McDonald's "Southwet Salad"

I don't know why, but signs that are misspelled or have letters burnt out are the funniest things to me. Maybe I'm too easily amused, or it could also be that my sense of humor is just really lame.

During a pitstop on our way to Dayton today, we encountered this McDonald's sign, enticing people to "Try our new Southwet Salad." (Click on the picture for a better view.)

I think this is wrong on...oh...at least three different levels. I will only say the first, which is simply the fact that the "s" is missing in "southwest." To come up with the other two, you must delve deep, deep into the gutter of your mind. And then a little deeper.

No thank you, McDonald's.

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Brown Reproduction Project:Successfully Completed

Stephen, Maryann, and I arrived at Kettering Hospital on Wednesday evening around 7:30 p.m. We went back to the delivery suite and found Angela comfortably biding time (thanks to an epidural). We had a very enjoyable time visiting with each other for a couple of hours until the nurses came in and announced it was time for her to start pushing. Maryann remained in the room to assist, while Stephen and I lurked outside the curtain of the room, too anxious to sit and wait in the lobby.

After only about 45 minutes of pushing, Angela delivered a very healthy baby boy, Rowan Christopher Brown, on Wednesday night just before 11:00 p.m. He weighed in at 7 pounds 10 ounces and measured 20.5 inches in length. And most importantly? He totally didn't have that creepy, E.T.-ish newborn look going on. He is actually quite handsome!

Seem a little too simple, uncomplicated and drama-free? After all of the horror stories I've heard about childbirth, I was absolutely flabbergasted at how smoothly and quickly everything seemed to progress. During the midst of her labor, I could even hear Angela occasionally laughing and chatting. Wow. Angela was pregnancy valedictorian, and I do believe she's now earned the title of birthin' valedictorian, as well.

Although we didn't witness the birth visually, just being able to listen in was amazing. When I heard the first cries out of my nephew's mouth, I was flooded with awe and love. Forgive me for sounding corny, but it truly was one of the most special and spectacular experiences I've ever had.

Congratulations to Angela & Jeff! And to our nephew! Kid, you're going to have a pretty darn good life. Chances are, your mama is probably going to turn out to be parenting valedictorian, too. (Which will probably also annoy the crap out of you much of your life because that will mean she knows how to set rules and stick to them and, let's face it, rules suck!) For more updates and stories on the little squirt, you can visit their blog. For more photos, click here. (FYI, the website I use for online photo sharing, Picasa (by Google), allows others to download the photos at full quality. So, if you want to keep any of these pictures, feel free to download them. Picasa also has a companion program called Hello which works like an instant messanger through which you can quickly and easily share your pictures with others. I really like it and highly recommend trying it out if you haven't already.)

Let the parenting officially begin!

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About to Make His Big Appearance!

Angela's water broke around lunchtime (or at least that's when we received the news). She's in the hospital now and dilating as we speak.

We're heading off to Dayton for the arrival of our baby nephew! I'll post pictures upon our return.

(YIPPEE!!!)

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This Is Why I Have to Be a Good Girl

I don't steal. I don't cheat. I don't lie (well, except for the occasional white lie, but, of course, that doesn't count!). I don't kill or physically harm people or animals. Aside from boring morals or the fear of God's wrath, do you know what keeps me in line?

Having the knowledge that I have the most frickin' bad luck and would get caught the mere second I even thought about doing any of the above.

Let me share a little story with you to illustrate my point.

This morning, running late to work as usual, I pulled into the parking lot and noticed a parking space much closer than I'm usually able to get. Being a Monday morning, finding a good parking spot is very odd, for that's a good thing and only bad things seem to happen on Mondays. But, I was grouchy, tired, and late for work, so I found an ounce of joy in this tiny Monday miracle. Alas, whenever anything good happens, it seems to be accompanied by something bad. I unlatched my car door - didn't even get a chance to start pushing it open - and the wind managed to yank my door open into the adjacent car. Son of a motherf**king bitch.

I've got tons of tiny dents and scratches in my car doors from careless people, and it really pisses me off when people aren't more careful about such small tasks as getting in and out of their cars. Although this was the wind's doing, I still felt very upset that I've just managed to do something I hate so much. So, I examined the car, and it appeared I'd just left some markings. *Whew* I got a napkin and wiped off 98% of the markings. There were a couple of tiny spots left, but feeling odd about polishing someone else's car in the parking lot, and the fact I was LATE FOR WORK, convinced me it was time to go up to the office.

I thought I should leave a note, because even though it was minor, I know how my luck is. I've just never been able to get away with the tiniest thing.

For instance, in sixth grade I drew XXX pictures of stick figures engaging in adult relations and stuffed them way up under my bed. Who should happen to find said "art" while cleaning my bedroom soon after? My mother. Of course, I lied and blamed it on my best friend at the time, but my mom didn't buy it. She just gave me a smirk and said, uh huh, I'm sure that was Holly's masterpiece. There was no punishment at the time that I recall, but it's been 16 years later and I'm still teased by my mother over it. I think I've suffered more than my fair share of penance. Then, my junior year of high school, my best friend at that time convinced me it would be a very wise idea to make prank phone calls to the boy I had an enormous crush on. My friend made a couple of calls to his house and hung up the phone upon our victim's answering. This was before caller id, but was during the technological boom of *69. The boy's mother called us back, and my friend proceeded to hang up the phone. Another call, and she disguised her voice (rather poorly) and informed said mother to quit calling this number. Wouldn't you know it? Said mother became very irritated and called the police on us, who showed up at MY house because we had been calling from MY phone.

I am completely aware that these are extremely retarded and trivial examples "bad things," but this is exactly my point. I was never caught doing drugs, because I never did drugs. I was never caught sneaking out of the house, because I never snuck out of the house. I was never caught lying to my mom that I was going over to Michelle's to study while instead going to a wild party, because I never told such lies and never went to wild parties. I was never caught having sex, because I never had sex until I went away to college, and even still that was only with the man I would later marry. Oh, but I do thank myself for the reminder of the time that Stephen and I were caught making out in the backseat of his car in my mother's driveway our senior year of high school. The neighbors came over and tapped on our window, apparently thinking from a distance someone was breaking into his car. They were very apologetic when they saw what was really going on. Yeah, of course I was pretty much topless, if I remember correctly, and I'm trying my hardest not to. Oh yeah, and now I'm remembering the time soon after we began sleeping with each other that Stephen's mother & sister found certain items that were clear indicators of us having "relations" in the back of the van...very disgusting and very mortifying, might I add. (My most sincere apologies still go out to Maryann and Angela, for not only having to witness such horrible things, but also for bringing up an instance that I'm sure you've tried your hardest to BLOCK!) Anyway, point being: I never did anything really bad because I couldn't even get away with doing the most minor of bad things. The first time I drank in college? I called my mom the next day and told her all about it. I figured I'd better 'fess up, because I know my luck and with such luck, she would surely find out. The two times in my drunken stupors I allowed boys to kiss me while I was dating Stephen? I immediately informed him of my infidelities because, aside from feeling guilty and wanting to be honest with him, I just knew someone else would tattle on me if I didn't tattle on myself.

Anyway, back to today, the fact that I didn't have a pen or paper prohibited me from leaving a note. I went upstairs and got distracted doing usual Monday morning busywork, but went down to my car at lunch to leave a note, as I'd been worried about it all morning. The car? It was gone. Finally, I felt at ease and thought, although completely accidental and beyond my control and entirely minor, I finally got away with something.

Stupid me.

I got in my car this afternoon to leave work and noticed an envelope tucked under my windshield wipers. Can you believe this:

"Hello, I was looking out our office window this morning and saw the door on your white car hit my gray Toyota Matrix. By the time I got down to check you had already come in the building. It appears you have rubbed the spot trying to remove the mark you left. Apparently the wind caught your car door and it hit my rear drivers side car door and left a mark. I will try to rub this out but I would appreciate it if you contacted me with your information in the event I can't remove the mark and have to take it to a body shop."

I was frickin' caught in the act. Son of a motherf**king bitch.

Like, seriously, how many dents and scratches have people put into my car? A ton. How many times have I caught this happening? None. I am so damn careful when opening my car door that this NEVER has happened to me. The one time it does? And after trying to be polite by wiping off my car's residue (because I can tell you from experience that usually when people ram into your doors, they don't wipe off the crap it leaves behind)? And after having full intentions of leaving a note? It doesn't matter. She beat me to the punch, and now I feel like I've been caught in a hit and run. Though I didn't run. My car remained parked in the same spot all day. Maybe that was my mistake?

I replied with a very, very nice e-mail to the person explaining what had happened. And because I was nice and accepted responsibility for my actions? I just know this person will probably repay me by being a vengeful bitch. And you can guarantee I will post an update if this happens.

What's almost worse than my bad luck is how creepy it is that this person just happened to be looking out of her office window at the exact moment this occurred. I always feel like somebody's watching me...Rockwell, you really speak to my heart, buddy.

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Reminds Me of My Niece

My mom called earlier, laughing hysterically. She demanded that we go to Funny or Die and check out this video. We did, and then we laughed hysterically.

I couldn't find a way to post the video directly to my blog from Funny or Die, so I looked it up on YouTube, since it does have that handy-dandy feature. Unfortunately, immediately after I posted it, the video was pulled from YouTube. Bummer.

So, I recommend that you check this out if you haven't already, because I think you'll laugh hysterically, too. After all, I really can't think of anything funnier than Will Ferrell and a drunken, money-hungry toddler.

Enjoy.

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Sweet Find of the Week: Bubblegum Octopus

Browsing through the music profiles on MySpace this weekend led me to the craziest thing I've ever heard.

Bubblegum Octopus.

The genre? "Electronica/Pop/Death Metal." Impossible, you say? Oh yeah, well take a listen, smartypants. (I personally recommend, "You're a Bad Cat Man." If you're further intrigued, there are a few more songs here.)

The description of this artist on Last.fm reads as follows:

"NJ based solo project of Matthew "m@" Morden. The style is more or less a mixture of synth pop, digital grindcore, dance music, and video game music. The most commonly noted element of his music is the vocals which are generally a girly falsetto that suddenly drops to a chaotic death growl. Pop meets death metal. He recently performed at his high school, in which he was booed off of the stage. "

It's bad. Really bad. And I totally want a CD.

Despite how much I hate to quote a John Mellencamp song, I will: it hurts so good. Because you know what? Anything that makes me laugh so hard that I pee a little gets two thumbs way up from me.

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Why We Can't Get Anything Done: Part VI

Why does it take me all weekend to finish doing the laundry? It could very well be because I'd let it pile up for two weeks and had seven loads accumulated by Friday, coupled with the fact that I'm easily distracted and don't constantly work on it until finished. But, what also doesn't help is Sophie's little fluffy ass sitting in the dryer. Apparently, I made the mistake of turning my back on the dryer for two seconds while the door was opened and in she jumped.

Because she is such a fierce and ferocious cat - look at her, she's like a shark! - I had to leave and let her have her fun time in there. The laundry will just have to wait because it's not worth losing an arm over to the wrath of Mrs. Meowsington.

Side note from Sophie Meowsington: That pathetic woman I live with is a liar. I am just yawning in this picture, and I'm yawning because I was weak with hunger because I had not been fed in SIX WHOLE HOURS. Not only am I not fed every hour on the hour, but I'm also blamed for her laziness. She sucks.

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Turns Out Weather Instability Brings Out the Best in My Mood Instability

Today is one of those days in which I swear I am frickin' crazy.

I blame it on the frickin' snow. It's mid-April, and it's snowing.

(And, I must mention, I'm really, really sick of writing about the damn weather.)

I was going to write about how I've been a Grumpysaurus since it decided to stop being April and start being November all over again, until today when I woke up to rain and my mood melted and I became a Sappysaurus. I went onto MySpace and saw an old friend had written me and almost cried because I was so happy to hear from him. And, of course, there are a few people out there I've written who haven't written me back, and for some reason it got to me today and made me very sad and contemplative about my life. Then, I was folding laundry - laundry, the ONE and ONLY chore I seem to (sometimes) complete each weekend - and I got misty-eyed folding my husband's manties. Why? Don't know. Maybe it's because I felt very honored to be taking care of him in this little way. Or, maybe it's because I am so disappointed...I used to fold boxer shorts, then it changed to boxer briefs, and now it's your standard tighty-whities. (At least they're Calvin Klein, and everytime I see them I flashback to the Back to the Future scene in which Marty asks Loraine why she keeps calling him Calvin, and she replies, "It's written all over your underwear.") Or, maybe it's just because I'm retarded.

Now the rain has changed to snow, and my mood, too, seems to have frozen into a harder emotion: almost rage, but with less anger...actually, not really anger or rage at all, but more like an energetic impatience or irritation on speed. Yeah, this makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but if you were inside my head right now you wouldn't be making any sense, either.

On top of that, melancholy took hold of me when for some unknown reason I started thinking about how unspecial I am in the whole scheme of things. As I'm sure most people do, I used to have these absurd dreams in my head of how my life would turn out. First of all, I was sure I was a prime example of "The Ugly Duckling." Sure, in my mind I wasn't very attractive, but one day? ONE DAY something would happen to the world and everyone would suddenly realize how beautiful I was. All those boys I had crushes on for years and YEARS who didn't even know I existed would suddenly notice me and be overcome with sadness that they missed out. Because also? Also, my personality would flourish - I'd be the funniest, wittiest, smartest, most interesting person people had ever had the pleasure of encountering. And I can't forget about my talent. The world would discover this GREAT TALENT I had and it would bring me fame and glory. This great talent varied from singing to drawing to writing to stumbling across the cure for cancer while flipping through Cosmopolitan. Really, it didn't matter what my great talent was going to be - the point was that I was going to be special. I was going to stand out from the crowd and everyone would love me and I would love them. And, of course, no fantasy life would be complete without lots and lots of money. I'd be gorgeous, charming, have some awesome talent that would land me some sweet gig doing something fabulous, and I'd be damn rich.

Now it feels like eons later, and the fantasy I'd had of my life seems laughable. Here I am, late twenties, feeling much more attractive than I used to but, like most women, not feeling pretty enough (my face still breaks out, I hate my complexion, I will never ever have a nice tan [that will most certainly be an early summer post, right after the first person of the year makes the terribly creative and oh-so hilarious comment along the lines of, "hey Casper, why don't you cover those legs up, you're blinding me"], and I won't even get into my hairiness, as I would hate to make you lose your appetite for dinner), no strong talents, sitting at my computer on a crappy Saturday afternoon ranting about I-don't-know-what to the five whole people who read this thing.

And probably after they read this post? I'll be down to three readers.

So, SHOCKINGLY, I've realized that Radiohead is right: you really do do it to yourself, and that's what really hurts. The reason why those boys never noticed me, and the reason certain people may not be interested in communicating with me? Um, could it be the fact that I never tried to get anyone's attention, that I tried my hardest to blend in with the crowd and not be noticed, and that I blew certain people off a little too easily? And great talents? Well, some are God-given, but some can be honed and did I ever hone? The only talent I truly have perfected is being lazy.

What makes me feel really awful, though, is the fact that I can't let myself just be happy. Because really? I have a great life. My husband is over-the-top wonderful, I have a fabulous family and set of friends, my job is good, my house is nice, my health has been decent - I have no drama. Having drama is one of my biggest fears, and I can honestly say I am thankful to have a steady, reliable, good-to-me lifestyle. In the whole scheme of things, I have it pretty darn good. But, I'm a spoiled brat and still get in my funks where I think everything sucks. I was wrong; laziness isn't my only talent, for I am also very exceptional at focusing on the negatives.

Today is just one of those days. An "I'm-completely-out-of-my-mind-and-possibly-need-to-be-medicated" days. A day in which Stephen ought to be damn grateful for his Saturday afternoon part-time job because that means he isn't having to sit at home and put up with me and the crazies that are unwelcome houseguests of my mind. Fortunately, my mood will probably continue to morph and I'll be on cloud nine here in about five minutes. I'm just talented like that.

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Show Me the Baby!

Angela is just shy of two weeks until her due date. Seriously, if I get any more excited, someone is going to have to diaper my bottom in Depends. And, as I ponder the fact that either (a) she could burst at any time, (b) I have TWO WHOLE WEEKS to wait, or (c) I could even have a WHOLE MONTH to wait if my little nephew opts to behave like me and make his poor mother cart his tiny baby butt around for an extra eleven days...Really, if I don't have at least two or six accidents along the way, it will be an absolute miracle.

On the other hand, I'm sitting here thinking, how the hell can she possibly be due already?? I'm sure it's been an eternity for her, but for me? Me who lives two hours away from her...Me who has only seen her twice so far this year in person...Me who only knew about her pregnancy for six of the nine months...Me who has been observing a woman who carries her pregnant belly very (very) well, as if that baby growing inside of her were some new accessory trend that she got half price with a pair of shoes and a set of earrings - like, seriously, I really don't think she could even be any more nauseating with her adorable I'M-GLOWING-BECAUSE-I'M-STARTING-MY-FAMILY looks even if she tried. Geesh! Really, from where I'm standing, I think she should be due in mid-August.

Despite still feeling ill on Saturday, I requested that Stephen drag my butt down to the parents' house to visit with Mr. and Mrs. Brown while they were in town visiting for Easter. Because I figure, I just haven't fulfilled my sisterly duties to the fullest if I haven't totally made Angela feel like a freakshow....Yeah, I'm deathly ill, but you're like really huge and stuff and I want to see you in all your massiveness while I can before that darn baby comes along! Sad thing is, from the front, she doesn't even look that big. I'm telling you, it's just not right how being pregnant flatters her so well. Pictures don't even do her justice. Maybe she should, you know, get knocked up a whole lot more, or something. It just works for her, I don't get it. She does give me hope, though. Imagine this...pregnant women don't necessarily have to look like giant bloated weeble wobbles. You can exercise and eat right and wear cute maternity clothes that flatter your shape. However, I have to keep in mind that she and I are only sisters through marriage, so unfortunately I can't pray that I have the same good genes that she has. Okay, so maybe when my time comes, I won't be pregnancy valedictorian, but maybe I can have the honor of salutatorian? Ha! I'm just kidding, my goals are much, much lower than Angela's! Get this - she exercises. Yep, while pregnant. I don't exercise now as a non-pregnant woman...Me, exercising period, let alone while pregnant?...Wouldn't that be just ridiculous ridonculous! (Did I spell that "properly," Ang?)

So here we are, at this point, just twiddling our thumbs, awaiting our baby nephew's arrival in dire anticipation. I suck badly at playing the waiting game.

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Pros & Cons of Being Sick with a Cold

Pros

1. Staying home from work.


2. Not feeling guilty for calling in to work because this time I really was "that" sick.


3. That almost-drunk feeling the first hour after taking cold medicine.


4. For once, having a legitimate excuse to whine and cry.


5. Sleeping all day with the kitties.


6. Being waited on hand and foot.


7. The appreciation for the simple act of breathing I obtain during that first hour after taking cold medicine before my sinuses plug back up.


8. Not feeling obligated to shower, get dressed, put on make-up, or brush my hair.


9. Sympathy from others.


10. I am "allowed" to eat in bed.

Cons

1. The fact that the cold medicine says to take it every four hours, but in actuality I only get congestion relief for one of those four hours. The other three hours are spent blowing my nose in vain while watching the clock for the fourth hour to strike so I can get another measely hour of having the ability to breathe through my nose, the way God intended.


2. That feeling I get from cold medicine, where I still can't breathe because the medicine is crap and for some reason it also makes me feel like I'm trying to swallow my tongue.


3. Not being able to use most cold medicines that have lasting decongestion effects longer than an hour due to being very sensitive to such medications and their overwhelming "medicine head" side effects, which feel almost worse than the sickness, itself. The feeling that I'm swallowing my tongue is mild in comparison to laying in bed nauseous because the room won't quit spinning.


4. Husband starts avoiding me and has been caught rolling his eyes due to said whining and crying.


5. Sleeping all day with three kitties who don't care that I'm sick and may not want to be a junglegym on which to play and climb.


6. Daytime tv. It sucks balls. Large balls.


7. Feeling exhausted and sore from sleeping all day.


8. That dried, cakey feeling I get in my mouth from breathing through it.


9. Waking up in the middle of the night in a pool of drool and snot from breathing through my mouth because my nose is clogged, yet draining...and then also finding a used tissue tangled in my hair.


10. If I do get wild and crazy and choose to leave the bedroom (as I have done in order to write this post), I have to drag around with me: a big box of Puffs with lotion, my bottle of water (mouth breathing dries your throat), my jar of Mentholatum ointment (so to avoid an embarrassing chapped, red nose & upper lip), and my snot can (a trash can designated just for my piles of used tissues).

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Cold...In More than One Sense of the Word

Last week the temperatures were in the 60s & 70s. Life was sunny, warm, and beautiful.

Today, the high was 40 and it spit snow all damn day. On top of that, I awoke this morning with a sore throat and that horrible icky cootie feeling you get right before a full-fledged cold wreaks havoc on your body. Life is now snotty, cold, and gray.

Old man winter just won't take his chilly claws off of us. That, or spring is a terrible tease. Strike that - she's a big slut who used her charms to get me out of the house, participate in social activities, and buy more revealing new clothes for the warmer weather. Mr. Winter makes me bundle up in ugly sweatpants & sweatshirts and hibernate indoors in front of the computer or the television. He's also generous enough to bless me with a sore throat, sinus headache, and stuffed up nose.

Oh well, everyone loves a big slut, and my husband has to be sick of seeing me in these God-awful red sweatpants, so I beg of her to grace us with her presence once again and to stay for awhile - maybe even move in, if that's not asking for too much of a commitment from a big slut??

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Random Updates

Angie left us yesterday. Not as in "she died;" rather, she went back to Chicago. Last week she received word that she was hired at a cat hospital as a receptionist/fill-in vet tech, so she went up to begin her new part-time job today. Spring break also ended, so her classes were resuming. Her dad is doing much, much better, though he's still in the hospital and the doctors still don't really know what the future holds for his health. In other words, they're still playing the waiting game.

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We still haven't discussed if, when, or where we're going to take a trip. Although I'd love to go someplace, I'm not yearning for a getaway as badly as I was before. Having Angie here for two weeks and worrying about her dad was a big distraction for my own petty woes and has put things more into perspective for me. Plus, I think the continuous nice weather and the ability to don spring apparel has cheered me up quite a bit. (I bought two pairs of shoes last week to wear with capris and, I know this makes me sound completely shallow, but retail therapy - I'm telling you - it totally works.)

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The whole MySpace thing is, so far, turning out to be a pleasant experience. (Though, thank you, Laurie, for suggesting on my last entry that Stephen needs to give me a credit card so I can do more shoppy and less computy. I would totally be all for that!) I got back in touch with a long-lost high school friend, Laura. She, Angie, Stephen, and I went out for dinner on Thursday and the reunion was so much fun that we made plans to go out together on Friday. We went downtown and had a blast, but I think the most fun part of the evening was stalking another high school friend of ours. Laura has remained friends with him, but we had lost touch with him after my sophomore year at Purdue. She had invited him to go out with us on Friday, but he declined, so she told us where he lives and we hunted him down. Although I know he was irritated with our tactics, he had a good sense of humor about it and it was very nice getting to see him and chat for a little bit. Like I told him, I really didn't like the drop-in-pop-in approach, but on the other hand, we had nothing to lose since we already weren't in contact with him. Anyway, back to MySpace: I'm getting back in touch with a few friends I haven't talked to in years, and it's also helping me, the one who is most terrible at picking up the telephone, keep in touch with those currently in my life, like my cousins and my sister.

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Yesterday we went to my mom's to bring her her new laptop. I'm still in shock over this - my MOM is finally jumping on the computer bandwagon! It's ridiculous how excited I am over this, but I'm now able to e-mail my MOM! You have absolutely no idea how long I've been waiting for this day. Now, whether or not she'll check her e-mail or write to me is completely up to her (although she'd better if she knows what's good for her), but still, I CAN E-MAIL MY MOMMY! Man, I'm such a dork. While we were there, I took this picture of Ella and am posting it because it best illustrates how happy I am about my mom's entrance into the magical and spectacular online world...(By the way, in my opinion, this is the BEST. PICTURE. EVER. Other than the very obvious hamming-it-up face, she had little pigtails on top of her head which she took out and the result was this Gwen Stefani-esque hairdo.)

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