Money! Shopping! Squeeeee!!!

So the weekend is off to a great start. Last night I won some money. A really decent amount of money. Enough to allow me to go out and splurge on something I wouldn’t normally buy for myself. I’ll give you a hint, it’s less than $1,000 and more than $500. I didn’t win it in the lottery, nor did I win it at a casino but as the result of a one year running bet with a group of many friends. I can’t tell you what we bet on because then I’d have to kill you and I like you too much for that.

Common sense would dictate that I should just throw this money back into the family checking account especially during these tough times. However, I haven’t splurged on myself in a REALLY LONG TIME. I’m sorta feeling like it might be that time…time to be selfish and go shopping for something I would never, ever use our household money for.

It’s really been a long time since I’ve considered buying something totally frivolous for myself so help me out. What would you buy if you had a little windfall of cash like I did yesterday and would you feel guilty about it?

PS: If you are participating in NaBloPoMo, please leave me a comment and let me know…I’m putting as many in a blogroll as I can so we can support each other as we crawl towards the finish line!

Pete In A Pushcart

povsucks

So flashback to 1986 or so. When I was in college. Pissing away my parents money pretending to go to classes but in reality hanging with my friends and trying to systematically kill my liver on a daily basis. Back then, we had three for one happy hours. Those were happy days indeed.

About Last Night and Ferris Bueuller’s Day Off were my favorite movies. I had this poster hanging on my wall…

Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s not Andrew McCarthy but they didn’t have any really hot posters of him and what’s a dorm room without pictures of hot guys you can’t possibly ever get?

I was rocking out to Genesis, Madonna and Frankie Goes to Hollywood. But my very favorite was this:

I went to Stephen F. Austin in Nacogdoches, Texas which actually had a dorm named “The Zoo” that ranked nationally number one with Rolling Stone at some point for the biggest party dorm for men in the country.

…and I had wild friends.

Pete was one of them. He didn’t live in The Zoo, but he did live across the street for a time and apparently soaked up some of the past culture, before moving his freak show to an apartment and torturing all those around him there. Pete liked to drink. A lot. And he is now a PE coach somewhere, which scares the heck out of me. Last I heard he was in another state though, so I think I’m safe.

The fact that Pete was a big drinker gave us endless opportunities to take advantage of him. Whenever we would play quarters, Pete would pass out cold. With his beer in his hand. You know that saying, “You can pry this out of my dead hands”? Yeah, that was Pete, only try prying it out of his drunk hands.

In college, you must escalate to the next level as quickly as possible, so we did. If you made a shot off your nose (I was really good at that btw) you got a bonus shot. The bonus shot was a wet beer towel. If you could shoot the beer towel at Pete and knock the beer he had in a death grip out of his hands, you could make the entire table drink. He usually passed out in the same spot which left an unfortunate mark on the wall, but that’s a story for another day when I am obsessed with cleanliness.

So again with the college student thing where you have to take it to the next level. We got tired of shooting wet beer towels at him one night and decided it would be fun to drag him out somewhere and “do something with him”. Several missteps down the stairs (how sad for him he lived on the second floor, think Weekend at Bernie’s type action) and we loaded him into the car. We drove around for a while (before anyone freaks out, that was in 1986 and I do not advocate drunk driving….I was in my idiot phase) and decided the grocery store was the perfect placed to stage our latest gag.

We loaded him into one of those old carts, the shallow high kind, his arms legs all akimbo and hanging out the side (sidenote: beer can still in hand, Pete had a death grip as previously mentioned). And we shoved him through the doors. The doors at that time didn’t have all the blockage they do now and it allowed us to virtually sail Pete directly into the store, where he crashed head on into a display of soup cans. And it ended, loudly. The last I saw as we all ran to our car, he was there, covered in soup cans, only a hand with a beer can sticking out to identify him. We ran like hell and left him behind. Not nice, I know, but I was 21, get off my back.

The next day we got a call to come collect our Pete from the college police station, which we did. He woke up with not a clue as to what had happened. You can imagine his surprise when he noticed the crescent shaped dents and bruises all over him from the cans that had fallen on him. He had no idea how he got there, and we all played dumb.

We took him home, tended to his injuries and tried not to laugh. We all felt bad until the next weekend when he decided it would be wise for all of us to know if in our old age, Depends diapers would really work. Note to all of you wondering this same thing out there (and I hope there are zero of you), they don’t. At least not after six keg shots, standing in the woods, with only an adult diaper on anyway. The good news is, he never drank enough for us to play beer towel or Push Cart Pete again….the bad news is, I can tell you I have seen a grown man pee himself in the woods with a diaper on and I fear for my old age. And you should too….especially if you favor keg shots at 90.

About once a year I wonder what happened to him. I wonder if he is still a PE coach, if he got married, what his life might be like now. And then I frantically look at my kids school roster, realize he is not a teacher there, and breathe a huge sigh of relief. Because while I have stories about him, there is the slight chance he might remember just enough about college to have stories about me too…and we just can’t have that…

It’s Obviously The Cough Syrup Talking

It’s finally happened. I just received my 1,000th comment from my friend Steenky Bee. Wait. I don’t mean she personally has commented 1,000 times…though it feels that way sometimes. We all know what a stalker she is but it’s part of her charm, right? I love her with every ounce of my haute couture heart and she knows it.

I wasn’t really sitting here waiting for this moment to happen. I just looked at my dashboard and had sort of a “Wow…that’s cool” moment. Also? I’m on some serious cough medicine so lots of things are very interesting to me today.

Anyway, it got me thinking about how this blog has changed things for me in a lot of ways.

First of all, it’s changed the way I communicate. I used to use normal names when talking about the antics of my friends during the day…you know, like Lisa, Traci, Gretchen and others. Since I started this blog and have to do my writing at night so as not to get my ass fired from my real job, I don’t have as much time for conversations with them. Now, when I talk to The Man at the end of the day, my conversations sound like this, “So Heinous said something today on Clark Kent’s blog that was funny after he did a post about Lois Lane and the girls belching. Steenky came in and commented behind him and said something about a post over at Blissfully Caffeinated so I went and hung out there for a while after I finished Riding The Short Bus. And OMG…let me tell you what Captain Dumbass said today about Supreme Leader…she sounds like she is awesomesauce. Also? I really wish Vodka Mom was a teacher at the kids school, she really knows how to speak to children.”

…and then he looks at me like I’m crazy.

It’s also caused me to create categories for my friends in real life and the conversations I have with them about my life as a blogger.

When I am with friends from Category One, I try to avoid any and all conversations regarding my blog life. Mainly because if I say, “I have a a blog” they say, “OMG…Susie had that last week, you’d better go to the doctor and get something for it before it gets much worse…feel better!”

Then there are my friends from Category Two who like to read my stuff but they really aren’t sure what exactly it is I’m doing here or why. Is it to make money? Is it just for fun? How does this whole blog vs advertising thing work? I was hanging with a Category Two friend last night, a very accomplished OB/GYN whom I just adore when she said the one thing that made it all gel for me. She had asked me to explain this whole bloggy thing and also about my job (which incidentally is in online advertising). So I did, ad nauseum, because given the chance to geek out and vomit useless information all over someone, I totally go for it. So she politely listened and then said, “Now I understand what other people must feel like when I tell them the details of a surgery I just did…” Well, not really because let’s face it, being a doctor and all, her job just a little more complicated and important than mine but I love her for reading me and then trying to figure out why on earth I’m doing this.

The third group, the Category Three’s, are totally on board. I can talk all day about my “imaginary friends” and not one of them thinks I’m crazy. One friend, Maria, serves as the Editor in Chief of The Stiletto Mom so you can pass some of the blame onto her for the things you read here because if it’s in question, she is the final vote on whether it goes live or not on many days. Then there are friends like Gretchen, who can take this Category Three thing to a new level and work the names of my bloggy buddies into a conversation even after several drinks and still get the names and the topics they covered right. She is stalking many of you silently, she’s stealthy like that.

Then there is the hybrid crew I like to call Category Four. They are the bloggers I’ve met in the past three months that have become friends. It’s strange to say I feel very close to someone who I’ve never actually met in person but it’s true. We have a pretty close little gang and we share a lot of information through our blogs, our comments, email, sometimes facebook and almost always twitter. I tell my real life friends that I’m going to meet these people some day and they are all, “Have you thought this through? What if they are a SERIAL KILLER??” I’m pretty sure I’m safe with this group and if and when I do meet them in person, I will first squeeee at the top of my lungs and then give huge bear hugs until they regret having agreed to meet me in person in the first place.

No matter what category you are, or if you are those of the “in real life” group or the “blogger buddy” group, I’m glad I know you.

…yeah, that was totally the cough syrup talking…

Degrees Of Squee

ticket-taker

Have you ever stood behind the back of a jet, like a really huge commercial one, as they fire up? No? Yeah see there is a reason those guys wear those noise blocking headphones.

How do I know this you ask? I know this because last night I experienced the very same sound at the premier of High School Musical 3. I am here to tell you that if you pack an entire movie theatre full of girls aged 6-16 and then show a picture of, mention or think of Zac Effron…the collective SQUEEEEEEEEE that follows will make your ears bleed.

It started when a guy who looked sorta like Drew Carey stood in front of them and announced it would be five minutes until the movie started.


SQUEEEEEEE! It was the best two minutes of his life to date.

But then the movie started and the girls really revved it up. I lost 90% of my hearing in my left ear when this happened:

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

…and then they took the right ear out after this:

OH SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

Thankfully, Miss G and her little girlfriend lost interest about 3/4 of the way through and wanted to come home to play dress up. The Man was left behind with Mr. C and his buddy who wanted to see the end and he tells me the degree of squee didn’t get any better as the movie went on.

Today, we are both experiencing various degrees of hearing loss and the kids must think we are fighting because we have to yell at eachother to hear anything. Sorta like this..

Him: Where is my coffee?
Me: WHAT??
Him: WHERE is my COFFEE?
Me: Come again?
Him: WHERE IS MY COFFEE????
Me: Oh…it’s over there.
Him: WHAT?
Me: It’s…OVER THERE!
Him: WHAT???
Me: We are so never going to a tween movie again….

Cabo Wabo

white-dress

It took me a week to get my liver to recover act together to post this but here it is…the rest of the adventures from Cabo. Sorta figured you people may need a break too after that Mankini post to rest your eyes and what not.

On this particular trip, we were going with two other couples who don’t have kids and were really looking forward to some quality grown up time so I packed all my cutest stuff. Very neatly. All in one suitcase. Which is against my golden rule of traveling, always put half my stuff in The Man’s suitcase and half of his in mine so that when the airline inevitabley loses one of the suitcases we still have the other. Because they will, and boy did they this time.

Having arrived in Mexico sans, well EVERYTHING, I had to buy staples like toothpaste, deoderant and all that good stuff. While I was doing that, The Man located a street vendor selling dresses and took it upon himself to pick one out for me for $32.00. Ordinarily, putting the words The Man, street vendor and $32.00 together would scare the hell out of me but he surprised me and picked out a really pretty off white dress.

One problem, with this particular dress, you couldn’t wear underwear. So I was commando for a very long time. While you would normally think that walking around naked would be a liberating experience, it’s not. Especially not in a white dress. In 100 degree weather. With sweat dripping in places that sweat ought not be. I was disgusting glowing.

The luggage finally showed up a full 24 hours after we got there and I’m not sure the bellman has even been group hugged like that before. At first he looked a little terrified hesitatant but then he got into it.

FINALLY, this vacation could start for me…

We hung out on the beach.



We read great works of literature trashy books:

We drank ourselves silly.



We bonded over sunsets.


The guys fondled er, bonded as well.

The only other hitch came when they tried to evict us a day before we were supposed to leave. Somehow, our reservations had gotten mixed up and even though the hotel was only at about 75% occupancy, they said they couldn’t accomodate us for another night and we would have to find other arrangements. Well, this certainly wouldn’t do…so I did what any woman in her right mind would do and with 15 minutes to go before they kicked us out, I headed down to the front desk and flashed by breasts asked nicely if they would like to take our money for one last day. It worked and we spent the day lounging by the beach and the pool and then headed out for our last dinner of the trip where we sat at a table oceanside where there was one last chance to inappropriately touch enjoy eachother.

The end.

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