Great Comeback May 23, 2012

Short post because I’m swamped.  But this just happened and I’m about to cry from laughter.  You have to remember that my mom still thinks I’m virginal and has told me such as recent as two weeks ago.  She is honest and true, so sweet and innocent herself that she has no idea that ship left town oh…..what 17 years ago? If it was anyone but her, I’d have a hard time believing it.  PIC can attest.  She’s like Ms. Claus, but sweeter.

Anyway, here is what happened.

Me: AHHHH.  PLEASE stop calling me at work with the same question. I told you already and that hasn’t changed.  I love you.  Bye.  click

Coworker: What’s she bitching about?

Me: Bless.  She doesn’t want to pay closing costs on a timeshare she is selling.  She’s not listening to me when I tell her the seller will cover it if you stipulate they must.

Coworker: And she doesn’t believe you why?

Me: I don’t know. Not like I have attended no less than 50 closings and FUNDED them in the last couple years.

Coworker: She forgets things….. and when did you get a timeshare?

Me: Oh you’ll love this.  She got it “because I thought  you were having a kid with Paul.  And I wanted to impress the grandkid, but you didn’t.  So now I have no use for it.”

Coworker: Aw.  But did you tell her you were practicing really hard?

Me: laughing so hard I almost peed.

God bless you Coworker.

Life’s Frogs May 21, 2012

You know how you sit there mindlessly watching a tv show (aka doing laundry and making dinner while it plays in the background), and then all of a sudden you are like, “Hold up DVR! Rewind that…..were you totally just talking to me?  Did I for real just complete that sentence without knowing it?”  This was the case for your blogger here as I watched Glee on their quest for Nationals.

Yes.  I’m a Gleek.  I am almost freely admitting that these days.  Mostly because I know it’s a high school show, but they deal with some issues that are very much adult and very much my reality. (And, come on, who doesn’t love a good smash up medley?) Before you read on, know this is not a sad-sack post.  It’s a really happy post, just bare with me because it may not sound that way at the beginning.

Coach Beiste is a strong ass woman on the outside, but has a tender soul.  She’s married to a son of a bitch who goes by the name Cooter.  And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he is the lowest form of male – he takes his anger out on her in all sorts of bad ways.  I was in the midst of cutting tomatoes and hear this:

Cooter: Don’t leave me! You can’t hate me more than I already hate myself.
Coach Beiste: I don’t hate you! That’s the awful part of it, I love you! But what does that say about what I think of me?
Cooter: What are you going to do, huh? Just walk out on me?!
Cooter: Who’s going to the love you the way I loved you! Who’s going to love you now?!

At this point, without hesitation or thought, I looked up from my cutting board and said, in unison with Coach Beiste, Me.

I hit pause, rewound the scene, pumped my fist in the air to my new heroine Coach Beiste, and smiled.  I’ve been in quite the introspective mood lately, likely due to long hours at work and getting to hold my brand new nephew that weighs a whole 4 pounds, 3 ounces.It’s amazing what looking into the clean slate of a newborn’s eyes will do to you.

I realized tonight that I played that exact scenario out hundreds of times with a different ending.  But now?  I DO love me.  And that’s actually more than enough.  Confetti, glitter……..whatever.  I have myself and my PIC.  And that, above all the other perks in my life?  That is better than any boyfriend or job ever could be.  I love myself enough to walk away from bad relationships, be they friends, boyfriends or professional.  I have a PIC to pick me up when I’m broken and put me back together in way better shape than she found me, without hesitation or “I told you so” ever coming in to play.  I swear that girl is an angel…

So, I’m just really grateful tonight.  Sure.  I could be sad, Lord knows I have my reasons why – we all do.  But why be sad when I have SO much to be grateful for?  Sure.  I’ve kissed a lot of frogs.  Well, maybe more than a lot……but that’s neither here nor there.  And sure, I make less money now than I did when I got out of college over a decade ago.  (AND OH GOD did I just say I graduated from college over a decade ago?) But, at the end of the day, I’ve found myself.  I couldn’t have done that without the frogs of life (and of course help from my PIC.)

Now, as I pop open a bottle of wine, I toast to the frogs – boys, bosses and otherwise – that have made me who I am today: A damn fine lady.  All this time I thought I was supposed to turn frogs into princes.  Who knew those frogs, warts and all, would actually turn ME into a princess?

Love to you all,

Me

The Sprout, Bianca, Bryce and Me April 28, 2012

Hello Blogland!  I did not get taken by gangster squirrels or the Eat Me lady.  No, I’m currently in the hospital waiting to become an aunt for the first time!  Sprout is early, 34 weeks, but he is strong.

So, to pass the time – we are on day three of actual labor right now – I have pulled out an old draft post.  After the birth of Sprout, I promise to blog more.  I swear you won’t believe what all has happened. And, I’m relatively sure PIC and I are going to create a lynch mob to handle it.  It’s a terrifying fun fact we came up with last night….we actually can create a lynch mob at a moments notice.  We have several people in our lives that love us enough to respond without question or hesitation to “bring a weapon and meet me at the bridge at midnight”. 

So Beast, all you men that glitter….best beware.  Piss off PIC and I?  A lynch mob will ensue.

Now, without further ado, here is the post from before all hell broke loose.  Love to you all!  Please bring me vodka in a water bottle.  I need it.

*********

Bianca is Brain Dead

Bianca struck again.  For reals y’all!

Me: Hey Bianca- what’s wrong?

Bianca: Um. Why do you always answer the phone like that? Nothing’s wrong.

Me: Because it’s work.  During my busy time.  You know this.  We discussed…do you seriously not remember???

Bianca: Well, yeah but I just miss you and I’m totally bored at work. And I thought you were just having a hormonal moment.

Me: silence…

Bianca: Um. Hello! I said I missed you.  And really, why don’t you ever call me back?

Me: Bianca. Sweetie.  I need you to listen closely to me. Get in your car and drive to the ER immediately.  When you get there, have them put you to the front of the line because Bianca, I’m relatively sure you are brain dead.

Bianca: What?

Me:  Last time I said you are either completely stupid or completely selfish…and I didn’t know which.  Now? I know.  Because you called back.  In my busy work day. To say you are bored.

Bianca: So.

Me: Wow Bianca.   Do not EVER call me again while I’m at work.  I simply will not answer….emergency or not.

Then I hung up on her….again.  You think it’ll stick this time?  Was I too mean? Maybe.  But she kinda deserved it.

Baby Shower from Hell

I didn’t imagine a baby shower could be bad, but here’s how it went down.

1) I got sunburned.  On an overcast day.  I was supposed to be there to referee the two pregnant and due within a day of each other sisters, so I was relegated beside the 100 year old neighbor invited out of pity because she was midway between them both.  She smelled like bourbon and mothballs.  Between silent gags, I would smile and nod at her.  Turns out?  She wasn’t talking, rather she makes noises that SOUND like talking in her sleep.  I looked insane.  Thanks for the heads up people.

2) Bryce.  Bryce is three and is a special kind of child.  He requires a lot of attention.  I’m pretty sure he may be a serial killer one day and I can be interviewed by the show Dateline and tell this story.  Sister 1 goes storming into the house during the shower.  I go in to do damage control.  I find Bryce.  In the back room.  With matches.  Bryce is, with the dexterity of someone at least double his age, striking matches and throwing them in the floor.  The floor is carpet.  It’s beginning to smoke.  His eyes are alive with excitement until he sees me.  Then Bryce proceeds to dash like a freaking gazelle into the bathroom and slam the door.  I put out the fire, it smells like singed fur, I put all flame producing materials in a shoebox in the top of the closet….and I go to get Bryce.  Bryce is in the tub, pouring stuff down the drain.  I’m not sure what all he found, but it smelled like eggs. Again with the defeated look, Bryce sees me and tries to flee.  This time I’m on to him.  I pick him up football style and haul him to the basement with the other kids.  I put him in his play crib thing and he proceeds to squall like I’ve removed his left leg.  This brings in mom, finally.  He points to me and says quite definitively, MEAN.  Nothing like being called mean by a potential serial killer to bring down your whole damn day.  Note:  Other things Bryce did that day?  Pulled a girl’s hair out….in a tuft.  Bit a dog on its back leg. Attempted to stab the old neighbor woman’s arm with his spoon.

3) Feathers.  I’m allergic.  I think I mentioned that once.  Romantic encounter at a fancy hotel turns almost deadly?  Yeah, that’s me on my first grown up Valentine’s Day with a guy one year.  Apparently, that fact skipped the mind of the sisters I stayed with during the shower.  I was so exhausted from leaving my house at 3:30am, chasing planes and children and refereeing the sisters all day that all I could do was crawl into the bed and fall over…on to what I learned soon was a feather pillow with a feather comforter.  I admit.  Part of that is my fault.  It felt suspect, but I was so tired – and had such faith in my friends that of COURSE they would remember – that I just fell over.  In about half an hour, I woke up to the choking sadly familiar feeling….I couldn’t breathe and it was probably due to feathers.  I lived, thanks to some handy epi pen work and a shower.  But, I didn’t sleep for crap the rest of the day….and I had to be at the airport heading home way too early.

Delay Delay Delay

I was supposed to be home the afternoon of Sunday.  I got back early Monday morning. Why? I had the layover from hell at the world’s busiest airport. Along the way, I met the world’s most boring man. I really tried to find him interesting, but I just didn’t.  And when you’ve been sitting in the airport for eight hours, and you STILL find someone boring?  That’s bad.

After the boring guy, and after exhausting all contacts on my phone, I had to go find power.  Turns out? Power outlets in the airport are like freaking GOLD.  I was relegated to sitting outside a magazine store like a homeless person, huddled up with my knees under my chin, duffel bag, purse and neck roll beside me, stealing power from the outlet on the side of the store, whist trying not to get trampled from people running to their gates in, as I said, the world’s busiest airport.  I was met with looks of disgust, pity and eventually, hatred.

I don’t think I’ll ever fly again….. anytime soon.

So that concludes my fun weekend.  Hopefully yours was better, or at least didn’t involve potential serial killing children and a brush with death.

All that Glitters isn’t……Gold. April 9, 2012

PIC and I hung out over the weekend.  Here, she imparted wisdom that I had to share.  To appreciate the conversation, here’s a back story if you didn’t already know.

Y’all know I’m a girly girl.  I love anything sparkly.  Y’all also know, maybe?, that I typically date really pretty boys.  Assholes, but really pretty to look at boys.

************

Me: I don’t know what’s up with *insert boy name here*….I really like him a lot.

PIC: I know you do sweetie.  I wanted to like him too.

Me: Yeah…maybe he’ll come around.

PIC: Or he’s just dipped in glitter.

Me: Huh?

PIC: Sweetie.  Sometimes, especially for you, they are just shit dipped in glitter.

Me: Holy crap…. you are so right!!!

PIC:  You get distracted by glittery things.  It’s ok.. but that’s why if I say ‘it’s dipped in glitter’, you better run.  It’ll be our code.

Me: All that glitters is not gold!  I totally get that now….

PIC: I know you love sparkly things honey, but we gotta find you something that’s sparkly all the way through, not just the outside shell.

Me: Heard.  I really thought he was different though.

PIC: Verdict is still out, but it’s possible he’s just dunked in glitter.

Me: *sighs*  Lots of glitter.

PIC: *shakes her head*  Drink your wine.

Adventures with Jail, Twizzlers and New Shoes March 30, 2012

Hello Blogland!

I have been MIA for a million reasons – most of which involve me working insane hours on very little or no sleep.  Here are my recent adventures.

My poor, crackhaired co-worker.

Y’all know I don’t sleep.  Well, I finally did.  I went down hard.  In the midst of the sound sleep, I got a series of calls.  I slept through FOUR phone calls and THREE texts.  That’s a deep sleep.

At 4am, I finally roused enough to answer.  It was said co-worker, requesting I come bail her out of jail.  I won’t go in to why to preserve her semi-intact dignity.  But I did go. And, in my true to life style, it was bedlam.  First, I got lost.  They are doing construction and I got turned around.  I walked three blocks into the back alley and realized I was probably going to die.  I finally spy a patrol car and hustle toward him.

Me: Hi! Officer, I need your help.

Officer: Alright.

Me: I need to go bail someone out of jail.  Where do I do that? I’m lost.

Officer: Are you drunk?

Me: (look down at my lovely ensemble of yoga pants, a sorority t-shirt and flip flops…plus some semblance of scruffy side bun) REALLY?  It’s 4:30am, I was woken from the first sound sleep I’d had in weeks to bail a coworker from jail.  You are lucky I have on pants!

Officer: (sizes me up and down) Fair enough.

FYI, I did get her out of jail.  I only did so because she’s the only one that helps out at my god-forsaken office.  Were she not there, my workload would have been heavier.  That makes me a bitch.  I’m aware.  However, I bailed her out and she didn’t have to stay in jail.  Win-win.

Yep.  I’m That Tired.

I didn’t eat breakfast….or lunch.  And honestly, I don’t think I had dinner the night before.  That, two hours sleep and stress? Not cool.  My recently bailed out co-worker from above had Twizzlers.  They were stale and hard, but I needed food.  She gave me some and I sat the bunch in arm’s reach.

Sporadically, I would reach over and get one.  Eat.  Smile.  Until the last time.   I reached over and grabbed what I thought to be an ultra stale Twizzler.

Me: SWEET BABY MOSES!!!!

Also at my desk? A bunch of red acrylic straws that weren’t what I ordered.  I had taken a few out of their plastic wrap to inspect them before calling to pitch a hissy fit on the vendor.  Twas not a Twizzler I crunched.  Alas, I crunched the hell out of an acrylic straw.

Jailbird Coworker: The hell did you just do?

Me: Ouch. Nothing….(hiding the straw from view)

Jailbird: Did you… omg…you just ate a straw!?!

Me: NO… I TRIED to eat the straw.  It’s not nearly as tasty as you’d think.

Jailbird: Um. Ok…?

New Shoes

Ok. I’ll keep this as PC and anonymous as possible.  But after a long, hellish day at work…stories like this are what keep you going.  WARNING: Probably not a PG posting from this point, but I’ll try.

Last weekend, I celebrated St. Patty’s day like a good Irish girl should.  There shall be a blog about that later, it’s still in draft.  One of the highlights of the evening? Learning that the only way to break in new shoes is when you are less than sober.  Wine + Irish Car Bombs = Pain Free Shoes.

Fast forward a week or so later.  An extremely well endowed man boldly sent a text of his parts to his lady friend.  On girl’s night, after some wine, the girl decided to share with her friends.

Person 1: Look what *** sent me.

Person 2: Is that Photoshopped? How drunk were you the first time?

Person 1: No it’s all real.  I don’t know.  I didn’t think I was.  But apparently I was…I thought it was small that night.

Person 2: You for real managed all that?

Person 1: Well, I *censored story with graphic details*

Person 2: Ah…  You remember what I said about new shoes?

Person 1: That you’ll only break them in when you aren’t fully sober?

Person 2: Yes.  And it looks like that applies to other aspects. You, dear, just broke in a fabulous new pair of shoes.

Person 1: It’s like a new pair of stilettos…..

Person 2: Sweetie.  That’s not a stiletto.  That’s a combat boot.

I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.  Maybe it was the wine.  Maybe it was because Person 2 was SO right it was wrong.  Whatever the reason, I am still giggling about it today.

************

My lovelies, have a great weekend, don’t get put in jail and be careful if you break in any new shoes.

Cheers!

Me

Blame the Meds 2 March 8, 2012

Here, by special request, is another installation of crazy college stories I wish I could have blogged about at the time – but my college pre-dates blogs….so thankfully I have a great memory and friends that remind me.  All. The. Damn. Time.

In case you missed it, Me + medication = a lot of fun for everyone but me.

This glorious moment involved muscle relaxers.

I threw out my back during a particular rough set in dance/cheer practice.  No stranger to back pain, I went straight to the health center, where they prescribed me muscle relaxers.

Me: How many do I take?

Dr: How bad does it hurt?

Me: Scale of 1 – 10, I’ll say 8.

Dr: Take two for anything over 7, take one the rest of the time as needed.

I pop two muscle relaxers and head off to class. At this point, it’s probably important that you know I was not a very healthy lady at the time.  I had not eaten anything solid in 24 hours and was living off coffee and sheer will.

This is the second day of my college career.  I’m a freshman, valedictorian of my HS, child of educators…..  I can’t miss class!  It’s in my blood to be studious!  So, I decide to go to class.

In class, I begin to feel tingly.  I chalk it up to being hungry. I sit and pull out my book.  I try to get out my pen, but I can’t hold on to the damn thing. I keep dropping it… and it’s making me giggle.

I attribute the giggles and inability to hold the pen to lack of sleep.

Class starts.  I realize I can’t sit up any more.  My ass is slowly creeping down the chair, inching ever so slow and steady towards the floor.  This also makes me giggle.

Luckily, the professor was a nice guy.  He ever so sweetly comes to my desk and asks if I am ok.

Me: No. I’m on drugs!  I begin to laugh really hard and pretty much slide into the floor.

Professor: Ok then.  I can see….  Which ones?

Me: These. Want one? I point to the bottle in my bag and giggle.

Professor: How many did you take?

Me: Two, handsome….  fit of giggles

Professor: Why do you have these?

Me: I threw my back out. But these help because I can’t feel it anymore.

Professor: Why did you come to class?

Me: Because my mom said I couldn’t miss class or she’d have my ass.  Oh shit I said ass.  clamp my hand over my mouth, eyes wide.

Professor:  has knelt down beside me at this point, his hand is on my shoulder.  Well, let’s not tell her.  Right now, you need to get back to your dorm.  Where is it?

Me: I don’t know….   I say in the sing-songy way while twirling my hair…clearly attempting to flirt.

Professor: stands back up.  Ok. Class.  I need your help.  Do any of you know this girl? He stands me up best he can, arm around my waist.

Me: pageant wave

Professor: She’s had a bit of an accident and she needs to go back to her dorm.

In the back of the room, there was a football player. A cute football player. He lived in my dorm. And, he was, apparently, a saint.  Note: I lived in a non-governed dorm that alternated a suite of boys; suite of girls. There were no RA’s or whatever in this specific dorm. Why my parents agreed? Wow. They must totally trust me….

Hero: I know her. She really did throw her back out at cheer practice, I saw her. She lives on the floor under me.

Me: You’re cute….. I attempt to flip my hair.

Hero: I’ll take her back to the dorm safe, Sir.

Professor: Sit with her until someone gets there ok?

Hero: I’m on it.

Me: giggling I bet you are….

Hero: Ok. This is probably going to hurt, but I can’t think of any other way to get you back across campus.  He hoists me over his shoulder like a caveman. My backpack goes on his other shoulder.

Me: scream in pain and pass out

I have memory of what I just described, but have no idea how we managed to get back across campus, or the looks we must have been given.  My brain clearly is protecting me here because I also don’t remember telling him I had no idea what suite was mine.  Or the fact that he had to try, God bless him, every door until he found the one that my key fit.   I don’t remember that he put me down on the bed and I attempted to undress (because I don’t sleep in pants I kept telling him).  I also have no memory of throwing up the moment he sat me down, then saying, “I swear I’m not drunk.” What I do remember is that I woke up and he was there….with my suite mates….looking down on me.

Me: Am I dead? I can’t feel my face.

All: exchange glances and giggles

Hero: No hon, but you’re probably gonna wish you were.

Me: Oh hell.  Please tell me….. oh my God… memories begin to flood back   Did I…. oh freakin a…oh GOD tell me no….

Hero: Yeah.  That all happened.  And probably some stuff you don’t remember.

Me: immediately look down and see I still have pants on, to which I say Oh thank God!

Hero: You did try to take those off though. nods towards my pants

Me: Oh hell… oh hell….this is bad. grabbing my head

Roommate: When did you eat last?

Me: blink blink

Hero: That’s what we thought.  Eat this sandwich.  Then we’ll take your next dose.

Me: Ugh…eff me….this is worse than bad…. I want to die.  I pull the covers over my head.

Hero: Yeah…we thought you might for a minute.  You didn’t look like you were breathing baby girl.  pulls the cover off my face. And…you might wanna change out of that class….just sayin.

Me: grunt and pull the covers back over my head.  Smother me. It’ll be a mercy killing.

Roommate: Do I get all A’s if you die this semester?

Me: I think I kinda hate you. This began a very close bond between my roommate and I that continues today. We say “I kinda hate you” a lot.  It really means I love you, but it all stems from this moment in time.

I made one hell of an impression on my suite…my class…the professor…and that poor boy upstairs.

I did transfer out of that class, after a deep, heartfelt apology to the professor.

My suite mates heretofore randomly yell “I’m on drugs!” or “I swear I’m not drunk” as they did the pageant wave at wildly inopportune times.  I’m relatively sure that at my funeral, the whole of them will stand there, do the wave and maybe even roar for me.

I did date the Hero boy for a little bit, just not that year.  He transferred junior year and we lost touch.  It’s probably for the best.   “Mommy.  Is it true you were on drugs when you met Daddy?”  Kill me now.  Y’all know my kids would totally ask that…..

Taylor February 14, 2012

Y’all know my PIC.  Well, she shares the same first name with my other good friend…which is wildly confusing to most of the men in my life for some reason…and my mom…but I think she’s just half listening to me…..maybe the men are too…. but I digress.

I guess I should probably introduce her to you guys because although not as epic as PIC outings…. we have had a few interesting, blogworthy moments.   For this blog, she shall forevermore be known as Taylor.

Taylor is one of those girls that is a little polly-pocket of sass.  You don’t mess with her….. she’s all of 5 feet tall, 115 lbs, but she’ll take you down – in her pearls and cardigan.  She is sweet and southern, with an accent to match.  She is the kind of lady who is quiet and reserved until she knows you….or has vodka…but that’s a whole other set of stories.

Taylor was one of my friends that I lost to the unfortunate debacle of speedbump.  (That’s what PIC calls Paul.  I’ll have to ask her if it’s ok to say why.  But yes.  He was a speedbump in my otherwise beautiful life. I’m over him and happily so.) I’m so very happy Taylor is back in my life.  And… I am happy we still wear the same size because she has fabulous taste and I’ve missed her closet as well.

Today, Taylor texted me to see if I had plans with anyone for Valentine’s Day.  Here’s what happened:

Taylor:  Do you have any V-day plans?

Me: IDK.  Maybe.  No one special though. You?

Taylor: Yes. My guy is cooking dinner for me.  Are you ok?

Me: Oh totally.  Regardless of what I do, it’ll be better than last year… or the year before where I was asked to leave the restaurant because speedbump acted like an asshole.

Taylor: He’s a turd.

Me: Yeah he is.

Taylor: And you know what they say about turds?

Me: Um….that if you act like a turd, you have to go lay in the backyard.

Taylor: That is SO much funnier than “they stink”.  hahaha

Me: I try.

Taylor: Paul is a turd, turds belong in the backyard…therefore Paul belongs in the backyard with the rest of the turds.

Me: Who isn’t cleaning up their turds? Why are there so many in my backyard? I don’t even own a dog!!!  I need a sign that says NO TURD DUMPING.  I HAVE PLENTY.

Taylor: hahahaha.  I’m dying…..

Me: I love you darlin.  Have a great v-day with the boy…. and I promise to stay turd free.

Taylor: Bout time!  But if the turd is pretty, I know you.  All bets are off.

Me: I’m rolling my eyes at you. I don’t know the emoticon for that.  I swear on my unborn child….no more turds.  If I falter, you and PIC and behead me.

Taylor: Harsh, but suitable punishment.

Me: bahahaha

So… my dearest readers….please be Turd Free.  And if you see what asshat keeps dumping unwanted turds in my backyard?  Tackle her and hold her til I get there.

Love,

Me

 

I’m Pretty Sure The Apocalypse Has Begun February 10, 2012

Son of a BLIMP! 

It’s been a supremely weird last 48 hours y’all…and that’s saying something coming from me.  I started thinking about it, and I’m pretty sure the only rational explanation is that the apocalypse has begun.

Point 1: Weird Weather

Yesterday morning? Snow.  Yesterday afternoon? Heat.  Currently? It’s snowing and there are no clouds in the sky. What. The. Hell.  Is that even possible???

Point 2: Weird People Behavior

In 48 hours, pretty much every person I know, myself included, has done something fully out of character.  Some good, some not so good….all surprising.  Not to incriminate, but here is what I’m talking about:

• Random hook up with a stranger 10 years younger? Check.
• Going from Absolute Romeo to Absolute Asshole? Check.
• Reeling in your diva for the very first time? Check.
• Dancing on a bar top….as a grown-ass adult? Check.
• Random people in your way way past back to hurt you? Check.
• Finding out your commitment-phobe ex is engaged? Check.
• Vegetarian turned carnivore? Check.

Maybe I just have weird friends….maybe it is a full moon?

Point 3: Weird Animals

Yesterday, my desk was infested with ladybugs.  Today, they are all gone.  No sign of them anywhere. Sent in their place? Super annoying tee-tiny ants.  I feel them crawling all over me even though I know they aren’t. I look like an itchy crackhead.  Even the crack-haired one from my office is looking at me funny.

My large gangster squirrels are back, as are the crows and some big-ass fly creatures. Seriously freaky.  It is all wild kingdom up in here…. and I swear to you there is no food at my desk.  The other question is why MY desk.  Why do I seem to attract everything but men and money?

Thank God tonight is PIC Night.  It has been a crazy week…. and if the world is indeed ending, I can think of no one else I’d like to spend it with than PIC.  Bring on the wine, the karaoke and the wiggle dance….cause we are Sexy and We Know It.

Cheers and Happy Friday

Blast from the Past February 7, 2012

I normally use this space for funny jaunts through my insane life.  Today however, is different.

I was close friends with a group of guys in highschool.  We went to college together, then drifted apart.  I still think of them and the fun times we all had being silly, goofy kids…growing up together. Failed attempts to reconnect lead to years of separation. Now I no longer know anything about these guys, but I still think of them often.

Today, I got a text from one of these guys.  It’s literally been over a decade since we spoke last.  All it said was “Sweetie, I need a favor.”

Turns out his mom is ill and he’ll be staying with me tomorrow night.   But here’s the cool part.  He said that of all his friends, he always knew he could count on me if he needed me.  No matter how much time passed between us, that he always knew I’d be there for him no matter what it was.  It totally made my heart melt.

Some people might see this as a guy who just wants a free room, but I’m not that cynical.  This guy was there for me when I had my heart broken the first time…..and the second time.  He was there when I needed a date to my sorority formal because of that incident.  He was there when I decided I was going to run away with a boy (and he thankfully talked me out of that.)  He was there through pretty much all my firsts and worsts – making me laugh, holding me when I cried and reminding me that life is so much fun if you stop taking it so serious.  When you share all that, how can you not just drop everything and be there?  I asked him that question today.  He said, “Darling. No one ever would but you.”

Is it true? Am I really that good of a friend? I certainly always try to be….

I reflected on our moments together and it made me wistful for my younger days.  Days where all I worried about was whether or not I would get to sit beside my flavor of the moment boy in class; which ballet I would be in and what outfit I would wear to the horribly themed fraternity mixer of the day.

I’ve grown up a lot since those days.  In so many ways they were the best and worst of times. You never realize it until you are on the other side though -  older, stronger….and hopefully a little bit wiser.

Here’s to old friends, new beginnings and the promise of happier days.

Cheers!

 

Knights, Princes and Tin Foil November 16, 2011

Quite possibly one of the funniest conversations I’ve ever had.  It started out all serious, but my my how it ended.  Here is the background of the story and then the conversation that followed.  Enjoy!

*******************

Being in a bit of a love rut, my friend and I were chatting about how much Disney and the whole knight in shining armor thing is forced upon us as kids. Since birth, Disney tells girls that somewhere out there, there is a Prince Charming for all of us.  That we should never give up hope and always remain brilliant and beautiful because the knight in shining armor will come forth and save us from life as we know it.  I totally fell for it. Hook. Line. Sinker.

Come on…. don’t judge me because you ladies out there KNOW that you played princess at least once in your life.

I told my personal favorite princess time story to my friend: using a pageant crown and stealing mom’s heels and jewelry.  I would teeter walk to my room, climb on my canopy bed and scream to the top of my lungs “I’m here! Come save me!”  In retrospect? Not cool.  But, to mom’s credit, she ran to me the first time…and the second and third.  After that I was on my own.  Which is kinda the whole point here.  No prince or knight ever arrived, even after I had my own heels and jewelry to use and was in far more dire straights than being stranded in the middle of a canopy bed. I postulated that there are really only like .001% of the population that actually get their knights or princes.

And here is the conversation that ensued:

Friend: Honestly darling, I think I have found a real knight this time.

Me: Are you sure….because he kinda seems like a moron in tin foil to me.

Friend: laughs so hard she falls off the couch

Me: See. You think that too or you wouldn’t be laughing like that. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not judging.  Many a moron in Reynolds Wrap has stormed into my castle.

Friend: Did you just make a sex joke?

Me: NO! Um… but that didn’t sound good did it.  I just meant that they have attempted to ok… there is NO reference that relates to castles, moats or gates that doesn’t sound totally and overtly sexual.

Friend: My sweet girl…. you could use someone to storm your castle, and I mean that the way it sounds.

Me: This wasn’t the conversation I envisioned.

Friend: Which is why its awesome.

Me: I want a shirt that has Reynolds Wrap with a big X through it that serves as a warning:  I’m on to your tin foil wearing ass.  Bring me the armor or go home.

Friend: I’m so getting you that for Christmas.  It will also have the disclaimer warning them that there are dragons in your moat.

Me: BITCH!

Friend: laughing so hard I can hardly hear her…I’m just saying!  That would discourage everyone that wasn’t a real knight. Real knights slay dragons.

Me: I like that better as a disclaimer.

Friend: Fine.  I guess I can work with that.  But I’m still using something about moats.

Me: shake my head…. Yeah. I am sure you will.

I have some really awesome friends blog land…..maybe the next Disney movie should be about that – girl power.  Because the friends you have define who you really are even more so than the man you end up with….be he in tin foil or armor.  Because when he screws up, and when you screw up, your friends are always there to slap you, pour you a drink or plot revenge….whatever is most appropriate. Cheers to my girlies…..