Friday, October 23, 2009

A perfect example of the dumbing down of America

"I don't know when the oil needs to be changed. All you do is press a little button. It automatically runs a vehicle health report and it sends it directly either to my phone or email."

Um...I don't know when the oil needs to be changed??? Howz about takin a peek at that little sticker up in the left hand side of your windshield that the nice service guys put there every time they change the oil, Binkie?

If you don't have the slightest idea when your oil needs changed in your car, you're too stupid to be driving, anyfuckingway.

And, of course, having your choice of colored ambient lighting is very important when choosing a new vehicle.

Binkie chooses pink. Isn't she special?

I think maybe her parents should have looked into some plastic surgery for those ears, rather than buying Binkie a new car with pick lighting.

Kill me. Kill me now.

Sorry, Ford. If you wanna cater to 20 year olds with the maturity of a 6th grader, I'll be looking elsewhere for my next new vehicle.

This is exactly what's gonna happen...

...if Peoria County doesn't receive it's shipment of H1N1 vaccine.

epic fail pictures
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Maybe I should print this one out and take it to work. Just in case. heh

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Happiness is...

...the new remastered Beatles White Album CD I got for my birthday from da Zigster.

So, I'm sittin at the Sheridan/McClure stop light...late afternoon...window down...blastin "Happiness is a Warm Gun".

Now, that's irony.

Thanks,'s awesome!

(What's even more awesome, is that I remembered the words to every damn song.

I can't drive 55

However, I've managed to live that long.

Today marks the fifty-fifth year of my existence.

Jeeezus holy gawd. Half a five years. Fifty five years. That's just plain obscene.

Whilst pondering the obscenity of being fifty-five years old, I've discovered...and wondered about...a few things. I thought I'd share 'em with those of you that haven't reached this dubious...milestone...yet.

I'll now be eligible for many "senior" discounts. Damn straight. After payin full price for everything for 55 years, I deserve a fuckin discount.

I'm gonna start dressing like an old floozy. Because I can. Hey...I'm 55. Who the hell cares what I look like?

At 16, I thought a 55 year old was like...really, really old. At 55, I've discovered that it's not as old as I thought in some ways...and waaaaaay older than I thought in others.

Have you noticed that vitamins for "seniors" are gray? Why the hell is that? Kids vitamins are all colors of the rainbow. Vitamins for "adults" are usually a nice, bright red or a cheery orange. Us seniors get gray. What? Do the vitamin manufacturers think we're all color blind by this time? Do they think us old farts don't care about the color of our vitamins? What the hell's up with that, anyway? Personally, I'd like my vitamins to be hot pink. Or maybe lime green.

I've come to realize that I'll never be beautiful. I'll never be thin. I'll never be tall. I'll never be stinking rich. But it's perfectly ok. I like the person that I've become.

When my mother was 55, I was 16 years old. I'm so glad I'm not raising a 16 year old. One of us would have to die.

One of life's biggest cruelties is that when your body ages, your mind doesn't. Your mind still thinks you're 22. You body tells you, in no uncertain terms, that there's no way in hell you're 22 anymore.

At 55, I've accomplished the one goal that I've always said that I wanted for my life. To be happy.

I want to live long enough to become a crochety, cantankerous, pain-in-the-ass...but happy...old woman. Who dresses like a floozy.

What the hell's a floozy, anyway?

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Country mice in the city

A tale in which Pammy learns the difference between a valet and a bellman

Once again, our quarterly Grannies Gone Wild weekend was a huge success.
Except for the gambling part. That was....not exactly a success.

But we had a blast and didn't lose all our money.

I think the highlight of our trip was the freebie night at the
  • Ameristar Hotel

  • Oh. My. Gawd.

    (Click to enlarge)

    The bathroom. The bathroom. Marble floors. Mahogany and granite double sinks. A bathtub to die for. Glass shower with one of those rain shower heads. Separate room for the toilet...with art in it, no less.


    A wall-mounted flat screen tv! In the bathroom! Just one of three...count ' the suite.

    Yes, I took a bath in that gorgeous bathtub and watched tv...just because I could.

    The room...well, I'd call it a suite...itself wasn't anything to sneeze at, either.

    Plush, plush, plussssshhhhhh beds with Egyptian cotton sheets that felt like silk and upholstered headboards that went aaalllll the way to the ceiling.

    The step-down "living room" part was perfect, as well, with huge flat-screen, micro-suede sofa, coffee table, small dining table and an occasional chair. The whole end of the room was floor to ceiling windows overlooking the fabulous indoor-outdoor pool, hot tub and plaza.

    Jill, chillin.

    Loooved the lamps. Unfortunately, they wouldn't fit in my suitcase.

    The room was spectacular...and the service was just as good. Even though the room was a comp and all we ever do is play the nickle slots, everyone treated us like we were jet-setting gamblers.
    It was absolutely the swankiest hotel I've ever stayed in...even better than the Westin we stayed at during our
  • trip
  • to Chicago this spring.

    While we could have spent the entire time drooling over that bathroom, we did manage to check out a few of the neat shops on historic, brick-streeted Main Street. We took a break and dined outside on French dip sammies and French Onion soup (Oui, oui!) at
  • Little Hills Winery

  • It was a tad chilly, but the gas logs kept us cozy-warm.

    'Course, no trip to St. Charles would be complete without a visit with my two babies. was such fun. Can't wait to do it again.

    Friday, October 09, 2009

    Every three months, whether we need it or not

    We need it! We need it!

    Yup. It's time for a Grannies Gone Wild weekend!

    Ya know, I loooove my Zigster. I can't think of anybody else I'd rather hang with....except my bud, Jill.

    I'll be the first to admit I don't have a huge circle of girlfriends. Just a few close ones, most of which I've known damn near all my life. And Jill is one of the special ones.

    Noooo...I don't mean she rides the short bus. She's just...well...special. She gets me...most of the time, anyway. I'm sure some of the time, she thinks I'm a frequent passenger on the short bus...but she likes me despite that.

    So, anywho...we're off again in the morning on one of our quarterly girls-only weekends.

    We'll eat and laugh and gamble and shop and laugh and talk til three in the morning. And then we'll get up, drink coffee, take some ibuprofen...and do it all over again.

    It's just how we roll.

    Sunday, October 04, 2009

    Those damned cats!

    They're cheap entertainment

    So. Stewie...the older of the two...was neutered when he was about 5 months old. Simon, about a year old...has not been.


    See, we had an appointment to get Simon fixed a couple months ago. The day before his appointment, the receptionist called and said that our vet was quite ill and he was closing up shop for a while and wasn't sure when he'd be back...or if.

    I've been putting off calling another vet because I loooove this one. He doesn't require indoor cats to have any shots...rabies, included. He doesn't test the cats to death. He just does what I ask and that's it. Period. I'm hoping he'll recover...soon.

    In the meantime, Simon has...uh...well, come into kitty adolescence.

    While both cats have always been cautiously friendly, within the last several days, Simon has become quite...ah...enamored of Stewie. He follows him around, making these little, whining/purring brrrrrrrr...brrrrrr...brrrrrrrrr noises, then he'll alternate with a loud, moaning Rrrrrroooooooowwwwww! He wants to be everywhere Stewie is.

    He reminds me, for all the world, of Pepe LaPew.

    Simon...with his best...come hither look.

    It's damn funny stuff.

    Stewie, of course, having never tasted the sweet, sweet wine of testosterone, is having none of it. He seems quite peeved about the whole situation.

    He tries to get away, climbing to the very tippy-top of the loft ladder, where he's got a good defense situation. Simon's kind of a pussy...pun intended...when it comes to climbing way up high. And if he does work up enough courage to climb up there, Stewie can shoot him down with one swat.

    I kinda feel bad for Simon. Bless him wittle heart...he's got all these...feelings...and he just doesn't know what to do with 'em.

    But I'm reasonably sure that he thinks Stewie's got a purty mouth and he wants to make him squeal like a pig.

    I'm either gonna hafta find another vet and get Simon fixed, post-haste...or buy Stewie a Village People costume. heh