Total Cute Overload

Tonight was D's first real date. That one back in the summer doesn't count because she wasn't into him. She is very much into E. They went to homecoming last week, but that's not really a date either. It's a dance, it's sponsored by the school, there are a thousand other kids around.

My rule is that there are no couple dates until 16; she's supposed to go out with a group. But I kinda like this boy and I haven't liked anyone else she has before. I met E last week when I took pictures of them for the dance. He was quiet and shy, but looked me in the eye when I talked to him. His mom was there too and she was adorable and also shy and quiet. I was the loud mom in the room. Great. E also seems smart. He's in the advanced classes and he plays violin and guitar. He's also the same age and isn't driving yet so there was no danger of involving a car. So I said okay.

I just realized why I'm so tired tonight. Watching your child grow up before your very eyes is emotionally exhausting. First there was the uber cuteness. I dropped her off in front of the restaurant where she had asked him to meet her. He walked over to the car to greet her and I watched to see if he would acknowledge me. He did. He did a little wave in that relaxed way that guys have. It's what I love about them, when they seem so easygoing and comfortable with themselves. And then they turned to walk in together. I could tell he likes her. He walked as close to her as he could without actually touching her.

When I picked her up, his parents were there at the same time. The kids stood on the curb for a second before It happened. I witnessed my child's first kiss. It was just a small hug with a quick peck, but it was on the lips. I looked away quickly so they wouldn't see me watching. I did ask her if that was the first one and she said yes and asked if I was going to cry. Even in the dark she could see my face contorting. But I didn't. Not until now, as I'm sitting in my room telling you this and she's in the living room giggling with a girlfriend.

She's in love. It's puppy love, but she's getting there. She was giggly and goofy in the car. I know she didn't want to tell me everything and that was okay. She was also just living in the moment. In that first little rush that doesn't feel the same when we get older.

My heart is full and yet breaking at the same time. She's growing up and from this moment it's just going to go faster. I don't think I'd change it either. Yes, I'd like to lock her up and keep her safe, keep her with me. But I also like the person (young woman?) that she's becoming and I'd like to learn more about her. Mostly I'm just grateful that I get to be a part of her life.

An Original Douchebag

The following excerpt is from a conversation that was unwelcome to begin with.

Random guy in a bar: Is that your real eye color?
Me: Um. What kind of question is that?

Later...
RGIB: You really need to change your eye color.
Me: Why?
RGIB: So that I'll stop staring into them.

I give him one point for originality but minus ten for the attempt.

Protecting the Sexy

J has this cat name Yuki. He is black and best described as Sex on a Stick. He totally knows it too, which just makes him sexier. Yeah, somehow it's okay for a cat to know that he's the shit, but the same quality in a human is gross.

Anyway, we're going to Disneyland next week and she was worried about leaving him at home. Black cats and Halloween don't mix. At all. She was concerned that her roommates would get stoned and let Yuki get outside so that he could end up being catnapped and used in some disgusting satanic ritual. (Yes, there are some really sick fuckers out there.) So I volunteered my house since J2 will be taking excellent care of my animals. (And this way I'll know there's something sexy on my bed while I'm gone. Because it's certainly not there when I'm home.)

The whole point of this was to post this little exchange J and I had yesterday.

J: Cool. Gotta protect my sexy boy.
Me: Yes. He is too sexy for outside.
J: Yes he is. He is for our eyes only.

Our New Additions

If you've been to Leapin' Lizards downtown, you may have seen some cute little water frogs. D has wanted one for a while, so I stopped by yesterday to pick one up for her. Just because. Because I'm an awesome mom like that.

She named them Won Ton Pizazz and Potato Beans. Teenagers are so weird. I heard her laughing in her room and I thought she was talking to a friend, but she was laughing at the frogs. One of them likes to sit on top of the other one. I don't think this is laugh-out-loud funny, but I think we have just established the fact that teenagers are weird.

Oh shit, you guys. I just went to look online for a picture of them to show you and I found this instead. Great. I just gave my kid pets that will make her sick. Mom of the Year, right here. Fuck me.

On the bright side? That picture is exactly what Won Ton Pizazz looks like.

Collette and the Dead Guy

When the Wife (best friend, for those of you who are new here) and I went to Hood River last week, we took along our new friend Collette and the wife's dad. Or at least we took his ashes. And Collette is a stuffed, leopard-print dog. She's a very easy-going travel companion, we didn't even have to stop for her to pee and she didn't bark at strangers when we left her in the car.

Collette went along because we needed a mascot. Obviously. All road trips should have a mascot. Collette had her own photo shoot with pumpkins and pears and a tiny tractor. She had a little too much wine but since her mouth is sewn shut she didn't embarrass us too much.

J's dad went along because she thought there might be a nice place to leave him along the way. Part of him. Some of him. On the way up, we passed something called Pioneer Woman Grave, which seemed like it might be a nice place. Yeah, not so much. It's on this tiny, creepy little road. We missed the grave the first time and drove to a sign that informed us that the original wagon trail from point A to point B passed through here. "Here" is now a creepy forest. When we found the grave, marked with a plaque on a large rock, it was even creepier. There was some kind of memorial shrine set up next to it with little stick figures like from the Blair Witch Project. Plus some beads and sticks and rocks and coins. Of course we felt like we had to leave something. J put down a penny and then thought twice about leaving her "gold" dollar. "But it's a dollar!" "Is it worth your soul??" Because at this point I was seriously getting creeped out. It felt like we were being watched. And of course I had to pee. Collette was very brave during the forest part of her photo shoot, but I couldn't put her anywhere near the grave. I thought she might get possessed.

My skin was crawling for about half an hour after we'd left our Watcher In the Woods experience. Really, I don't recommend it as a great tourist spot. Go have some bad wine instead.

Excuse Me, Your Pony's an Asshole

I stopped buying my pumpkins at the grocery store a few years ago when I learned about pumpkin patches. It's a little cheaper, but it's mostly the experience. It's like a little mini (I mean super tiny) amusement park. My favorite part is the petting zoo. The one I went to today had chickens, goats, bunnies, a giant pig and a lone little pony.

I wanted to pet the pony. I love ponies. I always wanted my own pony. So I pet the pony. I walked up to it and said "Hi, Pony!" as I reached out to pet its back. The pony whipped its head around and bit my leg. I got bit by a pony. I screamed more from shock, but it did hurt. Kind of a lot. J thought it was because I was wearing a skirt and it didn't like my naked legs. Well, fuck you pony. Don't you know ponies aren't supposed to bite? You're supposed to be cute and eat grass and let me pet you. Cute animals biting is just wrong. Pony, it's your job to be fucking cute! How hard is that? Seriously, pony.

Pony bites hurt. Even when they don't break the skin. I have a red welt on my leg and I'm sure it will bruise. I didn't tell on the pony. I mean, maybe it just had a bad day. Maybe it didn't get the right hay that morning. Maybe the chickens were calling it names. Or maybe it's alone in its pen because it's just an asshole. All I know is, I'm not petting anymore stupid ponies. Sorry ponies, blame me not petting you on the black and white jerk at the pumpkin patch.

Do's and Dont's in Hood River

The wife and I decided to get out of town for a night and experience fall in Hood River, taking in the Fruit Loop and some wine tasting. It was lovely and beautiful and we had a fantastic time. However, we had a couple of pauses and decided that we should be in charge of travel reviews. Because we will totally tell you how it is.

Wine tasting. All trips should include wine tasting. Because it's fun! But not at the wrong place. Our first stop was Mt. Hood Winery. It was a gorgeous building, very fancy! We were the only people when we walked in, aside from the woman behind the bar who was on the phone. She was obviously taking some kind of order, it was business and not personal, so we didn't mind waiting. Until she turned her back on us. Without so much as a greeting or friendly eye contact or a quick "I'll be with you in a minute." And then she walked out of the room. So we walked out of the room. Back to the car.

After visiting a few fruit stands and working up an appetite, we headed downtown for some lunch. Travelocity said that Crazy Pepper was really good. Again, we were the only people in there. I guess nobody goes to Hood River on a Wednesday, so if you hate crowds and people in general, go on a Wednesday. You'll have plenty of time to yourself. Our waiter acted like the room was packed and he was the only server. The food was really good and the chips were my favorite kind, but we waited forever for our check. While we stared at remnants of our plates. Yuck.

At this point we were pinning all of our hopes for some kind of satisfying interaction with other people on Naked Winery. They did not disappoint. Shelly poured for us, immediately greeting us with some Foreplay. She taught us about the Tease and let us experiment with going Gay after playing with our Cougar side. We got Naked, had a little Penetration, and then two different Orgasmic experiences. Before you start thinking this was some kind of dirty sex we paid for, these are all names of their wines. Shelly was not shy about it either. The best part was when the timid older couple came in and she asked if they wanted Foreplay before declaring, "No, I think you should just go straight to Penetration!" Seriously a priceless moment.

She took our picture (they actually have signs for this. One said "girls gone wine" and the other, "I just got Naked."), then took one with us. She gave us seconds and thirds to help us narrow down our choice of wine to buy, although I would have bought them all. We had some of their picnic wine, which comes in a plastic bottle. How clever is that?? I came up with a little dirty slogan of my own, "Shove it in your box", which I'm hoping will get me a job there. Then we got another glass to drink while we shopped. Because how can you pass up buying a shirt that says "We aim to Tease"? I also had to get the booty panties. Duh.

After this experience, we really pushed our luck on the next one. Which probably isn't fair, but the differences ended up being pretty comical. We went to Cascade Cliffs' tasting room. I kinda wish we hadn't. Again, we were the only people there. And the guy pouring appeared to be completely stoned and put out that we even existed. Until he started talking. And told us things we never should have heard. Like things about the business, seriously wrong things. I won't embarrass the winery by telling you everything here. It just shocked me that anyone could be that stupid, especially in the age of social media. And then he got creepy. "Where are you girls staying so I can come stalk you later?" Um. It's a good thing we were staying out in the boonies. Even if he had gotten the energy to try to find it, he never would.

Which brings me to our hotel. Lodge. Room. The place where we slept. Cooper Spur Mountain Resort looked cute on the website. The Fruit Loop's website listed it as a place to stay. Neither one of them said anything about how it was out in the sticks and we might as well have just driven back home. Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad, but it was out in BFE. The room was cute though, the bed covers were soft and fleecy and fluffy. There were lots of tiny shampoos and lotions in the bathroom. And our dinner was free with our room.

Oh yeah, the dinner. This is where it gets really weird. It wasn't really a restaurant as much as a room with a fireplace. With creepy pictures of dead people all over the walls. Well, not dead bodies, but they were really old so you know that they're dead now. Our waitress was this young girl who was nice, but it seemed like she was really new there. My steak was delicious. However, the wife's fettuccini alfredo was the worst alfredo in the History of Pasta. And they forgot the chicken on it. The "cook" himself came out to apologize. He was a child. He appeared to be a child who is beaten on a regular basis. I swear he was shaking when he came out to apologize and ask if she still wanted him to bring the chicken out when it was done. I seriously wanted to take him home and make him a grilled cheese and some cookies and tuck him in bed with some warm milk. There was no way we could have told him how bad the pasta was, I think he would have peed his pants.

In the morning, the woman at the front desk repeatedly asked us how our dinner was and how the servers were. We couldn't tell her anything bad because we kept picturing those poor kids locked up in a cellar for a week without food while being whipped with chains every hour. By the ghosts of the dead people on the wall. You think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not. Not that much.

What we learned is that next time we will stay somewhere in town and spend all of our money and brain cells at Naked Winery. We're going to Disneyland in a couple of weeks so stay tuned for more amazing travel reviews then.

The Black Sheep

D is sitting here doing a family tree for her French homework and asked if I ever feel left out of my family. I wouldn't say I'm left out, but I do think I'm the black sheep. There are good and bad things about this. One of the good things is that I got the good hair. My mom and my sister have thin, fine hair that takes years to grow, while I can cut mine to an inch and it will be down the middle of my back in six months. I also got my mom's boobs and my sister didn't. Yay me! The bad part is that I did feel left out when I was younger. My sister and brother are actually only halfs. They have the same parents and are whole siblings, while I grew up with half siblings and a stepdad. Don't worry, my therapist is fully aware of this.

Then there are some quirky things. I have always been a Coke drinker while my parents are Pepsi drinkers. I don't know how I ever learned to like Coke since there never was any in our house. I'm the non-athlete out of my siblings. Even my mom was a tomboy growing up. My dad must have have instilled some girly-girliness in me early on.

Here's the really crazy thing. The really crazy thing that makes me normal. A few years ago, my parents moved back to Mississippi (M-I-crooked-letter-crooked-letter-I-crooked-letter-crooked-letter-I-humpack-humpback-I). I was born there and my mom's family still lives there so when my stepdad got tired of the cold weather here, they decided to move to be near my mom's family. That part makes sense. My parents are homebodies anyway so it doesn't really matter so much where they live. But my sister and my brother, who are both still young, also moved. To Mississippi. Who throws away their youth to move to a place like that? I swear it's like time has stopped still there. The only new building they've gotten in over 30 years is a Walmart. What young person born on the west coast moves from The Land of Plenty to the Land of the Lost?

I love them all to death, but I'm okay with being the black sheep. It's made me more independent. Less insane, obviously. With better taste in soda.

Oh yeah, I have way better shoes too! I win!!

The Asshole In My Shower

No, it wasn't a man. Not that I would know what one looked like if it were. Non-self-imposed celibacy is for the birds.

So, can you guess what I might possibly have found in my shower? Not a million dollars. Not the fountain of youth. A spider! Crazy, right? Because I haven't seen 50 bajillion of those in my house. Guess what else? It was a baby black widow! Awesome, right? Not really. Because of course I didn't see it until I was in the shower. Soaking wet. And guess where it was? Right over my head!! It just gets awesomer, right? (Awesomer is a word. Shut up, spell check.)

So, yeah. This bitch wasn't content to just sit upside down on the ceiling over my head. No, she enjoyed lowering herself up and down on her little yo-yo web, wiggling her legs at me. I almost got shampoo in my eyes trying to keep one on her. Up and down, up and down. I'm sure she thought it was hilarious.

Well, guess who got the last laugh? Yeah, that's right. Did she think I'd never leave the shower? That I was her prisoner? Dumb ass. And even dumber for not hiding while I went to go get the bug spray. Bwa ha ha.....

I swear I should change the name of this fucking blog to The Spider Chronicles.