The Misadventures of Yours Truly

The Art of Storytelling

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 20:05:00 +0000

Last night at work, I peered into the dining room from the back of the kitchen and saw a familiar head of hair that was associated with someone that is not on my Christmas list. When my fears were verified, I groaned and quietly announced to the staff beside me that my arch-nemesis was in the building. They said "Why do you not like her?"

My answer was something along the lines of she was a b**** and she hated my friends and was evil and snotty and I got my nose broken because of her. Naturally, this elicited an "ohh sounds terrible. Let's spit in her food." (Just kidding. Saliva protein is extra).

However.

I got to thinking about the validity behind my sob story. I know this will shock you, but the fact is that I may have embellished a little of it.

The truth, or what I remember of it, is that she was a girl who was very well off, pretty, had a nice singing voice, blah blah blah. No, she was not always the nicest person, but I cannot really remember anything that was directed at me. I vaguely remember some drama about boys that my friends were dating, but iduntcurrr.

As far as the broken nose goes, the only reason said nose was rearranged is because my best friend in high school opened a door in MY face, thinking it was the other girl's. Who knows though...maybe the concussion wiped out bad memories.

In college, we actually became friends. Well, we were facebook friends and occasionally wrote on each others' walls.

Do I really talk to her now? No. Was I polite last night? Yes, and genuinely so. Will I ever tell the true story about our alleged rivalry? Never. The truth is boring.

The Magic Word

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 23:08:00 +0000

I'm currently sitting in one of the classes that is an epic waste of my time. Sorry Teach, I just can take so much of dumb So-rawr-ity (not sorority) chicks unable to follow simple instructions. As if the 2 1/2 hour class is not long enough, we have to backtrack 15 minutes because you can't turn the page on your notes and connect the dots. Yes, I myself am highly intelligent, but we are in college (shut up Joseph) and you if you got in here because of your boobs, you need to be in PRTM. Yeah, I went there.

Now that that rant is over, lets move on to the purpose of this post.

Someone had the nerve to demand that I do something that completely threw a kink in my schedule, therefore my life. My response was "what's the magic word, you monkeybutt?"

Obviously, the answer is please.

However.

I decided that I would like to start a new trend. Next time I ask someone "What's the magic woooooord??" I'm going to have previously decided on another word that is NOT please. They do not get what they want until they say "the magic word."

Why do I want to be a jerk about it? Simple. "Magic" implies that there is some mystery. Everybody knows that the classic "magic word" is please. That's not magic. People should say "What's the boring non-magic word?"

Example:
Steve: YT, will you please get me a glass of water??
YT: What's the magic word??
Steve: Pleeeeease???
YT: Nope.
Steve: Pretty please?
YT: Nope.
Steve: O.o.......Gagatastic?
YT: Yes. I will get you some water.

And Now, Olive

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 21:37:00 +0000

I am always writing about how parents today suck and raise their children to be bratty idiots. I don't have children, but I do have a dog.

I would like, if I may, to express that this is a doggie example of what happens when you do everything for your children: they become scared of statues who have allegedly taken their CowBabies.

Poor thing.

How Not To Cure Crazy

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 04:28:00 +0000

Dear Doctor's Office,

I feel like I should remind you of something very instrumental to your practice.

You. Are. A. Psychiatric. Office.

I share this information with you because there are certain things that need to change in the office in order to best benefit your patients.

1) When patients call your office, it does nothing but intensify the anxiety, anger, and overall emotional overload when we have to listen to a five minute automated message before we are even allowed to push a button. When we finally are able to make a selection, we either have to a) listen to five minutes of elevator music before we speak to a human or 2) listen to another five minute recording before we are able to leave a message.

2) After we complete the obstacle course of annoying automated awfulness, we have the grave misfortune of speaking with one of the horrible, snotty, and permanently PMSing staff of receptionists. For some reason, they cannot seem to connect the dots between already crazy patients and the perpetual cycle of awful that said patients have to endure before they are assisted.

Moral of this story is, you deal with a, shall we say, delicate clientele. When you push regular people around, they get pissed. When you make crazy people do ridiculous things, like push 10 buttons that all lead to the same three receptionists, it does not make matters better for anyone. The moral of the moral is: You have to always be nice and not be mean to your crazy clients NOR can you be angry after you have made our lives hell and pissed us off. Really.

Sincerely,
The Student Whose Phone Bill Is Running Up Because You Suck

Spread the Word

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 20:53:00 +0000

I would like to take a minute to inform the world wide web about what I like to call a scam.

If any of you are thinking about running a credit report on www.freecreditreport.com, I feel like it is my duty to inform you that it is a big fat scam and a way to trick you out of money.

In order to get your "free credit report," you have to give a credit card number before you select that you just want your report to magically show up on your computer screen.

DO NOT BE FOOLED!!!

Hidden in Experian's terms and conditions is a teeny little clause that signs you up for a membership of sorts. You get a 7 day trial before they start charging your credit card a membership fee which I would venture to say most people do not wish to sign up for when they request their credit report.

That's not even the best part.

This here blogger fell for it. Apparently, I signed up for the membership on December 23, 2011. I get a 7 day trial, so it ended on December 30, 2011. Experian took it upon themselves to charge me $16.95 for the entire month of December. So much for a trial period.

And don't even think about calling either of their lines. 1-888-397-3742 asks you a lot of irrelevant questions and don't bother pressing 0 or the # button with the hopes of speaking to a customer service rep. The automated voice mockingly continues with her inane BS, completely ignoring the repetitive touchtone requests to make her shut the ^*%* up.

1-877-284-7942 is the number to call and tell them that they are scum and they should be ashamed for hiding behind their "terms and conditions" so they can basically steal the money that I don't have.

Hungry for Hunger Games

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 18:05:00 +0000

Several months ago, well before the preview premiered for this movie, a former co-worker told me that if I wanted a good read that would blow my mind, I needed to read The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. I asked her what it was about and her exact words were "I don't know really."

Naturally, this piqued my interest and I had to find the book and read it.

Due to the fact that I have a severely incapacitating short attention span, I forgot about it. Then, the trailer came out. I remembered!!! Unfortunately, so did everyone in the upstate.

I went to the library (because that's where poor nerds go) and there were only like 250 people on a waiting list for 6 books. So I went to Barnes and Noble. I picked up the book because it was only like $8. Unfortunately, I had already eaten so my daily budget was spent, and $8 can buy a years worth of Ramen.

Another thing tragically impoverished bloggers do is read entire books in Barnes and Noble. I read through about 4 chapters before I decided that I had been sitting in the middle of the aisle for entirely too long and should probably move around before telling someone else that I'd move in "just a sec."

I could not put the book down!!! It was the most fascinating thing I have ever read. Including Harry Potter and the Camilla Lackberg books that I read in like two days.

I understand now what my co-worker said about not knowing how to explain it. Anything more than a sentence could really give the book, even the series, away!! If I had one sentence to describe it, I would say "It's about a distopian society in a post-America world where the government has such a tight fist around its citizens, that it likes to cruelly remind them how expendable they are." Then if I had another sentence, I would explain how the main character volunteers in a fight to the death in an area with other teenagers because that's one of the chilling means of entertainment in the society.

The reason I decided to write about this particular book is because I am overly fascinated with the protagonist and heroine, Katniss Everdeen. I think I love her so much because she is so human. She's not nice, because she has to survive. She's unsure about herself, impulsive, angry, and scared. She knows that her job is to put on a show, but what she doesn't realize is what she considers to be trivial acts and terrible, split-second decisions, her peers and her fellow countrymen see as outstanding.

I could write for days about her, but seeing as how I want to encourage you to read rather than summarize the whole story, I will refrain. I will close by saying this tho...I finished Catching Fire, the second in the series. Every chapter ended with my jaw hanging down.

Scared Little Children

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 22:17:00 +0000

Today has been magnanimous. My odd in-public habits have for once been used for good and not evil. Walking downtown Clemson today, I came to a restaurant playing a certain Led Zeppelin song. It was not Stairway to Heaven but, nevertheless, the music coaxed some gutteral noises from my vocal chords and some shady two-stepping up the sidewalk.

"Great food and great music," says the gentlemen upon whom I am about to dance into before he ducks into said establishment.
"Is this your place?" says I. He replies yes and I say "Ahhhh. Hiring???"

The rest as they say is history.

Well, I have a job now that will keep the bill collectors just far enough away so I can shoot spit wads at them.

This happenstance, of course, led me to think. What if I was a shy person? What if I did not have the unnatural ability to not only converse with strangers, but to dance into potential employers??? What would MOYT be?? Who would Yours Truly be??

I was raised by good parents who taught us not to talk to strangers. As a child, well I thought that was silly because candy from strangers is just delish. As a grownup without children, I still think the idea is silly. Not so much for the candy now, but I do wonder what that teaches children?? I feel like I have earned the right to preach about this particular subject because even a year and a half ago, I would have taken the chance to hide behind the door when opportunity came a-knockin', just to see what his motives were.

Now, I'll answer the door...mostly because should opportunity be wearing a ski mask, I'll punch him in the throat.

But really.

Tonight, for instance, I am going to swing dancing classes. Yippee!!!!! I have ALWAYS wanted to go to swing dance classes and I have always wanted them to be $1 or less and tonight is the night!!! Opportunity is here for me to be the first blogger on Dancing with the Stars!!!

But again. What if I still believed that I shouldn't talk to strangers?? I mean, I live on campus. I have roommates, but I don't have anyone to ask to accompany me. You know what?? I don't care. I'm of the belief nowadays that it's now or never. All go no quit. After all, I cannot and will not live the rest of my life waiting on things to happen. So Imma goin' by. my. self.

Bring. It. On.

Moral of this story: Teach your children how to scope out creepers. I know there's the Ted Bundy in every criminal circle, but as someone who has done minutes of research on the topic, I know that boogers and creepers, stalkers and sketchballs all follow the same pattern. Let Johnny and Susie watch Law and Order: SVU. Teach them to be assertive.

Thank You and also Facebook

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 00:50:00 +0000

Hello friends. I just wanted to take a very quick moment to write you a little note (on a computer that has a shady f and j key).

Two of you have completely boosted my ego by saying that reading MOYT and experiencing my little corner of the web has inspired you to start your own blog. I am honored, and thank you.

I would also like to take a second to thank:

The people from Russia, Netherlands, India, Germany, and all over this beautiful world. I don't know how the heck you found my site, but I truly appreciate you visiting!!
The person who found my site by Googling "why children are evil"
The one who found my site by Googling "living successfully in poverty"
And the one who found my by Googling "Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria, Will and Grace."

I adore you. really and truly.

Find me on facebook!!! And tell people that I exist. I need someone to notice me so that I can stop living off ramen noodles.

Love,

Yours Truly

In File Thirteen

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 17:47:00 +0000

Dear Clemson,

I realize how insanely foolish it was for me to assume that because I have a blue parking tag that I am allowed to park in the blue parking spaces that are less than a mile from campus. I honest to God cannot afford your nasty habit of writing me a ticket every time I park in an unmarked parking spot.

I have two minor suggestions:
1) When it is pouring down rain and 41 degrees, the Christian and just all around morally right thing to do is to not write parking tickets at all. It's just plain mean and completely killed my caffeine buzz.
2) Write a ticket to the jackwagon with the Smart Car just for being a person with a Smart car. If that jerk pulled up a foot and a half, I could park my regular size car behind him and we would BOTH have room to get out.

Sincerely,
The Student (formally known as Secretary) Who is Soaking Wet and Cranky

An Interview Will Be Much More Better

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 21:59:00 +0000

Dear Potential Employers,

I have been attempting to find some sort of employment that will allow me to eat more than ramen noodles and watered down milk that doesn't involve me taking off all of my clothes and let sweaty 50 year old perverts spread peanut butter on my feet.

I hope this doesn't negatively reflect upon my being hired by you, but there are two things I would like to discuss with you.

1) I have spent countless hours perfecting my resume. By my standards, it is the epitome of perfection, despite the fact that I'm getting a lot of "thanks but no thanks" letters. My problem is that when you ask me to fill out an application and bring or attach a copy of my resume, you also ask me to replicate everything on my wonderful resume into two 10 pt font lines. With all due respect, this is a magnanimous waste of both of our times. I feel so strongly about this that I used the word "magnanimous." Really.

2) I have also taken lots of these "assessment quizzes." Although I have a very small knowledge on survey-type questions, I do have a wee bit of common sense. These questions are so skewed that I can't even comprehend what you are looking for. It's not just that you reword one question ten different ways that gets to me so much as the types of answers that you provide for me.

I was a political science major for a reason and I have the grave misfortune of constantly thinking like an attorney. I loathe multiple choice questions with no open-end. Your questions raise too many questions of my own to give you a precise answer.

For example, if you were to ask me how I would handle a situation where Bob, Sue and Leonard are plotting a mutiny against the assistant manager, I can't honestly say that I would a) politely ask them to get back to work; b) report it to the general manager; or c) pretend like I didn't hear anything. I have a lot of questions about Bob, Sue and Leonard. Are they trouble makers? Do they use drugs? Is the assistant manager a 16 year old high school dropout who never shows up to work on time?

That, however, isn't even the worst part. The part of this despicable method of extracting information from potential employees that makes me cringe the most is the asinine answers from which you make me choose.

For example: Is your attitude at work a) funny or b) dramatic. Do people a) think you are a jerk or b) bring your flowers every day.

What kind of choices are those? I either sound like a lazy jerk or a drama queen who talks to birds. Why don't you ask me if I would rather molest a child or drown a litter of kittens?

Sincerely,
The (former) Secretary Who Is Quite Put Out With Job Hunting

I Know Kung-Fu...

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 15:29:00 +0000

As you know, I started back at "The University," as they say in every country but the US, and have been living out a dream that I've had since May 2008. College is super fun and awesome, especially for a learning geek like myself. The best thing about getting the opportunity to do it a second time is that I have all the "I Just Turned 21" years out of my system and actually have a goal for a job once I get out of school in order to survive, which is ultimately all I ask for in life.

The first day of my orientation, I had to go to some kind of laptop workshop where the school brainwashes my computer to follow University procedure. Unfortunately, orientation was over at 4:30 and the class was at 7:00. Fortunately, there is a giant library where I could hide out in the warm until my class started. Unfortunately, it's January and the sun goes down at an ungodly hour. Fortunately, I have an app on my phone that tells me how to get around this incredibly large campus. Unfortunately, it wasn't working.

By a miracle of God, I managed to wander through the growing fog and find the building where my class was. The first door was lock. As was the second, third and fourth. The fifth door had a note on it that said:

Please go around to the back of the building and enter through the basement door for the laptop workshop

The only way that could sound any sketchier is if at the bottom, it said "Go ahead and take your pants off to save time. Sincerely, The Rapist."

Nothing Surprises Me Anymore

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 20:05:00 +0000

I'm becoming a big fan of lists because I have not had time to formulate a post that uses more than 5 complete sentences. Everything you need to know is numerically listed in the order that they left my brain.

Things I have seen today:

1) A creeper young-twenty-something in a cowboy hat and a black trench coat. It wasn't buttoned, so at least we know he had clothes on underneath.

2) A movie that my geography professor swore was not political, but talked about how the world was going to end in 2012 because the Mayans said global warming was real. Since it wasn't political, I won't say anything. For now.

3) The shortest distance between two points is...no sidewalk on campus.

4) If I walk everywhere on campus, I'm going to have the legs of Cameron Diaz (doesn't she have nice legs?) And the waist of a starving adult who thought it'd be a great idea to go back to college.

5) I think people sort of get creeped out when I wave to them. Then again, I was more like sketchy woman with a Grim Reaper hood all the way over her eyes than friendly passerby.

6) It doesn't matter whether or not you think it will rain that matters. What matters is wear pink rainboots and carry an umbrella at all times. No exceptions.

7) My sociology professor is 5 years older than me.

8) If you need to get from one place to the other, it's a safe bet that they are not anywhere near each other.

9) Note taking on OneNote was so incredibly awesome (because I type like 80 wpm, I could type almost verbatim everything that my professor said) that I am pretty sure I had a learning-gasm today in my first class.

10) I can't end on an odd number.

Tiger Town Bound

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 00:11:00 +0000

After months and months of crying, whining, and complaining about how i am an epic failure, God finally stepped in and said "hey!!! Do this!!!!" Of this, I am quite confident.

Today, I stepped into a world of greatness. Today was my first day as a brand new student. I am OFFICIALLY a Clemson Tiger!!!! Which, had it not been for the epic devastation of glorious magnitudes last Wednesday, would've been the absolute best thing in the entire universe. It's still pretty darn awesome.

TOday was orientation. I got orientated in the ways of school. I've heard everything 1,000 times already because I've already been through school and what not, but getting acclimated to a campus that is 56 times bigger than my original alma mater was a huge necessity. I only got lost about 6 times.

Since this little corner of the interweb tries very hard to remain serious or couthe, I feel like I should share with you what Yours Truly managed to accomplish in one morning.

1) Spilled coffee down my very pretty white shirt immediately after arriving.
2) Lost my phone.
3) Found it in my bag.
4) Lost my phone.
5) Was asked if I was a parent.
6) Phone was in my pocket.
7) Managed to find two people that were not 18 years old in my major department.
8) Walked into a scene from a horror movie, as I left the library and wandered aimlessly in the dark, foggy night around a seemingly abandoned building, and followed the handwritten signs that said "Go behind building to the basement. ~~Chickens will be eaten~~."

Classes start on Wednesday. I am THE most excited 25 year old kid in the world. XD

Rock Your Socks, 2011

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 04:59:00 +0000

In celebration of the new year, I have taken it upon myself to come up with a list of random and awesome things that have rocked my socks of in 2011.

Golden oreos
Vistaprint
Ben--for tripling the hits on my site
Litchfield Beach
American Horror Story
Pandora
Hobby Lobby
Florence + The Machine
People of Walmart
Lindsay--for being awesome, inspiring me, and encouraging my weirdness
Sharpie pens
Flea market. Try buying bread for less than a dollar or a giant pack of incense for less than two.
My Mother
Lady Gaga
The It Gets Better Project
Mary Kay
Mini Pepsi's
Office supplies
My church
Goodwill
Bluegrass & Gospel music at my Poppa's house
LiveMocha
Hobby Lobby
Yarn sales
Knitting
Costume Jewelry
The Avett Brothers

Happy New Year!!

Just Felt Like It Needed An "Oh Nannie"

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 04:22:00 +0000

Nannie: How we gon' get them presents to Cindy and them?
*"Cindy and them" live about 2 minutes from our house.
Me: We put the presents in the trunk...and we take it to them.

Nannie: I guess I'll cook some macaroni for Christmas Eve. We shouldn't be eating so late.
Me: Nannie, most people do not eat dinner at 4:30.
Nannie: Well, it's too late. I don't think I'll cook no macaroni. That don't go with ham.
Me: Okay.
Nannie: Do you want macaroni?
Me: You do not have to cook macaroni if you do not want to.
Nannie: But do you want it.
Me: No.
Nannie: *Pause* Okay I'll cook it.

Nannie: Do you like grape salad?
Me: Yes.
Nannie: What do you like to eat?
Me: Nannie, you have known me for almost 26 years and you know I eat anything.
Nannie: *Pause* Do you like grape salad?
Me: Yes.
Nannie: Okay. I gotta go to the store. *Pause* Do you like grape salad?

Nannie: I don't think my picture will fit over the fire place.
Me: Your picture is not nearly four feet tall.
Nannie: But it still won't fit.

Driving Mrs. Nannie

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 18:00:00 +0000

First off, let me emphasize how much i love my dear, sweet grandmother and how grateful I am that she is alive and kicking and I get to spend a lot of time with her.

However. (Isn't there always one with me?)

As the case with ANY roommate, after you live with them for so long, you find yourself occasionally daydreaming about suffocating them in their sleep. I find that Nannie and I have the same five or six conversation every couple of days.

Today, the two of us spent the morning together riding around town shopping and running errands. The following are conversations that we had at least twice.

Dialogue 1: (Scene--Nannie draws Social Security and Yours Truly is currently an impoverished writer who has resorted to putting ad's on her blog and who is struggling with attempting to sell Mary Kay products. We ain't got a lotta money. That's okay with me though because I'm learning how to live without things I don't need and have really been focusing on living within my means.)

Nannie: We need to get some thangs to put your Mary Kay stuff in.
Me: Nannie, I already have them stored and I don't have enough in my inventory to invest in something else right now.
Nannie: Well, you need it.
Me: No, I don't. It's Christmas. I'm broke. You're broke.
Nannie: No, let's get something. Maybe two.
Me: O.o

Dialogue 2: (Scene--It's Christmas time and my mother is planning the Christmas feast. Nannie usually cooks macaroni and cheese. I inadvertently offended the heck out of a 79 year old woman.)

Nannie: Do you think your mom is going to have just doo-dads to eat on Christmas?
Me: No, I've already told you that she's cooking.
Nannie: Hmph. She should just have knick-knacks.
Me: Well, she's not and we're cooking.
Nannie: Well I ain't a-goin'. I don't wanna have to cook anything. I don't have nothing to make my pie out of.
Me: That's okay because I have a recipe that I really want to try.
Nannie: What?? Who you talkin' about? Where'd you get a recipe?
Me: Susan Peters*
Nannie: Susan?? Ohhh no. She cain't cook worth nothing. She makes her pie with spaghetti.
Me: No, I'm pretty positive that I had the M&C that she made on Thursday. It was wonderful reminded me of Gran's and had plenty of macaroni noodles and zero spaghetti.
Nannie: Well....I make mine like Grans....
Me: *frustrated silence*
Nannie: Okay, I'll make it.

Dialogue 3: (Scene--See Dialogue 1)

Nannie: We need to get you something to put all of your shoes in. We need to clean up in that house.
Me: I actually found a shoe rack for the door for $9 that hangs on the door.
Nannie: Well we need to get some for your boots.
Me: No. We don't. That is what closet floors are for.
Nannie: No, you need a plastic thang to put your boots in. Keep 'em safe. We need to clean up.
Me: Nannie. My boots live in my closet. We. Have. No. Money. We are not buying a bin for one pair of boots.
Nannie: Well, I'll buy them.
Me: No, you will not. I. Do. Not. Need. Them. We can maybe look at stuff after Christmas. We need to talk about things that we REALLY need and things that would be really nice to have if it was a perfect world where we had money, like bookshelves, place mats, light bulbs, an entire gallon of milk and a loaf of bread.
Nannie: Okay, we'll get it next time.
Me: O.<

Dialogue 4, 5, 6: (Scene--See Dialogues 1 and 3)

Me: I'm going to hand out programs in Stacy's* wedding.
Nannie: Ohh so you get to go buy a new dress!
Me: Nope. I already bought one for $9 at Ross. Woot woot!
Nannie: Nawww. You need a new dress.
Me: Nope. Stacy's already approved my outfit and I'm not buying another dress that I don't need.
Nannie: Which dress?
Me: The teal sweater dress. I'll wear it with black tights and boots.
Nannie: That green one? No. We'll go to Belk and I'll charge it.
Me: No! You will not. I have a dress. It's pretty. It's dressy. I am wearing that one. And it's teal.
Nannie: That green one? That one ain't dressy for a wedding.
Me: No. It is teal. And Stacy has okayed it. The end.
Nannie: Hmph.
Me: >.<

Little Diddy About Dysfunctional Songs

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 05:00:00 +0000

It has taken me six months to come up with this list. Yeah, yeah. Usually things just flow eloquently from my brain to my finger tips, but I wanted this one to be vury vury special.

As you know, I am a self-proclaimed music expert and enthusiast and take what I say very seriously, as should you and everyone else. While there are crappy songs out there, there are some super-awesome-fun songs that are sung at every karaoke night, played at every football game, and sent as a request or dedication on the Delilah show.

However. (There it is again...)

Have you actually listened to the words of the songs that come on? Suuuure, you played Centerfold in your high school marching band, but did you know what the song was about? Maybe you know the chorus of your favorite songs, but do you know what the entire song is about?? I have some fun little examples for you to puruse.

Jack and Dianne--Just a song about two kids getting it on in the back seat of a car while John Mellencamp watches.

Hey Joe--Hey Joe. Thanks for telling me that you just committed a capital offense. You just scoot on down to Mexico and Imma sit here and sing 'bout it.

Lola--The love story about a young man who meets a young woman who is really a young man.

The Bad Touch--I used to love this song. In the eighth grade, my friends and I learned all the words, although I was probably a senior in high school before I knew what those words actually meant..

Semi-Charmed Life--This is another song I learned in middle school. Granted, I love it, but I didn't learn what crystal meth was until I was in college. Yeah.

Before He Cheats--The story of a young woman who is hellbent on committing several misdemeanors, if not felonies. Charges: malicious damage, stalking, vandalism and, if I may be so bold, public drunk. Carrie, Carrie, Carrie.

Fancy--I can't completely blame this on ol' Reba. However, if you like to sing along, but you are oblivious as to why this is on this particular list, let me enlighten you. A mom spends her last penny turning her daughter into a prostitute. She dies and leaves a baby alone and abandoned in a shack in New Orleans.

Into the Night--Yet another love story. This one is actually about a grown man stalking and staring in the window of a 16 year old girl. Delilah, you probably should call the police if someone dedicates this song...

The Pina Colada Song--Epitome of dysfunction. Picture this: A man is looking on CraigsList for a mistress because his lady is just not "getting him." So he takes it upon himself to pursue this secret lady. He finally decides to meet her, and is surprised to see that it is his sweet wife that he's now suddenly in love with. Two things: 1) The two of them have been living together and don't know a doggone thing about each other. 2) THEY WERE BOTH CHEATING ON EACH OTHER. Why is that considered a love song??

Pretty Good at Drinking Beer--"Hi. My name is Billy. S/W/M ISO S/F. I ain't good for much. Well, it's not that I can't do it. I just choose not to. I'd just rather drank beer all week. Wanna go out??"

PS--I am 0% for censorship (with the exception of most of the Black Eyed Peas music).

Attack of the Falling Mirrors

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 14:58:00 +0000

Last night, Olive and I were in my workroom when one of my portable mirrors slid off of the bed and crashed into the floor.

Olive spent the next five minutes I attack mode, starting and growling at it.

Good dog. I feel so safe.

Waking Up Old

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 02:04:00 +0000

Yesterday, I woke up and got ready to go to my sophomore chorus concert at high school. My hands were slightly trembling because I knew that I could dress up tonight to maybe impress that football player that, after three months, was still borrowing my pencil. Walking towards the chorus class, anxiously looking for my friends, it occurred to me that this was the first time I was going to be on stage in front of a crowd of people beyond the normal family and friends that sat in the church pews on Sunday morning. Only when I thought it impossible to be any more anxious did the curtains open and the light fall on the stage.

Today, I woke up and got ready to go to my baby cousin's freshman chorus concert. I arrived early enough to find a seat among silly hormone-driven teenagers and camera happy parents eager to see their young children become young adults on the stage of the brand new auditorium. The curtains opened and the lights shone, revealing the coming of age of thirty high school students and the passing of youth of Yours Truly. I watched as sweet glances were exchanged from pretty girls in their new high heels to the handsome boys who were still tugging at their uncomfortably stiff shirts and neckties.

There have been lots of minor incidents over the past year or so that have been sort of a slap in the face as to the fact that I am an adult now, and not a kid anymore. I did not feel nearly as grown up the time I had to break up a band of screaming and kicking five year old boys as tonight, when I looked onto the stage to the beautiful young lady in the black sweater dress and realized that my baby cousin is no longer a baby.

Recycle This Cup, Please

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 18:08:00 +0000

Dear Toby Keith,
I'm sure Solo Cup sounded really good after your 25th or 26th beer one Tuesday morning, but I have a couple of newsflashes you might enjoy.

You are not 18 anymore.

Life is not a fraternity house.

I don't really think there is much left to be said.

Sincerely,
The Secretary Who Wishes That She Could Make a Gazillion Dollars for the Stupid Crap She Comes Up With

How To Successfully Live in Poverty

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 03:09:00 +0000

If you had asked me where I would be at the end of 2011 in May 2008, my answer would have been "starting law school after serving in the Peace Corps for a couple of years." Well, as they say, if you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans. He obviously got a big huge kick out of my wanting to make enough money to survive comfortably so other things happened. It's okay...we're good. He's my Number One. I'm just saying.

Fast forward from May 2008 to December 2011 and here I am. Living with grandmother. Not working (by MY choice, I'll admit). But, even when I WAS working, it was a good month if I could afford to pay ALL my bills, buy Mayfield milk, stop by Chik-fil-a once or twice, and swing for a Pepsi. Boy, do I know how to live or what?

I guess at this point, I should put a disclaimer that I am not REALLY living in poverty and I realize that there are millions of people not only world wide, but in the States.

Back to business.

i know that there are regulations or rules or something that tells people whether they fall below a "poverty line" and whether or not they deserve money from a government that doesn't have any money. The following is my solution for how people without children can live on the budget of a vagrant and still survive without handouts.

Statement: My grocery bill is $100 a month!!
My Solution: Stop shopping at Publix, Bilo, and Kroger. Coupons are your friend. So is Walmart, Sav-a-lot, and Aldi. I can personally guarantee you that when you stop shopping at Publix or Bilo and find off-brand stuff at Sav-a-lot, you will cut your grocery bill in half.

Statement: Mama needs a new pair of purdy shoes!!
My solution: No, I need a new pair of shoes. I have TWO pairs of shoes where the sole has fallen almost, if not completely, off. Solution? Duct tape and hot glue. You don't have to tell everyone how you Jeff Foxworthy'd your shoes together!! Unless, of course, you're like me and Bestie and we like to brag how we can creatively improvise. If you really do need those shoes, put down the Nine Wests and the Aerosoles, leave the mall, march your patootie to Ross, TJ Maxx, or the GW Boutique (read: Goodwill) and you find some knockoffs or some gently used shoes. You'll save...God only knows.

Statement: I gotta get my hurr and nails did.
My solution: Go to HairMasters. I know a girl there who will give you a $50 hair cut for $20 (also, tip her). For the nails? While you're in Walmart, pay $6, and do it your dang self. If you don't trust yourself with superglue, find a friend. That saves you at least $40, and you might make a new friend.

Statement: Gas is too much.
My solution: Join the freaking club.

Statement: Christmas is coming and little Junior and Sally want an iPhone and an Xbox 360 and a panda bear.
My solution: You sit down your little brats and you tell them that you will, under no circumstances, max out your credit card so they can text their friends and continue to run up your phone bill, your internet bill, and basically ruin your life. Buy them a bike and some sidewalk chalk and tell them to get their scrawny butts outside and use their imaginations. Another good idea: take them to a soup kitchen or a homeless shelter. Show them about people in other countries who walk barefoot to a dirty water hole and the last present they had was an orange peel to play soccer with.

There is so much more I could say, but being the brilliant audience you are, I know you get it. Bottom line. Don't live outside of your means. Be smart. And unless you were hit by a Mack Truck, no one owes you anything.

Why Children Are Evil

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 17:55:00 +0000

All four of you readers should know that I really do love children. I teach 3 and 4 year olds in AwANA on Sunday nights and they just make my life. Granted when it's time to go home, I'm more than happy to dump them on parents and run out the door because I'm missing my stories, but all the same. They are the sweetest babies in the whole world.

Not all children are like this. See, children who go to our church are country children. Their parents were raised right because their parents were also from the boondocks. They know what makes little Robbie and Susie behave.

One of my boys in AWANA is 110% boy. Not that I mind...it's quite amusing when he tells me stories about bugs and takes every single toy out of every single closet, cabinet and drawer and makes some attempt to take them apart.

But enough is enough.

When a line is crossed, and he thinks that standing on the table and shouting is the best way to get attention and it makes four other three year olds start screaming, it's time for Teacher to get serious. Time out, no snacks, can't play for five minutes, etc. If THAT doesn't work, we call in the big guns. Mom, Dad, Grandpa, or Grandma. At that point, he is screaming...but not to get attention. He's fixing to get his butt whooped.

After that, what do you know. Little Robbie is playing nicely with others, saying please and thank you, and following instructions.

Magic.

Call me vile if you will, but the fact of the matter is spanking works. One spanking I will never EVER forget was when I was five years old and I thought it would be a great idea to ride my bike in the street at the Battery in Charleston, against my parents' warnings. AFter two stern warnings and threats, I got yanked off my bike and got my butt torn up. The moral of this story--I didn't ride my bike in the street again.

Did it scar me? No. Did it ruin my psyche? No. Will it make me abuse my children? No.

I bring this up because I'm sitting in Chik-fil-a on the side with the children's superfunmaze, against my better judgement. There was a mom here trying to figure out how to coax her daughter out of the playhouse. Other moms were suggesting that she try ice cream, toys, ponies, rainbows, and sunshine.

Honestly, I thought I was going to throw up. If I didn't want to come out of a super fun playhouse and I had been giving ample warning, I knew that I was going to get a spanking. If Mother got to THREE and I had not obeyed, I knew i was in. for. it.

The moral of this story: when you show your kids you mean business, they will grow up being relatively responsible and functioning members of society who have respect for their parents and other elders. If you try to bribe your kids with candy and sunshine in order to get them to do what they want, you might just want to tattoo "Doormat" to your forehead so people will know the reason that your children are acting like horrid maniacs is becaue you are a big fat sissy.

Come Towards The Liiiig....Psych

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 21:42:00 +0000

Okay. So I'm a liiiiitle teeny bit flighty, BUT, I am very passionate about one thing or another at any given time. One of those things that is actually quite permanent, however, is music. There are certain songs out there in RadioLand (oddly enough they're never played on the radio) that I can feel run through my blood stream like a cool drink of water. I like to think there is a soundtrack to my life and when something dramatic happens, it's really playing in the background and not just in my imagination.

One day not too long ago, I was having one of those days being all mopey and pouty and hating everything. Then...I hear music. I look around to see if anyone else hears what is going on, because I've been known to hear and see things that aren't there. (Don't worry, I'm overmedicated and everyone in my head is much nicer.)

However, when people started gravitating toward the televesion it like it was an oasis in the Sahara, I knew I wasn't having another minor psychotic episode. The song was getting louder and louder, building up on the television, as it had many times in my head during appropriately dramatic moments. I felt the cool drink of music flow through my blood vessels.

When I got to the television, I saw a group of people walking in slow motion, so I KNEW that this was a dramatic scene and that angels were really singing in my head, taking me towards a bright light and Jesus was there!

Then.

Owen Wilson appeared. When has he EVER been serious?

It was freaking You, Me and Dupree. F my life. Why don't you just spit on my face Owen Wilson?

It's Funny Cuz It's Sad

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 13:29:00 +0000

So, since I am not well endowed in the chest area by ANY stretch of the imagination, I bought some gel inserts to make me look like a girl instead of a pre-op transvestite. Aaaaaaand action!!!

Me: I found a new use for my fake boobs.
Bestie: Hahahaha ..........
Me: I bought a short coke this morning and the glass bottles are smaller, so they don't fit in my cup holder. I used my boobs to pad it.
Bestie: Haha. Sad, but funny.
Me: Sad because my FAKE boobs are STILL small enough to fit in a cup holder?

Does Anybody Know What Time It Is?

noreply@blogger.com (peanut butter unicorn) — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 21:47:00 +0000

And now, some long overdue funnyisms.

Me: Spasiba
Fireman Joe: Bellisimo
Me: Achtung
FJ: Optimus Prime to you too.

Me: I managed to keep it down to about a 4 on the sarcastic scale.
FJ: Out of 5??

Ouch my brain hurts.