I admit it. I have a deep, shameful secret that I’m finally ready to share. I love the Geico lizard. In fact, I love all the Geico commercials. The insulted Cavemen? Hilarious. “It’s pie, with chips, for free”? I actually rewind the Tivo to see it. This week, Geico started running their “celebrity” commercials. There is something so incredibly funny about Burt Bacharach singing the phrase “lizard licks his eyeball”. I roll around laughing so hard that I cry every time I see it.
I’m not planning on switching to Geico, but their commercials crack me up.
Why do Americans think that it is socially acceptable to ask all kinds of personal (very personal) questions to people of a different nationality? I bring this up because, today at the nail salon, I watched a woman pry deeply into the religious affiliation of one of the women who works there. The women who run this salon are Vietnamese, and sure, their culture is significantly different than ours. But somehow, I don’t think it’s ever okay to ask someone you just met about why they’re Buddhist (or Christian, or Jewish for that matter).
I’m just sayin’.
The Flower Mound Post Office is so incredibly busy? The line usually snakes around the whole lobby, and if you’re not lucky enough to time it right, the “lazy line” is closed (you know, the extra counter where nobody ever thinks to go). I can speak on this with some authority, since I have all but taken up residence at the Post Office lately. Thankfully, although they were crazy-busy as usual today, the line moved super-fast. I think I set a record; I was out of there in under 30 minutes.
The good news: Mojitos are low in calories (65) and sugar.
The bad news: Margaritas have 800 calories and 47 grams of sugar. This is for the regular sized margarita, not the 32 ounce that Kevin favors.
One Pina Colada is the equivalent of 6 deep-fried chicken pieces. Ouch. I don’t even want to think about how many calories are in a Bushwhacker.
The moral of the drunken story? Stick with wine and light beer, or better yet, Merrin’s Mojitos.
Blueberry lemonade is yummy. I made a fresh batch yesterday, and from now on, I think it’s safe to say that I’ll never use the powdered crap again. 10 lemons, 1 pint of blueberries, and some simple syrup, and you have a sure-fire way to beat the 100+ degree heat that’s been plaguing North Texas for the last 10 days.
I think I’ll do strawberry lemonade this weekend.
From slashfood:
Tony Bourdain is stranded in Beirut. He and his crew were in Lebanon filiming an upcoming episode of his Travel Channel show No Reservations.
This sucks. I know he’ll turn this into a fantastic future episode, but I sure hope he gets home safely. Foodie fans everywhere are on pins and needles, including this one. I freakin’ LOVE Tony Bourdain, and he better get his skinny, chain-smoking, hard-drinking ass back to the US in one piece.
Does anyone else think that Star Jones looks like a sleestak?
Everybody has that one thing that they just cannot live without. One weakness that is so overpowering that it simply can’t be ignored. For some, it’s chocolate. For others, it’s tacos. For me, it’s ice cream.
I love ice cream. I don’t think I’ve gone an entire week without eating ice cream since I was 10 years old. It can be 30 below outside, and I still have to have my ice cream. Hagden Daaz, Ben & Jerry. Doesn’t matter (although, as Kev pointed out, I do have 3 pints of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie in my freezer right now). Coldstone Creamery makes a mean Cake Batter ice cream. Hagden Daaz Mayan Chocolate is like Heaven on a spoon. Yeah, Blue Bell will always have a place in my heart, but I don’t have a true favorite (alhtough I can quickly identify the very best ice cream I’ve ever had—it was at a lovely little gelateria on a tiny backstreet in Reggio-Emilia Italy). Just give me a scoop of any cold, creamy, yummy goodness, and I’m a happy girl. If I don’t have my ice cream on a regular basis, I turn into a very, very bad person. I’m pretty sure denying me my ice cream would be tantamount to ripping out my soul.
So you can keep your chocolate. You can most certainly keep your tacos. But don’t mess with my ice cream.
I have something horrible to admit. Truly, it’s a terrible secret, and one I feel obligated to share, if only to help others with the same problem. Deep breath. Okay, here goes:
I have not seen my natural nails in over two years. I never thought I would be the sort of girl to visit the maincurist religiously, let alone the sort that would ever get (and keep) fake nails. In fact, growing up, I frequently mocked those girls. Now, however, I just can’t stop. I could probably give up pedicures (under the direct threat of death or equivalent), but I don’t think I posses the capacity to quit getting my nails done.
Ah, vanity. Thy name is Merrin.
Since making the transition to “working inside the home”, I have gone and done it. I have turned into one of those women. Sure, when I had a job “outside the home”, I used Tivo to keep up with All My Children. Now, come hell or high water, at 11:00 AM, I’m parked in front of the TV peeking voyeuristically into the lives and loves of the residents of Pine Valley.
My mother used to watch AMC when I was a wee little baby (in fact, my addiction started even before my own birth, as she watched it while pregnant with me). I grew up on it. When we first got a VCR in, like, 1980, its primary function was to tape AMC. Forget After School Specials; in my world, we got our cookies and milk and cozied up to Erica Kane and her latest husband.
So here we are, 31 years later, and I still watch. And yes. I am that woman. When and if we finally have kids, 11:00 AM will most definitely be nap time. And when the kiddo is too old for a nap, she can go play outside. Because mommy is watching her stories.
I woke up this morning singing the theme song to “Good Times”. Don’t ask me why (Kevin probably planted it in my head while I was sleeping). What followed was a rather lengthy discussion of 70’s and 80’s TV theme songs.
Kev: “You don’t even know the words to “Good Times”.
Me: “I do, too!”
Here is where I proceeded to sing pretty much the whole song. Mind you, I never watched it. Not once.
Kev: “Okay. Name one character on “Good Times”.
Me: “Ummmmm….Rerun? Shirley?”
Kev; “That would be “What’s Happening”.
Me: “Oh.”
Then the topic wound its way back to theme songs.
Kev: “What’s the first word in “The Jeffersons” theme song?”
Me: (with absolutely no hesitation) “Well.”
Kev: “No it’s not! Hahahahahhahahaha!!! Got ya! It’s “fish”!
Me:” No, it’s “well”.
At which point, I, once again, sang the entire song.
Kev: “No! It’s “fish”! “Fish don’t fry in the kitchen! Beans don’t burn on the grill!”
Me: “No no no!!! That’s the bridge!”
Needless to say, we had to go look it up on the internet, but, of course, I was right.
Kev: “Okay, Miss Smartypants. What’s the first word to “Sanford and Sons”?
Me: “Trick question. There are no words to the “Sanford and Sons” theme. It pretty much sounds like creepy porn music”.
Kev: “Curses! Foiled again!”
Keep in mind, this conversation took place entirely before I had consumed any caffeine. I’m pretty sure my neighbors heard me bleating out “Good Times”. Where does this crap come from? The human brain is a remarkable thing. Come to think of it, I know all the words to “The Love Boat”, “Facts of Life”, “Growing Pains”, and I can still recite the entire intro to “Fantasy Island” (and, for bonus points, I can sing the theme to “Scarecrow and Mrs. King” and “Moonlighting” {thanks, Al Jarreau, for that fine piece of music}).
The point is this: Don’t argue with me on 80’s TV. I will dominate every time. Oh, and never go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line.
