'i will always be weird inside, i will always be lame'

It's time for some random around here, my lovelies. I'm sure you've come here lately and wondered when I was going to kick in the assorted bullet points of strangeness I've been depriving you of for awhile, so I'm giving it to you now, because I think it's so adorable when you get that cute look of longing in your eyes. I'm here for you. Enjoy.

• Tyra Banks scares me. I see her and fear she's capable of breaking free of the television and sucking my soul out. Straight out of my eyeballs. Forget Big Foot. I totally now double check my house twice every night my husband's gone to be sure Tyra can't unleash her fierceness on me in my sleep.
• I intend to look for every opportunity in my daily life to say the following to those who choose to smite me: "Yeah, like YOU got the stones." Classier than "cojones" and more ladylike than "balls," and I am nothing if not a classy lady.
• Why do I have this animal attraction to Larry the Cable Guy? I do. I so do. Git-R-Done? If you must, Larry the Cable Guy. No. If you will!
• I now urge you to go back up to that bullet point directly above the previous and remind yourself that I am, indeed, a classy lady. A classy lady who says "squirrel covers" and "down there dingle dangle" and giggles with my hand covering my mouth. With my pinky finger raised. Classy lady style.
• Last night I had approximately 5 dishes to wash. Under normal circumstances, this job would take, at most, three minutes. However, with ear buds crammed in and the iPod much too loud to be safe in the long run, "Jungle Love" came on and, without warning, I started doing that kicky little dance Morris Day rocks in the video. Three times completely through. "I I am dangerous. Girl I wanna show ya." But I can't, for there are no silly YouTube moments right there. Please. Anyway, those five dishes took 20 minutes to wash, and I now wish I had someone with a mirror following me around so I could admire my smooth moves.
• Add Harvey Danger's "Flagpole Sitta" to my list of songs I would perform if I ever do work up the nerve to karaoke.
• Why am I still watching "Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles"? Especially since that quirky guy who played David Silver on "Beverly Hills, 90210" is on there now? The only reason I can think is I have an unholy love of all things Terminator because, while on my honeymoon, Tool Man and I discovered a Terminator pinball machine in the hotel's game room and we spent hours in there trying to defeat Skynet.
• Yeah, I spent my honeymoon ballin'. Pinballin', that is. The job of dream wife is filled by yours truly (curtsy bow).
• btw, so what? So what I used to watch "Beverly Hills, 90210"?
• Recently I ducked into the break room at work to put some lotion on my dry hands. Winter is killing me by sucking all the moisture out of my body even before Tyra Banks gets there and sucks the marrow of what's left of my bones after winter's ravishes (even though I'm all "You don't have the stones, winter!" while keeping one nervous eye glancing behind me for Tyra to creep up, ninja-like, and snap my neck). So I'm standing there, rubbing in my big dollop of cucumber melon lotion from Bath and Body Works when a coworker looks up from his lunch and charmed me with the following: "So, looks like you're in nude of a little lubrication." Hello?! Wha?! You're talking to a classy lady, sir!
• Today I'm going to go see U2 3D, and I'm beyond squirmy with delight. Bono and me. Dark theater. Sexy plastic 3D glasses. Match made in heaven. He just doesn't know it yet. But in the dream I had about him recently, he wrapped me gently in his stubby arms and sang "With Or Without You" in my ear, and traced his name on my arm. It seemed so real that I nearly asked my husband for a divorce when the alarm went off.
• Here's exactly why I'm a catch, in the event my dream man is reading. My breasts are a catch all for dropped food and miscellaneous crumbs. Hungry? That might be a cookie crumb. Need a snack? Do you like Doritos? Yes, I'm a veritable boob buffett. I am not, however, disgusting. I don't really walk around with errant food on my cleavage, but there is a certain sexy factor this creates, I'm sure.
• Speaking of snacks, I love Cheetos. I crave Cheetos. I've not had them in years, but lately, I want them constantly and can almost taste them (Before you ask, yes, I've peeked down there. No Cheetos).
• The other night I was home alone and decided to watch television. Free reign to watch whatever I wished! These are exciting times, people. I flipped through channels and landed on a show that caught my eye. Two and a half hours later, I realized I had been watching Hannah Montana. Not because I had to. Not because that's the channel the television had been left on. Because I apparently wanted to. I won't even deny this if asked, either. In fact, I want a blond wig so I can pretend to be someone else. Oh, and be rich, too. That wouldn't suck.
• The truck up there in the photo isn't the Four Wheels of Fun Lovin' parked in our driveway. It belongs to the neighbor. I took this photo because I appreciate the fact that, while we all gripe about the cold and the snow, kids simply see it as glorious. Then come inside crying that their feet are cold and they have to pee.
• When I tie my sensible and unsexy shoes each morning, I make "whooshing" sounds while looping and tugging the laces. Like I'm in a knife fight in a movie. I just realized I did this while getting dressed this morning. Let's just pretend it's a cute quirk about me and move on, shall we?
• If you stumbled over here from somewhere, or read this nonsense regularly but don't comment, peek your head out and say "hey," OK? Yeah, I bet you got the stones for that.
• Olive juice, my pretties. Olive juice.