Why Taylor Swift Will Always be Single and Why Miley isn’t that Bad…


Hey-o, look who is back!

So, if you are like me, you absolutely loved Taylor Swift.  Her ‘Sparks Fly’ album totally got you through the only adult break up you’ve ever had. You TOTALLY loved her and she could do no wrong. She was a sweet, classy gal who wrote what we all felt.  I was Team Taylor 100%, I couldn’t believe how people like Joe Jonas, John Mayer (what were you thinking, Tay) or that 12 year old Kennedy guy could hurt our sweet baby girl. Like, didn’t they REALIZE what a catch they had!? I mean, really guys? It’s Taylor Mother Effin’ Swift, America’s Sweetheart. I’m positive that’s what’s on her business card.

But as the years have gone on, our sweet girl has turned into the biggest Bitter Betty, I have ever seen. I am all for vindicating yourself when some douche bag does you wrong, but I’m beginning to think that Tay is just digging her grave deeper and deeper and may be the problem.  Her behavior at the VMAs is worse to me than Miley’s!  I’m not just saying this because I absolutely love me some Harry Styles, but calling him out and telling him to shut the f up, supes rude Tay Tay. You are going to be single forever because you are the girl everyone gets warned about. “Don’t date the string bean, she will put you on BLAST all day, err day.”

So, Tay Tay, give it a rest, will you? This is America, there are bitter, scorned lovers all over and you know what, we don’t serial date and break up for a hit song. In fact, I’m almost thinking MTV needs to take away your Moonman and give it to the screaming goats. They did just as good a job as you, and aren’t nearly as hateful or pitchy.

Now to Hannah Montana. Ok, we get it and I absolutely agree. Her performance was trashy as SHIT. Put your tongue in your mouth. You look like a dog on a hot summer’s day. It made me very uncomfortable and embarrassed for her. However, I remember my first beer, Miles. And let’s get serious, we get it. You’re an adult. And probably if I was a bajillionaire and had a rockin’ hot bod like she does, I’d be in a nude, plastic bikini ALL THE TIME. In fact, when I was 20, Ric’s favorite saying was “put on a shawl” because the girls were out all the time. I just didn’t have 10 million people watching or a gross foam finger to pleasure myself with on a stage… I mean, early 20’s are just as awkward and hard as early teens. In the words of Mama Brit she is not a girl, not yet a woman. Let’s give her 6 years to find out who she is and she will look back on this and be humiliated. Until then, parent groups, let’s not riot to have someone at MTV fired. That’s just ridic.


The Boulders at Lakeridge


This is a story all about how my life got flipped turned upside down.  Now I’d like to take a minute just sit right there, and let me tell you ‘bout the time I fell through a stair.

 Our journey with The Boulders has been a pretty rough one.  A car robbery, a dead guy, multiple maintenance requests ignored, having to pull a badger out of my drain, etc.  However, Tuesday, upon arriving home from work, I notice (by stepping on it) that our 4th stair in 2 years is collapsing and broken.  Good times.  Now, I immediately put in a maintenance request, but as we’ve learned, that stair will be broken until September or October.  Now, when the two stairs collapsed last summer (at the same time), we learned to work around them.  They were spaced out enough that you could skip them easily. (Please note that all of the broken stairs have been on the second tier.  You know, where you’ll actually hurt yourself badly if you fall through.)  And it was a luxury when after months of griping to get them fixed, the maintenance guys screwed two planks of wood in their place.  We call the stairway “Las Vegas” because it’s always a gamble on if you’ll make it up alive, and apparently, what happens there, stays there because the management/maintenance never seems to know what’s broken, regardless of the number of calls/written requests you leave.  

This new death hazard is dead in the center of the second tier leading up to the apartment.  In one week from Saturday, Cousin Tara and I will be moving everything out of the apartment.  This sounds pretty easy, minus the fact that we have to move down stairs, unless you throw in the fact that we could easily die or break a leg moving out.  Good times.

Yesterday, I was coming down stairs and forgot about the hazard we call 4th stair.  I stepped on it, almost fell through, screamed some profanities and ended up doing a hop, skip, jump-type thing to land safely on the landing before descending down the last set of stairs.  Proud of myself for not dying, I look up beaming…into the face of a small boy and an old woman. 


The Great Doctor Adventure


I have been more ill this year than any other year of my life…ok, maybe not, but it seems like it.  So, when I started feeling like there was a two-ton truck on my chest, I knew I was in trouble.  I was further alarmed when Alissa and Geof sent me home.  I know…

So, I have had many an issue finding a doctor I like.  The one we’ve had my entire life, left the family practice to be an ER doctor, (Lame) and then his replacement was killed in a car wreck (RIP).  So, I finally find one I like.  Her name is Patti May.  She’s great.  I arrive at Grace Clinic (which is a great design, by the way) and I am taken back to Dr. May’s area.  This is where the trouble began.  I am seated across from a lady in her…late 50’s.  She has on a jumper, but also fish nets and red patent leather penny loafers.  I don’t even know where she found shoes like that.  She is on the phone talking NON-STOP.  No lie.  She didn’t even take a breath…one time.  But she sounded just like Barbara Walters.  She didn’t pronounce her r’s…and there was a slight lisp.  I tend to cough because every cold/flu/sinus thing goes straight to my chest.  As I’m sitting there reading my Chelsea Handler book, I notice every time I cough, the Barbara Walters across from me coughs and really plays it up.  So, I decide to have fun with it.  I cough, she coughs.  I make it a big cough, she makes it a bigger cough with a sigh.  I cough and snort, she coughs, snorts and then wipes tears.  I was getting beaten at my own game.  So, I try and pull out the mother of all coughs.  I felt this one from the depths of my soul.  It came from deep within.  I release the deepest, loudest cough ever.  I’m sure that I coughed out an organ.  Like my spleen or something not important.  I smile and bask in my victory.  Babs couldn’t top that.


The Party Don’t Start ‘Til I Walk In?


So, a few years ago, I broke down country music…you know, to help those out there get a good look at what it’s all about.  Today, however, I would like to breakdown a certain artist.  One who is an upstanding American – a wonderful role model for young girls everywhere.  Her lyrical genius makes women everywhere proud of their XX chromosomes.  Who else would rhyme “tok” with “rock”?  That’s right everyone, I’m talking about Ke$ha (no worries, the dollar sign isn’t silent, it works together with the h to make the “sh” sound.)  Now, before you get upset because I’m bashing this “don’t call me pop” sensation, just know, I am guilty of singing her songs too…even liking some of them.  I recently performed a magical little dance number to one as part of my dear friends Bekah and Marshal’s wedding.  So, just know that if you mindlessly sing along, it’s fun.  However, when you really listen, questions and issues arise:

  1. So, Ke$sha likes to mention that she “brushes her teeth with a bottle of Jack”.  Now, I went through a brief whiskey phase…by that I mean, it cured me from my sinus infection and then became my go-to medicine.  However, how yellow and grimey would that make your teeth feel?  And wouldn’t it burn, at least a little?  I know that in proper teeth hygiene, usually the key is to find something that will prevent cavities.  I’m having a hard time believing that whiskey will do that.  It is my professional dental opinion that it actually will eat the enamel off of your teeth, like the acid in a lemon.  A plus, perhaps is that most toothpastes have abrasives that scour off bacterial films.  I do believe that whiskey could do that.  In fact, if she were to brush her teeth with, Kentucky deluxe or a cheap whiskey, she might actually be able to, not only breathe fire, but it would be abrasive enough to eat away at the gums, causing tooth loss, thus removing the bacterial film.-of course that is if the lemon effect, mentioned earlier, did not work.  Conclusion: Because she brushes with a bottle of Jack, her dental hygiene bill must be extraordinarily high (Jack is a more expensive whiskey and much more expensive than toothpaste.  You can’t get Jack at the Dollar Store.) but her teeth are probably rotting out.  Not to mention, her breath must be horrific.
  2. A favorite song of mine is her “Blah Blah Blah”.  However, there is a line that says “Just show me where your d*ck’s at”…ok, Ke$h, I understand that the fact that you ended that sentence in a preposition is the least of your worries.  Apparently, she is from a town that preaches abstinence only too!  This poor girl has been wondering around for 20 or so years, not knowing anything about the opposite sex.  Did you not own a Ken doll, Ke$h?  You poor underprivileged child.  I mean, bless her little heart.  Her context clues must be off, if she can’t get a handle on that.  I mean, when looking at a male, I see that his face is at the top of his body, front of his head…just like mine.  Our arms are positioned at the same place.  Our legs, chest, back…I mean…follow the pattern Ke$ha.  It’s not that hard.  Any idiot can figure it out.  Conclusion: Ke$ha must not have passed anatomy.  And someone should explain to the poor girl about the birds and the bees, if that is going to be the basis of all of her songs.
  3. Now “Your Love is My Drug” is a cute song.  I mean, yay let’s get high on love, not pot!  Woo hoo, good message – well, better message than we’re used to with Ke$h.  However, in said drug song, she says “want to have a slumber party in my basement.”  Ok, 1.)  Does that mean you live at your parent’s house?  2.)  That is gross.  Are you planning on watching movies and doing each other’s hair?  3.)  That is a terrifying suggestion.  If a guy asked me to have a slumber party in his basement, it would definitely send up some red flags.  Does your basement have a lock on it?  I’ve seen that movie with Kathy Bates and James Khan.  I do not think that this slumber party is going to be fun, and it actually sounds quite terrifying.  And, if you have a slumber party in Ke$ha’s basement, do you need to pack your own toothpaste?  Because clearly she brushes with whiskey, and some people might prefer that minty clean feel after brushing, instead of the drunken whore feel.  Conclusion: Do not accept slumber party invitations from Ke$ha.
  4. My roommate recently brought Ke$ha’s new song to my attention.  I don’t even know what it’s called, but it has the Egyptian song feel to it.  In fact, it’s the same tune that Bible Zone used about a song for idols.  I just googled it.  It’s called “Take it Off” – sounds promising.  Ray said this song reminds her of a Weird Al parody of a Brittney Spear’s song.  I agree.  “It’s a hole-in-the-wall, it’s a dirty free-for-all”… she goes on to mention that this place has glitter on the floor.  However, she did say she has a water bottle full of whiskey (in case she needs to brush her teeth, to impress the fellas) and she’s already sent out some drunken texts, that she’ll regret later.  So this hole-in-the-wall place is either FABULOUS or Ke$ha’s so drunk off her water bottle of whiskey, that she sees glitter on the floor.  She’s probably about to pass out from alcohol poisoning.  I hope someone gets her to the hospital in time.  Conclusion: It’s been my experience, that hole-in-the-wall bars do NOT have glitter on the floor (unless the patrons beat a tranny and it’s just what we call evidence).  So, it’s been determined that Ke$ha is to the point where she’s hallucinating.  She probably needs her stomach pumped.
  5. Finally, Ke$ha and the group 3OH!3 (if they ask you to do the Hellen Keller…just walk away.  Hips can’t talk) have collaborated on many a song, but the one that I want to address now, is the one called (I think) “My First Kiss”.  Now, this really seals the deal about what sort of an underprivileged childhood this poor girl had to endure.  First, she is unable to find a crotch on her own; now, she has confused a radio and a television!  Clearly, she’s never owned either, because otherwise, she would not say “My first kiss went a little like this…” and then you wait…and wait for more details through her incredible lyrics…but nothing happens.  She makes a noise.  Which, I take as a cry for help.  I think she is acting out her first kiss (which was hopefully pre-whiskey).  But I don’t know that she realizes that when hearing it on the radio, you can’t see her reenactment.  Poor thing.  If only she knew the difference between the box with the moving pictures, and the little black box with sounds trapped inside.  Conclusion: Ke$ha doesn’t know difference between television and radio.


Alright, I know I’ve been a little harsh towards old girl.  I do catch myself thoroughly enjoying it as I sing along.  And I get Tik Tok stuck in my head more than any other song.  I truly do enjoy her cheerleader/skank personality.  And if I wasn’t in a place of business, I would paint a black star over my eye like her and I would use a voice simulator and hope to be so fabulous I threw up glitter.  Oh and I would fist pump like the Jersey Shore people, non-stop if I was responsible for such fly beats.  However, I am not, so, unless I start eating glitter, I just have to have Tik Tok stuck in my head and wonder how her life would have been different if someone would have introduced her to an anatomy book and given her some Colgate.

The Wet Muskrat


Living alone, you learn things (not only about yourself) but about things you NEVER thought about while living with the parentals. And being alone, you are forced to problem solve and figure things out on your own. I recently became my own personal plumber. Now, I’ve had little to no personal experience with any sort of gross nasty thing that would make me feel dirty. (Ask Shannel to tell you the story about a particular girls night that ended with a toilet spraying water into the sky…and my involvement in fixing that…yeah, I didn’t even help call Eric Henry. I hid elsewhere.) So imagine, if you will, me, Kristin K. Thomas, trying to unclog my bathroom sink. It all started one morning when I realized, it was not draining. Living in an apartment complex that…well…doesn’t really have a maintenance person, you learn to fix things yourself. I don’t own anything to help unclog pipes, so I used bleach…hoping it would break things down enough for my toothpaste spit water to drain. When it finally did, I noticed what appeared to be a wet rodent-type thing sticking out around the plug. Disgusting. So, I decide to CSI it. Turns out, it is indeed not a wet muskrat, but pounds of my luscious brown locks. That’s right, ladies and gents, in the almost year I have lived at Le Boulders, I have lost enough hair (just in the sink, mind you) to provide at least 30 bald men with toupees. And, since I dyed my hair, I can see that it is the problem. Still, not wanting to make a mad rush to Walmart to fix it, I decide to get clever and make a plumber’s snake out of an old wire hanger. So, I mold my hanger snake into, well, just a stretched out hanger and begin to scrape the 87 pounds of hair out of my drain. After the gagging and eye-watering die down, I pull out a hairball the size of a small dog. I’m making progress…I turn on some water…and see that although my dachshund sized wad has been removed, the water is still slowly draining. All the hard work, the sweat, the tears, the vomit…the sink is still clogged. It was terrible. What was even worse was the fact that I’d spent what little free time I have removing a wet mini-horse from a drain. (The depression set in…) Moral of the story: Although it is somewhat rewarding to be independent and handy, it’s always best to call Ric and have him fix your problem. I did buy some drain stuff and with some guidance, the sink is fixed…but the memories of that vicious wet muskrat have been instilled in my brain forever. Solution: I’ve pulled a Britney and shaved my head. Thus, preventing any future cloggage.