Flirting is a contact sport

At least in Vegas.


This weekend, I went over to the Hard Rock Hotel to see this guy:

David Grohl, Foo Fighter.

Kick ass concert, lots of booze. Sang songs I hadn't heard in a THOUSAND years, talked a bunch a shit in between his songs, brought out a surprise guest (NOT Lemmy of Motorhead, surprise!) And did a an encore.

AFTER the concert, my friends & I went over to one of the clubs in the casino. Let me first start by saying, I almost NEVER club in Southern California. I'm not sure why, but I haven't seen the inside of a real club - not to be confused with a bar, or a karaoke joint with music --in years. In Las Vegas though, I don't mind so much. Like I said, I was gonna flirt with some cute boys, and drink...and where else to do that but in Las Vegas?

But first, you gotta get past the bouncer. Three girls + 2 corsets and 1 low cut top...? No problem. Come right on in. Locals are free & concert goers get a free pass tonight, and here's some passes for tomorrow. Who's buying the first drink? I will. But I'm not buying another drink tonight. So my friend, who is living in Vegas now, picks up a guy. Wants to dance all night. 2nd rounds on you, mister man. Me, I'm dancing by myself. Mr. I'm from New Orleans walks up and wants to know where I'm from. L.A., here for a concert. Thank you for the lovely compliments, as I fend off his hands grabbing my butt...I'm drinking Vodka & Cranberry. And don't forget my friends. (You know what Snoop says..."ain't no fun, if the homies can't have none")LOL.

Well, hello Mr. Awkward dancer! If you weren't so cute that I want to pinch your cheeks, I wouldn't let you keep trying to dance with me. Except, you got TOO close, and got my hooks of my corset caught on your shirt.
You: Said I was so very pretty and couldn't stop hugging me.
Me: Okay, I gave in to temptation and pinched his cheeks. Guess which ones *wink*..Haha.


My friend who came with to Vegas meets a guy. He's Canadian, eh. He's cute, and he's got bottle service. Who's got next? Jack & Coke for everybody!

I meet a guy "here on business", from New York. I started flirting with him because he didn't look like he was having a good time. And I was having so much fun, I wanted to give him something to smile about. The compliments have escalated, y'all. I have moved up from so very pretty to SO DAMN SEXY. He's dancing, which has always been a way for men to get their hands on you without you putting up too much of a fight. I am not a liar, and since he asked, I tell him that I've got no boyfriend, because I'm married, and The Man frowns on me having one. He's no slouch in the macking department says: If I were HIS wife, he wouldn't want to share me either. (I dunno, could he put up with my shenanigans? I'm not sure.) Either way, next round is on you Mr. Here on Business. Drinkin's not cheap in this club. Hey, he must really have a few dollars because the REST of the drinking is on him...Or perhaps, my boobs charm swayed him to pick up the tab? I ended up wearing his watch 'cause it doesn't matter what time it is with me (never heard THAT line before..but again, don't get out much). I DO return it when the club closes, but I do get to keep this as a parting gift:

His Room Key. As we were talking, he mentioned that he was staying in the Hotel and that his room key had the Foo Fighters on it. I asked him for the room key, and because of my boobs I'm such a nice girl, he agreed to give it to me. Even though I declined all the other things he wanted to give me *wink wink...nudge*

I also: made $50 bucks in tips at the crap table because I hit my point twice and some guy at the other end of the table won several hundred dollars on me AND he said I was the best view he'd seen all night when I leaned over to throw my dice, got propositioned on the way to the rest room by what had to be the most gorgeous man in the world, AND a very nice man bought our breakfast before we left the casino FINALLY at 7AM because he said we looked like we were having a good time.

Damn, I love Vegas. Almost as much as I enjoy being a girl. Just remember, you have to exercise your flirting muscles to stay strong. Otherwise, they get weak and you have to buy your own drinks.

Music = Love

This is the post where I'm going to show my age. I'm ANCIENT.

First let me say, that I have lived in Southern California MOST of my life. When dinosaurs roamed the earth I was in junior high, I used to go to the roller rink to see the local rap group do their thing. Who, you may ask, were the local rap groups?

Yep, that's how I got down. And they played right in Compton. I was about 13 years old. Me & my cousin (who lived around the corner from the rink) would talk her mom into dropping us off and picking us up...EARLY, before the shootings started.

As I got older, I got to see random concerts...DeBarge at Magic Mountain (anybody else remember doing that?), Janet Jackson at the Forum, Jodeci in Honolulu...I even saw Zapp and Roger at some random place in Arizona. I get around, remember.

And then...nothing.

And it's not like I stopped listening to music. In fact, I was probably MORE into music than ever. I was working at a Tower Records, I was buying CDs EVERY week (and porn...the Tower Records that I worked in for some inexplicable reason sold porn). I had over 600 CDs at this point. I was listening to everything from ABBA to the Pharcyde to Nine Inch Nails.

I hadn't been to a concert in YEARS. Then I decide, out of the blue, I'm going to a Weenie Roast. Which is basically a 12 hour concert. In one day, I saw Queens of the Stone Age, Foo Fighters, Motley Crue, The Killers, Dead 60's, My Chemical Romance and a SHITLOAD of other bands. That was 2004.

And since that festival, I've been to a bunch more. I believe that last year, I went to at least one concert, every month. For a minute, I think I forgot how much I LOVE music. And how good it feels to be THERE. Not just listening to a CD of your favorite band playing LIVE, actually standing there, in a crowd of people with the bass so loud it feels like it's pumping your heart. And it IS in a way, I feel so alive and so free at concerts. It reminds me of why I love that band SO MUCH. Why that band can cheer me up when I'm having a shitty day, or be my theme music when I'm having a "fuck the world" moment...or pushes me to give in to temptation...not that I needed all that big a push (I'm sure The Man thanks God everyday for the Isley Brothers and Marvin Gaye)...Who doesn't love babymakin' music?

Anyways, I'm going to my first concert since I've been off crutches. We'll call it a "welcome back" gift to myself. Am I excited...Am I really going to be able to stand for 2 hours bouncing around at The Joint...Am I crazy enough to try? Damn right, I am.

Keep on rockin' it y'all....

It's like going to Disneyland

But for grown ups.


You know how when you were a kid and your parent/s told you that you were going to Disneyland and you could barely get your shit together because all you could think about is what ride you were going to get on first, and if you were tall enough to get on Space Mountain and how no amount of money on God's green and beautiful earth would get you to ride in the submarine crammed in there with 50-11 tourists/strangers breathing up my air. Okay. Well, the last part may have just been me.


But I digress. Every day I'm just a little bit closer to my Disneyland. I'm looking forward to not having to come to work for a couple days. I'm trying to decide what to pack (aside from my stupid boot), and thinking of how much FUN I'm going to have. I'm daydreaming about it...all the stuff I'm gonna do: A rollercoaster, a concert , sleep in, drink, gamble, flirt with cute boys, push my luck, drink... wait. Did I say drink twice? Well, I'm certainly gonna drink more than twice! I'm going to Las Vegas!

I've got 5 days, 23 hours, 33 minutes and 10 seconds until Vegas....

You can thank Just Miss for my Vegas on the Brain
...is it time to go yet?
...how 'bout now?
...now?

I would like to have your baby

No seriously. I would.

Now that my kids are older: The Boy is trying to become A MAN, so he's moved out into the cold, cruel world...not really, he just moved up north. He is definitely proving to be my child. He moved far enough so that we can't just drop in, but close enough for us to visit. The Brat...well, she's going to be a real-live, fire breathing TEENAGER this year. And although she still wants to hang out with me sometimes, more and more she & her friends are making plans for sushi and a movie. (Oh, to be in L.A.)

It seems like half the people I know are having babies. Sweet smelling, smiling, chubby cheeked BABIES. And every time I see one, my uterus contracts. And I think, I am still young(ish)! I could totally do that again.

And then I think of the PREGNANCY, the projectile vomiting, the ridiculous mood swings and the hips as big as Texas. But then, that's a small price to pay, right? After all the payoff is a living breathing version of you/your husband (my kids DON'T look like me. AT ALL), that you can warp teach, and love. But then...you've got the 2AM feedings, the poopie diapers, the crying...

Umm...yeah. I want to have YOUR baby. Give 'em here. I'll play with them, babysit them, kiss their chubby little cheeks. Hell, I'll even change their diapers. Then I'll fill them full of junk food and send 'em home.

Just call me Aunt Lynnie.

Psht...Mahna Mahna

It was one of those days...EVERYBODY was getting on my nerves at work. I work in a MD Administrative Office, but don't let that fool you. It's a cube farm. There are 9 people in a teeny little area AND NO WINDOWS...which may not be a big deal to SOME people, but it's a BFD to me.



I'm barely in the office, I check my mail and mumble something to myself. Probably something about needing an EXTRA LARGE cup of caffeine just to get me through the day, and my co-worker comes over and looks over my shoulder to see what I'm grumbling about. Because I know I am at my most dangerous when I am MSing (because there is no PRE- about it), I don't speak...I just look at her. I hate invaders of personal space*. Unless, I have invited you to look over my shoulder, just don't do it. Or I may be tempted to push my chair back and hope that I crack your pretty little pedicure or/and maybe break your toes.



I don't get my coffee, I can't walk that far. I drink some chamomile TEA (it's supposed to be SOOTHING, right?)and take the world's biggest Motrin and hope that my uterus does not fall out at work.



My co-worker's phone WON'T STOP RINGING. Which would be okay, except she's not answering it, so they're calling the main line and it's MY DAY to answer the phones, so I have to keep transferring all the calls BACK to her even though all the patients say they've been calling that number and NOBODY is answering that line and can I please help them but I can't because I'm just the hired help lady/sir not a doctor and have no idea what you're talking about and so no, I can't give you advice about your chest pains, or meds...I can just transfer you to the right department, so sorry, leave a message and hopefully she will call you back before the turn of the century[transfer line].



I'm now drinking HOT WATER. Because my co-worker is going through her own "personal summer" and keeps turning the air conditioner down to the antartica setting because she's on fire from the inside. Hey heffa. GET A FAN. I live in LA and do not have a parka I can bring to work to accommodate your hot flashes. Geez.



Then THIS SAME CO-WORKER gets into an hour long argument with another co-worker over why she doesn't have her own fax machine at her desk. HE does, her other co-worker does...it's just not fair. Blah, blah, blah...bitch bitch bitch...moan, moan, moan. I am TWO seconds from ending up on Snapped! because I was getting ready to snatch up the fax machine and shove in place where I'm pretty sure she wasn't gonna wanna reload the paper tray.



My other co-worker/partner in trouble-makin' sends me this:

Even now, I think this is the funniest thing ever. And laughing is really the only thing that kicks me out of a bad mood. So fuck it, mahna mahna. Heh. I feel better already.

*The only time you may invade my space is if I invite you. Or you are unarguably gorgeous and are buying my next drink.

A Westside Story

Today I'm going to tell you a story about star crossed lovers, also known as Me and The Man.

In LA there are lots and lots of college football teams. But only TWO football teams that matter.
At some point in your life, you decide which team deserves your undiluted, completely psychotic loyalty. (Yes you do, you decide...nobody wants to hear they are both LA teams so you can support them both. NO.YOU.CAN'T. Only a pussy doesn't choose sides, ya'hear?) Ahem. Back to the story. Well, the girl (that's me y'all), who has lived in LA all of her young life chooses the best school. (And I dare you to say different.)

That's right. SHE is a University of So. California fan, as any reasonable person in So. Cal should be. Good Education, yeah, it's expensive, but so is she (*wink wink*), and like her, it's SOO worth it. And she loved her Trojans BEFORE Pete Carroll was head coach...she loved them even when they were BAD. And that's bad meaning bad, not bad meaning good.

The girl meets a boy, later to become The Man. They fall in love, have babies, get married..in that order...and then start talking football. Lets go to a game, he says. Yes, let's, she says. We can go to the USC/UCLA game. They start looking at seating...Oh, look. They've got some down in front on the USC side. Perfect!, she says. He says...&$)*#(@@*^$. We'll just say he vetoed that idea. Something that sounded like I'll see you in hell before I sit on the sidelines with those m-f'ing rat bastard Trojans. Turns out The Man is a Westwood loving, Bruin cheering dirtbag. How was she going to live with The Man, now? This...infidel?

They had to come to sort of compromise, after all, it was too late to divorce him, even though he's already proven to have horrible judgement. First he cheers for the Bruins, next he WILL jump off a bridge because all of his friends are doing it.

They decide that despite it all, they love each other enough to overlook this very LARGE fault in HIM each other...and like those couples who never discuss politics, decide that they will not discuss football, except for 2 occasions. The cross town rivalry game, which becomes weeks of wearing fan gear and smack talking before the big game and if the other team loses.

This had been working out fine. UCLA lost some, USC lost a few. She gets to mock The Man every time the Trojans play in the Rose Bowl, because that IS the Bruins home, and these last few years, we've been playing at their house, while they've been playing the Toilet Bowl...also known as the "Bowl Nobody Cares About". He gets to ride her because the #1 spot had been stolen by Ohio state in the BCS Bowl *coughcoughBULLSHIT BOWLcough*

But this weekend, this weekend, I think I may have reached my quota of talking about his team.

This Saturday, BOTH teams played and we watched both games, together...in a rare show of love and friendship. And do you know what happened?

UCLA (0) vs. Brigham Young University (59)

That's right, they didn't just lose. BYU beat them like they stole somethin'...And I felt honor bound to point out that they haven't lost like that since 1929...to USC (couldn't leave that out). Then we got in the car, and we went to a friend's house to watch the USC game. That game?

USC (35) vs. Ohio State (3)

And what could make a Trojan fan happier than winning their game? UCLA losing theirs.

So if I come up missing, please know that my shit talking ways got the best of me and he probably buried me alive in the backyard. Please send help.

It's not that I don't want to remember

September 11, 2001

Yes, I remember where I was and what I was doing.

But that's not important...it's what happened AFTER. After this day, NOBODY'S life was the same.

After, I watched in horror as innocent people went about their daily lives and never made it back home. People, who I'm sure never thought in a million years that their flights would never make it to their destinations. People at the Pentagon, who even knowing they were a terrorist target, STILL never could have imagined a scenario like the one played out on national TV.

After, it wasn't unusual to hear family members, friends, or friends of friends talk about how
so-and-so is being deployed. We've sat with children waiting with them getting ready to leave. They've held babies in one arm while holding their weapon with the other. We've cried and kissed them good bye and watched them get on buses just like this one to go to airports that were taking them to the other side of the world. We've said prayers for their safe return, and waited anxiously for phone calls & e-mails. We've sucked it up and taken care of business here, so they can handle their business over there.

After, it wasn't unusual to see these kinds of pics of your loved ones. Showing you what life was like in their little sand box. Letters saying how much they missed/love us and can't wait to see us again. SOON. And to please send naked pictures (ahem. maybe that one was just mine). Thank yous for the care packages that we send faithfully so that they know we are thinking of them, and giving them pieces of home.

After, we've made signs welcoming them from their latest deployment...knowing in the backs of our minds that they will only be here for a while. Just long enough to get us used to sleeping in their arms again, or get their wives pregnant with babies they won't be here to see be born, before they pack up and head back out to save the world..

After, some never made it back. Families mourned, sons & daughters never saw their moms or dads again. After, some gave their lives and others live with the knowledge that they may be called upon to do the same.

After, my life changed completely. I became aware that I wasn't quite as safe as I thought. Not even living on my protected, insulated little base. The Man, who had not been to the Middle East since Kuwait, got his orders sending him Iraq. And each time he got those orders, I would have nightmares for weeks. After he left, I would talk to him for an hour AT work, if that's where he called me, and I would DARE anybody to interrupt. I would live with the fear that every phone call, or letter, or e-mail might be the last thing he ever said to me, and so I would always tell him "I love you", even if I was spitting mad.

That day is with me every day in the way I go about my life as a military wife. Every time I say good bye to another friend leaving, or support another wife who is going through her 1st, or 4th deployment. Every time I have to send out care packages and letters, or somebody asks me "Do they need anything? Is there anything I can do to help?"

I may try not to think about it, because I want to believe that this kind of thing could never, would never, happen again. But I will never forget.

Add this to your grocery list

Here in Southern California, there are a few radio stations you can listen to:
Radio Disney (we’re all ears!) – The kiddie station
KIIS – The pre-teen/ I’m not sure what kind of music I like yet, station
KPWR – The hip hop station
KJLH – The R & B station
KROQ – All rock, all the time.

Usually in the morning, I have to listen to KIIS, because the Brat is 12, and she’s too old for radio Disney (mostly), and too young for everything else. And even though I hate Ryan Seacrest, I will occasionally listen to placate the young Miss Thing.

Well today was NOT one of those days. I got up in a foul mood (stupid period), after over-sleeping, and I forgot my lunch. So, I figured we could listen to KROQ. I was in the mood for some funny, and their morning show is pretty hilarious.

USUALLY, before they have something completely inappropriate (read: sexually explicit) they will give some kind of warnings. Today, they were talking about things that you forgot you packed before going to the airport. Started off normal, this lady called and said she & her mom were put in a holding tank for 20 hours in Germany because the authorities thought her grandmother’s remains were for a bomb…this guy calls and says his mom smuggled illegal fireworks from Mexico, by accident, he says. And then. (Isn’t there always an “and then”?) Then this guy calls and says his wife had packed edible underwear for their honeymoon, and they had gotten randomly picked to open the bag.

Why me? Why is it that I always have to explain random things to the Brat just when I not expecting it.

Brat: *making a face* Do they really have such a thing as edible underwear?
Me: Yeah ::sigh:: they do.
Brat: Do you get them at the grocery store?
My inside thought:













Me: No, you buy them at places you are not old enough to go.


Maybe my sister was right. She told me to say, Yes, you CAN get them in the grocery store. Right next to the fruit roll ups.

The next trip to the commissary would be a doozy.

A vacation from my vacation...?

So...'member how I said Tuesday was My First Day Back at work? Nope. Just Kiddin'. It was my practice day back at work. Sound foolish? What the hell am I talking about? Well gather 'round, and I'll tell you a story about my "second" day at work also known as my "paid vacation from my paid vacation".

I was at work ALL DAY LONG on Tuesday. And that's saying a lot when you consider I haven't been doing anything but sitting around with my foot up since July. Tuesday, before end of day, the HR person calls me and says "I uhh....don't have a clearance for you." I'm supposed to be cleared? MD note not enough, huh? Gotta go to employee health? Too late to do it today, so I go the next day.

Imagine: Me, somewhat Quasimodo-style, dragging my big fancy boot over to Employee Health. But still fashionably attired, after all...I can't wear fancy shoes, so I need to step up the outfit game:

Me: So I'm here to get clearance.
EH: You've been out? (see how much they missed me?)
Me: No, I heard you guys were having a sale.
EH: ...(can't take a joke those Employee Healthsters)
Me: ::sigh:: I've been out, I was told to come here to be cleared.
EH: do you have a note?
Me: Nope, nobody said I needed a NOTE too.
EH: Can you get a note today?
Me: :::grumbling & calling my doc::: Nope, doc's out til tomorrow.
EH: Well then, can't go back to work. See you tomorrow!
Me: limped out of the office as fast as my fancy walking boot would carry me.

What I did instead of working? Target, I needed to finish shopping for the Brat. I got notebooks, agenda books, a Sex & the City box set and a dress (Target IS the devil, y'all. I swear). I got a pedicure, purple nail polish, do I want the deluxe pedi? SURE, why the heck not! I went to see Death Race. Yeah, yeah...don't judge me. It's starring Jason Statham, and have you seen him? (You're welcome.) And then I came home and took a nap.

I know, right? Hard to believe they pay me for this...