This Post is NOT Brought to You by the Letters P, M, and S November 6, 2009

Hormonal issues coupled with a natural flair for drama can often lead to the most horrifying blog posts ever.  Fun fact! 

 

Today I visited a friend and her new baby girl and had some much-needed Girl Time.  If there’s anything better for curing a shitty mood than a sweet baby, dear friends, lattes and brownies I’d like to know what it is.   I woke up still feeling a bit down and but two seconds into my visit with Megan, her mom and new baby Madison I swear I was cured.

 

I even baked the aforementioned brownies.  I think maybe that helped, too.  They were from a box but still.  I USED AN OVEN.  This is huge.

 

Anyway, this freak out was not caused by Boy Trouble, so put down the torches and pitchforks, OK?  I’m fine.  Really.

I’ve Got Nothin’ November 5, 2009

Wow, day four of NaBloPoMo and I’m all tapped out.  Awesome!

 

I’m in a serious funk at the moment.  One that requires much energy go toward reflecting upon the many ways in which my life BLOWS and I am useless and probably going to die alone.  In a van down by the river.  Eating government cheese.

 

Wow, aren’t you glad you stopped by today?  Sorry, I promise to buck up shortly and be full of “That’s What She Said” type shenanigans and mayhem.

 

Can someone bring me a heating pad?

Because You Needed Photographic Evidence That I Was Ridiculous Back in High School November 3, 2009

When I saw this post up at my dear friend Miz Literature’s blog I burst out laughing.  I vividly remember rummaging through our teacher’s recycling to get empties (Good Girl DeFazio did NOT imbibe back then) and then speaking in a British accent while dressed up.

 

Why no, I didn’t date much in high school.  Why do you ask?

 

I still have those purple pants.  You can totes borrow them.

She’s Crafty 2: Electric Boogaloo November 2, 2009

Remember when I was lamenting my lack of skillz in the creative/domestic arts?  Well guess who has found her calling?

 

I made a wreath you guys!  From, like, supplies from a craft store and I used a glue gun and it was AWESOME. 

 

Behold the fruits of my labor:

 

Isn't she lovely? Please note the layering, textures, and various forms of media blahblahsopretty!

 

Full disclosure: it was not my idea to make the wreath.  In fact, I played a fairly minimal role in the selecting of items and kept saying, “I’m pretty sure we can just buy one somewhere.”  And I am not the owner of the aforementioned glue gun.  But hot damn, it was FUN and such a satisfying feeling to look at it and say, “Yeah, I did that.”

 

You know what else was satisfying to make? That whiskey and soda in my left hand. What? I put it down when kids rang the bell to trick-or-treat.

 

So, if, uh, you get a wreath from me for Christmas/Hannukah/your birthday/your wedding/your baby you’ll know it was made with love.  And whiskey, probably.

No Less Coherent Than Usual November 1, 2009

This morning I whacked my head really hard on the sink.  I won’t go into a play-by-play of the dramatic event but let it be known it was done in the name of styling my hair.  Seriously, don’t try to think about HOW or WHY…it will just mess with you.

 

Of course I went into EXTREME PANIC because the first thing I thought of was head injury.  Ed could hear the great THWACK sound of my skull hitting porcelain and asked if I was OK.

 

“I don’t know.  I think so.  Everything is blurry because I don’t have my contacts in, but I think I’m OK.  What if I have a Natasha Richardson head injury and die later today?”

 

“You’re not going to die.  I’ll keep an eye on you today. Let me know if you feel sick.”

 

“OK.  Just take me to the hospital if I start acting weird or can’t stand up or something.”

 

“I think you’re OK.  You’re no less coherent than usual.”

 

“OH THANK YOU.  That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

 

“You know what I mean.  You’re very coherent for this early in the morning before coffee and food.”

 

“Whatever.  I’m having a mimosa at breakfast.  Fuck the concussion.”

NaBloPoMoWhattheWhat? October 30, 2009

It’s almost November, which in Blog World means NaBloPoMo or, National Blog Post Month.  I, CKD, do solemnly swear to post each day for the month of November.  However, as my friend Habesha Child said, there are no guarantees on quality here.  We’re shooting for consistency and that might mean a photo essay on my closet or my thoughts on Liz Lemon’s hair this season. 

It’s on.

Every Time I Tell This Story I Get “Love in an Elevator” Stuck in My Head October 26, 2009

One of my worst fears came true this weekend.  I was stuck in an elevator.  Claustrophobic CKD was STUCK IN AN ELEVATOR AND COULD HAVE DIED OMFG!!!!!!!

 

OK, maybe I was never in actual mortal danget at any given moment, but at the time I was convinced I was going to die.  In the Concord Hilton.  During a conference.  Can you imagine? 

 

Basically, the hotel was overloaded between our conference, regular guests and a high school reunion.  There were serious lines to get into one of the THREE elevators available.  Yes, I could have hauled my ever-widening ass up the stairs but in my defense I am a lazy bitch had been up since 4am and was wearing heels.  So shut up, Judgey McJudgerson.  Anyhoo, each time an elevator was available everyone played the Let’s Test the Weight/Person Capacity of this MoFo Game and packed themselves in like sardines.  I have some fairly intense claustrophobia issues, but figured I could suck it up since I was only on the second floor (seriously, I will cut you if you judge me for not taking the stairs).

 

Some random dude who was not part of our conference gets on with a bunch of us who are all wearing nametags and whatnot.  I am pushed to a far corner away from the elevator buttons.  Also, away from the door, which tends to make me nervous.  I mean, if there’s an emergency I AM DEAD, right?  Since Random Guy Not With Our Conference is closest to the buttons he obligingly pushes half of them since every single one of us is on a different floor.  I quickly note my luck at being able to escape the elevator quickly (see aforementioned fear of ever being stuck in an elevator) once we get going.

 

We sit there for a good minute, chatting away and realize the doors have not opened.  We have not moved.  I flash to the scene in Speed where Keanu Reeves and Jeff Daniels have to save all those people in the elevator and realize I am fucking toast.  One of the women says, “I don’t think we’re moving.”  People chuckle and make jokes about being stuck.

 

“SOMEONE PUSH THE ALARM OR CALL FOR HELP RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I AM ABOUT TO LOSE IT!” is heard from the back corner.  Care to guess who busted out with that?  Yeah, it was one of my proudest moments.

 

Random Guy hits the DOOR OPEN button, mercifully they open and I push my way out of the elevator like George Costanza escaping from a kid’s birthday party when a small fire breaks out.  It was…bad, you guys.  Like, I hope-to-God-my-nametag-was-hidden-and-I-never-see-those-people-again bad.

 

To top off my streak of good decisions followed by normal behavior…I waited for another elevator.  Do you expect me to take the stairs when my legs are shaking?

 

Be proud you know me.

This Speaks Volumes About Our Friendship. Also, About How We Both Probably Need Help. October 20, 2009

IM conversation at 9:02am:

 

Boy Chris:  i need a teammate for my “Mid-Morning Cocktail Drinking Team”
Interested?

 

Me:  Fuck Yeah!

Grace in Small Things: My Love Affair with Fall Continues October 19, 2009

1.) Sipping tea on the couch under a soft blanket.

 

2.) Witnessing the excitement over fantasy football victories.

 

3.) Crepes and wine at a new restaurant.

 

4.) Season 4 of 30 Rock has finally begun.  Liz Lemon!  Jack Donaghy!  Hilarity!

 

5.) Rainy days mean homemade soup and a reason to bust out the polka dot galoshes.  Holla!

This is What Living with an Artist is REALLY Like October 16, 2009

While getting ready to leave for Tahoe for the weekend:

 

Mom: “Are you packed yet?”

 

Dave: “Uh, no, not really.”

 

Mom: “You had ALL THIS TIME TO PACK.  Why aren’t you packed?”

 

Dave: “I don’t know!  What do I bring?”

 

Mom: “You don’t know what to bring?  First of all, get your suitcase.”

 

Dave: “Fuck it, I’m taking my clothes in a garbage bag like Raymond.”

 

Mom: “Christen, get in here and make sure he packs what he needs.  And make sure he doesn’t use a garbage bag for his stuff.”

 

Me: “What the hell?  You are not a hobo!  Go get your suitcase.  I can’t believe you can’t pack for yourself.”

 

Dave: “I can do it!  Wait, how many days are we going to be there?”

 

Mom: “Forget it, I’m taking her *gestures to me* and you can stay home.”

 

Me: “Fine with me.  I can have my stuff packed in two minutes and don’t require adult supervision.”

 

Dave: “Why can’t I take the garbage bag?”

 

Mom sighs heavily and leaves the room.

 

And SCENE.