Monday, June 25, 2012

The Fine Line Between Being Hilarious And Being A Grandmother

Texting with the Kiddo...

Kiddo:  Hey the deposit came through today.  Thank you thank you thank you!
Me:  G
Me:  Damn it, that was supposed say "Good".
Kiddo:  I've already made $215 at KFC, but I won't get it until the next paycheck.  :-(
Me:  When does the next paycheck come?
Kiddo:  Not for two more weeks.
Me:  Has Bunny found a job yet?

Side note...I forgot to tell you guys that he got back together with Bunny on account of how she followed him and enrolled at his college and I'm not sure what the sequence of events was after that except that I suppose at one point his penis accidentally fell into her vagina and now they are living together over the summer in a house 6 miles from campus with a Mexican guy named Geronimo.  I'm not even kidding.  And yes, I will go into more detail about Geronimo, but not today.  Blogging 101, dudes...always keep them wanting more. 

So.  Anyway...

Me:  Has Bunny found a job yet?
Kiddo:  Yes, she works at KFC too.
Me:  So y'all work together.  Awwww, so cute.
Kiddo:  Yup.  Pretty damn lucky and convenient.
Me:  Y'all might as well just go ahead and get married and start having babies.

*phone silence*


*longer phone silence*

Me:  You know, because that would be ridiculous and I'm just being hilarious over here.

*more phone silence*

Me:  Ok, your silence makes me think you already ARE having babies and are just trying to find a way to tell me so that I don't totally freak out and have a panic attack and OMG HOW AM I GOING TO TELL YOUR FATHER I'M TOO YOUNG TO BE A GRANDMOTHER!!!!

*still more phone silence*

Me:  Stop smoking that bowl/having sex and answer your stepmother before she passes out!

*more mother fucking phone silence*

Me:  I swear to all that is good and holy that if you do not answer me RIGHT NOW I WILL DRIVE DOWN THERE AND CUT YOUR PRIVATE PARTS OFF.
Kiddo:  Calm down, I was in the bathroom.  And may I just say oh hellllllll no to babies.
Me:  Oh.  Okay.
Me:  That was totally hilarious, right?  Me pretending to freak out.  heh heh
Kiddo:  Right.  Pretending.

So.  Guess who's getting a box full of condoms sent to him tomorrow?

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Rock Hard Hemorrhoids

Okay, I admit it. I read 50 Shades of Grey.

Okay fine. I read all three of those stupid books. I say stupid because they are. Very stupid. The writing is terrible, the plot is ridiculous. The characters are borderline unlikeable. But the sex scenes. Oh, the sex scenes make up for all of that.

Here's a confession that will surprise none of you. I love romance novels. LOVE. They are silly and dumb and totally forgettable once I've finished them. But I love them anyway. ESPECIALLY if the author throws in some good sex scenes. A romance novel without a sex scene is like a fireman without a hose.


Anyway. So of course I would read the 50 Shades books. Such was my mania to get busy reading them that I did something I never do. I paid full price for them to be downloaded to my Kindle. Then I devoured them. I mean, it's not hard to read them quickly on account of how awful they are. And by awful I mean super naughty hot.

 So you know how when you buy something on Amazon and it gives you recommendations for future purchases? After I bought the 50 Shades books, I was bombarded with smutty book suggestions. I promptly downloaded the free samples and added them to my Amazon wishlist. Every. Single. One. Then I moved on with my life for a few weeks, blissfully unaware of how this decision could possibly affect me in the very near future.

Flash forward to today. I'm eating lunch at my desk at work and decide to google myself. This is something my IT husband suggests I do periodically, just to see what people are putting out there about me. So I googled and nothing surprising came up. Then a thought came to me. I've never googled my maiden name. I type it in and start scrolling down.  

Huh. This site knows the day I got married and is telling the world how old I am. How rude. 


Hmmm, garbage garbage garbage...nothing interesting... 

*more scrolling* 

Oh look! My Amazon wishlist shows up on the first page of google with my maiden name. Weird. 

*clicks link to wishlist*


Ohmygod. I put all those smutty books on my wishlist. This is public???? How can this be public????? All of my ex-boyfriends could be reading it! They'll know that someday I wish to read "Rock Hard"! Ohmygod WHY DID I PUT THAT ON MY WISHLIST! I mean....Rock Hard??? Could there be a more ridiculous title? 

*desperately scrolling through wishlist* 

Wait. I put a Chinese hemorrhoid cream on there? How long ago did I do that??? Oh my sweet Lord, I don't even remember that! It must have been on there for anyone to see for years!  My ex's think I have hemorrhoids!  Jesus!!!!!!

Because of course my ex-boyfriends are googling me. I mean, I googled them once. How else would I know that my high school sweetheart is now a mediocre weight lifter and still wears black heavy metal t-shirts and the guy I almost married is now almost completely bald (yessss....air punch!)? I thought THAT stuff was embarrassing, but it doesn't even come close to the mortification that is ROCK HARD HEMORRHOIDS.

And now I don't remember any of the smutty books I wanted to download because I deleted them all off my wishlist in a blind panic.

Damn you, Amazon.

Thursday, May 17, 2012


Y'all, I just realized I've never linked to my instagram account here. If you are already a follower, you know what a travesty of awesomeness that is. Okay, not really. But! If you follow me, I promise there will be dinosaurs.
And cats. Lots and lots of cats.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Whip It Good

Okay so here's the thing. I love to eat. LOVE. I have a beautiful relationship with my meals. That first taste, especially when it's something special or if I'm really hungry, is pure bliss.

Unfortunately, I suck at cooking. I have cooking anxiety. I'm always afraid that I'm going to under cook the meat, so I end up drying it out. I have no vision for it. I must have a recipe and I MUST follow it exactly. Lucky for me, I have a husband who, if allowed, would spend all day, every day in the kitchen making up new dishes. In other words, I never have to make a meal. Unless, like this week, he is gone on a business trip and then I eat nothing but cereal and sandwiches.

But I can bake. I can bake like the wind. For some reason, the fear that plagues me with dinner planning disappears when it comes to desserts. I am not an elaborate baker. I prefer to use a mix as a base for brownies and cakes. My cookies are from simple recipes. But it's always good. Probably because I've always had a powerful sweet tooth. One of my most vivid memories from my early years is visiting my Grandma and figuring out that if I called anything sweet my "medicine" she would think it was adorable and give it to me. And that's how my love affair with COOL WHIP Whipped Topping started. Every visit to my Grandma resulted in 4-5 spoonfuls of my medicine.  

*sigh* I still love that stuff. I figured out early on when raising my kiddos that a little COOL WHIP on top of their fruit at meals made the whining go away and quick. OMG, the whining. I wasn't prepared for it. They're all "I hate strawberriesssssssss!" and I'm all "You told me you loved them last week" and they're all "They make me barfffffff!" and I'm all "Just eat them" and they're all *choke gag* and I'm all "Oh for Pete's sake, here" and then the COOL WHIP comes out and everyone is happy and smiling and suddenly we're in a Disney movie. And then they finish their strawberries and I tell them to take out the trash and then we're in that horror movie with the little kid who crawls out of the well and then I don't sleep for a week.

My kiddos are all grown up now (if you call being 20 years old in college and still not remembering to brush your teeth every day) but that's totally fine with me because it means when I make stuff like this I get to eat all of it myself.

This? Is a whoopie pie.

And the angels sang in the heavens.

So I have a friend who mentioned I should try making my own whoopie pies out of cake mix. So I started googling and found so many recipes that looked amazing. But I'm not really a heavy frosting fan, so I thought maybe exchanging the more traditional filling with COOL WHIP would be fun to try. These are the only ingredients I used.

A devil's food cake mix, 2 eggs and two tubs of COOL WHIP. Instead of the oil called out on the mix box, I used a tub of COOL WHIP instead. Sounds weird? I thought so too.

You guys.

They are AH-MAZE-ING. They are light and sweet and oh did I forget to mention that I mixed a tiny bit of the dry cake mix with another tub of COOL WHIP and spread it in between two of the pies and then I passed out from how good they taste?

This took me all of 45 minutes total, not counting the 30 minutes I let the dough chill in the refrigerator before I baked the pies. 45 minutes. Everyone has 45 minutes in their day to make something this super yum and super easy (I'm looking at you, lady in my office who brags about how she bakes all weekend for her kid's girl scout troop meetings while staring at me and my Twinkie all judge-y faced).

I figure this post is like my community service to the internet for all the swearing and inappropriate talk I do here.  Hey everyone, make this and you'll experience one minute of pure bliss followed by 10 minutes of pure amazement over how kind and generous Miss Yvonne was to share her COOL WHIP whoopie pie recipe with you. You're welcome.

Now I'm off for my last dose of medicine.

Sponsored posts are purely editorial content that we are pleased to have presented by a participating sponsor. Advertisers do not produce the content. I was compensated for this post as a member of Clever Girls Collective, but the content is all my own.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

My Dad, A Snake & A Burning Bush

My parents are here for a week long visit. I am beyond thrilled. We live in different states and so I usually only see them once or twice a year. Plus my dad is super handy and hates to sit still, which means I'm totally getting a bunch of little projects done for me while they are here.

My approach when my dad visits goes something like this:

You know, I've always wanted to have a screen door on the back of the house. How much do you think that would cost, dad? Is it hard to install? I suppose we could try it sometime this summer. Thinking about that makes me remember how badly I need to sand and paint the front door. It looks terrible. *sigh* I guess I'll just add it to the list of things we need to get done.

I know I should feel ashamed of myself on account of my dad being 75 years old and all, but I totally don't. My mom says he likes to feel needed, so I'm helping HIM out. Or something.

So this visit, I casually mentioned that the four pampas grass plants we have in the backyard are super overgrown and need to be chopped down but holy cow, it is hard work. The very next day, my dad got at it.

I came home from work that day and was all "What did you guys do today?" and my mom was all "Tell her, Donald" to my dad. And so my dad proceeds to tell me this story...

I went outside to look at your fence that is falling down (I forgot to mention the fence I told him really needed fixing) and when I lifted up one of the panels, there was a huge snake under it. I mean, that sucker was about 8 feet long (!!!!). So I went inside and Captain Carl grabbed his shot gun (WTF with the guns, Texas????) and we went looking for it but couldn't find it. So a few hours later I decided to chop down that pampas grass and when I started, that damn snake was slithering around in it. So I grabbed the matches out of my pocket and threw a match into the grass and that sucker went up in a huge fireball.

This was the point in the story where I questioned my dad why he had matches in his pocket. He never did give me a straight answer, but I suspect he intended to burn the grass from the beginning and didn't want to tell me ON ACCOUNT OF THE BURN BAN WE ARE UNDER.

For reference, this is a fully grown pampas grass.

That is what my dad set on fire. Apparently it threw a fireball high enough into the sky that a passing motorist saw it and called 911.

Fast forward 5 minutes. My dad, who has put out the fire quickly (it only burned for a minute apparently), has now retreated upstairs to work on a different project. He neglected to inform my mom and the Captain about what happened. So imagine their surprise when eight firemen storm into the backyard while the ARSON INVESTIGATOR knocked on the front door and asked them if they knew about a fire.

My mom, knowing my dad so well, had her suspicions about who was to blame and yelled upstairs to my dad "Get your ass down here, the fire dept. is here!" to which my dad replied "Oh shit."

Luckily, the arson investigator did not give him a citation. They found a shedded snake skin (OMG I hate this state sometimes) and figured he was telling the truth about the snake and asked him to maybe not light anything else on fire. My mom is still pissed though. As for me, it gave me a good story to tell and the only thing left of the plant is a about a foot of blackened grass. The snake is nowhere to be seen. I call that a successful project.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Jesus Fail

I really do believe in God. I do. Believe it or not, I was raised by extremely spiritual and religious parents. I went to church every. single. sunday. I played the Virgin Mary in the Christmas play (stop snickering, asshole). I taught Bible School, Sunday School, and accompanied the children's choir on the piano.

Fast forward 20 years and there I was...not going to church on Easter, the most important Christian holiday ever. Sleeping in on Easter. HAVING SEX ON EASTER. I'm pretty sure that's some kind of sin somewhere in the bible. So Jesus is all "Dudes, I'm rising. Check out my tomb. What? It's empty? Holla!" and I'm all *snore*.

Of course, I totally lied to my parents and told them we went to church. Because I totally was going to and intention is like, almost as good as actually doing something. So Saturday night I was all "I don't want to go to church" and Captain Carl was all "Fine by me" because Captain Carl is a heathen who doesn't believe in Jesus. Oh, he does believe in a higher power of some kind but he can't wrap his brain around the Jesus thing, I guess. Whatever. I'll wave at him down there in hell when I go to heaven. *pious face* My point is that I had no one to talk me out of talking myself out of going to church. So basically it was totally not my fault that I didn't go.

And then my parents called and were all "Happy Easter!" and I was all "Yeah, happy Easblah..." and then I was all "What did you do today?" and they were all "Oh we went to church with your older, better sister and she sang in the choir for THREE services so she got saved like, 3x more than you did probably. What did you do?" and I was all "Oh you know, stuff and eating and easter stuff mumble mumble."

Oh well. The Easter Bunny still managed to find our house, despite our being fresh out of moral compasses.

No, he did not wear the ears in bed.

Yes, I kind of wish he had.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Don't Ya Wish Your Girlfriend Was More Modest Than Me?

Things I am not proud of:
  1. I have no inner monologue
  2. I have no problem humiliating myself in public
  3. I will sing on command at any time
  4. I am super drunk in these videos

Yes, that is a wireless mic I'm wearing. My brother-in-law, Mailman Mike, gave it to me for Christmas, proving yet again how much Captain Carl's family gets me.

This next one is long, but also pure genius on account of my amazing Bee Gees impression.

We are having another karaoke party tonight. Watch out, living room. It's about to get all kinds of stupid up in here.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

And That's How Eric Stoltz And 70's Porno Music Got Me Fired

Me: Hello?
Him: Hey baby.

*70’s porno music playing*

Me: What the hell is that?
Him: Oh that? Just a little baby makin’ music to start your day off right.
Me: Ummmm…..what?
Him: Okay, so I was on YouTube searching for Eric Stoltz in Back To The Future and…
Me: Wait, Eric Stoltz was in Back To The Future?
Him: No, he was the original Marty and they filmed for like 5 weeks or something and then they replaced him with Michael J. Fox.
Me: No way. How do you know that?
Him: Everyone knows that.
Me: No they don’t.
Him: Everyone but you knows that.
Me: Ohmygod, I’m trying to picture him in that movie and it’s kind of freaking me out.
Him: Why?
Me: There’s no way Eric Stoltz can pull off a puffy vest.
Him: Well anyway, so that’s what I was searching for and you know how it goes on YouTube. You click a link and then watch that video and then click on another link and then watch that video and then click on another link and boom! You find a band that does remakes of 70’s porn soundtracks.
Me: Are you sure you’re not just watching porn?
Him: Not yet.

*more 70’s porno music playing*

Me: Huh. That could be either 70’s porn or 70’s cop show.
Him: Just call me Ponch.
Me: I never realized how versatile that music is. You can chase bad guys or fuck bad guys to that music.
Him: Awesome, right?
Me: All you need is the right moustache and some bell bottoms and you’re good to go for either.
Him: Hell, all I have to do is shave off my goatee and I’ll have the moustache.
Me: I wonder if they make bell bottoms in your size.
Him: *giggling*
Me: What?
Him: Oh, nothing. *more giggling*
Every Co-worker in my office: *awkward silence*
Me: *whispering* Damn it.
Him: Well, my work here is done.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Maxine Has Left The Building

Remember last summer when we had to put my cat, Boo Boo, to sleep and I was super sad face about it and it totally sucked? Yeah, I had to do it again in November.

After Boo died, my other cat went downhill fast. My Maxine. She was my baby. I adopted her when she was a kitten. I was fresh out of college and had just gotten my first grown up job and rented my first apartment. She was the runt of a litter of farm cats and I could not resist her. She saw me through a lot of difficult times: A broken engagement one month before the wedding, a move to another state where I knew no one, the death of grandparents, the adjustment to married life and a ready-made family.

She was special, is what I'm trying to say.

She was also extremely awful. She peed on the carpet. A lot. So much that the Captain and I had to have it ripped out and replaced with hardwood. She was grumpy. She hated most everyone but me, but insisted on sitting right in their faces in order to fool them into thinking she liked them so she could bite them when they tried to pet her. She chewed up all the ribbons on Christmas presents and then pooped them out for months afterwards. She puked EVERYWHERE.

But I loved her so much.

So when Boo died and she began wandering around the house crying pitifully for hours and then began to eat less, the Captain knew what was coming. I kept myself in denial. Sure, she was 15 years old and was obviously in mourning for Boo. But she would come out of it. I just knew it.

Still, when no one was looking, I would whisper in her ear "Please don't die on me. Not now. Please. I need another year first. I can't take it right now." And Max would look right at my face and it seemed like she understood.

And maybe she did, but she just couldn't do it. Soon it became obvious to even me that she was sick. She was drinking large amounts of water and urinating constantly. Exactly what Boo did at the end. So we took her to the vet and got the same diagnosis when we took Boo. Diabetes.

That was on a Monday. We told the vet we were taking the week to decide if we wanted to treat her or put her down. By Friday, Max had made the decision for me. She could barely walk. She spent hours sitting in front of her water bowl with her head hanging in it. She had lost so much weight in a 5 day period that you could see her hip bones jutting out.

I took the weekend to say goodbye. I held her on my shoulder the way she always loved. She would purr and sleep while I walked around the house talking softly to her for hours. I cried a lot. I had moments when I thought maybe she'd get better, but by Sunday morning I knew it was time.

Max and me in healthier times

So on Monday, almost exactly four months from when Boo died, we took her to the vet. I couldn't bring myself to do it with Boo, but I knew I had to be there for Max. I was her person, her favorite. I couldn't leave her alone at the end.

It was hard. It was probably one of the hardest things I've ever had to do so far in my life. Even now, months later, I still think about those last few minutes. I hate that she was terrified and hurting and I could do nothing but talk to her and tell her I loved her until she was gone.

But it was fast. Just like everyone says, it was over in seconds. One second she was there, staring at my face, and the next she was gone. I was somehow able to not cry until she died, because I didn't want her to see me upset. So at the very end of her life, I was the last face Max saw and my voice was the last she heard. And that brings me comfort every time I think about her.

I got to spend awhile with her afterwards, but it was so hard to walk out without her. The Captain, who had been there with me the whole time, held my hand and took me home. I went straight to bed for the rest of the day.

And I miss her still. I know some people will read this and roll their eyes and say "It was just a cat, not a person". And that is okay, I don't expect everyone to understand. I know it's not the same thing. I've lost family members, I know that pain. This is a different kind of pain, but still just as real. Max was my buddy for 15 years, my entire adult life up until this point, and I will always miss her.

Love you, old lady.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

And That's How I Ended Up With My Fingers Glued Together On A Tuesday Night

So I found this new website. It's called Pinterest. Heard of it? Probably not, on account of how I tend to catch these trends way before everyone else does. I'm pretty sure it was just created in the last couple of months, since that is when I found it. And now I'm telling you guys about it because that's how much I care. You're welcome.

Pinterest is this site where people "pin" pictures of things they like or want. It's basically like a virtual bedroom wall or something. Maybe a bulletin board? I just got that.


So when I first found Pinterest, I didn't get what the big deal was. Sure, it's kind of a good resource if you're looking for a new recipe or a craft to do with your kid or whatever. I pinned a few things and then left the site for weeks.

Then I came back to search for some photography that would inspire me on an upcoming shoot I had scheduled.

It was all downhill from there.

This place. It's like crack for women who secretly want to make their own soap and dress like a bohemian and redecorate their home and do crafts that make their friends hate them for how creative they are and make teeny tiny cakes in recycled tin cans (for's out there).

I couldn't stop. Because if I did, I might miss an adorable kitten photo. Or a gorgeous dress that I could never ever fit into.

Suddenly I realized that I hated every paint color in my house and I must redo everything immediately. I became enamored of chalk paint. What the fuck is chalk paint anyway? I have no fucking idea, but I want that shit. I want to slap it on every goddamn dresser I own. And then I want to distress the shit out of those dressers. Then I want to wrap every single present I ever give ever with lace doilies. And then I want to make all my own household cleaners by simply combining 13 other products that I have to go out and buy but who cares because look! homemade fucking cleaner. And then I want to paint my fingernails with every fucking OPI color on the planet and then take a picture of my hand holding the goddamn bottle of polish.

And then just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I discovered the coffee filter crafts. Oh. Dear. God.

If you haven't seen the coffee filter pins out there, go search for them and prepare to be astounded. You can make wreaths. You can make flowers. You can make wrapping paper. There is no end to the usefulness of the wonder that is the dollar store coffee filter.

Some of the projects looked a little hard for an entry level crafter like me. But I found one that looked to be simple.

The coffee filter lamp shade.

All you have to do is scrunch up a filter, dab a little hot glue on the end and stick it to the lamp shade. Do it over and over until the entire shade is covered and looky got yourself a cute little lamp.

I rushed right out to the dollar store and bought the filters. I grabbed an old lamp that I wasn't using anymore, ripped off the shade and set to work. I was giddy with excitement. In a mere 30 minutes or so, my very first Pinterest craft would be completed! I would take pictures and post them here and give a tutorial for everyone asking me how I did it and I'd be all brag facey and It. Would. Be. Awesome.

Ten minutes and six filters later, I had lost feeling in my fingertips on account of the hot glue gun burns. My filters looked more like wilted lettuce than perky flowers. I realized that at this rate, it would take me three hours to finish the shade. I began to think about the fire hazard that is a lamp shade covered in paper and mere inches from a light bulb. I decided that my lamp base would now need to be painted a cute robins egg blue in order to compliment the frivolity of the shade, which would require another trip to the store and more crafty effort.

I got tired. I sat back in my chair and stared into space.

Fucking Pinterest, I thought.

It was then that I realized I had left the hot glue gun sitting on the bare wood of my office desk. It was leaking glue all over the surface, so I frantically wiped at it with my bare hand. Then the screaming began, followed closely by me yelling "My fingers are stuck together! Help me!". I received no sympathy from Captain Carl.

"I told you to just buy a new lamp."

And now I am searching Pinterest for ways to resurface a desktop. I'm pretty sure this can only end well.

p.s. You can follow my boards on Pinterest by clicking here. But you don't have to or anything. I mean, whatever. I don't even care.

p.p.s. I'm guest posting over at The Mouthy Housewives today! I'm giving advice to a woman who's upset about how much her husband likes to masturbate. Among other things, I suggested she dress up like Princess Leia in the gold bikini. So yeah, I'm practically a psychologist now.

Friday, January 13, 2012

The Best Goddamn Birthday Present Ever

So my birthday was this week. I turned 38.

*silent scream*

Let's move on, shall we?

I didn't really do anything exciting to celebrate this year, besides get laid. Holla! The Captain, whose birthday is 4 days before mine because apparently someone just has to hog the spotlight every fucking year, and I decided not to exchange gifts this year. Which is good news and bad news for me. Good news because I suck at gift giving. He probably would have gotten a book about pirate ships. Again. But bad news because I love receiving presents. Luckily, his parents came through for me and got me a kindle and ohmygod I am reading the shit out of that thing.

Anyway, so it's two days after my birthday and I'm getting kind of frowny face because now I'm 38 and all I have to look forward to is turning 39 and then...well, you know. Get ready for a blog post two years from now about how I did nothing but sob and eat two whole birthday cakes, is what I'm saying.

And then? Something amazing happened this morning. I received a totally unexpected and awesome birthday gift from my good friend Kristine at Wait In The Van.

Was it Ugg boots? A new iPhone? A toaster? Shut up, I love toast.


It was a blog post Kristine put up featuring herself and her best friend singing "Somewhere Out There" in 1989. This thing is so much genius that I assumed she posted it specifically for me and my birthday week. Yes, I get a whole week. I call it every year, so it totally counts.

Click here to go watch it. Maybe save it for later tonight, because once you see it, the rest of your day will seem dull and not nearly as fun.

p.s. Kristine, your vibrato is the stuff legends are made of.

Monday, January 2, 2012

Vindication Is Mine, Bitches

I made it through another New Year's Eve without a hangover. First resolution achieved!

I forgot to tell you guys about my company Christmas party. To make a long story short, it was pretty much an exact replica of last year's party. I got drunk. I was obnoxious. I danced. I was practically carried to the car afterwards by Captain Carl.


I might have stacked the decks in my favor by begging the president of the company to let me pick my singing partners this year (last year it was a random drawing). And because he apparently adores me, he said yes. So about a month before the party, I asked two of the most fun girls in the office to sing with me. We picked our song and practiced it my cubicle a few times.

What? Don't judge me. I was totally robbed last year and I decided that night that I would do anything in my power to make sure I won the next year.


We got up there and we sang our little hearts out. We were loud and enthusiastic, which is really the only requirement to be good at karaoke in my opinion. People were clapping and singing along. There was even some audience participation, thanks to the song we picked. There was even a standing ovation at the end. I wanted to yell "That's how it's done, bitches!" into the mic and then drop it on the floor afterwards, but I figured that was going a bit too far.

And then the president came up to announce the winners and I swear to God, y'all, the exact words he said were "I don't think we even have to consult the judges on this one because there is a clear cut winner tonight."

Yep, I did it. I won. Even got a $100 gift card out of the deal. AND! I won a prize in the random drawing giveaway too. Which proves that you can achieve anything you want if you just set your mind to it. And pick the right song.