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.

What I learned at Rehab

Not THAT Rehab. This one

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

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

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

Because this guy says so

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

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

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

Rule #2: See Rule #1.

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

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

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

Rule #4: Have FUN.

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

That came out wrong, didn't it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PROS:

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

2. But I did get THIS picture:

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

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

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



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

So please stay tuned for the next concert experience.

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?

Vegas Birthday Bash....

Not my birthday....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

There were cupcakes

And drinking…

And friends

God, I love my friends.

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

No More Talking

I haven't been able to write.

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


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



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


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


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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

On Year Seventeen

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


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


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

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



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


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



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



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



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




So. Happy Anniversary to Us.

Overheard

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

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

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

I just smoked a margarita.

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

Pirate Booty. And not the good kind.

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

Yep, DJ Jazzy Jeff. And no Fresh Prince.

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

Yeah, Indians. Dots, not Feathers.

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

It was ghetto fabulous. WITHOUT the fabulous.

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

...so then she threw up.

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

I'll have ANOTHER Jack Daniels & Sprite.

Can I have a $1 Yo bet?

Damn, do I love Vegas.

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

I am SOO fucked up.

It's 4AM. I have to get up in 4 hours to drive back home.


(So there you have it. Some of the more interesting comments made over the weekend. I'm SURE I left out a lot, some of which I remember, some of which...I don't. And probably all for the good. I would also like to thank my Sissie, Prima & Lil' Bit -the SIL, for a fan-fucking-tastic road trip AND Undomestic Diva & Starts with an X for an awesome dinner date. I had so much fun hanging with you "ladies". I would also like to mention that UD can really shake a tailfeather on the dancefloor. Heh. )

30 Days of.....

For every one thing I WANT to do, I have 50-11 (is TOO a real number) things I NEED to do. Can you guess which one wins out? Example: I want to go to the gym. Seems easy to squeeze in, right? Hmm..But it's not. Because I have to be at work early AND THEN I have school until 10PM. And I refuse to go to the gym at 4AM (anymore) because that's too fucking early to be awake let alone running on a treadmill. Not to mention that makes my day longer than I can handle. Doesn't leave me with much sleep and I am a girl who needs- if not 8 straight, 6 hours of sleep. Unless you don't mind me being a hostile, unfriendly, emotionally unstable BITCH who is short-tempered and unable to hide behind any sort of facade of niceties or professional behavior. Lack of sleep makes it worse.

But honestly, I miss working out. It was one of the things that helped me clear my head and surprisingly kept my attitude on an even keel. Also, it gives me a confidence boost. I love love LOVE the feeling of a good workout. Makes me feel sexy. Really.

As I was going through my Reader, I ran across Room 704 30 days of [blank]. 30 days huh? I always thought that it was 14 days to create a habit. Whatever. What the hell do I know? I haven't been doing anything for 14 days either. Moving on...originally, I had planned to make these 30 days of pictures, because I just don't take enough pictures. Somehow though, it ended up being about my fat ass. I'm not sure how that happened. But anyways, there you are: 30 days of Working Out. (cue the fanfare)

I know that the first day was yesterday, but I don't usually post on the weekends...'cause you know...I got stuff to do, this weekend alone I went to a wedding, a concert AND a birthday party and that was just Saturday. But you'll be surprised to know that I actually DID squeeze some gym time yesterday BEFORE I got my hair done. And I'm going to tell you a little secret: I'm not real keen on hitting the gym after I get the 'do, did. But I will.

Also, just because I took it:

Day One.

Somewhere in an Alternate Universe

Every Saturday is more or less the same. Errands, avoiding laundry, I try to squeeze in gym time –but lets face it, it’s the weekend. I’m more interested in sleeping in.

So after a day filled with running around like a chicken with my head cut off…I DON’T go to bed. What do I do? I go to my neighbor’s house. My presence was requested by them, and the bottle of tequila they had. No special reason; no birthday party, or graduation, no quince or bbq. Just some tequila and sunflower seeds. I may or may not have even twittered.

Yes, my neighbors and I like to keep it klassy, why do you ask?

A month ago, I probably would have been eating from a taco bar that my neighbor had made while she dug through the “girl fridge” (like a beer fridge, but stocked with wine, hard ciders and REAL liquor ‘cause I don’t drink beer) for something to drink. We would have been discussing 4th of July festivities, The Man’s retirement, maybe even the Superbowl Cruise next year. She would have had some “honey do” task for The Man to do because she lived alone and we loved her like family.

She lived next door to my family for almost 20 years. She didn’t have any children of her own. But she adopted me AND my brats. She became my Mom’s best friend. She used to put a bowl of fruit on the bottom shelf of her fridge so The Boy could get his own snacks when he would invite himself over to watch cartoons at her house. She’d take him out every Sunday for Mickey D’s breakfast. She had a hat box filled with barrettes and hair bands and she would do The Brat’s hair Sunday afternoons for school on Monday.

We all called her Auntie. Last month, she died unexpectedly. I couldn’t write about it then. It was too much of a surprise, too hard to put into words, too painful to talk about. It’s one thing when you know that somebody’s gonna die, quite another to come home and realize that somebody so full of life was snatched away with no warning at all. And you’re left with that confused feeling of why it had to happen like that.

I saw my neighbor on Mother’s Day. She had returned from her Mother’s house, where she had spent the day and was going to bed. And she’d wished me a Happy Mother’s Day. This Sunday, she probably would have wished The Man Happy Father’s Day..maybe even cooked something. If I was going to cook, I would have made sure I had enough to send her a plate.

This Sunday, I’m going to wish The Man a Happy Father’s Day and spend time with my family. I’m going to visit my Dad and my FIL and wish THEM a Happy Father’s Day.

When I go outside, I’m going to look over at her house, but I know she’s not there. I’ll try not to cry, but I’m sure I probably will, if just a little bit. And while I keep The Man company as he smokes a butt on the porch (because he is NOT allowed to smoke in the house) we’ll probably talk some about if Gail WERE here. If Auntie Gail WAS here, she’d wish you a Happy Father’s Day, and make you a jar of salsa that you wouldn’t have to share with anybody (except me because I would totally steal some if you didn’t). And she’d let you talk her into having a drink with us. We would thank her for the salsa because I swear she must sprinkle crack in it, it was so good and she would say “c’mon you know I love you guys”

And we loved her back. I’m pretty sure that if she were here, she’d say all of those things.

But she’s not.

It's a secret, but I'm gonna tell you anyways

Every once in a great while, my friends & I get together for LESS drinking.
Sunday’s event: Vision Boards.
You know… thinking positive, things that you are aspiring to do/be/have.

There was breakfast & mimosas. Already, I’m liking this. Nothing can be all bad when there’s champagne, right? RIGHT.

We watched The Secret (did you know it was a DVD? I didn’t) I’ll admit, I’m not that great at keeping SOME secrets. Also? I have a short attention span.

The secret:
Think positive. That’s pretty much it.
(I'm sure I'm oversimplifying...but still)


It said other stuff, but I started tuning out because I start thinking about all of the things that I want from my life and if I brought enough magazines and how come I didn’t bring scissors OR elmer’s glue and how much fun it was when I would glue my hands and then peel it like I was a snake…but I DID buy some glitter glue when I went to Target for $1 and how they tricked me and I only went in to buy a board but $60 later had the board, stickers, scrapbooking stuff, a few BOOKS and STILL--STILL didn't buy the eyeliner that I needed.

I had a good time. We sat around looking through magazines, asking did anybody want a picture of Christian Bale err…Common, uhhh…WEDDING CAKE (yeah, because there are some single ladies who want to marry and have 8 babies ).

Glued to MY board: a graduation cap, a beautiful house (because I am planning to own a home – soon!), some vacation spots I plan on visiting. Also on my board:

[I am a strong woman]
Because even I need a reminder sometimes.

[Can Do]
Power of positive thinking, anyone?





And because I like it to keep it real

[How to Get What You Want From Anyone
(and we mean that in the nicest way possible)]

Hey, if I’m going to take over the world, being able to get what I want from people is a skill I'm going to need.

Surprise!

It's Pop Quiz time again, boys and girls!

This weekend I was in Vegas. It was 1000 degrees there. Still had a good time. When I emailed my friend to tell her what I did I told her that I:

a) was drunk before noon everyday that I was there.

b) got a wicked tan because even though I was sitting in the shade wearing sunblock SPF 5000, the sun hates me and doesn't think I'm dark enough.

c) humped a boy's leg (because he was cute and I was drunk).

d) photobombed somebody's picture at a No Doubt concert.

e) laughed so hard I cried.

f) ate at Stack in the Mirage, where a guy stared at my friend's boobs all through dinner, then paid our bill because he said we were all so beautiful.

g) mocked a guy who bought me several drinks because I was drinking a more manly drink than he was. What guy drinks mai tai's in public? THAT guy, the one who also waxes his eyebrows and don't EVEN get me started on that.

h) called a loser friend in Boston at midnight to rub in console him because his team got dealt with in the NBA finals. (Let's go, Lakers! or is it...We want tacos!)

i) ALL of the above

j) NONE of the above

OR

k) Damn girl. Did you ever hear what happens in Vegas, STAYS in Vegas?

answer: NOT when you go with a blogger...hahahaha

Kicking it Ye Olde School

Every year since I returned from the east coast (where a friend reminded me how much fun these are), I pull out my corsets and go to the Southern California Renaissance Faire. I try to go at least twice. Once with my friends when I can drink as long as I can lift my mug, and a 2nd time with the brats, where I try not to scar the kids with wild and out of control behavior.

I had SUCH a blast. This year for the Girls Day Out...there was this guy, who gave me & one of the other wenches free tickets for the cost of a picture.

There was drinking.....

And a kilt check....NO, I didn't take a picture of that. I look crazy to you? Shaddup.

All in all, I'd say that a good time was had by all. The next weekend, I took The Brat... and some of my other friends went and took their kids too. This was the family show, where all the bawdy behavior was kept to a minimum.

There was this guy, who couldn't resist taking a picture with a fairy

Group Photos

And because it was so hot, there was also this guy, who volunteered to keep us cool...

I said bawdy behavior was kept to a minimum*...Besides, I really AM was hot.

*If I didn't do these kinds of things, what would The Brat have to talk about when she starts going to therapy...?

Peanuts!

This weekend, some friends & I went back in time. Okay, maybe not ALL the way back in time…I can’t afford a Delorean. We went to the Renaissance Faire. My brother & his family also went.

This is surprising for 2 reasons:
1. He very rarely hangs out with his big sisters if it’s not a family function
2. We will on occasion pry his wife out of the house, but usually more than happy to ignore our random outings.


Anyways, we had a great time. We had stopped to re-fill our mugs (because if you’re going to go back to “Ye Olde School” you gotta bring your own drinking mug) and rest. As it happens, our rest stop was next to one of the stage shows. They were having a sing along.

To be honest, I wasn’t paying much attention to the show, until I heard PENIS! (I can’t make things up, really) We were next to the over 17 stage. Where they songs are much more uhh..ballsy. It was a sing-along of some sort. They even had a sign to hold up to clue you in on when you were supposed to shout out.

Naturally, that’s when the friends & I decided we were going over to watch the show, because you KNOW I had to go over and watch a show where I was going to get to shout out PENIS! While we were still sitting around, my brother just heard singing and took his five year old daughter over. After the first verse, he runs back asking why NOBODY told him they were singing songs about body parts. My bad for assuming you heard them singing before you ran over with my niece for a sing along, OR saw the sign RIGHT AT THE ENTRANCE that said not for anyone under the age of 17, OR the penis shaped sign they were holding up that said right on it “PENIS!”

What did you THINK they were saying?

PEANUTS! *












See? That’s the problem with men. Even when they’re listening they’re not listening.

Then again, maybe it's a family trait.

Imaginary twitters

So I went on a superbowl cruise this weekend. Also known as the booze cruise to mexico. Even though I won’t usually blog on the weekends, I DO twitter. But not this weekend. Why? Excellent question! Because I was too busy trying to get my camera to work (it didn’t. my camera totally crapped out on me the FIRST day of the superbowl weekend), drinking and being bitchy about all the hoochie mamas on the boat.

Let me just say this: If I didn’t KNOW FOR SURE that it would have caused dirty looks or even quite possibly a fist fight. I would have taken a ridiculous amount of pictures of strangers wearing bedazzled Obama shirts, a man as old as my grandfather wearing a sheer shirt with a track suit, and a gilr wearing a t-shirt and her panties to breakfast (I threw up a little in my mouth and then promptly lost my appetite)

AND THEN I get into international waters. Where I get a text message from my carrier who THEN tried to CHARGE ME EXTRA for said text because we were in international waters and I was "roaming".

But if I HAD twittered it probably would have looked a lot like THIS:

Friday (starting at 3PM)
finally on the boat -WOOT! Damn it's hot. Yes, I WOULD like a drink...

WOW. That girl's boobs are hanging out. Is her friend going to tell her, or let her sit there with tits staring at me? (for the record: she just let her sit there)

Observation: If you ask somebody if you look fat in this, you probably do. And you're friends should tell you so.

Fuck it. I'm not going to the safety brief with my life preserver.

I shoulda went, the cabin deck people kicked open the door on me & the man doing it.

Back on deck. Still drinking. gsladkfjasoieht Wants more rum.


Saturday
Ensenada. FInally. Breakfast first. Then Papas & Beer

Ewww..T-shirt & panties for breakfast? REALLY? I know it's casual dining, but you would think PANTS would be in order.

Off the boat. 1st shot of Patron. Yes, I forced my auntie to take one too.

Papas & Beer. It's not even 10AM. And I want hot wings, street tacos & margaritas w/ Patron. Yes. Patron. I don't care if it's extra.

Has anybody seen my husband?

Found him! Drunk off his ass. Taking him back to the boat.

Hmm... good thing this trashcan is metal. I didn't know he drank THAT MUCH.

Really dude? You're not done yet?

....10PM. I'm going out. To drink sommore & gamble.

Sunday
It's acceptable to drink with my breakfast when I'm on vacation, right? Rum & Sprite.

Let's go Steelers!

Holy shit! The Cardinals just realized they were at the Superbowl...

Ladies: When you go to a superbowl game, nobody wants to see you... we want to see football.

(there is a girl wearing a hat that says My President is Black) Uh.....

It's good that I didn't bet on this game. I wanted to...now I can't tell who's going to pull it off (that's what she said)

Well. Steeler win. Awesome.

Is the boat rocking or am I that drunk. I uhh..think it's both

dalkdfaldkdieaeppoapoe.....still drinking. Going to the roulette table. C'mon 11.

Silver sequined boots? Matching outfit? Is she channeling her inner Elvis? WTF?!

That girl right there? A real tattoo of Barack Obama ON.HER.ARM.

Okay. It's 2AM. I just saw a girl wearing the world's smallest dress, she bent over and I think I went blind for 5 minutes. I'm going to bed. I've had enough.

How I spend my weekends, The Military Edition

Oh yes, it was THAT time again. The MARINE CORPS BALL WEEKEND. All caps, Good Times. It was bittersweet, it was The Man’s last ball as an enlisted Marine. I can never say, “as a Marine”; because once a Marine, ALWAYS a Marine. He retires next spring after 20 years, and I have no idea what I’m going to do with him underfoot am happy that there will be no more deployments.

But I digress. The ball was at the Stateline this year, that’s Stateline, NEVADA. As in, the very minute you hit the Nevada border you can pull over and loose your ass at the tables or on a one-armed bandit. AND, if you are not a gambler, you can always throw your money away here:

Mmm Hmm.. Have mercy. Outlet shopping. A beautiful, BEAUTIFUL Coach Store, and a SHOE heaven - where you can buy Carlos Santana shoes for $40. (and how hurt were my feelings that my foot is STILL *$#&@ing swollen, I didn’t want to buy shoes because I couldn't wear them out of the store?? Very)

And then there was the whole reason that I went out to begin with*

* Although I make light of the fact that we celebrate the Marine Corps Birthday in such a lighthearted way**, it is an honor to be invited, and INCLUDED in such a ceremony. And every year I'm reminded of that as I watch them celebrate their own; from the oldest (at our ball - born 1953) to the youngest (born 1990. Holy SHIT! The Boy is only 2 weeks older than this MARINE.). To those that didn't make it home:

** Me: Holy crap, did you see the SIZE of that thing? (I was talking about the cake)

The Man: That's what she said.