Hello.

Welcome back, welcome back. I’m saying this to myself and to you. Been feeling pretty uninspired as far as the blog goes. However, I have managed to scrounge up something today. It’s not much, but it’s all I got.

At work yesterday, I started thinking about how our alcoholic beverage of choice changes as we get older. Or I guess I should say when we turn 21 and can have the good stuff. It all began with warm Keystone Light or Raspberry Burnett’s mixed with Sprite (SHUDDER) and has evolved into a beautiful, beautiful butterfly I like to call a Jack and Ginger. Gimme dat J.D. babyyyy.

Naturally, I somehow managed to relate this thought to a couple of songs.

First, in honor of the raspberry flavored vodka that we all know and love, I give you this:

Original lyric: She wore a raspberry beret. The kind you find in a second hand store. 

My (obviously better) lyric: She drank that raspberry Burnett’s. The kind you find in an ABC store. 

Next, step right up you yummy whiskey you. You so good, YOU WARM MY SOUL.

Original lyric: Woo hoo witchy woman she got the moon in her eye.

My (obviously better) lyric: Woo hoo whiskey woman, she’s got saloons in her eye.  

Not my best work, but whatever. This is coming from the girl who saw Johnny Depp’s* face in a tree last night during a storm. I keep my blinds open all the time since I have trees blocking the view, so every time there was a lightning flash, Johnny was there telling me it was going to be alright.

*Could have been Jesus.

Of Weaves and Religion

Job update: I have a new partner in crime in the dungeon, closet, ‘one-flourescent-light-do-I-really-look-this-jaundiced?’ room. For reasons out of my control, my former co-worker had to leave. For a little over a week I was all alone in there. I only emerged for the occasional bathroom break and meal, like Gollum searching for his precioussss.

The new girl is a recent law school grad. She’s one of those people that could probably make friends with the filing cabinets. She could whisper sweet nothings to them and they would open sesame for her. And then there I am wrestling with the filing cabinets, calling them all sorts of colorful names (in my head) and I’m getting all these paper cuts all over my hands from the files and her hands are perfect like the hand model on the Sally Hansen nail polish remover bottle.

She’s also really inquisitive. I don’t mind it though, because I find the questions that she asks to be fascinating. Today she asked me how often I wash my hair and have I ever had a weave and have I ever considered getting a perm? I answered everyday, no, and hell no. She also said my hair color is pretty and is it natural and DAMMIT I said yes*. So I lied to a recent law school graduate today.

Then, our boss comes in and all of a sudden we’re talking racism in the South and religion and morality and do you have to be religious to have good morals?

Later, it’s hurricanes. I tell her I was born during hurricane Hugo. And she’s all, “Really? That’s crazy because you’re so calm and mild-mannered!” And I go, “Yeah, I guess that’s why! HA HA”

 

*This hair color thing has become one of those lies that you say so many times that you begin to think it’s true. I mean, red hair is something that is so rare and when people think that mine is natural, I don’t want to see their face fall when I say, “Nope! Clairol Perfect 10 Medium Auburn!” I mean, it’s not hurting anyone. Except maybe me. Can your hair fall out from dyeing it too much? My mom said that to me once and now that’s all I think about. Obviously I’m not that worried about it, since I still continue to do it and do it and do it and do it. Whatever.