nonsense

The Friday Five: My Favorite Posts of the Week!

Each week, I list off my favorite posts from all the wonderful blogs I follow.  I mean, if I love you, why shouldn’t the rest of the world?  So, without further adieu, here are the posts that really got my attention this week!

 

Friday Favorites

Friday Favorites

 

Goodnight Already: THE MAGIC OF BIKES

Bikes are the bane of my existence, but this post was extremely heartwarming and gives the idea of an adventurous, tech-free childhood a chance.

Tales of a Charm City Chick: 30 Lessons

We like to write about all the lessons we’ve learned over the years.  But have we really learned them?

Cardwords: IN WHICH I DISCUSS FEMINISM WITH A MALE FAMILY MEMBER

Feminism!  But not the slap in your face feminism, subtle, objective, progressive thinking feminism is appreciated.

The Hungry Dog’s Lair: WHAT WILL YOU TELL YOUR DAUGHTER ABOUT HER BODY

Body image is so important. Not just for women, but this post is amazing.  Fathers are the shit.

Kieth Garrett Poetry: THE ICE CREAM MAN

Becuase if you don’t like ice cream, you’re not a real person. #LactoseIntolerant

BONUS: Apparently Beyonce Couldn’t Find Any Words That Rhyme With Elevator

I sneaky dislike Beyonce for no reason.  Probably because I’m jealous.

Who likes badges?  Everyone, that’s who!  If I featured your post this week, or in any previous weeks, feel free to grab one of these bad boys and slap in on your blog so the world can know you’ve been baked with greatness by yours truly.

xoxo, Meg

thehalfandhalfblog.com

BUTTON SWAG

What was your favorite post (by you or someone else) from this week?  Submit it in a comment and maybe I’ll feature my top five favorites next Friday!

Overheard at the Old Folks Home

I have old people on my mind lately, I should probably look into that.

I have to believe that getting old is essentially like reliving your youth all over again.  No one really cares how you act or what comes out of your mouth.  People just chock up all your ridiculous behavior to the fact that you’ve past your prime and you’re just angry at life not being how it use to be.

And then you get put into a home.  Which I assume is just one big party for the elders.  Unless, of course, you get saddled with a Ben Stiller-esque figure from Billy Madison, then living out your days at Shady Acres is a big, fat, jello-filled nightmare.

But with whatever hormones you have left, I’m sure Barney in room 112 can help you figure out a way to blow off some steam.

I have this vision that old people homes are just like high schools.  There has to be the popular grandmas, that just talk shit about the staff and how they don’t appropriately portion their canned veggies.  Then there are the grandpas who still have movement and can be considered the jocks with the way they work a cribbage board.

For all intents and purposes, we’re going to go with the assumption that my thoughts on old folk living is real, and for that I bring you:

Overheard At The Old Folks Home:

“Oh my God, did you see Earnest this morning?  His hearing aid looks amazing!”

“Lyle’s new wheelchair totally has the hook up, I’m going to go ask him for a ride to the cafeteria.”

“I saw a new shipment of Viagra come in today.  Whoever’s it is, I am sitting next to them at dinner.”

“The girls and I are going to hit up bingo later tonight, put on some lipstick, let’s get lucky!”

“I had a wild night last night, Vern came over and we watch four episodes of Murder, She Wrote, put the guardrails down and snuggled on my hospital bed.”

“Damnit, Beth!  I told you, we wear orthopedic shoes on Wednesday, not Doc Martins.”

“Did you see Don’s shoes?  He totally got insoles.”

“I used to not think Carl was cute, but I just got my prescription renewed, and he doesn’t have nearly as many wrinkles as I thought.”

“I love the way Otis plays cards, he’s got such a good poker face.” “Glenda, I just think his face is stuck like that.”

“I’m sorry, Gladys, I can’t play bridge tonight.  Clancy invited me over to room 222 to play Poker with him and Charles.  I think I’m going to get lucky.”

“What do you mean, I’m being coy? We just stayed up for hours talking and watching the Price Is Right!”

“Honestly, if you don’t find Ellen’s walking cane a total turn on, you must be gay.”

“I mean, we were kissing but then I told her I wanted to rest my eyes, and I woke up the next day.”

“Barbara Walters is a slut.”

“Don just pulled up in a used Plymouth Breeze, I think I’m in love.”

“Earl? Yeah, I don’t know what’s going on between us, he ditched me today to play golf.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not myself today, I haven’t had my prunes.”

“Tracy is a cheat.  She took my answer to 56 across and claimed it was HER idea.”

This is all speculation, of course.  Old people homes could be ruthless elderly penitentiaries, and I’m sitting here thinking it’s T-Birds and Pink Ladies.  I guess I won’t know for another forty years.

But you best believe I’m finding the fastest motorized scooter in that building and making the owner my manfriend.

Apparently Beyonce Couldn’t Find Any Words That Rhyme With Elevator

In case you missed being alive yesterday, the internet almost broke when Beyonce released a remix to her song ‘Flawless,’ and she finally addressed the infamous fight between Jay-Z and Solange.

The only problem was that apparently, she couldn’t find any words that rhymed with elevator, so she just repeated it.

We escalate, up in this bitch like elevators
Of course sometimes shit go down
When it’s a billion dollars on an elevator

Hey, maybe I’m being a little too harsh on the Beester (is that cool, Beyonce fanatics?).  Maybe the repetitive nature of that word was for emphasis.  But just in the rare event that my assumptions about pop culture billionaires are correct, I want to remind Beyonce that there are, in fact, a bunch of words that do rhyme with elevator.

Here is the list of potentially badass alternative lyrics to her verse using words that rhyme (imaginarily copyrighted by yours truly):

We escalate, up in this bitch like elevators
Of course sometimes shit go down
Because my sister is a straight up instigator

Everyone who is anyone  has seen that video and knows that Solange throws the first punch.  Thus, making her a straight up instigator.  Rhyme life, 101.

We escalate, up in this bitch like elevators
Of course sometimes shit go down
I need help, please call the operator

This verse would be plausible because 911 is three numbers and when you’re in the midst of a sister-husband spat, you don’t have time to dial three numbers.  The operator is the clear choice here, with only having to press 0, then voice your safety concerns.

We escalate, up in this bitch like elevators
Of course sometimes shit go down
They buggin’ out, I need an exterminator

Beyonce can use this clever pun about bugs and extermination to illustrate how crazy is got up in that metal box.  What do you do when S and Jay are going  crazy?  Call the only man who can extinguish their asses.

We escalate, up in this bitch like elevators
Of course sometimes shit go down
She stole my shoes, they made of alligator

Classic sister feud here that has gone on a little too long.  Jay Z finally said something because he couldn’t stand to listen to Beyonce complain about Solange stole her alligator shoes back in the day.  Dude just trying to get them heels back for his lady.  Can’t be mad about that.

We escalate, up in this bitch like elevators
Of course sometimes shit go down
This aint my husband, he an impersonator

On the flip side, people are really good at pretending to be people they aren’t.  Have you ever been on Sunset Boulevard? Well, me either, but you bet your bottom dollar that those celebrity impersonators are about as realistic as Kirstie Alley staying away from baked goods.

We escalate, up in this bitch like elevators
Of course sometimes shit go down
Cause Arnold Schwarzenegger was the Governator

They live in California, Solange doesn’t.  Jay just wanted to air his political grievances in the privacy of the elevator.  Yet, Solange, being the Terminator aficionado that she is, couldn’t let it go.  And then, BOOM, explosion.

Just goes to show that you can have a zillion people making you look good every day, and you still can’t find the help to put together a simple rhyme scheme.  I’m content being poor and making myself look dumb, at least I don’t pay anyone.

How To Determine If You’re Actually An Old Person

Lookin' good, girlfran!

Lookin’ good, girlfran!

If you answer yes to one or more of the following questions, you may be an old person.

So break out those typewriters, get some chalk and a slate, and let’s talk all talk about all the differences from “when we were your age.”

We’re taking a mental tally and determining if you should be considered a senior citizen and grab yourself a discounted movie ticket!

 You may be an old person if:

  • Your idea of risky behavior is leaving the free square open in a game of bingo
  • Your bedtime is before the nightly news
  • Your concept of dinnertime coincides with the phrase “early bird special”
  • You frequently style your hair with plastic rollers
  • You prefer shoes that are comfortable rather than fashionable
  • You only look at movie times prior to noon
  • You are visually impaired
  • You drive an oversized sedan at a very low speed
  • You wear sunglasses that cover three sides of your face
  • Leftovers is your favorite meal
  • You find yourself using everyday items as a crutch to get you to and from locations
  • You often utilize office equipment (rolly chairs) as transportation devices in order to subsidize your desire to own a motorized scooter
  • The first thing you order at a diner is a bran muffin with extra raisins
  • You hate rap music
  • You substitute common curse words with child-friendly versions
  • You purchase Activia yogurt
  • Your idea of Halloween candy is a cough drop or a Werther’s butterscotch toffee
  • Prunes are a regular part of your dietary routine
  • You constantly find yourself reminiscing on times of when you were someone’s age
  • You find yourself replacing social activities with today’s crossword or sudoku puzzle
  • You are easily angered and perplexed by the internet
  • You find yourself using any excuse to take photos with a physical camera
  • You use the term “rest your eyes” instead of “taking a long ass nap”
  • Your cell phone is not smart
  • You have a coin collection that extends from the spare change in your wallet
  • You live in Florida
  • You live on a golf course
  • You have high cholesterol
  • You’re in a book club that doesn’t read books
  • You misplace everyday objects like your glasses or your pants
  • You have dentures or some sort of teeth protector
  • You opt to pay with a check and don’t understand why people are angry or confused about it
  • You find yourself outfitted in sweaters and slacks when it’s any temperature below 72
  • You yell at children to get off your lawn
  • You’re dead

Or you may just be me and be twenty-five and love wine so much that you’d rather sit at home alone and pantless on a Friday night watching Netflix than go out and be social.

What is your favorite old person stereotype?

SkyMall Power Rankings: My Top 5 Family Friendly Products

Everyone who is anyone knows I have a serious obsession with SkyMall.

Well, lucky for me, they have a new contest out, and I could win the $500 gift card of my dreams if I vote for the best family friendly product the mile-high conglomerate has to offer.

But why, more importantly, HOW do I pick just one?  I mean this magazine is chock full of fun for everyone, I just can’t narrow it down.  It’s like when my mom asked me which birthday present I wanted to open first, and I just said, “All of them.”

Anyways, here is my list of the top 5 family friendly products:

5.  Cabana Islander

cabana

For those who can’t afford a personal private island, this is a must have second tier option.  Float in your pool, a lake, or the ocean and feel the breeze through magnificent cross ventilation due to the lack of doors.  But there’s a cooler!  Someone call Tom Hanks and tell him and Wilson to give me a credit card, because avoiding Helen Hunt for four years just got way more comfortable.

4.  Pushi Pushi Raincoat

push

If your dog isn’t wearing a raincoat, than you’re not doing enough to treat him or her like a human.  Dogs cannot, under any circumstances be left to face the elements unprotected.  It’s a little known fact that they will actually melt if water so much as touches their face.  Protect your dog, protect your life.

3.  Self-Watering Planters

plant

I can’t even remember to shower every day, how am I supposed to be responsible for the lifeline of a plant outside my door?  I am only concerned with things within a five foot radius of my person, it’s a personal bubble.  Sorry, ficus, you must water yourself.  Evolution is the key to success in life, adapt and move on, plants.

2.  Cam-O-Bunk

bunk

Sleepovers anywhere, anytime, anyplace.  Ever want to go to sleep but you’re worried about how you’re going to fit two people in such a small area?  Have no fear!  Just pop up this camo-bunk and not only will you be channelling Bear Grylls in the sheets (not dirty, get your mind out of the gutter) but you’ll be dreaming sweet vignettes of undercover covert ops, transforming your back yard into a slumbering battlezone.  Sleep on, soldier.

1.  Vinnibag

vin

I don’t know why I would even have to explain the importance of safe alcohol travel, but alas, I will.  Not only has alcohol manufacturing not evolved to adapt to the clumsiness of people like me who tend to have sweaty palms in awkward situations (that also tend to require alcohol), but bottles drop, glass breaks.  But not anymore, protect your bottle from damage with this inflatable protective bag. You can also use it for olive oil, but come on, wine is way more important than lubing up your pan for a piece of chicken.

There you have it, folks.  The definitive list of all things great in the family friendly production realm.  I’d like to thank SkyMall for its continued efforts in curating high quality, unique items for sale in the mile high skies.

I am forever entertained, and always excited to see what is in the next issue.

Stay classy, Internet.

Do you have a favorite SkyMall product?

BREAKING NEWS: TODAY IS NATIONAL HOT DOG DAY

PALMED IT

PALMED IT

Hot dogs are like real dogs, they’re man’s best friend.  Or they’re like your favorite uncle that comes into town and everyone wants to hang out because it’s a special treat.  He’s part of the food family, but not immediate like chicken or ham.

He’s the mystery meat.  No one really knows how he’s related to you, but you’re so intrigued you’ll stand there with an empty beer and talk to him about absolutely nothing for an hour.

In honor of National Hot Dog Day, here’s a list of why the dog is better than the burg, and why you should drop everything right now and google map the crap out of the nearest stand:

  • There’s an obvious sexual innuendo, which is always fun, gratifying, and awkward at family gatherings with small children
  • They fit perfectly into one hand, leaving your other hand free for a choco taco or a beverage of your choosing
  • You don’t need two, but you can have more than one without being considered overindulgent
  • Uni-buns.  No top and bottoms for this guy
  • They’re mysterious, you never really know what’s in them, and you don’t want to, because then you’d never come back for more
  • They’re seasonal, yet always an option
  • They’re versatile: grill, steam, boil, or microwave
  • Great for sporting events
  • You don’t need garnish
  • Particularly great when paired with other foods like mac and cheese
  • Frank is both a strong boy’s name and a food group
  • An alternative to the traditional BBQ food
  • But not too much like the veggie burger
  • No one ever said, “Hey, you should stop eating those hot dogs”
  • Variations appear in all meals: sausages and street meat
  • Great for both lunch and dinner
  • Man’s best friend
  • Chilli dogs win wars and cure cancer
  • Condiments are a statement AND an accessory AND a reflection on your personality
  • Easy to walk and eat at the same time
  • You won’t look dumb at a sporting event
  • It’s big enough for a meal and small enough for a snack
  • You don’t have to limit yourself to one part of the animal because you never really know where it comes from
  • If you’re dangerous, go without the bun
  • Good for kids and adults alike
  • You’re never too old to eat a hot dog
  • Everyone loves dick jokes

Frankly, if you don’t enjoy a frank on a hot day, I don’t want to know you as a person.

Happy National Hot Dog Day!

Thanks to Katie (@katiebresnahan) for helping me compile this delicious list and for also seeking out and doing a dog chow down on my lunch break.

What do you think is the best thing about hot dogs?

This Weekend, I Kicked Adversity Square In The Face.

You know, because adversity has a face, and it’s most definitely square.

Sometimes life hands you lemons, and if you’re me, you grab a glass of wine and make some bangin’ sangria.

But sometimes, life hands you presents neatly wrapped with pretty packaging and bows on top.  You know, like the ones you’re thinking about the entire time your grandmother is talking about pickling olives or how she’s trying a new foot cream.

So innocent.

So innocent.

That’s how I feel when I’m at work and I know there’s a big, fat bottle of wine waiting for me when I get home.

Among other things, like food and water, I think that wine is a necessary part of my diet.  It’s just that one little slice (okay, it’s like two slices, and they’re pretty big) that makes up the pizza of sanity I need while I’m here on earth.

I was minding my own business, ready to indulge in Pinot Noir bliss, when disaster struck.

Using my mustache wine opener, because I’m trendy as hell, I attempted to open the bottle.  Right when I’m about to remove the cork, the mustache part of the corkscrew popped off.

And suddenly, I was left with this obstacle to overcome.

#HELP

#HELP

True to form, I am not one to step away from a challenge.

First I tried using my sheer, brute strength to open the bottle, but my fingers can’t grip tight enough, and frankly, I’m weaker than a newborn baby, so my efforts failed.

I know what you’re thinking, “Hey Meg, why don’t you just give up and not drink the wine tonight?  Maybe have a glass of ice water and go to bed?”

And to that I say, “Shame on you.”  I never leave the scene of a crime.

CHA-CHING.

CHA-CHING.

I struggled with my decision to continue my attempt at opening the Elusive Yellowtail until I realized that I had pliers and a brain.

I took the pliers, and reversed the corkscrew out of the bottle.

Instead of going to bed by 830pm, I was up a little longer.  But what I learned through this entire ordeal, is that if you want something, you may just have to use the toolset your father gave you for Christmas that you bitched about because it was a manly gift and you’re a woman who would prefer to not be lumped into group gifts just because you have three brothers.

So, thank you, Father.  Thank you for that majestic tool set.  I will never complain again.  (Don’t quote me on that.)

Cheers.

 

Proud Member of The Clean Plate Club

The first thing I do when I know I’m going out to eat is look up the menu online.

The second thing I do is show up with a predetermined idea of what I want to eat, see the menu in front of me and immediately act like I’ve never seen any of the entrees before.

I have this thing where I feel like I need to eat all of the things on the menu for fear of missing out on something delicious.  I want four different appetizers before my main meal.

Against my company’s wishes, they eventually oblige my need to fulfill all my cravings, and order an array of teaser treats and divine dishes that I will never, under any circumstances be able to finish.

Or maybe I just hated what I got.

After the meal, we box the unfinished dishes up.  We take the leftovers home.

Much like going out to dinner, life’s expectations never match reality.  Sometimes experiences aren’t what you expect.  Things don’t always go according to plan.

At the end of the day, you never really put everything out on the table.  As human beings, we like to keep things, harbor them, pack them away.  We never want to purge our lives of things that are meaningful.

We keep the leftovers of relationships, fights, and adventures.  We harbor them.  We might need them later on.

So we take them with us, put them away, and save them for later.  For better or for worse.

Leftovers come in many different forms.

On the one hand, there are the ones that stay good for a long period of time.  These are the good times, the memories you want to keep, the ones when you open up that box and remember how juicy that steak was, and how it was perfectly paired with those mashed potatoes.

Kind of like how you felt when you put on a dress after losing all that weight, and getting to pair it with those heels you’ve been waiting to wear for months.

On the other hand, there are the meals you take back and they just aren’t good after a day.  You take it out, open it and immediately regret thinking you could handle this at a later time.

These are the mornings after a night of drinking and you reach for a water bottle, only to take a swig of straight vodka.  Thank you, college.  You can die now.

Sometimes you want to take it home just because you paid for it.  Like that impulse purchase at Marshall’s, again, that you’ll only really wear once, but you had to have it, even though it just ends up claiming space in your closet.

You take them home because you feel bad.  Like that sweater your grandmother gave you for Christmas or that guy who was really nice to you at the bar (but you’ll totally be a lady, of course).

Maybe it was part of a meal that you will never forget.  Like a fight with your mother where the words still linger in the coming years.

We all have leftovers.

Except for me.  I am part of the Clean Plate Club, suckers. #NoRegrets

The Common White Girl’s Thoughts On Driving

When I get in my car, it is for a reason.

I have places to be.  Meetings to make.  People to see.  Errands to run.  Songs to sing at the top of my lungs to relieve my stress.

I have important tasks that need attending, and everyone else on the road should know this.

There is a code of excellence I expect my fellow road companions to adhere to, and frankly, I just don’t know if everyone knows what they are.

I am a common white girl, and I am the most important person on the road.

When I get into my Volkswagen Jetta, I immediately plug in my ipod, put on my favorite Early 2000’s Pop Hits station, and make sure I have the proper song vibes to truly coast to my destination in nostalgic style.

While waiting at a traffic light, if it happens to turn green before I notice, please refrain from honking. I am most likely drafting an extremely urgent text message containing vital information like: what kind of sushi rolls are my favorite, if I prefer red or white wine, how I’m doing on my summer diet.

Or I am impatiently staring into the distance after regrettedly rereading the eighty messages I sent to my boyfriend that he still hasn’t respond to yet.

While en route, I may forget to put on a blinker or two when I’m switching lanes. Please allow extra room for this. I will unknowingly enter your lane and claim it as my own, and get extremely upset and flustered if you so much as give me an angry glance.

I am fragile, and so is this car my father bought for me.

If it looks like I am not paying attention to the drivers on either side of my vehicle, it is because my sunglasses are too big and cover too much of my face.  I simply cannot be held responsible for my peripheral vision when I have dark brown bugeye lenses that are shielding my precious pupils from the sun’s harmful glares.

When I drive, I follow the mantra set forth by none other than the Goddess of Country music, Carrie Underwood.  I don’t wear seatbelts, I let Jesus take the wheel.

Sidenote: I will also dig my key into the side of anyone’s pretty, little, souped up, four wheel drive, and then promptly carve my name into the leather seats.  After, I’ll take a Louisville Slugger to both of the headlights, and slash holes in all four tires.  So don’t even think about cheating on me.

And yes, sometimes I will hit things.  It’s not my fault.  I can’t see over my steering wheel, and even if I could, I can’t be held accountable for that mailbox post taking growth hormones and sprouting overnight, or that curb that miraculously appeared out of nowhere.  I hope you understand.

Yeah.  I’ll write you a check.

Realistically, I hit something because I was stuffing my face with food that I  inevitably “forgot” I ate, so those calories don’t even count.  That’s right, food consumed in the car does not count towards any dietary caloric restrictions.  And if it doesn’t count, it never happened, just like that mailbox I hit.

Either that, or I was looking out the window and saw a gorgeous patch of grass that needed to be Instagrammed.  People must know what I am doing at all hours of the day, or else they will think I live a boring life completely devoid of fun, filters, and friends.

And we can’t have that, now can we?

So, excuse me while I completely cut you off, forget to go on green, or run over your lawn.  I am a common white girl, and I am the most important person on the road. 

 

I Gave All My Friends Breast Implants At My Thirteenth Birthday Party.

You know the saying, “patience is a virtue?”  Well, when I was thirteen there was no capacity left in me to endure my flat chested, baby body, and I decided it was time I got boobs. 

Now, before you all break out your early millenium spiral corded landlines and dial the DCF hotline to file a ten-years-too-late complaint on my mother, just know that any time you put a bunch of thirteen year old girls around things that resemble boobs, they’re all going to jump at the chance to enhance.

Case and point: At my thirteenth birthday party there were water balloons present.  We were all in bathing suits and there was not much going on up top, if you know what I mean. One thing led to another, and all of the sudden there were ten pre-teen girls resembling wet dog versions of Pamela Anderson running around my front yard.

Waterboobloons.

Waterboobloons.

I was thirteen years old, and I couldn’t wait to be sixteen.  To get my license, responsibility, and the sacred freedom from my parents to stay out later than 9pm.

When I was sixteen, I couldn’t wait to be eighteen.  To be legal and able to buy cigarettes and porn, and pretend I knew about politics.  (Aside: I did not buy porn, I wouldn’t even know where to begin in the purchasing process, but the thought seemed scandalous) 

When I was eighteen I couldn’t wait to be twenty-one, to have my first (legal) sip of alcohol, to walk into a liquor store with my real ID and not be scared of getting arrested for poorly impersonating my sorority sister from Virginia.

When I was twenty-one, I couldn’t wait to be twenty-five.  To.. well, nevermind, I didn’t think anything fun happened after twenty-one, but I just wanted to be grown up and out of college.

Looking back, there are so many instances in life where I couldn’t wait for the future.  I had plans, visions, and aspirations for my next milestone.  Sure, it’s exciting to think about the car you want to drive when you get your license, or the way you want to celebrate your twenty-first birthday.  But in reality, we spend so much time wishing for the future, that we never really enjoy the present.

If there is one thing we can take away from childhood photographs, it is to remember to take each day as it is.  If you’re twenty-five waiting for thirty, you’ll miss out on all the opportunities and advantages your twenties have to offer.

Don’t be that thirteen year old girl wishing she was sixteen, then eighteen, then twenty-one. You’ll regret caring so much about your appearance, wasting time, your allowance, and your sanity on clothes that are too expensive and won’t fit in a year.

You’ll eventually get boobs and own as many bras as your little heart desires.  You’ll get that womanly shape you see on television, and you’ll critique it just like you do to the women in the magazines.

Don’t wish for things you don’t have.  I promise you the girl who actually got boobs in fifth grade cursed her mother’s mammary glands until all her friends caught up to her three years later.

Remember that life is a gift.  Cherish it.  Revel in it.

Next thing you know you’re twenty-five and are looking at pictures of yourself when you were thirteen wondering why you took growing up so seriously.

And you also hate your boobs.