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.

You need to fill in your own blanks

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

Enjoy!

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

And this is why I need to never be single

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.

Happy Monday!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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?!

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.

It's a small, small world

I really don't mind sharing my whole life stories on the internet. I have lots to say and no real outlets to say it. So, really, the internet is PERFECT for that.

IRL, however, I am a lot more reserved. I don't volunteer information unless asked. Also, I have made a habit of dodging a speech class that I KNOW I need to graduate. (Damn you, public speaking class. Why do you have to be mandatory?!)

Anyways, I finally decided to bite the bullet and take the stupid class. 1) I really don't have that many classes before I graduate, 2) if I take it in the summer it's accelerated, so it's like ripping off a band-aid. Painful, but not long and drawn out and 3) I'm taking it at the local Junior College (because, let's face it, it's CHEAPER).

I worried and worried over this class. Not because I'm not articulate. CLEARLY, I am (you can't see it, but just imagine my sarcastic "sure I am" face here). But because I hate, HATE speaking in public. I get nervous, my voice wobbles and also? I talk with my hands, so no matter how nervous I am, I look even MORE nervous because of that.

I finally got over myself though. I was like, I don't even know these people...short of throwing up in front of the class, there's not really that much to be worried about because I will never see these people again.

...Yeah. Did you hear me tempting fate? I didn't. But apparently, just the thought was enough for Fate to slap me in the face. I got through my first speech, (about MOVIES, for God's sake...I know all about movies!) said something completely random because I was in no way prepared to stand up in front of 32 people and ramble on for 2 minutes. Whatever. I felt good about doing it without too much damage to my psyche.

Friday at work, I'm leaving Rounds (where I get to hear about each patient and every single one of their issues, medical, personal and anything worth gossiping about), the student shadowing one of the RN's stops me...
Aren't you taking Speech 1 @ random JC?
Me: Yes, I am.
Oh, me too. I thought you looked familiar...So I guess I'll see you on Monday here & in class.
Me: AWESOME.

So here's hoping that I don't party too hard and go to class drunk off my ass and really throw up in the middle of giving a speech, or say/do something completely ridiculous (wish me luck with THAT one, I'm sure going to need it), because now I'm going to be worried that my random assholery will be reported back to my co-workers.

What are the chances that I would take a random class at night and be enrolled a co-worker that is ONLY HERE FOR THE SUMMER? I suppose they're a lot higher than you'd think.

Fuck.

Because I'm all about striking up conversation

This weekend (again) I went to the So Cal Renaissance Pleasure faire. As soon as my lazy friends send me pictures, I promise that I will post a REAL story all about the fun and good times. Yes, I know that I have plenty of nerve calling my friends LAZY when I refuse to go out and buy a damn camera and really, I’m waiting on The Man to go out & get me the digital camera I’ve been begging for about a month now. But I digress.

I think it is my fate in life to have completely ridiculous conversations with famous people.

As we were leaving the faire, I decided to make one more stop to the Privy because a) I had a few hard ciders and b) I have the bladder the size of a pea. I was almost ran over by a little boy in an Ironman costume. Apparently, I am not the only one – with the tiny bladder that is. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one drinking, but I’m just going to assume the little boy was not drunk.

ANYWHOOTER, I’m attempting to get all my skirts up because port-a-potty’s are gross when the kid runs into the potty next to me.

Ironman: Oh no…OH NO!! It’s too late
Helpful maiden: Are you okay?
Ironman: NO! Where’s my mommy?
HM: You need me to find her for you?
Ironman: Yes. Her name is *Ironman’s Mom*

Helpful maiden is wandering around the eating area calling for Ironman’s mom. Me? I’m trying not to drop my purse and fan into the toilet and get my skirts down. But when I come out, helpful maiden STILL was yelling for Ironman’s Mom.

After I WASH MY HANDS (because Ren Faire or not..handwashing is important) and see that helpful maiden is still wandering the eating area, I remember that I saw Ironman’s Mom sitting on a bale of hay. I walk over, and who do I spy sitting with Ironman’s Mom?



Me: Hi, are you Ironman’s Mom?
IM: Yes.
Me: Errr…Ironman needs you in the privvies.
IM: …?
Me: I think he had an accident. I was in the privvy next to him. Also, please let helpful maiden know that you are Ironman’s Mom. She’s been screaming your name for like, 5 minutes. (because I TOTALLY say, *like*, *totally* AND *awesome*. My college education, y’all. Hard at work)
IM: (exit, stage right)

As I’m walking away thinking WOW, that chaka khan sure is pretty up close and she’s not wearing any make-up and freckles, she has freckles…

CK: Thanks. How did you know it was her?
Me: Because I saw him (YOU) when I walked over. Good thing, since….
CK: What happened?
Me: (see 1st recap)
CK: Wow.
Me: Yeah, helpful maiden would not have known to come all the way over here looking for you.
CK: Thanks again


My inside thought…only I would meet a star when I’m NOT at work, so I can totally talk about it, but then I have to tell people that I had a conversation with chaka khan about her friend’s son who had a meltdown in a port-a-potty and peed on himself. Life does not get better than this.