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Once upon a time, I was in the guestroom organizing some mail. Monster was playing on the floor behind me and the dog was annoying the ever-loving piss out of me by constantly putting his “crack-ball” in my lap, as if I wanted to actually play with him.
After a few moments of, “Murray take your damn ball! I DON’T WANT TO PLAY!” and “Monster, who are you talking to? What are you doing with that tiny rubber lobster? “, I realized someone was missing.
“DramaBoy! What are you doing!?” I called out from the comfort of my office chair.
“(something completely unintelligible was spoken back to me)“
“WHAT?!”
“(something completely unintelligible was repeated to me)“
“You are peeing?!” I asked thinking I had the right answer.
“NOOOOO!! (something unintelligible was repeated yet again only this time with an obvious sense of annoyance and frustration)”
“WHAT!?” I yelled back again, obviously trying my hardest not to remove my ass from my chair.
Once again, something was yelled back that I couldn’t quite make out.
“Are you upstairs?” I asked.
“NO!” he yelled back. “I don’t want you seeing!”
AH! I finally understood what he was saying. He didn’t want me seeing him! Duh!
WAIT! OH F**K! That means he’s up to something!! This cannot be good. I finally got up out of my chair and raced in the direction of his voice. He was in the bathroom. Great, I figured he had jammed the toilet with gobs of toilet paper after pooping.
What I actually saw when I got to the bathroom is an image that will never leave my mind. And, since I immediately ran back for my camera it will surely live on forever. And it will probably be pulled out for friends, family and future girlfriends. In fact, this picture just might get framed for my wall.
I present to you, “The Great Toilet Seat Incident… of ‘08″
I am still not sure what prompted my son to put the toilet seat over his head, AFTER pooping mind you, but he did. And it got stuck. It would not fit back over his head. I tried taking it off and he screamed at me, “NO! I WILL DO IT!” because it was hurting his head. I laughed and he got more pissed. He got REALLY pissed when I brought out the camera.
Well, son, I’m sorry. Stupidity like this is very deserving of snapshots and blog fodder.
I guess he is my son… sometimes he just can’t resist something so tempting…. much like sticking a Reynolds Handi-Vac to my face or licking icicles in the dead of a Minnesota winter and ripping off the top layer of my tongue. I’m quite familiar with stupidity and the apple doesn’t seem to have fallen far from the tree.
Varsity Blues is one of my favorite movies. “Puke ‘n Rally!!” was the first thing to come to mind yesterday after Monster finished throwing up and started running around the house playing. Apparently his sudden illness was just a case of nerves and after laying on the couch for a few hours he was ready to go.
Monster ended up going to his very first day of preschool.
Here are the boys outside of the school. They posed so nice for once!
Monster’s cubby is right next to his brother’s.
This was taken on Sunday after his birthday party.
He was very excited to see me when I picked the boys up. I asked him how his day was and he said, “IT WAS GREAT!”
He used the word great. So cute.
He did say that he cried a little bit because he missed me. The teacher told me the same thing and said that it happened during circle time. She said DramaBoy hugged him and so did she and he was fine after that. Aw.
Want to know what I did with my two hours of freedom? I drove to buy dogfood. I drove to buy detergent. I drove around a neighborhood looking for a house to pick up some Freecycle goodies. I drove to Taco Bell. I came home, shoved that Taco Bell in face faster than Kobayashi eating hot dogs. Then, I drove to pick them up. Glamorous, eh?
Today is your 3rd birthday! 3 years ago, at 1:03pm your 9lb 9oz butt was born, much easier than your 8lb 3oz predecessor I might add, even with your giant head. You get that from your daddy.
You were a monster in my tummy, you were a monster in your first 3 months of life (thank you colic), you were a monster when you started moving and you are still a monster to this day. Hence, the name, Monster.
Here you and I are, minutes after you were born.
And here is a favorite pic of mine.
Oh, and this one… when you learned how to move more…
Annnd, blueberries…
I could go on and on all day with pictures of you, but I that would take a long time and you will be awake soon causing more trouble I’m sure. So we will end with one of you that is much more recent…
…you and your big brother. Although your giant head does make you look a bit bigger.
You are a challenge in every way and have been since the second you were conceived but you have been worth every ounce. You are entertaining, mouthy, wild, you never shut up and I love you more than my heart could possibly hold. You are special and that is incredibly obvious. You are going to be an amazing person when you are older. We already have you pegged as the class clown getting all the chicks. Only time will tell if we are right.
I love you more than life Monster! HAPPY 3rd BIRTHDAY!!
It is done.
You all gave wonderful advice and critique’s and I, your humble blog servant (read: self-absorbed attention freak) followed the advice and made the leap… the leap into shorter, healthier hair.
This morning, I awoke with my hair heavy on my mind… heh!! What a pun! Because for real, my hair was heavy, on my mind, as in on my head, cuz it’s long, and thick, and heavy. I amuse me.
Anyway, I ran to my computer so I could try on those different hairstyles from this website that sweet, sweet Kim recommended. My heart was pounding. My chest was tight. My stomach relocated itself somewhere south of my bladder. I tried various styles and thought to myself, “I’m really going to do this. I’m ready. BUT I’M SO SKEEERRED!”
I called my SIL for moral support. I also sent her 4 of the looks I had saved so she could give me her opinions. She’s honest, I trusted her. If I look like a troll she will tell me. She had picked her favorite, and I agreed. Then, as luck would have it, my younger sister texted me. Since she was awake (I didn’t think she would be with it being 2 hours earlier in AZ and all and, well, she isn’t an early riser) I immediately called her and sent her the same 4 looks I had created. She picked the same one as my SIL. Hmph. It is done. The one look was liked by the three of us, and so it shall be.
I got ready, packed up my children and went out for the quest of getting my hair chopped right off. I still had trouble breathing, like, for real. I am not exaggerating when I say that my insides were all over the place and my chest was tight. Anyway, my children played with their toys completely oblivious to the angst I was feeling and the giant leap I was about to take. I was sitting in the chair stiffer than a 5 day old dead body.
I told the woman I couldn’t breathe and she said, “OMG! Is the cape to tight?”
I nervously giggled and said, “No, I’m just scared of this, that’s all.”
She offered to wait, she offered me time to reconsider, but I said no. “Just do it. No holding back. Cut. Once you start I can’t stop… so go!”
And it was done.
My boys played quietly and sweetly as if they understood what I was going through and didn’t want to make it any worse. Well, that’s pushing it. They just slipped into a parallel universe where fighting, screaming, tantrums and yelling aren’t even known. They came back to reality at Wal-Mart 30 minutes later.
I can breath now. Actually, I’m happy. I’m relieved. I am not one single bit regretful… yet. That is how I know it was time to let go. 6 inches were cut. That doesn’t seem like much, but if you would have seen a true, up to date before picture then you would have a better understanding of the drastic difference.
Hubs likes it, but that is an “I like it” as in, “You have done nothing but talk about your fucking hair for a week now and I’m so sick of it that I could jam dull pencils in my own ears just to make it stop! SO YES! I FUCKING LIKE ANYTHING YOU DO TO IT! JUST DO IT AND SHUT UP!”
Aside from that, I have two people who both said they really like it… two other people who would never lie to me… my sister and my BFF.
Now, in about 20 minutes I am going to make my grand entrance into my girl’s night out and probably be welcomed with gasps. None of them knew what I was going to do. I’m sure they will all say it looks nice even if they secretly hate it. And that is fine because they will soon be drunk and so will I and then I will force the truth out of them. Because you can’t lie when you are drunk.
And now… the picture you have all probably looked at before reading a single word of this
The new and improved DraMa…
Whaddaya think?
Refer to the list in yesterday’s post of what not to say, or I shall haunt you until the day you die and then continue to haunt your soul for all eternity.
I’m about to grovel and beg and plead and make a complete fool of myself. Here is me, on my knees, hands clasped, weeping and sobbing like a moron. I need your help! See, the reason your help is so much more important than say, hub’s or my sister’s is because, well, you can probably provide me with an impartial and honest opinion. You probably won’t patronize me or lie to me. You won’t lie to me, will you?
After yesterday’s deflation I am currently reevaluating me. Well, the superficial me. There is no doubt in my mind whatsoever that I need to workout. Right now I’m sloppy… I’m aiming for slim and trim, but without trying to get back to my 118lb frame I once had. I’m at least realistic about it. I want to start running actually, if my knee can handle it. The problem is, when can I run? I don’t have that freedom right now and there is no room for a treadmill in this house.
Working out is only half of it though. The other half, is my hair. I have worked long and hard to grow out this mane. It has taken 3 years to do it and I have made it past all those hurdles where I wanted to chop it off. I stayed strong and have been very greatful that I didn’t give in to my own personal pressures to cut it off. But, then I was told yesterday that I was hotter 6 years ago… and it just so happens my hair was shorter then. Much shorter.
I have been told in the past that long hair makes me look older. My long hair also takes a lot of work. If it isn’t dried straight it is quite scary. And I don’t me, playfully mussed or even Hollywood bed-head sexy. I mean scary as in appearing as though my hair has been kinked and frizzed and may even seem like I have just stepped out of a grave.
I LOVE my long hair because I can wear hats and ponytails and not mess with it if I don’t want to. I can just pull it up and be done with it. When it’s done and flat ironed I feel sexy, despite the negative feelings I have about my face. Right there that is enough for me to say no way am I cutting off. But is it making my facial features worse?
When I look at old pictures it seems I looked fresher and younger with the shorter hair. I’m stuck and have decided that I have no idea how to proceed because I am my own worst critic and never know what actually looks good and what doesn’t!
I don’t know what to do. So, at the risk of looking incredibly vain and self-absorbed and wasting a blog post on such a crappy topic, I am going to post some pictures of my hair at different lengths. It is also different colors but that is beside the point. Tell me what you think.
There are some conditions though:
Things you may not say:
- Your nose would be a great site for the 2010 Winter Olympics ski jump!!
- Were you absent the day they passed out chins?
- Which one is the moose?
- Are those your eyes or pinholes in your head?
- AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
- Were you pretending to be a dude?
- OH MY GAWD I’M BLIND NOW!
- Seriously, the sun, find it, use it.
- Wow, that’s talent, not having a chin and yet having a double chin.
There, as long as you adhere to those conditions, then respond at will.
Ugh… this is the sucky part, the pictorial of hair…
Short and brassy… gross. More the color than the cut.
This is one picture I actually love… the color and cut were great.
Then, a year later…
The tweener length, color good, length favorable.
Getting longer… and darker.
More recent
Currently… well, only on a humid-free good hair day.
2001, me, skinny, blonde and curly (remember I have a natural wave in my hair and it’s uber thick)
2002, short and fresh from the shower.
Playful, wash and wear, easy. (I’m on the right)
2005, supah-short!
Easter, 2006. I like this pic too.
Now, get on with the critiques. What is the best length and look? I’m going to turn 33 soon and while I don’t want to look like a teenager, I also don’t want to “look good for being 33 and having two kids.” Ya get me?
And believe me, I already know how much I should NOT leave the house without makeup. I really do.
Take a break from the real-life crap like Michael “my ass is made of gold” Phelps, Obama and McCain for President and Georgia, the country, not the state, in turmoil. Turn your focus to something much less important and trifling. My hair. Talk amongst yourselves and for the love of God please tell me what to do.
Poetry is subjective, that much I know. But that is about all I know. In truth, I don’t want to know any more than that and I don’t believe you need to know any more than that. I had recently checked out a large book of poetry written by a variety of the most famous poets. I tried to read them and tried to understand them, but I was lost. I gave up.
Today I found that the subjective nature of poetry is what makes it so wonderful. Reading the famous works of Walt Whitman and Edgar Allen Poe are not something I will probably ever fully understand. It does make me feel a bit one-dimensional and less smart, but it is just not a part of me so I accept it. What is a part of me is making my own poetry. You know, that wonderful thing called “poetic license”? It’s like art, people may not consider that a picture of dogs playing poker is art, but some do. Some people may not appreciate the works of Edward Hopper as much as I do, but some people might.
Life itself is poetic, if you look. So, the great works of William Blake (remember he had an honorable mention in Bull Durham.. God love that movie) may not touch my soul despite the greatness that may have flowed out of his fingers but I can still find the great works. I’m about to turn mundane nothings into life’s little poetry because I can, because I am not one-dimensional, because I have poetic license, even if it’s only a third grade level.
You won’t find a haiku, a sonnet, iambic pentameter or even rhymes here. Poetry encompasses more than that anyway, in my opinion. Poetry is beauty found in every day life. Poetry is the parallel lines that can be drawn between what you see and what feeling it brings you, no matter how unrelated they may seem. So what you will see is my own poetry, written as a simple story.
Yesterday the husband and I attended the final day of the Taste of Chicago. The children spent the day with their grandparents and aunts. The husband and I had tickets left over from our previous visit and we didn’t want them to go to waste. We also decided we would need more tickets once we got there. The day was going really well and we were enjoying all the food offered, once again. At one point we sat down to eat and found ourselves watching some master martial arts teachers practicing for an upcoming demonstration.
I had never seen anyone perform martial arts in person before and was immediately taken in by what I was seeing. We stayed to watch the actual demonstration (which was basically just a live advertisement for Bally’s new total martial arts program) and we saw some amazing board breaking and high kicks and cool stunts. Then they announced that we, in the audience, could try it out with the professionals. The husband and I both jumped at that chance. It was something so far removed from myself that I just had to try. I stepped up to the stage, watched the people ahead of me take there chance at breaking those boards and waited to for my turn.
In the minutes before my turn I stood there wondering if I would make a fool of myself or if I would actually be able to do this. I was in a skirt and am not known for my physical strength so I was siding with the fool. My chance came, I walked up to the master teacher and bowed. He showed me quickly where to strike the board and how to position my feet and fists.
I posted my feet and ground myself into the stage, formed my fists, sighted the board and then swung my arm through the air. My fist went through the board like it was a piece of paper. The elation and sense of accomplishment I felt was instantaneous. I was giddy and laughing and felt so high. Before I knew it, one of the other masters put his arm around my shoulder and motioned for hubs to take our picture! He didn’t do this for anyone else mind you. As this was happening I grabbed the master teacher that had held my board and had my picture taken with both of them.
This is me, breaking the board (suffering from dorkism and lackachinitis… poetry can still be funny)
This is me, high, elated, strong and happy.
I, the slightly off balance, nerdy, schleprock of a woman, broke a board, with my fist. It was the most empowered I had ever felt. It is something I want to feel every day. I could buy a year’s supply of boards and teach DramaBoy how to hold them so I can wake up, drink my Dr. Pepper, break a board and go about my day, in order to feel strong. Or, I could just remember that moment and hold on to it, forever.
I am most definitely inspired to take a martial arts class and it is something I have always wanted to do. I hope to fulfill that want in the near future. It seems very therapeutic and liberating. Until then, I have the memory and the board to behold every day.
You could cheapen my elation by saying these are trick boards used to pull you in so you’ll feel great and take the classes. You could do that…but I would glare at you until I bored holes through your chest and then poked you in the eyes Stooge-style. Trick boards or not, trick advertising or not, cashing in on gullability or not, I don’t care. No one is going to steal my thunder.
This isn’t so much about the physical side of myself anyway. This is more about doing something simple that goes against the grain of me… and succeeding. Getting a tattoo or a nose piercing is along the same lines.
When the time came to leave I started walking and looked down to find tickets on the ground. The tickets were laying on the ground in the exact same spot that I had stood moments earlier to take hub’s picture as he was breaking his board. I assumed they were mine and picked them up and breathed a huge sigh of relief that I had not lost more tickets. We walked away and soon found a nice shady spot and sat down to collect ourselves. Then we decided we were still hungry and I pulled out my tickets to see how many I had left.
That was when I realized that the tickets I had found were. not. mine. I had found a bunch of tickets, by chance.
Last week, I had lost a bunch of tickets, by chance.
The poetry of that is deep and personal and most definitely subjective and probably something only I can understand. I feel it is much deeper than just luck. You could say I’m dramatizing it. You could say I’m making a big deal out of something really stupid. But again, you can’t steal away what I feel.
Yesterday I felt higher than I have felt in a long, long time. You can’t inject that kind of high directly into your veins. The day truly was, poetic. Subjectively poetic. It’s up to you to understand it… or not understand it and just close the book (or browser) and give up.
If you chose the latter, then find your own poetry. Make your own poetry. You don’t have to understand mine or even like it just as I don’t have to understand or appreciate Walt Whitman. I simply appreciate life and the little gifts it brings me, every day. That’s poetry.
I guess you could say life is a series of lost and founds. Whatever is lost comes something else that is found. And lately, I have been doing a lot of finding, which is always more fun.
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Disclaimer: I am not a poet, a writer or even a philosophical genius… I just write what I’m thinking. No apologies.
Saturday we ventured to the Taste of Chicago. Unless you have been living under a large boulder you know that I have been talking about this event for awhile now. The time has finally come for me to stop fantasizing about it and actually partake in all the gastrointestinal goodness that this city has to offer!
Hubs and I were free from the boys and on our own to celebrate our anniversary and eat, eat and eat. We got our tickets and began to make our way through the crowds to find our first stop.
Typically our first stop is a place called Ricobene’s….
Round 1
A yummy breaded steak sandwich covered in marinara sauce. I forgot to take a picture of it before I was halfway through it.
Round 2
Something sweet to cleanse the palate…
A giant chocolate covered strawberry.
Round 3
An iced cawfee to wash it all down, and then get ready for more.
Round 4
Chips with the very best guacamole on the planet. I only got the small portion and regret it terribly. I should have gotten the giant one. But, I have learned my lesson and when I go back this week I will get the GIANT portion.
We took in the usual street performers while we gave our stomachs a short break…
Awesome tappers, awesome! This, was also the very last moment that I saw my tickets. The tickets which you use to get food. The tickets that cost $8.00 for a strip of 12.
Captain Idiot strikes again. I was on my way to another booth to get something and realized my tickets were gone. Hubs was at a booth next door getting a giant slice of watermelon. He came over and I regretfully told him that I was S.O.L, my tickets were gone. That’s when he said, “Honey, I love you but you can fuck up a one car funeral!”
Twice, in one week, a tiny thing called a ticket has practically ruined everything. I am not sure if they were pick pocketed from me or if I dropped them. Either way I was crushed and very angry. Our anniversary seemed ruined because I lost all my tickets. Hub’s then went to the bathroom and I sat down on a curb and sulked and tried hard not to cry. He came out and found me sitting there with my head in my hands severely pouting. He then did something quite surprising. He told me to, “suck it up, they are just tickets, go get more and lets get on with our anniversary, you aren’t going to ruin this day for us.”
So, I stood in line, bought more tickets and we moved on….
Round 5
The very best steak taco… ever. I get this EVERY year. Again, I only got the small one, to conserve my tickets, but this week when I go back, it’s balls to wall baby!
Round 6
Lou Malnati’s Pizza, a Chicago favorite. This is also one of our stops every single year.
We wrapped up with a fried dough from Harry Carey’s… deep fried dough slathered with butter then powdered sugar…. mmmmmmmmmm
At this point my appetite had been cut nearly in half because of being upset over losing my 30+ tickets. So I was full by now and ready to head home. Now I am ready to go back this week with my SIL. She and I usually take a trip down there mid-week, just the two of us. So, this week I plan on getting bigger portions and making sure my tickets are totally and completely SECURE!!!!!!
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Sidenote for my UK-BFF: Those tapping street performers pictured above, well, a picture of their feet anyway…they did a routine to Kanye’s and Estelle’s song American Boy!!!! I tried to get it on video with my phone for you but I couldn’t get it. I’m sorry. I was just so excited to hear that song and told hubs that I had to tell you about it.
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Final sidenote, completely off topic:
I didn’t think I could love Dr. Pepper more…
… but now I do. HA HA HA!! Get it? “I do!”
When I was born the gods looked down upon me and said, “Blessed be this child! Bestowed upon her will be a sense of humor, pasty skin and a lifetime of bonehead idiocy.”
The one constant in my life is my gift of forgetfulness at the worst times. It never lets me down, however, the subjects of my forgetfulness pay the highest prices possible.
This weekend should have been smooth and flawless. Since I was mostly in charge of the plans I should have known that somewhere along the line I would mess up the ride. One small, unobtrusive little parking garage ticket would create a large chain reaction of events that caused hubs to spit fire and and curse my very name.
The plan was supposed to be easy: the boys and I would drive into the city, park in a garage, meet hubs for a quick hello at his work and then head on our way to see my sister who was in town with friends for the big Kenny Chesney concert at Soldier Field. Then hubs would meet up with us after work, we eat a quick dinner and then hubs takes the boys back to the garage to pick up the car and head home while I stay the night in the city with my sister.
So, I drove in, found a garage, parked, got the boys out and into their stroller and made my way to hub’s building for a quick hello. I even made sure I sent hubs a picture of the parking garage sign with the address so he knew exactly where the car was parked. Pretty smart huh? Taking a picture of the parking garage sign with my phone and then sending it to his phone? I was so proud of that. Anyway, after we left hub’s work the boys and I started our walk to my sister’s hotel. Insert mistake number one and two… misjudged distance of hotel and wore the wrong shoes. We walked 12 blocks to the hotel. 12 long city blocks in wedge sandals that are not comfortable after the first hour, or after the first block while pushing an incredibly cumbersome and heavy stroller. Mistake number three and four… packing an overly heavy overnight bag and not realizing the front wheels of the stroller were locked which was causing severe strain to manuever it (it kept the front wheels from turning so it was like trying to drive a car without power steering and trying to turn it).
The stroller was loaded with one kid, a heavy bag, locked front wheels and a sauntering 4-year old in tow. Did I mention that it was hot and humid and I was wearing jeans and walked 12 blocks? I had sweat dripping from places that I didn’t even think could sweat. Did you know that your ankles can sweat? Well, I finally made it to the Hilton on Michigan avenue. My sister was waiting for us in the lobby… that large, sweet air-conditioned lobby! I chose to call it Heaven for awhile. We made our way to the elevators and once we reached the 12th floor we began to disembark… but that is when Monster decided it was a perfect time to drop his little toy car down the gap between the elevator floor and the hotel floor. It took about 5 seconds for it to hit the bottom… and yes, I stood there, in the elevator, with the doors open, waiting to hear it hit the bottom.
Once in the room, I rested my aching feet and tried to cool off. The boys stretched and unwound a little bit of their pent up energy and my sister and I caught up a bit. Then it was time to meet hubs for dinner. We ate and I gave him the car keys so he and the boys could head home. It was all supposed to be smooth sailing from there. It started to rain a bit so my sister and I hailed a cab so we could head up to the Mag Mile to meet up with her friends who had been shopping there all day. We got out in front of the Coach store and my eyes temporarily glazed over at the sight of all the gorgeous purses. That was my last moment of peace for the next, um, 4 hours or so.
At that moment, hubs called me on the phone. I expected to hear something like, “got the car, we are on our way, the boys are already asleep…”. Instead I heard, “Hey babes, where’s the parking garage ticket?”
My heart instantly traveled from my chest to my feet. The ticket should have been in the truck… but, he couldn’t find it. Our connection was bad so I had to call him back a few minutes later. He still couldn’t find it. Mistake number five….at some point, while sitting on a chair in the Gap, I saw the ticket in the outside pocket of my purse. My heart leaped out of my feet and started running for the doors of the Gap and out in front of a bus plowing down Michigan Avenue.
First of all, without a ticket, you have to pay the MAXIMUM fee for the garage which is typically $50 (instead of the $24.00 it should have cost us). Paying $24 for parking in this kind of economy is painful, paying $50 is much worse. Secondly, things like this make my husband’s blood boil… because I am forgetful like this quite often. Once I saw the ticket I called hubs very reluctantly and said, “Um, I have the ticket, right here, in my purse.” Some words were spoken but I didn’t quite hear them, or I chose to block them out. Finally I said, “I’m hopping in a cab and I’ll bring you the ticket.”
This is where it gets worse, which I wasn’t sure was possible. Unfortunately the connection was bad so I didn’t hear him confirm what I just said so I wasn’t sure if he was saying, “Do not come here or I will rip your face off…” or if he was saying, “Fine, get here fast!”
I tried calling him back several times over the next half hour. I spent 30 minutes walking the streets with my sister and her friends in and out of stores trying to reach my husband because I didn’t think hopping in a cab without his confirmation was the best thing to do in case I got to the garage and he had left anyway.
HE spent 30 minutes waiting for me in the garage because he assumed I was on my way, like I had said.
While I was in a Walgreen’s waiting for my sister and her friend to find rain ponchos for the concert, hubs called asking where I was. Translation: “where is the cab that you should be in right now on your way to this God-forsaken garage to give me the damned ticket that I should have found sitting in the truck in the first place!!!???”
My flattened little heart on Michigan Avenue then got up and jumped into the Chicago River.
So, he WAS expecting me this whole time. He was sitting in a stuffy parking garage with two tired little boys waiting for me to bring him a ticket so he could pay $24 instead of $50 while cursing my name under his breath.
I think I blacked out at that point and don’t remember anything he said after that. But I think I had a nightmare that involved a large angry dragon standing over an attractive, red-headed damsel tied to a spit turning over hot coals. Something like that, anyway.
It was done after that. A few short text messages were exchanged and he was on his way home with the boys. Hubs and my poor children spent over an hour in that fucking garage waiting for me to bring them a ticket that wasn’t coming and searching for the garage office so he could tell the attendant that he didn’t have a ticket and wait while they told him how much he really owed in lieu of a lost ticket. They didn’t even accept the camera phone shot of the ticket with the ticket number and date stamp that I sent hubs to try and alleviate the situation. In the end, it was only $34 which was good, but the time that was wasted was priceless.
As the girls and I made our way back to the hotel I began thinking…. what would hubs do in my situation? See, normally I would spend the evening sulking and beating myself up over this and trying to call him 85 times to see if he was still speaking to me. But then I thought, that is what pussies do!
Did I really want to be that pussy? No way! I messed up and hubs was mad and there was nothing that was going to change it. Now was the time to suck it up, do what hubs would do! DRINK!!!!! Say fuck it all and DRINK!
So I did. The girls and I had a nice evening and while I didn’t enjoy paying $9.50 for each glass of wine, I did it, because at the bottom of those glasses was something worth a lot more… Not stressing about hubs being pissed off at me!
Of course, with a screw up of this magnitude comes about 4 weeks worth of snide, passive-aggressive reminders of how much I messed up though… but I can handle those.
The important thing was that for one night, I wasn’t a pussy. This is a major triumph in my book.
Here is a shot of the elusive ticket that caused so much grief:
Thankfully, this is how the rest of the weekend turned out, after the dust settled, the hangover wore off and sleep was had by all…
Yesterday my sister and I were talking on the phone and at some point we began talking about our cars. I excitedly mentioned that my car will be paid off next month and how this will be the first time I have ever paid off a car. Then our conversation migrated into talking about how she wants a Camry Hybrid and will begin shopping for one soon. Of course, the mention of gas prices came up and how the cost of fuel and fuel mileage was a large reason for going with a hybrid. She then mentioned that her next car, no matter what it was, had to have a 5-star crash rating because her current car, a Kia Sorento, has a 5-star rating. She said she feels very safe in her car and wants to make sure her next car keeps her and her family safe too.
A few hours later I received this picture from my sister on my phone, with no explanation….
…it was self explanatory.
Needless to say, I sort of freaked out even though I knew that if she was well enough to take this picture with her phone and then send it to me, she had to be fine. Still, I immediately called her because I was incredibly worried.
She was still at the scene of the accident and couldn’t really talk. She assured me she was fine and would call me soon, then we both started crying.
Neither one of us could have ever known how foretelling our conversation earlier that day was.
She is fine, just very, very sore of course. Her kids were not with her, thank goodness, because she was just leaving work. I’m sure she tied up traffic on the busy I-10 freeway in Phoenix for a while. I guess she was sandwiched when she was hit; she was hit from behind and then forced into the car in front of her, so she took the brunt of the crash.
This is obviously the back of her car where she was hit, and you can see the remnents of the bumper from the van who hit her.
The guy who hit her (I would love to pummel him for hurting my sister, but, accidents do happen. Now, if he was talking on his phone or screwing around and not paying attention, then I will still gladly pummel the fuck).
She is ok and that is all that truly matters but I’m just upset because I wasn’t there for her, and how, ironically, we had a conversation on the same day about she feels safe in her Kia. While I don’t know exactly what a 5-star crash rating encompasses, it’s obvious that this car protected my sister, but would other cars have protected her too? Would other cars similar to hers have been in this same crash and NOT been totaled? What really gave Kia this 5-star rating? I mean, her airbag didn’t deploy and there is extensive damage to her dashboard INSIDE the car? In the end, because she is ok, this stuff seems pretty trivial, but it still makes me wonder.
A week ago, my dear friend was hurt in a car accident. Now, my sister. Things happen in threes so who is next? Thankfully my friend and my sister were both fine considering the extents of their crashes.
This was taken with my phone so forgive the poor quality.
I drive by this every day when I take DramaBoy to school. This is an empty lot where a house once stood. The house was demolished a couple of years ago. In case you don’t understand yet, that little sign in the picture, right/center, well, it says NO DUMPING.
NO DUMPING. Is that too hard to understand? Should it be more clear like, “Hey, you fucknut! Don’t be driving by this empty lot thinking that just because no one lives here you can dump your shit off so it’s out of your hair and now someone else’s problem. It’s fucking littering and you are messin’ up the place! I bet you are the same fucknut who throws trash out of their car window too. Yeah, I saw you. I fucking see you do it every day. Fuckstick”
Is that more clear?
I would also take a picture of the stoopid fucking lawn deer that are in the front yard of a house nearby this empty lot, but I don’t want the residents thinking that I’m going to completely make fun of their poor taste and then put a picture of their house and stoopid lawn deer on my blog for all the world to see. I would wait till their on vacation to do that. But, besides, we have all seen stoopid-ass plastic lawn deer before. Which, by the way, I might add seems to be the biggest search engine term that brings people to this blog! I see “plastic yard ornaments” or the like come up in my stats all the time.
If I seem a bit random and out there today, it’s ok. I’m just in one of those moods, and it doesn’t involve crying, screaming, hiding or over analyzing the fact that I feel like I’m being made fun of on another blog because the blogger linked me in their sidebar but it goes to my “Behind the Drama” page and my blog is kind of like “which blog doesn’t belong on this page” kind of thing.
I digress.
DraMa out.
(heh, kickin’ it old school… I haven’t signed off with that hip closer in ages…I’m so wit’ it.)
