Dear bar down the street;

Posted on June 6, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

I had the privilege the other night to visit your fine establishment for the first time.

As I usually do, I took a moment to “take it all in” and have come to the conclusion that nine times out of ten, you can not go wrong with bras hanging from the ceiling. Not only are they a great conversation starter but I think they give a good indication as to the type of crowd that you might find yourself in as the evening turns to night.

But suprisingly it wasn’t the hanging bras that were the highlight of my evening. No, that came when I had to use the facilities (in other words, I had to pee).

There I am, going about my business, when I happen to look up and see this sign on the back of the stall’s door.

“To Our Customers:

We kindly ask you to not overstock the toilets. If you are caught throwing tampons, pads, gum, cigarette butts or etc. into them you will be asked to leave the bar for 30 days. Help us help you have a clean and steady paced bathroom.

Thank you.”

I can not find the words that appropriately convey the gleeful feelings that overwhelmed me as I read this. Why? Because this note? It is gold.

Like onions, ogres, and parfait, it has so many levels.

1. “We kindly as you not to overstock the toilets.” I am approaching 33 years on this earth and I have never once heard of stocking a toilet. Not once. Stuffing, filling, overflowing- sure, but never stocking. As a matter of fact, it seems as if the internet is also unfamiliar with such usage because I just googled it and the first two pages of results were of toilets on overstock.com. So yea, overstock the toilet- not sure if that is really the words you were looking for.

2. “If you are caught…” Ummmmm….. how are you going to catch these offenders? Is there someone whose job is solely to sit and watch the women’s bathroom all night in order to make sure the overstockers are brought to justice?  And if there is- where do I sign up? I don’t really care to watch women pee for hours on end but I’d be willing to bet at least once a night there is the typical inebriated woman who just broke up with her boyfriend and is on the floor (usually right in front of the sink or just close enough to the door that you have to climb over them to leave the bathroom- and they always give you these dirty looks like you are being some huge bitch to them for actually wanting to wash your hands or leave the restroom) accompanied by her slightly less inebriated friend who is holding her hair as she pukes or petting her head as she sobs on the cellphone asking why said boyfriend doesn’t love her anymore.

If the job enables me to see that at least once every weekend, I am so there.

3. “You will be asked to leave the bar for 30 days” WHAT? Surely you realize how over the top this is. The real question however comma is how on earth do you go about enforcing this? Do you have a “wall of shame” somewhere with pictures of the offenders on display for all to see? Perhaps with their crime in big block letters so everyone knows what to be on the lookout for?

“Do not allow entrance for this TAMPON FLUSHER until 7/2/11”

On second thought, that might be awesome.

Oh bar down the street, thank you. Without knowing it you totally made my weekend. And I can’t wait to come by again to see the wall of shame.

But don’t worry- I’ll leave my toilet stocking supplies at home.

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Dear gnats;

Posted on May 30, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

It is that time of year again where you feel the need to annoying the ever living piss out of me, and I imagine everyone else you come into contact with. I have a feeling that I speak for millions when I say, I hate you.

I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you. I hate you.

I hate it when I can’t even simply stand outside without being assaulted by you.

I hate how you have an affinity for my eyeballs.

I hate how much you seem to love my dog’s butthole.

I hate how you try to incorporate yourself into everything I try and eat or drink outdoors, and sometimes indoors.

I hate that you seem to be smaller than the mesh on my screen door.

I hate that people can’t stand outside without looking like they have some full body tick because they are trying to get away from you without running in circles.

I hate that you have refined the skill of being in the exact right place to be sucked up into my sinus cavities when I breath in through my nose.

I want you to die.

I want to rip off your tiny little wings and then let you flounder around while your tiny little gnat lungs give out.

Rip out your wings and make you take a long gnat walk off a really short noodle hovering above a coffee cup filled with piping hot coffee. I’d sacrifice a cup of coffee for this to happen. Although it is basically only a matter of time before you dive bomb into it on your own accord so really I’m just doing it for the satisfaction of watching you die.

I want to invent a heat ray that I can set to only vaporize you. And perhaps cockroaches. But you first. Do you see what just happened there? I put you above cockroaches on the list of things that need to be vaporized from this planet. Are you starting to see how annoying you are? Just a little bit? Maybe?

I want to lure you all into a big box, shut the box, tape it up, and then ship the box to a place that doesn’t have gnats and the people there who always wonder what the big problem is. Two seconds max and they’ll be compiling a list of why they hate you so much too.

Now if you would please take some of these words to heart and beat it, I would be quite grateful. As would my dog’s butt.

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May the guilt be with you.

Posted on May 16, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

It is no secret that Catholics have a wee bit of a guilt issue. Outside of our Jewish brethren I’d say we, as a culture, corner the market on it.

I think we come by it honestly though. Back in high school I once wrote an essay about how Jesus was the first to effectively use guilt as a bargaining tool. Jesus was Jewish which meant he had a Jewish mother.  Perfect or not, that’s gonna rub off. Think about it though- Peter has denied him not once, not twice, but three times while he was getting his ass handed to him by the Romans.

Fast forward a couple hours and there’s Peter standing there and Jesus says, “oh hey, remember that time your lame ass denied knowing me? Yea, that time? Go build my church. You heard me. Oh and my mom’s moving in with you. Jesus, out.”

It’s like the guilt version of original sin. Thanks to Peter, all the members of his church are now saddled with this unshakable feeling as if we’ve done wrong, haven’t done enough, did too much… you get the idea.

(If this was not the most sacrilegious thing you’ve read today- call me, we need to be friends)

You can only imagine how well this idea was received. I remember passing the exam (it was the essay portion of a midterm or something) because I had clearly and precisely made my point but there was a trip to the advisor involved.

Anyways, for 32 years I’ve had this guilt as an omnipresent part of life. Some days are worse than others.

Case in point: NPR.

I listen to a lot of public radio. Mainly because I like classical music and there isn’t a classical station here in southwest Georgia so NPR fills that void. They recently had their fundraising drive and I was listening one day when they were talking about it.

sidenote: I love how they call it a membership drive instead of a fundraising drive. Apparently they think people will give more to become “members” instead of just throwing money at it.

This one afternoon there was what I’m going to call a commercial but only because I can’t think of anyway else to describe it. It wasn’t the host of the program talking but rather a prerecorded “commercial” in which this guy was talking about how only 9 out of 10 listeners of public radio actually donate.

He went on to describe how he called the telephone company his office uses and asked them if they could possibly give them ten accounts/numbers but only charge for one. Not surprisingly, the company said no. The guy then went on to say how amazing it is that public radio offers this service and doesn’t require a payment and how they wouldn’t have to be asking for money if all companies operated as they did.

This commercial was at least four or five minutes long and kept reiterating how amazing it is that they offer the service for free and right at the end he decided to go down the “why don’t you just pay us what you think it is worth” road.

I can not tell you how many hours I have spent thinking about this commercial. I don’t really hesitate to say that not a day has gone by since I heard it that I haven’t thought of it. All I keep hearing in my head, over and over again, is “why don’t you pay what you think it is worth?” And this didn’t happen a couple of days ago, oh no, it’s been at least two, if not three weeks!

I didn’t donate because it’s been rather crazy around here lately but I think we all know I will. If for nothing else than to assuage my overwhelming guilt at enjoying something I have paid nothing for.

Well played NPR, well played.

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Occupying brain space.

Posted on May 8, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

I don’t think it is out of the realm of possibility that after I die and give my body to science, that the people who cut into my brain will exclaim, “My god! This woman stored a lot of worthless crap up here!”

I spend an exorbitant amount of time giving thought to absolutely inane topics. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll run out of space up there. This fear keeps me up at night. Which is just another stupid thought filed away for all eternity in the steel trap… it’s a vicious cycle.

Examples:

Shibboleth. I love the word shibboleth. The shibboleth episode of The West Wing is one of my favorites. When Bartlett gives Charlie the carving set? :tear:

I always wonder what happens to people that are the subject of “pray for” signs.  Why are we praying for Charlie in the first place? Did he fall down a well? What prompts the taking down of the sign? Did Charlie get out of the well? Will his bones be found years from now like that episode of Medium? My random thoughts seem to center around tv episodes- should I cancel my Netflix membership?

Can we hunt down the first person to ever type out “aight” and cause them bodily harm?

Furthermore- who created the “i haz cheeseburger” site? Can I put them in the same room when I cause the bodily harm to the “aight” person so they have to watch and know that I’m going to do that and much worse to them? Maybe stick them with needles- one for each time my eyes bled and my soul wept thanks to their crappy “lolspeak”.

Oh and did you know there is a “learn lol speak” website? Combine this with my parent’s love for American Idol and all we need is a fourth horseman.

How can I teach Ninja the concept of “possession is nine tenths of the law”? Do dogs understand idioms? Probably not. Hell there are people who don’t really grasp idioms so I’m sure it’s beyond the ability of dogs to comprehend. Sure would be nice though.

Does the Subway on the way out of town realize that it’s May? When is the cut off for acceptably using the phrase “Start the year off right”?

How old will I be when I finally learn that working all day outside digging up a garden and fixing fence doors and various other things while wearing flip flops is not a good idea? My dogs they be barking.

I love idioms.

I wonder if my neighbor has ever heard of the concept of water conservation? Surely at some point in her 80 something years on this earth she would have seen something along the lines of “it’s rather excessive to water your lawn from sunup to sundown”. You’d think.

It’s getting hot- should I put the window units back in or just suffer this year? Swamp ass or no… decisions, decisions.

What was the person thinking when they went to Home Depot to buy lumber with their Honda Civic?

Why do I waste so much time thinking about this crap?

How does one go about giving their body to science?

I need to go to bed.

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Geek confession revisited.

Posted on April 30, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

Seeing as I have spent a grand total of at least 18 hours watching Dr. Who reruns in the last week or so I figured it was time to revisit and perhaps amend this post.

I am a geek.

Now throughout my life I have been many forms of geek/nerd/dork.  Band, choir, drama, speech and debate, math and science, the list goes on and on.  But even with all that I was always able to tell myself that I wasn’t a “real geek”.  You know the kind.  The ones that speak Klingon and carry around light sabers.

I wasn’t one of them.  Star Wars never held a huge allure.  Star Trek (outside of Jean Luc Picard being the sexiest bald man ever) was just something that was always on as I flipped through channels trying to find something to watch.  I scoffed at anything science fiction related.

But as the years pass I’ve noticed an odd trend.  No I haven’t found myself amidst the costumes of a convention nor do I frequent comic book stores with any frequency but I have inadvertently given scifi another chance.

I was just thinking about shows that I enjoy watching and there was an alarming amount of aliens and”unexplained phenomenon” on that list.  Torchwood, Fringe, many ghost shows like GhostHunters, the list goes on and on.  I’ve always enjoyed comic books but lately I’ve discovered that I really enjoy them.  Especially Batman.  I love me some Batman.

It became really obvious how much of a geek I’ve become when at least 75% of the people I follow on Twitter were tweeting from the ComicCon back in July.  And I was really jealous of all of them.  I wanted to be there.  Never did I think I would say that.  But I did.

I guess I have to take this moment to apologize to all scifi freaks that I’ve chuckled at in the past.  Because I fear that it is only a matter of time before I’m standing next to you dressed up as god only knows what.  And chances are good that I’ll have a lightsaber- it just seems right.

Update: So I haven’t found myself in a large room of people dressed as a Klingon quite yet but since I’ve removed the blinders to my own geekdom I’ve noticed things that I’ve done for seemingly forever that do nothing but add to my geek quotient.

1. I find a way to incorporate video games into every day life. I kid you not the other day I was delivering papers and it was ridiculously windy (same day as the tornadoes- pray for Alabama please, they need it!). Guy walks by and says, “power of God” but all I heard was “power of the gods…. the TRIFORCE”. I mean seriously. That’s not normal. Of course then I had the Zelda theme stuck in my head all afternoon. And now so do you. Ha!

2. Somehow I find myself discussing Role-Playing-Games with the guy on the phone from USAA. Called to cancel my debit card and ended up finding out where the Daichi was located. If that’s not customer service I don’t know what is.

3. I considered purchasing HBO so I could watch Game of Thrones- that’s it, I don’t know of anything else on HBO I would watch. If you don’t know, Game of Thrones is the first book in the series A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin that came out sometime in my senior year of high school so ’96-’97. Amazing book. Really. And now HBO is doing a tv show based on it. Thankfully I saved myself from myself… for now.

And the comic book store? It’s a weekly visit. The lady is nice and I like having new things to read.

It’s only a matter of time…

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The smartass apples and their tree.

Posted on April 16, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

My mother is a wonderful woman.

A wonderful woman who has the habit of latching onto phrases and repeating them ad naseum. Here’s just a few examples.

1. That’s too much soap. -My sister and I joke that we are going to put this on her tombstone thanks to the thousands of times she’s told us this as we start up the dishwasher.

2. How ladylike. -I keep thinking that after 32 years she would give up on this one but alas, it still makes an occasional appearance. She’s nothing if not persistent.

3. I didn’t have that fancy education. -My mother is plenty smart but likes to remind me (don’t know if she does it to my siblings) often of my good education. I have a feeling it somehow relates to my idiotic statement of being “free” for two years as I went to public school- outside of the “you don’t love me” fiasco that ended up with the dinner table in my lap, this was the worst don’t think before you speak moment of my childhood.

Anyways, #3 ties directly into #4 which is.

4. You weren’t raised that way.

I am the oldest of four children. All four of us have a sense of humor.

Some might say, all four of us have a strong smartass streak.

Some of us are a wee bit more of a smartass than the others.

My mother tries to make no claim to any of this. So much so that 90% of the time that this personality trait is displayed she proclaims “you weren’t raised this way”.

I’d like to proffer the arguement that she might be correct. It may just be a nature vs. nurture thing.

To do so I have the following anecdotal evidence from my mother’s childhood as told to me by her, mind you.

Exhibit A: My mother and her mother are cleaning up after dinner. My grandmother says, “Mahthuh, wrap those tomatoes and onions separately.” Not one to disobey her mother, my mother went ahead and wrapped each and every one of those tomato and onion slices separately.

Exhibit B: My mother and her mother are in the kitchen. My grandmother says, “Mahthuh, throw a can of biscuits in the oven.” I think we all know where this is going… Mahthuh takes can of biscuits, opens oven, throws in biscuit can to a resounding THUD!

I was (obviously) not there for this exchange but I can see my grandmother’s reaction as if she were standing in front of me. Not a look (as I imagine it) that one would want to be on the receiving end of very often.

Exhibit C: My mother and her family go camping. They have a camper with an awning. It rains. My grandmother is sitting on a chair smoking a cigarette. She says “Mahthuh (Martha in her southern drawl), get the broom and get the water off the awning.”

So my mom grabs a broom, proceeds to hit the awning in a very thorough upright fashion and turns to see her mother sitting in the chair drenched with the slightest wisp of smoke arising from her extinguished cigarette.

Of course she finds this to be hysterical. Who wouldn’t?

So what can we conclude from this?

Did my mother somehow go wrong in the upbringing of her brood? Or was she doomed from the moment her sarcastic spawn came into the world (especially with the DNA input from my loves to be silly father)?

Either way, the next time she proclaims “son of a bitch!” and my brother pops up and says “yes?”, I think we can all agree that she has no one to blame but herself.

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Dear Mr. Steve Jobs;

Posted on April 9, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

Hello.

First off, I’m a big fan. Not quite fangirl status but close. Ipod, iphone, Mac: all of it. Big fan.

However it has come to my attention that you have not been to south Georgia. I mean I don’t know why you would have but if there was any doubt, the iphone’s autocorrect feature put those to rest.

So I thought, being the giver that I am, that I would give you a little primer on a few things.

1. Oglethorpe, as in James Oglethorpe. Not that important of a guy. He just happened to be the founder of Georgia. As in the colony of Georgia. Which later became the state of Georgia. Yea, him.

You can find Oglethorpe mentioned numerous times throughout the state that he founded. You might have heard of a small little liberal arts college in Atlanta called Oglethorpe University. Up in north Georgia there is a Fort Oglethorpe. There is an Oglethorpe County. Get this- there is even a town named Oglethorpe. And you can find an Oglethorpe Rd. in many Georgia cities.

So what do you say about adding Oglethorpe to the apple dictionary? Because I’m going to go out on a limb and say it is more prevalent than “ogektgiroe” and “IDE thrips”. Are these even words? Are they often used words? Are they used more often than Oglethorpe? I don’t think so.

2. Slappey. I’m going to give you a little leeway on this one because even I had to look up where the origin of this one came from. I’m going out on a limb and guessing that it is from a family in south Georgia that is rather prevalent, including a baseball player.

Still, I think a case could be made to add this one as well. At the very least let’s not automatically replace it with ska, sloppy, or slappy. Slappy isn’t even a real word- unless you are a member of Green Day.

3. Thronateeska: The Creek Indians used this to describe southwest Georgia. It has something to do with flint. I can’t imagine that they ever substituted thromboses, thrombocytopenia, throat, or even throne when they said it. I think it’s only right that we follow their lead.

So just a few suggestions there. I’m sure you’ve heard numerous ones from all sorts of people from all over the world but I thought I’d give you a little shoutout from south Georgia.

As I sit here it occurs to me that you have never been here because you’ve never been invited.

Let me be the one to extend the invitation.

Surely you know us as the peach state but we have so much more to offer. Do you like pecans? We’ve got pecans as far as the eye can see.  Peanuts? Well shit- this is the peanut capital of the world!

And those black turtlenecks you seem so fond of? I’m sure it can be arranged that we could hook you up with a supply of cotton to outfit you in those for the rest of your life.

Come on down- I’ll throw a parade down Oglethorpe just in your honor.

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You don’t know me, no really, you don’t

Posted on March 25, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

It always starts one of two ways:

The double take followed by numerous furtive glances. Perhaps a whisper or two. Then, gaining courage, a tentative “do I know you from fillintheblank?”

or

“Hey girlfriend I haven’t seen you in awhile how’s that baby girl did your dad have his surgery we sure miss you down at fillintheblank you like your new job I saw your momma the other day at Piggly Wiggly and she is looking so good I’m so glad I ran into you!” /scene

I just have one of those faces. If I’d lived in one place forever I’d just write if off as someone in town looking similar but this happens everywhere I go.  It happens so often that MrBunny, who notices NOTHING, takes note of it now.

Doesn’t matter where we are- Target, Publix, Dillards, hotel, baseball game, gas station, wedding reception- everywhere.

Most of the time I just respond laughingly that no I don’t know the person but the real entertainment is when they argue with me.  As if I wouldn’t know if my parent’s lived here and had the opportunity to run into you at Piggly Wiggly. I’m fairly certain that my nether regions would know if I had a baby or not.  Not to mention- I’ve only had one job that involved a large office staff so I’m pretty positive we haven’t worked together.

Usually the people everyone thinks I look like are harmless- cousins, coworkers, friends of friends, more cousins (cousins happens quite often), Sally’s girl Susie- but every once in awhile my doppelganger is someone I really don’t want any association with.

At one place I had a job working for a parish and my mystery twin was a heroin addict who often had run ins with the authorities. Or the time that the guy I was dating had previously dated a girl who looked exactly like me- yea, that’s not creepy at all.

I do wonder sometimes if those I look like ever get mistaken for me.

I imagine this is the situation they encounter: “Hey I haven’t seen you in awhile you are so amazing that each day without you in my life is like a day without sunshine.”

What? A little presumptuous? Perhaps. But until I’m informed otherwise by someone with firsthand knowledge of the actual exchange- this is what I’m sticking with.

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I’m a bad blogger friend type of person

Posted on March 22, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

Well I’m a bad member of the “blogging community” if you will in the first place. Outside of a few, I don’t hardly read any blogs. I’m more of a serious eats/apartment therapy blog follower and those don’t really count.

But even with all my trangressions, my friends still think of me when it comes to “award” times.

My good friend Dip named me in her “Good Egg Blog Award” and in the interest of attempting to be a better blogging community member…

The Good Egg Blog Award

Here’s how it works:

  1. Thank and link back to the person who gave me this award. Look above.
  2. Share 7 things about yourself
  3. Award other bloggers (you determine who and how many)
  4. Contact these blogs and tell them about the award

This might be more difficult than I think because I’m no stranger to talking about myself.
1. My mom and I have the same middle name. My dad has a very, very similar middle name.

2. MrBunny and I got married 3 years to the day after we got engaged. We were in a hurry.

3. (I’m totally theiving ideas from Dip right now) When I was little I wanted to be a fighter pilot, a gym teacher, and something else I can not remember right now. Amazingly enough I never went through the typical Catholic school girl phase of wanting to be a nun.

4. Outside of MrBunny and my bff, the only people I consider my “true friends” are my three siblings. There are days I want to strangle them but then I’d be sad they weren’t around so I refrain.

5. If I win the lottery someday I’m buying a sailboat, a kickass RV, and a fully staffed cattle ranch in Montana. Best of all worlds.

6. I have little to no interest in celebrities and their lives. We once went on a tour of homes in south Florida and it was an hour plus of “so and so lives here”…. do not give a flying rat’s ass.

7. I have a chapstick addiction. So much so that when my mom mentioned getting chapstick as wedding favors, MrBunny pointed out that I would probably theive them all- they both agreed it was a bad idea.

Blogs that I love and deserve a good egg or two (in no particular order):

Seeing as I don’t read many blogs I can’t really fill this part out- go to Dip’s page, she’s got some listed and they are very good chicks who you should be reading.

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Dear Walgreens,

Posted on March 15, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

(again with Walgreens, I know, but really I shop there for pretty much everything besides groceries and it’s right down the street and there really isn’t ever a line and dear god I need a support group)

I am writing to discuss your most recent “savings” advertisement.

“Celebrate Black History Month and Save!”

This town is primarily african american so I see what you are doing there- appealing to the larger demographic (not that the rest of us can’t celebrate black history month as well), very smart advertising strategy. I get it. I do.

What I don’t get is how exactly celebrating black history month results in savings.

What am I saving on?

Is it peanut butter? If it is- sign me up. Both myself and my ass are big fans of peanut butter. My left thigh got itself a tattoo of George Washington Carver with a big ol’ heart around his face. Love that man. So okay, peanut butter on sale? I’m there. You guys are geniuses!

Is it ironing boards? Do you even sell ironing boards? Do you have one with Sarah Boone’s signature on it? I imagine those are selling like hot cakes. I try to make sure at least one of my items to complete household chores is a collector’s item. So perhaps I’ll saunter on over to the home aisle next time I’m in.

But wait, are potato chips also on sale? Score!!! Peanut butter and potato chips? I’ve died and gone to heaven. My right thigh has a matching tattoo of George Crum with a pink heart.

If you are sold out of the Sarah Boone autographed ironing board, perhaps you still have a Thomas Stewart limited edition mop. While Sarah’s invention was convenient, Mr. Stewart took the inventing game to a whole new arena with his attach the rag to a stick idea. I can’t even imagine how many more times I would avoid mopping my floor if I had to get down on my knees and scrub it with a rag. Oh hell no.

On the off chance that none of the aforementioned things were included in your black history month sale, please tell me that you didn’t surpass Mr. Garrett Morgan. If there is one thing I look to my local Walgreens to carry it is gas masks. In these uncertain times you can never be too careful, right?

In retrospect, it seems like your black history month sale is pretty inclusive and rather ingenious. These are fantastic things that have bettered our quality of life and we should be celebrating them. I apologize for doubting you.

However, I wonder if you are now planning on celebrating “Pope Gregory XIII” month.

You wouldn’t have to put many items on sale, just calendars.

Last I checked, on a calendar purchased at your fine establishment, black history month is the month of February. It is now the middle of March.

Perhaps you should buy one for yourself.

Love,

A very loyal customer

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The blood pressure likes this option better.

Posted on March 7, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

I’ve been in a “what to write about” rut for awhile now and while I could go completely batshitcrazy over irressponsible people and why they shouldn’t ever get a pet if they have no intention of taking care of them opting instead to leave them outside in a yard with no food or water including one who is just a tiny puppy and what I’d like to do to them if given the chance…

I’ll do this instead.

A. Age: 32 Sweet mother of god I’m 32. How did that happen?
B. Bed size: King- it’s the only way MrBunny and I could have room to sleep the times we let the dogs sleep with us.
C. Chore you hate: All of them.
D. Dogs: Ginger, Bronco, and Ninja. Who I would never abandon because I realized the responsibility of being a pet owner when I got them.
E. Essential start to your day: Let me wake up on my own. MrBunny has an extremely annoying habit where he thinks that because he’s awake everyone should be awake. Because of this I like to make it really painful for him. I truly believe it is the mature and rational adult in me.
F. Favorite color: Red
G. Gold or silver: Silver
H. Height: 5’5
I. Instruments you play: French horn, trumpet, half-assed piano, eighth-assed organ, and a multitude of other instruments that I can play a scale on and that’s it.
J. Job title: Columnist and general lackey (minus the uniform although I think that needs to be remedied)
K. Kids: Ha!
L. Live: South Georgia
M. Mom’s name: Martha, or as my grandmother would say “Mahthuh”
N. Nicknames: Mandy, Ironbunny, Bunny, Woop Woop
O. Overnight hospital stays: I’m sure there were some when I was a baby/toddler but I think most of my surgeries have all been outpatient. It is so much better to be in your own bed.
P. Pet peeve: Right now it’s people who people who abandon helpless animals because they can’t be bothered to make sure they are taken care of.
Q. Quote from a movie:”I have three rules which I live by: Never get less than 12 hours sleep, never play cards with a guy who has the same first name as a city, and never go near a lady with a tattoo of a dagger on her hand. Now you stick with that, and everything else is cream cheese.”
R. Right or left handed: Right
S. Siblings: Erin, Ben, and Amy
T. Time you wake up: Whenever I want.
U. Underwear: The non ass-floss variety.
V. Vegetables you dislike: Onions, tomatoes, and peppers.
W. What makes you run late: MrBunny and Ginger. MrBunny waits until the last minute to do anything and Ginger is such a pain to bring inside, she likes to run away.
X. X-Rays you’ve had: I could list them all but we’d be here all day.
Y. Yummy food you make: I make a black-eyed pea cake that’d make you slap your mama.
Z. Zoo: Tie between Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha and of course the St. Louis Zoo.

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Let’s talk grammar.

Posted on March 6, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

I am in no way an expert. A snob for sure, but not an expert.

I think I actually addressed my often repeated grammatical errors in an earlier post.

But (Bazinga! (yes I am a Sheldon Cooper fan) An error right off the bat!) I think we can all agree that there are basic grammar rules that should be followed.

The big one is the your/you’re/their/they’re/there/we’re/were issues. Most grammar snobs will have a coronary episode when they see these words misused. I don’t quite reach heart failure status but it definitely gives me a painful pause when sighted. Example: the other night I saw a young girl wearing a shirt that said “Sweetie- if your going to be two faced at least let one of them be pretty.”

(I’m choosing to block out the fact that I also saw a toddler wearing a necklace that said “just suck it”. Granted she didn’t know what it meant but still- disturbing)

Completely ignoring the ridiculousness of the tshirt and the even more ridiculousness that a young child was wearing it… for the love of all that is holy, can it at least be grammatically correct?

At first I thought I had just been mistaken because surely the people printing the shirt would have noticed the typo. And (!!) if not them then surely the people selling the shirt… and if it amazingly enough got past those two groups then surely, SURELY!, the person considering purchasing the shirt would notice.

It is somewhat astounding that it was seen in public. I would really like to hope that I wasn’t the first person who noticed it that day. Really, really hoping that.

That’s the big one but trust me- there are plenty more.

Frightening enough I find more examples of awful grammar in the “articles” on the website for my local news station.  Some of them can be half-assed excused as it is a news broadcast and meant to be spoken and not read but that only excuses simple typos.  It’s the full out massacre of the english language that really makes me question who on earth they are paying to write these things up.

I follow the local news on twitter and that is where the most egregious of mistakes are made. I don’t know if it’s because they don’t really care that much about how they are perceived on twitter or if they are in a hurry or what but trust me- it is bad.

Earlier they linked to an article about a woman who ran in the marathon this weekend. Their tweet was along the lines of “only a few have ran in so many marathons before”. Apparently the person who wrote that missed the week in grade school where conjugated verbs are repeated ad nauseam.

Sadly that was just one of many mistakes in a very short write-up. It was painful to read. And (!!!) frankly a little embarrassing.

It is no secret that many who live in other parts of this country think that those of us who reside in the South are slow, dimwitted, and more than a little backwards. We do not need to give them any more reason to think so.

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Please don’t call the cops.

Posted on February 23, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

It is open window weather here in south Georgia (ducks all my yankee brethren who are still buried under snow) which in this house is both a blessing and a curse.

Blessing- I have three dogs. No matter how many times a day I vacuum, sweep, mop, febreeze, burn candles, buy plugins- it smells like dog. Open windows provide a welcome break from that.

Another blessing- those three dogs? They can go outside. Praise Jesus they can go outside!

That blessing is a double edged sword however comma because Ninja wakes up each morning hell bent on driving me insane. She is a big fan of chewing and tugging on things that are attached to the back wall of the house.

Little things like the wires coming out of the house and going into some grey box, the telephone wire she ripped completely out of the wall, the directv (cue all the dish network spam) that she chewed a off a chunk of, and lastly the hose that she slowly but surely tore pieces off of until there was only four inches left.

It’s only a matter of time before I look out the window and I see roast Ninja in the middle of the yard with little wisps of smoke rising from her smoldering body. I will be saddened, for sure, but not the least bit surprised.

So to avoid the roast Ninja scenario, I bring them back inside. This is when the open windows really create a potential issue.

At any given moment to the random passerby, I could easily sound like I’m running an illegal dog fighting ring in my living room.

Bronco oddly enough is the quietest of the bunch. Ginger likes to stand on the sidelines and bark and loudly as possible and Ninja? Ninja sounds like she’d love to rip your face off. I can’t even imagine what is sounds like to a person who isn’t fairly certain she’s not going to do just that.

And if it isn’t dog fighting, it’s the yelling.

I’m just waiting for either a neighbor or once again the random passerby to call the cops to my house on suspicion of abuse.  On a typical day you can hear most of these following statements:

We do not bite legs. Get your teeth off my leg, now. Get your teeth off his leg. I said now.

So help me god if you jump on me again….

STOP JUMPING ON ME!!!!

No, my neck is not a chew toy.

GO. TO. YOUR. ROOM. NOOOOOWWWWW.

So help me god if you jump on me again…

Get your teeth off of her.

OFF THE BED. OFF. THE. BED. NOW.

GOTOYOURROOMGOTOYOURROOMGOTOYOURROOM

Where the hell did you get a cucumber?

Let go of his neck.

What part of no teeth do you not understand?

YOU WILL STAY IN YOUR ROOM AND I DO NOT CARE HOW MUCH YOU WHINE AND CRY ABOUT IT!

How the hell did you get that apple?

So help me god if you jump on me again…

And if you’ve ever heard my voice you know it is no near quiet so you can only imagine how loud it is when I’m yelling.

I implore all of south Georgia- if you happen to pass my house, please realize that I’m screaming at dogs, not people, and really they deserve it.  I mean seriously, how many times to have to ask for them not to use me as a jungle gym, my internal organs can only take so much.

 

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Pitch the pink.

Posted on February 19, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

I didn’t always live in south Georgia.  Actually I’ve lived in places that make south Georgia look like the tropics.  Places that you actually long for summer.  Places where the cold gets so deep in your bones you don’t notice you are warm again until late July.

I attribute my love for the springtime to my years in those places.  But it wasn’t necessarily the actual weather of spring or even the time of year that is technically spring.

Rather it was that fantastic day in February in which professional baseball players all over the country flocked to warm homes away from home in Florida or Arizona.

It didn’t even matter that “real” spring wouldn’t hit where I lived until weeks, if not months, later because I knew that somewhere there were people wearing shorts and tshirts heading to a baseball game.  Gave me hope to keep sludging through the snow knowing that one day soon I would join them.

As divine as these first few days of baseball are (although today was bittersweet with the announced retirement of Jim Edmonds- so long Jimmy Baseball) it is also fraught with despair.  The wonder is tainted with trepidation, the anticipation dashed by anguish.

Why such a Harvey Dent outlook on life?

One word.

Pink.

For some unknown reason women of all ages, colors, and creeds, think that pink versions of a jersey or logo or mascot or what have you is cute.  I imagine they think it’s girly and pretty and just go ahead and gag me with a maggot now.

I can’t even fathom what propels them to wear such an atrocity out of the house but I have even seen women wear these eyebleeders out in public and the ultimate sin- to the ballpark.  When I see a women wearing a pink jersey at a game I imagine this is what the conversation all game is like:

“Oh this is so exciting!  Which team do we like again?  Why is everyone just standing around out there?  I sure do love these peanuts.  TOUCHDOWN!  I just love it when they hit the ball far.  Wouldn’t that have qualified as ordinary effort and therefore the ump should have invoked the infield fly rule?”

Okay so maybe not the last one.

Ladies- you are doing every woman around you a disservice. Because every time a clueless chick wearing a pink glove (no really, they have these) asks a dumb question it makes every woman look stupid.  Men, bless their hearts, tend to clump us all together and are under the assumption we all think alike.  How on earth would things like Valentine’s Day even exist if they didn’t?

So when you ask why the guy in the mask keeps going and talking to the guy throwing the ball, you set us back decades.  By the end of the game we have to check if we still have the right to vote.

Which leads to this plea: for the love of the angels and saints and all other heavenly creatures above… please get rid of the pink. Throw it away. Cut it up for dust rags. Burn it. Whatever you have to do- just get rid of it.

The universe thanks you.

Now, play ball!

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Dear Google, I hate you. Love, Me

Posted on February 8, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

Don’t get me wrong google- there are times where I love you.

There are times that if I had any greater amorous feelings towards you I’m pretty sure there’d be a fourth grader running along at any moment telling me to marry you.

You do so much right. If I’m looking for a recipe? You never let me down. Even if I make it really difficult and say something like “recipe for ground venison and frozen broccoli”, you can make it happen.

Need help remembering how to spell a word? Auto-fill is there to cradle me in my moment of self doubt. Granted you don’t always get it right. For example the other day I couldn’t remember if Herman was spelled with an ‘a’ or an ‘o’.  I mean looking at it now it totally makes sense that it’s an ‘a’ but the other day I couldn’t remember so I turned to you google and I started typing “herma” and before I could get any further auto-fill joined the party and offered up “hermaphrodite jamie lee curtis”. Wrong. Just wrong. I don’t know what to say to that beyond, well, wrong.

But for the most part, auto-fill is my friend.

Let’s discuss how amazing you are when it comes to proving me right. A-ma-ze-ing. I can not tell you how many times MrBunny has said, “there’s no way that is right” and I quickly respond with “I will lay naked in the street if I’m wrong” and out comes the phone to save the little shred of dignity I have left.

*If my husband happens to read this he will try and convince you that there have been many times I’ve made the naked in the street threat and have been proven wrong but never followed through but he is often suffers from delusions so just go ahead and let him keep thinking that- it’s the kind thing to do.

There are a thousand more examples of why I love you but if I were to list them all we’d be here all day so let’s cut to the chase.

Even with all these reasons to love you, I hate you.

I hate you with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. I hate you more than I hate Preparation-H commercials. I mean come on- they are not at all realistic. Dude gets up to the checkout and lady asks him if he found everything and he goes, well you know… and launches into his whole ass itch saga. First- why are you discussing your ass itch with the cashier? Trust me- she does not care. At all. Second- you forgot your ass itched and was on fire? If you’ve reached the point in which you need the Prep than you are more than likely not going to be forgetting it.

See google? I hate Preparation-H commercials, and I hate you more than Preparation-H commercials. That’s a lot of hate.

Why do I hate you this much? Two words: Doctor Google.

Nothing good has ever, ever, ever, ever come from Doctor Google.

When I google symptoms for myself I am always dying, never fails. Have a particularly painful hangnail? Sign of impending death. Headache? Brain tumor. Throbbing pain in my hip? Cancer. Same throbbing pain in shoulder? Heart attack.

And no matter what the symptom is and what Dr. Google’s diagnosis is- it always includes lupus. Every single time. Amazing really.

But Dr. Google’s real transgressions don’t occur in the human arena. Oh no- it saves the real doozies for the animal members of our families.

Having three dogs, I’ve turned to you google more times than I can ever begin to count. Most of the times the answers are rather benign. But sometimes, oh sometimes! those search results are just brutal.

Example: this evening I notice that Ninja has these weird sores around her eye. Of course I turn to Doctor Google. First few results are harmless albeit useless, yahoo answers type of things. Then I clicked on a result that will forever haunt me.

Turns out the sores are caused by some sort of mite (this is my own diagnosis- she’s going to the vet tomorrow) which in and of itself if disturbing. But this site took it a bit further by having an illustration of said mite. And as if that wasn’t bad enough- it was animated.

The mite was moving.

I repeat- the mite was moving.

So google- I am placing the blame for the overall creepy crawly feeling I’ve got now, solely on you. When I can’t sleep tonight- I’m calling you, somehow. When I have to drug myself to sleep, I’m sending you the bill.

How much do horse tranquilizers cost? Give me a minute and I’ll google it.

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I’m such a bad daughter

Posted on February 5, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

Seriously.

I’ve always been calendar challenged.  It got much better when I had a job because every Saturday and Sunday I was in mass and had to keep up with what weekend it was and all that crap.

Now that I don’t have a job- well I have a job, but I don’t have a job that necessarily requires me to know what day it is, although if I don’t start writing some posts suitable for print I have a feeling Mr. Boss Man (his official title) is going to start letting me know what day it is- I can’t keep track of days of the week or month for shit.

Case in point.

My dad’s birthday is February 4th. If you had asked me when February 4th was I would have told you today. Yea, it was yesterday.

I pulled some eggs out for breakfast this morning, checked when they expired and said- February 4th, dad’s birthday, I really need to call him today.

Quick glance at the calendar…. AAAAAHHHHHHHH FEBRUARY 4TH IS NOT TODAY!!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD I NEED TO CALL IMMEDIATELY!

So I did, and he was cool with it. Might have something to do with dealing with my flightiness for 32 years.

My mother however comma with her impeccable sense of timing, just texted me asking what the song sung at funerals to the hymn tune Old Hundreth was.  I quickly told her it was Song of Farewell and that I actually preferred the Ernest Sands version at my funeral and seriously it wasn’t like I forgot his birthday all together but rather just misplaced the day.

Luckily she quickly assured me that one had nothing to do with the other and made sure I knew that when she dies I use the Old Hundreth version.  I suppose with it being her funeral I’ll go ahead and use it, but it will be done so rather begrudgingly.

Anyways- as a reconciliatory action, a little video of one of my dad’s favorites.  Not father/daughter song at all but still a great, done by one of my absolute favorite singing actresses.

My dad has a music box that plays this song and is of the Normal Rockwell print of a clown and a dog.

I love that music box.

Actually there are three music boxes in my parent’s house that I will fight tooth and nail with my siblings over.  Not that my parents are hopefully anywhere near those end times (I’ve now discussed my mother’s funeral and what I want when they die in one post- fantastic) but still- tooth and nail.

So yea- happy birthday dad!

And I leave you with another from Ms. Close- perhaps her best.

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Another video release- Neat Little Rows

Posted on February 1, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

If they do nothing else right (which they do, but let’s just say for sake of argument they dont’), Elbow knows how to build up to an album release.

They recently released a video for a second song off of Build a Rocket Boys! and it is just as nice as the first, Lippy Kids.

This one is called Neat Little Rows and while the youtube video is blocked in the US (actually it looks like it is blocked everywhere besides England) someone on facebook was able to find a link that works here in the US.

Neat Little Rows

Enjoy!  I know I did.

Still hoping to hear of a Southeastern US tour date.  Come hell or high water- I will be there!

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A multi-day endeavor of random thoughts

Posted on January 30, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

– I love it how cows eat really slowly and with little movement because when you drive up on a group of them it looks like they are posing for a picture for you.

-Liz Lemon is my hero.

-I wish my dogs would quit their drama queen ways when it comes to baths.  Yes, I realize I’m spraying your butthole with cold water but if you’d stop going ape shit it would go by much faster.

-I get really excited when my total at a restaurant or store is a even dollar amount.  Even more enjoyable is the look of complete mortification that crosses my husband’s face when I excitedly point out the fact that my total is an even dollar amount and how much I love it when that happens.

-My kitchen smells like mint Skoal and I can’t figure out why.

-Speaking of Skoal, I once tried peach Skoal thinking that I would like it because I like peaches and I like tobacco… it was a horrible idea.

-I wish I didn’t remember who killed the quirky putting herself through law school by being a maid in the murder mystery novels because then I could re-read the hundreds I’ve got on my bookshelf.

-I love the smell of my dog’s feet.

-When I go to the movies I always get a medium popcorn even though I don’t eat that much at all in the movie.  Instead I let it get stale and munch on it over the next couple of days.  Prolongs the movie going experience.

-Whenever I call for my dog Bronco, I always hope that someone calls out “Polo” in response.  Seriously- someone needs to make this happen.

-I just realized that when I returned the redbox movie I rented the other day, I forgot to put the dvd in the case.  I have no idea how to go about fixing that situation.

-I get irrationally angry at farmers who don’t plant their rows in such a way that I can see down the row as I drive by.

-I go through phases where I will watch the same mindless movie over and over and over again. Right now it is Laws of Attraction.

-My laptop needs to learn that when I tap the spacebar twice I want it to end a sentence with a period, add a space, and turn on the shift key for the beginning of the next sentence. This would make my life so much easier.  Well maybe not easier but, yea it would be easier.

-I hate my toaster but don’t really want to go spend another $10 because there isn’t anything wrong with my toaster I just don’t like it’s action.

-Movie theatres really need to account for empty theatres when they set the volume. Full house? Yes, turn it up. Ten people? For the love of all that is holy turn it down!

-Twenty five dollars really is too much to spend on a dog collar.  Not that it is going to stop me.  I found the cutest cotton boll dog collar and one of the crew needs it. I know they do.

-Making lists like this really is entertaining.

-I need a hobby.

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Pet Peeve of the moment- The National Anthem

Posted on January 23, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

One of my favorite versions of a sports event national anthem.

For my entire life, my parent’s entire life, and perhaps a good chunk of my grandparent’s lives (I think the tradition started sometime after WWII maybe?  I’ll go look it up later), the national anthem has been sung before sporting events.

It lasts less than three minutes.

It requires nothing of a spectator besides shutting up and standing there. (You can sit but I reserve the right to think you are an ass.) You can choose to sing along or not.  It is customary to put your hand over your heart, but that’s not really a deal breaker.

You know what you don’t do?

Scream and cheer throughout the entire thing.

Two minutes- that’s all.  You have an entire game, spanning hours, to cheer and scream.  Can you not take a break for two minutes and show some respect?

Those people who can’t shut up for two minutes are the parents of this kid:

Vicksburg 129

What’s that?  Oh nothing big- just a tunnel dug by the Union troops on the Vicksburg battlefield (a stone’s throw from the Vicksburg National Cemetery where thousands of soldiers are buried) that some jackass kid decided to write their name on.

Dear Hannah Leigh- I hope someone caught you and chewed your ass for that.  You really should be ashamed of yourself.

/rant

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2010 in review- thank you dog sex

Posted on January 2, 2011 by Amanda Broyles

I am posting this solely so people can see that I am not imagining the excessive dog sex RISTLTMB.  If it weren’t for that and the paint in my house it is quite possible I wouldn’t have any traffic!  Frightening.

For those of you who don’t come searching for dog sex or interior design tips- thanks for a fabulous year.  I’ve had a good time writing it and hopefully you’ve enjoyed reading it.

Here’s to a fabulous 2011!

The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

Healthy blog!

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.

Crunchy numbers

Featured image

A helper monkey made this abstract painting, inspired by your stats.

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 12,000 times in 2010. That’s about 29 full 747s.

 

In 2010, there were 93 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 327 posts. There were 14 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 14mb. That’s about a picture per month.

The busiest day of the year was October 10th with 534 views. The most popular post that day was Yahoo Answers, aka: where the dumbest people on earth congregate.

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were community.thebump.com, community.thenest.com, facebook.com, nikki1007.blogspot.com, and blogger.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for ironbunny wordpress, dumbest people on earth, valspar ivory brown, dog sex, and brew thru.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

1

Yahoo Answers, aka: where the dumbest people on earth congregate June 2008
10 comments

2

Who is this crazy lady? March 2007
8 comments

3

Dear old lady neighbor… you ho bag lame ass bitch; April 2010
9 comments

4

I shall call it, Mini-Me August 2010
3 comments

5

People can be so closed minded. July 2010
4 comments

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