Friday, April 21, 2006
Don't mess with Texas
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The night before Easter we took my cousins to the local Miniature Golf/Teen hang out (or "put-put" as most baby-boomers refer to it as - gotta laugh, that sounds soooo silly!).
The following is just ONE of many reasons why YOU SHOULDN'T TRASH TALK TO AN 8 YEAR OLD FROM TEXAS- NAMED *BUBBA*:
So I was riding passenger (or "riding bitch" as I would have phrased it in high school) in a race car driven by my husband. Just as we were coming around the corner going waaaaay toooo fast we noticed that Bubba (why they let 8 year olds drive race cars is waaaay beyond me!) was stopped on the side of the track with my mom (as his passenger) looking scared out of her mind. Bubba had slammed into the back of another driver....violating rule #3 of the Miniature Golf Race Car Manifesto. So being the obnoxious older cousin that I am, I seized on the opportunity to talk crap. I began to yell competitive obscenities while wildly waving my arm out the window. Low and behold *Karma Struck*. I misjudged the close proximity we were to the stalled cars and hit my arm against race car going like 30 miles an hour. *OUCH* I thought I broke it. Seriously, I'm not just being dramatic. My hand went numb and started to bleed a little bit and it HURT LIKE A MUTHA. Ok, so I lied about the bleeding part, but it was numb and it did bear a completely different temperature then the other arm. We contemplated pulling over, but that would involve getting the attention of the 14 year-old ride operators who were well absorbed in some all-American teenage flirtation with a huge group of make-up wearing 13-year-olds.
Afterwards, Bubba quickly forgiving me and my temporary bout of immaturity, ran over to the soda machine to try to cure my arm with something cold. He's so sweet. I'm so not. And that's the end of the story as I sit here with a black and blue arm.
*by the way...that random leaf is this awesome necklace I scored in L.A. this past weekend at a great little shop called "Espiritu De Vida" in Hollywood across the street from the Scientology Celebrity Center (weird place!). The owners of the shop find pretty leaves and dip them in 18k gold. Kick Ass!
Above is a picture that came out the community newspaper from my in-laws 38th wedding anniversary a few weeks ago...look how cute my nieces are! I'm on the far left with my husband (as if you couldn't tell!).
The night before Easter we took my cousins to the local Miniature Golf/Teen hang out (or "put-put" as most baby-boomers refer to it as - gotta laugh, that sounds soooo silly!).
The following is just ONE of many reasons why YOU SHOULDN'T TRASH TALK TO AN 8 YEAR OLD FROM TEXAS- NAMED *BUBBA*:
So I was riding passenger (or "riding bitch" as I would have phrased it in high school) in a race car driven by my husband. Just as we were coming around the corner going waaaaay toooo fast we noticed that Bubba (why they let 8 year olds drive race cars is waaaay beyond me!) was stopped on the side of the track with my mom (as his passenger) looking scared out of her mind. Bubba had slammed into the back of another driver....violating rule #3 of the Miniature Golf Race Car Manifesto. So being the obnoxious older cousin that I am, I seized on the opportunity to talk crap. I began to yell competitive obscenities while wildly waving my arm out the window. Low and behold *Karma Struck*. I misjudged the close proximity we were to the stalled cars and hit my arm against race car going like 30 miles an hour. *OUCH* I thought I broke it. Seriously, I'm not just being dramatic. My hand went numb and started to bleed a little bit and it HURT LIKE A MUTHA. Ok, so I lied about the bleeding part, but it was numb and it did bear a completely different temperature then the other arm. We contemplated pulling over, but that would involve getting the attention of the 14 year-old ride operators who were well absorbed in some all-American teenage flirtation with a huge group of make-up wearing 13-year-olds.
Afterwards, Bubba quickly forgiving me and my temporary bout of immaturity, ran over to the soda machine to try to cure my arm with something cold. He's so sweet. I'm so not. And that's the end of the story as I sit here with a black and blue arm.ON A DESIGN NOTE....check out this awesome lamp designed by Marta Mathew first spotted this morning on design*sponge:
*by the way...that random leaf is this awesome necklace I scored in L.A. this past weekend at a great little shop called "Espiritu De Vida" in Hollywood across the street from the Scientology Celebrity Center (weird place!). The owners of the shop find pretty leaves and dip them in 18k gold. Kick Ass!
posted by Cristina at 10:43 AM
1 Comments:
Poor thing! Pan sends you all her purrs (whether you want them or not!) and wishes you get well soon.
And I got gossip for you. That heals all wounds. Or is that time?
And I got gossip for you. That heals all wounds. Or is that time?
