And This Is Why I Can’t Be Trusted To Play With Technology

Today, I decided to try to learn something new, Skype. Yes, yes…I know it’s been around forever. I know this for a few reasons. First because you couldn’t miss the hype around it (it sold to ebay for 3.1 billion!). Secondly, because while at a wedding in London, I actually met the founder of Skype (also know as the dude who pocketed a bunch of the 3.1 billion btw) and did not know who he was and proceeded, as usual, to make a slight bit of an arse of myself in front of him. I know, shocking, right? Trust me, this is a pattern long in the making. I think my real talent here lies in my ability to appear normal around normal people but…if you bring anyone newsworthy into the picture it’s wheels off in very short order.

Anyway, until last night I’d never really had a use for it. It all went so well at first. I downloaded the program and managed to figure out how to chat on it right away. Success! So today, I decided to have another go at it.

I should at this point tell you the person I was chatting with last night was none other than the most fabulous Mrs. Fussypants. I know this may seem inconsequential right now, but stay with me, this is plot people. If you aren’t lucky enough to know Mrs. Fussypants like I do…you should know this…there is no finer example of a well mannered Southern Belle than she. She just exudes a mental image of sitting on a large veranda in a rocking chair, sipping mint juleps, all the while making you feel ohsoveryspecial.

Which is to say, the opposite of me.

So today, I logged on hoping to catch her to chat some more and noticed I had a few new people to follow, or whatever it is you call it in Skype world. So trying to be friendly, and immediately after pinging her and saying, “Oh Hiiiii darlin” to her (I am from Texas…not the best at the deep South thing but I try, you know?) I accepted this other persons friend request. At which point a message immediately popped up asking where this other person could see pictures of me.

What??? Why???

Turns out, this other person was A VERY BAD GIRL. And so, due to a naturally ridiculously obsessively high level of curiosity, combined with a healthy dose of stewpit, I clicked on her link.

My eyes!!!! They burn!!!!!

I can tell you two things. First of all, somewhere in America, there is a mother crying rivers of tears if she knows what her daughter is doing. Secondly, if my children ever ask where babies come from, I now have a very graphic picture to show them the exact location.

Now, back to my lack of common sense, the best bet here would have been to play it cool, but that’s just not how I roll so I immediately told Fussy what I had done, at which point she was all like, “Mary Anne…why would you friend A VERY BAD GIRL??? You need to block her right now!”

Which, yes, that is very good advice. Fussy is bonafide A list. She speaks? Stiletto listens. However, I have just no idea how to block on Skype and now find myself afraid to go back on there.

Come to think of it, I think I will go back. And? I think I’ll share pictures of myself as I appear first thing in the am with her. Messy hair, ugly flannel nighty, possibly fuzzy slippers and glasses.

Payback baby. Payback!

Programming Note: I won’t be here Friday….I’ll be back in Jolly Old England at Kat’s 3 Bedroom Bungalow. Stop by…learn the REAL name of The Man and learn how he made a bigger arse of himself in London than I did. And trust me, it took some work people! So mark your calendars, post a sticky note on your head…or, well… how about I just remind you Friday? Mkay?

DJ Spin Me A Tune

I spent three days in Atlanta on sales calls last week. I’d tell you all about it but I’m still trying to bounce back from several things. Chief among them, my experience in the airport on Wednesday night. (Oh Atlanta? At some point we are going to need to have a very long conversation about your lack of clearly marked streets. I know we are in a recession but street signs have never been considered a luxury in my mind. Seriously. Think of it as a favor to the directionally challenged like me.)

Got to the airport two hours early for my flight. Could have caught the earlier flight but chose not to given the fact that the sky had opened and showered bright light down upon me when I was told I had been upgraded to first class on my return flight home. BOO-YAH!

The looming clouds in the sky should have been a sign I should get the heck out while I could….but no. I was too busy dancing the dance of the first class upgrade, imagining myself being catered to, well fed and rested upon my return home.

Flight. Choice. FAIL.

What was my first clue you ask? Well, the fact that there was no where to go and wait except for a tiny restaurant/bar with no seats for starters. Apparently, if you choose to fly American as I most often do being from Dallas, you get punished in Atlanta which is the hub for Delta. In this terminal there are two choices. First, Burger King which honestly I would have gladly chosen but it was closed and secondly, said tiny restaurant/bar…which was full. I finally found a place to wedge myself in and order a glass of wine. The man to my right was a nice guy, late fifties, very excited to tell me all about his mosquito killing products. To my left? Different story. Let me tell you, if ever find yourself sandwiched between a crazed DJ doing Jaeger bombs and a guy telling you about the latest in mosquito killing technology and can’t decide who to talk to? Choose the bug killer dude.

It all went well for the first hour or so. I learned more about killing mosquitoes than I ever have in my life and quietly read my book all the while counting how many Jaeger bombs this guy was going to throw back. (Lost count at five…) At some point during the second hour, the DJ (DJ Lou in case you were wondering) decided I was somehow interesting and started asking me a whole lot of questions about my sex life. I’m not sure if it was the wholesome pony tail or the velour track suit that screams “I Am Mommy” that started this line of questioning, but there it was. Still, there was exactly no where else to sit as all the flights were being canceled.

Proving that you should never utter the phrase, “I just don’t see how this can get any worse” the situation took at southward turn when DJ Lou ran out of Jaegermiester. Thankfully, they had tequilla on hand as well and he switched his liquor of choice. Still going strong with the sexual comments and questions, and now sweating profusely, I finally looked at him and asked what on earth he was thinking drinking like that and then asking me those questions.

“Well, for starters, the Valium I took earlier ain’t kicking in and you look like you can tell a dirty joke.”

Huh. DJ Lou had a point. I mean, I don’t know about the Valium and what not…but I can for sure throw out some of the raunchiest jokes ever heard and not bat an eye. But we weren’t done. DJ Lou wanted to spin for me and asked me what kind of tunes I liked in the tiny overcrowded bar. First answer: “Classical?” trying to throw him off. No go. Second answer: “Country?”. Still no go. Figuring out my age, DJ Lou chose to spin some 80′s tunes for me complete with the WHACKA WHACKA WHOOOO DJ sounds that I just don’t get because I haven’t been a club kid in a very, very long time.

As if this isn’t bad enough yet, all the rauchy LOUD sex questions combined with my personal DJ mix, at this point that I should tell you that DJ Lou was a big dude weighing in at at least 300 lbs. Starting to finally get a buzz on, he looked at me and said, “Hey Mamma…wanna earn some bucks tonight?” Not knowing where this might go, I immediately threw up in my chicken nugget basket and then took the bait.

Me: “Oh sure, I’m in need of a few bucks…what’s it gonna take?”
Him: “Just carry me to the plane if I pass out and I’ll pay you 20 bucks.”
Me: “Um…I’m pretty sure I can’t carry you…how about if I just kick you in the nuts when it’s time to go?”
Him: “Deal.”

Quite possibly could have been the easiest twenty bucks I’d ever make in my life. I didn’t get to kick him in the nuts (shame really) but we did race together to the jetway to make our flight an hour later. At which point I realized WE WERE ON THE SAME FLIGHT.

DJ Lou and I were seated pretty far apart on the plane and I finally made it home late that night having no more interesting run ins. The guy next to me on the flight fell asleep the minute we pulled back from the gate and I was so happy I wanted to hug him. Instead I just sat very still…listening to him snore, and thinking it might be the best sound I heard all day.

That upgrade? Totally wasn’t worth it.

Pinot Is Not For Primates

I know this has gotten a ton of press….but…I am obsessed with the story of Travis the Monkey this week.

For starters, I don’t really care what type of pet you have. I am the proud owner of the worlds most cantankerous cat and possibly, the fattest Pug. Seriously. I don’t care. Until…you have a wild animal living in your house and then? I’m probably not going to let my kids come over to play. I might also violate my Golden Rule of no gossip as well.

Just warning you.

At first, when I heard this story, I felt really bad for the woman who owned Travis. She is totally alone, her husband died and her daughter was killed in a car accident. It’s sad no matter how you look at it and I felt for her, even though the monkey literally ripped the face off of her best friend.

But then came the additional stories. The stories of Travis stopping traffic in their town, getting in the car and trying (successfully) to start it, he even tried to drag one woman into a car with him and bit her when she pulled back. He was a monkey…and that is the kind of stuff monkeys, given full reign and a set of car keys, will do.

I had to draw the line when I heard he could do such things as dress himself, feed himself AND DRINK WINE FROM A GLASS WITH A STEM. He was a monkey and no matter how closely related to our DNA they are, if Chardonnay is not for sippy cups, then Pinot is not for primates. Just sayin’.

Add to this he was given Zanax or two before the attack and the fact she BATHED with him, SHARED A BED with him and everything else IDon’tWantToKnow with him, I am at the end of my proverbial rope with this story.

I am so sorry for the losses all the way around on this one and I’d never want to be a part of this story on either side.


I don’t get it. Why on earth do you try to domesticate an animal that is born to be wild?

Do you?

Did I Actually Say That?


Have you guys tried this yet? It’s Wordle and it is so fun…and slightly disturbing. Here’s mine from last night:

Wordle will go into your site and pull random words and make them into a fun scramble. If you don’t have a blog, you can go there and just type in a bunch of words (I did a family one with all of our names, descriptions and words I think describe us…very cute!) and see what comes back. You can arrange by font, shape, color…basically you create what they call your own “beautiful word cloud”. Or in my case, “tacky shit storm”.

I look at most of the words and I can tell you what post they came from and even in what context they were used. The one that gets me though is up at the top right…see that? The part that says “blow someone tiny”? I have to tell you, I just have no recollection of giving any type of sex advice for small people. Although I suppose anything is possible.

Go try it at and then let me know if you are as demented as I apparently am!

Happy Valentines Day!


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