Friday, July 30, 2010

Here's why Ambien is one of my BFFs

I'm not so big on having to rely on pharmaceuticals, especially for sleeping - I mean, it's sleep, it's something I've been doing since birth, right? I should be able to wing it, right? Sometimes, not to much.

I wait until I'm super tired, do my nighttime stuff - brush and floss my teeth, wash my face (if I haven't earlier in the evening), put my hair in a braid, make sure I don't have any stray eyebrow hairs (because the world would end if there were a fire in the house and I had to run outside with ungroomed eyebrows, right?), and take out my contacts - then crawl into bed and tetris myself in between the dog and cat (who, apparently, are incapable of sleeping anywhere but my side of the bed) and squish up my pillow under my head.

Then, as I'm getting close to drifting off to sleep, I hear a little airplane heading towards the miniature airport that's a couple of miles from here.

Then, I think it's weird to hear a small plane so late at night...

Then I wonder who's flying that tiny little plane so late at night...

Then I wonder if little planes like that have headlights...

Then I think that I can't remember ever having seen a little plane with a headlight...

Then I remember the time my mom's boyfriend, Ed, flew my mom, my sister and I over to Catalina Island on a little plane and then on the way back, he let me take the wheel and I veered hard to one side, like I was going to take us on a barrel roll. Then when we were almost back at the airport from which we had taken off, but hadn't yet gotten clearance to land, I announced that I was going to be sick. As Ed circled the small airport again and again, I was getting sicker and sicker and my mom told me to barf into my shirt. Gross. I decided to barf, instead, all over the front of the (rented) plane. You're welcome, Ed...

Then I try to try to remember how old I was and realize I couldn't have been older than ten or eleven...

Then I think about how The Kid is eleven now...

Then I remember a time when The Kid would only answer to Ed. No idea why...

Then I remember when I got him a pair of mouse ears from Disneyland that said "Ed" on the back and he thought it was the coolest thing ever...

Then I wonder what The Kid and I are going to do the next day...

Then I think that we'll probably go to the dog park and I wish we could go when there were a bunch of dogs, but not so many owners because HOLY FUCK those dog people will talk your freaking ear off about the dumbest details of their animals. And it's ALL they can talk about. Christ on a cracker, they're like people with babies, they think everyone is enthralled by hearing about the haircut their fucking poodle got three years ago...

Then I wonder if those people will be less likely to talk to me if most of my tattoos are visible*, because the one time I accidentally wore my Precious Moments "Jesus is the only way" t-shirt (an eBay impulse buy and only worn ironically, thankyouverymuch), everyone was way too friendly to me...

Then I remember how my friend, Leena, used to love Precious Moments stuff, so much so that she even had a little Precious Moments couple on her wedding cake...

Then I think it's been a while since I've seen Leena and that I should call her so we can have lunch together or something...

Then I remember what a long freaking drive it is down to Orange County, not to mention all the traffic and such...

And so on and so forth for... I don't know, an hour or more before I realize I'm still awake and it's probably after 1AM and I know The Kid will be up at the crack of dawn and I think I should really take an Ambien to get to sleep, but if I take one right then, I won't be able to wake up at a reasonable hour...

But if I take an Ambien at a reasonable hour and manage to refrain from calling, texting, emailing, IM-ing, blogging and shopping while under the influence of it, it gives me the most unbelievably delicious sleep imaginable just by virtue of smothering my brain in a big wool blanket so it shuts down for a bit.

I just wish there were an Awake-bien that could just as quickly and effectively dial down my brain during the day.


* it turns out that these old people are so dog-centered that they probably wouldn't notice if I were wearing a bra on my head - they're still just as likely to tell me the story *again* of how they got Bailey at the Humane Society and how he sleeps on their bed usually, but sometimes he likes to sleep downstairs and when he does, he sleeps right next to the front door with his chewed up tennis ball...

Labels: and I'm not even on Ambien, pointless whining

Thursday, July 29, 2010

What the hair?

As I've probably whined mentioned fifteen million times, I've been going through one of those troublesome periods of hair identity where I want to shave my head or go platinum (even though I'm pretty confident I look best with long-ish, dark brown hair and I would probably be completely miserable if I did either of those things).

Last night, The Kid and I saw a commercial for the new iPhone (I'd find it on YouTube, but I'm not giving ad space to Apple unless they wanted to hand over some of their product *iPod Touch, please*) wherein some girl debuts her new super short hairstyle to her boyfriend via video chat. The commercial girl looks really cute with her short hair because she's clearly some kind of pixy, no way I could pull off a boy cut like that because I'm not the least bit elven. And I'm worried I'd get stuck with one of those horrible super-short-in-back-longer-in-front cuts that every reality show mom has.

Me: What if I cut my hair short? Not that short, probably, but shorter, or shortish

The Kid (making a face like I've just offered him a big bowl of broccoli and chocolate custard): If you did, I'd suggest you move into a hotel until it grows out. Or I'd let you borrow one of my hats... But not my Lakers championship hat.

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting

According to some old saying, you can pick your friends, but not your family.

My sister recently posted a list of criteria for a new perspective (girl) BFF.

If only finding a new friend were as easy as building a burrito at Chipotle.

I don't think we get to pick our friends anymore than we get to pick who we love or who loves us back*.

I think people show up in our lives and, if we're lucky, they look at our mess and are immediately able to find the pattern that looks like a 3-D picture of Wile E. Coyote**. And they actually like the picture and want to hang it over their couch***. And we like their mess because it looks like a 3-D picture of the Road Runner. And the messes mesh and some part of life makes a little bit more sense.



If you looked at a police line-up of my friends, the ones I really consider friends, the ones I trust knowing about the myriad of skeletons stowed away in my closet, they're not who you would expect. They're not who I would expect. But I wouldn't trade any of them for anything****.



*as evidenced by how my uterus is currently devoid of Simon Pegg's spawn and Paolo Nutini has not yet written fifteen hundred love songs about me

** fun fact about me - I can't see anything but a jumble when I look at those pictures - I can stare at them on a wall or in a book or on my precious iBook, but I never see anything. I still think it's a sham.

*** hypothetically, of course - I do have at least one friend who is openly a Twilight fan, but I can't fathom being pals with anyone who owned or displayed Looney Tunes artwork (yes, I collect dolls, but everyone has her limit).

**** that's not true, there are at least a couple of them I would totally sell out for a pony named Saffron or an iPod Touch...

Labels: just sayin', what about your friends

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Dear College Student Selling Something Door-to-Door,

Being non-threateningly attractive and flirting with women at least 10 years older than you is a fine start for selling, but let me pass along a couple of tips to you -

1) Don't flirt with women at least 10 years older than you when they look completely scroungy. They know they look scroungy and they will know you're full of shit.

2) Unidentifiable accents are great, some people are totally into them, but try to speak clear enough English to be able to explain whatever the hell it is you're selling.

3) Don't insult potential customers. The reason I didn't clutch my pearls in amazement when you announced you were an "exchange student from Europe" is because I'm not impressed. Asking me "have you ever heard of it?" didn't make me feel especially interested in buying whatever you're selling.

Also, I would like to apologize, in advance, for the fact that I have no intention of opening the door when you come back tomorrow.

Thanks and good luck!

me

Labels: I'm a jackass

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

this just in

Aidan Quinn, who made 11-year-old me swoon in "Desperately Seeking Susan"? Is still completely do-able and might even be hotter than he was in the 80s.

Labels: just sayin'

hey, look at me, talking about my dreams again

so, last night in my dream, I was at the grocery store again, and I had a small dog. And then I was in a really cute retro-looking bathroom and there was a snail outside of its shell. And then I dreamed I was really sleepy. Yes, I dreamed I was sleepy, could I have more boring dreams?

Aaaaanyway, this means -

Labels: dream a little dream

Monday, July 26, 2010

me: now that [16-year-old son] has his license and his truck, I guess he can drive himself to football practice in the mornings so you can sleep in, right?

my Mormon friend who doesn't cook: No, I still get up to make him breakfast.

me: Make him breakfast? What do you do, pour the cereal in the bowl and put milk on it?

MMFWDC: Shut up! I microwave him oatmeal with brown sugar! I'm sure you grow your own oats and juice your own oranges and churn your own butter, but not everyone has time for that.

Labels: suzy fucking homemaker, what about your friends

5 completely useless facts about me

• when I'm nervous or feeling kind of unsure, I fidget, usually by cracking my knuckles or messing with my hair
• I call everyone "dude", especially when I'm trying to make a point
• when something is important to me, but I'm not entirely comfortable vocalizing that, I throw "kind of" in there (ie: "I kind of want to not move to Texas" or "I kind of like taking pictures")
• I don't have a favorite color or favorite meal, and my favorite of everything else changes periodically
• I have a freckle between the 2nd and 3rd toes on my right foot

Labels: just... why?

Sunday, July 25, 2010

I woke up this morning and decided it would be a good idea to go to the fair

Even though I was well aware that the fair, like so many things in life, is better in theory than in reality.

In theory, it's bright lights, delicious food, gleeful children and fun games.

In reality, it's too hot, the food is expensive, it smells like the hindquarters of a goat and those prizes aren't nearly as cool as they were when I was a kid. Oh, and it's wall-to-wall dregs of humanity, like legions of people who were banished from Walmarts.

Still, good for a few pictures -

I always say that a fair's not a fair without piglet races...

not just a place that happens to serve chocolate-covered bacon, a whole stand devoted to it

oh, right, like I wasn't going to take a picture of the restroom with the "seating in rear" sign?

On your left, fixed games stocked with crap prizes. On your right side, death traps assembled by twitchy meth heads - take your pick!

Labels: I take pictures

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Sometimes the misheard song lyrics we do hear say a lot about us

but sometimes they don't.


For instance:

1) on one of The Kid's video games, I heard the Matt and Kim song, "Daylight". That song has been out for a while and I've heard it several times and I sort of like it, it's bouncy and such, but I had no idea who sang it. So I googled what I thought was the first line of the song -

"We cut the legs off of our friends"

This is the line I've heard every time I've heard the song and I never once questioned it.

Turns out the actual line is:

"We cut the legs off of our pants"

When I finally figured that out, I was like "... oh" because it kind of made less sense.

2) Every single time I hear the stalker's national anthem "Every Breath You Take" by the Police, I hear-

"I'm a pool hall of apes"

when I should be hearing:

"how my poor heart aches"

And I never once questioned why Sting was talking about billiard-playing simians.

Labels: and I'm not even on Ambien

Thursday, July 22, 2010

wants and needs and watermelons without seeds

• a new tattoo
• a pair of prescription glasses that don't make me look like a bug
• a perfume that smells like Mr. Bubble bubble bath
• for my gross knee scab to stop itching
• to stop picking at my gross knee scab
• to stop talking about and posting pictures of my gross knee scab*
• a golden sunset on a beach that isn't jam-packed with disgustingly happy couples in matching rolled-up jeans kissing on command for the photographer doing their engagement shots
• a watermelon I can massacre for a pitcher of watermelon lemonade (yum)
• a perfume that smells like apple shampoo
• a trip somewhere I've never been
• a telephoto lens - one of those big giant paparazzi ones so I can take pictures of pelicans at the beach and squirrels up in trees
• to never hear the name J_stin B_iber again
• a glass of water
• a bowl of almost-too-spicy Thai noodles
• to do something with my hair - lighter, shorter, redder - something
• something to want to write about
• something to want to paint
• something to do with the 90 bazillion apricots in my refrigerator and backyard
• a cute bracelet that will go with everything so I can start wearing bracelets

if you look closely, you can see the yellow-ish Cheeto skin tone of the healing bruise. Other than that, don't look too closely because it's kind of gross. And it still hurts.

What does it say about the people I know when one of the first (non-spam) emails in my inbox this morning contains a link to a website where I can buy Booty Pop?

In case you don't want to click the link, Booty Pop is not a board game from the new naughty division of Mattel, it's ass-embiggening knickers. I guess we can thank Sir-Mix-A-Lot and  Kim Kardashian* for this trend?




*Not gonna lie, I think she's absolutely lovely, but I still don't know why she's famous. Having said that, I would totally pay money to eat breakfast off of her ass (arse).

Labels: what about your friends

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

I consider myself pretty fearless in the kitchen (and in several other rooms of the house, but that's another post for another time), and while I recognize that not everyone even wants to make their own croissants or pizza dough or ice cream, I think a lot of people think cooking is a lot more complicated than it is - maybe they had parents who cooked elaborate French meals, or maybe they had parents who didn't cook at all...

Or maybe they've seen the infomercial for this product -


Apparently, cracking eggs is so difficult and complicated, it requires an apparatus... wait, what?

It's a chicken egg, the shell is not made of titanium.

The phrase "walking on egg shells" means to conduct yourself gingerly in a situation - because eggshells are fragile.

If you really and truly believe that the only way for you to open an eggs is to spend $19.95 (plus shipping and handling) for this contraption, well... maybe you should just stick to the McDonald's dollar menu because... really.

Labels: suzy fucking homemaker

Sugar and spice and everything nice... up to a point

No one ever told me -

when I was a little girl experimenting with red lipstick and blue eyeshadow,

or when I was a teenager experimenting with purple hair dye and a crimping iron,

or when I was club-going-age experimenting with body glitter and fishnet stockings

that after a certain age (oh, let's say... thirty-five?) being a girl is less about the fun stuff and more about maintenance.

It's no longer about which flavor of lip gloss can withstand a night of drinking Zimas and dancing to the Spin Doctors* & ** or finding the perfect shade of light blue nailpolish. It's about which eye cream promises the most amazing results, or finding the best shade of concealer.

Dyeing my hair is no longer about finding the brightest shade of burgundy, it's about covering up enough gray hairs to score me a cameo in a Golden Girl's remake.

It's no longer about being sparkly and cute, it's about hopefully looking like I've slept for at least an hour or two in the preceding month.

No one tells little girls "enjoy every day you've got before you are introduced to the instruments of torture known as tweezers and eyelash curlers" or "Run around without a bra for as long as you can before you have to worry about your boobs hitting your knees" or "enjoy these halcyon days of youth before most of your free time is spent grooming yourself".

Admittedly, I'm still kind of fighting the whole grown-up thing - if I spend more than four minutes primping myself I feel prissy, I'm still pretty comfortable leaving the house without makeup and botox still sounds like a terrible idea - but I'm guessing that someday, not far down the road, all of that stuff is work itself into my life. And the thought of that kind of sucks. I feel like there are three camps on aging -

1) the natural way - I grow my frizzy gray hair down to my butt, dress all in natural fibers, move to Albuquerque, change The Kid's name to Wingspan and raise chile peppers and ceramic coyotes....

Or 

2) the soccer mom give-up - I get highwaisted, pleated-front mom jeans and a christmas sweater, rock the mom short haircut and bump the stereo in my pearly white mini-van.

or

3) the completely unnatural mom - she of the velour sweatsuits with words across the butt, fake boobs and faker nails, driving a huge SUV and dreaming about those boys from Twilight.


I don't fit in to ANY of those groups. Not even close. Not fitting made me kind of cool in high school, but now... I don't know, I kind of feel like I should apply for a job at Hot Topic and start writing emo poetry.

And don't even get me started about how guys get off completely scot free with the whole aging thing - gray hair on guys? Can be pretty hot. Those smile lines around a guy's eyes? Can be completely sexy. Compound that with how they don't have to shave their legs, wear pinchy high heels or suffer the indignation of control-top anything - and it's just a big old party platter full of so-not-fair.



* shut up
** Kokomo's in Irvine, anyone?

Labels: and I'm not even on Ambien, just kidding I totally am

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

it's before midnight, so it still counts

(yes, I know you're allergic to cats, but I couldn't find any pictures of Obama wearing a party hat and a whipped cream bikini for you. Sorry)

If you know me at all, you know I can be a bit pedantic about grammar and language and such*. So it should be no surprise that earlier today when I was in a craft store, I had to whip out my camera when I saw this product:


this is one of my biggest pet peeves - no, not nose-less stick figures with grape-like hands, art is subjective - I'm more bothered by the text. I can forgive the lack of comma after "Mom", but why the fuck can't people grasp the difference between "your" and "you're"?

your is a possessive adjective - it describes a noun - ex: "The person who proofreads YOUR packaging should be fired."

you're is a contraction of "you" and "are" - ex: "YOU'RE contributing to the dumbing down of America."



And - remember how I posted a picture of my dirty and bloody knee the other day? Here's what it looks like today. I'm kind of bummed I couldn't bring out the color of the bruise on the side, it's faint, but painful. In case you were wondering, walking is SUPER uncomfortable.





*if you're one of my BFFs, you take great joy in driving me completely batty by using words like "prolly" and "irregardless" on purpose.

Labels: what about your friends

Monday, July 19, 2010

Watch in amazement as I ruin my child's life without even trying...

So The Kid spent the weekend in Vegas attending some of the NBA Summer League* games. After the games, in addition signing autographs, many of the players give out their jerseys, warm-up shirts and shoes to fans.

The Kid pushed and battled his way through the crowd and came away with one size 15 shoe and one wet-with-sweat warm-up t-shirt from some players on the Sacramento Kings.

He came home and unloaded his backpack in the living room, then headed off to basketball practice.

A nasty habit I acquired during my roller derby days (and my time living in a house with a smelly pre-teen boy) is to throw dirty clothes into the washer as quickly as possible.



You see where this is going, right?



The Kid comes home from practice and proceeds to freak the fuck out over the fact that I've laundered the formerly-sweaty shirt. Tantrums, sulking, heavy sighing, glares from across the room.

And here I thought I would escape the attack of the hormone histrionics by having a son instead of a daughter.

Oy.



*basically, it's a chance for the newly drafted players to showcase their mad ballin' skillz in a semi-casual environment

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Dear me,

You are generally acknowledged as one of the clumsiest persons on the planet.

It's not really your fault, you were born with a grace-deficiency, it happens.

You may want to keep this in mind, though, if you get it into your head that it's a good idea to take your dog and your camera out for a hike on a lovely Sunday Morning.


If you do decide to do this, please stop trying to walk and take pictures at the same time. That's when stuff like this happens:

(this is what it looked like right after it happened [hence, all the dirt and crap all over my leg] in the hours since that, my knee has swelled up to about twice its normal size and turned a lovely rainbow of colors)

If you know stuff like that is going to happen, you might want to start carrying a first aid kit, or at the very least, a couple bandages to soak up some of the blood.

Also, if the cute guy in the information center offers you a map of the trails, take it. That way, when you're several miles from the information center and you stumble and twist the crap out of your ankle and bloody up your knee, you can find a shorter route back instead of taking your own as-the-crow-flies shortcuts where you'll probably trip over a ground squirrel burrow and twist your other ankle. Genius.

One last thing? You're white - pasty white - stop forgetting your effing sunblock!

xxoo,

me

Labels: note to self

Saturday, July 17, 2010

• I feel like I'm in a weird place right now (figuratively, not literally, of course) - I'm in one of those places where I feel like I want a change or something. I'm sort of feeling like it will be a miracle if I don't end up shaving my head this weekend (the only reason I haven't done it yet is that I worry I've got an oddly shaped head). It could be pms or an ambien hangover or something.
• I went shopping for underwear, which usually cheers me right up, but it did nothing.
• bought a couple new shades of nail polish, both pink, which is weird.
• I spritzed myself with some Escada perfume and I'm kind of loving it, but I'm not going to buy it because I always forget to wear perfume.
• The movie "The Invention of Lying" is charming* - Jennifer Garner is so cute I want to squish her (fun fact: people with dimples make me happy) and I've always harbored a little crush on Ricky Gervais.
• I'm apparently not moving to Texas, not sure if I mentioned that already or not.
• I think I'm going to start wearing bracelets, I like the way they look on my wrists.
• I'd like to do laundry right now, but the garage is dark and full of spiders so I can't go in there until morning.
• Took the dog for a hike at the beach today - it was sunset-y and there were several couples getting engagement photos taken. I think I'd rather ride a bike naked through a swarm of mosquitoes and then off of a cliff into a pool of molton magma than wear a matching outfit with someone and kiss on cue.

*favorite quote:

"Are you always happy?"

"Usually. But sometimes I stay in bed and eat and cry."

Labels: and I'm not even on Ambien

sometimes it's weird that people I know irl read this

some days I think I put too much of myself out there.

some days I don't think I put enough.

I guess 99% of the time I lean towards the latter. I tend to be fairly free with a lot of the inconsequentials, the stupid details, the minutiae - I'll tell you everything about my underwear drawer, what I ate for breakfast, what a complete dork I am when I take ambien and freaky dreams I have (the other night - zombies, bears and a Costco - it was cuh-razy) - but I don't really talk much about the things that are important to me.

Even with (most) people I know irl, I keep a lot of things to myself. Maybe because I'm unusually guarded, maybe because I have a hard time opening up to people, or maybe because I have a hard time vocalizing something that means so much to me.

One of my favorite quotes, which happens to be from Stephen King, oddly enough, is this:

"The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of because words diminish your feelings - words shrink things that seem timeless when they are in your head to no more than living size when they are brought out."

and I think that kind of sums up a huge part of why I keep most of the big stuff inside.

Another reason I'm not so forthcoming is that so many of my VIT* are artistic things - my writing, my painting, my photography - and they mean so much to me, they are such extensions of me, such personal pieces of myself, but I worry that other people won't understand how much they mean. Or, god forbid, someone might think they suck. Worse than that - what if that person is right and I DO suck?

But I wonder if my reluctance to share that kind of thing keeps me that specific distance away from other people - the distance between people that usually fills up with stuff that gets spun into a sugary cotton candy pile of friendship.

So here's the thing - one of my big things - my photography. It's a big thing to me - really big - even before my fancy new equipment, I'm constantly looking at the world through a viewfinder, trying to find the shot that says something to me. I was told once, by a close friend,  that my photography isn't very personal. But it really is, the photographs I take, the ones I choose to share, they mean something to me, photography is my way of showing how I see the world. And I don't know a whole lot more personal than that,

So anyway, as though the hand-crafty community isn't already jampacked full of people doing exactly this, I set up my own etsy shop in which to sell my photographs and maybe art (eventually) (eventually I'll maybe manage to get more than a handful of prints up there, too...).

And let me just say, I hate when every blog (and facebook account) wants to to donate to something or sign something, or just donate - but this isn't a plea for a donation and I'm not planning on adding a paypal button on the sidebar or anything - but art is subjective and if you think a piece of my subjective art might make the walls in your house look better, well, more power to ya.

but still, this was totally:

and for that, I kind of apologize, but not in a sincere way, in kind of a forced way where you don't really mean it.

So... I think that's out there now - photography is very important to me. Also, ambien blogging just takes way to fucking long - I swear, I've been working on this for... approximately 7 months... and reading stuff I wrote just minutes ago... it's kind of a Flowers for Algernon moment... And with that literary genre name-checked, I should probably get to bed because I'm starting to see shadows of clowns.

Also - my toenails match my new pajama set, which coincidentally matches the icky mystery bruise I got on my hand tonight... Because, apparently, I needed some kind of six-degrees of separation from my toes to my bruise.

okay, seriously, stopping now... geez.



*Very Important Things

Labels: and I'm not even on Ambien, just kidding I totally am, what about your friends

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

in case you were wondering...

if I email you to tell you I think it's inconsiderate for you to have brought two extra people with you when I invited you to dinner IN MY DREAM, the correct response is:

"We totally should have called ahead to tell you we were bringing those people we met on Craigslist.  Sorry about that.  It won't happen again."

But you would probably only know that if we are related.

~~~~~~~~

in an unrelated note, today was my 100th day of posting on my photo blog thing, you should go check it out because I posted a picture of my spectacular new camera... and boobs... which is the only reason you're going to check it out, so, again... boobs...

Labels: boobs, dream a little dream, I take pictures, just sayin'

Saturday, July 10, 2010

it's official - I'm awesome

I.
Made.
Croissants.

it started like this:

and included this:

and then this:



which turned into this:



that was all last night - this morning started with rolling out:


then there was some cutting and shaping:



then came the baking:

and the plating:



so they're not exactly healthy (helloooooo, 3 sticks of butter!), but they are spectacular and flaky and crunchy and rich.

And having the house smell like a patisserie (or is it boulangerie? who knows, I'm not Francophilic enough to know)? It doesn't suck.

Here's the weird part - they weren't difficult. Time-intensive, yes, but difficult? Not at all.

Even if I never make them again, I will be forever grateful to the lovely Julie at Willow Bird Baking for the recipe and encouragement - go check out the recipe (and her pics are much prettier than mine) and make them IMMEDIATELY.

Labels: "awesome" ends with "me", suzy fucking homemaker

Thursday, July 08, 2010

I'll take potpourri for $1000, Alex

Kind of wish I knew what company would possibly put up a billboard that said "Like a trimmed bush? So do we", but unfortunately, all I could get was this quick shot.


I call this "fun with shutter speed" - coincidentally, this is exactly what Vegas usually looks like to me after a yard-long margarita or two.


This is part of a poster for some topless show at our hotel - half of the posters only have this girl from the rack up, but the other half show her torso, too. I'm not going to deny that she's got a slamming body and I would most likely be topless all the time if I looked like her, but... is a smidge of photo shop to clean up the funky belly button area and her snaggly nails a bit too much to ask? I'm no photoshop expert, but I'm assuming smoothing this stuff out would take... a minute or two? I know no one but me has ever even noticed this, or even looked at anything other than her boobs, but it was kind of all I could see every time I looked at the poster.


Why, yes, that IS the world's tallest thermometer in Baker, CA!


other than that - it's 40 degrees cooler here than it is in Vegas right now. I can't understand why anyone would live in that town.

I always ask who smokes anymore and that question was answered this weekend - every single person in Nevada. Gross. Apparently they haven't gotten the message that it's unhealthy...?

It was a fun trip, my kid is always a blast (even if he's ridiculous on car trips because he has a bladder the size of a grape seed), but I think I've had my fill of Vegas for a while.

Labels: I take pictures

Wednesday, July 07, 2010

only in Vegas

Standing in the lobby of the Bellagio (which, btw, is sofa king beautiful) staring at the Dale Chihuly glass ceiling thing (which, btw, is absolutely spectacular - see below) and listening to a pianist on a grand piano and vaguely recognizing the song... then realizing that the song he's playing is "Complicated" by Avril Lavigne. I'm betting if we'd stayed long enough, we would have heard "Poker Face" and maybe something by Green Day.


And the super cute Spanish guys wandering down the strip wearing soccer jerseys, proudly waving Spanish flags and yelling "Espana!" to everyone they passed. I don't know why, I guess they were just proud to be from Spain*.


Also - proof that I'm a total dork - we wandered through malls full of Balenciaga bags, Louis Vuitton luggage, Louboutin shoes and Tiffany jewelery, none of which I found even remotely interesting (although there was a super cute, square-ish pair of Tom Ford sunglasses I coveted momentarily - I can't bring myself to spend that kind of money on something I'm just going to sit on or lose within a week), but I totally swooned my way through the Apple Store (could I have been more excited to play with an iPad? doubtful).


*I'm not a complete shut-in, I'm familiar with that soccer thing, okay?

Vegas, day 3

The Kid (upon unsuccessfully trying to find something in a souvenir shop personalized with his name): NOTHING! Again

Me: Really? That's so weird, considering you've looked in about 75 million other shops and weren't able to find your name.

The Kid: But they have Jorge and Pedro! And Reenie!

Me: Reenie? That's kind of random.

The Kid: Yeah, R-E-N-E-E! Like anyone's ever heard of that name!

Me: Dude, that's Renee, it's a pretty common name

The Kid: Whatever, thanks for giving me such a random name

Me: That should be the least of your issues with me

The Kid: Yeah, I know



and just for fun, the most random artwork of the day - tell me you don't want this hanging over your couch.

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting

Tuesday, July 06, 2010

fun fact about me

I have never once been able to gracefully step onto one of those moving walkway things. Never. Do you have any idea how many of them are in Vegas?

Labels: pointless whining

Vegas day 2

it's approximately 12,000 degrees here and we walked about 12,000 miles today, so I don't have much to say, so here are some pictures -


The Stripper Bar, complete with a 25 foot tall stripper in front, brought to you by the family-friendliest town ever - Las Vegas


stopped at Serendipity 3 for a fried oreo sunday


Then got a sandwich from the Carnegie Deli - yes, it is approximately the size of The Kid's head. And, yes, it was delicious. And, yes, we're eating SUPER healthy food.

3 short stories for today -

1) The Kid got hit on by some teenage skater boys today - they skated by him, checked him out, one told him that "blue hair rocks!" and another called him "a sexy little thing". I yelled to them that he was 11. He turns to me and reminded "I'm not gay, either." I replied "well, yeah, that, too."

3) We go into the Forum Shops at Caesar's and The Kid is wearing sunglasses the whole time. I look at him after a minute and say - "Sunglasses inside? Really? You're that guy now?" He doesn't even pause, just says "Duh, it's Vegas."

2) My first trip to Vegas was when I was 16 - my mom and stepdad took my sister and I, got us our own room at Circus Circus (they were staying there, too), handed us a couple rolls of quarters and sent us on our way. I played video games well into the night and made out with some 27-year-old guy. The Kid's trip has been a bit more supervised I'm happy to say.

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting

Monday, July 05, 2010

It took about 10 minutes of being in our hotel to spot our first hooker

unfortunately, I wasn't quick enough to get a picture of her. That's the one thing that sucks about having a "real" camera versus my tiny little camera - I can get less ninja shots. She was spectacular, though - tiny skirt, bra top and about fifteen feet tall.

Other than that, Vegas is still Vegas - I was thinking that, since it's during the week, it would be less crowded, but... not so much - the sidewalks are packed with equal parts Europeans, slightly-feminine Europeans with popped collars, tall European women and women with fake boobs and fake eyelashes. Oh, and drunken douchey guys with spikey hair, stupid sunglasses, backpacks and no sense of personal space.

and here are a couple shots from the Strip today  -




Okay, not even acknowledging that this is a mixing of Marvel Comics and DC Comics (which is so wrong)  - I wish I could have gotten my camera ready before Spiderman bent over - his costume was so tight... in so many places... well, you would know why dude's a superhero.

Other than that... why does driving make me sofa king tired?

Labels: "awesome" ends with "me", adventures in shitty parenting

Sunday, July 04, 2010

Oh... maybe I'm not going anywhere after all...

bonus pic because my cat is the paragon of feline grace and refinement:

Labels: I take pictures

Friday, July 02, 2010

I hate remembering creepy dreams from the night before right before I go to bed...

Last night, I dreamed that I was wearing this yellow dress that I never wear and there was a giant hairy tarantula clinging to the edge of it and I was screaming like a crazy person (which I would totally do were there a giant hairy tarantula anywhere in the same building as me) and none of the people around me were helping.

Then I got the disgusting thing off of me, but then it was on my bed and there were gross hairy baby tarantulas on the bed, too.

So, the dream interpretation thing says:

Labels: dream a little dream

my kid cracks me up

This morning, I had to RSVP on facebook* to an invitation** for a road trip.



~~~~~~~~~

bad parenting instant karma - helping The Kid dye his hair blue and ending up with enough indigo on my skin to be an extra in the pr0n remake of that over-hyped movie about those environmentally sensitive blue things with the dreadlocks.

~~~~~~~~~~

*yes, my 11-year-old has a facebook - whatever, most of his friends do and I figure he'll have one eventually, so I might as well set him up with one now and have his password so I can keep an eye on him and the 11-year-old girls who write all over his wall.

** pretty sure this is the first thing on fb to which I've ever RSVP-ed... mostly because I pretty much hate the whole social networking thing, I could not care less about your virtual farm/pet/mob family and I'm only on those sites because otherwise I'd have to actively keep in touch with family and people with whom I went to high school.

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting

Thursday, July 01, 2010

So The Kid and I are going to Vegas in a few days and I realized a couple of things about this trip -

• I'm taking a 7 hour road trip with a pre-teen boy whose musical taste wavers between hip and hop (if you see a news story about a mother leaving her child by the side of the road in Barstow, you'll know).
• I'm going to a city built upon drinking, gambling and ill-advised marriages and I will be partaking in none of those
• what kind of terrible parent takes an eleven-year-old to a city built upon drinking, gambling and ill-advised marriages?
• this is the first time I'm taking a camera with me to Vegas
• this is the first time I'm picking out shoes that are comfortable for walking, as opposed to shoes I can walk in after two yard-long margaritas
• Las Vegas is in the middle of the fucking desert, I almost cried when I checked out the forecast. Air-conditioning or not, triple digit temperatures are triple digit temperatures (especially when it's 63 degrees here today)

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting