"Don't call it a stupid face! What's WRONG with you?!"

Meet Jeem.  Say hi, Jeem.

Okay, fine.  Perfect example of our relationship:  I babble, and he just looks at me like I need a helmet.  See, there's something you have to understand about me and the Jeem.  We're going to kill each other.  It's inevitable.  He gets on a roll with something, starts fussing, and the next thing you know,

He's the only person in the world who can make me that mad that quickly, and I finally figured out that it's because I just love his punk ass that much more.  I have a lot of really fantastic friends, but there's just something about Jeem that's in a different category.  He's family.  Blood.  I'd do absolutely anything for him.  So naturally we fight like siblings because we know that five minutes later, we'll both be over it and I'll still love him.  I'll even let him think he won the argument so he can go back to his normal self.

Stop judging Jeem.  You'd dance around in a tutu, too, if you only drank margaritas the *right* way.  What?  You don't know what the right way to drink a margarita is?  You didn't even know there WAS a "right way" to drink a margarita?!  My GAWD, you have so much to learn from the Jeem!  Observe.

Whew.  Glad we cleared that up.  Always remember, there's sober children in Africa, so it's our responsibility to do it right.  It's GO TIME!

Yeah, that covers the basics.  In order to understand last night's antics, you must know that I love Jeem to pieces, we drink silly amounts of shaquila, and he's going to be a pretty princess.  And he's leaving, which makes me really really really really really really really really really really really really really sad.  Okay, actually, knowing all that in no way can explain how the night ended like this:

But it does sort of help explain something else.  The truth is that every now and then, you meet someone who changes you not because they make you a different person but because they remind you who you are, where you've been and where you've yet to go, someone who keeps you true to yourself by being true to you, too.  It's rare to find a friend like that, and it makes about as much sense as a table covered in mayonnaise, but every once in a while, you get lucky.  Jeem, thanks for being one of those rare, exceptional people, I love you, and I'm very proud of you.

Take care of yourself, my friend, and don't forget that I've got a tiara and a tutu waiting for you when you get home!

For Mayleenda and Matty

Melinda has had the distinct displeasure of having been stuck with me since we were eight years old.  For anyone thinking, "Aw, that's so cute,"  you might want to hold that thought.  The story goes like this.  Once upon a time in the third grade, Melinda and I were at a kids' church function coloring a banner that said, "Jesus Loves Me," and in typical Melinda fashion, she was in her own little artsy crafty world...which basically means she was hogging the markers and didn't really care how badly I needed the blue one.  So, in typical Maggi fashion, I took my necklace, a large plastic heart charm filled with glitter and water, and I said, "If you don't give me that marker, I'm going to turn you into a frog.  Don't MAKE me say the magic word!"  Needless to say, I got the blue marker.  But what I got that day extends far beyond the realm of Crayola because, that day, I also got a best friend who has stuck by me through thick and thin, loved me despite my many flaws and frog threats (and don't think that doesn't STILL come up from time to time), someone who has laughed with me, laughed AT me, cried with me, gotten into LOTS of trouble with me, forgiven me when I probably didn't deserve it, given it to me straight when I did deserve it (and always followed with, "Hey, I'm just sayin'...), someone who has always been there when I needed her, and who I know always will be.  Matty, you're a very lucky guy because I know she'll always be there for you, too--that's just who Melinda is.  She'll probably never get around to sharing her markers though, so these are for you.

I love you both long time, and I wish you guys a lifetime of happiness.  To Matt and Melinda!  Cheers!

The Science of the JBFCs

I've embraced the fact that I am currently of an age where the months of August through November each year are totally dedicated to wedding crazies. And I love it. I love all the parties, throwing showers and making tons of food and decorations and going overboard, getting to see everyone, getting all dressed up, the whole nine yards. Ric, on the other hand, thinks I've lost my mind and would just as soon not speak to me until December for fear of, "What's for dinner?" being answered with, "Did I tell you I'm going to host 12 bridal showers, a birthday party, and a bat mitzvah for my friend's Jewish dog?" I just thrive on the chaos of it all.

This past weekend was a fantastic example of such chaos. I rode up to the ATL with Mandy, so that pretty much speaks for itself. For starters, we were late. In order to fully understand the dynamics working in my group of friends, I'm just going to start putting things into the format of scientific theories I've developed, and believe me, there's method to this. For example, I rode up with Mandy, and we were late. This is called the Maggi/Mandy Uncertainty Principle--basically, when two people, namely Maggi and Mandy, are moving at a certain velocity toward a specific destination, there is no certainty in knowing firstly when we will arrive at said destination or secondly, where the hell we actually are. Our road trips are usually something like this:

So we get to the party...sort of. Actually, we get to the apartment complex, walk to the wrong building, realize we're in the wrong building, walk to the next building, go to the wrong floor, knock on the wrong door, realize we're knocking on the wrong door and haul ass away from said door before we look like idiots to anyone witnessing this spectacle other than The Almighty, who already knows we're idiots, and finally make it to the right door. I'd love to concoct some explanation of this one in science terms, but the truth is that we're just idiots, and there's no accounting for that.

At any rate, we're at the party, and things are going pretty typically for a lingerie shower/bachelorette party--booze, bras, and games, but you know it can't stay that tame the whole night because it's Mel's bachelorette party, and when you combine that woman and her whole entourage of awesomeness, there's bound to be chaos. I'm calling this The Melinda-Entropy Correlation. The First Law of the Melinda-Entropy Correlation states that, when in the company of Melinda, disorder will constantly increase. The party bus shows up, and there goes a herd of drunk women in cocktail dresses and heels (plus Patrick, poor guy) lugging assorted beverages, bottles of booze, cups, ice, penis straws, purses, cigarettes, whips, chains, and band-aids through the parking lot. Not to the bus though. Nope, we can't find the bus, so we roam around, we stand there staring at each other, we do some more traipsing, and finally someone comes to corral the masses in the correct direction.

The whole experience of the bus would've been a blast had we banned stilettos--stumbling people plus heels plus booze equals impaled feet. This is where the Second Law of the Melinda-Entropy Correlation comes in. The Second Law states that, when the forces of Marlene and Melinda collide in a closed system (say, a party bus), someone WILL wind up wearing a beverage or ten, and MANY will accumulate injuries.

Let's just say it shall suffice to conclude that Marlene owes Mandy a foot and Melinda a dry cleaning, but hey, shiz happens. Aside from all of us flailing drunkards wreaking havoc in heels though, I seriously wouldn't have minded just riding around on the bus the whole night because it was a lot of fun!

Onward to the drag show. I have to pee, so I head straight for the bathroom, where I find a completely beer-soaked Melinda fuming about the Second Law of the Melinda-Entropy Correlation. It is of relevance that you know that the door to the women's bathroom at this place didn't close. You need to know this in order to understand the Third Law of the Melinda-Entropy Correlation: there is a direct inverse relationship between Melinda's alcohol consumption and modesty, therefore, the more booze, the less "give a damn" she has about peeing with the stall door AND the bathroom door open to everyone at the bar, so she just does this:

This is also why she didn't seem to care about flashing her goodies to everyone while I tried to detangle the battery pack of her "Bachelorette" sash from her panties. Most importantly, it's usually hilarious and one of many reasons why I adore her.

At this point, mamacita needs a smoke, so I head to the bar, point at a man with my penis straw and tell him mine is bigger than his, which distracts him long enough for me to get in front of him in line, get a rum and coke, then head out back for nicotine and run into Mandy and Denise. Denise had been misdirected to the bathroom, wound up in the mens room, decided even at a gay bar that perhaps she should pee with those who have the same parts as herself, wound up in the upstairs women's bathroom, encountered a delightfully drunk Marlene who proceeded to tell her she's always loved her since the moment she met her because she had her at hello or some Jerry Maguire sentiment like that, and so Denise decided she'd rather just pee in her shoes than deal with estrogen because homey don't play dat, and back down the stairs she came to chill with us until I informed her that there was another bathroom downstairs. Back to the bathroom we go, and we wind up in line behind some frisky groping lesbians. By this point, Denise has to pee, Mandy has to pee, and I have to pee again. Somehow this led to me flashing the lesbians so they'd go faster, and Mandy, Denise, and I went into the stall together to save some time (and give the line behind us something to cheer about).  Mandy took this as an opportunity to torture me while I was helpless and vulnerable...

while Denise tried to find logic in why one can't pee with Mandy accompanying without a mooning taking place. I smack her ass to get it out of my friggin' face (Mandy's not Denise's; Denise isn't evil), the line outside cheers again, and we finally make our way out of the bathroom, light and fluffy, to discover that the drag show has started and Marlene is dancing with a drag queen. This seriously has GOT to be one of the FUNNIEST things I have EVER seen. It's also an anomaly in my research because there's no way in hell I could've ever predicted Marlene would be gettin' down with her bad self grinding with a drag queen!

It is during this performance that I first realize that Caitlin is shnockered--the realization hits me right about the same time her bootay hits the floor. This brings up the next discovery I made over the weekend, Caitlin's Law of Universal Gravitation. Basically, every particle in Caitlin's being attracts Caitlin to the floor with a force that is directly proportional to the amount of alcohol she has consumed. So by this law, when Caitlin had not had that much yet to drink, she only tripped. At the drag show, the booze was up, so Caitlin was down, but this time with a little more force. By the time we got back on the bus, drank some more, then arrived at Cosmo Lava, Caitlin's boozacy was to a degree strong enough to not only pull her to the ground but to accomplish this:

Yes, that's her hair extension in the background, and no, Caitlin doesn't have a ridiculous Giada DeLaurentiis head or man shoulders in real life.  Stop judging me! Naturally, because Caitlin's a classy chica, her first concern was mortification over having flashed her "sha-nay-nay" to the free world, so I assured her that she fell with dignity, nobody saw her Lindsay Lohan, AND mad props on the wooble guarding. Finally content with this, Caitlin drinks the water the bouncer so kindly brought over for her, declares, "Ah, fuck it" to the hair extension, which Mandy then throws over the balcony, and away we go.

For some odd reason, Mandy thinks we need more drinks and buys a round. This is because she is evil and likes that, for once, everyone is falling except her (just kidding). Somehow, Caitlin manages to knock her drink over on my ass, then decides to embrace the Fundamental Principle of Equal Alcohol Consumption, ie. All drinks are created equal as long as their alcohol content is the same and the drink is within reach.

So yeah, she highjacks my drink, I get it back mostly empty, and I have to laugh because I'm usually the drink thief, so this is just hilarious.

Time to go. On the walk out the door, I command Caitlin to use my elbow for walking because she's no good on her own, somehow she still manages to trip herself, and I get her to sit for a minute, during which Mandy gets the phone number of the bouncer. We walk out to the bus, and en route, what to our wondering eyes should appear?  Take a wild guess...

"Fuck it, I LIKE this hair!" exclaims Caitlin, picking it up--yeah, she can't walk, but she can squat in the street to pick up her extension without so much as wobbling. THAT'S dedication, my friends! She gets on the bus, the very confused driver asks what the hell she has under her arm, and I reply with, "her hairdid," like it's perfectly sensible, and we're off.

Most of the bus ride back is spent with me on my knees on the bus looking for the lid to the rum, which I dropped when the bus hit a bump. This is also when I poured my entire drink all over myself and my cigarette, which I still tried to smoke even though it was out and never coming back. Patrick, being the CHAMP that he is, attempts to help me find the lid, but it's a goner, so I begin trying to drink as much of the rum as possible so as to waste as little of it as possible. Totally explains why I was fine the whole night until we got back, then BLAH. I didn't even remember until the next day that, when we got off the bus, Mandy and I crammed into the doorway of Justin's truck to harass him while Denise danced in the parking lot and made up songs about how all her friends are crazy. At least Justin was warned.

Oh, and for anyone who thought, "hey, where's mention of the rest of the girls in this?" I direct you to the Theory of JBFC Dispersal. This theory addresses JBFC movement away from an existing population, thus affecting population dynamics. Essentially, we scatter, and for this reason, I really have no clue where Missa and Dessi were for the majority of the evening. If one were to apply the Maggi/Mandy Uncertainty Principle to the two of them, chances are that they don't have a clue where they were the majority of the evening either. =D

So yeah, that was my saturday night, and I have to say it was hella fun. Now back to normalcy with the hubs and my other main man...

Oh, the things I do for science...

Another One Bites The Dust =D

I remember a time many years back when my friend Rachel's attitude toward men and marriage and the whole nine yards was, and I quote, "Haha...NO." Then along came her current man friend, a really nice guy, and the next thing you know, it's last night. I'm sitting on the couch brushing the cat's teeth, which is kind of a story in itself, and Rachel sends me and Ric a text message. "You guys have to come out tomorrow night. We have a wedding to plan. =)" So I send back, very eloquently, you know, because I like to keep it classy, "SAY WHA'??!?!?" So I inform Rachel that Ric is now officially deaf from my shrieking and the cat has toothpaste in his ear. Now this is a perfect example of why I adore Rachel. She calls after she gets that message, not to do the whole girly shrieking, "OMG IM ENGAGED, WOOHOO!" bit, but because she's accustomed to babysitting my goofy ass, and there are times where I'm doing something really stupid and Rachel calmly steps in to tell me I'm an idiot. Sometimes she just checks in to see if I'm *about* to do something stupid but haven't quite gotten there yet. So she calls, Ric answers, and there's no greeting or anything. Just Rachel, flabbergasted, exclaiming, "TOOTHPASTE?!" That's Rachel for you. Even in a moment of sharing her joy and excitement with her friends, she puts it on pause to make sure when she next sees me that both of my eyeballs will still be inside my skull. As for the cat, well, much to my surprise, he has embraced the brushing of his stanky skanky teeth. The whole time Ric was talking to Rachel, there was Bentley on my lap, sprawling, casual, literally grinning at me so I could brush his teeth with kitty paste--which smells delightfully minty, might I add. I was expecting fishy or poultry smelling goop, but it's been tempting to use the shit myself. Props to the guys at Pet Dental for designing a product that doesn't require rinsing because I was NOT looking forward to trying to teach the Beebs how to gargle. Training him to throw up in the toilet was enough of an adventure...and a really fun moment on the rare occasion that company is over and the cat feels the need to purge. Nothing is funnier than having drinks with friends and the CAT being the one hanging over the toilet bowl. Next time, I may sit a bottle of rum in there with him and take a picture. Kitty hangover. That has college poster written all over it.

Oh, and for any of you who have ever heard me say that I'm pretty sure I'm going to Hell because I'm evil, I've changed my mind. I went there monday night, and it sucked, so I guess I'll have to behave. What, don't believe me? WE HAD TO RUN TRIVIA AT THE TAP WITH NO AIR CONDITIONING. Recently refinished wood that still smells like varnish. Bright lights on over all the bottles. No cold beverages because all the coolers croaked, too. You could literally see the heat radiating off the surfaces in the bar. It was so hot that most of our regulars came in, stood there for a few seconds processing that the rubber in their shoe soles was melting into the floor, then about-faced it and left. We only had two teams playing trivia, and a couple of isolated non-players hanging out. So we did what any good trivia leader would do on a dead night. We got inventive. Our tie-breaker for the evening was a dance-off. Unfortunately, none of the teams ever tied; fortunately, out of sheer desperation, two guys volunteered to make asses of themselves just to try to keep people from leaving. Dave and Jimi battled it out to "I Touch Myself." I'm an evil mastermind. Sigh. I'm going to Hell. Do you think they'll let me organize dance-offs there, too?

Gonna Be An Interesting Summer!

Holy Cannoli, this blog's spellcheck doesn't recognize the word "cannoli" ?!?!? Oh uh, that wasn't what I was exclaiming about; I just got distracted. Anyway, where was I? Oh. Right. HOLY CANNOLI, this summer is going to be cah-raz-ay! We're getting Sean tonight and will have him for a week. This year's wedding extravaganza is in full swing, complete with a number of weddings, showers, bachelorette parties, shopping for gifts, shopping for shower supplies, shopping for bridesmaid dress, attempting to lose weight to not look like Jabba the Hut in said bridesmaid dress, shopping for awesome dress to wear to wedding in which I am NOT a bridesmaid, and so on and so forth. Then there's our impending vacay to NYC and DC with the kid, which I'm slightly nervous about because, with our luck, we will manage to lose the child somewhere in Chinatown or something. Or I will stealth mode into Manolo Blahnik, bankrupt us, we'll be homeless, and I'll be the OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN HER SHOES... is it bad that I don't find that particularly upsetting? My cousin's baby shower is coming up in two weeks (was originally next weekend, but the baby came early, so now it's less a baby shower and more a show-me-the-baby shower). The more stuff that gets added to the calendar, the more I realize that I should REALLY buy a calendar. I can't lie, though--I'm loving every minute of it. I thrive in chaos. It makes me realize how much I want out of C-town though. The majority of the time, there's nothing going on, and I'm so bored. I really wish the husband friend would just do my bidding and us move to Atlanta already...or to Raleigh or Charleston or pretty much anywhere away from here. I think I'm getting a little stir crazy.

I CAN HAZ PUPPY, NOT POOPY

I really don't update often enough. Oh, and I'm procrastinating, so there ya have it--some things never change. So rumor has it that one of my cousins has apparently kind of mentioned that she and her husband may start trying for a baby some time in a year or so, and it made me realize something. Hearing her news made me sigh with relief that it took some of the pressure off me within my family. I get excited over the idea of having a dog even though I know it'll be years before I can, but when it comes to having a kid, the idea usually just makes me feel nauseated. Sometimes I think I'd like to have a kid some day, but then when I really think about it, and I mean like REALLY think about it, I realize that my only interest in having a kid is because the clothes are cute, and I like naming things. It's probably also telling that in a comment about children, I said I like naming THINGS. That's a sign--I need a doll, not a kid. Some would tell me all this is simply pre-parenthood paranoia, that all parents-to-be go through this phase. I think it's just the self-awareness to realize that I'm better off living vicariously through other people's children...and that I should get a Great Dane. She shall wear a tutu, and I shall name her Allegra Pandora Eugenia Sophia. Just a thought...

Oh, and all this kids thinking sounded too familiar, so I wasn't sure if I had posted something similar before. This led me to checking out my old blog posts. Do you ever go back and read your old posts and think to yourself, "My GAWD! I. AM. HILARIOUS." or is that just a me thing? Really though--I'm a hoot.

For Meghan... =)

I received a rather interesting email today via facebook asking that I write about a memory from Meghan and Josh's wedding for a family writing project in a class for Meghan's Master's (go Meghan, woot!). Being as I have a significant buzz thanks to Mandy making me dinner (go Mandy, woot!), I figured why not at least blog something, right? So I'm going to babble now...

I'm a very fortunate person, and by very fortunate, I mean that most of my best friends in life have been a significant part of my life for a minimum of a decade. There's a weird sort of bond amongst those people, a bond that means that my family is their family, and theirs mine, so I may only have a certain number of siblings via biology or marriage, but when you factor in those siblings that are what I shall call siblings by choice, I have a really silly number of brothers and sisters. Meghan is one of those sisters. Her brother, Ethan, has been a wonderful friend to me over the years, more like a brother than a friend, the kind of guy who can guarantee you a multitude of laughs, a ride home should you find yourself stranded without transportation, and someone who can always be counted on for a brutally honest opinion regardless of whether you asked for it (some may find this troublesome, but this is ultimately the first and foremost reason why I love him dearly). When I received an invitation to Meghan's wedding, it was an automatic response--why, OF COURSE I would be there, not only because the little sister of one of my greatest friends was getting married so my sort-of-could-have-been-but-not-really-little-sister was getting married, but also because Ethan was deployed, so he himself could not attend. It felt like I wasn't only attending for myself but also to represent Ethan, if that makes any sense at all. So we went to the wedding, and we had a marvelous time. Now, I don't tend to be one to cry by any means, but this wedding choked me up--I know how close Ethan and Meghan are, so for him to not be able to be there got to me over and over again, and I knew this would be the case well before the wedding, so I went into the occasion with a plan of action. My big bad "make Ethan a part of the wedding regardless of where he is" plan was to take a picture of Meghan with all of Ethan's friends in attendance, leave a space for Ethan, and photoshop him into the picture so that he could be there in a picture with his sister and all the rest of the people who love him, so that's exactly what we did. Meghan, her new husband, and all of Ethan's close friends who were in attendance gathered during the reception, left a space next to Meghan (because where else would Ethan have stood but next to his little sister, the beautiful bride?), and we took a ridiculously cheesy picture because it's what would have happened if Ethan were there...and did I pick an appropriate picture of Ethan to be photoshopped into this image? Don't be silly. I scoured every image of Ethan accessible to find the goofiest-looking one possible, and VOILA! There he was in the middle of all the rest of us, looking equally ridiculous because that's how it should have been. What I remember most about the Knobloch wedding is the love that was there, not just between Meghan and Josh but between family and amongst dear friends. That night was everything a great wedding should be--a loving couple, a close knit family that loves and laughs together, a circle of friends that have been through it all together, and space left to love and remember those who couldn't be there.

This reminds me--I still need to see if Hezza can send me her far less blurry copy of this to be shopped since my point-and-shoot hates dim lighting, ARGH!

Ah, If Only...

We had a really fantastic time in England, saw some AH-mazing stuff, yaddi yaddi blah blah blah, you've already heard all that. What is still sticking with me after all this time? Tea. Tea! Every morning at breakfast, they'd bring a full tea service to our table, and nothing was more relaxing than sitting there, sipping a steaming cup of hot tea (or coffee; I'm indecisive), feeling the caffeine seep into my bloodstream, waking me slowly, gently, pinkie finger poised above the delicate little handle of my teacup, the teacup perched so daintily upon its saucer. Sure, I can make tea here, but drinking it out of a coffee mug someone once gave me Christmas candy in just doesn't feel the same. Ah, if only I had stealthily smuggled bits and pieces of the tea set out of the Marriott in my purse! I want the full proper tea set--tea pot, teacups, saucers, sugar bowl, creamer, and serving tray. And in the words of Veruca Salt, I WANT IT NOW!!!! Preferably in a cute color or pattern, but yes, I'm completely obsessed with the idea. I went through this same phase a few months ago with wanting a cute apron, and my mother-in-law, completely unaware of my obsession, read my mind and got me a blue polka-dotted apron with green trim that I ADORE...so much so that sometimes I match my clothes to the apron while making dinner and put on pearls and heels. I pose and smile widely as I remove casseroles from the oven in my best irreverent impersonation of June Cleaver. Ric just rolls his eyes. As long as I'm feeding him, he doesn't care so much that I've lost my sanity, haha! I have a lot of other "house fluff" items that I'd love to purchase--I'd love a multi-tiered dessert stand (this is inspired solely by my craving for cupcakes, which began and has held on since I started trying to lose a bit of weight. I literally dream about cupcakes; the other night, I dreamt that I had icing on my nose and was trying to lick it off, but my tongue wouldn't reach, and I didn't have any arms). I'm also researching like a fiend on couches right now because ours has officially come to an end (we just haven't had the cheddar to replace it yet, but this bad boy's done), and I want to put curtains everywhere. I keep these thoughts away from my mother because she would immediately begin lecturing me on how I'm probably nesting and that it's my body's way of letting me know I'm ready for children, but the truth is I just watch too much hgtv and Martha Stewart. And you KNOW how Martha is!! She's like a wacky cult leader--a little creepy, has a few too many answers for everything, and I don't think she has a soul, but somehow, she gets under your skin! Maybe I'm just diverting blame to Martha because I want to buy a house, but right now we can't, and I know that's predominantly my fault. Ah, if only...if only the price on my darling would drop by about $100,000, then I'd be a very happy girl indeed!

I know I'm driving the hubs insane, but I CANNOT stop obsessing over home decor sites lately. I'm so hooked on House of Turquoise that I leave the window open on my laptop when I go to bed so that I don't have to find where I left off in my eye candy when I go back to perusing the next day. Sad, I know, but I LOOOOOVE blue, and the site has some of the most gorgeous rooms on it! My other recent addiction is food sites. Something has happened to me of freaky Martha Stewart proportions, and I just can't explain it. I mean, last week, with no explanation whatsoever, I got into the most reeeeeDONKulous cleaning frenzy of my life. Ric came home from work, starving of course, and I refused to make us dinner until I was done clorox-ing the baseboards in the kitchen. Then, when I got to dinner, you'd think after having been cleaning like a crazy person for TWELVE HOURS (literally, twelve hours), you'd think I'd want to make something quick and easy, right? Something like a sandwich or a frozen pizza or something microwaveable. Nope. The woman whose mother-in-law gave her a fire extinguisher as a birthday present just a couple of years ago can now make Tuscan Garlic Chicken with Wilted Spinach and Roasted Potatoes that is so good you'd weep for it.

This is a skill that I apparently developed just in time--the Nana had back surgery friday morning, and when my sister and I went back to see her right before the surgery, my drugged up Nana felt it was DIRE to lecture me and my sister on the importance of cooking every single day. "You have to cook...you have to every day to cook because you cook what you cook, and you need to cook it. Every day to cook, do it. Did you see my cute booties?" Yeah, so Nana was high as a kite, but even so, she seemed like it somewhat put her mind at ease knowing that at least one of us had learned to cook something...or it could've been that we humored her and told her that her booties were lovely. Who knows? At any rate, the Nana is fine, life is good, and now I simply must sneak a peek at House of Turquoise again...

Sleep-Deprivation Hits New Low.

I've come to the distinct conclusion that my cat is a masochist. Granted, I don't think he's intellectually or psychologically aware of his condition, but he must be because only a masochist would do things dumb enough to muster my wrath in the middle of the night, yet he continues to do so. Yes, Bentley, I know you're a fat rascal, and I know you prefer your food bowl to be overflowing at all times, but I DO NOT need you to stand on my eyes at four am to remind me of the fact that you're a fat rascal. It's enough of a reminder when you're sitting on my chest and making me short of breath. This morning, I fiiiinally managed to fall asleep after several hours of restless wakefulness, only to be awoken because something smelled distinctly of fish. Well, not fish, exactly...more like fish breath. Yeah. Since I had my arm flung over my eyes to prevent his usual assault, he decided his new method would be to bite my nose, so when I woke up, he was sitting on me, just casual, hanging out, chillin' really...with my nose in his mouth. I swat him away, roll over to hide my face, and mere moments later, I hear the sound of slobbery chewing. THAT DAMNED CAT IS EATING MY HAIR. We had to have a talk. Said talk went something like this:

Me: Bentley, you know I love you dearly, right?

Bentley: ::blank stare::

Me: And I really am going to feel guilty about it if I have to kill you.

Bentley: ::cocks head to the side trying to be cute::

Me: No, I'm not going to pet you right now. This is serious. You have to behave yourself, or I'm going to turn you into a hat.

Bentley: ::reaches out and puts his paw on my nose::

Me: ::talking around the big furry foot on my face:: Bentley, I'm going to count to three, and if you don't unpaw my nose, you WILL regret it. 1....2...

Bentley: ::claws come out, slowly beginning their descent into flesh::

Me: 3! That's IT!

Bentley: ::flips himself completely sideways, lands on his back in the crook of my arm, looks up at me, and begins purring::

Me: Okay, well, maybe I counted too fast this time... ::scratches his head::

Oh well, if ya can't beat 'em, love 'em.

FAT TUESDAY CAN BITE ME. Okay, so being as I haven't gone out and acted like a total drunken idiot in years because apparently marriage has settled me--people say this to me all the time. Um...not accurate. I only mellowed because I gained a bunch of weight and don't feel comfortable being "that girl dancing on the stage" at all. You know "that girl"--the one everyone points at and says, "Oh my GAWD! Does she know her gut roll is bouncing in rhythm to the music!?! EW!" Where was I? Oh, right. Fat Tuesday. Mandy came over to hang out for a bit, and we decided since we knew we were going downtown later that we should pregame. I had four beers and two rum and cokes, apparently having forgotten the old adage about what happens when you have beer, then liquor. Oh, and yes, in my "I'm READY to PARTY" mindset, 6 drinks was PRE-gaming. So Mandy swings by her house to change clothes, and we meet her and Aaryn at the Tap. Now I have been ragingly, stupidly, ridiculously drunk before. I admit this. I don't know what got into me on tuesday, but I decided somewhere in my haze that I was going to top every incident of drunkenness ever experienced in my 26 years. If you keep that goal in mind, then Fat Tuesday was a success. The last thing I remember is standing on the patio of the Tap talking to Big James the Bouncer (I capitalize "Bouncer" because if you can deal with people as drunk as I was on a regular basis, you deserve the term "Bouncer" to be capitalized--kinda like with royals. Badge of Honor kind of thing...). We were at the Tap for another HOUR after that, and I got nothin'. Ric got me home and to the bedroom (which he says I covered every inch of trying to get to the bed because I was a zig-zag staggerer, and I almost pulled down the shelves in our room trying to balance myself), and he somehow managed to get me into the bed after about fifteen minutes of me not understanding that I was supposed to be UNDER the covers. He gets in the bed, I turn to him and hold up my arms and demand, "STRIP ME." Being as I smell like a brewery, that's probably the only good idea I had all night. So he starts trying to help me out of my bar clothes, at which point I slur to him, "This is half sexy, half NO." "Mmhmm," says Ric, probably thinking to himself that there is NADA sexy about me not being able to remove my own Mardi Gras beads. As he finally gets himself tucked into bed to finally get some sleep and finally erase the memory of what an idiot he married, I turn to him, smile sweetly and say, "What's YOUR half-sexy?" "Wha--you--just go to sleep!" "Uh oh." And thus the vomiting commences. Forget FAT Tuesday--I threw up enough that I probably lost fifteen pounds and at least three vital organs. It's amazing to me, however, that it took me forever to make it from the bedroom door to the bed, but I managed to make it from the bed to the toilet without any serious injuries or damage to property. So yeah, I spent all of wednesday and thursday with the world's nastiest hangover ever. Why is any of this relevant? Because after not remembering multiple HOURS of my life and being a total obnoxious brat (which reminds me--I have it on good report that I berated Travis for about ten minutes on how Ric and I were leaving, and if he didn't get Mandy home safely I would kill him, so I should probably apologize to him for that), I have decided to greatly reduce my alcohol consumption for the rest of my life. My liver is already grateful!

Brain Droppings on Writing

I've been doing some editing for one of my favorite people in the whole world, and all this thinking about writing has gotten me thinking about, well, writing. People always say, "Write what you know." I thought about it. I thought about all the things I know, and I decided that nobody would be particularly interested if I wrote a Faulkneresque novel about my personal feelings regarding which way the toilet paper roll should go on the holder. Nobody actually gives a shit that my cat eats leaves off the living room floor when I track them in from the patio. I know that 2+2=4, but that's hardly worthy of long-winded commentary. What I know isn't all that fascinating. Then I thought about it some more. What DO I know anyway? In the grand scheme of things, I don't have the answers to any of the important questions. Most of the time, I don't even know what the important questions are. Overall, I don't know shit. I don't know the meaning of life, why we're all here, what our purpose is, where I'll be in twenty years, or where my car keys are. I don't know how successful people succeed or why failures fail, and I don't know how to achieve world peace, cure AIDS, or create matter. So then, what does it matter? How does anything anyone says (or writes) actually matter if one only writes what they know? So that cancels that. The opposite of writing what you know, then, would be to write what you don't know. Now you're in trouble. Think of how many times a book has been written or a movie made where it was obvious that the writer didn't actually know ANYTHING about what he or she was writing about. Isn't the first thing that most people say something along the lines of, "That was shit. He didn't know what the hell he was talking about!" It's kind of difficult to write about what you don't know. If you're going to write about what you don't know, then you'd probably have to learn something about it first in order to do so somewhat decently. Of course, once you know something about it, then you're writing what you know again, and we've already covered how that winds up being an epic blah. It is my conclusion that "Write what you know" is categorically, empirically, undeniably 100% horse shit. Don't write what you know; write what you feel. Write what impassions you. Write what you absolutely can't NOT write. This is what I know. But as I already said, what do I know?

Some call this arrogance--I call it awesomeness.

Okay, so I may or may not have gotten lazy those last few days in York. My bad. Dinner fell through with Ben because he wound up having to work, but fast forward to last Monday night, and we ran into him at Mandy Monday Tap Trivia, so go figure! At some point, I'll steal Ric's camera and upload the last of the pictures I got while there, but now is not the time...mainly because I have no clue where his camera is, tehe! It's crazy that we were there for almost two full months, and after having been home for only a bit over two weeks, it already seems as if it never happened. So funny how the mind works, huh?

So last weekend was the JBFC cabin trip, and THAT was freakin' interesting. Poor Caitlin got stuck in the snow, so the Bellemares and Mandy walked over five miles total to go get her, then Marlene took Caitlin to her car the next day only to discover that Caitlin's car could now make it up the mountain but Marlene's could not, THEEEEN the next day, as we were all leaving, Melinda's car was having issues getting up the mountain, so all in all, it was interesting travel. I'm thinking maybe next year, we should avoid going somewhere where it snows! Hmmm...may have to start googling just to see what's out there. Damn, I'm nosy!

So yeah, I am now officially Mandy's trivia bitch. I help her come up with the questions (or last week, I just straight up came up with the questions on my own!), I go to trivia and keep score, and when she's busy, I call the questions as well. What are the perks of this arrangement? A $10 bar tab...for five hours of time and energy. And I have to share this with Ric. I make $1 per hour. On the plus side, it's a lot of fun, and my condescending side loves being in the position to marvel at the stupidity of others. Some call this arrogance--I call it awesomeness.

Oops on the Western Front...

Weeeeeellllll, crap. I was GOING to show everyone all the snazzy pics I took inside the Minster when we went back...and I was GOING to post pictures of...uh...some other stuff we did that I think we have pictures of...but I'm not. Why? Because I'm an idiot. Let's continue the story from where I left off last time what with the making Mom proud. That night, my group of girlfriends (don't get me wrong; I love each and every one of them more than the vast majority of people I know. They're amazing)...where was I? Oh, my group of amazing girlfriends decided to have a Fifth Grade Day, so tons of silly drama that I didn't really want to hear about or be involved in yet had to be because I'm organizing the cabin trip this year came pouring in. I could have attempted to handle things maturely. Or I could've been a major biiiiiiaaaaaaatch. Instead, I was an ostrich...a drunk ostrich. I simply made it a public service announcement that I would NOT be dealing with any baloney and that I was going to hang out with my besty, Captain Morgan, and then I stuck my drunk head in the sand. As it turns out, either it worked really well and all drama died down or they decided I wasn't prepared to handle it and carried it on without my knowledge. Either one was fine with me--I was drunk. How drunk, you ask? Well, I decided that since I had so much fun taking pictures of myself being an idiot earlier that day that it was only logical to take a few more. I couldn't just take the EXACT same ones as before though...so I drunkenly put on eyeliner...and in the process of pulling my hair up, I got it caught in the ponytail holder so that my hair was going the wrong direction on my head. Most people would've probably taken it down and tried again, but not me, oh no! I simply styled the part that was hanging over my face. Ric said I looked like I was attempting the Rihanna look. Thoughts?

Sadly, the next one was a complete accident, so I wasn't even trying to look like an idiot in this one--I just come by it naturally. Thanks, Dad. Hehehehehe!

Please observe the red eyes. Over the course of this evening, I drank almost an entire handle of rum alone. Amazingly enough, I had no hangover the next morning. I attribute this to the grace of A) God and B) Caitlin. Yeah, my drunk ass called Caitlin and talked to her about everything from girly drama to spousal idiocy to my feet. I sat on the balcony (holding my drink into the snow, which was COMIN' DOWN, because I wasn't feelin' the whole having to go find the ice machine thing), and I drunkenly chatted with Caitlin for well over an hour. I was quite inspirational--by the end of the conversation, Caitlin was also drinking (despite her cold meds), so we were having a grand old time...then I came in. When I came back into the room (still on the phone with Caitlin), I realized that I could not feel my feet and that they were a wee bit blue. This picture was taken after I had been inside for a while, and they're still a little red. Added bonus--drunk people have a HELLUVA time taking pictures of their feet. I don't recommend it--on the other hand, it's a great way to wake your sleeping husband! Um...there's a possibility he would tell you otherwise, but he's wrong. Always.

Funny little side story...I was talking to Mandy on facebook, and in walks Ric with takeout. To be a man carrying yummy Indian food, he looks pretty disgruntled. I watch him walk past me without saying anything, trying to kind of suss out what his malfunction is...and then I see the problem.

Yes, these are the pants he was wearing when he came in the door. Apparently, nobody ever told my dear husband that you should probably walk a little more slowly when on ice...so he busted his ass in the middle of the road right in front of the restaurant. As the dutiful wife, I asked him if he was okay, waited for a nod whilst biting the HELL out of my lip, then burst into laughter. PEALS of it. Tears streaming down face. For some reason, Ric still doesn't find it amusing. I do, though. I do.

So what does all this have to do with anything? In the process of taking pictures of ridiculously stupid shit, I killed my camera battery, and since I was drunk, the thought never occurred to me to recharge it. Soooooo all the lovely pictures of cool stuff that I was GOING to post are on Ric's camera, the whereabouts of which I am uncertain, and I just figured I'd blog about nothing because I'm bored and it's my blog, so I can do that. Anywho, I'll get the pictures I took on Ric's camera and post them later. Also to come, and I'm mucho excited about this, but my buddy from back home, Ben, is meeting us for dinner tomorrow night, so that should be lots of fun. Ben works for TSYS, too, and I've known him since he was living in C-Vegas, but he moved over here for work a good while back. He's been back in the states for the holidays, but since he just got back over here and we're leaving York friday morning, a get-together is mandatory. He's hilarious, so entertaining story should come out of it! It's also likely that I'll post some fluffy, silly York stuff, too--links to the Radio 1 Top 40, random slang terms that I've picked up that y'all are going to laugh at me for, etc.

Stranded at the Marriott

I'm baaaack! Last weekend, we went to Liverpool and drove around then headed into North Wales just to drive through the countryside there. It's weird--before coming over here, had you asked me if I wanted to go to Wales, my response would've been, "Yeah okay sure...what's in Wales again?" After having done a decent amount of driving around it now though, I have to say that it may be the prettiest place I have ever been as far as natural beauty goes. It's just gorgeous! Anywho, here's a few pictures. Sorry I don't have more, but the car is baaaaaaad filthy, so getting pictures out of the car has gotten kind of almost impossible. Argh. Anywho, here ya go, folks...

The next day, we went to Canterbury to check out the cathedral. Oh. My. Gawd. A) It's beautiful. B) Geoffrey Chaucer is laughing his dead ass off at the irony of there being a gift shop inside the Cathedral, complete with useless shit...you know, for the pilgrims and the devout and whatnot. Oh, you didn't know? Well, St. Augustine founded Canterbury Cathedral because he intended for it to become a marketplace for shot glasses and huge erasers--FOR REALLY BIG MISTAKES!!! Forget that Thomas Becket was martyred here; we have BEER STEINS!!!!!!! I kept wondering if my senior year English teacher had ever been there because I figured he'd get a kick out of it, too. Dearest Jack Ceccato, thank you for instilling in me a great sense of appreciation for Geoffrey Chaucer; the twisted sense of humor, on the other hand, I came by naturally. Here's the pictures from Canterbury...

"The Black Prince"

On the way back from Canterbury, we decided to detour through Greenwich and London, so I have a couple of pictures from there, too, although not many because, once again, we were losing light. That getting dark at four shit is for the birds...actually no. I'm going with bats. I know, rambling. Photos.....

Tower Bridge....

Royal Observatory

View from Observatory lot

So what have we done since last weekend? Absolutely NOTHING. When I say nothing, I mean we have been out of the hotel ONCE this week, and that was today; don't get too excited--we went through the McDonald's drive-thru, but it started snowing AGAIN, so we headed back. It has literally snowed all week. It'll stop long enough to let things melt a little, then it starts again. This is so everything that melted can freeze into a solid sheet of ice. It's the main story on the news, and my favorite bit of coverage so far went like this: "Please do not walk outside. The ambulances are having mo-BILE difficulties. Therefore, you will be picked up only if you ::newscaster pauses, his eyebrows shooting up:: are dying. Ahem, well...if you must walk on the ice, please be certain to break your back or neck. A leg won't do!" So how have I amused myself? Well, at the moment, I have the tv on the station that plays only the top of the charts, and I'm sitting in front of a mirror lip-synching to Timbaland. "When the cats come out, the bats come out to playyyyyyy, yeeeeahhhh!" I have realized that, while I am most definitely the whitest girl in the free world as far as dancing goes, I got that Timbo weird eyebrow shit locked DOWN.

Maaaaybe not...however, Timbo can't make his hair look like that of Cindyloo Who, and I can.

Yes. I'm bored. Here's proof--this is my masterpiece. I have entitled it "Idiocy in Action: The Worst is Yet to Come"

I do what I can to make Mom proud.