It Had To Be You, Harry. And Me. You And Me. And Possibly George Clooney, If You're Into That Type Of Thing.

I was miserably sick last week. A bad week to be ill because Friday was the Harry Connick Jr. concert. I was sick enough to miss three days of work, so my chances of attending the concert were looking pretty bad for awhile.

Monday Hmmmm, I feel pretty crummy. My throat is so sore. Lucky I have the whole week to get better before the concert.

Tuesday Blech, I feel worse today. Good thing I went to the doctor and got anitbiotics. I'll be fine by Friday.

Wednesday Okay, still feel like shit. Don't panic. Power through, lady. Don't let Captain Carl see how sick you are...he'll make you stay home from the concert.

Thursday Damn it! Why am I still sick?? The concert is tomorrow. TOMORROW. I. Will. Not. Miss.

Friday morning Seriously? Seriously with the coughing and the phlegm and nastiness? OMG, I might not make it to the concert. No, wait. I'll call the doctor...

Friday afternoon Okay, I managed to convince the doctor to give me a steroid shot on account of my "family reunion" that I couldn't miss tonight. Feeling better. Actually, feeling pretty awesome right now. A little jumpy. Can't feel my left leg from the knee down for some reason. Eyes are on fire. Don't care. This concert is sooooo happening!

And so I convinced Captain Carl late on Friday afternoon that the steroid shot had done the trick, I was miraculously better in a short period of time and he agreed to take me to see my Harry.

I. Was. So. Many. Happies.

And a bit loopy from the steroids and cold medicine, apparently. Because I insisted on making a video in the car on the way to the concert.



I love how the Captain plays along with my stupid ideas. He's the bread to my butter. The stick to my stamp. The fallopian tube to my ovary. Or whatever.

So we get to the concert (late, as usual) and we walk in the back and I can see Harry on the big screen and I can hear him singing and I get all jumpy and clappy and start yelling things like "Harrrrry!" and "Wooooo hoooo!" and "It's okay, I'm here now!!" while Captain Carl drags me to our row.

And as we climb over 15 people to get to our seats, I ask each of them "How long has he been singing? Did I miss much?" and they all just glared at me except one lady who answered with "This is his first song" and I totally stopped right there and hugged her and yelled in her ear "I'm so excited, aren't you???!!! OMG, our boobs totally just touched!". Then the Captain pushed me into my chair and I promptly whipped out my phone and started videotaping. For exactly 21 seconds. That was how long it took the Captain to tell me I was blocking the view of the people behind me.

So then I just tried to take pictures, but the lady in front of me turned around and was all "Hey, they said you can't take pictures" and I was all "Oh yeah? Well, I'll have you know that Harry is family (pretend husband, remember?) so it's okay" and she was all "I'm going to get security", so I was all rolling my sleeves up about to throw down with this bitch until Captain Carl told me to knock it off. So instead I was all "Look, I'm sorry lady. It's the steroids talking" and she was all *blank stare* and I was all "Harrrry!!!! I love youuuuu!!!".

So that's why I don't have any pictures. But here's the video.



21 seconds of pure heaven. Even if he's out of focus. Totally worth the 48 hours of fever and and hacking cough and startlingly large amounts of mucus that followed afterwards.

I'm Sick. And Vlogging. I Don't Know, It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time.

So I've been sick all week. I'm a phlegm machine at this point. And Captain Carl was out of town until late last night, so I've been spending my time sleeping, walking around like a zombie and feeling sorry for myself. And after I took a slight overdose of cough syrup last night, I decided it was a great time to do my first vlog and post it on YouTube.

Yeah.

And I could have just deleted the video off YouTube this morning when I came to my senses. But you know what? Fuck it. I had nothing else to blog about this week on account of all the coughing and snot. So I'm just going with it.

I promise the next vlog will be better.

Maybe.

Probably not.






p.s. Don't forget to go visit my home away from home, Sprocket Ink. I'm posting later today about American Idol and ghosts. I know what you are thinking and the answer is no, my writing talents truly have no limits.

Captain Carl Kicked That 5K's Ass. Also, I Am A Great Wife. Or Not.

A lot of you have been asking about how Captain Carl is doing with his 5k race training. I've been on his ass to update his blog, which I'm not even linking here because he still hasn't done it and I'm sorry but no update, no linky, dude.

But I will give you guys the update. Because I love you. And because I'm a good blogger, Captain Carl.

So a couple weekends ago, he ran his very first 5k. He had hurt his knee the week before playing tennis and I wasn't sure he should be running. But he was determined to do it.

He was also extremely nervous. His biggest fear was that he would come in dead last. And it was, quite honestly, a very real possibility. Because even though he has lost a bunch of weight (30 lbs..holla!) and was running three days a week, he is still a big guy with a long road ahead of him.

Because I am a great wife (see post title above), I told him he totally would not come in last but it wouldn't even matter if he did because the important thing was that he did it at all. This is a man who a year ago could barely walk a mile without getting tired. This was a huge accomplishment!

So race day came and of course, it was freezing cold outside. And windy. And the Captain's whole family came to cheer for him and his brother, who was also running his first 5k. Which actually made him much more nervous. He didn't want to come in last in front of everyone he loves.

And y'all. He did it. He ran that motherfucker. And he. did. not. come. in. last. As a matter of fact, he finished just barely above his best time ever. I was so proud of him. I even cried a little as I took his picture crossing the finish line.

So he finished and his lips are all white because both of us forgot to bring his inhaler (did I mention he has asthma?) and I ask him if he's okay and he's all "I'm just trying not to vomit" and because I am a great wife (see post title above again), I'm all "Okay well if you're gonna puke, warn me so it doesn't get on my shoes" and he's all *wheeze* and I'm all "I'm glad that's over. It was so hard standing out here in the cold for 50 minutes waiting for you to finish!" and he's all *glare* and I'm all "What?" and he's all *glare* and I'm all "Oh. But I mean...of course it wasn't as hard as what you just did." and he's all *gagging noises* and I'm all "Ummm, I brought you a bottled water...see? Could we, ummm, maybe go inside? My nose is running.".

You are my hero, Captain Carl. For reals.

p.s. My latest post is up over at Sprocket Ink. It's a review of a scary movie that was only scary to me. Also, it's two years old.

*sigh*

I suck at self-promotion.

The Best Place To Get Your Snark On

Big news, people.

I went running yesterday and made it a whole half mile without stopping. Then I went home and ate a bowl of ice cream. You know. For sustenance.

*pats self on back*

But wait, I have even bigger news than that.

Sprocket Ink, an awesomely kick-ass new website dedicated to all things snarky, has launched today. And I'm writing there.

You: No way!
Me: Way.

My first post is up and I'm super nervous about it because for some reason I chose to write about Britney Spears. I just....I mean...I don't know why. It just sort of...happened. But I promise, the website is super cool. I mean, they are letting me use all the swears, y'all.

And all the other writers at Sprocket Ink are amazing. This is a very talented bunch of bloggers I'm talking about here, and I am so honored to be a part of this group. So please go check it out and leave some comment love.

Sprocket Ink

Delicious Snack or Vicious Weapon? You Decide.

I dare any fruit to challenge the perfection that is the frozen grape.

If you know not of which I speak, then for the love of all that is good and holy…get thee to thine grocery store! And then doth thou shall put thy produce that shall be named “the grrrrape” (rolling r’s) into thy freezer and then thou shall waiteth three or four hours for thy luscious frrrruit (more rolling r’s) to enter thy perfect state of frozen.

Don’t ask where that sentence came from. It’s a dark, scary place…my brain is.

So yeah. Grapes are a pretty awesome fruit. They are small and cute and easy to eat as long as you don’t get the ones with seeds. Seeded grapes are like the dirty, worm-farm cousins of the seedless grape. Don’t hang out with seeded grapes. They are bad news bears, my friends.

Grapes are not my favorite fruit. Watermelon ranks much higher, even though it’s messier and has seeds. Watermelon seeds are nothing like grape seeds, just to clarify. Not all seeds are bad. heh heh.

Also better than grapes are raspberries. Ooh, and kiwi!

Okay, this is turning into “Miss Yvonne lists her favorite fruits” and that would be so boring to read.

So.

Back to grapes!

As I said, grapes are pretty awesome but I am about to kick shit up an Emeril notch right here by giving you the 7 steps to orgasmic grapes. Yes, there are a whole 7 steps. Seems excessive? Maybe. Shut up about it.

Step 1: Wash your grapes.
Step 2: Pluck grapes off the gross vine thingies.
Step 3: Put grapes in container.
Step 4: Put container in freezer.
Step 5: Wait.
Step 6: Eat frozen grapes.
Step 7: Have your mind blown.

Eating a frozen grape is like eating a teeny tiny round popcicle. And if you let them thaw about 20 minutes, it’s like eating a teeny tiny round slushy. Except it has vitamins and less calories. It’s perfect wrapped inside a chewy skin, is what I’m saying here.

Also, they hurt a real lot when someone “accidentally” whips one at the boss’s head as he’s walking by.

*ahem*

Just sayin’.

Somebody Please Remember To Tell the Cops To Check Between My Toes, Okay?

I spent all afternoon yesterday watching the ID channel. Do y’all get this channel? You HAVE to watch it if you do. It’s pretty much nonstop true crime programming. God, I love true crime shows. Show me an episode of 48 Hours Mystery and I’ll show you a happy fat chick.

So I sat down on my couch at 11am and did not get up (except to pee and get more food and drink) until 5pm. Six hours of true crime television. SIX. HOURS. A fine way to waste away a Sunday, no?

Me: Ohmygod.
Captain Carl: *looking up from his laptop* What?
Me: I can’t believe this lady!
Captain Carl: What did she do?
Me: She poisoned her own husband with arsenic. And then she poisoned her second husband the same way and she still didn’t get caught.
Captain Carl: *squints at tv* She’s pretty hot.
Me: That’s not really her. That’s an actress playing her. She killed them in like the 50’s or something.
Captain Carl: I figured, since she’s wearing a poodle skirt.
Me: And then she totally killed her daughter with arsenic too! Her daughter! That’s when they finally caught her.
Captain Carl: Fascinating. *looks back at laptop*
Me: I mean, killing your own daughter…that’s pretty awful.
Captain Carl: Hmmm mmm. *type type type*
Me: *sly glance* But killing your husband? Now that would depend on the circumstances.
Captain Carl: *looks up* Excuse me?
Me: *innocent face* What?
Captain Carl: Are you trying to tell me something?
Me: No. I’m just saying…
Captain Carl: What are you just saying?
Me: Just that some husbands maybe deserve it.
Captain Carl: That’s funny, because I think the same thing about some wives.
Me: Oh really? *squinty eyes*
Captain Carl: Yeah.
Me: Oh really now? *more squinty eyes*
Captain Carl: *points at tv* This chick did it all wrong. She should have injected the poison between their toes.
Me: What? Why?
Captain Carl: It’s harder to find the needle marks there.
Me: *blink*
Captain Carl: *smile*
Me: How do you know that?
Captain Carl: *shrugs* I don’t know, I just do.
Me: Why would you need to know that information?
Captain Carl: You never know when certain kinds of information will come in handy.
Me: *stare*
Captain Carl: Just sayin’. *smile* Love you.
Me: Good thing I don’t have a really big life insurance policy right now, or I’d be really scared. *nervous laugh*
Captain Carl: Not any that you know of, anyway.
Me: *rapid blinking*
Captain Carl: Hey, remember when our dog got diabetes and we had to give her insulin injections and then she died and I asked you to keep the needles and you asked me why and I said that I might want to “use them someday for injecting stuff”?
Me: Ummm, yes?
Captain Carl: Where exactly did you put them again?


I never win our freak-out competitions. Damn it.

I'm So Deep Undercover, Even I Didn't Know I Was An Agent.

I'm in my office with my partner, DZ. We're doing paperwork. Just another boring day as an FBI agent. So boring, in fact, that I can't help but stare blindly out my window at the lovely field of trees and what is that, wheat maybe? waving softly in the breeze. No, wait. It's sweet corn. Apparently the FBI headquarters are in the middle of rural Minnesota. Weird.

Anyway, so there I am, staring out the window, when I see a little child running up the dirt path to the building's front door. I guess budget cuts have hit so hard, the FBI can't afford concrete these days. The boy is holding a paper airplane over his head and pretending to fly it. He is smiling and laughing.

"Hey, look at that kid", I say to DZ.

"How did he get way out here?", she asks.

Suddenly, I see a dark shadow pass quickly over the field and the little boy. He stops running and freezes in place, staring at the sky. And then he disappears. Just disappears into thin air.

"What the hell?", I yell.

"Where did he go?", DZ asks.

"Did you see that shadow?", I reply.

"What shadow?", DZ asks.

Damn that girl asks a lot of questions.

And so begins another FBI: Fringe Division case. Children are disappearing all over the country. First three, then five, then dozens are missing.

And every time one disappears, I see a shadow fly across the sky. Huge and dark.

No one else can see it. So I am put in charge of the case.

"We are connecting you to this brain reading machine thingy", says my boss.

"Every time you see that shadow, you tell me. Our computer program thingy will read your brain waves or whatever and pinpoint the location of the next disappearance before it happens."

"Wow, that's pretty fucking cool. I love technology", I reply. "Also, you're kind of hot in a weirdly intense and bald way."

And so we begin. And then something something I forget some of the details but the trail leads to some big mansion for some reason and then we're all inside it and I'm all talking to my partner, DZ, and then the shadow goes by and DZ disappears and I'm all "DZ!!! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!" all dramatically.

And then this shit gets really intense, y'all. I look up at the ceiling and all the children that disappeared are floating down from the sky and into the house. But it's only their bodies...I can see that their minds are gone. And then I hear a noise behind me and I turn around and standing there is an alien!

"ALIENS!! IT WAS ALIENS!!! I FUCKING KNEW IT!!!"

And then I'm sitting on an air mattress. It is dark, but I can tell I'm in my parent's family room in Arizona. Captain Carl is sleeping next to me. I look around wildingly and see a red light flashing through the window in the door leading into the hallway.

I run through the door and into the hallway, where my dad is just coming out of the bathroom dressed only in his boxers.

Dad: What's wrong?

Me: What?

Dad: What?

Me: Huh?

Dad: What?

Me: Do you have your hearing aid in, Dad?

Dad: What?

Me: *yelling* Did you see the alien?

Dad: Alien?

Me: Yes, did you see it?

Dad: *blink*

Me: Where is that flashing red light coming from?

Dad: Flashing light?

Me: *grabbing his shoulder* Dad! There is a flashing red light in here!

Dad: Are you sleep walking?

Me: What? No! I saw a flashing red light!

Dad: Oh, it's probably the smoke detector. It does that sometimes.

Me: Smoke detector? I feel dizzy. Maybe it's carbon dioxide!

Dad: What?

Me: *yelling into his good ear* Carbon! Dioxide!

Dad: You mean carbon monoxide poisoning?

Me: No! Yes! Whatever! We have to get Mom and The Captain out!

Dad: *laughing* That must have been some dream.

Me: What? Dream? *looking around* Right. I was dreaming. Okay, that explains it.

Dad: Go back to bed.

Me: Damn. I was such a kick ass FBI agent too.

And that is exactly why you should never drink margaritas 5 days in a row on vacation.