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/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/wth/abcs-of-baggy-pants/ http://www.tinalicious.com/wth/abcs-of-baggy-pants/#comments Sun, 24 Jul 2011 00:03:56 +0000 Tinalicious http://www.tinalicious.com/?p=2037 Obviously, there are many Things I Don’t Understand. That’s a given. But one thing that really gnaws on my nerves is baggy pants on guys. It’s so annoying. These guys have what I call the ABCs: Ass Butt Crack Syndrome.

I mean, seriously. WTH?!

Baggy pants do not a fashion statement make. And surely Coco Chanel would agree.

I know I may be old. And I don’t exactly keep up with the fashion trends of the day. But I mean, come on, people. What is cool about your exposed underwear? Or worse yet, in some cases, your butt crack? It’s NOT cool! It’s not, I tell you.  It’s weird. It’s sloppy. And it’s ass-inine.

Let’s face the fashion reality that even un-trendy old gals like myself can understand: baggy pants are S-T-U-P-I-D! They don’t make you cool. They don’t make you hip. And I can prove it.

Exhibit A, Elvis: Cool King (Never wore baggy pants!)

Exhibit B, James Dean: Cool Rebel (Never wore baggy pants!)

Exhibit C, Johnny-You-Wish-You-Were-This-Cool-Depp (Oozes cool even when he’s a pirate and doesn’t wear baggy pants!)

If that’s not proof enough, answer me this, guys. Are you trying to hide something? I mean, back in the day, lots of men used to wear tight pants. And their tight pants, you know, showed stuff. And people thought it was just so tacky to just flash your jewels, so to speak. But at least we knew they had some jewels then. With baggy pants who the hell knows? So are you trying to just disguise the fact that you are, um, short-changed in the jewels department? Because honestly, that’s what I think when I see baggy pants on a guy–he has to be hiding his shortcomings.

Newsflash, guys: girls like to see the shape of your ass; they don’t want full view of your underwear. And they certainly don’t want to walk beside a guy who is so “cool” that he has to hold up his pants while he walks. As if. Girls want a guy with SWAG. Not bag or sag. And if you have baggy pants on you cannot have SWAG. E-V-E-R.

]]> http://www.tinalicious.com/wth/abcs-of-baggy-pants/feed/ 1 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.

Take yesterday, for an example. My 7-year-old grandson, Dylan had a baseball game, and it was beyond a hot one outside. It seemed way too hot for a game, IMO, but initially I just thought I was being the usual over-protective grammy. But then I was checking my Weather Channel app on my iPhone and saw that the Weather Service had issued a severe heat index warning. [iPhones rock, btw. Just sayin.] They stressed that no outdoor activity should be undertaken, unless it was necessary.

So, naturally, being the over-protective grammy that I truly am, I texted my daughter (because I’m all about the texting now that I have an iPhone) and told her that, in my humble opinion, and based on the severe heat index warning, I didn’t feel Dylan should go to the game. I didn’t think any of those kids should be playing in that kind of weather at all. It really just seemed like common sense to me, but what do I know?

And so, naturally, being the willful, I-can-take-care-of-my-own-son fruit of my womb gal that she is, my daughter decided that neither I nor the Weather Service knew what we were talking about. So while she was on her way home from school, her boyfriend took Dylan to said game, in his head-to-toe polyester, heat-sucking uniform.

Fast forward a few hours later when my daughter pops over to pick up a FAX she was expecting, and she casually tells me…”by the way, Dylan got heat exhaustion at the game and we had to take him to the ER. But he’s totally fine now.”

UM, WTF?!

So I am sorry, but I could absolutely not resist serving up a Tinalicious-sized serving of  I TOLD YOU SO! What did I say just the other day about Mom’s always being right?! And, um, hello? I am a mom too! Sometimes I actually know stuff!

But she just looked at me in that “Oh, Mother, puhlease” kind of way that she does sometimes as I finished my little rant. Clearly, this was not a Hallmark moment by any stretch of the imagination. But hopefully it will serve as a painful reminder to her that, yes, mom is at least sometimes always right.

But anyhoots, it was sunny out for the most of the day with only clouds in the distance, so we decided to check out the festivities before the weather took its predictable turn for the worst (which it did later that day). Lots of nice little arts and crafts for sale. And I must say, tutus must be the “in” thing right now, as just about every other craft booth was selling tutus. But my only purchase  of the day was a hand-thrown ceramic bowl with a spout, made by a potter I went to college with. It came with a whisk and I thought it would be the perfect scrambled eggs mixing bowl, so we bought it. Yes, folks, I do get excited about scrambled eggs. That’s not weird.

After the festival we decided to head to Fort Wayne for dinner, since I needed some things from Sam’s Club anyway. Neither of us had eaten by 2pm, so Olive Garden was sounding mighty tasty to us both. And since our town has little in the way of decent restaurants, we almost always have to drive an hour to get the good stuff, as it were.

So we got seated immediately at the OG, which was odd considering it was Saturday and it’s usually pretty packed. But who am I to complain [listening to my husband snicker in the background]?! And then our lovely waitress offered us some booze, er, wine. I’m never one to turn down free liquor [did I just say that...'out loud'?], even in small quantities, so we said sure, we’ll have some. And then came the question that caused a great deal of cognitive dissonance to both the Hubs and me.

“Can I see Your Id?“

Um, hold on just a tick. You want to see my what now?

Perplexed, I just asked the waitress, “are you serious?”  And she told us that yes, it’s a new law in the state of Indiana that requires them to ID everyone up to age 50.

But seriously…WTH?

I can see carding someone up to age 30 or so, because there are plenty of 28-year-olds that look more like they’re 20. So there’s room for doubt in that age range. But as much as I like to think I look quite young for my 44.8 years, I don’t think there’s any mistaking the fact that I am well over the legal drinking age of 21. Know what I mean?

But apparently the law is the law, and that means everyone up to age 50 is gonna get carded in Indiana, no matter how ridiculous it might seem to us ignorant Ohioans. Seems like a giant waste of time to me. But what the heck do I know?

On the plus side, I told the Hubs, we should look at it as a compliment. I mean, if she carded us, at least it means we don’t look over 50. So I guess I can reserve any righteous indignation for the day when I don’t get carded in Indiana, because that will mean I do look over 50. And then I guess I’m gonna need the free booze at the OG to soothe my shattered ego.

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.

Things were good in the land of Tinalicious. The Hubs and me, we were, you know, carefree and happy to be heading to Fort Wayne for dinner and a little shopping.

So we mozy’d on out to the car.

But then I decided I’d like to grab a Michael Jackson CD from my studio outside. After all, road trips are always better with some MJ tunes playing.

So I went into my studio, and headed for my stereo and CD’s. But WTH?!
My stereo was GONE!

I don’t think I have to tell you what I did next…

Needless to say, I was so ticked. I was having bad thoughts about the low-life thieves who went into my studio, touched my things (EWW!),
and then took my stereo!

But I knew I had to calm down. So I took a moment to pause and collect myself. And I needed to figure out what to do to replace my stereo, which was almost brand new.

Then it kind of hit me. I knew what to do. I bit my lip, I was so excited.

I am sick of CD’s, AND my cell phone is eligible for upgrade in just a few weeks.  So the solution is really quite simple: mp3 player + phone = iPhone! Yay!

So the Hubs is gonna get me an iPhone.
This calls for a Happy Dance, don’t you think?

And now all is well in the land of Tinalicious once again.
And the moral of the story, boys and girls?
Thieves are pathetic losers and they may make you SCREAM.
But sometimes you may end up with a new iPhone.
And maybe even a lollipop.

(All photos are from the Michael Jackson short film, Scream. )

Evil ‘Church’ to Protest Elizabeth Taylor’s Funeral

Those horrible, intolerant, heartless gay-haters at the Westboro Baptist Church are preparing to spread their evil message at Elizabeth Taylor’s funeral … a higher power tells TMZ.

TMZ Photo

Margie Phelps — daughter of WBC Pastor Fred Phelps — took to Twitter today to announce the church is going to picket non-lesbian Liz’s funeral … all because Liz was apparently some sort of gay “enabler” and (God forbid) an AIDS activist.

Liz will likely be buried in Los Angeles — where there are positively no gay people.

Way to go there, WBC.  I just have to echo what one of the TMZ comments noted: Nothing says “I’m a Christian” like picketing a funeral. I think that TMZ photo pretty much sums up my thoughts on the potential picketers. Horse’s Ass, anyone?

Maybe after they get done picketing the funeral, they can stop by the nearest Humane Society and kick a few puppies.

S.M.H.