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

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.

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.

Reply All

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:

1. Reply ALL
2. 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

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.

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?

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

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.

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

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

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

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?!

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.)

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

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.

You know what's awesome?

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.

An extra kick in the pants

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.

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?

What I do when I miss phone calls

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

I send e-mails.

Hey, Girlie!

1. Missed you, again! Drat. I tried to pick up my phone and hit END instead of TALK, and since you didn’t call back….
2. I went to my cousin's birthday dinner where this happened.
3. In other news, I’m a CONE and my sister, an hourglass (duh.)
4. 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
5. 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. 
6. 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"
7. 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?

In the pink

* 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.

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.

Because I know all about fashion

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)

I've got mail

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

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.