Car shopping.
What a disaster. Seriously, car salesmen are the most slimey and lecherous creatures on the planet. (If you're a car salesman and you're reading this, well I'm sorry, and I adore you on a personal level, but you know I'm right. You're a vulture.)
I recently became in need of a new car. My little Hyundai went to the big car factory in the sky. It was a premature goodbye, brought to the light of day when I introduced it to the rear end of an SUV in bumper to bumper traffic, but Hazel had had a good life. She was trustworthy and lovely, and I am sad to see her go, even though she wasn't what I wanted when I first bought her. So, since I'm in need of a new car and am a bit more financially stable than I was this time last year when I bought her, I started looking at legit dealers, not those used car dealers where, like in the movie Matilda, they run the odometer backwards and strap some paint and glue on the front end until just about when the warranty runs out.
Needless to say, but I'm going to say it anyway, my adventures with the local car dealers didn't go that well.
The first dealer I managed to shake off, letting him know that I was just looking. The second dealer, at Toyota, basically insulted me and told me that I might like to look at the more expensive cars he was offering because I "might like the color better." Please excuse me while I throw up on your shoes, thanks.
The best stop on Saturday had to be at the Hyundai dealer. My partner in crime for the day, Honey Boo Boo, and I, parked in the back of the lot and tried to sneak in and take a look without being spotted. We made it around for about five minutes before this man-boy came over and introduced himself and right away I knew I could get over on him. haha. He looked to be about twelve years old, barely prepubescent.
Anyway, so I asked him if he had any preowned cars for sale for ten thousand dollars, because that was my price limit... and he says to me, after pondering for a minute, no we don't have anything for that amount.... so I say okay thank you, and we get ready to leave. He turns to me and says, "oh, but we have this..." and he brings me to a car that's 10,900. I just looked at this kid with wondering eyes and he says, "Sorry I'm new." I said that was okay and I wouldn't give him a hard time, but inside I'm thinking, "you're adorable and you're never going to sell a car."
I wish I knew just a SMIDGEN more about cars so that I didn't feel helpless walking into a car dealership. Maybe I'll have to do some research.
I wish I had that crazy lesbian gene that enabled me to know a ton about cars, putting things together, and holding in crazy sports facts, all while looking good in cargo shorts and polos. Yep, that's what I want in my next life.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Definitely a Mad Man with a Blue Box.
It is a well known fact that yours truly has a tendency to become obsessed with various pop culture related items and ideas. For example, this year’s obsessions include, but are not limited to: Carly Rae Jepson’s “Call Me, Maybe”, Justin Bieber’s “Boyfriend”, The Big Bang Theory, cinnamon tea, and Burt’s Bees Chapstick. These aforementioned items have been, at times, the most important part of Sunshine’s day. (Unfortunately, it’s true, my girlfriend can attest.)
The latest, and let’s face it, the greatest obsession that I have had in the year 2012 is my new found love for a nine hundred year old alien from a planet that no longer exists, a blue ‘police box’, a piece of metal that ‘hums’ and various human companions, all of which come together to explore, adventure, and ultimately save the world from alien invasion and destruction, all while still managing to keep the suspense and romantic entanglements alive. Yes, I am in love with Doctor Who.
I was going to start this paragraph with, “Now, before you mock me, hear me out…” but I’ve realized… my readers are nerds, too. You’re all going to surprise me with, “I’ve been a Whovian for YEARS!” and “Allons-y!” and “It’s brilliant!” (Except Dr. Cynicism, I’m sure he’s going to laugh at me.)
I was dead set against watching this show. When my best friend and I decided to make a small Gentleman’s Agreement, I was torn apart. I wanted her to fulfill her side of the bargain (which she STILL hasn’t done, some gentleman she is) while letting me out of my end of the deal. No such luck. She pressured and practically all out hounded me about my progress with the Doctor, and I kept telling her no, that it was crap. I was adamant that only science nerds would ever want to watch this ‘garbage’ and also that I didn’t like British humor. Well, here I am, eating my words. This show is beyond brilliant. I am in awe of the staff and creators who put this Whoniverse together.
There is, however, a problem.
I continue to mourn my favorite character! Let me explain.
The Doctor is a Time Lord; that’s his specie. He is the last of a race which doesn’t exist anymore. His people, though they can die, have the ability to regenerate themselves as a survival instinct. This is also a fancy way for the producers to be able to replace the main character of the show without losing much credibility and possibly the fan base, or in this case, the following. Brilliant, they are. An issue for me is that even though the character is the same, the producers make the storyline blatantly and painfully obvious that you’re really just saying goodbye to the actor.
It's really hard to mourn the loss of one person but be completely transfixed by his or her replacement, especially when I am watching them like a crazy person (i.e. back to back, no stopping except for sleep and the occasional shift at work, through all the seasons on my stolen netflix, thanks to my best friend Susie). I spent roughly 12 hours falling in love with one man (save the bad lesbian jokes for later) only to have him ripped away from me in an instant! Who cares if the goodbye and farewell was beautiful and tear-jerking?!?! Well, guess what, the-British-equivalent-of-
There are just too many fantastic people on this show; they’ve got to be breaking some kind of television law – isn’t someone always supposed to be disliked? I’m pretty sure that it’s become mandatory for everyone on this show to be adored.
It comes down to this – I’m addicted to Who. Are you?
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Who are you? Do You Have Some I.D.?
I've been neglecting writing -- so much so that I made myself a goal that I would write the whole month of July, and to date I've only written two of the eighteen days and it's been the same scene, just worded differently. I can't even believe how much I live in my own way. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to getting things done. Sheesh.
Anywho, I wanted to post what I've written, because it holds me accountable, and hopefully I still have some blogosphere friends interested in what I'm doing. If not, well I can't blame you, as I've basically been M.I.A. for far too long. If you are here... well... I love you.
**
My heart was pounding. I could hear the blood flowing through my ears, and my adrenaline was pumping hard. My breaths became shallow and erratic, my palms started sweating, and I could just imagine that my pupils had dilated. Can you feel your pupils dilate? Isn’t that a symptom of someone high? I would have to Google that on my down time. I was only in the midst of a panic attack, but surely with my luck, my behavior would come across suspect and I’d be taken away.
‘I can’t handle this,’ I thought to myself, struggling to control my breathing. ‘What am I even going to say?’
As the officer made his way toward the passenger’s side of my car, I quickly ran through all the excuses I could feasibly flesh out to explain my complete and total disregard of the law:
-My dog escaped.
-I have to pee.
-I only sped up to pass someone who was carelessly driving, and that’s when you saw me.
-I unbuckled my seatbelt AFTER you pulled me over, just to get to my registration.
-That wasn’t my cell phone in my hand -- that was my G.P.S.
The feeble attempts that my pathetic brain came up with weren’t even enough to get me out of detention in middle school, let alone something regarding the police. The cherries of the police car were physically hypnotizing, rotating back and forth like some psychedelic visual morphine designed to calm the wild beast.
“Good evening. License and registration, please.”
The officer spoke with a tone of command, a tone more fright-inspiring than my father after getting home from work and hearing that one of my brothers had blown up a toilet seat at school earlier in the day. I promptly handed over my documents and faced straight ahead again, hoping my obedient and submissive behavior would lend to a less severe punishment on my end.
I had to keep reminding myself to take deep breathes; it wouldn’t look good if I started to hyperventilate. Then I definitely wouldn’t be able to continue on with my plans for the evening. I’d probably be stuck in jail. As it was, the officer probably thought I was high, since he’d just asked me a question twice. Funny how your brain can process that even when it’s not paying attention.
“What brings a girl from New Jersey all the way out here to Marshall’s Creek at this hour? Surely it isn’t the Candle Factory at this time of night,” he says with a small chuckle to himself, as if he’d just told the most hilarious inside joke all day. Probably I was the first person he’d seen all night in this little town that modernity seemed to have left behind.
“Honestly,” I said, more under my breath than anything, “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
**
If you made it this far, what do you think? Should I continue?
Anywho, I wanted to post what I've written, because it holds me accountable, and hopefully I still have some blogosphere friends interested in what I'm doing. If not, well I can't blame you, as I've basically been M.I.A. for far too long. If you are here... well... I love you.
**
My heart was pounding. I could hear the blood flowing through my ears, and my adrenaline was pumping hard. My breaths became shallow and erratic, my palms started sweating, and I could just imagine that my pupils had dilated. Can you feel your pupils dilate? Isn’t that a symptom of someone high? I would have to Google that on my down time. I was only in the midst of a panic attack, but surely with my luck, my behavior would come across suspect and I’d be taken away.
‘I can’t handle this,’ I thought to myself, struggling to control my breathing. ‘What am I even going to say?’
As the officer made his way toward the passenger’s side of my car, I quickly ran through all the excuses I could feasibly flesh out to explain my complete and total disregard of the law:
-My dog escaped.
-I have to pee.
-I only sped up to pass someone who was carelessly driving, and that’s when you saw me.
-I unbuckled my seatbelt AFTER you pulled me over, just to get to my registration.
-That wasn’t my cell phone in my hand -- that was my G.P.S.
The feeble attempts that my pathetic brain came up with weren’t even enough to get me out of detention in middle school, let alone something regarding the police. The cherries of the police car were physically hypnotizing, rotating back and forth like some psychedelic visual morphine designed to calm the wild beast.
“Good evening. License and registration, please.”
The officer spoke with a tone of command, a tone more fright-inspiring than my father after getting home from work and hearing that one of my brothers had blown up a toilet seat at school earlier in the day. I promptly handed over my documents and faced straight ahead again, hoping my obedient and submissive behavior would lend to a less severe punishment on my end.
I had to keep reminding myself to take deep breathes; it wouldn’t look good if I started to hyperventilate. Then I definitely wouldn’t be able to continue on with my plans for the evening. I’d probably be stuck in jail. As it was, the officer probably thought I was high, since he’d just asked me a question twice. Funny how your brain can process that even when it’s not paying attention.
“What brings a girl from New Jersey all the way out here to Marshall’s Creek at this hour? Surely it isn’t the Candle Factory at this time of night,” he says with a small chuckle to himself, as if he’d just told the most hilarious inside joke all day. Probably I was the first person he’d seen all night in this little town that modernity seemed to have left behind.
“Honestly,” I said, more under my breath than anything, “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
**
If you made it this far, what do you think? Should I continue?
Monday, July 2, 2012
Womp Womp
This is just a mini-post, Interweblings.
*I saw a TURTLE crossing the road down the street from my house. A huge turtle. One of those big ass turtles that you'd see in a documentary. A police officer was trying to help it off the street with one of those thingamabobs that they wrangle stray or angry dogs with, you know, the pole with the retractable string on the end? Yeah. That happened.
*I was hit on at work by a seventy year old man. (I am gay, and not even remotely interested in 70 year old men. Ever. Ever ever.) The conversation went as this:
Sunshine: Is there anything else I can help you with sir?
Creepy: Not unless you're giving out free samples?
Sunshine: Hahaha, (hiding an eye roll) you can take a lollipop, they're free?
Creepy: How about a kiss?
::::gags::::
*Two of my best friends has moved home from Boston, and I couldn't be more thrilled than I am right now.
That is all. More to come, I'm sure. I'll leave you with this now, so you know I'm still amazing:
*I saw a TURTLE crossing the road down the street from my house. A huge turtle. One of those big ass turtles that you'd see in a documentary. A police officer was trying to help it off the street with one of those thingamabobs that they wrangle stray or angry dogs with, you know, the pole with the retractable string on the end? Yeah. That happened.
*I was hit on at work by a seventy year old man. (I am gay, and not even remotely interested in 70 year old men. Ever. Ever ever.) The conversation went as this:
Sunshine: Is there anything else I can help you with sir?
Creepy: Not unless you're giving out free samples?
Sunshine: Hahaha, (hiding an eye roll) you can take a lollipop, they're free?
Creepy: How about a kiss?
::::gags::::
*Two of my best friends has moved home from Boston, and I couldn't be more thrilled than I am right now.
That is all. More to come, I'm sure. I'll leave you with this now, so you know I'm still amazing:
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
I made that.
 |
| {Happy Birthday Thelma!} |
Double Chocolate Pudding Pie!
Bottom Layer: White Chocolate Pudding
Top Layer: Regular Chocolate Pudding
Drizzle: Melted Peanut Butter Chip Drizzle
Chocolate Whipped Cream decoration
All together, Win.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Laters, Baby.
Fifty Shades of Gray. Ever heard of it? No? Well, what rock have you been living under, because only a recluse or someone on the run wouldn't have gotten their hands on a copy of this verbose example of fan fiction run amok.
Honestly, the only reason that I picked up a copy of this book was because everyone, and I mean everyone, that I have talked to in the last three months have ranted and raved about how this book needs to be read. I finally succumbed to peer pressure and broke down and bought a copy on my Nook. What I have to say about it is this: wait for the movie.
Actually, if you're into erotic fiction, you may want to pick the first book up and help yourself to some fantasy. This book borders on the edge of the line between acceptable fantasy and oh-my-god-my-mother-would-kill-me-if-she-knew-I-owned-this... Well, not my mother. My mother would be rolling over in her grave trying to get my attention, probably saying something like, "Can you read it to me out loud?" or "There was that one time in college." (She was a character all her own.)
I've made it through Fifty Shades of Gray and Fifty Shades Darker, but I had to stop because I had major issues with Ms. Steele's whiny-bitch-attitude. Everytime I turned the page, there was another scene in which she wondered if he was going to leave her, and while that was a valid question at the beginning of book one, there was no need for it through the end of book two. I thought that was obvious, but who am I?
The other problem with this is that there were certain times in which I found myself ridiculously turned on by the words on the page, and for me this is a problem. I am a lesbian, being substantially turned on by a MALE, FICTIONAL character. I've got friends starting to doubt my sexuality from the comments I've been making. Heck, *I'm* starting to question my sexuality based on where my errant thoughts have been going this week! Thank goodness for my girlfriend, Helen, because otherwise I might really be in trouble. (Helen got a shout out! tee hee hee.)
Anywho. I'm just wondering what you guys out there on the interwebs thought of this series. Can anyone convince me to bother buying the third on the trilogy? Is there anything redeeming in Fifty Shades Freed? I trust you, weblings. Give me the goods, will ya?!
Laters baby.
Honestly, the only reason that I picked up a copy of this book was because everyone, and I mean everyone, that I have talked to in the last three months have ranted and raved about how this book needs to be read. I finally succumbed to peer pressure and broke down and bought a copy on my Nook. What I have to say about it is this: wait for the movie.
Actually, if you're into erotic fiction, you may want to pick the first book up and help yourself to some fantasy. This book borders on the edge of the line between acceptable fantasy and oh-my-god-my-mother-would-kill-me-if-she-knew-I-owned-this... Well, not my mother. My mother would be rolling over in her grave trying to get my attention, probably saying something like, "Can you read it to me out loud?" or "There was that one time in college." (She was a character all her own.)
I've made it through Fifty Shades of Gray and Fifty Shades Darker, but I had to stop because I had major issues with Ms. Steele's whiny-bitch-attitude. Everytime I turned the page, there was another scene in which she wondered if he was going to leave her, and while that was a valid question at the beginning of book one, there was no need for it through the end of book two. I thought that was obvious, but who am I?
The other problem with this is that there were certain times in which I found myself ridiculously turned on by the words on the page, and for me this is a problem. I am a lesbian, being substantially turned on by a MALE, FICTIONAL character. I've got friends starting to doubt my sexuality from the comments I've been making. Heck, *I'm* starting to question my sexuality based on where my errant thoughts have been going this week! Thank goodness for my girlfriend, Helen, because otherwise I might really be in trouble. (Helen got a shout out! tee hee hee.)
Anywho. I'm just wondering what you guys out there on the interwebs thought of this series. Can anyone convince me to bother buying the third on the trilogy? Is there anything redeeming in Fifty Shades Freed? I trust you, weblings. Give me the goods, will ya?!
Laters baby.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Hi, my name is Valerie, and I'm an addict.
No, your eyes aren’t deceiving you – tis I, Sunshine, back from the great beyond (aka, my job, the Land of the Soul-Sucking Old, and adulthood).
I’ve only just managed to break free from the proverbial chains which bind me to my plight. Who knows how long I’ll have before they notice I’ve escaped, so without further ado, I’d like to present to you an interesting development that I’ve recently discovered about myself during and throughout my adventures.
I am a grocery store junkie.
Honest to blog, I’ve come to realize that I am addicted to the grocery store. I find myself there at least once a day, whether it’s for food for work, simple necessities that I’ve forgotten during the week, or for a sale that makes me so excited, I feel like Macguiver on Super Market Sweep.
Last week, as I was regaling Helen Keller with my life stories, catching up, what have you, I remembered that there was a sale the day before on Arizona Iced Teas (you know the ones, .99 cents for the large cans that are an excellent deal in and of themselves??). They were on sale 2 for $1 (!!!!!). I was extremely excited. I decreed, after we had finished our frozen yogurt, that we needed to venture to the grocery store, so that I might stock up on them while they were so cheap. Who could possibly turn down a BOGO event?!
(Buy one, get one, for those of you who don’t know.)
(She laughed at me and told me that I needed to get out more if this was going to be the highlight of my week, which it was.)
I didn’t realize that I had a problem until Helen laid out for me that I grocery store hop between three different ones in connecting towns. Acme is closest to my house and convenient when I need to get something for home. Stop & Shop has pistachio muffins that are to die for, and a great salad bar, but is inconvenient to get to when I’m on my lunch break. Kings Grocery store has a salad bar as well; it’s not as cheap as S&S, but it’s closer, and I’m able to get there on my break and get back in time to actually eat said lunch. However, the downside to Kings is that a boy asked me out there (in front of his friend, which was awkward) and I turned him down (not so politely, but then again, that wouldn’t be my style) and now I feel a little awkward every time I run in to him, but that’s a story for another day. I digress.
As if being addicted to grocery stores wasn’t bad enough, I’ve discovered that this disease is HEREDITARY, passed down from the male line. As far as I can tell, it has only made an appearance in my family’s family tree since my father’s generation, but I’m sure it will run rampant as the branches continue to grow.
I’ve only just managed to break free from the proverbial chains which bind me to my plight. Who knows how long I’ll have before they notice I’ve escaped, so without further ado, I’d like to present to you an interesting development that I’ve recently discovered about myself during and throughout my adventures.
I am a grocery store junkie.
Honest to blog, I’ve come to realize that I am addicted to the grocery store. I find myself there at least once a day, whether it’s for food for work, simple necessities that I’ve forgotten during the week, or for a sale that makes me so excited, I feel like Macguiver on Super Market Sweep.
Last week, as I was regaling Helen Keller with my life stories, catching up, what have you, I remembered that there was a sale the day before on Arizona Iced Teas (you know the ones, .99 cents for the large cans that are an excellent deal in and of themselves??). They were on sale 2 for $1 (!!!!!). I was extremely excited. I decreed, after we had finished our frozen yogurt, that we needed to venture to the grocery store, so that I might stock up on them while they were so cheap. Who could possibly turn down a BOGO event?!
(Buy one, get one, for those of you who don’t know.)
(She laughed at me and told me that I needed to get out more if this was going to be the highlight of my week, which it was.)
I didn’t realize that I had a problem until Helen laid out for me that I grocery store hop between three different ones in connecting towns. Acme is closest to my house and convenient when I need to get something for home. Stop & Shop has pistachio muffins that are to die for, and a great salad bar, but is inconvenient to get to when I’m on my lunch break. Kings Grocery store has a salad bar as well; it’s not as cheap as S&S, but it’s closer, and I’m able to get there on my break and get back in time to actually eat said lunch. However, the downside to Kings is that a boy asked me out there (in front of his friend, which was awkward) and I turned him down (not so politely, but then again, that wouldn’t be my style) and now I feel a little awkward every time I run in to him, but that’s a story for another day. I digress.
As if being addicted to grocery stores wasn’t bad enough, I’ve discovered that this disease is HEREDITARY, passed down from the male line. As far as I can tell, it has only made an appearance in my family’s family tree since my father’s generation, but I’m sure it will run rampant as the branches continue to grow.
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