You Think I Don't Notice . . . BUT I DO.

YOU BEST BELIEVE I MADE AN EXCEL CHART.

(Mostly because I wanted to learn how.)

AND BECAUSE SOME OF YOU ARE MAJOR HOSERS. What, do you feel embarrassed? You should. How quick you were to forget the LAST time we had this discussion. Now look at you all. Pathetic.

You think I don't notice that my hit count jumps 150+ for each new post I write? You know what that means? That means there are about 148 UNGRATEFUL LEPERS for each post who come to my blog expecting to be entertained but leave me naught a pittance. That's like spending a whole afternoon oohing and aahing over a street performer and then saying, "Welp, great show! See ya later!"

And only twenty-seven followers, eh? Funny, because I know for a fact that there are more people stalking me than that. Look at you all, hiding behind the mask of non-following anonymity. You make me sick.

To those of you who are official followers and who do comment regularly on my blog: Thank you. Your blogging etiquette is exemplary.

Numbers don't lie, people. I'm watching you.

Alllllways watching.

Dudedom

I'm pretty well-versed in dudedom. Growing up with four brothers and a considerable amount of guyfriends, I came to a pretty clear understanding fairly early in life of what's going on inside their cute little brains. But there are definitely nuances that I am still learning.

***

Finals week is when I cast off any and all cares that have to do with my diet, my fashion sense, and--of course--showering. Come to think of it, that really makes me sound like a dude. Anyway. After my last test ended today, Brock and I hit up In-N-Out for some end-of-the-semester celebrating. I was wearing my dad's black running thermals (you know, the ones with the hole) and a big red sweater of Brock's. As I was filling up my cup with lemonade, Brock came up behind me and started singing his own version of a popular Keith Urban song:

"And maybe it's a little too early

To know if this is gonna work
All I know is I wish you would
Stop wearing my shirt."

"Really?!" I said. "Y'know, some guys think it's sexy when their wives or girlfriends wear their shirts. I'm sure there's LOTS of guys who'd like to see me in their shirt."

Without missing a beat, Brock replied, "Yeah, but without pants. That's the thing."

***

Like I said, nuances.

Seven Things You Didn't Know About Steven Seagal

Loyal blog followers know that I have a connection to B-list movie actor Steven Seagal.

I found this article on the internetz today and just couldn't help but share.

1. Steven Seagal speaks fluent Japanese

2. Jean-Claude Van Damme challenged Steven Seagal to a duel

3. A mystical dog saved Steven's dojo in Japan

4. Steven Seagal was a 17th century monk in a past life

5. Steven Seagal was poisoned in 1994 by a mysterious opponent

6. Steven Seagal broke Sean Connery's wrist

7. Steven Seagal had a tuxedo tailor-made to conceal two firearms

I am not making this up.

Seriously, read the article. Best line?

"The fact that Seagal is by all appearances a slow, overweight, narcissistic fraud incapable of hurting anything other than his own reputation simply means he’s expertly manipulated you into putting down your guard."

People. He is Jack Bauer, Chuck Norris, and James Bond all rolled up into one BADBUM BURRITO.

Except better.

BECAUSE HE'S REAL.

Musings on Muscles

Can I just say that I'm glad I married a man with a MAN'S body???

At the same time, I love how Brock is muscular without being a toolish meathead. Girls, tell me if ya feel me: When I see a 300 wannabe walking around the gym who is so juiced up on creatine that it looks like he's about to pop, my first thought is Wow, that guy is self-obsessed!

That's why I'm grateful for the Bruce Willises, Hugh Jackmans, and Brock Boyces of the world. The guys who head to the gym a few times a week, but don't live there. The guys who actually stay home when their wife says, "Nah, don't go to the gym. Be lazy and watch reality TV with me!"

Because while I think your muscles are great and all, having you spend time with me is even better.

Good priorities? Now that's hot.

Even Though We Ain't Got Money

I'm grading American Heritage essays, and I definitely just had a kid quote Kenny Loggins in his paper.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Buyer's Remorse: Five Haikus

1. Western Family: Your

Generic Cinnamon Life

Tastes like a piece of . . .

2. What a waste of cash

I even had a coupon

So not a "Good Choice"

3. False advertising

You nefarious liars

Go die in a hole

4. Somebody told you

This seriously tasted

Like Cinnamon Life?

5. You need better friends

Or more honest ones because

Your cereal SUCKS

The Birds And The Birds

When I'm teaching judicial activism to a room full of 30+ American Heritage students, and in the middle of explaining Lawrence v. Texas, a student raises their hand and asks . . .

"Um, what is sodomy, exactly?"

Quote of the Day

Me: (pointing to a small speck of blood on Brock's face) Did you just pop a zit?

Brock: No . . . it was a bee . . . an angry bee. He stabbed me with his booty.

***

This is the same man that is currently reading passages to me from Kissinger's dissertation, A World Restored.

One minute making me laugh with tall tales of bee's booties, the next minute boring me with a lecture on the diplomatic savvy of Klemens von Metternich.

Ain't he grand? :) 

Free Willy

So . . . it's 11:46pm.

AND I JUST REALIZED I WENT THE ENTIRE DAY WITHOUT WEARING A BRA.

I have no idea how this happened. I wasn't even rushed this morning. I just . . . forgot.

Thank goodness I wore a long scarf today that covered my high beams, if ya know what I mean.

Fatty McPatty

I'm still workin' off my five pounds of Thanksgiving weight. Well, let me rephrase: I'm still magically expecting the weight to come off without doing any physical activity whatsoever.

How does one gain five founds in five days? Oh friends, it is possible. And the sad thing is that I even went on two runs and a bike ride over the break, so it's not like I was completely sedentary.

Yep. Apparently I eat that much. IT'S THE HOLIDAYS, PEOPLE.

I hopped on the scale tonight to see if I was still as fat as yesterday. I was wearin' me underclothes and one of Brock's wool sweaters. 146. Same as yesterday.

"That's weird," I muttered. "I thought I ate pretty good today. Must be the clothes."

So there I was, buck naked, standing on the scale hoping for a tiny validation of the fact that I did eat a banana today. Waiting . . . waiting . . . waiting . . .

146.

REALLY, SCALE? My clothes are made of AIR????????????

Obviously, my scale is defective. I'll just assume that I weigh 125.