My Mom passed away on September 10, 2011. I miss her so much. August and September were a blur, and as temps cool down out here on the prairie, I am reminded that this will be the first time I won't talk to my Mom on a holiday. It sucks.
Thank you for reading. I am doing all I can to get back to happy posts. I think the blog may take on a new direction and life starting this fall! Looking forward to climbing new mountains...you do realize I have never climbed a real mountain...
Friday, October 21, 2011
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Tange on a Plane
I recently flew home to visit my very, very ill mother. I won't hurl all my sadness at you. I save that for Facebook. I boarded the plane from Dallas to Birmingham, and sat down in the biggest, widest, most fat girl friendly seat on the plane. I had just gotten off the phone with my daughter who revealed that my Mama was in the hospital, and things were not looking real good. I put my sunglasses on and commenced to have a soap opera level break down. You know snot, slobber, and that seal barking grief cry that is reserved for break-ups, bad dye jobs, and being too fat to fit in the size you think you are....
Suddenly the male flight attendant came on the intercom, "Those of you seated by the wings must be able to open the cabin door..." That was all I heard. I looked over and realized I was sitting by the door. I got my black ass up. I got my bag from the overhead compartment.I tried to do it all sneaky-snake, but I was totally busted.
I heard a mixture of gasps and a couple of chuckles. I wasn't going for laughs or shocks. I just knew in my heart of hearts that I was soooooo not committed to saving any one of these strangers. I couldn't be responsible for putting my seat tray up when the captain said so. I am not a hero. I'm a self-absorbed comic. I leave the humanitarianism to people in Hollywood who can afford to care about orphaned monkeys, one-eyed Himalayan goats, and children in famine who really need iPhones. I am a walking United Way Drive, and I can't get past self-preservation or protecting my kids enough to become Wesley Snipes or Samuel L. Jackson.
The flight attendant came over to me, after I moved (voluntarily) to the back of the plane.
"In my 26 years of doing this, no one has ever gotten up and moved, " he smiled. He was tickled.
"Look, my Mama is dying. I can't be responsible or deal with anybody else and their death. I don't love any of these people. I can use one of them as a flotation device, but I can't open that damned door."
He and the other attendant laughed out loud. I wasn't trying to make them laugh. I was really just speaking my truth. I really didn't give one good damn if too much perfume lady, old man with the cane, or screaming ass baby died. In all honesty, I wish I could have arranged to push lady with the cat in the cat bag that was making me sneeze out of the plane somewhere over Wal-Mart World Headquarters in Arkansas...just to register my disapproval of muthaflipin cats on PLANES and Wal-Mart. Once again, unchristian, but true.
The flight attendant,so taken with my honesty said, "Can I get you a cocktail?"
I said, "I'm going to see my dying mama."
He said, " Let me get you some vodka."
I thanked him. As I sipped my Bloody Mary somewhere over Mississippi, I regretted my selfishness.
Ok, that regret part is a total lie.
Suddenly the male flight attendant came on the intercom, "Those of you seated by the wings must be able to open the cabin door..." That was all I heard. I looked over and realized I was sitting by the door. I got my black ass up. I got my bag from the overhead compartment.I tried to do it all sneaky-snake, but I was totally busted.
I heard a mixture of gasps and a couple of chuckles. I wasn't going for laughs or shocks. I just knew in my heart of hearts that I was soooooo not committed to saving any one of these strangers. I couldn't be responsible for putting my seat tray up when the captain said so. I am not a hero. I'm a self-absorbed comic. I leave the humanitarianism to people in Hollywood who can afford to care about orphaned monkeys, one-eyed Himalayan goats, and children in famine who really need iPhones. I am a walking United Way Drive, and I can't get past self-preservation or protecting my kids enough to become Wesley Snipes or Samuel L. Jackson.
The flight attendant came over to me, after I moved (voluntarily) to the back of the plane.
"In my 26 years of doing this, no one has ever gotten up and moved, " he smiled. He was tickled.
"Look, my Mama is dying. I can't be responsible or deal with anybody else and their death. I don't love any of these people. I can use one of them as a flotation device, but I can't open that damned door."
He and the other attendant laughed out loud. I wasn't trying to make them laugh. I was really just speaking my truth. I really didn't give one good damn if too much perfume lady, old man with the cane, or screaming ass baby died. In all honesty, I wish I could have arranged to push lady with the cat in the cat bag that was making me sneeze out of the plane somewhere over Wal-Mart World Headquarters in Arkansas...just to register my disapproval of muthaflipin cats on PLANES and Wal-Mart. Once again, unchristian, but true.
The flight attendant,so taken with my honesty said, "Can I get you a cocktail?"
I said, "I'm going to see my dying mama."
He said, " Let me get you some vodka."
I thanked him. As I sipped my Bloody Mary somewhere over Mississippi, I regretted my selfishness.
Ok, that regret part is a total lie.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Tang Don't Care
How did I go my whole life without knowing about the deliciously funny Randall and the Honey Badger? YouTube sensation, you ask? Hell yeah. It's not like the Honey Badger gives a sh*t what you think. So over 14 million people have seen this video and no one decided to show it to me. What is this a conspiracy? I get invited to Google+ and Spotify, but no one bothers to send me a linky dink to the funniest sh*t I've ever seen in my life. It is genius. I'm jealous I didn't think of it first.
I tweeted about the Honey Badger, and you know what? The HONEY BADGER retweeted me. He acts like he "don't care." You care enough to retweet me Honey Badger.
Honey Badger, I love you. Now go on back to dragging snakes down from trees and eating them for your snacky snack.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4r7wHMg5Yjg
I tweeted about the Honey Badger, and you know what? The HONEY BADGER retweeted me. He acts like he "don't care." You care enough to retweet me Honey Badger.
Honey Badger, I love you. Now go on back to dragging snakes down from trees and eating them for your snacky snack.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4r7wHMg5Yjg
Owassoisms.com: Owasso Woman makes the September issue of Woman's ...
Owassoisms.com: Owasso Woman makes the September issue of Woman's ...: "The subject line read 'Guess WHAT????' I didn't know you could feel someone jumping for joy in an email, but when I received ..."
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Ahhhh, Romance!
I love me a good romance novel. I've loved them since I checked my first stack of Silhouette Desires out from the library when I was twelve-ish. I took a stack of the fire-engine red paperbacks to the counter, and that shaggy-haired, super strange dude that used to work at the Normandale Library just gave me a look that woulda made my Mama proud. Back in the day I wasn't so quick to tell people off. I just gave him a one eye squint and a slight neck roll to let him know he better mind his own business.
Nowadays, romance books cover everything from doing it with vampires, werewolves, and half monkey/half Greek Gods (all at the same time) to hog-tying the Mayor and spanking him with a Twizzler for not ordering enough firecrackers for the 4th of July. Every kink is covered. Romances set in 18th Century Ireland, Amish Romances (for real, yall, they exist), and my personal favorite, gay erotic romance. I have to tell you, there are some freaky people out there reading and writing romances. But people are reading, and that is a good thing...even if they are getting all hot and bothered over a sweet young woman losing her virginity to a rock star who is really a shape shifter who can only turn into a cute poodle puppy. Ewww.
I have found myself writing romance stories. Some good. Some really bad. But for me,they have been fun and exciting to write. It's a great way to tell lies about my weight and height, and sneak in some little known facts about how bad I was (allegedly) before the marital incident. I find myself injecting a little comedy in each one. I think I may be on to something. Comedy + Sex+ Creepy = Publishing Gold!
They say write what you know. I know a whole lot about the business end of the romance novel. (It ain't bragging if it's true.) I know very little about romance itself. That requires some real imagination. Romance for my sweet sexy fine zombie prince of a husband consists of him being kind enough to bring me home a large order of bread sticks from work with a tub of marinara. Garlic butter smothered foreplay! He loves him some me.
I find that most romance novels do a disservice by not keeping it real for the impressionable young women who read the books looking for clues to the perfect man/relationship/ happily ever after. Well, ladies here is your keep it real advice for the day...
1. All heroes in romance novels look like Bradley Cooper and are hung like Ron Jeremy.
Brace yourselves ladies, there are men among us who are packing Viennas, but they need love, too. Yes you will be utterly disappointed with his mini-meat stick, but if he's been properly trained; he can make your toes curl and sweat your hair into Buckwheat fro. You can always train him. Little man syndrome is a treatable disease.
MY advice: Buy yourself a nice toy to supplement his miniature throbbing orb of pleasure. Close your eyes and pretend he is Bradley Cooper if he really looks like Ron Jeremy.
2. All heroes in romance novels will overcome anything to be with the woman they love.
HA! There are guys who will love you deeper, longer, better than anyone else, but when it gets to nut cuttin' time they are throwing up "deuces" and all you see are elbows and ass walking out the door.
MY advice: If you have a man who has disappointed you in a big, life-altering way at least three times, WALK AWAY. He ain't changing. You can't make him.
3. All heroes in romance novels are Bad Boys with a heart of gold.
Ohhhhhh, baby, do I love bad boys! I won’t go into detail, because my Mama may read this. Bad Boys are fun and exciting and dangerous and yes, yes, yes getting your swerve on with a Bad Boy makes you want to tap into your inner Bad Girl and go rob a nursing home. Most Bad Boys are just bad. PERIOD. Girlfriend, you do not want to be with a Bad Boy when he is in a full blown herpes flare up of Bad Assity, because you could actually get “the herp” from this guy. You could get your car repo’d from being with this guy. You could end up being the hottest thing strolling the red carpet of Cellblock D from being with this guy. I’m sure you’ve seen those prison shows on MSNBC: jumpsuits are NEVER flattering and the tough boy-looking lesbian, who will decide to make you her prison wife, is usually not cute. I mean, if you’re gonna be a situational lesbian, wouldn’t you rather do it with a girl that looks like Angelina Jolie or Janet Jackson? It’s just too much for me. The prison stud never looks like Ellen or Rachel Maddow. The prison stud always looks like Don Knotts, and has a blackcent like Jay-Z. If I want a wigger, I'll stalk Eminem...or wigger-in- training, Justin Bieber, who would make an excellent prison stud IN 3-D!!!!!!. Just sayin’.
MY Advice: Bad Boys are gifts from Dr. Phil to remind us that Oprah loves us and wants us to be happy. Have a fling with a Bad Boy, repent, get tested for HIV, run a credit report on yourself, and find yourself a nice boy. Or find an older,reformed Bad Boy. A man who has been through some hard times, is over 40, ready to settle down…but still capable of breaking bad at a moment’s notice, if expert whup assery is needed.
I said all that to say I’ve hit terrible writers block. I’ve been working on an interracial romance between a time-traveling ghetto girl and a Leprechaun, and while I think the premise is totally believable; I just don’t know how to make the bondage scene with the third leg of the love triangle,the vampire drag queen, Fang-O-Licious, work. I’ll take suggestions…
Nowadays, romance books cover everything from doing it with vampires, werewolves, and half monkey/half Greek Gods (all at the same time) to hog-tying the Mayor and spanking him with a Twizzler for not ordering enough firecrackers for the 4th of July. Every kink is covered. Romances set in 18th Century Ireland, Amish Romances (for real, yall, they exist), and my personal favorite, gay erotic romance. I have to tell you, there are some freaky people out there reading and writing romances. But people are reading, and that is a good thing...even if they are getting all hot and bothered over a sweet young woman losing her virginity to a rock star who is really a shape shifter who can only turn into a cute poodle puppy. Ewww.
I have found myself writing romance stories. Some good. Some really bad. But for me,they have been fun and exciting to write. It's a great way to tell lies about my weight and height, and sneak in some little known facts about how bad I was (allegedly) before the marital incident. I find myself injecting a little comedy in each one. I think I may be on to something. Comedy + Sex+ Creepy = Publishing Gold!
They say write what you know. I know a whole lot about the business end of the romance novel. (It ain't bragging if it's true.) I know very little about romance itself. That requires some real imagination. Romance for my sweet sexy fine zombie prince of a husband consists of him being kind enough to bring me home a large order of bread sticks from work with a tub of marinara. Garlic butter smothered foreplay! He loves him some me.
I find that most romance novels do a disservice by not keeping it real for the impressionable young women who read the books looking for clues to the perfect man/relationship/ happily ever after. Well, ladies here is your keep it real advice for the day...
1. All heroes in romance novels look like Bradley Cooper and are hung like Ron Jeremy.
Brace yourselves ladies, there are men among us who are packing Viennas, but they need love, too. Yes you will be utterly disappointed with his mini-meat stick, but if he's been properly trained; he can make your toes curl and sweat your hair into Buckwheat fro. You can always train him. Little man syndrome is a treatable disease.
MY advice: Buy yourself a nice toy to supplement his miniature throbbing orb of pleasure. Close your eyes and pretend he is Bradley Cooper if he really looks like Ron Jeremy.
2. All heroes in romance novels will overcome anything to be with the woman they love.
HA! There are guys who will love you deeper, longer, better than anyone else, but when it gets to nut cuttin' time they are throwing up "deuces" and all you see are elbows and ass walking out the door.
MY advice: If you have a man who has disappointed you in a big, life-altering way at least three times, WALK AWAY. He ain't changing. You can't make him.
3. All heroes in romance novels are Bad Boys with a heart of gold.
Ohhhhhh, baby, do I love bad boys! I won’t go into detail, because my Mama may read this. Bad Boys are fun and exciting and dangerous and yes, yes, yes getting your swerve on with a Bad Boy makes you want to tap into your inner Bad Girl and go rob a nursing home. Most Bad Boys are just bad. PERIOD. Girlfriend, you do not want to be with a Bad Boy when he is in a full blown herpes flare up of Bad Assity, because you could actually get “the herp” from this guy. You could get your car repo’d from being with this guy. You could end up being the hottest thing strolling the red carpet of Cellblock D from being with this guy. I’m sure you’ve seen those prison shows on MSNBC: jumpsuits are NEVER flattering and the tough boy-looking lesbian, who will decide to make you her prison wife, is usually not cute. I mean, if you’re gonna be a situational lesbian, wouldn’t you rather do it with a girl that looks like Angelina Jolie or Janet Jackson? It’s just too much for me. The prison stud never looks like Ellen or Rachel Maddow. The prison stud always looks like Don Knotts, and has a blackcent like Jay-Z. If I want a wigger, I'll stalk Eminem...or wigger-in- training, Justin Bieber, who would make an excellent prison stud IN 3-D!!!!!!. Just sayin’.
MY Advice: Bad Boys are gifts from Dr. Phil to remind us that Oprah loves us and wants us to be happy. Have a fling with a Bad Boy, repent, get tested for HIV, run a credit report on yourself, and find yourself a nice boy. Or find an older,reformed Bad Boy. A man who has been through some hard times, is over 40, ready to settle down…but still capable of breaking bad at a moment’s notice, if expert whup assery is needed.
I said all that to say I’ve hit terrible writers block. I’ve been working on an interracial romance between a time-traveling ghetto girl and a Leprechaun, and while I think the premise is totally believable; I just don’t know how to make the bondage scene with the third leg of the love triangle,the vampire drag queen, Fang-O-Licious, work. I’ll take suggestions…
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Long Time Coming
Finally, it is all falling into place. Can we just take a moment and sing along with the late, great Sam Cooke. It's been a loooooooonnnnnnnnngggggg time comin', but finally a change has come! I am so excited about my new venture!
Thursday, July 14, 2011
The Question Lady
If you came here thinking I had answers for you, you came to the wrong place. My head has been filled with random questions. Sure, I could Google the answers, but that would just lead to more questions. Some of these questions keep me up late at night long after the McBrothas have gone off to dream about the destruction they can cause tomorrow.
1. Where the hell is Kristy MacNichol?
2. Why can’t Jennifer Anniston/Rene’ Zellweger/ Halle Berry find true love?
3. What was so wrong with shoulder pads?
4. Why do all the men of pre-school shows look like creepy child molesting arsonists? Have you ever seen The Upside Down Show? It comes on Nick Jr at 10pm…long after bedtime for the demographic. I think it’s some sort of Morse code show for freaks. It “cweeps” me out, as my son says.
5. If I deleted my Twitter account, would Kanye West care?
6. If I actually used my Myspace, would Justin Timberlake notice?
7. How can I turn a sex tape into a money making machine without having to get my smack madam anywhere near nasty ass Ray J or brain dead Tommy Lee?
8. Can you die from eating salsa that’s old enough to have green fridge fuzz all on it?
9. How come no one told me after I turned 40 the hair on my legs would stop growing, but the hair on my face would get all militant? Seriously, if I didn’t keep the chin hairs in check, I’d look like an old, black Amish man, for real. Just call me Jebidiah Tyrone Ekhoff.
10. Is there really a market for plus-sized strippers, and would I be the skinniest one on the pole? Think about it, nobody wants to be the fat girl even at a fat girl freak fest.
1. Where the hell is Kristy MacNichol?
2. Why can’t Jennifer Anniston/Rene’ Zellweger/ Halle Berry find true love?
3. What was so wrong with shoulder pads?
4. Why do all the men of pre-school shows look like creepy child molesting arsonists? Have you ever seen The Upside Down Show? It comes on Nick Jr at 10pm…long after bedtime for the demographic. I think it’s some sort of Morse code show for freaks. It “cweeps” me out, as my son says.
5. If I deleted my Twitter account, would Kanye West care?
6. If I actually used my Myspace, would Justin Timberlake notice?
7. How can I turn a sex tape into a money making machine without having to get my smack madam anywhere near nasty ass Ray J or brain dead Tommy Lee?
8. Can you die from eating salsa that’s old enough to have green fridge fuzz all on it?
9. How come no one told me after I turned 40 the hair on my legs would stop growing, but the hair on my face would get all militant? Seriously, if I didn’t keep the chin hairs in check, I’d look like an old, black Amish man, for real. Just call me Jebidiah Tyrone Ekhoff.
10. Is there really a market for plus-sized strippers, and would I be the skinniest one on the pole? Think about it, nobody wants to be the fat girl even at a fat girl freak fest.
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