I NEED TO FIND MY REAL PARENTS

Thursday the 23rd: Well here we are. At my parents house in the middle of nowhere. It was the darkest, farmiest, dirt roaded-ist drive I care to take (without my independently wealthy handsome cowboy husband at the end of it saying this is all ours...)  Oh lord. Because I'm a genius and brought my cat -- which makes sense since we only have FOUR dogs here, and on the drive I couldn't handle her pained cries from the carrier, so she got to bop around the car a bit. Thank god most of that was in the passenger seat in a nice bed, but there was an incident in the pitch blackness when I flipped on the light on found her perched on Mr. Passenger Seat like a pirate's parrot. Nice. She didn't scratch "Daddy's leather interior" so we're good.

 My co-pilot.

I also brought a case of wine, plus three of my cheap ass "magnums" (you know the $9 huge bottles -- no not the Rossi jugs -- the BIG bottles)... is that overkill? (And an STV just cause I saw it at Safeway and couldn't leave it there.) I may be here til Wednesday, and that's enough if no one drinks with me, which you can just never predict. I do have cousins coming in from Texas, however. Though my sweet Poppy saw me opening some garbage magnum this eve and subbed in a nicer wine. Why, I don't know. It's going to be the joining together of all my powers to not totally have a drunk breakdown during this visit, so everyone wish me well. Why, you ask? What could make a person lose her marbles during such a festive season of joy?

Because yes, I am that chick you all know that is still floating along aimlessly living as though I have a time machine where I can just jet back to age 20 and make excellent career choices and settle down with a nice guy and have a family. It's so awesome. Of course, any future husbands who come across the insanity that is my life on here will run the other way, I'm sure, so let's not let your super hot single rich guy friend read my blog... please thanks ok. But the problem is that I am fast becoming the last of my kind -- well, and even worse is that this is totally against my will (I wanted to be happily married with wee bebes since about age 21. You know, four years ago)... and thanks to the demon that is Facebook, I am forever inundated with baby announcements, engagement photos, weddings, rings, bridesmaid sagas, family vacation updates, fun mom things, adorable anniversary posts, blah blah blah. It's sucking my will to live. Like the guy that drinks from the wrong goblet in the Holy Grail. 

This is totally not a topic for parents to grapple with of course. It will all be my fault and they tell me all the things that are/were/ever have been/ever will be wrong with me. So would I still freak out and cry to them? IT IS POSSIBLE. Which would be awful.



UPDATE: I wrote all that last night. Guess what else I did? Yep, have a nervous crying breakdown. Night ONE. Jeebus. Just all sobby sobby about missing riding, no idea what to do for a job, where to live... I don't even think I got around to the "I'm going to die alone and barren" part.

As I sit here, my mom is opening some xmas cards, and one of them is from one of the girls in the family that lived next door to us in Boston, where I spent birth to 6. She's probably ten years older than I, and she is not married with no children, but apparently didn't actually want it that way. So my Mother tells me this as though it will somehow make me feel better?!?!? No, Mother. You are supposed to think that no one spends the next 50 years alone unless they want to. But now, I get the special gift of knowing that people might not actually meet that right person. Ever. MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

My mom is slowly getting a little bit more 'something' every year... I don't know what to call it. Not totally nuts, just... something's off. One of 200 examples: she and my dad were planning on seeing True Grit today. So she says to me, "Do you want to come see True Grit with us at 1:30?" And I was severely hungover and wanting to die, so I was like, "Ehhhh, not so much." And she retorts with this totally apropos response:

"How do you not like Jeff Bridges?!?!?" 

As if that is one's motivation for all movie-going and that he will be personally offended that I chose to forgo his film that one day around Christmas 2010. I think Josh Duhamel is rather handsome, but I will not see most of the schmeg that he's in. Somehow I got talked into going, and I liked the movie -- minus the dying horses parts, sheesh! -- but apparently compared to the original it was "grim" -- a word which my mother repeated no fewer than 97 times in her riveting oral review of the film on the ride home. I need a drink.

Also of note, they finally got a decent computer and it's in the kitchen which is nice. However, please observe the actual screen size using my trusty hand as a reference:

My parents are OLD! How can they do ANYTHING on here?? 

Here is a terrible shot of the one I have at work... terrible because I can't get back from it enough to fit it all in with my hand on it.... Not sure how much I can stand to write on the little gnome-sized one, guys...

PLEASE NOTE THAT A FEW DAYS HAVE NOW ELAPSED THE HOLIDAYS ARE SOON OVER AND I HAVEN'T KILLED ANYONE, INCLUDING MYSELF, THANKYOUVERYMUCH

UPDATE: Ok I know I just gotta get this damn thing out on the interwebs so my 3 fans can calm down. So here's a quick rundown. I am somewhat better. Enough to try to make this funny and not maudlin at least.

Some of the highlights:

"It's not even noon, why do you need a cocktail?"

Oh this is not a good sign. I even tried to be clever and put the vodka in a Snapple bottle and then just pour it in my lemonade, but they caught on when I refused a to-go cup (because I am so nice and don't want us all arrested.)

"Here use one of these [my dad handing me a wine stopper]
Me: "What the heck for? Who can't finish one lousy bottle?"

Again, me trying to be clandestine...
My dad: "Oh Christ, at least use a wine glass, not a mug."

Me: "You guys are so funny with your computers, you really should know how to email a photo by now, not create a shutterfly album for 2 pictures" [which my mother does, I swear]
My mother: "Oh yeah, we should just all be taken out and SHOT we're so useless, right?"
Me: "Ummmm.... [???]

On me watching football...
My mom: "How can you watch those thugs and lowlife criminals? Baseball is a classy sport. You could do with some of that."

It is a well-known fact that I am obsessed with Elf (and generally most things Will Ferrell), so I brought my copy and go to put it on...
My dad: "Oh now I gotta watch this idiot act like an 8 year old for two hours??"
Me: "Dad, he's just innocent and sheltered and hilarious!"
"Yeah but that Will Ferrell is a fascist."
"What?! Why on earth do you think that?!"
"He is. He's just a juvenile fascist."

On Pearl the Landlady video from Funny or Die...
My mom: "Oh don't put that horrible trash on again. I think that's child-abuse what they did to that girl."
Me: "But she doesn't even know the words, she was repeating them from her mom. I bet she doesn't even remember."
"I'm sorry but that's just disgusting."
"Uh, didn't Jodie Foster play a hooker when she was like 15? I think that's worse."



HOW AM I RELATED TO THESE PEOPLE?!?!


Oy vey, now I'm all wound up again now, so I..... need a drink of course.

.

Just Random Shit I Would Tell You If You Called Me, Really.

Friday, huh? Well, tra la la. How long since my snark was flowing freely? Alas, too long, I'm sure. I've had finals and xmas decorating, and mulling wine and drinking mulled wine to do, so sorry. Today you are getting another one of those random, here's some shit that happened to me lately with no cohesive theme posts... Yeeeeaaaahhh!!

I'm watching some episode of Dexter that I may or may not have seen twice already. Whatever. I hate this amnesia! Even my stupid 'on-demand' hoo-hah only tracks it for 24 hours. Big help. Why can't the damn cat keep track for me? I should start a journal. Think of a funny way to put alcoholic/drunk/wine/whatever and amnesia together into our new word for my condition. [Side note, I am tres happy that Dexter and his co-star Sister/real-life Wife are divorcing. I don't like knowing that about characters on my 'stories' doing it inappropriately.]

 Look how much CREEPIER they are in real life!!! Ew!

On a fun note, I was crossing one of the insane streets in the FiDi the other night, and it's that "turn right on green for the love of God even though the pedestrians are walking" thing -- basically what happens when you are driving. When you are said pedestrian, you (or really me) brazenly steps into the crosswalk as to say "Fuck you taxi/limo (cause that's always who they are), I have a little neon green man telling me it is my right as a citizen to walk right now. Hit me and give me a million dollars." Soooooo, the stars collided and I happened to be walking right when a stupid towncar took the turn. As I was faced with the broad side of a black sedan, I did what any sweet normal girl would do.... lean back and wind up one's big paper shopping bag (containing nice heavy things like a bag of cat food) and whack the fuck out of the side of this guy's car. Yep. Then just kept walking to my little green neon's man's delight. Mr. Dickface Towncar driver slowed down enough to open his door and yell Fuck You, and this is great -- I think because I watched Eat Pray Love this weekend, I gave him the hand under the chin, Vaffanculo!! gesture and then laughed and went on my way. Why would the little synapses in my brain go "Yell that back to him, but in a language you don't speak!!"Oh, brain, you goof.

I also noticed that the Italians in that movie drank wine from glasses much like my (clandestinely ginormous) lowball glass! I'm so Italian it's just innate!! Or so I wish.

Speaking of that shitbox wonderful fuck you amazing movie... did anyone watch it and think, "Nah, my life's cooler. I would not want to partake in her adventures."? If you did, GOOD FOR YOU! I wanted to immediately burn 99% of my things and book a ticket to Rome. Fuck. It was brutal. Still is, days later.

Wait, back to the streets of SF. It's been pret-ty cold here lately, like 40s and 50s. (So, summer.) I own a thousand coats and scarves and even gloves (and those passe uggs that go to your knees so you can feel like Pocahontas.) I invested in 900 chunky trendy sweaters from Express (listen, when trendy equals something I can also lounge in... I'm all about it.) Skinny jeans, no. I think I have mentioned before that I am part lizard and cannot regulate my own body temperature effectively. I get "back-spasmingly' cold when others are a bit chilly, and then when I heat up it's like I'm a physical manifestation of the way we all think about Fear and Loathing. Just crazy hot and sweaty and shaky and your face is melting... Well, if I bundle up in all my layers, I am comfortable for about three minutes of walking, and then I want to strip naked. I have sort of worked out a new system. I bundle up BUT THEN... I wear flip flops. It totally helps!! Now I must tell you that the people of this city are more than concerned about this ridiculous decision -- yesterday I had no fewer than four FOUR! people commented with concern about my footwear or lack thereof. Person 1: "Girl, aren't your toes cold?!" Person 2: "How you go around without no socks on?!" (I wanted to answer 'because then I would look like a Ninja Turtle), and so on. It makes me feel very rebellious and bad ass. Yeah I'm no slave to your weather, man!!

Ok back to my couch and television. I LOVE Intervention. LOVE. But I am a judgmental Intervention snob -- I realize I only enjoy the ones with the drunks. First off, I think they are just funnier. People on heroin just kinda roll their eyes back in their head and lie on the bathroom floor, but drunks.... they can be hilarious. Do you remember the one where the lady sat at a picnic table at like her sister's backyard and started yelling to God by actually yelling at the sky? It was gold. I think she was at like a box of Franzia (white wine, ew), a jug of Rossi, and 12 beers at that point. So the other night was this very pathetic, young drunk girl who got raaaaaaather hefty because of her drinking and would go to parties that she read about on like craigslist or something sketchy and get smashed and slobber all around. She had this pretty friend who was the nicest friend ever and would follow this shitshow around because she was worried about her. Anyway, the point in mentioning this girl is that she talked about how she panhandles for money (as if you would panhandle for muffins) and claimed to make like $100 a day. This is only interesting because when I started out as a rider, it was common to pay newbies $100 a day. My first few jobs paid me that. When I found out one 'veteran' made $150 a day, I almost died I thought that was so outstanding. Wow. This story really has no point, dammit, but I'm doing a bit better now money-wise in case you are concerned.

I KNOW I have more to tell you, but I am blanking. Holiday work parties with booze at noon are not geared for people like me. God knows what I'm about to get into for the next three hours.
.
.
.
.

CASE IN POINT DAMMIT

So I admit the premise is a bit dorky, because there are weird baby voices kinda involved. Whatever! But this just happened....

BF: Where are you? At home?

Me: Yeah, just watchin some teebee. Grey's Anatomy.

BF: Ugggggh more like Gay's Anatomy! Heeheeheeeeheeeeee

Me: Hahaha yeah

BF: Where's da kitteeee?

Me: She's habing a snack. Iz dat ok?

BF: Lidocaine? You gave her Lidocaine?



...... when I calm down from the rest of the exchange, I'll tell you more.......
.
.
.

Short, Not Altogether Sweet

You may be tragically disappointed to learn that at THE Holiday Party I did not wind up nude or lost or napping or covered in any kind of alcohol or fluids. I swished massive quantities of wine onto the dancefloor, yes, but my person remained clean!! I may have also, shall we say, "Taken a knee" on the dancefloor a couple times... saved from complete 'ankle-breaking and Spanx-flashing' collapse due to the adept inebriated-person-catching skills of my dear Fave Lovely Italian Co-Worker, J.

The One and Only Paris Hilton Demonstrates 

a Version of "Taking a Knee On the Dancefloor"

I also recall taking the typical 214 drunk photos with J, of which we are on pins and needles to see because the camera decided to stay at the museum after we left, so it must be retrieved for the nonsense can be witnessed. If I recall correctly (which I pretty much never do) I think we took at least one photo pretending we were pregnant. The logic of this idea is sadly not in the memory bank. All in all, not terribly eventful. I have zero recollection of the ride home, where we apparently sang xmas carols in the towncar and I got home and ate some leftover macaroni... from Thanksgiving. Yum! We did get Flip video-thingys as our gifts which is rad (and thank god we got them at the very end of the night!!) and the boys got some pimped out Dr. Dre headphones.

Speaking of boys.... Ok, so Boyfriend has this habit (and when I say habit, I mean like second-nature, no filter, automatic response habit) of saying a completely ABSURD version of what you just said if he didn't hear you correctly. And I am a mumbler, I'll admit it, 100%. Most of my friends either say "Pardon?" or they figure it out from context, usually using actual words and things from real life. But no, not BF. Like for instance,

Me: I'm going to make this pumpkin cake for Thanksgiving...
BF: You're gonna make a pancake lake? What is that?!?! (Giggling)

Me: If you go to the store I need some uh, muffin cups, they're in the baking aisle, the foil ones please...
BF: What? You want amoeba muffet tops? I don't even know what those are?!?! (Again, cracking himself up.)

The first few years I would get annoyed and correct him, all very seriously. I kinda of thought he was actually retarded or deaf or god knows what. I think I had a nervous breakdown about it one time and he explained that he just thinks it's hilarious and has always done it. So for while, I just decided to agree, and be like "Yep, yep, that's what I said, get me amoeba muffet tops. Uh-huh." But now that I live with this fellow full time, it can wear on one's patience. Especially if I am hangry (when being hungry makes you cranky: hungry + angry = hangry.) (Terrible, uck, I know, I'll never say it again.) Anyway, when irritable, it is not amusing. AT ALL. So Sunday, this happened:

Horrible long trip to Safeway, no carts so I'm lugging around fucking heavy crap in a dumb basket, had to bag our own shit cause they were swamped, whatever. Finally get in car, head off home, at the first big turn, a bag rolls off the seat, clanging to the floor.

Me: Shit, what was that?

BF: Probably your alcohol, I threw it in one bag

Me: (contorting around the seat to gather fallen soldiers of wine and vodka, thinking 'What twit puts all glass bottles in a bag by themselves?')  Sheesh, BF, you'd make a terrible bagger!

BF: Did you say badger? Why would I be a terrible badger?

Me: (Spinning around from backseat) OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE YOU REALLY THINK I SAID BADGER?!?!? YOU CAN'T USE YOUR FUCKING BRAIN TO PUT TOGETHER A CONTEXT IN WHICH A WORD THAT SOUNDS LIKE THAT WOULD BE SITUATIONAL?!?!?!?

I mean really. Sometimes you just snap. So, following this outburst, there was a period of silence. Then he responded, (and this illustrates the level of romance and sweetness he is famous for), he says in the voice of an angry yet calm father, "You have until we get home to change your attitude or I will make this the worst Sunday of your life." To which I calmly reply, "That is the stupidest thing anyone has ever said."

Happy Sunday!!

Since we were bringing home the xmas tree and lights and poinsettias and grocery treats, we were in fact fine and eventually jolly when we got back to the house and set up ChristmasLand 2010. You know what they say, "We put the FUN in dysfunctional!!!"

Well, I have at least 4,000 pages of homework to attack, but you know me, Priorities! Blog first! I know it's short, so pardonez moi, but deal with it. xoxox

And Tonight I'm Gonna Party Like It's Sparta, 480 BC(ish)

Still no bloody alcohol over here, mates. Which means that things could go dangerously awry at THE Holiday Party this evening -- ie -- my usual pace of consumption will have be on the floor before dinner. But I am promising myself not to do that because the wine we are having with dinny is supposed to be EPIC. And since it was this fabulous firm that introduced me to God's Purest Nectar of Love and Perfection called Screaming Eagle Cabernet (seriously it might be unicorn blood, it's THAT LIFE CHANGING), I trust this will be amazing too.

Had a strange moment last night. You know when you are talking to someone and they say something in response to you that makes so little sense that you just furrow your brow, kind of curl your lip up in puzzled-disgust with your mouth open for a long time, and your brain is like "uhhhhhh, uhhhhhh" .... ?? Like if I were to say "Gosh the sky was blue today" (which I would never say because I live in Satan's Freezing Armpit) and then you say, "What? Skies are purple." And you go, "uhhhhhhhhh" cause it's so INSANE. OK so last night I am trying on my pah-tay dress to do the dry run with shoes, accessories, etc... My dress is a plain hot pink satin sheath thingy, so I am blinging up my arms with 1000 gold bangles and giant earrings. As I emerge from the boudoir to reveal myself to Boyfriend he first says, "Hey Xerxes" which I assure you I did not look like. (Though my heart pitter patters that he made a somewhat historical intellectual reference. I was a classical studies minor in college, you know. Yep, I AM THAT COOL.)

Kinda my look, but not so much.

Then he says, and here's the clincher..... "Why all the gold? That's not very festive." All I can dumbfoundedly force out of my agape yapper is "Pardon?" And then again, BF: "Yeah, gold isn't very festive. Don't you need like red and green?" Ummmm GOLD IS NOT FESTIVE?!?!?! Is he serious? How is gold not fucking festive? It IS the very definition of festive!! From thrones and crowns of kings, and tinsel and ornaments and fireworks and... and .... and... gaaaaaahhhhhhh! Then the revelation hits him, "Ohhhh is it like 'gold, frankincense, and myrrh'?" ..........

How I managed to not drink even after that is beyond me.

Exhibit A:

Poor schmucks and their non-festive Christmas!! Idiots!!

Also, look at that STUPID unfestive tree in the middle! 

Good lord! What a sore thumb!! Gross!!

So anyyyyyyyyygay, I am totally getting into the spirit of the season finally. Boyfriend was adorable enough to string lights and stockings around this ginormous floor to ceiling mirror we have in the dining room and it totally filled me with glee when I saw it. At work, we all decided to be lasy schmo's and not hassle with our retarded fake three piece, 8,000 pound pain in the ass tree this year. I stuck my menorah on my desk and called it a day. Then I added a little light-up snowman (who changes colors so rapidly I fear an anime type seizure may occur) and a penguin and reindeer.... And then I got to work today and was like "Eff this I'll do the tree!!!" And everyone gets to benefit from my OCD and Adderall situation because that bitch was up, lit, decorated and AWESOME in about three hours. I even labeled mini-stockings with everyone's names. And if they read this, they will earn that if their stocking is in the front 'quadrant' (??) of the tree then they are my favorite people. Muahhh-haaaa-haaaa Oh what magic I make with the few powers I wield down here at the bottom of the totem.I really want to put an airplane-size liquor bottle in them, but not sure if I can expense that.

Now I got my Trismas tunes playing on my Pandora station and it is jolly jolly by golly all over the 20 foot radius around me. I gon' get mah hair did soon, nails were done yesterday, never quite made it to the tanning cancer booth, but oh well. Photoshop!! Everything is all hustly bustly here with girls leaving to go get ready and everybody's happy and the guys are.... going to the Annual Basketball Tournament (???) before the party. That seems logical. Bunch of little Harvard nerds, trying not to make the senior partners look too bad, I wish I could witness that gloriousness. But I am so excited for DA PARTEEEEE!! Sarcastic crabapple me is taking a timeout.

So the conflict at this point is either I have an awesome time, things go smoothly this eve, I do nothing ridiculous, and then have nothing interesting to tell you (unless of course other people are buttshows, but I am usually the ringleader on that bus), or some shenanigans go down and there will be embarrassing hilarity the next time you hear from me. Conundrum. This year we lost a considerable number of outgoing 'let's do SHOTS!" ringleaders, so it may have a very different vibe. (Though the ice vodka fountain thingy really had a lot to do with that last year.) This year it feels more like a true 'office party' rather than 'sweet let's get drunk off Macallan 25 and eat oysters and kobe beef because this party costs a million dollars!!' My first year I wore a giant red floor-length 'gown' and thought it was awesome to take pictures where everyone had to make a gangster/tough guy/mafia faces, and also to pantomime kissing the taxidermied safari animals in the wing of the museum we dined in. Then was the first person on the dancefloor with my gay buddy Rob as we jammed out to 'Womanizer.' Yep, just us two on the huge dancefloor. And I was newest person at the firm. Quality work. Last year I got weepy at dinner because Boyfriend and I were talking about 'us' (or rather, Drunk Me wanted to talk about us), and then I insisted one of the guys teach us all the Thriller dance, so that was nice. Who knows what awaits me tonight!! I pray I'm at a fun table. I pray I get the perfect buzz. I pray that I don't wander off to take any siestas in various parts of the museum.

Everyone have a fabulous Friday and Saturday and maybe even Sunday if I haven't recovered by then to say hi!!! Kisses!!!!! xoxox (you too, Zebra!!)

Not Firing On All Cylinders

Hold on to your bloomers, people, listen to this. I have not had any alcohol in 63 hours. I KNOW!! CRAZY! This shows you just how much I am freaking the fuck out about my recently acquired heftiness. Trying to stick to protein shakes, greek yogurt, water, air, almonds, and I snuck in a gyro yesterday -- but that's mostly meat and veggies anyway!! Hiding from salt and carbs and oh dear god alcohol. Course the more I write about it, the more I feel I am jinxing myself into wanting it. DAMN

 Me with my tiny wine bottle

So Boyfriend asked me the other night if I had put my Christmas list together yet. HUH?? We get to have Christmas lists past the age of 20?? Well, it turns out that people with fucking NORMAL size families make lists because they either have a) a lot of people to buy for, or b) because they do a big Secret Santa exchange. But I have seen how Secret Santas go down, and inevitably you buy gifts for like 5 more people because you saw something they would love or cause you feel obligated to because you are closer to them. Kind of a moot exercise if you ask me. So I guess the same goes for BFs fam because they get to make a list of like 20 things!! So I sat down at my computer this a.m. and found myself kinda stumped. I mean do you ask for the specific mascara you want? Or just say 'giftcard to Sephora'? Then I thought, well I really need a tote bag for work... because apparently a brown paper grocery bag every day has even offended the aesthetic sensibilities of the BF. Turns out I really like the stupidly expensive new one from Tory Burch. Do I put that on my list? Is it rude to be like, hey you can get some impersonal giftcards or a crazy 'spensive bag.... go! I would personally not like to be on the other end of that.

I suppose it's nice to sit here and think that I don't really need anything for Christmas -- count your blessings and all that shit. The only things I really would want are things I can't afford for myself (or are impossible fantasyland wishes). Like the Tory Burch bag or a Maserati or a unicorn that poops Gummi Grapefruit Slices (the best candy ever.)

Top Ten Ludicrous Things I Would Like For Christmas:

• Not having to go to work anymore. Or at least having the "You Will Love What You Do So Much That It Won't Even Feel Like Work" fairy come down and hand me a little note with that very job on it. Other than my friend who cooks and styles food for photos for magazines, I can't think of anyone else in my immediate cluster with a truly FUN job. But please, share with me if you do.
• Carrie Underwood's hair. So blond! So shiny!
• A grand prix horse. Because if I'm not working I'll have lots of time to train and show.
• Eleventy million dollars to fund the training and showing of said horse.
• To magically become part of the gang at either Cougartown or Modern Family.
• To lose 35 pounds in 35 hours just from drinking wine.
• Have elves pay off my credit cards. (Really anyone would do, but it seems fun to involve elves.)
• A parking pass at my office. No more MUNI Satan Train!!!
• A Maserati to drive there. (and anywhere I want because oh shit, yeah I don't work anymore.)
• A brindle pug puppy. Seriously they are EFFING ADORABLE:

On that note.... I'm going to leave you with this precious face. (That yes yes I'm sure some of you find bizarro.) I think the lack of alcohol in my veins is making me crabby and not in a hilarious way. I literally feel like my eyes are gong to roll back into my head and I will only respond to people in grunting sounds. It looks ever so depressingly like the moors of Scotland outside my window and I want mulled wine and to crawl in bed and put the comforter over my head. (And wake up thin.) (Yes, I know I'm obsessing.) Instead I am faced with the terrifying tasks of having to talk to my boss about holiday days off, and then go to The Mall to find jewelry for this cock-a-mamie party tomorrow. You know in Liar Liar when the receptionist one day has 100 short braids sticking up out of her head and she asks Fletcher in passing what he thinks of her dress, and he yells back, "Whatever takes the focus off your hair!!" I feel exactly like that -- go buy big obnoxious baubles!! "Whatever takes the focus off your FAT!!!"

 Ahhhhh yes. 

Can't end on that startling image. Back to the pugs. LOVEYS!!!

Want.

I'm Just a Good Little Catholic Butterball Learning to Fly to Kenya

This pretty much sums it up for me:
"So here’s something I’ve realized since I’ve begun writing this cute little [blog]: it’s hard to keep up. I mean, don’t get me wrong… I’m the funniest person I know and everything I think up is pure genius gold. However, I guess I just never gave all the people who do this so mercilessly as a job enough credit. I love to write. I love to say all the random crap that comes into my head. But sometimes? Thoughts just don’t equal big old diatribes or essays. You can force it, sure. But then it sounds dumb and it’s not…um, interesting. As I’m sure this post isn’t for the most part. But that’s the fun of a blog! It’s fulfilling for ME all the time and for you only some of the time! I WIN!"

That would be the uber hilarious Drew over at rocketshoes, and he puts it very well. This is hard and I have no idea what I'm doing half the time most of the time. Either my brain's funny center shut off for the last few weeks or my life is just lacking in absurdity lately. Here's what you've missed out the past 13 days:

-- I gained approximately 1,000 pounds. No, really. I am the biggest I have ever been in my life. My mother's brain could not process the number of pounds I now weigh, saying it could not be possible. And there is nothing worse (okay yeah cancer and stuff) than waking up overweight. You can't undo it quick enough! You can go from pale to tan in an instant, you can get snazzy french tips on your nails in like an hour, you can make wrinkles disappear in a day, turn platinum blonde, slap on lipstick, cut some bangs, whatever -- but no, Fatty, you have to continuously make terrible healthy choices over and over as you plod down the path to slimness. Ugggghhhhh I haaaaaaaate it. Last night Boyfriend had me up against a wall -- wait for it, really not sexy in any way -- because we were trying to zip up my holiday party dress... We did it, but I had to be bra-less and even then I couldn't breathe terribly well. I enjoy breathing, so now I'm debating this dress. And the party is FOUR days away. So, of course, I initiated Project Slimdown. Which lasted 3 minutes until I realized that I couldn't not eat the leftover pizza from Sunday because that would be wasteful and I needed a glass (and by glass, I mean bottle) of wine to calm myself down. Genius.

Let me also note here that I have a special glass for my wine -- not quite as in your face as Big Joe or Carl, though. It's actually a lowball style glass that I happily fill up, thinking "Hey it's a lowball glass, how much can it really be?" Turns out: A SHITLOAD. Randomly deciding to answer this question the other day, I poured myself my normal lowball pour, then dumped that into a pint glass. WHICH IT FILLED. I have been drinking pints of wine.

RIP Big Joe. Welcome, Carl.

 
--That factlet probably surprises no one. Especially not poor Boyfriend, who has to repeat himself 19 times about everything because whatever he tells me when I drink does not get logged into any sort of brain file in my head. It is now the rule that when I ask a question, it is pointless for him to answer, "I told you already" or "We talked about this last night" or "That chip of paint missing from the wall is from the cup you threw at my head" (it was plastic, settle down.) I also get the pleasure of waking up and asking him, "Was I a total jackass last night?" whenever we drink with actual other people. Which brings me to Thanksgiving, where I apparently chose to wander off through my building at some point in the night and take a siesta on part of the roof. I returned to the holiday gathering (with Boyfriend, Boyfriend's Twin, and Boyfriend's Younger Brother) with wet clothes and the exact same amount of wine in my glass that I left with. I then rambled about how I couldn't believe no one came looking for me and that I was just looking at the stars. And then proceeded to have Dance Party 2010 pretty much by myself in the living room for a number of hours. Good times. 

--Also interesting are the purchases that I am making while drinking. This week iTunes sent me my receipt for the entire Greatest Hits of the Beach Boys Collection (what?! why?! it's november and freezing! there is nothing to trigger happy sunny beachy thoughts! what possessed me to buy that?), an audiobook called The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Leadership (what?! I don't want to lead anything! I want to lounge around! what is going on?!), the song Whiter Shade of Pale (??), and GET THIS, a not-free app called Holy Rosary Audio. Yes, this deluxe version of this app, mind you, prays the rosary for with you, in its entirety, in either a male or female voice, with the text on the screen in front of butterflies. Really, Inebriated Me?

--Additionally, I adopted an elephant in Kenya for a year, her name is Wasin and she was orphaned because she got trapped in mud. (Why her mom couldn't pull her out with her elephantine strength I do not know.) And while we're riding on this apparent underlying Love for Kenya I Am Harboring train, I also decided to give a micro-loan to a farmer in Kenya who wants to purchase a dairy cow. Good luck Robert Otunda!! Randomly bought my mom a digital camera after having done exactly zero minutes of research on the subject. Racked up a large purchase at Avon (?? can't wait to see how that turns out.) Bought a photo-editing program and spent eight hours glazing myself into fantasy photoland where I have perfect skin, a perfect tan, sometimes really green eyes (and one where I'm a vampire.) Other totally logical purchases include: flying lessons, three dozen oysters (note: I do not eat oysters), and a bunch of photo Christmas cards that literally took me 13 hours to create. Because obviously I had to photoshop me and Boyfriend into supermodeldom first, and then could not narrow down the choices of either card type or photos for the life of me. And as it turns out, some setting on the photos that made them look all cool and vintage 60's on the computer screen in real life made us orange. So get ready friends for our special Jersey Shore edition holiday cards! Woo hoooo!! Fist pump!!

So I send out the old "send me your addresses" message on Facebook and actually had more than one of my friends reply "I'm scared about what you are sending." So now those people are getting Playboy subscriptions and a live parrot. Just for that.

Luckily for Sober Me, even Drunk Me found $89 to be a bit steep of a pricetag for a taxidermied mouse dressed as Hamlet. I mean, we can't be throwing around money like that when I have the country of Kenya to support.


.