Nikki and Paulo on LOST

You know, LOST was one of my all time favorite shows. Loved it. Adored It. Couldn't get enough of it. And I'm still pissed off that it's not on anymore! Luckily, there are DVD's to be had, so that I can get my little LOST fix whenever I feel like it. But there's one thing that always puzzled me about LOST. Well, I mean, aside from all the major stuff that puzzled me about LOST. Specifically, I'm talking about Nikki and Paulo. I mean seriously, WTH?

So I made this sort of Motifake poster for my Meme Mania collection. Fellow LOSTies like myself will surely get the humor. If you're not a LOST fan, it's definitely going to be LOST on YOU. Ahem. But I'm posting it because I have been re-watching the series and they popped into my head as a result.

And if you didn't watch LOST, might I suggest that you dive right in, if only to join us in appreciating the mystery of Nikki and Paulo. Who am I kidding, they're not a reason to watch the show. But if you do need a reason...one word: Sawyer.

Any questions?

My Night with Johnny Depp

I recently spent the night with Johnny Depp. In my dreams, that is. This was totally unintentional on my part, mind you. I do love Johnny Depp, but I'm not overly-obsessed with him or anything. I think he's very talented and, yes, HOT. But that's about it as far as my fandom goes. And before you get your dirty mind running amok on you, please note now that this was not a nocturnal sexual rendezvous with said celebrity (dammit!). But it was rather enjoyable to see Johnny for a little while, even if the dream was completely bizarre in every other way.

OK, so in my dream, I had moved into a new house. But it wasn't a house really. It was a trailer. A very crappy trailer. I remember noticing that the living room floor was sagging down rather sharply on one side. In the dream I stood there for a moment and made a mental note of this observation...as if it was somehow important. Sagging floor? Check.

Then I turned and walked to a nearby record player that was built into one of the walls. A record player. You know, that ancient device that would spin large discs filled with music at approximately 33rpm's. The one in my dream looked sort of like this:

 The record player had been hinged to the wall somehow, so that it could be tucked away when not in use. This sounds like something I would indeed do...if I lived in a trailer. You know, as a space-saver. Again it seemed important. Record player? Check.

So anyhoots, I put a record on the record player and music started to play. But I couldn't figure out what song it was. And as I was standing there, listening, and trying to figure out what song I was hearing, Johnny Depp walked in the front door. There were 3 other people in the room, one of whom was my husband, but the other two were faceless (clearly they were friends from the trailer park I must be living in while in the dream--though they weren't significant enough to me to have faces...and they were carrying spatulas for some reason).  Johnny smiled at the Hubs and all but ignored the two faceless friends as he walked past them. He was heading straight to me.

Johnny stopped right in front of me. I said, "Hello," but he didn't speak. He just picked up my hand and kissed it. Then he walked to the record player and started tapping his foot in time to the music. Obviously he knew the song, so I asked him what it was. But naturally, he didn't answer. Apparently sexy celebs don't need to talk in my dreams; they are there purely as eye candy. Natch. After he listened to the tune for a bit he walked over to a nearby piano. Why there's a piano there I really don't know because I don't play, and neither does anyone else I know. But Johnny does, in my dream at least, and so he did. Imagine this, if you will...

Johnny played a song on the piano...again, it was unrecognizable to me. The faceless friends just stared. The Hubs offered him some spaghetti. What else would you offer a celebrity in your dreams, after all? And I do make darn good spaghetti, if I do say so myself. He declined the spaghetti though with a simple shake of his head and finished his song. Then he got up and walked back over to me. He looked me dead in the eye, and he smiled. Oh my gawd, his smile was beautiful. And with absolutely no control over my own facial muscles at that point, in the presence of this famously fabulous and not-too-hard-on-the-eyes male being,  I smiled right back.

Then Johnny opened his mouth to say something. I was mesmerized, and waited for whatever words were going to come forth from his lips, which were a mere 12 inches (or less!) away from me. He leaned in close...closer, and then he whispered to me.

"You had me at 'Hello.'"

Cheesy but classic movie line from the hot celeb in my dream? Check.

Then I heard a microwave beeping and when I turned to look in its direction, Johnny disappeared. And then I woke up. Stupid microwave. As if it doesn't annoy me enough in my waking moments, it has to taunt me in my dreams as well. Who knows what might have happened next, if that damn microwave hadn't started beeping!

On the plus side, I learned some important things as a result of my dream-state brush with fame.

1. That a sagging living room floor might seem important in a dream, but it's really not.

2. That old record players can be tucked away into walls with the proper ingenuity and carpentry know-how.

3. And that cheesy movie lines are just as effective in dreams as they are in the movies, especially when uttered by the one and only Johnny Depp.

Who says you can't learn anything while you sleep, eh?

The Vomit Rocket

Semi-Wordless Wednesday is upon once again. I love finding new images to share for this feature. Sometimes as I'm surfing I just happen upon something that is absolutely perfect. Either it literally made me LOL. Or it made me say Ewwww. Case in point...

This photo makes me appreciate s0mething very important: that I don't ride rollercoasters! I feel so sorry for the person on the receiving end of that puke-fest. And somehow I think that the two guys behind them on the vomit rocket fared only slightly better. I'm sorry, but if someone vomited all over me like that, I would have a difficult time not punching them in the face as soon as we were back on solid ground. Gross.

Passive Aggressive Much, Tina?

There's a blog I subscribe to called Passive Aggressive Notes. It's so hilarious. They post photos of passive-aggressive notes people have written and posted online. I love reading them. But imagine my
lack ofsurprise when I wrote my own passive-aggressive note to the Hubs recently. I wish I'd taken a photo of it, but it was nearly 2am when I did it (I'm a night owl, in case you didn't know) and taking photos at that hour is not something I aspire to do too often. Go figure.

Anyhoots, the A/C had been on for over a month straight, but it was finally, FINALLY, cooling off outside. But I wanted to be sure it was cool enough for the A/C to actually get turned off and put the fan in the window. So, I headed to the front door to open it and get a feel for the temp outside. Or so I thought. But I couldn't unlock the door. Again. Our front door lock for some reason doesn't like to open in the summer. This, I might add, is something the Hubs knows and could actually fix (not for lack of nagging reminding on my part numerous times), but hasn't yet done. So after several failed attempts to open that damn door, I decided to give up and write the Hubs a note as a pleasant reminder that the lock still needs fixed. And it went a little something like this.

Please fix the lock on the front door so that I can open it, before I either take a hammer to it and fix it myself, OR before I decide to remove the hinges, and then the door, lay the door in the alley, and drive back and forth over it repeatedly with the truck. Love, Me.

Is the lock on that door fixed yet? No. But that's just a little taste of how things go with The Hubs and Me. It could be worse, right? I mean, a little passive-aggression is healthy, no?

Wardrobe Malfunction

This Semi-Wordless Wednesday post truly doesn't need many words. See for yourself.

I just love a good wardrobe malfunction, don't you? I'll give him 9.0 for the dive. And 10.0 for the ass.

Brands of Humor

I found this on Tumblr the other day and it really made me laugh out loud. OK, that's a lie. I didn't laugh out loud. But I did giggle out loud. OK, that's not exactly true either. But I did chuckle. Internally. Does that count?

There now. Didn't that tickle your funny bone?

Smurftastic Monday

How can a blog post be boring if it's got the word 'Smurftastic' in it? That's my theory anyway, and I'm sticking with it. This Monday for me is a blogging day...and multiple blogs means multiple blog post duties. But here at Tinalicious I thought I'd wax nostalgic about my weekend. That really ought to make for a Smurftastic Monday blog post, now shouldn't it?

The weekend was interesting for The Hubs and Me. We spent much of it with our grandson, Dylan, as our daughter got ready for her graduation party to celebrate her graduation from Cosmetology School. Yay! And I don't just mean that because I can now get free haircuts for life. No, seriously. But clearly that's a perk. I am not going to deny it.

Anyhoots...on Friday we took Dylan to the Asian Buffet. We occasionally spend our Date Night at the Asian Buffet. This is particularly true when Dylan joins us for Date Night, because he loves that place. The Hubs and I can only take Chinese food so often...I mean, you know, we just have to be in the mood for it. But Dylan is always in the mood for it. And he always eats the same exact things: meatballs, big giant football-shaped bread rolls, and lemon jello.

What? What's that you say? That's not Chinese food? Yeah. We know. But that's what he wants to eat at the Asian Buffet, without fail. So he eats that while we eat the real Chinese food, which we consume in quantities befitting two hogs at their Chinese trough. Isn't that what buffets are for? To be sure.

So after we stuffed ourselves on sweet and sour shrimp, fried rice, and General Tso's Chicken (who the heck General Tso is I really don't know--but his chicken is damn good), we awaited the best part of the meal: the fortune cookies. Now, I seldom eat the fortune cookie, the Hubs never does, and Dylan only occasionally does. We just want the "fortune" that's inside it, which I seldom actually consider to be fortunes because, to me, fortunes should tell you something that is going to happen. But those little paper "fortunes" don't often do that. Rather, they just say something ambiguous or metaphorical and it's supposed to be somehow profound.  But most of the time they just make me laugh, or shake my head. Still, they're fun to read, and after all, what is a meal of Chinese food without a fortune at the end of it? And my fortune was actually, amazingly, and weirdly spot on for once.

It read, "Great! You're ready for a party!"

Since my daughter's graduation party was the next day, that fortune couldn't have been more accurate. For once. So what if the other 100 or so fortunes I've gotten in my life were nowhere near accurate, or even true "fortunes" in many cases. This one was absolutely dead on. So after I reveled in the amazement for a few moments, the next thought that came to mind was that if my fortune is going to be right for like, the first time ever, why couldn't it have said this:

"Great! You're going to lose 50 pounds, gain a financial windfall that will make you debt-free and give you financial freedom for the rest of your life, and you'll finally understand all the mysteries of LOST!"

Now that would have been a great fortune! But oh well. Moving on. We took Dylan to see the Smurfs movie on Sunday. I absolutely loved the Smurfs when I was in high school. They were all the rage back in the day. And what's not to love?

They are just as cute now as they were back then. Maybe even cuter, considering the state of movie technology these days. We loved the movie too. Fun story, lots of laughs for kids and adults, and lots of cute little blue Smurfs.

And oh yeah, before we left the theater I used the restroom. Little did I know that yet another "fortune" would be waiting for me there, taped to the back of the stall door. Now I don't know who's idea it was to post these things on all of the stall doors, and I'm not sure why they would either. I mean, it's not like a person wants to linger too long on a public toilet. But then again, I guess it can't hurt to have some reading material in there either. So anyway, here's the toilet stall fortune that awaited me:

"The elevator to success is broken. You'll have to take the stairs. One step at a time."

So it was kind of profound, I'll give it that. It gave me something to think about, which is never a bad thing when you're taking care of business. And hey, it gave me something to blog about on this Smurftastic Monday.