Safety Ear Plug Needer

Let's play a game.  Let's pretend it is your work, and you pretty much have to be there, but there is jackhammering going on right outside your building, ergo, right outside your "office."  We can pretend you have a real office and don't work in a reception area if you want to.

Here's what makes that okay, at least somewhat okay.  Your boss doesn't bother to come into work until mid-afternoon, because the noise hurts her back.

Noise.  Hurts her back.  For serious.

Meanwhile, let's talk about how, the other day, you were at your mom's house, drinking with your mom and her friend, and you mentioned how much more fun you would have at work if you could have alcohol while you were there.  And then, all serious, your mom and her friend begin to tell you how simple this is to accomplish:  just fill up one of those grown-up sippy cups that we all have with Vodka, buy a diet coke for a mixer, et voila!

Um...

Yes.  My mother was trying to tell me how to be an alcoholic.  As per usual.

One of my friends said that I'm not an alcoholic, because I don't go to meetings.  Perfecto.

Anyway...  so the baby has been out of town for 10 days, and I'm suffering from serious silliness withdrawal.  He's coming home today, hopefully we can right this imbalance very quickly.

This is off topic (what topic, really, did we have?), but I've taken on a second job.  My very good friend Melissa, she has a distaste for laundry.  I know, right?  How can you not LOVE laundry?  Seriously??!!

But anyway, she went out of town, and I stole some of her laundry, and she has since concluded that she thinks it is worthwhile to pay me to do some of her laundry.  I don't even get that.  It's like being paid to eat candy.  Right?  I know!

But I'm stoked.  I enjoy it, and it basically will cover my extravagant desire to eat Outback on a regular basis.  ThanksbetoMelissa!

And that's all that's new.  So, pretty much nothing.  You know what?  I like cheese.  And bread.  Together or separately.  Happy Wednesday!

Gay Man's Girlfriend

I've been thinking about men.

Don't get me wrong, I've sworn I'm done with dating, and, I am, except unless they want to buy me free food or take me to a football game.  I do like football.

So I have kind of figured out my plan.  Let me know what you think.

I want to find a guy who is gay, and who knows he is gay, and who is OKAY with being gay (or is HAPPY to be gay--- even better!!!), but who needs to appear to be straight for whatever reason.  Let's say, his very religious and wealthy mother would disown him, or he works for the vatican but, obviously, not as a priest.

This man needs a "girlfriend," so that mama would keep his trust fund up, etc.

Here's why I'm the perfect person for this job:

1.  I'm ridiculously cute.
2.  I'm smart and well-spoken.
3.  I'm good at lying about the man I'm with (have had a rather lot of practice, ha ha)
4.  I'm a happy drunk.
5.  I have no interest in "hooking up."
6.  I'm fine with him "hooking up" with another guy, even while I'm at the event, as long as there is alcohol and a tv.
7.  We can share skin treatments and get pedicures together, and he will just look even more awesome because he is "in touch with his feminine side."

I'm so freaking serious, this is perfect.  If you know someone who needs a me, which is more or less, a sexless whore, let me know.  Straights need not apply.

Boring McBoring Blogger

My little baby boy is about to turn six.  Whoop-tee-doo, right, but it is.  He will only have a sixth birthday one time.  So shut up.

And so, I'm figuring out what to do for his birthday, which is to say, make him taco pie and give him a present.  Because that sweet baby needs a present.  OF COURSE HE DOES.

(actually, he needs nothing in the world, but I'll give him one, or three, because I really love him a LOT.)

After his dinner on Sunday, he's going to go away with his grandmother for a week, and I'm going to miss him like madness, but... it's good for him.  And probably for me and the Bean, too.  We have going-away-to-college shopping to do.

Gah.  Did I really just write that?

I don't have a lot of other things going on.  Just, you know, work, fireworks (which I didn't go watch, this year, so fuck it!) and church.  Time at the beach (because that's what I DO).  Time with friends.  On boats.  Because that is also what I DO...

Rolling along, round here.

To un-boring-ize this a little bit, I'll give you a video of a kitten, doing something that my kitten totally does:



Happy birthday, America.  Mama loves you...

Churchie McChurchiePants

Last night at church, someone (who obviously doesn't know my family that well) asked me if the Bean was my little brother.

HAHAHAHAHAHA.

As if I'd claim him if that were true.

LOL, JK.  Of course I would.  Maybe.

So when I responded that, no, he was my oldest son, the guy's eyes widened, and he said (I shit you not):  "you wear your age well!"

um.

My age?

How the fuck old AM I???

Anyway, so I go, "oh, no, I was actually much too young when he was born,"  which is pretty much 100% true.

The Bean is 18.  I was 18 when he was born.  I'm (barely) 37.

At a different moment in VBS, my friend Katie-bird, whom I adore, goes, "how old are you right now?" to the kids.  Who were, like, 8, 4, etc.  I go, "20!"

Then she goes, "how old will you be in four years?"

I go, "20!"

Vacation Bible School, which is now over, was pretty awesome.  Here are a few of my favorite moments:

1)  When asked, "what do you do if someone is bullying you," one small boy responded, brightly, with "bite him and kick him in the face!"

Awesome.

2)  I go, "do YOU want to tell me about a God Sighting," to another small boy.  He gets in the microphone, bats his eyelashes at me, and says, "I love you."  SWOOOOOOOON.

3)  "Hot dogs??  I LOVE HOT DOGS!!!  YES!  THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!!!"

4)  "Miss Sarah, do you need help tonight?"  I'm all, well, I'm sitting here, hiding under a tree, trying to smoke a cigarette, and I'm pretty unhappy that one of my favorite young people are busting me.  "yep."

5)  Caleb, into the microphone, "GODPROTECTSUSANDKEEPSUSSAFE"  Me, into the microphone, "Lord."

6)  Sometimes, an impromptu belting of Lean on Me around the piano is the only thing in the world that makes perfect sense.

7) "Oh, your name is Andrew?  Can I call you Andy?"  "um, okay."  "no?  How about Brian, I'll just call you Brian."

8) "How's it going, Gabby-The-Second??!!"

9) "Yeah, I just ate a plate of tater tots.  Now I'm having a plate of blueberries.  It's a balanced meal."

They got it, though.  And I'm not even going to do a 10), because the thing is, I heard them get it.  It's a cross, they said.  I can ALWAYS count on God, they said.  Kids are pretty badass.  So is Vacation Bible School.  So is my Katie.  So am I.  :)

Sucka

On Saturday, around 3:00, my mother and I had the following conversation:

Her:  "Oh, so Caleb is going to go to Vacation Bible School this week?  Are you working at it?"
Me:  "No.  Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES am I going to volunteer to do ANYTHING for it.  I am going to drop him off and read for two straight hours."

On Saturday, around 4:30, one of the nicest human beings I've ever met, and her name is Heidi, too, of course, called me and did this:

Her:  (almost weeping) "I am begging, I need you, I need your help, is there any way you could..."

Guess who is leading the music--- and pretty much the, like, majority, of Vacation Bible School?

That'd be me.  The sucka.

Truth is, I'm tired.  Truth is, I didn't have enough time to really learn the dances.  Truth is, I'd have loved another week to prepare.  Truth is, I completely, 100%, totally freaking ADORE it.  LOVE LOVE LOVE.

I should have been a teacher (says the girl who was certified and thinks, ah, maybe every summer, and then thinks, ah, hell no, every fall).

So that's what I'm up to.  That was a pun.  The theme this year is SKY- like, fly away with God, or something.  It's sort of confusing.  But it's funny.

By the way, so am I.

The only thing else to talk about is The Walking Dead, and WHY DID YOU PEOPLE KEEP THIS A SECRET FROM ME?

I'm almost caught up on Season Two.  WORD.

And, by the way?  I'm all mediated.  Like, all the way.  Like, I'm done with the divorcey-horseyshit, and that feels good.  I'm not divorced, but I will be, and it's fine, and I'm fine and I'm glad it's moving along, and a lot of the anger and resentment is moving along, etc.  So that's sort of awesome.

And I love my kitten.

Carnie

I may have mentioned that I work in an onvention-cay enter-cay in south Louisiana.  Most of the events we get are boring, meetings, parties, that sort of thing.  Occasionally, we get the joy of a dance recital (and nothing is cuter than little girls tapping in the hall outside of my office). 

And then, we have the unusual.

Yesterday, we hosted an ircus-cay.  I'm going to tell you, we have one every fall, but that one is in a big tent out front.  The highlight of that is when an elephant walks by our outside window.  But yesterday's entire event was inside my building.  And you haven't lived until you open a door and find yourself eyeball-to-eyeball with a big, giant elephant.  They have pretty, snuffaluffacus eyelashes, by the way.

And then, there was a tiger.  Deeming it too hot to leave him outside, they put his cage in our back hallway.  I was afraid of being sprayed on by him, but not so afraid that I didn't slip past his cage so I could see his big, sweepy-weepy wittle face.  He was gorgeous.

My favorite critter, though, was the zebra.  Zig Zag was his name, and he was a part of the petting zoo, although his cage was clearly marked with "Zebra May Bite" (I mean, who puts a bitey animal in a petting zoo?)  Identifiying this as a risk, I spent the vast majority of the day hanging out with Zig.

Look.  Isn't he so pretty?  He was a sweetheart.  A bitey sweetheart.  I love him.  I want him.  I tried to talk them into letting me have him, and I got pretty close, but at the end, not so much.

He loved me, too.  I think that's abundantly clear.

In this picture, you can vaguely make out an elephant in the back of the room, and this, of course, was a llama.  Llamas have terrible teeth, in case you were wondering.

Despite having to work eight hours on a Sunday, something that I usually do not care for, this was a pretty fucking fun day.  I also held a baby emu, upside down, by the feet.  Make no mistake, if it had tried to peck me, I'd have had no trouble at all snapping it's tiny emu neck and cooking it into an emu gumbo.  Just saying.

Someone else would have had to pluck its feathers, though.

And, I got hit on by a carnie, someone who actually said, "I wish I had met you years ago," prior to asking me if I wanted to show him my office.  Um, no thank you.  He DID have all of his teeth, but his role was simply to sell popcorn, which makes him pretty much the lowest man on the ircus-cay career ladder, wouldn't you say?  I mean, he had to wear a red-and-white striped shirt.

So that's pretty much a weird day at work.  And Happy Father's Day.  But I'm still thinking about the elephant shit in our side hallway carpet...

Minutes Taker

We have this Big Bored (that's an intentional misspell, thanks so much), that meets every month.  This morning was an instance of that meeting.  I am required to take "minutes" at this meeting, wherein I write down the first 30% of what they say before I zone out and start to think about other stuff.  Sometimes I write stuff like this at these meetings:

- Melissa -
   - blah blah blah great stuff rah rah rah

True story.  Today, though, was worse than usual.  Lasted about 2 hours, part of which was spent talking about God Only Knows What (although I know it was about bond refinanc...snooooooooooze).

And then this old dude, the one I refer to sometimes as my at-work-boyfriend, because he's probably around 70 but he likes to wink at me (frequently)?

He said the following:

"I felt like a turd in a punchbowl."

Ho.Ly. Shit.  That's a good turn of phrase.

I've never heard that before, but the internet sure has.  Even has pictures:

This is my joy.

Also, I'm kind of revolted.  But mostly joyful.