I HIGHLY recommend that if you are going to engage in the activity of drunk sex, make sure one of you is sober and make sure the sober one is you. It's more fun plus you have a steadier hand when using the camcorder. (just joking! I mean I erased everything)
It doesn't matter what you call it, all I know is I can't get the smell out of my car. Apparently 6 year olds can get car sick. Who freaking knew? All I remember of this lasting moment is the slo-mo vision of my son expeling bucketsful of orange slop in the backseat of my semi-new car. I might as well trade it in because the smell is lingering like the pesky dead body of an ex-boyfriend. I bet if I drove my car into a deep ravine, the ravine would start to smell like puke. I bet if I drove it into a lake, all of the fish would taste like vomit.
Everytime I get in my car, I get queasy. I hate the smell of throw-up. When I smell it, the contents in my tummy start to behave as though they are training for the circus. The only exit is up. It takes just about all I have to keep my intenstines from making a guest appearance on the side of my car.
Vinegar doesn't work, Febreeze doesn't work, a stink bomb doesn't work, cutting out the fabric and interlacing the hole with yarn and potpourri doesn't work. I am considering asking him to poop in my car to mask the smell of his throw-up. My rationale is that I am a sympathetic puker, not a sympathetic pooper.
I was so bummed about the Pasadena Marathon being cancelled, I lounged on my couch all day and watched Friday Night Lights until I couldn't stand it anymore and then proceeded to move to my bedroom and watch the 5th season of The Wire until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. Plus I ate chips and drank some beer. This is the kind of marathon training I've been missing.
In a few days, I'll don the sneakers and get back on the horse for the next race, but until then, YES that is a greasy cheese stain on the front of my shirt and YES that is a double chin on my face...and NO, I will not get up and fetch you a beer.
A real heartfelt email exchange between dear friends of nearly 20 years; In case you can't tell below, I am consoling Thomas, who is currently in the mad throes of a divorce.
From Thomas: Berg was taking his act on the road-to Dublin IRELAND! He has been with this troupe that has been doing a well received show satirizing a famous play which I can't remember. They were to perform at a fringe festival in Ireland.Otherwise, he is working at Citi and doing his theatre work and some video stuff as well I believe. 20th Class Reunion!!! Man, I don't know if I want some old chick staying at my place.It might cramp my style. Me and Goober are probably going to Mammoth Cave and Dinosaur World this weekend.I should have a place by this summer. I only got a 6 month lease on an apartment so I could find a place this spring.
From me: That's right, and I thought the bastard was just ignoring me. I was wondeirng if his job got cut at Citi, I know they are laying people off. I may be old but you, my friend, are older. You are older than dirt, older than the hills, older than fossil fuel, and yet you have managed to be as immature as a training bra. I won't cramp your style, trust me, however, you start acting like grumpy gramps when I am trying to make out with the ex football star from high school, I swear, I will hide your bottle of viagra when you try to schwing yer boner while watching "grannies gone mild". Have fun with Joe, tell him hi for me. Make sure you get something set up for my visit. I don't want to sleep in a trailer either.
From Thomas: I don't think his job was cut at Citi and I think he was just ignoring you ,too. If you start making out with the fat,bald ex-jock I'll break out my video camera and video my own senior citizen goes mild. After that I may have to get a prescription for viagra because just the thought will probably induce impotency for decades. By the way, if your reunion is this summer don't worry about sleeping in my trailer. I doubt I'll have any AC, so we'll just sleep out on my double-wide's porch. Excuse me, did yopu just have LA and real people in the same sentence? Was that an oxy, moron?
From Me: I will spare you the sight of me making out with some dude as you would probably have a massive heart attack from all the action you aren't getting. When was the last time you got laid and not by your own digits?
Good to see you are the same old crusty Thomas I have come to know (albeit begrudgingly) and love!
Did I tell you me and my old man broke up(he may have been older than you actually) and after the first couple of months, things are a lot better. It gets immeasureably better, it really does. It helps if you are a total hottie (which I am) and more difficult if you are old with a perpetual frown on your face (which you do), but fortunately for you, time is blind.
...I don't know why more people don't call me up when they need consolation.
When I look at the map of the United States that shows us which candidate is winning the electoral votes in what state, I do a little happy jig because right now, Obama is leading in electoral votes, but I can't help but feel a small shiver of dread run down my spine when I see just how large the red states are. I mean, I know square mileage doesn't count but it is still a painful kick in the fovia to clearly see all that RED.
It must be like a subconscious gag reflex because I swear, whenever I look at a map that clearly delineates the bible belt and supporters of our current administration, I get this uncontrollable urge to ask a staunch republican to smack my ass with a King James 2000, which is weird because I was force-fed the New American Standard.
Jay-sus, what be up with me as of late? I turned into a cream puff with a soft and sickley sweet inner goo. blech, I used to take some pride in being tough, irreverent, shocking and offensive. I also took pride in that when men met me, they wondered just how much larger my balls were compared to theirs. And when I was younger, if they asked nicely, I'd gladly show them. Now I'm all, please don't touch me, I'm not in the right frame of mind- WTF?...and even worse, I can't type the words motherfucking cocksucker without worry what people will think. Oye-ve! What the hell happened?
Now I am an average joe writer making average joe commentaries about an average joe existence. I don't mind being an average joe, I just don't want to act or write like one.
Let me just preface this paragraph with one statement:
I am not a financial wizard, but I can balance a checkbook which appears to be a lost art.
What do I think about the government "bail out" plan? For starters, to call it anything else would be a delusion. Regardless of all of the hacks on Wall Street who put the rest of the country on our current financial precipice, a situation where they will be the only winners and the rest of us, will lose again. They came up with a plan that will take the heat off of their greedy asses and make Everyman scrape the bottom of the barrel to foot the bill.
I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.
But in a world where banks are collapsing and the value of the once almighty dollar is drastically shrinking, something has got to be done. The government bail out is not ideal but SOMETHING has got to be done to prop up our crippled economy.
It hit home for me today as I was sitting in a meeting. Our company is doing well on the NSYE during this crisis. Our stock has been going up and up while everything else has been plummeting. The REIT market in general seems to be faring well. HOWEVER, if the banks don't start lending money soon and we can't tap into our line of credit, despite how well we are doing, the layoffs will be inevitable.
yeah, it is uncomfortably close to home. So though I am not crazy about the thought of the government (or anyone else for that matter) coming in and saving the rich asshats and when I mean save, I mean preventing them from losing their Hampton summer homes, something has to be done or the rest of us peons will know what it is to be truly poor, hungry and destitute...and there is nothing more depressing to think that my 2-bit hooker ass can only bring in 1-bit.
No really, seriously, I am packing up my shit and moving to Utah, the state that allows polygamy. Marcus and Shawna, will you guys be my lawfully wedded couple? To love and to hold, in sickness and in health, and all the rest of it?
What a smokin' hot couple. They have going on in all departments. Here is my proposal, we could tag team all night fueled by real affection and tenderness and then clean the house naked!
Nothing says "I do" like great sex and a hot ass on a sqeaky clean countertop.
Why do we not realize the value of our friends until crisis hits us? I don't mean to be all sentimental and what not, but if it weren't for all of the people in my life who have rallied around me during one of the hardest times in my life, I am not sure how I could have gotten out of bed on some mornings.
Thank you friend for mowing the lawn for me when I was pretty sure I would have mowed my leg off. By the way, a good way to drop a few pounds permanently, but not recommended. Thank you friend for coming over and letting me cry on your shoulders, all night long. Thank you friend for inviting me over and making me dinner and letting me cry on your shoulders, all night long. Thank you friend for talking on the phone with me almost every night, letting me cry in your ear, all night long. and thank you friend for sending me emails during the day, reminding me that I am going to be fine.
If I don't say this enough: to all of my friends, I love you and I thank you.
May wonders never cease! In what appeared to be another futile stab at finding another running partner, I think I finally met him!
An old friend of mine and I recently reconnected through businesss. As it turns out, he runs marathons and he is also running the Pasadena 1/2 Marathon this fall. Last night, we met up at the Rose Bowl. Admittedly, I was a little taken back when he said he likes to interval train, meaning, run 6 minutes, walk 3. What? Doesn't anyone just jog until they collaspe or throw up anymore? He said interval training helps his body to recover so that he can run for endurance. Whatever dude, just jog with me and don't make me stop!
We jogged the entire 3 miles without stopping at a 10 mile/minute pace. It felt good. We were able to talk and we reached a very decent stride somewhere in the middle.
He thinks I can run a 1/2 marathon by February. I think he's on crack, but at the pace I've been training, I do see myself doing a 10K somewhere in the near future.
I realized this morning as I go through my routine, I find new things that I am in search of. For example, I am in search of someone to wake up with in the morning. I don't mean I want another boyfriend, I just want to wake up with someone next to me, no hanky panky, just a warm body to help me jump start the day.
So if you are willing or know of anyone out there willing to come over to my house around 7:00am (after you have brushed your teeth), get naked, hop into bed with me (and this will be tricky because your side is against the wall and you have to get over there by crawling over my body without waking me up) and pretend to be asleep while I hit my snooze button a few times, curl up against your back and allow me reach around and grab your doink, because that is how I like to wake up. All you have to do is just lay there as I slowly come to and stumble into the bathroom for my morning pee. You can pretty much leave after that.
Yesterday, a friend from the past calls up and wants to know how the hell I am doing. I gave him an earful of news and he suggested that I go jogging with him to clear my head. He knows this 3.2 path in San Marino that will kick my ass and I was up for it. It was surface but that was cool by me. If I plan on running the 5K, I gotta start jogging surface streets.
It was a great run, the best part is I could have gone longer. Was it just a few months ago that I was celebrating my 2 mile mark? I wanted to run until my legs wore out and I fell over from good old fashion physical exertion. The hills were hard and steep but mentally, I knew I could take it, shit, I've taken a worse beating mentally over the past month, these hills felt like anthills.
I think my friend was a bit disappointed that it wasn't as hard for me as he had advertised and I was a bit disappointed that I had not found my running partner. I am looking for a partner to run cross country with me, not stop every mile.
We still had a great time and there is nothing better than chips, salsa and cold beer for a job well done. It was a good way to get re-acquainted with an old friend, but alas, no jogging connection was made.
Last night I decided to go jogging because I had not gone in about a week, I needed to clear my head and I needed to get back on track, literally.
Arcadia High, my home track was crazy. There were all sorts of Emergency vehicles in front and the place was packed. I think there was a high school game going on because all of the lights were on and no one was jogging around the track. So I go to the back-up track, the dirty, smaller, darker and gansta infested track, Arroyo High.
Well sonumbitch, wouldn't ya know, the place is on lock down too! Where's a gal to go when she wants to get her run on, on a Friday night? All of the gates were closed and the lights were out. I drove around the lot and scanned the track. There were people still running on the track! They will need to get out at some point and you know, if there is a way out, then there is a way in.
I saw gansta gansta in the lot and he was hanging on the fence. It was quite obvious he wasn't at the track to run it. He was quite portly and was wearing the wrong shoes. However, I mustered up my courage, got out of my car, walked over and said, "hey, how do you get into this place." Mr. Nice Portly Gansta Gansta says to me, "Yeah, this place is on lock down but go around the track to the other side and you will see an opening."
Yee-Haw! Thanks Gansta friend!
I hopped in my car, drove around and found the secret exit/entrance by following the people who were leaving.
I jogged 2 of the hardest and best miles I ever jogged in my life. And the best part is my gansta friend and his posse kept me company. As I jogged around the track, they sat on the benches smoking out and being cool. I felt safe knowing they were there.
Moral of the story: first impressions are not always accurate.
The Claw, or Kitty Claw, the newest addition to the family has a disturbing fascination with our bathroom duties. She loves it. She can be down the hall, in a dead sleep and with the first splash of morning pee, she will scramble to the bathroom to sit and watch you urinate.
It gets even a bit more disturbing when Skraggle is relieving himself because she likes to play a more active role. Sometimes she will try to stick her paw in his stream, or her head. Skraggle has been forced to sit like a bitch when he pees because he doesn't want to cuddle with a urine soaked cat.
Sometimes she will try and get in your butt when you are pooping. Yes you read right, sometimes when I poop, I feel like I am going to be anally molested by a cat. Occasionally, she will jump up behind me and lay against my clenched backside as I poop.
When I was gone for a week and a half, she missed me. A lot.
And when I say a lot, I mean a lot, a lot.
Ok, she didn't actually miss me, she missed the curve of my ass.
So I am jogging along the track at Arcadia High School when I see 2 girls strolling along the numbers 4 and 5 lanes. I really have no problem with that; I feel you have to go at your own pace. But when your pace also involves holding your purse while you scoop ice cream in your mouth while you meander along the middle of the track...
Whatever. Do what you need to do to assuage the guilt, but seriously, the next time I see these gals with their ice cream cups lollygagging on what I now consider MY track, I plan to run up behind them, kick them in their gluttonous maximus, and steal their ice cream.
This was my third year going deep sea fishing with Neal, Gerry and the rest of the gang. I actually awoke on time with a little help from Skraggle who used his foot by firmly planting it on my backside and pushed me out of the bed. After last year's late start whereby I awoke late after a long hot night of steamy sex, I made it to the port 37 minutes late, but just in time to jump on the boat as it left the dock.
This year, instead of playing with balls, we watched them run around the bases with Masa, Corazon and Kelsie at the Dodger Stadium. Needless to say, we got home fairly late and I got to bed even later. My lady love, Skraggle, was kind enough to make me a gallon of coffee as I blindly stumbled outta of the house, in the dark. As I was backing out of the driveway, he hands me the cooler and said, "don't even think about coming home without dinner tonight." ...and with a peck on the cheek, I was off!
This year's excursion proved to be very lucrative for me. I just went to have a good time with Neal and the Gang. Not only did I get to spend my day with some good friends and meet some cool new people, I caught a 17 pound Yellow Tail along the backside of Catalina Island and won the jackpot prize, 85 bones!
Yeah bitches! Not only am I wanted by the gents, this trip has sealed my reputation as being very popular with the fishes.
Skraggle and I have this new thing we like to do in the evenings to have some fun. I'll give you one guess and it doesn't involve a stunted penis.
We are running like a bubbling brook, running like a snotty nose, running like the wind, running 'cause we can. Or at least I can; my old man is briskly walking.
I have a goal, I want to run the Pasadena 5K in November 2008. Admittedly, my goals are not lofty; I do not want to run for a cure or to fight homelessness or even to feed the children. I want to run so that I can hold on to my man. I have noticed lately that he has been eyeballing 15 year old high school boys on the Arcadia Soccer team and if I don't run these boobs off, I know I'll lose him forever.
So today my poor soul was subjected to what I like to call the "corporate training bra" drone. Southern California Edison cashed a check but then forgot to post it to my account. The gal who answered the phone had not a clue as to how to help me. She kept putting me on hold to "ask her supervisor". When I finally got Donald, the super, on the phone, I was about ready to get all crazy asian lady with expired coupons at the check-out line on his ass.
Bitches, I better see a credit to my account or someone is gonna die. and when I say die, I mean I will take a months worth of my own personal urine, bury it underground for a year, add jalapeno pepper seeds with blood clots from local abortion clinic trash bin and sell it to your ignorant ass for a buck fifty by telling you it is the elixir of youth...oh there is youth in there all right...
Just give me my money bitches; we all know I am too lazy to actually pee in a jar.