Super-Important Life Lessons that You Need to Read and Memorize IMMEDIATELY

So, last week I had a little adventure.  And that little adventure ended up costing me approximately $3.2 billion.  Or something.  So, my little Chickadees, I thought I would save YOU the time, money, and embarrassment of a similar situation by raining some important life lessons down on you.  Ready? 

LESSON 1:  If you feel like speeding down a quiet, deserted country road late at night -- the kind that is all smooth and straight and flat and car-free and glorious and makes you want to roll down the windows, turn up the music and speed -- DON'T.  Just DON'T.  The Sheriff in those parts is likely bored and hiding in a bush somewhere.

LESSON 2:  If you ARE speeding down a quiet, flat deserted country road late at night after a 12-hour work day and you exhibit such suspicious behaviors such as immediately pulling over your Ford Focus (with the ASPCA sticker on it), putting on your flashers, and putting your hands on the steering wheel, you are sending a secret message to the Sheriff.  That message is: You are dangerous.  

LESSON 3:  Therefore, said Sheriff will NOT come to the driver's side window like a normal cop.  Instead, he will creep up on the passenger side and then pop up like a jack-in-the box.  When he does this, do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT allow yourself to be scared and say something stupid like "OH MY GOD, YOU SCARED THE CRAP OUT OF ME ... I mean, hello officer.  How are you this fine evening?"  This, combined with the English textbooks in your backseat and the ungraded student papers in the front seat will cause Sheriff #1 to signal his friend, Sheriff #2.

LESSON 3:  Here's where it gets tricky.  You should have NOTICED that signal, and that way you would be able to anticipate that Sheriff #2 was about to show up and lean in your open driver's side window and get two inches from your face and then snap on a flashlight.  In this case, PLEASE also avoid being startled.  This will only further convince them that you are drunk, a meth lord, a human smuggler, or a serial killer.  This will lead to many questions and flashlights in your face and other scare tactics that are very effective on pregnant English professors.  DO NOT CRY.

LESSON 4:  It turns out, you have to renew the registration on your plates every year.  No, like EVERY year.  Even if ... stay with me ... the Secretary of State sends your renewal forms to your OLD address (you know, the apartment complex where the new residents are likely to see the envelope and be all "not my problem" and throw it away) and NOT the address on your driver's license.  No one cares if this happens to you.  YOU are still the idiot because you didn't notice that you hadn't gotten that form yet this year.

LESSON 5:  In this type of situation, once you have given Sheriff #1 and Sheriff #2 your license, registration, and proof of insurance, they will make you wait in your car for TWENTY TWO MINUTES until they come back.  Get ready to see those flashing lights in your mirrors for long enough to drive you insane.

LESSON 6:  When Sheriff #1 comes back and tells you that your insurance is also expired, don't enact the following conversation:
S #1:  Okay, your insurance is also expired.

You:  No, it's not.

S #1:  Yes, it is.

You:  NO, seriously, it's NOT.  

S #1:  Ma'am, look at the date on this piece of paper.

You:  Hmm.  Irrelevant.  My husband just put a new one in my car like 3 weeks ago, so it's here somewhere.  I thought he replaced the old one with the new one ... ?

S #1:  Ma'am.  I have no idea what your husband did with the paper that YOU are supposed to be in charge of when you are in a moving vehicle.

You:  Ha.  Ha ha ha.  Of course.  Sorry officer.  But I swear, I HAVE insurance.  We can call them.  Will that work?

S #1:  Ma'am ... sigh ... how about I just give you this ticket and then you can leave?

You:  Okay, sounds great. But I totally have up-to-date insurance.  Just so you know.

S #1:  Well, that's great, because usually in a situation like this, we tow the car away.  But I think I should just give you this ticket and let you go home instead.

You:  Sounds fantastic.

S #1:  Sigh.

SUB-LESSSON (6.b.):  If you are prone to ignoring your dear husband when he gives you important documents, like your proof of insurance, he will instead start putting said documents in your car FOR you.  However, he might NOT put them in the handy little marked book in your driver's side visor that says "REGISTRATION AND INSURANCE."  No, he will put it somewhere else. Somewhere where you will never think to look.  And then a Sheriff will threaten to tow your car.  So, pay attention to your dear husband when he tries to give you important documents.

And finally, LESSON 7:  The Secretary of State is NO PLACE for a pregnant woman who was recently told by her doctor to get more rest and stay calm if this woman also cannot tolerate foolishness.  I'll leave it at that.

THE END.

AHHH! The OSCARS!!! TONIGHT!!

I love watching the Oscars for a few simple reasons:


1.  I love movies.  So much.  No, like I don't think you get how much.  Like REALLY.  Never mind, you'll never understand.  You just don't GET me.  
2.  I love looking at all the dressy glitzy-ness of the red carpet.

3.  I love MAKING FUN of the unfortunate choices made by famous people's stylists.  Seriously.  Who allowed THIS to happen:

{source}

Shame on you, Demi.
4.  I love making it a competition to see who can get more correct guesses.  I thrive on the evil competitive nature that flows through my veins.
5.  I love being RIGHT.  Oh, the glory of being right and being able to put some sort of celebratory mark on that category to show that I was RIGHT and I KNOW THINGS and I am EVAH SO SMART.  What a rush.


Here is what I DON'T like about the Oscars:
1.  Too long.  Skip the crap I don't care about and get straight to the stuff I DO care about.  But this is true of everything in my life.  Wouldn't that just be fan-bloody-tastic if everything in your life could be edited to only show things you care about WHEN you want to see them.  Le Sigh.
2.  When the stupid jerkfaces who are actually allowed to vote are WRONG.  Like, when Quentin Tarantino or Martin Scorsese or Little Miss Sunshine do not win awards when they are supposed to.


Also, this year I did not properly plan for the event.  I forgot they were coming up, and I ALSO forgot that I still had 20 papers to grade.  And there is NO WAY I can justify not getting those papers back to my students tomorrow at noon.  So, so far I am making good progress on the papers, but I certainly did not imagine my magical Oscar evening including a pile of papers on my lap.  


Finally, although this really doesn't FLOW (like I didn't bother to create a THESIS and then have everything flow naturally from it and wrap up nicely at the end), I must say a little something about the Best Picture category.  Nearest and dearest to my heart, it causes me the most anguish when the film I want is not chosen.  Therefore, I am having a great deal of anxiety about this year and my amazing, precious Inglourious Basterds.  


Oh, Quentin, the fact that you made this film for me?  You have no idea how happy it makes me.  In my heart, my brain and my pants.  This movie is perfection in every way, and the magic does not dissipate with each additional viewing, like some other flash-in-the-pan movies do.  No, every time I watch this movie, I feel every emotion you are supposed to feel when watching amazing films.  I want to name my baby Quentin because of you.  (Jeremy said no.)


But I know you will not win.  I feel it in my Avatar-hating bones.  "Oh, hi, my name is James Cameron, and I have a ton of money and a ton of computers, and I love naked blue people and I can make up dumb fake languages and I don't want to actually FILM a movie and direct actors and do the things you are SUPPOSED TO DO, so I will just pay a bunch of nerds to make it on a computer."  Jerkface.  


I want to stab his jerkface and steal the Best Picture statuette and place it lovingly in Quentin's deserving hands.


But I won't, because Baby Dimick doesn't deserve to be born in prison.  It's not his/her fault that momma is bat-shit crazy.  So I will scream at my TV and maybe punch the couch a few times.  


I can't wait.

Pimping Sara

Okay, I had a fantastic story all ready to share with you.  And this story also contains very important FACTS for you to learn and remember and live by. But I will have to save that gem, because today is the last day to enter Sara's giveaway.  Also, Sara threatened me PERSONALLY and said I must enter or she would eat my baby.  Or something like that.  Don't quote me.


You don't know who Sara is?  HA!  Sara, over at Sara's Organized Chaos, is basically my twin separated at birth.  She is anal about her organization and cleaning, she curses like a sailor, she makes fun of people from all walks of life, and she lets it all hang out in her blog.  Well, she is a little better at the being honest and letting it all hang out part.  There, I had to be honest.  I am working on it, thanks to Sara, who has inspired me to edit myself a little less, even though people I love (hi mom!) and people I work with (hi Katie!) and people I know in real life (hi Amanda!) and people who are unfortunate enough to be related to me by marriage (hi Kayla!) ALL read this blog. Thanks to her, I think I am going to let the freak flag fly a little more around here.


Not that Sara is a freak.  Oh, Jesus.  Now I'll never win this damn giveaway. How can I redeem myself?  Umm, Sara is super-awesome!  And she reads a lot, so that means she is smart and classy.  And she has children, so that means she is a ... mom.


Okay, if you haven't yet discovered the genius that is Sara, head over there now!  Please and thank you.  (See, I can be a classy bitch, too.)

Breaking News: I Love 16 & Pregnant with All of My Heart. All of It.

I don't know if you know me, but ... HI, I am a reality TV fanatic.  And, much to my husband's chagrin, one of my top most favoritest shows ever of all the time is 16 and Pregnant on MTV.  It's got more drama than a The Bad Girls Club plus all of the Real Housewives  plus tequila plus a jacuzzi scene from The Real World.  Plus a message: CONDOMS.  BIRTH CONTROL.  NOT HAVING SEX WITH BOYS WHO TELL YOU THAT YOU ARE A PIECE OF CRAP.

This brings me to my critique of Season 2 of 16 and Pregnant.  Man-alive, they sure were saving all the biggest shithead idiot baby-daddies for this season.  Allow me to elaborate.

Episode 1:  Jenelle.  Jenelle's boyfriend lives 4 hours away with his parents, where he has no job, no car, no money, and yet somehow finds a way to average a few DUIs a week.  He is a prince among men, I tell you.

Right after Andrew curses out Jenelle's parents in their driveway.  Who WOULDN'T bang this guy?

In the end, Jenelle finally does see what her mom was yelling about when he doesn't call for the first month of their baby's life -- due to being in the clink.  Plus there was that phone call where he told her she was a piece of crap and less than a dog to him.  I'm no realtionship expert, but I've heard that is not a nice thing to say.  He also made it very clear that her and her parents would have to raise the baby themselves because there was "no point in him even trying to get a job."  He is too cool for work, unlike the rest of us slobs.  I guess if you have parents who will support you while you drive around drunk, you wouldn't have any motivation to get a job either.  Or maybe you would, because you have a SOUL.

However, it turns out that Andrew was NOTHING compared to our next little assbutt.

Episode 2:  Nikkole.  From good old Michigan, Nikkole really knows how to pick 'em.  Her boyfriend, Josh, who broke up with her after finding out she was pregnant, is literally the most annoying, immature little piece of shit I have ever seen in my life.  For some reason, she kept begging for more, and brought him around all the time to tell her she was worthless.  The moment that made my blood boil so much that I almost burst an artery was when he PUSHED HER OVER TO THE SIDE OF THE BED WHILE SHE WAS IN LABOR and said "Quit taking up all the fucking room.  And don't be such a baby.  It isn't all about you."  After that he stormed out because everyone was being mean to him.

Nikkole cries to her mom

Shortly thereafter, Josh starts cheating on Nikkole with the girl he cheated with while she was pregnant, and then tells her she means nothing to him and he doesn't care if he never sees her again.  The show ends with Nikkole hoping for a future that includes Josh in her happy little family.  Of COURSE.

And finally, Episode 3: Valerie.  Yeah, Valerie's boyfriend dumps her when he finds out she's pregnant, demands a paternity test (he watches too much Maury) and in return, she keeps calling and calling.  He says he doesn't want to ever talk to her again unless it's about the baby.  Guess what?  He also has no job, lives with a friend, doesn't have a car, and is "having difficulties finding time to look for a job."  Valerie convinces him to come back around after the baby is born, and the little shit manages to tell her in the same conversation that he loves her and never wants to see her again.  What does she get from this?  Yes.  Hope that one day her prince will return.  Good God.

I can't wait for him to tell me he never wants to speak to me again for the sixth time.  I can't get enough of it. 

So, my little lovelies.  What have we learned today?  It is crucial to use birth control (or abstinence) if you don't want a child.  Also, if you are having sex with a douchebag, maybe you should go ahead and use two or three forms of birth control.  Or listen to your girlfriends (and mom *shiver*) and break up with him. 

Also?  MTV now hates teenage boys.  You have a one-way ticket to my heart, you silly old television network.


all images from mtv.com

Would YOU Pay to Live in a POW Camp? Because Apparently *I* Do. **UPDATED**

My precarious sanity is once again being tested.  Okay, you may or may not know that we are currently renting (lame city, let me tell you).  Our house is generally nice, and there aren't a ton of problems, even though it was built in the 1920s, so that is great.  But then ... there is the timer.


In our kitchen is an old school built-in stove.  It is pink and retro and adorable, and people who visit are always like "OH!  It is pink and retro and adorable!" and I'm like *nod*.

On said oven (that we don't use for fear of 70-year old funk creeping up into our food), there is a timer.  An adorable old fashioned timer.

Guess what?  The timer is fucking POSSESSED (or broken, who knows) and it CONSTANTLY makes a whirring/humming noise.  When we walked through the house, the noise was so low that we didn't even hear it.  But then when we were unpacking, all of a sudden the noise began rising.  Like, I thought maybe a motorcycle was driving down our street and slowly approaching.  THAT kind of noise.


Ever since then we have been entrenched in an epic battle with the damn timer.  We have tried everything to get that thing shut off for good.  Also?  Apparently there is NO WAY TO UNPLUG THE OVEN.  That's what landlord claims, and Jeremy concurs, having spent a few hours trying to find where the cord plugs in.  And the answer is, it leads NOWHERE and cannot be unplugged.


So Jeremy is able to get it down to a very low hum and then every few weeks it kicks back in like a motorcycle in the kitchen and after a few hours of battle he shuts it up again.  Well, he came home for lunch today, and just as he was leaving?  The m-f-er kicked into high gear, as if to say, "I know he doesn't have time to fix me before he leaves for work, bitch!  You will have to deal with me all day on your day off!!  Muaaahaaahaa!"


I begged.  I pleaded.  I reminded him that this was similar to torture techniques used in POW camps.  Did he stay and fix it?  NOOOOO, he went to WORK so he could keep his JOB and get a PAYCHECK.  Just wait until he gets home and I am all like a crazy feral animal and pulling my hair out and my teeth have been ground down to nubs.  Then he'll be sorry.

I am SOOOOO tempted ...

UPDATE:  Oh my god, you have no idea.  I hit "publish" and that goddamn timer kicked on LOUDER THAN I HAVE EVER HEARD IT BEFORE.  And the animals spazzed out.  Which they don't do with other loud noises.  So ... possessed?  I'll let YOU be the judge.