That Caught Me Off Guard.

Hellooo Class.

Today i would like to introduce you to a character in my life by the name of Sharon.

Sharon's your typical spaced out home improvement crack addict. If you can picture a butterfly high on sugar water you can picture Sharon.

Sharon is not unlike myself in that she has goals..she's not quiet as focused..butterfly sugar water..but she still reaches for the stars. Bless her heart.

I usually encourage these goals.. but when they involve me..I'm not such a team player. I mean, I am a tiger. I vicious roaring tiger..I don't have time to run with strung out butterflies.

This weekend she approached me about her newest goal. Sewing. Clothes. Sewing outfits to be worn. You can sense my apprehension I'm sure. At first I resisted..but she of course lured me in with false hopes of food and shoes.

We arrived at the Hancock fabric store at 12:00pm on Saturday. I was blissfully unaware of what awaited me inside the glass double doors.

I was thinking about rather or not to get the peep toe pump again or maybe a winter boot for next year when the doors swung open and all hell broke loose.

Let me draw a picture for you: Old ladies. Fabric. 50% off.

The store was packed out like Best Buy on Black Friday. Now I'm not a fan of buying fabric but I immediately went into hunt mode. It's my nature to naturally want to defend the pack and fight for the last piece of meat.

I was grabbing up random pieces of cloth and stuffing them down my shirt as I sprinted to the next rack. Ribbons were flying everywhere. Words I didn't understand were being screamed from all directions. "Elma! Get those fabric scissors!" and .."Rose!! ROSE! Grab that blue velcro!" I can only assume they were speaking German as my Spanish and French are at an advanced level. I wanted to fit in so I shouted "Drive drive we shot a man!!"

Sharon, in true cracked out butterfly form, was flying in and out of rows and screaming things at me as I sensed my stealth mode might be in need. "If ONLY I had my 30/30! damnit!!" I shouted at the ceiling while shaking my fist.

After the decisions had been made and the fabric picked and stolen from other carts...it was time to check out. I'm not sure if you've ever been to a fabric store..but there's math involved..and the only math I know is how much to tip when I tab out. (5 dollars if you were on time with my alcohol..10 if I know you and 15 if I want your number..20 if I'm wasted..cause you did your job.) I quickly decided this was not my scene and darted to the back corner and curled up in the fetal position.

3:34pm we left Hancock fabric. I have never been so exhausted in all my life. And that includes the time I thought it would be a good idea to fly to Italy and back in one day just for lunch. Talk about jet lag. I felt exactly like I did in vietnam when I had to carry two men on my back to escape imprisonment.

As Sharon chattered and flew around my head with a frenzy..all I was thinking about was the vodka in my fridge. I thought to myself.."Self..that is the last time we are letting Sharon lure us in with false promises"...just then Sharon said something that caught my attention.

"Why don't we go into Target for a minute and then we can head to DSW on Bridgestreet?"

"Mom..I'm pretty tired..I didn't know I was going into combat..that does things to a person...did you say DSW?..I'm game."

Victory so Sweet.

"I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, the greatest fulfillment of all that he holds dear, is that moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle - victorious..." -Vince Lombardi

Victory and success are like getting high minus the Mary J. You have to go in like a butterfly and sting like a bee.

There have been several times in my life when I have felt utter and complete success. For example..the first time I got away with drinking as a minor. The first time I got a tattoo and three months lapsed before my parents noticed. The time I was elected chief of a small African tribe. The first time I swam the English Channel without coming up for air...and the first time I shot a deer.

This past weekend I found myself up a tree once again hunting for food for Ma and Paw and little Timmy. Noone told me shotting guns and rubbing dirt on your face was so addicting. This time my handy sidekick was riding shotgun with me. Trusty Ole J. She's like a bird dog but sharper. And usually on her A game.

This time we were both handed guns and allowed to hunt together. Given that we had perfected our Marine hand signals and the ability to see through fire smoke and tear gas.

As we strapped the guns to our backs and headed out to the only place I've ever called home. I silently thought to myself .."Self. chances are you will shoot a deer." Because as my great mentor Muhammad Ali once said "It's lack of faith that makes people afraid of meeting challenges and I believed in myself."

It was still dark as we climbed in the tree stand. Silent like lions waiting for our kill. After two false alarms and the numbing of our extremities we started to lose hope. Failure. Again.

As we made fun of each other and how awkward we would look come spring time with peep toe shoes and our thrid and fourth toes missing, I spotted something to the right.

This is how it played out in Bad Boy 2 style. The distinct opening chords of "Welcome to the Jungle" was playing in the background as an excited rumble went through my chest.

I said ..."Hm. that looks like a deer. Hark it is a deer!"

I slapped J on the leg about fiftyeleven times and screamedwhispered "Look alive J Look alive!!!! The time is NOW"

As I was already standing trying to circulate blood flow.. I quickly cocked my 30/30. J posted up and we aimed in true killer form. I'm sure we looked just like a scene out of the Boondock Saints. Positive. Somewhere in the back of my mind Soul Survivor started to race through my mind and I knew what had to be done. Fire away men. And we shot. HIT HIT HIT PIMP DOWN PIMP DOWN. We leaped from the tree stand in a Tarzan swing and ran to find the victim.

Dead.

As I've said before. Success and victory...they'll make you high. I've never killed something with a gun before. Knife fight..spear throw...the occasional nunchuck to the head.. I was all skilled in. A gun. Well...lets just say..I hope you don't see me on the street.

Sudden movements will get you shot.

You Reckon.

I have several goals in life. As I've mentioned before. I know some of you have been asleep and drunk since then so I will revist a few.

For example being in a small movie role starring Kate Hudson and Brad Pitt were Brad Pitt plays my obsessive boyfriend and I am forced to repeatedly tell him to stop humping me. Also taking over the Jimmy Choo franchise. Getting completely sloshed while trying to do the macarena on a Jamaican island with the pool boy named Chico. And obviously perfecting my English accent.

Some of you should incorporate goals into your life plan as well. Even if it's as simple as making pancakes for your loved one.

This weekend I knocked one off the list. Going stealth mode while hunting for deer with my bare hands. I practiced a time or two on the unsuspecting dogs. The trick is to catch them off guard. like "Come here Lady..here girl" and BAM I layed her out. She was only startled for a brief second. Then she tapped out.

Before Waffle House is considered the "sober customers", I was up slapping on my camo..putting on my war paint and tussling my hair to give it the more rugged look. I nearly peed my pants when I was handed a gun. I was prepared to go Rambo on the entire forest so this just upped my chances of taking them by surprise.

As I climbed up into the tree stand to wait..a thought hit me. What if the deer had been warned about me?..I went stealth on Lady the previous night and lets be honest..we've all seen 101 Dalmatians and know how the dog bark works. Nevertheless I wait. And wait. Gun in hand. Eyes bugged out. Hat cocked. Ready. Slowly the day breaks. And it's time to come down from the tree. I'm hungry. I didn't see a damn thing thanks to Lady and I'm starting to reek of sober.

The day passes. I learned how to speak Marion. It sounds alittle like jumbled up syllables and you have to cut out all the proper grammar you know..and then slur your words like a drunk and combine them all like the local crack addicts. I finally got some alcohol in my system and I started to reboot. By midafternoon..like a team player..I was back in the forest eyeing everything that moved.

Leaves were tricking me out..I could hear the trickling of water and the scratching of small field mice. Bitches had it coming. And then BAM. A shot was heard. We gathered quickly in search for our food. A tornado was brewing. The storm was whipping at our hair. The rain was running down our backs. I was in fierce stealth mode searching in the pitch black of the night. All to no avail. The doe had escaped our grasps. The children would starve tonight. We would have to split one bean again.

After such a long barely successful day..I needed a real drink. We headed out to the bar. Of course here in Marion..they do things alittle different. They offer us a drink called Shackwater. I'm thinking...I drink vodka straight every weekend..pour me the Shackwater!

Three drinks in and I can't see straight. Two more pickle shots and I'm not walking. Part of the night is missing. At one point I remember trying to find where we were on a map and texting my baby daddy..."Out riding dirt roads. Be home when I get home." I didn't know up from down. And then we tried to go find the deer that escaped our clutches not so long ago.

I was home by 12. The earliest in my drinking career. It was by far the greatest weekend of my life.

You Belong in a Home

Good evening ladies and gentlemen.

My alcohol level for the holidays has reached Tara Reid level status. I trust you all did the same.

Between drinking and cooking..and baking and drinking..there were some presents exchanged.

Now I like a good present as much as the rest of the world. especially if they come from the local ABC store wrapped in a pretty slender box with a bow. Or hell I'm a cheap gift whore, you can even please me with a six pack of bud light from your loal Shell station and/or Exxon.

However when your gift giving reaches rock bottom extremes I am forced to make fun of you.

Victim of Choice: Grandma.

Now before you all start screaming you sick bastard slow your roll and read the

following bold below.

Grandma is a bag of macadamia nut CRAZY.

Let me break it down for you.

As a small child "crazy" (as ive loving nicknamed her) would feed me smaller helpings of food because I was fat. I would never get pie after dinner. And I love pie. As the years progressed she would send me small newspaper clippings about the latest diets and quickest ways to loose excess belly fat. Whenever I'd come to see her she would mention how I looked like I "put on a couple pounds". I took it in stride though and would wait til she went to bed to eat all of her pie.

Crazy still does this today with the clippings and the coupons of Slim Fast strategically placed in my room. Only now she moved from Montgomery to down the street so she constantly asks when I'm going to come jogging by her house in the morning. "To help tone my thunder thighs."

Now with the clippings and the coupons I'm sure you've concluded she probably gives shitty gifts too. Usually we get old toothpaste, a used pair of socks or if we've been really good, hotel shampoo. If not so good the shampoo is half used.

This year for christmas I got a bar of soap from Crazy. Now..usually I take my present and keep on stepping. Who doesn't need a half used bottle of shampoo? Let's be realistic ..times are hard.

But soap? Come on C?

Not only was it soap...but it was a USED bar of soap. I mean do you just look around your house and say "Hmm...this looks nice..I just used it this morning. If I wrap it in cellophane she won't notice."

Wrong. Wrong Crazy. You're wrong.

As I stated above..Iusually keep on stepping..but not this christmas. OH not this one. Usually there's not quite as much alcohol in my system..so in the true spirit of Christmas I did the following.

I slammed that half used bar of soap down and carefully pronounced each word so as not to slur. "I.DONT.NEED.YOUR.HALF.USED.BAR.OF.SOAP.I.PREFER.THE.COUPONS."

And spun on my heels to quickly go find my Ketel One I had left sitting on my night stand. I heard my brothers snickering to themselves and yelled over my shoulder "At least I didn't get used toothbrushes.." I heard the ripping of paper and the groans of disappointment as I rounded the corner to my room. Maybe Crazy hit rock bottom this year too. I would have gladly taken a can of peas.

It was a long holiday..thank God I have been asleep and drunk and I can't remember all the gory details.

Heres to 09. I hope I'm incoherent for most of the year.

I did not know that about myself.

Ok. So .. I was not aware that cooking, much like reading smut and drinking alcohol, when done for the pure enjoyment of yourself..can be addicting.

This weekend I went Betty Crocker on everybody's ass. I think perhaps I may have been her in a past life.

I was whipping eggs and cream and baking and chopping and steaming and boiling like a cook off the food network channel.

*Update from last blog...Mtv has contacted me about doing a cooking show..different than the food network. LC from the hills will be my assistant and vodka will be passed around so everyone can get into the spirit. My agents are still working on the negotiations. Apparently they dont want a fire breathing dragon in the kitchen. Word like "liability" are being thrown around. -and now back to your regularly broadcasted channel-*

I EVEN got alittle brave this weekend..or maybe that was just the vodka...and cooked for my brothers and his friends. Now if you want anybody to be your food critic..it's these guys. They can grill and broil and saute and make Paula Dean and Emerald look like Barney making glitter cookies with the kindergartners. Seriously.

I cooked Texas enchiladas and added some secret ingredients. Crack. SSH it's a secret.

And they said and I quote "Banging job B." and I said "banging?" and Steve said "You did the damn thing" and at this point I ran back to the kitchen and rubbed my little fat fingers together in jubilation.

I am now officially the cook of the house. And damnit...look out Paula Dean. I'm not sayin...I'm just sayin.

Orange Balsamic Chicken Thighs with Pecans and Sage Butter Pasta.

So. I have this uncontrollable desire to try new things. And by new things I mean sky diving.
I have a list.
A list I will never put on my blog because if I see ANY of you on CNN being the youngest astronaut to fly in space I will punch a wall. And then I will switch up your mandatory blood test with that of an addicted crack user. I will always be in the wings watching.

Somewhere between the sky diving and creating the worlds most perfect vodka..is having my own cooking show by the time I'm 27.

The first step in having your own cooking show is knowing how to cook. Aside from having killer pots and pans.

Lucky for me I have a side kick willing to help achieve my goal and possibly buy stock in my cooking show should I agree to finance her restaurant with the money I made from all the interviews I did about being the youngest astronaut to fly in space.

We came to the conclusion that we should learn to cook together. Since she has a kitchen and more pots and pans than Williams Sonoma. We tested our theory last night. and I dare say...I'm getting in touch with an agent about my cooking show tomorrow.

Although there were a couple minor accidents..such as my willingness to hold a drainer with a small cup underneath it in order to get the noodle juice. Thus resulting in third degree burns.. only a minor set back. Our dinner turned out to be a fine meal.
Emerald already contacted me about adding it to his menu. I clearly had to tell him to step off.

So after chopping and dicing and boiling and quartering...I realized I may have a multimillion dollar industry about to break through.

I'll keep you post on the cooking show. There's talk of me kicking Rachel Ray's ass.

Follow Along White People

Ketel One and I have come up with 35 bar rules to live by. Enjoy.

1. If you owe someone money.. always pay them back in a bar. Preferably during happy hour.
2. Always toast before doing a shot...and make it irrelevant to everyone.

3. Never borrow more than one cigarette from the same person in one night. Unless they're drunk...in which case they'll just assume they smoked the whole pack.

4. Do not make eye contact with the bartender if you do not want a drink.
5. Unacceptable things to say after doing a shot: "Great, now I'm going to get drunk.".." I hate shots." and/or "It’s coming back up."
6. Never, ever tell a bartender he made your drink too strong.

7. If someone offers to buy you a drink.. upgrade your liquor preference.

8. Our parents were better drinkers than we are...they just don't want you to know it.
9. After your sixth drink, do not look at yourself in the mirror. It will shake your confidence.
10. If you can’t afford to tip, you can’t afford to drink in a bar. Go to the liquor store.

11. If you have been roommates/best friends with someone more than six months.. you may drink all their beer, even if it’s hidden, as long as you leave them one.
12. The only thing that tastes better than free liquor is stolen liquor.

13. If you ever feel depressed, get out a bartender’s guide and browse through all the drinks you have never tried.
14. Anyone on stage or behind a bar is fifty percent better looking.
15. You can tell how hard a drinker someone is by how close they keep their drink to their mouth.

16. A bar is a college, not a nursery. If you spill a beer, clean it up. If you break a glass, wait for a staff member to clean it up, then blame it on someone else.
17. Being drunk is feeling sophisticated without being able to say it.
18. It’s okay to drink alone..it's less embarrassing.

19. Your songs will come on as you’re leaving the bar.
20. Never yell out jukebox selections to someone you don’t know.
21. Lie about your name and life in a bar. Or grossly exaggerate and lean.
22. If you think you might be slurring a little, then you are slurring a lot. If you think you are slurring a lot, then you are not speaking english.

23. Never rest your head on a table or bar top. It is the equivalent of voluntarily putting your head on a chopping block.

24. Asking a bartender what beers are on tap when the handles are right in front of you is the equivalent of saying, “I’m an idiot.”
25. Never ask a bartender “What’s good tonight?” they do not fly in the scotch fresh from the coast every morning.

26. If there is ever any confusion, the fuller beer is yours.
27. The patrons at your local bar are your extended family, your fathers and mothers, your brothers and sisters.

28. It’s acceptable, traditional in fact, to disappear during a night of hard drinking.. you will appear mysterious and your friends will understand. If they even notice.

29. If you hesitate more than three seconds after the bartender looks at you.. you do not deserve a drink.

30. If you’re going to drink on the job.. drink vodka. It’s the no-tell liquor.
31. There's nothing wrong with drinking before noon. Especially if you’re supposed to be at work.
32. The bar clock moves twice as fast from midnight to last call.

33. Everyone is your friend when leaving the bar..including the tax cab driver..be sure to tell him how much you love him.

34. On the intimacy scale, sharing a quiet drink is between a handshake and a kiss.
35. You will forget every one of these rules by your fifth drink.