My So Called Life

In other news, my life is still ridiculous...

2011-09-03T05:37:00.000-07:00

Psst... I moved.

Also, I blogged. See you on the other site?

I'm not really sure why I thought this was a good idea

2011-08-23T07:41:00.000-07:00

BUT. At some point between 11PM and 1 AM, I decided "you know what I need? I need more distractions! I need MORE WORK TO DO! I need my own website!"

And so. Here it is: Check me out at my new place.

Why do people go to BlogHer? {The picture heavy addition}

2011-08-16T06:14:00.000-07:00

Somebody asked me why I go to BlogHer. I go for some of the same reasons that most people go. To network, my blog is tiny, but I love it. This year, I even went to a session or two. AND, I went to the convention hall. While I am not REALLY the kind of blogger that this event markets to (I'm not having another baby, not even for more swag), there were companies whose products I was actually interested in.

But for me, it's also about:

Taking awkward pictures with friends that I haven't seen in a while.

And dancing so long/hard that I had to take off my fabulous (hot pink) shoes. (Pro tip: If you're going to wear 4 and 1/2 inch heels, MAKE SURE YOU BREAK THEM IN FIRST)

And sometimes it IS about cake. Fabulous, awesome, SPARKLECORN cake!

I wore this special for @emmiej

And wearing shirts that say FUCK, that end up disqualifying me from taping a 2 minute video from Hillshire Farms because APPARENTLY my shirt is inappropriate, and they like to keep it PG-13.

It's about Aiming Low parties, where they have those words that you can put together to say weird things. (My contribution: This isn't about chest hair. Which. OBVIOUSLY. Hopefully the lady bloggers at BlogHer weren't having TOO many issues with chest hair)

It's about taking pictures of the random things you find because I DON'T CARE WHO YOU ARE, THIS IS FUNNY. (And she was too. And nice. Apparently there are REALLY nice people in Arizona, not just tumbleweeds.)

It's about dragging newbies along for the ride, and forcing them to get a twitter handle, and then telling them that HAI, I'm a blogger. All pictures that I take run the risk of being posted on the internet.

And about the end of the weekend, where after a weekend of hanging with all the friends who live in your computer, you have these stickers to show for it (FYI: Both penis stickers were given to me. They are both true. But. So is the one that says I'm awesome. Because I totally am.)

And it's about already planning next year's trip, to do it all over again. Hilton, I hope you're ready.

A Moment with The Brat

2011-07-31T23:10:00.000-07:00

Me: I'm on the way to the commissary. You want anything?

Brat: Can you bring me back some mandingo cherries?

Me: *blink* Umm...NO. But I can bring you some MARASCHINO cherries. I'm pretty sure your dad doesn't want me to bring back any mandingos.

The Man: Not at all.

Me: Also, Brat? When you get a chance, google mandingo.

I swear to you, these are REAL CONVERSATIONS that happen in my house.

**Also? I texted this conversation to her aunts, while laughing so hard I cried.

***But then I thought that this was too funny not to share. So here you go.

****You're welcome.

In case I never told you

2011-07-29T01:00:00.000-07:00

It was fun.

I loved hanging out with you, giggling over inside jokes, doing ridiculous things like headstands in hotel rooms. Oscar Movie Madness, and happy hours, and Vegas trips. Loud ghetto laughs at inappropriate moments, Super Secret Trips of Awesome, surprise parties, BBQ's, karaoke, and marathon movie nights. Just Dance competitions, 2AM texts, and I Spy. Picture booths, water gun wars, and concerts. Helping me get pictures with rock stars. ESPECIALLY THIS.

Thank you.

For not judging me. Much. Even when I was obnoxious. Or weird. For lending me money, helping me clean. For your helpful assvice. For giving me a shoulder to cry on, or crying with me, when I needed it. For just being there when I didn't want to talk. For knowing when I needed what. For being honest with me. For sticking up for me when I couldn't/didn't do it for myself. For standing behind me looking all menacing and shit when I started popping off at the mouth. For loving me.

I'm sorry.

For hurting your feelings. Sometimes, I don't think before I speak. OR. I can be too blunt. Or mean, impatient, inconsiderate. I'm human. For getting so caught up in my life that I didn't call to see if you were okay. Or if you needed me. I can be selfish, and easily distracted. I wish that I had spent more time with you. I wish that I could take back that thing I said/did that hurt you.

I LOVE YOU.

I am blessed to have family and friends such as you. I have known you forever, and not quite as long. I met you when I was 5 years old, at work, walking to the bus stop, randomly, over the internets. I didn't know how fast we would click, how easily we would fall into friendship, how tightly we would hold on to each other. But I'm glad we did. I love you for loving me the way I am, for being able to read me like a book even when I haven't said a word. For being able to cheer me up when I haz a sad. For telling me things I need to hear, whether or not I wanted to hear them, sometimes without you even knowing it. I love you for being you.

If I never get the chance to say good-bye to you. I just wanted you to know today.

You need to fill in your own blanks

2011-07-27T06:00:00.000-07:00

People are always asking me what I do when I go to Vegas, because every single time I go, I always have THE BEST. TIME. EVER. So may I present to you, my Saturday in Vegas. With all the stuff that's fit to print.

Enjoy!

Me and the two ladies I went to Vegas with had massages scheduled at Reliquary Spa at Hard Rock. We got an excellent deal on TravelZoo. It came with additional body scrub. Ladies, (and gentlemen, if you like to get massages), GET THE BODY SCRUB. It was awesome, I felt all buffed and polished before she massaged all my knots and aches and pains. I forgot to bring a bathing suit, BUT. Luckily there was a bathing suit optional/ women only section that had a wet sauna and a jacuzzi, both of which I partook. Several hours later, when we finally left the spa area we went over to Johnny Smalls for tapas. I should mention, this is the PERFECT PLACE FOR ME TO EAT. Because I can never finish a plate of food. I got to try a little bit of everything without having to commit to a whole meal.

After which, we finally threw on our suits and headed down to the pool for some fun in the sun. We spent a few hours hanging out before we decided to change into our fancy night clothes and hit the casino for dinner/gambling/more drinking.

My friend found out a friend of hers was in Vegas the same weekend we were, so we met them at Blush, at the Wynn. We hung out with my friend's friends (who for the remainder of this post will be known as MFF). Who had a table. One of the friend had fallen asleep. And then he woke up and ______________. A lot. And then he _____________again. And then we did some dancing, and had a few drinks. And then ______________________. And then the waitress came over and she ______________________. And told us_____________.

So we all piled into cabs and went to __________. More table service. More bottles of Vodka. More shots. And then___________________asked if MFF _____________ . So we (the girls & I) went upstairs to ___________. (!) OMG, you guys ______________________________________! And then _______________________________________________________. MFFs _________________. And we _____________________________________________.

After that we (the girls & I) went/ stumbled back to our room at The Hard Rock (which, you guys, I upgraded to a fancier room.. And the view was AWESOME.) around 5AM. But I was hungry so I _______________________, while they _______________________. Around 6AM, I saw the sun rising, so I went to bed. Because in a few hours, we were going to get up and _____________.

Yeah, there's not a lot that's fit to print, is there? What do you want from me, people? What happens in Vegas is supposed to STAY in Vegas. I can't very well, fill in ALL the blanks.

At least you know I had a good time at the Spa.

And this is why I need to never be single

2011-07-14T13:48:00.000-07:00

I went out with my cousin last night.

I hadn't really planned on it. I had actually planned to go home, and you know... be responsible and study. BUT. I was going to a place called Big Wangs. Who turns down going to Big Wangs? Not me, apparently.

It was fun. She works with cops, and they were a nice bunch. I didn't want to say "Fuck the Police" not even once.

She's single. And I'm not. WHICH. I DO NOT HAVE A PROBLEM WITH. I feel like that needs to be said in all caps, in case anyone is not paying attention. I mostly like my husband. But even when I don't, I still want him around.

Anyhoots. Back to my story. So we have some drinks, eat some wings (and hot DAMN, they were good!). One of the guys bought a round of drinks for the table. The cousin was being chatted up, so I was playing wingman...talking to the drinkbuyer guy. When not texting pictures of my ridiculousness.

It should be noted that I don't see myself as irresistible. Nor do I assume that every guy that talks to me is trying to get into my pants.

Drinkbuyer guy wants to know what I'm taking pictures of, and I show him. Because, why not? Pictures of my drinks, gratuitous pictures of myself, random look-at-my-cute-baby-kitties pictures. Whatever. Like you don't take pictures of your pets. So then he asks if I have any other pictures? Nope. Just got a new memory card.

I think I missed what he was actually asking for...

Because THEN he says, why don't you go into the bathroom and take some pictures?

*blink*

Uhh...the fuck? Hell no. What's wrong with you?

Apparently THAT was offensive. Because then he told me I should go home to my husband. Um. I will. Don't worry.

Which leads me to ask...WTF is wrong with people? Why would a perfect stranger think it's okay to ask somebody they just met who wasn't even pretending to be interested, AND, told you she was married... AND? Doesn't seem like some Slutty McSkankypants, to go into a sports bar bathroom and take sexytime pictures for random dude, i.e. NOT HER HUSBAND? I mean, yes, I've been married a REALLY. LONG. TIME. But...why is this okay?

My assumptions for these types of situations is that it must have worked at some point with somebody (and if I ever find out who, I will kick her right in the taco), because why else would he ask? I know what they say about assuming, but still.

How about instead of asking strangers to show you pictures of their chocha, you find an AVAILABLE woman, and get to know her, and take her on dates and shit (because bitches like dates and shit), and THEN, after you and she are in some sort of relationship, you tell your SIGNIFICANT OTHER TYPE PERSON to go into random sports bar bathroom and take sexytime pictures? Because then it's you keeping spice in your relationship! And being adventurous!

Not pervy and weird. Or assholey and gross. Or any of the other thousand of offensive adjectives that was.

Sometimes I just don't plan things well

2011-06-28T22:54:00.000-07:00

You know what happens when I happen upon a random Six Layer Rainbow Cake Tutorial right before a friend's birthday?

Antics. Antics ensue.

Me: I can totally make this cake for Mo's birthday, guys.

What happens: I go out with The Man day before I'm supposed to be baking a cake, where after I take him to the movies, he takes me to a dive bar for dinner and proceeds to buy me Jamesons. STRAIGHT. Two drinks in, I realize that I needed to go shopping for supplies for fancy rainbow cake. So I make a haphazard list and make The Man take me to Michael's. I hope that I got everything I needed because now I'm slightly buzzed, and sleepy, so when I get home I go straight to bed: Do not pass go, do not collect $200. So, then, instead of making the cake the night before and sticking it in the fridge, I make it in the morning and hope that this will all work out before I have to leave by noon.

So far, so good.

Are you wondering where the purple is? *points down*

But wait.

It's 7 AM. I took this picture and sent it to my sister: WHY DOESN'T THE PURPLE LOOK PURPLE? I'm going to the store to get some purple gel. NO. I didn't get dressed to run to the store. I went in my jammies. Yes, I did. They didn't have purple. Luckily for me, I do slightly remember that red and blue make purple, so I buy some of that. And come home and add enough red and blue to make it PURPLE. (Aaaand then, I forgot to take a second picture of it looking more purply)

Straws. To make sure my cake didn't slide off

I went to Kitson. Because it's a perk of working at Big Fancy Hospital. All the fancy shops close by. I originally went for my niece's gift for graduation to buy something quirky for her to take with her to college. I found something. AND! They had these birthday candles!

Not as brightly colored as I hoped it would be. BUT.
Everyone loved it. So there's that.

The cake was yummy, y'all. If I ever make this again. I would totally add the icing colors to make it brighter. I would also not let my husband get me drunk so that I'm rushing around like a chicken with her head cut off with only a few hours to make a cake, praying every minute of my baking time that nothing goes wrong because I just DON'T HAVE TIME to make mistakes.

No, really...take that off.

2011-06-16T23:28:00.000-07:00

Today I saw a girl that not only made me scream on the inside, I screamed a little bit on the outside, too. This girl was at my niece's graduation. THIS GIRL just graduated. And like all of the other girls, my niece included, this girl was wearing the dress that she was going to wear to the dance they were going to after their graduation.

I should mention that *this* was an 8th grade graduation, I guess.

At first, I was like NOOO, she can't be a graduate. Except, she's wearing the "I just graduated" lei, and she was running around like a chicken with her head cut off trying to get pictures with the girls who still hadn't come out of their cap & gowns, AND ALSO? MY NIECE TOLD ME SO.

To say I was slightly horrified would have been an understatement. WHERE IS THIS GIRL'S CLOTHES? Where are her parents? Who let her leave the house in this outfit?! ~~Get off my lawn!~~

There are so many things wrong with this outfit:

It's ugly. I'm sorry, it is. The back of this dress sort of scrunched (rouched? is that the word?) up, making it look even shorter than it already was.
It's too short. Even my evil stepmother said, if she sneezes, she's going to show everyone the business in the front and the party in the back. I'm paraphrasing. Maybe she was really talking about somebody's mullet. But still.
IT'S TOO OLD. You are a pretty, 14 year old girl. By the time you're old enough to wear a dress like this, you will know better than to wear a dress like this.
Leopard prints on the boob-al area. Just, no.

I mean, seriously. I know that we can't always pick what our kids wear, and that we need to give them a chance to define their own style (The Brat wore a Rolling Stones tee and a gypsy skirt to the graduation. Don't tell ME I don't know about giving teens some latitude), but I also think that when they are young --and she was young, SOMEBODY should be showing her how to pick a dress that is flattering and makes her look pretty without making her look like she's been shopping in the teen prostitute section of the JCPenneys.

Find something age appropriate. Save the barely there dresses for your 20's when you're trying to sneak into your first club with a fake ID. C'mon. DON'T ACT LIKE IT WAS JUST ME.

My Dad: Well maybe she's wearing something under her dress...?

Me: Yes, Daddy. They're called panties.

I'm either a really bad mom or a really creative one

2011-06-04T01:41:00.000-07:00

I've been asking The Brat to do her laundry for the last couple of days. She is sooo slooowww.

Day One: She pretends like she didn't hear me say: Hey, your laundry basket is ridiculous. It's time to do your laundry.

Day Two: She sorts her clothes in her room.

Day Three: She's starts washing. Mostly I think it's because she's run out of jeans.

Day Four/Five: She's been working on a project and not getting home until after 9pm.
...

Me: Hey Umm, if you're not going to wash these clothes, put them back in your laundry basket. They just can't be on the floor.

Her: Okay. See Day One.
...

Today/Tonight

I was exhausted. I was supposed to go out, but I didn't because I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. I fell asleep in my den watching the CSI Marathon.

The Brat woke me around 1AM to tell me to go to bed. I go to my room and change into my jammies. And because I have the bladder of a pea, I decide potty, then bed. And on my way to the bathroom, I notice that her clothes are STILL IN THE FLOOR.

Do I get mad, and go off on her? Nope. Because, I have a better idea.

She's in the bathroom... I can hear her washing her hands, so I know I won't have to wait long.

I stand RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE DOOR. I wait for her to crack open the door and say, Didn't I tell you to pick up those clothes?

I wasn't sure she heard me over her screaming though.

But when I came out of the bathroom (where I was trying to laugh quietly because her room is right next to the bathroom), her clothes were in a basket*.

*What? I'm the only person who gets a kick out of scaring a couple of years off of my kid's life? And, there was a bonus: She did what I told her to do. FINALLY. So, I win.

No good deed goes unpunished

2011-05-31T22:18:00.000-07:00

When I get home from work, I tell The Man, if you have anything that needs to go to the cleaners, give it to me, because I've got errands to run. He's gone for ten minutes. And he comes back with a bag as big as Santa's sack. Take that any way you want. Ahem.

I just look at him. WTF, dude?

Well. You've got stuff in this bag too, he says.

So I drag this bag to my car. Go to pick up The Brat's bus pass, stop by the beauty supply place 'cause I need hair stuff. And then I head to the cleaners.

The lady just looks at me as I pull shirt after freakin' shirt outta this bag. I feel like this is some sort of magic bag, and eventually I'm gonna pull out a rabbit or some shit. And under my breath, I'm saying ... Is this m'fer SERIOUS? I thought I had some shit in this bag too.

Oh, look. There it is!

Let's tally this, shall we?

The Man Me

15 shirts 1 Cream Slacks
6 pants 1 Black Dress
1 FREAKING PEA COAT

He better be glad I had money to pay this NOW, so that I could get a discount. Because I would be mad as hell if I would have had to pay $100 damn dollars because he tricked me into taking every shirt he owned to the dry cleaners all at once.

Sometimes when I don't know what to write about...

2011-05-24T21:09:00.000-07:00

I don't write about anything.

I just kinda look at my blog languish, and think, "but my life is so interesting! I went to Wango Tango!(don't ask...or, don't ask YET), my family is ridiculous!, my job is driving me crazy!" But, in reality, I'm also super busy. THANK GOD (no, really) for my spring semester being over. Homework, and studying, and worrying about passing Managerial Accounting was keeping me extremely busy.

And then I don't have time to write all of the things that I want to write down, when I want to write them down. And then they kind of become fleeting thoughts:

I was in Vegas this weekend, and Monday when I should have been getting up and getting ready to flee that place, I was watching Maury. Also known as The New Jerry. Does Jerry Springer even still come on television? WHY DO THESE PEOPLE ON MAURY ALWAYS LOOK SO SURPRISED THEY GOT SOMEBODY PREGNANT? DO THEY NOT KNOW HOW SEX WITHOUT CONDOMS WORK?! Is Maury single handedly keeping that DNA place in business with all his shows about baby daddies?

My friends and I always take the most ridiculous pictures. This Vegas trip was no exception. I really hope she frames this and hangs it in the living room.

I had no idea that I was going to like Lady Gaga.Or T-Pain. Turns out T-Pain puts on a REALLY GOOD SHOW.

Why do I always have to convince people that I have a son that's 21 years old? Who lies about that?! Related: YES. I know I look young.

You know it's bad when I say "I'm going to Vegas" and the girl who does my nails says AGAIN? WTF, dude? I've only gone ONCE this year.

It SO SUCKS that I didn't get to go to Okinawa.

I love carpooling/saving gas money/ getting free stuff from work, I sometimes hate my carpool partner, aka Mr. Toad.

See what I mean? These random thoughts could totally be blog posts. Maybe I'll put all of these random thoughts into a hat and pick one.

People do that right?

So in other news, I'm still not ready...

2011-05-01T17:45:00.000-07:00

I took The Brat shopping today.

I didn't want to. But, the bathing suit from last year is too small. And she was all "I NEED A BATHING SUIT." And I guess she kinda does, because her BFF has a pool and she spends a ridiculous amount of time over there. This year she asked for a bikini. A BIKINI.

I've been dodging the issue of bikinis since she started high school. Because you know: BIKINI. ON MY BABY. Can you hear my internal screaming? Because I am screaming on the inside. And a little bit on the out.

I tell The Man that we're going looking for bathing suits. His response is to get a one-piece. I do not respond. Because I already know that's not going to happen. And I don't want to fight before I even start the car.

Off we go. My requirements: No string, no thongs, and if you can't use it to actually SWIM, I'm not even going to look in its general direction. (Thanks, Grace. That's an EXCELLENT rule). I KNOW, MOMMY. Well, I'm just saying because I don't want there to be any confusion as to what kind of bikini I'm going to buy for my 15 year old ~~baby~~ daughter.

We grab a few. I also add that I AM NOT buying a bikini with cherries on it. WTF?! I really should have waited until I had back up for this. Did I mention that I hate shopping for bathing suits --even when they aren't for me? Anyways, we decide to try on the 2 finalists. She tries on bathing suit #1. It's cute. It's got boyshort bottoms. I take a picture and send it to her aunts. She tries on bathing suit #2. It's got a ruffle, and it is ALSO CUTE. I take another picture.

I like them both, Brat. Which do you like better? She likes them both too. I'm leaning toward #2, because it's not only super cute, it's in her favorite color. Then I get the texts about the bathing suits, there is wailing because my baby is growing up and she LOOKS like a real live teenager in her suit. BUT. If these are the choices, everyone likes choice #2. So we put the first one back. It has been decided. We grab some shorts and a few tank tops and break for lunch.

And, I get a text from a friend who must have gotten her texts late:
She looks so grown up! WHY???

Me: Welcome to my world. I don't like it here. Gah!

In case you were interested, here is the winning suit

NOT the Brat

So this one time, in Baker...

2011-04-29T19:55:00.000-07:00

It just doesn't have the same ring, does it?

To clarify, Baker is around 90 miles from Vegas. Give or take. It is the home of:

World's LARGEST thermometer

But let's face it, I don't drive all this way to find out how hot it is. And it's DAMN HOT in Baker in April.

VEGAS, baby. I went there. I didn't go for the usual reasons though. EVEN THOUGH a decent amount of liquor was imbibed and a fair amount of dollars were dropped at the roulette tables. No...I went because my sister ~~has gone crazy~~ participated in the Baker to Vegas Challenge Cup Relay. Does anybody remember the part where I said that it is 90-ish miles from Baker, CALIFORNIA to Las Vegas, NEVADA? Ok, good.

I going to write a post, but then it started getting LONG. REALLY LONG. So how about some highlights?

My sissie ran almost 5.5 miles. At 9 o'clock. OF THE EVENING. I think it sucks that you have to spend the WHOLE DAY AND MOST OF THE NIGHT in Vegas sober, because you have to run a relay later that night. At least they party after their leg is over.
In order to be on the relay route, to hum the theme of Rocky at her before she passed the baton, I had to get my car marked with her team's number.
I think THIS proves that the LAPD has a sense of humor.
I thought it was very cool that each runner had a car following them. Warning: Not a very good picture, because I TAKE HORRIBLE PICTURES.
Being around all those cops and such made we wanna yell out the window, "FUCK THE POLICE", N.W.A-style.
Sometimes, I open my mouth even when I KNOW I should keep it closed.
#thatswhatshesaid
My husband thinks I'm ridiculous.
I really wish that we could have stayed until Monday, so we wouldn't have to rush back Sunday trying to beat the traffic.
I'm VERY PROUD of my Sissie for participating.
On the way back from Vegas, we stopped at Alien Fresh Jerky. In Baker. Which is more than an hour BY CAR. And all I could think was, "These mf'ers RAN from here to Vegas?! That's badass, but STILL. They are ALL outta their damn minds!"
Next year, we're going back. She's going to run again!

This still ended up being long-ish. What are you gonna do? Until the next Vegas trip!

So, your kid is sick...

2011-04-17T22:49:00.000-07:00

I'm not trying to be a jerk. REALLY.

But. If your kid is sick, TAKE HIM TO HIS PEDIATRICIAN. Let the GD DOCTOR decide if she/he is sick enough to see a Specialist and IF IT IS A MOTHER FUCKING EMERGENCY. This is why they are the damn doctors. Unless you are actually a physician, there's a pretty good chance your Pediatrician knows his shit*, and won't steer you wrong.

Sometimes, your Pediatrician does want you to see a Specialist. But not RIGHT THIS MINUTE. Believe me when I say, if your Pediatrician wants your precious to be seen toute-de-motherfucking-suite, he will get his ass on the phone and make some phone calls to make sure this happens.

IF, however, your kid has had some sort of oozing rash for going on 6 weeks, and hasn't even seen his Pediatrician, AND the only reason that HE MUST BE SEEN RIGHT NOW, is because you are going on vacation TOMORROW? We will ~~judge you~~ not treat you as an emergency.

*****

Okay, so your Pediatrician agrees/announces: You should make an appointment to see a Specialist. I know...this is your baby and now that you know you need to make an appointment, you want to get this over with as SOON as possible. So, not really an emergency, but who really wants a doctor's appointment looming in the distance right?

I hate to be the one to break it to you, but doctor appointments, far and wide, are rarely convenient. You can usually have the DAY you want, or the TIME you want, but not both. This is a universal truth.

Sometimes you get lucky. They have the elusive perfect day/time. (This is as rare as one of those good hair days where you just sorta combed it out and everybody kept asking did you get your hair done because it looks THAT. DAMN. GOOD.) But more often, they will not. Try to be flexible. You can't expect for them have an appointment for you the same day you call. Some Specialists only see patients on certain days, so they book up quickly. SOMETIMES THEY CAN SQUEEZE YOU IN ON A RANDOM DAY. SOMETIMES THEY CAN'T. Work with them boys and girls. They're doing the best they can. REALLY.

If you feel that this cannot wait, because your baby boy/girl is SICK! ACTION MUST BE TAKEN IMMEDIATELY!! And the Specialist is unable/unwilling to DROP EVERYTHING (Other patients, obligations and the like) to see to your VERY SICK KID (your emphasis, not your Pediatrician's), go to the Emergency Room. THIS IS WHY HOSPITALS HAVE THEM. For Emergencies.

Maybe they just really can't see your kid today. FOR WHATEVER REASON. Maybe, their assistant has already tried sweet talking them into seeing them anyways, even though we know they don't have the time, because Mom is crying and/or hysterical and baby is screeching in the background making us feel EVEN MORE GUILTY that we can't squeeze you in. Maybe.

We're all people here, folks. We actually ARE here to help, AND a lot of us have kids, AND we know how it is to have sicky mcbabyface coughing/snotting up/feverish/puking/fill-in-the-gross-thing-oozing-from-your-kid's-orifice-here.

You know what DOESN'T help? Giving the person who is trying to help you the business because we can't kick some kid out of their appointment date they've had for month, because you have decided that your kid's sick > some other kid's sick.

Also? It makes you look like an asshole. I'm just sayin'

*YES. There are exceptions to every rule. If your Pediatrician DOESN'T know his ass from a hole in the ground, WHY IS THIS PERSON TAKING CARE OF YOUR CHILD?! If you just disagree and think this is truly an emergency (yes, this bears repeating), Emergency Room. Go there.

** This was a post that was SUPPOSED to go up on Thursday, after being bitched out by a parent who clearly had no concept that everything in the world did not revolve around them and what was convenient FOR THEM. Clearly it did not.

*** But. I can almost guarantee that a parent is going to call Monday FIRST THING insisting that their darling be seen RIGHT NOW because they've been ON DEATH'S DOOR since Friday. But not sick enough to go to the Emergency Room. So. Still. THIS.

****Also? I work for Specialists. Which means that we are NOT the first call. We will ALWAYS ask if you've contacted your Pediatrician. NOT BECAUSE WE'RE ASSHOLES. But, because that's what you're supposed to do first.

***** Okay, I'm really done now with the asterisking.

Because I am nothing if not helpful

2011-04-08T07:42:00.000-07:00

So. This has been happening:

I did a teeny bit of research. And by teeny, I mean I actually looked up the actual twitter handle of said nursing shirt people. Such hard work, yo. I mean I almost got a cramp in my pinky finger.

WELL, HELLO @Undercover_Mama! It's like my name, only...DIFFERENT. And now I sort of feel bad. Because the peoples, they keep retweeting this, and I have nothing to give away. Except assvice, and #thatswhatshesaid jokes.

So. As not to confuse those who are angling to win yourself a breastfeeding shirt. LET ME HELP YOU:

Me:

Married to Retired Marine
Works at Big Fancy Hospital
Breastfed both of my brats old skool style, without fancy hiding shirts because MY KIDS ARE OLD.

And so am I.
And I wish a m-f'er WOULD'VE had something to say about it, so that they could get cussed the fuck out.

NO UNDERSCORE

@Undercover_Mama:

There is an underscore.
Not Me.

You're welcome.

Because nobody is holier than thou...

2011-03-23T19:00:00.000-07:00

So let's talk about meat, shall we?

I eat it. Because I can. Because I like it. Especially with BBQ sauce (insert your own racially insensitive comment here. I wrote that ESPECIALLY for you, Momo) AHEM. I am digressing.

I don't think you're an asshole because you don't eat meat. Fuck. My Dad and my evil stepmother (she's not evil at all. It's just so much fun to call her that) are hardcore vegan types. Which is cool. I try to make sure they have some grass to graze when they come over, and they try to make sure we meat eating types don't starve when we come to dinner. SEE? RESPECT. It goes both ways.*

I have a niece who has recently decided to go vegan. HARD CORE PETA type vegan. As in, "Now I look down upon you because you are a meat eater" vegan. OH. MY. GAWD, y'all. I was all...Is she gonna be one of those ASSHOLE vegans, who now is going to try to convert me, one facebook post at a time?

I think the answer to that was yes, y'all. How do you tell someone that you have no plans to give up your meat-eating ways...?

(I took out the video, because...UGH)
Also? I guess I should tell you that profile pic isn't her.

I dunno. You think she got the hint? I REALLY hope that I wasn't too subtle.

* One time the boy came home and told me he was gonna go vegetarian, and I told him YOU NEED A JOB SO YOU CAN AFFORD TO EAT THAT WAY. And then the next day, I came home from work and he was eating a plate of bacon. The quickest change of mind ever.

Reply All

2011-02-22T15:25:00.000-08:00

It all started last Thursday. I received a random e-mail which CLEARLY was a mistake. Of course it was sent to a bunch of e-mail groups. But. Do you know what *I* do when I get e-mails that are CLEARLY sent to me mistakenly? I ignore and/or them. Unless I receive more than one. I mean, because, really? How many times will people:

Reply ALL
Request to be removed from the mailing list

Let me tell you: MORE THAN 50 TIMES.

Remember how I said that normally, I just ignore/delete them?

Yeah, so apparently, all it takes is for me to come in first thing in the morning and find ONE. MORE. E-MAIL. And then this happens:

Hello Everyone (including: various MDs, my supervisor, AND my manager*),

Perhaps you are not aware of this, but TO THE LEFT of the REPLY ALL button, is the REPLY button. If you are unclear on when it is appropriate to use, please use THIS GUIDE.

THANKS!

*It also went to the Manager of SOME IMPORTANT DEPARTMENT. He said he will be sending that link to his staff. So. I guess they don’t plan to fire me for my insubordinance. YET.

Well it IS February

2011-02-16T16:53:00.000-08:00

Every February I e-mail my co-workers a BLACK HISTORY FACT OF THE DAY. I feel like I should say it in all caps, so that it can look important. I don't remember how it started. Probably because I enjoy doing things people don't expect. Whatever. The point is that I send them. Regardless of how I feel about Black History Month. Which, don't get me started. Anyways, these days my sissie and I split the duties of sharing ::cue announcer voice:: MOMENTS IN BLACK HISTORY-Ry-ry (Yes, I kinda feel like it should have an echo, ya dig?)

But yesterday started my downhill slide into sickness. I'm not sure that I should be allowed to send e-mails that will be shared with her fancy co-workers when clearly I AM NOT WELL. Don't believe me? I present, without further comment, yesterday's Black History fact which was alternatively titled: My love/hate relationship with Disney:

(Howdy. I’ll lobbing you all a gimme, because I’m starting to feel as though I’m being attacked by cooties. The bad kind. But I’m at work – I AM NOT CONTAGIOUS, and since I forgot the fact that I *actually* wanted to use, please to enjoy this one. Sissie – Don’t you use my fact tomorrow. LOL)

You know how when you feel sick, and you just wanna curl up in your bed with hot cocoa in your comfy ~~jimmies~~ jammies (DAMN YOU AUTO-CORRECT. I said JAMMIES, NOT JIMMIES. I can’t imagine that wearing sprinkles is in any way comfortable), and maybe watch craptastic television while intermittently feeling sorry for yourself, and sleeping, and drinking water (because being hydrated is important, especially when you’re sick!). Me personally? I like to watch movies. Disney movies to be exact. My favorite is actually Aladdin (Prince Ali, fabulous he, Ali Ababwa!), which I could watch a bajillion times. And I have a love/hate relationship with both the Lion King and the Jungle Book. I mean, clearly both movies are about black people, except the black people are ANIMALS and…*cough* sorry. I’m getting off my soap box RIGHT NOW.

ANYWAYS...And Beauty and the Beast. I mean, Disney makes the best princess movies, you guys. Pocahontas not withstanding. Colors of the wind. Hmph.

Still though. Kinda hard to believe that it took Disney until 2009 to create the first African American Disney Princess (The Frog Princess: Tiana. Seriously though. What’s up with the animal references?)

And there you go! Today’s fact buried in my random ramblings about Disney and that fact that even the auto-correct on my Outlook is doing it wrong.

This is why opinions are like assholes...

2011-02-12T23:20:00.000-08:00

Because everybody has one.

I have been told that I am not very black. Which...What does that even mean?

Who gets to decide how black is black? I'm not black enough because I grew up in the suburbs? Because I went to predominately white schools? Because I speak WELL (which is usually phrased as "you sound like you're white"...which is another thing I don't understand)? Because I prefer alternative music to hip hop? Because I go to Renaissance Faires? BECAUSE I DON'T DO THINGS YOU THINK BLACK PEOPLE ARE SUPPOSED TO DO?

The list goes on and on.

I grew up in the suburbs because my parents wanted to live there. At five years old, I was in no position to have opinion on where I lived. Also? I should mention that I have gone to schools catered to gifted type students for as long as I've been getting an education. Yes. I'm a super smart motherfucker. And on top of that, my father would pop me right in the mouth for saying things like "huh?" and "yeah". So there was additional incentive to speaking properly. And just because I PREFER alternative to hip hop, doesn't mean I don't ever listen to Jazz, or R&B, or even rap. If I feel like it. I go to Ren Faires because they're fun. And my mom used to take me when I was a kid growing up. And I am keeping the tradition going by taking my kid when the Ren Faire returns to Southern California.

But these things are neither here or there. Because I'm going to let you in on a little secret: There is no measuring stick on blackness. I am black; therefore, everything I do is something that a black person does. Even if that black person is just me.

I'm black because it's what my father is, and what my mother (mostly) is. Like most, I am a mixture of other things. But I identify MYSELF as black.

So who are you to tell me I'm not?

You can blame this rant on mochamomma and grace. And the fact that people can be assholes.

This should totally be a Weight Loss Wednesday post...

2011-02-09T12:15:00.000-08:00

Except, I haven't lost any weight.
Because I haven't been to the gym all week.
Because I've been too busy playing hide and go tweet with THESE GUYS.

Somehow, though...I managed to lose an inch on my waist though.

Not ungrateful. But still. I can do better.
And then, this Sunday was the Super Bowl...So I'm sure you already know that any thoughts of "eating healthy" went right out the window, when the pizza (it was spinach and feta cheese, does that count?) got to the house.

So. Gym tonight, and healthy food type things until next Wednesday's post. Deal?

Weight Loss Wednesday: The What I've learned from tracking my foods edition

2011-02-02T10:10:00.000-08:00

There’s too much salt in my diet
There are too many CARBS(“SUGAR”) in my fancy hot beverage
EGGS HAVE TOO MUCH CHOLESTEROL
I felt bad having to type in I had 3 Yard House Beers. But not bad enough not to drink them
I need to workout to obtain more calories to eat I need to go to the gym more.

I WILL go to the gym if it means I can have dessert (my husband bought me a sour cream lemon pie. He is a saboteur)
Maintaining my hair is a bitch when I go to the gym every day

I can feel that my clothes fit differently, BUT. I can’t find my tape measure. This is also The Man’s fault.
Sometimes, livestrong recommends things with lower calories than what I just ate

But. If you recommend that I eat a tub of frosting because it’s less calories than something healthy, you’re doing it wrong.

Also? I NEED a cheat day. That cheat day is going to be SUPERBOWL SUNDAY.

Happy Monday!

2011-01-31T06:41:00.000-08:00

Now that I have to be at work at 6! AM! on Mondays, I have to get up pretty early to get to work on time. Luckily though, because it's so early, I can leave a little bit later and still make it in to work on time.

I don't know WHY it seemed like such a good idea to be unable to sleep until 1 o'clock in the morning. But there it is. I figured that I could come home and nap it off, since getting to work early means leaving early.

And because I was so tired, I waited until the last possible minute to get up. In my case, 5AM. I will need to get out of the house by 5:30. MAX.

And because I put on make-up almost every morning, OF COURSE I WAS RUNNING LATE.

And because I was running late, and I'm not the kind of asshole who wakes up EVERYBODY in the house, just because I'm up, I got dressed in the dark.

And because I got dressed in the dark, this happened:

Would now be a good time to tell you that I have the EXACT SAME BOOT IN TWO DIFFERENT COLORS?

Thank God I keep an extra pair of shoes at work.

My fancy argyle tights y'all. I'm SUCH an adult.

Yeah, this Monday is shaping up to be a real winner.

Weight Loss Wednesday?

2011-01-26T11:41:00.000-08:00

Maybe. This may be a thing. Or maybe it will just be a thing for a little while. Either way. Apparently I make lots of lists.

So, I’m going to try to use this website to track my food intake. STARTING TODAY. I would like you to know that:

If I want to lose 2 pounds a week (or is it 1.5), I can only have 928 calories

That’s not a lot of food

I used it today withOUT regard to how many calories I ate so I can see how much I routinely eat

FAT. THERE’S A LOT OF FAT IN MY DIET
Grande Chai Tea lattes are 200 calories (I didn’t drink the whole thing; I never do)
Now I only have 345 calories for dinner
Including any/all snacks
There’s an orange sitting on my desk and I’m scared to eat it.

I’m DEFINITELY going to have to go to the gym, so that I can have sommore calories.

Starting tonight
Who's with me?

OMG. 928 Calories.

It should be noted, that these calories do not include any sort of exercise. Which. I WILL BE DOING. So that will allow a couple hundred more calories. Also? Why didn't it have an option for sedentary job, but busy like a motherfucker once I clock out? AND? I don't really think that 928 calories is reasonable. But I guess if I eat healthier, maybe 928 calories is a WHOLE LOT of food?

We'll see. Luckily I have the option to change it to something I think is more I WANNA LOSE WEIGHT BUT NOT STARVE TO DEATH IN THE PROCESS calorie goal.

I have so many things to tell you, but let me start with last night...

2011-01-13T10:42:00.000-08:00

I do. I have a LOT OF THINGS to tell you.
My husband turned 40 the other day, The Boy turned 21 and then I took him to Vegas stories. But. I've been busy. Or am lazy. Not sure which. Either way.

Last night I went to the Slide Bar in Fullerton for Rockers in the Round. Last minute gig that a facebook friend mentioned. And me, thinking OH I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO BUT WORK TOMORROW decided, yes. It sounds like a GREAT IDEA. That's me, y'all. I am full of it GREAT IDEAS.

ANYWAYS. So even though I have a whole lot of stories that I want to tell you guys. I'm going to tell you this one. Because I sent an e-mail to my friends about last night. Which, pretty much is a post. So. Enjoy:

Subject: A few things

1. I went last night. It was FUN.

2. Chris was walking around ordering drinks at the bar AND NOBODY NOTICED HIM BUT ME AND SARAH.
     a. I did not drink. Because I was in FULLERTON. BY MAHSELF
3. Then he stopped to talk to us. At some point I said, “See how much I love you? I’m going to be here until AFTER midnight, and I have to be at work at 7:30 IN. THE. MORNING.” (He says, well, I have to take my kids to school in the morning, so I feel your pain. And thank you for coming out. REALLY)
4. He’s SO. SWEET.
5. The people who go frequent that bar are some sketchy looking characters. FO SHO
6. The opening band “something 257” SUCKED. HARD.
     a. Their drummer didn’t have any legs.
     b. No. REALLY. Wheelchair.
     c. And now I’m dying to know how he played the drums because we left during their set (see #3)
7. I got home at 2AM
8. He also said to be on the lookout for more random shows.
9. Oh yeah:

Me. Chris Shiflett

(I'm not going to explain. Because you should know)

BOOYAH!

The things I do for my girls....

2011-01-06T10:15:00.000-08:00

I almost ALWAYS lie about my weight. Mostly because I can. I weigh a lot. I am OBVIOUSLY overweight. But. I look as though I weigh less than I do. If that makes sense.

So I usually knock off around 10 lbs. SIGH. Women. We can be so vain, yes?

Anyways. Along with the shredding, I was given a log to write down my measurements: Weight, Chest, Waist, Hips, Wrist, and Forearm. (Forearm. Random, don’t you think?). OF COURSE, my period decides to come A WHOLE WEEK EARLY just so that when I start this whole 30 day shred, I’m all SUPER BLOATED and crampy and I CAN’T EVEN EXPRESS TO YOU THE BACK PAIN. WTF. Also? Fuck you Mother Nature, you’re a big giant asshole. *cough* But, I digress.

I thought it was just a PERSONAL log to keep track of weight/inches lost.

And then, my friend sent her measurements on Monday. OH. I DID NOT KNOW I WAS GOING TO HAVE TO SHARE THIS INFORMATION WITH EVERYONE?! ::cue the internal screaming.

She’s small. She has pounds she wants to lose, but really? She’s at the weight I want to be. EITHER WAY. She’s got balls. She sent all of us her measurements. I KNOW HOW BIG HER HIPS ARE, Y’ALL. You know how much you have to trust someone who is NOT a medical professional before you can put that kind of information in their hands?

So I went home. Pulled out my measuring tape and put it on the bathroom counter.

And then went to the kitchen to eat a piece of sweet potato pie.

And then thought I’m totally doing this wrong.

And then I got distracted by some shiny thing. So I forgot. Quite possibly, accidentally on purpose. But in the meantime, I’ve been hitting the gym, rode my bike several miles and have a date with the gym again tonight.

Now it’s Wednesday. I get dressed for work and see the measuring tape. Can I really put my weight into cyberspace? Can I put the ACTUAL NUMBERS in an e-mail? I don’t even tell my husband how much I weigh. And he knows pretty much everything there is to know about me. Except that. He walked in just as I was measuring my waist.

So how many inches? Are you serious? I am NOT telling you that.
Can you measure me? Sure.
Now, Can I measure you? Umm, NO.

He pulls out the scale and gets on. I say, I weigh less than that. Not as much less as I’d like, but less.

I came to work. And I thought about how many other things I've shared with my girls. My worries. My joys. My completely random thoughts. And how they support me, whenever I need it. And sometimes, when I think I don't. So. I sent an e-mail to the girls with ALL of my true measurements. Including my weight. These girls? I’d do anything for.

APPARENTLY, even things I won’t do for my husband.

This Year

2011-01-01T09:53:00.000-08:00

Here is my obligatory "NEW YEAR'S POST" (I just feel like it should be in all caps)

I don't have any resolutions. Just PLANS:

TODAY, me, dirty dayana, prima, and my sissie start the 30-day shred. Again. But for reals this time.

I'm going to Japan. With the Brat. To see my friend and his wife. And Disneyland Tokyo. (priorities, guys. I has them)

I've got classes to attend. And just a handful of classes before I graduate. If my classes don't get cancelled, or rescheduled to times when I can't attend them, I will have a degree Spring 2012.

I don't know when yet. But I've got concert plans. LOTS OF CONCERT PLANS. Some of my most favoritist bands, finished albums in 2010 and will be touring this year. I pre-concerted by crashing a Super Secret Foo Fighter Concert in December. A prelude to a promising concert season.

I was going to go to Vegas (yeah yeah, save your shocked faces) for Superbowl weekend. But I think maybe I'll be in Sacramento. And if THAT happens, I'll be drinking beer with Emmie.

Girls Night Out #2! Don't know when. Don't know where.

Blogher11! I love San Diego!

Family Reunions. Mom's side. Dad's side. That's a WHOLE LOT OF FAMILY.

No resolutions. No stressing over things I may or may not be able to accomplish. Just plans. Hoping for happy surprises. Hoping that the working out will lead to weight loss. Don't plan to give up cookies. Or drinking. Moderation, I think is what it's called?

But for now, my plan is to lay around in the bed with the brat watching the Rose Parade.

So far my plans for the New Year are working out FINE.

On turning 21...

2010-12-14T10:39:00.000-08:00

So, I was going to write this heartfelt post because TODAY is my first baby’s birthday. And not just any birthday. TWENTY-ONE! He can LEGALLY buy liquor! But really that’s not such a milestone when you think about the fact that *I* have been buying liquor for myself since I was 16. Yeah, no wonder I got knocked up so early, right? But in fairness, I wasn’t drunk when I got pregnant…so there IS that.

Even though he doesn’t look anything like me, he is mine in temperament, in humor and intelligence. I gots me some brainy kids, y’all.

He’s got a wild side and he’s artistic. He cracks inappropriate jokes. He loves his mama.

He put me through a lot. But. I blame that on my mother’s curse. You know the one: “I hope that when you have kids, they put you through all the crap you put me through” He did. And then some.

He turned out to be a pretty decent kid. Still irresponsible (I’ve never met a kid who loses his phone SO. FUCKING. MUCH)…but then…so am I. He’s stubborn and determined to make his own way.

And I’m going to let him. Because he’s not my baby, anymore. He’s a man.

Happy Birthday, Boy.

Love you.

Every kid is somebody's baby

2010-12-05T16:52:00.000-08:00

I saw a kid the other day...

He looked like my son. Around the same age, same build. If I hadn't known for sure that The Boy was nowhere near my neck of the woods, I totally would have thought it was him.

He needed help, this kid. He said that he'd been sitting in his car for a couple of hours, trying wave down some. He needed a jump. He said that some lady told him she would come back and help him when her husband came home. WHENEVER THAT WAS.

So he was still waiting.

I was just getting home from carpooling, and he was around the corner from my house. Mr. Toad, my carpool partner, didn't want to wait 5 minutes for me to give him a jump. So, I dropped her off and came right back.

(And then I called my cousin, because even though I was in MY neighborhood and I feel safe there, if it was in fact a trick and I was going to be abducted, SOMEBODY was gonna have a license plate number and a time/place of last location. Paranoia. I haz it.)

So this kid, who kinda laughed when I got on my cell phone because I'm pretty sure he knew why, had jumper cables. So did I, but he didn't give me a chance to tell him. Took less than five minutes.

I'm not one of those people who stop for other people in need. In fact, I usually, say that I wouldn't even stop if I saw a nun holding a baby. Because...ya know. Stranger Danger. (And WTF would a nun be doing with a baby?)

But.

This kid. He looked so much like my kid.

And I hope that if my kid ever needs help, and I'm not around, somebody stops and gives him a hand.

Talk about Mission Impossible..

2010-11-24T09:18:00.000-08:00

Ever have one of those bills that you always seems to get paid a couple of days late? I do. It's my cable bill. Which, I guess it kinda funny because if my cable ever got cut off I would totally go apeshit. ASIDE from being an internet junkie, it's bundled, so I'd be sitting here with no internet, no TV and nobody to call (cell phone? Who uses their cell phone to make CALLS?)

Anyways, I've tried getting them to change it so that it would be easier for me to pay, but. Whatever. Yeah. I could totally pay this early, but, really no I can't. So. Late. But I *DO* pay it. So there's that.

So. Bill. Came in the mail yesterday. I've already set up my payment, but then I thought...you should call them and tell them it's going to be paid Friday. So, I call the 800number. Aaaannnnd....cue the ridiculousness:

TW*: Hi, your bill is late. So don't even think about pay-per-view or ordering a special event.

Me:...

TW: So. How are you going to pay your bill? Credit card, check? I'll hold on while you get me my money, bitch.

Me:...WTF? Umm...Customer Service? Operator?

Hey...In case you didn't know...THIS CALL WAS COMPLETELY AUTOMATED. I NEVER SPOKE TO A REAL PERSON.

TW: Sorry, I didn't understand. Since your bill is late AND you apparently DON'T speak English, let me make this simple. Press 1 for credit card, 2 for check and 3 for some other way to pay. 'Cause you ARE going to pay me before this call is done.

Me: No. Help? Customer Service? ROEIODJFSDKUEYYEGIFH...Operator? How the fuck do I get to a real person?

TW: Let's try this again: SAY 1 for credit card. SAY or press 2 for check. GIVE. ME. SOME. MONEY.

Me:

TW: Fine. If there's something else you want, press 8.

Me: 8

TW: Seriously though, if you talk to a person to pay your bill, we're going to charge you $5.

Me: The fuck? Transfer me already.

TW: FINE, THEN. BUT. If you just want an extension so you can pay us later..press 5.

Me: 5.

TW: Okay, you have until Decem-

Me: *click*

I don't care anymore. Apparently, I have more time than I need. Bill is still getting paid Friday, so... Mission Accomplished?

*OBVIOUSLY, these weren't their exact words, but umm...seriously? I think this was more or less what they were trying to say. I'm SURE they have their reasons for automating; clearing making it mission impossible to speak to an actual HUMAN must have been at the top of that list.

I get it. You want to get paid. And surprisingly, I want to pay you. But, the strong arm tactics? The you-can't-do-anything-until-you-pay-your-bill-not-even-talk-to-a-person behavior? TOO FAR. I know you think that I'm too cheap/lazy/dependent on you to change services so you can just treat me any ol' kind of way, except. I'M NOT. Get it together, Time Warner, you are a CUSTOMER SERVICE ORIENTED enterprise. How about you act like it?

What I learned from NaBloPoMo

2010-11-17T22:13:00.000-08:00

1. Attempting to post everyday is IMPOSSIBLE. For me. I don't know how some of you do it, I suspect that you're just some sort of jackass show off who wants to make me look bad by using kickass time management skills, but WHATEVA.

2. Y'all are some awesome writers. I'm not going to lie, my Reader always gets a little constipated this time of the month, because a lot of you are taking this time to write a post a day (see #1) which means that where I was only reading a few posts a week/month, there is now a post. EVERY. DAY. BUT. This whole NaBloPoMo has made me remember why I put you in my reader in the first place.

3. I learned that if you don't have anything to say, you can post a picture and it still counts as a blog post. Heh.

4. I missed blogging! I went from blogging on average every couple of days to blogging MAYBE once or twice a month. Pfft. I blame twitter. It's much easier being a jackass 140 characters at a time, than writing a big long post about my jackassyness. (It is too a word) ANYWAYS, even the attempt at blogging for 30 days straight made me remember that I'm interesting! And funny! And I have SHIT TO SAY.

So the moral of the story is that I didn't have to do all 30 days to get back into the swing of blogging. I mean... it's not like when you have strep throat and your doctor gives you a weeks worth of antibiotics and you only take 4 days because after the 4th days YOU FEEL FINE and SEE? MY THROAT'S NOT EVEN HURTING ANYMORE, and then the next thing you know, your throat is feeling scratch again because you didn't take your meds as prescribed. Right? RIGHT?

Yep, even though I said I was going to do NaBloPoMo I didn't, because I can't be trusted to do anything for 30 days and so I haven't blogged in a week, but now that I have, it's a whiny post about my Fantasy Football. Deal.

2010-11-15T15:06:00.000-08:00

So this team on the left, yeah...that's mine. YES. I AM SO LAZY THAT I DIDN'T EVEN COME UP WITH A NAME FOR MY TEAM. Although, quite frankly, I don't know that Mona Monday is better. But, WHATEVA. Because she's kicking my ass. I'm getting my ass kicked by a girl on a stripper pole. Gah!

To be fair, a lot of my starting team was on a bye week (for those unfamiliar: they were off this weekend. Probably boozing it up or sending pictures of their junk to random females, or whatever it is those athletes do when they've got some time off) But still. My Kicker, who I picked because apparently my competitive streak overrode my absolute hatred of all teams Boston, went randomly injured reserve. And my back-up kicker was what? ON A BYE WEEK.

Also? Those players on their P's (Probables) and Q's (Questionables)? Yeah. When I left them on the bench they got points in the double figures. But of course, when I start them then they want to act all too injured to play well. I mean, really? EITHER YOU ARE INJURED OR YOU AREN'T. STOP PLAYING WITH MY EMOTIONS.

You would think I would be mollified by the fact that Steve Smith got no points. But that would be negated by the fact that MY STEELERS GOT NEGATIVE POINTS. Negative! Points! I love you Steelers. I do. But why were you so bad that you didn't just get NO points, you went backward in scoring?! From the team that lost to the Browns, JUST. LAST. WEEK.

I don't even want to talk about how I had OchoCinco who got 21 points his first game and hasn't been able to catch a pass since... or about how we both have a Monday game tonight and both of our players are on the same team, and how I need for MY player to get more than 6 points and for HER player to either get injured and get zero (OR NEGATIVE) points.

Nope. I'm just gonna sit here and dream the impossible dream - the one where I actually WIN this week's match up. After all, this is FANTASY football, right?

/rant

A Rhetorical Question

2010-11-07T08:07:00.000-08:00

So. Say you are invited to a friend’s party. An 80’s vs. 90’s party where pretty much EVERYBODY has gotten into flashback spirit. There are bodysuits, pretty in pink type prom dresses, and even big gold chains. Didn’t even hear a song older than 1999. And as a girl, whose teen years were in the 80’s and partied in the 90’s, *I* would know. Even Humpty Hump was there! (Okay, maybe not the REAL humpty…but a reasonable facsimile)

A good time was had by ALL y’all. I just have one question

@dancanielle "The Bomb" Photbomber

Is it rude to photobomb Humpty when he’s mugging for the camera?

I saw this picture on FB and I couldn’t resist tagging her because REALLY? That is just TOO funny.

Just a reminder...

2010-11-06T20:12:00.000-07:00

In my mind, when I look at my daughter...I see a LOT of husband. She looks like him, they have the same eyes, nose and complexion.

She's got a lot of his tastes. Earlier this week, she sent him a text because OMG, DADDY, THE McRIB is BACK AND WHEN CAN WE GET TO McDONALDS?!

And just when I think that there isn't a shred of me lurking inside of her....

She proves me wrong.

And this is why I love my friends...

2010-11-04T20:20:00.000-07:00

~~None~~ Not all my friends understand my fascination with the interwebs. They are more facebook people...if you know what I mean.

But that's okay. When I find things around the intertubes I think they'll enjoy, I e-mail it to them. Like this post from Miss Tejota. It's got promises of free vibrators, and Movember. TJ's post also posted a website where you could show your support by sporting your own mustache.And I know my friends y'all. A good cause AND a paper mustache?

I mean, because REALLY. What did you think was going to happen?

I really hope this doesn't mean I have daddy issues

2010-11-03T20:54:00.000-07:00

My dad was pretty strict.

I have NO IDEA why he was. I say WAS because now that he's got grandkids all of a sudden he's not a shouter or a spanker or a EAT EVERYTHING OFF YOUR PLATE OR YOU'RE GOING TO BED-er. Now he's all mellow, and cool with the fact that the boy won't eat potatoes (not even french fries) and the girl won't drink milk. (WTF?)

That's not actually what this story is about though. It's about how how my dad was SUPER STRICT, and would practically time our walk home and give us the 3rd degree if we got home 4 minutes later than we usually did, and how he complained that our skirts were too short and our pants were too tight, and one time made me return a purple mini-dress because he claimed it was too little and no daughter of his was going to school with her butt hanging out, even though I promised to wear shorts under it.

I was not my Dad's biggest fan growing up. Clearly he was fashion backwards. And when he & my mom separated, I bought a bazillion minis and wore them to school every day. Unless I was wore colored skinny jeans. And rest assured, I was a skinny girl, wearing even skinnier jeans.

Let's flash forward 20-ish years shall we?

The Man? Never does one lick of shopping for the girl. EVER. I buy the shoes, the jeans, the gym clothes. I buy the colored socks, and even the inappropriate sloganed t-shirts. I come home, show him everything I bought...and all I get for my troubles is an "oh, that's nice."

Until today. Today it was 90 degrees. IN NOVEMBER. I KNOW, right? It felt like I was living on the surface of the sun. So this morning, after the warning that it was going to be a thousand degrees, The Brat tossed on a tank and a pair of shorts. It should be noted that since Mama doesn't want her baby's cooch to be showing, I make EXTRA SPECIAL CARE to make sure none of her shorts will let this happen. Also? I've seen the shorts the girls wear at her school, her shorts are long pants in comparison.

I see her before I leave for work, I say "Make sure you put on a jacket. It's cold in the mornings"

My husband sees her before he takes her to the bus stop and says "Why isn't the baby wearing any clothes? I don't want her prancing around school half naked....blah blah blah....all you girls ever want to wear are teeny tiny shorts blah blah extra tight pants blah blah....(did he just say get off my lawn?)"

I stop listening, because I was transported to my father complaining about mini-skirts....

When did The Man turn into MY DAD?

If he tries to make me clean my room, there is going to be T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

It's also Plan Your Own Epitaph Day*

2010-11-02T21:28:00.000-07:00

I read a lot of blogs. I mean, a LOT. As in, if everybody in my Reader actually posted for NaBloPoMo, I would be in a shit load of trouble. As it is, if I skip a few days, I start panicking about how I'm going to read all those posts.

But you know what I don't do?

Comment.

I'm not sure why. Sometimes, it's because I just don't have time to read and comment while simultaneously pretending like I don't have work/laundry/homework/OTHER SHIT to do. Sometimes, I don't think I can say anything of value in the comments. Or sometimes, some other funny motherfucker said what I wanted to say, but funnier. I HATE THAT.

But. If you're going through all of the trouble of posting everyday, the very least I could do is comment, right? Especially since I'm reading. I mean, isn't that's what it's all about? Yeah, yeah, you totally do it for YOU and you would still blog even if NOBODY read it. But...dont lie... isn't it nice when somebody does?

And so, I'm ALSO naming this month National Commenting like a MoFo Month or NaCoMoFo.

If you post it and I read it, I'll comment on it. Because I liked it/thought it was funny/think you are a blogging bad ass. Really.

*Here Lies UndercoverMama. She loves her family, her friends, and you. Yes, you.
** I hope to have PLENTY MORE YEARS before the subject of my epitaph ever comes up.

This is just like the time that I started the 30 day shred, except I think I only lasted for 3 days, but I'm sure this is better because I don't have to get up early and work out so maybe 30 days won't be so painful?

2010-11-01T20:55:00.000-07:00

So this little pitiful space? Is my blog. And I love it. Really. But like any toy that you've had too long, I took it for granted...only pulling out to play when ~~I'm not on twitter~~ , ~~not playing on tumblr~~ I've worn out my other interweb time sucks.

Anyways, I decided to sign up for NaBloPoMo. Because I'm ~~stupid~~ , ~~crazy~~ , ~~a glutton for punishment~~ finding that I miss blogging. *cough*

If you take into consideration that I only posted once last month, 30 days is a whole lot of blogging. But to be fair, last month was my birthday (yes, the ENTIRE MONTH), and so I was busy doing birthday stuff: going to concerts, dressing up for Halloween, drinking because it was Wednesday, and generally doing whatever I wanted, which...apparently included pretending my blog did not exist.

But it DOES exist. And the reason that my blog has been languishing while I bullshit around the internet on twitter, or tumblr is because of PEOPLE I MET WHEN I BLOGGED. Ironic, isn't it?

Well. I'm changing all that. Because really? My life is still just as weird/fun/random as it was when I first started blogging. And I still want to share it with you.

Yeah, I'm TOTALLY gonna kick NaBloPoMo's ass.

And yes, this totally counts as a post.

I'm going to DISNEYLAND!!!!!!

2010-10-22T01:53:00.000-07:00

My friend lives here:

No. Not the red dot. Down and to the left: Okinawa. She's a Marine wife who talked her husband into doing an overseas tour. Me, I've moved all over these United States in the name of the Marine Corps...but I've never got to live in a place where I didn't speak the language (except Bah-ston. But that's because they're doing it wrong. It's PEA-body, not Peabdy. JERKS.).

Whateva. The wonderful thing about being part of the Marine Corps family? Going to visit friends all over the world. When my friend moved, I told her that was DEFINITELY going to come and visit, because who wouldn't want to go visit a friend whose casa es mi casa all the way in Japan? (Gimme a break. I speak Spanish, y'all. I don't know how to say "my house is your house" in Japanese)

COMPLETELY UNRELATED SIDENOTE: Have I ever mentioned The Brat's boner for ALL THINGS JAPANESE? Because she's got one. A big huge one. She listens to J-pop (and K-pop) watches anime in japanese. She decided in middle school that she wanted to learn japanese. EVEN when it involved taking a class at 7AM. And considering that she’d rather sleep until noon than eat, that's dedication. And? She’s REALLY good. And I'm not just saying that because I'm her mom and she's better than your kid at EVERYTHING. She's pretty bad ass. When she found out that I was going to go visit my friend in Okinawa, she said that I was either going to take her, or ~~she was going to set all of my clothes on fire~~ hide in my suitcase.

So there I was, looking for tourist ~~traps~~ attractions for The Brat and me. My friend has already said she'll be taking that time off, so that she can be our tour guide. You know how you start looking for stuff and then you just follow the random links and then you end up somewhere interesting that you didn't even know you wanted to be until you saw THAT. Guess what THAT was y'all? THAT was Disneyland in TOKYO.

YOU GUYS? I COMPLETELY FORGOT THAT THERE WAS A DISNEYLAND IN JAPAN.*

So NOW, I'm detouring to Tokyo where we're going to Disneyland with a side of Harajuku, and maybe I can even sneak in some culture and shit.

OMG, I'm going to Disneyland!!!

*I haven't even been to Disneyland in California in YEARS, but OMG, there is no way I'm not going to Disneyland in another fucking country. Also? Now that I remembered that there are Disneylands all over the world, I'm adding Disneyland Paris and Hong Kong to my list. BOO-YAH!!

** And, yes. I asked The Man did he want to go. His response: I've already been to Okinawa and I never want to go back. Have fun. Take pictures.

I did...

2010-09-28T08:34:00.000-07:00

talk my girl friend into taking a day off to spend with me at Ditch Friday at the Palms Pool in Las Vegas.

pack too many clothes.

go to Lush and stock up on bath bombs...

let somebody give me tequila that had been smuggled down to the pool in a Bud Light can AFTER he took a shot first (I'm crazy y'all...not stupid).

send drunk texts to @undomesticdiva. Because she likes it.

take a picture of a guy's tattoo that looks suspiciously like a penis.

have a blast at Haze with @justonemiss @rewritingkel and the birthday girl: @redlotusmama

buy a shot for a Marine. Related: I also took a picture of his tattoo, because it was badass (he was Suicide Charley and you have to be a Marine to understand), and then sent that picture to The Man.

hug an Soldier who had just gotten back from Iraq.

NOT play any craps. (Boo!)

lose my money at the roulette table.

do a loud ghetto laugh just as the plane got silent.

NOT wear make-up to the pool.Waterproof mascara does not count.

break both of @sistuhgurl's flip flops at the same time. Damn, I'm clumsy. Related: I *did* get a guy to fix them for me.

find out who took the picture of me and Santa from the original #VegasBB

photobomb some pictures.

laugh a lot this weekend

wish some of you were there... <3

Insert Completely Random Photo Here

2010-09-14T10:49:00.000-07:00

80's night for opening of Hot Tub Time Machine

Yeah, I know. It's hard to believe I'm a parent.
So from time to time I have to remind my mother that HEY. I’M THE DAMN MOTHER HERE.

And you can’t be a better to my kid than me. Like this one time

Now, go on over there and show me some love.

I do remember

2010-09-10T15:58:00.000-07:00

I moved to Boston in December of 2001. I worked at a Big Fancy Hospital (just like the one I work in now…only on the east coast) in Boston. Right across from Fenway Park (Boo, Red Sox!).

I took the subway to work because for all California has to brag about, our public transportation leaves a LOT to be desired. I took a shuttle to T station, grabbed a Metro and just barely made my train. The Metro is just a little paper that you read while you kill time on the subway. In fact, I usually breezed through it, and left it in the seat when I got out, so that someone else could read it until their stop. I sat down, and looked at the front page.

On the front page was a picture of every person on the 2 flights that left from Logan Airport in Boston, Mass.

(unrelated: You know what’s really UNCOMFORTABLE for subway riders? Watching a woman bawl while reading the Metro. I mean, complete with runny nose and that hiccup and nowhere to blow your nose because you totally did not expect to be crying hysterically at 7AM on your way in to work. Not that this ever happened to me or anything…I’m just saying)

It had only been a year.

I read the Metro from front to back, reading stories about innocent people who had no idea their lives were going to be sacrificed simply because of others who hate. Students, parents, kids, people who were just coming back from vacation, not just Americans. This one day changed so many lives.

And even as people swear to always remember, people forget.

But I will never be one of those people. And I will make sure that my children remember. Too much of my life, and the lives of those close to me, has changed based on one single horrifying day.

The Man & Brat before he deployed. The FIRST TIME.

It will always be in the back of my mind, as the wife of a husband who has done several deployments, as a person who watched the news unbelieving just like everyone else, as a person whose heart still hurts for all of those people who died on that day, and the military personnel that give their lives to fight for our freedoms (whether or not *you* agree with them).

I do remember. I ALWAYS will.

A post about my husband, drunk sex and a missing cat

2010-08-28T21:16:00.000-07:00

So I got this joke in the mail. It's pretty hilarious. I could have just e-mailed it out to eleventy-billion of y'all, but then I was all that's why I have blog space. And it's Saturday, and everyone knows that nobody is reading blogs on Saturday, so I can pretty much post whatever the fuck I want to. So I am.

It could be that this joke is *really* that funny, or that I just have a weird sense of humor (I have 2 baby cats, and I can't even imagine acting like this), OR It might just be me being too lazy to write a WHOLE post about how my husband came home super drunk the other night and decided that RIGHT NOW would be the perfect time to have sex, while I completely and unironically was watching the movie Stick It! (which even though sounds like it could be, is NOT porn) and then he passed out, and then this morning he was dragging ass because OMG he was up drinking instead of home sleeping like normal people do. And then when I was poking at him because HEY GET UP, YOU GOTTA GO TO WORK, he made some snide remark about this one time where I went out with my friend and HER friends and one of them thought it would be a good idea to buy us a bajillion car bombs,and shots of tequila AND a Toyko Tea on a fucking Wednesday night, and I apparently thought it would be a good idea to drink them. I got so drunk that I don't even remember getting home (I didn't drive) after midnight, I got up at 5-something in the morning to go to work still not completely sober, in fact, water made it worse, until I wised up and got some Gatorade in me. And when he called me and I told him about the previous night and how all I could do is pray I can finish out this day so that I can go home and pass out, he laughed at me...but I SHOULD HAVE SOME FUCKING SYMPATHY because he's SOOO tired.

So I'm going to make a long story even longer by saying, please to enjoy this joke instead of the above post that's not a post.

Shannon* (the secretary) has lost her cat and has asked David (the graphic designer) to help with a lost poster. This is their email correspondence...

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 9.15am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Poster

Hi

I opened the screen door yesterday and my cat got out and has been missing since then so I was wondering if you are not too busy you could make a poster for me. It has to be A4 and I will photocopy it and put it around my suburb this afternoon.

This is the only photo of her I have she answers to the name Missy and is black and white and about 8 months old. missing on Harper street and my phone number.

Thanks Shan.

From:David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 9.26am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Poster

Dear Shannon,

That is shocking news.

Although I have two clients expecting completed work this afternoon, I will, of course, drop everything and do whatever it takes to facilitate the speedy return of Missy.

Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 9.37am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Poster

yeah ok thanks. I know you dont like cats but I am really worried about mine. I have to leave at 1pm today.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.17am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Poster

Dear Shannon,

I never said I don't like cats. Attached poster as requested.

Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.24am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

yeah thats not what I was looking for at all. it looks like a movie and how come the photo of Missy is so small?

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.28am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

Dear Shannon,

It's a design thing. The cat is lost in the negative space.

Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.33am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

Thats just stupid. Can you do it properly please? I am extremely emotional over this and was up all night in tears. you seem to think it is funny. Can you make the photo bigger please and fix the text and do it in color please. Thanks.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.46am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

Dear Shannon,

Having worked with designers for a few years now, I would have assumed you understood, despite our vague suggestions otherwise, we do not welcome constructive criticism. I don't come downstairs and tell you how to send text messages, log onto Facebook and look out of the window. I have amended and attached the poster as per your instructions.

Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.59am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

This is worse than the other one. can you make it so it shows the whole photo of Missy and delete the stupid text that says missing missy off it? I just want it to say Lost.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.14am
To: Shannon Walkley

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.21am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

yeah can you do the poster or not? I just want a photo and the word lost and the telephone number and when and where she was lost and her name. Not like a movie poster or anything stupid. I have to leave early today. If it was your cat I would help you. Thanks.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.32am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Awww

Dear Shannon,

I don't have a cat. I once agreed to look after a friend's cat for a week but after he dropped it off at my apartment and explained the concept of kitty litter. I have attached the amended version of your poster as per your detailed instructions.

Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.47am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Awww

Thats not my cat. where did you get that picture from? That cat is orange. I gave you a photo of my cat.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.58am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Awww

I know, but that one is cute. As Missy has quite possibly met any one of several violent ends, it is possible you might get a better cat out of this. If anybody calls and says "I haven't seen your orange cat but I did find a black and white one with its hind legs run over by a car, do you want it?" you can politely decline and save yourself a costly veterinarian bill.

Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.07pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Awww

Please just use the photo I gave you.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.22pm
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.34pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

I didnt say there was a reward. I dont have $2000 dollars. What did you even put that there for? Apart from that it is perfect can you please remove the reward bit. Thanks Shan.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.42pm
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.51pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

Can you just please take the reward bit off altogether? I have to leave in ten minutes and I still have to make photocopies of it.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.56pm
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 1.03pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

Fine. That will have to do.

*Am I the only one? Or do you have a co-worker JUST LIKE HER at your job too?

** Hey! The writer of this here e-mail has a website. I think I'm in love.

18 years ago

2010-08-23T12:10:00.000-07:00

I was 19 years old.

It was my first solo trip. Me and the boy were going to visit the boyfriend/baby daddy. He was stationed at Kaneohe Bay in Oahu. He’d been there for about a year, and I had been DYING to go visit and get ~~laid~~ lei’d. (To-may-to..To-mah-to)

I had taken time off work, I was going to stay with a couple he knew who had a small apartment in Honolulu. Seven days. I was going to go to the beach, see the sights, and go to a Hula show. He was going to take leave, so we could do all that and whatever else we could squeeze in during my time there.

I was excited. And nervous. I was going to take a 5 hour flight with a 2 year old. Alone.

He was there to meet us when we got off the plane (Do you know how long ago it was when you could be standing at the gate to hug people as soon as deplaned? A LIFETIME ago. Damn! I’m old). He drove us around in his friend’s car, took me to the base to introduce me to his friends. We went out for dinner. Sizzler, because we’re fancy like that.

We did a shitload of sight-seeing. I went to an awesome hula show. I went to the mall and rode a tram (because the mall is THAT BIG). We shopped at the flea market, and ate shave ice. I bought a coconut bra. I was having so much fun, I didn’t want to go home.

Then, I missed my flight. I came back to my room, and made a few phone calls.

And then I missed my flight again.

After I finished cussing because dammit I need to get back to California asshole, I have a job and SHIT TO DO there I can’t keep missing my flight because you can’t get me to the fucking airport on time, he asked me to marry him.

18 years ago this afternoon, I stood on Waimea Beach and married the boy I have been in love with since I was 16 years old. I love you from the boy who used to get into fist fights (before/during) after school to the man who fought wars.

Happy Anniversary, baby.

Blogher10 Recap...or How to Drive Housekeeping Crazy. You decide.

2010-08-18T14:32:00.000-07:00

Yes. I did go to blogher10. I had fun, I met a lot of new people, and a few people that I should see more often because WE ALL LIVE IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA, GUYS. WHY DON'T I SEE MORE OF YOU?

I could go on and on about how much fun I had, how weird it was to fly to New York to meet a bunch of people who mostly live inside my computer, and how much sight-seeing I did (related: how much walking I did. You NY people are some walking mf'ers), and how I can’t WAIT for Blogher11 in San Diego which is down the highway a bit, but still close. But I’m not. I’m going to tell you a story about how to torture housekeeping.

Do Not Disturb. Please and Thank You

It started off simply enough, we got in on Wednesday, flopped down on the beds of our choice and unpacked. As I’m sure you know, 4 bloggers + 4 ½ days = a whole lot of STUFF. There were laptops, cameras, phones and SHOES. THERE WERE A LOT OF SHOES. Instead of locking up our stuff in the itty bitty safe, we decided to skip housekeeping. Throw on the Do Not Disturb, sign. No big deal. We’ll just change out the towels (because NYC in August means that we were taking at least 2 showers a day)

The next day as we were getting ready to step out of our rooms housekeeping was RIGHT THERE. You guys need housekeeping? Oh, no thanks. Just towels. Well, we’ll come in and…. No. We’ll bring them out.

And then it became a game.

Everytime we left for the day’s shenanigans, there was a cart. WAITING FOR THE CHANCE TO CLEAN OUR ROOM. We would politely refuse, if they caught us leaving – just change out the towels. More likely we would scurry out as they were “conveniently” cleaning a neighboring room..We would sneak out at night and empty our trash…We were running out of toilet paper. Because IF WE HAD HOUSEKEEPING they would have replaced it. Our solution?

Call down to the desk: Hey umm…everybody in our room has the runs. Can you send up some TP? (Yes. That is really how @shuggilippo requested extra rolls) Not true at all. Although. We had more conversations about pooping than I could have imagined. Also? They brought up 3 rolls.

I’m sure they were wondering WTF was going on that we didn’t want housekeeping to see:

Nothing to see here. Nothing at all*

*Also, I should thank NY Hilton for being such good sports. And once we packed up all of our crap and threw away all of our trash, the room didn’t look horrible. Except….for the big giant pile of towels in the bathroom.

** Last 3 pictures lifted from Undomesticdiva/my roomie

I wrote a story...

2010-08-13T11:17:00.000-07:00

about how my daughter is growing up. It's a moving tale of The Brat and Taylor Lautner's abs. Please to enjoy.

I never really thought

2010-07-29T23:50:00.000-07:00

...That I would enjoy blogging so much. Which is weird, considering that I am the kind of girl who had a journal...And these ridiculous stories of mine? Are stories that if I HADN'T been blogging, then I totally would've e-mailed my friends. And not only am I writing these stories here, I also was talked into writing over here too.

...That I wouldn't even think twice about asking twitter to help me pick out shoes to buy, or to remind me to do something.

...That I would have the balls to do a meet-up with some bloggers/tweeters in Las Vegas, where I got completely drunk, got my boobs graffiti'd, and took a shitload of pictures.

...That I would make a last minute decision to crash Miss Grace's Super Secret Trip of Awesome where I'd sleep on the couch, try to figure out WTF is a Virgin Tin Lady, and randomly give a last minute tour of a Marine Corps Depot (because someone had never been on a Marine Corps Base and/or met a Marine IN UNIFORM --which, OMG. A Marine in uniform is quite possibly the sexiest sight there is.)

...That I would decide that I would go to Blogher, and end up spending 5 days in NYC, where there's going to be Hooters, and drinking and SHENANIGANS.

Nope. Never would have thought this would be my life. BUT I'M SO GLAD IT IS.

File this under: Things I didn't know I had to tell people.

2010-07-25T21:04:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, a friend talked me into going on a completely unplanned trip to Las Vegas with her because it was her birthday. She said she'd buy my plane ticket and rent the hotel room. What she DIDN'T say is that she had been seeing a guy who just happens to live in Vegas, and that she was going to meet up with him once we hit town. Which...okay. I don't really have a problem with because you are allowed to do whatever you want with your twat as long as it doesn't affect me.

But let's just say that we all go back to the room to watch TV. And I fall asleep, because it's Vegas, I've been drinking and I'm hot and tired and slightly hungover from the previous night where I stupidly went out and SAID I was going to leave around 9 because I had an early day planned and then didn't leave until after midnight after having one tequila shot too many, and I wake up to SEX SOUNDS but since I'm in the room and you are FORTY-FUCKING-SOMETHING years old I KNOW this can't be happening, BUT IT IS. I AM REALLY LYING HERE PRETENDING TO BE SLEEPING WHILE YOU BANG THIS GUY IN THE BED not even 2 feet from my bed. So then I fall back asleep in self-defense before I spontaneously explode and/or completely go ape shit because I can't even believe this really happened.** I guess I didn't know this was something I need to say but, for the record:

I DON'T WANT TO BE PRESENT WHEN YOU HAVE SEX.

I leave in a huff because REALLY? Who does that? You call me. And after I tell you about yourself, I *still* have to tell you that this dude is not spending the night?

I guess we can agree that at this point, her cooch is interfering with my good time, yes? I am forced to stage an intervention, and remind ~~the~~ her thoughtless twat that SHE invited me to spend the weekend with her, to drink, gamble and lay by the pool. Not to listen to her get laid.

The rest of the weekend was not horrible. She ditched the dude after that, and the next day we went over to the Hard Rock to gamble and flirt with cute boys. I even managed to bring home my spending money. Although, I suspect it was only because they knew I would be returning the next week and knew that it would hurt more when they snatched it away on my next trip out. (Note: it did. OUCH)

Still though, I can never really have a BAD time in Vegas. But if figures that the one time it would have been totally awesome to have been so drunk that I have NO memory of the things that went on my weekend in Vegas, I remember EVERY. SINGLE. DETAIL. Gah!

**Also, I would like to mention that porn with people that I don't know on a DVD that I can turn on/off when I want to see it? OK. Unrequested, spontaneous live-action porn starring friends? Not. OK. EVAR.

***AND, after the profuse apologizing, she bought us tickets to see The Lion King. A show I HIGHLY recommend you go see. For serious.

I can be guilt tripped all the way to the gym, apparently

2010-07-07T08:27:00.000-07:00

For the last couple of weeks I've been going to the gym. (Again. I've started going, again.) The front desk clerk, who usually just says hello & goodbye has started clocking my time.

Ohh, I haven't seen you in a few days...

I'll see you tomorrow...right?

Why do you look so sleepy?

"DUDE. It's 5AM. This is how everybody should look at 5AM."

And I started wondering why this guy is giving me the business? I don't remember signing up for a trainer, or a make-sure-undercovermama-gets-her-ass-to-the-gym-guy. And yet, there he is. Mocking me with his extra cheerful "good morning" and his "see you tomorrow" I mean, REALLY?

But here's the thing. I went to the gym Friday. And then I skipped Saturday, because well... #worldcup. And Sunday, I was too busy getting ready for the 4th of July bash at my house. Monday, I just plain didn't want to get out of bed. So I didn't. YESTERDAY, though... yesterday, I went to the gym. I got the ridiculously cheerful good morning, then I got THE LOOK. You know the one. The one that says I KNOW YOU HAVEN'T BEEN HERE ALL WEEKEND AND SHAME ON YOU.

And do you know that sonofabitch worked? I felt GUILTY! So guilty that this morning, when The Man snuggled me and asked for 10 more minutes, I said, No, I have to go to the gym. GAH! And I did. And he was there all cheerful and shit, telling me to have a great workout (which I did, but still. THE MOCKING, PEOPLE, THE MOCKING) As, I was leaving he smirks at me and says "I'll see you tomorrow, RIGHT?"

Yeah, yeah, you'll see me tomorrow. Jerk.

Tie a blue ribbon

2010-06-24T13:54:00.000-07:00

For the last few years, I've been attending the Renaissance Pleasure Faire. It's only here for a few weeks out of they year and I usually go several times: A “family” trip…where I take the Brat and her friends, and again with the girl friends (if you follow me on the twittah, you will see that I twitpic'd the hell out of this year's trips). Not surprisingly, the girl friend trip is a little more bawdy. It contains more drinking, more flirting and a lot more of the risque talk.

Also not so surprisingly, it was during one of the girl friend trips to the Ren Faire that I was introduced to the practice of kilt checking. In Ren Faire speak, it is asking a gentleman if he is regimental. In plain speaking, it is the practice of asking a man wearing a kilt if he's wearing any underwear. Depending on the boldness of the asker, you can lie on the ground and have the fella walk over you so you can get an eyeful or you can run your finger up the side of his thigh and check for boxers/briefs. Guess which I am? Heh.

HOWEVER, please be aware that if you are going to ask a gentleman if he is regimental, you should have a blue ribbon to award him for being so.

My friend, who had to bail at the last minute was going to be bringing the blue ribbon. And since we only had a few blue ribbons (they were tied to my sister’s chalice---her fancy medieval drinking cup, we didn’t do very many kilt checks…and sadly, there were many kilts in attendance. On the way home, we discussed how NEXT TIME, we were going to packing plenty of blue ribbon.

So naturally, I get home to find that a gift I had received but not opened was tied with a ginormous length of blue ribbon. Of course.

PictureMail sent with the message, It is SO ON for next year.

And then I went to Vegas a couple of weekends ago. As me and my friends were heading back to our hotel, who should be stumble into at 4AM but a VERY gorgeous Scotsman wearing...a kilt. And as I was drunk, and used to being the person who asked complete strangers inappropriate questions, I asked him was he regimental.

WHY DO I NEVER HAVE BLUE RIBBON WHEN I NEED IT?!

A gift and a bunch of other stuff

2010-06-09T21:52:00.000-07:00

My friend Mo wants to go to Vegas for a girl's weekend to celebrate her birthday. Yeah, I know. Me? Another Vegas trip? Hard to believe. /sarcasm. ANYWHOOTS, she invited a couple of her cousins...and she's hoping that we'll all get along. We've all been sending facebook messages fast & furious-like because we're all kind of excited to run away from home and hang out for the weekend. So I decided to send her an e-mail, mostly to tell her that me & MLB bought her a t-shirt. But I decided to tell her some other stuff while I was at it.

============================================

Hey Mo!

I’m so excited that we’re going to Vegas. AGAIN. I’m bringing my flask. And filling it with Vodka. Also, I will TRY not to pick any fights (I will leave that to MLB or maybe "The Drunk Mo". Kidding...Sorta.). I will try not to get so drunk that I wander off, but if he’s cute, please allow me to wander as far as the nearest bar for another drink, please & thank you.

Also, Mo, because we love you, and you didn’t want to spend your Vegas money on it – we bought you a shirt. Happy Birthday, bitch. (In case you're wondering, mine says "I'm the married one". What are the chances it will stop the cute boys from buying me drinks?My guess? Slim to none.) We’re wearing them on Saturday.

I hope your cousins are aware that your friends are rude, crude and socially unacceptable… and that we like to drink, flirt and say inappropriate (and sometimes politically incorrect) things.

Please feel free to forward this e-mail as a ~~warning~~ ...as an F your I.

Wuv u.

Am I an awesome friend or what?

Better

2010-06-08T23:12:00.000-07:00

Thursday night/Friday I was sitting in the Emergency Department praying for the Man to get better. SOON. And he did. They released him Friday afternoon. But in the typical “I’m feeling FINE stop worrying” attitude, he did too much and ended up sick AGAIN Saturday.

Saturday. The day we were scheduled to have Champagne/Birthday Party at my house for one of my best friends in the WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD (Her son's Prom was scheduled on her birthday). I’ve known her since I was 5 years old (and believe it or not, she still likes me). I introduced her to her son's father, and I was a constant babysitter when they split and she worked crazy hours to support them.

The Man, who loves her son like one of his own, was determined to see him off for his prom. No matter what.

(yes. He rolled out of his sickbed long enough to say cheese because my friend INSISTED he take a picture even though he looks like hell and because I'm a jerk I posted it on the internet for the world to see)

You'll be happy to know, that he's doing MUCH better today.

P.S. Thanks all of you for your well wishes. I needed them.

The thoughts I keep inside my head

2010-06-03T23:31:00.000-07:00

So it's like 10:45 in the evening and I'm sitting in the Emergency Room. The Man is sick. I really, REALLY hate it when he's sick. He's been sick before, and he's been sick recently, and every. single. I tell him he's gonna be okay, but in the back of my mind, I worry that he won't be.

Now that they've pumped him full of Morphine for his pain, I can cry without worrying him, or having HIM trying to comfort ME while he's lying there in his hospital gown, with his IV and the blanket we always take when he has to go to the hospital (no matter what hospital we go to, you can be sure it's gonna be FREEZING). I don't have to tell him that he's going to be fine when I'm desperately afraid that he won't be and that one of these days he's not going to make it. I know the body can stand a lot of pain, and that he has been through worse...but what if he doesn't want to anymore? What if he just...gives up?

I try not to let these thoughts of doom and gloom get to settled in my head. I have to be strong for him. I kiss his head and tell him that I love him (because if something does happen, I want it to be the last thing that I said to him), and I shove the scary thoughts out of my head again. He tells me that he loves me too (for the same reason?) and goes back to sleep.

And I will read my book and sit here. When he wakes up, I'll be sitting here waiting for whatever happens next. No tears, no drama, calmly ready to help The Man with whatever he needs, for as long as he needs it.

and I'll say a quiet prayer that he'll be okay. Please let him be okay.

Girl talk

2010-06-03T19:32:00.000-07:00

You know how you get together with your friends and share your secrets? This post is gonna be just like that...only, on the interwebs.

What do I want to talk about? What do I want you to tell me ALL about? I wanna know what makes you feel sexy. But I want to know over here.

So come on over. Tell me what you do to get 'em hot.

Hai. I'm an asshole.

2010-05-27T11:49:00.000-07:00

I believe in fair warning, so I have been known to tell my co-workers that I'm sort of a jerk. That way, when I do something jerky (like watch you knock over a stack of charts and then say "hey, you dropped something"), no one is surprised.

I AM a professional, ~~mostly~~, so I try to keep my dislike of co-workers to myself. Or at least, I try not to make it OBVIOUS. Ahem. But there's always one, you know? That one co-worker who makes it realllly hard to like them. For whatever reason. And maybe this co-worker is not a horrible person, but for some reason, you just...can't. I cannot stand her. I am completely aggravated by her and I really have a hard time hiding it. Let's call her the nickname that I've given her already: Noxeema Jackson. And this is REALLY what she looks like: Wesley Snipes, in a dress. And I imagine that she gets dressed in the morning for work like this.

Recently, she's taken to trying to become my BFF, for no reason I can imagine. We had a staff meeting where she made it a point to ask me about some random thing that I did several months ago, that she had already asked me about when she called me about some equally unimportant thing, several months ago. She's invited me to come to her apartment and lay by her pool, to go go-karting, to go the jazz festival...blah, blah.BLAH. Every time I have to send an (work-related) e-mail to her, she tries to make it personal and/or attempts to invite me to her kid's basketball game. Every conversation, which is as rare as I can make it, she finds a way to bring her deceased husband of five or so years into the conversation. She tries to convince me, and everybody else that she was a model in her younger years (please see: Wesley Snipes in a dress. Also, nope.com)

So the other day, our department was "strongly encouraged" (read: not mandatory, but really kinda is) to attend some award ceremony, as one of our co-workers was receiving a fancy award. Toward the end, I decide to cut out with a couple of other co-workers (the newlywed and the mouse) because a) it had already been an hour and a half b) my co-worker had already received her award and c) I was tired of listening to this long ass award ceremony that wasn't even HALF over yet. And I see Noxeema get up as I walk past to catch up with me out of the corner of my eye (I would never look directly at her because she would take that as an invitation to engage, which...it wasn't).

I start walking faster. Because Noxeema is also an AMAZON, she is catching up quick. But I am smarter; so I know she's not going to scream my name while in front of all of these people and so I can pretend like I didn't see her since I didn't look directly at her. While I still have the head start, I cut into the bathroom around a corner before she can catch up to me. And while, I'm there, I decide to, you know...pee. So when she peeked in, she didn't see me. As I'm finishing, the mouse comes in and tells me that she DID come in looking for me, but is gone now. The Newlywed says that I disappeared but when she turned around Noxeema was standing there. And then I had to admit that I sorta ditched her by hiding in the can.

I feel a little bad because I know that she's trying, for whatever reason. And I don't make it easy. But I really don't wanna make nice unless it's absolutely necessary, i.e. Staff Meetings. And when I see her in staff meetings, I am ~~almost~~ the epitome of professional, and attempt to keep all smartassy comments to myself.

Except one:

I'll see you later, unless I see you first.

(see? I told you. I'm an asshole.)

My Weekend (In Pictures)

2010-05-10T10:34:00.000-07:00

Friday

J.Ho

Saturday

Sunday (Happy Mother's Day!)

And if you're wondering about Monday...

What I learned at Rehab

2010-05-04T10:08:00.000-07:00

Not THAT Rehab. This one

YEAH. So I went to Baker 2 Vegas, because my sister is an officer of the got-damn-law (anyone? anyone?) and because THESE GUYS were having a concert at the Joint and really, is there ever a bad time to go to Vegas? And because she hates me, she wanted to go to Rehab...And I said no, no, no (sorry. but I really, REALLY couldn't resist)... But because I'm a curious sort, it wasn't that difficult to change my mind. And because we had all this stuff going on at the Hard Rock, that's where we stayed

So after a couple of days of drinking, I'm supposed to put on a skimpy bathing suit and frolic in the water with a bunch of half naked boys and girls? Right. But I'm going to tell you something that I learned at Rehab:

Rule #1: You are only getting in the pool in your bathing suit. And that is all.

Because this guy says so

So off comes the cover up and in goes the legs in the pool.

Still though, I was self·-conscious. Because whatever you THINK Rehab at the Hard Rock looks like, it's more. More itty bitty bikinis. More skin. More fake boobs and flat abs. Just...MORE. And well, there's more of me too. But my "MORE" doesn't look as hot in a bikini, nahmean?

But whatever. I'm chilling by at the pool with my sis and cousin drinking a Jack Daniels & Sprite at 11AM in the morning. BEFORE BREAKFAST. I'm talking to the very regular-looking couple sitting next to me, and watching people get in the pool.

Rule #2: See Rule #1.

So I'm watching the skinny broads get told to take off their cover-ups or get out of the pool. And the athletic type fellas taking off their T-shirts. And noticing that even the people who LOOK LIKE MODELS are looking just as self-conscious as I do.

Rule #3: EVERYONE is vulnerable when they're half naked in the bright light of day.

There's no hiding behind clothes that camouflage, no pitch black club, no strobe light.. No make-up. Well... there's waterproof mascara. But mostly, there's just sunblock. There are, of course, people who came to the pool with no intention of getting anywhere near the water. THOSE people were wearing teeny tiny bathing suits/booty shorts, 4-inch heels and full face of MAKE-UP (who wears make-up to the POOL?! I'll tell you: people who are missing the point of a pool party...people who I am NOT convinced weren't ladies of the evening working a day shift, that's who.)

Rule #4: Have FUN.

You know what a good time is? Hanging with my sissie and prima for the weekend at The Hard Rock Hotel ,concerting at The Joint, winning some dollahs at the roulette table... and topping it off with some drinkin' and partying at Rehab.

That came out wrong, didn't it?

I guess I have to take the bad with the good... because the good is SO good

2010-04-21T19:21:00.000-07:00

I LOVE to go to concerts. I HATE to go to concerts. That thought occurred to me the other night as I was in Las Vegas watching Them Crooked Vultures at the Joint. And then I had a fleeting thought...should I stop going? So, I wrote a list:

CONS:
1. Standing. The best place to see a concert is in the Standing Room Only (Pit/General Admission) and there ain't a chair in sight. After walking around Vegas all day, my feet hurt. A LOT. Also, if there is an asshole within 100 yards, you can bet your sweet ass he/she/THEY will be standing next to me.

2. Fights. Random mosher almost starting a brawl because he doesn't understand that NOBODY AROUND HIM WANTS TO MOSH? Check. I'll bet you can guess where he was standing.

3. Couples. Yes. Okay. I get it...you guys are in love. Get a room. (yeah, yeah...I'm old. So what? Also? Get off my lawn)

4. Lines. Do I *really* want to get in line almost 2 hours early so that I can stand at the rail? No. I didn't.

5. People. I. HATE. PEOPLE. Especially tall people (aside from my unnatural fear of them) who stand in front of short people like they don't know all I can see is your BACK because you're like PAUL FUCKING BUNYON and I'm 5'3 and 1/2 thankyouverymuch and my neck is killing me from trying to see over/around you.

PROS:

1. Josh Homme of Them Crooked Vultures/ Queens of the Stone Age drinking Ketel One Vodka STRAIGHT from the bottle and smoking a cigarette on stage. (I would have taken a picture but see Con #5. Fucker)

2. But I did get THIS picture:

yeah...not on the rail. But still close.

3. I went to ANOTHER concert yesterday where even though I was there to see Taylor Hawkins & The Coattail Riders and THIS GUY showed up:

If you don't know who this guy is and how much I heart him... get off my page. Go on, now..shoo.

After my VERY scientific study, I'm sure you will agree that the Pros TOTALLY outweigh the Cons. In fact, I'm not even sure what the hell I was complaining about.

So please stay tuned for the next concert experience.

The joke that probably almost gave my husband a heart attack, or at the very least several small strokes

2010-04-01T22:21:00.000-07:00

I can't remember ever trying to pull an April Fool's Day joke on The Man. I mean, I think I once half-assedly tried to convince him that I was pregnant. But. You know. It's a much scarier joke when you're single, not already married with one kid you didn't expect.

This year the joke wasn't even mine. It was The Boy's. He called me earlier today to tell me that he was going to be coming home for a few days of his spring break. Awesome. He calls me around 9pm and says he has bad news. He tells me that he & his friend got pulled over and the cops found bags of weed...(cue the choking up) and uhh....he thinks they're gonna get arrested for possession with intent to sell.

Let me just say that normally, this would have freaked me out but I remembered that today was April Fool's Day AND neither he OR his friend smoke weed. So instead of going apeshit, I say, "Uh huh. Well you may as well tell me this is a joke now. Because I'm too tired to come bail you out of jail." Silence. Then, "Yeah, I was trying really hard to fool you.." Mmm hmm... You and your friends are assholes for trying to scare the living hell outta me. Even if I didn't... Have you called your Dad and tried to prank him?

So I'm sure you know where this is leading. OH PLEASE, let me call your dad... Sooo...I just got a call from The Boy and he says that he's gonna be arrested for possession and...and....OMG, can you please call him? He says he's in the Valley.

The Boy says that he got him good. He said that The Man was good & freaked out.. My guess is that The Man had a flashback of all the hell he got into at his age, and forgot that we raised a pretty decent kid.

I haven't talked to him yet. Because I called him while he was hanging out with the boys. I don't think he's gonna drop everything to come straight home to punch me in the eye, but he's gonna come home eventually.

Payback is gonna be a bitch.

At least I'm not dead or This week in review

2010-03-19T15:34:00.000-07:00

My week started off kind of ridiculous. I was late to work Monday - I choose to blame the fact that the time changed as opposed to it took me longer to apply my make-up than usual. WHATEVER. Tuesday, I stayed up until midnight, which is weird because usually I'm sleep before 9pm (oh hai. I have the sleep pattern of a 90 year old woman) AND THEN an earthquake woke me the fuck up at 4 AM. Which pretty much assured I wouldn't be going back to bed.

Wednesday, St. Patrick's Day, I went over to my co-workers office and ran into her boss. She gave me a box of girl scout cookies. Said she bought some extras, so please to enjoy. My co-worker says to her boss, "These were your dad's favorite" Her boss says " Yeah, well, he's not eating anymore, so I have some extras" I should add that her dad passed a few months ago.

I laughed so hard that I cried. Hello, I love inappropriate humor.

Thursday I woke up with a cold, or something. Sore thoat, body aches, chills. I went to work anyways, because

I didn't EVEN want my boss to think I called out sick due to St. Paddy's day hangover.
I was covering for someone who was on vacation
I had a SHITLOAD of work to do that had to get done by Friday.

The MD that I work for made an executive decision that I was going to stay home tomorrow. Blah, blah, blah...something about how he does not play a doctor on TV, he really does have a medical degree. FINE THEN. I'll see you on Monday.

So today, I'm lying in bed. I'm a whiny, congested mess. I'm guzzling Nyquil in the hopes that I will not only stop coughing, I may also get some sleep. I wanna feel sorry for poor pitiful me because I feel horrible and look like crap. But I am comforted by the fact that my MD cares enough about ~~his health~~ me to tell me to stay home, my husband is home taking care of me and letting me sleep while he makes me breakfast.

Well, that and the fact that I can eat cookies.

I'm your pusher baby...

2010-03-14T08:46:00.000-07:00

I often talk about my love for shoes. Because I *do* love shoes. The high heeled kind. Because they make my legs look georgeous (What? It's true. Would you prefer me to be less than honest?) AND ALSO because they make me feel sexy. Which. Hello? Why wouldn't I want to feel sexy?

But I have another love. Make up. I love ~~lamp~~ make up. I do.

For a lot of years I got by on eyeliner and lipstick. Which, I rocked. OBVIOUSLY. And I would save the eyeshadows for fancy occasions, you know... The Marine Corps Ball. Which was maybe the beginning of my addiction. First I needed make up for the Ball. After all, I couldn't go barefaced. So another military wife and I would hit the M.A.C. counter, say, "So, I'm going to this fancy shingdig and I need something on my face. And please. Don't make me look like a drag queen. Not that there's anything wrong with that."

Then, I bought some shadow I could wear everyday. You know, neutral shades and stuff. But the more you wear, the more you want. And after all, look at this pretty GREEN eyeshadow and why wouldn't I want that, but then I needed something to go with it, and I could wear this to work...and I have this friend who enabled my habit because SHE is an addict and...and the next thing you know... hello make up junkie.

So now, I have this friend. She has some basic make up. You know... neutral, wear everyday colors. She says to me, "I wish I had more colors that I could use. But I'm not even sure where to start." Me? "Oh, let me send you a little something." (She lives in another country AND I was already mailing her a box of goodies)

She got one of her boxes the other day:

picture stolen from Coastal Scents.

Too much?

You know what's awesome?

2010-03-10T20:11:00.000-08:00

When you start blogging because you have so much to say and nobody to say it to, so you find a really nifty space to say and be whoever you want...And you find an awesome community of bloggers who talk you into signing up for twitter because OH MY GAH!! All the cool kids are doing it and you meet a bunch MORE cool blogger types. AND THEN, you go to the #VegasBirthdayBash where VDog's first impression of you is you drunk off your ass and shaking it in the Planet Hollywood elevators.

And she invites you to come blog at her place anyways.

I didn't write HERE, because I wrote over there. C'mon over and visit me. Because I *am* the kinda broad who will invite other people to come and kick it at somebody elses house.

$&(#&@(@^!! <--That's me trying not to drop an F-bomb at work

2010-03-02T14:56:00.000-08:00

This is MY desk.

On my desk, I have a bajillion paperclips, a shit ton of post-its, the Lakers 2009-10 schedule, random pictures (Yes, that is a question mark. I hold it over my head when I want to know WTF you are talking about) and pens. The pens that I don't mind losing because I am a pen freak and hide my favorite ones. And a plant, because my co-worker across the walkway is constantly staring at my computer screen. Gah!

I'll bet you're wondering why I'm here today talking about my desk. It's because the other day a co-worker was digging around in my drawers HE CLAIMS looking for keys. Keys, I might add are always HERE on the side of my desk in that basket thingy.

Another co-worker caught him at my desk while I was out shopping for lunch. To be fair, I thought I had locked my desk, and if I HAD this would have been a non-issue. But uhh...in the years that I've worked here the keys have always been THERE. (see previous picture). NOT here.

When I found out, I went from my shopping induced euphoria to fighting mad in less than six seconds. I hate, hate, HATE people digging around in places where they don't belong (Yes, I hate going to the OB/GYN. Why do you ask?). I went right over to his office to rip him a new asshole, but lucky for the both of us, he was probably wondering the halls looking for another desk to violate or maybe, you know.. working. Whatever. His being gone probably saved my job.

But when I DID run into him, and please believe that I made it a point to do exactly that, I explained that it has been my understanding that the keys have been kept in the hanging thing there on the side of my desk, where I've seen you get them many times over the years...if not forever, for at least for the THREE FUCKING YEARS that I've been here. And you, "sir"...have never, not once found keys in my drawers.

Also? Rifling through my desk without permission is the same thing as digging through my purse. Which... I'm *sure* you would never do, right? Riiight.

So lets make a deal. If you don't see something on my desk, just wait for me to come back and ask me. And I never have almost cuss you out at work again*. KTHXBAI. (jackass)

/rant

*That's me. Keeping it professional while I'm tearing you a new one.

Super Secret Trip of Awesome

2010-02-22T08:49:00.000-08:00

You know what I had planned last weekend? Nothing. Enter Grace, Holly, Biddy and Super Jules and their talk of their #SSTOA cluttering up my twitter stream. Being the inquisitive person that I am, I finally found they had chosen San Diego for a Super Secret Trip of Awesome. Y'all are going to San Diego for the weekend? Do I want to come hang for the weekend? No. I can't. Because I had shit (read: work) to do.

BUT. I *can* crash one day of your super secret trip.

Hey there! I crash your party; I sleep on your couch.

But at least I brought Rum. (Bacardi Peach Red). Because what kind of party crasher shows up empty handed?

Stories of the strangest mani/pedi evar can be found here. Ridiculous anthropological (is that even a word?) studies of douchebags are here, and random events here and even here.

W.T.F?!*

What can I possibly add to describe how awesome this super secret trip was? I could talk about how we all piled into a cab like college kids in a phone booth and hid SuperJules AS COPS WATCHED US. Or about how even though SuperJules couldn't have been any more precise, taxi cab drivers do not understand her. It's like she was speaking another language. One nobody understood.

Is that why she was so angry?*

OR even how, after dinner my food started attacking my innards and made me leave the douchetastic outing before my food ejected itself from my stomach, which it was most definitely was going to do before my night was over(damn you, you oversensitive stupid tummy).

Why was this dude trying to put me in a headlock?*

And how cute Biddy was worrying about me going back to the condo solo. OR? About the even more super secret field trip as we got lost on the way to the airport. (You know what's really awesome? Being a Marine's wife and therefore being able to get on ANY BASE IN THE COUNTRY) AND I came home with a bottle of Vodka, and (yo, ho ho) TWO bottles of Rum.

But you know, really? It was just a bunch of girls having some drinks*.

*these photos stolen from Grace and/or Biddy.

An extra kick in the pants

2010-02-08T05:00:00.000-08:00

Thursday I decided that I cannot live in my house unless I change my cat litter RIGHT. NOW. So even though I had come straight home and put on my pajama pants, I threw on some tennis shoes and went over to the Target. My cousin, D, who just happened to be at my house and needed weights for some boot camp program she was starting on Monday decided to ride shotgun.

Since I had decided that the only thing I was picking up from the Target was kitty litter, I didn't even grab a cart. We ran by the workout section grabbed some 3 lb weights and walked over to the pet section. We find a 35 lb bucket of cat litter on sale. And we attempt to carry it to the register.* Holy shit, y'all that's heavy. First, we both hold the handle and try to drag it to the register. We get pretty far until we have to put it down because we can't laugh hysterically AND carry almost 40 pounds because I can't even believe how ri-damn-diculous it is that cat litter is so fucking heavy and I'm not sure how well THIS plan was thought out and where the fuck is that random empty cart that has been abandoned by some jackass when you really need one as opposed to when it's just in your way screwing up your shopping experience?

Holy Crap, this is heavy.

In the end, D just dragged the cat litter to the register and we snagged an empty cart while we were in line because there was no way we were gonna carry that shit to the car.

And as we were wrestling it in the car, I said *this* is about how much weight I want to lose.(30 pounds all told. But still) OMFG is THIS what thirty pounds feels like ON MY BODY?! Aaand...cue the screaming on the inside.

So even though I've been hitting the gym AND bringing my mostly healthy lunch, I am taking the time to thank Tidy Cats Cat Litter for reminding me why I am doing all of this: Because 30ish pounds is heavier than a motherfucker and picturing that on my ass has given me MORE motivation that I ever needed to get rid of it.

*Also, I would like to pat myself on the back for entering Target and *only* getting the thing that I came in there for, even though they've got bathing suits and the first season of Glee and BOOKS! All kinds of books! Because that is probably the first time I've done that in years.

Miscellaneous Meanderings

2010-02-04T08:42:00.000-08:00

I'd like to say that I've been busy. But really? I haven't. I just haven't been blogging. Oh, hello...I'm lazy. I guess, to be fair, The Man spent all of last week in the hospital, so I was alternately quietly freaking out, hanging out in his hospital room, working Luckily...I work at a hospital. So I would take my "15 minute break" (that was really closer to 30 but who's counting because a) my boss doesn't pay me too much attention and b) I wish somebody WOULD act like they don't understand me spending my free -and some not so free- time with my husband) in his hospital room.

I had plenty of time to blog especially since I was just sitting there staring at him sleep. But really I was just sitting there thinking. Of what, you wonder? Funny you should ask.

I was thinking that I need to hide my SIL's status update on FaceBook. I mean, seriously? Your status update says that Tears are nothing but LIQUID prayers...I am clearly not deep enough appreciate that. And your updates are more depressing than they are uplifting, if that is in fact what you're going for. Either way, I can't take it and I think I just need to make sure I can no longer see your depressing ass I AM GOING THROUGH A THANG-type status updates.

And since it wouldn't be in my best interest to unfriend "in-laws" who I added in a moment of panic because how do you say no to a perfect stranger who is related to me by marriage? Even though they know they don't know me because THEY live in Florida and have never been to California, but a) I have the same last name and b) I'm a friend of a relative that you *DO* know so you sent a friend request...I'm hiding you too. Because I don't know you. Or your status updates are super annoying and/or hypocritical. Please don't preach to me in one status update and cuss out somebody in the next one. Just...stop.
Speaking of cleaning house...I cleaned my house. And now my hands are peeling so bad that I ...well, I can't think of anything gross enough to describe what they look like except shedding snakes and I like to think that I'm LOSING weight and not gaining so much that I had to grow out of my skin... So let's just say that I'm taking this as a sign I should stop cleaning.

Related to absolutely nothing in the post, but still on my mind...is this cake. My girl friend went to a baby shower where they served this cake:

Pretty right? I mean, I'll admit it took serious skill to create this masterpiece...but uhh.. there's no way I'd be able to eat that cake without being grossed out. Yeah, yeah... I know it's just cake. But it immediately made me think of that Hunter's Souffle on True Blood.. 'Member? (Because I'm just going to ASSUME that you all were watching True Blood, because WHO is not watching True Blood) No, you don't 'member?

Yes. I know that I'm crazy. Still, though. I advised her to pass on the cake.

Okay, that's all I got. So, ummm... please enjoy. But stay away from the baby cakes.

The post where I prove that I am KLASS-AY

2010-01-17T10:44:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I really am.

Friday I took The Man to the ESPN zone for drinks with my girlfriends. He LOVES to hang out with them, and he's been the only guy so often that we gave him the nickname "Mr. Bitches" (and I mean that in the least disrespectful way possible. Heh.)

ANYWAYS, we watched the Laker ~~slaughter~~ game against the Clippers (I don't really NEED to say more do I? Fine, I'll say it: Free Tacos!). We decided to leave about 3 minutes before the game ended because a) The Clips were NOT going to make a come back and b) have you ever braved Staple Center traffic? Yeah...no. You don't want to. Trust me.

Have I ever mentioned my ever shrinking bladder? And how I ALWAYS have to pee? Yeah, I do. And so, even though I had JUST WENT...by the time we got to the parking lot, I had to go again. And so...I tell The Man that I have to pee. Again. "Well, you can't go right here," he says...

Except, I can. Because as coincidence would have it, I'd been carrying around one of my Christmas gifts from my cousin. A go-girl. A gift which, I might add, I have been totally excited to use since I got it. I had originally been planning to use it for my next concert because one time I went to a concert, I chose peeing in a cup, to getting in the bathroom line. Srsly.

But he wouldn't let me. Something about us only being 10 minutes from the house...blah blah blah...Why can't I just hold it...yakety smakety...I mean, I was even wearing a SKIRT for goodness sake! It would have been super-easy. I was all excited because it was the PERFECT TIME TO TRY IT OUT!

Mr. Spoil-All-My-Fun shoved me in the car, and made me hold it until I got home.

And on the way home, I told him that if I could have a penis for a day I would get head (because really? I need to understand why men act like they can't live without blowjobs AND why you can pretty much bring a man to his knees by getting on yours) and I would write my name on the ground. Heh.

Well. I'll never know know what it's like to get a blow job, but I did learn what it was like to pee standing up.

What? Did you REALLY think I wasn't going to use it anyways? I mean, it was the PRINCIPLE. Also, it's the best thing ever, and I called up my sister AND my cousin and told the whole world how awesome it was.

Please believe that I washed it and wrestled it back into it's carrying case this morning, and I'm putting it BACK in my purse. Because even though I am PLANNING to use this for the next concert venue with shitty bathrooms, I may have another PERFECT OPPORTUNITY...and I wouldn't want to be caught with my pants down, now would I?

What I do when I miss phone calls

2010-01-11T09:30:00.000-08:00

...from people who are calling me from another freakin' country.

I send e-mails.

Hey, Girlie!

Missed you, again! Drat. I tried to pick up my phone and hit END instead of TALK, and since you didn’t call back….
I went to my cousin's birthday dinner where this happened.
In other news, I’m a CONE and my sister, an hourglass (duh.)
I guess the working out is working because

I look slimmer in my clothes, but
Because I’m PMS’ing I’ve been eating lots of junk all weekend and so,
The numbers on the scale have NOT moved at all, except up, BUT
I’m sure at the end of my cycle, they will have gone down significantly

Today is The Man's Bday, so I “wished him a happy birthday” instead of going to the gym, which also made me late for work.
I went to Mo’s house this weekend, where she gave the Brat a shit ton of clothes from her niece who apparently only wears things once or twice before moving on to new clothes.

Also WTF is up with skirts so tiny that I'm pretty sure they cover NOTHING?! If you need to wear leggings under them to make sure your twat isn't being exposed, what you really need is a LONGER SKIRT. #justsayin
And yes, you know I vetoed any item that made the baby's ass hang out.
Not that I had to because Mo was already all "ix-nay on the ooty-bay orts-shay"

While I was there I realized the Brat is REALLY TINY because after eating 4 slices of pizza and mojo potatoes, she tried on a pair of size 0 shorts OVER HER JEANS and they fit (I also realized that I hate Brat a little bit…LOL).

Soo, how was your weekend? How's the hubs? Did he get to see the Ravens get with the Pats?

And yes, I really did send out this e-mail (added a few things, but she'll visit here and she'll recognize her e-mail). So. How was YOUR weekend? Do anything interesting?

One small step

2010-01-05T19:58:00.000-08:00

I am horrible at making resolutions. I think maybe it has a lot to do with expectations. Yeah, I want to lose weight this year. Do I want to say that I’ve only got 12 months to do it? Nope. I’ll even tell you why: Because I get all intimidated… like that time I had a 64oz water bottle. That’s how much water you’re supposed to drink a day, BUT if I put it all in one big bottle like that, I’ll never finish it. HOWEVER, if I use a smaller water bottle…say…32 oz..I’ll probably refill it more than once. Baby steps, my friends. Don’t underestimate them.

I need to look at it in terms of what I need to do to accomplish my goals. (GOALS. Not RESOLUTIONS) Plans, and project management. Should be easy enough, I do plenty of that on the job, I should be able to apply to my life, right? I may not be able to make a resolution, but I can make a "To Do" list like a motherfucker.

My Steps?

Buying more veggies and fresh fruit --> healthier eating -->healthier me

Signing up for couch to 5K program --> going to the gym more often (+ healthier eating) -->losing weight
(should I apologize NOW for what is sure to be random blogging about how big my ass has gotten and/or OMG, why am I so out of breath on the treadmill and/or My legs, I can’t feel them?)

Returning to Church -->improving myself spiritually (in theory. NO, I’m not saying *YOU* have to attend Church to be spiritual, I’m saying that *I* attend church to be fed spiritually, and at least *that* is the kind of feeding that won’t make you fat. ALSO? Will this mean I can’t say “fuck” anymore?)--> not going to hell

Make a budget so that I can stop spending so much G.D. money on shit I don’t need or at least see WTF it's going -->more money to pay for bills --> less debt --> more money to save --> money to buy a house Added bonus? More money in my pocket!

I’m a work in progress. My baby steps will turn into full fledged steps. Just picture me as Rocky and I’m running up those steps and…. Ah, hell…this is gonna be me:

(Except I'd be wearing nicer work out clothes, and I don't have a dog, also it doesn't snow here, but you get the general idea, right?)

And on that, I am resolute.

Not so much looking fondly back as I am looking forward expectingly

2009-12-31T07:03:00.000-08:00

I mean, not to sound ungrateful...because it could have been so much worse, I could have been stabbed with a rusty splinter, or hit by a car, or hell.. even robbed at gun point...none of which happened to ME, but you know what? This year pretty much sucked big fat hairy ones, and I would like to go on the record as saying Fuck you, 2009. Fuck you right in the ass.

On one hand, I got a big ol' raise because my jackass boss screwed me over last year, The Man finally retired from the Marine Corps, and I returned to school and am *this close* to graduating, I also went to Vegas a ridiculous amount of times, and met some of my blogger/twitter friends IRL.

On the other hand, I went to war with The Man over a "friend's" relationship, only to have her stab me in the back and force me to kick her ass out of my life (like Mary J. says no.more.drama). The Man, who finally retired from the Marine Corps has no idea what he wants to do with his life, is home 24/7 - which I've never had to deal with before. I returned to school and couldn't really afford it AND I can't use his GI Bill AND can only get a few dollars if he were permanently, totally disabled, or dead (really?! WTF VA?), and along with my raise came MORE WORK while my other fuckwit co-worker cries about how busy he is while spending most of his day trying to beat his friend's bejeweled score of one hundred million, and to top it all off, I found my neighbor whom I've known for freakin' 18 years and called my Auntie, dead and I JUST RECENTLY stopped crying every time I look at her house, which coincidentally faces mine, so every time I walk out of my front door, I see HER front door.

And this just the stuff that happened to ME. Not close friends who just found out their father has cancer, or whose sister had a heart attack, or have been laid off for the better part of 2009 and may possibly lose their house.

I'm not really sure who the fuck I pissed off in 2008 to make this year so relentlessly depressing. Oh wait, NOBODY - because last year I tore my Achilles and was off work for 3 months, while my jackass boss fucked up my paperwork, so I didn't get my disability money AND my husband lost his grandmother AND one of my best friends moved to freaking JAPAN - I actually was thinking that 2009 was gonna be my year because of how much 2008 sucked. Fooled my fucking ass. 2009, you pretty much sucked harder than 2008, and I didn't even think that was possible.

So I'm saying all that to say, so long 2009. Don't let the door knob hit you on the way out. It's been real, it's been fun, but it has NOT been real fun. Don't keep in touch, don't send me an e-mail to see how I'm doing now that you've moved on, in fact let's just pretend that we never met, hm?

And 2010? I've got my eye on you. I'm expecting rainbows and unicorns and a bunch of other really cool shit to happen this year. In fact, I refuse to accept anything less, so consider this a warning.

I'm ready for the new year and it's going to be motherfuckingfabulous. Or else.

My favorite gift

2009-12-21T17:04:00.000-08:00

{W}rite of Passage

Every year for Christmas, I get a lot of "So, what do you want for Christmas?" And for many years, my answer has been nothing. As in, I have no special something that I've been waiting for somebody to buy for me. The things that I lust after are things that could just as easily be for my birthday as because it's Tuesday (I remember the year that I got a toaster for Christmas, it had 4 slots and I could toast BAGELS in it and I was just as excited about that as I was about the year that I got a diamond ring. I mean, I could toast BAGELS!)

I get much more excited about the receiving of gifts than I am the gift itself. But I love to GIVE gifts more. I like to think I'm good at it. Nothing makes me happier than finding something that I think would be perfect for someone. Especially when it is, and even though they hadn't thought of it, they open it and love it. And sorry, I give you a gift, I give you a gift. You don't get a gift receipt, and I very rarely give gift cards - unless I really have no idea what to get you OR you specifically ask for one.

In 2006, I don't know what wild hair I had up my ass, but I decided that I was going to get all crafty with it and MAKE most of my gifts. And I did. With varying degrees of success. I made my (much) younger cousin a recipe box, complete with recipes for random things that I thought she'd like to try(loved the recipe, hated the box). I made my father some vegan cookies or some shit (which he loved). This was also the year I decided to get brave and crochet a blanket or two to give away as gifts. My girl friend had been teaching me to crochet and had given me a fairly simple pattern that even I could follow using 3 different yarns to make a pretty thick blanket.

I remember thinking how my MIL, who was going through chemo at the time, was always SO COLD, and this blanket was going to be awesome because she'd have something that would be all hers and she's would finally stop complaining about being so freaking cold all the damn time. I went to Michael's where I spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to decide what color yarn I was going to use, because OMG have you BEEN to Michael's yarn section? The colors, the types...I'm indecisive at the best of times, and I wanted to make something that she would like. So I called up The Man, asked for her favorite colors and settled on blue, green and white.

When I gave it to her, I said that I didn't want to hear she was freezing ever again, and tossed it in her lap. I think she was completely shocked that I had managed to finish such a large project. The only thing she'd ever seen me make was a scarf (which I still wear, thankyouverymuch). But I will say that I think she liked it. If she didn't, she hid it well. It was with her often, like her pink bandana. One was to cover her head and the other was to cover her legs. In my head, I thought that I'd see her with that blanket for a long time to come.

I didn't though. She passed away that next October. The day before her funeral, her grand-daughters (my brat included) approached my father-in-law and told him that at the viewing, something was missing. Gran-gran was always cold and she was missing her blanket - they wanted to include it. My FIL asked ME to include it.

I never would have thought the last time I'd see the gift I gave to her was as I placed it in her casket. I don't think I have enough words to describe how I felt, or what it meant to be asked to do this. I do know that of all the gifts I have ever given anyone, or ever gotten, this gift will always be remembered.

I'll apologize now for my somewhat sad story. I had no idea this is what I was going to write until I started writing it. But there you go. My most remembered gift isn't even a gift that I got, it was a gift I gave.

A rose is a rose is a FLOWER

2009-12-16T07:22:00.000-08:00

I chose not to use my name on my blog. Because my name is unusual, and I have yet to meet anyone with it, so that means that if you google me, you will be SURE to find me. I use is my MIDDLE name. When I started writing, I told no one, and I didn’t post pictures of my face. I used my blog to say whatever I wanted – still do – but because I didn’t want to hurt feelings, I went undercover (see what I did there? UNDERCOVERMAMA? yes, my wit astounds even me sometimes). That way if I called a friend’s husband an asshole (and I have), the friend & I could still be friends, and I could feel better knowing that I’ve at least said it here, in what I consider my safe place, instead of one day blowing up and going off because I held it in because I couldn’t bite my tongue anymore.

I have written about my life here, and you have commented, and commiserated and you don’t even seem to mind that I am clearly ridiculous and slightly crazy. You like me, you really like me (sorry, I can never resist that line).

The lines got blurry. I went to a tweetup. I introduced myself as the name I actually go by, because really? Even though there is nothing wrong with Lynette, I only answer to my name (or Bitch…but that’s only if it’s a voice I recognize LOL). Then I added some of my twitter/blogger friends to my facebook (P.S. don’t ever EVER mention my blog there or I will hunt you down and spank you… and not the good kind of spanking either). I went to the Vegas Birthday Bash*. If I let you grab/graffiti my boobs, we should at least be on first name basis, don't you think? What started out as what some of my friends called “my invisible friends” became more solid… more real.

My blog became a more intergrated part of my life. The distinction I made between MY LIFE and MYUNDERCOVERLIFE grows thin because some of you have crossed over. There are IRL friends that read my blog. I actually make plans to meet up with by blogger/twitter friends (February? Do you think we could schedule bowling in FEBRUARY? That give everybody enough time to make arrangments for bowling?) My IRL friends and my invisible friends are just friends here. I love them just the same.

As for me? I'm just the same as I ever was. I'm undercovermama, I'm Briya Lynette. I'm just me.

*Vegas Birthday Bash pictures coming soon. REALLY.

Vegas Birthday Bash....

2009-12-11T11:24:00.000-08:00

Not my birthday....

But who am I to turn down an invitation to hang out with some bloggers...and twitterpaters in Las Vegas.

I'm all packed...FINALLY, got my hair did, took my picture, got my camera and my cell phone (because how else am I going to drunk twitter/text?). I'm already on a plane.

And do you know what I'm going to do when I get to Vegas?

And this time, whatever happens in Vegas will probably be twittered all over the fucking place.

So I'm a freak and NOT the good kind

2009-12-09T10:33:00.000-08:00

My husband and I cook in different ways. I make a list of what I plan to make for dinner for 7 days. I will check the kitchen to see what I already HAVE, so that I know what to get. (I had to start doing that after I started buying insane amounts of tomato sauce because I kept forgetting that I had some). Add in crap for The Brat’s lunch, which she takes because HELLO? It’s cheaper, AND she can have what she likes – hot cheetos and pears, instead of scary cafeteria food, and shit for MY lunch and we’re done. That list of what’s for dinner? Is now on the ‘fridge so that I don’t forget – because my memory is THAT BAD y’all.

The Man? Will dig around in the kitchen and throw something together that is usually pretty good. Awesome, right? I come home and dinner is already cooked. Most wives would be all grateful and “wow the house ~~bitch~~ husband made me some dinner”. Not me. I’m slightly pissed because he just used my jar of sun dried tomatoes (don’t ask) in a dish that he just threw together and that I NEEDED to make some random recipe I found in a cookbook that I HAD to try. I’M ALSO GRATEFUL, but still. You know I was going to use them for something, said so right on the ‘fridge. And of allll the groceries that I bought, why would you pick the most completely random – never been purchased before item? DUDE. WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING MY STUFF?!

And that’s when I realized it. I never thought of myself as a control freak, but maybe I am.

Even though (I think) I am fairly laid back...I am a list maker, a picky eater (I can NOT eat a salad that I did not make myself. REALLY), I will re-write something because it doesn’t look the way I want it to look, I wrap my friend’s presents for her because O.M.G is she a horrible gift wrapper, and every time The Man makes dinner and uses something that I bought for something else, I want to junk punch him. WTF is wrong with me?

I’m a control freak. ::SIGH:: There, I said it.

I’m so used to doing it all; I don’t let anybody do anything. I will do all the cooking, all the cleaning, all the laundry (because did you REALLY just fold my towels like that?). Because I feel like if I don’t do it, it won't get done. Because my kids are lazy assholes who also incur my wrath if they do it ~~wrong~~ not my way, so they stopped doing it. Until now. I’ve started making The Brat accountable for stuff, like dishes – because I don’t want to do them anymore. And I talk mad shit to the house ~~bitch~~ husband when dinner is not ready when I get home from work.

As someone pointed out recently, I don’t HAVE to do everything. And I remember….I was all excited when The Man retired because that meant I’d have help, so I DON’T HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING. Anybody seeing a trend? Yeah, me too.

I’m trying. But its hard, so very hard (yeah yeah…. #thatswhatshesaid). But I guess I don’t have to be in control of the universe, as long as I can still be the Queen.

In the pink

2009-11-30T17:11:00.000-08:00

* SOMEHOW, I gots an invite to Mrs Flinger's {w}rite of passage. For bloggers who want to get back to *good* writing. Yeah, I think maybe she got me mixed up with another blogger, but since I wanna write good and Zoolander's school is only for kids who wanna read good, I figure this is the next best thing. So, please to enjoy the writing topic of the day: My embarrassing moment.

I’m a pretty casual dresser. I WILL wear pajama pants to the store (and did, just this Black Friday), I like random throw on dresses, and sweats. I can be found at any time, wearing a pair of random shorts and an offensive tee. Don't believe me?

Under my clothes, though…I can be pretty matchy-matchy. I don’t know why. Especially when you consider that I don't really love to wear underwear. (Hey Tira, you may not want to read this one to the hubs). ANYHOOTS, I like to match the panties to the bras. When I'm wearing them. Consider this to be a) an embarrassing story about me and b) a story about why I love my friends.

Right now, I work for a department that only sees patients that are hospitalized. I used to work for a different department at Big Fancy Hospital. A department where I did a significant amount of interaction with people. Patients, Fellows (MDs who are training to be specialized), Doctors, other secretaries. I spent my days putting patients in exam rooms and chasing down MDs to do various things. It really did seem as though I never got a chance to sit still.

This random day, I changed clothes SEVERAL times before I settled on white pants, with yellow and brown stripes and a brown shirt with my favorite wedges. You know those days when NOTHING that you put on looks right? I haz them. In spades. When I left for work I left a huge pile of clothes on my bed to be re-hung, or re-shoved into the drawer when I returned, but I felt totally confident now in the outfit of the day. I should probably mention that my first outfit was a pair of black pants and a hot pink top and that I, in typical me fashion, had chose hot pink panties to go with my pink bra. So while I was changing in and out of random outfits trying find an outfit I was comfortable in, I didn't give a single thought to the fact that I was now wearing HOT PINK PANTIES UNDER MY WHITE PANTS. Awesome. And nobody at all said anything. I went into a room full of people to grab an EKG tech for a patient. I put no less than 4 patients in exam rooms, stood fussing at my MD for not returning a page and lollygagged at the receptionist office running my mouth about nothing in particular. I probably saw 10 - 15 people who allll saw my chonies.

Of all the people that I spoke to that day only my friend MLB says to me, " So. You're wearing pink underwear" which...when I looked down I could clearly see. I had been flouncing in & out of patient rooms flashing one and all and only SHE said what I'm sure everybody knew. I'm sure that my cheeks - the ones on my face - were as pink as the ones on my ass.

Luckily though, I always have a sweater because hospitals have a tendency to be cooler than a meat locker EVEN if it's 90 degrees outside. Which it was. So I spent the rest of the day in a big ol' bulky sweater pretending like that was the look I was going for instead of somebody who was having a heatstroke because I'm covering up the fact that I'm wearing see-through pants.

From now on, I do what I SHOULD HAVE done in the first place. I check the mirror before I charge out of the house. And you know what I've learned? That polka dots can also been seen through my grey slacks, and that even though my white skirt has a lining you can still see red lettering when written on black panties.

Your welcome.

A Birthday Wish

2009-11-10T10:14:00.000-08:00

This morning I had to come to work at 8AM. I am generally at work by 7-ish (I know! SO freakin’ early), but I decided to use that extra hour I could have slept in at the gym. After my not-quite-an-hour workout, I went home and got ready for work. USUALLY, as I’m walking out of the door, they’re just waking up. Because my normal routine was thrown off, I threw off everybody’s routine. The Man overslept, The Brat overslept, so he was trying to hustle her out the door for the bus.

Seems like a pretty normal-ish routine, right? It’s not though. It’s taken 20 years to get to a point where I’m waking up every night next to my husband. Because for the last 20 years, The Man has been an Active Duty Marine. What that means? It means he goes wherever the Marine Corps tells him to. Sometimes he’s home to eat cake & ice cream for one of the kids’ birthday, sometimes he’s just barely managed to squeeze in a 5 minute phone call before communication is shut down. There have been times when he was home so frequently that I WISHED he would go somewhere – anywhere, and times when I only wished he would come home. Yeah, the Marine Corps wife is a study in contradictions – we complain when they’re underfoot everyday and cry when they’re deployed.

He retired this year. So he’s home everyday now. He’s taken over getting The Brat off to school, and because he’s home, I decided to finish school, since somebody will be home with The Brat while I’m ~~wasting away~~ in class during the evenings. His military ID now says RETIRED. It’s different, but he is definitely getting used to not having to PT junior Marines at zero dark thirty (read: the ass crack of dawn). And I’m getting used to having him around to help with dinner. Plus, I get to call him my house ~~bitch~~ husband. I’m a real romantic.

As it happens, he DID manage to get her up & out on time. And before he did, I stopped him at the door, gave him a kiss and wished my Marine a Happy Birthday. 234 years old looks good on him.

Once a Marine, ALWAYS a Marine

Semper Fi

Still here

2009-10-30T17:15:00.001-07:00

Neither of my children look like me. When I had The Boy, I said in disgust, he looks just like his damn daddy. And I was bitter, because really? I spent 7 of 9 months hugging the toilet. I couldn’t keep ANYTHING down. And he shows up looking like his daddy spit him out. At least I can take comfort in the fact that he thinks like his mama.

And The Brat, well…it took me some time to figure out what side of the family she took after. She had her daddy’s eyes for sure, but I just couldn’t say because like The Boy, she had my mannerisms, but not my face. I’d say she was the milkman’s kid, but you know… I was there, and I’m SURE I wasn’t banging the milkman. And one day it hit me. I went to go pick her up from her GranGran’s house, and she was holding her hand and looking up at me, and OMG! SHE LOOKS JUST LIKE HER. Which is kind of funny, because I always said that The Man looks like his Mama. And he does. From the tip of his eyelashes to the dip in his lip. It just never occurred to me that it just came full circle and The Brat who looks like her Daddy, looks just like her Gran-Gran.

The Brat loved her Gran-Gran so much. She pretty much went wherever she went. She went to church – her too. She went shopping – “gran-gran please come take me with you”. She was her favorite grandma…as my mom called her “the real grandmother”. Because she never went anywhere without her grand-daughters. They always wanted to go visit, spend school vacations “helping” in the daycare (although, I don’t know how much help 6 & 7 year olds can be), they even went with her on Black Friday – while I stayed in bed with a food hangover.

The Brat’s birthday was a few weeks ago. And I took this picture of her & posted it to my facebook. When I went back to look at the picture, it was never more clear as she’s losing the baby fat and starting to look more like a young adult than mommy’s baby that she looks like her grandma. Down to the hips, which I KNOW she didn’t get from me.

We lost her Gran-Gran to breast cancer 2 years ago today. She's gone, and I still miss her so much. But I look into the faces of my family and I see her looking back at me.

She is still here.

All these things that I have learned

2009-10-29T07:14:00.000-07:00

#1. After years of hating the texture of my hair...I. LOVE. MY. HAIR.

(me. getting ready for the U2 concert.)

When I was younger (MUCH younger) I would be jealous of the girls who's hair was more fine (read: "good hair") because OMG is my hair thick and a big giant pain in the ass to maintain, and I couldn't just wet it and throw it into a ponytail, it required gel and maybe a clip and DEFINITELY a scarf. And please believe that I would throw down over somebody getting water in my hair if I hadn't planned to get wet because now my hair was all jacked up ESPECIALLY if I didn't have ~~braids~~ ~~a perm~~ a plan B.

Anyways. I don't feel like that anymore. As my hairdresser likes to say, there is no such thing as good/bad hair --only healthy and not healthy. And my healthy, thick hair? Is pretty hot.

#2 on the list of things that I've learned: If I'm going to indulge in my enjoyment in completely inappropriate movie material, I should leave The Man out of it. I thought that he was completely aware of my inner 14 year old boy when it comes to movie watching. But apparently, even *I* can go too far. This weekend I asked him if we could watch one of my blockbuster online flicks that I got. Team America: World Police (fuck yeah!) He gave me look like I had either impressed him OR that his opinion of me had lowered several notches. I'm still not sure which. And I don't think he is either.

#3. If I have a choice between doing anything and going to see my most favorite-ist band in the world...? I'm never, ever going choose the other thing. Last night I went to VH1 Storytellers with the Foo Fighters. It was the most fun EVAR. Today, I am exhausted, but still abuzz from last night. Also? Every time I see them in concert - which, to date has been 14 times - I fall in love some more.

#3.5. I'm a really lucky Lady to have a husband who puts up with my ridiculous fangirl-ness.

#4. If I'm gonna be PMSing...watching sad tear-jerker type movies. Is a bad idea. Because once the tears stop, they can't always be turned off.

Pay It Forward

2009-10-27T13:21:00.000-07:00

*Or the “Who would look a gift horse in the mouth? Me. That’s who.” Post

My home is very open. Always has been. Growing up, our house was where all the girls hung out. Day in & day out. After school and random weekends. They were here so much that they all knew to stick their hands into the mail slot to unlock the screen door so they could let themselves in (because if we were home, the key was in the door. Don’t get any funny ideas about robbing me.) Same with The Man…he & his friends could be found if not cruising Crenshaw (damn, I’m old!), then they were at the house.

Know what happens when you have two people who are used to having company? A house full of people, that’s what. Since I’ve been married, I don’t remember a time when there wasn’t SOMEBODY over. And just about everybody was welcome. Except for that one guy who ran around on his wife all the time, and tried to make The Man his partner in crime. HE – couldn’t even look in my house’s direction. Who me, bitter? ANYWAYS… my point is that my home has always been open. You’re coming to LA/Arizona/Boston/Hawaii? Stay here! Always wanted to go to LA? Not only will we show you around (and Roscoe's Chicken & Waffles in not out of the question), you can come stay with us at the folks’ house...because they are used to us inviting people over. The Holidays were a mixture of family, friends, and Marines who didn’t go home for the holidays.

I never really thought of as being generous, it just was. The same way my eyes are brown, I expected that there would be extra people at the house for Christmas. The point? (I bet you didn’t think there was one, did you?) A very close friend offered me a gift. Because she and her husband wanted us to have it. And I refused. Because I never want my friends to think that I love them for the things they give me, instead of who they are. But I did ask why. The response gave me something to think about: we give so much of ourselves to others, that they would like to do something generous for us. It was a surprise, to say the least.

And what she said stayed with me. The things that I do for other people, I do because I want to, because I CAN. The things that I do for my friends I do with an open heart, and that’s the way it should be. The gift…? Is being offered because they wants to. And they can. Am I the only one in our relationship allowed to give a gift, be generous? After all, I'm pretty damn sure that their friendship is not based on all the my awesome apple cobbler. Heh.

So I said all that to say that she changed my mind. I’m choosing to accept their gift with the open heart in which it was offered. So I guess maybe instead of looking the gift horse in the mouth, I'll look down at his shoes. After all, I like shoes. Although, I don't know that I want somebody welding or nailing or doing whatever the hell it is they do to horse ummm... feet? That's bound to fuck up my pedicure.

The birthday post that's really not about birthdays but about how I am clearly clueless

2009-10-14T07:22:00.000-07:00

Every year The Man surprises me for my birthday. This paying attention thing? I’m doing it wrong.

A couple of years ago for my birthday, my co-workers/friends took me to dinner after work to celebrate my birthday. When I got back to my car, it had disappeared. I IMMEDIATELY lost my buzz and started freaking out because OMG! MY-CAR-JUST-GOT-STOLEN-FROM-WORK-IN-THE-PARKING-GARAGE-AND-HOW-IN-THE-HELL-AM-I-GONNA-EXPLAIN-THIS?! It’s a 6 floor structure, so I checked up a floor and down a floor because even though I usually park in the exact same spot every day, I was drunk, so maybe I thought that I was off a floor? I was certainly HOPING so because I didn’t want to go home and say, hey err…honey, my car got stolen while I was out drinkin’.

My cousin (who was in on the “surprise”) says to me. Just hit the alarm button…and before I could say “But I don’t have an alarm button” she hit one and THAT’S how I found out I got a new car. It was stuffed with balloons and yes I cried like a little girl.

A few days ago, my sister told me she was taking me to a Pirate Adventure – type place (which... I've been to, and I loved). But for adults. Wear a pirate costume…which I umm..conveniently have already. So after a day of pancakes, and bowling and drinking (oh my!) I left the house still pretty drunk and my sissie, well... she called her friend who told her that she would meet us at the place with the tickets. Didn’t even occur to me to wonder where the heck I was going but I guess I should have because.... It was a surprise party. For me.

That’s me wondering WTF. I was so ~~drunk~~ surprised that it took me a second to realize what was happening.

There were cupcakes

And drinking…

And friends

God, I love my friends.

I even love The Man, even though I'm pretty sure one of these days he's going to scare me right into a heart attack.

A Reminder....

2009-10-09T08:55:00.001-07:00

This month is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month

PLEASE, get your boobies checked.

Wednesday Workout

2009-10-07T09:01:00.001-07:00

THIS + 4:45 AM = OUCH

Yep, this is me checking in. And making some general observations:

Right now, my hair is braided. I got it braided because I’m lazy/tired of doing my hair and this is the easiest way to keep it looking nice. It’s almost time to take my hair down. I don’t know about the rest of y’all…but my mama – who has “good hair” did not pass it down to her daughters. And I am totally unwilling to sweat out the ‘do when I get it did. So I guess this means that I’ll be getting my shit re-braided. Which isn’t horrible because this means less time in the mirror trying to make my hair look like LESS of a rats nest…although that leaves MORE time for make up. Hmm…win-win?

I’m waiting for this one lady to go flying off of her treadmill. Mean, I know…but in my defense she runs at like 7.5 with the steepest incline available and she is hanging on the side rails with a death grip. One of these days her sweaty hand is gonna slip and she is gonna shoot backwards and hit the treadmill behind her. I hope I’m not behind her because I will probably fall off my machine in shock, and then stay down because I’ll be laughing too hard to get back up.

At zero/ dark-thirty when I hit the gym, I am at my MOST unimpressive. I probably have not washed my face and I’m wearing my stinky gym clothes (unrelated-sortof…WTF is up with people who smell freshly showered to run at the gym? Aren’t you defeating the purpose of your shower? PLEASE say you’re going to shower again after your workout… You are, right?) MY POINT though – is what’s up with dudes trying to hustle a phone number? I KNOW I’m not cute at 5AM. I’m not even friendly until AFTER my workout; so NO, I don’t want your name, NO I don’t want to give you mine and really? There are 20 other machines, do you HAVE to choose the one right next to me?

Okay, moving on to business:

YES. I went to the gym every day I was supposed to, but I did overdose on home-made chocolate chips on the 1st because I was celebrating my birthMONTH. And during this month I’m pretty much allowed to do whatever ~~I want~~ they will let me get away with. AND I went to happy hour Friday where I didn’t do too bad. I split some spinach & artichoke dip (see? I had veggies, not so bad, right?), although I did have it with a beverage

…or two. LOL. (Don’t trip. I still managed to lose 2 lbs this week)

Also, because it’s my birthday (and really it IS this weekend) I’m going to happy hour AGAIN on Friday (Martini Bar…mmmm). But, if you think I’m not going to get a workout in this weekend…you’d be wrong. I’m going bowling with The Brat for HER birthday, which, coincidentally is the day before mine AND because my professor chose Sunday as her furlough day, I’m even going to get in a birthday workout, before some football.

So be prepared next week for a post where I discuss how I either fell off the wagon, overdosed on Cold Stone cupcakes and drank all weekend long because it's my birthday OR a post where I drank all weekend long because it's my birthday AND STILL managed to get my ass over to the gym.

I'm talking to you. Yes, YOU

2009-09-30T15:03:00.000-07:00

Or "A post where I attempt to get my ass in gear"

Hey Tira,

So the other day, I was talking to you about how I need to start going to the gym because honestly? My ass is HUGE. And I’ve tried, LAWD HAVE MERCY have I tried, to start some kind of workout routine (yet again) And you, said you would like to make the gym a regular part of your day too. Me? I need motivation, a workout partner. Because workout partners keep you honest. I will really roll out of bed and hit the gym at 5AM, because I HATE knowing that somebody is at the gym weighting for me (ha! Get it? See what I did there? Not funny? Psht. FINE) And seeing as how you are 9, 271 miles away...that workout partner is not going to be you.

Even though you can’t be here in body, you can be here on the interwebs. My proposition? I will be reporting to you once a week, RIGHT HERE, on my progress. And you, can do the same. Since we 1) are CLEARLY incapable of maintaining a “main” blog and a “Let’s-talk-about-my-fat-ass” blog ; 2) need to encourage each other the best we can, and 3) isn’t it better to keep a log of all this shit somewhere? May as well be here, right?

This morning, I was gonna surprise you by taking a picture of my treadmill stats once I was done. But seeing as how I NEVER bring my cell phone to the gym (I’m working out, I am not gonna answer the phone to tell you that I’m at the gym and can I call you back. I’ll just call you when I’m done so I can be all smug “Oh, you called me? I was at the gym working out” ALSO? I hate people who carry on cell phone convos on the treadmill… that is asshattery at it’s finest and you should stop that. REALLY.) I forgot. So please to enjoy a “snapshot” of today’s workout.

Calories: 200
Distance: 1.87 miles
Time: 32.18 minutes
AVERAGE Speed: 3.7 - cause you know...I walked some, I ran some, then I walked sommore.

Also.... I woke up late and I can only be at the gym until a certain time ‘cause you know I have to be at work at 7AM for fuck’s sake.

Anyways, I’ll be working out MWF and Saturday, with an option to rest Sunday – cause you know, I’ve got school. And you know I will not lie about whether I did or I didn’t go. And I’m giving you (and anybody who has read this far/is interested) permission to give me shit when I don’t do what I said I was gonna.

Let the weight loss begin. AGAIN. LMAO.

Edited to add: Hey! I was over on your blog and it looks like we’re both talking fitness!

Because I know all about fashion

2009-09-22T07:38:00.000-07:00

I was talking to my sister the other while I was on the way to work (YES, I was totally wearing my earpiece. It’s the LAW) and while I was sitting at a light, this guy is crossing the street walking his daughter (?) to school. The girl was in her school uniform with the cutest pink backpack I ever did see and the guy was in a uniform, of sorts. A wife beater and jeans hanging down to his knees. It aggravated me to the point that I completely veered off topic and started a tirade. I think that this whole saggy pants thing has gone too far. There. I said it.

It may be that I’m used to STANDARDS (very rarely will you see a military guy sagging something ridiculous, even in civilian clothes – you do NOT want to get caught out looking like a thug by your commanding officer at the mall), or that I’m OLD, or old fashioned, you can even say that I’m not hip. But seriously. WHAT. THE. FUCK?

Back when I was a teenager (yeah, all the old people start their tirades like this, don’t they?), my boyfriend wore tapered khakis (new school skinny jeans. Ahem. All things old are new again). Yes, I keep it old school. And YES, there was a teeny bit of sag. I mean, who wants to wear DAD JEANS?

Now I have to see your WHOLE ASS? WTF is that about? Why is that supposed to be cute? I thought we were in agreement people. I thought crack (ass crack, crack pipe, ALL CRACK) was wack. ‘Member? Whitney Houston said? Not only do I have to see your raggedy draws, I have to watch you duck walk across the street because your pants are so down around your knees that the belt you have on (why are you even wearing a belt?!) is completely superfluous and the only way you can keep your pants from falling around your ankles is to walk like that, while trying to hold up your pants with one hand. THAT? Is not sexy.

It also makes me want to cause you a thousand years of pain.

So I guess it’s lucky for me that 1) I’m married 2) I’m CLEARLY not the kind of person these boys (because I am unable to call you a man when you are dressed this way) are trying to attract and 3) I STILL don’t have a camera. Because I totally would have been taking pictures of all the ridiculousness that I’ve seen over the last couple of days.

Although I will say that this has motivated me to go out and get one, this weekend. (No, really. I’m going to get a camera. For real this time)

No More Talking

2009-09-15T22:01:00.000-07:00

I haven't been able to write.

Because I've been TALKING. Talking, talking, TALKING. I don't think I've ever spent so much time talking. Because I was mad. Beyond mad, actually. Pissed off to the highest of pisstivity, if you will.

I went out for a friend's Big Birthday Bash. Where after a somewhat cursory hello, she and a couple of friends proceeded to ignore me. Since I am a) slightly oblivious and b) sure I've done nothing wrong, I disregard the feeling that I'm being iced out. Because that's just crazy and I'm being ridiculous. Also? I pulled one of the "friends" aside to ask if there was a problem, and she said NO. The Birthday Girl's husband, with whom I'd had a falling out came, and promptly bought me a shot. While The BG's husband & I are not BFF's... I almost never turn down a free drink, I know he's trying to make nice AND he's The Man's BFF, so I accept it.

The Birthday Girl's friend stops ignoring me long enough to ask if I'm putting in on bottle service. Which I'm not. Unfortunately, I couldn't stay very long because I didn't drive myself, but also because the feeling of not being wanted there persisted.

As my ride & I were leaving, I finally gave in to my paranoia and asked her "WTF?" Her response, "I KNOW." So, apparently I was not only *not* crazy...I wasn't even alone in the feeling of hostility being directed and her & me. AND I completely missed the request to hold the bottle service until we left conversation being held while I was having my inner monologue... As the pieces started falling in place: the hints about being ready to drink, the way they completely separated us from their conversation, getting the stink eye from the BG's friend, the madder I got.

I decided that I DIDN'T want to talk about it anymore. Not with the Birthday Girl, not with anybody. But then she started calling me, which I ignored because I was too mad for any conversation I had to be constructive. So then she e-mailed me. NOT to apologize, or discuss the weekend...she e-mailed me to pretend like nothing was wrong. And THAT? Made my head explode. At which point, I wielded the truth like a baseball bat and bashed her over the head with it. I don't LOVE confrontation (hard to believe, I know), and yet... I felt like I had to point out some things that she neglected to say to me ON TOP OF she and her friends acting like a big giant assholes at her Birthday Bash.

Which led to some back & forth conversations that only led to no conversations at all. Normally, I'd feel bad about that. In fact, I felt bad enough about it to talk to the BG's husband, because I didn't want him to think that HE was the reason for the conflict. And in talking to him, I realized that she'd done more than just ignore me, she'd made specific requests on how HE was to treat me as well. And I didn't like that at all. Not because I expected differential treatment, but because it said so much about how she felt about me that she'd even make the request.

I have been MORE than a good friend to her, and I've known her a really long time. She is not a person who shies away from making her opinions or feelings known and there is nothing she loves more than confrontation, so I have no idea why she chose to make her displeasure known with me this way. I DO know, that *this* is not how you treat friends, and so at this point, I choose not to call her friend.

I've said everything that I have ever wanted to say about this. And I've said plenty. I've bent my friends' ears off with lots of "Can you believe this shit!?!'s" and "WHO does that?!'s" with a few "WTF?!'s" thrown in for good measure.

My anger has burned off leaving lots of Tired and Indifference in it's wake. No burning need to demand an explanation, no curiosity as to how she's dealing with this on her side...just nothing.

And so, I am dismissing this whole incident, and her, with silence. I do not want an apology, or to hear her side (again), nor am I interested in reparations for the sake of a preserving a decade-long friendship.

It seems like I should be a lot sadder than I am about this, but it is what it is.

I don't want to talk to you; I don't have anything to say.

STILL Not Ready - The First Day of High School edition

2009-09-04T14:10:00.000-07:00

Me: Brat, you ready?
Brat: I’m ready.

Me: ....Really?

Brat: Okay, lemme get my phone.

Me: Now?

Brat: Oh oh… mama, I need a jacket.

Me: Are you fucking kidding me? It’s one THOUSAND degrees out there
...and it’s only 6AM.

Brat: It might get cold. THE BUS gets cold.

Me: …sigh. NOW? I still have to drop you off so I can go to work, you know.

Brat: Did you sign all my school stuff?

Me: YES. Jesus, girl, are you ready now?

Brat: Yes. I’m ready.

My baby, her first day of High School

*sigh* I'm not.

And we're done.

2009-08-31T15:21:00.000-07:00

20 years ago:

Every day we went somewhere different to eat. He wanted to have some of everything before he went off to boot camp. I was 6 months pregnant, and everything…and every smell turned my stomach. But I went, because I still WANTED to eat, even though almost nothing stayed down and because I knew that time was slipping away. Soon, he’d be gone. And I’d still be here.

The last day before he left, we went out and came back to pack & clean his (always dirty) room. I fell asleep, as usual, in his bed. He woke me up, because it was time for me to get back and he had to get up early in the morning. I cried. Because I was feeling all sappy, and I always do when he goes away (yes. even now). He hugged me and told me that he would be back soon, he would write and he would call.

I didn’t go to his graduation, because I was not feeling good enough to make the drive. But I saw thousands of pictures, of him in his brand new Marine Corps uniform. Did I mention that I LOOOOVE a man in uniform? Because I do. And he was extra skinny. Because in boot camp, you didn’t walk; you ran. EVERYWHERE. And don’t be the recruit lagging behind. Or so I’ve heard. I’m a lollygagger…just one more reason that I never would have cut it in the USMC.

But I did the next best thing... which, is sort of like joining. I married a Marine. I’ve lived with the *locals* in Hawaii and Boston, on Marine Corps bases in San Diego and Army (?!) bases in Yuma and am now back in Southern California. I’ve spent up to a year intermittently pining for The Man while he went unaccompanied overseas. This would not be including any time he spent in the sandbox. Which was time spent quietly (and sometimes NOT so quietly) freaking out because there was a pretty good chance that he was going to be shot at maybe not make it home. (For which I thank GOD EVERY DAY that he did. REALLY), and not sleeping because I was worried I was going to miss his call which was always at the most randomest of times, or not sleeping because the news only likes to report how many people died in Iraq/ Afghanistan (which is why I stopped watching), not how The Man was doing over there.

I’ve sat not so quietly when the moving people were shoving all my shit in a box for the NEXT duty station. I’ve comforted both brats when they moved to another school AGAIN. I’ve cleaned more apartments to look brand spanking new so I could get my deposit back…and sometimes paid a cleaning lady (heh). I’ve memorized The Man’s SSN# because it’s the only one that matters in the military-- I’ve forgotten my driver’s license but NEVER my ID card. I’ve called the Red Cross because I needed to get in touch with The Man RIGHT NOW, and I knew that was the only way. I’ve opened my home to single Marines since the day I got married, so they could ALWAYS have a home cooked meal. I’ve lost touch with military wives because it used to be so hard to keep in touch/ have the right phone number when everybody is changing duty stations/ husbands are complaining about phone bills. I experience sticker shock every time I go into a grocery store to buy eggs & milk.

Today is The Man’s last day as an enlisted Marine. Tomorrow, he will OFFICIALLY retire/ be a civilian. No more ironing Cammies (although I haven’t in quite some time), early morning PT sessions, unit/battalian formations, or doing stuff because the Sgt. Major said so. I have no idea what I’m going to do with you not going TDY, or going on field ops, or having duty…plain & simply underfoot all the damn time.

But I am so happy to have you home.

(I love him even though he is a rat bastard UCLA fan)

I've got mail

2009-08-27T20:30:00.000-07:00

I have several thousand e-mail addresses. The one that I've had since I've had a computer (an AOL e-mail address if you can believe it). I keep it so that people who have lost touch with me will always have a way to find me. I always check it, and it's also generally the one that family uses. A Yahoo one that I use for "other stuff": paypal, promotional e-mails for stuff like RueLaLa, discount hotel offers to Vegas (please stop it. I can't afford to go back yet and all these super discounted rates are mocking me. MOCKING ME), concert information - because I go to a LOT of concerts, it's also linked to my Facebook, and...back in the day..I even got porn to that e-mail address. Long Story. I have an "I'm a professional" e-mail address, a work e-mail that I sometimes, okay...OFTEN get personal e-mails sent to, and the one for here: youbethekettle (at) gmail.com.

I got a lot of fucking e-mail addresses. But, I'm going to talk about my yahoo one. Why? Because it's becoming the bane of my freakin' existence right now. I've never had so much mail in my entire life. This yahoo one... generally, if I sign up for something, that's the one I use. Unless I'm mad at The Man. Then I use his. I know. Fuckery at it's finest. But at least he knows my horoscope, and when Tom Jones is going to be in concert. Moving on. I signed up for Facebook on a fluke. Because a friend of mine has all of his pictures there, and I couldn't see them until I signed up.

ANYWAYS, for a long while, I never used it. Then my sister was all "Hey, DINOSAUR, get with it and get on Facebook." Which, SURPRISE! I was already on but not using. So then I'd posted an update:

I signed up for a fantasy football league. I have no idea what I'm doing and draft day is Sunday. Suggestions, comments...HELP?
Yesterday at 8:54am · via iGoogle Gadget · Comment · Like · Remove

Let the crap-tastic amount of e-mails begin: "...XXX commented on your status..." Heaven forbid that you mess around and comment on somebody ELSE'S status. Because then? You're getting eleventy thousand emails every time ANYBODY comments "..xxx also commented on JoeBlow's status". And I don't even know these people, more importantly could care less what they think. More to the point, I would prefer not to get an e-mail everytime somebody says BOO.

These e-mails add up. Facebook will send you e-mails if somebody:

sends a message
adds me as a friend/ confirms request
posts on my wall
pokes me
tags me in a photo
tags one of MY photos
coments on my photos
comments AFTER me on a random photo
leaves a wall comment
comments AFTER me on somebody ELSE'S wall story
sent me an drink, or a smile, or a chug it request, or a sorority life thingamajig
does anything at all to me
the list goes on and on....

My e-mail was blowin' up y'all...and not in the good way. In the "Fuckin' A...what the hell is all this shit?!" way. I was deleting messages so fast that I was actually MISSING the stuff I wanted to read. Don't you hate that? You're all in the zone and before you know it, you've deleted that pre-sale info about NIN's final tour and you threw it in the trash because you thought it was another g.d. facebook message?

So. I went back and changed everything. Unchecked it ALL. I don't want y'all sending me e-mails about anything. I will check my own friends requests, and respond to those people I want to respond to and ignore everything else (No more pillow fights, food flings, what kind of rock star am I, no kisses, no hugs...just...NO)

I can just feel my aggravation ease now that I am no longer receiving crazy amounts of e-mail. Well... I mean I *STILL* receive crazy amounts of e-mail, just...about stuff I care about. Like $35/night room rates in Vegas, and pre-sale info for various bands (speaking of...WTF Paramore?! I can't/won't take a 13 year old girl to a concert on a THURSDAY, she's got school on Friday), and upcoming boutiques. Even though I'm sort of on a haitus for shopping/concert going, I still wanna know what's going on in the world of people who go places and people who do stuff.

So I'll content myself with reading e-mails from cousins, of the next 9West sale, jokes from long lost friends, and comments from you.

YES, *YOU*. I see you reading this. Now, pop on in the comments and say "hey!"

WTF Wednesdays

2009-08-26T09:09:00.000-07:00

A real conversation I had with my son & his girlfriend:

The Boy: Mommy! What happened to your foot?

Me: I went to the Green Day concert last night and some jackass kicked me in the back of my (just barely recovered from surgery) foot.

The Girlfriend: Did you at least punch him in the face?

Me: ....Yes.

On Year Seventeen

2009-08-24T17:39:00.000-07:00

[Him & Me and baby makes 3, taken August 1992]

This picture was taken while I was vacationing in Hawaii 17 years ago. The boyfriend was stationed there and I had been dying to come visit. A couple of days later I would miss my flight back home, and let my THEN boyfriend/baby daddy talk me into getting married RIGHT NOW, instead of waiting for a big fancy wedding. Instead, He & I got married at Waimea Falls Park, with 2 people we randomly asked to tape our vows because the couple who were going to be our witnesses ended up having to go to the emergency room.

So it ended up being just me and him. Because the minister's husband took the boy off to look at the boats because he was pitching a major fit because he was hot and it was past his naptime and the screaming OMG the screaming...MOMMY-DADDY I JUST WANNA GO TO THE WATER...so off they went before I knocked him into next week with a bunch of strangers watching because I was getting ready to marry this 21 year old Marine who've I been *in love* with since I was 15 years old, and I was nervous and completely freaked out about the whole "til death do us part" thing, because holy hell is THAT a long time, and even though I was pretty sure I wanted to do it thats a pretty large commitment from somebody who couldn't even buy a drink.

Anyways, back to what I was saying. Being in love is a funny thing. People always say that when you are as young as I was, that you don't really *know* what love is. It feels like love to YOU, but maybe it was just the orgasms. 'Cause let's face it, when you're young and fairly innocent, that's probably the best feeling in the world. Sorry. Digressing again. I was a senior in High School when I got pregnant with The Boy. Not young enough to think I had to get married RIGHT NOW because I was too stupid to realize antibiotics + birth control pills + fucking like rabbits = pregnancy.

After I had The Boy, The Man & I had a falling out of sorts. But in the way of teenagers who just can't get enough of each other, we went from not speaking to friends again (although, I won't lie. I'm a bitch who can hold a mean grudge if I'm so inclined. And I was). It wasn't easy, but I kind of figured I was going to have to deal with him anyways because he had anytime access to The Boy since he was stationed in San Diego and only home for the weekends. But somewhere between the letters and phone calls -you know, to check on us- he fooled me with trickery (and frequent trips to Knotts Berry Farm for roller coaster riding and funnel cake) into falling back in love. And I was all starry-eyed and thinking of Happily Ever After...which, of course, it wasn't.

There were fights, Lawd.Have.Mercy...the fighting. There were deployments, and another kid...there was moving, tears, re-enlistments, late night talks, pancakes, hospital visits, and death. There was drinking, because you can't be a Marine wife if you can't drink. Tattoos, fighting over the remote control and water balloon fights. Field ops, tummy rubs and playing darts. And sometimes, there was just lying in bed holding hands falling asleep while watching TV.

I dunno. The love I had 17 years ago seems so pale in comparison to what we have now. Love that we've held on to, and fought for, and MADE last though everything that we've been through. It's the difference between the first time you have sex and the best sex you ever had. You know, that OMG, I'VE NEVER EVEN KNEW I COULD FEEL THIS WAY feeling. The same and TOTALLY different at the same time.

Maybe that's what it is. Different, because this is definitely not the puffy heart and rainbow love of a girl of 19. This love is solid and real (although there are SOME puffy hearts & rainbows...usually after sex, but sometimes when HE fixes breakfast and I get to sleep in). This love has kept us together through all kinds of bullshit, it's kept ME from murdering him in his sleep and probably kept him from punching me in the eye. I know. All this true love and romance is sickening.

I'm sure that we've done lots of things wrong in our relationship, but I guess since we ended up in the right place, I won't complain (much).

So. Happy Anniversary to Us.

Overheard

2009-08-17T20:13:00.000-07:00

(So, I'm back from Vegas. Instead of coming home and falling into bed to sleep off the hangover/recouperate from hanging out all night, I came home with just enough time to get ready to see Depeche Mode. Because I'm awesome, or ridiculous, or have horrible time management skills. Either way, may I present you with the things that I heard or/and said this weekend.)

You got an L.A. face, but an Oakland booty (I'm not sure what that means, but I still let him pinch my ass. Heh.)

Are you going to be able to fit all that in there? #snort (see also #thatswhatshesaid)

I just smoked a margarita.

She’s so cute I just want to pick her up and put her in my pocket. (My SIL is 4’10 – definitely pocket-sized)

Pirate Booty. And not the good kind.

That is totally awesome. With no awesome sauce on top.

Yep, DJ Jazzy Jeff. And no Fresh Prince.

I don't want to keep him, I just wanna play with him for a lil' while.

Yeah, Indians. Dots, not Feathers.

There's some hoes in this house...if you see 'em point them out. (A SONG. Although, you know...if you see one...)

It was ghetto fabulous. WITHOUT the fabulous.

Sir? Please don't hump your girlfriend in here. Take her back to your room.

...so then she threw up.

The next time we come back, we ARE going to go to Rehab, instead of always saying No, no, no.

I'll have ANOTHER Jack Daniels & Sprite.

Can I have a $1 Yo bet?

Damn, do I love Vegas.

Put that thing back where it came from. Or so help me.

I am SOO fucked up.

It's 4AM. I have to get up in 4 hours to drive back home.

(So there you have it. Some of the more interesting comments made over the weekend. I'm SURE I left out a lot, some of which I remember, some of which...I don't. And probably all for the good. I would also like to thank my Sissie, Prima & Lil' Bit -the SIL, for a fan-fucking-tastic road trip AND Undomestic Diva & Starts with an X for an awesome dinner date. I had so much fun hanging with you "ladies". I would also like to mention that UD can really shake a tailfeather on the dancefloor. Heh. )

F My Life

2009-08-14T07:04:00.000-07:00

This morning I caught The Boy in bed with his half-naked girlfriend. HALF-naked because I timed *my bust in the door* perfectly. Fuck me right in the ass why don’t you, Karma? (Just because I once slept over to the THEN boyfriend's -now husband- and his Mom found me sleeping in the bed did not mean that *I* needed to have the same experience. REALLY)

My son, who has been home all of 3 months, is driving me insane. He moved up north because ~~his girlfriend is going to school there~~ he says he loved it so much that he wanted to live there and go to school even though:
1. He’d never even HEARD of it until his girlfriend took him up there to look at her school
2. He had no job
3. Or a place to stay
4. AND his parents are not rich

And since he STILL didn't have a job, and the friend with whom he'd been staying told him he needed to start paying rent, he decided to come home. Because I really did mean it when I said I’m not going to pay MY rent AND yours.

He came home, still not sure what he wants to do. Then we had a "I realize that college may not be for everyone, but if you DON'T go to school, then you sure as hell better get a job because you are not going to sit around the house playing your guitar all day and eating everything in the fridge" conversation.

I even told him that I know it’s hard to live WITH your parents once you haven’t, and so I’m not going spanking you about curfew (although, nothing is really open after 2AM in L.A. except legs, and I can’t have a boy with no job getting somebody pregnant, so do the math), and you’re too old for me to have to tell you what NOT to do. OR SO I THOUGHT.

I went to bed early because it’s my verb, but was startled awake because I hear doors opening & closing and while I’m lying there trying to decide if I should panic and wake The Man NOW or wait until some burglar bursts into our room and tries to kill me, I realize it’s The Boy trying to be all sneaky sneaky. And now that I’m awake, I have to pee. I notice that’s just a little past midnight, so I’m guessing The Boy thinks that everyone is sleeping and that his girlfriend is probably still here. So I give it a few more minutes and decide to scare them both and did I ever.

All I said was..."Really?"
If I'm going to be honest (and I am), I really wish I had a camera, because the look on that poor girl's face was HYSTERICAL and I wanted to laugh out loud, but I didn't. I'm sure she'd never been so embarrassed in her life, and that made me feel slightly better.

Then I said... "So, I'm assuming you know what to do now, right?"
Which she obviously did, because then she got dressed quick-fast and in a hurry.

But because I am totally about making sure You've Learned Your Lesson, I was waiting in the Living Room to making sure they both understood:

THE PARENTS ARE THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO GET TO FUCK UNDER THIS ROOF

That's right. In Bold. All Caps.

If you want to get laid, you get a hotel room, sneak back to HER parents house, have sex in the backseat of her car, but not here. NEVER here. And yes, I really did say that.

Why can't they just stay cute little babies forever? Gah...

Or maybe it's just me?

2009-08-06T22:00:00.000-07:00

I’m SO glad I don’t have babies anymore. My youngest is 13, now, when I watch a show with her it’s to make sure that it’s age appropriate AND not porn. Which means in her case, I watch Degrassi, iCarly, and Total Drama Island (which I think is hysterically funny). When she was younger I watched TV with her to make sure she didn’t color on the walls or choke on a cheerio. Not really a hardship still: Teletubbies, Animaniacs and Sesame Street (do kids still watch that?). I mean, sure the Teletubbies were a little strange (a MAGIC BAG people, like Felix the Cat, Tinky Winky had a magic bag) but still. Ultimately not horrifying.

Fast forward to Tuesday. The Brat was watching her 5 year old & 1 ½ year old cousins. First, it should be mentioned that The Brat does not like kids. Not even the ones she’s related to. She has frequently put the crazy one (Niece #1) out of her room when she comes over and follows her around inundating her with questions with a hysterical case of hero worship. My mom called me to find out how close I was to home because she left her grandbabies with The Brat and she had no idea how long it would be before she snapped. I was less than 5 minutes away.

Imagine my surprise when I walked in and the girls were NOT crying. In fact, The Brat was dancing around with the mean one (Niece #2), while the crazy one sang and played with my hula hoop (YES, I have a hula hoop...what?). I peeked in on them on my way to get some water. Then I came back because of the song. Me: WHAT is this? The Brat: it's Yo Gabba Gabba. Me:..? And then the main characters came on. Ummm...can anybody see that?

No, NOT the weird dude in the hat (although WTF…?) Riiiight next to him.

I kept watching and all I could think of was:

I’m pretty sure that I wasn’t supposed to be thinking of vibrators while watching this kiddie show. But can you blame me?

Four days of [blank]

2009-08-04T20:00:00.000-07:00

Day 1

Saturday - I hit the gym. I had an early hair appointment because I was going to a wedding. I figured that it wouldn't really matter if I sweat my hair out since I was getting it washed.

Day 2

Sunday - Nope.com. I was exhausted from Saturdays festivities

Day 3

Monday - Too lazy to hit the gym. BUT, isn't that why I have a wii fit? Damn skippy it is. Bring on the step, the hula hoop AND the strength exercises. I'd also like to point out that even though my wii forgot my name AND told me exactly how many days it's been since I last stepped foot on it, I still dominated the advanced step. So take that, you sarcastic Wii fit.

Day 4

Tuesday - Since The Man didn't replace the batteries on my board, I opted for different exercising. Jillian's 30 day shred. I'm not going to lie and tell you that I'm going to do 30 WHOLE DAYS of this shit, but I will from time to time work this into the rotation when I don't want to go to the gym/don't have a lot of time to work out/feel like being intimidated by DVD.

Now, with photo! I love this color:

Teal. I love Hot Topics nail polish.

Tainted Love

2009-08-03T18:28:00.000-07:00

I’m sure in the beginning it was cute. He was so in love with you that he wanted to know where you are all the time, and you were so in love with him that you told him…because trust is the basis of any relationship. You didn’t have anything to hide, after all. He wanted to have babies with you. And you, so accustomed to men that hit you and kept you in fear, men that raped you and made you believe that this was how a husband was supposed to treat his wife… you were enamored of his insecurities, his neediness, his non-threatening behavior. This was the opposite of everything love had been for you.

Every couple has ups & downs, but yours were extreme as roller coaster rides. Clicking slowly to the top of extreme euphoria then hurtling warp speed into downward spirals of anger and confusion. Why can’t he love me the way I need to be loved? Why is he acting this way? What did I do wrong? And I have no answers for those kinds of questions.

He’s alternately told you that he loved you while doing things that mean the opposite. There are no sticks & stones, but words he uses to hurt you. He destroys your self esteem by telling you that you’ve gained so much weight that it’s hard to be attracted to you, and yet…sabotages any effort you make to lose weight. He says you’re always crowding his space, but stops talking to you for weeks at a time if you go out with the girls. Even after all of the ridiculousness he put you through, you want him to marry you, you INSIST that he marry you, and so he does.

It’s been so many years. You are still unhappy. His insecurities have increased, so much so that he is jealous of any time you spend away from home, even work. He hates all of your friends and sees us as competition for your time, when he's not hitting on them and pretending it's the alcohol. He’s done the unthinkable, and it almost destroyed you. And even now you sleep under the same roof, maybe even the same bed.

Even today, you say that even though a part of you hates him, you still love him. I don't know what you want me to tell you. I'm not going to tell you to go, and I'm not going to justify why you should stay.

I can't tell you who or how to love. I can only tell you that love to me, is comforting and loving, sexy and fun, safe and uncertain, even scary. Because you're trusting someone with your heart for safekeeping. It doesn't tear you down with words leaving you internally broken and bleeding, praying that he would just hit you already, so you can show somebody, anybody at all the scars that he is leaving behind, instead of pretending to be okay.

I imagine it's a little like watching a recreational drug user take the downhill slide into full blown, life destroying addiction. You know what this relationship is doing to you and still you remain...trembling, waiting for his affection. You ingest his apologies and get high breathing in the smoky stench from the latest "I'm Sorry"...Hoping this time he meant it, he WILL change. And that quick, the stars are back in your eyes until the newest betrayal.

I would call this behavior a lot of things: crazy, dysfunctional and more importantly delusional.

But I would never, ever call it love.

30 Days of.....

2009-08-02T12:05:00.000-07:00

For every one thing I WANT to do, I have 50-11 (is TOO a real number) things I NEED to do. Can you guess which one wins out? Example: I want to go to the gym. Seems easy to squeeze in, right? Hmm..But it's not. Because I have to be at work early AND THEN I have school until 10PM. And I refuse to go to the gym at 4AM (anymore) because that's too fucking early to be awake let alone running on a treadmill. Not to mention that makes my day longer than I can handle. Doesn't leave me with much sleep and I am a girl who needs- if not 8 straight, 6 hours of sleep. Unless you don't mind me being a hostile, unfriendly, emotionally unstable BITCH who is short-tempered and unable to hide behind any sort of facade of niceties or professional behavior. Lack of sleep makes it worse.

But honestly, I miss working out. It was one of the things that helped me clear my head and surprisingly kept my attitude on an even keel. Also, it gives me a confidence boost. I love love LOVE the feeling of a good workout. Makes me feel sexy. Really.

As I was going through my Reader, I ran across Room 704 30 days of [blank]. 30 days huh? I always thought that it was 14 days to create a habit. Whatever. What the hell do I know? I haven't been doing anything for 14 days either. Moving on...originally, I had planned to make these 30 days of pictures, because I just don't take enough pictures. Somehow though, it ended up being about my fat ass. I'm not sure how that happened. But anyways, there you are: 30 days of Working Out. (cue the fanfare)

I know that the first day was yesterday, but I don't usually post on the weekends...'cause you know...I got stuff to do, this weekend alone I went to a wedding, a concert AND a birthday party and that was just Saturday. But you'll be surprised to know that I actually DID squeeze some gym time yesterday BEFORE I got my hair done. And I'm going to tell you a little secret: I'm not real keen on hitting the gym after I get the 'do, did. But I will.

Also, just because I took it:

Day One.

This one time in Vegas.

2009-07-28T15:07:00.000-07:00

My husband went out of town a couple of weeks ago. I was going to go, but being the “responsible” adult I am, I couldn’t. Because I had summer school. And since I was taking 2 six-week courses, it just seemed ridiculous to miss a full week, plus…they weren’t giving any make up tests, blah blah blah…so I couldn’t go.

So instead of taking off a full week, I took Friday and Monday off. I didn’t have any plans except you know…not being at work. My consolation prize for not being able to go with The Man. Imagine my surprise when my co-worker (who is probably the only person who spends more time in Vegas than I do) got a 2-night free room offer at The Luxor (I puffy heart The Luxor. They make me poop rainbows). So I call my prima and tell her guess who’s going on a road trip? WE are! Yay!

Friday and Saturday night? Or Saturday/Sunday night? Easy choice. Prima has to work Sunday night and I want to recouperate/sleep in Monday, so we will take Friday/Saturday. Also making this an easy decision? Ditch Fridays at the Palms. The last time I was in Vegas, I went to the club and some dude hooked me up with VIP passes for the price of my a/s/l and e-mail. EVERY FRIDAY since then I’ve been getting e-mails about ditching work and going to the Palms Pool Party. So, since I’m off Friday AND I’m going to Vegas, Pool party it is.

Got to the Palms in the afternoon. I was ready in my lovely bathing suit. See? I even had my "I'm so sexy" pose. 'Cause I am. So sexy. No, really.

This guy was 6'10. If you were on twitter that weekend, then you already saw this picture. OMG. Me, the woman who is deathly afraid of any man over 6'3 was there for the NBA Summer League Weekend. So practically every man there was of GIANT proportion... in HEIGHT. That there's my Prima who IS not afriad of Goliath and so took this picture, while I stood away....FAR away.

(I won't even make mention of the guy who I totally ran away from because he was 7 feet tall and headed right for me. On purpose because some jerk told him of my freaky fear. I was drunk... usually I do a much better job of hiding my crazy)

Next stop? Tacos & Tequila. I love this place. And now, with photo booth! After that (and a few jello shots at the bar), we ran over to the Outlet for some baby clothes. Prima's going to a baby shower, so off to the Carter's outlet we go. F your I... DON'T, for the love of God, watch anybody else shop for baby clothes. Because then you start remembering your precious baby girl and all the cute clothes she had and OMG they had tights with the ruffled butt and HOW ON EARTH are you supposed to resist that?! And then YOUR uterus starts contracting and you start wishing for babies, with their chubby cheeks and new baby smell. But then you remember you can't drink and party in Vegas when you're pregnant, and you snap out of it, but you STILL end up spending too much money because everything was just so damn cute.

AND? Why did the clerk send us over to the Coach Outlet? Did you guess before she hates us? I did. Because we went over and I fell in love with these:

That green one, bottom right? I want. Dammit. I didn't get it THIS TIME, but I'm going back and next time, it's coming home with me.

Last thing on the schedule LAX in Las Vegas, located conveniently located in our hotel, so that we could stumble back to our room several hours after we'd planned to so we could leave early...which, we didn't. In between the drinking and flirting with cute boys, we saw

The Dan Band. Apparently they were playing that weekend at LAX. Even when I'm not expecting concerts, I get concerts. Go figure. I also got a little wet. Somebody was making it sprinkle in the club*.

Oh, and Vegas? I'll be back next month. I'm bringing my girls and meeting up with the undomestic diva and maybe miss. So be ready. 'Cause y'all have that fountain in front of Paris and if she'll jump into the Married with Children fountain, she's definitely not scared of you teeny little fountain. Or jail, apparently. So get ready.

*Throwing $1 bills from the 2nd floor, is NOT rain, that's more like a light drizzle. Rain is heavy. Say... $5 or $10 heavy. Just sayin'.

2nd Wives Club

2009-07-28T10:30:00.000-07:00

In less than a week I will have a new mother-in-law.

I'm not really sure how I feel about that. Okay, well...that's not entirely true. I like Miss D. I've always liked her. She was an old friend of my husband's Mom, she went to their church, SHE was always nice to me even when the other ol' bitches would make snide remarks about me getting knocked up before me & The Man got married. She was at The Man's going away party for Boot Camp and every welcome back party (from Kuwait, Iraq, Afghanistan) I've had. And I've pretty much always thought she was awesome.

I remember when my MIL was in and out of the hospital and we were discussing all the church ladies (ahem. VULTURES) circling my FIL bringing food and offering a "sympathetic ear" (I guess that's what the old folks is calling it) and basically hoping they could ease their way into being Wife #2.

Hazy memories hazy memories FUNERAL more hazy memories......and then Miss D was there. I don't even know when they started dating. All I know is that in almost a year later, my FIL took Miss D to HIS Mom-In-Law's funeral (and all I could think was "the fuck? did he really bring a date to a funeral?!") Then he pulled me to the side and told me that he really liked Miss D a lot and he didn’t know what was next but he wanted to know if I was okay with it.

My response? If you’re happy, then I’m happy. And I’ve always kinda believed that older people –the 60 years and older set - get married quicker ‘cause they don’t wanna waste time (one foot in the grave and the other one on a banana peel, don’tcha know).

Fast forward to this past Sunday:
She had a bridal shower, which I was all, talk about last minute notice…but apparently she had MEANT to tell me earlier but it slipped her mind in the chaos that has been her life trying to prepare for her wedding (They’re called invitations, people. Send them). I was late, because I had a school project to attend (I swear school is taking over my freaking life).

I didn’t have time to go out & buy her a completely inappropriate gift, which I’m still gonna because that’s how I roll. AND I got there just in time for dinner. Heh. So, I’m sitting with Miss D and The Man’s aunties, and they’re discussing weddings.

Auntie #1: I didn’t care that my husband had a big wedding with his 1st wife, it was MY first wedding and I wanted a big white wedding.

Miss D: My first husband and I got married at a Justice of the Peace. When he found that out, he started planning a church wedding with the works and so, here we are.

And with that sentence I was REALLY okay with her marrying my FIL.

Not that I was ever NOT okay with it, just conflicted because I really did love my MIL very much…and even though she was gone I felt like it’s SO SOON and how could he already be with somebody else? Not that I expected him to live the rest of his life alone and lonely or anything, because I really didn’t.

And so, congratulations Pops and Grandma D. I love you both.

P.S. It should be noted that I fully expect for no one to compare in my husband’s eyes and for him to mourn my passing for the rest of his life, that is…if I don’t figure out a way to take him with me. Because really I’m a selfish bitch and if I can’t have him, nobody can.

P.P.S. You think crotch-less panties are an inappropriate bridal gift? Do you think I can get them in a pack of 3??