Saturday in a nut shell...

Source

~Construction on my apartment building circa 8AM

~Warm morning shower

~Espresso and parmesan sourdough toast

~Food Network and HGTV

~Thanksgiving shopping list and game plan

~My very first baking dish!

~Flannel, jeans and Converse

~Afternoon nap

I love and miss you all.

And I'm still sans computer.

That is all.

Please stand-by...we're having some technical difficulties

So my mo-effing laptop crashed. Yesssss. This means I will be posting pretty infrequently until I figure out something else or get the bastard fixed. (I'm sorry, dear laptop, I didn't mean it. I'm speaking from a place of anger. Just give me a moment.) And, as much as I love you, sweet followers, I'm not blogging from my Blackberry. That's just silly. I rant enough as it is; no need for my posts to be any more stabby because I'm typing on a keyboard the size of a stick of gum.

[Monday Rant] Free Clinic or Bust

Dear BC/BS,

I have paid my health insurance premiums diligently for, oh, a decade now. Having been self-employed for the majority of my adult years, I nevertheless always found a way to pay for my individual policy. And regardless of the fact that I am a very healthy young lady and never plan on having children (ergo saving you, like, a bagillion dollars...you're welcome), I never bitched about paying premiums, nor did you ever have to pay more than a few hundred bucks each year (as most visits went toward my deductible).

And yet, despite all the effort on my part to be a good "member," you have denied me coverage. DENIED. ME. COVERAGE. And your "reasoning?" Because I had some pre-cancerous moles removed.

First of all, I apologize. Yes, that's right. I. APOLOGIZE. profusely for being super pale and having ever stepped foot in the sun. (Don't worry, I also intend to write a very strongly-worded letter to the sun. It's only fair.)

Secondly, my bad for going to my yearly dermatology appointments (which is an absolute treat, let me tell you) and ALLOWING this health care professional to remove these dangerous spots from my skin. How selfish of me to not just take one for the team and let them progress to full blown melanoma so that you're gazillion-dollar company doesn't have to process the claim, seeing as how it's not like y'all actually paid toward that visit or anything. But I understand the administrative burden and it really is a lot to ask, dear Insurance Carrier.

Third, I am sure it is no big deal at all that you've cast me out into the world with no coverage whatsoever. BUT! I appreciate you referring me to the Texas Health Insurance Pool, seeing as how I'm most definitely a "high risk case." Sure, I'm unemployed and doing everything I can to keep gas in my car, but I can TOTALLY afford $500 a month. I think that's more than fair given that I go to the doctor twice a year for preventative care. I'm sure it balances out. Again, those administrative costs are a bitch, eh?

In closing, I understand the profound burden you bear as a ginormous conglomerate. I clearly asked way too much of you in my application for coverage, and I guess I really am just too much of a high risk for y'all. I would be happy to offer up my uterus in return for consideration of an appeal as a good faith gesture that I have intention whatsoever of using it, and therefore will never incur the cost of all those silly medical expenses associated with the children.

Regardless though, I totally hope you sleep well and don't at all dream of zombies eating half your organs, only to find out that you don't have a "zombie snack" clause underwritten in your own health insurance policy.

Happy trails,
Natalie Cottrell

With your donation of an extra large bottle of red wine and a dozen cupcakes, you could save millions of people from witnessing me LOSING MY SHIT.

I want to take a moment to tell you about a horrible epidemic that is sweeping our fair, feeble country...

It's called Head Up Your Assness, or HUYA (hoo-yah).

HUYA affects millions of Americans, particularly around the holiday season when people are gathered en masse. If there is a sale or limited parking involved, HUYA can flare beyond control and may result in riots or even death.

You may observe someone who exhibits symptoms of HUYA: the guy walking aimlessly right down the middle of the walkway and thus preventing anyone from passing at a reasonable pace; the woman who has stopped her car at a green light for no apparent reason. HUYA sufferers have been known to slam into you as you stand patiently in line to purchase some shiny baubles for your favorite blogess (diamonds, if you please), mutter a sorry excuse for an apology, and wander away as screaming children swing from their appendages. (This may also be a symptom of Your Child Needs a Spanking, so check with your doctor before beginning any long-term treatment.)

Or you yourself may fall victim to this insidious disease. Do you find yourself asking, "Now what was I going to do today?" only to realize that you've forgotten socks (again) and can't recall the last time you took your birth control pills. (Oh. Shit.) Do you suddenly realize you've been watching the Oxygen channel for fours hours straight and have no explanation whatsoever for doing so?

If so, ask your doctor about an effective new treatment for HUYA called Get Your Shit Together. This groundbreaking solution will have you feeling like your old, attentive self in no time (or, if that has never been you, someone who is not annoying).

Side effects of Get Your Shit Together include not losing friends, avoiding public beatings, headaches, peace of mind, and better, restful sleep.

You should not use Get Your Shit Together if you cannot make lists and stick to them, if you have uncontrolled ADD or ADHD, or if your doctor has recommended a full-blown lobotomy.

Don't miss your chance to participate as an appropriate, non-infuriating member of society. Get Your Shit Together today and don't let Head Up Your Assness steal another moment of bliss from your holiday season!

This message brought to you by the Coalition of Citizens Against Rampant Idiocy.

[Monday Rant] Road Rage and You

During my hour+ commute to work every morning, I witness all matter in sins when it comes to driving in close proximity to a bagillion other cars. As I would like to keep this post as concise as possible (tho, per usual, the asides will be out of control) (...like so), I will simply list some of my favorite violations, some of which are completely made up and don't technically break the law, but damn well should!

~Eighteen wheelers can't stop on a dime. Just because truck drivers allow five car lengths between them and the car in front of them, doesn't mean you and four of your friends should shimmy into that spot and risk having a jack-knifed truck in your boot. Also, if they need over, just let them over. Yes, they're slow and occasionally produce meteors, but be courteous and give those dudes a break. They're usually Cheeto-covered hot messes and could use all the mercy one can spare.

~When the light is flashing in a school zone, SLOW THE EFF DOWN. Don't try to weave and shake your fist at everyone driving so slowly around you. Take a hint, or don't complain when I pull you out of your car and kick you in the jimmies. I don't even like kids, but rules are rules.

~Don't play Speed Racer when shiz is bumper-to-bumper. I could spit nails when someone in front of me is driving at a speedy pace and suddenly whips around cars at a dead stop, causing me to nearly pummel into the stopped cars with mere seconds to respond and slam on my already squealing brakes. 'Preciate it, Speed.

~Brake check me one more time and I'll break your face.

~I don't leave my blinker on because it sounds funny and makes a pretty light show. I need over. I realize you are also on a schedule and need to get to work, but if your boss is going to chastise you for being 1.5 seconds later for letting another car in front of you, maybe you should call the Department of Labor and not take it out on me. I will cut you.

~Phantom driver in my blind spot, I may very well hurl a mace out my car window at you out of spite. Why and how are you ALWAYS THERE when I need to change lanes or get around someone going a fraction of the speed limit?! (And to that lady, stay out of the fast lanes; they're supposed to be fast....get it?)

~Get.off.my.tail. I generally get this point across quite passive-aggressively by turning on my windshield wipers and flashing the hazards (99.0% success rate), but I don't appreciate seeing nothing but a giant grill in my rear view mirror when I look back. Back it up, buddy.

This message is brought to you today by the lovely folks at WRR Classical 101.1. Without your Road Rage Remedy every morning and evening, I may very well be writing to you all from a padded cell.

If you can't say something nice, keep your skank trap shut.

Halloween is notoriously a night of over-indulgence, many candy-coated bad decisions, and no shortage of extra skin. I have made no secret of my personal dislike for overtly sexy Halloween costumes, but that has more to do with a preference to keep my own jiggly toosh and sub par cleavage covered. I don't judge those who decide to embrace the fantasy of Halloween and rock the thigh-highs and platforms. I really don't.

But, to the barely-dressed, walking felony who talks smack to the unassuming chick at the bar, I'm gonna pull your ratty hair out of your head and beat you with it...

Last night I joined my brother and his crew at Deux. It was the typical Dallas lounge scene, and I was pretty much over it the second I walked in. Don't get me wrong: the company and tunes were on point, but I am really not a fan of the clientele these places usually attract. However, a few Coronas and smattering of hilarious, creative costumes later, I was enjoying myself and over the whole fish-out-of-water sensation.

Until, suddenly and with quite the fanfare, a tiny blond hottie walked in. She was sporting (I’m not making this up): a platinum blond side ponytail, painted-on pasties (seriously, what's the point?) and angel wings, boyshorts, and snow boots. Of course every eye in the place fell on home girl, which, no duh, is exactly what she wanted. She even did a little twirl. Still.no.joke. I stole a quick glance and went about my business as my Sesame Street character-clad friends stared on in shock/horror/lust. Now I am certain that I did not sneer as I customarily would have at such a display because, Your Honor, my freshly Botoxed face would not allow it. (So ha!) But did this stop Slutty McSlutterson from giving me grief? Not so much.

She came behind me as I was ordering drinks for Elmo (my very plush brother) and tapped me on the shoulder. I spun around, marveled at the fact that this girl would find any need to speak to me, only to be further floored when she uttered, "And for the record, I'm a hairstylist." Two blinks. And then she walked away.

Now, had I not had a history of dealing with trifling, drama-loving chicks, I would have chalked this up to a confused, drunk utterance rather than the insult implied. My brother overheard this exchange and (so innocently) remarked, "Does that girl like your hair?" I heart him. "No, dear brother, that whore meant it as an insult." Brother takes a gander at my hair, blinks, then says, "I don't get it." I smile. "Nor do I."

I determined later that her comment was likely retaliation for whatever inappropriate utterance my brother and his friends spouted upon seeing her, though I'll never quite understand what makes insulting the girl who is with the offending gentlemen an act of equalization. But whatever. There's obviously a lot I don't understand about girls like that.

But what I have learned: dressing conservatively (as a young female) makes you more of a target on Halloween than just going with flow and flashing some ass. Also, mouthy brother + obnoxious skanky girls = sister in the line of fire.


Lucky for me, I've got thick skin.

And great hair.

Keep on truckin....bitches

I’ve driven about 800 miles in the past 5 days, and nothing drives me crazier than those ginormous trucks on the road! I about snap every time I see that “We are not responsible for damage to windshields…” sign. These truckers are driving like banshees, often cutting in front of me like maniacs because they are driving too fast and would likely just run clear over the car in front of them. Meanwhile, their tires are sending little mini meteors into my windshield and there is no way to get away from them while on the road behind the damn truck (yet it’s nearly impossible to get around because they are pushing 85 MPH). It’s good to know that the only responsible party if one of those pieces of debris smashed my windshield is a giant piece of rock. Seriously??