Dory from Nemo

Last night, I sent the following text to my brother:

Shit!  Yosemite Sam's real name is Sam Schultz!  I named my kid after a Loony Tunes character!

About 20 minutes later, I got the following back:

You're senile.  We've had this conversation like 3 times.

What sucks is, he's probably telling the truth.  The conversation continued as follows:

Me:  God Dammit
Him:  We just did it via text on Nov 14.
Me:  God dammit.  I haven't even been drinking.
Him:  Also, search theskinny.  The clip is posted some time back.
Him:  Senile.
Me:  Times like this, I hate myself.

My mom has this horrible habit of calling the kids the wrong thing.  She's confused my brother and Sam's names for years, to the point where they pretty much both answer if she says either name.  Now she's getting that way with the little boys.  Caleb and Kolya's names are too close.

And she also happens to tell the same story, thousands of times.  To the same people.  Oh, God, does she ever.

If you are really lucky, you can hear the same story also from my dad, and possibly my Aunt. 

But obviously, I don't have room to say a word.

Holy shit!  Did I tell you that I realized that my kid's name is exactly the same as a Loony Tunes Character??

Someone get me a beer.

Spanish Mona Lisa

So, check it.

In our town, for Cinco De Mayo, you have several options, all of which are extremely affordable.

However, my boss's people have decided that we should throw a fundraiser on that date, charging a shit-ton per head, and featuring, you know, a decent band, and some food.

So far, I think we have, like, 15 tables full.  Out of the 40 that are possible.  FUCK.  ME.

I'm not kidding, this event is a week out, and now we are trying to figure out ways to fill up the room.  I'm not kidding, the only way this will be bearable is if I drink heavily.  Before, during, and after.

I do have a hot dress.

But seriously, could you think of a more pathetic thing than throwing a party to which nobody comes?  Because that's what we are about to do.

Perhaps I am a touch more obnoxious about how much I hate this because I don't have a date, for the first time ever.  And I'm certainly glad to be single, but I'm hyper-aware of my singledom, more than usual.  Good lord.

Drink-o, for Cinco de Mayo...

Secret Shopper

Confession:  I've never been a good shopper.

I don't like to shop.  I know, that lessens the girliness of me, but it's true.  Shopping sucks it.

Especially the kind of shopping that requires you to thumb through racks and racks of clothes, in hopes that there is ONE GOD DAMN SIZE SIX PAIR OF PANTS or the like.

I don't care for shopping.

I recognize that this makes me a bit unusual, for a girl.

But then... BUT THEN, somebody introduced me to the power of online shopping.  And there really isn't one person I can blame for this, but holy crap do I wish there was because I CAN'T STOP.

In the last week, I've bought:

1. Four songs---  please note, this is iTunes shopping, and it's often under the influence of wine, because how else do you explain why I now own "Truly, Madly, Deeply" by Savage Garden.  Shut up.  I like it.  This also explains the entire two albums of Wilson Phillips I purchased while in Georgia.  I'm not really very proud of myself.  Please let me keep my cool card for five more minutes.
2. A bathing suit--- now, in my defense, my old bathing suit is beyond ratty, and old, and besides, I do have another one but it's way too big, and you know.  So there's a legitimate need, and besides all of that, have you ever tried to go pee in a "head" on a sailboat when you are wearing a one-piece?  No?  It sucks, that's what.  So I bought a tankini.  Top.  And a bottom.  And a bikini top, too, because, well, what the hell?  At my beach, in Mississippi, I am far and away the thinnest girl and lots of them wear bikinis.  And besides, I can.  So there.  Shut up.
3. So yes, technically, that's 1.5 bathing suits.
4. A dress---  now I haven't talked much about the cinco de hell-o gala party that we are having at my work, but it's happening, and I have very low expectations.  You see, in the town in which I live, we have three major Mexican restaurants, all of which whom will offer beer for a quarter and free appetisers, and bands and live music.  And yet, we are asking people to pay $75 a ticket?  Pshat.  This is going to be el disastoro.  However, I have no choice in the matter, and I have to not only go, but sort of "work" at this event, but it also means I will "drink" at this event, so it could be worse.  And anyway, so, I need a dress.  So I bought one.  It's black, and strapless.  WHO THE FUCK AM I?

 

5.  And so today, Doodlebug lamented that we can't find his bedroom slippers, and target.com had some on clearance with Optimus Prime, so I mean...  that was good enough reason for me to then buy...

6.  A sweater to wear with my dress.

I HAVE TO STOP THIS.

But it's so, so fun.  I'm swearing it.

In other news, the First Lady of our town died, and my boss is fighting with the other old biddies of the town for who can be Most Important Mourner (MIM).  I love this a whole lot.  Not the loss of the Queen, I mean, I kind of wasn't crazy about her but I didn't wish her any ill will, and Mayor McCheese is a pretty good dude, so that's a shame, but still... what's funner than old lady cat fights?  NOTHING.

Beach Bunny. As per usual.

Turn your head to the left.  Like, as if you were laying down.  Unfortunately, I can't seem to edit these picturs, so you are stuck looking at them sideways.  Life's tough.  Like, for example, I am super-tan but it is chilly out today so I can't show off my tan lines.  FIRST WORLD PROBLEM.

Anyway, so this weekend, here's what we did.

Friday night.  Pizza, wine, boat.  My dad bought a new boat, a sun-something, catcher or craft or something, and it's a pontoon boat.  A party boat.  Sorry, but it is.  And yes, I am bragging. 

My mother asked me and the teens to go for a "cruise," on the boat at sunset.  Which is to say, around the canals all around her neighborhood, largely cooing over enormous houses we wouldn't mind owning.

(turn your head)

 oh, hey, look.  Blogger rotated the pictures for us.  Lucky us.  This is my mom driving.  She drove for like, ten minutes, then handed the wheel over to an eight year old boy who drove largely with his feet.  Boat is two days old.  Just saying.

 The teens were not fighting, although it looks like they were.  Boat rides at sunset with pizza and wine are nice. 

Saturday, we did nothing.  Like, I went to CVS and stuff, but mostly stayed in pajamas all day and watched Lifetime and read books and knitted.  I've got some socks under commission, and I want to finish them so I can start quilting again.  I know.  We'll see.

But seriously, very veg-out day, the kind of day where I ate an avocado for supper (and loved it, of course.)

On Sunday, the kids and I went to church, as we do, and then rushed home because the baby and I were planning to go to the beach with T-Rex.  Yes, the T-Rex from work.  So we threw a few waters and diet cokes in the cooler and put on our swimwear.

For the record, I recently purchased new swimwear, but it's not in yet, and this is a very good thing because the bathing suit I wore yesterday is seriously at least 10 years old, and so ratty you can see the elastic in it.  I have another suit, too, but it's too big.  Hah!  Bitch.

Anyway, so we were at the beach for about three hours.  During which T-Rex and I laid there, trying to not expend any more energy than necessary, while Doodlebug did this:

Not kidding, sand ended up in some really unusal places on that boy.  The kids' bathtub looked like the beach after his bath.  But so totally worth it.

I love the beach.

When we were done, T-Rex mentioned Outback, and it was on.  We went to my house, everybody cleaned up a little bit, and we went out to eat.  Shoved more food than was at all appropriate down our yaps, and then called it a night.

I went home, put on pajamas, bathed the kid, and settled in for some iPod Book Listening until it was time for Mad Men.  And then I admired my non-sunburn, and put some lotion (on it's skin, or else it gets the hose again.):  

 Sorry for the unintentionally sort of sexy shot.  Seriously.  Also, I have a lot of wrinkles in my neck.

About half way through Mad Men, I migrated to my room, where I watched the latter half before falling into the kind of sleep you can only have after a day in the sun. 

Talk about a pretty much perfect Sunday, wouldn't you say?  Not a horrible weekend, overall...

Lyrics Analyst. I should get paid for this.

Look at this.  No seriously, LOOK AT THIS.  These lyrics, y'all, holy cats, how they make me laugh:

Scene:  slightly pervy-looking, middle-aged man, in oversized, Jim-Jones-esque sunglasses, likely with a cigarette hanging out of his lips. 

"I love little baby ducks
Old pickup trucks
Slow movin' trains
And rain..."

What the fuck IS this?  You know you are intrigued.  Because, how many times do you get to hear a Jim-Jones-looking dude singing about little baby ducks?

"I love little country streams
Sleep without dreams
Sunday school in May
And hay..."

Sleep without dreams?  That's super weird.  Good dreams, yes, but... holy shit, did he say "hay"??  (yes, yes, he did.  hahahaha.)

 "And I love you too."

Um... thanks...

"I love leaves in the wind
Pictures of my friends
Birds of the world
And squirrels..."

Why not, "hanging with my friends" or something?  Why pictures of?  Because he murdered them and has them chopped up in pieces in his basement freezer?  Also, perhaps I've been watching too many episodes of Snapped.  Holy crap, who REALLY loves squirrels???

"I love coffee in a cup
Little fuzzy pups
Bourbon in a glass
And grass..."

Well.  Now it is all starting to make sense.  Because you and I both know what he is saying about 'grass,' right?  RIGHT?  Also, I love to put bourbon in my cup of coffee, so I guess this verse is where this song starts to really resonate with me...

"And I love you too."

Awww, shah.

"I love honest open smiles
Kisses from a child
Tomatos on a vine
And onions"

Told you he was pervy.  What the hell, onions?  God, you know what I love?  THIS FREAKING SONG.

"I love winners when they cry
Losers when they try
Music when it's good
And life"

Not sure he would really love this song, just saying.  But, I mean, life, well, yeah, I mean, I'm pro-living...

"And I love you too."

For what it is worth, I spent $1.30 on this song today, primarily so I can drive my kids batshit by playing it on the repeat a dozen times.  I have to admit it gets stuck in my head, though, and has for years.

I like to make up my own lyrics:

"I love monkeys in the car
Sidling up to the bar
And swimming
And I love you too!"

Future Pop Star Mama, as we all know

"Mommy, do you believe in Indians?" Asked Doodlebug, yesterday, in the car.

I'm in the car.  Beanie is driving.  Kimberlyboo, my daughter-in-faux, is in the other backseat.

We all go quiet.

"Um..." I say.

"Do you mean, like, tech support Indians, or the kind in the Old West?" Asks Beanie.

"No!"  Doodlebug says.  "The kind with spaceships and other pwanets."

"OHHHHHH!  ALIENS"  Say all three grown-ups, pretty much in perfect concert.

"No, not really," I say.

Why do babies have to grow up?  I mean, this is the fucking cutest thing I've ever seen.  And he says stuff like this all the time.  I love my little boy, my little baby, the one that is forever guaranteed to make me chuckle for a half hour every time he opens his mouth.

Additionally, if you ask him what his favorite song is, he's going to tell you it is I've got the music, Jagger*.  And then he will probably sing it for you.

I've got the music, Jagger.  You can sit this one out.

Very much unrelated, I heard this morning that Johnny Depp played Jack Sparrow as a cross between Keith Richards and Pepe Le Pew.  Don't know how true that is, but...  I've got the music, Sparrow.  Back the fuck off.

I want the baby to always stay this little.  Wittle.

*I know it is "Moves like Jagger," of course I do.  I own the song (perhaps I bought it because my baby likes it so much.  Who's to say?  I know Maroon Five don't give a shit.)

College Mama, Almost

The Bean is going to college.

This fat little baby:

(good heavens.  what a cute-heart.)

has turned into this boy, this incredible, sweet boy:

(good heavens.  still such a cute-heart.)

It happened so fast.  I mean, not that anybody else in the whole world has EVER experienced a child growing up on us, I mean, come on, but it's still tough to believe he's going to be going away so soon.  I'm not ready.  But he is.

Kid's going to be a Lion.  My tiger-ass self is coming to terms with that.  Could be worse.  He could have chosen Bama.  And then I'd have to disown him.  And I don't want to do that, because I think this is the kid that will be changing my colostomy bag when I'm 77 years old.

Today, he and my father are at Freshman Orientation, becoming oriented.  My formerly-professional-student-like father sent me the following text message:

Orientation going well.  Makes me want to enroll.  Sams dept head seems really cool

Awwwww, sha.  How cute would that be, my Bean of a boy and his Opa, all colleging together?  My dad has one of his degrees from SELU, so it must feel a little familiar to him.  Me, not so much.  I've never even set foot on that campus.

I've spent some time looking at the housing options, the meal plans.  Did you know that college kids today get free internet and basic cable.  Little punkasses.  I had to pay for my cable.they also get, like, a debit card onto which their parents can pour their income, and with which the little shits can buy Pizza Hut and do their laundry.

Seriously.

I had to save up $10 of beer money to do my laundry.  So obviously that meant that I would only do laundry like once a month.  My roommates hated me.

That's another thing- I lived in a room with two other girls.  Beanie has potential to get into the Honors Dorm, ensuring him a private room.  What the everloving fuck is that?  Not that I'm willing to pay for a private room, mind you.  But still! 

Tomorrow, he goes back for another day of this stuff, all by himself.  I hope he likes it.  I can't believe he's going to be gone so soon.  I mean, it's 45 whole minutes away!  My baby...  My baby is getting all grown up!!!