victoria’s secret models are whores. period.

I already posted today, but I am procrastinating. I have ironing to do.

I KNOW. Fucking ironing. Remember back when I told you I don’t do ironing? It was here. Well, apparently, I was lying because now I do. If your husband works a job that requires a fancy button down shirt and slacks, and you don’t leave the house to do a job, then I guess it’s your job to iron. That is, if you don’t want to spend the $2 per shirt to have it done for you. And the pants. Holy shit the pants. I HATE ironing the pants. I can never get the crease right. His pants are the size of those covers they put over tanks or WMDs to keep the satellites from spotting them. It’s seriously the bane of my existence.

So, I guess I decided to put it off for ohhh… about three months. I actually just made him wear golf shirts and sweaters over the top. I mean, it’s cold. That works. But then he started getting pissy. So I gave in and today I’ll be ironing and watching shows that have been clogging up the DVR. Fine. But now, while I’m procrastinating, I will share some of the random things going on inside my brain. Because then maybe I can get some peace and quiet in there.

I freaking hate watching TV shows with British/English (whatever is more pc or whathaveyou) accents. It bloody annoys me. And then I have the word “bloody” in my mind and I want to add it to all the profanity I’m spewing. So then I am wandering around saying “bloody fucking” this and that all day. I think we’ve talked about this before but I don’t want to think about “bloody fucking” so I want that out of my head. Plus, don’t tell anyone, but like 98.3% of all English men are actually ugly. They just are. They’re hairy and have moles in all the wrong places and look dirty all the time and I just don’t like looking at them. So, please don’t ask me to watch anything that came from the BBC because I just won’t. Also, Hugh Grant. No.

Moving on… Victoria’s Secret “fashion” show. The other night Jimmie and I were watching our evening TV when the commercials for the slut show started. Of course, he decided we must DVR it because “there are some great bands performing!” Uh-huh. Riiiight. Now, I am not a jealous woman. I know those women are seriously gorgeous (and plastic.) I really don’t care if he wants to watch them parade around on stage in ridiculous diamond crusted bras and angel wings that would poke your freaking eye out. I don’t. But… well, puh-lease. I guess I just think the whole show is ridiculous. So, I decide that while he’s at work I’m going to turn it on and watch it. Because I honestly never have before. And as soon as one of those brainless debutantes said “every little girl dreams of being a Victoria’s Secret Model” I threw the remote across the room and turned it off. Are you fucking kidding me? You’re a glorified stripper. My little girl better not ever dream of showing her ass on national tv. I don’t care if JayZ and Beyonce are in the audience. Also, John Mayer was sitting there looking uber pervy and I threw up in my mouth.

So, I think I’ll just delete it. Let me tell you, if I were the one prancing around that stage there’d be a lot more than mah boobs jiggling around. And I just don’t feel like competing with trampstravaganza. So, if you’re reading this babe, the “fashion” show is gone. It was… meh. Okay. Nothing to be impressed over.

i like facebook and hubs said i looked like a twilight character. random? says you.

I made an off-hand comment on my personal facebook the other day about how my hair is falling out in clumps. I wasn’t even exaggerating. If things continue down this road, Imma need some Rogaine. Stat. Anyway, my sister told me it was probably hormones, and I agreed because that’s what I usually blame everything on (I do actually have wonky hormones.) Then someone else said to have my thyroid checked. So, I did what every other internet addicted person would do and googled the shit out of thyroid problems.

When I took a quiz with all the possible symptoms of hypothyroidism (or one of those, I can’t even remember right now) let’s just say my shit was off the charts. And while I really could do without another life-long disease of some sort to manage, I am kind of relieved that there is possibly an answer to some of the things that bother me most about myself/my health. I won’t hold my breath that some doctor is going to give me the magic answer, because let’s face it, you know how I feel about the medical profession as a whole. No? I think they suck.

Why should I, someone that has not gone to medical school, someone that does not have the super awesome quality of having people call me “Dr.” on a daily basis, and someone that does not get paid, well… anything, why should I have to come up with my own diagnosis, prognosis, and any other osis and then have to convince you that it’s true? Isn’t that why you became a doctor in the first place, to you know, HELP people? Whatever.

Sorry. I had a moment.

Anyway, I took a triple dose of my vitamins and what not the past couple of days (with the okay of a doc that I trust so don’t freak out) and Jimmie told me that I didn’t look like a character off of Twilight for the first time in quite a while. He’s so romantic and sensitive. And just awesome on so many levels.

And then today I took nearly a five hour nap.

You guys, the verdict is in. I’m totally dying. Okay, whatever.

Speaking of Facebook, I know, there are so many haters, blah blah blah whatever. I know it sucks, but everyone I know is on there and I have a lot of good conversations on there. Here’s the key to Facebook. Don’t be friends with people who aren’t actually your friends or who you don’t want in your business. Don’t be friends with people that annoy you and post random shit about things you don’t care about. Either delete them, hide them, or restrict your page so that they are your friend but can’t see anything on your page. God.

I know this should have been about three different posts, or better yet, none at all. But I don’t care. I’m all hopped up on multi-vitamins and Iron. Suck it.

hi my name is keli, and i’m addicted to emoticons.

You know when you’re in therapy, and they ask you if you could change one thing about yourself what would it be? (Wait, is that therapy or junior high? whatever.)  I’ve decided my answer would be my use of emoticons all the freaking time!  What is wrong with me?

Whenever someone comments on my blog  or on facebook and even twitter, I always want to put a little smiley or wink somewhere in the mix.  Sometimes I like to do two or even three.  I always give my sister a hard time for her incessant LOLing and how much that makes me crazy, but I recently realized my emoting is even worse.  Well, maybe just equally bad.

I know why I do it.  I do.  It’s because I’m such a snarky and sarcastic bitch.  I like people to know that the snark is all in fun and *wink, wink* I totally still like you.  A wink totally makes up for the snark, right?

I don’t totally want to smack myself in the face when it’s just a colon and parenthesis showing up like this.   : )  I mean, it’s annoying, but not make you want to smash your head into the table annoying.  The thing I REALLY hate is when the comments on my blog turn it into an actual goofy little smiley guy  That just makes me nuts.  And I don’t know how to turn it off or I would.  Actually, I probably wouldn’t.  Because I want to give myself a reason NOT TO DO IT.

Do they make a program for this? Because I think it’s gonna take all 12 steps.

In other news, I bought myself some dear foam slippers from Costco on Saturday and I never want to take them off.  EVER.  It’s like walking on a cloud of happy.

jumping from bridge can be fatal and tragic

It’s a pretty sad state of affairs if one should be warned that they will die if they jump from a bridge.

I’m not in a jumping from a high bridge state of being, but I’ve been in a funk for so long I’m not sure I remember not being in one. I’m not one for loving transition, but this last one just took it out of me. Seriously.

I’m sure you remember that we moved this past summer. At the time we were so jacked about moving the kids to the land of opportunity (better schools for the long term) and Jimmie having a better job without a whack-job boss and hopefully lots more money, as well as being close to family that I just didn’t process all of the down sides to things. I think it’s really been hitting me lately.

I am so grateful for the kids new school situation. It really is the thing that is turning out to be as great as we hoped. I know this would have been a tough year had we still been in the area we were. But as great as the job is, the money really isn’t a lot better yet. And as great as it is to be close to family, it has it’s down sides too. And well, if I’m truly honest with myself, I just miss the hell out of my friends.

I am not a happy person right now. I know I’m not because Jim asks me how I’m doing about 42 times a day. That pretty much means I’m probably being assy and a downer and he isn’t sure what to do about it except make me admit it. I usually just say I’m fine but I think that answer is running a little thin.

So, as I’ve been trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me, I have decided I’m missing out on my girl time. We may have been far from our family and people we’d known for most of our adult lives, but our previous home was full of friends and love. I think all of us are really missing them because the kids spent about a half an hour today reminiscing about the funny things they remember doing with some of our close family friends. They aren’t really the kind of kids that sit around and talk about those kinds of things without a reason.

Have you even been in a place in your life where the friendships were almost effortless? I think these relationships are few and far between. When we first moved to a tiny town called Moses Lake I was not excited about it. I’m a city girl and I always have been. People joked that “the Hole” would suck me in and I’d never want to leave. I guess they were more right than I even knew.

There’s something about living life simply and without the fast paced, traffic congested craziness always surrounding you. There was also something wonderful about it just being us- our little family of four- in our own space, figuring out life in our own way. I love the kids being close to family, but I really loved the distance too.

I miss monthly Bunco and spur of the minute Girl’s Nights. I miss meeting our friends for Thursday night bar food at the local bowling alley and softball games in the freezing wind. I miss football parties and Christmas get-togethers where someone ends up curling up under the tree for a nap. I miss barbecues and sitting out on the lake until dark because no one wants to think about cooking or cleaning the sand off of the kids (and beer and potato chips make a fine dinner anyway.) I miss friends that invite themselves over for dinner and bring KFC for the whole family. I guess, I just miss people that aren’t so wrapped up in their own stuff that it makes it impossible to make time for someone else. And I miss being one of those people.

It’s possible that our next door neighbors could become those people to us, if I had it in me to put out the effort. I guess it’s time to quit moping around and get my shit together. Whether I like it or not, this is our home now and if I want to have some good, meaningful fun I will probably have to be the one to initiate it. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though. Doesn’t mean I even know where to start either. Crap.

i swear it wasn’t me that was pepper spraying people at walmart. but if i would have thought of it, i might have.

You may remember a couple of weeks ago when I decided to kick off the holiday season by sending my hubs Black Friday Shopping.

If you haven’t read that post you should just click on over and read it.  I’ll wait while you get caught up.

So yes, we really want that XBox Kinect for the kids for Christmas.  So much so that I planned all of Thanksgiving around Jimmie being able to go and sit in line.  Just like most young families, we split the holidays between two families.  They are on opposite ends of the Seattle Metro area, so about an hour apart.  We left family number one’s get together which is way south in time to drive all the way north for family number two’s.  Jimmie dropped us off and proceeded to the Walmart that was close to their place for a little recon work.  There wasn’t yet a line and he had his bearings and what needed to be done so he returned for dinner.  I want you to know, if there had already been people in line he would have missed dinner for this.  That’s how serious we were about being one of the few that would get this damn doorbuster.  That’s how scared he is of me when I tell him to do something.  Because I’m that crazy.

So after dinner he went back to WallyWorld armed with a camping chair, a book,and a fully charged iPhone and Blackberry.  It was 5:30 and the sale started at 10:00.

He promised all of us a play by play of the night’s events via facebook.  Here’s how things went before I showed up:

“In line and the 15th person.  Hope I don’t stand here for no reason!”

Line in front of me.

 

Line behind me.

Pretty ladies in line next to me.

Clearly the man was losing it early on.  Here’s a few more status updates:

“It’s getting good.  Walmart employees are telling all the people that cracked into the specials early to return them.  One of the employees                         looks just like Fire Marshall Bill.”  Yikes!

“I think I will crack open a twelver, buy a Styrofoam cooler and some ice, but then I might pass out and miss all the fun.  Maybe I can just                                 ‘borrow’ it all.”

“Can I just say that its not a good idea to sit in a camping chair on the end cap while every person walks by. Not the best view or smell.”

“People are cutting and I have a lady behind me that’s going to go nuts! Video to come.” (no video ever came, but apparently the lady did confront quite a few people and it resulted in… less than a fist fight. loser.)

Okay, enough of that.  Here’s how it went down.  Jimmie stood/sat in line from 5:30 to 8:30.  He was right in the middle of a major throughway of the store, just sitting there in his camping chair watching the freak show play out.  While he may have had to sit at butt level and see/smell a lot of turkey fueled asses wander by, at least he wasn’t sitting out in the freezing rain!  The store was mostly empty except for others waiting in line so it really wasn’t that big of a deal.

Meanwhile, I was home washing about two hours worth of holiday dishes.  Then I put the kids to bed and promptly made myself the most delicious vodka tonic in a “to go cup” and hit the road with my Sister-In-Law to join in on the fun.  Just as we were arriving, the store handed out tickets to those who had been standing in line and said to return at ten to claim your XBox.  It also must have been the same time that every single person in town decided to come to Walmart, because that store got Ca-Ray-Zay.

Me with the golden ticket.

WE DID IT! (uhhh, I mean, HE DID IT!)  We wandered around for a while and then returned to line up for the best Christmas gift ever (which is what my kids better say on Christmas morning or their dad is going to kill me.)  We had to stand in that line for about an hour.  I instantly made friends with the women in front of me when I announced this needed to end soon because I was sweating like a whore in church and needed another drink. Listen, I didn’t think I needed to pretend to be classy in Walmart.  I was in good company.  We pretty much reeked of Klass.

Once we got the magical box of fun, we then had to stand in line for another hour and a half to pay for the freaking thing.  Even though we had sent the SIL to stake out a place in line long before that, the line moved so slow and the people were such colossal idiots it really didn’t matter.  This night was destined to be a CF of the greatest magnitude ever from the get go.  We were at Walmart for crying out loud.

The only thing that would have made it better is if this would have been a flash mob.

But, we made out with the best doorbuster of the season (says me) and our kids are going to love it!  I hate Black Friday.  I hope to GOD we never have to do that again.  But, I’m pretty darn proud of our purchase.  And I was very thankful to have a hubby that would endure such a shit show so we could give our kids a cool present without having to sell off any vital organs.

Jimmie’s last status update regarding Black Friday.  ”Watching people fight over XBox games, Legos, TV’s and computers.  I can’t believe there is that that much desperation out there. What I really can’t believe is that people are that greedy. I don’t think I will ever do it again. I feel dirty.”

That may be.  Tis the season, I suppose.  On the way home he also said that “tonight is saving Christmas.”  Which was pretty cute coming from the guy who hated Christmas when we first got married.

VICTORY

if i could find a way to bleach my whole body, i’d feel better about life

First of all, I’m writing this from my phone. So if you’re an email subscriber you probably got a message with half of the title and a blank page as today’s post. Because I’m pretty much the most brilliant iPhone blog writer ever. Needless to say, this has a good chance of being short. (refer back to the “I’m writing this from my phone” sentence.)

My dog has been itching like a crazy bitch for a while now. At first I attributed it to changing her food. Then I found out her “cousin” dog (holy shit, when did I start referring to dogs with familial titles?) had fleas, so I freaked and just knew she also had fleas. Then I decided, no she didn’t. Then I saw a random bug on her, so yes she did. And then we gave a flea bath. And well no, maybe she didn’t. This exact annoying fucking pattern has been going on for ages.

Me, combing her fur like a manic chimpanzee searching for bugs, is a daily, if not multiple times in a day, occurrence. Googling every image of fleas, lice, mites, bed bugs, you freaking name it, is my new obsession. It has literally gotten to the point that Jimmie wants to have me committed. He hates me.

I ask him to search my head and back for bugs and/or bites and he rolls his eyes and does it. Then when I tell him he’s really not looking very carefully he gets pissy. Then when he catches me trying to look for myself in the mirror he throws things at me and calls me bad names.

I can’t help it you guys. My dog has had issues and I could not figure it out! And I have a thing about bugs. I can not stand bugs. I just can’t. Then, last night we finally decided she for sure has fleas (or at the very least, a flea.) I spent the whole night dreaming there were bugs crawling all over me and scratching and clawing and itching like a freak!

Then today I spent the whole day scrubbing and sanitizing and following step one in a three day process in flea elimination. Curtains were vacuumed, every fiber of every couch was sanitized, carpets were cleaned and recleaned.

Tomorrow we will bomb the house and take all blankets, sheets, comforters, pillows, stuffed animals and whatever else isn’t nailed down to the super duper industrial sized washers and boil the hell out of them.

The dog will be dipped and combed and vacuumed and bleached.

And then by god, maybe then I will be able to get a halfway decent night of sleep. Because right now, all I can do is scratch and wish to god my shower head had a bleach dispenser.

what? don’t all wives make their husbands train in high heels?

I hate to be the one to break it to you, folks, but the holiday season is upon us.    It’s beyond upon us.  It’s breathing down our freaking necks.  I know this because my ass is spreading exponentially.  Which has nothing to do with my neck.  But everything to do with holiday baking.

My son has been talking for about the past, ohhh I don’t know, three months about how he’s going to get a new XBox 360 from Santa (ours broke around the time he broke his leg and he’s all about getting a new Kinect.)  Now, I know most of you are rolling in oodles of cash in this stellar economy, but the Impropers are not.  I mean, we’re not eating out of soup cans, but we’re not living in the lap of luxury either.  The game system my son is convinced Santa is bringing is to the tune of $300.   That’s a little stiff for me considering we have other people to buy for as well.  So… I began to get creative.  Ebay and Craigslist and all sorts of searches have been going on around here.

Can I just tell you Ebay makes me break out into hives?  I feel like I’m rummaging through the city dump looking for an earring back.  With a blind fold on.  In the middle of a rain storm.  For me, it is the equivalent of an online yard sale.  I know TONS of people find great stuff both at yard sales and Ebay, but I get hives just thinking about it.

Anyway… I was freaking out as to how we are going to swing the Kinect hoopla as well as the rest of Christmas when I found the solution sent from the marketing gods.  Wal Freaking Mart is having the very bundle on sale for Black Friday for a third of the price (after all the specials and fireworks) and I am determined Jimmie will snag us one of the three that I’m sure the store will actually be offering.  I know Black Friday “limited quantity” items are mostly a sham.  I do not care.  I am confident in my hubby’s ability to do what has to be done.  But, I have instituted his training regiment just to insure his abilities.  It looks remarkably similar to the Target training regime.

Yes, I am making him train in heels.

You may be wondering, at this point, why Jimmie is training and I’m not.  The sale we are hitting starts at 10 pm on Thanksgiving.  I think that’s ridiculous, but you guys, we have to get a deal on this freaking thing.   I can’t very well leave the kids and family and everyone and miss Thanksgiving dinner, but, Jim can.  I mean, it’s not like he does much anyway.  He wasn’t so excited at first, but I broke it down for him like this:

1) Sit in the cold all day waiting for the doors to open.   You can bring the “hooded camping chair” to keep the wind and rain off.  You can bring a book, your iphone (which you spend half your life dinking around on anyway) and enjoy some peace and quiet rather than crazy family shenaniganz.
2) Wear your running shoes because there WILL be a foot race to electronics.   Don’t freaking disappoint me!
3) Engage in hand to hand combat with thirteen people in order to secure yourself one of the three items set aside for the sale price.
4) Pray to god you actually get the advertised deal so you can
5) Give your child the gift he is dying for without having to sell a vital organ to afford it.

It’s totally simple and I KNOW you can DO this!

So, he’s kind of excited to go and brave the Seattle elements (read: rain) and beat down any and all freaking competition that tries to get to the electronics department before he does.  I’m sure I will show up sometime just before the sale.  I actually run a little faster than he does, so I’m counting on my lioness prowess to get us the upper hand.

I don’t know you guys, I’ve never actually gone Black Friday shopping.  I get a little stressed by crowds.   I will most definitely pack the thermos full of vodka tonics with a splash of Triple Sec.  So… someone else will have to drive us home.

Cross your fingers and pray to the retail gods.  I WANT THAT FREAKING KINECT!

What about you guys? Are you Black Friday bargain shopping?  Are you totally incensed at the retailers for cutting their employee’s holiday short?  Normally, I think I would be, but desperate times and all that…

 

UPDATE:

I thought you’d like to see the adorable response to this post that Jimmie sent via text.  He’s just so cute.

 

it’s daylight savings time, not Y2K. God.

Last night, around the world, people went to bed just like they do every. single. night (unless you’re still young enough to pull all-nighters without feeling like shit for a week afterward.  Then, maybe you witnessed the sunrise from a Denny’s parking lot.  Whatever.)

And this morning, people around the world woke up just like they do every. single. day.  Some parts of the world set their clocks back an hour.  And some didn’t.  It’s not that freaking big of a deal.

Unless, of course, you want to go see a movie.  Then, apparently, it’s a humungous deal.

See, I have been going back and forth over taking my little girl to see Footloose for the past couple of weeks.  I really wanted to see it.  I remember being around her age watching the original one on HBO with my mom and it being a huge deal for me.  I loved every moment of it.  I wanted to experience that with my girl.  I wasn’t sure if she was old enough, but I decided I didn’t care.  We were doing it.

I found the show time at our local theater and when the time came we went.  It did not once occur to me that maybe times might be all squirrelly and jacked up because of DST.  WHY THE HELL WOULD IT?  Do shows on TV all of the sudden start coming on at wonky times because we fell back an hour?  NO.  No, they do not.  Do churches and synagogues and chapels and ballgames and whatever the hell else decide to change their start times?  NO. No, they do NOT.  But if they did, I’m quite certain they would go on the one place all people in the world go to seek information, the interwebz, the world wide web, THE INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY- for god’s sake! and change the freaking times!

Needless to say, we got to the theater and the movie that was supposed to start at 1:20 was listed to start at 12:20.  We missed ours by an hour.  The hand full of people that were there to see other movies were a little pissed that their start time was different too.  I calmly told the ticket gal I was disappointed but would see the movie in a close-by theater.

I double checked the neighboring theater’s start times before we left and Elle and I drove the half hour it took to get to our movie.  To find that the theater wasn’t even showing FOOTLOOSE today.  She told us the theater about 15 minutes up the road was showing it and we could make the next showing if we left right away.  I asked her WHY THE FUCK I should believe that BULLSHIT since the Regal cinema down the road just sent me to her.  I then convinced Elle to wait the hour and a half and return to the first theater so we’d be sure to catch the movie.

The ONLY reason I stayed with Regal cinemas after this cluster of a day was because we had a gift card to there and movies are freaking expensive.  I called the theater to make sure they were still showing the movie at 3:20 and told the kid I wanted him to verify the time because the internet was wrong as well as every other idiot that works at Regal and I wanted a personal guarantee that the movie started at 3:20.  He flippantly replied “Yah, this daylight savings time has us all screwed up.”

WHAT?  WHYYYY?  You set your clock back.  One hour.  You go to sleep.  You wake up at 8 and the clock says 7 and you congratulate yourself on gaining an hour today.  WHAT IS SO HARD ABOUT THAT????

You guys.  We survived Y2K.  Remember that?  If the computers were smart enough to navigate the first millennium change, how can they not be smart enough to navigate the twenty-fourth daylight savings time since then?

Apparently, the idiots at Regal Cinemas smoked a little too much of the reefer or some unknown shenaniganz and can’t get their shit together.  But don’t blame DST.  That’s just bullshit.

It was probably my anger at their stupidity while I was driving back to theater number one that caused me to flip off the asshole driver who wouldn’t let me merge onto the turn lane like a nice guy should.  Or he was just an asshole that deserved to be flipped off.

Obviously, my eight year old got the education of a lifetime today.  And that was before the movie even started.

And, no matter how guilty I felt for letting her witness a lot of making out and suggestive dancing between teenagers, nothing will make me regret letting her see that movie today. (Unless she gets knocked up by a guy names Ren at 15.  Then, maybe.)  The tear that we both got at the last dance scene of the movie (me due to the fact that I was experiencing this with my own daughter twenty something years later, and her because it was just so cool) was fantasmic.  Better than buying her that Strawberry Shortcake doll when she was 2 just because that was my favorite doll as a kid.

What can I say?  I’m a sucker!

Oh, and SUCK IT REGAL CINEMAS! You’re idiots!

oh tequila, you are one evil bitch

I hate to beat a dead whore horse, but I will.  It is absolutely unacceptable for me to consume tequila.  It just is.  THIS is the kind of nonsense that tequila makes happen.  That is why I make damn sure I don’t have even the tiniest little bit, especially at times when things are a bit volatile.  It’s a recipe for disaster.

This past weekend we set out on a damn fine road trip across our state to our former home to celebrate Halloween with our dear friends who throw the best damn costume party each and every year.  Some may even call it an EPIC festivity.  {Not me, because I don’t say such silly words.}

Our four hour road trip was most certainly epic.  Except that someone broke my one road trip necessity, my Journey’s Greatest Hits CD, and neglected to tell me before we hit the road.  I don’t travel without my Journey.  Eighties Butt Rock and Ballads are the only thing that get me over the mountain pass and across the boring roads of our state.  What’s a girl to do?  Pandora, that’s what.  Know what’s better than Journey’s Greatest Hits?  The Journey station on Pandora.  I literally felt a little raspy and bloated from all my car singing dramatics.  Well, that and the four pounds of road candy that I refused to share with anyone.  Dude, everyone knows you buy your own freaking road candy.  Don’t mess with my perfect balance of sweet, chewy, sour and black licorice goodness.  I have this down to a damn science.

Once we pulled into town and had all our ducks in a row, we rushed around to get all costumed up for the party and more than one of us may have forgotten to eat any dinner.  Some of us (not me, but for sure Jimmie, if I’m mentioning names) may have been a little drunk before the party even started.

Jimmie and I have rules, a survivor guide to being too old to get drunk in public, if you will.  One of those rules is that Jimmie doesn’t drink because it takes a 280 pound man that has seen me naked and cut open on an operating table to keep me on the straight and narrow in a crowd of 75 drunk people.  It may not be fair, but that’s just the kind of controlling bitch I am.  We have one night per year basically that we throw caution to the wind and let the cards fall where they may.  As of Midnight on October 29, 2011 we have decided that might not be our best idea.

As I said, Jimmie was feeling pretty good by dinner time and was straight passed out by 9:00 pm.  That left no one, and I mean no one, to say something profound like, “Hey Babe, do you know what kind of booze those four jelly shooter things you are eatling like candy were made with?”  Because that’s just the question I should have been asked.  Not until I had swallowed number four did I realize I thought I might have tasted a hint of tequila behind that yummy sticky goodness.  There was also no one around to say something like, “Oh hey, you already drank all of your airplane bottles of booze, and that one has the distinct glow of cheap tequila behind it.  WHERE THE SHIT DID YOU EVEN GET IT?!?!”

See, the one that was supposed to do that was passed out on the couch.  So as with everything else that has gone wrong in my entire life, I’m just going to go ahead and blame the disaster that was Halloween Party 2011, on him.  I won’t go into too many details, I’ll just tell you that I not only lost my shit and screamed and yelled at one of my very best friends for God only knows what reason, but I also told pretty much everyone else I know to go and… suck a dick. Or something similar.  I can’t even remember.  And since I was in the blind rage that, as far as I can tell, only tequila can bring on… I don’t even know who to say I’m sorry to.  Except for the lead singer of the band’s girlfriend.  Who I am trying to track down.  I do remember needing to tell her a few I’m Sorries.  And to the rest of you, if you happen to see this, I’m truly sorry to you too.  I was a total idiot.

What the shit, you guys?  Who even allows me out in public?  I’ve decided sobriety is probably the best option for this over-stressed and under-socialized little lady.  If you need me I’ll just be in church.   Or on the couch eating the 75 pounds of candy my little monsters brought home last night.