Tag Archives: holidays

“Save the fuel. I’m coming for you.”

28 Oct

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Jason Statham is a badass. Sure, he plays the same character in every movie, but in every movie, he’s just an ass-beating, bonafide badass. And I’m fine with that. Mark Wahlberg gets me going in a similar manner, too, but then you remember that he’s Marky Mark – “Good Vibrations,” and the badass factor gets turned down a notch. Haha.

I still love you, Wahlberg.

Last night I went to AMC to see “Sinister.”  I would like my money back. This is the first movie I have ever actually almost walked out of. It was terrible. Part of me wants to go more into detail about the weak plot, the overdone acting, the forced and senseless dialogue, and the cliche “kids are scary so let’s make them say ‘shh’ which is supposed to be creepy but is actually gayer than AIDS” number they did 1039501 too many times. It was bad, that’s the point.

At 3 pm yesterday, I went inside a building for a seminar. It was 78 degrees. Two short hours later, I exited, and was slapped in the face with a brisk and blustery 31 degree temperature drop. Pretty drastic. What I was wearing in the 78 degrees was not appropriate for the now 47 degrees. Regrets.

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ANYway, that being said, I love autumn. BOY do I. Nothing gets me going more than chilly weather, scented candles, baked goods, and holiday garb. Once September hits, I skip right over Halloween and Thanksgiving and charge straight into Christmas with the passion of a thousand burning suns. I’ve been making special, unimportant trips to Costco just to submerge myself in the extravagant holiday decor that fills the building. I’ve been privately enjoying Christmas carols in my car since mid August, but now I’m blaring my Trans-Siberian Orchestra Pandora station for the world to hear whether they like it or not. It’s joyful AND TRIUMPHANT!!!

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What really has me by the balls during the autumn and winter months though are Bath & Body Works seasonal candles and soaps. Marshmallow Fireside gives me a nose boner than lasts for more than 4 hours, and from what I understand, that calls for medical attention. I love it. I have gone a little overboard with the room spray, several candles, and a car freshener, and I’m still thinking about going back for more. Why do good smells make me so jubilant? I don’t even know. My nose is smiling just thinking about it, though my bank account is not.

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Today is Sunday, and on Sundays, I eat whatever the f-ck I want. To prepare, I exercise harder than normal so I don’t feel so bad. After boxing for an hour and then getting a quick 2.4 miler in, I whipped up a glorious bowl of mouth-watering guacamole, and then assembled the ingredients for an Oreo brownie recipe. The recipe uses cookies & cream ice cream, Oreos (I chose to use the birthday cake flavored special edition Oreos, BOOM), fudge topping, and fudge brownie mix. How could ANYTHING go wrong with that combination, right? The instructions said to bake them for 26 minutes. After 55 minutes, the brownies were still a pan of bubbling molten lava. I gave up. Hopefully they taste heavenly though they are misshapen. We will just have to see. I want to kick the oven door in though. Once again, if it’s not a cake, it’s not in my wheelhouse. 

White people problems. PEACE.

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J:   “So what do you guys like to do on the weekends?”

B:   “…..I go to Bath & Body Works.”

 

Two for me.

26 Oct

I’m not sure how this happens to me twice in a row, but last night after drafting up a big fat blog post, it vanished once again, without a trace. Argh! ARGH, I say. I forget everything I said yesterday, so I guess I’ll just let you know what’s going on today.

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I bought a gigantic sack of candy bars for the trick-or-treaters on Halloween. The mistake I made was buying Twix bars. I’m not sure what I thought I was doing buying my biggest vice in the Mars candy world. Twix are my achilles heel. If the Romans built a prison of Twix bars around me, I could eat my way out in hours. I love Twix, okay? Anyway, to my surprise, I have so far been able to leave the giant sack of delicious chocolate covered caramel drizzled shortbread cookies alone for nearly a week. Six more days to go before Halloween, though. If I break, I’ll be handing out Milkbones. Stay strong, Switz.

When August arrived this summer, I was feeling like a lazy bum being sedentary and not doing anything active with my body. Unfortunately, it was 118 degrees all summer long, and running was simply out of the question for me. I’m just not that hardcore. Team sports and I go together about as well as dill pickles and chocolate syrup, so that was out. I looked into some martial arts, but the karate clubs nearby had weird schedules that wouldn’t work for me. Then I found a Title Boxing Club like 2 miles from my house. They have a free class for newbies to try, and I figured what the heck, let’s give it a go. I went in, and before even trying the free class, I decided I may as well go ahead and join. I signed myself up for a year-long membership, got my gloves and wraps, and took my place next to one of the 170 pound punching bags, ready for class to begin.

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Class starts, and I’m already feeling like an energized badass. Montell Jordan immediately starts playing in my head, and I’m bopping around like Million Dollar Baby. We start off with some cardio—jumping jacks, mountain climbers, sprints. “Aw yeah,” I say to myself, “You got this shit.” Not five minutes later, I am going into cardiac arrest, feeling like throwing up all over my neighbors and myself, and yawning continually due to lack of oxygen to my brain. This was no joke. They were beating my ass. Inside my head I was saying things like, “Becca, you’re a lunatic—why did you ever sign up for this? A YEAR OF THIS? You’re going to die.” Regrets.

I had 55 long minutes left.

By the time class ended, I found myself laying face down on the floor, motionless, and in need of a stretcher to deliver my carcass to my vehicle. The next two days were absolutely brutal. My body was bitch slapped. They bitch slapped my entire body. I am not exaggerating when I say that I literally could not walk down the stairs. I could hardly put on my pants. I had trouble getting into my Jeep. It was rough.

THANK GOD! That’s what I signed up for after all. Boy do they whip you into shape up there. I am feeling and looking fit as a fiddle, you guys. If you have a Title Boxing Club near you, I highly recommend going. 

The only downside is that I’ve really torn up my poor knuckles. My hands are starting to look pretty haggard. People probably think I fight bums in the street for crack because of the way my knuckles look. Tradeoffs.

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So I’ve been cooking a lot. The photos of my meals have been getting a lot of attention lately, so I think I might start throwing some easy recipes on here every couple of days. THOUGHTS? Tell me how you feel about it. They are all low calorie, super simple and delicious meals. 

Ok bye.

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B:  “YOLO!  ….I don’t even actually know what that means.”

C:  “You only live once.”

B:  “Oh. I thought it was some sort of salutation.”

LLLLET’S GET READY TO JINGLLLLE!!!!

30 Nov

Listen, girls and boys. I just compiled the Christmas albums for one lucky winner out there. It’s so FANTASTIC! I’ve got tinsel growing out of my scalp, mistletoe hanging from my ears, hot chocolate flowing through my veins, and ribbon flying out from my fingers just from putting it together. Oooooo WEEE! It’s such a great mix. I can’t wait for you to pop it into your stereo and rock around the Christmas tree to it with a santa hat on.

SO, I’m too anxious to hold on to this prize any longer, so I’m going to hold the drawing tomorrow (Thursday) night at 8:00 PM central daylight time.  WHO’S IT GONNA BE!?!?

If you aren’t in the drawing yet, it’s not too late! Become eligible for prizes by:

1)   Subscribing to Sheppard’s Pie

&

2)   Leaving comments! Every comment you leave puts your name in the drawing each time.

If you’re already eligible, up your chances by leaving a few more comments. Everyone wins. Me, you, Santa—everyone.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year,

Switzer Claus

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B:   …I’m driving behind an SUV that has a sticker on the rear windshield that says “GUILTY OF BEING WHITE.”
Z:   Haha. What is that supposed to mean?
B:   Haha. I don’t know?
Z:   I guess you and I are guilty also.

Missed connections.

21 Nov

Listen everyone. I know you probably started to think that I had died or lost interest in writing or got into a horrific car accident damaging my brain so badly that I lost the ability to read, write, or eat solid foods, but I didn’t. The truth is….I’ve just been a lazy piece of shit. I am SO sorry. (For those of you who are reading this too quickly or who are stupid, that was seasoned heavily with sarcasm. In other words, I’m not sorry.)

Just kidding. I am sorry. I have dropped the ball and bored all of you readers who rely on this blog to make it through your shitty days at the office or your unstimulating college courses five days a week. Allow me to redeem myself. Nobody’s perfect, you guys.

ANYway, a lot has happened since the last time I blogged. I went shopping with Katie Holmes, I totaled my car, adopted a kitten, and was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. Just kidding. My car still sucks, I hate cats, and I’m healthy as a horse. I’m not kidding about the Katie Holmes part though. My good friend (yeah right, she’s a bitch) Alison and I were shopping in Southside, and who did we find ourselves shopping right alongside but Katie Holmes. Literally like right next to. Like, we could have touched her. Good thing we didn’t though, because there were two or three body guards roaming around pretending to be shoppers who would have electrocuted us with cattle prodders had we even looked at her queer.

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I’ve done a lot of clothes-buying this month. It’s bad. I moved out here to Pennsylgaynia this spring with like two shirts and a pair of pants (not kidding). Then suddenly I decided I needed more clothes since I left 98% of my wardrobe back in Iowa, so I “spruced up” the ol’ wardrobe. Actually I replaced my whole wardrobe. Meh. That’s what money’s for, right? I have a really hard time refusing autumn and winter wear, you guys. Sweaters, cardigans, jeans, boots, mittens, coats—IT’S SO GREAT!!!!! Anyway, I need to be invited to a bunch of parties and dinners and happy hours to show them all off now. Send invitations to 403 YEAH RIGHT LIKE I’M GOING TO GIVE YOU STALKERS MY ADDRESS!!!!!!

I’m out of control.

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So the holidays are HERE! I’m very excited. I am deeply saddened however that I will not be spending Thanksgiving at my parents’ house, being a glutton and stuffing my body with mountainous heaps of Thanksgiving fare.  😦   If I were back in glorious Iowa, I would currently be sitting at the kitchen table, blaring the Charlie Brown Christmas CD, chugging quarts of gravy, and consuming baked goods at an alarming rate. Oh boy. I have been whistling Anne Murray songs whilst traipsing up and down the grocery aisles, spreading Christmas cheer everywhere I go. I LOVE THE HOLIDAYS!

I’ve been using a lot of caps loc and exclamation points during this post. This is what happens when I let blogs build up inside me like this. Sorry for frightening those with heart conditions and/or pregnant or nursing women.

Anyway, since I am not going to be enjoying a Thanksgiving feast at the Sheppard residence this year, Trent and I are going to whip up some food ourselves. Granted, it won’t lay a finger on my mother’s gravy, but it’s better than eating Velveeta Shells & Cheese in celebration of the holiday. Our menu includes the following:

  • Pheasant green bean casserole (….Trent went hunting last week)
  • Chestnut stuffing
  • Sweet potato pie
  • Mashed potatoes
  • Whatever else is on sale
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In case you aren’t aware, I have the biggest hard-on for yams. I love yams. I found this recipe that someone posted for this sweet potato pie, and drooled all over my keyboard and decided to try it:
“Oh my gawd Becca, are you gluten intolerant? So cool that you’re trying to be healthy!”
Health has nothing to do with it, and I f-cking love gluten. This recipe just sounded dope. I used regular pre-made graham cracker crust, so there’s plenty of gluten to go around, folks.
Well, that’s all I’ve got in me for now. I will try to do this more often. OKAY?
Bye frans. Oh, and it’s not my birthday.

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T:   “I don’t think I want the dog getting on the bed anymore.”

B:   “Why!?!”

T:   “Because, babe. I watched him step in his own poop today. He stepped in his own poop.”

The gift of giving.

14 Oct

Uh….Fox? First you put a friggin baseball game over The X Factor, and NOW you move X Factor to Sunday on top of DEXTER?!?!?!  Whoever is making the decisions up there needs to choke on a pickle and croak. To make matters worse, for some reason it is impossible to record The X Factor on the DVR. It gets all f-cked up. Looks like we’ll be watching The X Factor in real time, and watching Dexter immediately afterward. Sigh. Difficulties.

Last night before bed, my dog failed to take a dump. Meh, he’ll go in the morning, I shrugged. This morning when I took him out to do his business, he trotted to the end of the porch, realized it was pouring rain and gusting wind, and turned right around and marched back to the front door. I did manage to convince him to at least face the rain for a quick minute to take a pee, but he galloped back to the front door as fast as he could to get out of the driving rain (he’s a diva). Skipping two typical times to poop was unusual, but I figured he could wait until I got home after lunchtime to pinch one off.

My day dragged on, and by the time I finished my tasks at the office and ran to Wal-Mart to get some groceries, it was already 3:45 before I made it home. Trent had beat me there by no more than a minute. The front door opened, and out bounded Raleigh, followed by a displeased looking Trent. “Why don’t you go look at what your dog did,” he said distastefully.

I walked inside the apartment, stepping into the kitchen with a direct view into the living room. Trent’s birthday is on Monday, so there is a nice pile of festively wrapped birthday presents in the corner of the living room. They were all from me, except one. Looks like Raleigh left a “present” of his own. Directly next to the pile of presents was a big steaming pile of runny shit. Poor Raleigh had held his poop in for 18 hours longer than usual, and just couldn’t hold it any longer. When I didn’t get home until late afternoon, he had no choice but to let hell break loose on the living room carpet.

It was a bad one, too. Not just a tidy little dog log. This was a sloppy pile of mushy dog poo. Not ideal.

Anyway, that was my Friday afternoon.

Sorry about how gross that dog shit picture is by the way. Look how shiny it is.

….gross.

While I was at Wal-Mart today, I paused at a shelf at the end of the pet aisle and investigated this product:

“It’s a rain coat…..it’s a bandana…..it’s a…..rain bandana.”

…Is this the best they could do? That’s not even clever. They didn’t even give it a creative name. It’s meat…..it’s a loaf…..it’s a…..meatloaf.

Is anyone really going to buy their animal a rain coat? Is any animal actually going to wear a rain coat? I know my dog is a pussy about the precipitation, but I’m not about to slap a raincoat on him before he scurries outside to tinkle.

Well, that’s enough blasphemy for today I think. Time to bury my face in a million baked goods, compliments of my mother.

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R is the most menacing of sounds. That’s why they call it MUR-der, and not muckduck.”