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My birthday weekend, or “why ziplines and beer don’t mix”

Oh jolly ole’ birthday weekend, you are so wonderful!  I can be a bitch and then be all “it’s my birthday weekend” and all is good in the hood.  I don’t really mind getting older because I’m still not ancient so another year doesn’t mean another medication at this point.  I am now the age of Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, and Jimi Hendrix when they died so I am skipping the heroin altogether this year.  It’s kinda my birthday resolution.

Saturday night my friend threw me a party at her house.  This was not a good idea since last time I was there I got drunk and went down her half pike on my ass (there was a skateboard involved).  on purpose.  They now have a sky chair and a zip line.  I guess you can see where this is going?  When you are 15 feet in the air and you tell someone to “drop you” you should probably be specific.  I wasn’t, and they dropped me.  on purpose.  Happy Fucking Birthday to me. 

There was also a zipline, and a mystery gigataziod cut on my leg, but other than that I played rockband until the sun came up and had a merry old time.

Looking back on my life thus far I can pretty much say that I am rad as shit.  To be so young (which I am) I think I have accomplished a lot.  So much in fact that I’m not doing shit this year.  That’s right, I’m taking it easy and taking up marijuana, because something has to replace the heroin, right?

(Jim) Beam me up, Scotty

Aliens don’t seem to be such a huge part of my life anymore, in that I don’t always think about them every single day.  Maybe because the booze makes me pass out puts me to sleep waaaay before I have time to sit and stare at the ceiling and think I see aliens in my room, or just their shadow, which still means they are there.  Or just their goo they leave behind.  Which, really?  You are so much smarter but you haven’t figured out a way to not leave goo behind?  YUCK!

I first started thinking about aliens all.the.time after I saw ET.  My mom really shouldn’t have let me watch that movie at such a young age because I cannot see him as a friendly extra terrestrial that loved Reece’s Pieces (which that we do have in common, because they are like little pieces of heaven) now, but instead I think of him as a creepy short guy with long arms that I don’t want following me down the hall.  I lived in fear of dark halls for the better part of the 80’s because all I could imagine behind me was little ET bookin’ it down the hall behind me.  I don’t care how much you love ET, if you saw him running you down in the hall you would shit in your pants.  It’s that simple. 

Once I outgrew my ET phobia (which really? do we ever totally get over those things? NO!) I started thinking about real aliens (y’know, as opposed to the Steven Spielburg made-up variety) and it would just keep my up at night!  I had so many questions and so few answers.  Like?  That guys I went on a date with last week, I wonder if he was an alien that can take human form? Y’know, shit like that.  Whatever though, I’m over it.  I just started thinking about it because someone at work said something about scary stuff and I was all like “Yeah, that’s as scary as ET chasing you down the hall” *crickets* then the sound of everyone going about their business.  So I wrote about it on the internet because when you do that it’s like you’re reaching out to all the people in the world with a fear of ET and they’re all like “We feel you, we just don’t read your blog” which is better that “wow, that girl in marketing is bat shit crazy”.

Also, in unrelated news, I had the stragest dream last night that pissed me off sooooo bad! I was in this little boardwalk type place and there was a pizza place that my friend and I were going to eat at but I had to use the restroom first.  When I went in the stall there was pee everywhere so I started wiping it off with TP but then there was pee on the floor and I got my feet covered in pee (apparently I had sandals on) (also, I dream about pee covered bathrooms often, so often in fact that I may need to see a hypnotist about it or something).  So, I walk out of the bathroom where I got pee all over my feet and I walk up to the counter/bar thing where they are serving drinks and ask for a glass of water.  They ignored me so I was all like”Excuse me, I stepped in pee in your bathroom and need water to wash my foot off with” and they were all, “you need to get in line” so I do because even though I am pissed off AND pissed on I still don’t want to be rude.  So, I wait my turn and then I get up to the counter and ask for the water again and the little high school fuck behind the counter says “That’ll be $14” and then he and all his hs fuck friends start laughing, all the while I have pee on my foot.  So, I do what any adult would do and scream “FUUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOU” and walk out.  It was ok though b/c I went somewhere with a sparkly clean bathroom and ended up seeing an old friend there. so HA!  Stupid loser that worked at the pizza place!  You’re stupid and you probably smell like cheese when you go home at night!

Things to do before I die

1. Gerard Butler- actually I may move this to the end of my list because, seriously?  I’d probably die afterwards of shock and utter fascination.

2. Learn to surf- this has replaced “learn to dive” because I’m radical and learned how to do that about 2 weeks ago because I got tired of my 5 year old showing me up.  I can body surf semi-well so I am hoping surfing-surfing is only, like, 3 times harder.

3. Perfect my own at-home Chai Latte- I have found heaven in a cup but a Venti Soy Iced Chai Latte a day runs me about seventy bajillion dollars and is a habit that is harder to break than crack.  My kids will probably not have a college fund and I will lose my house if I don’t do something quickly.

4. Buy the teenyest tiniest house on the beach (or near) and make it all cottage-y and blue and white and seashell-y inside and then always have sand on everything and not even care.  Not even a little bit.

5. Train a dog from puppy-hood (because it’s waaaaay to late for my beast of a dog) to be all super kick-ass trained where I can put their food down and then make them stay and stay and stay and then say “OK” and then they’ll eat.  If they save little kids lives like Lassie and bring me beer that would be an added bonus.

6. Own some sort of obnoxious little shop that sells the most random stuff that probably only appeals to about 28% of the population and then be all lax about everything, like, oh, gee, maybe we’re open today, it depends on how I feel.  And then have a cat that lives in the shop so then that shaves off another 6% of people because maybe peeps are allergic to cats or they don’t want cat hair on their completely random brand new stuff.  Hmmm, unless it’s a pet related store that only sells stuff for cats!  BRILLIANT!  Then it would just be stupid and lame for people to complain about having cat allergies or having cat hair on their stuff because I’d be all like “You DO know that this shop only sells stuff forcats so unless your cat is allergic to cats, in which case you have a stupid cat, yeah, I called your cat stupid, whatcha gonna do about it, oh, your wanna talk to a manager, well guess what?  You’re looking at her.  fine.  leave”.  Ok, so I need to work a little more on the business model, and I’ll probably have to have a katrillion dollars in savings because I’ll be lucky to break even but whatever.

7. Live to be really old so I can wear visors and pastels all.the.time. and drive really slow and be in a bunch of clubs for only old people and maybe even live in a neighborhood for only old people and then it can be like high school all over again, like, “yeah, I’m a senior, how old are you?  72?  Pshaw.  Wait until you get to be my age.  You don’t even know the half of it.” and then make them feel really uncool because they are only 72, which is actually pretty old but I’ll be older and thus radder.

I need to still think about more stuff.

Going to the beach beyotch

I’m headed off to the sandy beached of Florida tomorrow, just me and the kiddos.  Everyone is having a fit because they are worried I need someone to go with me so they can stress me the fuck out with their agenda on my vacation and tell me how to raise my children help me.  I, on the other hand, am stoked!  To those of you that wait with bated breath for me to post again (ok, so nobody) I’ll be back Monday with tales of the beach.

Episode II: Attack of the Fleas

I spend about 86 mazillion dollars a month on my pets.  I love them, and they are worth it, and I don’t want them to have fleas, or worms, or mites, or anything that may crawl on me at night and lay eggs in my hair (have you guys heard that story about the lady and the spiders?  Snopes says false I say yuck! I don’t wanna take any chances!).

Enter new yellow kitty, left stage

So, about the sad baby tiny kitten that was left alone in the abandoned house, yeah, that one.  I, um, well, er hmmmm…Ihaveanothercatnow.  This, my dear friends, is somthing I needed about as much as I need a hole in my head.  Seriously?  The world needed another folk singer before I needed another cat, so put THAT in your pipe and smoke it, Cracker.  The sad tiny baby kitten was pretty bad off so I immediately took her to my vet.  She does not have FIV and whatever else they test for but she does have ALL of the creepy crawlies!  I practically had to take out a second mortage before I was able to bring her home to my plethora of cats.  Six baths and some major(ly gross) ear cleaning later, I am the proud owner of a kit lovingly named Peach (not Peaches b/c I don’t want her to grown up to be a stripper people) (and sorry if anyone named Peaches ever happens to read this, but your mom gave you a pole name).  I am going to have her spayed and then try to re-home her.  She will be well socialized with kiddos and other cats so if you know of anyone that may need a kitten in about 2 weeks and they live in the greater Atlanta area, give me a shout.

Meanwhile, stay tuned for Episode III: Pass me a Fifth

edit: I found a home for Peach on Sunday.  I went to the home yesterday to clean, only to find 2 more kittens.

Weight rant (because I’m a chick, that’s why)

Ok, I’m pretty OK with my weight.  After battling with bulimia I must say that I am pretty well adjusted, in that me and my at least 8lbs overweight self just donned a tank and booty shorts for tennis.  I try to focus on the positive, which is the fact that at least 4.2 of the “extra” lbs are boobs and booty, which happen to be the first 4.2 lbs that I lose whenever I am at my “ideal weight”.  That said, Puhleae let me have this rant. 

To the super skinny girl with JUST as many kiddos as me, whom plays tennis with me every Wed/Thurs.:  Um, Did you lose a lb a freakin day after you had your child?  You eat as much as me, stress as much as me, and thusly drink as much as me.  Why are you so freakin skinny and hott???  Maybe it’s genetics?  I get that, but why is your sister slightly less skinny and hott as you?  AND, moreover, why (OH, Dear GOD whyyyyyyy) must I sweat for 2 hrs to look like you, only to know in my mind that you have just burned as many calories as me?  Sometimes life is not fair.

To the SUPA HOTT girl I play tennis with every Thurs/Wed who has as many kiddos as me AND weighs as much as I do AND is shorter that me AND carries her weight in “all the right places”:  Why do you mock me with your hawtness? betch.

Lastly, to my BFFEAA since 2nd grade (who I play tennis, blah, blah, blah), why have you always, even through the “freshman 15” maintained a waist to hip ratio of: perfectness:  It is simply not natural to have flawless skin, be a size zero, have a D cup, have a smokin hot ass nice bum, be the sweetest person literally on the face of the earth, AND? be a lawyer who is not only semi-ethical, but also a bad-ass!?!  I love you, but seriously? you’re making me look bad.

I hate tennis.  I quit.

Hello world!

Hello internetz, it’s me, a person who shall remain nameless so that I can tell you deep dark dirty secrets about me.  I have been a blog lurker for a while and thought I would give it a shot.  I will probably write things that you disagree with, think are stupid or boring, or that make you mad. Um, I don’t care.  I have just as much right to write silly things on a free blog as you do to read (or not read) my silly ramblings.  Please don’t take me too seriously, I try not to.