A warm hello to Lutheran Airlines...

My friend Heather sent me this hilarious joke. This in particular is dedicated to my Cavalier friend who gets tired of me telling Catholic jokes (I figure I can tell as many as my brain can retain considering I'm Catholic too). So, anywho it's da Lutran's turn for a little humor.

WE ARE PLEASED TO ANNOUNCE LUTHERAN AIRLINES IS NOW OPERATING IN MINNYSOTA! ALSO SERVING VISCONSIN, NORDERN MITCHIGEN, NORT & SOUT DAKOTA

If you are travelin soon, consider Lutran Air, the no-frills airline. You're all in da same boat on Lutran Air, here flyin is a upliftin experience. Dair is no first class on any Lutran Air flight. Meals are potluck. Rows 1 tru 6, bring rolls; 7 tru 15, bring a salad;16 tru 21, a hot dish, and 22-30, a dessert. Basses and tenors please sit in da rear of da aircraft. Everyone is responsible for his or her own baggage. All fares are by free will offering, and da plane will not land til da budget is met. Pay attention to your flight attendant, who vill acquaint you wit dasafety system aboard dis Lutran Air. Okay den, listen up; I'm only gonna say dis vonce: In da event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure, I am frankly gonna be real surprised and so vill Captain Olson, because ve fly right around two tousand feet, so loss of cabin pressure would probably mean da Second Coming or someting of dat nature, and I wouldn't bodder with doze liddle masks on da rubber tubes—you're gonna have bigger tings to worry about den dat. Just stuff doze back up in dair liddle holes. Probably da masks fell out because of turbulence which, to be honest wit you, we're gonna have quite a bit of at two tousand feet, sorta like driving across a plowed field, but after a while you get used to it. In da event of a water landing, I'd say forget it. Start saying da Lord's Prayer and just hope you get to da part about forgive us our sins as we forgive dose who sin against us, which some people say 'trespass against us,' but what can you do? Da use of cell phones on da plane is strictly forbidden, not because day may confuse da plane's navigation system, which is by da pants all da way. No, it's because cell phones are a pain in da wazoo, and if God had meant you to use a cell phone, He wudda put your mout on da side of your head. We start lunch right about noon and it's buffet style wit da coffeepot up front. Den we'll have da hymn sing; hymnals are in da seat pockets in front of you. Don't take yours wit you when you go or I am gonna be real upset and I am not kiddin! Right now I'll say Grace:

Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest and let deze gifts to us be blessed. Fader, Son, and Holy Ghost, may we land in Dulut or pretty close.

Now seriously, tell me that isn't funny?!?

Don't eat the yellow (or blue, or red, or green) snow.

Life lessons when you live in the frozen tundra called the Midwest. Veer clear of the yellow snow and ice for obvious reasons. But this is different. A little lesson in art which caught my eye and inspired me in a thrifty-crafty-pre-school sorta way. A simple concept of food coloring and watered solidified by the unbelievable winter temperatures we have been enduring. Resulting in a colorful ice-sculpture-garden that left me with a hankerin' for a Mickey Mouse Popsicle. I dunno, call me crazy I thought it was kinda cool (frigid pun intended).

Fashion Friday: Aretha's Hat Trick.

Hatty Fashion Friday to you! Lets cut to the chase and talk about it. Aretha's inauguration day hat. Love it or hate it? I dunno... I'm on the fence post about this big-bad-arsed-bow of a hat. I LOVE the hat on this cat or this cat in fact. On cow? Just above Dick's brow? Well, it's all fun and games until someone gets stuck wearing it-so go on. Go to buzzfeed and if you have some photo-shopping capabilities don the snazzy hat on an unsuspecting friend. Then cast your official vote to the right. Have a super fantastic weekend.

It's Bikram Baby!

We are talking H.O.T. house baby. The thermostat reads 105 degrees with a side dish of 40% humidity. Just warm enough to get all your muscles loose and stretchy like a piece of Laffy Taffy that has been left on your car's dash mid summer. But, what do I know? I'm just a yoga red shirt following the lead of my yogi-pal. She's the master bender/twister/stretcher/downward dogger (downward dog, huh?). I'm slippin' and slidin' trying to lasso then hoist my sweaty foot behind my back and the Nickster is all zen-like in the, "happy husband," position. Well, fine-so the, "happy husband," is not really the name of that pose but I gotta believe it makes for some... never mind. Anyway the bottom line is it's a good change up from the regular fitness regimen. So dress light, bring lots of water and we'll see any takers THIS Saturday morning in Plymouth for a free session. PS Its a good way to sweat out all those Bud Lights you plan on consuming Friday night-I'm just sayin'.

We. Got. Skunked.

Skunk~d (skungk~d) tr.v. Slang.

1. To defeat overwhelmingly, especially by keeping from scoring.

2. To chill your feet atop 15" of ice for 2+ hours and not catch a single gosh damn fish.

It was my first ice fishing expedition. I donned what I thought to be the right apparel (two pair running tights under Columbia Omni-Tech ski pants, two Under Armour shirts under a cotton turtle neck under a Nike performance hoodie, two pair of wool socks under supposedly warm Columbia boots, a fleece lined skull cap and a down jacket to boot) and I was still freakin' chilly. My Hubby drilled all sorts of holes in the thick, hard, ice and tracked water depth and marked fish with this fancy Vexilar technology (the thing that really takes most of the sport out of old school fishing). We set up the Fish Trap (fancy for a bottomless tent), fired up the propane heater and, "jigged," our little-mini-rods in attempt to lure our prey... the crappies. The first hour my toes where a little cold but nothing I couldn't, "play," through in anticipation of the big bite. One hour-20 minutes in I'm getting a little antsy I haven't had so much as a nibble on my line and my piggies are starting to tingle (and speaking of tingle-I gotta pee and there is no way I can drop trou in a snow bank). One hour-40 minutes in our fancy lil heater runs outta juice and I can see my breath in the, "tent," every time I open my mouth to pout and my feet are definitely frozen. One hour-55 minutes my Hubby realizes his Eskimo wife is at her limit and will NEVER come back if a hot shower and perfectly steeped cup of tea is not administered STAT. But anyway, the story is really only sorta funny if you watch my two clips-combined it's a 3 minute time investment-but it's this or some other You Tube crap, so go on... pause the blog music and watch em.

My Hubby is the world's best sport...

...but even a good sport can only be a good sport so long...

Must see TV.

I'm a list maker. Maybe I've told you before, but I make list of what I need to do, should do, want to do, dream to do, etc, etc, etc. My whole list thing is slightly neurotic if I do say so myself. Which brings me to TV. I don't own a Ti-Vo/DVR doo-hickey for fear the backlog of recorded shows would be another page in my, "to do notebook." I likely would never leave the confines of my living room because of the crazy need to watch every single trashy tabloid talk show, soap opera, so-called-reality-tv and sitcom. Instead I single out just a few weekly picks, screen my phones calls, "ssshhhh," my husband and focus on my non-HD boob tube. So here are the hours you can't call, or rather you can-I just won't answer. But listen, why would ya call on Wednesdays at 7 when you could be watching the New Adventures of Old Christine? Julia Louise Dreyfus is hysterical AND it's a sitcom. Thirty minutes. Your in, your out, and no one gets hurt. Soooo, it's 7:30 and your snug as a bug, no forehead wrinkles or scowl lines since you've just spent the last half hour giggling like a school girl. Why not make it a square hour and stay tuned for Gary Unmarried. After all it was voted this years' People's Choice Award, so it's not just me who thinks it's funny. Then exercise some restraint and turn the damn thing off. You'll have another shot Thursday night at 8 when you gaze into McDreamy's eyes through the thick glass of your Zenith. Grey's Anatomy... I'm still a fan. So see that's just two hours to rest your brain from those literary marvels you have been dowering. But JUST in case you are looking for a little box DVD set of absolute hilarity you MUST rent, Netflix or purchase Strangers with Candy. Amy Sedaris plays a non-trad high school student who was a, "boozer, a user and a loser, but now she's back in school," and delivers the most un-pc comedy cable has ever seen. Be sure to make it a guilty pleasure and watch all 3 seasons in one weekend. I mean if I can do it-so can you.

The Vlog.

Just when you feel like you have the cyber world by the go-nads you see yet another technical advancement in the world of blogging. Say hello to the vlog. Kinda like a blog post only completely animated and way over my head. My personal vlog fav? The Blah, Blah, Blah girls. Who post a new vlog every Monday, have a hilarious site, sell Blah T-shirts, post celebrity smut AND manage to have an endorsement from Vitamin Water. Totally hate-able if they weren't so damn funny. Speaking of funny-tomorrow I'll give you the 411 on some MUST see sitcoms since it's to freakin' cold to do anything else.

Happy Birthday Catfish!

Dude, duuuuude, d-uuuuuu-da! It's time for a shout out to an oldie, but a goodie! Catfish, Catfish, Catfish... If you hadn't asked me to, "play nice," I woulda had no problem telling the world you are 27 years away from collecting your first, "ss," check. Opps, well anyway what's the big deal-e-o bout almost being fffff... forrr.... forttt... Oh, almostfortyget it already. How's that go? You are only as old as you act (feel, whatever). In your case I'd say your older than 2, but not a day over 21. If the porch was open, I'd crank Buffet on the Ipod & send ya off with a birthday jig-you handsome devil you! This Bud's for you! Happy Birthday to one of my most favorite people in the whole wide world!

Resolve.

Happy Fashion Friday. I know, I know. Today I am supposed to produce some useless fashion info that you likely never ahere to. But, I'm busy. Busy working on New Year's resolutions. I thought I better get them in writing before I cast them off as lost causes. NYE this year was a little different than years past for a few reasons. A. I stayed awake waaaay past midnight. B. I tried a on a couple of Mexican traditions for size. C. Instead of trudging through the snow I shuffled through the sand. MOM and I rang in the New Year in prime time style this year. On the beach for a fiesta fit for the 2 queens we are. Lucky for us the cute, little (& when I say little I mean it) Mexican waiter had a little, "thing," for me. N-E-V-E-R in all of Mexican history has a table received better service under the, "open bar," philosophy. You can tell by the gloss in my eyes we took full advantage (of the open bar, NOT the waiters advances). We dined on lobster bisque, shrimp the size of my palms and pina coladas after pina coladas after, well you get the picture. So back to the new traditions. Each guest writes a wish for 2009 and attaches it to a balloon. At the stroke of midnight the entire clan releases the balloons over the ocean in attempt to make the wish come true and pollute our natural resources. I of course, wished for Health, Happiness and all 6 Power Ball Numbers. Then this happened. Fireworks, waves crashing in. The steamy, salty air flushing our dewy cheeks. Soooo romantic - if you weren't there with your MOM.

What NYE fiesta wouldn't be complete with a mantra of American tunes blasting across the bay for a beach side dance party? Now, I had consumed my fair share of, "toddies," but I was no where near catching up with this drunk dancer...

We laughed, we drank, we shared a truly great mother-daughter memory. And then we got the hell outta there as soon as MOM spotted her Mexican stalker (Sebastian) for fear he would make her dance. "Leen-da," as he so lovinly refered to her, has never left a party so fast in her life.

Ok, so real resolutions... Drink more water, eat better and overcome all challenges with a positive attitude AND all 6 Power Ball numbers (someone has to win). Happy Friday!

MOM caught on tape.

Ohhhh, Mama Mia... What did we do before we could capture bathing suit videos on our digital cameras?!? BTW, it's nine degrees here. Nine, 9, niiiiinnnnnneeee! Remind me why we live here instead of some tropical paradise?

Tomorrow, we talk resolutions. No more putting it off, 2009 is here and now. Get off your hump and make, "it," happen.

El Centro-not so nice-o.

Well, you might think we spent all day everyday drinking coconut juice, soaking up the Vitamin D and listening to the waves crash in. But, as I hinted yesterday our trip to el centro wasn't hiccup (or should I say gag) free. So let me set the stage. It's HOT. Freakin' HOT. We're treking through the mangled, little, sea side town in search of the perfect chili relleno. Mario, the leather amigo, sent us on a wild goose chase down the board walk, over the foot bridge, into the ghetto of all ghettos only to find the sketchy "restaurant," closed. MOM wasn't the typical happy camper on the blistering walk back. I led the way guiding her around the trip, stumble and fall hazards that plague this little Mexican village. And wouldn't ya know it. I, the fearless leader, the guide, got caught up in some gawking... And just that quick I was caught under the Policia's sniper fire. Not really. The real truth is I was snooping in an open door and when I turned my head to march on... I marched my forehead right into a metal awning. Talk about adding injury to insult or however the hell it goes! This was it. The adventure into the city was over as far as MOM was concerned. But being the tough broads we are we gave er one more try at Fontnac Susies for our sought after rellenos. You'll be surprised to hear this establishment offered a ceiling fan on low and no a/c. I ordered dos rellenos via sign language and half assed Spanish. The plates came and I posed for a photo, documenting our journey, goose-egg and all. And then did the unthinkable. One bite, the first bite, produced a guttural gag so loud I can still hear it. MOM didn't think we should have to pay for food that tastes like a, "soggy paper towel." I suggested she consider whether she wanted to try and explain that to a woman who doesn't speak one i-oda of the English language. She thought it best to just pay and leave when I told her, "if you think its hot in here, wait till you get to the Mexican jail!" We hailed the nearest cab and went back to the beach to, "drink," our dinner. Never fear the next day we rallied... the split forehead and near vomit attach wasn't all in vain. We made the trek back past the family selling freshly caught oysters on the half shell. I made a friend at the fish market who insisted I pose, "kissing," this ugly Mahi Mahi. And an amiga whom I purchased a handcrafted necklace from insisted I email her a copy of this photo. We left el centro just after an entire city power outage that scared the begeezuz outta us.

Tomorrow a MOM beach video-hilarious.

Hola chicos y chicas!

I'm back, we're back. I traveled 4.5 hours each direction with my jittery-air-travelin-mom, praise be for in-flight cocktails (5 US dollars). We checked in to a great little hotel, right smack center, on playa la ropa, the best beach in the area. Before you could say, "dos cervezas por favor," MOM had a margarita (foreign ice and water won't scare her) in hand (33 pecos). While basking day after day in 87 degrees of tropical bliss we still needed to establish some sort of a schedule (two bossy type A's what do you expect?). Each morning at 6am we woke just long enough to mark our daily territory (lounge chairs) with blue and white striped towels. We exchange a few words on our differing preferences for the A/C setting and catch at least another hour (if not two) of pre beach sleep. At 9am sharp every morning we invest 60 minutes to get a full bod massago-la from the Marias' (250 pecos). Every massage MUST be washed down with an icy cold Corona and a wedge of fresh lime (24 pecos) and some guacamole and sea salted tortilla chips (30 pecos). A little splish-splash (cold?! nah, warm!!!)in the Pacific and MOM is ready to do some beach side bartering with one of the silver dealers (25 US dollars). I take the more frugal approach and purchase two of these woven Mexican specialties ($3 US dollars). After our sun kissed cheeks are rosey red and our shoulders golden brown we hail a Mexican hell ride into the el centro of Zihuantanejo (30 pecos). We walk (and walk) in the sweltering town square in search of the perfect chili relleno. I run into a metal awning and take a chunk outta my forehead and MOM audibly gags on some nasty Mexican fare (priceless). Detalles mañana. (Details tomorrow.) Adios.

I'll tell you one thing...

...while we may be drinking beer and sipping fruity drinks with umbrellas don't expect us to fall for this trick. Well, on second thought don't expect to see me, but you never can be too certain about MOM. I'll bring you home a baggy of sand and a 3 for $9.99 t-shirt.

PS Happy New Year. Can't wait to talk resolutions with you. Were do we even begin?!?