I’m not talking about…

Nor am I talking about…

Granted, I am obsessed with those men. Why wouldn’t I be? Look. At. Them. If RPattz and Bad era MJ don’t qualify as obsessive material, I don’t know what (or who) does! But they’re just not what (or who) I’m talking about right now.

No, you see, right now, I’m talking about Johnny. And not the Johnny I’m married to either (although I do have a healthy obsession with him too, I must say, even after 29 years with the guy). I’m talking about the one and only Johnny Depp. Just face it. He’s yummy.

Don’t you agree?!

If those two delicious photos don’t convince you, then I have one last little piece of proof positive that Johnny Depp is the very definition of the sexy-obsession-worth celebrity. Please pay close attention to his face.

Dayum, Johnny. Just dayum.

So that’s my latest obsession. And really, it could be worse. I mean, I could be obsessed with solving quadratic equations.

Now that would be weird.

You just have to know how thrilled I was to be shopping in Wal Mart on Friday night, only to discover that Ms. Deen’s delectable delights are now available in the bakery section. Score!! So if you, too, are looking for the chance to clog your arteries and raise your cholesterol some sweet after dinner treats, you can now look no further than your local Wally World bakery to get something straight from Paula’s oven (almost). See for yourself.

And even though butter is  bad for you, sometimes you just gotta live on the edge. Take a walk on the pure fat and empty calories wild side. Live a little. Can butter really be that bad?! Just ask Paula.

Sending you love and best dishes, from our kitchen to yours. Just the way you love it. So don’t pretend you don’t.

I have a granddaughter, Destiny, who is not quite 2. Destiny loves Elmo. And Destiny loves Elmo DVD’s. So every time I’m babysitting, we watch Elmo. Over, and over, and over. But even though I personally wouldn’t watch Elmo if I were by myself [no, seriously], the repeated watching of said Elmo DVD’s is not what’s annoying me.

What IS annoying me is the way my DVD controls get hijacked at the beginning of some Elmo videos, so that I can’t fast forward through the stupid FBI piracy warnings and other pointless previews, in order to get to the main menu and push Start. WTH is up with that, man? Why must my not-quite-two-year-old granddaughter be forced to wait for Elmo to appear? Do these people not realize how impatient a not-quite-two-year-old can be?! And do they really think a not-quite-two-year-old is going to pirate their freaking Elmo video? More importantly, do they not realize that a not-quite-two-year-old CANNOT READ?!!!

I cannot be the only person in the world who fast forwards through the B.S. at the beginning of movies to get to the movie itself. Nobody wants to see that stuff. We know it’s there. And we know that under penalty of law we can’t legally pirate your precious video. And we also know that other movies are coming out that your previews will detail. But guess what? If I wanted to be force fed previews, I would be sitting in a movie theater where I could be posting rants via my iPhone on Facebook about all the stupid changes they’re always making, while eating popcorn and Goobers, to pass the time until the previews are over. I do NOT want to see previews on a DVD. And neither does my not-quite-two-year-old granddaughter.

If this were an adult movie, I could deal with this madness. But it’s an Elmo movie, people. And when Destiny is looking up at me with her sad little pouty face, saying, “Momo, Momo, Momo” (that’s how she says “Elmo”), every precious second counts! I want to FF and then hit Start as quickly as possible. Like, RIGHT NOW.

Heartless bastards. They have no common sense at all.

Luckily, not all her Elmo DVD’s are like this. And luckily I have enough patience to not rip the offending DVD’s from the DVD player, take a hammer to them, shattering them into tiny pieces, which would result in my granddaughter’s guaranteed need for years of costly therapy. Grandparents really shouldn’t be the cause of their grandchildren’s therapy, after all. That’s their parents’ job. *wink*

I think the only thing I can really do is send a message to the big meanies who manufacture these DVD’s. So this is it, from Elmo, and me.

I have a cold, you see. Not a super bad one, mind you. It’s the kind of cold that is just bad enough to make me cranky and sleep like crap…but not quite bad enough to give me free reign to be a bitch if I feel like it. Dammit. I don’t get those free-reign-to-be-a-bitch cards too often. They’re really one of the all too few perks of a truly bad cold, don’tcha know. And let’s face it: if you have to be down and out with a really bad cold, you really should get free reign to be a bitch too. Just sayin.

But as I sit here blowing my  nose and trying to breathe out of a single nostril, I am typing and wondering one simple thing. [OK, I'm seldom wondering just one simple thing, but just work with me here, people.] Why is it that when I stand up I can breathe just fine? And yet when I sit down, one nostril is stage 3 plugged (on a scale of 1 to 5 in the nose-plugged category, with 5 meaning my nose might as well not exist for its lack of function), and if I lay down, my nose hits stage 5?

Seriously. I can totally understand why my nose gets fully plugged when I lay down. There’s pressure and stuff, right? Makes perfect sense. But why does it start to get plugged when sitting down, but yet also fully upright? That makes no sense at all. And then standing completely up I can breathe just fine. Why? Why? And why? And how does my nose even know the difference between my sitting down or standing up? The only difference there is that my legs are not supporting my body? How the hell does my nose know that and why does it care?!

I know, I know. I’m losing it just a bit. My brain is foggy, truth be told. I tend to get that way when I have a cold. Hey, that rhymed! Do I sound like Dr. Seuss now? Is there an award for that? Well, there should be.

Where was I?

This is my reality, people. An infectious disease has taken over my body and at least part maybe all of my brain function. And I can’t even blame it on the drugs, because I’m not taking any. Dammit again. No free-reign-to-be-a-bitch card. No drugs. Oh, the inhumanity of it all. It’s just gotten me to the point where I can say only this:

Meh.

]]> http://www.tinalicious.com/have-blog-will-babble/meh/feed/ 0 http://www.tinalicious.com/the-hubs-and-me/my-night-with-johnny-depp/ http://www.tinalicious.com/the-hubs-and-me/my-night-with-johnny-depp/#comments Wed, 17 Aug 2011 22:37:51 +0000 Tinalicious http://www.tinalicious.com/?p=2087 I recently spent the night with Johnny Depp. In my dreams, that is. This was totally unintentional on my part, mind you. I do love Johnny Depp, but I’m not overly-obsessed with him or anything. I think he’s very talented and, yes, HOT. But that’s about it as far as my fandom goes. And before you get your dirty mind running amok on you, please note now that this was not a nocturnal sexual rendezvous with said celebrity (dammit!). But it was rather enjoyable to see Johnny for a little while, even if the dream was completely bizarre in every other way.

OK, so in my dream, I had moved into a new house. But it wasn’t a house really. It was a trailer. A very crappy trailer. I remember noticing that the living room floor was sagging down rather sharply on one side. In the dream I stood there for a moment and made a mental note of this observation…as if it was somehow important. Sagging floor? Check.

Then I turned and walked to a nearby record player that was built into one of the walls. A record player. You know, that ancient device that would spin large discs filled with music at approximately 33rpm’s. The one in my dream looked sort of like this:

The record player had been hinged to the wall somehow, so that it could be tucked away when not in use. This sounds like something I would indeed do…if I lived in a trailer. You know, as a space-saver. Again it seemed important. Record player? Check.

So anyhoots, I put a record on the record player and music started to play. But I couldn’t figure out what song it was. And as I was standing there, listening, and trying to figure out what song I was hearing, Johnny Depp walked in the front door. There were 3 other people in the room, one of whom was my husband, but the other two were faceless (clearly they were friends from the trailer park I must be living in while in the dream–though they weren’t significant enough to me to have faces…and they were carrying spatulas for some reason).  Johnny smiled at the Hubs and all but ignored the two faceless friends as he walked past them. He was heading straight to me.

Johnny stopped right in front of me. I said, “Hello,” but he didn’t speak. He just picked up my hand and kissed it. Then he walked to the record player and started tapping his foot in time to the music. Obviously he knew the song, so I asked him what it was. But naturally, he didn’t answer. Apparently sexy celebs don’t need to talk in my dreams; they are there purely as eye candy. Natch. After he listened to the tune for a bit he walked over to a nearby piano. Why there’s a piano there I really don’t know because I don’t play, and neither does anyone else I know. But Johnny does, in my dream at least, and so he did. Imagine this, if you will…

Johnny played a song on the piano…again, it was unrecognizable to me. The faceless friends just stared. The Hubs offered him some spaghetti. What else would you offer a celebrity in your dreams, after all? And I do make darn good spaghetti, if I do say so myself. He declined the spaghetti though with a simple shake of his head and finished his song. Then he got up and walked back over to me. He looked me dead in the eye, and he smiled. Oh my gawd, his smile was beautiful. And with absolutely no control over my own facial muscles at that point, in the presence of this famously fabulous and not-too-hard-on-the-eyes male being,  I smiled right back.

Then Johnny opened his mouth to say something. I was mesmerized, and waited for whatever words were going to come forth from his lips, which were a mere 12 inches (or less!) away from me. He leaned in close…closer, and then he whispered to me.

“You had me at ‘Hello.’”

Cheesy but classic movie line from the hot celeb in my dream? Check.

Then I heard a microwave beeping and when I turned to look in its direction, Johnny disappeared. And then I woke up. Stupid microwave. As if it doesn’t annoy me enough in my waking moments, it has to taunt me in my dreams as well. Who knows what might have happened next, if that damn microwave hadn’t started beeping!

On the plus side, I learned some important things as a result of my dream-state brush with fame.

1. That a sagging living room floor might seem important in a dream, but it’s really not.

2. That old record players can be tucked away into walls with the proper ingenuity and carpentry know-how.

3. And that cheesy movie lines are just as effective in dreams as they are in the movies, especially when uttered by the one and only Johnny Depp.

Who says you can’t learn anything while you sleep, eh?

]]> http://www.tinalicious.com/the-hubs-and-me/my-night-with-johnny-depp/feed/ 0 http://www.tinalicious.com/the-hubs-and-me/passive-aggressive-much-tina/ http://www.tinalicious.com/the-hubs-and-me/passive-aggressive-much-tina/#comments Mon, 15 Aug 2011 19:03:17 +0000 Tinalicious http://www.tinalicious.com/?p=2077

There’s a blog I subscribe to called Passive Aggressive Notes. It’s so hilarious. They post photos of passive-aggressive notes people have written and posted online. I love reading them. But imagine my lack of surprise when I wrote my own passive-aggressive note to the Hubs recently. I wish I’d taken a photo of it, but it was nearly 2am when I did it (I’m a night owl, in case you didn’t know) and taking photos at that hour is not something I aspire to do too often. Go figure.

Anyhoots, the A/C had been on for over a month straight, but it was finally, FINALLY, cooling off outside. But I wanted to be sure it was cool enough for the A/C to actually get turned off and put the fan in the window. So, I headed to the front door to open it and get a feel for the temp outside. Or so I thought. But I couldn’t unlock the door. Again. Our front door lock for some reason doesn’t like to open in the summer. This, I might add, is something the Hubs knows and could actually fix (not for lack of nagging reminding on my part numerous times), but hasn’t yet done. So after several failed attempts to open that damn door, I decided to give up and write the Hubs a note as a pleasant reminder that the lock still needs fixed. And it went a little something like this.

Please fix the lock on the front door so that I can open it, before I either take a hammer to it and fix it myself, OR before I decide to remove the hinges, and then the door, lay the door in the alley, and drive back and forth over it repeatedly with the truck. Love, Me.

Is the lock on that door fixed yet? No. But that’s just a little taste of how things go with The Hubs and Me. It could be worse, right? I mean, a little passive-aggression is healthy, no?

]]> http://www.tinalicious.com/the-hubs-and-me/passive-aggressive-much-tina/feed/ 1 http://www.tinalicious.com/the-hubs-and-me/smurftastic-monday/ http://www.tinalicious.com/the-hubs-and-me/smurftastic-monday/#comments Mon, 08 Aug 2011 19:39:34 +0000 Tinalicious http://www.tinalicious.com/?p=2060 How can a blog post be boring if it’s got the word ‘Smurftastic’ in it? That’s my theory anyway, and I’m sticking with it. This Monday for me is a blogging day…and multiple blogs means multiple blog post duties. But here at Tinalicious I thought I’d wax nostalgic about my weekend. That really ought to make for a Smurftastic Monday blog post, now shouldn’t it?

The weekend was interesting for The Hubs and Me. We spent much of it with our grandson, Dylan, as our daughter got ready for her graduation party to celebrate her graduation from Cosmetology School. Yay! And I don’t just mean that because I can now get free haircuts for life. No, seriously. But clearly that’s a perk. I am not going to deny it.

Anyhoots…on Friday we took Dylan to the Asian Buffet. We occasionally spend our Date Night at the Asian Buffet. This is particularly true when Dylan joins us for Date Night, because he loves that place. The Hubs and I can only take Chinese food so often…I mean, you know, we just have to be in the mood for it. But Dylan is always in the mood for it. And he always eats the same exact things: meatballs, big giant football-shaped bread rolls, and lemon jello.

What? What’s that you say? That’s not Chinese food? Yeah. We know. But that’s what he wants to eat at the Asian Buffet, without fail. So he eats that while we eat the real Chinese food, which we consume in quantities befitting two hogs at their Chinese trough. Isn’t that what buffets are for? To be sure.

So after we stuffed ourselves on sweet and sour shrimp, fried rice, and General Tso’s Chicken (who the heck General Tso is I really don’t know–but his chicken is damn good), we awaited the best part of the meal: the fortune cookies. Now, I seldom eat the fortune cookie, the Hubs never does, and Dylan only occasionally does. We just want the “fortune” that’s inside it, which I seldom actually consider to be fortunes because, to me, fortunes should tell you something that is going to happen. But those little paper “fortunes” don’t often do that. Rather, they just say something ambiguous or metaphorical and it’s supposed to be somehow profound.  But most of the time they just make me laugh, or shake my head. Still, they’re fun to read, and after all, what is a meal of Chinese food without a fortune at the end of it? And my fortune was actually, amazingly, and weirdly spot on for once.

It read, “Great! You’re ready for a party!”

Since my daughter’s graduation party was the next day, that fortune couldn’t have been more accurate. For once. So what if the other 100 or so fortunes I’ve gotten in my life were nowhere near accurate, or even true “fortunes” in many cases. This one was absolutely dead on. So after I reveled in the amazement for a few moments, the next thought that came to mind was that if my fortune is going to be right for like, the first time ever, why couldn’t it have said this:

“Great! You’re going to lose 50 pounds, gain a financial windfall that will make you debt-free and give you financial freedom for the rest of your life, and you’ll finally understand all the mysteries of LOST!”

Now that would have been a great fortune! But oh well. Moving on. We took Dylan to see the Smurfs movie on Sunday. I absolutely loved the Smurfs when I was in high school. They were all the rage back in the day. And what’s not to love?

They are just as cute now as they were back then. Maybe even cuter, considering the state of movie technology these days. We loved the movie too. Fun story, lots of laughs for kids and adults, and lots of cute little blue Smurfs.

And oh yeah, before we left the theater I used the restroom. Little did I know that yet another “fortune” would be waiting for me there, taped to the back of the stall door. Now I don’t know who’s idea it was to post these things on all of the stall doors, and I’m not sure why they would either. I mean, it’s not like a person wants to linger too long on a public toilet. But then again, I guess it can’t hurt to have some reading material in there either. So anyway, here’s the toilet stall fortune that awaited me:

“The elevator to success is broken. You’ll have to take the stairs. One step at a time.”

So it was kind of profound, I’ll give it that. It gave me something to think about, which is never a bad thing when you’re taking care of business. And hey, it gave me something to blog about on this Smurftastic Monday.

]]> http://www.tinalicious.com/the-hubs-and-me/smurftastic-monday/feed/ 0 http://www.tinalicious.com/have-blog-will-babble/my-brush-with-fame/ http://www.tinalicious.com/have-blog-will-babble/my-brush-with-fame/#comments Wed, 20 Jul 2011 00:20:15 +0000 Tinalicious http://www.tinalicious.com/?p=2023 OK, I’m gonna start off by saying that I’m kind of obsessed with all things Hollywood and celebrity. It has fascinated me ever since I was a little girl. It just clicks with me, who knows why? But it does. So I’m all about the celebrity news of the day, whatever that might be. And I’m not just talking about Robert Pattinson here either, folks.

I also want to preface this all by saying that as much as I’m into celeb news and such, I don’t ever often get lucky enough to meet any real live celebrities. The closest I’ve ever really gotten to a brush with fame was when Harrison Ford flew his small plane into the local county airport in need of some slight engine repair, when a friend of the Hubs’ worked there. Did I meet Harrison Ford? No, dammit!. But hey, I was within 10 miles of him, which is closer than most regular folk ever get to a star of his stature, no? So it counts.  Sort of.

So imagine my elation surprise when I heard the story about a friend of a friend, who was at an airport recently (and it’s totally coincidental that this story also involves an airport–though not the same one). She was minding her business, passing the time, looking around, as anyone would when sitting in an airport. But she soon realized that she was sitting next to someone quite famous. And not just D-List-famous like Kathy Griffin, mind you. We’re talking seriously big star here. And when he got up to walk away, she managed to get a picture.

Care to take a guess?

Click to Enlarge

I know, I know. It’s difficult to recognize him, considering he’s photographed more often with his shirt off (thank you, God) than with it on. Give up? If you haven’t figured it out, maybe this will help you…

Yes. That is Matthew-freaking-hot-McConaughey. Matthew. McConaughey! Why doesn’t this kind of thing ever happen to me???!!! Wahhhhhh.

OK, I’ll calm down. And I’ll take what comfort I can in the fact that it was Matthew, and NOT Robert Pattinson. Because if I know someone, who knows someone, who sat next to Robert Pattinson in an airport, I think I’d just sort of die a little bit inside.

Still, you have to admit that Matthew is H-O-T. Even with his shirt on. And I sure wouldn’t complain if he was sitting next to me in an airport. Hell, he could spill something all over me and it probably wouldn’t phase me at all. That’s just how I roll. Well, when I’m sitting next to a celebrity anyway.

So anyhoots, post title aside, I guess this wasn’t really exactly my brush with fame. But at least I can say I know someone, who knows someone, who sat next to Matthew McConaughey at an airport one day. And that’s probably as close as I’m ever gonna get.

First, I’m eating ice cream. This is not exactly a revelation. But I don’t eat ice cream very often, because it tends to give me something that rhymes with the fits. I’m kind of lactose intolerant and/or suffering from IBS and/or suffering from Colitis, which actually is a form of IBS, I think [but I'm not a doctor, so let's not get picky on this point].

But regardless, I try to avoid dairy products as much as possible–but sometimes, what can I say, an ice cream just sounds good. So, even though I’ve had something that rhymes with the fits all day long, I’m sitting here throwing all caution to the wind and eating ice cream, regardless of the potential consequences. Makes no sense.

Also,  I was watching TV earlier while cooking dinner–and yes, I have a TV in the kitchen, which I bought “for the Hubs,” but which also happens to benefit moi (I’m not stupid, after all). And The Barefoot Contessa was on.

No, not this one…

Barefoot Contessa, the Movie

This one…

Barefoot Contessa, Food Network Star

She’s one of my favorites on the Food Network. Ina is a great cook, has a fabulous home, and some really hot male friends to boot.  I’ll let you decide which of those things interests me the most. But anyhoots, I tuned in just as she said the following (or something to the effect thereof):

“Somehow I got left responsible for making breakfast. Not sure how that happened.”

Um, hmmm, let me think on this for just a second, Ina. Could it be, yeah, because you’re the Barefoot Contessa maybe?!

Seriously, what kind of question is that for a chef to ask? Makes no sense.

And then there was something that my sweet niece posted on Facebook today.

“If you believe in God, re-post this! Please don’t ignore, you are being tested, for it says in the Bible: Deny me in front of everyone, and I will deny you in front of my Father…97% of you won’t post…will you? I did.”

Love my niece but I’m sorry, that made me literally laugh out loud. My simple reply to that was this:

Somehow, I think God is too busy to read Facebook.

Honestly, I cannot stand things posted on Facebook or on Tumblr (I have 2 Tumblr blogs, btw) or Twitter or anywhere else, where the post is asking–or demanding, as the case may be–that you re-post something, and if you don’t then you’re some sort of bad person or something bad will happen or whatever it is. It’s ludicrous. And annoying!

Sorry, but I don’t believe God reads Facebook. But even if he does, I don’t think he’s using Mark Zuckerberg’s billion dollar baby as his means of testing people’s faith. Somehow, I think he has better ways of doing that, and far better things to do with his time. One can only hope. Could I be wrong? Sure. But it still makes no sense.

The Hubs and I were were grocery shopping, and the grandson was along as well. That always makes for entertaining shopping misadventures right there. But things took a sharp turn into madness as we entered the Meat Department that fateful Friday evening. What we saw was simply shocking. Shameless. And seriously F’d up.

What was it, you ask? What got me so worked up in the Meat Department at Wally World that made me question not only their dress code, but also my faith in the future of America? Well, it looked a little something like this…

Reasonable Facscimile of the Wal Mart Employee

That’s right, people. It was an employee of the Wal Mart Meat Department. Stocking meat. In  Saggy Pants. Boxer shorts laid bare for the entire population of Wally World to see.

Yeah, so this is what a former teacher such as myself would call a teachable moment, considering the 7-year-old grandson was along. So I turned to him, unashamedly pointed out the saggy pants offender (hereafter to be known as the SPO), and said, “See that young man over there? This is exactly how NOT to dress in public.”

Dylan looked a tad mortified at what he saw, which made me feel rather proud. And then he just kind of giggled, as if he was genuinely embarrassed for the SPO. Which is a good sign, of course; at least it shows that Dylan not only understands what I was so irked about, it also shows he has compassion for others.

But I honestly had no compassion for that SPO at all. He is old enough to know that dressing like that in public is not only immature, demonstrating a total lack of self-respect, but also a lack of respect for his environment and everyone in it. I mean, his pants were down. His boxer-shorted-ass was hanging out. IN THE MEAT DEPARTMENT. Are there not Health Department codes put in place to protect the public from this kind of thing? And does this young man not have a supervisor or some other superior who should be making sure that he is dressed appropriately for food-handling?

Seriously. WTH?!

Would you want to buy your meat there, with employees who are dressed like that? I think not. Granted, if the employee looked like my favorite vampire, perhaps I’d be a little more forgiving.

Who am I kidding. Twlight be damned. Even seeing RPattz stocking meat at Wal Mart with saggy pants would piss me off! It’s gross! (Though isn’t it funny and yet predictable how I can work RPattz into a blog post about the Wal Mart Meat Department?)

I just have to end this by laughing a bit, thinking about Wal Mart’s little blue vests that beckon…

Help US, Wal Mart? REALLY? You can’t even help yourselves.