Cow-Print Slippers and Black Underwear

So I watched a potentially great movie in which the guy does not get the girl, the coolest character dies halfway into the movie, and the tamed horse is set free...

HELLO!!!!!!! SEQUEL TIME PALEASE!!! And lets get the babes to write this one...


Frank stares out the window of the stuffy chatter-filled parlor. Bored. B-O-R-D, bored, is he. He can't stand Priscilla anymore. Her talk of teacups and honey-do-lists has him gasping for air... Suddenly he sees it... A flash of white and brown... A familiar whinny... Hidalgo racing past the window!!!

Frank jumps up and knocks over Priscilla's great-great-great-grandmother's tea-kettle and breaks it. He leaves the tea-parlor and runs into the open yard, shedding his constricting tie, ruffle, and waist-coat. It is time. The adventure continues. Frank leaps on Hidalgo's back and races away.

Soon he decides to go back to India with his horsey because there is unrest and a mystery to be solved in the kingdom of his friend the sheik. While he is there he learns that the princess is betrothed to a stuffy prince, but alas, she is changed from the daring damsal that she once was. She is sickly and dull.

Aha however! Hidalgo uncovers the drug that the evil prince is using on her that is keeping the princess at bay. Frank and Hidalgo save the day and the princess. The princess and Frank fall madly in love. They solve whatever the mystery was, kill the evil prince, save the sheik, and ride off into the sunset on Hidalgo with the princess's mare Sweetie trotting along beside.

Oh yeah, and p.s. The really super cool character - the princess's black fighting-dude servant man... He wasn't killed. He was imprisoned by the evil prince. He helps them save the kingdom and becomes the new prince in place of the old evil one.

And that's how it should be folks. :)

Not cheese.

Just Cheesiness.

Today I got pulled over by a policeman for the first time. It was terrible. I can now relate to anyone who has ever felt that sick feeling in the pit of their stomach and thought "why me? Why today?" I seriously didn't do anything. I just didn't wait for the barricades to go ALL the way up and the dingers to stop dinging and the lights to stop flashing. This is apparently a pretty big offense, judging by the brochure on railroad safty the officer gave me. It can get you a $250 fine your first time, and a $500 fine your second. (Although if you paid a stink'n $250 dollars for doing it once and you still didn't learn your lesson, you either have too much money to care, or you're an air-head and deserve to pay up.) But anyway, it was very traumatic and emotionally stressing, but at least now I understand why girls cry. See, I hate it when people are all "oh yeah I cried and he let me off." That makes me mad because it's like their manipulating the system and if they seriously did something wrong, they should be ticketed no matter how many boxes of tissues they have to go through. Because of that reasoning I was trying really hard to NOT cry, but it wasn't working very well. (I actually would have been fine if I had been able to find my proof of insurance or if my mom had picked up her phone before the 5th time I tried, but hey, you can't have everything right?) I didn't realize how embarrassing it was to sit on the side of the road with a carnival of lights sitting behind you and about a billion people driving by thinking 'oh that poor person... I'm glad it's them and not me!' Yuck. I hated it and as much as I wanted to keep Niagara Falls from actually falling, it was pretty much useless. But here's the thing I didn't realize when people told me that they cried and got let off: they didn't necessarily cry to test that soft spot in the officer's heart for young (and very poor) girls, and they weren't necessarily trying to use their womanly influence on a male cop, crying is just how they dealt with the mixture of fear, guilt, lost trust/innocence, and hopelessness. That's a tough blend there, and while it may be easy to talk about after the fact, it's hard to live the moment. A guy once told me that he didn't know what he would, or should do if a girl started crying. He didn't know if he should leave her alone or go try and comfort her or go beat somebody up for her, and I would bet that he wasn't the only guy that's ever wondered that. To those of you who may be curious, simply understand that tears are just one of the many things that make us girls so incredibly different from guys. They come easily and often times at the worst possible moment. (Do you think we like to have our voices sound funny and our faces get blotchy and our eyes get red? No. Ew.) Sometimes, it's the only way to release the emotion. (As we've already established, we're VERY emotional.) But it may surprise you that we cry a lot more than when we're sad. We cry when our feelings are hurt, when we're lonely, when we're tired, when we're happy, when we're overwhelmed, when we're angry, when we're confused, when we're frustrated, and when we're feeling for someone else (that's why romantic flicks make us cry, we're feeling for the characters). Almost any emotion can be released through the tear ducts. Boys, don't be afraid of tears. We cry when we need something and don't know how to get it, or if we feel bad and don't know how to make it better. If you keep that in mind, you have no reason to be afraid of tears.

p.s. I know that if I had a boyfriend and I was upset enough to cry in front of him, I would want him to hug me good and tight, and let me use his shirt to soak up my tears, and tell me that he'll make everything ok. (Assuming, of course, that I wasn't mad at him. That's a whooooole different situation.)

p.p.s I just got a written warning - no ticket this time. (whew)

So George and I drove our hot dates to the movies last night. That's right folks, you heard that correctly. While some may argue our lisence-less bros were using their older sisters, George and I prefer to look upon this as quite possibly as good as it will get (for a while at least.... did you notice I just said 'as' three times within six words? Amazing)

George, myself, and Frank and Jo Hardy got pizza, a movie, and Bunch-of-Crunches for 11 bucks a piece and we ladies were treated to all doors open, napkins fetched, and seats saved throughout the night. It was heaven... for the most part.

Then, when it became a race to see who could open the MOST doors... and open the door for the driver of the car who unfortunetly has the only keys to open the door... And who could shut the door for the frontseat lady while sitting in the back of the compact car... Well this was interesting to say the least.

So I could be wrong (but most likely not, hello, this is cowprint here)... Could it be... that gentlemanly behavior can be fun? Seriously. Boys, grab your buddy. Grab your sisters. See who can out-door-open the other. And my challenge to you is this... Make the third variable undertoned sneaky suaveness... So like... we won't know you're going all out in a vehemant macho war when you're grabbing the car keys to unlock the car, and holding race-to-open-the-theatre-door competitions in the middle of the parking lot. :D

Other then that... You've got it covered. Just smile sweetly and say "How much do you want honey?" when we ask for your money. Don't worry - If you can do all of this, we promise to be the most hysterical dates you've ever had. ;) You won't be disapointed.

If you have been following recent comments over the last few days, you will have noticed the conversation below regarding 'Japanese Sports Cars.' The most recent comment was posted by a male and read:

"no. Mystery is bad. Just tell us, no beating around the bush, no subtle hints because 9 times out of 10 we won't get them and you'll be left thinking 'what just happened?' Mystery is only good when you are already in a relationship."

I was intrigued by this comment and began to compose a response to it but caught myself getting longwinded and decided to screw the comments and write a stink'n blog about it. After all, I AM the administrator right? Yeah, that's what I thought.

So the mystery business. Lemme 'splain it to ya'll: I wasn't talking about the 'subtle hints' mystery (mostly because those can be awfully revealing), I was talking about the 'hard-to-get' mystery. There's a pretty big difference...

STORY TIME!

So there are two little boys, (let's call them Bert and Ernie). Bert is a spoiled little 5-year-old brat and Ernie is not. (Everybody gets their diapers in a wad sometimes, but for the most part Ernie is a sweet little 5-year-old boy.) One day Bert and Ernie's mommies decide to bake chocolate chip cookies. (To make this story relevant to you I give you permission to change the cookies to your own personal favorite, but if you don't like chocolate chip cookies you must be at the wrong site. Yours would be the 'Aliens from Weirdom' site at No-taste.blogspot.com.) Bert's mom pulls out her 'break and bake'Tollhouse freezer cookies, sticks 'em in the oven, and pulls them out in 8-10 min. Bert promptly demands three of them and Mom hands them over with out complaint because she 'just wants him to be happy and not cry.' Bert stuffs his cookies (if you can really call them that) down and promptly forgets about them as he begins to make some sort of nuisance. Ernie, however, watches his mother lovingly mix all the ingredients of her 'secret' recipe into a bowl, spoon the batter onto cookie sheets, and place them in the oven for 10-12 minutes. Little Ernie smells the warn deliciousness of the cookies and presses his nose against the oven window to watch them rise and see the chips melt. After the timer goes off his mom takes them out (wearing very stylish oven Mitts) and puts them on a tray to cool. He asks politely to have one, but she says he must wait until after dinner because he needs his broccoli before he needs his sugar. He agrees, and when he's fed all his broccoli to his little Beagle puppy (just cuz I think Beagles are SO cute) he enjoys those warm, soft, and oh so sweet cookies like they were a little piece of heaven. (Which they are if they're chocolate chip.) He savors them and remembers them for hours after he's eaten them, even enough to dream that he has moved to a land where all they eat is chocolate chip cookies that night as he sleeps in his little Buzz Lightyear 'jammers. (Isn't he cute?)

The end.

Did you see the comparison? Lemme 'splain again: Bert didn't have any anticipation, excitement, or opportunity to imagine the wonderfulness of his cookies, and as a result he didn't appreciate them or understand their value. While Ernie, who's mouth was watering as he waited patiently for his time to come, enjoyed his mother's cookies and appreciated the time and love that went into them. (He also should have eaten his broccoli because we can make that be character building, or growing up, or something like that. I don't care, you make it up.) That's the kind of 'mystery' I was talking about: Anticipation, excitement, imagination, hopefulness, a little nervousness, and a little uncertainty, but a true and powerful desire. Keeping that kind of mystery alive is a goal worth striving for before AND during a relationship. Those 'mysterious' girls are the home-made kind with lots of time and love and effort baked into them, not those cheap imitation 'break and bake' girls. By the way, those 'break and bakers' will do just that to you: break and bake your heart and leave you wishing you'd taken the time to eat your broccoli and waited until after dinner for the real stuff. Didja ever see the movie House Guest? You need to. Pay special attention to the 'Chicken McNugget' part. (What IS it with this blog and fast food?!)

The REAL end.

5 is my favorite number.

(For those awaiting the super cool blog on CIA crimes verses hoodlum felonies - this is not it. It will come though, I promise.)

The Sweetest Thing... *ahem*

Most people will say your name when first greeting or in final fleeting:

"Why Hellloooo Bertha babe! How are yaa doooing?!"

and

"Catchya on the flipside Helga!"

etc...

But when a person uses your name juxtaposed in the middle of a sentence (having nothing to do with your name other then the fact that they are talking to the owner of it)... Well... this aught to be bottled and sold.

Maybe it's all in my head. Maybe my name-radar is wired tight. Maybe I'm slightly off my rocker (this could be true for other reasons). When a person slips my name into their conversation with me it makes me go

"Oh! That's me! They're talking to ME! Aww... uhuh... yeaaahhh... *melting...I'm meellltiiiing*"

This one little action of inserting the other party's personal name into various parts of what you are saying to them is an amazing thing. It makes it personal. It makes it real. It lets that person know that you know their name and know exactly what you are saying and who you are saying it to. Take note men - especially if you want to drive home your "... So yeah, I've been doing pretty good with all that lately... But Samantha, tell me - how have you been?"



p.s. Please don't over do it though. My melt-factor only goes so far before my psycho-stalker-who-has-an-agenda radar goes off. ;D

Guy: "Hey, howya do'n?"

Girl: (deep sigh) "Oh, I'm fine..."

Translation: "I'm feeling cruddy right now and I'd really like to tell you about it, but I want you to ask because I'm afraid of coming off snotty if I just tell you. But I also want you to ask because the attention is oh so nice (although I would never admit it), it kind of proves that you care about me."

Guy: "That's good!"

Girl: (half smile - the patronizing kind with no teeth) "yeah. So how are you?"

Translation: "So glad that I don't have to spell everything out for you... How clueless."

My friend Greg told me today that the hardest thing to understand about girls is why they don't just say what they mean. I can't explain it any other way except - I hate to say - attention. We need it. Really bad. But we don't want to go fishing for it because that looks bad, so all we can do it tell you - scream at you - as indirectly as possible that looking us in the eye and asking 'how are you' and really, truly, caring what our response is, is one of THE (pronounced thee) nicest things in the whole wide world. And it's not just nice to get that from guys, but from anyone. To be completely honest that's probably the best way to judge if the person you're having a conversation with is a real friend or not. (The second best way is to find out if they tell people the things you talk about when they look you in the eye and you think they care about you. Chances are they care about your juicy gossip instead, and how much attention it gets THEM. See? It's all about who's looking at you and for how long. Hmmm, I think that's shallow...)

Side note: I just changed my mind. The best way to tell a real friend from a cheap, off-brand that doesn't last half as long, is if they can keep a secret. And a REALLY good one (the kind that doesn't require much assembly and doesn't run out of batteries after 2 minutes) is one that can tell when to keep their mouth shut without you having to explicitly say "don't tell anyone." (Isn't it annoying when you tell somebody something in confidence and they go blab it other people and when you confront them about it they pull that "but you didn't tell me it was a secret!" junk? Yeah, me too.)

Back to boys: So I guess the bottom line is that we may say things that we don't mean sometimes, but it's almost always to get you to pay more attention to us. We want to know if you care enough to notice our deep sigh and fake smile, or if you're just off in la la land thinking about whatever guys think about. (Which I'm not particularly dying to know, so unless it's impossible not to, please don't tell me.) I do think it's important to note, however, (emphasis on the 'do' by the way, as if I was saying it with an English accent) that sometimes we really don't want to talk about it. For instance, you may notice our heavy sigh, or fake smile and ask if anything's the matter, and we may tell you that it's nothing and that we're fine, and you - being the caring, sensitive male that you are - may persist and be all "no really, you can tell me," but do you really WANT us to tell you that we just ruined our favorite pair of underwear because we found our little monthly surprise? (Yes we do have favorite underwear, but I don't know why we call it a 'pair' when it's only one.) Or that we're ticked off because we feel fat? Or that we're trying to get to the bathroom to fix our bra or pants or pads or tampons or hair or smell or face or personality as fast as we can without anyone stopping us to ask what's wrong? (Bathrooms are aMAYzing places. I tell ya, magical transformations occur in there that you wouldn't dream possible - but more on that later.) No. You don't want to hear us whine about that stuff and we don't want to whine to you, so if we glare at you and say (or yell) "nothing's wrong" - listen. But if we blink and shrug and look at you expectantly (like a puppy wanting a treat) and sigh and say 'nothing's wrong' - put your arm around our shoulders and look us in the eye (if you honestly care) and say "no really, what's up? You can tell me." We'll melt, I promise.

P.S. Sometimes we say things we don't mean because we want you to do what you want to do without our influence. Or we want you to realize what we need and why (attention, a hug, a date, a rose, a ring, whatever) without us having to spell it out for you. When we have to do that it's not fun at all because we feel like we're forcing you and we want you to do it because YOU want to do it, not just because we want it. But this last bit was more for significant others, boy friends, husbands, or any otherwise attached male.

So last Sunday I was talking with my dear friend, Ethan, about cars. (We both enjoy the older models mostly, but that doesn't mean we didn't toss around the names of newer ones like Porche, Hummer, and Mini Cooper.) But soon, as so often happens, the conversation, by some strange twist that I can't quite recall, turned to girls.
"Girls are like Japanese sports cars," Ethan claimed. "They have a ridiculous amount of unneeded features."
Well, while that statement may have startled me, I did start to see the sense in it as I pondered. We - females - do have a lot of totally unnecessary features like: the 'hot boy radar,' the 'heightened chocolate sense of smell,' and the 'leaky eye-ball effect' just to name a few. But contrary to what Ethan may have believed, we also have quite a few features that we simply couldn't live without. The 'shallow 'o meter' for instance, that clues us in when someone is giving into peer pressure to be popular (or something along those lines), the 'danger sensor' that allows us to have a pretty good guess if something will go wrong or not (otherwise known as women's intuition), and - my personal favorite - the blah factor: the ability to talk past all hours of the night about anything and everything under or above the sun running only on one tank of caffeine (premium fuel of course). Now, all this doesn't excuse the fact that we do have several other features that are there simply to keep things from getting dull. You know, the 'roller coaster phenomia' that takes our emotions on twists and turns worse than Raging Bull, highs and lows more intense than the Giant Drop, and all at speeds faster than the Millennium Force. Things like that are purely to keep us interesting, we don't want to be boring.

To some people, a GPS system, a hands free car phone with voice activated dialing, and a TV mounted in their seat is really important. While others may not understand the need for, or enjoyment of such things, they're what makes a fully loaded Hummer H2 a fully loaded Hummer H2. It's not that it's better or worse than a great car without those seemingly ridiculous features, it's simply all in the way you see necessity.

Baby carrots all the way.

I am America's most wanted female.

I am mysteriously enticing.

I am that person everyone adores or envies.

Actually, I'm just trying to see if positive thinking has any effect on my appearance, mood, and desirability. :D

You see, what if every girl decided to stop sitting, sulking, and brooding and decided to start learning, acting, and doing?

We females are very thoughtful people. While a guy will think "I like vanilla ice-cream. This is a nice hot day to eat cold ice-cream. It's hot enough to go swimming. Maybe Jo and Tom will have people up to their lake this summer. I can't believe it's July already", a girl's thought process goes on and on and on without going very far sometimes. "Wow, this vanilla ice-cream is so good. It's not as good as Ben and Jerry's though. But Ben and Jerry's has more fat probably... I wonder how much vanilla they used in this brand? It tastes more vanilla-y then usual. I wonder if Steve likes it as much as I do or if he's just pretending to like it because I like it..."

Let's face it ladies, we can waste hours thinking about one thing, one place, or one guy. If we wrote out everything we thought the earth would go careening out of orbit from the huge amount of lead and paper.(Well, maybe not really). Instead of this madness I have a proposition.

Do. That's right, do. Stop thinking and do.

Become. This does not include thinking about becoming you-know-what right down to color of napkins at the reception.

Live. We have such potential ladies. Life is too short. Cut back on the daydreams and start living them out.

My suspicion is that the girl who does all this will stand out from the rest. I believe I am highly justifiable in considering this type of lady to be incredibly attractive to the guys around her. Girls, don't fall into the trap of believing you can 'think' your way into control of a situation or that daydreams are the best you can get out of life. There's so much more. Live it out and you'll forever be noticed, loved, and *snap* that amazing one that got away. Keep it up, and before long you won't get away (or want to for that matter) ;)

So what if I watch old musicals with Marlon Brando singing his nasily best and Frank Sinatra causing his favorite female to sneeze from not marrying her. Entertainment at it's best I say. Brando is pretty dashing if you ask me. That debonair, my bread always lands butter side up kind of lucky guy who could charm his way through a natzi briggade. We females all swoon effectively when this kind of guy is around.

But, as my feminine intuition pondered bad-boy Sky Masterson seducing the salvation army mistress I wondered, "Do girls really like the bad boys best?"

Now ladies and gentleman I think it is safe to say that women like guys who bring a little excitement to their lives. We girls can become very bored very easily. Any guy who keeps us guessing at least is a diversion. Deep down there is this desire to have the bad boy (who's really just a misunderstood guy with true, genuine feelings) tied around our little finger. We'd like everyone to think "How does she keep him?", "She certainly caught herself a hot one", etc, etc... The suave, smooth, sexy gent with a streak of the wild side is an appealing thought.

But here's the catch. We couldn't live with a guy like that. You know us females - we're all about forward-thinking and commitement. We hound you with "Well we need to talk about where this relationship is heading" nudges. And believe me, we mean exactly what we say - we want to know if you're our life-long prince or just a friendly bloke along the way.

So since we are focused on where things will lead, we know that we couldn't possibly put up with those bad-boy shenanagins for the rest of our lives. We want someone who will do the dishes and stay up all night with the puking kids too. Pure bad boys are only arm-candy for so long. We'd rather have someone to talk to, laugh with, and make home-made pizzas with. When it comes down to it, a little sweetness goes a lot farther then your super-self-absorbed-i'm-hot-and-i-can-sweep-you-off-your-feet-ness.

Don't get me wrong. All sugar and no spice is bad. Remember all girls like to have their heart palpitate a little extra hard when you walk by and everyone is thinking "Gosh, he's so smooth. How does he do it?!". But if you always acted like that... Well... We see through you. If you tried to make us believe you really cared about our feelings and whether or not we wanted peperonni on that deep dish while acting like Marlon Brando (think Fabio meets Justin Timberlake?....wow...)... Well, we'd just get tired of that.

So don't make us sick with your swaveness or sweetness. We've gotta have the sweetness - the swaveness is just a bonus. Be a little human or we culd qwite pawsibbly develup a cawf.

I just want all you guys out there to realize that this blog was not intended to be anti-male at all. While at times perhaps it may seem that way, in truth, George's real desire is to be helpful to you. We'd like to share our wisdom with you, and our inside scoop to the 'complex infestructure known as the female mind.' The ultimate goal of this blog spot is for you to anonymously ask questions or make comments that can be answered by real, live, teenage girls (17 and 19), that like to think that they have a bit more of a clue to the mysteries of our minds than you boys do (although we'll admit that we haven't completely figured ourselves out yet).

But on a more interesting note: I recently heard a guy complaining that no matter how hard he tried to be the perfect guy for the girl he likes, and no matter how special he treated her, she still wasn't interested. This guy has liked this girl for a long time and he's always been nothing but sweet to her, yet she seems to spit on his gentlemanly, hopelessly romantic behavior. When she's bored she likes to lead him on, and she takes advantage of the fact that if she needs him, he'll always be there because he simply adores her (why I don't know). But all the while she's off with other guys not giving him a second thought. This is a prime example of a girl we have a nasty name for, and I'm betting it's because either 1.) she's nervous to make a commitment because this guy is so perfect, 2.) she's afraid of being hurt so she's opted to play the field, or 3.) (and most likely) she's just taking advantage of a guy that's completely head over heels for her and milking it for all it's worth. I can't explain why she would do number three except that she's merely that nasty name. Boys, don't let yourselves get into a fairy tale relationship that's not gonna last, don't let your heart get broke over a 'perfect' girl that doesn't love you. Look deeper and harder to find 'the one,' and don't settle into a routine of liking a girl just because you always have. If you really like someone you should be reminded of why you like her every time you see her, or have a conversation with her. But I guess I would say to wrap up that maybe this girl is being mean on purpose to try to get the guy that likes her away. Maybe she's a little freaked out by the sweetness and isn't into that kind of a sensitive male. (Believe it or not that definitely happens) All I can say is that the two of them probably aren't meant to be, and instead of dwelling on this one girl he can't have, this guy should find one that's even better.

So I was talking to my buddy today and, during the course of our conversation, I decided that the word "like" is so over used. And I'm not talking about when a valley girl sticks it in each of her sentences at least 15 times, or when it's used as a descriptive word, I'm talking about when it's used in the context of "romantic feelings" - such as they are in middle and high school (and even in college, so I've discovered, much to my disappointment). People are always talking about who they 'like' and telling everyone who it is - but not to tell! (How dumb) But just exactly what does that mean? I was thinking about it the other day while I was drifting through my kitchen: when someone says they 'like' a certain person, they really mean that not only are they attracted to that person, but they also have a desire to date them - or something in that general idea.

However, sometimes people 'like' members of the opposite sex for completely shallow reasons, and that's really frustrating. For instance, say I really, really, really 'like' this one amazing guy, and, (if this is a fairy tale) he 'likes' me too. I discover this knowledge when he decides to share it with me one day over, let's say, email. He's sweet and good looking and completely sweeps me off my feet with his poetic words. But then one day, a very attractive young lady walks onto the scene and, like any normal male, my guy notices her and says in his perverted little mind "whoa, she's really hot, and I'd sure like to go over there and talk to her and see what happens. Maybe we can flirt a little and she'll ask for my phone number - or I could ask for hers..." (Of course he never thinks about what he might say if he were to call her, but just having those 7 digits is such a big prize.) Anyway, if I were to approach him at this point and ask him if he 'liked' this girl he would probably be smart and say 'no, of course not - I like you!' However, he is quite attracted to the young lady and wants to spend time with her (or talking to her) which, according to many people, is what boyfriends and girlfriends do who are dating. If we were to go by the previous definition of 'like,' my sweet, good looking guy, 'likes' this new girl, but it would based purely on her physical appearance - which is the shallow part. But then, if I challenged him and said that yes, he does in fact 'like' her, if he were to deny that and say again that he likes me, at this point, what exactly does he mean? And can I believe him? After all, every person probably has a different definition for that cursed four letter word. He could say "oh I like you" and really mean "you have hair like my golden retriever's" which would be completely different than what I would mean if I said that I 'liked' him! AH! This is why it's frustrating. But for a girl (maybe it's this way for guys too, I really wouldn't have any idea), another very frustrating thing is feeling unable to keep their guy's attention by being themselves. If their guy treats them special one time and just like every other girl the next time, she's gonna feel incapable and worthless and ugly. Do you guys out there understand the power you have over girls that 'like' you? It's scary how we let you control so much of our thought and actions, and it's probably not healthy. So for goodness sake, be careful with our hearts, they're very fragile. We truly want to believe that you won't let us down.

So, you may be asking "what in the world is with that title." Well, my dear reader, I'm about to tell you - so keep your shirt on.

See, I just went downstairs to get myself some mint chocolate chip ice cream with chocolate syrup on top, and I saw, on my way to the freezer, that the jar of off-brand crunchy peanut butter was sitting in the middle of my living room floor. (I'd like to apologize for the misleading title because at this point it was actually only 11:35, not midnight. But you must admit that 'midnight' sounds so much better than '11:35.") My brother and a friend were sitting in the living room watching a movie pretending like they didn't even know what peanut butter was. It was sitting there, right in front of them, and for some reason - whether it be their legs were broken or they were not able to see peanut butter jars or maybe they were sleeping with their eyes open - they denied the existance of the peanut butter in the living room!

Now, this is where I get to the point about not understanding guys: why don't they just pick up after themselves instead of denying the fact that they are slobs?