Late Night Randomness

I just randomly remembered that my senior year, in AP English, my friends and I did the most off the wall group project.  Blame the fact that I was a little whacked out that year (note: do not let 16 year old child live on her very very own) or the fact that I had just read Watership Down but our project was about tripping rabbits.  Hear me out people.  The assignment was to write a sonnet (long ass poem) or story about a group’s trip (yeah, so we did get a little literal, it’s English, right?) through several novels and their respective time periods.  What better explanation for the random leap from so many different stories and eras than a bunch of rabbits on acid, right?  We worked diligently on a sonnet (ten pages, single spaced, and all that shit rhymed) and completed the assignment having met and exceeded all of the criteria.  We were the only group in the entire graduating class that chose to write a sonnet.  We had the most memorable project that year.  We all made a D.  This fact totally exited my memory until, the other night, when I saw something while a show on acid.  I immediately called my BF to remind her.  We laughed our asses off and then sat and talked about the fact that we had totally forgotten about the whole damn thing!  I have a feeling that out teacher didn’t.  Bitch gave us a D because we were druggies.  Geniuses, but still druggies.

I love my new tennis arms.  My tennis gals and I were having some after-tennis refreshments (read: Corona) the other 900 degree night and as per usual were doing the whole chick talk thing (which is inevitable b/c we’re chicks and we talk about chick stuff).  All of us gals were going on andon about certain things that we dislike about ourselves physically.  I made the very Oprah-like suggestion that we go around and talk about the things that we like the best (physically b/c seriously? all of my girlfriends have the personality of awesomeness so there was no need to state the obvious, which is, in case you didn’t know, we’re so very rad.  In every way.) about the current company.  My arms stole the show from the rest of my features (which? randomly enough my eyebrows are usually the show stopper).  I have neither liked nor disliked my arms particularlybut after tonight I did stand in the mirror and feign a racket swing.  I must say that my personality being A#1, my arms are a close 2nd.

Kegorators rock my world.  My mom recently got married to a younger guy.  His kids are the same age as mine which now is a blessing but at first seemed a little odd.  Since getting married he has moved in and built a kegorator.  I never new how much I loved draft beer until it was in my own mother’s home.  Pair that with the fact that she has the perfect backyard, equipped with pool, and you have just imagined what is and will be my perfect summer getaway.  Yay mom, you hubby rocks (but, um, why couldn’t you have done this a little sooner?  Like, say, when I was in high school?).

And thus completes my random post

Episode I: The Phantom Tenants

Today, in a galaxy far far away, sits a vacant home.  No ordinary home, this is. 

I try not to be a lover of “things” but I do reeeeeeally like like this house.  So much so that I let it sit vacant and pristine for months in lieu of renting the house out b/c I didn’t want anyone to mess it up.

Then I found (what I thought was) a lovely couple on that wonderful cyber-orgy known as craigslist.  Turns out, not so much.

I went to the house yesterday b/c they were “moving out” on the 5th.  Yesterday was the 5th.  They have moved nothing.  I had a right mind to throw everything away, but I was able to get in contact with Mr. Sucktastic and tell him that whatever he does not get by Saturday will be disposed of.  Here is a list of what I disposed of yesterday:

  • approx. 75 bowls/cups/plates that were craftily (is that a word) used as an ashtray
  • baby diapers, dirty ones
  • rotten meat and spoiled milk (Oh, did I mention that they didn’t pay their power bill and the power was off for 9 days?  Because they didn’t, and it was. grrr)
  • cat poop (I guess I also didn’t mention that they left a baby kitten in the house with little food, no water, and no way to escape the 95 degree heat of the house with no power.  Double grrr)
  • random shoes in the front yard, I can’t make this stuff up peeps!
  • Piles of piles of piles of fashion/gossip magazines because, really,  why waste your time paying bills and cleaning and taking care of your kids (which BTW are no longer in her custody) when you can sit around and smoke cigarettes and read about Britney smoking cigarettes and not cleaning and not taking care of her kids…see now doesn’t that make you feel muuuch better.

More on this saga (and the kitten) later.  Now, please excuse me while I go throw some shoes in the yard.

It’s one millllllion degrees here

Nothing about this weather is doing anything positive for my look, unless shiny foreheads, frizz, and pit stains are suddenly all the rage.

Summer (which does not officially start for 17 more days kill.me.now) is my next to the least favorite season (after winter b/c, duh, you can’t swim).  The swealtering heat coupled with the shitty weekend traffic from all of those lovely people going to/fro Florida sucks hard!  Also, (and then I will be through with the complaining) my office, which is fah fah away from the thermostat, happens to be the only office with windows.  Did I mention that my windows were made in the Bermuda Triangle and are made of some “diva” type material, in that the sun rises AND sets on them. 

If you know anything about how your typical thermostat works you know that it measures the temperature within a 1 inch radius, and then tells the unit “more cool refreshing air” or “stop blowing” based on that temperature (or at least that’s what my ex said and, didn’t you know? he knows everything!). 

Our thermostat is in the coolest, darkest place imaginable. 

My office is in the hotest, sunshineyest place imaginable. 

Right now our thermostat is set at 76 (which, really?), meaning that my office is about 2 degrees cooler than hell.  I’m in hell.  A hell where the booze, coke, and loose women are replaced with coffee, customers, and, well, still loose women.  A hell with a special spot saved for the people who designed this building.

 

 

Favored

I’m pretty much everyone’s favorite.  I’m my mother and father’s favorite child, I’m all of my grandparent’s favorite grandchild, I’m everyone’s kiddo’s favorite grown-up, I could go on but I won’t. Well, other than to say that I am now Jesus’ favorite as well, according to my co-worker.

Funny thing is I really don’t “try” to make anyone like me, or to get favor (um, certainly not Jesus, I would think he would pretty much dislike me after this weekend).  I think that is key.  My friends from high school had a particularly crazy mother who chased me with, on 2 different occasions, a baseball bat and a gun, respectively.  I was also her favorite of her daughter’s friends, not because I kissed her ass, or was a particularly good influence (just the opposite actually), but because I came back after she chased me with a bat, and then again after she chased me with a gun, and because I told her she was bat shit crazy. 

So, back to Jesus.  Some people would call it being lucky but my co-worker says that I am favored, by Jesus.  That’s deep.  Good things do happen to me, a lot.  Every day’s troubles turn into the following day’s blessings.  I ask, I receive.  I wish, it is granted.  

You hear about the power of visualization, that you imagine something in your life, or claim that something for yourself, and it will come to pass.  I totally believe that, but wouldn’t say I sit around visualizing answers to my problems.  I usually just don’t think about my problems.  A blessing and a curse.  I am concerned with things; paying my mortgage on time, making it to work when I should,  rationing out my vacation time, by you will never see me sweat if I am low on cash that month, or need to take a sick day.  Change what you can, and what you can’t leave it alone.  Have the sense to know the difference between the two.  That is my favorite Marvin Gaye song, and that’s a long list people, because I love me some Marvin Gaye.

My mom says I’m as free as a butterfly, my best friend calls me a hippy, my ex says I’m irresponsible and need to grow the hell up.  I say I’m happy, I never do without, and I’m having a great time loving my life (bad circumstances and all) and spending zero time worrying.  Worrying never paid my bills, made me heal, fed me, got me laid, brought my kitty home, or kept my children safe.  Breathing in life and allowing my mind and heart to suck every last bit of it in, the good and the bad, and then choosing to look past the bad has made me favored.  Funny thing is, being favored alone has never paid my bills, made me heal, fed me, got me laid, brought my kitty home, or kept my children safe.  What being favored has done is brought an ocean of people into my life, people that have done one or all of those things (here’s looking at you, Jesus).

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.

I won’t mind losing all my teeth

I am a connoisseur of all things grandma. 

It have become very apparent to me in the last few years that I have the same eating habits and tastes as a 84 year old woman.  This may have a little to do with the fact that I was basically raised by my maternal Grandmother and paternal Great-grandmother.  I have compiled a semi-complete list of my geriatric cuisine choices:

I love coffee, but easy on the dairy and light to little sugar. 

Mashing anything automatically makes it more appealing to me.

Werther’s Originals.

I love cafeteria style food, oooh, and buffets.  My last birthday was spent at Golden Corral.  My Twenty-Sixth BIRTHDAY!

I reeeeally like jello (red, and sans fruit b/c that is just stupid!  Who puts fruit in their jello?  Stupid, Stupid, Stupid I tell you!)

If it’s stinky (cabbage), slimy (Brussels sprouts), or just plain something you would never eat if your sweet little grandma hadn’t spent all day making it, I probably LOVE it.

Also, I think the things that I don’t eat a lot of such as gum, dairy, popcorn, and sausages that give me heartburn, only solidify my argument that I like the finer nursing home fare.  I know this is all very random, but it struck me with such force today (as I was reaching for a soft peppermint) that I thought I would share.

Um, not so much.

I am becoming a stronger person, learning to live in the moment, and trying to focus on the present and all of the good things the present holds.  But, then sometimes my ego gets the best of me and I have to complain, if now was one of those moments I would probably mention some of the things that have been bothering me lately, some of my pet peeves if you will…

They might sound something like this:

Dude, please don’t prove how fast your car can go from 0-60 in order to pull out in front of me, only to then drive so effin slow that I am late (again) to work.  It’s really unpleasant and I am getting lightheaded from all the deep breaths that I am required to take to ensure that I don’t cuss someone out at work.

Honey, I know that you are jealous that I am out with my girlfriends and you are stuck with your lame hubby and his friends, and I also know that you are ashamed of what you wore out of the house just as much as I am ashamed for you, but you can’t be mad at me for looking fab and you can’t be mad at your hubby and his friends for checking me out.  Go home, change, fix yourself up…and then, if you still want to whisper (not-so-quietly) about someone, try bitching at your hubby, it’s not my fault I’m fab!  Um, I can teach you, but I’ll have to charge.

Dear lady that parked in the handicapped parking space b/c she is heavy and for some reason thinks that makes her handicapped,

We all saw that the trash can was right next to the handicapped parking spot that you parked in.  We also saw you pull out, stop, and then ball up about a gazillion sheets of paper and throw it on the ground.  I’m also glad that you saw me walk withing 2 inches of you, pick it up, and put it in the trash.  The force that I used to deflect you laser beam stares helped me burn an addition 5 calories.  Looks like I’ll be parking in the normal peoples spaces…thanks litterbug!

Lastly, on another traffic note, signs that say “Keep Moving” are typically there for a reason.  For those that may be unclear, Keep moving means that you should stay in a continuous state of moving.  I know it’s a little hard to wrap you brain around, and hell, you can even slow a bit just to make yourself feel better, but in Jesus’ Holy name!  PLEASE KEEP MOVING!!!!!

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.