Rambling thoughts and musings of a cat-loving ghost hunter
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
I want to stab 95.7-The Rocket in the face
Lies Lies. Lies. You're sitting on a ginormous throne of lies. You told me that after six seizure-inducing weeks of crappy Christmas music you'd have a surprise for me. After that painful eon went by you said. You Said! That there would be a change of format! That I would be rewarded for my patience and understanding! Lies.
Instead you tease me for two weeks with decent alt rock new and old and even some indie to really push it over-the-top. I thought I'd died and gone to Heaven. At first. I've noticed you, the corporation that now owns 95.7, are sneaking the same old crap back into the rotation whilst deleting the awesome tunes played in the first two weeks. Lafayette doesn't need three stations that play classic rock. It doesn't. I promise!
My biggest problem with Lafayette radio in the past ten years is that the local stations have destroyed my love for true classic rock. One of my favorite things about hanging with my older sister and her even older friends was the music they played. It was new to me and when I shared it with kids my age it was new to them. It was nice to flip on the radio and know all the words to songs on the classic rock station as an 11-year-old. It is not fun, however to have those same songs I loved to be played three times a day on the radio. You ruined everything, you big ruiner!
Instead you tease me for two weeks with decent alt rock new and old and even some indie to really push it over-the-top. I thought I'd died and gone to Heaven. At first. I've noticed you, the corporation that now owns 95.7, are sneaking the same old crap back into the rotation whilst deleting the awesome tunes played in the first two weeks. Lafayette doesn't need three stations that play classic rock. It doesn't. I promise!
My biggest problem with Lafayette radio in the past ten years is that the local stations have destroyed my love for true classic rock. One of my favorite things about hanging with my older sister and her even older friends was the music they played. It was new to me and when I shared it with kids my age it was new to them. It was nice to flip on the radio and know all the words to songs on the classic rock station as an 11-year-old. It is not fun, however to have those same songs I loved to be played three times a day on the radio. You ruined everything, you big ruiner!
No, that's just my fat belly
Why is it that every time I meet someone new, see friends and family for the first time in years or meet with my personal banker these people always ask about the kids I don't have? Why do people automatically assume that since I'm over 30 and married for five years that I have three or four kids tugging at my apron strings? Sometimes they skip "do you" and dive right into "how many, how old". And no! I'm not preggers that's just my fat belly and big boobs. People guess that there must be something wrong with me financially, physically or mentally not to want kids. I assure you, there is not.
Now, I've learned my lesson not ask ladies I haven't seen in a while what trimester they're in. If I don't see a head crowning, I keep my big mouth shut. You never know if said gal had a baby three months ago and just hasn't lost the paunch yet. She could be expecting but the pregnancy isn't going so well or she might have recently found she has a still-born and has to carry to term (shivers and cries, I cannot think of a worse scenario). She could also be fat. So mind your P's and Q's buster; don't ask about a baby until you know for a fact that something is growing inside of the woman you're talking to. You shame yourself and everyone else within earshot.
My mother being the genius she is, has come up with a fool-proof plan to combat members of the boomer generation that constantly badger her about lack of grand kids (she knows her situation of being grand childless is not likely to change any time soon). When the Red Hats whip out their cutie-patootie pics of gurgling infants and little league stars and matheletes my mom volleys with photos of doggies and kittehs and proudly proclaims that these ARE her grand kids.
I've put together a short list of answers to questions I hear weekly (I'm also thinking of tatooing them on my forehead to save time).
Yes, I married five years ago.
No, we don't have kids.
No, we're not planning on it.
No, we're not broke.
No, we're not crazy (most of the time).
No, there's nothing wrong with my girly parts.
Yes, my husband wanted the vasectomy.
No, I didn't talk him into it.
No, there's nothing missing in my life.
No, I'm not considering adoption.
No, it's not because I babysat when I was younger (er um maybe. God that was hell).
Yes, my pets are my kids.
Yes, I'm creeping on being a crazy cat person (with hubby right next to me. You won't catch me at PetSmart in a bathrobe and slippers. I pay with my left hand so the cashier can see my wedding band when I'm buying 50lbs of cat food and 60lbs of litter).
Yes, I'm selfish with my time.
Yes, I'm selfish with my money.
No, I do not think I would make a good mother.
Yes, I'm sure.
No, I won't change my mind.
I hope this clears everything up. I wish the demographic studies department in charge of sending me junk email could figure this out. I constantly get offers for meds or methods that will make me more fertile or increase my chances of conceiving. Of course they also want to help me increase the size of my penis.....
Now, I've learned my lesson not ask ladies I haven't seen in a while what trimester they're in. If I don't see a head crowning, I keep my big mouth shut. You never know if said gal had a baby three months ago and just hasn't lost the paunch yet. She could be expecting but the pregnancy isn't going so well or she might have recently found she has a still-born and has to carry to term (shivers and cries, I cannot think of a worse scenario). She could also be fat. So mind your P's and Q's buster; don't ask about a baby until you know for a fact that something is growing inside of the woman you're talking to. You shame yourself and everyone else within earshot.
My mother being the genius she is, has come up with a fool-proof plan to combat members of the boomer generation that constantly badger her about lack of grand kids (she knows her situation of being grand childless is not likely to change any time soon). When the Red Hats whip out their cutie-patootie pics of gurgling infants and little league stars and matheletes my mom volleys with photos of doggies and kittehs and proudly proclaims that these ARE her grand kids.
I've put together a short list of answers to questions I hear weekly (I'm also thinking of tatooing them on my forehead to save time).
Yes, I married five years ago.
No, we don't have kids.
No, we're not planning on it.
No, we're not broke.
No, we're not crazy (most of the time).
No, there's nothing wrong with my girly parts.
Yes, my husband wanted the vasectomy.
No, I didn't talk him into it.
No, there's nothing missing in my life.
No, I'm not considering adoption.
No, it's not because I babysat when I was younger (er um maybe. God that was hell).
Yes, my pets are my kids.
Yes, I'm creeping on being a crazy cat person (with hubby right next to me. You won't catch me at PetSmart in a bathrobe and slippers. I pay with my left hand so the cashier can see my wedding band when I'm buying 50lbs of cat food and 60lbs of litter).
Yes, I'm selfish with my time.
Yes, I'm selfish with my money.
No, I do not think I would make a good mother.
Yes, I'm sure.
No, I won't change my mind.
I hope this clears everything up. I wish the demographic studies department in charge of sending me junk email could figure this out. I constantly get offers for meds or methods that will make me more fertile or increase my chances of conceiving. Of course they also want to help me increase the size of my penis.....
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Hubby tends to over-do things
Last night my husband was stepping out for a second to pick up something from village pantry so I asked him to bring me a snack.
"What kind of snack?".
"I don't care, something Hostess-y".
"Okay".
Now our Villiage Pantry is very close, I can walk there in about five minutes so when he came back 45 minutes later I knew I was in for a treat (or treats). He brought me (drum-roll, please....) two boxes of cupcakes, real cupcakes baked in an oven with actual icing on them. He also brought a medium size birthday style cake and two quarts of ice cream (one of them was birthday cake).
"Did you mean to pick those up for your other wife? That's pregnant?"
"What? I thought you liked birthday cake? Village Pantry didn't have any snack cakes so I went to the grocery store."
"Thanks!"
Now I have cake. Lots and lots of cake. Anybody want some cake?
"What kind of snack?".
"I don't care, something Hostess-y".
"Okay".
Now our Villiage Pantry is very close, I can walk there in about five minutes so when he came back 45 minutes later I knew I was in for a treat (or treats). He brought me (drum-roll, please....) two boxes of cupcakes, real cupcakes baked in an oven with actual icing on them. He also brought a medium size birthday style cake and two quarts of ice cream (one of them was birthday cake).
"Did you mean to pick those up for your other wife? That's pregnant?"
"What? I thought you liked birthday cake? Village Pantry didn't have any snack cakes so I went to the grocery store."
"Thanks!"
Now I have cake. Lots and lots of cake. Anybody want some cake?
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