Baby, It's Cold Outside!

If you ever find yourself in a situation where you have a conversation that goes anything like this:

You: "I really can't stay."

Him: "Baby, it's cold outside."

You: "Say, what's in this drink?"

Him: "Baby, it's cold outside."

Girrrrrrrl! You get yourself home!  RUN, DON'T WALK!

An Unattached Girl's Plight

Is he single?!  Is he straight?!

Another Year Older

I always thought it would be kind of awesome to become a member of the 27 Club.  It's looking like it probably won't happen.  I've got exactly 12 days to reach my peak of musical brilliance and fame and then die a tragic death.  What do you think?  Do I have a shot?

Srsly?

Dear Benny Mardones,

You belong in jail.

Creeper.

The Gambler

My first gaming experience is hereby documented below, fittingly set to the tune of Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler".

On a hot summer’s day, on the Fun Bus to Wendover,

I met a gal name Bronwyn, who led us all in fun.

She gave us cards for Bingo, and I almost won the Blackout.

It was all too much to handle when she me splashed me with some pop.

When we finally reached the city on the far side of the desert,

We got off at Montego, ready to play the slots.

I didn’t know what I was doing, I’d never been a gambler,

But my luck it started turnin,’ when I sent out upbeat thoughts.

So, I gathered up my courage, and bet a little higher,

I bought a few more lines to read, for nickels and some dimes.

A wonderful thing happened, I was winning back my money,

And soon I was into the black and havin’ a real good time.

You gotta know when to pull ‘em,

Know when to up ‘em,

Know when to walk away,

Know when to sit.

You gotta read those funny

Names they give the machines

And choose the one that’s callin’

From across the room.

I was up a couple dollars, and I fixed on cashin’ out,

The machine was finished givin’, it was sending out that vibe.

Then a quick game of billiards, I was just about to lose it,

Then my luck it flipped, I sunk the 8, then I danced a jive.

Feeling super duper awesome, I knew the time for playin’

The slots again was on me, so I viewed the floor.

I spotted the machine, I believe called “Pharaoh’s Treasure”

I started up, I pulled the arm, and I won $8 more.

At the final casino, I sat down to a new one.

I knew I didn’t deserve to win, I'd already won .

For the sake of the experience, I went ahead and did it,

And don’t you know, gained 8 bucks more, then I was done.

You gotta know when to pull ‘em,

Know when to up ‘em,

Know when to walk away,

Know when to sit.

You gotta read those funny

Names they give the machines

And choose the one that’s callin’

From across the room.

Adventures in Archery

I've been practicing with my sweet bow.  I'm getting better at it.  I hit the target about 75% of the time.  Good, not great.  I've only had a handful of problems with my new hobby.  I've caught the backlash of the string on my arm a couple of times, which hurts reeeeaaal bad and leaves a big nasty bruise, but it goes away.  I've also lost a few of my arrows in the grass, but with a little time and a metal detector, I have reclaimed most of them.  There's only one situation that sticks in my mind as a lesson in why I maybe shouldn't have a bow in my possession at all.

It was almost dusk.  My brother, Dylan, and I were in the backyard at my parents' house practicing with my bow, shooting at a target at one end of the lawn from the other.  We were about done for the night, when a realization hit.  I hadn't arced an arrow yet and I wanted to try it.  My folks live on a 5 acres of land, so I thought I'd have plenty of room.  I removed the point of the arrow just in case.  I angled my bow to maximum distance potential, like an ultimate Angry Birds shot, drew back and let that sucker fly.

And fly it did, all the way across my parents' field, backyard, front yard, across the street and into the neighbors fenced-in horse corral.  Dylan and I went tearing across the yard.  "Did you see where it landed?!" I shouted to Dylan, who was a few steps ahead of me.  We paused at the high fence, straining our eyes.  "There it is."  He pointed to the arrow sticking straight up from the ground about 25 yards from the fence.  Dylan started scouting the fence as though he were planning to go over and retrieve the arrow.  "But there are no foot holds on the other side, just wire.  How will you get back over?" I asked.  We thought for a moment.  What other option did we have?  I couldn't very well go over, knock on the door and ask the homeowner, "Excuse me, can you go get my powerful, dangerous arrow that I could have accidentally shot your horses with?"  

Dylan insisted he could do it, so he climbed over the high fence, walked over and pulled up the arrow and started walking back.  Suddenly, I noticed something moving from the corner of my eye.  I looked toward the neighbor's house in the distance where I beheld and big black dog running around from the side of the house, growling and galloping full force, teeth bared.  I started yelling at Dylan to run!  Run for your life!  He glanced back and saw the imminent danger.  It was like rocket boosters had gone off in his shoes, but the distance between him and the heathen dog closed in with every second.  Dylan reached the fence and leapt, but he didn't quite make it over.  He held onto the top for dear life and finally wrenched his body weight up and over and tumbled to the other side with a thud.  I grabbed his arm and pulled him up.  Looking back at the house, I could see the neighbors had come out and were milling around.  We walked back across the street, acting as casually as we could.  We finally had time to asses the damage.  He had scraped his leg up and it was all my fault for being stupid and foolish.  At least he hadn't been torn to pieces.  

The adrenaline didn't subside for about an hour.  I was so mad at myself and apologized to Dylan about a million times.  He said it was fine, it made a good story and nothing bad happened, so let it go.  Sometimes I still can't get over how irresponsible that was!  I NEVER do crap like that.  Ever.  These are usually the kinds of pickles that 13 year old boys get into, not people in their late 20s.  Don't you fret, though.  I have taken a solemn oath never to underestimate the power of my bow ever again, and if I do want to shoot for distance I'll go find a place out in the west desert where no person or property can be harmed.  Promise.

A New BaChat Awaits!

If you can stomach it, don't forget to check out the BaChatlorette blog.  It's crazy.  It's weird.  It's terrifying.  It's sweet.  Wait.  Never mind on that last one.  In any case, it's fun! 


Lorraine and I discuss bad tempers, health foods that are all the rage, and one of the biggest jerks ever.  Most importantly, we need your help settling a crucial question once and for all.  Click on that there link.