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.

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

I can't remember ever trying to pull an April Fool's Day joke on The Man. I mean, I think I once half-assedly tried to convince him that I was pregnant. But. You know. It's a much scarier joke when you're single, not already married with one kid you didn't expect.

This year the joke wasn't even mine. It was The Boy's. He called me earlier today to tell me that he was going to be coming home for a few days of his spring break. Awesome. He calls me around 9pm and says he has bad news. He tells me that he & his friend got pulled over and the cops found bags of weed...(cue the choking up) and uhh....he thinks they're gonna get arrested for possession with intent to sell.

Let me just say that normally, this would have freaked me out but I remembered that today was April Fool's Day AND neither he OR his friend smoke weed. So instead of going apeshit, I say, "Uh huh. Well you may as well tell me this is a joke now. Because I'm too tired to come bail you out of jail." Silence. Then, "Yeah, I was trying really hard to fool you.." Mmm hmm... You and your friends are assholes for trying to scare the living hell outta me. Even if I didn't... Have you called your Dad and tried to prank him?

So I'm sure you know where this is leading. OH PLEASE, let me call your dad... Sooo...I just got a call from The Boy and he says that he's gonna be arrested for possession and...and....OMG, can you please call him? He says he's in the Valley.

The Boy says that he got him good. He said that The Man was good & freaked out.. My guess is that The Man had a flashback of all the hell he got into at his age, and forgot that we raised a pretty decent kid.

I haven't talked to him yet. Because I called him while he was hanging out with the boys. I don't think he's gonna drop everything to come straight home to punch me in the eye, but he's gonna come home eventually.

Payback is gonna be a bitch.

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

My week started off kind of ridiculous. I was late to work Monday - I choose to blame the fact that the time changed as opposed to it took me longer to apply my make-up than usual. WHATEVER. Tuesday, I stayed up until midnight, which is weird because usually I'm sleep before 9pm (oh hai. I have the sleep pattern of a 90 year old woman) AND THEN an earthquake woke me the fuck up at 4 AM. Which pretty much assured I wouldn't be going back to bed.

Wednesday, St. Patrick's Day, I went over to my co-workers office and ran into her boss. She gave me a box of girl scout cookies. Said she bought some extras, so please to enjoy. My co-worker says to her boss, "These were your dad's favorite" Her boss says " Yeah, well, he's not eating anymore, so I have some extras" I should add that her dad passed a few months ago.

I laughed so hard that I cried. Hello, I love inappropriate humor.

Thursday I woke up with a cold, or something. Sore thoat, body aches, chills. I went to work anyways, because

1. I didn't EVEN want my boss to think I called out sick due to St. Paddy's day hangover.
2. I was covering for someone who was on vacation
3. I had a SHITLOAD of work to do that had to get done by Friday.

The MD that I work for made an executive decision that I was going to stay home tomorrow. Blah, blah, blah...something about how he does not play a doctor on TV, he really does have a medical degree. FINE THEN. I'll see you on Monday.

So today, I'm lying in bed. I'm a whiny, congested mess. I'm guzzling Nyquil in the hopes that I will not only stop coughing, I may also get some sleep. I wanna feel sorry for poor pitiful me because I feel horrible and look like crap. But I am comforted by the fact that my MD cares enough about his health   me to tell me to stay home, my husband is home taking care of me and letting me sleep while he makes me breakfast.

Well, that and the fact that I can eat cookies.

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.

$&(#*&@(*@^!! <--That's me trying not to drop an F-bomb at work

This is MY desk.

On my desk, I have a bajillion paperclips, a shit ton of post-its, the Lakers 2009-10 schedule, random pictures (Yes, that is a question mark. I hold it over my head when I want to know WTF you are talking about) and pens. The pens that I don't mind losing because I am a pen freak and hide my favorite ones. And a plant, because my co-worker across the walkway is constantly staring at my computer screen. Gah!

I'll bet you're wondering why I'm here today talking about my desk. It's because the other day a co-worker was digging around in my drawers HE CLAIMS looking for keys. Keys, I might add are always HERE on the side of my desk in that basket thingy.

Another co-worker caught him at my desk while I was out shopping for lunch. To be fair, I thought I had locked my desk, and if I HAD this would have been a non-issue. But uhh...in the years that I've worked here the keys have always been THERE. (see previous picture). NOT here.

When I found out, I went from my shopping induced euphoria to fighting mad in less than six seconds. I hate, hate, HATE people digging around in places where they don't belong (Yes, I hate going to the OB/GYN. Why do you ask?). I went right over to his office to rip him a new asshole, but lucky for the both of us, he was probably wondering the halls looking for another desk to violate or maybe, you know.. working. Whatever. His being gone probably saved my job.

But when I DID run into him, and please believe that I made it a point to do exactly that, I explained that it has been my understanding that the keys have been kept in the hanging thing there on the side of my desk, where I've seen you get them many times over the years...if not forever, for at least for the THREE FUCKING YEARS that I've been here. And you, "sir"...have never, not once found keys in my drawers.

Also? Rifling through my desk without permission is the same thing as digging through my purse. Which... I'm *sure* you would never do, right? Riiight.

So lets make a deal. If you don't see something on my desk, just wait for me to come back and ask me. And I never have almost cuss you out at work again*. KTHXBAI. (jackass)

/rant

*That's me. Keeping it professional while I'm tearing you a new one.

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.