Tuesday, September 20, 2011


Just so all you know in addition to all of those mistakes I mentioned in my last post, I walked around all day today with purple highlighted hair. This color was the old lady purplish gray. Ok it really was more gray than purple but for my own sake I rather say purple because it may make me feel a little bit like a hipster. (By the way my freshman year of college I dyed the bottom layer of my hair a deep purple color. I didn't mention it as a mistake because... again... purple hair makes me feel cool.)

I dyed my hair myself because I had highlights that were showing my roots so bad I looked like straight up white trash. Well, I am not sure gray highlights are any better but still. Maybe it is a little because I am lazy but really I just didn't give a shit so I didn't fix my hair last night. Why the hell not just make light of my situation of purple (gray) hair. So I wore a dress today that is black, white, and purple. Yes, purple! No, I don't have any obsession with the color or anything. So my hair slightly matched my outfit today. It really happened. 

I didn't take a picture (sorry everyone) but it really wasn't that noticeable. So unless you came to the Country Gentleman or ran into me at Wal-Mart today (while buying more hair dye) you didn't have the pleasure of seeing the hair. So now, incase you were wondering, I have a nice brunette color. And maybe I will wear something brown tomorrow just to match my hair for a second day in a row. Hell yeah


Monday, September 19, 2011

Bad Habits That I Know I Have, But Will Never Break

I realize many of my bad habits. Some of them I choose to correct and some of them I knowingly keep. Some of these habits are more detrimental than others. One perfect example of a seemingly innocent bad habit is how I keep eating the pizza from Topio’s at “Pav”.

As a sidenote, for those not familiar with the grounds of the University of Virginia, the “Pav” is a well located area on grounds (campus) that looks like a food court, but is way more expensive because students on the meal plan can pay by carelessly swiping their cards until their meal card soon runs out of money.

I am not on the meal plan, yet in a typical week I find still myself at the “Pav” about 2-4 times. The food is not particularly good, and, as I alluded to before, overpriced. I’ve always had a soft spot for pizza and as my metabolism slows down, I still will probably always have a warm place in my heart that will, unfortunately, continually let pizza in.

Disclaimer: picture was taken at UT-Chat, but it could very easily have been UVA
One can safely assume, I have been to “Topio’s” several times in my life and every time I go, I feel sick afterwards, but I don’t care. I still return to “Topio’s” for the convenience and the fact that it is pizza, even if this particular pizza tastes a little more rubbery than slices I’ve eaten at restaurants of similar caliber. The saddest part is, writing this post will not stop me from eating there. I will probably go to Topio’s tomorrow for a slice of wet bread, overloaded cheese, enough grease to send a rocket to Saturn, unevenly proportioned sauce, and inevitable chest pain. 


I read a lot of articles on Cracked.com. Many of them are hilarious, some dumb, and some just go over my head. I read this article tonight and it made me think about my childhood. If you are too lazy to read it that is fine I will summarize it. It is a guy interviewing his parents on the time he wanted to wear a dress as a child. It is mildly funny but it really just made me think about the crazy choices my parents let me do with my clothing choices.

Here is a highlight of a few of them...

1. Pull-ups. While most little girls want the Pull-ups with the Disney princess on them or just the pink off brand ones. I on the other hand refused those and insisted on the boys Pull-ups. Yes, the blue ones with probably little race cars on them.

2.  My lime green wig and my hot pink wig. In elementary school my mom bought me these two wigs for summer camp. We dressed up at camp a lot and I got good use out of them. Then when I was home for the school year I still wanted to wear them. I once wore one to Blockbuster with Carlile Phillips mortified and Courtney just laughing (along with everyone else) at me. I didn't give a shit. The other time I wore one was again with Carlile (SORRY) when we went to Indianola Academy's homecoming... probably when Louise was on homecoming court or something. I remember watching it in the gym and the theme for homecoming was Retro or something.

3. Again homecoming, my year in the first grade. I saw my brother, who was in the 8th grade, dress up for the different themes. So I went to school in a pleather mini skirt and a white tank. Not sure what the theme was but no one else in the first grade (or the entire elementary for that matter) dressed up. And I thought I looked so good. 

4. The lime green patent leather clogs (as mentioned in the previous post). They were the only pair of shoes I have even whole heartedly never wanted to take off. They were amazing. From Payless and made a lot of noise when I walked... one reason why I loved them. I do like to annoy people sometimes. They were so ugly and everyone made fun of me that summer (another reason why I loved them). They seemed to just disappear at the end of that summer we added on the garage.

5. My French Connection shirt I bought in London. Again I think I bought this shirt to get attention. It was pink and said FCUK (for French Connection United Kingdom) and it was mirrored image so it looked like it says FUCK in big bold letters on my shirt. I wore it home on the plane from London. I was 14 and still don't regret a thing. P.S. I still have this shirt. Kind of a souvenir of that trip now. 

I know there are a lot more but they aren't coming to mind right now. So I will just leave you with those mental images. And thank you Mom for letting me make these great mistakes. They have made me who I am today. 


Thursday, September 15, 2011

Screw the Barefoot Children

To put it short, this post is about why I fucking hate Toms shoes. Still, I own a pair... in fact I own several pair. So why I hate them? It is simple... the people who buy them.

The place I work sells Toms. We do sell a lot. The starting reason I hate them is selling them. People come in the store and ask where the Toms are when there is a sign right above them that clearly says TOMS. They look for a moment and ask for a size 8 1/2 of the chocolate ones. I go to the back, find them, bring them out... then they decide they want the "metallic tweed" instead. So I then go to the back, find the metallic tweed in a size 8 1/2 and come out with the box. I open the box and remove the little cardboard thing inside each shoe that is hell to pull out because half the time it rips and stays stuck in the shoe.

So they try to fit their foot in the 8 1/2 and realize... they don't wear an 8 1/2. OH NO! So I go back and try a 9 when I know that a 9 is still too small... then we try a 9 1/2 until we finally decide that in fact they wear a size 11. A far cry from an 8 1/2.

The next reason I really hate Toms.... It is pronounced Toms. That is a O in between the T and the M. Not an U. It is NOT pronounced Tums. That is a totally different product. I continue to tell myself that the next person that asks where "dem Tums" are... I will tell them to try Walgreens because we are not a drugstore. We are a clothing store.

I heard someone call them Tum Tum shoes today. That was a new one. Not surprised by it.

So Screw the Barefoot Children... Again... don't get me wrong I love children. I am all about saving the world and whatever. Screw the barefoot children. If this is what I have to go through every day (almost) the children of the world can continue to be barefoot. Hell, I was always barefoot as a child. Granted not by extreme poverty but my choice. I hated wearing shoes. My mother begged me to wear shoes. I always lost my expensive shoes. The only pair I loved was a pair of lime green patent leather clogs from Payless. They were awesome. But regardless I ran around barefoot in the cotton fields behind my house when I was little.

Now, that being said... go buy yourself (another) pair of Toms.


Saturday, July 2, 2011

Happy Fofa!

Happy Fofa (holiday weekend) everyone! Stay safe and stay classy... unlike this one...

Friday, June 17, 2011


The holiday is fast approaching! NO! Not Father's Day! I know you know what holiday I mean. I am so excited about it that I posted about it in April! It is the greatest (drunken) holiday in the delta. Yes, I added parentheses and "drunken" as if categorizing it as the greatest holiday where you get drunk but lets face it... we get drunk every holiday. Thanksgiving... drunk. Labor day... drunk. Christmas... really drunk. Halloween... drunk. Birthdays... drunk.   Needless to say, we like to drink.

So Fofa is the greatest holiday. In case you don't know what it is like read my past post.

Now I want to talk more about my excitement. I am so excited I have already ordered a swimsuit on eBay just for the occasion... and a beer helmet on Amazon.

This is the swimsuit. HELL YES! Because nothing says USA like a confederate flag. Now, it really has nothing to do with racism. It is pure redneckery. It is the epitome of redneck. Well, really the bikini thong rebel flag swimsuit is but I am just not THAT brave.

And this is the beer helmet. Yes, a pink mohawk beer helmet. 

So I can't wait for Fofa. It is going to be awesome. And of course I am going to give you all an update after Fofa... hopefully complete with pictures.

Oh and one last thing...


Monday, June 13, 2011

Sprang Rever

So, I am sorry it has been awhile. I want to tell you about last weekend. Seven friends and myself went to a magical place known as Spring River. So for those select few reading this those pictured above for reference are as ordered (L to R)... myself, Rob, Carlile, Patrick, Ellen Kent, Augusta, Katie, and Brian.

This post is a sum up of the weekend. Although it won't show the awesome sights I saw first hand (old woman's boobs, brown and missing teeth, etc.) it just gives you a glimpse of the second most redneck vacations destination in this nation (the first being Talladega). So, for your next vacation, try the Ozarks.

We arrived to Many Springs in Mammoth Springs, Arkansas and set up camp...

The boys proving their manhood by throwing around fire wood.

While the girls just started drinking. Plus note Carlile mean thuggin' guarding those Gatorades.

 We got souvenirs. Our koozies are the best. Float, wrap around the neck, and rainbow straps. HELL YEAH!

We cooked hamburgers when went out into the river and found a picnic table. Played some drinking games... in the dark. Got into a little trouble.

Next morning woke up in our tents and got ready for the river. Loved people watching there. I had never seen so many awesome tattoos.

We got into canoes up river and took off. We stopped about every mile to meet some fellow Spring Riverians and maybe shot-gun a beer.

Some fellow Spring Riverians with Brian. Keep trying to look tough, Brian, it is really helping. And to you guy on the right... lay off the roids.
Their friends were missing teeth.

Augusta and Patrick think they were the best canoe-ers just because they didn't flip.
People kept calling Augusta, Miss America. We just went with it. Along with yelling ROLL TIDE every chance we got. (We aren't Bama fans!) 

The girls with another random. He kindly gave us beads... for nothing! We all kept our tops on this weekend. 

The (dreaded) S curve, we stopped and took a break. I needed a little help getting up the rapid. That might explain a few of the bruises on my body. But then again, I did flip out of a canoe 3 times.

We then all made it up and jumped off into the deeper part. 

Here we met more randoms. I love the confederate flag swimsuit, man.

So then, it started to rain. It poured. We all found each other again after a separation from the group because of the storm. Once we made it back our campsite was a litttttttle flooded so we packed up and went to Thayer Missouri. 

Eventually (after 3 other tries) we found a motel in Hardy, Arkansas to crash for the night. We went home on Sunday and all made it safe and sound.  A fun weekend full of redneckery.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Retribution to the Insufficiently Ridiculed, Part III

Car Insurance Companies

In this country’s history, almost every industry has been ridiculed except for the sleaziest industry of them all—car insurance. Critics of American society will tear apart the government, oil companies, lawyers, coal companies, doctors, farmers, and even health insurance companies. Even the people I called out for chastising these industries receive enough flack. Although some of these criticized companies can make life a little more challenging, they ultimately make life easier.  I have never been afraid to utilize the services aforementioned, but if my car is scratched, even if by no fault of my own, the last number on this green earth I want to call is a car insurance company. This industry is a mandatory scam about which I have never heard any complaints. The average car insurance customer would be able to purchase a fine car with payments made to his insurance company over a year.

If there is an accident, the company will do everything in its power to ensure that it does not forfeit any money to a claim (and as a mandatory institution, the car insurance company has a lot of power). Even though the car insurance company never lost any money, it will still increase the insurance fee for some logical, yet insanely greedy reason. In the extremely rare case that the insurance company must comply with the client’s wishes, it never pays the actual cost of the damage. They use these “blue book value estimates” as a tool to ensure never distributing as much as $5,000 to a customer at any point. Anyone who knows much about car parts or repairs knows that $5,000 may replace a cheap window at best. How car insurance escaped the greedy image will always be a mystery to me. If the Sinclair Oil dinosaur ever tried to parade around like the Geico gecko, there would be protests outside of the White House.

Michael Elwes Graney

Monday, May 23, 2011

Security System

I know I talk about my friend Ellen Kent a lot. Well this is important... at her house in Greenville, in her and her brother Warren's bathroom is a gun sitting right beside the window. In the windowsill is a razor cartridge with pellets in it. 

There really isn't much I can say about this... 
Only in the Delta.


As you may know... the Mississippi River has caused some flooding recently. It was very scary here in Greenville for a while and in the whole Mississippi Delta area. I have pictures for you. ....

This is the yacht club. To think... in December Spatty, Michael, and my deb friends were partying here for the Bachelor's Ball. This is, obviously, on the inside of the levee. The yacht club used to be a boat... with good reason, but about 3 or 4 years ago they built this building. Looks like they will have to rebuild it... maybe go back to a boat. 

Those are light posts down the levee. Usually there are cars parked all down there to about a little past the far light post.

That is the gazebo at Shelben Park. I once was a guess at a press conference there... about 9 years ago.

The Light House Point Casino. The back part is a boat and has been known to detach and float around the lake. The front part of the casino is flooded, obviously.

Those three pictures were at Lake Ferguson which is like a chute of the river.

This is the new Harlows Casino Resort. They were already pumping water out of it but they still had to cancel the Kansas concert. I was disappointed.

You can't really tell, sorry, but this is a well. The motor is off... like taken off...of it and water is still pouring out of it. The levee can't prevent water from seeping underneath the ground.

So that is a few pictures of the Delta during the flood. Not a funny post but an informative one.

Molly Weissinger

Wednesday, May 4, 2011


Yes, this post is about mustaches. There is one mustache in particular that is awesome, my dad's mustache. This picture doesn't do it justice but believe me, it is stellar. I was 12 before I found out that my dad had a gap between his two front teeth. I didn't know because the mustache covers his teeth when he talks. Like any nice lightly colored mustache, it turns the color of whatever drink he is drinking. Now, don't ask me why but in the summer my dad's hair and part of the 'stache turns a greenish hue. It is not because she is swimming in chlorine either. We can't explain it.

There is only 1 photograph of an adult Matt Weissinger without a mustache. The reason he did not have the mustache was because my mom told him she would not marry him until she saw him without it. Needless to say, they were not married until it grew back in. This picture is like the holy grail. And one time, my dad had the area between the two extended parts of the mustache grown in. That was just a radical mid 90s experiment. 

Needless to say, the Weissinger men are notorious for facial hair.The only one who can't pull of the facial hair is bizarrely my brother. This is what happens when he tries it. Sorry Doug, you look like a child molester. 


These are my (double first) cousins Guy Weissinger and Charlie Weissinger.
Thank you for letting me use your photos (although I didn't ask).

So yeah... the mustache. Not everyone can pull it off but kudos to those great ones (ahem Matt Weissinger).



We are sorry for the sudden extreme lack of posts lately. Exams and flooding has gotten in the way of life. Once exams are over I plan to bombard you with some amazing posts so just get ready. Some might include things about Cat Barn, guns, mustaches, and who knows what else. Again, we are very sorry and stay tuned.


Saturday, April 23, 2011

Party Girl

Yesterday was my 21st birthday. I got some amazing presents. I really did. But I just want to tell you about the best present I have ever received. I have two words for you. Wine bra. Now, take a moment to ponder that. A wine bra by Wine Rack. It is like a Camelback on your boobs. And it holds an entire bottle of wine (or whatever else you fancy). My dear friend Taylor Cottingham got it for me. She knows me so well. I have had the Wine Bra in my Amazon.com wishlist for over a year now. In addition to getting me the awesome Wine Bra, she also gave me my favorite bottle of red wine. She remembered I liked it when last summer we went to the Alluvian for a girls day with Alexa and went to dinner. I ordered us this particular bottle, because it was the only one I recognized. (My dad buys it by the case. We really like wine at my house.) 

Now, back to my wine bra. Do you see all that glory? It makes you 2 cups sizes bigger when it is full. Taylor and I tried it last night... with water (should have had all that water last night...). I look like Beth Chapman, Dog the Bounty Hunter's wife. Good Lord! I will be wearing it with a turtleneck! Many girls wear these to football games to sneak in booze. I may (or may not) be wearing this every day. Any ways, It is the best present I have ever received from a friend. 

This was how excited I was after opening it at Doe's: 

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

A Grim Turn

I love John Prine. I have been to only two of his concerts but I hope to go to more in the future. He is amazing and there is no song of his that I don't like. I am going to go ahead and forgive those of you who don't know who he is. 

One of my favorite songs ever is Please Don't Bury Me. I sing it just about every day to myself. Now, Ellen Kent and I have made a pact. Who ever dies first the other one has the just star singing it in the middle of the funeral. And in our little fantasy pact, everyone just starts singing in with her. We know that most people don't know the song but I am posting the lyrics too so you can learn it. Not that either one of us are planning on dying anytime soon! 

I urge you to go look up John Prine. Virginia, Ellen Kent, and I had a wonderful time seeing him in Birmingham last March. So these are the lyrics.

Woke up this morning
Put on my slippers
Walked in the kitchen and died
And oh what a feeling!
When my soul
Went thru the ceiling
And on up into heaven I did ride
When I got there they did say
John, it happened this way
You slipped upon the floor
And hit your head
And all the angels say
Just before you passed away
These were the very last words
That you said:

Please don't bury me
Down in that cold cold ground
No, I'd druther have "em" cut me up
And pass me all around
Throw my brain in a hurricane
And the blind can have my eyes
And the deaf can take both of my ears
If they don't mind the size

Give my stomach to Milwaukee
If they run out of beer
Put my socks in a cedar box
Just get "em" out of here
Venus de Milo can have my arms
Look out! I've got your nose
Sell my heart to the junkman
And give my love to Rose

Repeat Chorus

Give my feet to the footloose
Careless, fancy free
Give my knees to the needy
Don't pull that stuff on me
Hand me down my walking cane
It's a sin to tell a lie
Send my mouth way down south
And kiss my ass goodbye

Repeat Chorus

Monday, April 18, 2011

The Story of Lucky the Ducky

I know I have already talked about 2 pets of mine but I am about to talk about another. What sparked this one today is Easter. When I was younger every couple of years we would get baby ducks for Easter. Therefore, this is the Lucky the Ducky story. 

So one Easter, my family got 4 ducklings for Easter. My grandmother also got 2 and for Easter church service we put them together at my grandmothers. When we arrived home her 2 were dead and 3 of ours were too. Therefore the only living duck was named Lucky. 

Lucky was a male mallard duck and he lived outside with our dogs once he was grown. We had an old beagle (who was a rescue, abused dog that would not let us touch him) named George, and a rat terrier named Sugar (who was the most hyper annoying dog). Well, since Lucky really grew up with the dogs, he himself thought he was a dog. 

Have you ever heard a duck bark? Lucky "quackbarked". He also chased cars. It was kind of a waddle-jump-fly-waddle motion of chasing. We would have to drive a few times around the circle of our neighborhood. Lucky also slept curled up between the two dogs at night. It was really cute.

Unfortunately, one fall he disappeared. My parents told me he flew south for winter but I still don't believe them. But just like Speedy now, every mallard duck I see, I think it is Lucky the Ducky who thought he was a dog. 

Molly Weissinger

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Slug Bait

I realize the level of my craziness tonight and I was watching slugs down and die in the yard tonight with a HUGE grin on my face. (That level is a little higher than it was about 3 hours ago.) 

Backtrack... watching slugs die. Yes. OK so... in gardening a way to kill slugs (other than putting salt on them... so fun by the way though still) is to put a little beer in a small container. They think it is water, get drunk, fall in, drown, and die. It is so much fun to watch them fall in and struggle before dying. (CRAZY! ok I know.) 

Right now there is a really big one in my front yard in some Tupperware. I tried to take a picture of it for you all but alas, the world is against me. See, first off I lost my camera so I grab my dads. I get out there and it dies. So I grab my mom's camera. Take it out there, take pictures, then remember her card is different and not compatible to my computer. So back to dads camera. No batteries in the freezer, so I grab a remote and put its batteries in the camera. It dies once I got out there again. The world is against me! 

Hopefully I can get a picture of the dead slugs in beer later. Maybe. 

My saturday night consisted of dinner with my parents, watching slugs die, and then blogging. Ugh. I am too young to be old. 


Friday, April 15, 2011

Opening Doors

I saw something yesterday that just disgusted me. Two students were headed to class and they seemed like boyfriend and girlfriend. When they got to the door, he opened it and just walked in before her. He did not open the door for her.

Is chivalry dead? If so, when did it die? Or is it still in the process of croaking? I may be a little old fashioned but come on! Men, I am not asking you to open every car door, carry every bag, or simple make a woman feel inferior, but open the damn door when going into a building! And I mean for all women too. If you are not opening doors for women in public, you are making a huge ass of yourself. Open a door and give a smile. It is not that hard, sometimes we just need a reminder.

Molly Weissinger

Thursday, April 14, 2011


I have never heard someone be so honest before last night. Needless to say, it made me smile and about fall out laughing. I think I loved the whole situation because I occasionally come across a similar situation.

So this is from the other night. I went to dinner with my friend Ellen Kent and her dad. We were sitting in the bar part of the restaurant waiting on Mr. Warren to get in. In walks Mr. Warren's ex girlfriend. The moment she sees Ellen Kent she stops and her eyes get huge. Ellen Kent looks up at that moment and starts shaking her head. The ex was having dinner with her new boyfriend who she was supposedly cheating on Mr. Warren with. The new boyfriend sits down and the ex said, "NO! This isn't going to work." Mind you, this is the delta and the restaurant bar has only 3 tables in it. She then asks, "Ellen Kent, want us to move?" Before the question was asked, Ellen Kent replied with a stern, "YES!" So yeah they left, but Ellen Kent's honestly was so bold. I would have just freaked out and closed my eyes wishing I was somewhere else. Not unusual for me though.

The reason I love how honest Ellen Kent was with her dad's ex girlfriend is simply because I don't have that kind of pure honesty. I much rather beat around the bush and try to be polite. Although, being so polite backfires and I end up being miserable.

Also with this story, I know exactly how Ellen Kent felt the moment "she" walked in. That deep thud in the pit of your stomach, your heart immediately beating so hard, you start breathing heavy and the only thing in your head now is "OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT". It happens to me on regular occasion when I see a certain someone in Greenville. Again here, I am going to be polite and use the rule my mother taught me: if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.

So tell me what you think. Do you have a someone that you are afraid of running into?


Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Retribution to the Insufficiently Ridiculed, Part II

Ph.D. Students / Teacher’s Assistants (T.A.s)

Stands for Power-tripping (or Pretentious), Hipster, Degree. Ph.D. candidates are a group of graduate students who have attained their bachelor’s and master’s degrees, but have decided not to get a job and almost triple their time spent in college. Ph.D. students work very closely with tenured professors and help teach larger classes. The Ph.D. student becomes who the undergraduates must consult because he holds the grade book.

Teaching always seems to be an awkward experience for Ph.D. students. They never know what image to present. Usually, they start off with the “Man, I’m so cool. You’re a student. I’m student, even though I am kind of a teacher. Whooohohohoah! Crazy! Please call me Bob. Mr. Smith is my dad’s name.” The naïve undergraduate thinks, “Clearly this person is going through a quarter life crisis and will be an easy grader so he can make younger friends. After all, he must have planned his outfit by typing “trendy” into Google search.”  

The undergraduate learns that the Ph.D. student’s degrees make him feel far superior to the world, and the T.A. proves his intellect by being a demanding grader. Eventually, the undergraduate further learns that Ph.D. students do not sit on top of desks and wear tight jeans because they’re trying to seem cool, but because they are hipsters. Earlier this year, my thirty-two year old sister-in-law asked me what a hipster was. I tried to explain, but all I could say was, “you know those people who give you the vegan vibe….” I sent her the Wikipedia page for hipster.

After reading, she said, “Sounds like my T.A.s.” She graduated college in 2001 when hipsters were not nearly as prevalent. Ph.D. students were hip before it was even cool. The only Ph.D student parody I have ever seen was a short comic written for Ph.D. students by a Ph.D student. The comic strip accused Ph.D. students of scaring off younger minds by being much harder working than the rest of society. Lord help me. 
A stalker shot of one of my former T.A.s.
 Everyone got a bad grade in the class.

Michael Elwes Graney

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Motorcycle Riding Son-of-a-gun

This is a little off the beaten path again but I want to share with your more of the looniness that goes on in my head. You might not have known this but I have always wanted a motorcycle. It took some serious thinking as to how this sparked in me and it came to me yesterday after discussing with Laura Smith. 

So the answer to my love for motorcycles comes down to this. Grease 2. No really, I love Grease 2. Love is still an understatement. But really it breaks down to 3 things about Grease 2. 

1. Cool Rider. Michele Pfeiffer as Stephanie Zinone singing Cool Rider. Sums up that this girl wants a cool motorcycle riding guy, or better yet, a cool rider. 

2. Maxwell Caulfield as Michael Carrington. I was determined to think I was going to marry a man named Michael (irony). He was a hunk! Those abs, that hair! check it The black leather pants.


3. Who's That Guy.  This song just encompasses the whole coolness of having a motorcycle. It is cool. I wish a guy would learn to ride a motorcycle for me and by all mysterious. So sexy.

You know in kindergarten how there is one movie you watched every day? Mine was Grease 2. I know the movie was a huge flop. I just loved the song Reproduction. (You look it up yourself.) 

So that is why I love motorcycles and want one so badly. I want to be that cool. It is never going to happen, unfortunately. 


Dear Friends

Sorry I have been so aloof. I have my reasons. Perhaps I will blog about them sometime, but now I need to finish my short-winded series. Thank you for reading.

Michael Elwes Graney

Monday, April 11, 2011

2nd Pet Post

I do realize that this is my second post that has to do with pets of mine. I am sorry but I still want to tell you about Lucky the Ducky someday too. So now, on to the story of Peachy.

Peachy was a Peach Faced Love bird. When I was 3 my Aunt Maggie had two Love Birds and I stayed with her one weekend. At that time they were making lots of eggs but none of the eggs were hatching. I made Aunt Mag promised that if one hatched, I would get it. Well, one hatched and she did not want to give it to me. So, after a few angry phone calls I got the bird. She already named it Peachy though.

If you know anything about Love Birds, they need companions. Peachy did not have one so he was mean. M.E.A.N. He would bite you every time you tried to feed him and would do a death grip on your finger until you bled. Needless to say, he was not my favorite pet.

Well, in the spring we would take the cage outside to let him breath fresh air and interact with other birds. One spring (about 2005) he just started making weird noises and he was getting sick. I came home from school one day to find him lying at the bottom of the cage.

My aunt had an... um... extreme attachment to poor Peachy. Our plan was to have Peachy stuffed and put on display. So we put him in a ziplock bad and put him in the garage deep freezer. Not the first bird in a ziplock bag. (I used to collect dead birds when I was little and freeze them. I am kidding you. I brought one to show and tell in the first grade one time.)

Poor Peachy is still sitting in our freezer. And we don't know any taxidermists to stuff a pet bird. So there you go Morgan Hough, the story of Peachy.

Also mentioned Only In The Delta.


Sunday, April 10, 2011

Easter Hats

Easter. It is an important time to southerns. It marks the start of Spring and a new wardrobe including white. 

If you grew up in a church such as mine (lots of judging old people, huge terrible sounding organ, very conservative, and God forbid you walk in late) you would know that Easter Sunday church service is for one thing and one thing only. To see which lady has the best hat. It is not about Jesus, eggs, a bunny, or your white Ferragamos with the bow and gold buckle. It is about who has the biggest, frilliest, most matching hat. Every year there is that one lady who gets the honorary prize that is compliments and judging looks from others. It is a coveted position. 

And, yes, I do already have my hat but unfortunately it is no new prize winner.  

This is me and Ellen Kent Hammet Easter sunday 1994. Although too young to wear hats Ellen Kent is sporting an enormous white bow in her hair and although unrecognizable I have large curly Texas hair. Please note the white stockings on me and the lacy socks on Ellen Kent.



This was our amazing camp site.

Do you remember the fist time you went camping? I do. I was about 4 and in the pecan orchard on our farm. I made it out there until the coyotes started howling at about 11. Well, last night I gave three boys their first camping experience. Mac, Alex, and Luke spent the night with me in a tent in my backyard.

Before you start thinking that anything is weird, let me explain. They are all 7 and Mac is my neighbor and good buddy. I babysit him all the time. All three boys go to my church and I know their parents. It is not weird at all.

I picked them up for Mac's house about 9:30 last night after I was done babysitting someone else. We made Jiffypop popcorn on the stove. Mac told me his version of the history of Jiffypop. Apparently it is from a long time ago in the 80s. That makes me feel old. We also made a small fire in the fire pit and found "slug city" on my patio. Luke accidentally stepped on one barefoot and got "slug juice" all over me. I still don't feel clean.  We also found the "queen of slug city" and she was about 5 inches long and had big antennae. I don't know how 7 year olds can go on that little sleep and still have so much energy. They were up before 6:30 this morning. I can't remember the last time I woke up at 6:30!

So I sure this isn't all that amusing to you and I am sorry. But just ask yourself, would you ever sleep in a tent with three 7 year olds? I can't believe I did. I can't believe I survived it. Now, I am going to take a nice long nap.


Friday, April 8, 2011

Only In the Delta

We all have that saying where you say "only (insert where you are from)".  Obviously here is it "only in the delta". Well, today I understood the levity of the phase. This post will simply be a short description of the latter part of my day.

My dad, a farmer, called me and asked him to close up shop today. I arrived at the farm about 6:30 pm. I hop on a tractor and go out to meet him. Granted I did need a little help on how to get the tractor going and out of the shed. My dad unfortunately forgot to explain how to accelerate so I cruise the whole quarter mile going 7 miles per hour. Yes, 7. This whole drive I am texting friends from highschool discussing the recent tragic death of a classmate. Once I arrive to where my dad is planting soybeans he tells me to drive back and shows me how to accelerate this time. I cranked it to 24 miles per hour on the way back. The sun was setting and there is only one thing that is more beautiful than a delta sunset and that is a delta sunrise. I was pretty joyful to see the sun go down on this day.

Cruising at 7mph

I had to pee while at the farm. So I did. Only in the delta, I know. So, I peed outside. The only really sad part about this is that this was the second time I contemplated peeing outside today. I was "this" close from doing it in Laura and Wesley Smith's back yard this afternoon. 

I got home and realize my mother is already "asleep" for the night. So I start on dinner and make a martini. While looking for shrimp in the "garage freezer" (because we have 2 others. One in the kitchen and one in the laundry room). What to find? Oh yes. Peachy. My pet bird that I had for 11 years. Ooooh, but he died in 2004 or 2005. I don't really remember but there he was in a 'Zip Lock' bag. There is an awesome back story to Peachy but that is for another day, my friends. 

So that was my evening. Now where ever you are from I wish you would tell me and give an example of an "only __(here)____". 

Molly Weissinger

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Curtsy Tutorial

Ladies, this is my very laid-back video of how to curtsy. I hope you enjoy it and find it helpful and maybe even humorous. 

*For WHATEVER reason the video and the sound is a little off. I am sorry. I don't know how to fix that. I am going to try again but no promises.*

Yes, VESers, I am wearing Andrew's penny from highschool. I have in fact moved on from highschool but I just was wearing that penny today to work out in. Believe it. 
Also, sorry for the bad quality and the fact that it says "clock" at the very beginning of the video. My computer tells me the time (it was 9pm) and I just used PhotoBooth.

Molly Weissinger

Retribution to the Insufficiently Ridiculed, Part I

High School Seniors

On film, they are portrayed by actors, of all different ages, at the peak of their physical beauties. Off screen, in the classroom, they are celebrated by the rest of their school community. Chatter among faculty, staff, and students centers on the social, romantic, and professional lives of seniors. Outsiders often choke-up when they walk past a group of 12th graders nonchalantly hanging out together in the center of the school like kings and queens on display for the whole school to see. Even now, I am in disbelief that I am two years older than they.

For years seniors have thrived on their image by pulling pranks, taking days off school, rarely going to class, hazing underclassmen, wearing matching t-shirts, etcetera, etcetera. My graduating class was just as arrogant as the lot of them. Once, we did not win a spirit competition and nearly staged a coup d’état. After we went to college, we all assimilated into our respective new lives, but when the homecoming game came around, everyone, even the most disenchanted members of the class, returned to relive the glory days. Much to our surprise, the school still functioned without us. The seniors (who we would not admit were no longer juniors) were just as pompous as we were. One member of the class, codename Rita Poone, said, “No way we are as obnoxious as you guys. Everyone loves us!” Shortly after, a younger student said, “I thought you guys were cocky, but I did not know the meaning of the word until that class became seniors.”The cycle continues, but I do not blame seniors. I slightly blame school administrations and parents who commission senior portraits. However, the real fault lies with the television, movie, and YouTube video producers who have not dealt sufficient justice to high school seniors.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

What To Expect When Expecting

Recently, I have drawn inspiration from our blogging rival, Sarah Patterson, and decided to start a series of short winded posts. The title of my series will be “Retribution to People in Our Society Who Are Not Sufficiently Ridiculed.” I will discuss groups or classes of people who I feel are not only over-glorified, but need to be mocked. If you find that you fit into one of these classifications, I was only kidding. Otherwise, I was very serious. I hope you enjoy the series.

Michael Elwes Graney

Friends of Coal

As you know, I am from the Mississippi Delta. I seem to have a kinship with West Virginia. Two of my best friends are from the state. I think it might have to do with the fact that West Virginia and Mississippi are the shit end states. The only state that competes for the 49th spot with Mississippi is West Virginia. High teen pregnancy, obesity, and illiteracy rates are just a few that make our states so "great". I like to think of the delta as flat West Virginia.

Obviously, the delta has a plethora of farmers. What is the WV equivalent? Coal miners. Spike has a new TV show that I am in LOVE with. It is simply called Coal. For those friends that watch Swamp People and Swamp Loggers I urge you to watch this show. Here is a link to watch Coal. (Coal) WATCH IT! But if you are pressed for time and just want to watch a clip here you go (Mine).

Please those of you who know Michael tell me what you think of this once you watch it. On the show is a 20 year old named Andrew. I personally like to think of him as Michael if he wasn't as fortunate and had to work in the coal mines. Tell me if you agree or not. Michael can't watch it right now because he is a good Catholic boy and gave up internet TV (hulu.com) for lent. And he doesn't have time to watch Spike 24/7 just to catch Coal.

I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think. As proud as I am to be a farmer's daughter, I love Loretta Lynn's song Coal Miner's Daughter. I wish I could sing a song so passionately. So I may have wrong reasons for being a "friend of coal" but I am ok with that.

And I am sorry for the lengthy posts. I am going to try and start keeping them shorter.

Molly Weissinger

I Am A Piece Of $#!+...

…Continued from a post written by Michael Elwes Graney on March 29, 2011

On Thursday, I was woken up by a phone call from the bookstore. The man on the other line said, “Mr. Graney, you’re laundry is finished. We would like you to come by soon, if that is alright, because there is not enough space here.” I answered, “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there today,” planning to show up around noon.
I drive up to the bookstore and walk inside. Upon entering, I see a man on a cell phone who looked like he just spent three nights at the library. He looked at me, took a deep breath, and said into his cell phone, “he just walked in.” Then he shouted to everyone in the back room, “He’s here! Get ready!” He turned back to his phone and said, “I’ll call you back to tell you how the laundry situation turns out.”

He looks at me and opens up his notebook. Then he says, “You have more hanging bags full of khakis, button downs, and polo shirts than I can count. You also have ten trash bags filled with your t-shirts, athletic shorts, underwear and socks. You’re going to need a car with some room in it.” I told him I thought I had enough room. He sighed and went to the back room to hand me my first hanging back. By the time I returned from placing the hanging bag in my back seat, the entire bookstore staff was carrying out hanging  bags of laundry from the back room while the man who was at the counter hurriedly talked on the phone, frantically trying to sort out a pile of Laundromat tickets.

For the next twenty minutes, I carried hanging bags out to my car. The staff, while helping me rid the bookstore of hanging bags, continuously chuckled at the situation and told jokes throughout the entire process. One guy said, “They got the marine core working over there at the Laundromat.” Another man said, “You must have set the Guinness book of world records and they aren’t even going to let anybody else try to break your record for at least another few decades.” One employee said, “I have worked here for years, and all the people in the past combined have not brought in this much laundry. You must not have any clothes left.” The saddest part of the story is that I could have lasted a couple more weeks without picking up my laundry.

Finally, I loaded all the hanging bags into the car. I went back inside to begin loading all the trash bags filled with laundry. The bookstore was nice enough to let me borrow an industrial cart to haul my laundry so I only had to make a few trips. After thirty minutes of carrying clothes out to my car, I waited by the counter to close the transaction with the bookstore clerk.

He was still on the phone, “…so he actually had 415 pounds of laundry! This is something you’d see in a Rodney Dangerfield movie. So I counted # (I forgot how many tickets there were, but I can count as soon as I check my car where I left them) tickets on the hanging bags and ten tickets on the trash bags. Is that the same number you got over there? Ok, let me count again……..Ok! There we go. Wait. One more time…..#. Did you get the same thing? Ok, good.”

He hangs up the phone, and says to me, “I would advise that you never tell anyone about all this laundry because you’ll never get married.” Then he went into a hysterical fit of laughter. All the other staff members and he began another wisecrack spree, which went on a while. A few of the notable mentions from this reel were, “Maybe you can wear these for the next six months and you go have your laundry done twice a year,” “when they came to pick it up, the guy just looked at me with a straight face and said, ‘where does he live?’,” “they probably shut down the whole Laundromat, brought in the Laundromat reserves team, used several laundry trucks, and shut down a couple of highways just for your laundry,” and, “yo momma  gonna kiiilll you boy!” Before I left, the man at the counter insisted on taking a picture of my car before I returned home.

The day I returned from the Laundromat, I hung up the clothes that were already on hangers. However, I did not put away the clothes in the trash bags. At first, I left the bags on my bed opting to sleep on the couch until I put all the clothes away. In the middle of the weekend, at an advanced hour, I decided I wanted my bed back and relocated all of the bags to the floor where they were before I took them to the Laundromat. Eventually, I ran out of socks and began removing pairs from the bags as needed.

Today, I finally decided that I was going to put away all the clothes in the bags, which took forever and a kalpa*. During this time, I spent 90 minutes on the phone with four different people (verified on the calls log) and I ordered a pizza which had time to arrive. My readers who are familiar with Charlottesville know that pizza can sometimes take hours to be delivered. At various points, my dresser fell over and all the useless things I have acquired fell on my floor. Finally, I finished putting away all of my clothes (that is a lie). Now my floor is covered in plastic trash bags, flash cards, Mardi Gras beads, St Patrick’s Day Beads, pencils, Coffee table…I mean textbooks, and the blinds that I accidentally ripped of my window last semester.  

I like to think of myself as a college survivor. Do not worry about me. My room will be clean by Thursday when my aunt comes over, and I will have photos as proof. ;)

*kalpa – a Sanskrit word used to describe “the amount of time it takes for one of the Himalayan mountains to erode when an angel brushes her sleeve against the top, once every hundred years.”

Wondering what happens when I go to the bookstore now? Wondering about my roommate’s comments or involvement? Are you my roommate? How am I keeping up with my laundry now? What did my parents say? Want to know more of the bookstore employees wisecracks? If any of these questions apply to you, comment and I shall reply.

Total Pageviews