Friday, April 30, 2010

They don't speak Martian on Venus

I was raised in the middle of nowhere. I have ONE sister who is 7 years older than me so we both had our "only child" time with our parents. We rode horses, played softball, cheered and danced. My father worked out of town a lot, so we were very "estrogen heavy" in our household. I have a daughter and she is the only female grandchild on my my mom and sister dote on her...alot. 

My husband was raised out in the middle of nowhere, too. He is one of FOUR boys and they are all within 8 years of each other. They all rode horses, played football and baseball, and showed livestock. They ate 2 loaves of bread and drank 2 gallons of milk A DAY. The boys were all, at one time or another, grounded, getting a spanking or being made to move the rock pile in the yard to a different location so they could "think about what they had done". His dad coached all of them in baseball or football at one time or another so he was definitely in a testosterone driven environment for the most part.  In his first marriage, he had a son who is a great kid and a "boy's boy" through and through.

And now, my husband is raising a girl.

And Ohmigod…the learning curve is steep.  And I am amused.

Because the same rules? Don't apply.

For example, you cannot "tickle" or "wrestle" a girl out of a snit. When she is pissed, she is flat out pissed. And no amount of "funny daddy tickling time" will get her out of it. In fact, it generally serves to make her madder and then the crying starts. And then she wants to tell you how you hurt her feelings and she's not your best friend anymore. Which makes Ronnie laugh, but in "girl speak" is like, the meanest thing you can possibly say to someone.

Also, the brushing and fixing of the hair can make or break your day. If it's tangled and you're too rough? Drama ensues. If it's not fixed exactly right? Drama ensues. If she wants to wear the lime green barrette that matches absolutely nothing on her outfit rather than the pink one you say she has to wear? Drama ensues. And what does my man who is one of four boys and had a son the first go-round of being a father know about doing girl hair? Not much.

And clothes? *psssh* I once picked my daughter up at school after Ronnie was in charge of getting her dressed and there and she was dressed in head-to-toe camouflage. And the worst part? It wasn't even matching camouflage! Dude. Really? Was it, like, declare war on the other preschools day at school or something?

The other night, we were watching Parenthood (my new favorite show by the way) and the dad opened up a package that had been delivered that day from Victoria's Secret. He was all, "Wow honey…this black lace bra is going to look great on you. What's the special occasion?" And his wife was all, "I didn't order that…it's addressed to your daughter."

And he freaked out.

And so did Ronnie.

I'd feel sorry for him if I didn't think it was so good for him. Or if I wasn't kind of bitchy in that I enjoy watching him squirm at the thought of our daughter in a bra.

Oh Ronnie, the things we have yet to teach you, dear. Just wait till prom…you may have to just go out of town that weekend.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Ed HardLY

Four years ago, my sister (who has always been much more fashionable than I) showed up at a party of mine in this super-cool vintage-looking tee shirt. I flippin' loved it! It was black and had all these vintage tattoo-like images on it and Ohmigod! It was awesome. It was so punk rock. It was…

You guessed it….

Ed Hardy.

And since then?

He has fucking taken over the universe.

No lie. It's not just clothes and shoes anymore, people….we're talking ALL facets of retail marketing have been inked up with Ed Hardy tattoo designs.

You can now buy Ed Hardy wine glasses:

Ed Hardy car accessories:

Ed Hardy school supplies:

Ed Hardy laptops:

Ed Hardy computer accessories:

Ed Hardy housewares:

Still don't have enough??

How about putting some Ed Hardy on the inside?!!? That's right…you can drink up some Ed Hardy….

Or beer:

Of course, you could do all of this at once and multiply your coolness! You could wear your Ed Hardy underwear and jogging suit with matching shoes while resting on your Ed Hardy bedspread and playing on your Ed Hardy laptop with your Ed Hardy USB plugged in while you sip some Ed Hardy wine out of your Ed Hardy wineglasses and your husband sips on an Ed Hardy beer checking your kid's homework in his Ed Hardy folder. Later if you feel like going out for pizza, jump in your car with all the sweet-ass Ed Hardy car accessories.

And we'll all call you Jon Gosselin from now on.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Sometimes I think *this* life is the fantasy one

I have a girlfriend from college whose brain, shockingly, works a lot like mine. One day we were out shopping and she admired a charcoal gray business suit.

"Ohmigod…I would so wear this in my corporate executive life."

Given that we were currently broke college students who wore jeans and sorority sweat shirts with Doc Marten sandals, I think my response was something like "Huh??"

She was all, "Oh yes, I have lots of different fantasy lives. Like in one, I'm a corporate executive who wears a suit like this to work, drives a mid-sized SUV and walks around with my flip phone glued to my ear screaming 'If those reports aren't on my desk when I get back to my office, heads are gonna roll people!'" And then, once we started discussing it, I realized I had a couple of fantasy lives as well…I had just never voiced anything about them in an attempt to, you know, avoid the whole "multiple personality disorder" question.

But I bet lots of people do it. I know tons of people in the late 20s to early 30s category who are still struggling with the question "Who am I?" or "What do I want to be when I grow up?" And in their heads? Are all those options. It's like trying on clothes…which outfit do I want to wear today? Hmmm…corporate executive or rock star? Stay-at-home mom or Greenpeace supporter? Cowboy fresh off the ranch or attorney headed to court?

So in my number one favorite fantasy life, I am a singer living in New York. I'm still single, wear jeans and black tank tops everywhere I go and smoke like a freight train. I sing in this little bar around the corner from my apartment 4 nights a week and never get up before noon. I'm constantly broke, but don't really care as long as I can afford rent, cigarettes and beer.

And this is why, in my 30s, I still buy shredded jeans, black tank tops and vintage cowboy boots….not to mention cigarettes and beer.

So now, every time I'm out shopping, I'll look at something and think, "Oh, I would totally wear that under my robe in my Supreme-Court-Justice fantasy life." Or "Those jeans would rock in my 80s-hair-band-groupie fantasy life!" Or even, since I was a rodeo child, "That shirt would look amazing running barrels in my professional-barrel-racer fantasy life".

And yes, a large majority of the clothes purchased when I'm nostalgic for one of my fantasy lives are still hanging in my closet with the tags still on them. Don't judge.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

A bottle of body spray and a wet nap....reminds me of my 20s.

So I'm doing a little spring cleaning around the ol' blog. I've added a couple of fancy new gadgets.

First of all, on the top right corner, you'll notice that I'm now on BlogHer! Woohoo! This is kind of a big deal in the world of women bloggers! You have to like, be put on a waiting list and they have to check your site to make sure you measure up and then you have to send in a urine sample so they can ascertain your genetic superiority. Okay, maybe not that last one, but whatever…it's totally cool that I'm on BlogHer now! Too bad it looks really sad that I only have one follower….what the hell dudes? Afraid of a little blog commitment??

Anyway, the second new little item is the Shauna Glenn button on the bottom right. Damn she's cool. And I want to like, be her. And she totally doesn't have a clue who I am or that I even exist. Does that sound stalker-is? Probably. But whatever, she's cool and you can find her here, here and here talking about all kinds of fun things involving her four kids (yes, FOUR and she's that skinny…we should all hate her) and her life in general.

And that pretty much sums up the changes around here.

Hey, I did say a "little" spring cleaning…get off me.

Speaking of spring cleaning…had to go get the girly wallet all checked out today. All is well in that area. And of course, I had to do the pre-cleaning ritual before heading down to the doctor's office. I always schedule my appointments as early in the morning as possible. Really, who schedules their yearly check-ups in the afternoon?? Then you have to deal with freshening up in the office bathroom….and trust me, everyone knows what you're doing when you walk into the office bathroom with a bottle of body spray and a wet nap. Just sayin'. I personally find that it's best to go first thing in the morning, right after your shower while the vajayjay is so fresh and so clean, clean.

So luckily, my obgyn is totally cool. I actually usually see her PA and she's even cooler. So we're chatting and catching up about what's been going on in the last year or whatever and a random thought occurred to me (shocker, right?). My random thought was this: Do you think obgyns have to have specific training on how to temper their reactions when they see a scary looking hoo ha? I mean, if I had to look at one that was like diseased or gross or whatever, I'm not sure I'd be able to play it off, you know?? I'd be all, "So, your little one is going to be starting sixth grade next year, huh? That's gr….HOLY SHIT BALLS! WHAT'S UP WITH YOUR VAGINA?!?!?". And then I'd get fired or lose my license or something for yelling "shit balls" and recommending a bottle of body spray and a wet nap prior to her next visit.

Sidebar: my spell check totally tried to turn "obgyn" into "orgy"…and I snorted.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

I love when I remember important days

Today is Administrative Professionals' Day (which is like the new, fancier term for "secretary"…which I guess is out of fashion or out of date or something.  I prefer the term "Assistant Extraordinaire", but it's a little long to put on a nameplate). Anyway, I *actually* have to know this because I, believe it or not, have an assistant.

I know!

How the hell did that happen?? When did I become grown up or important enough to rank an assistant??

She's fantastic…and old enough to be my mother. But it works…because she totally takes care of me and my office and all of my oodles of filing. The only reason I can find stuff in my files when people need it? Is because of her. She comes in once a week is all, so it's not like she's at my beck and call…but still!? She's awesome.

Honestly though, the whole assistant thing totally freaked me out when I started this job. I was like, "An assistant? What am I supposed to do with her? I mean, I don't want to tell this person who is old enough to be my mother that she needs to do all of my copying and filing for me!". So then began the quest to figure out how to professionally tell someone that they need to do something for you without sounding like a total ball-busting class-A bitch.

It was hard.

Anybody can boss somebody around, right?

But to do it so that you still like each other at the end of the day? Tough.

We communicated via sticky notes most of the time because I just couldn't deal with the face-to-face bossing of this sweet, wonderful lady. Finally she was all "Look, you don't have to write everything down on sticky notes. Just tell me what you want me to do when I come in and I'll take care of it." And then I was all, "But I don't want to sound like I'm bossing you around". And she was like, "Duh you idiot…that's kind of my job." (Except she didn’t call me an idiot and she never says "duh". But it was totally almost sort of like that.)

AND she brings me candied pecans and almonds every Christmas and never forgets my birthday. I kind of think I want to marry her…except she's already married. Dammit!

Anyway, Happy Day Assistant Extraordinaire! Don't ever leave…because then, I'll have to actually learn how to file and alphabetize things.

Monday, April 19, 2010

The day is young, my friends...the day is young.

Random thoughts I've had so far today:

• If I completely stopped folding all of the laundry, I think my husband would just continue to move it from our bed to the floor every night before getting in bed. He appears to have no problem with this system...

• Is it unprofessional to wear black eyeliner to work? Do people look at me and wonder why I'm made up like a hooker when I have on black eyeliner in a meeting? I'm a big fan of black eyeliner though, so I'm not sure I totally care?

• I was cleaning out my snack cabinet in my office and found a jar of peanuts. Really? Who eats peanuts when they're not 1. on an airplane or 2. in a bar? I certainly don't. So why the hell do I have a jar of peanuts in my snack cabinet? Random…

• One should never underestimate the power of Crown Royal over a grown man. Especially when said grown man has already had a couple of beers and is away from home on a company sponsored deep-sea fishing trip.

• I just learned that April is Autism Awareness Month AND that 1 in every 70 boys born will have some form of Autism. So Mrs. Duggar? I think you should just stop now. Really? You're pushing the odds, sister…I'm just sayin'….

• It is also Sexually Transmitted Disease Awareness Month. Think Tara Reid or Lindsay Lohan will have a party to help "spread awareness"? Well, they'll certainly spread *something*…

• There is surely not any place scarier than the Ross Dress for Less store on a Saturday afternoon.

• I honestly told my husband on Sunday when we had a couple of hours of "alone time" that I would rather just give him a BJ because I was on my period and felt too bloated and crampy to take my clothes off for sex. I think this qualifies me for some kind of "Wife of the Year Award" in his eyes, but to me? It was just plain laziness.

• Good thing my mom has quit reading my blog (she claimed her heart couldn't take much more), since I just totally talked about giving the husband a BJ. (You *do* know what a BJ is, right Mom?? Oh wait…you're not reading this…never mind.)

• If my mom is reading this, I'm pretty sure she may have just had a heart attack.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

No offense to Tammy

I'm shocked at the number of people I've mentioned this video clip to recently who have no clue what I'm talking I'm posting it today.

And I need to go get my toes that's what made me think of it.

BTW: Thinking of beautification and all the lengths that women will go to to look good, I have to tell you this: I have a friend who just bought a tanning, for her house. I had no idea you could buy skin cancer on the internet?!?! And who has room in their house for a tanning bed?? I mean, is that something you just stick in the guest room?? "Oh hey Aunt Kim! I'm so glad you guys could make it to town! Let me show you to your room.  What? No, silly...that's not a coffin! It's a tanning bed! See?? It's given me this great orangey, brownish, leathery skin look! Isn't it awesome??!! You should totally buy one for your house!"

Yeeaahh....not my scene.

But I'm totally down with the mani/pedi.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Caution: Spontaneous Backtalking May Occur Upon Insult

Know what's good for the ol' ego? Spending an entire day with your five-year-old—chatting with her, playing games, painting pictures together, having a picnic—all those "super mom" types of activities that are rare to fit in with all the other crap you have to do. And the whole time? All she can do is ask where her dad is and when he's getting home.

Yeah…that just makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, doesn't it?

At one point, she even looked at me and said, "Mom, I like Daddy better than you".


So I was all, "But we're having a fun day! We went to the library, had a picnic and now we're painting pictures on the back porch. The weather is beautiful and we're just hanging out. It's like a girl's day!" and she was all "I know, but I just want him more than I want you right now."

Double ouch.

And I know we're not supposed to take things our kids say personally and all that good stuff, but I have to admit, it was kind of a kick in the gut. Even though I know that she totally likes me better.

The worst part? You can't throw it back on her. There's no good comeback with a five-year-old, you know? She thinks "stupid" is a bad word, for Pete's sake. (Which it totally is if you're reading this and you're five—and by the way, good job with those reading skills. Oh, and please ignore anything I say that involves drinking, smoking, cursing or….wait a second—why are you reading this blog again?)

Here are some things I *could* have said, were I not a mature, loving and forgiving parent.

1.  "Oh yeah? Well, I like the dog better than you."
2.  "Really? You like Daddy better? Hmmm…that's funny, because the other day he told me he likes your brother better than you."
3.  "Yeah? Well….shut up." (Sidebar: When you can't think of a good comeback, "shut up" is generally sufficient. And no, I would never tell my kid to shut up. What do you think I am, a Nazi?)

Unfortunately, kids knowing they have the power to slice through a parent's heart with a single word is not something they figure out until their teens or 20s. At which point, they promptly attempt to guilt their parents into buying or giving them something. It's just what you do when you're that age. So I know that she really didn't mean it in a mean or hurtful way, but still…not so easy to swallow that one.

Of course, this morning when I got to work, I got a text on my cell from my husband (who was in charge of getting her to school this morning) that said, "OMG! All I'm hearing is "I want mom!"


She totally likes me better.

Friday, April 9, 2010

No, I am not *really* afraid that my husband is going to kill me, mom....stop worrying.

I did NOT sleep well last night.

It could have been the fact that some random-ass stray cat has decided that the space underneath my house would be a GREAT place to bear her little devil-kittens and they were yowling ALL FREAKIN' NIGHT! This morning, my oldest boxer girl, Sasha, got a job—destroy kittens on sight….no questions asked.

And before you go all, "Ohmigod I love cats! They're a fuzzy little animal and one of God's creatures just like dogs!" let me tell you that cats are from the devil and they creep me the fuck out. And I will kill quickly remove from the premises any cats that think it's totally cool to 1. Procreate or 2. Give birth in or around my house.

Stupid she-devil pregnant cat.

Stupid loud devil kittens.

The other reason I did not sleep well last night was because I had a nightmare.

Yes, a nightmare.

Seriously??! Am I 8?!?

But I had a doozy of a nightmare last night. Okay, here's the scene—Ronnie and I arrive at an out-of-the-way hunting cabin for a getaway. We are planning to go hunting that evening and I suggest we have a drink. He looks at me all creepy-smiley and says "Sure". So, we have our drinks and discuss where we're going to hunt. The whole time we're talking in my dream, he's looking all creepy and weird. Then, we get ready to go hunting and when I ask him where my gun is, he says (with this weird serial-killer look on his face), "You don't need a gun…you're going to be the hunted, not the hunter." At this point, I'm like, "Whatever…where's my gun asshole?" and then he's like, "No really, I'm going to kill you.  And then you can never call me 'asshole' again". And then I realize he's serious and I run.

And then? I do that whole *GASP* and wake up thing....breathing like I had just run a marathon.

And I was totally freaking out…so I kinda wanted to snuggle over to my husband, but then I'm like, "No fucking way, that dude wants to kill me!".

But I do…because let's face it, I am chicken shit after waking up from a nightmare and the boxers were snoring so loudly they certainly weren't coming to comfort me.

So then this morning, I told him all about my dream that he was going to kill me in the woods and he's all, "Hahahaha! I would never kill you in the woods…that's *so* obvious." And I'm all, "Hahaha…I kn….wait….what????".

Someone please call me and make sure I'm still alive later tonight. I think that dude's got it in for me.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

20 out of 25 apply to me....and that sucks

Wednesday has somehow become "happy hour day" at my house.

Seriously…the last 4 Wednesdays in a row, we've gone to happy hour after work.

It's like clockwork. Wednesday nights? The Baptists go to church and we go to drink.

And last night, the kid got invited over to a friend's house for a sleepover….on a school night. Let me tell you, she thought she was something else getting to go stay at a friend's house on a school night.

So my girlfriend who's house she went to was all "You and Ronnie should go out or something tonight! Have some fun!".

Yeah, okay.

You know where we went?

1. The drive-thru liquor store for beer.
2. Home.
3. The couch.
4. To bed.

How lame are we?

I know it was a work night and all, but still?! Jeez….we're old now…it's official.
25 Signs You've finally Grown Up

1. Your house plants are alive, and you can't smoke any of them.
2. Having sex in a twin bed is out of the question.
3. You keep more food than beer in the fridge.
4. 6:00 AM is when you get up, not when you go to bed.
5. You hear your favorite song on an elevator.
6. You watch the Weather Channel.
7. Your friends marry & divorce instead of hook up and break up.
8. You go from 130 days of vacation time to 14.
9. Jeans and a sweater no longer qualify as "dressed up."
10. You're the one calling the police because those darn kids next door won't turn down the stereo.
11. Older relatives feel comfortable telling sex jokes around you.
12. You don't know what time Taco Bell closes anymore.
13. Your car insurance goes down and your payments go up.
14. You feed your dog Science Diet instead of McDonald’s leftovers.
15. Sleeping on the couch makes your back hurt.
16. You no longer take naps from noon to 6 PM.
17. Dinner and a movie is the whole date instead of the beginning of one.
18. Eating a basket of chicken wings at 3 AM would severely upset, rather than settle, your stomach.
19. You go to the drug store for ibuprofen and antacid, not condoms and pregnancy tests.
20. A $4.00 bottle of wine is no longer "pretty good stuff."
21. You actually eat breakfast food at breakfast time.
22. "I just can't drink the way I used to," replaces, "I'm never going to drink that much again."
23. 90% of the time you spend in front of a computer is for real work.
24. You no longer drink at home to save money before going to a bar.
25. You read this entire list looking desperately for one sign that doesn't apply to you

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Tigers love pepper, they hate cinnamon

Yes, for those of you dying to know—I did remember to stop and get a new watch battery yesterday. Let the hallelujah chorus sing!

So now I'm all good and OCD and constantly checking my watch to know what time it is and all is right with the world.

Moving on.

So….Easter was last weekend. AND, I'll have you know we did not have greenery on the mantel. I was totally expecting it to still be there, but Ronnie found some motivation at some point since Christmas and took it down. At least, I think he did…I don't remember taking it down. You know, come to think of it, the boxers have been looking a little chunky lately…

Whatever…if that's the worst thing they eat, I'll consider myself a good pet owner. One of them, Sandy, the baby and my favorite (even though you aren't supposed to have favorites among your children/pets), ate an entire red plastic bowl. Not "chewed"…."ate", as in "swallowed and digested". Yeah…..she pooped red for like 2 months.

Great….now PETA is going to interrupt my blog post and hold up signs saying "Don't breed or buy while innocent strays die" or "All purebloods go to hell" or "Only sinners and fat people let their dogs eat plastic bowls" or some such nonsense.

Now I am TOTALLY and COMPLETELY off topic.

What the hell was I even going to write about?

Oh yeah…Easter. It was cool. Lots of egg dye, chocolate, ham and Jesus. Good times. Made even better by the fact that my sister is entirely too amused by me.

Seriously…it's ridiculous. And she gets even more so given a couple of drinks. Then I just get funnier and funnier. A couple of times, I actually thought the wine was going to come out of her nose. And you know, when people laugh at me, that just makes me keep right on going….even if I should have stopped a looonnnnggg time ago.

The main reason I like hanging out with my sister is that she laughs at my jokes.

I'm so not kidding. I feel like a comedian when she's around…like I gotta try out all my new material to make sure the timing's right before I can take my show on the road. Inevitably, she laughs her ass off. She also finds it highly amusing when I throw in movie quotes at appropriate times…which, honestly, most people just find annoying and stupid because they don't know what movie I'm quoting so they don't get it.

We were carting the other day at the ranch over Easter weekend, and I thought she was going to spew beer when I quoted The Hangover. (Sidebar: "carting" is a ranch term for riding around in the camo golf cart with multiple gun racks and a minimum of 37 guns while drinking beer and being shuttled to or from a hunting spot. Or, it could just mean randomly riding around on the cart, with guns and beer for no reason whatsoever.). By the way, if you haven't see The Hangover, stop reading right now and go buy it. Don't rent it; buy it….because it is so damn funny, you'll want to own it. If you don't want to see The Hangover, we're breaking up because you're obviously mentally ill not into the same types of movies as I am. So she and I and the men were out carting after a pointless couple of hours of turkey hunting and Ronnie asks me if I'm speaking Chinese yet (meaning, he's asking me if I'm getting a buzz…which I was not…I mean, come on, I'm not in middle school anymore dude!). My immediate response was "You can suck on these Chinese nuts mothaaa fuckaaaa!!!"

And that's when she almost spewed beer everywhere and I decided she's the best sister on the face of the planet.

Monday, April 5, 2010


8:04: I'm wearing my watch today even though the battery has been dead for, like, ever.

The purpose of this is to remind me to stop by the jewelry store to get a new battery for it.

So this evening, I'll get home from work and still have a watch that says today is Saturday the 4th and it's 8:04. Because I know I'll forget to stop. Even though I'm super-obsessive about wearing a watch and knowing what time it is. I never take my watch off…like, NEVER. If I have a watch that is not waterproof, I will take it off to shower--but then it goes right back on my wrist. And I sleep with it on. In case I need to wake up and immediately know what time it is without rolling over to look at the glowing alarm clock?? Sure, that's why. Whew…8:04.

I also don't wear my watch on the "correct" wrist…meaning, I'm right-handed and I wear it on my right wrist. I have no clue why. It might have something to do with the fact that my mom's a little ambidextrous, so she does most things right-handed, but then she does other things (like batting or swinging a golf club) left-handed. She wears her watch on her right hand, too.

So I get to blame my mom for that one. (Just kidding mom…I don't blame you for my obsessive right-wristed-watch-wearing compulsion. Other things? Maybe. But not that.)

I'm not sure where this whole compulsion to have to know what time it is came from. I mean, knowing what time it is obviously doesn't help me get anywhere on time, so what the hell's the point??

Wait…what time is it?

I have a meeting in a bit…..let's see….oh good, 8:04, plenty of time.

You know what I really think? I think the obsession with knowing what time it is might be a "mom thing". Not like it came from my mom, but like, it's something that you kind of have to do when you are a mom. I think that I always need to know what time it is because our whole family system could self-destruct by not keeping to some semblance of a schedule. So I'm always judging time and distance and length of activity to determine if there is adequate time for said activity to be completed before dinner/bath/bed time. Holy Cannoli, I sound like I'm a fucking physicist working to solve the time/space conundrum.

Not really…I'm just a mom trying to fit everything in and keep a healthy amount of unstructured imaginative play time, structured activities, exercise, work, love life, (semi) clean house, laundry and decent bed and mealtimes all running smoothly. Jesus H. Macy…no wonder I look at my watch all the freakin' time.

8:04…yep, still good.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

"Nothing to write about" turned out to be a pretty long post

I have nothing to write about.

I think it's because I'm reflecting on the last couple of days and not much fun or funny stuff has been happening. My weekend was pretty fun…girl's night out on Saturday night. And boy, did I pay for it Sunday. I actually had to take a nap….and I don't nap…like, ever. But nothing really juicy or funny happened…we had dinner, we had drinks, we sang karaoke, and we danced. And somehow, one of my girlfriends took pictures.

Holy Lord. Drunk white girls should NOT be photographed while dancing. Unless they're professionals and there's a pole involved. But I'm pretty sure they don't let you take pictures in those places.

Other than that, it's been the usual…work, shuttling the kid to tee-ball games, etc.

And now we're gearing up for Easter weekend. The kid informed me that she wanted the pre-packaged Easter basket this year…not the basket-o'-fun I usually whip up. Hey…no prob. Yesterday I ran into the store, grabbed the basket and checked out. No assembly required. Low maintenance child? I dig it.

My mom used to give us the Super-Duper-Easter-Basket-Extravaganza every year. Seriously…you would dig stuff out of that thing till lunchtime. Every year we got the following items in our baskets:

-Razors (once we got older)
-Shave gel (once we got older)

She was nothing if not practical.

Later on, ("later on" as in high school and college…yes, we still got Easter baskets. No one asked us if we still believed or not…and my sister and I, by mutual consensus, decided "why ruin a good thing?" and just kept our mouths shut…don't judge) we would no longer get baskets, just shopping bags with a new outfit and of course, the required items listed above. It was awesome.

We usually also got new dresses to wear to mass. And for some reason? We always bought hats to wear with them. At the time, we looked really dorky were the height of fashion. BUT…O. M. Jesus….it makes for some funny freakin' pictures looking back.

After church, the family would usually come over for lunch/early dinner. We'd cook and hang out and hide eggs for the kids and all that good stuff. Generally, there was some type of sporting event, either basketball in the driveway or wiffle ball in the pasture. And my uncle always got hurt. No, not "sometimes"…."always"…as in, every flippin' year.

And then?

The egg fight started.

Which was a shit-ton of fun until my cousin decided he was smarter than everyone else and started using RAW eggs….that's just not right, man.

The first rule of Egg Fighting? You do not talk about egg fighting.

The second rule of Egg Fighting? You do not use raw eggs for egg fighting.