This week on Facebook

FB done right. With the caption:
Happy St. Patty's Day

Some people post weird/ retarded/ hilarious shit on Facebook. I am all for it. I personally think that the FB should be used for nothing besides: Self Promotion. Random Dumbassery. And pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. 

I posted about taking a nap in my car the other day. Someone speak up if you care about that. *crickets* *tumbleweeds* *dead silence* See? That is what I am saying. Unless you are very funny, irreverent or insanely vulgar, I really don’t care what you have to say on Facebook. But a lot of you fuckers make me laugh and/or think to myself, “Really, dude?”

So that is what “This week on Facebook” will be. Looking through my News Feed throughout the week and picking and choosing things that are either: ridiculous, funny, horrible, vulgar, stupid, pointless, misspelled, basically anything that amuses or frustrates me.

I will not post names or screen grabs but if you happen to find yourself ruthlessly made fun of…sorry? It’s all out of love, I assure you. And, remember, if I do post something that you have posted, it just means I haven’t hidden you from my news feed. Consider yourself cool.

Here we go. Hold on to your butts:

- A fire alarm went off at 6:15 in the morning. Eight flights of stairs were then descended upon. Seeing as how this person was on spring break and on vacation where she drank a lot, I have zero sympathy.

- Both The National Center for Science Education and Evolution as a whole has a Facebook page. Who knew?

- People suck? Oh yes, I see. More bitching and moaning on Facebook; the new therapist for whiners.

- Why is the Grey’s Anatomy musical happening? Also, why is that show still on the air? And, why has Ellen Pompeo not been hate-punched by me yet?

- Found a new recipe: I mixed vanilla @ 1/4 gallon of vanilla ice cream with 1/2 crunchy peanut butter and spread that in one of those chocolate graham cracker shells and then heated a little hot fudge and poured on top, froze for 2 hours and served. Yummy, quick dessert!

- Way too many posts concerning The Bachelor. Why is this show still a thing and why the fuck does anyone care? Everyone knows that the couple that emerges from that show won’t last, right?  

- I will happily take a Bachelor post over incessant American Idol posts, however. There is one thing about America I don’t understand: it’s obsession with American Idol. Will this shit never die?

- Speaking of American Idol: Steven Tyler is not hot despite what many statuses may say.

- People still eat at Picadilly? What? Why? How is someone young enough to be on fb still old enough to go to Picadilly?

- I am so glad that I stay informed on when so many different people get gas. So exciting. Almost as exciting as when people check in at home. I love it.

- Crimanal Justice is apparently a naw collage majer.

- It rained outside on Monday in case anyone was wondering and their home/ workplace/ car/ igloo/ blanket fort doesn’t have windows, you now have everyone on Facebook telling you when it rains, how much and where.

- It was St. Patricks Day on Thursday. Who knew? Every single person on Facebook. That is who.

- This stinkin video was posted and I should have never, ever watched it. It’s a dog whose doggie-friend got hurt in the earthquake so he stayed behind to make sure his friend was okay. Upon further research (I won’t research a lot of things, but I will research to make sure a dog is ok) both dogs have since been rescued and they are now both ok. But, for real, don’t watch if it you don’t want to bawl your stupid eyes out.

- I now know that a grilled mac and cheese pulled pork sandwich is a real thing that exists in this world. I now cannot unknow that.

- White peach Sangria, bring it bitches. I would drink the shit out of that.

- This week marked the return of my least favorite status time of the year; March Madness:

            - GD clutch threes at the last second....FML :(

- Jesus Louisville. You are terrible.

- It will totally screw up my brackets if they lose but I really hope Calipair gets smoked. Go Princeton.

-Richmond's mascot is a spider. Gross.

And finally, here is where I give a shout out to Facebook statuses done right, there should be more and I promise to pay closer attention next week:

- Just met Richard Simmons in the Detroit airport. I'm going to go work out now! (and in the comments…) He said to this man, “I'd like to take my picture with this lady. She just got out of jail and is starting a new life! Don't shoplift girls or you'll get six years!”

- omg my bracket!!!!!!!!! jk wtf do i care? #marchmadness

- I wish there were more people in the world that got my Airborne references.

- Sitting on the porch, playing battleship with my wife and enjoying the beautiful weather.

- Nate Dogg will no longer be hey-aay-aay-aaaaaay...................................... smoking weed every day.

- First Nate Dogg and now the guy who played Alfred in the 90's Batman movies? This week can go to hell.

Stories I Shouldn't Tell



I don’t know if I am allowed to tell this story or not. I haven’t been given clearance but I deemed it appropriate. So I am going to tell it anyway*.

I cannot say enough good things about my nephews. They are excellent, really super cool kids and I think they get cooler every day. It is the neatest thing in the world to see. So when they actually do something horrendously, comically bad I reeeally want to share it. I just can’t help myself.

So good when they're sleeping...



Or wearing Power Rangers night vision goggles

They are great kids and, for the most part, they are very well behaved. Especially with me. I let them get away with pretty much everything to a point but they know if they fuck up, they will never get anything again from me.

Whitman (4) and Garrett (5) were playing outside a few weeks ago. It has probably been about a month now since it has happened. It was a very nice day outside, one of those awesome days that we had in February that were so desperately needed. The kids were outside playing and Christy had gone to run and Ron wasn’t home from work yet. I was watching the kids while she ran and I got ready. As soon as she got back, I had to leave to go have a drink (when I was drinking). 　

They were in the backyard and all the windows were open and sound carries well around here so I could hear them (they are also very loud) pretty well while I was getting ready. And I poked my head out a few times just to make sure they were ok. They were fine. In the backyard. Everything was good.

I had just checked on them and they were in their Jeep riding around the backyard. I thought "Okay, I can dry my hair real quick and then come to check on them again when I get done." I went back to my room and started drying my hair. It doesn’t take but about five minutes to dry my hair these days. I turned the hair dryer off and as soon as it clicked off I heard glass breaking outside my window. My window, which is on the side of the house not the backyard.

So I jumped up and looked out my open window only to see:

Garrett and Whitman, breaking beer bottles, from the recycling bin, on the drive-way. They each had a bottle in their hands, hands that were still raised above their heads. Immediately I shouted in Concerned Aunt Voice, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?!"

Normally I do not curse around them. I have gotten much, much better. Ask anyone! But they really caught me off guard and scared the shit out of me. That was the first thing out of my mouth.

Garrett looked up at me, arm still raised, frozen in time, with an expression that said, "Fuuuuuu..."

"Put that bottle down RIGHT NOW!" I yelled out the window.

And he stood there for a second like "Okay, it’s in my hand. How pissed is she going to be if I throw this one? I really want to throw it because it sounds really cool but is it going to be worth it if I lose tv and games for a week? Hmmmm..." He thought twice and put the bottle down.

I then said, "Do not move. I will be down there in a minute." I ran downstairs in a mild panic dressed in basically a sleep camisole, hair just dried, looking like a maniac screaming at two kids breaking beer bottles on the driveway.

When I got outside, they hadn’t moved a muscle. They were both standing there bracing themselves.

Guys, I honestly didn’t know what to do. I was horrified that one of them might have somehow harmed themselves, and then I was really pissed that they did something like this on my watch, and then I was like "Well you know, it kind of makes sense..." they were bored and breaking glass is pretty cool.

I did the only thing I could think to do which is tell them to get inside, sit down on the couch and wait. So when I said that I expected them to do it and I got nothing but lip.

"What is the big deal? I didn’t hurt myself," says Garrett, incredulous.

"You could have though! Are you crazy?! You are breaking glass. Of course it is a big deal," I said and then pointed to the front door, "Get inside. Now!"

Garrett, still baffled as to why he would ever be in trouble for this says, "Fine! I will clean it up. Just calm down."

They walked inside with their heads down and sat there until Christy got home. My immediate first thought was, "Christy is going to shit..." and she did. It was quite a reaction to see.

This was probably the worst thing that they have ever done by far. I don’t know what had gotten into them and why, all of a sudden, they wanted to be beer bottle breaking bad asses. No clue. I am still a little amazed by the absurdity of it all. It is very, very unlike them in every way. They have yet to destroy anything besides a cupcake. It was nuts to say the least.

How did they get out of the backyard, you ask? Were they not locked in there? Don’t ya’ll have a gate? Yes, yes we do. And normally you would be correct. There is no way they could have unlatched the gate to get out of the backyard to the driveway. No way. So they did the next best thing.

Our fence has a gate and it’s also has where you can remove part of the fence, you know, so you can drive in your backyard. Yeah, so they actually moved the fence (somehow, I have no idea how) out of the way which is kind of tricky to get to the driveway with beer bottles in their hands to then go break on the driveway.

Not only did they go through the recycling bins for bottles but they moved fence. They planned this out. There was some strategy involved. Had to be. Methinks than when people say "Boys are crazy!" this is what they were talking about.

*Also if anyone out there is reading: If you go and like the link to this blog on fb and/ or retweet the link on Twitter (I am starting to like Twitter, I am so ashamed of myself, follow @staceygarrett) and if I can get let’s say 20 likes on fb and five retweets on Twitter (I have very few followers) by Sunday, I will post another story that I have actually been told not to tell. Ha. I am SUCH a whore. So go do that. Or not. It’s whatever.

Pinch Me. See what happens.

You're welcome

Oh St. Patricks Day…I really don’t care about you but I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t gulp down a Guinness in about 35 seconds. Sigh. And I have never done an Irish car bomb in my life but I would do one right now. I would do several, if you want me to be honest here.

I did not wear green today because I completely forgot what day it was and, also, I don’t care as I said above. I have yet to be pinched, I am pretty sure that HR would be called if I were to be pinched. Plus, there are very few people around here that I wouldn’t mind if they pinched me, hubba hubba (not really).

What kind of asshole actually pinches someone that isn’t wearing green?

I actually looked up why you get pinched for failing to wear green and I got about a dozen different answers and all of them seemed super dumb. I have come to the conclusion however that being pinched is an American thing which doesn’t surprise me at all. Way to whore out other traditions from other countries and change them around to suit you, America. Cinco de Mayo, anyone?

Anyway, everyone have a wonderful St. Patrick’s Day! Get drunk. Get laid. All that good stuff. I will be doing neither and kinda really only bummed about the one (but which one?)

Also, green beer is stupid. It needed to be said.

Laundry Day: Imaginary friends were the only kind that understood me

And now your second installment of Laundry Day (I told you it wouldn’t come every week):



 I had two imaginary friends when I was five. They were boys and they were my sons and they lived in my closet. One of their names was Michael and I can’t remember the other one’s name. I guess Michael was my favorite and I blocked the other one out? My mom remembers their names. It’s her go-to story whenever she wants to embarrass the shit out of me. That and telling people I didn’t learn to walk until I was 18 months old. Thanks, mom! Anyhoo, let me check with mom:

“You had two imaginary friends, Michael and Jimmy and they lived in your closet. You set things up for them in there like it was their room. And when they were bad, you would lock them in.”

“So I was a really weird kid is what you are saying?”

”No, not especially. All kids have imaginary friends, you just had two of them that were somewhat ill-behaved. You had a wild imagination a lot of the time...Make sure you tell everyone on your blog that you used to poop your pants while you were hiding under the dining room table! ” *laughs hysterically*

My gaze tells me I am showing off in front of my imaginary sons

Thanks, mom…So mom can embarrass me but she must remember that embarrassment is a two-way street:

I went to Sky View for kindergarten. Christy and I went to the same school but for some reason the kindergarten was closed one day but the grade school was open. So Christy had to go, but I did not. They didn’t even send a note home about this which is crazy, right? They trusted five-year-olds to tell their parents they didn’t have school and they trusted the parents to actually believe their children. Mine did not.

Mom brought me to kindergarten that day after I swore (yeah, I was swearing at five, what up?) up and down that I didn’t have school that day. She didn’t believe me (what parent would?) so she dropped me off in front of the kindergarten. My sister has always been a pretty solid protector so she would always walk me to the door of the kindergarten building. This morning when she tried to open the door, it was locked. I told. You so.

She was a great sister but I don't like the look in her eyes here

Mom was driving away in her snazzy two-door Buick at the time so Christy and I had to run out to the street to flag her down to come back and get me, her honest, trustworthy five-year-old. We caught her, thankfully, and she has been apologizing for that ever since. And boy was her face red when she saw that every single other parent trusted their child and didn’t bring them to school that day. Ha! You would think she would have learned to listen to me from that, she didn’t…

Back in the day when I went to church, a missionary came to speak and she picked me to bring me up on stage and measure my arm. More than likely to measure how large a healthy child’s arm should be and compare it to children of starving countries. Makes sense, yes? Not to me it didn’t. I thought she was going to cut my arm off. Seriously. I thought she was going to sacrifice my right arm to god for some reason and I was terrified as any small child should be when they find out their arm is about to be cut off. Naturally, I couldn’t stop crying.

I was a very shy kid when I was little so mom thought I was just nervous about going up in front of everyone. I was bawling my eyes out in fear of losing an appendage and mom was baffled at to what my problem was. I tried explaining but I couldn’t get the words out over my uncontrollable sobs. My crying grew worse as the time approached so mom had to take me into the restroom, sit me down, and tell me to cut the shit (she would never) it wasn’t that big of a deal and to calm it down. I am also pretty sure I got a spanking* for my ridiculous crying.

I was inconsolable so the missionary chose someone else to cut off their arm and I was relieved to say the least that some other poor schmuck was giving their arm to Jesus. Better them than me. When I finally calmed down I told mom what I thought the missionary was going to do and, immediately, she felt horrible about the whole misunderstanding.  Of course I was crying, mom. DUH!

I cried uncontrollably a lot back in the day so I shouldn’t be at all surprised that she thought I was overreacting. The only photographic evidence I can find is this from my kindergarten graduation:

I am told I cried throughout the whole thing. Couldn’t tell you why. I do know that I am still tormented about my crying jags to this day. No one knows what the hell was wrong with me at kindergarten graduation and, really, no one knows what the hell is wrong with me now. I like to keep people guessing you see.

Next up on Laundry Day; Grandparents…those magnificent bastards.

*To this day I will never understand why parents spank their children to get them to stop crying. Does that not seem counterproductive? And kind of crazy?

Two Weeks Sober, Bitches!

I have not had a drink in two weeks. Woohoo! So all those fuckers that doubted me (no one) you can kiss my disappearing (not really) ass.

I am down a size. I will not tell you where that size started and where it ended up but it’s smaller and that is all that counts. Geez! You people are nosy.

Does it suck? Kinda. Is it as hard as I thought it would be? No. Could I drink a beer right now? Absolutely. It would go perfectly with my pimento cheese sandwich. But I won’t. And also on Cake Wrecks today there was a Guinness cake and I couldn’t help think “I could drink the shit out of that.

I have gone out twice since quitting drinking (Wow, that’s sad. Let’s all go out. Thank you.) and I easily avoided temptation. The first would be the Wednesday after I quit drinking. We had a girls night with all those lunatic bitches I used to work with. We like to get together every now and again to catch up on all things crunchy frog and disposable hand towel related. And ladies, I had a great time. I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants (not hyperbole) so I am fun when I am sober! I told you!

It was harder last Thursday when I met Chris for a drink before our free screening of Battle of Los Angeles. Chris (also a former co-worker*) is a beer asshole (to say the least) so I knew that he would be sitting there describing the beer in minute detail and I would want one. And he did, of course. Bastard. I had a sip of his beer (sips do not count, obviously) and it was good but I gladly stopped there. There is a possibility being drunk would have made that movie better, but I somehow doubt that. It was pretty terrible and Aaron Eckhart is one hell of an overacter. Awful times.

But yeah, I am doing pretty well, if anyone out there was wondering. I think mom was waiting on me to post about it because she asked yesterday how I was doing on not drinking. When I told her it has been two weeks she sounded relieved with a little surprise peppered in. She has never, ever said so but I think she thought I drank too much as it was. But to her, too much is next to nothing.

My mother has never been drunk a day in her life. Seriously. I believe her when she tells me that. Dad, on the other hand, never says anything about how he was when he was younger. He owns up to nothing which basically tells me one thing: He was terrible which doesn’t surprise me in the least.  I mean, I have seen what his room used to look like so I know there has to be some shrooms or peyote or something somewhere. Right?! He will never say…



Pretty close rendering of what his room used to look like but with less boobs



Anyhoo, 98 days left.

It has been asked to me a few times would I drink if someone else was paying. The answer: No I will not. I appreciate the offer, people, but no. I am doing this for other reasons besides money. But I would be more than happy to take you up on that beer offer in 98 days! I can assure you I will still be just as broke then.

*And let me take a second to say, yes, I am still pretty good friends with people I used to work with which really says something for how much fun I would have at work every day from just sheer, unadulterated stupidity of grown-ass people. So fun. I have never been so unprofessional in all my life (that’s not true) (to read that you have to be my fb friend, do it!).

                                                                               

Stacey and Garrett's Day of Fun

At times I have to practice saying no to that face.

I have started a small routine, tradition, whatever with the boys and myself. If they are good, I take them to the ice cream shop. They call anywhere that has ice cream or frozen yogurt or anything frozen and cold, the Ice Cream Shop.

One day I was taking them both out for pizza and I said if they were good at dinner, I would take them to the Ice Cream Shop. Garrett was unpleased, “Every time we go out to dinner first there is never enough time to go to the Ice Cream Shop. Can we go get ice cream first?”

Garrett has a way of asking questions like this that he knows he probably shouldn’t be pushing his luck with but he has to ask just to make sure that your answer is going to be “No.” He looks at you with his eyebrows raised and this little grin on his face like “No harm in asking, am I right?”

Since he had the balls enough to ask, how could I say no? I couldn’t. And he had a point. They sometimes lose the privilege of ice cream by it being too late or by them acting so horrendously terrible at dinner, that they can no longer go (they have only been that terrible with me in a pubic place once, I will never speak of it). So from then on out whenever I take the boys anywhere for dinner, we get ice cream first. Saturday was no exception.

On Saturday I had Garrett (Whitman was out of town with Ron) pretty much the whole day and I took him YoLo before lunch. I had never been but I heard great things. It’s soft-serve frozen yogurt with every topping imaginable. You get your own toppings, however many you want, and they weigh it when you are done and charge you by the ounce.

I let him pick out his yogurt flavor of choice and then I pointed him in the direction of the toppings and I told him he can pick what he wants.

“I can only get one?”

“No. You can get whatever you want. Whatever you can fit in your cup, you can get it.”

“Are you sure?”

I assured him to go crazy with whatever it is that he wanted. He stood there for a second contemplating just what he was going to top his Cookies N Cream frozen yogurt with. He finally settled on gummy bears, pretzel M&Ms and rainbow sprinkles. That sounds beyond disgusting but whatever. Who am I to say what he can put on his yogurt? No one. That’s who (If anyone cares, I got California Tart yogurt with fruit. It was delicious). And if anyone is terrified that I let him have that much sugar, he did not finish all of it and I let him take it home.

Someone buy me the new iPhone...do it for the good of this blog

We sat down in the front of YoLo which is located in the super uppity “

Main Street

” portion of Collierville. It was warm out so I had on a sleeveless shirt. We were sitting in front of a huge window and Garrett and I were carrying on talking mostly about gummy bears. Out of the corner of my eye I see a little girl stop and start pointing directly at the tattoo on my arm, and then she made a comment about it to her mother. I didn’t pay any attention as this happens a lot to me in the warm months in Collierville (it was the second time it happened that day). I choose to ignore it when it happens. Garrett does not.

I saw him staring at the little girl, completely confused. He then asked me “What’s her problem?” I explained that at times people are a little put-off by tattoos. He admitted that that wasn’t nice and I agreed. He then turned to the little girl and her mother that were still standing there and pointed back at her and said, “It’s not nice to point!” Heh. That’s my nephew, I’ll keep him.

He really wanted Burger King for lunch and I did not want to take him there. I offered to take him anywhere he wanted to go and that is what he chose. Thankfully I convinced him to let me go through the drive-thru.

Once we were home and he ate his lunch we had a few hours to ourselves to do whatever. Garrett, like me, likes time to himself. I don’t smother him when I am watching him. I know that he won’t do anything too terribly horrifyingly awful so I leave him be, but I always check on him throughout the day. Sometimes I am sneaky about it.

Have you ever wondered what a five-year-old does by himself when left to his own devices? They dance.

I snuck downstairs after not hearing anything for a while just to make sure he was alive. I peeked around the corner to the living room only to see him full-out dancing to Big Time Rush. If you don’t know what Big Time Rush is, consider yourself lucky. It’s kind of like Hannah Montana for douchebags. It’s about a boy band that sings and dances. Terrible stuff. He loves it (dammit).

I would have loved nothing more than to speak up after finding him busting all kinds of toddler moves but I couldn’t do it. He would have gotten embarrassed and never danced again, and I don’t want that. Kids should always dance. Always.

Ron and Whitman got home and the Prewitt family went out for pizza. I stayed home as I like to have the house to myself from time to time. They got back and Christy told me that while at dinner Whitman said, “I missed Stacey (while he was gone). I love her. She’s my best friend.” Now, I ask you, did your heart not just melt like so much frozen yogurt?

I love you too, buddy!

So when people ask me what it’s like living with children and having to watch them from to time to time, let me tell you that there is nothing about it that isn’t pretty cool. I see them grow a little every day into two open-minded, amazingly cool kids. And the fact that I can take part in that is awesome. No, they aren’t my kids, but I sure love them like they are.

Asshole Monday: Gwyneth Paltrow aka The Goop

Sometimes, not always, Asshole Monday doesn’t really inspire a whole lot of piss and vinegar from me. Some days it is more of a point and laugh “Check out this fucking asshole…” kind of thing. Today is one of those days.

I don’t so much care about The Goop either way. I am pretty apathetic to anything Goop related. But you have to admit, she is indeed an asshole. An insufferably tight one. And I started to just say “She named her kid ‘Apple’” and be done with this whole post but I owe you all a bit more than that.

I have been calling her The Goop and some of you may be wondering why…Well she started a website in 2008 for other pretentious assholes like herself. It’s a weekly newsletter where she teaches stuffy people with way too much money how to spend that money so as not to look or eat or entertain like us common folk.  Because heaven forbid anyone be caught dead eating greasy peasant food with their children.

I will not link to her site. Just Google “GOOP” and it should pull up for you. I had to go there today to research for this post. You are all welcome. Do you see the things I do for my 12 readers? If I start wearing seersucker and boat shoes you have no one but yourselves to blame.

In a newsletter from February she sends parents to certain places to get children’s clothes. Much to my chagrin, I found the clothes not only adorable but surprisingly not all that expensive. Way more than I would ever pay for children’s clothes, but not completely out of this world either. And I’ll be damned if she doesn’t support small business…bitch. Why are you making it so hard for me to make fun of your dumb newsletter?!?! Anyway, moving on. I must leave the newsletter now before I subscribe to it (I would never, come on now).

I have not seen Country Strong and I never, ever intend to but of the films that I have seen The Goop in, she hasn’t been terrible. Not great by any means, but also not terrible. She’s just kind of there. And she did play Margot Tenenbaum and that will always get her the teeniest bit of respect from me. But wow does she suck.

I hear lately that The Goop has been all “Wah, why don’t people like me? Wah!” and I have a feeling that her recent Glee appearances have a lot to do with getting people to like her (FYI, I would have liked you more had you made fun of Glee and said it was beneath you. Though she did say that she had never heard of Glee before appearing on it. I don’t know that I fully believe that, but I will take it. It probably pissed Ryan Murphy off and that is A-Ok in my book).  

You can just tell she is one of those people that’s all “Television? I don’t know what that is. Is that what we watch Masterpiece Theatre on?”

And if you are reading this, Goop, (she isn’t) I have to tell you something that you probably don’t want to hear: You’re American. No, you don’t live here but you are American. I know you feel you are above the country as a whole and I have no doubt that wherever it is that you do live is far superior to America in a lot of ways, but that is just where you live. You are from America. We are all fat and egotistical and unhealthy and broke and a lot of us are stupid and you, well, you’re one of us.

And all that money and fame that you have, guess why you have that? You may look down on television and the media in general but you are a part of it. You detest the very country that made you famous which is the dickiest of moves. So while you are looking down on us all from your ivory cunt tower know that we made you. We put you up there and we can knock you down (or at least try to).

And Goopy, honey, you are NO Martha Stewart. Believe it or not, I like Martha Stewart and I have no doubt that I could hang out with her and she would be awesome. I am fully serious. You do not hold a homemade candle to Martha Stewart nor will you ever. Stop trying to be her. You will never be that cool.