here. Do I find a Softball Rehab Clinic or just kick myself in eyeball. I really miss the sport and the competition, but I think last night was my breaking point to realizing how pathetic I actually am when it comes to playing that sport (slow or fast). I guess it's really hard to let go of the only thing you were ever good at and, harder to find something else you can be good at for the rest of your life.

Tuck in Your Skirt

Today I am wearing a skirt. I am usually a jeans and a nice top or dress kind of girl. I think I possibly have developed a slight phobia of skirts. A phobia that developed when I was a Overton Vols Basketball JV Cheerleader at the age of 10.

If you ever cheered when you were that age (circa 1990-92), you know that 1) The uniforms were uncomfortable due to the fact that they were made by the mothers and you had to wear a turtle neck under them. 2). You had to wear bloomers with extra tight elastic around the legs cutting off circulation to your feet. I would still have an elastic mark 24 hours after I took them off. Well, during the year they would have an awards banquet with all the basketball players and cheerleaders. At one point I remember going to the restroom during one of these banquets. When I came out there were two boys who walked by me and busted out laughing. It was painful. I thought 'Oh God I really am hideous. My mom is a liar'. I turned and kept walking only to have one of the mothers stop me and pull my skirt out of my bloomers in the back. I can still feel how hot my face got. Hence the development of my skirt phobia.

Today I will check the mirror 5 or 6 times and then convince myself that I am not imagining my skirt down; that it really is down, before I leave the bathroom. Although if my skirt does get tucked into my skirt today, I think I would probably get a whistle or two from the guys instead of a laugh. There will still be that mom that comes by to let me know though. Women never change. I guess neither do men. They just eventually realize what a lifted skirt represents which is why they now whistle instead of laugh.

Glad I have on good undies today . . . just in case.

To All You Breakdancers Out There . . . Don't Hate.

I know that I recorded this sideways, but it was way to good not to share. Turn your head sideways. You will probably laugh enough that if you are having sinus problems, it will all come out of the right nostril.


Check out this video: Zoe



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Why Do Men Have Nipples

So, I just had a pretty interesting coversation with Mark. Here is how it went:

Mark: You know what I was thinking?

Me: What?

Mark: Well I know, I know that you have to have certain body parts like, eyes, nose, mouth and ears, but . . . why do guys have nipples?

Me: (smirk) That's a really odd question

Mark: Well I know what women have them for and I know what everything else is used for but I was in the shower this morning and I looked down and thought 'Why do I have nipples'.

He was really really serious about this and I know it's going to bug him. He even asked me to look it up and figure out "Why Men Have Nipples". I want to say I may be afraid to know unless it is to find out that they can be used as some form of torture to make them take out the garbage. I do have to say though that a man would look pretty strange without them; sort of like a Ken Doll. That's enough to give me a nightmare or two.

It appears that Mark thinks best in the shower.