Funny because it isn't me...

O the life of teenagers. I think the further removed from high school I get the harder it is to remember exactly what was going through my mind during that period of my life. I got a call from my mom this weekend and I won’t say exactly what she said, but it involved cussing, and I was laughing really hard. The long and short of it is that Whitney (my littlest sister) got caught at a party with no parents and enough alcohol to leave a football team incapacitated for a month. But of coarse she maintains SHE WAS NOT DRINKING!!! Whit has a way of getting out of everything. She has a sweetness to her, but she is also one of the most adorable human beings ever to be created which makes people forget she is capable of any wrongdoing. Unfortunately for her my mom doesn’t care how hot you are. If you are drinking and you lie about it you may as well lock yourself up in solitary confinement for the next couple months. That would certainly be more pleasant a punishment than whatever my mom would give you. Courtney (my middle sister) learned very quickly that the best way to avoid the harshest punishment is to tell the truth right up front. (“Mom the cops busted me at a hotel where I was throwing a party, come pick me up.”, “I am on my way to Belton to meet a guy I met on the internet, I am not going to answer my phone anymore.”You know I can’t make stuff like this up…) What was Whit’s punishment you ask…grounding? No. Grounding is as much a punishment for the adult as it is for the kid. In what I think was an act of sheer brilliance on my parent’s part Whitney’s punishment is only being allowed to hang out with Courtney. For those of you who don’t know my family or haven’t really been acquainted with them through this blog it would be important to know that Whitney and Courtney are about as different as they could be. Court is really direct, very loud, extremely temperamental, very ditzy, and one of the funniest people alive. Whit is quieter, very sensitive, really creative, sneaky, and able to talk her way out of anything. (Ya see how getting along may be difficult for these two.) Besides the fact that they are blood relatives the only thing they have in common is the fact that boys are completely fascinated by them. Maybe they will find that a bonding point. I for one can’t wait to see if this punishment ends in a brawl which, all things considered, isn’t that unlikely. Either way, exceptional parenting.

Reason #793 why I am glad I am not a firefighter

Read This. You won't be disappointed.

Friendly Reminder # 1

Don't tuck your shirt into your underwear. It just isn't attractive. (Specifically if you are a male wearing bright turquoise briefs...YIKES!!!)

The following took place between the hours of 12 pm and 1pm

Anyone who has spent any amount of time with me since January knows I have a date every Monday night. His name is Jack, and we are in love. (By we, I mean me.) He isn’t real, but I don’t care. If you haven’t ever seen 24 it is hands down the most addictive tv show I have ever seen. Every week I find myself on the edge of my couch yelling expletives, and at least once per episode “I LOVE YOU JACK!!!” at the top of my lungs. I bought the first season this weekend and have already watched the first 7 hours of the day. I am fairly sure I have been on the brink of heart attack a couple times. There is a reason only one hour is shown at a time. I know the dangers of watching too much tv (brain rotting and spewing out my ears), and being in love with a fictional character (but have you seen him? HELLO!!! He is a badass, He fights for what’s good, even if he is a little unethical. BUT he has tattoos, and ultimately he does what is right. Did I mention the tattoos?) but it is all worth it to feel like at the end of the day/season the country was saved from disaster. It also helps that my favorite character (with the exception of Jack obviously) is a spitting image of my sister in both appearance and personality. The constant scowl on her face coupled with her attitude problem laced with sarcasm gives the show a comic relief that is the final nail in the coffin of addiction. All that to say, if you call me between the hours of 8 and 9 on Monday night you will get my voicemail, if you come to visit, you will be asked to sit quietly until the scenes from next week are shown. If you would like to watch it with me be prepared to hear screaming, but feel free to join me in my weekly lovefest for Jack Bauer. Monday nights are so gloriously wonderful.

The one where I ramble...

It is not a good thing to drive back from lunch and see a man in 70's swimming trunks (although they hardly qualify as trunks) oiled up, tanning on a park bench. I almost had a yak-fest in my car.

Maybe I will pursue a network in hopes of landing a gig doing the exact opposite of Martha Stewart. Mention things that aren't good things, always wear black, avoid insider trading, only brush my hair when I feel like it not when some idiot with a stick permanently lodged up their bum finds it necessary. BUT I would still offer gardening tips, meal ideas, and crafts made out of popsicle sticks and colorful pipe cleaners. All done with my most pretentious accent...oh wait opposite...Brooklyn accent. There would be musical guests who I get to rate on a scale of 1 to 10 in a number of different categories including but not limited to "application of male eyeliner,"
"amount of stench," and obviously "amount ears will bleed if I listen to this for more than 5 minutes." I know Martha doesn't have musical guests, but if you are thinking that you must also remember Martha isn't known for wickedly fun parties. Snobbish, upper class soirees yes, rockin parties, no. I think it sounds like a great idea. I'll do three episodes and get cancelled. That's all I need to get a cult following anyway. Then I can do what I have always dreamed of Stand-up Comedy...oh wait, I hate being in front of people, and can only be moderately funny in writing. So no stand up comedy. A cult following could still land me some good gigs. Who knows, maybe I'll get a kool-aid ad spot. That would be righteous.

If you are easily offended don't read this post...actually you are probably better not reading anything on this blog

This weekend was filled with the usual psychotic episodes that make my life the one I enjoy living. This is a long one so hold on tight.

First up a round of politically incorrect with Grandma Nieman. While my sisters were spouting off comments like "I don't have to do anything because the teacher is sexist" and "GIVE ME SOME BUTTA!" (I will let you guess which sister said which comment.) I sat there, I laughed, I enjoyed the fact that I have crazy family members. Then in the middle of what were probably 3 conversations my grandma feels the need to share a very important question and loudly says "Have you seen that show with the miniatures?" to which we all stop and look at her assuming she is talking about thimbles, or porcelain knick knacks that exist only for grandmas and strange children. Seeing our quizzical brows she explains by saying "you know dwarfs, little people, you know Miniatures." Right grandma, miniatures. She goes on to explain the show. I couldn't tell you anything about it because my ears were in shock mode and my brain had to catch up, but I am sure if you google miniatures on tv you would come up with something very entertaining.

Round Two: I babysat three of my favorite children on Saturday night. In a matter of 3 hours we played soccer and basketball, painted nails, made/ate dinner, played house, watched portions of a movie about horses, and learned never to bring a bag of sour worms into a house with kids. It was really fun with the exception of the end of the night when they had been "in bed" for half an hour, but strangely I heard footsteps upstairs. I suspected potential takeover by hostile Russians but as I made my way up the stairs I found one of the girls with 2 different pajamas on at the same time, a tiara, and sparkly flip flops, when I say "this is not dress up time" she says "I was cold." Well, praise the Lord you got that tiara on child. You may have frozen to death in this 60 degree weather without a sparkly piece of metal gracing your head. The second kid was stapling about 30 sheets of paper together and when I said "time for bed, put down the stapler." She screamed as if I told her I was taking them all hostage and they would never see anything with sugar in it again. I put her in bed and she screamed. I told her she couldn't staple anymore, but she could stop screaming and go to sleep. She screamed. I hugged her, put her in bed, and left the room. She stopped screaming. All of that pales in comparison to the comment made earlier in the evening. I should probably mention these kids ask questions about everything. The youngest always finds a way to pull out my bra strap and ask what it is. She is not satisfied with the answer a strap. Anyway. We played house. Apparently house has changed since I was little. There were charts involved. I had to state my real name and age, my fake name and age, and what role I would be playing in the house. I was 35 with 3 kids under the age of 3. All of them managed to break limbs and required medical attention and crutches within the first 10 minutes. When deciding my fake age, one of the kids said 20. I said absolutely no way am I 20 with 3 kids. The oldest then asks me "How old are you for real?" I say "24." She says "are you married?" I say "No." She says "Do you have any kids?" I again say "No." She then replies "well, I DON'T WANT YOU TO END UP AN OLD MAID." I laughed for about a minute and then said "Well I don't want to either. Thanks for the encouragement."