Garlic & Incence

So last night I decided to be healthy and cook some chicken with potatoes and carrots in the oven.

Delicious right?

I then do some yoga, have some sleepy time tea, and go to bed.

But I can't sleep.

So I play Angry Birds. I know why those birds are angry, btw... the damn pigs sit there with these smug expressions because they know their little house structures are defying the laws of gravity/physics, thus they are unsquishable. Stupid unsquishable pigs. This Bird is getting angry at you and gonna get you!!! Watch out piggies, I smell bacon!!!! So I finally beat that one level, and decide I should try to sleep.

Angry Birds game

But I can't sleep because I suddenly smell something.

**Sniff**

What is that??

**Sniff**

Is something burning??

Now I really can't sleep because it's giving me a headache, which in turn has me convinced that it's either carbon monoxide (not even sure if we have gas anything in the house) or something that is about to burn the house down. So despite the urge to just lay there and hope it goes away without killing me. I get up to investigate.

This is where you're probably thinking I shouldn't have investigated, there could be a murderer, or a monster that is about to eat me. Because in all movies, it's the person who goes to investigate that shouldn't have. Good thing my cat wasn't in my room, because it saved me from telling her I'll be right back. Never say you'll be right back! It means certain death.

Luckily this isn't a movie, I didn't die, I'm here to keep telling the story. And no I'm not Ghost Writer, but that would be pretty cool if I was.

No, it was just an incense. My dad thought the house smelled too strongly of garlic, and that the smell of burning death was better.

(I'm completely aware that I misspelled 'breathe', however I'm too lazy to fix the picture)

Next time Dad should really use some air freshener, open a window, light a candle, or even use a reed diffuser!! I absolutely hate incense because it's just smoke. Smoke is bad for you. I'd rather not breathe it in. I'd rather breath in yummy non-harmful things like chicken/garlic. Garlic chicken doesn't give me headaches or make me feel like my air is polluted. It only gives me bad breath. But seeing as how I was at home about to go to bed and not about to kiss anyone, I really didn't mind the bad breath. Also, that's what toothbrushes and mouthwash are for.

Speaking of which, I'm glad it's a holiday week and no one is really here at the office cause I'm about to have the leftovers and I really don't want to breathe on anyone with my garlic breath.

mmmmmmmmm...... garlic chicken breath....


Garlic Chicken with Garlic Chicken breath

 PS - For the record & just to make sure I don't get sued or anything....I did not draw the Garlic Chicken, but I did create it with MS Paint. (aka: one random chicken drawing found on the internet + on random bad-breath garlic drawing found on the internet + my MS Paint skills = masterpiece!)

Malls (Work + Stuff + Yummy Food + Annoying People) = Living at Dad's (more annoyance)

Yeah, yeah, yeah... So I'm 28 and live with my dad.

At least I look 18!!! Okay, so I look more like 22-24, but whatever. I still look young for my age and you probably don't.

So when we're 40 you'll be causing more wrinkles frowning and worrying how you have wrinkles, and I'll be smiling and batting my eyes cause my face is wrinkle free and I have no grey hairs thanks to L'Oreal Feria 65/66 or whatever other color I get by mistake because I can't remember which box of red hair dye I got three months ago, especially when they keep changing the model on the front of the box. Whew, that was a run-on sentence that probably broke some grammar rules. (P.S. - I'm a bit worried that Blogger spell check doesn't know what the word "sentence" is. I looked it up, it's spelled right).

But I digress... I need to go back and explain why I live with my dad at 28 and that I'm not one of those people who just stayed all this time for no good reason and intend to stay until they're 40 and finally get kicked out because that's just getting creepy at that point unless you're foreign cause they keep their families together until you get married off into another family's household.

Basically, my last roommate (we'll call her Hot Dog because that's her nickname. I'll explain another day, promise.) and I both lost our jobs around the same time and couldn't guarantee that we could make rent. So she moved in with her boyfriend (now fiance) and I had nowhere left to go but my dad's house until I pay down all my credit cards that I racked up while working in the mall.

Note to self: never work in a mall again. It's horrible, and you are addicted to shopping. The only thing other than Stuff to buy at a mall, is Yummy Food. You are addicted to yummy things. Reading to avoid Stuff & Yummy Food will only result in coworkers asking "what are you reading?" and then trying to talk to you a bunch despite the fact that you are obviously trying to read and not talk to them. Also, it is really annoying trying to explain a book that is so awesome it cannot be summed up in a normal genre like the kind of boring books they read can. Also, Mall-customers can spot a Mall-Employee from a mile away and will ask you for the time, or how to get to another location in the mall despite your best attempts to avoid them and look busy/unapproachable. You look very approachable. Shiny things are enticing. So are yummy things. Avoid malls at all costs.

So, until I've paid off my debt, expect to hear about some of the annoying things my dad does.

Like insist that we turn off the wireless internet router when it's not in use because the (radio?) waves are really bad for our brains, or something... (which just makes me think I should probably go make a foil hat to protect myself, right?)

ING: Destroyer of Cars (Part 1)

The Mustang:

 The Mustang (my very first car) was gifted to me by my dad when I was of legal driving age. It was a two door, cherry red tomato orange, 1985 Mustang LX (the LX stands for "luxury" cause in 1985: power locks, a sun roof, and cruise control were considered a luxury). 

Are you jealous of this car yet? I assume you would be because many friends were. Especially my friend (we'll call him E.T. in order to protect his privacy). And no, not the E.T. from the movie...This was a kid I grew up with.

You know how parents tend to make siblings walk home from Elementary together for safety? Well, due to the BFF status of our older sisters - E.T., his younger brother and I would all walk home together behind the our sisters.

Uphill.

In the snow.

Both ways.

Okay, okay, I'm kidding. It was only uphill on the way home, and it only snowed in the winter sometimes, but with heavy backpacks slung over one shoulder (cause that was the cool thing to do. Yes, back problems were considered cool.) it felt like it was a much worse walk than it really was.

Which is why we were both happy to have cars by the time High school came around. And when High school came around, guess who was jealous of my "horsepower"?

He even offered to trade me for his El Camino.

Considering the condition that the Mustang was in, he probably thought that was quite a logical offer: one working El Camino (if you ignore the rear view mirror that falls off) for one paraplegic Mustang LX.

Sounds like a fair trade right?

There's just one major flaw in E.T.'s offer: Nobody actually wants an El Camino.

They're ugly. They're like the mullet of vehicles. I hope that whoever decided to inbreed a car with a truck was immediately fired and forever lives in shame of that horrific creation. I'll take a broken Mustang over a functioning El Camino any day.

Now, you're probably wondering just how broken this little Mustang could be for me to prefer it over a perfectly functioning El Camino... Let's just say, if it had been a human, it'd be an obese cancer patient who's only purpose in life was obtaining a Blizzard from Dairy Queen.

(Disclaimer: I'm not insulting cancer patients or the obese, I loved this car & fought to keep it healthy/alive with a meager $8 an hour, 20 hour a week retail job. Although, honestly, it wasn't really obese - much like myself, it just wasn't in very good shape. Unlike myself, it was a rather small car. I could even touch the back of the back seat while sitting in the front seat. I'm not really sure how my friends ever fit back there. My guess, is that they weren't comfortable, but preferred riding with me over walking or riding with parents. 'Cause no high school student wants to ride with parents when they can ride with a friend).
   In case you're wondering... I'm not making up the Dairy Queen part. The Mustang died in front of the Dairy Queen in my hometown on many many occasions. My only guess is that it had serious cravings for a Blizzard, because who doesn't love Blizzards? I've decided that Blizzards are the only reason anyone really goes to Dairy Queen anyways. Dairy Queen would not have survived this long without having invented such a fantastic dessert. And no, the M&M McFlurry is by no means anywhere near as delicious as the double fudge cookie dough Blizzard.

Seriously, double fudge AND cookie dough?!?!!?!!

It's like tasting Heaven. If Heaven were thick, super-sugary, and much much worse for you.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. The Mustang. Long story short: my free car cost me $2000 for a new transmission, and another large sum of money for oil repairs (that apparently were multiplying faster than a horny teenage bunny who stole his dad's Viagra and overdosed before a party at the Playboy mansion) and I ended up having to replace the entire thing.

Oh yeah, and there was that one time I let my boyfriend at the time, Bryan (his privacy shall not be hidden because Bryan's with a Y are never to be trusted again, thus the world needs to be warned to stay clear of any and all Bryan's with a Y. Brian's with an I are still OK though. So far...) drive it from the parking spot to the front of the building after he pleaded and begged, despite me being nervous to let him lest he not handle it's eccentricities properly (Bryan didn't have own a car, and this car was finicky).
He came up to me all nervous and sheepish, which only further proved to my brain that something had actually gone wrong even though he was super duper careful and hadn't even left the parking lot.

Sure enough, the car was stuck.

He couldn't get it out of "Park" and was afraid to make it worse. This incident made me feel totally justified in my original reluctance to let him drive. See?!?! See why I didn't want you to drive it?!? I knew it!!

Then my dad (he's a mechanic) said it wasn't anyone's fault, that it was just the gear shifter's time to go. It lived a long and full life. (RIP gear shifter).

Regardless, it was quite frustrating that my car was stuck in "Park" right in front of the fire lane at the high school on the very last day of high school; a time when we should have been celebrating our escape not stuck there watching everyone else flee...

Thinking back, I guess the car was just too nostalgic to leave the school. It had some pretty good school spirit (our mascot was also a mustang) so, obviously it was mourning the loss of it's ability to contribute to my 'Stang Pride.

It was apparently so distraught, that it didn't even want a Blizzard.

I'm currently obssessed with this song...

especially this version of it... I really wish Selma & Rainn would make a CD. i ♥ them!

Eating Healthy

So today, in an odd attempt to eat healthier, I ate an entire roasted chicken.

Because chicken is healthy. Especially if roasted whole by your local grocery store and then dissected until every last delectable piece of meat has been hand torn from the carcass and shoved into your mouth.

I'm classy.

I also have impeccable manners even when dining alone. If you can call devouring a whole bird in front of two jealous cats "dining alone". Poor kitties, I didn't even share one bite.

It's ok though, one cat is getting chubby, and the other has a ridiculous allergy to poultry. What kind of cat are you, Tony? Allergic to birds? It must be torture.