Cajun-isms

The forty days before Easter are a hugely significant and special time here in Houston. It is a time of reflection, self-sacrifice and spirituality. 

It's called Crawfish Season. 

And if you don't know what a crawfish is...

 

And they come by the million 

 

When you live in the Bayou City, there seems to always be an excuse to eat crawfish and celebrate the cajun culture. And when you grew up in land-locked Oklahoma, you have no friggin idea the significance of this bug-eyed creature. 


Naturally, I was intrigued. 


I got my first crawfish opportunity when my wasted law student neighbors brought a steaming plate of red critters to my door step.

At 11pm.

During spring break.

As an apology for partying like rock stars all week and keeping me up at night. 

"It's spring break! We're in law school! Whooo!"


Ask me if I'm impressed.


Clearly, I don't have a spring break.

Anyway....Unfortunately, I had already brushed my teeth but because of my crawfish interest, I took some in a Ziploc baggie to eat later and sent my neighbors on their merry way. 

"Thanks for the crawfish!" I felt like SUCH a Houstonian, and I was damn pleased with myself.

Turns out, (according to boyfriend) crawfish doesn't really work that way. You eat 'em pretty much 10 minutes after they've died and 'leftovers' don't apply. Feeling rejected, I threw my crawbabies into the trash.


Luckily, a couple weeks later, my crawfish dream became a reality. After long days at the pool...sometimes I get hungry!

**Feet might be larger than they appear

So me, boyfriend and friends went to git us sum crawfish!

Of course, they are little crawfish experts. But I was PUMPED about this new experience and desperate eager to feel like a real Houstonian and finally be part of crawfish culture.

So crawfish we ate. 

And ate. 


And ate. 

And ate. 

I got to tell you, taste-wise, I was pretty under-whelmed. But for me, this was a status symbol. Just another step in assimilating into the culture of my new city. 


Then my curiosity expanded a little...So with crawfish meat stuffed in both of my cheeks, I start asking questions.


"So, what are crawfish? Like where do they come from?


"Like where do they live?"


"Yeah, in the ocean or what?"

"Um...the bayou? They live in the mud. Ever heard of mud bugs?"

"BLECHHHHHHHHHHHHAPDHUCK PARFFFFFFFF. WHAT."


"Yeah, they're actually pretty dirty little things."


"Oh. my. hell."


And this point, I'm over it. I see a plate full of red shiny steming crawfish in front of me and all I can think about are 'mud bugs' which to me, might as well be 'cockroaches.'

I think I'm going to be sick.


All further crawfish exploration has come to a complete halt. 


Do you know what doesn't live in the mud, is super delicious and totally predictable?

Sprinkles cupcakes. 


I arrest my case.

Just Call Me Lindsay

And because Lindsay Lohan needed more reasons for America to hate her...

She has requested to drop the last name and from this day forward, only be referred to as 'Lindsay.'

First of all, how dare you. 

Who does she think she is, PRINCE?

Secondly, the whole, using one name thing really doesn't work if you have one of the most popular names in America. I'm just saying, I'm not sure there's a lot of Gaga Smiths or Madonna Joneses out there. For example --

Did you hear about Jessica? 

Jessica who? 

Did you hear about Ashley?

Ashley who? 

The only instance where this works is for Britney. Because we all know there's only one Britney who really matters.

 

And there will never be another Britney. She's all we need and more than we can handle.

So just stop, Lindsay Lohan. Stop. 

Can we please bring back the red headed Lindsay Lohan from Mean Girls? 

The Lindsay Lohan who wasn't a pretend lesbian, didn't steal or drink and drive, and didn't have a coke problem?

 

I had no idea I was this invested in LL until her untimely name change. 

I'm more pissed about this then her half a dozen arrests. 


Happy Friday!




 

Glamazon

Anyone still here? 

Of course you are. 

While I've been away, I've been living a very, VERY glamorous life. This will be best depicted in pictures. 

1. Decorated my house. See those buns on the stove? Yeah. Turns out, plastic wrapping and hot stove tops do not like each other. Domestic perfection. Also, that teal pot was a bargain purchase and might be my most favorite thing I own lately.

2.  Went skiing. That's not me. I think I was taking this from on my ass. I spent a healthy amount of time on my ass.

3. Came back to where life makes sense.

4. Life, making sense. Aren't boyfriend's hands the greatest? We have been watching a lot of Investigation Discovery lately...so much so that sometimes I accuse him of plotting my murder. BUT WHAT IF YOU TRY TO KILL ME -- MY PARENTS WOULD BE SO SAD. In an interesting turn of events, last night, the wife murdered the husband and boyfriend is all paranoid, WHAT IF YOU TRY TO KILL ME. I had no idea how to answer that question.

5. Went to a reggae concert. Got my judgement on.This girl in the white hat was just about more than I could handle.

6. Received pictures of THIS. And cried for my poor mommy and her sad little bunion. 

7. Moved the teal pot. And bought a chicken to be its roomie. 

 8. Drove through Oklahoma's finest Arbuckle Mountains. Wrote a song about the mountains. Sang it to boyfriend and my whole family. 

 9. Went home. This dog and those eyes. Melt. 

Grammy Awards

I realize I haven't really talked about Houston in awhile but with all this pop culture happening it's been pretty hard to focus on anything else. And boy do I mean anything. I hope you watched the Grammy's last night. Because if you didn't, go watch, and then re-read this. Go. I SAID GO. 

The format of this is gonna be a whole lot like the Super Bowl re-cap. Completely random. 


Lady Gaga shows up in a fucking egg. I'm just gonna go ahead and say it, Gaga, we're over. You are just too damn weird to be relatable. It's not me, it's definitely you. She has completely put herself in a realm where instead of being interested in what she's doing, I'm just annoyed. I just sit there and my brain does somersaults and I JUST DON'T GET IT. 

starcasm.com

I like my pop star to be a little slutty, a lot sparkly, with a side of sex tape and/or quickie marriage -- hold the political agenda. 

Let me explain. 

freecelebritygraphics.com

 And

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 Finally, 

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You get the idea. Pretty sure Britney's snake, two babes making out, and Jennifer's epic cleavage is not making me think about America's problems. It's making me think about famousness.

The only thing good about Gaga's underwhelming performance was that it was at the beginning of the show. This gave me enough time to recoup and center myself for Eminem, Rihanna, and Baby Beiber. Although I did like her pink ponytail, and I would like to know where I can get one. Also, I'll give it to her, sista Gaga has a very smokin' bod. Honey, those abs. Enough with the compliments. All in all, I'm worn out of Gagapalooza. On to the next...

Drake, you're a cutie. I am pro guys bringing their moms as dates to red carpet events. Swoon.

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Men's fashion has taken a turn that I'm really not on board with. The new tuxedo pants are a little too Euro and a lot too revealing. If I can see the outline of your bits, maybe go a size up? I'm sorry, I just can't picture boyfriend and his gorilla-ness squeezing into some skinny tux pants. I think he would die of discomfort and Hulk-style rip them off due to suffocation of, well, the bits. Ricki Martin, however, was an entire different story. This, to me, says business on top, party on the bottom, combat on the floor. You go girl. Moral of the story: unless you're Ricki Martin, stick to regular slacks.

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John Mayer. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. NOOOOO!!! If Johnny Depp can't pull it off, neither can you. COMEON. Remember when Mayer was hot? Probably not, because it was like 2001.

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Have I mentioned my fascination with everything Kardashian? Well I think Rob Kardashian looks JUST like my brother. And sometimes, I pretend he really is my brother and that I am Kim K. See picture below. Imagine me as Kim. Holy shit I'm glamorous.

lovekardashian.tumblr.com

Usher is to Baby Beiber as Dr. Dre is to Eminem. Basically the same exact mentor/child relationship going on here. I adore it.

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And speaking of cuties, say what you will about Baby Beiber, (boyfriend had some not so nice things to say about this little twerp) but I think he's a doll. I am a Hanson girl myself, but I get it. Look at him, he looks like he's going to the prom. A white tuxedo. Classic.

 

How many kids does Will Smith have?

 Miley Cyrus, you're a hot mess. Ticking time bomb, anyone?

Katy Perry, we cool. I dig this girl. And for some reason, I like these two together. She brought her grandma to the Grammy's for crying out loud. I need to go have a beer with Katy Perry. She can bring her wings. 

And speaking of people who are completely bad ass, Eminem, I don't get sick of you. There is just something about this guy. Do you ever wonder about Hailie? She must be so big by now. 

Look what we have here. Who knew they nominated cheaters for a Grammy? You remember my sentiments about Ben Roethlisberger at the Super Bowl? Well the entire Grammy's all I wanted for LeAnn Rimes was for her high heel to snap in half and for her to look really, really fat. Neither happened. But she did cheat on her husband. She'll get hers. Suck it LeAnn, I'd rather have dinner with Gaga.

And now, for what the awards really aren't about, the actual Grammy's. 

Best new artist - who are you?

Arcade Fire - what are you? And why are there so many of you?

Lady Antebellum - Couldn't you share?

 Lady Gaga - Why? Also, I can see your nipples.

I have no idea who else won.

Epitome of Productivity

I've been thinking a lot lately about productivity and time management. Mainly because yearly reviews are in my horizon at my place of work and my boss assigned us to write down everything we do this week and how long it takes us. Now this sounds like a set up, but I'll tell you, my boss is totally legit and it's just to point out to upper management how much our team does. Which, in theory, works for me.

But as I'm filling this out, I realize that I am inflating how much time tasks take me because, well they don't really take me that long. And I realize that at all hours of the day, I have about 9 tabs going on Firefox and only one of them are work-related. And then I realize that I bounce around between work and idiotic entertainment all day long. Side note: I am lately obsessed with Zach Galifianakis, you know, the guy from The Hangover? Well, I just watched like 8 videos like this

fusedfilm.com

 In sum, this list has made me realize that how much I actually work varies from day to day.

Bad-ass multi-tasker? Probably. 

Inefficient use of company time? Negotiable. 

Regardless, this has made me think a little more than usual. So I thought I would bounce some ideas off of boyfriend to really gauge whether I'm in the wrong or if my slacking is normal behavior.

Me: Do you give 100 percent at work?

BF: What?

Me: You know, like give it your all?

BF: You mean, like, 100 percent of my effort?

Me: Yeah

BF: Yes...Why?

Me: Never mind.

Mother F!@#*$%&!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Snow, I am OVER you. 

You know how I said I was moving? Still haven't moved. Why, why you ask? Because this GODFORSAKEN snow is prohibiting my furniture from traveling from Oklahoma City to Houston. 

So then I was so mad and annoyed and 'why me, why, why, why, ME.'

And then my mom sent me this picture. 

And everything was right in the world. 

And all I wanted to do was go home to Oklahoma and kiss this dog on the lips.


And then, if you give a mouse a cookie, she's going to look at pictures from home and make herself totally depressed and miserable.

You know the routine. 

This kills me. I need to give this kid a noogie.


Xoxo, 
Homesick in the City.

Super Bowl Sunday

Boyfriend and I watched the Super Bowl last night amongst friends, and it was magical, and I hate my weight in hot wings, cupcakes and Lienenkugel. Yum.

However, like always, I got a couple reactions about SSS (Super Bowl Sunday)

1. You mean to tell me I waited three and a half hours for 30 seconds of Kim Kardashian? Pretty sure I can see that on E! 36 times a day. Me, being the pop culture idiot and unrealistically obsessed with everything Kardashian, was anxiously anticipating the Kim K SSS commercial. Well, it was weak. WEAK.

filmycinema.com

2. At least Fergie didn't disappoint. Did you see her sparkly shoulder pads? Holy hotness.

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3. URRRSHAAA!!! Oohhhmaaahhh, gosh. La lalalalaaaaaaaaa. Love baby face Usher. Even though he mistakenly thinks he's the next MJ. Silly Ursha! 

wblk.com

 4. Ben Roethlisberger. Anyone else feel personally violated and offended when an athlete/celebrity/personality is accused of rape, cheating on a spouse, or sending nekkid pics of their peen? Just me? OK, cool. Yes I realize I'm setting myself up for a lifetime of disappointment here, but HOW DARE HE? I couldn't help myself but to privately wish he broke his leg. That's not nice. But neither is adultery. 

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5. Car commercials? Really? Are that many people buying cars? Or not buying cars I guess? Either way, the influx of car commercials was over the top. Except the Mercedes one. That can stay. P-Diddy is my dude. 

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6. I fuckin love those ETrade talking babies. They get me. 

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 7. I'm sorry, I've never watched Glee, but LORD. I GET IT. I wish they would give it a rest already.

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8. The 13 second Transformers ad was every kind of right. Shia, my 13 year old self still thinks you're the bomb. And myself now.

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9. And now this seems like a pretty creepy theme here but I really like Eminem. No one can make Detroit or Chrysler seem appealing, like ever. Our boy Marshal Mathers made me need them both, today. This is quality advertising people.

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10. Poor, poor Christina. Who says that line is important in the National Anthem anyway? You go girl.

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