Out my mouth with the blah, blah, blah

My head is all full of rants today. Which is usual, I suppose, because it's Monday. Whose head ISN'T full of rants on Monday morning, am I right?

Of course I am. I'm always right. It's part of my charm.

All things considered I had a pretty good weekend. I had red velvet cake cheesecake on Saturday with a couple of my favorite people and one people I actively have to remind myself not to kick. But the other two I enjoyed very much. And there was cheesecake. And fried cheese. so really, pretty hard not to call THAT a win.

There *was* a little drama on Saturday night. It was prom night and M had bought a dress that she was super excited about. The only problem was it was so short you could see her scary knickers. I had to veto it, of course. Which lead to tears. Of course. Which lead to trying on everything in both of our closets. Which lead to more tears. Which lead to calling Baby Mama to try on everything in HER closet. Which lead to MORE tears and a trip to Ross. Can I get a Hallelujah for Ross? $17 and she had a short zebra print lurex dress with a hot pink sash. Looked cute, fit great and solved the drama. Well, that and the punk heels I let her buy. Zippers and studs. And about 7" tall. Pick your battles, Moms, that's my theory.

Sunday SIL decided that she wanted to do "something crazy". I suggested she pierce her nipples, find a casual encounter on Craigs List and then do some blow, but NOOOO some people are just no fun. So I took her to the place I get my hair done and while she was there I went looking for swim suits.

WHAT THE FUCKING HELL are designers thinking when it comes to swim suits, anyway? I can't be the only girl in the world who doesn't want my thigh fat hanging out for the world to see. And yet EVERY SINGLE FUCKING SUIT ends right mid-thigh fat. You know that part about 3" down from your hoo-ha? Right there. In the widest, palest, flabbiest part of your thigh as if to say, "Hey, y'all! Wanna see the cake I ate in 1990? LOOK RIGHT HERE!" That's fucked up, that's what that is. And really, $120? ARE YOU FUCKING HIGH? Needless to say, I had to console myself myself with pretzel bites and cheese. I mean if the world is going to look at my pale fleshy thighs, there might as well be something to see, ya know what I mean?

I did find a pair of shorts though.

Sorry in advance for the sun spot that's going to reflect off my legs and cause y'all to go blind. I can't help it. I'm Irish. That's just what color we are. Be glad you can't see my ass. Be glad of that on a number of levels actually.

I did finally find a swim suit today though. Lands End. Can I get a wooooohoooo? Thought so. I got the Swim Mini and a top with scrunchable sides that hides mah belly./ I can't make it post the pictures, and I can't get it to post the link, so whatever. It's cute. And you can't see my upper thigh fat.

Which means? I can go eat some more cheesecake! Did you hear the angels sing just now? Thought so.

Mad Hatter

Want to see where I hang out all weekend? Check out this super cool site owned by a Richard Lowe Jr. Pretty awesome photo's.

Yes, I probably COULD get a bigger hat. Shut up.

Troll

I'm sure that very few of you will believe this, but I'm actually not at ALL out going in person. I am awkward and shy until I am comfortable. Which usually works out fine because I'm a total eaves-dropper and not talking allows me to listen much more effectively.

However, being shy? And working in what essentially amounts to a nine hour improvisational play in front of between ten and twenty thousand people a day?

Yeah.

EXCELLENT PLAN, KIKI.

Especially when any number of thousands of cameras are around. It's pretty much like being a Disney character, but with out the big foam head for protection.

Not to mention that I? Am Crazy. Therefore, I'm always at least half convinced that I'm the subject of a photo so that later, they can be like OH MY GOD! This lady was HOMELY! She's TOTALLY the troll from that bridge! (I sit at the end of a bridge most of the day)Yes, I know. I understand that's Crazy. But still. That's why it's The Crazy. Because you think things that don't make a whole lot of sense. Unless, they really ARE thinking that and then I'm not Crazy! I'm right! HA!

It should also be noted that as part of being Not Brave, random bits of flattery leave me...flabbergasted. Yesterday (which was a Really. Long. Day. at the end of a Really. Long. Week.) I was kissed; cheek or hand, by no fewer than twenty random people. Not other players either, which I've come to accept at least some what gracefully (though there are no doubt other opinions about this) but random patrons, both costumed and not. One? Might have been a woman, which, I can't lie, was a little MORE flattering even.

Speaking of women. OH MY GOD. I don't know how many times I have to say this but, Fat Girls? There are flattering clothing options out there, I promise. There is no reason to wander around with your under butt dangling from beneath your cut-too-short sweat shorts. There is NO REASON for you to allow underbelly either. Skinny bitches? You're not exempt here either. Frozen Iguana invented mirrors for a reason. That reason is so I don't see you and have to physically suppress the need to shout OH HONEY, NO. NO. NO. NO.

Because I have to shout other very important things like "If you wish to continue to the joust, you will find easier passage to the right! The Right! No, M'Lord YOUR RIGHT" seventeen thousand times in five hours.

I seriously can not fathom why people feel the need to stand in a line when they can step TEN FEET and pass freely. Is there some sort of sub conscious need to line up behind others? I wonder, if I were to stand in front of a closed door alone, would people line up behind me?

I smell a new Operation Obnoxious....

(PS. Finally met Long Time Commenter Eric's lovely NEW fiance!)
(PPS. Having drinks with KWR221 tonight! Woot!)
(PPPS. No, I'm not REALLY Crazy. I'm insecure. But Crazy sounds far more dangerous and therefore hotter)

Even Frozen Iguana Poops

I told ZDub I'd blog this week so y'all can blame her for the fact that I'm tormenting the interwebz with my rambling again.

I've been super busy at work, but not SO busy I can't twitter 250 times in five days (not even exaggerating) and in those five days I have declared the following:

* "Vagina" is the new "Aloha"

* Frozen Iguana is the new Baby Jesus

* Sunday is Eat Like an Asshole Day (with credit for the idea given to @biddymcbidson)

* I shouldn't be left alone in a house that contains fabric dye. See also: green stained kitchen counters and washing machine that remains slightly hot pink tinged.

*Pickle Ball isn't the name of a sex game. But it should be.

*White Cheddar Pirates Booty and Barefoot Wine Riesling = white trash nirvana

* Nichole Richie ALWAYS looks high. Or bored. Although she sounds fairly intelligent (or did on Runway) she just looks like she's ready to start making that hang mans noose motion with her arm.

* Zombies are bad conversationalists.

*"Yes Ma'am" is the new "Roger that". "Roger That" of course being radio code for "fuck that and fuck you!"

* as unacceptable as Crocs already are they are infinitely MORE SO when worn with capri pants and black socks

* "Extra-legal" is the new "illegal"

* I need a Purse Monkey. Which is like a Trunk Monkey, except in my purse.

* There aren't enough people in the world named "Shirleen"

I know. I'm incredibly profound when I am having a complete mental break down that stemmed from making FIFTEEN HUNDRED separate pages of photocopies after being told that I suck and should be fired and getting several paper cuts and THEN? Then finding out that they don't need the copies!

I expect this week to be slightly less shouty and slightly more snarky.

If only because my husband is back in town.

GigiBella

December 6, 2008

December 6, 2009

What a difference a year makes! It's so awesome to watch a baby change through their first year. Especially when you're not the one that has to get up with her in the middle of the night. Or change her shitty nappies. All *I* have to do is buy her things that her mother doesn't want her to have (like a box of Kleenex...then showed her how to pull them out one by one. She LOVED it!) and feed her things she shouldn't eat (like nacho cheese...what? She liked it!) and snuggle her as she sleeps. Watch her first drunken-staggery steps and applaud as she figures out how to stand up on her own without immediately falling back down and smacking her head. It's almost enough sweetness bundled up in one tulle tutu to make me want another one.

Almost. Then, I remember that mine? Is three years from moving out. YES!

Reveler

Recently my Monday posts have been effervescent with venom bottled up from Weekend Drama. Not today. I had a great weekend. Doing nothing. Hanging out on the couch talking with friends. Eating WAY too much guacamole (is there such a thing? No? I suspected not) in honor of National Guacamole Day on Saturday. I bowled a good game and didn't get bitched at (or maybe I did, but I was too busy sneaking drinks of Cosmo and playing with my Gigibella. (CAN NOT believe she'll be one in three weeks! Craziness!))

To top off a fantastic weekend of lazy, my bestie is in town all week and I'm going to skip out of work early so we can hang out every afternoon.

All this KikiGlee is probably the harbinger of some sort of getting hit by a bus like drama to come. But for now? I revel.

Not to mention I got a new bra and my boobs look AMAZING. Seriously. Like I HAVE boobs again.

PS. You're welcome interwebz. I know you haven't seen enough pictures of my boobs recently. It's a result of The Crazy. The more that people tell me how "skinny" I've gotten, the more self conscious I become. I never really thought about my weight in relation to my looks before surgery. I was pretty, The End. Fat or not, I work at it. I don't leave the house in my sweats and pony tail with no make up. Ever. Not even when I was on-my-death-bed sick dragging myself to the store for NyQuil. I still put on jeans and combed my hair. Partially it's my Grams fault. I don't think she's ever once left the house with out lipstick and partially it's just that I'm pretty much as vain as humanly possible (despite my POS car) and partially it's that I believe Fat Girls, like drag queens have to Bring It. Sure, skinny girls looks adorable in their little yoga pants and tank top, but us fatties? Not so much. So I worked at it. From the time I was 12. I never doubted that I was pretty until about thirty pounds ago. It's weird to realize how invisible I really was. Now people LOOK at me. Hard. Which, of course, has fueled my obsession with my appearance in a somewhat unhealthy way. Not that I WANT y'all to stop commenting on my hotness...HELLO, VANITY, it's more that now I start to doubt my assessment abilities. How is it possible I looked amazing before only to find that I look both totally different and amazing now? Did I not look amazing before? Was I deluding myself then? Am I doing it now? Whatever. I'm hot. And my boobs look FANTASTIC in my lipstick-red bra. And that's enough.

Damn.

I think those pills for The Crazy are starting to work.

Or maybe it's all that guacamole I ate.

Who cares?

Party on, bitches. Party on.

So I adopted him

J's friend Dr. Brain came over yesterday with his little guy Robbie. Robbie is four and patently adorable. He calls me Miss Thystle. I know, right? He calls M "Miss Boo". HIGH cute factor in this one.

When they got there I was in the process of cleaning house. Robbie, who had never been to our house before was wandering around looking at stuff.

"You've got a picture of Miss Boo as a cowboy!"

"You've got so many books!"

"Your house is old! It's like a museum!"

As he was standing in the living room examining the knick-knacks around the TV he reaches over and runs a finger down the TV screen. Excitedly he turns that line into an "R" and then writes his whole name with his adorable little fingers in the dust on the TV screen before turning to me, face alight, huge smile radiating ear to ear and says

"I can write my name on this TV! I LOVE IT!"

I'm pretty sure his dad wanted to die, but *I* gave that little moppet a bag of M&M's because really, how awesome is that? To be excited by dust? Then I made his day even more awesome by handing him the swifter duster and letting him dust everything he could reach.

As they were leaving he runs over and hugs me and then with his most polite manners says

"Miss Thystle? I love your house. Can I come over and help you next week?"

OH HELL YES you can little man.

In which I type in capital letters a lot

Ah, weddings. So much planning, so much stress, so many many details, for ten minutes worth of "Do you? Do you? I now pronounce you husband and wife".

It makes me glad I never, ever have to get married again.

Wednesday night, my phone exploded with THE DRAMA OF THE DRESS! L, the bride, had hired a dress maker (a trained dressmaker, mind you, not some random person off Craigslist) to make her dream dress. A gorgeous Edwardian cream colored gown with a ruched bodice and a slight train.

What she got? THREE DAYS before the wedding? After weeks of calling and a very lawyerly phone call on the part of the lawyer groom? A misaligned bodice, a skirt whose lining seams were not centered with the over skirts seam and buttons that fell off. FELL OFF. Not even counting into the equation that there were straight pins sewn into the seams, random bits sewn in to disguise a poorly cut neck line and ORANGE MARKER visible on the back. Luckily, CK was on her way and managed to save the dress (blood, sweat and tears were involved) and L looked lovely.

But the damage was done and L, who is a wee bit (read VERY) high strung was already well on the way to freak-out town.

Which is how the photographer almost got stabbed to death with cocktail toothpicks.

Here's a tip, photographers, when the bride is standing in 40* weather, anxious to get the day over with already, telling her to "Just shake out that stress! Come on, just wiggle it free with me! Now, look longingly for your lover..." is a sure fire way to lose a limb. Or all of them.

About that time, I got a text saying "If you are joking about having Xanax in your purse, I'm going to KILL YOU".

Really, though, who would joke about THAT?

Just as L's eye began to twitch, we arrived at the site and I spared several of my precious and within a half an hour she began to calm down. Flowers the wrong color? Eh. The hem of the dress filthy because the veranda hadn't been swept? Eh. People running late? Eh. The minister forgets the part where they exchanged the rings? Ha ha! So funny! Not enough chairs? Pass the bacon-wrapped shrimp!

Can I just tell y'all? If you're sitting there wondering what to get your cousin Francine for her wedding next week? The answer is XANAX.

The wedding was lovely and short (the way I like them) and the bar was well stocked (EXACTLY the way I like them) and at the end of the evening? When everyone was tipsy and half dead from dancing? They passed out teeny-little grilled cheese sandwiches.

Seriously! How brilliant is that? Who doesn't like grilled cheese!

So, I guess, really, this story has two points. 1) Xanax is the magical Tic-Tac of happiness and 2)Grilled cheese is the best party ending canape EVER.

Oh. Three points.

If your kid is leaking snot like the Exxon Valdez of mucus, FOR FUCKS SAKE DO NOT GET ON THAT PLANE and then sit next to me. Or I will stab you. Even if your baby looks exactly like a wee-little Charlie Brown and charmingly shouts HULLO! in the most adorably random impression of Grommit. No free pass will be awarded based on crooked ears and three teeth. None. Snot trumps all get out of jail tiny Chuck Taylor's.

Last Vacation Post. Promise. Maybe.

After we returned to Miami from our cruise, BabyMama and I had about eight hours between disembarkment and when our flight left so we decided to take a tour of the South Beach Art Deco area.

There were about 30 people from three ships on the cruise and most people were, like us, just looking for somewhere to chill out for a few hours. One bitch though...OMG. Had I not still been on my vacation relaxation extravaganza high, I would have gone all kinds of stabbity on her.

From the minute we boarded the bus, she was on her cell phone. Loudly. In fact, the louder the guide talked to try and be heard over her, the louder she talked. At one point she even told her caller that "I cain't hear you, this dude be talkin' too loud". Are you fucking kidding me? The other 29 people on this damn bus just paid fifty fucking dollars to HEAR HIM TALK. That's like THE WHOLE POINT of a tour. To hear the tour guide talk. That's why they call him a GUIDE.

The tour included a two hour stop at SouthBeach so that you could eat, shop* or swim as you desired. As the guide explained to us that he'd be waiting at the corner of fifth where the TGI Fridays is, Miss Rudeness halts her conversation and demands of her companions, who'd presumably just spend several days being stuffed full of pretty much every imaginable kind of food, "Did he say Fridays? Girl, I don't care WHAT else we do, ima get me some chicken wangs!"

Who even knew that you could BUY deep fried and hot sauced chicken penises? No wonder no place else is Fridays! Castrating all those chickens takes SKILL.

*nearly all the stores were chain stores like Steve Madden, Gap, etc. BooooRRRrrring.

Bahama Mama

Oh, kittens. I miss vacation already. Did you know in the Bahama's your cell phone call will cost you $2 a minute? So I spent THREE FUCKING DAYS with no Blackberry. I KNOW. At first, I was all shakey and curled up in a corner mumbling "must...tweet...must...tweet..." but then? I found the buffet. Granted, I don't eat much, but OH MY GOD THE FOOD. I ate far more than I normally do and it was AWESOME. Then I weighed myself when I got home. That was less awesome. But who cares? There were ice cream swans! With chocolate sauce! And candied fruit! And huge, never ending trays of cucumbers! It was like heaven, but with humidity.

(BabyMama getting her eat on)

Holy cats was it humid. 80* and 70% humitity every day. I thought I was going to die. Everytime someone learned I was from the desert they'd say "Oh! This heat must be no big deal to you!" Are you fucking kidding me? In the desert we have the good sense to stay the hell inside when the "feels like" temperature is 115*!

But, oh, the lazing around with the doing nothing and the not doing a thing. That was amazing.

I won't torture you with my hundreds of pictures. But y'all HAVE to see the water.

How is that even real? The color was just amazing. I'm pretty sure it's fake. Like how there are no flies at Disneyland, the water in the Bahama's is specifically installed just for show. There's no other explanation so don't try and send me some long scientific reason because I won't believe you.

Also beyond belief? The service! I want to live on a cruise ship. Not just for the buffet. But also for the fact that someone cleaned my room every single day. And left surprises like towel elephants.

And, uh, towel va-jay-jays. Or possibly uncircumsized dingalings.

wearing sunglasses. Because it's vacation, bitches!

Home

My day is distinctly lacking in the view of ocean and people to bring me things. I demand a buffet, a towel animal and a drink waiter immediately.

Stuff about other stuff

Remember how I'm scared shitless of snakes? Right. Well, yesterday? I was trying to get some stuff down off the shelf in the closet and I'm standing on my tippy tip toes rooting blindly along the shelf when I feel something slither down my back and I jumped back, punched myself in the face, tripped over a shoe, whacked my shin on the bed frame and started screaming my head off. The dogs? DIDN'T EVEN MOVE and when I finally had the nerve to look at what just tried to kill me? It was a belt.

I can hear you bitches laughing.

To console myself from my near death experience, I bought some KILLER new shoes.

I got to see my Gigibella. She likes nachos, apparently. Also, her cousin Abbie who is 2 1/2 calls her "Baby Jesus". Which I find pants wettingly funny. Because I'm super classy like that.

My Old Man dog caught his toenail in the door frame when he was knocking to be let in and ripped his whole nail off. I? Am not a good nurse. With the blood and the bleeding and the blood. But I managed to suck it up and bandage his footy with a sock. You know, because it was his foot. Obviously.

.

Lastly, I've decided what to do about Lea. If I were to call CPS, right now, they would know it was me. And more than that my HUSBAND would know it was me and I just don't need that kind of grief. So instead?I did what any right thinking Atheist would do. I called the Mormons.

It will amuse many of you to know that I was raised Mormon. I know, right? BUT STILL. I was and they still come to my house and try to bribe me with cookies to come back to church. While I love cookies? I don't love them that much.

I know that y'all have your own opinions about the Mormon's already and so do I, so I won't delve into why I am no longer am. What I will say is while I disagree with many of their belief structures, I respect that they have them.

I called my "Home Teachers" who are a retired cop and a retired teacher. Perfect, right? I explained the situation to the wife and asked if she could arrange a sort of sting operation to get someone from their local ward to start "visiting" them. You can see the filth from the front door, so even if they don't get invited in (and chances are they won't) the cat shit a foot inside the door, the stench, the over flowing garbage visible from the doorstep, all of it is enough "probable cause" to call in CPS.

I specifically asked that they go during school hours so that they could also report that the children were at home. This should mean that the CPS case worker will look for school records (home or otherwise).

I am hopeful that this will work. If it doesn't? Well, then, fuck my husbands opinion, I'm calling CPS myself.

Derailed

Hello chickens.

I am returned from the land of Lost Wages, having only donated $20 to the slot machine cause. Mostly because I didn't do a single Vegas-like thing all weekend. No drinking, no flashing people, no yelling "MAMA NEEDS A NEW PAIR OF SHOES" and then stomach bumping a random strangers at the craps table.

Instead, I sat in a bowling alley that was kept at 50* and read a book about zombies. Fun, right?

I only argued with my husband six times, which is probably a record considering the number of hours that we spent together. The only time I even said the f-word was when he started to drive off while I was half way out the car door and then lost my shoe. The swearing occurred as I pointed out that, just perhaps, it was considered polite to wait until the passenger was fully in the car before driving. Call me old fashioned.

Apologies were made in the guise of a Coach purse, which almost makes up for his being an ass, but not quite.

The prime rib went a good deal further down that road, but honestly is it that hard to just BE NICE?

Unrelated to my whining about being married to someone who needs a lesson in manners, I want to know how the hell you skinny girls manage to go on road trips? Because my ass was KILLING me by the time I was done. A new sensation that results, I believe, from a lack of padding around my tailbone region. I seriously considered stopping at WalGreens and buying a hemorrhoid donut, because, damn. OW.

Speaking of DAMN, OW. I am pleased to report that despite the fact my gums are about the same color as a fire engine...the old school red ones, not the international distress green ones...my teeth do in fact look whiter. Apparently, Rembrandt was telling the truth. Still not entirely sure that the pain is worth it though.

Sexy right?

Related to teeth, how cute is Gigibella?

If you look very closely you can see that she has managed to grow three teeth. Two on the bottom and one on the top. Such a clever girl! Even though she feels the needs to howl every time I pick her up. Though I suspect that has more to do with the fact that the last several times I've seen her, her mommy has then left and the poor dear was forced to deal with being loved and snuggled and subjected to puppy kisses

than the fact that she no longer loves me. Because let's be honest, what's not to love about ME?

The little sugarblossom had to deal with my dogs all weekend, since they came for a sleep over.

Jack made himself right at home, because he's got good manners like that.

Speaking of home (what? my thought train has derailed. Deal with it.) Here's a picture of the hair coloring job I did on myself.

I think it looks much different than it did before

But apparently not, because other than the mechanic and the sales guy here at work, no one seems to have noticed. Maybe if I taped a sign onto my boobs that said "Look Up" with an arrow pointing toward my head ?

Lastly and totally unrelated to ALL of the above, if those of you that pray would be so kind as to include D's three year old daughter Violet into you prayers it would be greatly appreciated. Vi has recently begun to have seizures and is currently hospitalized. All good vibes, thoughts and prayers certainly are needed.

Someone else's boobs, for a change

Friday afternoon I was thinking that I was going to spend the whole weekend lazing about my house, eating cheddar popcorn and reading the books I bought at Savers.

Then my sister called.

Next thing you know, I'm on my way to Vegas. Hell yeah, VEGAS, Baby.

We were staying at the Monte Carlo, which should you be looking for a place to lay around the pool and people watching is a fantastic place to be. The pool area is small, loud, crowded and ripe with WTF was s/he thinking? outfits.

Which is nice, should you forget your hat and be left with only ironic Bolivian Trucker Hats to prevent your face from catching on fire.

It's also a decent place to read a book and eat over priced steak sliders and drink giant, expensive, weak frozen drinks.

Once we had made sufficient progress on our tan lines


(these are Krissy Oh!'s boobs, by the way, not mine)

we ate dinner with children wearing fanny packs

You can't see it, but he's got an impressively large bottle of hand sanitizer in a quick draw pouch in the side.

Then we went upstairs where despite how it looked we had not actually been robbed

and got ready to go out for the night.

We wandered around for a bit, hitting clubs like Coyote Ugly (the "ugly" wasn't ironic in this case) standing around at an epically disorganized LAX at the Luxor and then chose to bail on invites to Pure and Rain because high heels are not made for walking in.

Which brings us to Sunday.....

OMFG, Sunday. Let me just say that if I had used my own camera right now you would all be begging for invites to next years trip, but since I had my sisters camera you're going to have to wait until she uploads them.

Cuteness and Wootness

I know all you Emma fans out there are anxious to know how the walk went, and though I haven't talked to her dad, he did send me a couple of pictures from the day.

They got up bright and early if the text time is to be believed. I mean really, what kind of barbarian starts events that requires you be up, dressed and on the road by 9am? Clearly Emma agrees with me.



See? She's all, WHAT THE HELL, MAN? I need my beauty sleep!


But, like the champ that she is, she rallied and even allowed them to festoon her with bandanna's and then snap more pictures.

Then, her dad forgot that he was supposed to be updating us and next thing you know?

Finish line.

Then it's back to the hotel to go swimming with mommy and daddy. Or, well, swimming with daddy, who is no doubt going to be thrilled I posted a picture of him shirtless on the Internet, but hey! You don't want to be half naked on the web? This blog is NOT the place for you.

Check out that smile! What a doll! And you know why she's happy? Because her $2000 goal was met after all! Woot!

A big thank you to everyone who took the time to donate.

Our final blog reader donation tally came from Lorrie, Eric, Sheila, Ruby, Racie and an A. Nonny Mouse. Crabgrass and I also both donated, but I'm leaving us out of the drawing for the purse. Which I have used a super secure drawing method that you all might remember from the game M.A.S.H. which involved drawing a spiral until I was told to stop by my handy assistant Brett. I then listed the names in order of donation and crossed them off every time I reached the number "12" which is the amount of rings in my spiral.

Which brings us to the DRUM ROLL!!!!!!!!!!

Congrats to Sheila! Woot! Sheila has no blog, or I would link it here. Which is a hint, Miss S to go and START A BLOG because those of us that know you know that you are one funny girl!

This is a yearly event, so start saving your lunch moneys and we'll do this again next year with an equally fabulous prize!

Classiest. Wedding. EVAH.

Morning, Chickens!

I hope you all had a lovely Balentimes Day, with lots of candy and roses and sensual massages (aside, I like to say is MASS-ahge like Austin Powers) followed by hours of doin' the dirty if only because I did not. My darling husband is at home recovering from having his guts rearranged and was up for nothing more than moaning for his next dose of Percocet and Jello.

While that WAS wicked fun, I opted to still make my weekly journey to embarrass myself at bowling. Why do I submit myself to a three hours a week of looking like an uncoordinated, possibly blind walrus? Because there is beer and boys that flirt with me, obviously.

Not to let the day pass unmarked, because COME ONE it's was the most romantical day of the year, I performed a wedding right there on lane 8.

Doesn't the groom look THRILLED?

My dear friend Baby Mama is such a lucky girl, isn't she?

And the wedding cake?

MMM, Krispie Kremes......

PS. Tomorrow we'll be discussing the Imaginary Book Club selection"Songs for the Missing" so be prepared to interject your opinion. Or any opinion that you might have gleaned from reading other peoples opinion. Or, you know, spouting off about something not at all related, which you know I love.

PPS. Also, anyone who would like to suggest the new IBC selection, have THAT ready too. KLUBYABAI.

99 Bottles of Beer

Have you ever, as an adult I mean, spent 5 hours in the back seat of a car with your knees scrunched up, a Dramamine high, and people squabbling in the back seat as your family drives to some destination where, when they arrive, they will spend ten minutes, visit the gift shop and then get BACK in the car and drive ANOTHER 5 hours home?

Yeah, me too. And it was super awesome. I did learn some interesting family gossip. Like J's great grandmother was a big ol' slut. Well, actually "a hussy" according to her daughter, who is still not over it 78 years later.

I also got to excersize my new camera taking pictures like this

of my sister in law, which despite my best begging and whining, she refuses to use as her Match.com profile picture.

And pictures like this

which almost looks fake, doesn't it?

And even pictures like this

That smile? Only cost me $5 to get out of her!

Oh, and in case you were wondering, you can Google the difference between Ravens and Crows while standing about 5 feet from the edge of one of the worlds greatest natural wonders, but my husband will still never admitt he was wrong. Even though he was. And I was right. Like always. So suck on that, punk!

Don't Kiss Your Honey When Your Nose is Runny

Have y'all seen that movie "Christmas With the Kranks"? No? Well, it sucks. But that's not my point. I know, right? Shocking that *I* of all people should start a post with a sentence that has nothing to do with anything and possibly isn't related even one itsy-bitsy bit to the post.

You're welcome.

What was I saying? Oh yes, Skipping Christmas. That's the book that movie was based on I think. I haven't read that either, but I think if I were the author I'd be glad that people didn't associate my likely passable or possibly even stellar literary genius with that crapfest. I mean, really, with as hard as it is to get published, let alone have a book that translates well into film, would make you think you'd be pretty pissed if someone did THAT to your baby. And believe you me, a book is a lot like a baby. It makes you want to kill yourself at least once a week because you can't sleep at night and also? It makes your ass fat.

This post has lost the plot entirely.

WHAT I WAS GOING TO SAY is that this year, we skipped Christmas. Well, not exactly skipped it, more like showed up late and then ducked out early. Like the birthday party that you go to because even though you don't like the birthday person, you know the booze will be flowing and food will be tasty. So you eat, drink and bail. That's what I did, this holiday season. I strung one row of lights around the porch and wrapped the mailbox with tinsel garland and that was exactly it. No tree, no cookies, no giant pile of shredded wrapping paper. We cooked the big meal, broke out the booze and watched The Dark Knight on television while Uncle Chuck dozed on the sofa.

As a result, the 8lb 6oz Lord Baby Jesus gave me the plague.

Because he's like that.

So, I spent the rest of the weekend in my pajama's sniffling into a paper towel because we were out of Kleenex and foraging through the left overs for sustenance and drinking a boat load of whiskey n' honey because we ran out of NyQuil sometime Saturday.

The only upside, if there is one, is that I have learned that you can burn 9,000 calories! from coughing.

The line to make out with me forms to the left.

Conversations Men Never Have

Me: Holy shit, that girl at the bar is gorgeous!

Mel: (turns to look) Oh my god. Wow. She's got the body, the hair, the face and look at those boobs. Damn.

Me: I know, right?

Mel: (contemplating current seedy location) I bet she's lost. We should offer to help her. Like, slip her a note that says "wink twice if you've been kidnapped".

Me: Then, when we get her in the parking lot, we push her in the mud puddle.

Mel: HIGH FIVE.

Let the Squishiness Commence

After a staggering 72 hours, baby Gianna popped into the world with TWO pushes as 7:40pm on Saturday.

Can I get an "Awwwww" from the audience?

See that? She's all, WUUZZZ UPPPP INTERNETS! Y'all are my home slices!

She's got dark hair and dark brownish grey eyes and weighed in at a petite 7lbs 2.5oz.

I want to eat her up; she's that cute.

Our closest guess for the arrival time was Sheila with 8:40pm, so Sheila gets the prize! Hooray!