Of all the things I’ve lost, I miss my mind and my Kings Island season pass from 1989 the most.
Thanks again to Safe Ride KY, you can get a free Lyft ride this Fourth of July.
Just quickly enter the code SAFERIDEKY4TH19 into your Lyft app in the Promo section.
Do it now, before the $10,000 is claimed!
And don’t say I never gave you anything.
Beware of foam parties.
I once sprained my knee — or did something to it to make it grow three times its size — during a foam party in the basement of Jillian’s. I think they called it Atlas at the time.
It was the middle of winter, too, so not many people were as excited as I was to do the running man in the middle of a pool of bubbles. In fact, I nearly had the bubbly dance floor to myself.
I fell. A lot. And came out soaking wet — something they don’t tell you before you enter. But, alas, it is a pool of soap bubbles, so I guess there’s water involved.
Anyway, I saw an event this weekend for a Pride foam party, and my 42-year-old self felt the need to reach out to my 27-year-old idiotic self and warn her about the fragility of knees. They won’t always be on your side, so treat them with kindness.
Which means it’s time for basketball and green beer and warmer weather and an all-day parade in the Highlands and the freedom to do Irish Car Bombs without people looking at you funny and buckets of beer while watching basketball and Dundee Dip and a planned trip to St. Louis (and the Bud factory!) and judging cocktail competitions (mint julep and manhattan) and …
How about the weather catch up now to March?
What if I told you I was out trying to make the world a better place, would you believe me?
What if I told you I was opening my own tiki bar in Destin, Fla., would you believe me?
What If I told you I was hanging out with Punky Brewster and we were plotting a reunion show in the same super market where her mom left her, would you believe me?
What if I told you I just got busy and didn’t have anything clever to say, would you believe me?
Well, one out of the four is true.
Happy New Year!
How will you spend your year? Bitchin’ or itchin’ for new adventures?
Of course I’m now on a self-imposed diet that is no fun, but I’m trying to move a lot more and not put as much cheese in my mouth.
I’ll also promise to post more, but we all know how that goes.
Be kind, be useful, smile, use sunscreen, tell someone you like their pants, don’t eat after midnight, mind the gap, and enjoy 2019!
Not to jump on the bandwagon of banning Christmas songs, but I have one I think we need to stop playing as well.
The 1953 song “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” is not only annoying as hell, but it calls for a domestication of the mostly herbivorous African mammal, which is nearing extinction. If American children start receiving a hippo in their stockings or under their trees, this will decimate the population in the wild.
Perhaps it was cool to keep a hippo as a pet in the ’50s, when they could roam around the ranch-style houses out in the suburbs, but it’s just not convenient for today’s housing trends. And have you seen the size of hippo poo?
Context or no context, this song is terribly inappropriate in the wake of the #IWantAHippoToo movement.
Also, the more songs we ban, the more Mariah Carey Christmas masterpieces we hear!