I MUSTACHE YOU A QUESTION

 

That Julie Chicklitasaurus!  She’s a maniac.  She sees me as a fire that’s out of control and adds more wood, gasoline and Pledge to it.  (It’s true, Pledge is flammable.  Maybe I will tell you about that adventure one day).  She has given me the ‘I Mustache You A Question’ blog award!  This award was started by Arden @ This Typing Makes Me Look Busy.

I will cut and paste all the nitty gritty rules below, but let me break down the basics!  I have won the award (high five me) because Julie thinks I rock.  She gets to ask me a question.  I have to answer the question and then pass the love to two other bloggers.  Us, bloggers, we are some lovin’ bitches sometimes.  

Julie’s Question, and I quote:  I cannot possible come up with as good of a question as Arden, but here’s my best shot. Melanie and Capes Girls, I Googled this question. What’s the last dream you remember having?  Dear God. That was a stupid question. Damn you Google and your super cheesy questions to ask friends! Feel free to answer that one or the one Arden asked me. Love ya, gals.

I am so glad I did not get the question Arden had asked, which was ‘Is there something you’ve been holding back from someone that you just want to scream in their face but can’t (or won’t)?  It can be a friend, a coworker, a spouse or boyfriend, a relative.  Why haven’t you told them?’

I would have failed miserably at this, since I have a habit of telling people exactly how I feel.  Results run from just what they expected or a year’s worth of silent treatment. 

Lucky for me, I am a drinking maniac.  Holy shit, I just typed drinking maniac.  I MEANT TO SAY dreaming maniac.  Woo… it’s been a long day.

As a dreaming maniac, I dream all night long.  It’s like watching TV for eight hours straight.  No wonder I am frequently tired.  I never get any real rest.  Ask the poor beau, who has to listen to me every morning say, ‘Last night I had the craziest dream.  We rented a unicorn and rode it to Kentucky.  The unicorn ate nothing but ice cream and fudge.’  Yup, that is my brain.

Sadly, once I spit them out in the morning, they fade during the day.  I am going to tell you about a dream I recently had that sticks in my brain.

Karen, Yardley and I took a Greyhound bus all the way from Virginia to Las Vegas.  We wondered the streets and these streets were packed.  Traffic was shut down and people were jammed shoulder to shoulder, just walking around.  We could never get into any stores.  Even our hotel.  It was awful and exhausting, and it caused my vertigo to flare up.

Now, it sucks in real life to have frequent vertigo, let me tell you.  But to have it occurring in your dreams!?  Am I safe nowhere?  What the hell?

We finally get back on the bus and head back to Virginia.  On the way home, Karen and I write a musical about our trip.  We passed out copies of the lyrics and the whole bus sang with us.  (I have to stop watching so much Glee).

The bus lets us off and my mom is there to pick us up.  She wants to have lunch first before we head home.  I can barely stay sitting up in my chair because my damn dream vertigo is so bad.  She starts yelling at me that she thinks I drank up all my money in Vegas.  That is obviously the reason I am so uncoordinated and exactly why I came back without any decent souvenirs for the family. 

At this point, I realize our waiter is one of the vets I work with.  He starts yelling at me, ‘Why didn’t you eat your stewed tomatoes?!’

And I woke up!

How was that Julie?

So… here are my nominations….

Books, Booze and Bitchin’ Book Club … welcome to the blogging world ladies.

Oktoberfresh … the true talent of my family.

YOUR QUESTION:

What is that gross smell you love?

There’s glue sniffers, sharpie sniffers, gas sniffers.

For example I love the smell of CET Hextra Chews, and apparently I’m the only person.  BBB Book Club, I want a list of responses from all members.

Special thanks to Julie, this was awesome. 

Official rules: 

{Rules of receiving the award}

1. Add the awesome badge to your blog — you deserve it!
2. Thank the person who nominated you, of course!
3. Answer your nominator’s question — It can be a few sentences or a whole post. Who cares?!
4. Nominate two bloggers for the award to keep it going; and
5. Ask the new winners your burning question!

{Rules for nominations}

1. There is only 1 rule — When you are awarded this, think of your two favorite blogs at that moment in time. There are your winners! Show your faves some love today. They may need some extra support on that particular day, so go ahead, put a mustachey smile on their face.
2. I lied. There are two rules. You can’t award the mustache award to whoever nominated you. It would just end up being a never-ending cycle.

Living On A Prayer

Sometimes, you see someone on youtube that makes you think, ‘I could really hang out with them.’  Others make you wish that they would outlaw safety devices, because some of these people should have been weeded out a long time ago.

These are in the obviously in the *let’s be pals* category.

Everyone knows women from Virginia…

Two years ago and some odd months, I was walking through a busy hall between hotels in Las Vegas.  I was with a coworker and we were coming back from that day’s lectures at the Western Veterinary Conference.  A ‘gentleman’ and I use the term loosely, flagged us down to his table of fine products… ooooooh!  Fine products!

“Where are you from?”

“Virginia.”

“Everyone knows that women from Virginia have very dry skin.”

Seriously, you are telling me this in the desert?  I can tell you what women from Virginia have.  Gracious manners to stop and talk to idiots who want to tell us how dry our skin is and how with the right amount of exfoliation and dark circle cream, we’d look more like 25 instead of 75.

 It was at that time that I should have realized that resorts were going to continue to make me overly self-aware for the rest of my life.

This past weekend, I headed to our nation’s capital (Jenny) for the CVC East Veterinary Conference.  The conference is hosted in the lovely National Harbor Gaylord Resort.  This hotel is huge.  It has an atrium, which I kept saying made me feel like I was in a people aquarium.

I understand that I was there for work and not vacation.  This wasn’t a trip that was supposed to make me feel all warm and fuzzy about myself.  However, I do feel with the cost of the nightly rate that I shouldn’t be accosted by this!

A magnifying mirror that if I positioned just right I could see Mars!  A mirror that made me look like this!

(Mugshot borrowed from The Smoking Gun)

Good heavens that thing was awful!  It’s bad enough that they have full length mirrors!  I can’t remember the last time I lived in a house with full length mirrors, and the reunion of my full body image to my eyes was not a joyous one!  Dear God, My legs are so short and stubby.  And those thighs!  I never see the reflection of my thighs!

But, back on track with intensifying mirror from hell… I do not need to be reminded that I have my father’s pores (or craters, so the intensifying mirror called out).  Eeek!  Look at those dark circles!  I use one of those fancy rollers gels to help reduce those, why do I look like I got into a bar fight before I got here.  This can’t be true!   It just can’t be!  Is that a blackhead or just a reflection on my oily forehead of a stretched limo in the parking lot!  Are those nose hairs or is there a troll hanging upside down out of my nostril?  I just had my eyebrows done, WHY DO THEY LOOK LIKE THAT?  Thank goodness I use wrinkle cream, or we could start naming the valleys near my eyes.

That damn thing came on a swivel, so I could turn it away from myself.  My five dollar housekeeping tip obviously wasn’t enough because every day whoever was in charge of vacuuming the floor and refilling the coffee supply would wheel it back around so I could be greeted by this!

The hotel does have a spa and I do think it was a ploy to have you rush downstairs directly, fork over your lifesavings and get a facial that would bring you back to the skin you were born with.  You laugh, but one of the Mother’s Day SPECIAL (which implies it was discounted) was just a bit shy of four hundred dollars.

Did I mention things continued to get worse?  Oh yes, poor me and my country bumpkin skin that is so use to well water (iron and other minerals must be moisturizing) was drying out by the second from the chlorinated water.  So not only was I viewing things that reminded me of the Grand Canyon, the surface of the moon, the black hole… now my skin was flakey and gross.

Oh, if the man from Las Vegas with fine products could see me now.  Dry, flaky skin and a complex, just how a woman from Virginia should be.

Bitches be like…

The minute I saw this picture, I knew I had to tell one of my favorite cooking stories.It is no secret in my group of friends that I can burn water. I can also cause you to spend a not so delightful afternoon in the bathroom. People who know me well will tell you that you’ll want to have all your affairs in order before you sit down at my table.

Friends know this and occasionally they have to be a smartass about this. Take Melissa for example…

One day, she decided to throw some steaks in the oven and some peas with new potatoes on the stove. All the while, pretending that she was on a cooking show to rub it in my face that I have no idea what I’m doing.

“Melissa, you do not have to do commentary for my benefit.”

“Can you zoom the camera in and take a close up look to how I turn the oven on? Just gently spin that dial.”

Time passed by and the timer went off. “Mmmm! Mel, do you smell that? Those steaks smell so good. That’s what real food smells like. And listen to that sizzle. Do you know what that sizzle is saying? It is saying ‘perfection’, Mel.” Melissa put a big smile on her face and grabbed the oven’s handle. “That’s right, perfection.”

When she opened the oven, flames shot out. “AUGH!”

Lucky for her, I am trained in the ways of how to fight kitchen fires. I can also manage to do this task while laughing my ass off.

“What is that sound, Melissa? I think I missed that part?”

*******

Do you have a favorite kitchen disaster story?  Share below

Two Crazy Ladies and Some Raunchy Responses

My Interview with Julie Chicklitasaurus is live!

I have been in quite a slump since we lost our little dog, but boy nothing picks you up quite like a bunch of questions that gives you the opportunity to embarrass yourself and promote your book (which she loved, can I get a what? what?). 

So, I promise to be back up and running soon, but until then… run over there and check out the interview and follow her blog.  Not only do I feel that we could be related (I have disowned a sister, is it time to adopt and replace?), but she also does recipes and other helpful post.

Untitled

Dear Blog Followers:

I will be taking a week or so off from writing.  Over the weekend, our rotten Chihuahua/Rat Terrier, Presleigh Christine,  passed away.  We are quite grief stricken at the time, as no one expects to say goodbye to their three year old dog.  I will back as soon as I have my wits back to me.

Thank you for your understanding,

Melanie Jo Moore

FLASHBACK: Beer For Dinner Campaign

FLASHBACK:  April 2007

My friends are quite dear to me. There are few people who will rally as a group and join into something senseless and silly with me. My friends though…

 

Saturday night, around 7:30, I’m unloading the last of the groceries. I start pondering over dinner. I don’t feel like organizing a real meal. What to eat… what to eat… Ah-ha.

 

I text Chip, “Beer for dinner?”

 

I wait patiently. I get online and Piet is there. Together, the Beer For Dinner campaign grows. Who needs nutrition, when we’ve got beer. Piet is trying to gather a slue of pictures of his friends drinking. This is perfect photo opportunity. Chip calls back. “Where the hell were you?”

 

“I was in the shower. I don’t take the phone with me everywhere, Mel. Like the shower.”

 

“Dammit, Piet and I have something important to say. We want to go out and have beer for dinner.”

 

“Brilliant!”

 

The plan grows. Chip comes to get me. Piet hits the road. We go rampage Marcus’ house.

 

“I can’t just have beer for dinner.” Marcus whips out a bowl of turkey salad. “I have to have turkey salad sandwich. Have a sandwich.”

 

“We are not having sandwiches, we are having beer for dinner.”

 

“Mmm, turkey.” Chip picks out a piece of turkey.

 

“YOU CHEATER!”

 

“Have a sandwich, Mel.”

 

“No, I’m staying strong. Plus I know how you are, how long has that turkey been around?”

 

“Twelve months.”

 

Piet enters Front Door. “Are you having sandwiches?”

 

“Marcus and Chip are cheating.” I spy something on the kitchen shelf. “Do you really cook pudding. ‘Cook and Serve Jell-O?”

 

Piet inspects the box. “I think you can just add cold water.”

 

“You know, that’s from the old apartment.”

 

I inspect further for an expiration date.

 

Chip starts heading for the door, “Well, I’m ready for beer. Mel, get in the car.”

 

We are loading when Piet notifies us that Marcus may not being going.

 

“Of course he’s going. Make sure he gets in your car.” Chip waves at Marcus, “Great turkey salad.” He speeds off.

 

As always in our lives, things can never goes as planned. We pull up to a packed parking lot at the Trawler. “The Rotary Auction?”

 

We get some pitchers of beer and sit at the table by the door. We announce to all winners of the auction as they exit what their score is from 1-10.

 

Piet: That is the ugliest chair ever. I give it a 0.1.

 

Marcus: It’s green, and I like green. So I’ll give it a 1.

 

Meldawg: Not feeling it. The way the seat is made, if you spilled your drink, it would all puddle down to your ass.

 

Chip: God Dammit! That at least deserves a 3.

 

Piet: No it doesn’t. It’s awful.

 

Someone walks by with a dead plant. We can’t even judge that.

 

Enters Paul at Bar Door.

 

A weak moment around us, we call Porkchop. Life truly isn’t the same without him. We improvise. We pass around the phone chatting his ear off, just like he was there with us.

 

We all organize at the jukebox to play 24 credits (not an easy feat when the bartenders tell you that they are kicking you out in fifteen minutes.) The songs were all over the scale. Including … Crash Test Dummies’ “Mmm mmm mmm.”

 

Paul: This song defines our teenage years.

 

Marcus: No way, man. A song about humming does not define our years as teenagers.

 

Paul: Yes it does. This is a great song.

 

Chip and Mel: Once there was kid who… got into an accident and couldn’t go to school.

 

Marcus: This song is retarded.

 

Piet breaks out singing Boys II Men Motown Philly for the fifth time to compete with CTD’s.

 

So we are on our own, the Trawler locks its doors.

 

Chip: I don’t care where we go, but we are not taking my car.

 

Everyone loads into Chip’s car, who’s backseat collection contains ladders, boxes, clothes and other assorted goodies. I get the joys of the center console for a seat. That’s sure comfy on the ass.

 

We plot out to go to Rockin’ Robin’s. It’s about a thirty mile drive into the desperation of beer, but we hear other friends are there. We are half way to our destination, singing as loud as we could to the radio when Chip swerves right.

 

Mel: Where the hell are you going?

 

Chip: To Yuk Yuk’s.

 

Paul: I thought we were going to Rocking Robin’s?

 

We file into the small bar. I order everyone a round on Ying Ling. We get our beer and set up to play pool.

 

Mel: I really wish I could play some music. (Eyes at Paul.)

 

Paul: Dammit Mel! Here take my last dollars.

 

Paul and Marcus start playing pool as Chip, Piet and I goof off with the camera.

 

Piet: This table smells like ass.

 

We get up and move to another table. I take a pee break, as well as Piet. We pee, in our own respective bathrooms, wash our hands and come back out. Chip follows suit. Everything seems fine, until we all go to drink again.

 

Piet: I smell the ass smell again.

 

Chip: I didn’t smell it when I was coming out of the bathroom, so I thought it was you two that smelled like ass.

 

Mel: I don’t smell like ass.

 

Piet: What the hell smells like ass?

 

Piet begins sniffing when the investigation ends at his hands.

 

Piet: My HANDS smell like ass.

 

Chip: I knew you guys smelled like ass.

 

Mel: *Sniff, sniff* Dear God, my hands smell like ass!

 

Chip: Your right! My hands smell like ass!

 

Further investigation made us realize it was the neck of our bottles that smelled like ass.

 

Piet: Marcus, Paul! Smell your beers.

 

They look confused, until they whiff.

 

Marcus: It’s the beer bottles!

 

Piet: Dammit, I’m finishing my beer!

 

Chip: No man, don’t do it! It’s ass beer! Don’t drink the ass beer!

 

We quickly settle our tab and get out of town. Damn ass beer.

 

We make our way to Rockin’ Robin’s to be nearly shot down at the door. The doorman stops us in our gallop to beer smelling beer. “Two dollars a head.”

 

“What?”

 

“But it’s midnight.”

 

“We’ve drove from Accomack County.”

 

“Two dollars.”

 

Now sadly, over the past three hours we had spent every piece of paper money on pool or songs. We had not a nickel left to our name and there was no VISA machine at the door.

 

“Can we put it on a tab? We only have plastic.”

 

The man eyes us, “Yeah, go on up to the bar and let them know what you are doing.”

 

Back to the run, climbing the stairs like mad. A pitcher of beer that smelled like beer never smelled so good. We moseyed downstairs, mugs of fresh brew in hand. We danced, we drank, we were merry. Life was good.

 

Until the hiccups hit.

 

I can list five thousand ailments I’d rather have before getting the hiccups. When they hit, they hit good. Every five seconds. Hiccup. Hiccup. Hiccup. Hiccup.

 

Chip: What’s wrong?

 

Mel: Hiccups.

 

Piet: Hold your breath.

 

Mel: Okay. *Holds breath for five seconds* It’s not working.

 

Marcus: You have to do it longer than that.

 

Mel: I’m miserable.

 

Paul: Why do you have hiccups?

 

Mel: I get hiccups mainly for one reason. Drunk. I get them when I’m drunk.

 

The miserable scene continues. Hiccup. Hiccup. Hiccup.

 

Chip: What did you eat today?

 

Mel: Beer for dinner.

 

Chip: And?

 

Mel: Pancakes for breakfast. Two of those little smokies wieners in BBQ sauce.

 

Chip: That’s it?

 

Chip escorts me out to the parking lot and we dart in his car across the highway to McDonald’s. Just to realize, they aren’t open. Dammit.

 

Still determined to cure my disease, Chip wheels his car down the street to CornerMart. Hiccup. Hiccup. Hiccup.

 

Chip: Pick out something to eat.

 

Mel: Can I get a Lunchable?

 

We sit in the parking lot, sharing our Ham and Swiss and our Ham and Cheddar Lunchables. I also ingest about 15 sugar packs just in case the food didn’t solve the hiccups. Low and behold, either the Lunchables or the sugar fixed my hiccups.

 

Upon returning to the bar, the ugly lights were coming on. It wasn’t much longer we were on the road again. Drunken and tired, it was a silly ride home. We even did a remix of Sesame Street’s theme song to “Can You Tell Me How To Get To Piet’s Street?”

Mel:  Here’s to Beer For Dinner!

Everyone:  Beer For Dinner!

Silence from the backseat. I glance back.

 

Mel: Oh dear, Paul is passed out.

 

Lucky for us, someone left behind a swing set from auction. Swinging as high as it would let us go, even though we were five times the weight limit. Paul climbs on the slide and passes out.

 

Piet: I’ll take him home.

 

Paul: I’m fine, I’m fine.

 

I loop my arm around Paul and start walking towards Piet’s car.

 

Mel: We’re all going to Marcus’, come on!

 

Paul loads up in the front seat and thinks he safe, part of another party. Until he realizes that Chip and I are not getting in.

 

Paul: YOU FUCKING LIARS!

 

Chip and I wave.

 

Mel: I love our friends. They show so much appreciation sometimes.

 

We wave at them pulling away, load up into Chip’s car and make our way home.