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

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.

No, really...take that off.

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:

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. 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.

Well it IS February

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 should totally be a Weight Loss Wednesday post...

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?

This Year

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...

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.

Talk about Mission Impossible..

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

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?

I do remember

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.

18 years ago

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.

Miscellaneous Meanderings

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.