Strangeness in the world...am I the only one that sees it?

Consider the evidence for the first weirdness presentation. To the left, your typical fruity cocktails. To the right, your typical energy drink (which I stay away from because they're expensive and they taste like CRAP and there's no point in Li'l Ms. Bipolar indulging herself in such a manner...). However, upon dining at Applebees this evening with D, I find that it's "hip" to mix booze and energy drinks into an "energy cocktail". Drinkin' sure has changed since I was a young'un. I mean, am I the only one who thinks this doesn't make sense? I already commented on the atrocity committed by Anheuser Busch when they created B-to-the-E or whatever that drek was called (and oddly enough, I haven't seen that many print ads for it), but apparently the trend is still being pushed on people. Consider this scenario, dear friends, and see if you don't agree:

Your favorite bipolar redhead (or hell, anyone would do in this case) goes to Applebees with a few friends for happy hour.

(And BTW, have you ever noticed that it is always advertised as one hour, but goes for three or four?)

She decides to take of this tasty alcoholic beveage, not really knowing what a "energy drink" can do to a person. Three drinks later, she is reciting War and Peace backwards and in Russian to boot.

She leaves the bar, and a friendly policeman stops her because she's going ninety. The officer is puzzled because she tests over the legal limit for driving in the state of Maryland, yet she is vibrating and reciting the Declaration of Independence in Esperanto. The officer doesn't know whether or not to arrest her or award her an honorary degree in languages.

He decides to let her off with a warning and advises her to contact the nearest heroin dealer she can find because she REALLY NEEDS TO COME DOWN.

See what I mean?

Second exhibit for weirdness: BIG HAIR (see image at right from
www.willuck.com). I am kind of clueless when it comes to styling my hair, although I do have many of the required unguents and tools with which to do so.

On Sunday, I was bored, and had watched entirely too many Lifetime TV-movies about women in trouble, who were being sold to the black market while their teenage daughters were hanging around with the wrong crowd and their husbands were sleeping with the church secretary.

Anyway, I plugged in the hotrollers and all that, and when I was ready, I put those suckers in. First of all, I just have to say it's a pain in the neck (literally). Second, I had to switch rollers on my "bangs" a couple of times, and the rollers still drooped in the front.

But once I took them out, I underwent this strange transformation. I became a GIRL. Not just any girl, either...I looked like some washed-up Miss America wanna-be from 1964 who was now a Mary Kay saleslady in Pocatello, Idaho.

Second, my dialect kept changing - I kid you not. I kept slipping into a Southern accent (not a classy one either...more like Flo from "Alice"), or else my best Jersey squawk. I was quite frightened...and I'd taken my meds so it wasn't an imbalance of any sort. Thank God the curls and the side effects are wearing off...that's all I've got to say.

Finally, I'm tellin' tales on myself out of school (it's an expression...an OLD one), but I just have to. This is too good.

Apparently, the Ginsu knife company has been acquired by Warren "I'm Jimmy's Uncle" Buffett and Berkshire Hathaway therein. On Sunday (yes, the same Sunday I became Big Hair Barbie), I went to Safeway to pick up hairspray for my new 'do, and this obnoxious, shaved-bald guy who talked through his nose was hawking Ginsu paring knives. He was talking a mile a minute (he must have had one of those Sobe energy cocktails from Applebees) and annoying the HELL out of me. He was talking about how wonderful Ginsu knives were, and all the different features that made them the wonderful cutlery pieces they were. Blah, blah, blah.

But gentle readers, please know that I am here and able to blog instead of locked up in a jail cell in this post 9/11 age by stopping myself from asking the following question:

"How hard is it for the average forensic scientist to track DNA from the blade of a Ginsu paring knife?"

And you have to understand - that was ITCHING to pop out of my mouth. That phrase was pushing past my tongue and threatening to corrupt the years of orthodontic work my parents slaved to pay for...all because I REALLY WANTED TO BE A SMARTASS.

So thank God for my restraint, otherwise I'd be trying to write this on toilet paper with a contraband ball-point pen and wondering where I was going to store it in case I would get a surprise body cavity search.

Bye for now...

Sudiegirl