Nothing Says "Happy Holidays" Like A Dead Deer Singing Low Rider

There are many reasons why I love Captain Carl's family.

They are an open, warm and loving group. I've felt welcome from the very first day I met his parents. I could not love his brother, Mailman Mike, anymore than if he was my own blood. And his extended family is awesome too.

Also, I can always count on them for shit like this.



Yep.

That right there is a dead deer strapped to the roof of a jeep while singing Low Rider toy.

Exactly what I needed to get into the holiday spirit. I fucking love Texas.

Probably The Best Version Of "Sister Christian" You'll Ever Hear. Which Isn't Saying Much.

Fact #1: I love to sing in the car.

Fact #2: I have the I Am T-Pain auto-tune app on my phone.

Enough said.

Click here to listen and have your mind blown by my musical stylings.

Consider it my contribution to your Thanksgiving holiday. Kind of like turkey, except with less falling asleep and more eardrum bursting. You're welcome.

Eat your heart out, boys.

Pass The Crab Legs And Irresponsibility, Please

So my company sent out the annual medical and life insurance benefits enrollment email today. Which means I spent exactly 30 seconds reading it before I broke out in a sweat and wailed “Too hard!”.

that’s what she said.

I suck at being an adult. Anything involving bills, paperwork, taxes or medical issues gets handed directly to my husband. I’m all “Here.” and he’s all “What is it?” and I’m all “I don’t know, something from the insurance company.” and he’s all “What does it say?” and I’m all “Something about a deductable and limits and percentages.” and he’s all “This is dated three weeks ago.” and I’m all *blank stare* and he’s all “You’re just now opening it?” and I’m all “Well, I thought you would open it so I left it there for you.” and he’s all “You left it under a bag of Skittles?” and I’m all “What? You love Skittles.” and he’s all “Why didn’t you just open it right away?” and I’m all “Why doesn’t your mom just open it right away?”. Because I’m awesome at grown-up conversations.

I can’t stand thinking about adult stuff. Or talking about it. Or being anywhere near it. I just want to know how much money is in my free checking account every month so I know if I can afford to buy new boots or not. Yes, my checking account is one of the free ones that doesn’t earn any interest, mom. I shouldn’t be given control of any important financial decisions, is what I’m saying here. Not because I’ll do stupid things. Because I won’t do anything at all. I’ll set the matter aside because ohmygodscary and then promptly forget about it until it’s almost too late.

I’m pretty sure I have a 401k left over from my last job somewhere. I can’t remember the name of the place where it’s at. I don’t know how much is in it. The Captain keeps asking me about it and my response every time is “Oh yeah, we need to figure out what to do with that…maybe, ummm, roll it over?”. I have no idea what “roll it over” means. I think I heard my sister say it once when she was talking about my IRA that I haven't looked at in 7 years.

I refuse to go into my bank and talk to a real person because they always ask me why I haven’t switched to an interest earning checking account and I get tired of explaining how I tried to do it online but I got super confused by the options and my husband is a big meany so he won’t help me because “you need to learn how to do these things for yourself, Marcy”.

The only time I’ve looked at our mortgage paperwork was when we went in to sign everything and they were all “sign here” 50 billion times. The Captain, who is totally awesome at this kind of shit (thank God), took care of everything. I probably set back women’s rights about 80 years when I told him “whatever you think is best, I don’t understand it”. All I know is that I have to click on the little “pay now” button on the bank website every month when the mortgage payment is due.

I’m barely qualified to program our DVR, people. No way should I be in charge of anything as important as my financial future. You should have seen me on the night my husband decided to sit me down and work on a 5 year financial plan. He was all “Let’s make a list of goals” and I was all “Great idea. I think we should have sex on a beach some day, don’t you?” and he was all “I mean financial goals.” and I was all “Oh, right. Hey, who wants a soda? I know I do! Boy am I thirsty!” and he was all “Okay, so I was thinking for next year we should…” and I’m all “OMG you know what would be soooo good right now? Crab legs!” and he’s all “Come on, focus.” and I’m all “I could totally run a train on some crab legs.” and he was all “So basically if we transpond these numbers from your paycheck into the logistical payroll calculationer …” and I’m all *eyes rolling back into head* “I’m dead…I’m dying…it’s too boring…I’m dead from boredom.”

The thing is, I was better at all this when I was single. Granted, my life was much less complicated and I had absolutely no assets so that’s probably why. But still. I managed to have both a checking and a savings account, along with a good understanding of my medical and life insurance benefits. Then I got married and inherited two children. Things got complicated and harder. How much life insurance is enough for teenagers? Should we max out our dental insurance this year? Maybe we need to re-evaluate where our 401k investments are going? Should we enroll in the flex account? What the fuck is a flex account???

Jesus, just writing about all that makes my armpits sweaty. I hate this shit. I just want someone else to do it for me so I can go play with my new kittens.

Did I mention that my old lady cat is probably dying, which is totally not fair because I just put my other old cat to sleep in July, but the Captain got me two kittens to make me feel better? I didn’t? Oh...well he totally did and they are cute and adorable and fluffy and boom! I just totally distracted you from all that adult shit up there.

I’m a genius at being irresponsible.

p.s. the kitten story is true. I’ll have more on that later….
p.p.s. Do I know how to keep people coming back for more or what? I'm like the Walt Disney of blogging.

Hungry Like The Middle Aged Couple Two Rows In Front Of Us Making Out Inappropriately

This just in: I suck at blogging. Every day I have plans to blog something super awesome and hilarious and then I get to work and I’m all type type type blech. I think my job is sucking my will to live. And then I go home and I’m all “I am totally writing 3 blog posts tonight” and then I look at my cat and she’s all “We both know you aren’t blogging tonight” all judgy-like and so I just give up and sit on the couch for 4 hours and then go to bed.

But today. Today! I. Am. Blogging.

You’re welcome.

All that up there was me trying to explain to you why I’m about to tell you a story about going to a Duran Duran concert three weeks ago.

So I went to a Duran Duran concert three weeks ago. Courtesy of my new best friend in the whole wide world, Kristine at Wait In The Van. Are you reading Kristine’s blog? Ohmygod, what a stupid question because OF COURSE YOU ARE.

Kristine invited me to go with her to the concert, despite all the creepy stalker comments I’ve left on her blog. So of course I said yes. And then left her a comment about shovels and burying bodies or something. I can't remember exactly, but you know...just trying to show her how funny and totally not murder-y I'm going to be when we meet up in person finally.

We decided to meet in front of the venue (how fancy am I? Venue. Ooo la la) and I got there a little early so I spent my extra time checking out everyone walking into the building. Y'all. So many cougars. Mostly my age and older. Many inexplicably wearing halter tops with back fat hanging out of them.

Then Kristine texted me that she was there and I got all nervous because ohmygodwhatifshe’scoolerthanmeandthinksI’msuperlame? But of course, that didn’t happen. We were immediately bff’s despite my first sentence being “OMG when did you graduate from high school?”. I don’t know. I do things like that sometimes.

So the concert starts and Duran Duran comes out and they look surprisingly well preserved. Simon is wearing tennis shoes, which was weird but whatever. The music was pretty good (the old stuff, not the new stuff. I have no interest in anything this band produced after 1993) and Kristine and I are dancing around and sweating like crazy and having a grand old time.

See? She's totally not scared of me and that is totally not a fake smile.

So there we are…jamming out to The Reflex, when we see them. They are two rows in front of us and we have a clear view of them. A couple, maybe in their late 40’s…hard to tell from where we were, but definitely older than us. And definitely too old to be aggressively making out at a Duran Duran concert. But yet there they were, all over each other. She in her one-shouldered tank top and khaki capri pants. He with his balding gray hair and air guitar moves. Groping and slipping each other the tongue in between yelling out lyrics and gyrating against each other.

It was horrifying.

We could not stop watching.

And it only got worse as the concert wore on. He’s kissing her neck. He’s grinding his hips into her butt. He’s grabbing her boobs from behind.

Dear Duran Duran Gods….please for the love of the 80’s, make it stop.

And then the concert was over…except it wasn’t. Because of course there was an encore. And it was one of their old ones and it was so great. And Simon had whipped the crowd into a frenzy of old memories and sad regrets. And the couple were all over each other. I think Kristine threw up in her mouth a little.

And then the concert was really over. The drummer threw his sticks into the crowd and 40 year old women fought over them like they probably did when they were 18. The gropey couple disappeared and Kristine and I left. It was 11 pm and we were both exhausted. What? It was a Thursday night. We’re old. Shut up.

Luckily, I took the next day off from work so I was able to sleep in until 9am. Unfortunately for Kristine, young children never take a day off. So when I got out of bed Friday morning, I knew she had probably already been up several hours. And being the new caring best friend that I am, I sent her a text.

Me: Hey remember that one time that we went to a concert together and then I took the next day off and slept in but you still had to get up early to take care of your kids? Yeah, that was great.
Her: Am. So. Fucking. Tired. And I hate you.



p.s. I wrote about Rick Perry being super excited about maple syrup and totally not drunk over at Sprocket Ink today. Click here to check it out.