A Moment with The Brat

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.

And this is why I need to never be single

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

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.

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.

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

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

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.

Every kid is somebody's baby

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.

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

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.

The thoughts I keep inside my head

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.

Hai. I'm an asshole.

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)

Friday

J.Ho

Saturday

Sunday (Happy Mother's Day!)

And if you're wondering about Monday...

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

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

1. I didn't EVEN want my boss to think I called out sick due to St. Paddy's day hangover.
2. I was covering for someone who was on vacation
3. 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.

Super Secret Trip of Awesome

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.

The post where I prove that I am KLASS-AY

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?

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

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.

So I'm a freak and NOT the good kind

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.

All these things that I have learned

#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.

And we're done.

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)

2nd Wives Club

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??

She gets it from her Mama

To what I am sure is going to be my everlasting regret, I agreed that The Brat is getting old enough to go to concerts. Or caved in from all the begging because all of her favorite bands are touring this summer and OMG - who KNOWS if Fall Out Boy will have another CD out next summer. Tom-A-to, tom-AH-to. One of her friends (and her Mom) took The Brat to see Britney Spears (don’t judge me. The Brat IS her target audience: 13 year old girl), she’s got plans to see The Jonas Brothers this summer, and I’m taking her to see No Doubt in August. And then my friend says…Hey, does The Brat want to see The Veronicas? My reaction:…? I have NO idea who The Veronicas are, so I call The Brat and ask her. SHE knows who they are… SHE would love to see them (also the tickets were dirt cheap, holy hell!)

Last night was the night. Me & Mo and our daughters. Once they realized that we were not going to hover, they asked if they could stand up front. Which they did. While we watched. From the bar. Because if I’m going to be listening to my daughters music, I was pretty sure I was going to need some alcohol.


First Band: Carney
Surprisingly good. I didn’t really know what to expect, since honestly, I thought the Veronicas didn’t have an opening act AND didn’t know they are far beyond any Jonas Brothers type act. Word on the street (from our teenagers) is that the Jo Bros opened for them before. They were signing merch & taking pictures in the lobby after the show so….

Yeah, I know. Top: Lead Singer. Bottom: Drummer (What is it with those drummers?)

Second Band: The Pretty Reckless.
Also good. The girls REALLY liked this band. Since I had never heard of ANY of these bands, I was completely surprised that the lead singer is an actress on Gossip Girl. Also? Happily surprised that I’m raising a girl who likes ALL kinds of music and not just Jonas Brother/Hannah Montana –y type bullshit. I mean, I TRY to expand her consciousness of music beyond the Ting Tings and Fergie..but you never know if it’s gonna work.

Headliner
So let me just say…that I spent most of my time at the club hanging around the bar. I spied a few actor types and of course, some “I look like I’m in band types”. Most of the night I stood behind a guy who looked like Zach Galifianakis. Only an asshole. HE spent most of his time chatting up a couple of weirdly dressed chicks. One had on a flapper headband. The other one had on these HUGE glasses. They probably spend the whole second set talking and drinking. Blah blah blah…blah blah blah…Blah.Blah.Blah. GEEZ. Just shaddup already. I take a potty break and return just in time to the Veronicas. The weirdly dressed chicks?

Are now not so weirdly dressed and are on stage. The music? VERY GOOD. The Brat’s got pretty good taste in tunes.

We left around 11:30ish. I had a new respect for The Brat’s musical interests, found a couple of new bands that were pretty good. I guess the girls were feeling kind of smug that we ended up enjoying the concert after all because as we were telling them that we had been standing less than 2 feet from the Veronicas half the evening… “Have we taught you NOTHING?! How could you not know who they were?"

Hmm...so when did the students become the teachers?