Rhino Reject

As I set here eating this diet mac and cheese, yes diet mac and cheese. You want to fight about it? I didn't think so. Give me a break, this low sugar thing is not fun and I am drinking Sprite Zero which basically tastes like crap. But it will do because I am starting to get used to it. And for the record, I had to take control of my life and bring coffee back. So instead of five teaspoons of sugar there are the lone three. It's not the same but I had to stop wasting my money on flavored creamer because it just wasn't working for me.

Any way, even though it's Tuesday, I hope everyone had a great weekend. I got to have a few glasses of Sangria on Friday night with my wonderfully, beautiful friend, Lorraine. And now the count down is on to Honky Tonk Saturday but I am not going to say a lot about it except maybe a few times all week long. Last week was also D day with the allergist. I arrived at my appointment 20 minutes early as requested. The door was locked. Who tells you to come to an appointment and not leave the door open? Seriously, who am I going to rob? A bunch of nurses with 71 types of tree serum they inject into your body? Woo wee. That will make you high as a giraffe's ass. After calling and them letting me in, I fill out the necessary paperwork, go into a room and wait. A nurse comes in and asks me to blow into this contraption like blowing out candles. That went over smoothly. I failed with flying colors. Puh-lease give me some real candles will ya?

She then comes back in and says the doctor would be in to see me in a few. Oh, goody, I can't wait. NOT! Then walks in Dr. McHottie. I mean seriously, who would have thought that a snot doctor could look so good.  Well, shitballs, if I knew that I would have dressed up for the occasion of checking my nasal passages and discussing my addiction to Kleenex tissues. I might have even trimmed my hose hairs and had my upper lip waxed since he was so up close and personal. He explains to me the process of the test which I didn't hear a word he said because I was focused on the once used to be hole in his ear from an earring which told me at one time he was a wild rebel. Grrr. He walks out, the nurse comes back and states the process again because I wasn't listening. Then it goes ding dong in my head.  Am I wearing the most ragged bra I own? He can't poke my back with a bra that is now the color of grey with strings and stuffing hanging out. So I immediately ask to go to the restroom to see if I put on a good or bad bra. I run to the restroom, take my shirt off, see that I am good to go and Dr. Sexy pants can look at my supple back all he wants.

I go back in, the nurse says take your shirt and bra off and put this paper contraption on and lie on your stomach. Oh, this is getting better, the bra didn't matter, thank god I shaved under my arms. So, I am setting in this cold ass room thinking I am about to be up close and tit personal with Doc McStuffins and the nurse walks in and says, "Now I am going to administer the test on your back." Uh, say what? You? What happened to Snot Patrol? I just had an up close and personal conversation about by rhino area in which he was almost lip to lip and you are going to poke me? What a friggin, let down. At that point, I didn't care if she stuck my butthole. And then to make it worse, I fail some of the test and then she had to inject me 13 different times with needles to see if I was allergic to something else. My date with the Dr. Doolittle just went from dinner for two to Match fucking dot com reject.

After it was all said and done, he comes in, tells me I am allergic to basically the state of Tennessee, schedule  an appointment to start taking shots every week and have a great day. I mean the bastard could have slapped me on the ass like a football coach and said, "nice job." Oh, well, that's what I get. It's not like I would have went out with him, he was married and had kids (see up close and personal) but it sure was good to feel wanted. That's right -wanted. He wanted my co-pay and I end up with nothing but a bunch of snot reducing medicine. Remind me that doctors are pimps next time I have the idea that any one of them could be Dr. McDreamy would ya! This is defiantly a classic case of getting poked and not getting kissed.

Happy Tuesday,

Dusty

I Can Do Tricks

Since you liked Naked Man so much, I thought I would tell you another adventure. If you didn't read Naked Man, you missed out.

I like the idea of trickery. When Becca and I would go to bars I like to tell stories, give fake names which we have already established mine was Beth and make believe I am something I am not. Once we went to this kind of hip hop bar. I am not sure why now, but it had to be for some odd reason. Boredom maybe. Anyway, as the night progressed, this guy came and sat down at our table. We used to get this alot at the Honky Tonk too. People just randomly coming up to our table for conversation. Any hoot, he sets down and starts asking us questions. Now let me tell you a little about Becca. She's great at playing along. If I ever started one of these trickery sessions, she knew exactly how to follow my lead. 

After a few minutes of prying and poking, he asked me what I did for a living. I said, that I was an undercover cop. To be clear he was either high as a giraffes ass or wasted because his eyes about popped out of his head. It took a few minutes to convince him but I did. I told him that I was off duty but that every cop was still on duty truthfully. He asked me if he got in his car if he could possibly be arrested for drinking and driving. I explained to him that I could make a citizens arrest since I was off duty. He continued to ask who I worked for and I told him that I couldn't divulge that information. I mean there wasn't any information to give him. I was an Executive Assistant at an architecture firm. The only thing I was arresting that night was a beer. He asked me of course about handcuffs; what man doesn't and I told him that I was off duty and I didn't carry my gun or handcuffs with me. I told him we were just there to have good time while off duty and he eventually went away white as a sheet.

About two weeks later, we were setting at the Honky Tonk and this guy comes by. Low and behold it was the same guy. I was singing at the top of my lungs to a Martina McBride song and he came over and said, "Don't I know you?" I said, "I don't know why?" He obviously was high as a giraffes ass or wasted again, he said, "Oh my god, you sing this song?" Uh, thank you dumbfuck, trickery number two. "I said, well maybe." The guy didn't remember he had just seen me two weeks ago and I was a cop. "I said, yes, I am an up and coming country music singer. This is my friend Becca, she's my stylist and that guy over there in the corner is Phil, he's my bus driver." Phil was some guy that used to hang out at the club, we were only acquaintances but he could have drove a Moped for all I know, but I think he played along with us that night. He was there every weekend as well, he knew our antics that's for sure. 

The guy walks off and before I know it, he's brought over friends, more stupid friends. I shook hands and then these dickdorks asked for my autograph. Well, being a up and coming country music singer who apparently copied Martina McBride, I signed their napkins and they went off into the depths of the bar. I am fairly certain we all burst into laughter. 

I am the master of trickery, which is pretty funny because I suck at lying but it was all in the name of free beer Saturday at the Honky Tonk. Thank you Martina McBride for making me famous if only for one night. 

Happy Tuesday,

Dusty

Brain Farts

I needed an ark this weekend. It rained and rained. I may or may not have only went to Wal-mart (which I loathe) and picked up a few things early Saturday morning in the pouring rain, just so I could set on my butt, watch Lifetime, scroll through Pinterest, read a magazine, play Diamond Rush and make barbecue  That could or couldn't have happened but if you were a betting fool, just lay down the hundreds. 

So here are few things swirling in my brain. You know how when we get the urge for a change and we want to redo a room in our house, we either add new furniture, new decor or paint. So, why is it that anytime we want a change to our homes, our bodies, our hair, etc we can do it but you don't see anyone going, "You know, today I want to paint my black car pink with a little white at the headlights." "I am thinking the ombre effect". Or, "I am so tired of the dull ass grey interior, I think I will hop down to the grocery, get some RIT and die my seats blood red?" 

Moving on.. does any one else think that Rachel Zoe looks like Grumpy Cat?

It's just an observation. Every single time I watch her show and her mouth is all pouted up, the first thing that comes to mind is Grumpy Cat. She has some of the sourest looks on her face for someone who is just BA-NAN-AS! Seriously, she gets on my nerves. I dig her style but her language of abbreviated words drives me nuts. I mean how much longer will it take your tongue and voice box to say "Major" instead of "Maj?" The other night I heard someone on the Real Housewives revere to opening a bottle of "Champs." I was like huh? Turns out it's Champagne. I guess that's the equivalent in the south of bring me a Lite.. a Bud Light. She wouldn't last three seconds here. Every word is  eight syllables, if she abbreviated we wouldn't know what the hell she would be talking about.

Speaking of fashion, I read a lot of fashion blogs. I love style, clothes, beauty, all that crap. There is one fashion blogger that I am not crazy about her style that much anymore, but I still follow her. I count how many times she does the flamingo pose. You know the one where they stand on one leg and then one leg hiked and is at a greater than or less than sign like in math?  I click over, scroll down and usually in photo three there it is, the lawn ornament that every Floridian has at their RV site. If this blogging thing doesn't work out I am sure a retiree living in an camper would get his thrill and hire her. I think it could be called Yard Porn. 

Well, that's all for now. I am going to go back to folding and sniffing my laundry. I somewhere had a case of ate up with the dumbass and put some clothes that I thought had went through the wash cycle. I took them out and dried them. After looking at the Kid's baseball uniform that I sprayed with Shout still had grass stains and realized that uh, something isn't right. These clothes didn't go through the wash cycle. A total brain fart. So, now I am having to sniff everything in these piles of laundry that are clean to see which ones are dirty. If you need me I will be the one in the corner high on Snuggle fabric softener. 

Happy Monday,

Dusty

Naked Man

Back a long time ago, we are talking way back like many plus years when I was single and ready to mingle, I had lets say a ton of fun. Some of the best times of my life were spent with my partner in crime Becca and we could get ourselves into some shitzle. We used to hang out at a local honky tonk. Every Friday and Saturday you could find us there. At first it was just us two, then we recruited a few more into our cult. We could call the bar and say, "We want to reserve a table" and they knew exactly who we were. We walk in to pay our cover charge and the girl would announce "The Party Girls" were here. I met some interesting people to say the least. Half of which I vaguely remember now what their names even where. And they probably don't remember my name because I called myself "Beth." 

One night we decided to venture to Downtown Nashville. We met some people there one of which his name was Will. Will was a preppy dude. He had flippy hair. An updated Elvis do with a college oxford shirt wearing twist. Will was a nice guy. He was kind of on the rebound because his girlfriend had dumped him. 

We sat down at the pool hall and Will was already fucked up worse than a dollar watch. We ordered a drink that cost a blazillion dollars and drank it. We all chatted and looked up and Will's friends had left his ass. That's right -at the bar -with us. Probably thinking he was going to get lucky. But that wasn't going to happen. I didn't go home with guys in bars.. or so I thought.

Will didn't have his cell phone. We were Downtown and we weren't going to stay long because the po po's swarmed that place on the weekends. His friends were no where to be found and he was licking the pavement. So, I said, look you can come with us and I will take you home tomorrow. 

We got back to my house with my 80 pound beast of a dog Mille waiting anxiously to go outside. We sat down, chatted and I left Will on the couch with said beast. She liked to cuddle.

Becca and I changed our clothes and went to bed with the door closed. I am pretty sure we had a convo about leaving the door open or closed but decided that if he was a mass murderer, the dog would take care of that.

We woke up. The sun was shining, the dog on the bedroom floor, look over at each other and there he was slap dab in the middle of both of us. Naked as a jay bird. We both roll out from each of our sides of the bed while Naked Man is face down with the pink thing on my sheets. Becca and I look at each other puzzled. How did he get in here? How did we not feel the bed move when he climbed in? Holy, shit, what will he think or tell everyone? My dog sucks at protecting her master. Again, his pink thing is on my sheets. Ugh! 

So I looked and her and said, "Well, you wake him up." She said, "I ain't waking him up you wake him up." This went back and forth for about 5 minutes. I finally lifted the sheet and slapped him on the ass and said, "Hey Naked Man you have to get up and I need to take you home." 

On the ride to his house, not much was said. He explained where he lived, which I can't remember to this day, said thank you and got out of my SUV.  I never saw him again until....

A few years later, this firm I worked for the copier broke. I placed a service call. A guy walks in with an updated Elvis do with a college oxford shirt twist. I immediately recognized him but didn't say anything. I called Becca and said, "You will never guess who is fixing our copier?" She said, "Who?" I said, "Naked Man!" We both laughed and he came over and said that the copier needed parts, he would have to order them and come back. I signed his service ticket. I think he recognized my name because I never saw him again. Some other guy came to put the parts on the copier. That's right run, you to twisted for color TV creeper.

To this day, we still have no clue how he got in the bed. That's the honest truth. I don't let nobody in my cookie jar unless its pure love and she didn't either. Neither of us were drunk because we couldn't afford the drinks in that place. To sum it up. My dog has been and always will be a worthless guard dog. We figured out that she probably took up too much room on the couch and her breath ran him off and he was just too wasted and climbed on in.

And that's the story of Naked Man. One of the many adventures Becca and I have had together. She still can't believe I slapped his butt with my bare hand and I still can't believe his flesh and boner was on my sheets. Where ever you are Naked Man thanks for the memory. I am sure you are a Lifetime movie maker about a drunk who crawls into bed with strange women. I washed my sheets promptly after you left, you perverted bastard. 

Happy Tuesday,

Dusty

Proclamation of the Dusty Nation

This week has been hectic. The Kid has baseball games out the wazoo. Seriously, we have two more to go this week. Some days it's like watching turtles mate, but I love it. Here's my Proclamations of Twitter and Facebook this last week...or so..

My response to a photo shop application. My butt needs no shadowing it provides enough shade to keep the ants from being sun burnt. Boom! I declare my ass is fat.

I didn't write a blog post today because I was too busy watching human slip n slides beat the shit out of each other last night for $69 bucks. Boom! I do declare wrestlers have stock in Hawaiian Tropic.

Pondering. Do the guys from Duck Dynasty use Rogaine hair growth for men? Boom! I do declare Jesus and ZZ Top have been successfully cloned.

I feel sorry for people that don't know me. I really am that great! Boom! I do declare I really am that great.

Today I think I will brush my teeth while eating Oreos. What can I say I am bored. Boom! I do declare see comment above.

Warm weather only means that the douche thugs switch from jeans to shorts that now hang off their asses to their knees. Boom! I do declare thank you for wearing boxers so we know what your underwear collection 6 pack looks like when you bought them at Wal-mart.

And finally...Reading the Giant Panda breeding update from the Atlanta Zoo. Lun Lun has shown little interest in Yang Yang after 13 years. She's holding out for Ding Dong. I just know it. Boom! I do declare Pandettes ain't got time fo dat!

Boom! Happy Thursday,

Dusty

Where's the Beefcake?

If you noticed, I didn't blog yesterday. Why? Because I decided to make a deal. Let me explain. The Kid's birthday was back in February. With everything going on with baseball,  here and there, I haven't been able to schedule his birthday party. He's been asking everyday since to have a bowling party. So Sunday, while I was standing in line waiting for his team baseball pictures to commence, one of the mother's mentioned that it was her child's birthday and all he wanted was to watch Wrestle Mania on Pay Per View. Then the sound of the bell went off..Ding! Ding! On the way home I devised a plan. I said, "Okay, here's the deal. You can either have a bowling party this summer or I can buy the wrestling event on TV for your birthday but you have to forgo a party." After about a negative 30 seconds, he said, "Deal!" I thought I had hit the jackpot. Why? You ask again? Because a bowling party would have cost me up to $150 smacks. Humans beating the crap out of each other $60 smacks. I win! 

The Kid loves wrestling. I watch it. Or participate because that's what mothers do. I also can relate. As a kid my own father loved wrestling. He used to take us to wrestling matches in Downtown Nashville. We watched it every Saturday at noon and years later actually became friends with one of the wrestlers by the stage name Moon Dawgs. I also asked this friend at one time why in the world he wanted to be a Dawg of the Moons. It's a complicated, turkey leg eating story. 

Any hoot, this is a staple in our house. Ian loves it. Every Monday night and Friday night I know that I stay in the bedroom. I call it pure torture. Sort of. I mean these guys have more baby oil on their bodies than I did at 13 laying out by the county swimming pool trying to impress boys in a bikini. They are walking slip n slides. Then their heads look like they have been shrunk by a voodoo worshiper. Their arms can't even touch their sides, so they walk like plastic toy figurines. Don't get me wrong. The Rock is smoking hot as a mouth full of Hot Tamales, but their something weird about walking around in one piece looking bathing suites or speedos with over zealous muscles that look like pizza doughs strategically placed on their bodies.  And you really want to know the truth? The first thing I look at is their mid section. Where's the beef? The stuff? The rumble in the jungle? There's nothing that even resembles a bulge. They all have the mushy pecker syndrome. 

Then there's the issue of pouring sweat on to each other's bodies, the lifting up in the air with their hands between their legs. Is that normal? A man putting his hand between a guys legs on the little Tiffany box and picking them up only to slam them down? I don't understand the logic of picking up a 300 pound guy only to throw him down. Don't they know that shit hurts and could cause hemorrhoids? If you pick up a guy over your body weight and the blood vessels are bulging out of your head, that's a sign that you back away from the beef cake. I mean that crap would kill a normal person. And further more they are touching the marbles. You gotta be in touch with the manhood of the ball nation to do such a thing. 

I don't know that I really understand the logic of volunteering to be pile drived into a mat. Although one guy with his eyes rolled back in his head and tongue hanging out reminds me of when this Moma has a little snap session and whips life back into shape. But I do know this. I,  on my quest to come out as cheap as possible on the birthday party, made the deal of the century. No screaming kids. No invitations. No big bucks spent on slushies and pizza. I got to stay home, eat Burger King and see my kid happy as a lark. I guess it really is worth spending the money on half naked, crazy men.

Happy Tuesday,

Dusty

Name Game

Please do not beat me up. I am so behind on blog reading and commenting and stalking and all the things necessary to continue to be loved in blogland. I promise to catch up this week, the weekend and before next week. 

In the meantime, hypothetically I have stated this week that I might want to change my blog name. So, say if I did what should I change it too? 

Here are my choices in no particular order...

1. The Alley Way 

the last name is Alley and the Alley way or the highway.

2. The Queen Dee or 

The Queen D

my first name starts with D, my middle name is de (yes, spelled with a little "d" fun fact)

and friends called me Dee Dee.

3. Hip & Square

sometimes I am cool and sometimes just the average weird human being

So, which one do you like? Or do you have another suggestion? I am all eyes because I can't hear you, duh! 

As Tone Loc would say, "Let's Do It" (insert Wild Thing music here).

Dusty

Twits

I hope everyone has a great weekend.

And this is why I love Twitter.

Follow me HERE

Thank you Jen for this faboo convo!

Happy Weekend Friends,

Dusty

It's A Fact Jack!

There are so many things I love about being southern. Although there is a great misconception. I am still trying to figure out why? I mean where else could you have Swamp People, Duck Dynasty and Honey Boo Boo? I can't see where people in other parts of the country would get that southern people are rednecks, do you? Jerks. 

I mean where else do people take a deer and make it into twelve gourmet meals. You have deer chili, deer stew, deer steak, deer spaghetti, deer roast, deer jerky and deer sausage. Kill alligators, squirrels, rattlesnakes and whip up some frog legs and we will claim it tastes like chicken. Bobby Flay my ass.

You go up North and ask for sweet tea and they look at you like popped a lens out of your Ray Bans. Believe me I did this once or twice. But if you don't have sweet tea in the fridge then its the Anti-Christ. Life as you know it is over. People with diabetes will soon die. 

Other parts of the country people eat their eggs with some dude named Benedict. Here we slap on some ketchup and gulp it up. I mean ketchup is the secret sauce in these here parts.

We can make a god damn pie out of anything. Apples, peaches, pears, cherries, chocolate, lemons, pecans, chess and dirt. And if there is a cook out instead of making it round, we might throw it in a 9" x 13" baking pan and call it cobbler just to fake you out.

If you ask people what the national anthem is they will tell you any Lynyrd Skynyrd song and stand up, take their hats off and more than likely have some obnoxious yelling in the background. It's our way of ad-libbing a song. I mean who really needs a song celebrating our country that you can't dance too. Have you ever tried to two step to the Star Spangled Banner? I think not.

We are also handy people. We take old school buses and turn them into fine homes. At one time or another it's every girls dream in the South to get past second base on a school bus, so daddy moved us in.

It's nothing if you lose a tooth, just means you can sip through a straw better. Seriously, it's called a tooth brush not a teeth brush. 

I have never understood the fight between the North and South. You mother fuckers up North win. Why? Because we are down here sweating our balls off killing alligators, whippin' up pies, honky tonkin', and decorating our new trailer on wheels with a confederate flag as a bed spread. You bitches are all frozen and preserved which kept at a slightly cooler temperature will be able to thaw in the spring and live to tell about it. We are all dead by then from massive heart attacks from doing all the above. We even make love in grease. 

Shi-yut people! I rest my case that the South will rise again.. Sweet Home Alabama. Where the skies are so blue..every one show some respect. Where can I sign up to work at the Chamber of Commerce?

Happy Tuesday,

Dusty

Proclamation of the Dusty Nation

It's Proclamation of the Dusty Nation again. Here's a weekly wrap up. Don't get out of your seats for it. You can set down and have fun. 

Facebook

Status after I about died twice working out.."After completing 120 jumping jacks, I now feel like an Olympic athlete." I proclaim, I really didn't die twice. Boom!

Status on a Friday when I wished it was like Friday afternoon, "Someday's all I want to do is reenact the prom dance scene from the movie Footloose." I proclaim, Aerial, the preachers daughter was a real slut. Boom!

Twitter

Tweets of the week,  "OMG! You know what would be so cool to see? Taylor Swift with a tan!" I proclaim, white girl problems! Boom! 

"OMG! You know what would be so cool to see? Angelina Jolie with a tan!" I proclaim, see above! Boom! Boom!

"Have you ever gotten a cramp in your chin? Me neither." I proclaim, I was bored. Boom!

Around Blogland

I love honeymoon pictures. Seeing you on a beach with a fruity drink, tan, kissing your new husband. I proclaim, You neglected your birth control, in 9 months your going to be a new mommy and your Michael Kors watch will become a teething tool. Boom!

I love reading your wedding in 12 different parts. It's not like I need to go slop the hogs or anything. And all we really want to see is what your dress looked like and who got drunk and made an ass of themselves. But nooo! You never tell that part do you? It takes you twelve posts of breaking it all down for us. Like graduation night and reading every kid's name to receive their diploma. Maybe I need a pie and organizational chart to understand. I proclaim, Just get to the good part, the reception. Ain't nobody got time for that other shit. Boom!

The Alley way

My dog Libby and I have both been on our periods. There's only room for one bitch in this household and that's me. I proclaim, I win because the other bitch is wearing a diaper! Boom! 

Thursday's out, Boom!

Dusty

Flabbergasted!

It snowed at my house this weekend. That's right. Kleenex. I have been fighting allergies all winter. I am fairly certain I could build a snotman. I didn't change my clothes all weekend nor did I leave my house except to go to get more Sprite. And you all know how I love thy Sprite. So me and the iPad were pretty intement this weekend. I read a lot of my comments this weekend because I like to go back and reread things to see where I am at in this journey. There are serious days when I think why am I doing this? Its been a year and half and have I really impacted any one's life? I am fairly certain I have provided quite a few laughs, but I go back a revisit my purpose. I speak with one of my blog besties about this alot. Why am I not like all these blogs that have hundreds or even thousands of followers. I mean I sometimes think I am just as funny as Living in Yellow or stylish as The Daybook although I don't have the galls (remember girl balls) to do self-fashion posts yet. But I think that's part of my insecurities of why this blog hasn't grown. 

One of the things I struggle with is losing touch with people. I love all the people I have made friends with and I swear even with thousands of followers I would probably beat my self up regularly if I didn't at some point say hello. So I reevaluate and then I read these ..

Or you get emails like this...

Or featured unexpectedly on someone else's blog

I am honestly flabbergasted by it all some days. Yes, this is who I am. The funny girl, sometimes sorta of a sex kitten bombshell (total delusional thought), and mind of a great writer (another total delusional thought). Really, I am just a little insecure country girl who  decided not grow tobacco all her life in a small town. Ok, really, I am a girl who is all about the power of lifting up a woman. I am the girl who doesn't like rules and my vocabulary sometimes could but a sailor to shame, but this is what honestly makes me come back. So, if you enjoy the ride, then so will I, although I will probably tell you to move over and let me drive. 

Thank you everyone. Thank you for making my snotbubbles more enjoyable this weekend. 

Now, I thought since you guys love the stupidity that keeps you going each day, I thought I would give you a chance to give me a topic and I will write about it. I will choose and next Tuesday, Boom! 

Anything you want. I think this should be fun. 

Ready set go! And again, thank you all..my heart is humbled.

So what will it be?

Dusty

Dumbfunny Convo's

Do you ever just have the dumbest conversations with friends? The kind that make you laugh just because they are that off the wall? One of my best friends, Becca and I email almost every day. I can't explain what she means to me, but I would be lost without her. She is one of the few people that 100 percent gets who I am. My sense of humor and lord have we had some good times. Some I shall share on this blog one day (this is a reference to Naked Man as we call him but that's another post). She's also the one who tells me on a daily basis, "You ain't right." Any hoot, every day, we email each other what is on our play list to get us through the day. Way back, we used to do some serious Honky Tonkin'. We both love all types of music, but she really loves Blake Shelton. So, here is how the conversation went. Yes, its absurd, but funny. It starts out like this...

Me: I am on to Nick Lachey.

Becca: I went a little older to Neil Sedaka……Happy Birthday Sweet 16!!

Now, a little yummo Blake Shelton!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I would so boink him if Miranda wouldn't kick my ass!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: Listen she wouldn't kick your booty. She would put a bullet in it and set it on fire.

Becca: You are probably right. Then bury my body on one of their big ass farms.  I would be worm food and nobody would ever find me!!!

Me: Yep, you would be buried under her fire pit where she roasts marshmallows and eats deer jerky.

Becca: So, If that chance of Blake ever comes about and I am not seen for a while, you know where to find me!!!  Just so I can have a proper burial!!!

Me: Biatch you will be coyote food or some crap like that. I don’t know if she fishes but you would be bait.

Becca: I bet she pops a wallop while she stands 2ft 3in tall. 

Me: She could probably injure you with her hair and some headbangin’ 

Becca: She probably could!!!  She is pretty bad ass herself!!  She is the country version of Pink!!!!

Me: Yeah, but Pink won't eat you. She's a vegetarian. Miranda eats meat. RUN!

Becca: Oh lord!!!!!!!!!!  You are crazy!!!

Me: I think I will format this whole convo and Tweet it to him. Go back and read it. Hilarious.

Becca: Oh no!!  She may come hunt my ass down!!!  I may have to move to Nantucket!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: I love Nantucket. I bet they got good shrimp.

Becca: Good, I love shrimp and then you will come visit me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: IF YOUR NOT DEAD.

Becca: Thanks.

See, how the conversation almost took a turn and then right back to where it was? We do this all the time. I love her. We have the dumbest conversations in the whole world. I love how she participates. Well, some days, I start a conversation and she doesn't bite, but I try. So, this just shows that no matter what, your friends love you and humor you when you know its probably just a meaningless chat. And I believe that she doesn't have a snowballs chance in hell with Blake Shelton and that Miranda Lambert would kick both our asses. But a girl can dream right? 

Happy Tuesday! Have a stupid conversation today.

Dusty

Woe-Man Talk

Let's talk shop. No I don't mean Etsy. I am talking a little girl talk. You know things women think about but probably would never say out loud unless intoxicated. Every year, we all have annual exams. Nothing like going and getting a rotor rootering from someone that you are sorta not really friends with. It's always a routine when you go see the wassa doctor. Well, for me it is. It's winter and shaving my legs isn't really on my list of priorities. But like most women two weeks ago I got up groomed in all places that looked like a overgrown fields of hay and dread the lunch time appointment like most of us do. 

Why I would schedule my appointment at lunch I have no idea, but I did. In a mad rush, I get into my car, make the 15 minute drive and as soon as I pull in I get nervous and have to go to the bathroom. I rush the bathroom and then I do my business. I am standing there washing my hands thinking, "Oh, god! I just pooed." So, I look around grab paper towel and run some water, go back into the stall and clean myself a little more. Please don't tell me you probably haven't done this or even had the thought in your head of "what if it's not fresh?" "Did I clean it extra good?" I can't tell you how many times I have done the ole stick my head between my legs or did the wave of air with my hand up to my face to make sure I am still some what cucumber melon smellin'. I used to powder up my area. Throw a little baby powder on with a little puffer. But then I stopped because I read somewhere it could cause your pH balance to be off and I also didn't want to be lying on the table and have a "poof" in her face. 

Yes, she's a woman. I can't imagine wanting to be a gynecologist  Yeah, the money is probably great, but I don't think I could look at katooks all day long. I would also be the kind of doctor that would say, "you kinda rank!" Which brings me to why I always get paranoid when I go see her knowing that I would point out a rotten tuna. I am setting there in a hospital gown thinking, its going to be over in 5 minutes, so I am examining all parts to make sure I haven't missed a patch and if my socks are clean. She comes in and says hi, pats me on the legs then without so much as a "Everything going okay?" she pats my girls like hamburger patties, presses my stomach like she's kneading dough for Amish bread and sets down and blares a light to my mid section. I don't know about you but my canoe doesn't need a spot light. It's not really famous but if you say so at that moment, but can the nurse give me some kind of introduction made for movie stars? 

When I get nervous, I get word vomit. I talk just off the wall crazy stuff. She is finishing up the exam and in one hot second, I say, "um, can you not stick your finger in my butt this time?" I had a hemmoriod removed a few months ago and I am still really sensitive about that area." She was like "really?" "Yes, ma'am." I should be able to call her by her first name at this point right? She just took a dive into the Erie Canal with a forceps like object. She says, "oh, yes honey, you can refuse." I said, "you mean I could have refused that part of the exam for the last ten years?" Dr. Feel Not So Good says, "Yes." I wanted to punch her right in the mouth. My hemmy started right after I had seen her last year. Then the doc and nurse became fascinated  By the end of the exam, I had explained the whole process. Proclaimed that the doctor who removed my plum size object was not that hot and she patted me on the leg and said, "I am so sorry you had to go through that. You have to get a mammogram." 

Oh, goody. I thought I had just saved myself from the buttdozer like activity and she ruins my day by saying I get to go AGAIN to smashing party. Apparrently, I get to do this every year because I am, well, over the age of 40. So, I went from being paranoid that my crotch wasn't beauty queen perfect to then wondering if they have coffee talk or lunch about all the ugly, stinky lou lou's they see every day, and if she thinks my nips were ab normal, if my feet stunk while they were up in the stir ups and if she noticed my cellulite and the mole on my butt. 

One appointment, once a year and it causes too much distress. Then I go back to work, thinking, I wonder if they see me walking a little funny. Do they have this radar that speaks above my head that says, she just got swabbed with a q-tip that is made for Bugs Bunny. 

I don't know, but all this crap that women have to go through is a crock of shit. Exams, paranoia  questions, etc. I mean it's not like she removed anything, but I went right to bed when I got home, some five hours later. Then lying there I was thinking, I wonder who does her exam because she can't do it herself. I know, I know. It is a never ending cycle. Some woman took a nose dive with a tool that they use on Cake Boss and smiles at me to have a good day, see ya next year. 

I think next January I will just take a picture of it and send it in. Say "Here, nothings changed. Refill my birth control and if you need to dig deeper into this matter, see previous ten years."

Have a happy Monday. I feel perfectly sort of normal thinking it myself. And go ahead and laugh. I dare ya. I love woman talk. 

Dusty

Proclamation of the Dusty Nation

I don’t know what to say except, the Super Bowl was well, better than I thought. I mean the half time show. I ate.. a lot. Then I received a headache and decided that I should not blog for two days. So, I am back with a few Proclamations of the Dusty Nation. The headache must of inspired me, or maybe it was the two days I didn’t use my brain waves. Probably the latter because this crap is really stupid and yeah, I said it.

If you don’t follow me on Twitter then you missed out. Some of this is just crap I said to friends. Who often say, “Dusty, you ain’t right. “ I am still trying to find a point to that statement and if it is meant to be offensive. Right now I am on the fence about it.

Since you don’t want to be kept in suspense here goes..

-There was a had a lunch and learn in our office Tuesday. They brought in Panera with baguettes then I proclaimed, “I just ate a piece of bread that will take me 6 days to work off. Glad I have an extra day to think about it.”  Boom!

-My Face book status 2/5/13 I proclaimed, “I forgive stupid people. It’s part of my 12 step program.” Boom!

-I read an article that Dolce & Gabbanna is coming out with a baby perfume. How stupid is that? If you buy this crap please let me know because I am going to call you a money wasting idiot but the lighter version I proclaimed, “Aww, Dolce & Gabbanna is launching a baby perfume. It smells like pureed peas and sweet potatoes.” Boom!

Talking about the half-time show with a friend then I proclaimed, “Wouldn’t it have been funny if the sign language dude interpreted Beyonce’s Bootylicious? Would he have used like a butt slap during that part to make them understand? Boom!

Reading a Face book status from two people I went to high school with and tell a friend about how they have reverted back to 10^th grade puppy love. We are following this like a soap opera. I proclaimed it was “Puke in your mouth adorable.” Boom!

-I proclaimed, "I ate 3 butterscotch's and I am not drunk yet." Boom!

And finally, it’s pretty self explanatory, I proclaimed “Hot Damn I am on fire and Everybody’s Got Time for That.” Boom!

Happy Wednesday!

 Dusty

linked up

Throwback Circa 1990

I am telling you right now..shhh, story time! If I could bring back the 80's and 90's hair bands I would do it! Like right this second. Yesterday, I was searching for music to listen to and came across a song that I haven't heard in like say 20 years. I immediately began searching You Tube for all the old songs and videos and still I know every word. I can't remember yesterday or what happened in the fall of 2010 but I can still sing a good hair band tune. 

So on this Friday I give you a throwback circa 1990. Picture it, Carthage, Tennessee 1990. Senior Prom. I wore a dress made by my mother (I loved it), went to prom with a douche bag who would later dump my ass, we ate at McDonald's  and I know, God as my witness that I could tune in Tokyo with my hair. That satellite, I am sure helped MTV tap in to every teenage girls dream of being a rock star's wife.

I was over tanned, red lips, blush that was 3 inches thick and curled with enough Aqua net that I would have went up in flames with one cigarette flicker. Oh, how times have changed. They say things get better with age. Discovered a new hair color, neutral makeup, and wrinkles. But some of my greatest memories were of this moment. So, do I want to relive it? Hell NO! But I am starting a petition to bring back the hair bands! Of course, I couldn't bang my head anymore for fear of getting dizzy and falling over but I can sing to the top of my lungs and love every second of it.

Have a great weekend, Rock on!

Dusty

 oh and here's the video that set me all ablaze, fairly certain there are probably a handful of people that have a clue.

Five A Roo

There's a little ditty going around Instagram where you tag people and then you let them know five things about you. My little precious Miki tagged me so here were my responses on Sunday.

1. I can burp for 10 seconds. 

2. I have 10 fingers and 10 toes.. Yeah weird. 

3. When I blow my nose it sounds like a clown horn. 

4. I can moonwalk and do the worm. 

5. I can stand on my head and fart the Star Spangled Banner. I tag everyone.

So I made that crap up. Well, I could probably moonwalk and do the worm but at my age it wouldn't be wise. I have a high deductible and I am not fond of hospitals.

Here are five REAL facts.

1. I really do have 10 fingers and 10 toes. It's amazing. I was blessed what can I say? Don't hate.

2. I never wanted to have children although I love kids. Then I hit 30 and I pretty much said my loins needed to make up their mind. One thing they don't tell you is after you have children when you sneeze more times than not you will pee your pants a little because your bladder just doesn't operate like before. 

3. I hate my name.  Loathe it. I promise that once my mother is not able to do things on her own, the payback will be Shady Pines Home for the elderly and taking away her bed pan. I was named after a famous singer Dusty Springfield. Google it. But growing up I just wanted a simple name. When I was honky tonkin' I always said my name was Beth. I mean how generic can you get? I look like a Beth if I do not say so myself. Of course, I could have said my name was Star Maine Moon Pie. 

4. Green Beans freak me out! I just cannot wrap my head around why this vegetable is in existence. They are slimey. They stink. They are mushy and anything you have to cook with a so called "ham-hock" I do NOT feel necessary to eat. I will take a zero.

5. I wanted to be a rock star. Really! I wanted to sing. I still grab a hairbrush from time to time and pretend. That's when no one is looking. I also slide across my hardwood floor in my underwear. It's not pretty and it's also a multi-tasking move since my floors need to be swept daily. 

So there are 5 real facts about me. There are so many facets to my life. I mean who wouldn't want all this and a bag of chips? It's amazing. I get to be called Mom. That's probably the only fact that's important. All the other stuff is just part of the road map.

Go ahead! Write your 5 things on your blog. It's all the rage apparently although I am usually very behind on anything going around in blogland.

Happy Tuesday,

Dusty 

I'm a little Sprite today

I don't find a reason to wish anyone a happy Monday. I hate them. I have yet to understand why in this country we have to go back to work on that day or why we only have two days off from labor? It seems to me the weekends only consist of catching up from the crap you didn't get to do during the week. With that, catch up is a pretty good word here to use. Last week, I was consumed with personal things and to be quite frank, I had nothing funny or even remotely interesting to say. So instead of being a Debbie Downer, I just refuse to open up blogger and write it down. But I thought I would go ahead and fill you in on a few things I have been up too.

First, I have become addicted to Sprite. Why? Who knows. Don't get me wrong I still like my Mt. Dew's, but at night I like the taste of this cool refreshing lemon lime drink and it doesn't keep me up at night with all of the caffeine. Oh, now I know why I like it, because it sometimes does not prevent me from sleeping.

Speaking of sleep, the last several months, I wake up at 3 am with snot. I don't understand it. I thought winter killed all the snot producing molecules in the air. I blow and blow, sneeze and sneeze until about 4 am and then get another hour of sleep and wake up still full of snot and worn out. Saturday night I took a Zyrtec thank you Target. I didn't wake up until 8 am Sunday morning. My nose says thank you. My eardrums may be able to recover from popping but the only thing is it made me so thirsty in which I drank more Sprite.

From my lazy ass syndrome I had this weekend it gave me time to become enamored with the reruns of Castle. Anyone else watch this show? I literally have sat watching every episode for hours only getting up to get more Sprite and pee. All I can say is if the two stars of the show don't boink soon in one of the upcoming episodes I am going to scream. I am sure this is the purpose to lure me in and see if they end up together or not. The underlying innuendo of them having a crush on each other or whatever it is but not acting on it, is driving me nuts. Just kiss the girl already. She's not going to shoot your ass.

I love candles. I have to have them burning at all times. Maybe its the smell of something delicious baking in my house or the dog scent that lingers because I have two worthless animals that cohabitate in my dwelling leaving fur and bad breath particles all over. Regardless, my candle had burnt out for over a week and it literally almost drove me insane. I bought four at the grocery store yesterday..oh and Sprite.

Finally, I would like to say thank you to Target. While picking up my Zyrtec, I noticed that you have begun to bring out all the spring essentials including the bikini's. Yes, Operation Bikini is underway. I have done fairly well, except for cinnamon roll I had for breakfast on Sunday. Sorry it smelled so good. But I think that next year I am going to protest. This has to be some type of ancient torture! Discrimination against women who are trying their best to work off the holiday poundage. Great! I started my workouts at 20 minutes and worked myself up last week to 30 minutes. Thinking that I was working at a good pace 4 days a week, you just caused me to up my game to 40 minutes possibly five days a week now because I feel it necessary to squeeze my fluffy in some cute little aqua and brown number with bows and ruffles. I hate you. Thank gawd I am drinking Sprite, a low calorie, non-caffeinated drink. 

Okay, well, that's my Monday, the weekend, the 411 and all the crap rolled into a skinny tortilla filled with rabbit food. "I have a dream," Martin Luther King said. But I am sure it didn't consist of pushing his thighs and his behind into spandex and baby oil.

Happy Monday!

Dusty

It's All Crap If You Ask Me

S.O.S! That's right save our ship. It has rained here for almost 4 days straight. I thought I might need to run out to the "outdoor building" (uppity in the South for shed) and get a float of some magnitude in case I needed to rescue myself. Either way it provided a good excuse to not do jack crap. The Kid has been sick with the flu for a week and I am fairly certain that it's trying to invade my body somehow. I don't have any symptoms but I could be almost one percent certain it is plotting and scheming with those mucus monsters from the Mucinex commercials.

Any hoot, when I have time on my hands I ponder as you should know by now. If not well, your not missing much just useless knowledge that someday could help a man on fire. Why a man on fire? Well, they tell you to drop and roll when you catch a blaze and if that happens and you can remember any of my ridiculous posts then you will fall to the ground laughing. Holy crapola. I just now became a freaking hero. I knew this blog was good for something.

Here my twat waffles, is what I am pondering as of late. I am doing a weight loss challenge. Counting calories, exercising and trying my best to be diligent because Operation Bikini is just a mere months away. With this plight, I keep thinking to myself that shaving my legs has to count for something. So, I am giving myself minus a pound off for doing such activity. It's exercise if you ask me and I think all the added fur could be hindering my leg lifting ability. I mean those bicycle dudes that go all the way to some foreign country and trek up mountains are hairless. There has to be some truth to it. By the way, how do they get there bikes over their? That doesn't count as a carry on.

I keep reading in all these smut magazines, you know In Style and People etc, that people pay big bucks to get a blow out. Don't these rich chicks do their own hair? I blow out my hair every other day. I own a blow dryer. That's right and a round brush and have they not noticed that You Tube probably has a gazillion tutorials on the perfect blow out? Why is it that a salon is better to do your hair? Do their blow driers have magic powers with insta lift? I could use the $100 smacks to buy something else like the BOGO sale at Payless. I predict the blow out only last about the same amount of time as a shampoo set with an 80 year old woman who's hair is made of wire and flammable. I don't honestly get it. Who Does that?  

I keep hearing about clean eating. What does that mean? You are eating clean. What? Did you spray windex on it? I would hope my food is clean. I don't eat it out of a trash can. I don't marinate it in dirt and most times abide by the 5 second rule. So, unless you people do a wax on wax off method, all food is clean in my book.

And finally, last season all the rage was this Oxblood color. I personally see it as the 80 and 90's version of Aigner. You guys remember Aigner? I had an Aigner handbag in 1990. My aunt had the whole kit and kaboodle - coat, boots, handbag. But now its Oxblood. Well, gross. Even down to the lipstick. I didn't dig it. Imagine someone coming up and saying, "oh, what a lovely color, what is it?" Oxblood. Oh, yummy. Your wearing something that is  being referred to as an animal's DNA. What ever happened to its dark fushia or mauve? I looked and I seriously did not see Oxblood in the Kid's 64 count crayon set. Seriously, what's next toenail yellow? I degress.

Well, happy Monday my little pretties. Let's make it a good one. 

Dusty

Rewind Twenty Nine

Sometimes I think of a story, then I select a title. Sometimes a think of a title then write the story. Today, the title means nothing and the story is just a recap of somethings I found interesting, boring or just plain willie wonka'd in 2012. Yes, I could give you recap of my favorite post, or my non existent outfits that I thought I would display or say click here and read this crap, but if you read my blog, you know what I have wrote and if you're new then you should have been catching up. I am correct? Correct. So here are a few things this lifestyle blogger found in 2012 that I feel sums up how I felt about a few things and glad that the new year is here. Yeah, yeah, I am going to get to some stuff I plan for 2013, but let me do a little catching up will ya? 

First, Chevron was all the rage. Shirts, skirts, pillows and bows. It was everywhere. I like it although I would rather have flower power, it's a modern twist. But wearing it is totally different. Why would I want to wear something that is an inverted math sign? I see it and I think it screams my boobs are <less than> my stomach or here is an arrow tip pointing to every part of my body that is being defied by gravity going down. I guess it could be a big bunch of W's or if you stand on your head, M's. Oh, wait, its multi-functional. I get it now.

The top knot. I for one, I am a fan. I am certain that my hair is glad I am going back to work because this is basically how my hair has stayed for 9 total days not consecutive of course. My hair at this moment has enough grease to fry an egg on it. To say I was lazy is an understatement. I have seen many a bun over the last year and ladies here is the deal. In the South, we say the higher the hair, the closer to God. But if you start looking like Marge Simpson, then its time to maybe try a pony tail. I just don't feel that inter tubes on the top of your head are appropriate unless you could be drowning. Oh, wait it's multi-functional. I get it now.

Liquid Leggings are well, I have no clue. I see them and think why do I want to wear something that enhances the liquid that makes up the fat content in my legs? Liquid moves. It jiggles. Sloshes to be exact. So do my thighs. I see them and think this is the tar and feathered look but where is big bird. Somewhere a pot hole is missing its fillings. Oh, wait its multi-functional. I get it now.

Facebook has drove me nuts. I have over 300 friends an only 80 of them wished me happy birthday back in November. Why am I friends with these people? They never comment on my status. Plus, I have two people that post over and over. I walked up the stairs. I walked down the stairs. I walked back up the stairs. I tripped, fell down the stairs. Now I should go back up the stairs and call 911. For fucks sake, I just want to see the pictures and  and read funny status updates. One guy was about half dead a couple of weeks ago. First his arm was going to fall off in 6 hours, then the doctor said he was lucky he had 24 hours and he could have gotten an infection and died. Holy shit, the world was ending on that Friday and the mother effer got a jump start is really how I felt about it! Ugh! Facebook isn't for every time you take a dump, every time you had a bad day and decide to cuss out the world, those feel sorry for me status updates five at a time, that you ripped off your toenail to the quick or that other people in your family seem to be fighting and its good gossip. Oh, wait its multi-functional. I get it now.

Naked children on a blog. I just somehow find it yuckola. Yeah, kids butts are cute. Every little crinkle you just wanna love it, squeeze it and call that fat ripple George, but seriously, if you think it's appropriate and then someone steals your kids photo to sell then your a dumbass and have no right to complain, plus your giving every pervert out there an outlet. Oh, I see your stats go up because some whackoff is observing your naked children in the sand. Oh, wait, that's screwed up. I don't get it.

Big Name Bloggers who are rude. News flash! This dumbshit right here is one of the many who passed along all of your names to read. News flash! One of this dumbshit's 300 plus followers probably led me to your blog and I keep reading it because well, it sometimes perhaps can be funny and you do have material that this dumbshit might want to twist, spin, turn and write about someday.  But here's my deal. Just because you are somewhat a bag of chips, not everyone is all that. People spend money advertising on your blog so you can buy more Chevron and liquid leggings and 15 more trips to Ikea. Unless you have over 10,000 followers not counting feedburner, bloglovin, check here, check this box, yes or no follow me to Oz and back, if I leave you a comment, how about just saying, thank you, or bahaha, or maybe you have an auto response that says, "thank you for coming by and visiting such and such blog, right now I can't answer you because I am too busy asking the lady in the mirror who the fairest of them all is." Oh, wait your an asshole. I get it.

So there you have it. Some of my recap. I could go on and on! It's a new year. New material. New life. New beginnings. So let's have fun this 2013. You think it, I say it. Oh, wait, we are multi-functional. I get it now.

Dusty