My what looks like WHAT?!

Your crotch looks like applesauce.

Um, why thank you.

Of all phrases to use in a Google search 1) why these exact words and 2) why would these exact words bring people to Corey 'n me?

Brownie turds, yes.

Arm fat crease, of course.

But applesauce crotch is not a topic I believe we have covered here on C&S.  In fact, the word "crotch" feels as dirty coming out of my keyboard as "indicator" or "lady smile" would.  And a comparison to applesauce....I just can't make that connection any way I try.

Enlighten me, friends.  I watch Matlock and wear yoga pants that come up to about the middle of my ribcage; I am not hip, is this applesauce crotch what the cool kids are talking about these days?

Eagerly awaiting your reply,
An un-cool kid

Conversation is a lost art

I was at the other end of a rant last week.  A rant that did not involve me, but was a little heated and I do believe there were fudge-bombs.  I don't remember why the ranter was ranting but it was a topic that deserved proper rantification so I stood and listened until the following:

"Bippity-boppity stuff that makes me mad, bleepin' bleep!"

"Mmmhmmm, girrrrl."

"And so such-and-such and diddly doo-wop."

"Preach it sista."

"And she probably had her degree in something stupid like Communication."

"Um, my degree is in Communication."

"Of course it is."

Hilarious.

Lunchtime Tidbit

There's a guy in my office right now, he's fixing one of our doors.

He's probably thinking to himself, "Why can't that girl eat without getting food all over her face??"

Because I'm hungry, sir.

Working Conditions

I've lost my focus for the day.

 There's just something about a heavy piece of machinery that makes me want to hop in and take it for a spin.

Seriously, how hard could it be?

Color Confusion

"Um hi, this is Stacie Lucas.  I called about an hour ago for hats, I needed nine of them..."

"Yes, I have nine hats in a Columbian blue."

"Ok, so what color is that?"

"Well, it's Columbian blue..."

Is this a color I should know?

Overheard...

In the grocery store:

"...so he burned his butthole."

These are my neighbors, people.

I wonder how the rest of the conversation went...

Help me out here GE

With all the new technology coming out that supposed to make our lives easier, why are we still burning popcorn?  Where in the world is the microwave that tells me when it's done?

It's simple math, people.  The number of kernels per second multiplied by the moisture in the air, divided by the motion of the ocean equals perfectly done popcorn.  Blamo.

If that idea is not already in the works, it should be.

And that's all I have to say about it.

Thank you.

Random Pie

• Corey has been reading a book I bought for him.  It's about the pilot who landed a plane in the Hudson River.  I bought it for a buck at the book sale and he is not sure why the library would do such a thing.
• I buy cheap books.
• Sorry Borders.
• As much as I try to make a big lunch count as lunch and dinner, by 10pm my stomach revolts.
• But then I'm thankful for my lazy streak that keeps me from darting to the kitchen and eating shredded cheese by the fistful.
• Corey thinks I'm a certifiable weirdo.  I like to watch alien movies/TV shows.
• But seriously people, have you seen the new TNT series Falling Skies?  Gripping.
• Says the person who tapes Matlock movie marathons.
• My friend is interested in starting her own business and claims my behavior is screwing up the demographics.
• There are always outliers, my friends.  And I'm them.
• But sometimes I'm not: I wear a size 8 shoe.  As does most of the world.
• I've been known to sing the praises of fried foods by claiming even a fried turd would taste good, but to set the record straight I do not actually think this to be true.
• But I would like to see someone try.
• I think, though, the Department of Health frowns on this.
• You would think all these bullets are taking away from Friday's confessions.  They're not.  This week has been a doosy.
• It's only Wednesday.
• It's only Wednesday??
• I would very much like to reduce the circumference of my saddle bag area.  Corey helps by scooping out heaping mounds of ice cream over a quarter of a razzleberry pie.
• I, um, ate the whole pie.
• So I will start my diet next week.
• Diets are dumb.
• I think best this way.  All random.  It's probably why I've taken a liking to the twitters.
• I like it.  But that doesn't mean I know how to use it.
• You can find me at StacieJoLucas.  Clever.  I know.
• Corey?  No, he's not on the twitters.
• That's all.

So you're saying it ISN'T Friday??

Raise your hand if you're just a tad bummed today is only Wednesday...

...

Ok, yeah.  Me too.

I thought we were supposed to have another weekend in here somewhere.

Whatever.

...

So, this week is dragging.

There's all these extra hours in the day, what am I supposed to do??

Don't get me wrong.  I love days that don't turn into night until my bedtime, but I'm a little thrown off as to my involvement in them.

I'm so tired....so tired...but the sun is still not officially down yet.  Must....stay....aw....

Luckily we have a big batch of nasty weather creepin' in.  That should give the next few days a more normal "start" and "stop" which should help me in feeling I should be up as long as the sun is.

...

And if I can drag this blog out any further the next thing we know it'll be Thursday...

Saturday Randomocity

Friday Confessions is a bust this week.

On account of me forgetting yesterday was Friday.

Sorry.

I was busy taking the day off from work, and there was a lot going on.

I had to, you know, walk the dog, and make myself a hearty egg breakfast, and throw some necklaces together, and have lunch with a friend, and act in two Good Friday plays.

How can you forget it's Friday when you're in a Good FRIDAY play?

In the same way I could not know there onions in onion rings when I was five.

Things happen.

Plus, I didn't have much to confess anyway.  I'm gettin' a little sloppy with these things.

Here's one I would have listed:

I picked up my aunt's cat.  The one that doesn't seem to like being held or touched or talked to or looked at.  It was my goal to snuggle the beast, so on the last day I just went for it when her mouth was facing away from my face, so essentially I was grabbing her by the backside.  I screamed, "Look!!  I'm holding the CAT!"  It lasted all of five seconds, but it was magical.

One more:

Ever since Corey picked up a ricotta pie (tastes like a cheesecake) earlier this week I've made it a habit to take a piece with me to bed.  And I eat it in bed.  I can almost hear my saddlebags growing.

And that's all the news that's fit to print.

Later gators.

One Big Digression

Whoopsie...I just noticed I forgot to post something today!

I can't imagine the torture I've put you through.  How inconsiderate of me.

And even more inconsiderate: I don't have anything to say.

How often does that happen??

I know.  I'm very rarely without words.  Look, even without words I'm managing to write words about not having any.

But this is where it ends because I'm super busy.

Letters to write.

Brownie bake-offs to plan.

Tweets to send out to the masses (read: 17 people).

...did you know I'm on twitter now?  Yes, I was peer pressured by someone who will remain nameless (but not link-less!)

Just kidding.  I mean about the peer pressure.  It's fun, but I made sure to let everyone (read: 17 people) know early on that I do not hold back fart-talk.  Because you just never know with some people.

Like my future brother-in-law, who has a hard time with dog doo.  So I leave out stories of college-Stacie smearing fresh doo on the windshield of a car that was parked in her space.

Don't look at me like that...do you know how hard it is to park in the Purdue village??

But I digress.

And now I must type, and fax, and chat with angry tax payers.

See you all tomorrow for some corn-fessions.

Oh how I love blogging. Let me count the ways....

I'm not much of a journaler, per se.  I remember starting a few diaries when I was younger, but I never managed to make it more than a handful of pages in.  It's not for lack of having things to say.  Obviously I don't seem to run out of words.  It was more of a combination of losing interest, having too much to say, and concern for making a very permanent mistake in pen.

My very first diary was made of puffy pink plastic with balloons and confetti all over.  I wrote in it with different colored pens, the kind that had all the ink in one pen...remember those?  The thing had a lock and key, which helped me keep my secrets from my sisters who were too young to read anyway.  Deep dark secrets such as how mad I was at being sick on my birthday. 

Whoa.

There were other things, too.  I don't remember them all.  But I know I was so embarrassed at the possibility of someone reading my thoughts I ripped out the pages and hid them somewhere.  Great idea, because now I know where the diary is but I have no clue where those missing pages are.

Someone somewhere is going to find out about my super duper crush on Lorenzo Feliciano in fourth grade.  I'll be ruined!!

But anyway, there was a point here and I have wandered off.  Again.

What I was trying to say is that for some reason I've stuck to this blogging thing like it's a triple chocolate sheet cake.  (It's probably because of this nifty 'backspace' button I use oh-so-frequently.)  Been at it since May-ish of 2009.  And I'm realizing there's more to this sucker than just puttin' words out there to be mildly entertaining.  I can look back at stuff!!

I can go back to this day, January 19th of last year and see what the heck I was doing!  Because I chronicled my sister falling through the ice in a lake I can remember the whole day so clearly.  And then I can laugh and laugh all over again.

Gimme a break.  She fell in to her knees.

I started Corey & Stacie when we (read: I) were planning our wedding and knee deep in about a million "things to do" checklists.  All of those old posts are invaluable to me now; I was clinically brain-dead and can't remember half of what went on for about six months leading up to the thing.  Looking back, I noticed after picking my bridesmaids this is how I introduced them to you.  If that doesn't scream "this girl needs a brownie with her vodka" I don't know what does.

Eventually I did get my brownie and vodka (read: nap) and life moved on.

How do I know?  Because I read it!  That's almost literally what I said!  Thank goodness for this blog and it's memory capabilities.  Left up to myself I would not be able to tell my children and grandchildren:

"Did you know mommy almost sent Granny Lucas a picture of condoms?"

...

You're right.  I can't possibly know if this whole blogging fad is even going to be around when I have my babies.

(And I would never tell them that, anyway.)

But while I can blog I'm going to.  For both of our enjoyment.

**goofy smile**

Awkward Sleep Ramblings

"Sarah, can I kill you?"

"What?!"


"I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to my sandwich.... But you're in it."

....

"I'm so hungry my stomach is about to eat my other stomach."

....

(dabs eye with tissue) I love it.

Asparagus: Always the Answer

I am in the middle of what I like to call Brain Funk.

It's when I don't eat my veggies and my brain is unable to make connections to big words I used to know, such as superfluous.

What the heck does that mean?  I remember using it just last week.

Or maybe that was in a college paper...before my brain literally shrunk in size.  Shrunk...shrunck...schruhnk...

During Brain Funk I like to sit and stare.  Without moving.  For hours.

And then I try to do the things I am paid to do, like write letters on subjects I know nothing about.  But the kind of brain power it takes to pull such BS outta nowhere is beyond me.  So I sit and stare.  At my computer.  For hours.

I do think when I'm staring.  About lunch.

Or about the cake sitting in our dirty office kitchen put there by our sloppy office neighbors.

I think about how I can sneak a piece and, surprisingly, my thoughts are clear and concise.

But as my brain is still connected to my arms and legs, the funk does not allow me to move them as stealthily as would be necessary to swipe a piece of Beth's birthday cake without anyone noticing.

So I think about other things.

Maybe I'll cut my fingernails when I get home.

I'm Jimmy McMillen...breakfastlunchanddinner.

Why is it I can only breathe out of one nostril at a time...?

Did Zack and Kelly like each other for real?

I'm not sure I can pull off the jean jacket look.

This is brownie weather.

And so on.  For hours.

Luckily, I have about 5 bags of frozen veggies ready to be steamed in my microwave.  And if I eat all five between dinner and breakfast I may be 1) green, 2) the smartest person you know, or 3) still in a brain funk because lack of veggies was not the problem.

We'll see how it goes.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

I snorted out loud today.  In my office.

I read a sleep talking story; they get me every stinkin' time.

Please tell me if this does not make you cry:

My husband and I have been married for 4 years now and he has always said the most random things, but one stands out the most. One night I was still up reading and he was asleep. All of a sudden he kind of sat up and asked me "Do you hear that?" I asked him what he was talking about and he said that he heard a strange noise. I asked him what it sounded like and he said "It sounded like a unicorn getting scooped out of a birthday cake.....??" I still wonder what that sounds like.

Corey & Stacie's 400th Post!!

Overheard in the Locker Room

I Call Him Rusty

I don't live far from my parents' house.  And my office is even closer, so I stop by often on my way home to say hi, let the dogs out to pee, check the mail...

...throw boxes of junk in the massive dumpster taking up a third of their driveway, you know, normal stuff like that.

No, dumpsters are not normal.

This is what I pulled up to one of my more recent trips.  A giant, rusty, trash lovin', steel box.

Did I mention there was a great deal of rust involved?

...

It was junk-clearing time, and we had plen-ty to dispose of.  The garage was full, the attic was full, the basement was full and my sisters and I were keeping watch daily for the TLC Hoarders crew to pull up into the driveway.

But I exaggerate.  My parents aren't that bad.  We all just don't like making the decision to let go of things we have attachments to. 

Um...what is the definition of "hoarding" again?

Could it possibly be crying at the sight of my first Cabbage Patch dolls, covered in dirt and buck naked, in a box waiting to be dumped?  Or clutching my pound puppies for dear life?

Or maybe taking 20 pounds of fabric scraps back to my apartment for projects yet to be named?

But this is not about me.

It's about this huge, nasty trash can that was unwelcome by some members of the family.

And then welcomed when it was discovered that previous renters had left some gooey cardboard sticking out of a giant rusty crack that was absolutely delicious.  Lucky I was there to save them from Hepatitis.

A Little More of Nuthin'

You know you have a busy weekend ahead of you when you have to plan to make your plan.

We had several breakfast dates, a coffee date, a lunch date, projects to attend to, junk to sort, stuff to wash, fold, and put away, and so on.

Not part of the plan, but managed to sneak in anyway: catch a cold.

Not part of the plan, but I wish I had planned: nap times.

I catch colds often, but rarely do I get the cough or stuffy nose that usually come with it.  Nope, my cold stays right in my head, swarming all around my think meat causing me to spit out boring blog posts and stare at stuff.

It also makes me use the word "stuff" more than Mr. Kirkpatrick would approve of.  Oops, there I go ending a sentence with a preposition again.

Mr. K. was my English teacher in high school.  If you are a regular follower of mine you may remember me writing about him dying and me being paranoid to make grammatical errors for fear of natural disasters and plagues of locusts reigning down against me.

... 

And if you're not a regular follower, shame on you.

But I digress.

Digressing hurts, so I'm going to go lie down.

...feels like I'm missin' something.

"Hey, what happened to the other half of that sandwich I was saving for dinner??"

Musta been hungrier than I though...