Wow! This year has totally flown by. It really does seem like we were just at the beginning of 2009. But a lot has happened this year too. I started thinking about everything and came up with a pretty good list of major events(good AND bad) from 2009:
I crept one year closer to turning 40. Damn I’m getting old.
I visited someone very special to me that I hadn’t seen in nearly 20 years.
I found out the company I work for was being bought out and that I would be laid off in early 2010.
I stumbled onto Twitter and it SAVED MY LIFE. Ok, so maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but it has totally been The Awesome.
I had the priviledge of attending BlogHer@Home and met some absolutelyawesome and down-right funny people! (And the BESTLonghornsfans EVAH! HOOK EM!) (And trust me the links above don’t even BEGIN to cover all the amazing people I met. I promise I’m not trying to slight ANYONE!)
I finally committed to going back to college and finished my first semester (with A’s, yo! WOOT!)
I emancipated mah boobies! Are you shocked? ME TOO! (Yes I’m crazy, but not so crazy to give you the link right to it. If you send booze, then we’ll talk.)
My son came out to Utah and visited for the 2nd year in a row (I’m definitely hoping for a 3rd year too!)
And with all of that going on, I finally began to find my voice. It took a while, and it’s absolutely a work in progress, but it’s been a lot of fun so far. I look forward to see where the journey leads in 2010.
I wish all of you a safe and Happy New Year! I sincerely hope that 2010 brings you lots of joy! Bottoms up!
Husband: Why is the TV screen all slobbery and gross?
Me: Umm…..I dunno. I can tell you what it WASN’T from. It was NOT from me making out with Tom Selleck last night.
Husband: Huh?
Me: Cuz that totally didn’t happen. It must have been the dog.
Husband: What dog? We don’t have a dog.
Me: WTF? What do you mean we don’t have a dog? How could you forget Fifi?
Husband: Fifi?
Me: Yes, Fifi! Our little cockapoo? The one that bit you on the leg last week?
Husband: YOU bit me on the leg last week.
Me: Nooooo. I was pulling Fifi OFF you. She was upset cuz you were ignoring her. I was trying to protect you. Your welcome.
Husband: We do NOT have a dog.
Me: HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT? It’s bad enough that you ignore her. Now you’re just being cruel.
Husband: *sigh*
Me: Shhhh! Magnum PI is coming on.
Now that I think about it, I’m not sure if any of that really happened. Except maybe the part about the TV screen being all slobbery and gross. Cuz I don’t need yet another restraining order.
What? You think Tom Selleck would make out with me in real life?
Proof - According to Miriam-Webster’s Dictionary, one of the definitions of hell is:
2 a : a place or state of misery, torment, or wickedness.
Misery.
Torment.
Wouldn’t living in a state I loathe for the past 7 years (7 YEARS? WTF?), dealing with the end of my marriage, and getting laid off from my job in two months qualify for being in a state of misery and/or torment? Yeah, I think so too. *snort* (I promise you there’s more to that list, but then we totally go off-topic and skirt the realm of TMI, so it’s best for me to just keep those to myself.)
I wouldn't consider myself a pack rat. Now. When I was younger, though, I started to come pretty darn close. I kept EVERYTHING.
You, know how it is. You keep every little thing because you just KNOW that someday you will need it or be able to use it.
You need more space to store every little thing you keep because you just KNOW that someday you will need it or be able to use it.
You need a bigger home to get more space to store every little thing you keep because you just KNOW that someday you will need it or be able to use it.
You need more money to pay for the bigger home to get more space to store every little thing you keep because you just KNOW that someday you will need it or be able to use it.
Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. (There was an old lady who swallowed a fly. I don't know why she swalloed the fly. Perhaps she'll die.) I guess you could say the things I have kept are my fly.
Moving has always offered an opportunity to get rid of some stuff. Why pack it when you can purge it, right? Right. But no matter how much I get rid of, I think I only get through the surface and maybe 2-3 underlying layers. Tops.
And then I just start amassing NEW stuff. Such a vicous cycle.
Well, I'm getting closer to breaking the cycle. The downfall of my marriage, my impending "over the hill" status, and getting thrown out on my collective career-ass, just to name a few, have me thinking of ways to simplify my life. FAST.
I'm starting with closing my MK business. Honestly, it's time. I've been trying to decide what to do with it ever since I started, but never actually DOING anything with it. On any level. I just don't see that getting any better in the near future, so I'm kickin' it to the curb for now.
Another purge category that is long overdue is my craft items. For years, I was a psychotic craft shopper. Let me clarify something, though. SHOPPING does not imply CREATING. I had ideas of really cool craft projects out the wazoo! Sadly, the ideas never quite panned out or didn't look as good in real life as they did in my head. Man, everything looks/sounds/feels/is SO much better in my head. Maybe I should just go live there!
The last on my list right now are my collectibles. The Bradford Edition plates that hung on a wall for a mere year out of the decade and a half that I have had them. Oh, and my Cherished Teddies. What the HELL was I thinking? Sure, they are freakin cute as hell, and did manage to be on display in my house(s) for a little longer than the plates. But ever since the hostage crisis began (I really do need to explain that sometime, don't I?), they have been nothing more than garage dust collectors. I don't really think that was the artist's intention and it certainly wasn't mine either.
eBay/Craigslist/KSL.com and the like are prolly gonna become my temporary best friends here soon. And hopefully things get a little (or a lot) simpler in my life. Think I can sell the husband? Cuz that would REALLY simplify my life lemme tell ya.
So, I'm curious who else out there is a closet pack rat? Come purge with me peeps! You know you want to.
nd here's where I let on to just how old I might be.....
I absolutely heart me some '80s music. Love it. In fact, if I'm in need of something to help keep me motivated on a task, you will either find me listening to music from the '80s or disco. No...that is NOT a typo. (Remember that age thing I mentioned at the beginning of this post? Well...there you go.)
Sidenote: As far as I'm concerned, disco will NEVER be dead. You can't shake your ass to anything else like you can to disco. And don't think I don't know that you do it too. In your home. When nobody's watching (at least so you think). You put on Donna Summer's Last Dance and boogie down. Until you hear someone nearby and you run to switch it to Metallica and start headbanging. Cuz that'll totally throw them off the trail of what you were REALLY doing in there. You can admit it now. We all know. DON'T WE.
My most recent '80s flashback had me searching for the video to Olivia Newton-John's Physical. I found what I was looking for and much more. I got two flashbacks for the price of one. (Then again since it didn't cost me anything, it was actually two flashbacks for the price of none. But I digress yet again.)
Remember Solid Gold? (Cue the "ooooo"s and "ahhhh"s here.)
That weekly music countdown show that was only just a small step up from American Bandstand. Where lip synching songs was the ONLY option and was paired with a bunch of HAWT dancers in spandex (Spandex? In the '80s? NAH!). I vaguely seem to remember having a HUGE crush on one of the male dancers. Couldn't tell you which one, though.
That's just some awesome shit right there. She never made a mistake. Her performance was flawless. She never had to take a break in the middle of the song bcuz she was out of breath from her dancing workout (or those steamy hunks dancing with her *fanning self*). And I have absolutely NO idea how my simple little '80s song flashback morphed into poking fun at Solid Gold. I loved that show growing up.
I've missed that past few SWS (so sad) and my six words today are not spooky (well, I guess they could be depending on how you look at them LOL), but here they are:
Basically, nothing good can come of it, so just don't do it.
I have acrylic nails. I have had them forever and I maintain them RELIGIOUSLY. I really don’t have a choice. I have to keep them up. If I don’t, I will have no nails. None. Cuz I’m a nail biter. No, you don’t understand. I’m a BAD nail biter (or would that be a good one?). I’ve been one as long as I can remember. I even think I remember my mom saying once that I came out of the womb with no nails. Which means I probably had it from conception. I totally blame my mom. And she is a former biter too, which supports my case. Thanks so much for the genetic defect MOM!
I go in last Saturday for a backfill, like clockwork. The nail place I go to has a HUGE display table full of examples. Anything & pretty much everything you can think of, they've got. Plus they rotate in some seasonal examples cuz they're greedy mothers cuz it's just good business. I head over to the display table looking for something Halloweeny (WTF is wrong with me? Halloweeny?). But anything I remotely give a second glance to is like an additional $30+. I don’t THINK so. Then my nail tech comes over to ‘help’ and I know I’m in trouble. Actually, ‘in trouble’ doesn’t really cut it. I’m screwed. I just can’t say no to her. So, I let her talk me into getting a spider on one of my nails. Great. Just great.
She gets the backfill done first just like normal. Then it’s time for the spider. She puts a big glob of black acrylic goo in the middle of my nail. I just KNOW that there’s an egg sac in there that's just waiting for Halloween night to bust open and take me as a human sacrifice. But how do I tell her NOOOOO! I’m not ready to die yet! without coming across as rude? I just can’t do it. I just can’t tell her that her idea scares the living shit outta me. So I suffer in silence. And while the end result is quite attractive and season appropriate, it does nothing to calm the horrific fears I have of what is to come on Halloween.
And since then.....
I have to hide that fingernail. I have noticed the spider eyeing people around me looking for more potential victims. YIKES! I can’t let that happen! I’d go to prison for murder cuz who in their right mind would believe that a spider on my nail killed people? Plus, I would not make a good inmate. I would completely freak out. Which would leave me a prime candidate to get a shiv in the prison yard. Yep, I’m that girl. Or another inmate would corner me in the shower and make me her bitch. Neither of those are good options for me.
Also, everytime I catch the spider out of the corner of my eye, I freak out screaming, “Spider! OMG! A SPIDER!” Then I grab my stapler and start banging my hand with it yelling, “Kill it! Kill it! KILL IT!” And then my biting habit kicks in, but I CAN’T GET IT OFF!
So now my hand is a sick combination of black/blue/purple/yellow and that finger is all shredded and bloody. It’s pretty much completely useless. Which is why it took me a week to write this post. And my job is in danger of ending even earlier. I keep getting written up for being a disruption in the office. But then again, my job will be over when I get arrested for murder anyway.
Can anyone recommend a lawyer? I’m gonna need a good one to keep me from going to prison. And then I think I'm gonna sue my nail technician. It's all her fault. Better yet, I’ll sic my spider on her. Yeah, that would work.
I follow Jenny The Bloggess. She is butter. Butter I tell you. She is death by butter. Before the chorus of The Hell? hits the comments, let me explain. Chefs always say cooking with butter is awesome. So by calling The Bloggess butter, I'm professing her total AWESOMENESS! I shit you not.
I also follow another blog that Jenny's involved with, Good Mom/Bad Mom. This one has some funny shit too, even if the Houston Chronicle tries to contain her awesomeness. You CANNOT contain The Bloggess! Anyway, while reading a recent post, a commenter (TC) provided this week's gigglesnort:
What I wanna know is, why the fuck didn't Santa leave THAT doll under my Christmas Tree? I was screwed.
Mondays are rapidly becoming work avoidance days, so I'm getting caught up on my to do list from yesterday.
Many of you are asking, "WTF is a gigglesnort? A lot of my friends can tell you just exactly what it is. A gigglesnort is something that is so amazingly funny, so outrageously funny, so laugh-out-loud funny that it causes me to snort. And it's no itty bitty snort that leaves you wondering whether or not you really heard it. It's loud. There's no mistaking EXACTLY what is and EXACTLY where it's coming from (i.e. me). And I want to share the things that make me gigglesnort (or come really close to it). Cuz I don't wanna be alone. I KNOW there is someone else out there that will react just as I do. You know who you are.
So to start it all off an email I received this past week from a friend:
A professor at the University of North Carolina was giving a lecture on 'Involuntary Muscular Contractions' to his first year medical students. Realizing this was not the most riveting subject, the professor decided to lighten the mood slightly. He pointed to a young woman in the front row and asked, "Do you know what your asshole is doing while you're having an orgasm?" She replied, "Probably deer hunting with his buddies."
It took 45 minutes to restore order in the classroom.
Disclaimer: I did some research so that I could properly credit the source, but did not find it at the time this was posted. If anyone comes across it, let me know and I will update this post. Thank you!
It's raining. The first big fall rain of the year.
Not that sprinkly shit that decides to tease everyone with the possibility of a temperature drop, but then says "PSYCH!" and stops leaving us hot AND wet. Not from the rain, though, but from the following muggi-ness that hangs afterwards.
Afternoon rain reminds me of another afternoon, a freakin' million years ago (a.k.a. high school). I can't remember what time of the year it was (cuz it was a freakin' million years ago. What part of that did you NOT get?). My friend Robyn and I were at my house and it started to rain. Only it was still sunny outside. So what did we do? We went outside and danced in the rain. In the middle of the street. True story. Cars drove by and we waved. WAVED. We waved at them and kept dancing. After, we went back in the house, soaked and laughing.
There are times when I miss those days. Like today. The first big fall rain. And I would love nothing more than to go outside and dance in the rain. Maybe not in the middle of the street. I'm not crazy. I AM NOT!
Ok, so I just looked out the window. It's raining REALLY hard. And it's REALLY windy. And there's thunder and lightning. I think I will have to postpone my rain dancing for now.
I've totally figured out the cure for my insomnia..........going to work.
It’s a payroll week and I’m busy, but all I can think of is closing my eyes and going to sleep.
Fuck people’s paychecks. They don’t need to get paid, right?
Oh all RIGHT! I’ll pay them, but then I’m putting my head down and going to sleep!
Ok, so I keep forgetting that I’m sending things to the printer. I get up to do something else and then realize I don’t have what I printed so I print it again.
OMG I’M KILLING TREES! I should be burned at the stake!
I need to be stopped cuz it's not enough that I'm killing trees by wasting paper. Apparently I need to burn them down too for my self-mutilation/self-sacrifice.
I'm going to hell.
Good thing I don't believe in hell.
And that the liquor store is just down the street.
Update: So that last line doesn't really make sense to me, which means I imagine that it *absolutely* doesn't make any sense to a lot of people. So, let me add that if I'm going to hell, I'll be the geeky popular wanna be who brings booze to desperately try to fit in.
Look out Satan.....here I come and I'm bringin' a keg to get the party started!
I missed the birthdays for my sister's kids this year. All. Of. Them. The fact that I can't even remember if I did anything last year for their birthdays is irrelevant. Most of last year I was in a drunken haze. So this year, I set up reminders on Birthday Alarm to help me with my alcohol-induced amnesia. Yeah, well...I think I need to upgrade to the package where they send you a messenger that repeatedly pokes you with a special event cattle prod until you actually DO something to acknowledge the event. To them, not you. It's all about THEM, remember?
I'm the fucking world's worst aunt.
So here I am, almost a week AFTER the last of their birthdays, and I am just now getting their cards done. I started with my neice's card. I figure that at 12, she is much more likely to get my humor than the other two (but I toned it down even for her - no need to traumatize her any more than is standard for the near teenage years). So here is how I try to somehow redeem myself:
Yep I know *exactly* how late I am with this. I do. Many days lately, I am a slacker. Auntie Stacey is a slacker! LOL Even though I am a slacker, I promise you I was thinking of you on your birthday. Were your ears burnin'? I telepathically sent you lots of love, so if you all of a sudden felt warmth and surrounded by a big invisible hug, that was me. :) We hope you had a great birthday! You've grown so fast and I can't forget holding you when you were a baby. Ok I'll stop embarrassing you now! Just know we love you! Happy Belated Birthday!
I hope she likes it and forgives me for being such a slacker. Maybe next year will be better. Depends on how much I drink, I guess.
Just signed off from an awesome time at http://www.blogherathome.com/. It was awesome, just fucking awesome. The chat tonite had some awesome giveaways (I didn't win, but I'm still hopeful for tomorrow!) and some great laughs. If I didn't have to be an adult tomorrow and go to work, I would totally still be chatting there now. ;)
I'm more than lightly toasted, bordering on half-baked. The husband keeps trying to talk to me, but all I hear is, "Wah Wah...Wah...Wah Wah Wah...Wah Wah" (& if you have never watched a Charlie Brown cartoon don't EVEN ask, you baby!).
Ok, so I just put on my Beatles CD. WTF? Is this what I listen to when I'm drinkin? Hmmm....not that I can recall, but then again I don't really remember much right now. It's probably the booze talking. Or not. I just might be *that* weird. My friends can attest to that.
Anywhoo, you should totally check out http://blogherathome.com/, cuz these bitches are AMAZING! Hope to see you ladies again tomorrow. Thx so much for the hangover that I can complain about tomorrow. You'll never know how much it means to me. ROFL I should totally go to sleep now. Emphasis on *should*.
There was no way to avoid getting breakfast on the way to work yesterday morning cuz I was starving. My options near work were REALLY limited, which meant.....Burger King. Oh joy. The total for my #1 with bacon and a small coke was $4.72. Perfect. I had a $10 and needed change to pay someone back. I pulled up to the window, handed the worker my money, and asked if I can have 5 $1 back. He stood there. And stared at me. Obviously, what he must have heard was "What is the square root of 5,732,945?". WE all know the answer to that, but apparently he missed that day at BKU. I didn't realize that asking for a specific denomination in my change would give him THAT much pause. Had he stood there any longer, I'm sure I would have started to smell smoke coming from his brain as he frantically tried to comprehend the meaning of life question that I posed to him. Wonder what he would have done if I had asked him a REALLY hard question like, "Do you like green eggs and ham? Do you like them, Sam-I-Am?"
I'm usually pretty quiet in staff meetings. I keep my comments to myself until after when the little groups break apart into their more intimate bitch sessions. Today was another story. I had serious difficulty in keeping my comments to myself today when it came to discussing the merger/layoffs. Granted they were whispered to my friend sitting next to me, but still.....
Co-worker: I wonder what kind of morale booster they will have.
Me: cattle prod.
Co-worker: I'm sure they could come up with a really nice morale booster.
Me: oh...scented cattle prod.
She started rolling & I was laughing so hard I drooled on the table. Everyone else in the meeting was wondering what was wrong with us, especially when she got up to get me a tissue to wipe the table. Cuz no one wants to put their hands in someone else's spit, no matter how funny the joke was that caused it to be there. I think the department head was glad for the 5 weeks where I missed the staff meetings.
I was reading a post from this awesome blog I recently started following. The part about a toddler complaining about poopie in her ba'gina got me thinking (after I got up from rolling around on the floor of course).
The sperm donor's sister had a wonderful son John James. One day many many many MANY years ago, she caught him scratching his boy parts. Really diggin in there, apparently. The following conversation is just too GAWD DAMN FUNNY to be made up:
Susie: John, don't scratch yourself there!
John James: But it itches mommy!
Susie: Well.........just don't scratch it in public.
John James: But what if it ITCHES IN PUBLIC?????
Obviously this happened before puberty set in and his brain migrated to his boy parts & lost the ability to think of these things, ask them, or even give a rats ass about them (and any men reading this,you know you were snickering before you decided to be all offended).
I know I'm not alone in this and I'm asking for your help.
I'm recruiting members for a new firing squad which will have a single purpose: to destroy the creator(s) of Farkle. This won't really be surprising to them. They started this game for their own enjoyment and only turned it on the rest of the world Facebook community when they realized how addicted they had become. This was their revenge against their own Frankenstein monster. We need to put them out of their misery just as much as we need to be released from their curse.
Disclaimer: This is a slightly to moderately gross post. Also, being a former Navy wife, I don't really think that people in the Navy who are on aircraft carriers are cowards or pussies. I have a great respect for all past/present/future members of our military. While parts of this post are totally accurate, my husband knows I'm kidding and so should you.
Every once in a while, the husband has navy flashbacks. Not combat flashbacks, cuz he was cowardly stationed on an aircraft carrier providing air support from a distance with all the other pussies. The flashbacks he has are of the serious hygiene issues that he developed during his time in the service, like many navy men (I SO hope this phenomenae does NOT happen to navy women) seem to notoriously develop. I'm talking about the fact that they lose the ability to keep their asses clean. That is, if they ever had the ability to begin with, in which case, the problem is seriously magnified. Along with this, they adapt an I don't give a shit (pun absolutely intended) attitude towards these issues. In fact, it becomes fodder for jokes. I spent enough time in the house the husband shared with some of them to see these issues firsthand. Hello? Four sailors sharing a house with as many others that could fit passed out (comfortably or not) on the available floor space with no care in the world except how drunk they could get? If there was a line for the only bathroom in the house? No worries, there's always the backyard.
Where was I? Oh yeah. These flashbacks are not pleasant for me. I mean, can I help it if I have a very good sense of smell? I realize that he would rather not be told that he fucking smells like shit (literally). I get that. I actually agree with him; I don't want to have to tell him that either. However, I would rather not be subjected to the reminders of the days when he wore his underwear for 5 days straight. In my mind, not too much to ask for.
