Dancing, drinking Milf Toast

Two stories for you.

1)  Today, we went, as we do almost every day, out to grab lunch through a drive-thru.  Today's choice was Wendy's.  No, I'm not going to bother to couch that and make this less-searchable.  Fuck Wendy's.

Anyway, so here's what happened when we got to the order place:

Dude:  "HI!  We are so glad you came to visit us at Wendy's, would you like to try a baconator today?"

Me:  "No, thank you, but thanks for being so excited to have us here!  I have two orders.  The first one is a kid's meal with a burger only ketchup and mustard, and add bacon, and a Large Diet Coke to drink..."

Dude:  "Oh, I'm sorry, we can't upsize your drink like that..."

Me:  "..."

Well, fuck that stupid rule.

So I changed my whole order, ordered the second one, and drove up to issue my complaint.

They were all, yeah, no, fuck you, you can't have a large diet coke.  Assholes.  I said, "that's ok, I'll call the number..."

Hadn't even picked up our (I'm sure, spit-filled, by this point) food yet, and I called the 800 number.  The girl was very friendly.  Very apologetic.  I told her that, since I was kind of a little person, I needed to get happy meals* but that I wanted a large diet coke, because I don't want a lot of calories, you know?  And she was all, yeah, I get it.  And then she asked if I spell my name with an "h", and I go "YES!  Thanks for ASKING!"

Anyway, so she said she'd call in my complaint and see what they can do, and I'm thinking WORD UP I'm getting coupons for this.

A few minutes ago, my cell phone rang, and it was the Big Mr. Manager from Wendy's.

"OH, HI!" I said.  "Can I call you Mr. Wendy?"

He said no.

And then he explained that I can get a kids meal and also a - get this - 32 oz medium drink, and then they could put them together in a 40 oz cup, and the kids meal drink is a 12 oz, so...  And I'm just thinking, a) I am mathy, and this is shit, because that's 44 oz of diet coke I'd be paying for (NOT TO MENTION THE CUPS) and I would get, at most 40 oz, but probably less, even, because of ice, you know...

and also, b) why wouldn't he let me call him Mr. Wendy?

and also, c) McDonald's makes this place look full on trashy.

And guess what???  Mr. Wendy did not even give me a coupon.  WHAT A JERK.

Here's the second story:

I went out with the girlies this weekend, for a "girl's night" in New Orleans, the kind of thing with dancing until your feet REALLY hurt and then obnoxiously buying flip flops and using your new bff, the lady that works in the bathroom at the Cat's Meow, to get a discount on the flip flops, because really, $16.00 for flip flops is a bit absurd.

It was glorious.

I danced.  Oh, yes, I danced.

Anyway, I had recently encountered this term from the Urban Dictionary, which is to say, "TOAST", which stands for Tits On A STick.  I'm going to tell you right now, I'm thinner than I've been since college, and I look mighty fine in my size six jeans that are a little too big for me, and that night I wore, too, a MEDIUM shirt, which, over this rack, was... snug.  Because I'm a chesty girl.  So there.  I'm a TOAST.  Clearly.

And I'm a milf.

Which...  makes me...

A milftoast.

God DAMN don't you wish you could go to Wendy's with me tomorrow?  I'm totally telling them that Mr. Wendy himself called me.  You don't mess with a milftoast.


*yes, I know, it's only called a "happy meal" at McDonald's, but I was really enjoying being extra obnoxious to that lady today.  It's my only joy.  Leave me alone.

Blow

I don't know if it is a freak thing or what, but there are literally hundreds and hundreds of dragonflies swarming right now.  My kitten knows something is up, too.  Animals really can sense strange weather, can't they?

As you know, Isaac, a Big Bad Tropical Storm, is pointed right at me.  I'm actually pretty excited, being that I super big love weather, but I do wish I were not at work right now.  Oddly, my folks, who live right at the water, keep begging me to come to their house.  I can't do that, though, because my plans involve wearing panties and a tank top and drinking beer, pretty much constantly.  Boom!  Hello, Hurricane!

Anyway, my big kid is at college, and he wants to stay there, so I'm going to let him.  If the power goes out up there, I can always go and get him later.  Whatever.

The little boy will probably not have school at all the rest of this week, but certainly not tomorrow or Wednesday.  Ergo, this girl is not working, either.  I wouldn't have to, anyway, because I'm government, by God, and the government has already said we are closing up shop.  God I love everything.

And so, I'm preparing for some good wind (the gusts have already started) and some rain.  We will do jigsaw puzzles and listen to my iPod.  We will read books and play board games and comfort the kitten.  We will snuggle on the air mattress in the living room, if it feels like the right thing to do.  We are going to have a good time.

Wish me luck, people!  Bring it on, Isaac!  I'd like a bloody Mary, and your signature wink, please...

Catch-er Up-er

The Bean has been at college for a week and three days, today.  It's going remarkably well, and - get this - I didn't cry.  I mean, of course I miss him, I love him very much and he's like the adult portion of the light of my life (wow, that kind of sounded creepy.  by that I mean, the one that can play Jeopardy with me.), but he's so freaking happy, in love with his (hell hole) dorm room, his (rather ugly) college campus, all the amenities.

Look.  Jesus H., that's a tiny room.  You can't really tell, but he for sure could stretch his arms out and touch both walls.

It does look slightly better, now, since he has, you know, made his bed.

I mean, bottom line, I'm super glad that he's having fun, and the truth is...  well... kid created a lot of mess, a lot of trash, and a lot of dishes.  Not to mention laundry.  So it really is okay.

In the meantime, the little birdie has settled into first grade.  It took him a week or so to figure out how to behave in a way that does not result in notes home that say the following:

"Needs to work on talking, talking in the bathroom, talking in the lunch line, talking while teacher is talking, talking, talking, talking..."

That is a quote.  That's my baby.

Anyway, but so, it's all settling down and he's still a teensy bit in love with his teacher, who is "pretty."  Of course she is.  Six year old boys are so cute.

But not as cute as kittens...

First Grader's Biggest Fan

This week has the potential for big, giant suckiness.

The doodlebug started first day today.  Here's what it looked like.  Please note, my mom is responsible for the ridiculous haircut.

 Eyes closed picture.  Of course.

 Big ol' cheesy grin!

 "please can we be done??"

 Let's go, already!

 Look.  He's like, yes, I'm inquisitive and adorable, thank you very much.  New teacher will ADORE you!

 His new backpack has his initials embroidered on it.  Does LL Bean offer a replacement for when he loses it?

True to form, he insisted that he walk in by himself, this year.  He's a big boy.  I'd cry and sniff and such, but... eh.  It's not really that big of a deal.  I mean, I'm happy for him, I think he's going to have great fun, but I have bigger fish to fry.

Which is to say...

The big kid gets moved into his dorm on Sunday.  At college.  In another town than where I live.  Where he will then live.  Away from me.  Without me.

He promises that we can Skype frequently and still watch Jeopardy together and that sort of thing.  But.  Gulp.

I told him that he really doesn't NEED higher education, right, and so he should just stay home with me, but he didn't buy into that plan.

Kid is totally ready.  He has all sorts of electronica and then a fridge, a coffee pot, a toaster, a mass of tupperware...  He is much better set-up than I was, and I was going to school 2500 miles away from where my parents lived.  He's going to be about 60 miles away.

SIXTY GOD DAMN MILES IS 59 TOO FAR!!!

Ahem.

And so, today, I'm going to pick up the doodle and take him to the Soda Shoppe (I'm not sure if it is really douchy enough to be spelled like that, but I'm going to assume that it is) in Olde Towne (fuckit.).  And I'm going to try really hard to not get choked up that only one of my babies is still enrolled in the public school district...

I wonder if Ye Olde Shoppe serves Vodka...

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...