Tag Archives: Texas

Rick Perry Dances with the Morons

Some uber important stuff happened last week, you guys!  No, not a cure to some dumb illness or anything, it was the premier of this season’s “Dancing with the Has-Been or Never Were Stars”!  We’ve had some bizarre people on the show before, like the 80-something-year-old astronaut, Buzz Aldrin, who had to be pushed around the floor like a shopping cart, and Sarah Palin’s daughter Bristol.  Cause somehow even the children of famous people we hate get counted among the “stars” on this show.  As far as I can tell, her only “talent” came from getting pregnant in high school right when her mother was advocating abstinence for teenagers.  You have to give her points for that, I guess.

But what about this year?  Vanilla Ice is on, because, of course he is.  Also, we have an Olympian, and not just any Olympian, an Olympian who vandalizes property and lies about being robbed, really smoothing out international relations between the U.S. and Rio, just like Romney did by mentioning how much Britain sucked during the Olympics before that!  We’re on a roll, here.  Speaking of politicians who have no business on any floor, be it Senate or dance floor, we have our next, and my favorite, contestant: Rick Perry.

Our former governor and former presidential candidate. Real quote, guys.

Rick is so smarts.

You might remember ol’ Rick as one of the zillion Republican presidential candidates this year.  Or you might not, since he’s not that interesting and heck no one really remembers who was running this year except for Trump.  But we in Texas sure remember him cause he was, inexplicably, governor here for 14 years.  By his last term, though, even Texas hated the guy, so much so he was nearly beaten by a Democrat in a state that has gone red in all political elections for years.  Democrats don’t even bother running for a lot of posts.  Yet Rick sucked that bad.  So naturally he chose to run for president. And fail.  Twice.  What’s the logical next step?

A reality dancing show, naturally.  If Trump can go from reality show to politics, why can’t Rick go backwards?  He claims he is there to learn how to dance for his daughter’s wedding. You get a glimpse of his unfortunate daughter in the audience, attempting to hide behind the seats before she realizes the camera is on her and puts out a patented forced smile.  They really should have some sort of support group for the children of idiot politicians.  Yet just as he was while governor, Rick has no clue she’s uncomfortable.  He’s rarin’ to go!  No talent, no problem, is his motto.

Last week was his first dance of the year, and it was a goodie, folks.  Ya’ll, I mean, he was awesome.  First off, he forgot he was no longer governor in his introduction.  Then his dance partner proceeds to make fun of his Texas drawl, which I swear all of us do not have.  I don’t – and others, like Merry who have heard me speak, can vouch for it. But for some reason, others do, and sometimes they come from towns just miles away.  There’s no rhyme or reason to it.  Another department at work had a lady we used to call “Miss Twang”.  It was literally painful to be in her vicinity.

But I digress.  If you want to talk about pain, you gotta see this performance. Cause it’s not just about how Rick can’t dance, it’s how he chose the song “God Blessed Texas” (with Rick of course) and this massive set complete with Ferris wheel and no kiddin’ – corndog stand.  Here ya go.

So proud to be a Texan right now, ya’ll.  Here’s some of the reactions we heard around the web after his performance.  I highlighted a few favorites.

Jezebel: Rick Perry, with nothing else to do, will join Amber Rose and Vanilla Ice on Dancing with the Stars – where do you go after 14 years rolling back Texas abortion access and executing the mentally ill?  The dance floor, baby!

Twitchy.com: ‘Dances with the Stars’ teases the Rick Perry vs. Vanilla Ice dance-off we’ve been waiting for

Dallas Morning News: Is Rick Perry dancing the desperation boogie by joining ‘Dancing with the Stars?’  – “bless his heart” – says columnist Ken Herman

Texas Tribune: Rick Perry talks ‘Dancing with the Stars’, Senate speculation

VanityFair.com: Failed Presidential Candidate Rick Perry to join Ryan Lochte on ‘Dancing with the Stars’: Miraculously, Perry is not the first previously indicted Republican politician from Texas to appear on the reality show.

I love these article titles.  Desperation boogie.  Dance off between Vanilla Ice and Rick Perry (make it happen, guys, please!).  The inclusion of “Dancing with the Stars” and “Senate speculation” in the same sentence.  And finally, realizing that he is not the first indicted Republican politican from Texas to appear on this show. That’s incredibly specific there.  Which is why you should totally be watching.  I actually missed the first episode, and had to catch him on youtube, but you can bet I’ll be watching tonight to give you another report next Monday.  We’ll see if the judges’ reactions go from “Eh, you uh got out there um way to go?” to “You’re fired”.  Personally, I hope the voters keep him on there so we can torture him some more.  Because it is up to voters, since those meanie judges gave him 5 out of 10 stars. Rick thought this was awesome, cause he’s dumb.  No, Rick, sorry – that’s 50 percent.  In other words, FAIL.  But hey, you got out there and embarrassed yourself and your daughter, so props to you, sixty-something-year-old politician you!

To make up for that last performance, here’s another one that will amaze you.  It’s by Toni Basil, best known for her hit song “Mickey”.  She’s 72 now – no really she was 39 when Mickey came out – but she still dances better than I ever will.  Check it out.

Wow.  I found this incredibly inspiring.  So much so, I wrote a little song for Rick, to the tune of “Mickey”.


Oh Ricky, what a pity, you don’t understand

Don’t take her by the foot, no you take her by the hand

Oh Ricky you’re so dippy, stop running for office

Cause we hate you Ricky

Cause you’re so dumb, Ricky, dumb, Ricky

Go break a leg, Ricky!


Stay tuned!



The other day I was talkin’ with one of my Yankee friends (that’s Southern for Northerners) and she had never heard of the chain of stores called Hastings.  I thought everyone had.  Then it occurred to me that not everyone was Southern, and even more bizarre, not everyone was from TEXAS since as most of you know we are the capital of the United States.  Or our own country.  We can’t decide.  There’s been six flags over us, and we’re ready to add more.

A "don't litter" slogan with more than one meaning.

A “don’t litter” slogan with more than one meaning.

So this morning I thought of a list of stuff that I think is relatively unique to the South, or at least to Texas since that’s the only Southern state I’ve lived in (it’s the only state I’ve lived in, but nevermind).  Yeah, Texas gets a lot of flack, but that is why we have Mississippi and Alabama, to make us look good.  (Sorry people in Mississippi and Alabama – I know there are some hold-outs there that are not, in fact, Gator hunters).

So here’s my list so far.  If you know what I’m talking about here, let me know in the comments.

Do you know what this is?  If not you aren't Amer-i-can!

Do you know what this is? If not you aren’t Amer-i-can!


Cotton-Eyed Joe – and the dance that goes with it

Pick-up Trucks – almost everyone has one and most of them have never hauled ANYTHING.

Boots n’ Jeans – most of the people in boots have never been on a ranch like ever.

Guns, Guns, Guns – fun bumper sticker: “You can take my guns bullets first.”

We make 'em for gals too!

We make ’em for gals too!

People who still wave the Confederate flag

Soft drinks are Coke whether they are Sprite, Pepsi, Mountain Dew, or actual Coke.


Six Flags Over Texas  – Do you know what they are?  Besides a theme park.  Yes it’s a theme park.

Cadillac Ranch – not an actual ranch but there are planted Cadillacs.  Really.

Church on Wednesday night and twice on Sunday (plus other Bible studies too!)

Chicken-fried Steak (this is the best food evah)

Texas is still the biggest state because Alaska is mostly ice.

Did we mention we're big?

Did we mention we’re big?

Smack in the middle of this conservative state is a capital so liberal even I think they’re weird.

“Texas” the musical, which is totally not a rip-off of “Oklahoma” the musical.


FOOTBALL is the only sport.

Dust Bowl – it’s not just for The Great Depression anymore!

The Panhandle – notice how the top of the state is like a handle to a really messed up pot?

Palo Duro Canyon – it’s a big hole, but it’s OUR big hole.

Mexicans are considered a minority despite being a majority.

We can secede at any time, watch us.  No really, we’re gonna.  Hey, guys, we’re leaving!  Um, guys?

Every small child wishes they lived in Oklahoma when it’s time to draw the state.  Really, who thought up those borders?

Long, long stretches of ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

We don't let signs get in OUR way.

We don’t let signs get in OUR way.

Okay, so that’s what I’ve got for now.  I’m sure I’ll think up other things – and you can TOO though it won’t be as good if you are not from TEXAS.  Sorry.

Also a shout-out to my buddy Merbear who is having a contest where you can win a Beatles book that was touched by her hands and everything and you should really want it.  It’s easy, you just take a song lyric and do something with it, like draw something lame in Paint.  If you’re me, that is.  You really don’t want me to win this by default, because I will still rub it in everyone’s face. Cause Texas.


View from a Baby Room: Part One

Turn back . . . turn back now!

Turn back . . . turn back now!

I’ve worked a lot of different jobs.  One of these jobs was at a daycare center, and yes it was after I’d already gotten two degrees.  They were in English, though, so no one cared.  (Kids: don’t major in English.  Just say no.)  Thing One was nine months old and I was staying home with her, but needed extra income so we could enjoy the luxuries of life like eating.  So I discovered I could work at this daycare and my kid could stay at the same daycare for free as a “perk”.  This sounded like a great deal at the time.

For an educated person, I can be really stupid.

First they stuck me with the two-year-olds.  Bootcamp for daycare workers.  At that time, in the state of Texas, you could have up to 11 two-year-olds for every adult.  Yup.  11.  Even Octomom never watched 11 two-year-olds at once.  They put two workers in the room, which meant 22 toddlers.  And two people.  No problem.

22 of these?  NO PROBLEM!

22 of these? NO PROBLEM!

Unless you wanted to remain sane, that is.  When there’s an 11 to 1 ratio, you’ve gotta be a clever toddler to get attention.  One such toddler was Jaycee, who claimed to be potty training.  “Have to go poop!” she’d say, so I’d go into the bathroom with her and stand.  And stand.  While Jaycee swung her legs on the potty and talked incessantly.  Not one poop was had.  Not even a pee.  But you never could tell, so you always took her.  Score 1 Jaycee.

You also had to put them all down for naps.  At the same time.  Now putting ONE toddler down for a nap is tough.  Imagine putting down 22 toddlers – I mean without a hammer.  The “trick” the director taught us was to pat them on the backs as they lay down to get them to drift off.  Right.  Guess who demanded the most pats?   “Pat meeeee, pat meeeeeee!” Jaycee would cry.  I’d lay down with her and pat, pat, pat zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Pat meeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Pat meeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

We couldn’t just let them play either.  No, we had to make sure they played correctly.  So no gun play.  The little boys still played with their fingers.  “Booda –booda.  Booda-booda!” they’d yell, pointing their fingers at each other.  “You can’t play guns,” I said wearily.  Wes, the little boy in question, looked confused.  “We were just playing booda-booda.”  He said.  Sometimes I do think we might be a bit too P.C.

After a couple of weeks of working with the toddlers I was about ready to run screaming from the daycare.  The director sensed this, and told me there was an opening in the baby room.  This was infants from six weeks up to crawling age, usually around six months.  I liked this idea.  Sure babies are tough, but at this age they cannot move and no one expects you to potty train them or stop imaginary gun play.  I jumped at the chance.

I mean, who wouldn't?

I mean, who wouldn’t?

You could have four per person.  Yeah, quads, who hasn’t raised a set on their own, am I right?  We had around ten babies, I think, which meant there were usually three of us.  Sue was older and did not want to move.  Like ever.  Sue also wasn’t too bright.  She had never heard of “A Christmas Carol.”  How the hell did you miss that?  Jennifer was about my age.  She had one child and went to tanning beds partly because they said you could burn out your ovaries that way.  Mary came to help especially at lunch time or to fill in for another, or when our baby load went up, which it sometimes did.

Seven of the babies were boys.  Anyone who says infants don’t have personalities has never dealt with an actual infant.  We gave some of them nicknames because you have to get your jollies somehow when you work minimum wage with a bunch of babies.  But I was talking about the infants.  Though there’s some I can’t quite recall now, I can fully remember a few of them.

. . . To be continued!

Fuuuuuck: Or How I Got to Work This Morning

Fuck off, Sunshine

Fuck off, Sunshine

Yeah, so I was gonna try to be all positive this morning, right?  What the hell was I thinking?  Positive?  It’s only Tuesday.  The kids started back to school yesterday, which means “back to school traffic from Hades!”  Also means, wake up the children out of zombie states without falling into one yourself.  Also, that the oldest kid is hacking like a dying moose so probably needs allergy testing that will cost half a fortune and the other kid smiles with teeth out of place that will probably cost the other half of a fortune in braces and OMG THE JOY NEVER ENDS.

This is before I actually started my car, of course.  We make it okay to the elementary school.  I don’t see any of those cars with the flipping families on the back, which means I do not have to envision slicing their tires to ribbons while they take twenty minutes to wish their half dozen kids goodbye at the door, because they had to walk them to the door.  That way they left their car blocking yours.  But no, that didn’t happen, so score!  One kid dropped off.  Now all I have to do is get to the high school, which is now the junior high because they demoted my high school and drop off my newly minted junior high student.  She looks thrilled.  The humidity is awful, so she also has her little white girl afro goin’ on.  I don’t tell her this.

We get to the high school and I have this brilliant idea.  I will drop her off at the side of the school, so she won’t have to cross a street AND a parking lot full of equally pissed off parents (why can’t she drive already I mean GAWD isn’t 13 old enough nevermind then I’d worry about her driving let’s up the age to at least 21).  So I’m like technically on the wrong side of the road, but it’s just a second to drop her off on the curb but FUCK here comes a line of cars.  One after another after another after another and all of them giving me FUCK YOU looks because I’m on the wrong side of the road and I’m like I KNOW but you won’t let me out you bastards!  I mean, let’s be reasonable here.  Jeeez.

So I finally get out and decide to drive into the parking lot and poor Thing One is still hacking and her fro is expanding and I feel so bad for her so I’m hugging her and she’s like whatevs cause mostly she’s just so tired because school and I finally let her go and realize there is a car behind me going wtf lady quit blocking my way and GO what is wrong with you?  Heh, uh, sorry.  So I drive out of the parking lot and into the sun.  Not literally into it, but it feels like it cause I am now driving blind.  Yay!  Fuck you, sun.

I am not paying much attention because Sun and Pissed and I end up where?  The elementary school where I just dropped off Thing Two which is now packed with insane parents.  FUCK I’m an idiot.  So I wait again through traffic and take multiple turns in order to find a light cause no way am I taking my chances getting across and did I mention I live in a supposedly small town?  But there is a university, where I am now trying to go sense I’m supposed to work there, and there are people trying to get out of this town in both directions to go work at other towns that are more exciting.  So I am stuck in the middle.  Every morning.

Oh, yeah, and I mentioned this in a post way back in whenever that our parking situation sucks because they decided to make it “open parking” which is like “open season” only with cars instead of guns, although this is Texas so I’m not ruling that out.  And so I drive around and around looking for a spot.  Fun times I tell you.  Fuuuuuuck.  I am so tempted to park in the reserved parking of the uppity ups.  If only I knew I was getting laid off that day.  Oh, well, I find a spot a mile away and trudge off to work where I get there right on the dot.  I woke up at 6 AM and it is now 8 AM and work hasn’t started and I want to murder someone.

Just another typical day.  Good morning, Alice!

Guns Kill People, not Statistics


This is not my usual happy-go-lucky fare.  But in reading another blogger’s post, I felt moved to do this.  Not to push a political agenda, but to tell a story.  One that should never happen.  Please go see Kylie’s blog post “The Right to Bear Harms”, and watch her video.  I cannot imagine her loss.  But I did have one of my own.

When I was nine years old, they told me that my grandfather had been murdered.  He owned a store that sold guns in a small Texas town.  He was shot by one of his own guns.  This was the first time in my life I had ever seen my father cry.  My mother only told me he was shot because she knew people would be talking about it.  It had been on the news in his home town, and they didn’t get much news there.

I wasn’t really close to my grandfather.  I heard later he wasn’t the best father.  But he was the only father my father had.  Mostly I remember going to his store and sitting on the pool table and listening to the jute box while I ate chick-o-sticks.  But no matter what kind of person he was, he didn’t deserve to die on the floor of his shop.  And my father didn’t deserve to have to live with the grisly death of his father.

People came to his funeral – people who didn’t know anything about him, because it was a scandal.  They were curious.  They thought it was exciting.  They didn’t think of his family when they crowded in that funeral home.  I was too young to understand this at the time.  I was told later.  I was also told later, by an aunt, just how he was shot, and how many times.  Now I have that imagery in my mind.

None of us should have had to see the special they had on TV about the executions in Texas, when they spoke about the execution of his killer, and put up pictures of my grandfather, a person, on TV.  Yet much of his family still support guns.  They watched the killer get executed.  Let me repeat this.  They watched another person murdered in front of them.  Have we really come that far from the Middle Ages?

I remember when hearing about a school shooting was a rarity.  Now it seems to happen once a month.  Remember how the media played up Sandy Hook?  How many people still even remember Sandy Hook?  Those parents do.  They will never forget that day for the rest of their lives.  Some of these people are working, tirelessly, reviving the memory of their children, over and over again in an attempt to get better gun legislation.  Too few are listening.

My father is a pacifist.  He went to Vietnam as he was told to do.  They had the soldiers raise their guns and shout “Kill!”  My father raised his gun.  But they couldn’t make him shout kill.  By sheer luck, he was able to be a medic during the war, and he was eternally grateful that he got to help people, not hurt them.  Soldiers even now return, having had to kill, and are forced back into everyday society where suddenly it is a crime to do so.  Many have nightmares for the rest of their lives.  Some have taken their lives.  Others have taken the lives of their family.  And for what?  Do we even know what we are fighting for anymore?  Do not misunderstand me.  I support the troops, every single man and woman and child, because, I’m sorry, 18 is a child.  I support them by wanting to keep them alive.

After Sandy Hook, many people wanted to put the blame on mental illness.  The man was mentally ill – that’s the real problem, not the gun.  We should help mentally ill people.  That’s true.  But here’s the kicker.  If he hadn’t had all those weapons – clips with so many rounds, he wouldn’t have been able to shoot so many children so fast.  Sure he could have used a knife – but chances are far greater he could have been stopped before killing an entire classroom.  Instead, he walked in, and blew them away in seconds.  Seconds.  In seconds all those lives were snuffed.  All those names of those babies were read on the news.  And what did people say?  Clearly, we need more guns.  We need to arm teachers.  We need armed guards outside the schools.  We need, apparently, to function like those war torn countries we send our soldiers to.  We need to do this to protect our rights.  Our rights to own guns.  Our right not to have to have a three day waiting period, a license, training in using the weapons, or child safety locks.  The NRA fights against any legislation having to do with gun ownership.  Any.

Recently, I wrote a post about the insane day we had at our college when a man robbed a nearby convenience store.  In wake of all these tragedies, the entire university was shut down for two hours while police officers tirelessly combed the area, making sure that an armed robber had not made his way on campus.  As it turned out, the robbery was all staged, and there was nothing to be worried about.  But because of the tragedies, we must react this way, because we don’t know when it will be real.  And that same afternoon I put up that post, there was another shooting at another university.  The same day.  Yet even with all this insanity, the university is considering letting people bring guns on campus – for defense.  Guess what?  When you’re acting like Rambo, the cops don’t know who the bad guy is.  You aren’t helping anybody, just making the jobs of the police officers harder.  At best, they’ll shoot you because, as part of their jobs, they don’t have time to check and see if you’re “good” or “bad”.  They see someone with a weapon, they shoot.  So please quit fooling yourself.

Do you think you need one for  home protection?  How likely do you think it is that you’ll be able to wake up from a sound sleep, grab your gun, and shoot the intruder, all while your body is reacting to stress?  And if you keep that gun in your bedside table drawer, loaded and unlocked, how likely is it that a child or someone else could get hold of it?  Many gun deaths happen because someone shot their own family members while defending their homes.  Many gun deaths happen because children shoot each other.

My husband is a gun owner – I’m sure that surprises you.  They were passed down in his family.  He shoots targets.  He would never harm anyone.  And he has been trained in operating his weapons.  But not everyone is like him.  As a compromise, the guns are kept unloaded in a locked gun cabinet.  I still don’t like them, but I deal with it.  So I’m not completely ignorant.  I know guns aren’t always used to kill.  But I also know that the only real purpose of a gun is to kill something, whether animal or human.  Unlike cars, and knives, that is their only purpose.

I could link you to the many, many news stories talking about gun deaths and statistics.  And I’m sure those on the other side could do the same.  But I’m not talking about numbers right now.  I’m talking about our parents, our spouses, our children, our friends.  Kylie’s father is not a statistic.  My grandfather is not a statistic.  Those children at Sandy Hook elementary school are not statistics.  They were people.  And now they are all dead.

We live in fear of the next shooting now, just as our elders feared the atomic bomb.  Why?

Go U.S.A.

Go U.S.A.

My Hurricane Post

Well it seems like everyone else has written on Hurricane Sandy (btw all you people out there who happen to be named Sandy – sucks to be you, huh?) so I figured I should as well, so I don’t look like a jerk.  Then again, this is several days after the Hurricane, so I’m not helping much.  Not that I could have helped anyway, being in the Panhandle of Texas and far away from any water of any sort.  At all.

We do have tornadoes here, though, and once one blew over us (it helps to be in a giant hole) so I can totally identify with the hundreds of people displaced by Hurricane Sandy.  That’s like someone (say a Senator) saying he can identify with childbirth because once he stubbed his toe.  It was scary, though.  It was just a couple days after the birth of Thing Two, and my husband was out of town working and I was recovering at my parents.  Thing One was four and to her this was the most Awesome Day of her entire life.  She got to play in the hallway with pillows and flashlights and the whole family had to join her!  Wheee!

But this – this was enormous.  I saw some of the pictures, and I have to say that people who live on the coast are amazing.  There are some courageous people out there.  On the other hand, like with everything else, there are also a few that make ya go facepalm. 

Wow, look at that wave . . . arghhhhhhhhhh!
*photo from weather.com

People.  Hurricane means GO HOME. 

I do wish everyone who rode out this storm well.  May your normal lives (and Internet) return soon.


No, this post isn’t about winning a stupid contest.  Although it does refer to one that was about winning a stupid contest.  Said post was the one in which I nominated myself for Queen of the Internets for receiving a gold unicorn badge from a Canadian clown.  I figured it would only be fitting, then, to like my own post.  Because I did like it. It had a UNICORN.  Here is what WordPress told me:

Yes I did, WordPress.

This just makes me want to like all my posts from now on. 

I’m not sure why WordPress is concerned about our inflated egos.  I mean, at this moment, bloggers like Le Clown have egos bigger than our biggest state: Canada.*

I like my blog.  It’s special, and not just because it has a gold unicorn, although, seriously, can you get better than this freaking thing?

No, you can’t.

But it’s not just that badge.  I have OTHERS.  And another one I really love is my Canvas badge, because I am now a Canvas author.  To be a Canvas author, you have to be nuts.  I know, right?  I totally qualify.  Just kidding.  You actually have to be approved by Ruby, who has a really cool blog that I am going to promote again called The Canvas of the Minds.  It’s a mental health blog.  People are going to go visit just to get us to shut up.  I know they will.

I’m not shutting up until there’s like 100 likes on this blog, even if I have to make them all myself. Keep up, WordPress.

When I’m not writing about removing the stigma from mental health, I’m writing about removing the threat of zombies.  As a proud member of the Zombie Apocalypse Task Force I thanklessly work to rid out country of this menace.  There are still many more though, thanks to Reality T.V.  If you want to join this effort, suck up to Love and Lunchmeat.  You’ll get this awesome zombie bling.

Zombie bling. Everyone wants some.

Is that all the fame I have acquired you may ask?  No, it is not.  I also have this badge, which is awesome because it has a Meerkat and a dirty word that I will have to cover up when I show this post to my kids in the same way I cover most stuff with bad language.  I will read it as an entirely different word.  Fools them every time, even though they’ve been able to read quite a while now.  At least they tell me it does.

I love this little guy.

See how I sneaked him in there?  That one came from Elaine4Queen who said if I mentioned her I would get mentioned on her blog in her awards category.  Freaking sneaky, isn’t it?  I like this kind of award because you’re not expected to do anything for it, and I am lazy.  Which reminds me of another lazy award that is totally awesome.

See, it even has a cool flag from some place that may or may not also be one of our states.

If you want to get this award, you just have to go to Dotty’s blog.  Oh, and there’s some questions I’m supposed to answer.  Let’s see here:


1.  How many bricks do you own?

Lots.  They’re on my house.  I tried to count but I got bored after 1 and went back and messed around on the Internet.  Also, my husband probably has some lying around the yard somewhere.  He’s a collector.

2.  How many Cumberland sausages can you fit in your mouth without chewing?

I’m another clueless one that doesn’t know what a Cumberland sausage is and won’t look it up.  But I do love McDonald’s sausage biscuits.  I think I can safely get one sausage biscuit wedged into my mouth at one time.  But I like to savor the unhealthiness bite by bite.

3.  What is your most inventive way of using biscuits (or cookies if you’re American)?

After reading that 5o Shades book, I’m not sure if I should answer this one.  But one inventive thing to do with cookies is give a ginger snap to your unsuspecting three-year-old who bites down on something as hard as concrete and looks at you like “Why has thou betrayed me?”

4.  If it was made compulsory to have a mental illness which one would you choose and why? (If you have a mental illness already you have to choose another).

I think I would choose Multiple Personality Disorder because then you could be your own friend.  In spite of my earlier posts, I don’t actually have real multiple personalities like the main character in a book I’m reading, I just pretend.  Shut UP, subconscious!

Okay, moving on.  Are you still with me?  Good.  So here’s the last award I’m going to mention.  It came from Mr. MaryfoofooPoppins (not really his name, check his blog to find out) at a Spoonful of Suga and requires some more work on my part.  It’s a chain mail award, but I don’t care because it is my chain mail award.  Here it is.

Warning: contains misspelled word. It should be Kreativ Bloger.

I am very appreciative of this award because it’s pretty and says I’m “Kreativ”.  Do you get it?  It’s Kreativ because of the spelling of Kreativ.  Oh, hey, there are questions for me to answer too.  I’m supposed to tell you 7 things about myself and nominate 7 other bloggers.

1. I like to like my own posts.

2. I have a lot of awards.  See?

3. I write on another blog.  It’s called Canvas of the Minds, in case you forgot.

4. I am a sneaky blogger.

5.  A sneaky blogger that is also mental.

6. A sneaky, mental blogger that won a gold unicorn award.

7. I am too lazy to nominate individuals, so everyone who reads my blog can have this award.  Ta-da!

Okay, I think I’m done for now.  Enjoy basking in my success.   Also, if you want to join my success and be featured in my blog, send me bling.  I hear Angie at Childhood Relived gets bling and I want bling too.  If you must, steal hers, but be sneaky about it, okay? 

Love me FOREVER,


P.S. Everyone, quick, like your own posts.  Because you’re worth it. 

*I don’t believe them that it’s a real country.  I still think it’s a state.  We got it in that Louisiana Purchase thing where the French said, le pfft, take it all, we’re drunk on French wine.  Also, Texas believes it’s still its own country, and the rest of the country, I think, is inclined to let them (I love my state).  So it only follows, using my logic system, that if Texas is a state and thinks it’s a country, then Canada must be a state.  Makes total sense.