Mildly Interesting

How on earth did I used to be able to write a post almost every day and some days multiple posts per day? Now I’m just sitting here wondering what the hell has happened lately that is interesting enough to write about.

Saw Black Panther. Liked it a lot. Michael B. Jordan might just be my favorite new actor. (Although he’ll always be known as Jamal from Hardball.)

Bought Justice League. Liked it. My Wonder Woman crush has gotten stronger. My husband and son are slightly concerned at this point. My shoulder slipped out of its socket last night when I pretended that the sheet in the floor was the Lasso of Hestia and tried to whip it. Yay, loose joints…and oops.

We discussed who could play Batman if Ben Afleck is out and have agreed on Ryan Gosling or Idris Elba. Leonardo DiCaprio would be acceptable, but he doesn’t do franchise films. We do not like Jake Gylenhaal for the role. Someone needs to contact Warner Brothers and make them aware of the Batman think tank we’ve got going on. 

(And speaking of Batman, Baby Girl hasn’t called him “Battan” in forever.)

Watched the first season of The Handmaid’s Tale. Loved it and wondered what took me so long. Also started watching Sherlock and am digging it. Martin Freeman, y’all, swoon. I know he isn’t the typical actor to swoon over, but swoon nonetheless.

Maybe that’s why I don’t have anything terribly interesting to write about — I’ve been watching too much TV lately.

My kids should be providing blogging material, but I don’t suppose Little Man calling another kid a shitbucket would be enough for a whole post. (He didn’t call him a shitbucket to his face, but asked me in the car if he could say what was on his mind, I said “sure,” and then he told me that. That’s my new favorite curse word.) Baby Girl has kicked Little Man and my husband out of the family again, but the hilariousness of that is starting to wear off.

Ooh, I can write about some drama, though. My kids have been going to a gymnastics place since last summer. There was some mama drama with one of the moms of a kid who was in Little Man’s class. Her child is 8 and is a little shit, but he gets that from his mom, who is a big shit. No matter what her kid does (pushing, hitting, refusing to do whatever exercise they’re doing, stopping for a game break), it’s fine. He’s just a boy and boys do boy things, after all. If anyone asks her son not to do certain things, then she’s ready to throw down.

The kid screamed in Little Man’s ear repeatedly a couple weeks ago. Little Man, who has auditory sensory issues, told him to cut it out and was visibly upset, covering his ears. The instructor told him to stop. I told him to cut it out. The mom told him that no one else is the boss of him and that he doesn’t have to listen to anyone else and told him to get his shoes and left. I since found out that she was asked not to bring him back, so yay.

Eh, that wasn’t as interesting as I thought it’d be.

There was almost some family drama last week. I purchased a concert DVD of my fav band online and watched it with Baby Girl. She claimed my man as being hers. Seriously, after asking the names of the guys in the band, she pointed at one and said, “He’s mine.” Uh, wtf, Baby Girl, where did this come from? You aren’t 11. (I remember having many arguments with my cousin over claiming guys in Bop magazine at this age.) I claimed him as being mine many years ago, so back off.

Are y’all dying of boredom yet? Because I am.

But ooh! Something kinda interesting — I got in the booth at my audiology appointment on Friday. I was only able to do one of the tests because of some tech issues, but on that one test in quiet, I was able to understand 96 freaking percent of what was said. This was testing both the implanted ear and the other ear without a hearing aid. I don’t remember what the score with both crappy ears was prior to the implant (it was ~40 percent with hearing aids in noise,  so I’m guessing it was probably around that in quiet with no aids), but my audiologist went slightly nuts and danced around the office. I know my comprehension in background noise wouldn’t have been anywhere close to that (and that’s always been the biggest problem hearing wise), but still…96 percent and only one month in!

Okay, enough of the mildly interesting rambling post. Maybe next time the juices will be flowing.


Hair Like Meg Ryan

For our date night last week, Sam and I ordered take-out and watched You’ve Got Mail. I feel obligated to say that it wasn’t on Netflix, given my slew (well, two) of Netflix posts last week. Instead, we kicked it old school and watched the DVD I’ve had since I was in high school (yep, sometimes the newfangled digital shit can last, unless Little Man touches it, anyway).

My grandmother was a fan of romantic comedies, so I watched a lot of those since I lived with her. She was a Meg Ryan superfan (until The Affair with Russell Crowe, sigh), and I became one too after watching You’ve Got Mail. As a teen who had recently gotten an Internet connection, I thought it was the most romantic thing ever. A smart guy! Who enjoys books! And can write! Such a guy didn’t exist in my class of 70-odd students, so that movie gave my love life a little hope (although working up the nerve to go the online route would come later).

You know how couples have a song? It might be the first song they ever danced to together or the one they danced to at their wedding. This movie is our equivalent of our song. (Truth be told, we have a song, too. And it’s not Hanson, because Sam put his foot down.) We went the same route as the characters, meeting online, taking forever to meet, and when we did it was amazeballs (well, it was amazeballs a couple months after we met, anyway, when my nervousness wore off). Our story isn’t as interesting though, and consists only of a few missed hints and involuntarily dodged kisses — no business war or bailing on meeting or leading someone on while not telling them you’re the online guy they’re infatuated with. But otherwise IT’S EXACTLY THE SAME.


We were getting sappy and stuff while watching the movie, reciting lines here and there, like it was of Star Wars or Shakespeare importance, when it dawned on me that there was something about me that Sam didn’t know. Once you’ve been married to someone for 10 years — hell, even 5 — finding something new to share from one’s past is pretty major. It’s almost on the level of giving diamonds. Almost.

“Oh my god, that haircut!” I commented. “I loved that haircut when I was in high school. I had it for the better part of two years. But it never worked out.”

This is it, in case you haven’t watched You’ve Got Mail or just don’t remember:


Between my lack of being able to blow my wavy (but not curly, dammit) hair straight, it not being the right haircut for my face, and the crappy stylist whose cuts rarely resembled the picture given, the haircut didn’t work for me. It didn’t work the first time I was a sophomore in high school, or the second time with blonde highlights, or even the 89th time, when I was a senior in high school, and I’d highlighted my hair so much that it was nearly straight up blonde. (This is when I realized I should just let it grow out and go back to my natural color.)


Except for it’d say “Meg Ryyyyyan!”

“You meant you actually wanted the haircut of a woman in her 40s?” Sam asked with a smirk on his face.

“She wasn’t in her 40s at the time,” I said, defending my style choice for god knows what reason. “Probably like her 30s. Or mid-30s.”

“That’s really not better. You were 15!”

“Almost 16, though. And it was a cute haircut! Just not on me. Which may be why I didn’t date more in high school.”

“Aw, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Sam said. “Just pretty bad.” I have yet to show him my picture in the yearbook from that haircut — the one where I was wearing a plain white t-shirt for, again, god knows what reason. Add in being sweaty as hell because it was early September in SC, and you’ve got loads of awfulness.

I also didn’t tell him about how, when I first got the cut, that my English teacher marked me as being absent on the attendance slip that day and had to page the office to have them correct it so I wouldn’t get a detention for skipping when I was eventually (I assume) marked present in another class. That should have deterred me from getting it again, but nope. Awkward teenage years were awkward.

At least I know better now!

Any hair horror stories you’d like to share? Or maybe there was a time when you tried to be an almost middle-aged woman when you were a teen?

The 2016 Netflix Challenge

One thing I see on social media a lot is challenges. Not so much the kind where people do stupid shit that sends them to the hospital and you get to roll your eyes at someone for being a dumbass (there seems to be less of these as I/my friends have aged), but the kind where you have to move.

Yes, move.

There are challenges for abs, challenges for squats, challenges for push-ups — you get my drift. These are not challenges I’m inclined to do anymore so than I’m inclined to eat a teaspoon of cinnamon or chug a gallon of milk because I’m lazy, because it’s hot, because…just because.

I finally came across a challenge more up my ally, though, and it doesn’t involve moving or doing anything that’ll land me in the ER — it’s the 2016 Netflix Challenge.


There are a couple of things that will be tough for me to do on this list — like watch a one-star movie (I guess there is always the zombie beavers movie that was mentioned in the comments of my Netflix and Swill post) or finding one set in my state of South Carolina — but otherwise, I think I got this. A few I’ve already done, like watch a Netflix original series (Orange is the New Black) and watch a movie not in my language (The Hunt), so I’ve got a head start on this challenge.

So, who’s with me? And, any non-shitty movie recommendations (so I can check out the “movie recommended on this blog” box)?

How To Red Box

I don’t know about y’all, but sometimes I really miss the days of going to a video store to pick out a movie. I remember going once in a while as a kid with my family, and it was always really special for it to be your turn to pick out something (five kids, sigh). Even when I was older, it was nice to take my time wandering around the store until I found something that looked really good.

The first job I got at age 16 was at a Not Blockbuster video store, where I was eventually promoted to assistant manager and then manager over another location. I loved it. There was just something about the smell of shrink wrap (as well as using it to shrink wrap a coworker’s textbook or purse) and foam inserts. Yes, I’m slightly weird. Yes, you love me anyway!

Unfortunately, the video store I worked at has gone out of business now, like most other video stores. Thank you, Netflix and Red Box. Don’t get me wrong, though — I’m not a hater. I just want to have my cake and eat it, too. I’d never give up Netflix, and Red Box could be nice for the occasional movie rental. I say “could be” because people suck so hard that they make what should be a painless transaction so annoying that it’s worth paying twice as much to rent on Amazon.

If you’re concerned that your Red Box behavior is forcing people to turn to Amazon, read below to find out How To Red Box properly. If any of them apply to you, then you may want to rethink your entire Red Box process.

Respect the personal bubble. Look at the space between you and the person at the kiosk. If you stretch out your arms, would you touch her? Yes? Then MOVE. No one wants someone not their spawn or spouse all up on them, especially not when handling the delicate business that is picking out a movie that costs $1.29!


Stop it with the sighing. I know that it can be annoying when someone takes forever to pick out a movie, but chill. It’ll be your turn soon enough, but if not, you can always find another kiosk. Or watch Netflix. Or illegally download something. No one wants to hear you acting like you’re about to have an asthma attack back there, especially when one is merely returning a single movie and leaving.

Don’t ask for someone’s movie. While you’re getting up close and personal with the stranger at the kiosk, it might suck to see them grab the movie you made the trip to Red Box for, but don’t ask them to remove the movie from their cart. Don’t tell them how long you’ve waited to watch it. Don’t try to guilt trip someone by saying it’s for your sick child. Get something else or try making an online reservation.

Get off your damn cell phone. Sighing is justified when you’re holding up the line while gabbing away about where you’re picking up supper. Hang up, put the person on hold, whatever…put the phone down and stop being so rude. The same goes for small talk — if you’re in line, fine. (Unless it’s with me.) If you’re at the kiosk, then discussing your weekend plans can wait.

If there’s a line, GET IN IT. People don’t generally stand single file near a Red Box kiosk, often with a bag of groceries in their hands, for their health. They’re standing there because they are waiting their turn to use the machine. Don’t lie in wait next to your car and make a beeline for the machine when you see someone take their movie. The other four people don’t care that you have an appointment, are late for whatever, or only need to return your three movies. Get in line. (Most people will offer to let you cut to return something if you ask nicely.)

Feel free to print off these rules and tape them to the Red Box in your neighborhood. Or say “Who the hell does this bitch think she is, making rules for renting movies” and go on a road trip to find me and irritate me at the Red Box.

Magic Mike XXL–The Excitement

If you thought the most exciting thing you’d see while going out to see Magic Mike XXL would be Channing Tatum or Joe Manganiello dancing across the screen, you’d be wrong (or not a dork).

Instead, it’s what I saw on the way out–

Y’all, I fucking squealed. I then spoke gibberish, did a small jig, and whipped out my phone to take a picture. I think maybe I lost some coolness points?

The trailer made it official, but seeing the movie poster makes it official official. Kinda like an engagement party.

FYI, the viewing of Magic Mike XXL didn’t happen with my husband (even though we did see one dude with his old lady at the movie). It happened on a Girls Night Out, which was partially fueled by some heavenly Watermelon Coolers at Chili’s.