Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Lessons Learned

Bugabooga and I went to San Francisco this past weekend to do her school-clothes shopping. Because I’m cool like that. And also because I had spent every night of the year so far in Bend and needed to get out of the state. Portland wasn’t far enough away. It’s also still in Oregon.

Anyway, I learned a few things on this trip; it turned out to be quite educational. Also exhausting.

Here’s the top 20:

1. Driving to San Francisco is NOT an 8-hour trip. More like 10.
2. Car accidents can create interesting cross-sections on Volvo trunks.
3. Napa’s beautiful scenery can be marred. Mostly by political campaign signs. Boo.
4. Napa is really beautiful when it’s foggy.
5. Little boys like to head-butt each other.
6. My child notices and delights in men flirting with me.
7. Gay men really do lisp.
8. Homeless people are amusing.
9. The entire population of San Francisco really loves the Giants. Obnoxiously so.
10. Freeways do not go through the city, they all go around it. This makes finding one very difficult.
11. Accidentally driving into the strip-joint part of town with your teenage daughter is a little jarring.
12. The best sushi restaurants are patronized by real Japanese people.
13. Five-year-old boys can be a little perverted. But in a make-you-pee-your-pants-laughing kind of way.
14. Redding is the Bible belt of the west coast. Every talk station was preaching it up. Except the one talking about what to do after having an abortion. Both were too extreme for me.
15. It’s best not to order a Manhattan in a Mexican restaurant. Even if they have it on the menu.
16. The Costco liquor department rocks.
17. Umbrellas don’t keep you dry.
18. College roommates are friends forever.
19. I look a thousand times better at 40 than I did at 20. At least a hundred times better. Or ten. The point is, I don’t want my 20-year-old body back. Or my 20-year-old hair. Also – hairdressers are totally worth it.
20. Friends who make you dinner when you get home after a long drive are gold.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Random Nothingness

I don't know what my problem was last week, but I was totally hyper and ADD and couldn't shut up, as evidenced by the plethora of my posts. Because three in a month is a plethora for me.

This week? I got nothin'.

These are my current random thoughts that aren't even worth reading, but at least I'm doing you a favor by just listing them instead of trying to write a whole post about any one of them.

Cramps are stupid. Also? My boobs are kinda huge right now which only pisses me off because it's totally wasted right now.

Last week I was obsessed with Mexican food. This week it's risotto.

I will be ever so glad when this conference is over. As long as I don't completely embarrass myself in my presentation it will be a win. At this point, I will settle for not falling down in front of people.

It's been a year since I talked to my mom on the phone. Anyone else think that's a problem?

Anal co-workers are annoying.

Dexter this season is making me want to bake him chocolate chip cookies and watch Disney movies with him with lots of pillows and blankets.

I miss nap time.

I kinda feel like I need a really good cry but my Lexapro won't let me.


Thursday, October 07, 2010

The Miracles of Baby Jeebus. My Baby Jeebus.

Monday my boobs hurt all day. Boob pain in the absence of my least favorite monthly event. Curious.

Yesterday I was nauseous unless I was eating. Just like when I was pregnant. Curiouser.

Today I have been starving all day, even with my parmesan-bagel-with-cream-cheese-breakfast-of-champions. Curiouser and curiouser.

The only logical conclusion is that I have conceived immaculately. Because I highly doubt that the last sperm to invade my body was able to survive for the last three months. Nope. It’s Immaculate Conception. I’m special. I’m Chosen.

And how cool is that? I will have my very own Baby Jeebus!! A Baby Jeebus to turn my water into wine. Or vodka. Or whatever else I, as the Modern Madonna, choose to imbibe on any given evening.

I will have my very own little miracle-worker in my house! Maybe he can make the dogs stop farting. Forever. I could quit my job because we’d be traveling around the world performing all kinds of miracles. I would be the most awesome stage-mom in all the world. I don’t think there are many lepers left in the world, so maybe he can take on AIDS. And fix the economy. And multiply my shoes. Rescuing all of the homeless puppies in the world would be good. Homeless people, too, if he has time after fixing global warming and saving all the polar bears. No raising of the dead though. We all know how that really turns out, thanks to Pet Semetary.

Family dinners would be a whole other thing altogether. Can you imagine Christmas at my house? Brings a whole new meaning to sibling rivalry, doesn’t it?

Oh well, at least Baby Jeebus can heal my stretch marks after he’s born.

Wednesday, October 06, 2010

How I Want My Funeral and Anyone Who Breaks a Rule Will Get Their Ass Haunted

I ended up in the most boring meeting ever. Ever. I thought I would die of boredom. Seriously die.

Which led me to start thinking what would happen if I really did die and what I would want my funeral to be like and I know not enough people really think about that, they just keel over without leaving instructions for their loved ones. Then people just stand around crying because they don’t know what else to do and that sounds really sad but also super boring.

So I got the great idea to tell you all exactly how I want my funeral to be. See how nice I am? Now, all you have to do is follow my instructions or I’ll haunt your asses for the rest of your lives.

1. No crying. I mean, I want to know that you’ll miss me and your lives will never be the same without me, but do it on your own time. My funeral will be like my birthday, it’s all about Me and what I want and I want only tears of laughter on my deathday.

2. You all must wear the most fabulous pairs of shoes that you own. If you don’t own any that would meet my standards, go buy a pair now. I don’t care what else you wear, you can wear pajamas if you want, but wear some totally kick-ass Shez.

3. The viewing. I’d rather not have one. I think it’s kinda creepy to look at a dead person. It’s like watching someone sleep, which is only sweet if it’s someone you’re in love with but even that has a limit. I wouldn’t want most of you to watch me sleep, it would totally creep me out. However, if someone, say, my mom, insists on a creepy viewing, I want to be wearing my red shoes. If my red shoes are not on my feet, someone’s ass is being haunted. I don’t care what else I wear, I could be naked for all I care. Except that dead naked is bad naked, so you should probably cover me up with something. Maybe my other favorite shoes. Just surround me with them.

4. The party. Remember the no crying rule? That’s because I want my funeral to be the Biggest Party Ever. I want a DJ to play all of my favorite songs. I want you bitches to dance. Dance your asses off. Whiskey-drinking is a must. I want you all to get drunk and laugh your gorgeous faces off. Bonus points will be given for getting laid. But only if it’s totally worth it. And by worth it, I mean your lips go numb and everything inside you melts after vibrating and bouncing all over the place.

5. The food. Obviously this will have to be an all-day affair because I want all of my favorite food represented. This is not a day for diets either, people. The rule is to totally gorge yourselves. If you have to throw up to make room for more, so be it. That will probably help you keep drinking anyway. I want biscuits and gravy, eggs benny, quiche, blueberry muffins, bacon and syrup and doughnuts. There should be plenty of bread and cheeses and fondue, pastas, enchiladas, nachos, sushi, stuffed mushrooms, fried mushrooms, pizza, lobster, crab legs, tea sandwiches, watermelon, anything that comes with a sauce or that can be dipped into a sauce. I need Easy Cheese and Pringles, hush puppies, French fries and onion rings and anything else that can be fried. Dessert should include crème brulee, cheesecakes, cobblers, pinwheel cookies, chocolate anything, chocolate-covered everything, 31 flavors of ice cream and caramel cake made by MG.

6. My dogs. They have to be there. Everyone is just going to have to put up with their snorting and their farting because they’re my dogs and I won’t be around to snuggle them and spoil them anymore. They can have anything and everything to eat except for chocolate and bones that would choke them. Someone needs to give them a bath and put cute clothes on them. Remy should definitely wear a bowtie.

7. My Bugabooga. She can invite 10 of her BFF’s. Any more than that and they’ll create more drama than she can handle and that’s the only reason I’m limiting the number. She can do whatever she wants except cry. Or wear my red shoes. But she can wear my other shoes if any of them fit her. And she can wear anything out of my closet, even a Halloween costume. Make sure she dances and feels all the joy at once that she has given me over the years. Fireworks would be nice, she’s too old for a pony ride. And make sure she has her own chocolate doughnut. And tell her she’s beautiful. Because she is.

8. Ashes. I want to be cremated because there isn’t one place in the world where I want to spend all of eternity. And I certainly don’t want to be eaten by worms or weird underground spiders and I think I’d be claustrophobic. I want at least half of my ashes spread in the Pacific Ocean, preferably from a cruise ship. If anybody wants the rest of me, I want to be kept in a leopard-print urn. Please travel with me and take me places, I can’t stand the thought of sitting on someone’s fireplace or some table in the corner collecting dust. Please do not leave me stuck in Mississippi. Sorry, Mom.

9. My mom. Someone needs to tell her all of these things. Also tell her that if she puts my urn next to that damn dog’s urn, I will haunt her. I want my own fucking shrine, damn it.

10. Oh yeah, you can cuss all you want. And tell dirty jokes and be wildly inappropriate. This is not the time to be proper and those of you that really know me will know better.

Monday, October 04, 2010

The Universe Has No Sense of Humor

This is my horoscope today -

Leo - Oct. 4, 2010
Are you technically single but very deeply involved with someone, Leo? If so, don't be surprised if today you extend or receive a proposal of marriage. Recent events have brought you very close together and greatly intensified the bond between you. Your partner may want to legalize that bond. Do you? If there is even the smallest doubt, give yourself some time to think. Acting on impulse isn't a good idea right now.

Seriously? How fucked up is that? What kind of horoscope tells you that you're going to get a marriage proposal? I think this is like that episode of The Simpsons where the monkeys are writing all the fortune cookie sayings. Because this shit only makes sense if it were written by a monkey. A retarded monkey.

What-the-fuck-ever. I'm going back to real life now. Enjoy your Monday.

Friday, October 01, 2010

Never Listen to a Giraffe. Gee whiz.

I don’t wanna grow up. And it has nothing to do with Toys ‘R’ Us. (side ramble: Oh. My. God. I just realized who is responsible for the dumbing-down of America. They started it with their ‘R’ instead of ‘are’. Sure, they thought they were all clever and shit with their laziness. Geoffrey Giraffe, I am on to you!) I don’t care if they have a million toys. I couldn’t even fit a million toys in my house. Unless I got like a million checkers and covered my roof with them. Or retiled my bathroom in Scrabble tiles. I guess I could buy a million Lincoln Logs and make my own log home. Or build a mansion out of a million Barbie houses. But then I’d have to sit on tiny furniture and drink out of tiny glasses and sleep on a tiny bed and that’s just retarded.

I don’t want to grow up because being a Grown Up sucks. It’s hard. Oh, wait. Let me say that with a little whine because that's how I really feel about it. It’s haaaaaaaaaaaarrrrd (insert pout here). Growing up means paying bills and cleaning the house and going to work so that I can have money to pay bills and a house to live in. It means making dinner when I’m tired and taking care of a kid and trying to be responsible and making hard decisions and always being tired and not having enough time to play. See? Fucking Toys ‘R’ Us. Even if I did have a million damn toys, I’d never be able to play with them.

When I was a kid, I thought being a Grown Up meant I could do whatever I wanted. And I can, to a point. I can drive a car. I can drink cocktails (which is really the only redeeming part of being an adult and I never, ever want to give it up). I can get a puppy and I can eat Easy Cheese and ice cream for dinner or refuse to eat brussel sprouts (because they’re totally icky!) and I can stay up all night and I can dye my hair any shade of Strawberry Shortcake pink that I want. I can even get in my car and drive across the country never sleeping and trying ice cream in every state and dyeing my hair a new color every day and filling my car with puppies and feeding them ice cream and Easy Cheese and teaching them to bite strangers who judge me.

The downside? I can’t do all of these things whenever I want. First of all, they all take money. Nobody just gives you an ice cream cone out of the kindness of their heart (which is probably what is wrong with the world). Money requires a job. For some stupid reason, jobs frown on you when you call in because you’d rather drive around drinking cocktails and petting puppies instead of coming in to work.

I could live off of Easy Cheese and ice cream but my body isn’t 10 anymore and punishes me for that fact by turning every bite I eat into fat. Hello? Ice cream has calcium! It’s good for us! Stupid body. Being fat is definitely not something I wanted to be when I grew up.

More than this, being a Parent means you have to be a Grown Up. Even if you only pretend to be. It’s like being Spider Man, but with all the responsibility and none of the power. Hear that, Toys ‘R’ Us? I will never buy a fucking Spider Man toy because it’s all a big, fat, comic-hero-sized lie. I’m supposed to set some kind of example for my offspring. I don’t even want to think about what kind of example Spider Man is supposed to be setting in his red leotard and his climbing all over walls and shooting nasty webs out of his body. Really, Spider Man? Spider webs are so totally creepy. Dude. Seriously.

So, riddle me this, Toys ‘R’ Us. How do I afford your million toys? When do I have time to play with them? Which one of your million toys is going to earn me a million dollars? Which Barbie is going to take time out of her busy doctor/rockstar/princess schedule to help my kid with her homework and drive her to ballet? Which Teletubby is going to cook dinner for me? Oh, I’ll answer this one. None of them! Because they’re too freaky to be allowed in my house, plus they’re stuffed and my dogs would eat all of the stuffing out of them but then they’d be possessed by the Teletubby’s evil soul and that would be even worse because I love my dogs and I’d just have to live in fear of them until some” unfortunate accident” removed their presence from my life.

Yep. Being a Grown Up sucks. Bills suck. Responsibility sucks. Most jobs suck. But ice cream rocks and alcohol is delicious. Guess what I’m doing tonight? Yup. Because I can. Neener neener.
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