Suffering From Seasonal Closet Schizophrenia

Posted on September 24, 2012 by pegoleg

Ah, fall… it’s my favorite time of year!  Soon the leaves will change color and the crisp-apple air will be tinged with wood smoke.  Then come endless frozen days of darkness that batter your soul until it dies.

Whoa there!  Hold up a minute, bucko.  It’s still early – really early.  In fact, it’s more late summer than truly fall.  The September sun can get hot, and I mean HOT.  Today I’ll wear a sleeveless, chiffon blouse.  With sandals.  It’s still OK to wear sandals; my end-of-summer pedicure is holding up pretty well.

The air was fresh and biting this morning – downright cold, actually.  “Better put on a sweater.” I thought.

I know the “no white after Labor Day” rule has gone out the window, but how about white capris?  I think that ship has sailed.  Besides, I stopped spray tanning a couple of weeks ago and my legs have gone from Sun Kissed Nude to Cadaver.  I’ll go with my new jeans.  They’re cranberry colored but really lightweight cotton.  I’m acknowledging the reality of September without giving in to it.

I can’t wait for the leaves to turn colors.  Of course, that change reflects a temporary death for the trees.  The dying leaves remind us that yet another year is winding down, and what do we have to show for it?  Time inexorably marches on and death approaches ever quicker.

I LOVE fall.  It’s my favorite season for sure.  Hurrah!

For some reason I left the house this morning looking like a 3 year-old whose mommy let her dress herself.  In the dark.

How are you coping with the change of seasons?

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , | 97 Comments

How Sharper Than A Serpent’s Tooth Is An Ungrateful Candy Manufacturer?

Posted on September 19, 2012 by pegoleg

NO! I don’t love you. I refuse to love you.

Hershey, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.  A beef.  An axe to grind.  Now is the winter of my discontent made…well, you get the point.

Some months ago, 18 of the sharpest tools in the WordPress shed teamed up with me to stage a coup.  Our goal?  Nothing less than the total takeover of WordPress.  Our ammo?  Intriguing, simultaneous postings on the same, vital topic: Better Living Through Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

If you missed it, be sure to check out the Reese’s Pieces, the brilliant bloggers who joined in the coup.  (They’re listed at the end of the post I linked to above.)  Just about half of them are on the WordPress list of recommended humor bloggers and the other half should be.

The coup WAS epic, but I’m not going to lie; things didn’t go quite as I had planned.  For one thing, we didn’t take over the WordPress Freshly Pressed front page.  Sure, I was sore about that but I can’t stay mad at Matt Mullenweg for long.  Me and Matt are like this (picture two fingers, closely entwined…and by “closely” I mean about as far apart as you can stretch your arms.)

No, the thing that really chaps my hiney is that we didn’t hear from Hershey.  I emailed them about it, figuring they’d want to get their best PR people on the story.  I envisioned them flying all 19 of us to the Big Apple to shoot a commercial about the blogs.  I would finally get to meet many of my bloggy buddies in the flesh – how great would that be?

“Well,” you ask, “Did it happen?”

Have you seen my yellow-headed, red-shoed, smiling self selling candy on TV lately?

It did not happen.  I didn’t hear from Hershey.  Not a word.  They didn’t send flowers, a thank you note, not so much as a lousy, 50-cents-off coupon arrived in my mailbox.

The injustice of it all has been like a festering boil on the butt of my blog for months.  Why am I am bringing it up now?  My boil of discontent has just been pricked and the lance was wielded by the Trojan Company.

My friend Misty over at Misty’s Laws recently gave away some great swag on her blog. (You should totally check her out.)  One item was a Trojan vibrator that she got at a convention.  She mentioned it in a blog post, kinda casual-like.  A representative of the Trojan Corp sees the post, contacts her and next thing you know it’s raining free dildos all up in her place!

Apparently SOME corporations know how to show a lady blogger a good time.

Trojan is making Hershey look like a bunch of stiffs.

I’ll be honest with you; I am seriously rethinking Hershey’s position at the top of the supply chain for my chocolate-coated peanut butter snacking needs.  And while it is true that I have a bag of pumpkin-shaped Reese’s peanut butter cups currently in my possession (the Halloween multi-brand packs are already out – sweet!), I want you to know I am only eating them grudgingly.

Very grudgingly.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 101 Comments

Home Sweet McHome

Posted on September 14, 2012 by pegoleg

This was one of the first posts I ever did, back when I started a blog as a way to tell my family about my sister Lib and my trip to Ireland.  It’s only fitting that I repost it this week when Lib and I are, once again, on tour. This time we’re enjoying our nation’s capital.

See you next week!

when in Rome…

 

 

My sister Lib and I stood stock-still on the Dublin sidewalk, glaring at one another over arms piled high with packages.

It was the first, full day of our dream vacation in Ireland.  We had seen the sights and visited the shops.  Now we were wandering, dazed and confused, trying to decide on a place for lunch.  What was it to be, traditional or Irish fusion?  Pub or café, Italian or Thai?

We had just 2 hours to eat and catch a city bus to the Kilmainham Gaol before it closed.

We were on O’Connell Street just north of the Liffey, an area alive with Irish history.   I had spotted the place near the monument to The Liberator, Daniel O’Connell.

“How about Burger King?” I said.

That was when Lib stopped dead.  She stared at me for a full 2 minutes.  I squirmed, knowing what was coming, knowing I had no defense.

“We..Are..Not..Going..To..Burger King!” Her scorn was withering, her diction, precise.

“We are in Ireland.  Ireland, for God’s sake! With all the choices before us, with the chances to experience the culture, to even suggest…”she sputtered off.  “That’s not even real food!”  More in the same vein followed.

Jeez. You would think I had suggested we club some baby seals for seafood tartar.

“I was joking!” I said sullenly. “You know, joking?”

I hadn’t been joking.  The suggestion had sprung up on its own, straight from my unconscious brain to my mouth.  Okay, we were strapped for time.  But … Burger King?  Had I said that?

I decry the homogenization of America.  Off any exit ramp, in any state of the union, one can see the same congestion of Wal-Marts, McDonalds and Blockbuster Videos.   Sometimes only palm trees in the lot, or snow on the ground gives a hint as to relative location.  My daughters have heard this tirade often enough to roll their eyes and turn up their iPods when I begin.

Don’t get me wrong.  I appreciate the benefits of fast food.  When dashing from Point A to Point B, that dependability and speed are welcome.  It is especially handy to know there will be a place just up the road to stop and go, if you get my drift.  This amenity was sorely missed in Ireland.  You can’t very well pick a thatched cottage at random, knock on the door and ask to use the bathroom.

I’m old enough to remember when fast food seemed exotic.  It was a rare treat when Dad picked up burgers for dinner.  Then the franchises spread like kudzu, choking out local restaurants.

I swore that my children would not grow up thinking that Taco Bell was real Mexican food.   I cooked.  I did healthy.  But the ease and availability of fast food sang its siren song.  I bought the happy meals, and my kids were hooked.

For several generations of Americans, fast food is now home cooking.  Big Macs have taken the place of mom’s apple pie and pot roast as comfort food.

Perhaps comfort was what I was seeking.  When faced with an overwhelming variety of foreign, I wanted a gastronomical security blanket.

Insight led to resolve.  Right there in front of Burger King.  I wasn’t here for familiar; I was here for adventure.

I swallowed my defensive ire and let Lib lead the way.  She marched us into the nearest pub for shepherd’s pie.  Washing it down with a pint of Guinness lessened the disappointment of missing the jail tour.

From then on we sampled the native cuisine at every opportunity.  We even tried black pudding for breakfast.   Well, we seriously considered trying black pudding, but chose white pudding instead.  The black is made with sheep’s blood.  There’s adventurous, and then there’s nuts.

Several days later we were driving through Waterford when I spied a McDonalds across the street from the famous crystal factory.  I barely glanced at it.

“Um, do you think we could stop?”  Lib said hesitantly.  “Just for some fries and to use the bathroom?”

I’d like to think I didn’t smirk as I parked in the shade of the golden arches.  Even the most discriminating palate is no match for a full bladder.

Posted in General Ramblings, Ireland - Dublin and Publin' | Tagged , , , , , | 46 Comments

A Discussion of Modern Social Grooming

Posted on September 12, 2012 by pegoleg

I’m on vacation this week so I am resurrecting some old posts you may have missed.   I’ll try to stop by to chat sometime,  but I’m going to be really, really busy having fun, so don’t hold me to it.

I’ve always relied on the kindness of strangers…

I was talking to a casual acquaintance when she suddenly reached over and started plucking stray hairs off my coat.  It seems the combination of blonde hairs on black cloth was too much to bear.

She said with a little laugh “Sorry – that really bugs me.”  As if that justified her invading my personal space.  I barely knew the woman!

If asked, I guess I would have said that grooming strangers was out of bounds unless you happened to belong to a monkey troupe.

Apparently the rules of social intercourse have changed on this subject, and I simply wasn’t aware of it.   This opens up all sorts of possibilities.  There are a lot of people whose grooming and general appearance bothers me, and I would love to help each and every one of them.

– The man with Starfish Butt Syndrome.  “I’ll give the back of these chinos a good, firm yank and we’ll both feel much more comfortable.”

– The woman at church who has worn the same beehive hairstyle since the Carter administration.  “We’ll just brush that out so you won’t have to duck when going through doorways.  And just think what such a drastic reduction in hairspray fluorocarbons will mean to the environment!”

– The boy with his pants down around his thighs. “Oh you poor young man!  I felt sure you would want someone to tell you your boxers are showing.   Good thing I just happen to have this length of rope you can use to hoist them up.  Next time, wear a belt.”

He’s usually hanging out with…

– The girl whose pants are so low-slung the top of her thong (and a goodly slice of skin) is showing.  “Oh you poor young woman!  You didn’t realize these pants had shrunk in the wash and your underwear is showing!  Let me just wrap this scarf around you.  Next time, use cold water.”

– The older man wearing black dress shoes and socks with shorts.  “Forgot your tennies?  I just happen to have a spare pair, and some nice white socks –we’ll get you fixed up in a jiff.  Hold still, now – stop fighting me!”

– The woman with lipstick on her front tooth “Passion Flower is definitely your color, but on the lips, not the teeth, ha ha!  I’ll get that for you. (Holds woman’s jaw firmly, spits on napkin and wipes vigorously at offending tooth)”

These are just a few of the ways I can help my fellow man with his or her grooming.  I’m sure you can think of many more.

If unsure as to whether or not intervention is appropriate, just ask yourself this: “How will it make ME feel?”  Let your answer be your guide.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , | 41 Comments

Move Over Dear Abby

Posted on September 6, 2012 by pegoleg

Move over Dear Abby, there’s a new good-advice-giver in town.

Well, don’t really move over because I believe Dear Abby is, as they say, 6 feet under and somebody else has taken her place.  But that’s not really important.

The important thing is I know that many, MANY readers come to this blog looking for helpful advice.  Or they come for humor and end up with good advice, gently given.  Or they take the wrong turn at a really popular blog, wind up here by accident and have to endure my shrilly-screamed opinions shoved down their throats while they desperately try to find the exit.

However it comes about that you arrive here, I try not to disappoint.  Who can ever forget the wise words of advice I gave in Miss Peg-o-Leg’s Guide To Excruciatingly Correct Comment Etiquette?

(Except maybe WordPress, whose neglect of that post for Freshly Pressed honors is perhaps the biggest crime of this or any other century. (Except for maybe Drew Peterson’s murdering his wives.  I see the verdict in that case has been newly handed down, landing squarely on the side of justice, in my never to be humble opinion.))

What were we talking about?

Oh, yeah.  Continuing in the fine tradition of me telling people what they should do, I am guest advising dear Hippie Cahier, over at her blog at this very minute.  By the way, Hippie is neither a hippie nor a notebook.  Go to her blog to find out what that all means.  It’s complicated.  But she is definitely someone you should get to know.

If anyone else is looking for good advice, just ask.  I’ll be happy to cast my pearls with or without swine.  You’re welcome.

 

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , | 26 Comments

Tiptoe Through The Tulips

Posted on September 5, 2012 by pegoleg

As I meander through the blogosphere this election season, the truly prodigious profile of Tiny Tim keeps popping into my mind.  His signature ditty, sung in that manly falsetto, warbles through my brain, “Tiptoe through the tulips…”

Why is Tiny Tim occupying valuable real estate in my brain?  Why?

I am oh-so-carefully tiptoeing through WordPress nowadays.  I pop into a blog, see the political bile spewing forth, and tiptoe out… vewy, vewy carefuwwy.  I’m paying extra attention to where every dainty toe lands.  Tiptoe through the minefield…

Be vewy, vewy quiet…

It seems that many bloggers missed my post from a few months ago, Dear Political Opponent, subtitled “Why can’t we all just get along?”  Maybe my message was too subtle.  That must be it, because it is getting nastier and nastier right down in here and I don’t mean maybe.

Nas. ty.

There’s more of an effort made to see the other guy’s point of view if he’s living in Gitmo, than if he’s a member of an opposing political party.

People!  People!  Your mommas taught you to behave better than this.  K-N-O-C-K    I-T    O-F-F!

I love y’all, but I’m afraid to come visit some folks.  The political pit bull tied up by your front door is snarling, lunging and trying to tear my throat out.   Can you toss him a Shih Tzu to gnaw on and put him in the doghouse for a little rest?  Then we can share a laugh or two, and maybe some punch and cookies.

Repeat after me:

ONE nation
Under God,
Indivisible,
With liberty
And justice
For ALL.

And don’t give me any crap about the God part – you don’t have to hit your knees if you don’t want to.

Jeez.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , | 92 Comments

Do You Have to Be That Monopoly Guy In The Silk Top Hat To Get Elected In America?

Posted on August 31, 2012 by pegoleg

government of the people…by the people…in front of the people

There’s nothing wrong with rolling in the dough; heck, I’d LOVE to be able to do that.   But you shouldn’t have to be rich to get elected to public office.   That’s what it’s coming to in America.

One of the biggest expenses for any candidate are the countless personal appearances they have to make.  Expenses have skyrocketed since President Obama perfected the practice of having a diverse, human backdrop on the platform every, single time.

To see how big this problem has become, I secretly recorded the following conversations. Let’s listen to members of an unnamed candidate’s election team before recent political rallies:

Campaign Manager:  “Where are the kids?  I told you we needed 2.7 children.  How can the candidate look like a family man if there are no kids on the dais behind him?”

Political Intern:  “But…this speech is at a nuclear waste-handling plant!”

                                                And…

Campaign Manager:  “OK, diversity looks pretty good up there on stage…pretty good…wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute.  There are no Aleutian Islanders! We need 1.3 Aleutian Islanders to have a representational cross-section of the country.  Do you want the candidate to look like he doesn’t care about ALL the people?”

Political Intern:  “But…it would have cost over $5,000 to fly our Aleutian Islander in for the day, and he wanted overtime.  Besides, this rally is in Des Moines, Iowa.”

How can an average Joe get ahead without a huge war chest?  How can anyone hope to compete against an incumbent who has the full faith and taxing authority of the United States Treasury at his beck and call?

Peg-Co Political Products can help.  Introducing…

Political Diversity Wallpaper!

With Political Diversity Wallpaper from Peg-Co, setup is a snap.   No more having to round-up the appropriately diverse cross-section of adoring listeners.    All the candidate’s advance team has to do is have a wooden backdrop built and papered before each speech. (Using union labor, of course.)

We’ve got papers for just about every situation and message the candidate wants to present:

Whether you’re running for local dog–catcher, or president of the United States, with Peg-Co Political Diversity Wallpaper, your message will come through loud and clear:

                                               I’ll do anything to win!

 

*Peg-Co Political Products is a division of Peg-o-Leg Industries who is solely responsible for the content of this advertisement.  Patents pending, all rights reserved.

No offense is intended to members of any minority, diversity, special-interest or hate-speech–legislation-protected group, especially Aleutian Islanders.  As far as meaning offense to particular political parties or politicians, well…

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 60 Comments

Turning Dine Whining Into Fine Dining

Posted on August 29, 2012 by pegoleg

How can restaurants make dining out a great experience?  It’s the little things that count.

My family went to dinner at Applebee’s the other night.  The food was good but minor annoyances practically wrecked the evening.  My hubby Bill forgot his glasses and couldn’t read the menu.  The place was an icebox and daughter Gwen and I were freezing.  Finally, there was a bratty kid picking his nose in the next booth, which ruined all of our appetites.

“There’s not much you can do about that stuff, is there?” you ask, rhetorically.

“Au contraire” I say (with a really authentic French accent).  These problems are  opportunities in disguise.  Opportunities that the savvy restaurateur can now exploit, thanks to Peg-Co.

Introducing the Anti-Whine & Dine line of customer care advertising products.  With Peg-Co, the smart restaurant owner can improve the dining experience and imprint their name in the customers’ mind at the same time.  It’s a win/win situation!

Take a look at some of our ingenious products:

Personal Gross Shield:  Dining room real estate is so valuable that people are packed in like sardines.  A diner is bound to be off his feed when an obnoxious kid is picking his nose only a foot away.    A nauseated diner is one who does not order those all-important appetizers.

Now you can rescue that cheese-sticks order with the Personal Gross Shield (PGS).  With a PGS strategically placed between the offended and the offendee, your more sensitive patrons can look at your logo instead of their disgusting neighbors.

Bon Bun Warmer:  In a typical restaurant the staff spends all their time running in and out of a steamy kitchen while the patrons do nothing more strenuous than sit on their booties, sipping a cold one.  The sweaty staff controls the thermostat – no wonder most restaurant dining rooms are colder than a meat locker!

A frozen customer doesn’t linger.  If you can’t keep Chilly Charlie’s buns in the booth, how are you going to round out his order with those profitable extra drinks?

Introducing the Bon Bun Warmer – the advertising Snuggie!

The next time Freezing Fran whines about an Arctic draft blowing on the back of her neck, you’ve got her covered.  Your corporate logo custom-embroidered on the cowl ensures she won’t forget who to thank for putting an end to her personal ice age.

Elton John Ad-Eye-Wear: What physical complaint is shared by 80% of the over-40 population?  No, I don’t mean a nonexistent sex drive.   Ha ha!  Seriously.  The most common symptom of aging is the inability to read a thing without magnifying glasses.  What to do if a diner forgets his drug-store cheater glasses? While you don’t want patrons reading the really fine print (i.e. that bleu cheese costs $2 more), they can’t order at all if they can’t see the menu.

Spare your customers the indignity of an arm-stretch contortion session with Elton John Ad-Eye-Wear.  While they peruse the menu in squint-free comfort, everyone else will be staring at them.  That’s because these stylish glasses turn the wearer’s face into a living billboard!

Waist Not/Want Knot: Extra-generous restaurant portions leave some patrons in danger of popping a button.  This is especially true with the all-you-can-eat buffet.

Now customers can make room for dessert (ala carte) with the Waist Not/Want Knot.  This clever extender ties on to the over-indulging customer’s belt or waistband.  The genuine faux metal (plastic) belt-buckle emblazoned with your logo provides extra stomachal AND advertising real estate.  Patrons will proudly wear this fashion statement long after leaving your establishment.

Medicine Treasure Chest:  Lots of places provide toothpicks for their patrons, but why stop there?  If picking your teeth in public is acceptable, there are lots of personal hygiene products the savvy restaurateur can slap their name on.  How about advertising dental floss?  Nose hair trimmers?  Bikini wax kits?  A well-stocked Medicine Treasure Chest in your lobby tells your customer you care about them AND their hygiene.

(Don’t forget to lay in a supply of extra Personal Gross Shields first – they make a great, tie-in advertising opportunity as well as shielding your more easily offended patrons.)

Call and talk to one of our trained monkeys…er, agents, to find out how Peg-Co can help grow your business.

With Peg-Co’s line of Anti-Whine & Dine products, the smart restaurateur can be a modern-day Rumpelstiltskin spinning the straw of inconvenience into golden profits!

Posted in Peg-Co Catalog | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 49 Comments

All Hail The Monday Grownup

Posted on August 27, 2012 by pegoleg

A typical Monday morning at my house.

The alarum rings
And up she springs
Although she’d rather sleep in.
Back to work
She has to go
To tame the debts she’s deep in.

Downy pillows call him back, and horizontal beckons,
But vertical’s what’s needed now to git ‘er done, he reckons.

It’s Monday morning,
Dull and drear,
And grownups get their butts in gear.

Shuffle to the shower, run the water hot as lava.
Then off to join the throng of zombies
Lurch in search of java.

He hops a train, she hails a cab, he stumbles to the bus.
By car, by foot, by Bat mobile; it’s me, it’s you, it’s us.

A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,
gotta do, gotta do, gotta doobie, doobie do.

Duty calls; we answer
And stick with it, thin or thick.
All hail the Monday grownup,
For we didn’t call in sick.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , | 53 Comments

Wearing My Heart On My Face

Posted on August 23, 2012 by pegoleg

Can’t read my, can’t read my…no, wait, you CAN read it!

I don’t play poker.  I don’t even play Poker Face, because I don’t have one.  Most every thought, every emotion that flits through my brain shows up on my face in glorious, soggy Technicolor.

The other day I was watching an adorable baby on TV when I gradually became aware of what my face was doing: lips drawn up and back at the corners, eyebrows tilting up in the middle, brow furrowed.  I was smiling – not just any smile, but that “Aw, isn’t she cute?” sappy look you get when you see a baby.  But there was no baby in the room.  There wasn’t anybody else in the room.  I was all by myself, smiling at the idiot boob tube like Pavlov’s doofus.

My face betrays me everywhere I go.

I watch TV when I’m on the treadmill at the YMCA and my programming of choice is either HGTV or political commentary.  When a 22-year-old property virgin is about to make a big mistake in buying a house, I’m mentally yelling, “don’t do it!” as if she were my own daughter, Liz.  I know I’m sporting a worried frown.

If a talking head on the news is presenting some outlandish opinion about the opposing party as if it were gospel, my eyebrows are raised up so far in skepticism that they disappear into my hairline.

My body may be barely walking on the treadmill but my expressions are flat-out running – the entire gamut of emotions.  My face is getting a better workout than my gluteus, which remains maximus.

It was ever thus.

Physics class in high school was held in one of those lecture theater-style classrooms with ascending rows of desks.  I sat about 2/3rds  of the way up.  Whenever the class’s attention started to flag, the teacher, Mr. West, liked to perk things up by saying, “Class, lets see if we can get Peg to blush.”  Everyone would turn around and look at me.  Just stare.  Seconds later it was “Tomato, party of one?”

Then there’s the crying.  Mad or sad, happy or sappy; my eyes consider these to all be good reasons to start the rain-showers.  I can’t help it.

I’m not the innocent, 16-year-old flower I once was, so I don’t blush on command nowadays.  Unfortunately, the crying business has gotten worse.  Combine a lifelong waterworks tendency with a one-way ticket aboard the Hormone Express (I got on at the Menopausal Station) and I’m constantly on the brink of an emotional train wreck.

Being unable to mask my feelings has its drawbacks, as you might imagine.

Years ago the lease was coming up for renewal on an office we rented and the landlord and I were discussing terms.  He announced he wanted a big increase in the rent.  Try to guess my response.  Did I…

  • Laugh in his face?
  • Pound the table in anger?
  • Threaten to pick up my rental marbles and go home?

Cool, savvy businesswoman that I am, I started crying.  He was much better than I at masking his reaction, but I could practically hear his thinking, “There’s no crying in lease negotiations!”

On the very rare occasions when my husband says something with which I disagree just a TEENY bit, I carefully marshal my counterarguments.  I want to be like Solomon and get my own way without having to chop the baby in half.  Before I can phrase my response, however, Bill has taken one look at my face, read the skepticism (or horror) displayed therein and said, “What’s wrong? What? WHAT?”

I guess it’s time to cross “diplomat” off my list of possible midlife-crisis career changes and move on.  There’s no sense in getting upset about something I can’t change.  If I do get upset, however, you’ll know about it right, damn quick.

Just take a look at my face.

**********************************************

If you could see my face you would see happy, as in…HAPPY BIRTHDAY TERRY!  I am referring to Tar-buns over at Here & ThereSa; newbie blogger, long-time sister.  After an uncomfortable couple of weeks where we were the same age, today she is once again older than I and all is right with the world.

Stop by and leave her some birthday wishes.  Tar’s currently on vacation in Maine (Maine: not just a great state, but a great state of mind) but may be persuaded to reply if someone can pry the lobstah and beer from her buttery hands.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , | 86 Comments