While I am not obsessive about April Fools’ Day, I have been known to put flour in a roommates blow dryer and set my high school boyfriend’s alarm to 3:45 in the morning to mark the day. I know I posted about the funniest April Fool joke of all time by Gmail over in my sideblog, but I just saw a totally awesome April Fools’ joke go down on live TV and since it involved a friend, it had me laughing my ass off and I had to share.

Some of you know that I have a dear friend, Bryan who has a cooking show on a news station in Salt Lake. He is fabulous and I have known him forever.

We’ve cooked and shared many a meal and recipe idea together.

I’ve gone to see him in the studio to cook and had the camera turned on me (which I admit, I loved), and he’s been known to give me ridiculous shout outs (which again, I totally cop to loving) on the air.
Like this:

I catch his show when I can. Today he was making a sour cream coffee cake. It is done on the noon news and so he cooks in little segments between news items and banters back and forth with the anchors in the studio.

Right before he unveiled the finished cake during his final segment, the anchors broke in and told him that they wouldn’t be able to finish his segment because he was being preempted by an exclusive interview they procured with Hannah Montana.

For about 2 seconds, Bryan looked really confused until they said “APRIL FOOLS’!”

Although it was admitted that his coffee cake WOULD have taken a back seat to an exclusive with Hannah Montana, it was seriously funny, and I’m glad that everyone there has a sense of humor.

So…Did anyone else have a practical joke played today? Did you pull anything yourself?? Have you done anything spectacular in the past on April 1st???

I used to be a regular over at Self-Portrait Challenge until I realized that, um, I am a really crappy photographer. Still, it’s one of the coolest weekly bloggity things out there.

This month’s theme of “Political” does make me want to crawl up into a little hole and die, but since it’s “Memival Week” at Looney Tunes (I am going to spend one week participating in all of those memes and carnivals I just don’t have the discipline to do on a regular basis.) I am just going to have to bite the bullet, deal with the theme, and participate.

I thought instead of one photo that sums up my feelings about how this election is going, I would give you a little photo essay instead:

Why, hello!

What? Would I like a moment to answer some questions about Obama, Hillary and McCain about the upcoming elections? Well, let’s see, a good portion of my life is already taken up with incessant news coverage about it, but since this is a rare opportunity…sure! Why not?

Who am I going to vote for? Hmm….I’m not sure.

Which issue do I think is the most pressing problem in America? There is the war, of course… and I think that the economy is… What? Who do I think is the best looking candidate?

Well, I would rather talk about more important issues but if I had to only pick between the three? Probably Obama.
Could we move on to something more relevant, though? I have to run some errands soon.
How do I feel about McCain and the whole “Did he have an affair with a lobbyist so long ago I was still in braces?”

That is a better question, although I think that the way it was done was poor reporting. I think the thing that concerns me more is the “Lobbyist” aspect and that he is not practicing what he preaches because he’s really in bed with a lot of big businesses and…What? Hillary and Don Imus share the same Dry Cleaners and does that make her a racist?

Um, I’m not really sure that matters? Isn’t there another question that…Huh? No…I didn’t really know it was leaked that Bill Clinton is secretly eating at McDonald’s again. Um…Is that really pertinent to the election? Well, it’s a shame that someone from Obama’s camp got fired for saying that he’s not going to be a good first husband because he’s suffering from Post Presidency Depression and that he’s been hitting the fry sauce really hard. That does seem a little juvenile.

Seriously, though…Don’t’ the candidates want to know how I feel about the war or foreign policy concerning…No…I wasn’t aware that Oprah had, “I heart Obama” tattooed on her Va-jay-jay…Um, I don’t know what to say…How about…EWE??

You know, these questions are really starting to piss me off. Can you PLEASE ask me something that is relevant to…Ok, seriously, I do not CARE if McCain thinks Hilary has cankles and NO, I DO NOT WANT TO BUY HIS “Get ‘er done!” TSHIRT!!!

Look at my face. I am done. Pissed. You are taking up a lot of time from my life. Time that I will never get back. I’m giving you one more chance to stop the petty name calling. So, I’m telling you to ask me some REAL questions! Stop with the superfluous crap and, tell me what the candidates want me to know about them.

Do I think that McCain will be soft on immigration because of his change in campaign managers? No, I didn’t know that he lured Pedro away from the Napoleon Dynamite campaign. Having a Hispanic with an unfortunate wig managing your team doesn’t necessarily mean that he is soft on immigration but…What? Hilary says that Tina the Llama asked McCain to stop using her likeness in his campaign commercials and Obama chimed in, ‘Your mom goes to college!”?
GGAAAAAHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!!!

I AM SO FREAKING SICK OF ALL YOU!

I THINK THAT I WOULD RATHER VOTE FOR A THREE-TOED SLOTH! OR PEE WEE HERMAN!! OR A FREAKING FICUS TREE THAN ANY OF YOU!!!! AND FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE I AM NOT GOING TO VOTE! I AM JUST GOING TO STAY THE FREAK HOME ON ELECTION DAY AND EAT NACHOS, A VAT OF BEN & JERRY’S AND A CHOCOLATE CAKE THAT IS THE SIZE OF MY HEAD AND IT WILL BE ALL YOUR FAULT THAT I BECAME A BIG, LARD-ASS, NON-VOTING CITIZEN!!!!!!!!!!”

That helped, but it would be a LOT better if someone could just give me a big freaking remote to fast forward through the next 8 months.

I’m rather tired of it all.

Before I launch into my post, I have to ask a question.

What the freak do people see in Matthew McConaughey?

He looks like he has completely suspect hygiene. By that I mean that he is perpetually covered in a grody oil slick that we are endlessly subjected to because the guy never wears a shirt.

And his hair? Dude, you probably just have to shave it off and I swear you will find Jimmy Hoffa hidden somewhere in the clippings.

I just want to scrub the man down with some Lysol and a loofa!

My friend Bridgy and I went and saw the movie, “Fool’s Gold” starring “Shirtless Boy” and Kate Hudson. It wasn’t the lamest film I’ve ever seen, but he seriously does nothing for me.

Not the case with Bridgy.

“He’s totally hot. I would DEFINITELY sleep with him. I may have to take massive amounts of antibiotics afterwards and have a smattering of STD tests, but I’d totally do it.”

“Dude. He was arrested playing the bongo drums while naked and high on weed. Or does that just make him go up in your estimation?”

“Pretty much.”

Uhhhh…

Before we went to view “The Oily One” in the movie, Bridgy and I spent some time together at the local mall.

Our local mall is not an amazing shopping experience. I mean, I’m grateful that the clothing options for my town are no longer limited to Penney’s and the work aisle of the Cal-Ranch store, but it really is a tiny little mall.

I certainly didn’t have any intention of landing there, it just sort of happened. Due to SUCKY circumstances we missed the 7 o’clock movie and Bridgy said we should catch the late show.

We had some time to kill and since we were practically in the mall parking lot we decided to go in and meander about.

There were some very interesting high points to our outing.

One of those would be going into the new lingerie store.

First of all, it was very sparsely stocked. I mean, a guy could have probably stuffed the entire collection into a trench coat to go flash and sell with his collection of “Genuine Rolex watches” in Times Square to unsuspecting tourists.

The whole atmosphere of this place was just…uncomfortable?

I kept thinking of it as “The Slutty Ghetto Store” in my head. It didn’t help that I had the world’s most flaming female underwear salesman on the planet that kept offering tips for what he thought would “Turn on my man”.

I mean, he was very nice and offered us chocolate truffles, but it was still really odd and uncomfortable.

I ended up throwing the chocolate away. I kept thinking of it as “The Slutty Ghetto Truffle” and eating it just seemed icky.

Slutty truffle disposed, we went into a store that I knew immediately that I was neither young enough, nor cool enough to be in. You know, the type of store full of distressed chucks and cammo-hoodies lined with fur and a liberal smattering of rivets, skulls and crossbones on everything.

Thinking that maybe youth and coolness could somehow seep in through my hoo-hoo by osmosis, I contemplated buying a thong with a black skulls and pink hearts all over it for about 40-seconds before I came to my senses. No amount of graphic-laden butt floss will actually make me younger.

Those were a pretty grand 40-seconds, though.

My thong-driven dreams of youth shattered, we meandered into a used game and book store where the owner was totally hyped for the upcoming D&D tournament. My eyes glazed over until I saw THAT THEY HAD THE ENTIRE SWEET VALLEY HIGH SERIES in the used books section!!!

RAD!

I used to own them all, and read obsessively about the perfect size-6 identical twins with polar personalities that had turquoise eyes and sunkissed hair, but I stopped at like, 42. These suckers go up to the 90’s now!!!! I thumbed through one and saw that Elizabeth gets arrested and Jessica steals Elizabeth’s faithful boyfriend, Todd! DUDE! WTF? Elizabeth was the angel twin and she and Todd were supposed to marry and live happily ever after!

Total bummer and definitely non-rad.

With a regretful sigh, I left Sweet Valley High behind and we closed our mall expedition at Bath and Body Works, home of the cleanest smells, the foamiest bath products, the most divine lotions and antibacterial hand soaps!

I didn’t buy anything because I didn’t see my favorite soap off hand and we were running out of time because they were closing. It was sad because I really considered buying a plethora of Bath and Body Works products to smear on the movie screen to see if it would help Matthew seem more appealing.

We left the mall and headed to the movie. On the way, Bridgy told me that Gary Coleman from “Different Strokes” married someone who was 22 and had never heard of him before she met him.

It made me very sad because I realized that most of the pop culture I grew up surrounded by are completely lost on the teens and younger 20-somethings.

I realized that while most of the world really wouldn’t consider me old, I AM to them.

Very depressing.

Maybe I SHOULD have purchased that thong…

I got pulled over last night.

It wasn’t too bad because I was coming back from an AWESOME concert. I went with my friend, Mary Ellen, to see Air Supply in concert.

I drove a total of 6 hours to Nevada and sat next to a guy that reeked of Marlboro Reds and Jack Daniels to do so.

Hey, we have already CLEARLY established my Dork Status in the “About Me”segment of this blog AND and it is also CLEARLY stated in“The Rules” section that I heart Air Supply, so any of you who are feeling betrayed or are in a state of nauseating horror can just bite me.

Well…OK…given the circumstances and the fact that I am well aware that this is a band made entirely out of Velveeta, you can probably still feel nauseating horror. You have that right. However, I see no reason for feelings of betrayal. You were warned.

It pretty much rocked the house. The venue was small, these guys still sound amazing and I had the.best.time.ever.

AND!!!

I TOUCHED AIR SUPPLY!!!!!!!

Although, we figure that the one I touched is really the “Supply” segment because he is the lyricist and the only one of the two that plays an instrument. The other guy that resembles Bilbo Baggins is probably the “Air” part, since he has a higher voice than Mickey Mouse. So…I guess this means that I actually touched “Supply”.

I won’t drone on and on about the concert, but I will say that the cover of Celine Dion’s “You’re my lady” was pretty sweet.

Hee.

The drive back was a bitch because I was tired. The concert got over at 10:30 and we had 3.5 hours of driving on some of the flattest, most boring stretch of highway ahead of us. (Ever heard of The Bonneville Salt Flats? Yah. We were there.)

UG.

Other than being tired and driving too fast through lots of flat, foggy surface, not much happened on the trip aside from wondering if the very creepy guy in line at the truck stop soda fountain we refuled at was really a serial killer. He whistled incessantly and loitered around me a really long time. It was not too difficult to imagine him calmly whistling as he strangled and dismembered someone, but I’ve probably just been watching too much TV lately. (You think?)

Things did pick up in the suburbs of Salt Lake.

I got pulled over by one of Utah’s finest.

Crap.

A speeding ticket was sooooooooo not on my agenda for the evening.

The cop came to the passenger side window. I could tell right away that he was a good humored fellow with twinkly eyes. Even though he was lovely and nice, I still get terribly nervous around cops and pressure of speech and Nervous Donkey Laughter* kicks in.

You know what Nervous Donkey Laughter is. It’s, well…nervous and donkey-like.

In other words, it’s annoying as hell.

“Hello, officer! You’re on the wrong side of the car!”

(Nervous Donkey Laughter)

“I’m on the safe side of the car, Ma’am”

“OH! OF COURSE, Officer”

(Nervous Donkey Laughter)

“You’re going 83 in a 65, are you in a hurry for something?”

“I TOUCHED AIR SUPPLY!”

(Nervous Donkey Laughter)

“What?”

“We just came back from seeing Air Supply in Wendover and it was the best concert, well, it WAS kind of annoying that they wouldn’t let us inside the doors until 8:00 and it was freezing and we were all just standing around waiting and waiting, although, I suppose it was fine because we did have heaters to stand around and the concert was great, but Wendover is really far out in the middle of NOWHERE and it was really easy to drive too fast probably because, you know, the salt flats are there and they have speed racing out there for Pete’s Sake, and we’ve been driving FOREVER except for that little stop off we had to get gas in Tooele, and by the way, you may want to investigate a creepily incessant whistler that is hanging around the Flying J because while I don’t think that there have been any reported murders in that area of The Great Salt Lake, you can never be too careful in such a desolate area, which is also why I was probably speeding just now, you know, because the area WAS so desolate, I am just a little checked out on my speed and then my friend was telling me this story about how a friend of hers just moved from her hometown to live with her kids and decided that they were not very nice to her and so she ended up moving across the country with her other three girls and got remarried a former classmate of hers from high school a month after his wife died and it turns out that he’s a Baptist Preacher and apparently they have horses and she’s found Jesus and..and…and…I TOUCHED AIR SUPPLY. ”

(Nervous Donkey Laughter!)

(Nervous Donkey Laughter!!)

(Nervous Donkey Laugher!!! )

“Sounds like you really like Air Supply”

“I TOUCHED AIR SUPPLY!!!”

(Nervous Donkey Laughter )

“How far do you have left to go?

“Logan!”

(Nervous Donkey Laughter)

“That is pretty far. It seems like you had a good time tonight, it would be a shame to ruin it with a ticket. Make sure you slow down.”

“I TOUCHED AIR SUPPLY!!!!!”

(Yup. You guessed it. More Nervous Donkey Laughter.)

I am totally shocked that he didn’t make me do a field sobriety test. My friend, Mary Ellen was shocked that I didn’t get ticketed.

“I can’t believe you got out of a ticket talking about Air Supply”

“Never underestimate the power of Air Supply and Nervous Donkey Laughter, my friend.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

It was one of the best concerts, ever.

Now, I just have to find tickets to see Neil Diamond…

*Thanks to Jessica for the completely accurate description.

You wouldn’t think that a request at the butt-crack of dawn (Ok, more like 8:30) to drive three hours and rush a forgotten passport to the airport would be greedily welcomed like a Starbuck’s Frappuccino to Britney Spear’s gullet, but it was.

Oh, how it was.

Yesterday, my husband followed through on shoving our anniversary plans into the garbage in favor of sushi (Which he doesn’t really like) and bowling (Ditto) with his department at work. The same department that he sees every single day. The same department that he lunches with every week on his own dime and every month on theirs. The same department that, while full of nice people, does NOT contain my “Magical Boobies” or a vagina that he is allowed relations with.

I hope that the time he spent was full of rainbows and bursts of diamond sparkles because there is not going to be a whole lot of warmth in our snug little cottage any time soon.

He came home and said, “Hey! Let’s grab some dinner!” I replied, “Hey! No thanks!”.

Maybe that is my bad, but at this point? Don’t care. I wasn’t trying to punish, I did not want to spend my night with someone who so easily tossed me aside. I’d rather be by myself with my computer and some Christmas music than eat a dinner that is only meant to placate me and prove he wasn’t totally abandoning the day. It all left a bad taste in my mouth, so I declined.

He did bring me a Diet Coke and a mouse for my laptop, which was nice.

Anyhoo, I know you want me to move off of this topic.

Besides, I’m sure that you are all dying to know how I spent the day instead because you think I am awesome and you hang on all of my awesome words. Really, I don’t even know where to begin because being me is a WHOLE LOT OF AWESOMENESS to try and segment into tiny, daily posts. I don’t know how I do it some days. (It’s probably because I’m, ya know, awesome.)

Sigh.

I spent the morning running to the rescue of my dear friend, Chelle. She is taking her family to Whistler, B.C. for a ski vacation over the Christmas holiday. In the shuffle, her son’s passport was left behind. So, glad of a diversion, I hopped in my Jetta and drove the hour and a half down to Salt Lake City.

It was lovely to see her before she flew out.

While I was in the city, I took some time to shop and browsed Barnes & Noble (Which I adore) and ate a divine lunch of Sushi (Ditto) with my beloved sister, Linny (Who I adore the MOST.)

All was well until the drive back.

There was standstill traffic on the freeway due to an accident and the eleventyhundred Diet Cokes that I consumed during lunch caught up with me in a big, ‘ole ugly way. The next 20 minutes of my life were full of pain and agony and trying to distract myself from thinking constantly about my overwhelming need to pee.

It didn’t help that I kept singing the following in my head: (To the tune of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, if you please.)

“I need to pee…I need to pee…I need to pee, I need to pee, I need to pee..I need to pee, I need to pee I need to pee..I need to pee (I need to pee), I need to pee (I need to pee), I need to, NEED. TO. PEE!”

After an eternity, I was able to get off of the freeway and stagger into the bathroom in the very nick of time. I really shouldn’t have made so much fun of my best friend in high school for doing “Pee-Pee Push ups” and lecturing me to do the same thing. What can I say? She wanted eleventyhundred children and didn’t want to be peeing her pants regularly by age thirty as a result. Now, THAT is thinking ahead.

Diet Coke will make you pee like a racehorse.

Speaking of Diet Coke, I have cut back on my habit of imbibing in the Dark Waters. This is not something that I should really get a pat on the back for because it wasn’t done on purpose. It happened because I went APE SHIT POSTAL in the middle of my favorite watering hole and now as a consequence, I will never step foot inside again.

Looking back on it, I never should have gone to the gas station that day.

It was the day before Thanksgiving and things were crazy around my house. Little did I know that it was also day one of what was to become “The Great, Hideous Illness of ‘07″ and that I would soon have three weeks of pain, illness and misery. I woke up with pain in my lungs and a cough. (“I think I’ve got the black lung, Pa!” ) and so I stayed in my pajama bottoms and t-shirt.

All day long, I rested in bed, chugging cough syrup and munching on vitamin C tablets, hoping for a miracle and that I would be well by Thanksgiving dinner.

Not.

So there I lay, like a mucous-infested bump on a log. Hacking, typing, blogging, sniffing. After awhile, I really wanted a Diet Coke. It was the only thing that sounded good. I was in a foul mood. I had haphazard pigtails from the day before, I was in my pj’s with no bra and mismatched slippers. I figured that since I wasn’t going INTO a store, just through the drive-through, I would be ok.

The only vehicle that was there for me to drive was “The Butt”. It is a humdinger of an station wagon that debuted the same year as E.T. It sort of rounded out my total white-trash look.

I drove to my favorite gas station. They have a drive up window. They charge you an extra dime for each item when you use it. While it is worth it, it adds up to quite a bit when you couple my fierce streak of lazy with as much D.C as I drink.

I drove to the drive through and waited. And waited. And waited.

Judy was working.

I.freaking.loathe.this.girl.

Judy had been working there for about three months. During that time my dislike grew, and grew, and GREW. She was constantly on her cell phone, ignoring you standing right in front of her as she chattered on and on and on and gave you looks of incredulous annoyance if you acted like you should actually receive service. Orders were wrong, change was always incorrect, and she had a gross habit of sitting on the counters and making the weirdest exclamations like “I have the HUGEST zit on my back right now!! Someone needs to pop it!”

She was one of the worst cashiers I have ever encountered and she was also the only employee at that store that I have ever disliked. She was particularly bad at the drive through window. Still, I held my tongue because there were other people that worked there and they were all great.

It WAS busy that day. There were 5 people at the counter and I was fine waiting for that. They left and she just kept helping people in line that arrived there after me.

She helped FIFTEEN PEOPLE that came in after I did.

Normally, I would have gone in or driven off, but this girl had already pissed me off so many times over the months I wanted to see how freaking long it was going to take her to even acknowledge that I and the three cars in line behind me even existed.

I was there for thirty.two.minutes.

Now, you need to know that I am a nice person. I do not like yelling, I do not like anger. I have never, EVER lost my temper in public. EVER. I can’t even send food back that sucks in restaurants because there is nothing that I hate more than public confrontations.

The mere thought of them makes me nauseated and anxious to the point that my nipples get hard with fear.

Yes. My nipples get hard with fear sometimes. I’m not really sure why that is, exactly. It’s actually odd that I even notice because…duh…I’m scared at the time. Something else to focus on I suppose. Actually, I should be glad that my nipples can get hard at all. If they can’t it is likely that you have inverted nipples and everyone should know and be cautious about them because they can be a sign of inflammatory breast cancer, which is horribly deadly and…

What? What’s that, you say?

Shut the hell up about “Nipples, this!” and “Inflammatory breast cancer, that!” and get ON with it already?

FINE, then! See if I ever talk to you about my nipples again, you ingrate!!

Where was I?

Oh…Fear of public confrontation.

My aforementioned fear of public confrontation ceased to exist for me by the time Judy finally came to the window. I didn’t even make eye contact because I was afraid that they would send out explosive death rays that would blow up the earth. Instead, I put my money firmly in her hand and snipped out in cold, even tones:

“I.would.like.a.Diet.Coke.PLEASE.”

I know. I wasn’t nice. She knew I was pissed. That is how I wanted it. It would have been fine if she would have just, you know, GIVEN ME THE DAMN SODA, ALREADY.

Nope.

In a voice that was seething with petulance, she said, “You don’t have to SCREAM at me, MA’AM”

Eight words.

EIGHT.

And the dam of ALL HOLY HELL broke loose and spewed forth onto the fertile fields of Cache Valley.

(Personally, I think it was the “Ma’am” part that sent me over the edge. Because who REALLY enjoys being a “Ma’am”?)

I told her that I “WASN’T SCREAMING!”

Which was true, but in a very, very short time, I WAS.

Screaming.

Not talking loudly.

Not yelling.

S-C-R-E-A-M-I-N-G.

LOUDLY.

(Do y’all know just how loud that is for me and my huge voice? FREAKING LOUD is the answer, for those who don’t know.)

Then the wild gesticulation started and it was a frigging free-for-all.

It escalated to the point that she threw my money back at me and slammed the drive through window.

At this point, did I calm down and just go home like my normally sane(er) self would have done on any other day?

NOOOOOOOOOOOO….

I drove around, parked haphazardly, flung open the door to my ‘83 wagon and LEFT IT LIKE THAT WITH THE MOTOR RUNNING and ran into the gas station in full on “TO THE PAIN!” mode.

At that point the HOLY HELL that occurred at the drive through was replaced with the ALMIGHTY, NUCLEAR WRATH OF ANGER AND DESTRUCTION!!!

It was like 33 years of repressed, bitter, venomous ANGER all released out of my body in one loud, ugly, terrible moment.

I threw the money back and screamed at her.

I demanded to see her manager and screamed at him.

Then I screamed some more at the woman who was behind me in the drive through line who came in to say that the “Poor attendant” shouldn’t be fired because I was a psychotic hose beast that was clearly disturbed.

Thing is, at that moment?

She was right.

I was standing there, sweating and panting in my pajamas and wildly unkempt hair with no bra on (Which matters because of that whole ‘Nipples hard with fear’ thing) and mismatched slippers. People probably thought I was totally strung out on meth.

I’m a little shocked that the police were not called in. At least if they had been I would have been throughly prepared thanks to the “Don’t Taze me, Bro!” guy.

I took a deep breath, apologized to the manager and got back into my still-running station wagon and drove home to cry.

I know that there are parts of this post that are humorous, but the situation was horrible.

I am so ashamed of myself. I regret my lack of self-control. I regret scaring the bejesus out of customers who probably thought I was going to pull out a handgun and go “Columbine” on their asses. You know, kinda like this:

(Thanks, Photoshop Dave!)

Luckily, there were no children in the store.

Whatever valid and just complaints that I had about this girl were lost in my anger and lashing out. I am beyond embarrassed and will never set foot in that gas station again.

I started my period the next morning. A-ha. It was early and unexpected but the day before I start has gotten worse and worse over the years. I have never, ever responded like this. I don’t entirely blame it on PMS because there was a major event of pain and anger and frustration that happened around my birthday and it sent me in a bit of a spiral about my entire life. I am working through tons and tons of past issues that frankly? I have a lot of suppressed anger about.

It’s sad that I let it loose on innocent people.

Not that Judy was innocent, but still…She did NOT deserve what I dished out.

As for her? She’s still there. The best employee they had quit because they wouldn’t fire her. Everyone was appalled on MY behalf because they cannot stand working with her and they know me to be a kind, friendly, and courteous customer. I found out later that she has had at least a dozen complaints about her and many costumers won’t go there anymore because of her.

I’m trying to keep it in perspective and look on the bright side, which is that this is a big clue that I have got to deal with some issues and take preventative steps to deal with my whacked out hormonal cycle. It is also good that I have cut back on a really vicious and out-of-control habit and that my pocket book is a little fatter because it isn’t all being poured into a 44 oz. cup.

Still…

I feel so horrible and embarrassed about this and it has almost been a month. I know that there will be very few of you who have lost it to this level, but if there is ANYONE out there that has even come close? I would love to hear from you so that I can feel a bit less hideous about myself.

If you’ll all excuse me, I have to go curl up under my blankie in the fetal position…

I have my DVR set to record my favorite Christmas TV special of all time tonight, “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer”. I never get tired of it. The more I watch it, the more I realize that my friends and family freakishly resemble the cast of characters.

Take a look for yourself:

BOB-(My Dad) as “Santa”

Brian as “Herbie the Misfit Elf”

Karen as “Tall, Nameless Elf”

ME as “Whiner, Redhead, Misfit Doll”

Christopher as “Rudolph”

James as “Coach Comet”

Bridgy as “Hot Reindeer Clarisse“

Jonathan as “Yukon Cornilius”

Michelle as “Bumble with retarded star”

And last…the misfit Jelly Squirt Gun reminds me of my brother, Rhett…I’m not really sure why.

I’m going to see if I can brush up on my reindeer games and get the hell off of “Misfit Island”.

I’ll catch y’all later.

*(This is taken from one of my favorite posts of all time. I posted it way back in the day when no one but family & close friends were reading and I thought I would revisit it for you.)

I have to have a “Freaking Proud Parent” moment.

My son, James, loves art and comics. His father is an illustrator and James takes after him. Their favorite comic strip of all time is “Calvin and Hobbes”. Personally, there are many days that I feel like I’m raising Calvin. They even look alike. It isn’t fun to explain that hatred of bathing and daydreaming in class are not really good things when his illustrated twin does it frame after frame.

I find hundreds of sketches and tiny little comic books that he makes all over my house. He draws action figures on all of his papers, and homework assignments.

The kid loves to draw.

I want to encourage that gift, especially if it is something that could turn into something he loves enough to make a career out of. His dad feels the same way. He works as an digital illustrator and so he is teaching James a lot of things.

James launched his first website a few days ago. He wants to learn about graphic illustrating, comics and making simple coded video games.

He published his very first installment of his comic strip called “Boinks”. It’s pretty true to life.

I laughed.my.ass.off. I would have even if it wasn’t my done by my kid.

The fact that it was makes me so freaking proud.

Like the billions and billions of humans that have lived before me, I am becoming increasingly aware of my age. I am not saying that I am “Old”, I’m only 32. Well…I’ll be 32 for 24 more days. Then I turn 33. I am fairly sure that I lose a startling amount of collagen when the clock strikes midnight on my birthday. I’m also fairly sure my ass sags a little further towards the center of gravity on this day as well.

Anyway. Let’s just say that I am aware that I could now co-star in the 80’s dramady “Thirtysomething”.

I have changed quite a bit between my early twenties and my early thirties. I know that this is normal. It would be much more abnormal if I had stayed the same, I think. One thing I have noticed? How young people start looking, well….YOUNG. Baby-faced. Almost too young to be in college, getting married having kids. Did I ever look that young??

My attitude and tastes have changed a lot as well. I can’t pull all-nighters and rebound the same way that I did in high school and college. I don’t eat ice cream anymore. And…I used to love all things wedding. Yup. I was one of “Those” girls. I used to go try on wedding dresses for fun with my friends in high school and flip through Bride Magazine while standing in line at the supermarket. I never got sick of planning my own wedding in my head. I just dug them.

I think having two weddings cured me for life. Actually, one wedding was probably adequate to do that. I offered to elope with Jonathan, but it was his first marriage and he wanted it. While it was all groovy and grand, I really wonder if I will be able to rebound by the time my own children get married. I’m still girlie and like girlie things, but time has dialed my level of “Precious” way the hell back.

A few nights ago, Jonathan and I ate out at one of his favorite restaurants. It’s a yummy Mexican eatery that is cafeteria style. I know, it sounds lame but the pulled pork salad is yummy. It was packed. I was tired and didn’t really want to stand in a huge ass line that could rival Splash Mountain at Disneyland. This place is also hugely popular with high school and college kids for date nights because it’s good, cheap food. Do you know how much perfume and cologne gets worn by young daters wanting to enhance their hormone-induced pheromones to be alluring? Line waiting only seems longer when you engulfed in the scent equation of “Shock and Awe”.

But that is what my husband wanted and I like making him happy, so there it is.

We approached the end of the line to move through the “Corral” and the tiny, petite, perfectly coiffed and manicured blond girl in front of us started jumping up and down and shrieking with glee as she threw her arms around the blushing redheaded boy she was with.

Apparently, for some reason that can only be known to them, he chose a hot, stuffy, crowded and perfume-clad cafeteria line to give his fiancee her diamond ring. Her rapturous shrieks lasted for quite awhile. So did his blushing, but at some point they calmed down and just kept beaming at one another and people around them offered their congratulations.

All I could think is “My FREAK they look so young.”

Then it happened.

The “Engagement Phenomenon”. I realize that this is not something that happens in ALL engaged women. Just SOME engaged women. For example? I read blogs of two perfectly rational engaged women that would rather stick a fork in both their eyes than engage in the following behavior.

Some newly engaged women seem to be able to seek each other out. It’s like a shark smelling chum in the water from miles and miles away or a bloodhound catching the faintest whiff of something.

It drives them and bonds them together: Must.see.and.comment.on.new.engagement.ring. Tonight was no exception. Pretty soon, the PPB (Petite, Perky Blond) was totally enraptured in conversation with two other newly-ringed girls and one “Just Married” girl in line. It was ok, really. It’s an exciting time of life and a big moment for anyone.

Then someone came up behind us in line and brushed up against me.

As fate would have it, yet another perky, petite blond (We’ll call her PPB#2) came in and stood in line directly in back of us and started straining to hear the engagement conversation occurring directly in front of us. She, along with the giggling gaggle of girls with her all had elaborate updo’s worn with snugly fit terrycloth track suits in varying arrays of pastels. I saw the eye of PPB#1 and her chatty co-horts catch the arrival of PPB#2 and her giggling gaggle.

All I could think is: UH-OH.

Once the two gangs of girls smelled “Engagement” on the other, there was no hope. Jonathan and I were trapped. Right in the middle of a perfect storm of “WEDDING!!!!!!! SQUEEEE!!!!!!!!”

PPB#1: Your ring is so PRETTY!

PPB#2: Thanks! Isn’t it? I just got my bridals done tonight with my brides maids!”

PPB#1: No WAY! I just got my ring tonight! Who is your photographer? When are you getting married? Who’s your florist? Cake decorator? Where did you get your veil? Your shoes? Your whosit’s and whatsit’s galore??? Blah, blah! Blabbibity, blah, blah, blah!!!!

As you can tell, at that point my brain began to melt and ooze out of my nostril cavities.

It went on, and on, and ON. It was a stuffy, claustrophobic, headache-inducing situation that seemed to never end. It felt like Jonathan and I were squished right in the middle of a frilly wedding-fest that we really didn’t want to be invited to. All I could think of (Besides “Get me the hell out of here”) was to wonder if I had ever done this to people before and to apologize to the universe with my mind for any zealously fru-fru inconvenience I had ever caused to anyone.

I also felt very grateful to be past this stage of life and appreciated my saggy ass and 32.8 years.  I would not go back, no siree.

By the time we FINALLY got to the counter, paid for our take out and were able to leave I literally ran and bolted out of the building and sat there sucking in the fresh, cold night air that was sweetly tinged with freedom.

Jonathan chucked at my relief.

“See? You made it, honey. Besides, it wasn’t THAT long. Just over 15 minutes or so.”

“True, but it was seemed longer. I think those 15 minutes should be counted like dog-years and we should times it by 7.”

“So…This means you’re a dog? You’re calling yourself a bitch?”

“You realize that comment will require the purchase of Diet Coke AND chocolate on the way home, right?”