Good Stuff
I received so many wonderful things at the Pisces Birthday Extravanganza on Saturday/Sunday...
1. A squealing, yammering stuffed monkey named Mr. Blond.
2. A journal with an inspiring inscription. That thing will be filled within the month.
3. A wonderful card from a small, green legume. (Love ya, Pea.)
4. A bodacious CD mix and little book on Paris.
5. A bottle of red. As I've been inspired to make homemade marinara lately, it's going to come in handy with the experimentation process.
6. Warm, fuzzy feelings toward all friends, old and new. I can honestly say I feel like one of the luckiest gals in the world to be connected with so many intelligent, caring and hilarious people.
7. A bottle of Tuaca. I had to share that. Oog.
8. An irrational fear soothed with calming reassurance and a couple belly laughs. And a self-recoginition of just how silly it really was. D'oh.Big thanks to all my poos! It was a great time. :)
This Pretty Much Sums It Up
Beer. Shots. Rowdiness. Our simultaneous birthday party was debaucher-ific. Here's a nicer picture as well.
I swear my next post won't mention alcohol.
Floesha!
Happy Birthday to one of the most beautiful souls I know.
You're a true gem, Miss Lady.
Kick Sponge Bob Out of the Navy?
What else can we blame on the gay community?Sexual orientation does not hamper anyone from performing adequately at a job. Apparently, it does hamper the freedoms and rights every American is due by our constitution. I challenge the current administration to substitute "white" for "gay" in every piece of legislation and policy currently on the table to deny rights to the gay community and not see this trip for what is truly is - discrimination on a legislative, judicial, and executive level in our government against its own citizens.
I would also like to see where they are getting these statistics. Is there an exit survey taken in which homophobic military members list, "I can't handle defending my country alongside another patriot that happens to be gay"? And how many gay military members have joined to replace these members? And wouldn't the turnover across 12 years (since the don't ask, don't tell policy was started) cost just as much in terms of retraining and lost resources even if we didn't allow gays in the military?
Why doesn't the Government Accountability Office do something useful, like say investigate the accountability of the fake intelligence on WMDs, prisoner abuse, or the Iraqi elections? As a taxpayer, I think that is a much better use of government dollars, rather than nickel and dime military training expenditures to pin losses on gay active-duty members. I'm sure it does wonders for the morale of any gay military member, either current or veteran, for that matter.
Plus, the cynic/theorist in me is seeing a chain of events in motion here. 1.) Blame the Don't Ask, Don't Tell Policy for increasing losses in both money and personnel resources. 2.) Ban DADT Policy. 3.) Lose more personnel resources, spend more money to recruit and train.
How does our military structure benefit? Can anyone tell me? Why would you even play with the idea of banning people that actually want to defend the country? Isn't that the whole point of being proud of having a volunteer army/military? Or are we moving away from that, too?Regrettably, I have no military insight to this topic. I have never and will never volunteer for the armed services. I would be a lousy defender. But I am proud and honored that those which are choose to be a part of it. And splitting hairs over their sexual orientation is just shooting ourselves in the foot. Again.
(Sorry for the rant. I'm steamed. Comments on this topic would be appreciated, as I have to cool down to produce more lucid thoughts.)
Poo.
Any girly tips would be appreciated. When bartenders have to ask which bathroom you need, that's not a good sign.'Scuse me while I go pout in the corner now.
Yummy
There's a delicious feeling going on right now... complete and utter exhaustion.
I was a bad girl last night. Stayed up way too late, drank too many beers, didn't hear the alarm. After the intial "holy-crap-I-woke-up late-AGAIN!" adrenaline surge passed, the rest of the day kind of floated on by with heavy limbs, vaugeness, and that general overall softness you only feel when you're truly tired. By far the best hangover ever. And completely worth it.
Dear god, I've got to get to bed.
Clos du Bleck
Tree Hugger and I discovered a new wine on Saturday - Clos du Bois. This stuff is pretty dangerous. We were making sounds like turkeys, giggling like schoolgirls and talking in gibberish after the bottle was done. (Which didn't prevent us from cracking open a bottle of monkey wine afterwards.)
Hence it's new name - Clos du Bleck. Named for the way a mouth feels after two bottles of wine and a pack of cigarettes.
I'm Getting Nothing Accomplished Today...
...and it's all my sister's fault. Damn her excellent ideas. If I didn't have big tits and a hangover, I'd be jumping up and down.
Enjoy watching our train wreck.
Tag!
Is That Poi in Your Eye?
The Pops is back from his wedding to his new bride. Sweet lady, kind of shy at first but has some zingers after a glass or three of merlot. Which you need in a vocal family such as ours. (Sharp wit that increases with imbibing, not alcoholism, that is.)
That being said, they both looked extremely comforted by the presence of alcohol, since the ratio of pictures sans bubbly to pictures with bubbly was pretty much even*. Add to that their unbelievable tans, and you have my sister's reaction...
"...Dad looked rather toasty, in both the alcohol and melanin sense."
I'd have to agree. Maybe he's bemoaning the fact that it's his third marriage. Or maybe he's toasting the fact that while he's married again, there ain't no way he'll be having kids with this wife (Three daughters that love to turn his hair gray and two twin boys under 10 - heck, it's enough to make me not want kids). Or maybe he's reveling in the glowing attention of a wife that calls him "sweet muffin", buys him "just married" flip-flops, and says they went to Hawaii to get "Maui'ed". Or maybe he just really likes the mixture of sun, champagne and marriages on beaches. Who knows?
Whatever it is, congratulations are due. But, that's not stopping me from taking bets on the length of this marriage. Or laughing with my sisters over the pictures.
*Sorry. Not posting examples. I'm not *that* mean.
Ah...Tuesdays
Normalcy is back. At least, my sense of normalcy..which would make all of you out there go nuts.
Deadline day, how do I love thee? You give me heartburn, make me want to throttle people I usually like, entice me to beat my head against a wall to make it all go away. Yet, I yearn for you each week like a teenybopper yearns for a WB drama. It's almost three o'clock and I'm so far behind that I can see my own ass. (And note to self: do squats tonight.) Watch in amazement, though, as I get it all done by 6 in order to...
...see the ex-Dipshit, who tried to send the right rosary back but failed miserably. In all honesty, though, it's hard to distinguish one white & silver rosary from another, especially when the person giving the description hasn't seen it for 6ish years or so. Never fear, as I'll be armed with the remnants of Deadlineitis, Mace and a wicked backhand. And enough snarky sayings to make the burliest man out there crumble to his knees.
Al Capone has kindly offered to buy me a drink whilst seeing The Boys tonight, and I might have to take him up on that. The one-two punch of Tuesdays and Exes may even be reason enough to have a $1 draft special Coors Light.
Ugh...Coors. *small amount of vomit in mouth* Maybe not.
Tears are SO yesterday
This past weekend was a beast in terms of emotional upheavals/saying goodbyes. Between a great-aunt and a puppy, my tears quota has been fulfilled for the month of February. So no more in this month...anything that requires the floodgates to spill over will just have to wait until March, preferably after the first two weeks.
I'm waiting for the inevitable hilarity to resume in my life, so in the meantime, enjoy the following jokes, as I'm tired of this place being a downer.
Why did the stoner cross the road?
Who else would follow a chicken?
A fish hit its head on a cement wall.
"Dam."
How many surrealists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Banana.
Such a Good Boy
The Weirdest Sunday Ever. Sorry, little guy.
Aunt Betty Nose
One of my favorite people in the world is my Aunt Betty. She's not my aunt per se, but one of those older relatives that you call "aunt" because it's easier. Gram's sister.
Our family always congregated in the basement for holidays in Illinois, with tables groaning under the weight of homemade ravioli and meatballs, salad and garlic bread. And too many relatives to name, most of whom I was way too young to remember. But Aunt Betty always stood out.
She had an infectious laugh. She was an excellent cook. She could carry a heaping pot of marinara sauce down steep concrete steps without missing a beat. Her hugs would knock the wind out of you. But my favorite, FAVORITE, thing about Aunt Betty was the way she crinkled her nose.
I guess for a 3/4 yr. old, nose crinkling is the coolest thing ever. It looks funny, feels funny, and makes you laugh. Aunt Betty was the queen - nobody could crinkle like her. It was...magic. It was calming in some way. And imagine my delight when I tried it one day and relative said I did it just like her. Hence, my Aunt Betty nose was born.
Over the years, as we saw less and less of each other, it was one of the things that kept us connected. The last time I saw her, about 8 years ago, we crinkled together and laughed about it over homemade cookies in the kitchen. I will never change a thing about my nose. It has something no other nose has...a kindred spirit with another.
I love you so much, Betty. We'll miss you.
Riddle Me This
What do you get when you cross:
- A City Hall meeting
- Two missed deadlines
- Broken trophies
- A bartender that won't return phone calls
- No lunch
- Blithering idiots
- Two added events for next week
- People that don't return phone calls
- Twenty odd boxes of Mardi Gras beads
Answer? A CRACK MONKEY!I can't believe it's almost 6 o'clock. Time flies when you're cracking out.
Random Irishing
Some person called my voicemail yesterday at work and left five straight minutes of Irish music as the message. No idea who this person is since there's no talking, no name, just music. Kinda fun, kinda odd. I can't imagine it was on purpose, but if so, that person has an obscure sense of humor.Meh, it made me want to dance, anyway.
Look Ma...
...new toy! Flickr is what I never knew I always wanted in a photobook.
More to follow, but in the meantime enjoy this pic of me and my monkey. ;)
She's Finally Cracked, Folks!
I can't stop giggling over this joke:
A grasshopper walks into a bar and sits down. The bartender says, "Hey, we have a drink named after you."
The grasshopper says, "You have a drink named Steve?"
Jebus H. Cristo on a Cracker
Why is it that cars break down when you're *thisclose* to paying it off?
Last night was great. Instead of a self-imposed snot exile on the couch, SC and I went to Trinity Hall to grab a few brews on the patio. (How could I resist a Valentine like this?) So, one or three beers and some chocolate-covered-strawberries-sent-from-heaven later, I've got a stupid grin on my face and am enjoying the gorgeous golden sunrise that started off the day.
So, ho-hum, driving to work...singing along to the radio at full tilt...people looking at me strange...what's that weird shift? Why does the fan sound like it's about to fly out of the hood like a Chinese star? Holy flurking snit! Why is my engine temperature ABOVE the highest red line?!? Must turn on heat full blast. Please let me at least make it off the highway...oh, good, engine temp going down. So hot in here, though. Ugh...roll down all the windows, dumbass. Please let me at least make it to work. Engine staying cool, this is good. Me sweating...not good. What's that smell? Holy mother of Jebus, something's burning. Nasal congestion getting worse due to unbelievable heat and acrid smoke. Am I in hell? Will. Not. Cry. From. Frustration. Damn the gods to under ripe ambrosia and grade C honey.
The little bugger is currently getting a gut-check at The Best Repair Shop in the World, but I've no idea how in the world I can cover this. (It's *that* paycheck...you know, the one where you pay a couple big ticket bills and glide by on the cheap for the rest of the pay period.) At least the repair shop is pretty cool about being willing to work with broke eejits like myself. The Moms still may be getting a phone call, though. And now the monthly cramps have kicked in. Joy.
Ah, such is life. How can a morning that began so right spiral into the depths of misery so fast? Will someone please push the reset button on February 15, 2005?
Oh well, at least I had a great time last night that will hold me over during the next week and a half of ramen noodles. Whee!!!!
I *heart* allergies
Living in Texas has its perks, namely men in tight jeans, cowboy hats and relatively fair weather with the exception of a random snowing in February or March. The worst thing for which we're renown, though, is allergies, and Dallas tops the list as one of the worst places to live.
I've lived in the DFW metroplex for going on 22 years now. The allergies developed about 4 years ago. So, I can remember a lovely time when spontaneous weather changes didn't send me into a tizzy. I yearn for those idyllic times again...
So here I sit at work freezing my nips off since the A/C kicks in anytime the outside temp is over 65, and feeling like the whole right side of my head is stuffed with Kleenex. And not the soft, aloe-filled nose pillows but the coarse rip-your-nose-off burlap sack sort. Everything would be just fine and dandy if I could just BLOW MY NOSE, but it only squeaks pathetically when I try. And as there's no more room for the backlog anywhere in my right-handed sinus passages, it's moved to the ear and rendered me temporarily deaf on one side and a little off-balance. Fun!
Wrong day to wear heels, that's for certain. Oog. I have a V-Day date with myself, my couch, Benadryl and some steamy chicken soup when I leave work today. It's turning me on just thinking about it. Rawr...
Spoiled Rotten
Two sweet weekends right in a row. Boy-oh-boy, a girl could get used to this...
After our giggly girls' night on Friday, the tree hugger and I woke up pretty early on Saturday to go work out. She's joined an all women's health club, and I'm toying with the idea of joining as well. Heck, I gotta do something to get my ass back into shape, and joining a regular gym just sorta skeeves me out for some reason. Prolly a lack of self-esteem, but hey, at least I'm honest.
Anyhoo, after our hour walk (complete with fun, floaty feelings after), she and I headed our separate ways. I went to the store, and finally have edible food in the apartment. It's so nice. My roomie and I eat like bachelors, mainly junk food or take-out, but being that I've given up junk food for Lent, I have to have some good quality munchies on hand to prevent a trip through the drive-thru. It's not so difficult actually - I definitely don't miss the gross feeling that accompanies a combo meal.
Also dyed my hair to get rid of the *forking* redness that it stubbornly turns. Orange hair is not becoming, and I really wish my hair follicles would realize that. It turned out a touch darker than I planned, but it makes my eyes stand out a bit more, so that works.
Saturday night I was called by Said Crush to participate as a ringer in a bar-hopping drinking game. I'm afraid I wasn't much help, since SC and I ended up not following everyone else to the other bars. Instead, we stayed and talked and nuzzled and in general acted like a pair of googly-eyed teenagers. At least, that's how I was.
Today was the most gorgeous day we've seen in a long time - 77 and impossibly sunny. It was shorts and flip-flops(!) and being outside type weather, so after some Thai food, SC and I went to White Rock to chill on a blanket and read. It's been a long time since I've done something like that, and I drank it up. And finished a *really* great book.
Follow that with a small nap (regrettably, right in the middle of the Simpsons. I do remember Marge saying something about ho's....), some one-on-one music time with a G. Love live show that SC burned for me, and here we at 10:00 p.m. on a Sunday night where a very happy crack monkey is clacking at the keyboard.
Makes for a wonderful start to the week, and will help immensely when all those freaking bouquets starting flowing into the office tomorrow for V-Day. ;)
Peas in a Pod
Some of you have commented that I've relatively silent lately, and one has even said it isn't like me. Well, you're right, but it's just one of those times where you have so much to say that you can't pick just one without delving into the others and in turn producing a small novel. Strange bunch of interconnected happenings recently, so I really have to step back and process it all.Which is neither here nor there, at the moment. My favorite-est tree hugger in the whole world came over earlier tonight. It started as a "screw-humanity-let's-drink-Pacificos-and gossip-at-the-casa" night and turned to the most fun/enlightening/giggly chick-time we've had in a while. (We won't speculate how much the beer helped facilitate our good moods.) Amen to girls' nights. I'm positive it's the only thing that keeps us females sane and gives a nice buzz at the same time.
Only in Richardson?
In a bar across the street from a police station in a sleepy-ish suburb of Dallas, Amazon women roam and Hot Oil Wrestling takes place every other Thursday. It's the strangest mixture I've ever heard. You wouldn't know it by just walking in, since it looks like any other dive bar. But, I swear I saw Chyna there clutching a Bud Lite, and I bet she's a shoo-in this Thursday. It's nice to know that should I ever get the urge to see greasy 6 foot women shriek and slide and pull hair in a kiddie pool, I can drive 5 minutes north.
I giggle just thinking about it. Those crazy Richardson folk.
Recipe for Disaster
This Mavericks game is killing me. I guess the matching headbands don't help shooting ability very much.
So it's been an...odd...day. Heard from the Ex From Hell for the first time in three years. *Shudders* That was the last thing I was expecting this morning. If I had won the lottery I would have been less surprised. On one hand it's extremely creepy, seeing that he emailed me through my work's website. On the other, it's just really sad, because how many times does one need to be told to "never EVER call or email me ever again" before it sinks in? Bless his heart.
It really wigged me out earlier, but it's not so bad now. (There's a whole history there that you wouldn't believe if I told you, but let's just say it involves a dash of addict, a pinch of stealer, a hint of liar and a heaping teaspoon of pyscho.) I'm just not the same person anymore that hung around to the devastating tune of "I love you...I'll change." And it's rather empowering.
Besides, I've got way too many good things going at the moment to worry about a person who's buried in the past. It'd be nice if he'd stay there, but it's not something to worry about anymore. And that's the best feeling of all.
(Thanks LaLa.) :)
E for Effort
I'm gradually phasing out the inner tomboy. It's a challenge, but I think I'm making some positive strides. Stopped (well, almost) biting my nails. Started wearing mascara. Bought a pair of pink and black stiletto heels even though they matched nothing that I owned. (I HAD to...they were only 35 bucks.)
So, I wore them to the office today, and during a smoke break I walked around the side of the building. The side of the building that has grass. The side of the building where there's about a foot drop-off before you hit the grass. And it rained over the weekend.
You ladies know what happens when you're not paying attention and try to off-road in the mud while wearing stilts. Well, those of you that have inner tomboys do. The rest of you lovelies are laughing your asses off at me, imagining my pretty, dainty heels sunk 3 inches into the muck while I flail about like an epileptic pigeon trying to keep my balance.
See, the desire is there. It's just not fully ingrained yet. The brain doesn't say, "You're not wearing sensible footwear - do not walk over there. The consequences would be dire." Sigh...
I'd still rather wear a t-shirt, jeans and flip-flops any day. Which reminds me, I got a great pair of high heel flip-flops from my stepmom. I can't wait for summer. :)
Quick Randomness
Sorry. Had to get it out of my head.
#1 - Blogger does not have the word "blog" listed in its spellcheck dictionary. Odd, that.
#2 - My roommate and I have both decided that Tom Brady can sack us anytime. Or, we could sack him. (Seperately, of course.)
#3 - Apparently, Blogger doesn't have its own name listed in spell check, either. Here's what they suggested: blocker, blockier, blacker, blusher, Bleeker, bleaker, blazer, bleacher, Bulgaria.
Good times.
Answer: Super-Nifty-Peachy-Keen-Cool
Question: What is the last thing I heard the Most Annoying Woman On The Planet say as I was leaving the fam's house at halftime tonight. It made me roll my eyes so hard they almost popped out of my head. I try to like her, but darn it if she just doesn't grate on my nerves. And it's a grating that includes high-percentage rubbing alcohol and coarse grain sandpaper.
The rest of the weekend was not nearly so annoying. Actually, it was the complete opposite. Treehugger invited the gang to her house on Friday, and instead of the usual bones and darts and mass-imbibing of fermented yeast, we all just chilled and sipped and shot the shit. And The Boys were pretty well behaved - only one gag inducing story the whole night.*
Saturday was the day for a cleaning effort that took the term anal-retentive (obsessive compulsive?) to a whole new level. Let's just say that I was on my mattress with a vacuum cleaner and was seriously considering hand scrubbing the patio when the voice of reason kicked back in. I may need help, but damn my room is clean. Saturday night was, how you say, fantastic. Full of music and stomach butterflies. If any of the two people that read this blog need a recommendation, see Steve Earle or Allison Moorer, or both. You won't be sorry, I swear.
Which brings us to today, with a state of dreaminess induced by those same stomach butterflies from Saturday and a lack of sleep. I guess by the end of the day that dreaminess turned into crankiness, and MAWOTP was not helping matters much. I love my family so much, though, amd especially Grams. She is such a hoot, yelling at my uncle in Italian and yelling at the football players on the screen in English while fixing beef and sausage sammiches. Greatness. That woman is a gem, and man alive I'm lucky she's my grammy.
All in all, a wonderful weekend. Family, friends(new and old), music, with a dash of crack-monkeyness. Pretty good recipe if I do say so myself.
And I still have a clean room after all that, too. :)
*Speaking of - has anyone ever heard of a competition that is based on how nasty a fella's jiz rag gets? Apparently, it exists in college dorm rooms. The crustier the better. Bleck. You males can be quite disturbing sometimes. But I love ya anyway.
Note to Self
Dear Self:
You are not in your early twenties anymore. You cannot drink a bottle of wine, have multiple Jim Beam shots, stay up to the wee hours, and not expect to feel the repercussions of it the next day. And on a school night, too. Tsk, tsk.
Dream Weaver
Last night was a dream antics night. As in, I woke myself up repeatedly by either talking or walking around the room. (The second time I was hanging clothes in the closet. Talk about the urge to clean...) These always seem to happen when there are a lot of things on my mind or when overtired, though it's been a few months since the last episode...that I'm aware of.
Acting out your dreams can be hysterical to anyone watching. The night after returning from a trip to see My Gorgeous Roman Sister, I apparently led the ex-Dipshit on a 45 minute "tour" of Rome, spouting off factoids about the sites and local tidbits on which bars are best. Another time, I remember MGRS saying she slept on the couch because I had scared her to death with the string of swear words and inhumanly fast snapping of fingers directed towards her. (Yeah, we used to share a room. Put that in your spank bank, boys.)
The one from a few months ago scared the pants right off me, though. Woke up in the driver's seat of my car at 3ish in the morning clutching my keys and stuffed dog.* Rather frightening, that, seeing how I had the presence of mind to put on shoes, unlock the door, relock it, walk down a flight of stairs and get into the car while completely zonked out. This led me to locking all doors and placing strategic "trip piles" on the path to the front door. A few bruised elbows ensued, but at least I never got to the point of sleep driving.
All that being said, DA nights lead to very surreal days. They say you should never wake up a sleep talker/walker because it's confusing. Well, waking yourself while doing something other than being in bed cuddled with your stuffed dog leads to a super confusing day. It's akin to having a dream so realistic that you can touch, taste, feel, smell, etc., but it's your waking life instead. And being the extrasensory dreamer I am (wherein every dream uses all senses...it's absolutely fantastic), it puts a bit of a Dali spin on the daytime world.
This go 'round is small potatoes to others, so I'm not too worried about it. Just have to take some extra precautions like locking doors, and start listening to the wonderful bedtime chakra CD that My Favorite Dippy gave to me.
It's the ultimate in multi-tasking. Maybe I can condition myself to do sit-ups and crunches instead...that would be a bonus. ;)
*Yes. I sleep with a stuffed animal. A large one. It's an ingrained habit. Laugh all you want.
