Because I am a Giver, But Also a Hack

You guys, the blogroll to the right ins’t just there for decoration.  You should be reading this shit.  Need some convincing?  Allow me to point you in the direction of some funny stuff that I didn’t write.  I don’t mean to blow anyone’s mind or anything, but there are other people out there who are hilarious and talented.  Most (including me) would argue more so than yours truly.  I KNOW.

  1. This one is sort of confusing because it’s on Dooce but it’s written by Sarah Brown of Que Sera Sera.  Did you get all that?  Good.  To read something equally brilliant and funny, check out her post titled “Lucky” in Sarah’s natural habitat. 
  2. In my opinion, which is always right, Circlestar needs to write more frequently because You Spin Me Right Round makes me do that laugh-cry thing that isn’t super-attractive, but is a damn good indication that Funny Shit is Happening.  Watch the clips she posted here and share in the flashbacks.  Donna gets thrown down the stairs!  Kelly’s mom is coked-out!  Brandon does E!  Holy shit, y’all, it’s like they were writing about my life!
  3. They saw One-Eyed Willie’s Ship.  HOLY SHITBALLS.  Also, I saw a recent photo of Chunk and he’s pretty hot now. 
  4. Bonus somethin’ somethin’ that isn’t really in the blogroll but you need to see anyway: Zach Anner’s video.  I think he does prove that cerebral palsy IS the sexiest of the palsies.  I would totally watch his show.

Go forth and enjoy!


Rock Out with Your Bach Out

Background: we were referred to a very nice lady who is part of a string quartet to play music for our wedding ceremony and cocktail hour.  We spoke on the phone and then she dropped off a CD with samples of popular wedding music.

Mom: “So, she actually told you that they don’t play rock music?”

Me: “Yep.  It’s like either someone warned her that I am ridiculous, or she could sense over the phone that I’m the type to walk down the aisle to ‘Love in an Elevator.’  Either way, it was a good thing she told me before I got my hopes up.”

Mom: “Hey, Charlie Daniels isn’t technically ‘rock music!’  Ask her if they can play ‘Devil Went Down to Georgia’ as your processional!”

Me: “Wow.  I think you have officially lost it.”

Mom: “Do you want me to come over and listen to the CD with you and help pick out music?”

Me: “If you want, sure.  The CD is with the string quartet, but we might just book the trio.  We’re not sure yet.”

Mom: “Get the quartet!  I’ll pay for the quartet.  I’ve been picturing a quartet.”

Me: “Calm down!  Jesus.  I think we can all live without the viola.”

Mom: “I’ll notice the absence of the viola.”

Me: “No one has ever noticed the absence of the viola.  Ever.”


Later that evening, Ed and I listened to the CD, which was very nice and basically gave me flashbacks to every wedding ever.

Which quickly devolved into listening to Star Wars tracks and wondering how appropriate it would be for my mom to enter to the Imperial March.

Very, we decided.

Maybe It’s Good They Don’t Live Around Here, Actually, Or The Fire Department Would Know Us by Name

You guys.  The last few days have been a blur of drinking, eating and laughing and I am pretty sure I am still legally drunk. 

Basically, it was an awesome extended weekend.

Ed’s good friend G (who will be one of the Best Men this October) and my old partner in debauchery, Katie, were in town.  But not, like, together.  Just a coincidence.  All I can say is thank gods for the mega-cooler and our awesome wine opener.  And thanks to Ed for monitoring the oven after we came home from the bars on Thursday night and I decided to be the Martha Stewart of drunken retardedness and make a bunch of mini pizzas (on our fancy pizza crisper, OF COURSE, because we’re not animals) but not actually, like, pay attention to the food cooking. 

Aside from the obvious joy of enjoying the Sierra Nevada Sampler on the patio on a lazy Friday afternoon, there was the added excitement of having TWO of our friends with us – two friends who had never met and yet we all got along and hung out and I love G and Ed loves Katie and it was JUST SO AWESOME TO HAVE FRIENDS AROUND.  Obviously I love Ed’s company and not in just a shmoopy “No you’re prettier!” sort of way.  I genuinely enjoy talking to him about work, politics, our families, our future, our pasts….everything.  I never get tired of being around him.  (And I can only hope that he feels the same way about me.)  But, we miss our friends.  We both need friends – other people – to talk to and laugh with and maybe drink too much wine and almost burn down the house making pizzas.

So, who wants to visit next?  The guest room is ready.

Chico’s Most Wanted

The Scene: CKD is at Safeway, having been dispensed there to procure two 20lb bags of ice for our Mega-Cooler of Beer in preparation for house guests.

The phone rings and I answer; it’s a local call, but I don’t recognize the number.  Turns out, my online application for a local company has generated some interest.

“Do you have a few minutes to talk?” the nice woman on the other asks.

Unable to hear a damn thing because apparently it is Inordinately Loud People and Overhead Announcements Day, I reply, “I’m so sorry, but I’m in a store and can’t quite hear you.  I will be home in 5 minutes and can call you right back if that’s OK.”

“No worries!  I’m about to take off for the day.  How about we chat tomorrow morning?” I manage to hear through children’s wails and employees shouting across lanes.


Buoyed by the potential interview, I bound on over to the checkout lanes, pay for my ice and realize that – whoops – I forgot to check and see if my brand of hair spray is sold there. 

“Um is it OK if I go back to look for something I forgot?  I don’t really want to leave this ice in my car…” I ask the checkout girl.

“Sure, no problem!  Just keep the receipt handy.”

I head back, no dice and push my cart toward the door.

It won’t move.  It’s like I’ve hit something and it WILL NOT MOVE AT ALL. 

People pass me and stare as I helplessly, frantically, idiotically try to move the fucking cart I mean sweet Jesus what the hell?

“Oh, the wheels are locked up,” a kid just outside the door helpfully observed.  “It means you stole something.”

“I didn’t steal anything!  I have my receipt!” I babble as a manager comes toward me with a tiny remote.  I begin panicking that this will go on my permanent record and wonder why I don’t keep my former teachers who were nuns on spedd-dial to give character references on-demand.

“Ok, Miss, you’re all set,” the manager tells me as he clicks the remote at the wheels.  “Sorry for the mistake.”

“Here’s my receipt!  It’s just two bags of ice!” I continue babbling as he walks away.

To say that I hauled ass to my truck is an understatement.

Blogging Year 2: Electric Boogaloo

Well, my little blog has turned 2!  If it were a child I’d be trying to get it to shit in the toilet and quite possibly screaming at it for drawing on the walls. 

(I’m really glad my blog isn’t a child.)

(Not that YOUR two year-old is difficult or anything but lovely.  Oh no!)

(But you know what I mean, right?)

I find myself saying this to myself or to someone else at least once a day these days, but I cannot believe how different my life has become in the time since I moved back to California to start over, and I mean that in the best possible way.  My expectations and faith in people were at a low point, and not to get all Pollyanna on you, but I have been more than pleasantly surprised by the kindness, the good energy, the love and support and bottles of wine…everything that has come my way.  It may not seem like it since I often use this as a place to freak out over stupid shit, but the fact that I have a blog should probably be the first indication that I think I am super-interesting.

And yeah, I am probably a complete asshat for “celebrating” my blogiversary (What?  It’s a word.  No, YOU shut up.) but it was the day that started me on a new trajectory toward some of the best moments in my life so far, and it’s hard for me to keep that excitement to myself.  Thanks for coming back to read this testament to my Crazy and here’s to another great year!

Sangria, Sin and Skeeball: Portrait of a Family Weekend

So, this weekend happened.  And it was fun.  And family-filled.  And I sort of feel like I’ve been hit by a truck or something.  Not that it wasn’t wonderful to have a house (or patio, since the weather was so glorious) full of people, but holy hell, it feels like all we did was run the dishwasher, do loads of laundry, cook, serve, mix drinks.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  It was fun but drove home the point that as much as I have made great strides in domestification and such I am far from reaching Martha Stewart levels of awesome. 

The weekend included many awesome Bubba moments, but also some glimpses into what the teenage years might be like.  The kid has a mind of his own, there’s no doubt.  And also some pretty strong traditional values based on a conversation my dad relayed to me on Sunday.

Dad: “Time to get out of the pool!”

Bubba: “Where are we going?”

Dad: “To Ed and Sissy’s house.”

Bubba: “They aren’t married yet.  So it’s not Sissy’s house.”

Dad: “Well, she lives there too, now.”

Bubba: “She can’t live there!  They haven’t had their wedding!”

Apparently no one has informed the child that this family’s traditions are rooted in living in sin.

And lest you think it was all hanging around the house drinking sangria (which was really only about 80% of the weekend), we hit up Bubba’s house of worship: Chuck E Cheese, aka The Reason Purell Was Invented.

Related: my Skeeball skillz are fucking amazing.  I’m a Skeeball Wizard.  The Who should write a song and rock opera about me.  The big finale could be about me kicking the ticket dispenser while screaming “Son of a BITCH” after a high scoring game earned THREE measely ticket.  What the fuck? 

Sorry, I’m still struggling with that injustice. 

Bubba, when not mouthing off at our father and/or spazzing out over some such tyrrany like being forced to eat, did his part to help brighten my mood.  His dramatic reenactment (with Judy’s assistance) of the classic book Don’t Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late had me cracking up.  It also had Ed wondering what kind of grown woman finds a children’s book so damn hilarious.  The kind of woman you’re going to marry, Dude!

Bubba left his extra Chuck E Cheese tokens here so if you’ll excuse me I need to find a kid to get me in the door at that joint so I can work on my Skeeball.  What?  Don’t look at me like that.

Like Prozac but Without the Pesky Side Effects

So, my dad doesn’t read this thing (at least if he does he NEVER says a word about it) and the man has come through for me in terms of curing my blues without even knowing I had them in the first place.  It’s like some sort of DeFazio-Jedi mindtrick shit!

He and Judy are coming up this weekend and bringing my favorite person ever: Bubba.  It is impossible for me to be bummed around that kid.  He’s that awesome.

OK, Universe, well-played.


My dad put himself on speakerphone so Evan could interject and he informed me of the following:

“I tried to kiss Sydney at school today.”

“What?  Why?”

“BECAUSE I LOOOOVVVVE HEEEERRRRR!” (Imagine that being said in the most dramatic tone possible.)

He also informed me that he looooovvvveees Madeline and this really busty chick* who works at the bank so apparently we have quite The Playa on our hands.

And so it begins…

*Bubba didn’t describe her being busty – I’ve met her before and seen him swoon over her and couldn’t help but notice that she’s got quite the rack.