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.  

To explain my abscence

Friday afternoon as I was knee deep in moving boxes and watching the cable guy bend over in my living room (why are they all so hot!?) my friend (Hi Maygan!), who was gracious enough to help me schlep boxes from location A to location my new apartment, asked me if I was going to get back to blogging now that I have internet access again.  Dually noted.  The saddest part of it all, I haven't been without internet.

What I have been without however is more hours in the day and an exciting life that provides an endless amount of amusing material to write about.  No one wants to hear about my need for a tetanus shot because I cut my foot open on a roll of packing tape, or how I thought I broke my hand but didn't and am now left with a bruise the size AND shape of Texas on my hand or how, because I'm an idiot, I managed to overfill my gas tank and watched gas pour out all over the side of my car, my pants and the ground.

Either I need a more fulfilling life or I just need to become a better story teller.  I've been tapped creatively as of late.  Again, I blame my devastating dull life.  I spend my days mulling over topic after topic but when it comes down to putting pen to paper fingers to keyboard, nothing is good enough.  Nothing sparks that fire that amuses me enough to assume it would amuse the 18 or so people that find their way here regularly.  I've heard it said many times, rule number one of blogging is to blog for yourself, not for your readers.  And I believe this to be true.  However, if I'm not remotely amused in what I'm saying,  how can I expect others to be?  I want to keep readers, not lose them.  Stopping short of doing as one person suggested and blogging about my sex life (so NOT going to happen. Ever.  Wait, didn't my mother teach me to never say never?  Well, maybe one day if I get absolutely desperate for something to write about.  However, I'm thinking that if it comes to that, it's a clear sign to hang up my bogging hat.) I'm going to try my hardest to step up to the plate and deliver on the expectations set forth by my friends, real and internet.

By the way, my reluctance to blog about my sex life has nothing to do with the lack of one.  Nothing.  Right, that's it.

Are you a good person?

The streets of Sacramento are filled with all kinds of awesome.  For example, I pulled up behind this gem at a stop light recently.  Many things crossed my mind when reading this.  None of which prepared me for what I found when I visited the site.

You bet your britches I took the test.  And apparently, I'm "a lying, thieving, blasphemous, murderous,adulterer at heart."  Gee thanks, goodpersontest.com, for telling me something I didn't already know.  I mean, I do live in this body, so this is nothing new to me.  

• Lying - Sure, I lie all the time.  Remember Larry King Live?  Yup, that's my cover for watching porn.  
• Stealing - I might have gotten free cable for a time, but in my defense, it was the cable company's fault for not doing their due diligence.  I was just too busy not concerned enough to pick up the phone and clue them in to their minor clerical error.  
• Blasphemous - I taught my mom the term OMG and it absolutely cracks me up to hear/see her use it.  Quite the interesting turn of events considering this is the same women that threatened to wash my mouth out with soap if I said "oh my god!" ONE.MORE.TIME.
• Murderous - I might have accidentally killed a fish or two in my day.  Looking back, I was trying to prevent his untimely demise from my cat eating him alive when I put him behind a picture frame and forgot he was there.  I'm sorry Billy the fish for starving you to death.  
• Adulterous - I lost my virginity at age 18.  Quick mom, stop reading.  Now.  

One final thank you to goodpersontest.com for forcing me to admit such unfavorable things about myself to the internet.  I'm talking gun-to-the-head force.

Head on over to goodpersontest.com to find out if you are as horrible as me.  Or if you just want a good laugh at someone else's expense.  And when I say someone else, I mean the webmaster.

Indecent exposure at 10,000 feet

I'm going to let the pictures do the talking for me today because it's only Monday and I'm already exhausted.  Oh and because I'm moving on Friday and as you all know, the crazy never stops around here.  I will say this however - skydiving is the single greatest experience of my life!  Oh, and low cut shirts do not belong in the sky.  Unless you're like my fabulous follower and soul sister Amy, over at Jackson Family Action (and on Twitter at @amysflowerz too!) and you think my boobs look awesome at 10,000 feet.  Sadly for you my blog friends, you will not be able to see how wonderful my boobs look at 10,000 feet because, well, I do have a little bit of pride left.

Special thanks to Adam for being the devil on my shoulder when stood in line to hand over my money and sign my life away and chicken out like I've never chickend out before.  Sure, he told me in no uncertain terms I couldn't back out even though I was thisclose to crapping in my pants, but he was quite convincing.  And to my girls, Sara, Janelle and Mandy for being there and cheering us on.  You guys rock!

How chinese food can decide your fate

Monday night, I had chinese for dinner.  And not just any chinese, the fake chinese you get at Panda Express.  Only in the US will people flock for the awesomeness that is their Orange Chicken and proclaim it to be THE BEST chinese food they've ever had.  And if you disagree with me on this you're not human.  And probably shouldn't be reading this blog anyway, because you have poor taste in life.


My fortune cookie read "You will lead a very comfortable life."

Ummm, okay.  Care to define "comfortable" oh dear Panda?  Comfortable is pretty subjective.  To me, it's not super comfy pillows and pajama pants while laying on the couch with your furry cat watching Love Story with Allie McGraw and Ryan O'Neal.  Which is, by the way, the greatest way to spend Friday night.  Or Halloween.  Whichever you prefer.  No, to me it's all the money in the world.  Enough money to shower 3 times a day using bottles of Evian water.  Enough money to line my cat's litter box with and not have a care in the world that it's wasteful because, oh my gosh there are 15 more stacks of it in the laundry room! 

I'm not a fan of fortune cookies.  What a load of crap.  And they're always so vague that it takes a mathematician, a rocket scientist and a storm trooper to figure out.  Just for once I'd like my fortune cookie to tell me "You're going to jump out of a perfectly good airplane on Saturday."

Which coincidentally, is exactly what I'm doing tomorrow.  The Buck peer pressured asked me oh-so-nicely to join him and I just couldn't say no.  (See FREAK THE EFF OUT.)  When I mentioned to my mother, who by the way provides me shelter for the next 7 days, what I was planning on doing this weekend, her eyes got exceptionally big.  It might have happened something like this:

Me (the UBER responsbile-would-never-do-anything-stupid daughter): I'm going to Lodi on Saturday with everyone to watch Adam skydive.

Mom (the provider of shelter): You're not jumping, are you?

Me: Probably not...unless I have the money.

Mom: Just don't tell me about it.

Me: Oh, don't worry, I won't.  I don't want you to worry about me.

Mom: I'll kick your ass.

Me: I'm 27 mom.

Mom: I don't care, I'll still kick your ass.

Let this be a lesson to you...no matter how old you are, your parents will threaten and probably actually commit the act of kicking your ass.  As for me, I'm the exception to the rule.  I can only hope the free fall to the ground breaks a few bones so she will take pity on me and forgo the ass kicking for another day.  

Here's hoping that I return from the thrill seeking adventure in one piece and not in a coma as one of my Twitter followers suggested.  I promise to provide a pictorial of the adventure and possibly even a list of reasons why I've lost my mind.

A B C...it really is easy as 1 2 3

While waiting for class tonight, a strapping young man handed me this flyer and mumbeled something that sounded like "Club We-Cant-Spell...check us out."

Sure thing..should I bring my dictionary with me?