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.

Sometimes I just don't plan things well

You know what happens when I happen upon a random Six Layer Rainbow Cake Tutorial right before a friend's birthday?

Antics. Antics ensue.

Me: I can totally make this cake for Mo's birthday, guys.

What happens: I go out with The Man day before I'm supposed to be baking a cake, where after I take him to the movies, he takes me to a dive bar for dinner and proceeds to buy me Jamesons. STRAIGHT. Two drinks in, I realize that I needed to go shopping for supplies for fancy rainbow cake. So I make a haphazard list and make The Man take me to Michael's. I hope that I got everything I needed because now I'm slightly buzzed, and sleepy, so when I get home I go straight to bed: Do not pass go, do not collect $200. So, then, instead of making the cake the night before and sticking it in the fridge, I make it in the morning and hope that this will all work out before I have to leave by noon.


So far, so good.

Are you wondering where the purple is? *points down*

 But wait.

It's 7 AM. I took this picture and sent it to my sister: WHY DOESN'T THE PURPLE LOOK PURPLE? I'm going to the store to get some purple gel. NO. I didn't get dressed to run to the store. I went in my jammies. Yes, I did. They didn't have purple. Luckily for me, I do slightly remember that red and blue make purple, so I buy some of that. And come home and add enough red and blue to make it PURPLE. (Aaaand then, I forgot to take a second picture of it looking more purply)

Straws. To make sure my cake didn't slide off

I went to Kitson. Because it's a perk of working at Big Fancy Hospital. All the fancy shops close by. I originally went for my niece's gift for graduation to buy something quirky for her to take with her to college. I found something. AND! They had these birthday candles!

Not as brightly colored as I hoped it would be. BUT.
Everyone loved it. So there's that.

The cake was yummy, y'all. If I ever make this again. I would totally add the icing colors to make it brighter. I would also not let my husband get me drunk so that I'm rushing around like a chicken with her head cut off with only a few hours to make a cake, praying every minute of my baking time that nothing goes wrong because I just DON'T HAVE TIME to make mistakes.

I have so many things to tell you, but let me start with last night...

I do. I have a LOT OF THINGS to tell you.
My husband turned 40 the other day, The Boy turned 21 and then I took him to Vegas stories. But. I've been busy. Or am lazy. Not sure which. Either way.

Last night I went to the Slide Bar in Fullerton for Rockers in the Round. Last minute gig that a facebook friend mentioned. And me, thinking OH I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO BUT WORK TOMORROW decided, yes. It sounds like a GREAT IDEA. That's me, y'all. I am full of it GREAT IDEAS.

ANYWAYS. So even though I have a whole lot of stories that I want to tell you guys. I'm going to tell you this one. Because I sent an e-mail to my friends about last night. Which, pretty much is a post. So. Enjoy:

Subject: A few things

1. I went last night. It was FUN.

2. Chris was walking around ordering drinks at the bar AND NOBODY NOTICED HIM BUT ME AND SARAH.
     a. I did not drink. Because I was in FULLERTON. BY MAHSELF
3. Then he stopped to talk to us. At some point I said, “See how much I love you? I’m going to be here until AFTER midnight, and I have to be at work at 7:30 IN. THE. MORNING.” (He says, well, I have to take my kids to school in the morning, so I feel your pain. And thank you for coming out. REALLY)
4. He’s SO. SWEET.
5. The people who go frequent that bar are some sketchy looking characters. FO SHO
6. The opening band “something 257” SUCKED. HARD.
     a. Their drummer didn’t have any legs.
     b. No. REALLY. Wheelchair.
     c. And now I’m dying to know how he played the drums because we left during their set (see #3)
7. I got home at 2AM
8. He also said to be on the lookout for more random shows.
9. Oh yeah:

Me. Chris Shiflett

(I'm not going to explain. Because you should know)

BOOYAH!

This Year

Here is my obligatory "NEW YEAR'S POST" (I just feel like it should be in all caps)

I don't have any resolutions. Just PLANS:

TODAY, me, dirty dayana, prima, and my sissie start the 30-day shred. Again. But for reals this time.

I'm going to Japan. With the Brat. To see my friend and his wife. And Disneyland Tokyo. (priorities, guys. I has them)

I've got classes to attend. And just a handful of classes before I graduate. If my classes don't get cancelled, or rescheduled to times when I can't attend them, I will have a degree Spring 2012.

I don't know when yet. But I've got concert plans. LOTS OF CONCERT PLANS. Some of my most favoritist bands, finished albums in 2010 and will be touring this year. I pre-concerted by crashing a Super Secret Foo Fighter Concert in December. A prelude to a promising concert season.

I was going to go to Vegas (yeah yeah, save your shocked faces) for Superbowl weekend. But I think maybe I'll be in Sacramento. And if THAT happens, I'll be drinking beer with Emmie.

Girls Night Out #2! Don't know when. Don't know where.

Blogher11! I love San Diego!

Family Reunions. Mom's side. Dad's side. That's a WHOLE LOT OF FAMILY.

No resolutions. No stressing over things I may or may not be able to accomplish. Just plans. Hoping for happy surprises. Hoping that the working out will lead to weight loss. Don't plan to give up cookies. Or drinking. Moderation, I think is what it's called?

But for now, my plan is to lay around in the bed with the brat watching the Rose Parade.

So far my plans for the New Year are working out FINE.

And this is why I love my friends...

None Not all my friends understand my fascination with the interwebs. They are more facebook people...if you know what I mean.

But that's okay. When I find things around the intertubes I think they'll enjoy, I e-mail it to them. Like this post from Miss Tejota. It's got promises of free vibrators, and Movember.  TJ's post also posted a website where you could show your support by sporting your own mustache.And I know my friends y'all. A good cause AND a paper mustache?

I mean, because REALLY. What did you think was going to happen?

I'm going to DISNEYLAND!!!!!!

My friend lives here:

No. Not the red dot. Down and to the left: Okinawa. She's a Marine wife who talked her husband into doing an overseas tour. Me, I've moved all over these United States in the name of the Marine Corps...but I've never got to live in a place where I didn't speak the language (except Bah-ston. But that's because they're doing it wrong. It's PEA-body, not Peabdy. JERKS.).

Whateva. The wonderful thing about being part of the Marine Corps family? Going to visit friends all over the world. When my friend moved, I told her that was DEFINITELY going to come and visit, because who wouldn't want to go visit a friend whose casa es mi casa all the way in Japan? (Gimme a break. I speak Spanish, y'all. I don't know how to say "my house is your house" in Japanese)

COMPLETELY UNRELATED SIDENOTE: Have I ever mentioned The Brat's boner for ALL THINGS JAPANESE? Because she's got one. A big huge one. She listens to J-pop (and K-pop) watches anime in japanese. She decided in middle school that she wanted to learn japanese. EVEN when it involved taking a class at 7AM. And considering that she’d rather sleep until noon than eat, that's dedication. And? She’s REALLY good. And I'm not just saying that because I'm her mom and she's better than your kid at EVERYTHING. She's pretty bad ass. When she found out that I was going to go visit my friend in Okinawa, she said that I was either going to take her, or she was going to set all of my clothes on fire   hide in my suitcase.

So there I was, looking for tourist traps attractions for The Brat and me. My friend has already said she'll be taking that time off, so that she can be our tour guide.  You know how you start looking for stuff and then you just follow the random links and then you end up somewhere interesting that you didn't even know you wanted to be until you saw THAT. Guess what THAT was y'all? THAT was Disneyland in TOKYO.

YOU GUYS? I COMPLETELY FORGOT THAT THERE WAS A DISNEYLAND IN JAPAN.*

So NOW, I'm detouring to Tokyo where we're going to Disneyland with a side of Harajuku, and maybe I can even sneak in some culture and shit.

OMG, I'm going to Disneyland!!!


*I haven't even been to Disneyland in California in YEARS, but OMG, there is no way I'm not going to Disneyland in another fucking country. Also? Now that I remembered that there are Disneylands all over the world, I'm adding Disneyland Paris and Hong Kong to my list. BOO-YAH!!

** And, yes. I asked The Man did he want to go. His response: I've already been to Okinawa and I never want to go back. Have fun. Take pictures.

I did...

talk my girl friend into taking a day off to spend with me at Ditch Friday at the Palms Pool in Las Vegas.

pack too many clothes.

go to Lush and stock up on bath bombs...

let somebody give me tequila that had been smuggled down to the pool in a Bud Light can AFTER he took a shot first (I'm crazy y'all...not stupid).

send drunk texts to @undomesticdiva. Because she likes it.

take a picture of a guy's tattoo that looks suspiciously like a penis.

have a blast at Haze with @justonemiss @rewritingkel and the birthday girl: @redlotusmama

buy a shot for a Marine. Related: I also took a picture of his tattoo, because it was badass (he was Suicide Charley and you have to be a Marine to understand), and then sent that picture to The Man.

hug an Soldier who had just gotten back from Iraq.

NOT play any craps. (Boo!)

lose my money at the roulette table.

do a loud ghetto laugh just as the plane got silent.

NOT wear make-up to the pool.Waterproof mascara does not count.

break both of @sistuhgurl's flip flops at the same time. Damn, I'm clumsy. Related: I *did* get a guy to fix them for me.

find out who took the picture of me and Santa from the original #VegasBB

photobomb some pictures.

laugh a lot this weekend

wish some of you were there... <3

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

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?!

A gift and a bunch of other stuff

My friend Mo wants to go to Vegas for a girl's weekend to celebrate her birthday. Yeah, I know. Me? Another Vegas trip? Hard to believe. /sarcasm. ANYWHOOTS, she invited a couple of her cousins...and she's hoping that we'll all get along. We've all been sending facebook messages fast & furious-like because we're all kind of excited to run away from home and hang out for the weekend. So I decided to send her an e-mail, mostly to tell her that me & MLB bought her a t-shirt. But I decided to tell her some other stuff while I was at it.

============================================

Hey Mo!

I’m so excited that we’re going to Vegas. AGAIN. I’m bringing my flask. And filling it with Vodka. Also, I will TRY not to pick any fights (I will leave that to MLB or maybe "The Drunk Mo". Kidding...Sorta.). I will try not to get so drunk that I wander off, but if he’s cute, please allow me to wander as far as the nearest bar for another drink, please & thank you.


Also, Mo, because we love you, and you didn’t want to spend your Vegas money on it – we bought you a shirt. Happy Birthday, bitch. (In case you're wondering, mine says "I'm the married one". What are the chances it will stop the cute boys from buying me drinks?My guess? Slim to none.) We’re wearing them on Saturday.

I hope your cousins are aware that your friends are rude, crude and socially unacceptable… and that we like to drink, flirt and say inappropriate (and sometimes politically incorrect) things.

Please feel free to forward this e-mail as a warning ...as an F your I.

Wuv u.

Am I an awesome friend or what?

My Weekend (In Pictures)

Friday

J.Ho

Saturday

Sunday (Happy Mother's Day!)

And if you're wondering about Monday...

I'm your pusher baby...

I often talk about my love for shoes. Because I *do* love shoes. The high heeled kind. Because they make my legs look georgeous (What? It's true. Would you prefer me to be less than honest?) AND ALSO because they make me feel sexy. Which. Hello? Why wouldn't I want to feel sexy?

But I have another love. Make up. I love lamp make up. I do.

For a lot of years I got by on eyeliner and lipstick. Which, I rocked. OBVIOUSLY. And I would save the eyeshadows for fancy occasions, you know... The Marine Corps Ball. Which was maybe the beginning of my addiction. First I needed make up for the Ball. After all, I couldn't go barefaced. So another military wife and I would hit the M.A.C. counter, say, "So, I'm going to this fancy shingdig and I need something on my face. And please. Don't make me look like a drag queen. Not that there's anything wrong with that."

Then, I bought some shadow I could wear everyday. You know, neutral shades and stuff. But the more you wear, the more you want. And after all, look at this pretty GREEN eyeshadow and why wouldn't I want that, but then I needed something to go with it, and I could wear this to work...and I have this friend who enabled my habit because SHE is an addict and...and the next thing you know... hello make up junkie.

So now, I have this friend. She has some basic make up. You know... neutral, wear everyday colors. She says to me, "I wish I had more colors that I could use. But I'm not even sure where to start." Me? "Oh, let me send you a little something." (She lives in another country AND I was already mailing her a box of goodies)

She got one of her boxes the other day:

picture stolen from Coastal Scents.

Too much?

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.

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.

A rose is a rose is a FLOWER

I chose not to use my name on my blog. Because my name is unusual, and I have yet to meet anyone with it, so that means that if you google me, you will be SURE to find me. I use is my MIDDLE name. When I started writing, I told no one, and I didn’t post pictures of my face. I used my blog to say whatever I wanted – still do – but because I didn’t want to hurt feelings, I went undercover (see what I did there? UNDERCOVERMAMA? yes, my wit astounds even me sometimes). That way if I called a friend’s husband an asshole (and I have), the friend & I could still be friends, and I could feel better knowing that I’ve at least said it here, in what I consider my safe place, instead of one day blowing up and going off because I held it in because I couldn’t bite my tongue anymore.

I have written about my life here, and you have commented, and commiserated and you don’t even seem to mind that I am clearly ridiculous and slightly crazy. You like me, you really like me (sorry, I can never resist that line).

The lines got blurry. I went to a tweetup. I introduced myself as the name I actually go by, because really? Even though there is nothing wrong with Lynette, I only answer to my name (or Bitch…but that’s only if it’s a voice I recognize LOL). Then I added some of my twitter/blogger friends to my facebook (P.S. don’t ever EVER mention my blog there or I will hunt you down and spank you… and not the good kind of spanking either). I went to the Vegas Birthday Bash*. If I let you grab/graffiti my boobs, we should at least be on first name basis, don't you think? What started out as what some of my friends called “my invisible friends” became more solid… more real.

My blog became a more intergrated part of my life. The distinction I made between MY LIFE and MYUNDERCOVERLIFE grows thin because some of you have crossed over. There are IRL friends that read my blog. I actually make plans to meet up with by blogger/twitter friends (February? Do you think we could schedule bowling in FEBRUARY? That give everybody enough time to make arrangments for bowling?) My IRL friends and my invisible friends are just friends here. I love them just the same.

As for me? I'm just the same as I ever was. I'm undercovermama, I'm Briya Lynette. I'm just me.

*Vegas Birthday Bash pictures coming soon. REALLY.

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.

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.

Pay It Forward

*Or the “Who would look a gift horse in the mouth? Me. That’s who.” Post

My home is very open. Always has been. Growing up, our house was where all the girls hung out. Day in & day out. After school and random weekends. They were here so much that they all knew to stick their hands into the mail slot to unlock the screen door so they could let themselves in (because if we were home, the key was in the door. Don’t get any funny ideas about robbing me.) Same with The Man…he & his friends could be found if not cruising Crenshaw (damn, I’m old!), then they were at the house.

Know what happens when you have two people who are used to having company? A house full of people, that’s what. Since I’ve been married, I don’t remember a time when there wasn’t SOMEBODY over. And just about everybody was welcome. Except for that one guy who ran around on his wife all the time, and tried to make The Man his partner in crime. HE – couldn’t even look in my house’s direction. Who me, bitter? ANYWAYS… my point is that my home has always been open. You’re coming to LA/Arizona/Boston/Hawaii? Stay here! Always wanted to go to LA? Not only will we show you around (and Roscoe's Chicken & Waffles in not out of the question), you can come stay with us at the folks’ house...because they are used to us inviting people over. The Holidays were a mixture of family, friends, and Marines who didn’t go home for the holidays.

I never really thought of as being generous, it just was. The same way my eyes are brown, I expected that there would be extra people at the house for Christmas. The point? (I bet you didn’t think there was one, did you?) A very close friend offered me a gift. Because she and her husband wanted us to have it. And I refused. Because I never want my friends to think that I love them for the things they give me, instead of who they are. But I did ask why. The response gave me something to think about: we give so much of ourselves to others, that they would like to do something generous for us. It was a surprise, to say the least.

And what she said stayed with me. The things that I do for other people, I do because I want to, because I CAN. The things that I do for my friends I do with an open heart, and that’s the way it should be. The gift…? Is being offered because they wants to. And they can. Am I the only one in our relationship allowed to give a gift, be generous? After all, I'm pretty damn sure that their friendship is not based on all the my awesome apple cobbler. Heh.

So I said all that to say that she changed my mind. I’m choosing to accept their gift with the open heart in which it was offered. So I guess maybe instead of looking the gift horse in the mouth, I'll look down at his shoes. After all, I like shoes. Although, I don't know that I want somebody welding or nailing or doing whatever the hell it is they do to horse ummm... feet? That's bound to fuck up my pedicure.

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.

Wednesday Workout

THIS + 4:45 AM = OUCH

Yep, this is me checking in. And making some general observations:

Right now, my hair is braided. I got it braided because I’m lazy/tired of doing my hair and this is the easiest way to keep it looking nice. It’s almost time to take my hair down. I don’t know about the rest of y’all…but my mama – who has “good hair” did not pass it down to her daughters. And I am totally unwilling to sweat out the ‘do when I get it did. So I guess this means that I’ll be getting my shit re-braided. Which isn’t horrible because this means less time in the mirror trying to make my hair look like LESS of a rats nest…although that leaves MORE time for make up. Hmm…win-win?

I’m waiting for this one lady to go flying off of her treadmill. Mean, I know…but in my defense she runs at like 7.5 with the steepest incline available and she is hanging on the side rails with a death grip. One of these days her sweaty hand is gonna slip and she is gonna shoot backwards and hit the treadmill behind her. I hope I’m not behind her because I will probably fall off my machine in shock, and then stay down because I’ll be laughing too hard to get back up.

At zero/ dark-thirty when I hit the gym, I am at my MOST unimpressive. I probably have not washed my face and I’m wearing my stinky gym clothes (unrelated-sortof…WTF is up with people who smell freshly showered to run at the gym? Aren’t you defeating the purpose of your shower? PLEASE say you’re going to shower again after your workout… You are, right?) MY POINT though – is what’s up with dudes trying to hustle a phone number? I KNOW I’m not cute at 5AM. I’m not even friendly until AFTER my workout; so NO, I don’t want your name, NO I don’t want to give you mine and really? There are 20 other machines, do you HAVE to choose the one right next to me?

Okay, moving on to business:

YES. I went to the gym every day I was supposed to, but I did overdose on home-made chocolate chips on the 1st because I was celebrating my birthMONTH. And during this month I’m pretty much allowed to do whatever I want they will let me get away with. AND I went to happy hour Friday where I didn’t do too bad. I split some spinach & artichoke dip (see? I had veggies, not so bad, right?), although I did have it with a beverage

…or two. LOL. (Don’t trip. I still managed to lose 2 lbs this week)

Also, because it’s my birthday (and really it IS this weekend) I’m going to happy hour AGAIN on Friday (Martini Bar…mmmm). But, if you think I’m not going to get a workout in this weekend…you’d be wrong. I’m going bowling with The Brat for HER birthday, which, coincidentally is the day before mine AND because my professor chose Sunday as her furlough day, I’m even going to get in a birthday workout, before some football.

So be prepared next week for a post where I discuss how I either fell off the wagon, overdosed on Cold Stone cupcakes and drank all weekend long because it's my birthday OR a post where I drank all weekend long because it's my birthday AND STILL managed to get my ass over to the gym.