Saturday, February 27, 2010

Remembrances of Europe...this should totally be a Survivor plot.

I had the good fortune to be able to backpack in Europe the summer after I graduated from college for an amazing 6 weeks! It was totally awesome....

Recently, the girlfriend that I went with came through town and we met for dinner and drinks.  And, of course, started reminiscing about our trip abroad.  Basically, we came to this conclusion: we should be really fucking grateful to be alive.


Because we were really stupid lucky about some things.  We took our passports, credit/debit cards, a backpack of clothes and a EuroRail pass.  And that's it.  No reservations, no plans, no nothing....just us and our dumb asses and some of our parents' money.  We flew to London, took the chunnel to Paris, hooked up with a friend and started making travel plans.

So after Paris, Barcelona and a failed attempt to go to Nice in the south of France (apparently French train conductors go on strike like once a month), we headed to a random little beach town on the Atlantic coast of Spain.  We had been on a train for God-only-knows-how-long to get to San Sebastian, Spain (which, by the way, you MUST visit should you ever get to Spain and is definitely on my list of places to revisit before I die), and we lost our reservations at the hostel we found in the travel book.  This was due to our train being delayed because of a "small fire" in the engine, which they contained while we were stopped in the middle of the Spanish desert inhaling the scent of the rarely-washed European drunkards sitting in front of us.  And no, I'm not making a blanket statement about Europeans and their of these dudes had a case of beer in his black duffel bag under his seat.  Yes, I'm dead I've said before, you can't make this shit up. 

Anyway, so we get to San Sebastian and begin desperately trying to find a pay phone to get a room at another hostel....which were all filling up because by this point in our journey, it was June and LOTS of European and Americans were travelling.  I walk outside to find my friend and tell her I just phone-jacked some old Spanish lady and needed the number of the new place....and what is she doing?? Chatting up some hot Australian dude, of course! Um...really?!?  So come to find out, he and his brother have an apartment in the city and they are subletting rooms (illegally, of course), to backpackers.  So what do we do?? Briefly confer, decide he's really hot and we like his accent and besides, the two of us could totally take him...and then follow him to his apartment in the city.  Did I mention that it's nighttime? And we're girls?? And he could've totally had some other guy waiting in the alley behind the train station waiting to knock us out and rape us??

But he didn't.

Turns out, he was a super nice guy and we crashed at his apartment for 7-8 days of total drunken, beach town debauchery and it was flippin' awesome.

But my friend did draw the line at letting me ride from one bar to another with the hot Italian horse trainer guy on his moped.  Hey, at least we were looking out for each other, right??

My mom is convinced that she prayed me home from that trip.....I'm not so sure she's wrong.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Double standard, much?

I think something is wrong with me.


I have an inability to sound nice.

Stop laughing....I'm dead serious.  Apparently, my tone of voice is "bitch".

Today at work, a dude told me that I have a very "commanding presence" at meetings he's been to and seem to be in charge of everything.  Um, really? Was that a compliment? No.  I think it was a professionally worded way of saying, "Hey...I know're that girl that totally takes over at every meeting and makes everybody feel like an idiot by your tone of voice".

You know what wimpy, I-get-my-feelings-hurt-by-women-with-an-authoritative-tone guy? Screw you and your mother issues.  You're right....I do take charge of meetings.  And you know why? Because otherwise, no one would get jack shit done and we'd all end up sitting around a conference table shooting the shit about what we're doing this weekend and what so-and-so's little boy told her last night at the dinner table and what salon so-and-so just got her hair done at! So yeah, if charge needs to be taken, I'll step in so that we can *actually* accomplish something.

Whew....that felt good to get off my chest.  Better now.

But honestly, it is a recurring theme.  I have, on more than one occasion, had people tell me they think I'm upset with them or whatever because I "sounded" angry or some such nonsense.  I'm not angry, I'm hardworking and efficient.  And sometimes, I just don't have time to conform to the social "niceties" that people expect from women because I'm trying to DO MY JOB to the best of my ability.  And that involves things like deadlines and important dates and time management....which don't always allow for sugarcoating or bullshitting.  Sorry.

Do you think if some dude came in with an authoritative tone and took charge of the meeting and got some stuff accomplished, this guy would have made a point of it?? I think not, my liberated friends....I think not.

And that's sad.  Actually, it's just shitty....because sad would imply that I am crying.  And I'm not.  I'm pretty pissed about I think it's more aptly described as "shitty".

Someone get me a IV of Xanax and Shiraz...STAT!

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

My mom is probably going to totally lay a guilt trip on me about this post because I talk about Jesus.....sorry mom.

So it snowed in Texas yesterday....and like, the whole state just shut down.  Sorry other 49 states, Texas is closed for a snow day! Call back later!

And it made me realize that if I lived somewhere where it snowed alot, I'd probably a) have a drinking problem, b) kill my husband and c) be really fat.  But I've already talked about my dislike for snowy, wet, cold or basically any weather that's not sunny and 70s, so I'll move on.

Today, dear reader(s), I'm going to talk about my friend....let's call him "Bobby".  Bobby is married and his wife is cool as hell.  Ronnie and I are "couple friends" with him and his wife.  They have a daughter my daughter's age, so it just works, you know? The kids are occupied, they like to have drinks....good times. Sidebar: How annoying is the term "couple friends"?? Especially if you're single...I mean, it almost sounds like I'm implying that friends that don't come in pairs aren't worth having.  But when you're married, let's face it, "couple friends" is the way to go.  It occupies my husband so I can have girl talk and drink wine....that way Ronnie and I don't actually have to talk when we're hanging out. 

So anyway, Bobby is hilarious.  He's like one of those guys who always has a funny story about whatever it is you're talking about.  He drinks like a fish, laughs at my jokes and so far, has loved every dinner I've fed him.  In other words, he's good people. 

But here's the thing about Bobby that I absolutely freakin' love.....EVERY time he comes to my house, he brings alcohol.  Which is awesome, but that's not even the best part.....because not only does he bring it, he LEAVES THE LEFTOVERS!!!

I know! Awesome, right?! I mean, that is just plain ol' good Christian giving right there.  Jesus is saving that dude's spot because he has donated to his less-fortunate friends and left his beer or wine at their house.  (And yes, Jesus was totally a wine 13 years of Catholic school left me with at least that much knowledge about Jesus.  So he's got to have an appreciation for people like this.  I bet Jesus would have appreciated a freebie jug of wine left over at his place now and again....but the disciples were probably totally winos and there was never any left once those dudes hit it).

I think I need to do some soul searching here and take a line from Bobby (or Jesus), because this girl? Takes her shit with her.  If there's one beer left in the six pack, I'm taking it home with me.  Two drops of wine left in the bottle? Sweet...I'll be taking that to my place! So how cool of Bobby is that? I obviously don't have the giving spirit that he does.  I mean, you get home from work and think, "Damn! What a day! I could use a beer!" and then think, "Aw man...we don't have any." And then open the fridge and see....what is that? A leftover Bobby beer! HALLELUJAH!

So's to you man.  You rule! Oh, and the rest of that bottle of wine? You can just leave it on the counter for next time y'all come over *nudge, nudge....wink, wink*.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

I really hope my boss hasn't started reading this because I just totally admitted that I'm late to work.

I am late...alot.  Like if we make plans, you should just show up 15 minutes after whatever time I said I'd be there because that's when I'll really be there.

I'm generally five minutes late to work pretty much everyday.  And luckily, I'm like, important enough at my job that I do this and nobody jumps my ass about it.  Which is, in all, pretty damn sweet.

But all of this is about to change.

Because my kid starts kindergarten next year. And does anyone know what time kindergarten starts?!!? Anyone? Anyone? No?

Well, let me be the first to inform you that here, in communist educationally-focused central Texas, kindergarten starts at 7:45 AM!!


Holy shit dude! We'll NEVER make it on time....EVER.  First of all, she doesn't sleep.  Secondly, she's a nightmare to wake up and get dressed in the morning and third, I'm late like every freakin' day!!! Not to mention, I am totally spoiled by a daycare that feeds the kid breakfast, so I don't even have to do that! I can already foresee the tons of notes or phone calls or emails that I'll be getting informing me that my child has been late to school 4 days in a row and the next time she's late, she'll have to like, put a quarter in the swear jar or something.  I mean, surely you can't get detention in kindergarten??

Ohmigod.  What if I get my child detention?? In kindergarten?? She'll hate me for life!! And then, she'll engage in all these Lifetime Movie Network behaviors and like, make a pregnancy pact with her friends when she's 14 and go on Maury Povich and marry some douche who wants her have like 19 children like the Duggars. I'm screwed.

So here's my plan--we'll get home in the afternoon, eat dinner and go straight to bed.  Like at 6:00, we'll be in bed.....I'll buy blackout curtains and shit.  I'll lie and tell her it's 9:00 if I have to.  Then, we'll sleep for 9 hours or so and be up and at 'em by 4:00 am.  That's the only way I can see having enough time in the morning to get her up, dressed and fed.  There's no possible way we can be way.  Even if we do have to skip a step or two eating.....or clothes....

Monday, February 15, 2010

Word nerd

There are certain words that I just don't like.

I don't say them and I don't really want other people to say them around me. Mostly because....well...they're icky (the words, not other people....although sometimes, you know, it could be both if the guy saying these words is some slightly deranged looking old man with crazy hair and B.O.).

So, without further ado (was there really any "ado" in the first place?), I give you "The List of Words That I Can Rarely Say Without Gagging"

-C*nt (OMG--this has to be the most disgusting word EVER! I can't even type it...seriously...but if some shit goes down with some stupid girls in a bar? This is the word to throw out.)

-Tw*t (Again...a useful tool in a girl fight, but otherwise? Banish it from your vocabulary!)

-Diarrhea (Okay, I can usually say this one without gagging--I mean, I am a mom after all. But still--the grossness factor is high so I'm keeping it on the list.)

-Anal or anus (This one? Typically doesn't make me gag...but does occasionally make me snort or choke because I'm trying to stifle the juvenile laugh that is trying to make its way out of my mouth, so that's sort of like gagging.)

-Piss (In reference to peeing, no...but "pissed off" is okay. No, I don't know why. Shut up.)

-Moist (*retch* Need I say more?)

-Yeast Infection (I can't help but picture a whitish discharge....*retch*. And then I get a mental picture involving me and a girlfriend changing in the locker room of the gym and her asking me, "So, do you ever get that not-so-fresh feeling?".)

-Discharge (I got nuthin'. Dude...the word speaks for itself.)

-Pus (Again...nothing to say here....nothing.)

I'm seriously going to make myself gag in a minute. I just had lunch...and now I'm typing the most disgusting word list EVER.

Can we just do away with these words? Just take them out of the dictionary and out of the English language completely? That would be great...thanks Mr. Webster.

In their places, I would recommend using the following:

-C*nt and Tw*t: Just call it a va-jay-jay and move on. BUT a word of caution--"va-jay-jay" is NOT going to help you in an all-girl bar brawl. Just doesn't have the same "punch" you know? I'm also not entirely opposed to the "P" word....just in moderation.

-Diarrhea: Just say "upset stomach". People will get the picture as long as you're not blowing chunks in their face....I promise.

-Anal or Anus: "Butt"....we don't need to know the specific area of your butt. Just "butt" is specific enough for us, thanks.

-Piss: "Pee", "tinkle" or "teetee" are all acceptable terms here. "Piss" just makes it sound dirty somehow.

-Moist: I'm good with "sort of wet". Really. It works. "Can you hand me a towel? Oh, and could you sort of get it wet". See what I did there? Totally avoided the word "moist".

-Yeast Infection, Discharge and Pus: There are no replacement words. This is just shit you shouldn't talk about. Seriously. Can we talk about your anal diarrhea issues instead?

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Are you still a slut if you don't put out?

I have been accused of being many things in my day...mostly by small-minded women who did not appreciate MY appreciation for their hot-ass man. Hey, it ain't a sin to look....I'm just sayin'....

Basically, I'm a big ol' flirt. And so is my husband. When we first met (in a country dancing bar, of course), we used to walk in, give each other 15 minutes to get a drink and then meet in the back to see who got theirs free. Really. My now-husband obliged--actually, encouraged--me to get alcoholic beverages from other men. His thinking? "Hey, it saves me a few bucks." And you know what? That fucker always won! I think it must have been because the dudes who were going to buy me a drink wanted me to like, stick around and actually talk to them.....douche bags. "Thanks for the Bud Lite! I'm out!"

But back to me.

Big flirt. Huge. Like, I will bat my eyelashes and make witty remarks about my trip to Napa Valley to the grocery store wine sample dude with the FULL expectation of getting more than one free sample. And you know, I have to say, it's gotten me quite a bit of free vino during my lifetime. Honestly, I think people appreciate flirtiness....especially old men who hang out at dive bars on weeknights and bartenders who don't speak very good English and have a cultural appreciation for blue eyes. (Ladies, I'm here to tell you that is an open market to getting free beer!) I mean, who doesn't appreciate a little ego boost now and again?? Even if they are's not like I'm looking to get laid--I got that at home. But you know, an extra shot in my margarita or a free draft or two would be nice.

And no...I most certainly do not think I'm "all that". I was blessed with the gift of gab, if you will. Or as my mother says, "the ability to bullshit my way through anything". This skill definitely comes in handy when you're trying to score a free sample from the wine tasting dude that you are pretty sure is gay. Even gay dudes like to be flirted with....probably more by men, but you know, a nice compliment by a married chick about their eyes would surely be appreciated. And then they would be inclined to give said married chick just one more teensy little sample of wine while she's doing her grocery shopping.....riiiight????

Works like a charm.

But the one thing I have NEVER been able to flirt my way out of? A speeding ticket. Cops have anti-flirt training at the academy, I swear. Fucking cops.

So I guess my flirting skills are only beneficial in the acquisition of alcohol?

Go figure.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

I saw this Ghost Whisperer episode where this brother and sister died from lack of sleep

I think my child is trying to kill me.


Oh sure, she looks all cute and innocent with her cotton-top, white-blond hair and beautiful blue eyes. Not to mention, the longest eyelashes I've ever that perfect little smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. But behind this perfect little facade lurks the heart of a monster.

A monster that NEVER requires sleep.....EVER.....*bwwaaahaaahaaa*....*SCREAM!!!!*

Ohmigod. Y'all.

Every night is the same deal--we put her to bed with teeth brushing, stories and prayers at 9:15.........and then all is well and silent for about 10 minutes. And then begins the questioning.

Question #1 (after about 10 minutes): Is that your lamp on?? Turn that lamp back off and go to sleep young lady!
Question #2 (15 minutes later): Why is your light flashing off and on?!? Go to sleep!
Question #3 (5 minutes after that): Why are you out of your bed? The bathroom?? You just went to the bathroom?! Hurry up and go and then get back in your bed and GO TO SLEEP!!
Question #4 (20 minutes after the bathroom trip): Why is the dog in here wearing your ballet tutu??!?! GO TO SLEEP!!

And eventually, we just give up and fall asleep and God only knows what she does in her room all night. Because I can only tell you what she's NOT doing---SLEEPING!!

A few mornings ago, I walked into her room, found a pallet of blankets and pillows on the floor where she apparently set up some sort of camp--complete with coloring books and colors, mind you. Then, when I pulled her covers back to wake her up, she was wearing a CHRISTMAS DRESS!! REALLY!??! Dress up at midnight seemed like a good idea?!! WTF?!?! And then she looks at me all innocent and blue-eyed and goes "Mommy, what does 'wtf' mean?" and I say "Don't try to change the subject! Why were you up playing dress up in your Christmas dress?!?!"

I swear she's trying to kill me or drive me crazy. Maybe I'm already there...

Monday, February 8, 2010


Is there anything worse than this day?

It's Monday.

It's raining.

I'm at work.

I'm hungover.

Nope....pretty much today is the worst day possible.

But....I am still pretty pumped about the Saints winning the Superbowl for like, the first time EVER! And we had quite a little par-tay at our place last night...there were a good many people there. And lots of beer. And Mardi Gras beads. And quite possibly, the best gumbo I've ever made. My sister also had a party at her house (North and South locations to better meet your Superbowl party needs!) and believes her gumbo may have been better. I beg to differ. So we're having a gumbo cook-off competition on Wednesday night where we will blind taste-test both pots and declare a winner. No, I'm not kidding. We obviously need more to do.

And in preparation for the big game and the ridiculously big party for a Sunday night that we were hosting, my husband and I did some projects around the house. And I think we only yelled at each other like, twice.

What is it about doing household projects together that makes couples get so pissed off at each other?? It's like you pick up a hammer, and just automatically start yelling at your husband because he's not holding whatever it is that you're hammering straight on the wall. Someone should do research on this phenomenon. Or better yet, make a reality show out of it. I can just see it now....Ty Pennington hosts "Extreme Makeover: Marriage Edition". All the couples on the show have to redo a room in their house in one day without filing for divorce, stabbing each other with a screwdriver or chasing each other around with the drill. My husband and I would totally lose.

And if Ty Pennington put his bullhorn in my face, I'd knock that fucker out.

But household tasks got done. The ginormous new TV got installed, everything got cleaned up and shiny for company and furniture got rearranged to accommodate said ginormous TV. I had no idea what we were missing with the small TV!! I've always been all "Oh, we don't watch enough TV to need a big one, so it's cool that we have this little one that we got free from some 'come buy one of our condos at the lake''s no big deal". Yeah,...I'm obviously stupid because the giant TV is flippin' AWESOME! Plus we've got the surround sound and dude, watching TV in our house now can actually cause hearing loss or some shit. Pretty freakin' sweet.

Oh man....I think I need a cheeseburger.....

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Best day to start a diet? Tomorrow....

For the love of all that is holy....can we PLEASE make it stop raining now?? And make it warmer?? Is that too much to ask here??

Seriously dude, if I lived in Alaska or Minnesota or Seattle or somewhere where it was cold and gray all the damn time, I'd have offed myself long ago. Now I know why grunge got its start in Seattle...that place has got to be fucking depressing.

This weather makes me want to just sit on my fat ass and eat, like, chili and gumbo and all this super-fattening food that makes you all warm and fuzzy inside. I mean, who says, " sure is cold out here! Let's go get a salad to warm up!". No one, that's who....except maybe supermodels and we all know how I feel about those girls.

And no, I didn't just say my ass is fat so you'll all say "Oh no it's not! Why, you're not fat at all!". I own it...I have a fat's just the way it is right now. Yes, I know I could diet and exercise and my ass would get smaller, but I just haven't found the motivation to do so. Most of my clothes still fit, my face doesn't look too terribly fat in pictures and I still feel pretty good. The BIGGEST inhibitor to my getting my ass in gear is that my husband still thinks I'm hot.

Really...that's my measure for when the size of my ass becomes a problem.

I mean, we've totally played the "Would you still love me if I ever got that fat?" game whenever we're out in public and see an enormously overweight person enough for me to know his limits. And I have to say, that man has some pretty open know, he is a dude, after all. Typically, his standard response is something like "Sure I'd still love you! I just wouldn't be seen in public with you, Tundra.". And then I ask "Well, would you still have sex with me?". And his response is something like "I is sex after all. You'd just have to be on the bottom all the time." And then my standard response is "You're an asshole". And then he laughs. And then I laugh. And then we proceed to eat our double jalapeno cheeseburgers and fries..because if we're BOTH fat, then it's a moot point.

So I guess when he says, "Hell no! I'd have left your fat ass about 150 pounds before it got to THAT point!" while eating a grilled chicken salad, I'll know it's time to start the diet.