A Not so Nursery Rhyme

This is my wristband from the House of Blues

This is Taylor Hawkins drummer, of Chevy Metal (umm…and another band) who I saw last night with my wristband from the HOB

(There is no picture of the people I went with OR the people that I met there because the House of Blues has a STRICT no camera policy although…we DID sneak a camera in, because I’m good like that, I DIDN’T get to use it because there weren’t enough people there to hide a big huge FLASH, and I wasn’t at all interested in getting tossed out on my ass because I like to break rules.)

Let’s just say that I was there and I had a few drinks as I schmoozed with Rock Stars while I watched Taylor Hawkins, drummer of Chevy Metal (and another band. My FAVORITE band) who I saw last night with my wristband from the HOB

This is the picture of the lead singer of Fireball Ministry, the opening act. I only took a picture of THIS because WTF?!.... his pants were supertight and his dick looked sort of obscene in those pants. And I was drunk. After I saw Taylor Hawkins, drummer of Chevy Metal with my wristband from the HOB.

Didn’t stay out too late. Just late enough for this:

This is entryway where I threw my keys & my purse. There’s a table RIGHT by my door, but I didn’t see it because I really had to pee. Because I got drunk, while rocking out to Fireball Ministry and Chevy Metal with my wristband from the HOB.

This is the bathroom where I took off my k-swiss (because I’m SO l.a. y’all) and ripped off my jeans because I apparently decided that I couldn’t pee AND wear my clothes. And that’s where they stayed ‘til this morning. Because I got drunk, while rocking out to Fireball Ministry and Chevy Metal with my wristband from the HOB

This is what’s left of my $60, because valet parking is expensive in Hollywood and so is drinking, while schmoozing with Rock Stars, seeing Fireball Ministry and Chevy Metal with the wristband from the House of Blues.

Good Times*


*Oh yeah. And the green grass grows all around all around, and the green grass grows all around.

Marking my territory

It’s lunchtime.

I was going to go walking but OMG it’s colder than a polar bears ASSHOLE out there people, so we decided to just have lunch instead. Let’s just meet in the caf, we decide. No problemo. Except. Except something happens to hospital cafeterias when the weather is cold and/or rainy, OR it’s close to payday: Everybody in the whole entire hospital goes to the cafeteria. Even though there’s a lot a really great restaurants in the area, everybody goes downstairs. Dang. NONE of y’all want to go over to Hibachi-san or Quizno’s?

Whatever. I brought my lunch. Because 1. I’m trying to save money 2. I’m trying to lose weight 3. all of a sudden I have to start clocking IN/OUT for lunch and 45 minutes is not enough time to walk to Jerry’s/Johnny Rockets/ KFC AND eat lunch 4. I’m not a half bad cook. So my left-overs rock! But where are we gonna sit? I’m scanning…..scanning…oh there’s a booth! I start walking over…but nope. There’s just one nurse sitting in a BOOTH FOR FOUR (table hog) There’s a booth! Somebody is leaving and I beat a doctor and a random employee to the table. I put my lunch bag & water down because I need to heat up my food.

But I know the employees at my job. I put my stuff down and walk to a microwave within eyesight because it’s like when you go to the laundomat. If you’re not watching, somebody will come over and move your junk.

I have 2 minutes.

I see the first lady walk over and put her stuff down at my table…I am RIGHT behind her. I’m sorry, that’s my stuff and this is my table. “Oh, I didn’t see your stuff” I take this to mean: I didn’t see YOU watching your stuff. (Oh, but I was lady, so grab your salad and kick rox)

I walk back over to the microwave. Because I would have a shit attack if somebody takes my food out of the microwave (I’ve got to EAT that people. Keep your impatient hands to yourself). Is that dude walking to my table? I start walking over…he sees my stuff and keeps going. Back to my food. Whaaa?? MY table! I start walking back over…then back to my food. Another false alarm.

I’m starting to feel like I’m on guard.

(YOU! Step back from the table)
I’m also wondering why it’s taking my co-workers so long to get down here so somebody can SIT at the table and I don’t have to stand guard.

Ding! Fries are done My lunch is ready and I go back to my table. I’m walking next to a guy who thinks the table is free (but it’s NOT). The minute I sit down, my co-workers walk up. Man, I say..I thought I was going to have to pee on this table to mark my territory.

Okay okay.. maybe not PEE. But I’m thing of getting one of these to slap on the table next time I have to have to hold a table.


And I can slap one of these on my yogurt in the fridge at work, wrap them around my pens (I am UBER possessive about my pens), and on my shoes because now that The Brat wears my shoe size, I'm finding more and more of my flat shoes in her closet.

Let's go to the movies

I'm pretty sure that I've mentioned before how much I love movies...I've seen some good stuff like Michael Clayton, to some pretty bad stuff like this one, but it's so bad it's GOOD, y'all. But I don't watch blood & guts. So no The Ring, or Saw #937 (why are there so MANY of these Saw movies?)

When I was younger, I would see a couple of movies a week, at LEAST. I had a friend that worked at the movie theatre and I was pregnant, so I had lots of hours to kill in the daytime. And even pregnant, there was only SO MUCH TIME I was going to spend sleep or stuck in the house, I figured a moving picture was a good compromise of getting out, but not doing too much. I had been given the sentence of "bed rest" early in my pregnancy, so it was more like jail time as opposed to real rest and/or relaxation.

When I married, I worked at Tower Records where I could be around my two loves: Music and Movies --and it's also where I was introduced to porn. Weird. Go figure. Anyhooters, from there I rented a movie or two a night and moved on to building a MASSIVE movie collection (Damn you DVDs for being all streamlined and SMALL and making my 350+ VHS tapes a big gigantic pain in my ass because where the eff am I supposed to STORE that many freaking tapes and now The Man wants to COPY them all to DVD and I told him he must be out of his damn mind if he thinks that I've got the kind of free time to make something like this happen...and so now I'm buying a bajillion DVDs and just hope he hasn't noticed that I've just started replacing my Disney videos with Disney DVDs)

And I don't see as many movies as I'd like any more, I've got stuff like LIFE getting in the way and I have a list of movies that I want to see that is a mile long, BUT...but I am going to go the the SUPERBOWL of movies. I'm going to the Best Picture Showcase!

I am going to the movies next month to see ALL FIVE Oscar nominated movies. I'm going to put on my comfy pajama pants (I know. But I'm going to be at the movies for at least TWELVE HOURS and that's a long time to be wearing skinny jeans while eating my weight in popcorn and drinking a ocean's worth of water/pop) and bring my own milk duds, and maybe hot cheetos. I just love hot cheetos. And watch Milk, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Slumdog Millionaire, The Reader , and Frost/Nixon, with breaks thrown in for the potty and food.

I’m excited. The first time I did it, I was a concerned that it would be too much. I hadn’t seen more than two movies in a row since my movie-hopping days. (Hey, movies are EXPENSIVE..and I figured since I’m already HERE…) But it was a lot of fun. Even the ones I didn’t LOVE were so good I could see why they were nominated. And I could even have an informed opinion on which movie I thought was better and why, you know.. just in case somebody from the Academy gets sick/dies/doesn’t vote and at the last minute they need a pinch hitter to come in and break a tie for the Best Picture and not just anybody, but somebody who KNOWS Oscar movies. Somebody who has seen every movie and has analyzed every nuance of each film…

…Or, maybe I’m just somebody who wants to kill a whole entire day watchin’ movies & eating bon bons in her pj’s with her girl friends, with a pillow so her ass doesn’t get too sore and a box of tissue. I hear that Slumdog Millionaire is a tearjerker.

1,000 words

Background: Usually my co-worker/friend confiscates my white board and draws completely random and often ridiculous pictures (Strawberry Ice Cream day, Harlem Globetrotters day, Chocolate milkshake day...you get the point). I am then obligated to post my board on my overhead cabinets and pretend that it’s not strange to have a picture for WORLD TOILET DAY drawn on it. I think it helps that I work in the department that I work in. I don’t think this foolishness would fly in Cardiothoracic, say.

TODAY: So everybody has been abuzz about Inauguration Day. How are we going to work AND watch? Where are they broadcasting…you know, questions you’d have if you want to watch history being made and you have to be at work. Me, I’m going to watch it in a conference room that my boss booked for those of us who are not 1. At LA Live watching it on the big screens 2. in WASHINGTON-DAMN D.C. 3. at home screaming at my TV, because OMG Bush is GONE y’all and we have a Black President.

So. I gave my board to my co-worker/friend Friday and THIS is what I got back Today:

If a picture is worth a thousand words, I’m going to leave this picture to fill in the blanks of any excitement that I fail to convey to be a part of this monumental part of history being made, and/or any awe that I feel that this could happen in my lifetime (more importanly, the lifetime of my Mom, who got arrested for doing something as ridiculous as trying to attend an all-white school and I'm sure thought pigs would fly before this day would come)

And if you actually NEED 1,000 words, the other 947 words running through my head are
OMG, OMG, OMG, OMG.......

Because all sense isn't good sense...

It's my own fault. Over at Tattooed Minivan Mom she was giving her hubby free reign to write a post and I thought it would be a cool idea to let The Man write a blog post over here. I forgot that 1. He likes to exaggerate 2. He can REALLY talk 3. He's an ass..LOL.
So, as your hair greys while reading this post, remember: He loves me, he's pretty good in bed and he pays most of the bills.

Introducing...my husband aka The Man better known as Mr. Fucking Funny Man.

So Ole Girl wants me to write something for her blog site. I told her I would do it, just because she thinks I can write some funny stuff. If there is an easy way out of something I will try it, so I suggested she use one of my stories from some of my adventures around the world, she shot me down saying “that I had to do something new”. I told her to give me a topic or some guidance on what she wanted to see, she sends me back a list of things, all talking about her. Wow, you want me to write out of the blue, but it has to be about you. I gotta sit here and type for who knows how long, but you need to be the subject. Well since I am doing all the typing, I will write about what I want.

This is just a few of my favorite people, places and things.

Ole Girl: She is in my list of favorite people and tops the list of people I want to do…

My little people: When you see them in action, you wonder where they get their brains and talent from. Not from me I know that. They know math, I don’t. I know when I go to the atm and it says your broke, I figure somewhere in my spending, I forgot to carry the 1 over and move the decimal point.


My Mom: If time could be bought back, I would be flat broke. There is no amount that I would not spend to bring my mom back….

My Dad: Yup he is in my list of my favorites. When you think of role models and super heroes, he is both of those wrapped up into one. Wisdom, Strength, Compassion, Faith, Trust and so much more. I remember growing up, I would do something stupid and my dad would lecture me for hours about it. One day he talked so long, I saw the sun go down and the street lights come on. I was like “dang, now would be a good time for a run away car to come and hit me, at least he would change the subject”.


My Sis and Bro: Now when I say that none of us are alike in anyway, it’s the truth in all ways. Not saying anything bad.

Bacon: if you are a vegetarian, your missing out on one of God’s greatest gifts to man.


Spam: If someone told me that I had to choose between Spam and Bacon and I could only have the one that I chose, for the rest of my life and could not change. I would ask that person if anyone else knew that we were having this conversation and if they would follow me out to this little cabin that I have in the desert. That person would never be heard from again. Those are my 2 favorite meats. Some folks like a nice big juicy steak, not me.

Sports: What would I do if there were not sports to watch? I would be broke, because I would have at least 18 kids. All I would do is bang Ole Girl day and night and have her think she was making doughnuts, the way they would be rolling out of her.

Papas and Beer: Holy Shit, they have a place that you can go and start clubbing at 9 am. When I say I thought I had made it to Mecca (that was before I drove up to the Spam museum in Minneapolis, that was my Mecca (I really like Spam)), I knew I had made it to the promise land. A cool place to party, and we opened up a tab.. By 11am this place is Asshole to Elbows packed. The sun had not burned off all the morning dew, but the club was jumping and drinks were being served. We drank from 9am – 5 pm for $90.00. Ole Girl will testify, that we don’t drink lightly and I don’t mind buying a group of folks a round of drinks. I bought a lot of rounds of drinks and for a lot of folks and we all had the best time ever.

Ole Girl wants me to keep this short so, those are a few things that made my favorites list. Hope you enjoyed reading…

Monday Meanderings

Last night I went to the Lakers game.

(Picture of the Staples Center taken on my cheezy lil' cell phone)

Every time that Kobe went up to shoot free throws, everybody started saying “M.V.P” except the kid behind me. Hey kid, that’s MVP, not NVP. Also, somehow…”Let’s go Lakers” morphed into “I want tacos” when it was announced that if the Lakers held the Heat under 100, everybody in the whole joint got free tacos from Jack in the Crack. (Ewww…)

It’s 85 degrees here at work. WTF? It’s JANUARY. This is unusual. I know they say, It Never Rains In Southern California, but it’s NOT TRUE. It DOES rain, SHOULD rain. In January. My sister asked me what this weird weather means. I told her it means we’re all going to die.

I went to LA Live this weekend too. Took The Man to the Yard House to celebrate his birthday (Happy Birthday, baby!), and holy shit was the parking ridiculous there. It was $25 dollars for 2 hours and shot up exponentially every half hour, it capped out at $45 dollars, but goddamn, that’s like dinner and a drink that I’M NOT HAVING, because I need it to pay for my freaking car.

My friend drew this picture on my white board at work.

That was last week. This week is Cuckoo Dancing Week and California Dried Plum Digestive Month. I’d like to see her draw a picture of one of those.

Today I was feeling lazy when I got dressed for work. So even though I know I shouldn’t, I wore these to work.

Although technically they are allowed (they are, close-toed shoes…one of the many dictums of our dress code), they are frowned upon. Too casual. Well wouldn’t you know one of the MDs who will be working here part time dropped in unannounced? He just wanted to get the paperwork out of the way, he says. How about he was gorgeous? Why is the second week where when I am dressed just barely appropriate for work, I am waylaid by the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen? (Why now that I'm all happily married do I keep running into men whose legs I would happily hump? Now it's alllll window shopping. Damn)

Why is it that no matter what ELSE I talk about…I can always bring the conversation around to shoes?

A Father and his daughter

The last 2 weeks, my daughter has been home. Christmas (perdon) WINTER vacation. I have been...at work. Working at Big & Fancy hospital is good & bad. Good: I get regular paychecks, I occasionally bump into famous people I recognize. Bad: MY department never closes, so I very rarely get days off. And never GOVERNMENT holidays like President’s day.

My husband though, well…he’s military. And the last 2 weeks of the year he was getting 96’s (FOUR day weekends) like it was cool. So he spent a lot of time at home with the brat. Bonding. What do father and daughter bond over?

Call of Duty: World at War.

They sit in my den and kill the bad guy. Gruesomely, LOUDLY killing the bad guy. When she’s not killing her some Nazi’s, she’s her Daddy’s wingman. Telling him where to shoot, pointing out the snipers, and also? she relaying information on his headset when he plays online. He’s turned his baby girl into a blood thirsty Marine (or Russian, depending on where you fight). The funny thing she’s still a Jo Bros-loving, anime watching, when-can-I-start-wearing-makeup begging, giggly little girl. And then this past Saturday, I heard her tell her uncle, “I’ve played Zombie Hordes but it’s not fun because they give you a crappy gun to start with” (WTF?!)


It’s kind of funny. She can talk him into watching shit like the Cheetah girls (‘cause Mommy said hell-to-the-naw) or saying Yes when I’ve already said No (sometimes, I have to veto…but I still give an E for effort) And in return, she helps him save the world. Or as he puts it "Me & my baby are putting bodies in the ground."

I guess. Who am I say what they enjoy doing together? I may not love blood & guts (and I really REALLY don't), but I'm pretty sure that the time they spend together means a lot to the both of them. Whatever it is they're doing. From playing hide & seek in the house on rainy days, to random trips to the Queen Mary to video games...to water balloon fights. When she grows up, she will remember those days, and remember that she was loved.

Because nothing says love like a water balloon to the face.

(And, did you know that Call of Duty was not only historically accurate, it provided actual facts from AND had real footage of World War II...it also tied in to what she was studying at school? The Diary of Anne Frank. Well, how about that? A war game as a learning tool.)

I don't owe you anything

In case I haven’t mentioned it, I work for some Doctors at a BIG FANCY HOSPITAL. I transferred from elsewhere in the hospital after the girl who USED to work here got FIRED. Apparently she was a screw up of epic proportions. She also didn’t pay her bills. How would I know?

This job had been open for 3 months before I started working here. First, I had to clear her 70 bajillion voice mails. Calls from her car dealer. Calls from places she was interviewing. Random calls from friends who didn’t know she didn’t work there. Calls from her/my BOSS she was obviously ignoring. Anyways. I changed the voice mail to say there was a new sheriff in town and life went on. Or so I thought.

I would get random phone calls to my extension, “Can I speak to Fired Employee?” And in my best, I’M NEW HERE VOICE, “ I’m sorry she no longer works here”. It seemed to be enough for MOST of the people who called. Then the calls stopped, I mean…I would get the occasional call, but no big. She’s no longer here. ……*insert 3 months off from work that I spent lying abed with my foot up on pillows*…..and then David.

DAVID did not get the message that Fired Employee is no longer here. DAVID keeps calling hoping to trip me up when calls to ask for Fired Employee. David is a big ginormous PAIN-IN-MY-ASS.
It started innocently enough, he would call, and I would tell him that Fired Employee does not work here any longer. “Okay, thank you” Then I would get a few hang up calls. A word of advice, DAVID, this is 2009. Even my poor little department has caller I.D., so even if I don’t see your name, I see your phone number.

2nd time: “I’m sorry Again. She’s still not here”
3rd time: “Really. Not here”
4th time: ….Okay, it’s time to be serious here. “David”, I say, “How
can I tell her you’re calling if SHE DOESN’T WORK HERE?”
Him: I thought you must be her friend.
Me: REALLY?! I’m not answering her house phone Dave.
This is a place of employment. I have her job, would YOU be my friend if I took
your job?
Him: Well, can you give her a message?
Me: NO.

Really, David. You’re a dick. Then I get to work this morning and you left me ANOTHER flippin’ voicemail. “By listening to this message, you acknowledge being Fired Employee…blah blah blah”. Guess what, Dave? I listened to the whole message, I’m still not her. And THEN I called the number you left. Hi, I keep getting calls from this Jack-hole David even though I’ve told him I am not Fired Employee. Please for the love of all things holy, stop calling here. Fired Employee is no longer here. She’s not hiding up my ass, or under my desk. I swear.**

I may owe lots of people but YOU are not one of them, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be harassed by somebody ELSE’S creditor. At work. Maybe I should give you my home number, so you can stalk Fired Employee at my house too. I still don’t know where she is, but at least I can let you go to voicemail like I do the people that I owe money. (Really, Gas Company? You are going to cut off my service because I owe you 1 damn cent? The phone call you left to tell me that AND the nasty gram on my door was more than that. You guys are ALSO assholes. And I walked INTO the Gas Company's office to give them one penny and tell them so.)


** After my ranting and raving, David's SUPERVISOR removed my phone number from their data, so hopefully...no more phone calls. So all's well that ends...