I Think Our Hands Just Made A Baby

"Hopeless emptiness, now you've said it. Plenty of people are onto

the emptiness, but it takes real guts to see the hopelessness."

I finally got around to watching Revolutionary Road (also known as Titanic: The Sequel - c'mon, Winslet, DiCaprio, AND Bates?) last night and aside from being profoundly disturbed by it, I really enjoyed it - which, when you get right down to it, isn't all that shocking since I love the crap out of Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio. I have Britney Spears/Justin Timberlake feelings about the two of them. You know, like, just be together forever and all will be right in the (my) world. I wonder if dear old Mendes (Winslet's recent ex-hubatron and director of the film) saw it all unraveling before his eyes while shooting this? I realize he was the one to end the marriage, but can you really blame him when every one of her acceptance speeches involved teary-eyed, heartfelt gushes confessing her love for Leo, only to be followed by a: "And my dear, wonderful husband, who I love so much" (to be read in an English accent for full effect, please)? So while I usually feel some measure of sorrow when my fave celebs are dealt a bum hand in the marriage department, this one just opened the doors for all my wildest dreams to come true. Okay, Kate and Leo spam-time is over. But I thought the movie was brilliant, as were the two of them in it. And I especially love an ending that makes you stop and evaluate what you just saw and that allows you to draw your own conclusions about its message. Like 17 Again, which I also watched this weekend. He, too, almost cost himself everything he loved most in the world because he blamed his wife for the fact that he was never given the chance to become a college basketball star. Trials and tribulations, man, trials and tribulations.

Clearly, my weekend has been filled with meaningful excitement. I did go out Friday night (go ahead and gasp, I won't be offended) and basked in the sweet melodies of local karaoke wonders and mullets. It was just the three of us for most of the night because, as luck would have it, we picked a night where no one else decided to go out. But I still managed to do enough damage to cause myself a severe case of the vodka/tequilla morning sweats that forbade me from functioning in an upright position until 3:00 p.m. Booyah, grandma. I must say, though, I find the weight of Sundays to be quite debilitating. How are you to enjoy yourself when the shitpile that is Monday is merely hours away? Worst. Not to mention Boss Man and Boss Lady are in MEXICO until Friday, living the good life, while I'm stuck at the office with Boss Lady's Mother. She's a dear woman, but never stops talking. Usually just out loud to herself, but you never know for sure until you've already walked all the way to the office to find out that, yes, t'was a one woman conversation. Or perhaps it's an, "Oh, you've got an email here" so, all right, let me come see what it is. "Oh, it's just saying that the last email you sent was read." Oookay, GREAT. Thank you. Do keep me posted on those.

Overworked and underpaid makes le moi one whiny bitch.

Photos via Variety & Just Jared

Bringing Home Beula

Isn't she lovvvvvvvely; isn't she wonnnnn-DER-ful. Isn't she preeeecious, less than one minu - all right, so she's 20 years old. That only adds to her charm and numerous bounding capabilities, as far as I'm concerned. & really, who else need be concerned? Bloggers, meet Beula. This big, beautiful she-beast is the result of the 13 hour Beula-bound journey that I subjected myself to, along with the company of Pere and Frere, yesterday, all day. Poor Mere was confined to the unmovable abode due to work obligations, but all the while eagerly awaiting her ship to come in. Unfortunately, the ship isn't ACTUALLY in yet and, therefore, the title is somewhat misleading, but they just need to give ol' Beuls a spit shine (& hopefully a carpet shampoo. That pink monster at the front? Whoaaa, gag me.) and get her road ready (and, you know, have us actually pay the rest of the sale price) and then she's allll ours.

I don't know if you've ever been lucky enough to make it to Jumbo Land (this may not be the legit name for it; gamers retreat) in a game of Super Mario Bros. but it happens to be loosely based on my family. My dad is a large man who just so happens to like large things. Thankfully, mind you, not brand new and shiny large things. Like Beula here. You see her fly by you on the highway; you don't think, "Well, they're loaded", you exclaim, "HOT DOG! I bet they are having a GOOD time." Detracts from the pompousness and adds to the charm. You see how that works? Same goes for our enormo boat. She's old, of the same colour scheme as Boundind Beuls, but happens to be 26 feet and sleep four people. The truck? A '79; Maw needs a step ladder to get in. (I do not, but should probably use one anyway for the viewing convenience of anyone who happens to be watching from behind. It ain't pretty.) Poopaw works a mere 10 minutes away and you can already hear him coming when he hits approximately eight. The TV downstairs, roughly 56 inches, but it's no plasma flatscreen. If it were hollow, I could probably live inside it comfortably. So you get the point.

Here at Redneck Junction, we go big and bring it home.

Jump Up Ya'll

Before I begin, I must (literally, I'm being forced to) give credit where credit is due and point out my usage of the acronym SFA (read: 'sweet fuck all') in one of my previous entries. According to the Beef, "Nobody else says that, you know." So I would like to take this opportunity to announce how much I love him and appreciate his willingness to share his unique, super hip lingo with me towards the betterment of my blog. SYFA : )

Ever since I started this blog, I knew I would one day devote an entry to the surreal splendor that is Steven Seagal: LAWMAN because that's just the kind of impact it has had on my life. Honest to God, how many of you have known the world's best kept secret and haven't let on until now? The Beef and I discovered it while flipping through the channels in our hotel room in Ottawa and sat in muted wonder, for what eventually became two hours, at the sights unfolding before our eyes. I really can't even put into words the 'reality' of this reality show. I don't think Steven Seagal is a real man. Howwwww has no one publicly outed him as a man of the law before the creation of this show? Or maybe I am just not a die-hard Seagal worshipper and shouldn't be anywhere near as shocked by this as I am. But let's be real for a hot second, if Steven Seagal ever pulled you over or knocked on your door at 3 a.m. to deliver some unfortunate news... ? WHAT? I don't even. You may as well just strike me dead on the spot for a variety of reasons that I can't explain.
Unfortunately, that was the first and last time I will ever be privy to the ludicrous wonders of Steven Seagal's many passions as he was recently accused of sexual harassment and sex trafficking (that panda suddenly looks like it's weeping, doesn't it.) Seriously. I am having just the WORST day. I can only get out of my bed on one side, but it was the wronnnnng one today. (I definitely hijacked that from my FB status and I don't even care. You read it twice and you like it.) But innocent until proven guilty, Steven. Innocent until proven guilty. I may tune in another day.

Like I said, today has been a real fucking rotten sack of turd but there was one thing that managed to make me laugh until I had tears in my eyes and I believe it says a lot about me as a human being. Perusing through some gossip blogs, I came across a post about probably the most horrifyingly repulsive movie that will ever be made, The Human Centipede, and I wish I didn't have to say anything more about it than that, but what I'm leading up to requires a little context, so here goes:
themovieisaboutacrazeddoctorwhoattachesthreevictimstogethermouthtoanus
tocreateahumancentipede.
*EXHALE* Ew ew ew ew FREAKING EW. So, before knowing this, I entered the post to see what the hell it was about, and what people had to say about it, and came across this:

Commenter1: You know, if it's mouth to anus, the girl up front has it the best. She gets to like, eat food instead of shit.
Commenter2: But he [person in front is actually a man] has to deal with knowing what he's doing to the others. I couldn't eat.
Commenter3: Right? I have trouble taking a dump if there's someone in the stall next to me. Can't imagine the stress of pooping into someone's mouth.

HAHAHAHAHA. Literal 'lmao irl' happening here. I relate to the fears of public pooping, which is maybe why I find this so hilarious, but whatever. I don't feel I should ever have to justify the humour in this to anyone. Case in point, that is the best thing I will have read/heard all week long. Praise the Interwebz.

Anyway, I'm exhausted. I just want to curl into a ball and have Phil Collins sing me lullabies.

Photo via TVjab

Jack Frost Chapping At Your Ass

I would like to quote a distinct phrase from my last entry, posted not more than 24 hours ago, in which I described the weekend weather as "freakishly beautiful." (I may have been in Ottawa but my northerly sources have confirmed similar swass-inducing temperatures in Timmins.) Well, LO AND BEHOLD, the world has once again righted itself and shat all over my front yard.

Let this read as a PSA for anyone considering a leisurely trip up north (HA. z'ifff.). TURN YOUR CAR AROUND. Here is what I saw upon gazing at the abomination that await me out my front window this morning and then on my drive to work. The radio announcement of the 15cm to come caused an involuntary "ARE YOU FUCKED?" to fly from my lips while alone in the car.

Now feast your eyes on two comparison shots taken a mere eight hours later:

I, unfortunately, didn't think to capture the bare roof of the ol' bird muncher in the first shot so as to elicit louder gasps of horror, but playing "Spot the Differences" here shouldn't result in a spontaneous case of the sweats. Might I add, there is currently no end to Mother Nature shitting the bed in sight.

Sweet baby J.

Patio Lanterns

"Here's a song that's as fun as getting champagne bubbles up your nose; and we all know how fun that can be." -- local radio DJ (& I use that term loosely.) Weird on it's own, right? Well the song that followed had no mention of champagne whatsoever, nor was it a particularly fun tune. Sometimes you need to get away, just to know that there are real people who know real things and are fully connected to the real world out there. Or, you can go to Ottawa for the weekend and get asked every five minutes for your spare change by a man down on his luck and to which, "AM I TIME TRAVELLING?!" may seem like an appropriate response for some.

Intro aside, I've been a bad blogger. Bad blogging skills aside, green tea lattes made at home taste like sweet, green ass compared to the stuff you overpay to have someone else make you at some established caffeine machine.

Thursday night. All aboard the l'auto bus for a never-ending journey to the land of O. My bus driver had a moustache full of secrets. There was a man who looked like he had no recollection of what marbles even looked like, nevermind having just lost a few, and sported a red flannel coat with a white, winter headband, dotted with tiny roses. Questionable as a fashion accessory, yes, but apparently made a pretty good night cap when it came time to snooze. Man with bladder problems who couldn't seem to help himself from molesting my hair every time he passed by. Sun burnt woman with vacation braids. Oh.. the vacation braids. It's all well and good while in a tropical locale, but people... you will eventually be returning to your sub-zero homes. Leave your braids on the beach. It's not cute. My very own seat partner (the bus was packed the entire way there. What thrills.) got into the good books fast with the peace offering of a Lindor chocolate egg, but slowly worked her way out again with repeated cell phone calls using her outdoor voice and frequent "DUDE"s.

All in all, it was a weekend well spent and much needed. The weather was freakishly beautiful for this time of year and we indulged in Parliament, patios and hangovers all weekend long. Finally got to see my beloved Tran after missing her on the first breakfast round in February (where I was graced with the company of two of my other AA lovelies, however) and spent some quality time with Streetbox & friends before she makes her grand departure back home this upcoming weekend. Spent the majority of Sunday travelling back to the Beef's (b/f+phonetics=beef) house for glorious Easter dinner with the fam, rocking out to shawtys on the dancefloor the whole way. Traffic was a bitch. Needless to say, way too much travelling occurred this weekend and I could have killed a busload with my looks on the way home. Bed is good. I never want to leave.

I leave you with this: Dad purchased tickets to the Dixie Chicks/Eagles in Winnipeg for this June and we are totally getting our Chevy Chase vacation on winebago style. Photo documentation will most definitely ensue.

I promise to never get distracted with real life for more than 5 days at a time ever again.

Photo via About.com