I moved!

Courtkneerawks on Wordpress

Before y'all get excited and freak out on me - no, I did not physically move.  I'm so over moving that I may live in this apartment until the day comes when you see me on an episode of Hoarders with trash piled all around me and a few gazillion cats running amuck. 

As of today, my blog has moved.  I packed up my HTML and headed on over to Wordpress.  Sorry Blogger, but our relationship has come to a standstill and I'm just not feeling your lackluster platform and lack of spell check.  I mean seriously, who doesn't have spell check?  And what's up with the random fonting?  Not cool, Blogger.

Now that Wordpress is where it's at, come one over and check me out.  Make sure to update your RSS readers and all that fancy web stuff you do to find your way here because I know you'd hate to miss something important.  No? Well, humor me and do it anyway.


Just click the web address under the picture and you'll be home free.  I hope to see you on the flip side.

Ode to Amy

I love the internet.  The greatest part is meeting people that geography would otherwise not permit you to have the pleasure of knowing.

I met Amy when she commented on the greatest blog there ever was.  This one.  Now, I might be a little biased, but just look to your right and ask any of those 22 people and I'm sure they'll have to agree that it's true.  Her single comment all those months ago was the starting point for the awesome friendship we have today.  She gets me and I get her.  She's as sarcastic and snarky as I am.  She's a mompreneur, which is something I strive to be.  The entrepreneur part.  The mom part I could do without, but that's just me.  Kids totally cramp my laying on the couch, drinking a bottle of wine style. However, if I ever lose the rest of the sanity I have and birth a child, I hope to be the kind of mom Amy is.  Sarcasm and love all rolled into one.

Amy is the talent behind FlowerzInHerHair.com, a website for all things hair accessories.  Little girls and big girls alike can sport her amazing work and look as cute as this gal.

That's right, I'm sporting a flower in my hair.  And let me tell you, I've never looked more fabulous.  I knew these babies were coming and could hardly contain my excitement when I opened my mail box and the package fell at my feet.  I kind of a have a problem checking my mail on a regular basis, what with having to walk past my front door to get to it and all.  I'm surprised I haven't gotten a nasty gram from my mailman yet.

 
Next thing I know, I'm dancing around my kitchen in excitement at how FREAKING awesome these are.  At 27, this is the most excitement my Monday night's see.  We collaborated briefly via e-mail about what I wanted and it was like she was inside my head.  I know this is true because I couldn't describe the inside of a paper bag if it was over my head.

So to Amy, thank you for being the best internet friend a girl could have.  Thank you for encouraging and enabling me to be me.  Thank you for being you and being all around awesome.  And a final BIG ASS THANK YOU for accessorizing this mop on my head that some would call hair.

To everyone else, hop on over to FlowerzInHerHair and place an order.  Free standard shipping through the month of December for any order over $10.  Y'all don't need to me to tell you how sweet free shipping is, it sort of speaks for itself.  Tell her Courtney sent you.  No, it won't get you any special treatment (that I know of) but she'll be glad to know where you came from.

Happy shopping!

A few things

My inability to create anything worthwhile, has forced me into the arms of bullet points.

• I started Weight Watchers (again) last week.  The junk in this trunk has got to go.  If it doesn't, I'm going to have to start wearing a bath robe to work which could be a problem since I don't own one.  I've got a goal in mind and it's to lose all the weight I gained back in the last year.  Approximately 40 pounds, which translates to a gazillion when it comes to my size 14 jeans that I stare at longingly even though they continue to taunt me with their circulation cutting zipper.  As of Saturday, I've lost 3 pounds, which is pretty fantastic considering I ate everything not nailed to the table during Thanksgiving.  That included candied bacon, chocolate covered peanut butter balls and all the cranberry sauce ever invented.  
• Speaking of candied bacon, I took to Twitter earlier when I had run out of patience and needed inspiration.  I asked for help and was so presented with this.  And I'll tell you, he does deserve praise for his awesomeness.  He is, afterall, the genius behind candied bacon.  

      

• My doctor's office still thinks my name is Asthma.  It would be much more amusing had I not been asked, again, if my name was in fact Asthma all while attempting to breathe.  Just because I have asthma, doesn't mean it's my name.  I assure you, Miss Advice Nurse, my parent's aren't that cruel and didn't saddle me down with a lifetime of shame.  
• Hoarders on A&E makes my skin crawl slightly.  And the only way to stop the crawling is to douse myself in rubbing alcohol near an open flame.  Please, someone tell me where the line is drawn between complete laziness and a psychologically diagnosed emotional problem because I'm not really seeing where it is.  
• Coming tomorrow, my ode to Amy, my soul sister and internet best friend.  She's awesome and deserves a post all of her own.  Here's a hint...I look cuter than I've ever looked before and I owe it all to her.  

With that, I think I'm going to go drink that rubbing alcohol since they just discovered an animal carcass in this women's house on Hoarders.

Skin...officially crawling.

**Update - Not more than 2 minutes later did they find ANOTHER animal carcass.  I'm still not convinced this women isn't lazy.  Just sayin'.**

When writer's block goes wrong

I've got a mad case of writer's block.  Probably the worst ever.  I've been staring at a blinking cursor for the last 865 hours and can't seem to bang out a decent enough post.  So, instead of putting myself and my readers through anymore torture than is necessary (see pretending I have something clever to say when I really don't), I'm leaving you with this.  

The Snuggie 2.0.  Part of me wants to be outraged that someone would objectify and tarnish my beloved Snuggie so, while the other part can't stop laughing at the hilarity of it.  Sure, I agree the Snuggie is a tad ridiculous, but unless you've wrapped yourself in it's amazing felt-y warmth, you can not speak ill of it's awesomeness.  

My guess is whoever created this hasn't spent consecutive Friday evenings on their couch with their remote and iPhone in hand, wrapped in one instead of out with their friends, painting the town red.  They don't know what they're missing.

So I hear.

*Photo courtesy of Punning Pundit, via Pictureisunrelated.com.

A is for anxiety

I have a confession to make.  That's why I love this blog.  It's cheap therapy and people actually like what I have to say.  That last part keeps me from crying myself to sleep at night.

So, that confession.  Wait, before I start, let me warn you.  This is probably going to more serious than usual so you might want to stop reading now.  Consider yourself warned.  I have intense anxiety when driving.  Like paralyzing, sweat-inducing, want-to-ditch-my-car-at-the-off-ramp anxiety.  It makes the 5 o'clock commute intensely nerve wracking and leaves me wishing I lived in the parking lot at work.  This is another reason why it's to my disadvantage that drinking and driving is illegal because nothing curbs the anxiety like a glass of wine with a beer chaser.  Seriously.  This is not me being funny and joking about being an alcoholic (because, you know, I'm not).  This is for real, yo.  The anxiety runs the gamet of situations...but the most paralyzing is stop lights and someone coming up behind me fast.  I attribute my fear of being rearended and sent down an embankment to my death in a firey blaze to being rearended one too many times.  It's incredibly irrational to think this could really happen to me, but I watch movies people...this shit CAN happen!

I don't know what to do.  Short of turning in my driver's license and hiring a limo cab to take me everywhere, I'm at a loss.  My reason for this post is the hope that someone else is afflicted with something similar and can provide suggestions on what to do to fix it and so you can see that I am in fact, a crazy person.  I mean, I don't just play one on T.V.

So, does anyone have any tips or stories they'd like to share about their own struggles?  I promise this is a safe harbor to share your thoughts and feelings without anyone making fun or judging (too much.)  I joke, I joke.  Please feel free to share and if you'd prefer to keep it private, just click that cool little "Contact" tub up there on the top right.  I'm happy to hear your thoughts.

A narcissists guide to giveaways

I took a stupid Facebook quiz today.

Yes, I'm that person. Well, sort of. The person I'm not is the one that plays Farm this and Fish that and post EVERY.SINGLE. accomplishment ever achieved. No, I'm the person that finds stupid "What True Blood character are you?" and "What 80s sitcom is your life?" insanely amusing. You know, because Facebook knows you better than your best friend does and can diagnose your chronic self esteem problem. But we're not talking about me here. 

Oh wait, yes we are. 

The quiz I took today was the Narcissistic Personality Disorder test. It's no surprise that my result was 26, with 40 being the highest. Since the general population scores an average of 15, I'd say I'm quite the overacheiver and am damn proud of it.

Really though, it's not like I need a Facebook quiz to tell me something I didn't already know. I have this blog for narcissists sake! Clearly I enjoy talking about myself. And with the invention of Twitter, I get to do it much more often, but limited to 140 characters. Do you know how hard it is to cram that much self love into such a small space? Next to impossible. Unless I'm bashing Tyra Banks for being a dumb supermodel. That doesn't take much work. She kind of does the job for me.

Since we're still talking about me, let me tell you a little bit about a few of my favorite things.

• Wine - More specifically, reisling.  A few years ago, my friend Melissa gifted me the greatest bottle of reisling ever.  Try as I might, I haven't been able to find it since.  Of course I don't remember that name so this adds to my dilema.  I mean, how many reislings come with a screw top lid?  Not many I'm guessing.  
• Lolita Wine/Martini glasses - Greatest. Concept. Ever.  Except what a waste of a perfectly good wine glass.  Sure I've had to resist the urge to use these novelty glasses when all my every day glasses are dirty.  As an alcoholic a regular wine connosiuer, it's difficult to have a never ending supply of clean glasses.  And with alcoholism thirst, come laziness.
• Things that smell good - Clean laundry, chocolate, hot boys that are otherwise bad news, candles, etc. Since I can't have my cake and eat it too (see hot boys that are otherwise bad news) I prefer to fill my house with candles.  Come over at any given time and you'll find a candle burning.  Come over when I'm not home and you'll possibly smell smoke because I undoubtedly left the candle burning.  Hey, I said I like the way they smell.  I mentioned nothing about being sober responsible enough to remember to blow the candle out before leaving.  That's what renter's insurance is for anyway, right?
• Books - Most notably any book written by Jen Lancaster.  Oh my heck is she hilarious.  She's like the love child of Dooce and The Bloggess.  In pearls.  A close second to Jen is any book filled with booze.  Lots of booze.  With the invention of the iPhone and the free Mixology App, I have a bartender at my fingertips year round.  

Why am I telling you these things?  Well, for one, I love myself so much that my blog name is Courtknee Rawks (because it's true, I do.)  And two, one of my favorite bloggers, Erin at A Real Housewife, is hosting her very first giveaway in honor of her 100th post.  And the items in this prize package seem to have been designed with  me in mind.  Never mind that these things are HER favorites, they are perfect for me.  It's not a coincidence actually.  I know for a fact she is going to just give me those items, but she's using the giveaway as a cover so she the rest of her followers don't feel left out.  She's so kind to remember everyone else's feelings like that; it's clearly more than I'd do.  

Really though, this giveaway is pretty cool.  It's pretty unique actually.  Most bloggers do giveaways because a company approached them and asked them to review their product and offer a free whatever-it-is-they-are-peddling to one lucky reader.  Erin took her idea, gave it a neat little twist and personalized it.  Which is something I love.  And her blog?  It's great.  She's got a wicked sense of humor and shares my love for everything alcohol related.  As she put it on Twitter, we were meant to be besties. 

Do yourself a favor and head on over to her blog, hit that follow button and leave her a comment.  Tell her how awesome she is.  Just don't enter this giveaway because then you ruin my chances of winning.  And you wouldn't want to do that to me, would you? I'm out of wine and because of that, I'm also incredibly fragile right now...you don't want to make me cry.  Then head on over to Twitter and follow her there too.  If you don't, you'll miss out on tweets like the one where she peed behind a tree in broad daylight.  A girl after my own heart!  Hil.Ari.Ous!  Sorry Erin, it's just too good not to mention.

Now, since I'm out wine I need to scrounge up some cough syrup or rubbing alcohol to get me through the rest of the evening.  Kidding.

Kind of.

Proof my apartment is haunted. Or that I'm crazy. You decide.

The setting: 6:30 this morning, in my bed.  (Sorry kids, it's not THAT kind of story.)

I'm in a deep sleep, dreaming of unicorns, cupcakes and Paul Wesley.  Next thing I know, there is a loud crashing noise...in my shower.  Let me remind those who are new or have forgotten because they don't really love me, I live alone.

(Kidding, I totally know you love me.  I have to embellish these little details because heaven knows I can't get by on just my charm alone.)

My cat hasn't made his way back to my humble abode because, well I don't have an extra $500 for the pet deposit nor do I have the desire to clean his littler box like he demands, so I know something is about to get terribly terrifying.  I tiptoe my way down the hall, because ghosts totally can't hear tiptoeing, and flick on the bathroom light.  I'm surprised I didn't leave a puddle on the floor underneath me, because let's remember it's 6 in the morning and I haven't peed yet, when I saw the shower curtain moving.  Like flowing in the wind moving.  An inanimate object with no other reason than someone...or something...moving it.  I can't really tell you what compelled me to move the curtain to the side to seek out the source of this noise.  Other than fear for my life and the my undying urge to kick some ghost ass.  

This is probably where I should tell everyone I made the genius move of watching Cold Case Files before bed last night while consuming 3/4 of a bottle of the cheapest wine available for purchase at Wal Mart.  Probably not at the top of my list entitled "Good ideas," but I digress.  Oh and I should also probably tell you that my mind works in overtime even when overtime has packed it's bags and headed home.

So after safely pulling the shower curtain back, I was met with my large bottle of shampoo that had somehow jumped off the edge of the tub.  Sure it was practically empty and turned upside down as to allow me to maximize every last drop of this $30 bottle of shampoo (and I'll remind myself again why I can't afford that $500 pet deposit), but I refuse to believe this was the culprit, for the reason I shall share with you next.

Fast forward to 7:15 when it's time for me to drag my ass back out of bed and shower.  Sure, I enjoy cold showers as much as the next guy, but not when it's 65 degrees in my bathroom and I'm already naked, standing in the stream water that may have well have just come straight from Antarctica for all I know.

Of course my wine and codeine cocktail might have led me to sleep walk into the bathroom and turn the facet, but I'm hardly limber when sober so the chances of actually remembering my own name at 6 in the morning are slightly better than this actually happening.

I don't mind living with a ghost really.  They're generally pretty quiet (with today as an exception) and pick up after themselves so it's like having a roommate, but not really.  The only thing I ask is that he, or she because I'm an equal opportunity ghost lover, kick down for some bills and do a few dishes every now and then.  Is that too much to ask of a ghost that enjoys cold showers and wasting my shampoo?

An open letter to Nintendo and more specifically, Super Mario

Hi. It's me, Courtney. That annoying girl with an odd sense of humor that blogs and tweets way too much of her day away. As of November 15, I have happily added "play too much Super Mario Bros" to that list. And after an entire day of Bowser kicking my ass, I have reach the point of numb fingers (can we get softer buttons please?) and frustration galore.

Back in the days of old school Mario, these levels didn't require a PHD in physics with a concentration in aerodynamic something or other. Oh my good lord, I can't tell you how many times my head almost exploded just trying to avoid sinking sand traps and fireballs. And why oh why is Yoshi so elusive? My sausage fingers can't seem to control themselves and stay on their assigned buttons, so no sooner do I acquire Yoshi, I lose him. Que head explosion.

Of course these issues don't keep me from trying over and over and over and over to stomp on that jerky jerk that kidnapped Princess Peach...on her birthday! Seriously, who does that? And when the hell do I get Penguin Mario??! I've been at this for 2 days now...I think I've earned it.

Oh Mario, don't you worry. I won't let you phase me. I'll keep at it until I master your levels and successfully return Princess Peach to her birthday celebration, much to the dismay (or absolute excitement) of my followers.  

For Amy

Ask and you shall receive.

All I need is a string of pearls and some 6 inch heels and I've got my dress for the prom.    The I'm-27-and-live-in-the-Ozarks prom.

A lesson in how not to follow directions

If this isn't proof that someone loves me, I don't know what is.  One of my favorite Twitterer's/Bloggers Ashlee over at Brain of A Mommy graciously awarded with me the Honest Scrap award.  I heart Ashlee cause she's real, funny, has some of the cutest kids ever and she's an Okie, just like me.

I often find the tasks associated with these awards difficult because I already talk about myself enough as it is, so coming up with 7 or 10 or 35 things about me that you don't already know is somewhat of a challenege.  But, I'm a good blogger and I follow directions slightly well, so here goes nothing.

1. Present this award to 7 others whose blogs you find brilliant in content and/or design or those who have encouraged you.

2. Tell those people they’ve been awarded the HONEST SCRAP AWARD and inform them of these guidelines in receiving the award.

3. Share “10 honest things” about yourself.

Remember when I said I follow directions slightly well?  This is proof.  I'm only listing 7 things because, good lord talking this much about yourself is EXHAUSTING.

1. Nothing irritates me more than traffic and stupid people. The unfortunate part is that these two things join forces to wreck havoc on my day at 8 am and 5 pm. What's more unfortunate is that drinking and driving isn't legal as it seems a glass case of wine is the only thing that enables me to rationally deal with such a situation. 
2. I am ridiciously obsessed with eyebrows. Like, stare-at-everyone-I-meet-and-scrutinize-their-arch-and-length, obsessed. I blame my on eyebrow incident. And the fact that I've lost all the sensibility I was born with. 
3. Please don't ask me how I know I can do this, but I can close a safety pin in the gap between my teeth. The worst time to show people you can do this is at work, after putting lotion on your hands. Imagine me freaking out in my cubicle with someone else's hands in my mouth trying to help me out of this absolutely stupid situation I found myself in. Not pretty. 
4. Since I graduated high school almost ten years ago, I have changed my major approximately 7 times. Liberal studies, Marketing, Liberal Studies, Psychology, English, Liberal Studies, Hospitality Management (or as I like to call it, cupcake making.) I think I've finally settled on the last one and am reaping the rewards, if you call a 15 pound weight gain from "quality assurance" a reward.
5. When I was a kid, I had epilepsy. What my mom calls the scariest experience of her life, I like to call the moments that created this slightly odd, and highly neurotic brain. What else can explain the crap that comes out of my mouth?
6. Twilight is probably the worst book I have ever had the displeasure of reading. Really Stephanie Meyer? Who talks like that? Not that this has kept me from seeing the movie and buying my New Moon ticket a month in advance. And then preceding to have a slight panic attack when I realized I threw it away. Thank goodness Fandango lets you reprint them because otherwise, my world might have come to an end. 
7. In case you're new or haven't been paying attention, I am in love with my Snuggie. It has to be the best $14.99 plus tax I've ever spent. There's something to be said about a fleece blanket with sleeves and the genius that created it. And that something is I'm jealous I didn't think of it first.

So about that whole following directions thing...it's 10:30 and I've successfully wasted an entire day playing Super Mario Bros Wii (more on that to come.) What I mean to say is my brain has been fried by one too many bouts with Bowzer so I'm only handing out a few awards to save on time.

Amy at Jackson Family Action
Cristina at Because I Amuse Myself
MLD at California Born and Virginia Raised

This post offically wore me out.  Well, this and tonight's episode of Californication.  How on earth does Hank Moody do it?

I couldn't make this shit up

As the clock struck 5:30 in my bed this morning, I was coughing up my lung, along with last night's dinner.  I'm talking the cough that makes you want to commit murder because it's causing sleep deprivation.  Lucky me, I've had it for about 2 weeks now.  I tried every over the counter drug I could think of because the mere thought of calling Kaiser makes me hope I succumb to the cough.  Don't get me wrong, Theraflu is all kinds of awesome, especially when you take more than the reccommended dose.  Hello dreams!  Like pet grizzly bears and unicorn awesomeness.  Unfortunatley for me, it just wasn't cutting the mustard anymore.

So 5:30 this morning found me on the phone with the doctor and next thing I know, I have a prescription for an antibiotic and cough syrup laced with codine.  Hello more dreams!  I can not wait to go to bed tonight.  This is what my night stand looks like right now.

Please ignore that copy of The Vampire Diaries.  It's not really there, you're seeing things.

After visting the pharmacy, I can tell you this is the best case of the flu I've ever had.  Simply for this.

Apparently my first name changed to Asthma shortly after 5:30 this morning.  I've never loved Kaiser more.  Even if they are a stick in the mud and refused to let me take a photo of the bottle before changing the label.  At least they let me keep the paperwork.

Greatest. Prescription. Ever.

My Snuggie and me!!

Does everyone remember the toy from childhood, My Buddy?  And of course there was Kid Sister so us girls didn't feel left out.  In case you don't remember Because I'm 5 years old and just love the jingle, watch this to familiarize yourself with it.




Ignore the "lamer version" part...there is nothing lame about this video. Except maybe the part where I keep replaying it because I just can't get enough!


It should bring back memories of classic Saturday morning commercials. Like the Tootsie Pop Commercial where stupid Mr. Owl bites into it after three licks.  Impatient much?  Or how about the "Silly Rabbit, Trix are for kids!" or the Count Chocula and Frankenberry's cereal commercials that claimed they were vitamin enriched?  Sure, once you get past the 18 cups of sugar.  

I'm going somewhere with this, I promise.  If you don't follow me on Twitter (SHAME ON YOU!!!) you've missed that I am the proud owner of a Snuggie.  Much to many people's dismay, I love it more than I probably should.  Sure it's ridiculous looking, but man-oh-man is it awesome!  Seriously...a blanket with sleeves!  It's genius!  (Yes, all those exclamation points are in fact necessary.)

At first, I balked at the idea as the dumbest thing I'd ever seen.  But much like other things, I had no idea what I was missing until I tried it.  Kind of like sushi and sex and paying bills.  Okay, the paying bills part is a stretch, but you can't tell me you don't feel an odd sense of satisfaction having them paid.  Never mind the feeling of dread because now you're broke.  But now we're just splitting hairs.

For those who snicker at the idea and still think it's the most ridicuousl thing ever, I challenge you to come on over, sit on my couch and wrap yourself in it's warmpth.  Relax, I'll wash it first.  And I might even share my wine with you.

Doesn't that stunningly beautiful girl look comfy and cozy under the Snuggie?  And look at that smile...she couldn't be happier!

I dedicate this post to my Snuggie.  I lub you!  And maybe I'll lose enough of my mind to parody the "My Buddy" song to include My Snuggie...

Reasons 465 and 287 why I'm not an adult

Before Blog Fail 2009, I had a smattering of random "reasons I'm not an adult" posts.  I haven't resurrected them for reasons I don't really know.  Maybe it's because I have been exceptionally mature lately, which could actually explain a lot.  Well, I'm bringing them back.  Mostly because I find them hysterical and nice reminders that it's important to not take yourself too seriously.  A fellow blogger, Cristina over at Because I Amuse Myself, frequently posts her reasons and I snicker each time I read them.   So, we can all thank Cristina for her inspiration to restart these always amusing posts.  So without further adu, here are two of my reasons.

Reason #465:

Saturday morning on the couch, in my Snuggie, found me snacking on Wheat Thins.  In an effort to entertain myself, because that's what you do when you live alone, I created the world's first Wheat Thin underwear.  Yes, I'm proud of my creation.  No, I will not share the patent...should I ever get one.

Reason #287:

This reason actually has little to do with my actions and everything to do with my slightly youthful appearance. While purchasing cough syrup, because I don't feel like chocking to death in my sleep due to an insane amount of coughing, I was carded.  It took me a moment to realize I hadn't picked up a bottle of wine or case of beer when the cashier (who was probably 16 mind you) asked to see my ID.  I'm sorry, come again?  Thank you youth of the world for being stupid and snorting (or whatever the hell it is you kids do with it) the common cold medicine.  Thank you for forcing me to dig through my luggage purse and toss aside Kleenex, cough drops, chap stick and random pieces of lint to find my wallet just to produce my ID so I can go home and fight my impending death sparked by coughing.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a hot date with my Snuggie, my pillow, my I'm-over-21 bottle of cough syrup
and the latest installment of Real Housewives of Orange County.

For lack of a better title - I have problems.

Growing up, some of the only music played in our house was country.  I've been hooked since.  As much as I enjoy your average "my wife left me, my truck broke down and then my dog died" ballad, there are times I can't help but think country music is to blame for my undying belief in true love.  You see, almost all country songs have something to do with heartbreak or a man's heart-stopping love for his women.  I've had plenty of the former, but yet to experience the latter.  I'm probably jaded, but I can't help but hold out hope that these country crooners know what they're talking about and it will one day show up on my door step.  Until then, I'll live in my fantasy land.  And that's how my therapist is able to pay her mortgage each month.

Anyone familiar with the song "Big Green Tractor" by Jason Aldean?

No?  Well let me familiarize you with some of the lyrics.  (The chorus is crucial for this post.)  I'll spare my readers the torture of a Youtube video on the off chance some of you don't share in my adoration for the genre.  Go ahead, read 'em.  I'll just be here tapping my foot to the beat while I wait.

I can take you for a ride on my big green tractor
We can go slow or make it go faster
Down through the woods and out to the pasture
'Long as I'm with you it really don't matter

Climb up in my lap and drive if you want to
Girl, you know you got me to hold on to
We can go to town, but baby if you'd rather
I'll take you for a ride on my big green tractor.

Um, suggestive much?  I don't know about you, but I have a tendency to blush when hearing this song.  Or it could just be me since we all know how mature I am.

And this post is how my therapist can pay for a fancy shmancy vacation with her husband.

**Should your curiosity get the better of you, full lyrics here and video here.**

Crap I own. And for no apparent reason really.

My mom is a pack rat.  I've become her.  I've inherited her inability to throw anything away.  

In the past year, I've moved three times.  I've earned the nickname Nomad and I wear it proudly. Four years ago, I moved from Fresno to Sacramento.  The greatest part of that move was coming to my senses and getting the heck out of Fresno.  

During my most recent move, I came across a box of paperwork I moved four years ago.  And if you've been following along, you know I've moved it four times now.  What is wrong with me?  Four years equals 1,460 days I've been lazy.  Too lazy to sit my butt down on the couch while watching Larry King Live and go through old paycheck stubs, tax papers and receipts.  What can I say, I do lazy very well.

During this most recent move I came across these.

That's all kinds of awesome right there.  How many people can say they have a beer making kit, a piggy bank (which is empty mind you) and a riding helmet from 1992?  That bank may have come in handy on many emergencies.  Like running out of wine.  Or cupcakes.

I think it's time for a yard sale.  Keeping the piggy bank though.  I'll need someplace to stash my emergency wine and cupcake funds.