The Bronn and Hound Show

PLEASE NOTE:  I TALK ABOUT GAME OF THRONES IN THIS THING, AND DON'T WANT TO RUIN YOUR LIFE IF I GET SPOILERY, SO BEWARE, DELICATE FAN PERSON.

So I finally finished the thing. I'm totally caught up, and don't have to be the idiot thrusting my fingers into my ear holes singing Baby Got Back every time I hear anyone mention something or someone from the show. It rules! I feel like the cool kids at school are suddenly saying hey to me in the hallway. Overall, I love love LOVE the show. There are a few things that drive me nuts, like the most bad-ass character being played by an actor who is clearly uncomfortable in her own body, the theme song of blah blah blahblah blah blah litany, and those fake languages that are all exactly alike, but these are tiny things! I am a tad worried after episode 4 because i"m uncertain about the future of one of my GoT boyfriends, and I don't want to have to punch a TV.

Thank gott someone out there making GIFs shares my obsession!

THESE TWO!! Can you even? Cause I can't, let me tell you. Although I knew Arya probably hadn't left the Hound to die since we never actually saw him die on screen, I was still NOT HAPPY ONE LITTLE BIT. I like Arya, she's amazing. But I'd take the Hound over her any day. I'm always gonna get swoony over a character with layers, especially when the layers include whoop ass and true IDGAF faces. And BRONN! He is beyond description, I want him as the quarterback of my team and the CEO of my company. So I have begun trolling the internet for images that inspire my imagination, because I'm picturing a spin-off or a buddy flick for these two BIG TIME.

I'll drink to that! 

So, do you think there's a connection between these two? They have a kind of baffling confrontation right before the Battle of Blackwater, but nothing ever comes of it. It felt like something was supposed to happen between them after that scene - maybe it got deleted? I'm sure Joffrey sent Sandor to kill Bronn, since Bronn was Tyrion's main dude, but they didn't fight each other like that scene kind of implied they would. In fact, Bronn totally helps Sandor out in the battle. Hmmmmm, foreshadowing?! They both LOVE KILLING, right? Wouldn't they be the best duo???

SHUT UP, YES YOU WOULD, BRONN. And Bronn would get to be the cute(r) one who gets all the ladies, while Sandor continues to explore his sensitive side, (which I'm guessing is the burnt one), while they have new adventures......where? Doing what? It would be fun to take these two characters out of Westeros, right? Maybe whoopin' up on some kind of alien planet or something with their big swords and their Ikea rug capes? I bet there's some fan-fiction out there, I just haven't looked. Or maybe I'll just write it myself. 

So thanks to whoever the fellow nerd is making these combo GIFs - it's getting my creative side stimulated. I'll ponder the possibilities and get back to you, my five lovely readers.

Speaking of five, it's now 2 days since I wrote and didn't publish this, and I watched ep. 5 last night. Total snooze-fest, right? The important thing is that both of my BFs are alive and still all kinds of fucked up, I guess.

But I'm gonna watch ep. 4 again anyway. BRIENNE AND ARYA 4 LYFE.

A long time ago.....

......in a large city far far away, my father took me to a movie that I reeeeeeeally didn't want to see. Star Wars? Sounds stupid, it's for BOYS, I donwanna go! It was 1977, I was 6 years old, and I knew nothing about this movie about to premiere except the name. (I was so judgmental at that age, jeez.) What a dumb-ass I was! It was the greatest thing I had ever seen, and it's not too much to say that it changed my life. 40 years later, I type this blog wearing a t-shirt depicting Darth Vader roller skating on the boardwalk at Venice Beach, carrying a boom box. With an R2-D2 humidifier next to me. Some would call me a Star Wars nerd. Do I agree with that assessment?

Yeah, so what? I'm a middle-aged woman, capable of being professional and all that stuff, but I am, as I think I've mentioned, a giant kid hiding in this awkward body, and I AM A STAR WARS NERD GALORE. IDGAF. I love the movies and all things about the movies, and although I have friends in my life who are exponentially bigger Star Wars nerds (bless them), I'm willing to bet there aren't a lot of 46 year old women with 2 lightsabers in their closet. And if there are, I would like to meet them. And buy them a drink while we nerd out together.

I didn't keep any of my toys (toys in packages kept in dark rooms make me sad), but damn, they were great. The toys were super fun to play with, but the major "pretend" sessions that went on in backyards all over America were the real shit. I was always Han Solo, and if anyone tried to argue their way into the role, I would bully them down. Just like Han Solo would have, duh. That giant tree over there is the Millennium Falcon, that sand pit is Tatooine, and those two garbage cans are R2-D2 and C-3PO. Epic battles between X-wings and TIE fighters took place on Big Wheels in the streets, many Death Star-shaped houses exploded into bits in our minds. It was such a great time to be alive for a kid. So why grow out of it? The way we felt about the new movies approaching release is the same way I feel now about these incredible yearly releases of new material. And when video tapes came into our lives, that shit was straight-up worn out in no time. Then it was DVD, and now Blu-Ray, of course. Listening to John Williams' music still slays me. I love opening all the windows in the car and cranking that shit up to eleven so everyone knows just how nerdy I really am. Because again, IDGAF.

Not everything about this franchise was magical or deeply appreciated, to be sure.

Barf. And don't get me started on Ewoks. We had to play the Ewok's March in 7th grade band, for fuck's sake. But for every little annoyance, of which there were thankfully not many, we got characters that delighted and fascinated us, and battles and planets and ships that set our imaginations spinning like a carousel horse on crack. I loved to be Han Solo, but Darth Vader is my favorite by far (oh the feels!), and R2-D2 is my spirit animal. To say I'm smitten with BB-8 would be an understatement, but R2 will live on in my heart forever. My text tone is R2 being sassy, has been for a very long time, but it still makes me smile every time. So text me, y'all.

My favorite Darth Vader shirt shows him up at bat with his lightsaber for a bat. The ump looks unimpressed. I am also a baseball nerd, which is why this might be the best GIF of all time.

It's only like 4 months and 3 weeks til Episode 8 is released, but who's counting? I am so grateful for this rebirth of the franchise, because come on. 40 years ain't no joke, it's programmed into my DNA at this point. How appropriate that I was born on May the 4th.

Salute!

I have so many friends rocking the good health thing. They're eating right, they're exercising, they're having regular check-ups and getting their teeth cleaned. Kudos! I'm super proud, especially of those who really stick to it and change their lives for the better. They're happier and excited about how they feel and look, which is the way it's supposed to be.

However, if you're doing some crazy cleanse and are utterly miserable, or on a fad diet to impress someone other than yourself, please don't. Weight loss and good health are great aspirations to have, if done for the right reasons, but my personal belief is that happiness is a greater reward, and if you're miserable and a size 2, how much does that size 2 matter, really? I wish everyone was happy with the process of making healthier choices, and thankfully the people in my life are, but it's not for everyone, and that's okay. Changing just one thing, just one bad habit, can be very rewarding, not to mention motivating. Maybe once that one thing has become a new good habit, you'll be ready to attack the next bad habit, and so on. As long as it's making you happy, I'm gonna be happy for you, and proud of your accomplishments. Setting goals and achieving them is one of my favorite things, and maybe it is for you, too. Or maybe you just want to do you, not worry about these things, and live whatever life you're gonna get from it, happy as a clam. I respect that, too, and can totally relate.

I had to make some big changes myself this year. When I turned 45 last year, my metabolism took my birthday as an invitation to jump down about 80 notches, and suddenly, I wasn't able to continue with my IDGAF attitude about how I ate and how little I exercised. Not, that is, if I wanted to continue wearing the clothes I own. I am cheap and hate shopping, so when I put on 15 pounds in less than a year, I got motivated to not have to try on clothes, and started exercising. And exercising differently than I always had, which had been pretty much cardio-only, if anything. Now I do push-ups, crunches, squats, lunges, and other muscle-building things in addition to any cardio work, and since February, have lost the 15 pounds I gained. I did it for me, and I did it without really changing how I eat too much, which is where I have always drawn my happiness line. BUT THAT'S JUST ME.

I am not giving up certain things, I'm just not. Giving up those things would make me a sad sack, and I'm not the sad sack type. (I was recently told at work that I could probably want to stab someone in the eye and still be smiling, haha). You know what makes me happy? Pizzaaaaaaa. A really good beer. A decadent meal once in a while. A rib-eye. The occasional ice cream cone. Over all, I'm not a junk food enthusiast, but I don't deny myself the occasional craving. I just have to have a longer workout the next day. I guess if my doc told me my cholesterol was getting up there, or if I started having blood sugar control issues, I would try to make some changes. But it would be hard, because I like being happy, and allowing myself the TREAT YO SELF attitude every once in a while makes me happy.

A member of my family who I always looked up to said it best. "You're gonna be dead some day, you might as well live while the livin' is good, you hear what I'm telling you? Work hard and play hard now, 'cause gettin' old is for the birds." That ol' mutha lived to be 94 or something, and smoked, drank (A LOT), and ate TV dinners and ice cream almost exclusively. But he still got exercise on a daily basis, he never made excuses. His quality of life never declined until the very end, and he died peacefully in his sleep, with all of his mental faculties intact. I may not be that lucky, but I'll still take his philosophy to the grave. And be a smiling corpse. 

New car nerves

Almost 6 months ago, I bought my first new car in 16 years, a sweet and fast little Honda that I named HAL because he has so many technological features that I can't wrap my feeble mind around and it scares me a little. Okay, a lot. Hence the name. I keep expecting him to say, "I'm sorry, Alli. I can't do that." The fanciest feature on my old car was the power windows, y'all.

Today I took little HAL to the shop for the first time, for his very first oil change. I took him to my mechanic of many years instead of the dealership, even though I think my first one is free there. Why, you might be asking, would I skip a free oil change? Well, lemme tell you what.

My last new car was purchased in 2001, a silver Honda Accord coupe I named Streak. Streak was my 30th birthday present to myself, and was the first car I had bought that was exactly what I wanted. I loved him from day one, and we had an amazing 16 years together. Still miss him every day, even though I am pretty smitten with HAL. When Streak was due for his first oil change, I went to the dealership for the freebie. Like you do. The service was quick, and I was back on the road in a jiffy. Lube.

As I cruised up an on-ramp and shifted from 2nd to 3rd gear, Streak lost all compression, made a horrifying noise, and a big plume of black smoke came out of the exhaust. I hauled ass back to the dealership, and they were extremely apologetic, assuring me that they would check it over with a fine-toothed comb and make sure everything was okay. I assume they put too much oil in the car, or even forgot to put the filter on, I still don't know. But I was furious and petrified. How could they FUCK WITH MY 6-MONTH OLD BABY???

They put me in a loaner and said they would call me. That afternoon, my mechanic called himself, and said he thought everything was fine, but would it be okay if he drove it home that night, just to take it a distance and make sure everything was cool. This guy had been working on my previous Honda for a few years, wasn't the one who did the oil change, and I liked and trusted him, so I agreed. He told me to come back first thing in the morning and Streak would be ready for me.

When I arrived the next morning, my mechanic, the service manager, and the dealership manager were all standing there waiting for me. A feeling of doom washed over me. "Ma'am, we are so sorry. When XYZ left the dealership in your car, he was rear-ended by a Ford F150 down the road a bit."

HULK SMASH!!!  HUULLLLK SMAAAAASSSHHHH!!!!

That was the first time in my life I literally saw red. But I tried to keep it together and asked to see my car. Poor Streak was so squished in the back. They were quick to assure me that the body plates were all aligned and it was just the bumper and rear quarter panels that needed replacing. I demanded that they replace my car. They said they couldn't do that, and didn't have to, but would pay to repair Streak free-of-charge. I demanded that they provide me with proof in writing from two body shops of my choosing that the frame was not damaged. They argued with me, probably saw the green tint I was starting to manifest, and reluctantly agreed. And I started to cry. They couldn't have offered me a fancy loaner of my choice any faster.

All of this drama from a $#%@!#%^@ oil change!! Streak was okay, and subsequently lost two more rear bumpers in his life with me, both times when I wasn't in the car. So three times. Yeah. That's another story for another time. 

When I told this story of Streak this morning at the auto shop, these guys treated HAL with kid gloves (literally and figuratively), relayed everything they were doing as it was done, what they were using, and how much it would be. And HAL is just fine. My nerves aren't fine quite yet, but getting there. They were awesome, and so understanding, when it really would have been easy to make fun of my silly, nervous self. If you ever need a great mechanic in Memphis, hit me up.

Yay for Hondas and Honda lovers! And proper, drama-free oil changes!

Me and my little buddy HAL on the day we met. <3

Poo-berty

As I was having my daily 8:00am hot flash the other day, fanning myself with a credit card offer, feeling sorry for my sweaty, flushed self and wishing the one stupid ovary I have left would just throw in the towel and send me to chin-hair land already, I got to thinking that this actually isn't the most frustrating, terrible, and awkward phase of my life by any stretch. That honor has to go to puberty, the steaming pile of poo that life throws us when we are not in any way equipped to handle it emotionally or physically. Eddie Izzard nailed it in his bit about puberty in Dressed to Kill, likening it to the plague. It pretty much seems like the end of your life, which has an even more dramatic connotation when you're 13.

The drama carries on for years, doesn't it?

I was already a super dorky kid - glasses, braces, red hair - the dork trifecta. But as soon as I started having crushes on boys and caring what I looked like, my body gave me the big FUCK YOU and started doing truly heinous things to me. My hair had been pretty straight with a little wave through my childhood, but shiny and manageable. At 13, it turned into a frizzy, cottony hell fire of a rat's nest. Okay, honestly, it was an orange fro.

I don't know this kid, but I feel his pain.

This was long before the miraculous frizz-controlling products of modern times, this was the early 80's. If mousse and Aqua Net couldn't fix it, you were hosed. And there is not a ginger alive who is gonna rock a fro and pull it off. Not. One. 

The hot flashes of late made me think of how sweaty and smelly and completely incapable of doing anything about it I was. I remember trying every kind of deodorant, slathering it on, which would just make me sweat more and create crusty, yellow armpits in every shirt I owned. I used to put folded paper towel under my arms inside my shirt to prevent visible sweat stains, but inevitably, the sweaty paper towel would fall out of my sleeve when I was walking past a boy I liked or the really pretty girls who seemed to skip puberty and always looked fresh and perfect. BITCHES. 

I don't know this girl, but I feel her pain.

Ugh. Clothes never fit right because you had 6 feet of legs and arms and no torso. (I actually haven't outgrown that, unfortunately, but whatever.) My sweet dad used to come in my room in the middle of the night and try to massage the cramps out of my legs because I would wake up screaming. I grew almost 7 inches in one year, and I'm pretty sure it was all my legs. Still have stretch marks on the insides of my knees and on my hip bones from it. Sexy! 

I do feel lucky, though, despite all of that nastiness. I never had acne. I've had fewer than 10 zits in my life. Guess the trade-off is I can never have a tan and scare people with my ghostliness, but I'll take it. I felt terrible for my brothers and my friends who had to fight that battle. It looked awful and painful, and had to be sooooo great for the self-esteem. Me and my glasses and fro and braces and sweaty pits had it pretty good, I guess. 

As crap as girls have it with the boobs that suddenly appear but you don't notice until your nipples make an unfortunate appearance through the stupid "training bra" you're wearing at a school assembly (training for what, a boobathon?) and the period starting most likely when you're wearing your mom's white pants that you aren't supposed to be wearing, I have to think boys had it worse than us. Yeah, voices cracking and weird hair growth would be bad, but random boners and fluids erupting from your body? Uh huh, I'll take the fro and hit the tampon aisle, thanks!