Musical Chairs

OK, so I was sitting on the couch last night, watching TV in my polka dot pajamas. Not that it matters what I was wearing, but I'm trying to paint a picture for ya. It was late, very late, but I'm a night owl so it's just how I roll. When, at exactly 1:48am, I heard a loud noise on the porch, and I was like...

Yes, there was definitely someone, or something, on my porch. And since the Hubs was in bed, naturally I needed to go see for myself what was out there. So I went to the kitchen and opened the front door and then looked outside.

What did I see, you ask? I saw one of the chairs from the table on my porch...sitting out in the middle of the street. So I'm like, WTH?! And I was annoyed, and sort of freaked and wondering if the idiots who put the chair there were still around.

Obviously I couldn't leave the chair in the middle of the road. I needed to go out there, in my polka dot pajamas, at almost 2am, and retrieve the chair. I had to be brave. I had no choice. And after all, if necessary I could always use my special power to scare off any hoodlums or potential serial killers...

So I grabbed a jacket and my shoes and went out and got the chair, and assessed my porch to see if anything else was amiss. There on the table I found a No Trespassing sign, which I knew belonged to The Freak Next Door's house. So apparently my late night bandits had hit up my neighbor's house first, attacking some of his signs--because yeah, that'll teach them--before they decided to come over to my house and play musical chairs. Makes perfect sense.

The Freak Next Door doesn't even live there anymore (small miracle)--his brother does. But The Freak was an idiot and his overdone signage was just one of the many reasons he was long overdue for some karmic retribution--even if he isn't living there and didn't get to see it for himself. But me? What did I do? 

 Oh well, I guess I should just be glad that my chair was unharmed and there was no real damage, and nothing was stolen (for a change). Living in town is starting to annoy me more and more though, and the plans that the Hubs and I have to move to our farm property is becoming a lot more appealing. But until that happens, I'm just gonna have to hang in there and deal with this nonsense as it occurs. 

That being said, if I ever find the idiots who are creeping up on my porch at nearly 2am while I'm in my polka dot pajamas and minding my own TV-watching business, I will only have one thing to say to the police who will inevitably be called to the scene:

Here's Johnny

Time to fess up to one of My Obsessions. You know, just one of the
toomany things I'm
abnormallyobsessed with in this humble little life of mine. And I'm not talking about any of the things I've already made abundantly clear to you here at Tinalicious.

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.

My Night with Johnny Depp

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?

ABCs of Baggy Pants

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.

A Monday Pirate Meme

No MJ Memes for this Monday folks. I decided that I want to post funny macros about any and all my fave celebs and other things, and not limit it to just Michael Jackson. So when I saw this macro on Tumblr today, and it made me LOL, I decided to share it on Tinalicious.

I love Johnny Depp, and I love Captain Jack Sparrow. What's not to love about either? They're both hot. They're both funny. They're both talented. And they both appear in today's macro. Enjoy!

5 Things I'm Obsessed With

What better way to get to know someone than to discover a few of their
peculiarfavorite obsessions? So to help you get to know me just a wee bit better, I'm starting a new category called My Obsessions. And every so often I'm gonna list a random number of random obsessions for your random enjoyment. K?

1. Fairies. And I mean the politically correct fantasy-type fairies. Let's just say I have a thing for the "week folks."  And I'm utterly convinced they're the ones stealing socks from my dryer. I've even captured one in the act. I'm holding her for ransom until all my socks are returned.

2. Colored Paper Clips. Why? Because regular paper clips are boring, boring, boring. And colored paper clips are fun, fun, fun! [Or something that sounds less crazy.]

3. Real Housewives of...OK, I'm obsessed with a few of these shows: Orange County, New Jersey, Beverly Hills, and New York..and yes, in that very order.  Some may call it reality TV. I call it mindless escapism into the world of the under-censored and overly-privileged that somehow manages to make me feel better about my own life. There's actually no logical reason why I like these shows, but hey, I do. And I'm not
totallyashamed of that fact. You gotta problem with that? Don't make me go Jersey on your a$$ and flip a table on you or something.

4. Buying Books I Don't Have Enough Time to Read. Since I baby-sit my granddaughter for most of the week, in addition to helping the Hubs with his biz, running some online businesses of my own, working for a web host, getting creative in my studio, taking care of the house, cooking, paying bills, and, oh yeah, a little thing called blogging, I don't have a lot of time left over to read. I love to read. But with my time being much less my own, I find myself able to read less--only it doesn't actually stop me from buying books. My reasoning is that someday I won't need to baby-sit anymore (or at least, not so much), and that will free up more of my days. It will also free up more of my nights, since as it is now, I do everything at night that I don't have time to do while baby-sitting during the day. Got that so far?  Bottom line is that at some point, I'm gonna have lots more time to read. And I want to have books I want to read when that time finally arrives. But oy, in the mean time...it's interesting trying to find space for all the books!

5. This Gif of Cap'n Jack Sparrow.

I don't know why I'm obsessed with it. But I am. And it's, you know, Johnny Depp. As my favorite pirate. Cap'n Jack. Isn't that enough reason?

So there are 5 obsessions for this week. See? You know me better already.