How to lose weight with Jimmy Fallon

Jimmy Fallon came to Orlando, and it turned all Games of Thrones here in the City Beautiful. Alliances were made, bitchez were cut, someone showed their boobs – you get the idea. The Tonight Show mentioned tickets, and then all hell broke loose to get them. So much so, that I think we crashed their website because tickets went live, then went down and then went live again. Personally, I like to think that I was the one messing it all up because I was routed into EVERYwhere on every kind of device with wifi that I owned, hard core stalking for them tickets. Picture Seth Green in The Italian Job, that was me. Of all the Facebook talk about it- there were only about 4 of us that actually got tickets, and all 4 days of the show were sold out within 5 minutes of the launch- with a technical glitch on one of the sites lasting about 2 minutes, so yeah. I was excited! We secured 3 tickets so Smith and I could take our friend for her belated birthday. We chose the last day of filming because I thought it would likely be the most exciting.

Note to self: never buy peach colored shorts.

Note to self: never buy peach colored shorts.

When I found out Michelle took her Crazy Legs to the show a couple of days before, I hit her up for some tricks of the trade she learned on the road.  “Bring and umbrella and sunblock for the ginger <because he will die otherwise>,” she said. She was right, had we not brought an umbrella, Smith AND I would have bursted into a star and gone to live among the Great Bear and the Seven Stars constellation. When I pulled my magical umbrella out, you could hear people lusting to partake in my giant gerber daisy of shade- and I shared it (yeah, you shade thieves were all up on me… not too smooth with your shade stealing efforts, peeps. You need to watch The Italian Job.) But oh em gee – I can hardly blame them because in that sun, on a blacktop back lot, it was blistering without it! To make it extra uncomfortable for those without water or umbrellas (I was golden in this case because Smith spoils me), they unplugged all the giant fans. It felt like Universal was doing their own Divergent type of mind control training course back there. I was relatively comfortable and still was sweating from my elbows, so I can’t imagine how other people felt.

When The Tonight Show invites you to their show, Universal just decides to take over your whole damn day.

“Oh you want to see the show? Start sweating in your buttcrack and we’ll talk, Buddy.”

We had to be in line to retrieve our tickets from will call at 10, then after getting the tickets we had to be back in line by 3, show starts at 5, then after the taping we had to be at the concert venue by 8. So while we were at Universal, we couldn’t really do anything without it running into some time we had to be in line for something to do with the show. Let’s put it this way, when I left my house in the AM I was presentable, but when we started taping I looked like the toppins bird lady from Mary Poppins- and I was one of the comfortable ones! A dude with dreads in front of us lifted his arm at one point and the smell almost made Smith crap his pants, and that chain of events doesn’t even make sense. DIVERGENT!

Jimmy was flawless and so funny. The Roots are amazing, but you already knew that. Paula mentioned that the Wednesday taping wasn’t that great  – but ours was really funny, fun and Jimmy didn’t do any retakes, so smooth – it was literally like watching the show on tv, only really loud and with other people’s body odors that make your colon malfunction. I spent my time with Jimmy doing the robot when the crane cameras swept around.

“The Tonight Show starring Jimmy Fallon in LOUD AZZ SMELL-O-VISION!”

Our guests were George Lopez and Pit Bull Pitbull, which at first I was like “Meh” as I’m not an actual fan of either of the guests- but honestly, George was really funny and Pitbull’s concert with The Roots as the band was AMAZEBALLZ. The show was a good time! I prayed Jimmy would go Oprah on us and just start popping off cars or trips to Australia, but he didn’t. We had special treatment so they let us into the concert venue before they opened it to the park, at which point it got REAL crazy out there. I had to push a drunk woman off of me using only her boobs. She got aggressive trying to drop elbows and steamroll me out of the way with those puppies (even though she had no wrist band and therefore shouldn’t have been up there anyhow) so I was forced to grab them padded c’s and force her back from whence she came. It was just as awkward and amusing as it sounds.

The Gates to Mordor

The Gates to Mordor


My ticket, standing in the sweat lodge line

One pic and then they made everyone turn phones off so no more inside. :(

Only one pic inside, they had everyone turn phones off/no cameras allowed after we got seated. 😦


The Roots concert sound check

The Roots concert sound check

The Roots & Pit Bull about to take stage

The Roots & Pit Bull about to take stage

Jimmy! I couldn't get it to focus! :\

Jimmy! With them moving and us dancing I couldn’t get my phone to focus! lol

Jimmy in motion again lol

Jimmy in motion again TIMBERRRRRRR!!!


Pit Bull


Quest Love and Damon, Tuba Gooding Jr.

Quest Love and Damon, Tuba Gooding Jr. ❤ My favorites!!!




Thank You Thursdays!

When I realize it’s Thursday, (because normally I do not know what day of the week it actually is and I go by “it feels like a Tuesday today” kind of logic) I’m going to make a conscious effort to post something I am thankful for- because “Thankful Thursdays” sounds good and I’m going to make this a universal thing just like that time when I made short busses come into style. With that, today I’m thankful for the ability to find humor in most anything. It always makes life entertaining. Let me share a few random places that have left me with the giggles lately:

1. This quote from Michael Scott on The Office about a character he made up and cried about for a non-existant movie he never made:

He had no arms or legs. He couldn’t see, hear, or speak. This is how he led a nation.

*This* is how he led a nation? *This* is? That just makes me lmao!

2. That time I saw an ice cream truck that read “Watch out for the childrens.” That’s right, “childrens” – with an s. How many dang kids are eating popsicles there that “children” needs to become more plural?!


3. This girl’s reaction to seeing her spotty coverage map on this Verizon commercial:

What the hell am I seeing right now?!

4. This meme @SngleMomConfssn posted about diets:



5. The sign burning out on our Embassy Suites, to only reveal “Assy Suites” (Forgive the blurriness, Smith was driving at the speed of light and I took this shot right before we blasted back in time.)

Dang, I gotta mini fridge and a writing desk - these suites is assy as hell! *4 stars*

“Dang, I gotta mini fridge and a writing desk – these suites is assy as hell!” *4 stars*

6. Inspirational Mr. T on a unicorn:

Follow your dreams, fool!

7. And this “What I gotta put this on, #PowerRanger?” quote from this girl about it being to hot out side this past summer. (NSFW – language)

Bahaha! Laughing is good. Anyhoo – find something that makes you laugh and share it today! Happy Thank You Thursday!


I love wave runners. My lovah loves wave runners. So much so that we have been tempted to buy them several times, and only haven’t because A. we lack a place to store them properly and B. we don’t live on the water… yet. So when visiting the Keys (one of our favorite places to Seadoo, by the way) and some dude with an Irish accent says he offers “relaxing tours of the Island on wave runners…at your own pace… for 20% off” we were WAY on board!

We arrived at the shack and Irish guy was nowhere to be found. They wouldn’t couldn’t take our 20% coupon we just got that morning even though they said they would when we reserved the tour. The weather seemed a bit foreboding, but we were assured, “Nah, that’s nothing – the tour is still on, man!” After being issued a life preserver that smelled like a giant foot, we all (about 10 of us) followed Cheech and Chong on our cracked up wave runners. Cheech gathered us about 50 feet out from the shore and told us that we would all follow each other in a line, and to read his hand signals, ya know “for safety.” Then the bitch proceeded to tear outta the lagoon at what looked like 1700MPH leaving everyone in his ocean mist dust.

This thing is outta control!

At that point, I was thinking… “Man, it sure feels like someone’s going to die today, but maybe I’m just getting use to the waves or something.” Smith was booking it on our wave runner to catch up with the asshat tour guides and I am certain in my fight to stay on the back of that thing that I pulled out several of his nut hairs.

RIP Smith’s Nut Hairs – we will never forget.

The ocean was so volatile that we were hitting waves at about 60MPH then shooting up into the air and dropping at least 5 feet… every five seconds. Some swells going by made our view of the now grain-of-sand-sized tour dudes obsolete. Cheech eventually stopped about 25 minutes into the “tour with breathtaking views and vistas.” He addresses the group:

“Yeah so you guys need to go faster and keep up with me. It gets smoother if you go really fast. (Note: It does not.) Also it looks like we got some pretty severe weather happening right now that we didn’t know about when we left (even though EVERYONE was ASKING before we left) so make sure you avoid the lightning, and it’s probably gonna get pretty bad and… so let’s go!” That’s right, “avoid the lightning.” Because lighting is predictable as shit, said no one ever.

Just then a wave turns our wave runner over and we go flying unexpectedly through the deep silent abyss. When I make it to the surface all I hear is commotion and Cheech yelling “OMG ITS IN THE WATER!!! ITS IN THE WATER!!!” At which point I assume “it’s” a shark because the tour guide is screaming like a crazy person. “It” ended up being some sunglasses and if I hadn’t just been rocked to the core at the thought of being eaten alive I would have slapped this bitch like they used to slap women in the olden days to calm them down.

Smith talked me into getting back on the shit taco to finish the tour (I had already begun to swim the mile or so to shore after this fiasco). We rode for about ten minutes before we got trapped in a thick pocket of fog rolling in and had to drift in the stormy sea for about 30 minutes. You couldn’t see the shore or other boats or… anything but whoever was right next to you. For me that was a couple of Seadoos and a hand full of Smith’s nut hairs. It was during this time that I saw psycho tour guide’s assistant, Chong, floating around eating a muthafugging homemade sandwich. How the heck did he get that out there? AND WHY DIDN’T HE BRING ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE?!?!

Later, dudes.

End result is, we didn’t see anything scenic, and we feared for our lives for *three and a half* hours on our *two* hour tour. If you’re in the Keys, unless you KNOW it’s a beautiful calm day, SKIP THIS SHIT! Don’t listen to sweet-talking Irish guy. His pot-o-gold is full of lies!


Party ’til your butt blows!

So I had a fantastical birthday celebration that started out with Smith giving me this lil beauty right here:


AH YEAH! It’s red cause I gots street skillz.

THEN as if that wasn’t enough, Smith whisked me away to Savannah, GA for a long weekend retreat with friends.

This is where we stayed on Jones Street

This is where we stayed on Jones Street

Savannah is awesome – it’s old and historically eerie, and we like to do super nerd things there like go on trolley tours, or run an app in your car tours. Here’s some of my limited retention recall of historical facts I learned about Savannah:

1. This is the home of the Girl Scouts! I was a Girl Scout! Juliette Gordon Low got it done!

The original Girl Scout headquarters!

The original Girl Scout headquarters!

2. Jingle Bells was written in a church there in the 1800’s. Can you believe that shit? WE STILL KNOW THAT DAMN SONG, SON! That dude was a genius.

3. They had mullafuggin pirates that would get townspeople drunk and then smuggle them down to the river through underground caves – THAT STILL EXIST! Why wouldn’t Johnny Depp have taught me about this yet?!

The Pirate House Restaurant; turn left at the corn fritters and straight on til morning!

4. Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil was filmed there. Here’s his house!

Jude Law, Kevin Spacey, John Cusack... damn, son!

Jude Law, Kevin Spacey, John Cusack… damn, son!

5. It’s sweltering as balls in Savannah. Literally. I pulled down my weather map while I was there and it said Humidity – 87%. EIGHTY SEVEN PERCENT! I didn’t even know that shit could go that high! Go home Savannah, you’re drunk!

Schwetty Balls

Schwetty Balls

6. Speaking of drunk, Savannah is one of the few towns where it’s legal to walk around with open containers of alcohol. Like, you can get to-go cups at restaurants. It’s bizarre! They even have a store that sells travel growlers. If you don’t know what a growler is – it’s basically a supped up forty.




We enjoyed plenty of those – so much so that the dude at the growler store thought we were locals and gave us our fifteenth growler free card. That’s right, fifteenth. In my defense, my growler contributions were root beer. Delicous on-tap root beer.

And speaking of root beer – I had hard root beer for the first time in Savannah and it is magically delicious.

I drank these until I peed root beer.

I drank these until I peed root beer.

It was a great few days – we walked, and drank things, and ate things, and walked some more, and sweat my non-existent balls off, and it was all fun and games until I got food poisoning and threw up out of my butt, and my mouth… which made for an interesting four-hour ride home.



It’s quite funny now but at the time I thought I was dying. I left little pieces of me all over Georgia that day. In the Burger King, in the Dairy Queen, on the freeway… everywhere. When I woke up a day later from the ordeal I realized I was wearing the same shirt and socks I rode home in but I was sans pants. Which is not like me, I mean I have pajamas – I’m not an animal! I still have no idea where my pants went, but I do remember some strange looks when Smith and I were packing the car. Anyhoo, here are some other pics of Savannah! 😀

bundts candy fork horses sixpence street trees uniCORN vespa

skinny slush

Knock Knock. Do You Vagina Be My Friend?

What year is this? Who’s the president? I feel like I have been gone for decades! *Emerges from hole in ground squinting eyes from the glare of the sun.* What should we talk about? I know, how about my freaking out every year when my doctor wants to get up in my lady garden? How ’bout that?

Have you ever seen any old, black and white movies? Preferably one that takes place in the dust bowl or depression. There’s always a point during any of them that a storm breaks out, and someone has to go check on the horse in their tiny ass barn. (Now that I think about it, in those movies there’s always a kid holding a can of beans and wearing a hat that’s too big for him… I’m sure that’s a metaphor for something to do with my vagina too. I’ll work on it.) Anyhow, the horse was always going bat shit crazy when the storm blows through and they have to send in some dusty horse whispering dude to calm her.


Whoa girl, whoa… *holds out an apple or a carrot* there, there…

In this scenario, I am the horse… and the gynecologist is the horse whisperer. I suppose also in this scenario, the dust bowl could be my vagina, but that part isn’t really important.

I hate going to the doctor. I’m always afraid they’re going to tell me I have some disease, pull out a lego or a quarter that’s been logged in my vagina for 30 years, or a multitude of other embarrassing things like onset nervous or frightful farting- by me or anyone in the room really. Trust me, it’s a thing, I Google. Honestly, I’m only going to the doc regularly for birth control so that I can have the complexion of a 14 year old girl – so I don’t so much care about their “details.”  I definitely don’t care for them launching things into my “dust bowl.” I definitely have to restrain from laughing at the sight of two people’s faces huddled over my junk with a test tube. I guess the good thing is, based on their facial expressions my “muffin” is pretty run of the mill. In fact it may be so commonplace that it blends into it’s environment like a chameleon.


Which I’m fine with because I long worried I had one of those rogue shelter vaginas that looks sweet and cuddly when it’s caged but let that bitch out and she’ll eat your face off.

My vagina co-starred in The Journey of Natty Gann

After I was done being probed and the doctor played on my boobies like she was scratchin’ a Daft Punk record at a dance club, they sent me down a long narrow ultra violet rayed hallway to pee in a cup. “Label it, urinate and then lock the cup in the tiny pass-through door.” This time, the person on the other side opened their side of the “confessional” before I had time to set my pee cup down and close my side. It startled me so much that I dropped my cup of magic juice and it magic rained a 3-7 pee drops. I started talking in a robot voice as I closed the door to my wrist and entertained them with my Thing -like hand blindly blotting urine like a crack head. I swear they planned that shit. *Hears patient opening tiny door, wait for it… PULL!*

I never stood a chance.

What is the point of all of this? = I HATE GOING TO THE DOCTOR! Why are there all those codes and swabs and surprise shot disposal units?! Why are there so many art posters about veins and awol ovaries?! Why don’t they just get some of those 3d posters and a ficus?! Why won’t they just tell me I’m not dying on my answering machine instead of being like “This is about your vagina…ah…. you better call us back.” Then they’re like “Oh you’re fine, I was just trying to tie my shoes at the time I left you the voicemail.” SUCK IT! Ugh! Make a scan robot already so I can just walk through it like at the airport and it gives a little green light or the ick face. This shit is stressing me out! Also, I want you doctors to bring back the toy chest and lollipops for the end. FOR ALL PEOPLE! Not just the kids, ya bastids! THIS IS AMERICA! Just like our forefathers said: “GIVE ME LIBERTY, OR GIVE ME SCRATCH N SNIFF STICKERS WHEN YOU PROBE MY VAGINA!”


Happy Gangnam Holidays!

So here we are, and the weeks of holiday travel are upon us. Where did the time go? Just last Friday you were suckin’ on hot dogs at the 4th of July picnic and now you are mere moments away from getting to see a male family member throwin’ back some ‘nog dressed in only his dingiest of underwearz. Wherever you are this season please stay safe, be merry, find a time to laugh so hard that you pee at least 4 drops of joy-filled urine, taste the dang fruitcake, and for the love of gingersnaps make one of these for your family and/or friends!

Enjoy Smith, starring in A Very Merry Smith Gangnam Style Christmas at the link below:

A Gangnam Smithmas

Click for a Gangnam Smithmas or use the link below!

A Very Merry Smith Gangnam Style Christmas

Merry Kwanzannukahsmas!

The Rhinestone Cowboy

In my offline life, among other things, I am a singer. The first band I was hired to front was a country band.


I did not know any country music at the time – but I learned quickly and grew to enjoy the genres. The manager of the band and I hit it off and became close friends. With that friendship, I learned all things country. There were rodeos, NASCAR races, George Straight concerts, moonshine, cowboy hats, front porch-pickin, boots… trailers, sexy lady mud flaps – it was country-tastic. On one of our many country-themed adventures, I was asked to accompany Tim (the manager) and his friends to “The Country Corral.” I inquired as to what the heck that even meant.

“What the hell kind of place is that?”

“Ah, it’s great! There’s a dance floor and it’t packed! We like to sit on the side and watch all the lady butts.”

“So, let me get this, you want me… to go to ‘The Corral’… and stand along the side and watch lady butts with you? MMMMmmm… nyew.”

“No, we just do that sometimes, you gotta go!”

So, after a bit of coaxing and bargaining, I agreed to go:

“Well if we get out there and I crack a window and hear banjos, just remember that you did that to your buttholes – not me.”

YEEHAW! (Click to buy these vintage notecards!)

The journey to The Country Corral was composed of 6 people: Myself, Tim, his bff Kevin, and Kevin brought his work friend, Slick. (Slick brought 2 work friends, that we lost at the door and I haven’t seen them since.) I don’t think “Slick” was his real name, but he answered to it and it was all I ever knew. Slick was an odd nickname to me, because “Slick” was a city boy – but by gawd, he was eating this country shit up with a spoon!

We arrived at the crowded door, and eventually made our way towards the bar. On our way, we saw it. The mechanical bull line. This was no country fair mechanical bull – this was a training bull, with a line of actual rodeo cowboys in wait.

“Look at that!” Shouted Slick

“Yeah buddy, I don’t think that’s for you tonight.” Said Tim

We found a table near the band and took a seat. Slick watched that bull all night from our camp. Slick also drank Goldschlager until he was so marble-mouthed, that I heard him introduce himself as “Shit” to some chick.

“They call me Schlitt”

It was about 12:15AM when Slick announced. “Sheyy evurybuday, *hiccups* I’m gonna dew et! I’ma ridin’ that bull!”

Yeah buddy.

Being a little tipsy ourselves, it sounded like a great idea at the time and we enthusiastically accompanied Slick over to the ride line. After a 30 minute wait amid buckles and boots – tennis shoe wearing slick finally got his turn. Slick was wobbly as hell on approach, jittering all over the bounce house-like fall mat floor. Slick eventually mounted the robo beast and the rodeo began. The bull went down, Slick snapped up. The bull went up, Slick slapped down on that shit like a sack of potatoes. Now, let me explain that Slick was wearing tight jeans. I think he thought they looked like cowboy jeans. But they did not have the same quality stitching, because when Slick’s ass smacked down on that bull – he split his jeans clean open. The entire inseam right down to the knee. It was like make shift denim short chaps with matching denim leg warmers. Kevin, Tim and I almost pissed ourselves laughing. Odder even, Slick didn’t know he was riding that bull in his panties until the end of the ride, where he was ultimately tossed head over foot 5 to 10 feet, exactly 4 seconds after the ride began.

Woaaaah, Nelly! (Click to buy this vintage notecard.)

After about 2 minutes of adrenaline detox, Slick noticed his jeans. Slick was pissed. Drunk Kevin and Tim then said, “Hey man! I think we can fix ’em up!” We retreated to the car where Tim whipped out a giant roll of duct tape from the trunk. (I’ve since learned that most boys are traveling with duct tape in their trunk. Duct tape to boys must be like extra shoes to girls.) Tim and Kevin then began to piece the jeans back together with the tape. By the end of it all, we retuned to The Country Corral dance floor with Slick and his new shiny silver jeans.

It’s worth noting that at about 3:45AM we were cutting said jeans off of Slick outside a Waffle House. Lots of beer and booze make permanent duct tape jeans a poor choice in apparel.

“We can stay up late, telling manly stories, then in the morning… I’m makin’ waffles!”

Houston We Have Opossum

Hello, I’m going to make you beat yourselves with your own shoes!

Two years ago, Smith was spreading some bags of mulch in the front yard. At the bottom of the stack, between the last two bags he found a baby opossum! It looked like a cute, tiny, weird kitten. We couldn’t figure out where the mother could be, or why she had left her baby in such an odd place. We assumed she was out looking for food or turning tricks to make ends meet. Baby opossum wasn’t scared of us at all. He just looked at us or slept while we worked around him. When we were finished with the yard work, we didn’t want anything to harm the baby in the mother’s absence, so I made a tiny opossum house out of a beer box and placed it over him. There was a tiny front door and tiny windows and tiny stickers. It was super cute. We checked on the little guy throughout the evening – but by morning, the house was abandoned with only a tiny tuft of opossum hair left behind.

Cut to, two months later I was laying in bed at about 3am, when I heard someone trying to break into our pool area! “Ah shit, this is it! Where’s my flashlight?! I gotta prepare for battle!” I nudged Smith awake with my hand over his mouth. Smith was like “muryesh?”

“Someone… is trying… to break in… listen…” I whispered.

“Ah hell nah!” Smith jumped to his feet and ran out half naked with a garden stake and my flashlight. (He clearly thought it was going to be vampires out there.) Side note: that he sprung to action out of a dead sleep- that shit is brave as hell to me. I was just preparing to hunker down behind the bed crying “Now I’ll never get to see the iPhone 6!” until the burglars finally broke through the threshold. Then I would spring into ninja like kicks and tiger like scratching motions and slap fight them until my untimely demise. But not Smith, he’s my big strong man!

Smith snuck outside, and shone the light in the area of the noises. Much to my surprise, it was not the Taliban, it was a young azz opossum! Likely the same opossum from the front yard. He was trying to break into our roof gutter and appeared to be the Vin Diesel of opossums. Totally  BAO; bad ass opossum. Smith even tried to spray him with the hose to get him to leave, lil bastid didn’t even move – he just took it and shook the water off and looked at us. “That all ya got, bitches?!” Like he didn’t retreat or anything. Totally bad ass.

I tried to get a picture of him but I kept freaking out running away like a little bitch. My iPhone actually snapped a pic, mid bolt, to remind me of my weak constitution:

Warp speed!

Smith eventually got the lil guy to move to a tree and quickly developed a plan; Smith would get on the roof to chase BAO further into the tree and I would stand guard with the hose, to distract BAO, should the opossum become aggressive.

I look cute, but I will “pick you up with my mind vision and shake you like a dawg.”

What Smith didn’t take into account? That I would be the dude in those war movies, that’s sitting watch in the woods somewhere and keeps hearing sounds and eventually just mows down everything in a panic. RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Tropic Thunder

I kept hearing that lil bastid in the trees, but it was so dark I couldn’t see him so I would just freak out and start shooting the shit out of everything. Every time I sprayed “the opossum,” it was actually Smith I was mowing down. Smith eventually said, in the nicest of ways; “Baby, if you spray me in the face one more time, I’m gonna snap.” Being the lookout for the opossum was hard, because you could smell him just before you could see him, and he’d just pop up like a wack-a-mole, sending me into a panic. This smell/sight /panic process is how I now imagine all those people who have met big foot must have felt like – just before they shit themselves.

This opossum, who I’ve lovingly nicknamed Lamonte, doesn’t know he’s “nocturnal.” Which is why I once came home at about 3pm to find Smith chasing Lamonte in the backyard, armed with only a sandal and a twig. Smith, not the opossum. Opossum don’t give a shit. I was like “What were you going to do if he attacked you? Beat him about the ass until he promised to move? What if he’s kinky?! You might as well just throw a welcome mat up there and get to tweaking your nipples!”

SO, we’ve been fighting this lil dude for 2 years now. Mainly because every pest place we’ve called wants to kill him – and we’re just not down with that. We don’t want him to go to meet baby Jesus, we just want him to find a home that isn’t our roof. Anyhow, Lamonte comes back to move into the gutter every 4-6 months. Must be like the official opossum sabbatical time frame or something. Yesterday, I saw Lamonte shimmy out around 2pm. I made the mistake of telling Smith, who quickly climbed onto the roof and began some “construction.”

Yeah, then this piece goes like this… yeah… perfect. HONEY, GET ME THE ELMER’S, WILL YA?

Lord only knows what Smith made up there. I’m too clumsy to investigate anything more that 5 feet off of the ground. He was on the roof from 2:10 to 8:15pm. Only stopping “construction” for 15 minutes to gather supplies at the Home Depot. Smith told me what he did up there- but mind you, Smith is like a mad scientist and I am a girl who gets distracted easily. This is a diagram I made for you to understand how I understand Smith’s opossum diverting construction to be:

I might have misunderstood or totally nailed it. Either way, good luck Lamonte, may the force be with you.

You know I made a special-tee for this! Click here > Opossum Tee

The Secret Visitor

A few years ago, my workplace sent out a memo reading something like:

“We will have a secret visitor on Monday. For security purposes we cannot disclose their identity, but we ask that you please make sure your area is clean and that you dress appropriately for our guest.”

I immediately jotted this information down in my special notebook of things I don’t give a shit about:

My notebook of “Things I Don’t Give a Shit About”

However, most of the company began to lose their minds at the thought of who it could be. You could hear so much heavy whispering, it sounded like bitches were casting spells-n-shiz. They couldn’t handle the secrecy. “Who is it? Who can we ask? How can we find out? Who do you think it is?” And so on, and so on.

I became inspired from all of the buzz. I quickly enlisted the help of my cubical neighbor – a crazy 3d developer named Stephen. We both worked in the graphics department, which they keep very dark to minimize the glare on our monitors. This cloak of darkness was the perfect setting for my ninja-like hijinks. First, we began sneaking into any unoccupied cubicles and loudly “whispering” conversations on the phone with no one. The script was loose, but it went something like this:

*Fumbles phone*

Whispers: Hello? Yeah, so I totally found out who ‘YOU-KNOW-WHO’ is going to be… *pauses to provide dramatic emphasis for the surrounding ears*

Well, if I tell you… you can’t tell a soul, promise? I could get in trouble, okay? Promise? Okay. It’s… Prince… like the musician. *Pauses* I know I’m totally excited. I love his music too… okay I gotta go!


Amid our cubical tour, Stephen and I would take detours into the common areas and just start a conversation like: “OMG did you guys hear who the visitor is?! *looks both ways to make sure no one is coming as if we are about to reveal top-secret info* It’s totally Gary Coleman.”

(Please forgive me, Gary Coleman was alive and well when this happened. I even met him later in the same year, oddly enough. Along with the twin brothers from Harry Potter and The Fonz. If you want to know what magical setting facilitated meeting all of those people at the same time – it was in the butt crease of carnivals known as the Central Florida Fair – which took place in a farty dirt patch somewhere near downtown.)

Please pretend this is a tribute photo of poor lil Gary C.:

R.I.P. Ass Dan and poor lil Gary Coleman

Anyhow, people would immediately say:

“Really? Why the hell would Gary Coleman be coming here?”

To which Stephen quickly responded “I think cause the owner is a fan or something and Coleman is coming to town because he’s starring in Mr. Bojangles, so he’s doing a tour of the joint for us to make him some posters.”

(Please note, at this time the company really only created government simulators and training for the military type graphics, not posters for former child-stars.)

“What’s Mr. Bojangles?”

“Dude, get out from under your rock- it’s only one of the most successful touring shows ever, it’s got dancing and passion and great music.”

“Really? Gary Coleman is a dancer? I didn’t know that.”

“Oh yeah, he’s like a classically trained ball room dancer or something. That’s how they found him for Different Strokes, actually, at a dancing thing.”

“Wow. I totally didn’t know that…”

It was a short time later we could hear people conducting friendly whisper arguments about how one side knows it was going to be Prince while others heard it was Gary Coleman.

When anyone asked what I was going to wear for the event I said, “I totally have a purple crushed-velvet outfit – I’m wearing it just in case, cause it’s a 50% chance that it’s Prince!”

Needless to say, Stephen and I ended up staying late to finish the work that we had neglected during our shenanigans campaign trail. One of the executives approached us when he saw we were still at our desks…

“Yeah, since it’s officially after hours, and so that you dress appropriately on Monday, I just wanted you guys to know that the governor is our visitor. Please keep this information to yourselves. I am telling anyone that’s here because, for some reason I’ve gotten a lot of questions about Gary Coleman and Prince, and I just don’t want anyone showing up with their collectable Arnold action figures or Prince albums.”

Stephen and I began to giggle. To which the department head, Rob, said “What’s funny?”

“Well, they kinda maybe might have gotten that idea from us.” We disclosed our full story to Rob. By the end he was laughing so hard that he literally slapped his knee. He seemed most amused at the made up Mr. Bojangles the musical part.

By gawd, don’t forget the dancing!

Monday came, and the governor (Jeb Bush, who may or may not be part Cyclopes) showed up. Meh. He was tall as shiz. I think he was nice, but there was a camera rolling the whole time, so I can’t be 100% certain. I could totally spot who was a Republican that day though, because they were all rocking Jeb Bush boners.

There were a few people in our department that actually felt a little let down that Prince and Coleman were a no-show. I wonder if the governor picked up that vibe off of anyone. Most of our victims were highly amused, and approached us like “I thought it was odd, but I totally fell for it. Is the Bojangles thing happening?”

A side note worth mentioning: that same day, a dude got in trouble for having porn-like material on his monitor during the governor’s visit. True. Story.

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FU and the Z-man

I like to drive around town with my lil doggy man. I like to imagine that he is my tiny butler and I am chauffeuring him here and there on his day off. (Please picture him in a tiny top hat and monocle.) We have a grand time tearing up the town.

Rollin’ wit mah homie.

We do all sorts of things during our many adventures. Sometimes “we” have conversations where I ask him about his tiny day at his tiny office – totally normal shit like that. Sometimes we sing songs. He actually does sing, he just gets all of the lyrics totally wrong. (Annoy-ying.) Anyhow, it is in the song singing area of our relationship that I was recently forced to do a little thought and reflection. By “thought and reflection” I mean “evaluate if I have a problem” or just a “quirky personality trait.”

Smith’s family was in town, and I decided to hit up the Starbuck’s drive thru for everyone. I always let little “Z-man” go with me when I do drive thru anythings. We were off to get delicious coffee treats! When I got to the ol’ ‘bucks- the line was a small, 4 million cars deep. I prepared mentally for the wait, so I was not stressed. To pass the time I began a conversation with my dog. Moved forward 1/2 a car length, waited. Next, I began singing (using my inside voice) to Z-man. Moved forward 1/4 car length, waited. Cut to, 4 car lengths later, I was full on dedicating my rendition of the A-Team theme to my dog in my full-on show choir voice.  By the time I was 3 cars from the window, I likely could have opened on Broadway.

Lit-tleZ-man IS the best dog in town!

Lit-tleZ-man, came to par-ty down…

HUH? Is that song really about meeeee?

During the last bit of our wait, –> (please insert an 80’s montage of me and my dog doing various things in the car; high fiving, telling scary stories under a blanket, star gazing, Chinese fire drill, trying on clothes, playing video games, roasting marshmallows, etc.) It was finally our turn! We were both drooling at the thought of that sweet, sweet Frappuccino. I whipped out my debit card and cheerfully tried to hand it over to the drive-thru attendant. To which, Starbuck’s chick shakes her head “no”, and puts up her stop-in-the-name-of-love hand.

*holds microphone on headset*

“That guy in front of you, totally paid for all of your stuff.”

“Wwwwwhhhat?” Says me in a Scooby Doo-like voice.

“Yeah, he said he wanted to do something nice for you because of long the wait. He was super awesome. He said you were entertaining.”

And so it was then I realized that I was just a car length away from Jesus, or at the very least, possibly one of the earth’s coolest men, and that he possibly thought he was buying a crap load of coffee for a “nice retarded girl, who just learned to drive.” Either way, free Starbuck’s coffee is free Starbuck’s coffee.

Where’s my Frappuccino, bish?!

Thank you random act of kindness man! I will find you, and you will marry one of my friends one day. Once you have mentally prepared yourself for that, meet me back at the Starbucks. I’ll buy you some coffee!