these are a few of my favorite things.

So Triple S (Super Supportive Scott, AKA my husband) has added a new header to my blog that somehow manages to include my 3 favorite things (if you don't include my kids, or my husband, of course).

Number one is Chuck Norris.
If I need to explain to you why Chuck is awesome then you should leave right now. Or you can read about him here,  or watch here, did I mention he trained with Bruce Lee?


Number two is the Dodge Challenger. A modern day muscle car with 350 horses under the hood... Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Sorry. My heart stopped for a minute because I was thinking about the sound the engine makes. Have you seen it's beauty? There is currently a model of the car sitting next to the keyboard on my desk. (Test drove it again the other day but that's another story)

Number three Jason Statham.
If you haven't seen The Transporter you need to. Seriously! Stop right now and watch it's awesomeness. He takes his shirt off just to tie some guy up in it. I'm not kidding. That actually happens.He does that in a lot of his movies. It's usually my favorite part. Along with the kicking. And the punching. And the English accent.

It's like a trifecta of awesome.

Enjoy it while you can kiddies. Triple S is a fickle bastard and is likely to change it again.

OHHH. Maybe it can include Eliot Spencer?

New Title

Super supportive Scott (My alliterated Husband) has advised me that I should change the name of this blog.

I am INVINCIBLE. I'm a Loony.

He has also suggested a layout change but I'm not good at that so I'm giving him my top secret password and letting him have a go. So if things get really scary you know why.

I Can't Make This Up

My little peanut has been sick for the last few days. The only problem is that she doesn't give any warning before it's too late. Last night it had been a few hours since her last episode so we had relaxed a bit.

BIG MISTAKE. HUGE.

What follows is a play by play:

She leaned forward and I saw her face. Leaping up I grabbed her and hurried to the bathroom. My arms held out in front of me, her facing away. I didn't make it two steps before she started spewing like a fire hose.

Two steps away from the bathroom my carpet make way for some lovely oak wood flooring. (the type of flooring isn't really relevant but I was trying to give you something other than vomit to think about)

As soon as my foot his the slick surface I slipped on the remains of the peanuts dinner. Falling to the floor I managed to ensure no harm came to the little one but I was not so lucky myself. My knee smacking onto the hard wood floor with a lovely thud.
I have slid down an entire flight of wooden stairs, wiped out while skiing so spectacularly that Ski patrol came over, been tackled and wrestled and competed in any number of sports including full contact martial arts. Never once have I received anything worse than a bruise.

I've never broken, sprained, pulled or strained anything!

Oh how the mighty have fallen!

To be taken down by vomit and to not even have the story start with "I was so drunk."

Scott says I shouldn't horrify people by talking about vomit but I say that it the best part of the story.  Who cares if I slipped on a melted ice cube or some spilled juice? LAME!

Slip on vomit? HILARIOUS! At least it was after the pain subsisted.

The moral is that just because you are old and boring doesn't mean you have to stop telling stories about being covered in vomit. :-)

In case you are curious. It was been a little over a week and I have been back to the gym. I think I'm about %85 and that isn't bad for someone who has suddenly started to fall apart.

ARG!

So  my children love Big Time Rush. Some Nickelodeon created boy band ala 2000's answer to the Monkees. In an attempt to be an awesome mom I checked their tour dates and low and behold they come 'close' in March. I click on the ridiculously over sized 'buy ticket' button and the darn thing is sold out.

I tell you this because there is seriously something wrong in this world when I can't get tickets to see some mass produced boy band but B.B. King wont have a full house. (His show is next week instead of in 3 months!)

Now for my shame. I was actually looking forward to their dancing and singing. I managed to avoid getting wrapped up in any NKOTB foolishness. (I still know all the words to their Christmas album but that has more to do with a sister who played that dam CD in a freaking loop for the entire month of December.) Somehow these adorable boys have broken my hard heart.

I love their happy, poppy music. (I hang my head)

Darn you tweens and your parents(with more forethought and planning)!

Is it ridiculous to take a vacation around a concert?

I'm not asking you deadheads. Your opinions don't count.


UPDATE:
I got no less than 3 text messages letting me know about a groupon for tickets for when BTR (that's what kids in the know call Big Time Rush) comes to town at the end of the summer.

JOY JOY JOY

I can once again reclaim my title of awesomest mom ever (it's unofficial).

Wait what was the date again?

Mumbled cursing under my breath!  We will be out of town for my brothers wedding.

Do you think he would change the date? Or Maybe I could skip it. I mean I'm not a bridesmaid or anything. (The officiant isn't a member of the wedding party right?)

FOILED AGAIN

Speeding (It's bad, so they tell me)

I want to thank the state trooper that pulled me over Friday night. Not that I wanted a ticket. Truly that is not the case. I also didn't want to go to jail and I was REALY speeding. Not quite Kyle Bush through Mooresville (128 MPH) but it wasn't 5 MPH over either.

It wasn't my fault!

It was 2am and there were no other cars on the road and my husband was mumbling about something that I couldn't hear because the concert we had been to made us deaf (apparently I'm OLD).

Course none of that gets you out of a ticket and since I can't cry on cue I have to rely on my honesty. So again I say thank you. I do appreciate my freedom and the reduced ticket.

I openly admit I have issues with speed. (I once got 2 speeding tickets in one day. Apparently I'm a slow learner.) Mostly I try and keep my need for speed in check by just getting off the line faster than everyone else but every once and a while I can't help myself.

So if you see a crazy lady next to you at a red light and it looks like she thinks it's a race please forgive me. I have a problem. I am trying to get help.

sassy in the south

Yesterday while I was waiting to pick up my son from school one of the other moms explained to me that I had recently met a classmate's mother without realizing it. There was some discussion and finally I was described as "the sassy one". My immediate reaction was to laugh at the Southerness of the word but then I thought about it.

I remember a friend telling me that every time a Southerner says "bless your heart." it's because they think you are insane and that is the only polite way to say it. It so stuck in my head that when people say this to me I have to resist the urge to sneer at them.

The point of this ramble is that Sassy doens't really mean Sassy. Sassy means Bitch but most people down South are just to darn polite to say that out loud. I on the other hand have no reservation about the word. I embrace it and all of it's implications.

HELL YEAH I AM A BITCH. I would say with a capitol B but apparently it is in all caps.

I guess my point here is that although I think there is certainly a politeness discrepancy between the North and the South it is a lot smaller than most think. The South has just learned to be sneakier about calling you out.

My Love Hate Relationship with Legos.

Whoever invented Legos is awesome. I mean seriously ass kicking awesome.

He should get an award. (at this point in my rant my curiosity is piqued and I am tempted to google who created Legos but I push that down and get back to my crazy).

My son can spend hours making new "creations" and anything that isn't a video game or a TV show is a welcome activity in my house. Sometimes he even writes little books about his Lego creations. Kind of like a superhero backstory.

So I love them. With all my heart for all the creativity they foster.

BUT

I hate them. Seriously with a passion that involves cursing and screaming. I LOATHE THEM

They are everywhere. 

Under the couch, on the stairs. In my bed, hiding in the plush bedroom rugs. And everyday I manage to find them while I walk through my house barefoot. Those sharp little corners digging into my foot causing me to suddenly list to one side worse than the Edmund Fitzgerald!

Why? What did I ever do to them to deserve this kind of treatment?

If you're a logical person right about now you are yelling at me to wear shoes or make my wonderful son clean them up (he does for the most part but remember they are sneaky!), and sure that would fix the problem but I don't like wearing shoes inside.

Not for some cleanliness reason or anything cultural, I just like wandering around my house letting my toes hang out.

So sure I could fix this problem but I refuse! My personal freedom is worth the pain and suffering.

Instead I will continue to both love and hate Legos in all their sharp edged multicolored glory.