Life is Sticky. Life is Sweet.

Life is Sticky. Life is Sweet.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

In Which Amy Loves All Over Autumn

There's some inherently delightful about Autumn.

Is it the fact I can wear jeans again and no one will stare at me like I'm insane (I wear jeans all year long--even if it's so hot that you can fry eggs on the hood of your car)? Is it the fact that apples are my favourite fruit and they finally come into season in fall? Is it the fact that the nights get longer which means I can sleep longer (Oh, who am I kidding? I still stay up until 1am every night, regardless of the season)? Is it the fact that my birthday is in September?

Well, now that I'm in my (gulp) mid-thirties, it might not be the birthday one that much anymore.

Who knows and who cares? It's Autumn!

The air is crisp and cool. The leaves change colours. Hoodie sweatshirts start to be acceptable to wear here, there, and everywhere. Halloween and Thanksgiving beckon with the promise of society-approved gluttony. I can finally go outside during the day without the skin melting off my face from the humidity. Kids hate Autumn because Autumn means back to school (which, ironically enough, is the reason a lot of my friends gave me for liking Autumn).

Summer-loving people always lament the coming of Autumn because that means Summer is over. Oh, boo-hoo. Thanks to global warming, Spring has ceased to exist, so Summer starts in April now. Plus, when Summer ends, the bennies go home.

(I AM NOT A BENNY. I haven't assimilated to life in MOFN that much. I might have Pennsie plates on the Vibe, but I'm still All Jersey. So much so that I'm pretty sure that 90% of people at school think my name is actually Jersey and not Amy.)

Autumn means driving with the car windows down. Autumn means the air smells like burning leaves. Autumn means pumpkin picking. Autumn means you dig out the slow cooker and make soup, stew, and chili.

Autumn is like Earth's way to kiss outside life good-bye because Winter is just such a bitch.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Top Five Reasons why I Hate all Men--Literally

Ah, yes. Guest Blogger Tina had an awesome and hysterical thread under one of her Facebook statuses that I decided needed to be a blog post.

I told you to start writing and sending Cara and me stories.

Now do you believe me?



Reason #1
First and most important, we menstruate. Will someone please tell me why men gets to be part of that word? Why not call it ladystruate or ladiesleaking? But, no. Some hoity-toity man thinks, "Ehhh, 'menstruate' is a good word." I think I'm going to call Websters and ask for an ethics committee meeting on the validity of using that word and its definition in print.

Reason #2
Fellas, the PMS blame is getting old. Anytime we are moody or bitchy, you blame our bad attitudes on PMS. I am here to set the record straight. Its not PMS: it's Y-O-U. Maybe if you cut the grass or took out the trash or played with your kids when we asked you to, we wouldn't get huffy and pissy when we see that, two hours later, you are still sitting on the couch. Then when we stomp past you to do it ourselves in a rage, you wouldn't have to wonder "What the hell's her problem?" and you wouldn't have to complain to your "boys" that your wife\girlfriend\whatever you call us now is ragging it or PMS-ing. Honestly, we are all pretty fun chicks if you would just help out a little.

Reason #3
When its time to pay bills, please wipe the dumbfounded look off your face and do not even bother asking, "Where is the money you got from me two weeks ago?" Please stop offering these ridiculously small amounts of cash like you are doing us a huge favor. Remember that running a house is more the rent\mortgage and utilities. We also need toilet paper, shampoo, food, laundry soap, diapers, wipes, tampons (see Reason #1 for clarification on this), etc. And throwing us a little cash and saying, "Buy yourself something nice." might be a nice thought but I see you are sporting some new kicks while my shoes have made it through two summers. Also this goes back to Reason #2. If we didn't have to beg for bill money repeatedly, we might be able to skip some of those PMS MOMENTS. Again, it's all on you.

Reason #4
You have been a male your entire life. Well, unless you had a sex change and I don't honestly know anyone who has. Please explain to me why someone who has peed the same way their entire life (minus the first two or three years) still finds a way to miss the toilet and instead pees on the seat, the floor, and all over bathroom carpets. Ahem, again this goes with Reason #2: if you didn't pee on my carpet, I wouldn't have to wash them. And if I didn't have to wash them so often they wouldn't fall apart leading me to stomp past you in a huff to throw them away. We wouldn't have to ask you for money to buy new ones, and you wouldn't be left telling your boys (again) how we were "PMS-ing" (yet again). See how Y-O-U created the problem?

Reason #5
The question of all questions: "Do I look fat in this?" We are asking this for a reason. Do not try to over think this one. Don't chew on your lip and think, "Do I tell her that she looks like a babe or do I tell her that she looks like a beached whale?" Honestly, I will most likely take that lip chewing as a sign you are lying and I will write you off as NOT GETTING ANY tonight. If I ask "Do I look fat?" it's because:
1) Duhhh, I want to know.
2) If you tell me I look great and I wear it, I am going to run into my lady friends who say, "What the hell were you thinking packing Texas in your underpants this morning? The J-Lo look is sooo last season." or--worse and better that that--they will break into a Glee-style version of "I Like Big Butts" by the legendary Sir Mix-A-Lot. And all without Puck, which will just piss me off even more.
3) I know at some point someone is going to take my picture and add it to their Facebook album where I will be tormented for all eternity by the caption that reads "The Wide Load Truck posed with us, but we had to take pics anyway."
Moral of the story: If I look fat, say so and risk the chance of me being mad at you. That is probably the only time I will accept the story you give the boys about being raggy and PMS-y.

Now, guys, I made this as easy as possible to understand. Don't break any more of these rules and we'll be good to go. If not, well, see Reason #2.