Hormel Chilli Farts and Owls

Monday, March 7th,  in the Year of Our Lord 2011

3 things I want to say right off the bat:

1) My hallway, at the present, smells like Hormel Chilli farts.  It's horrendous and I don't know where it's coming from.  I want to sniff around and find the source of the stench.  It may look a little suspicious, since I'm in my pajamas and no one really knows who I am.

2) Do not, I repeat, DO NOT buy any frozen food products manufactured by the name "Michelina's".  It is straight up nasty.  I'm 99% positive that they'd refuse to serve it inmates at San Quentin.  And I've watched enough Lock Up on MSNBC to know what prison food looks like.  I've tried three of their items and gagged every time.  I should've learned my lesson, but I always give things a second try.  I microwaved Wheels 'n' Cheese tonight, licked the fork and proceeded to dry heave into the trash for a good 5 minutes.

Sadly, this dog was given Wheels 'n' Cheese from Michelina's.
The owners had it put to sleep to rid it of its misery.
He didn't even see it coming.

3) Since I have no real food in my room, I've been reduced to making PB&J.  Fuck you if you hate this sandwich.  You aren't a real American, so leave the country with your head hung and midgets kicking you in the ankles (I'd say shins but they can't reach), while chanting "PB&J RULES!  PB&J RULES!"  I only bring up this delicious sandwich because I discovered that I am possibly the only person on the planet who does this.  I butter my bread (generously) before smearing on copious amounts of Skippy Natural creamy peanut butter (whoever says they like crunchy peanut butter is out of their mind and should be coloring pictures with crayons for the rest of their lives because they obviously can't make decent judgment calls on their own) and if I was at home (which I'm not), I'd smear on my grampa Kevin's homemade grape jelly [A/N: I lovingly refer to it as "Gumpa Jelly"].  But since I'm in school and on a budget, it's squeezable Smucker's Grape jelly.

Oh yeah.  And screw you too if you thought this show was stupid.
You need serious mental help if you didn't think baby Butter wasn't adorable.

Whew, glad I got THAT off my chest.  That's a sweet breath of relief!  Now onto the real reason I started this blog. 

I hate my gym.  No, really.  I do.  Every time I go there, I swear there's been a photoshoot for some exercise magazine because everyone looks so damn perfect.  I also believe that these people are from out of state.  No one from Wisconsin naturally looks like they've stepped out of a Nike magazine.  If you cut a Wisconsinite, don't be surprised when you see Cheez-Whiz pouring out instead of blood. 

This is actually from an autopsy of a recently deceased Wisconsinite.
That is a heart.

Then enter me.  I come huffing and puffing up the steep steps in my Target brand jogging pants, Adidas sneakers I've had for forever and what I call my contradiction shirt: Jaguar Phys. Ed. I bought it because I needed something to wear at school and I laugh inwardly every time I put it on.  [A/N: As I'm writing, I'm also eating my fuck-tastic PB&J.  A huge glob of jelly just fell onto the plate.  Instead of being like a normal human and using my finger to swipe it up, I put my sandwich down on my desk and started licking at the plate like an animal.  Doesn't surprise me now why I don't have a boyfriend...]

Another thing about being from Wisconsin.  You haven't lived or won't be considered a native (at least to me) if you haven't gone at least one time to Kroll's West, right across the street from Lambeau Field.

Oh God, just give me a minute.  I just blacked out in pure joy of this glorious sight.
Also, my arteries are 95% blocked because of this picture.

Fuck you Culver's and your diarrhea-inducing so-called "Butter Burgers".  This little fuckers will kick your disgusting burgers' asses in mere seconds.  They place a slab (A SLAB) of real butter on this bad-boys and you have a difficult time not eating the wrappers they come in. 

Alas, I digress.

One other thing that bugs me about my gym is the equipment.  The first thing I do after I check in is scan the place for available spots.  OF COURSE, they're all full.  All I want to do is drench myself and any hapless bystander in sweat as I run for a half-hour on the elliptical.   But I can't, so I look at the treadmills.  I wonder to myself if I have to run to join the "Treadmill Club" because there is no one walking on them.  I keep an open spot in mind as I look at my last option: the upright bike.  There are four of these bikes.  There are also six regular bikes, but no one needs to see my buttcheeks encase the poor, poor bicycle seat like lava around a car.

Never stood a chance.



I guess the upright bikes wouldn't be so bad if they didn't try to "spice things up" by giving you different biking options.  I always love the random hills, because they're so RANDOM.  It's like I never even see them coming, even though they're on the little screen next to the time.  There's an "alpine hill" setting, but I can't seem to get any inspiration when looking at my surroundings. 

I FEEL SO INSPIRED...to move



It's not like I'm racing fucking Lance Armstrong through Siberia.  Although, it does feel like that with all this damn snow around. 

That's another reason why Wisconsin is obviously God's torture state.  I think He created it just so He could laugh at our reactions when it starts to snow.  In May. 

I've seen snow drifts more impressive than this.

I think my friend Candace did it right when she decided to go to school in Chicago.  She moved from the Land of Beer and Cheese to The Windy City.  Granted, Illinois is just Wisconsin's jockstrap and serves no real purpose other than being boring as fuck when you drive through it, but it's better than Wisconsin by a long shot. 

It wasn't until I started school last year that I realized how much I missed having her in my life.  [A/N: This is where it gets a little sappy.  Sue me, I love this woman].  Candace is most likely my lesbian soul-mate, if we were both lesbians.  Coincidentally, we've discussed becoming lesbians later in life if we never find men.  Also, we're going to be cougars in Boca Raton.  I'm already stocking up on my spandex leggings, track jackets, and vats of Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamond perfume. 

I'll be honored to join this infamous club.



I can't honestly say when Candace and I became friends.  I vaguely remember images of us in middle school, but what I think really cemented our budding "coochie collaboration" [A/N: Okay, guys are lucky to have "bro-mances", but do you know how difficult it is to think of a female related term?] was Women's Studies in senior year of high school.  We both decided to not shave our legs in protest of...something and we both ridiculed music videos that had a shocking lack of the "chub-chubs".  [A/N: That day is clearly one of the greatest days of my life.] 

THE SINGLE GREATEST DAY OF OUR LIVES IS DOCUMENTED IN A SINGLE PICTURE.

This one.  Right here.

Oh yeah, Ladypants.  I'm talking about Kings of Leon on September 29, 2009.  That date is permanently etched into my mind.  

GAH.

We have damn near everything in common.  We love everything the other loves.  I rape her Facebook on a daily basis, posting stupid links from StumbleUpon and YouTube.  

This is not an unnatural sight to see almost every day we both log in.

 I love this woman with every fiber in my being, I even let her say downright horrendous things about my mother without flinching.  [A/N: I do, on occasions, gag at what is being described.]  The latest horror I can remember is this conversation:

Me: If I die before you, I'm going to haunt your ass for eternity.

Candace: What if I die first?

Me: Then you can haunt me.

Candace: No, I think I'll haunt your mom's coochie and hiss at anyone who gets near her.

Me: *eye twitching in attempt to process the previous statement* What...how...where do you come up with that sort of thing?

Candace: ;D

Yep, this pretty much sums up everything about the two of us.



The one thing I do enjoy about the two of us is our affinity towards owls.  Don't ask me why or how this started, it just did.  The owl thing, I believe, started out with a blog Candace sent me about a really pissed-off owl in a cardboard box.  I lost my mind; this thing was hilarious in its righteous anger towards humans.  The whole owl idea just started snowballing until reaching its peak last Christmas.

I had been scouring the depths of the Internet, trying to find the most perfect gift for Candace.  Everything I found wasn't enough, wasn't exactly right.  Until I found this little owl charm from my favorite indie designer, Mark Poulin.  It. Was. PERFECT.  I ordered it instantly, antsy with anticipation to receive it in the mail.  I wrapped it up the minute I got it and drove over to her house, where we devoured the greatest Christmas cookies I've ever had in my life [A/N: I am coming over every Christmas, do you hear me?!  I WANT THOSE DAMN COOKIES.]

Candace shoved her gift in my face and was all but jumping on the couch.  I tore through the paper and discovered a necklace.  Just not any necklace: an owl necklace.  Instantly I thought she had discovered that I had gotten her an owl necklace too and was trying to be all cute.  But I remembered I hadn't mentioned a single thing about getting her a gift.  We both lost our minds when she opened up her gift: an owl necklace.  Both fit each other's personalities perfectly.  For the record, I've worn my necklace almost every single day.  [A/N: Not trying to prove a point or anything, I just adore this necklace].

Ahh.  I think that's enough about Candace.  For now.  I could start another blog about her (and with her) and we'd be Internet gold.

As if we aren't already?!

Tomorrow should be an interesting post.  I'm swimming in the morning and working out in the evening.  I say that now...