The Return of Randumb Friday!

Because Randumb Friday is good enough for me. Let the Randumb begin!!

Thanks all you commenters for the remarks on the last post. I like telling stories, and goodness knows I have enough Deadhead stories to impart. I won't make it a weekly thing because then you'll get tired of it. But there will be more.

I still don't get American Idol. So shoot me.

Boy cut briefs (underwear) for women. What was I thinking?!! They looked sexy on Horseface Carrie Bradshaw, but she weighs 98 pounds (10 of which is hair) but they look like granny panties on me. Not to mention (but you know I am) the seam that goes up the back, giving you a perpetual wedgie. Yeeech. They go in the drawer with the experimental thongs. (Who'da thunk they made big girl thongs?! Imagine)

Obbie and I are participating in a craft show this weekend. It starts tonight and runs until tomorrow afternoon. It's the first year for it, and it the table rent was cheap. Cheap table rent means I make my expenses back pretty quick. Not counting beads. I've been on a major beady buying spree for the last month and a half. I'll have to sell a LOT of stuff to get that money back. I think the idea of making a profit is absurd. I just want the money back I spent...

Damn the NCAA and their stupid basketball tournament! Bloody stupid brackets anyway. I'm currently lagging greatly in the Home Town Heroes pool, and I haven't even CHECKED the work one. But of course, I have to be obsessed with it. Sheesh.

Speaking of Home Town Heroes, one of the questions from Not The Barn this morning was to tell a drunk story. I'm going out on a limb here by telling tales from the past two days in a row, but here goes:

The first time I ever got drunk was at a party in my senior year in high school. Don't remember the circumstances, and honestly, I don't remember everything I drank but for sure had a premixed pina colada from the bottle. I'm sitting on the floor next to some guy, and I leaned over and barfed on his leg. He starts yelling, "Hey! This chick is puking on me!!" and the next thing I remember, I'm being driven home by my friend. Hanging out the window, breathing deep and puking. Friend takes me home and leans me up against the front door and knocks, then bolts. Big Momma opens the door and I fall in. PLASTERED. She starts screaming at me, and chases me upstairs, yelling. I'm drunkenly making my way upstairs puking (still) and into the bathroom where I proceed to barf more. By this time, the dry heaves have started to kick in. I distinctly remember her looming over me yelling, "WELCOME TO THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF DRY HEAVES!!" All the rest is a blur of her screaming, me crying and retching. The next morning was Sunday, and she made me go to Sunday School and church, and spent the rest of the day bitching at me about how alcoholism runs in my family, and that I'm well on my way to being a drunk like my Father. (To Dad's credit, he did drink, and most likely was an alcoholic, but compared to stories I hear about other people, he dosen't seem like he was that big a drunk.) And, by the way, I was known as Ralph for the rest of my high school career. To this day, I am a barfer. I have to be very careful about mixing what I'm drinking. Mixing is bad.

So there. Randumbness and another story. If you're going out tonight to celebrate St. Patty's day, please be careful. Keep your stupidity confined to your ownself, not others.