So, I went shopping for my birthday present with my grandma today. She, of course, wanted to get me a bra because that's what grandmotherly people always want to purchase for boulder bearers like myself. If your pimping a C cup or less, I'm sure you've never had this not-at-all-awkward convo with your female elders. But, if you are "blessed" as my cousin and I are, you undoubtedly have had the extreme pleasure of pulling your shirt up in front of strangers as your grandma rambled on about lifting and smoothing.
When Grandma called to schedule this underwear outing, she asked what else I would like for my upcoming birthday.
A skillet, I quickly replied.
A skillet? she quizzed.
Yes, a skillet.
For your birthday?
Yes, a skillet.
After Grandma generously dropped more cash on one bra than I have invested in ten others picked up in some discount bin, we went out in search of the perfect cookware. Now, fellas, you don't get an ass (or jugs, for that matter) this big if you don't take food preparation seriously. And, trust me, I take it, like, disassembling-the-live-bomb serious. Like the world's gonna combust if I don't master this lemon alfredo sauce serious.
We strolled down the aisle, first sailing past each beautiful skillet and then slowing down in front of our favorites. We held them above our heads, examining them against the light. We read dimensions and then compared that against its weight. If the store has a surveillance camera, I'm sure the geeky tech kid is gonna have a field day with that footage. (Yes, I'm calling someone else a geek. Let it go.)
After a solid 30 minutes of muling over our three favorites like we're adopting a kid from some foreign orphanage, we made our selection -- a dark, sleek lover I'm gonna make some beautiful, creamy, spicy music with.
Rowdy was home when I came in, a true oddity this time of year. I had a great time with Grandma and Rolan. On top of birthday prizes, she treated me with a delicious meal and, good Lord, Mississippi Mud Pie.
I burst in the house, beaming with pride for my new culinary find. I held my Extra Large Martha Stewart Fryer out toward him.
Check this out, baby. This bad boy's got a porcelain exterior. This is damn near 7 quarts of cooking right here. It was made with aluminized-steel construction for even heat distribution, I purred.
Then Rowdy said, You sound like some car junkie bragging about their wheels, Shonda.
You know, like horsepower and cylinders. I mean, that's what you sound like.
Yeah, Rowdy think he's a damn comedian.
Madonna turned 50 today. I wonder what Madge is doing to commemorate half a century of life. Alex Rodriguez, perhaps? (I thought I'd use this post as a slimy opportunity to mention Madonna sexing it up with Alex Rodriguez. In case you haven't noticed, ads pop up with similar themes to my blogs, so I was hoping that those might be the catch words that ads grab. Let's do it one more time for good measure, Madonna may or may not be getting it on with A-Rod. Okay, I'm done shamelessly fishing for funny ads.)
Anyways, my birthdays isn't for a few more days, but my paryting will likely be limited to entertaining with my new cookware. I know many of you think I'm overexaggerating about my fun hater status, so if calling friends, who are no doubt drowning in boredom when talking to me, to share my excitement over my new skillet doesn't convince you, I don't know what will.
Also, please overlook any typos in this post. My giant boobs are pulled up to my eyeballs, so I can only see half the computer screen. Thank goodness for the fancy, new bra. These bitches are like weapons now!