High TV

High tv. I must give the little Indian credit, this is our love child. TV, a whole channel, for high people. Game shows, reality shows, high vs. not high contests, movie night featuring awesome high movies with commentary from high people during commercial breaks. And we would have NO problem finding people to advertise on our channel. Doritos could make a commercial just for us, and all it is, is a picture of a chip. For fifteen seconds, a high def look at a Dorito. They'd sell so many Doritos. I have so many ideas for this channel. And I wouldn't just be the president, I'd also be a client. You could get high by yourself, but not really be by yourself! All your high tv friends would be there to entertain you! In the corner, as the channel logo, would be a little icon of Seth Rogan laughing. Naturally, him and James Franco would have to be part of this channel. If anyone ever develops this channel without me, I will use this post as evidence that I had the idea first. 

Bacon bowls. Yum.

Just saw an infomercial for the bacon bowl. And wow. That's fucking ingenious. I wanted to devour it. They should probably ditch their advertising point that it serves the perfect portion of Mac n cheese, tho. Like if you're trying to count calories. Don't eat too much Mac n cheese, bacon bowl is the perfect serving size! But it's fucking in a bowl of bacon. Sounds delicious, but if I'm eating things out of bowls made of bacon, clearly I'm not concerned with calories. Or hardened arteries. 

My New Years resolution is to buy a bacon bowl maker. Also, to eat more bacon. And bacon makes me happy. 

Someone I know resolved to not yell at her kids for an entire year. And I kind of feel like I need to report her to a child labor task force, because she has obviously leased them to a foreign country for the year. I could not yell at my kids if I never saw them. No problem.  That resolution would last an hour for me. No one hears me unless I'm yelling and flailing like one of those dancing wind socks they put in front of car dealerships. Even those look more controlled than I do. 

It's really only a matter of time before I have a psychotic episode. Families are fun. In my defense, I did not go crazy willingly. I was driven to the front door of crazy, and I have been sitting on the curb waiting for my ride home for years. I don't think anyone is coming. 

The armpit of the U.S.

First point: why don't beer makers ALWAYS use 16 ounce cans? Are they afraid I might waste the extra 4 ounces?? I won't. The big cans mean I have to get up less. I don't know why a 12 oz. can feels like a tablespoon of beer, compared with a 12 oz. bottle. But it does. Cans sound WAY better on recycling day, but I swear I take one drink out of a can and think, where did my beer go?? I love the 16 oz can. Just love it. I'm Irish, if this explains anything. 

My second point: I have become convinced, that all the history about the white man pushing the native Americans out of northwest Indiana are FALSE. The white man did no such thing. The native Americans that didn't die from exposure, or weren't buried alive in a snow drift, said-you want it? Fucking take it. Good luck. 

This place is hell. It's not just the armpit if Indiana, it's the armpit of the country. Parts of it smell. Bad. It's always got some kind of moisture of one kind or another. Frozen or vaporized. There is no in between. It's a moist, smelly place. I can deal with summer moist. I actually like walking outside and being punched in the face by ten pounds of 90 degree air. Because the alternative is walking outside and being bitch slapped by a stiff north wind carrying millions of little  moisture swords. I like going outside when it's 92 degrees, with 90% humidity, to pull weeds. When night comes, I stink, I'm covered in salt, there's dirt in every wrinkle on my body, and it's awesome. Take a shower, grab a beer, sit on the deck. Exhausted bliss. There's no bliss with the alternative.  Yes, snow looks pretty when it's glistening in the trees. But it's white. If snow were rainbow colored, I might have a different opinion. But it's not. It's white. Until the road salt comes out, and then everything just looks filthy and skid row like. Dirty ick. There's no way the Indians wanted this place. First couple rounds with lake effect snow, and they said fuck. Fuck the evil spirits breath. We gotta go west. Now they try and make us feel bad. Psh. Scammers. 

Facebook stupid friends.

A two post night. Ok! We all have a few friends on Facebook who infuriate us with everything they post. But we keep them to remind ourselves how retarded  people are. But they make you crazy! The people who complain about their life, that it's unfair and sad, but they don't have custody of their kids and every other post is about how drunk they were. Or boob shots. You want to punch their profile picture. Then...THEN! There are the activists. Fuck. Me. I have this one Facebook friend, a sister of a friend. She is awful. Imagine every progressive, earth loving, fight picking, feminist, entitled, holier than thou comment you've ever heard, wrapped up in one pretentious pompous liberal fucktard package. She frequently posts how her kids are victims of mean teachers. I want to find her house, and throw a brick through the window. With a note that says-fucking. Stop. Grow a pair! 

I can respect that she's opinionated. I'm opinionated. But dammit. 500 posts about how guns are the devil, women should be free to kill babies, republicans want to kill women, republicans like shooting dogs, republicans hope you get cancer, Hitler was a republican, etc. And then BAM! She puts up a post telling everyone to keep their opinions to themselves. She doesn't want to hear it. She makes me nuts. I want to delete her, but I'll miss all her ignorance. Facebook is more about making fun of people, than it is connecting. But dammit, she sucks. 

Autocorrect. Ugh.

At this moment, I am horribly annoyed with my autocorrect. It has gotten smart enough to always change duck to fuck. It just did three times. My phone is smart enough to have learned that I mostly mean to type fuck. It CAN'T, however stop interchanging words like if and of, not and bit, so and do, etc. And those are words that completely change the sentence, or just make you sound like retard. And reading my old blog posts makes me angry. Because of all the autocorrecting bullshit. I AM typing this in my little phone. That's my defense. Another example! I meant on! So this is my public apology. I'm really not an idiot. 

Fantasy Celebrity Family Tree

Translation:

Step grandparents 1: Jessica Walters & Coach Q

Mother's parents: Betty White & Da Coach

Step grandparents 2: Anne Meara & James Earl Jones

Father's parents: Oprah & Morgan Freeman

Mother: Julie Louis-Dreyfus 

Father: Tom Hanks

Step father: The Rock

Step mother : Tina Fey

My husband: Tom Hiddleston

Tim's wife: Jennifer Lawrence

Megan's husband: Chris Evans

Uncles: Samuel L Jackson, Si, Jeff Bridges, Nick Offerman, Ron White, Neal Patrick-Harris 

Aunts: Cathy Bates, Julia Roberts, Lisa Kudrow, Sandra Bollock, Ellen DeGeneres

Step siblings: James Franco, Jason Sudekas, Chris Pratt

Great grandparents: Mel Brooks & Julie Andrews

Cold

Let me elaborate on why cold sucks. Stupid hats. Only 5% of the world population looks good in hats. Not baseball hats, but winter fucking hats. Unless you're a kid. Then tassels with dingle balls looks totally acceptable. Beanie caps?? They need a rubber lining to keep them on your fucking head, so you don't end up looking like a used condom every five fucking minutes. And NO ONE looks good in a ski mask. No one.  We've all seen cops. I have a pink camouflage fleece hat, with ear flaps. Given to me by a guy, who I love, but I also want to tear his still beating heart out of his chest most of the time. It's warm as hell. But everyone calls it my seizure helmet. Cuz it looks fucking ridiculous. Sooo hats. 

Cold. My hands and feet are shockingly cold in the summer, but when it's cold?! Oh man. I could give usain bolt a cardiac arrest. Husband says it's because I have ice in my veins. Nonsense. 

Dressing children to go outside. Summer? Easy. Winter? It's an exposition. So many clothes. And whoever thought it was a good idea to make kid sized gloves must've never put a fucking glove on a tiny hand that's nerves have obviously not developed enough to make them spread their fingers, 5 of them, into the 5 damn holes. It's worse than trying to dress a Polly pocket. Mittens. Mittens until they're 16. Or they figure out how to put it on with zippo help from me. Plus, the giant winter coat makes it so they can no longer put their seat belt on themselves, because they can barely move. Which means I have to stay outside longer, because he won't put his butt in the seat because he thinks he saw a gobstopper roll under the passenger seat. This is annoying. 

Ice. Ice comes from cold. Ice was fun when I was little. When I ran to slip on it ON PURPOSE. Ice is not fun now. Walking into a store, a little slip, and you pull a groin trying to regain your footing. Kids have he right idea. They just fall. Then we say-quit foolin around! Get up! That's gotta be better than a pulled groin. But if grown people fall, most of the time I'll laugh. And I know someone would laugh at me, so I make every effort to NOT fall, and carry on like nothing happened. Being a grown up sucks. But not as bad as ice. Ice also sucks because it happens on roads. Where I drive. And that is just an ass puckering moment when you go to stop, and you're not fucking stopping. You have no control over when that damn car stops. Then it does stop, and it's such a freaking relief. You feel silly. Until the next stop sign, when you remember too late that it's icy. I hit our mailbox once, just slid right into the damn thing. Knocked it a little off its base, only needed a little fixin. I told husband, and he said "what did you do that for?" Yeah. Well, It flipped me off, and I didn't like it! Fuck that mailbox! Fuck the cold!