So My Friend Says Something About Tea Towels...

And here's what transpires in my head:

Funny you should ask about the towels. I was just in search of kitchen towels today. I prefer tea towels because they don't get all sassy with lint. Lint pisses me off. Remember, I have no dishwasher, so my towels need to dry my dishes without irritating me.

I'll ask. I like their birdcage & bike tea towels.

I haven't watched that move "The Birdcage" in a long time.

That's a damn funny movie.

Funny how my grandmother hid it from us. Probably because she thought it was 'sinful'.

That was a vhs tape anyway.

Where is that dvd/vhs player?

Maybe the kids have it somewhere. Basement? Crap, who cares, I don't even have the movie anymore.

I want chocolate.

Oh yeah, press "post"

Now you've had a glimpse into my head.

Scary, no?

The iPhone, The Finger, and Notes Passed In High School

Let me start by saying: Mom, please do not read this. You'll totally freak out. And you'll hurt your knees. Because you'll be on your knees praying for not only Zach's soul, but the soul of some girl at his high school who remains nameless. (Only because I don't know who it is) I was going to start a new blog and get a whole new internet identity so you would not be subjected to the temptation to go on after I begged you not to read this. But that is a lot of effort. So stop. Just stop.

So, anyway. For the rest of you. Here is the last 30 minutes of my life:

Call my cousin who is like a sister to me. Especially since neither of us had a sister. Leave a message for her asking which day she is mainly spending with the extended family because I want to be sure and do the same, to have some method of escape. And also so I can see her totally adorable girls, with whom I have formed an extreme mutual admiration society.

Since she didn't answer her phone I supposed she was in the car, or someplace like Macaroni Grill where she couldn't hear it ring. Or else she was shopping, in which case she would just let it ring. So I called her husband. He would be bored if they were shopping and gratefully answer his phone. Or so I thought. His phone rolled over to voice mail and all I could think (and comment to my husband) was "Hey, maybe they managed to get to have sex" because that is the only reason I could think of why two married people would both not answer their phones at the same time.

We lamented our own inability to have sex whenever we wanted because our house is full of 16-23 year olds ALL THE TIME. And I remember the note my son begged me to read left on his dresser the other day. I decided this was as good a time as any to share what I had read. Now, don't get mad at me - I did not write this note. I was merely an innocent reader. (Mother, if you're still reading I am really, really, reeeeaaaally sorry, but I warned you).

So the highlight of the note was that this girl said if my son died she would "Totally finger myself to death" basically so she could go marching right into death with him. There were a few mentions about how horny she is. Now, I asked my son, poor innocent thing that he is, who wrote this note. I knew it was not the handwriting of his long-time girlfriend, and also not her writing style, as far as I know. I've happened across a couple of her notes to him and there were pretty much puppies and unicorns and rainbows. He tells me this is a very old note, like from freshman year. I am not impressed. He throws a name at me, which he probably got from whatever was on television at the time, and I gave him the skeptical stink eye.

This is where I take a moment to say that I'm sure the contents of this note shocked my poor teenage son as much as they shocked the rest of us. It is not - I repeat, it is NOT his fault this deranged girl wrote such things to him. More importantly, we normally do not have conversations of this type in this house. But just like the way your young children will find the worst possible time, situation, and context to say a certain thing, today happened.

Oh, but if only that was the end of the story.

I decided to try once again to call my cousin-sister person. Which is when I realized that pushing the little round button at the bottom of my iPhone did not end the call with her husband and I had left him a rather long message. With the help of my husband and son. About... guess what? So then I did end the call and my husband and I decided this was most embarrassing. We wondered if the recipient would be playing this message to my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, out of town relatives and their relatives - who will all be at the family gathering I was calling about in the first place.

Then the phone rang. And we knew who it was because we are psychic like that. I can guess with pretty much 100% accuracy who will call me after I leave a several-minutes-long raunchy message on their phone. Pretty much anyone, that's who!

Anyway, I need to get ready so we can go. We are planning on rewarding my son with a new phone because, hey, the kid is pretty much an angel except for when he's not and he's got stellar grades. Also, he's an angel.

And now I can not look my mother in the eye for at least a month.

A Good Haircut Makes All The Difference

Sadly, little pup didn't get one of those this time. He got something inspired interesting. As promised several days ago, here is the crazy 'hairstyle' my daughter gave the dog. Yes, she is old enough to know better. This was the day she did it. It's looking normal now. What a hoot!




For good measure here is a picture of him sleeping peacefully:

Weekend Update or: I Am So Talented You Are Sure To Be Jealous

This week I managed to cut my finger while opening one of these for my doggie. My daughter also has the uncanny ability to hurt herself in unusual ways. When I told her what I had done she gave me a high five.

Why I Failed To Post on April 1

I did not post on April 1st because I did not want you to think I was foolin' about the super-serious stuff I say on this blog. Do not worry, I will not tell you why I fail to post every day I am too lazy to bother choose not to do it.

I took pictures of the crazy 'hair style' my daughter gave the poor dog. I made sure his face isn't in the pictures because he was embarrassed. But of course I need some sort of adapter for this computer to use my SDPro card. So I can't share the picture with you right now like I planned. Okay, I could, but it would require actual effort on my part. Not happening right now. *sigh* (which is a thousand silent screams)

Please Stop!

Someone keeps hacking my blogs and adding lots of typos. It is really annoying. Please stop.

And don't you dare suggest it is me making mistakes. Don't. You. Dare.

List of Super-Smart Things I Did This Week. (and it's only Tuesday)

When I went to feed the dog his gravied-up food I missed his bowl (and the counter!) completely and it plopped on the floor. I went to grab paper towels to clean it up. I was going to get him a new one. He proceeded to eat it from the floor. Because... he is a dog. Yes, my dog is smarter than me. Surprise!

My daughter, who is just like me, backed up into a 4 inch curb and managed to bend the muffler into an L shape. If that's not enough, the muffler also managed to be wedged at the bottom of the tire. This counts as me because, as I already told you, she's just like me.

I have managed to insult several people without meaning to, of course. This is part of my considerable charm. My ability to say the wrong thing at just the right time will someday be world renowned.

I have forgotten, again, to go to the post office. I have had things to mail for weeks and managed to not get it done. This is very much out of character for me. One of the things I am good about is getting stuff shipped. Usually.

I have procrastinated in other areas as well. I did not get the luggage together for an upcoming trip. The flight is tomorrow. I'm still searching for one specific piece of luggage. It was hanging in the basement. It is not there now. Of course nobody knows where it is.

Posting this now, because I left it sitting (more procrastination) and if I do not post it soon it will not be Tuesday.

I Did Not Get Arrested! (aka The Martian Chronicles)

Did I ever tell you about the time I molested Ray Bradbury? No? I guess I was still waiting for the police to show up at my door. I think it's safe now.

My husband is a huge fan of Ray Bradbury. He was a little kid taking Ray Bradbury books on boy scout camp-outs to avoid death by boredom/frustration. It's a very real ailment, I assure you. For years now my husband would out-of-the-blue announce that Ray Bradbury was having a speaking engagement at this or that place. Then he would say he really should go. He would not go. I would feel kind of guilty. It was for a good reason like needing to spend the money on gasoline or electric bills or sugar-free Popsicles. Or good chocolate. Chocolate gets its' very own sentence. Or two. Or three. Make it stop!

Last month my husband announced Ray Bradbury would be speaking at Sierra Madre High School in Sierra Madre, California. This is where I pull down the map of the United States and count the states from Ohio to California like Tom Hanks did in Sleepless in Seattle. Ohio and California are not so close. But for some reason this time I did not help him get discouraged about the possibility. Instead, I spent many hours researching hotels. I found us a great deal on a hotel/air combo (GooooooooOOOOO Priceline!) and we shot off to Los Angeles.

We decided to get to the high school two hours early. Nothing was going to go wrong. We walked around the enchanting little town of Sierra Madre. We made some new friends (hi Karen!) and went back to the school to get our seats. There was hardly anyone there when we first got there, but after a while the place was full to capacity. Ray came out and talked (you can read more about this on my other blog.)

After the talk people stood in line anxiously to get their book of choice signed. And I say anxiously because they had announced he would only be signing a book for the first 100 people. We had some helpful reassurance from John of the Dragon Lapel Pin Tribe, and I stood around making friends in front of the stage while the Lion stood in line making his own friends. Today I wish I had thought to share information with some of those lovely people.

My husband got up on stage and I took pictures of him with Ray. A really nice lady took some pictures of both of us with Ray. At some point, and this is where it gets good, I grabbed Ray Bradbury's hand and forced it open. (And I really did have to force it open - it was not an easy task!) Then I kissed his palm and thanked him profusely. Then I started crying. I'm not sure if I cried from embarrassment or pure emotion.

As far as I know I am not banned from further speaking events.

As a matter of fact I think it was well received. We got to walk him to his car. And nobody else got to do that!

Kitten Goes To Hollywood

On my other blog I tell about going to Hollywood. (except it isn't posted yet) There I tell only the truth. Here, though, I give the rest of the story. A story which can only happen to me, or some kindred spirit. (bless their heart)

Hollywood is terribly overrated. Down by the theaters they were trying to get us to go in for the David Letterman show. We couldn't, because in Typical "Kitten Goes To Hollywood" fashion, well, here goes the story:

We went on a Warner Brothers in the morning. As we were leaving they gave us a list of nearby restaurants. Like, restaurants within a mile or two. One of them was actually a place we planned to visit while in L.A. But The Lion acted as if he didn't even see it and said we were going to Hollywood. We went to Hollywood. The Lion wanted to go to Chateau Marmont. We circled the place like hawks waiting for a parking spot. There seemed to be some sort of garage, but there were Town Cars sitting in the entry, and they never left. After chasing our tails for about ten minutes we decided to try something else. We found out the Peruvian place we wanted to eat was very close, so we went over there. It took forEVER to go a mile. Like more than 30 minutes, maybe nearly an hour? When we arrived, the place was closed. Typical Peruvian restaurant - opens for lunch, closes, then opens later for dinner. We drove around for a long time, again. When we finally got out of the car I told The Lion we had to really hustle because I needed a bathroom NOW.

Want to know what's a bad idea? Having sex when you know you are having your period! What's worse? Periods and orgasms are an interesting combination. (Yes, let's get that uterus contracting all day!) Then, for fun, let's go more than an hour without being able to get to a bathroom!

I ran into this donut shop where I saw a woman working. I asked her where the closest ladies room was. She said she didn't know. I asked her "You don't know where there's any ladies room around here at all? She was really hateful and said she didn't. I asked again "Seriously? You work here and you don't know anywhere with a ladies room?" The whole time she had this look on her face like she was just forced to eat a skunk or something. A couple of really nice guys told me there was a bar next door and I could run in there to use the facilities. I ran in there and I had bled through my Spanx and my pants. Lovely - I'm wearing pink pants and things are a mess. Luckily, it was colder in L.A. than Ohio that day and I had my coat. But it's hot when you're walking, you know (and also when the hot flash/panic attack sets in again) - and I couldn't even open my coat to cool off. So of course we couldn't take the guy up on his invitation to see David Letterman. Because I couldn't sit down and also ruin my white coat.

And because I can never let anything go? On the way back to the car I stopped and took pictures of the exterior of the donut shop and the "No bathroom" lady. She saw me on the sidewalk taking her picture and gestured frantically, shouting at me. I continued snapping photos and she continued shouting and gesturing. I waved at her and took more pictures. When I was done I gave her the good old thumbs up sign.

I'm so glad I made her mad by taking her picture and waving to her. She can rot. With her attitude I'm sure her life has to suck.

I went back to the hotel and scrubbed my pants and spanx, drying the spanx with the hair dryer, got dressed and went to dinner.

One Margarita, well earned.

*Not David Letterman, since he is in New York City. So really, I have no idea which late show they were trying to get us to watch. I feel better knowing I didn't pass up an opportunity to go into the Letterman show. 

Super Smart Strikes At The Airport.

Try not to be jealous, okay? We arrived to the 'C' terminal and are thinking about two things:
1. Finding our gate
2. Finding breakfast.

If you know me well you know which one is more important to me. We were looking for our gate, but there was no indication of gate 21, let alone gate 21F. Because they whole trip had been enchanted there were, of course, three employees just sitting there (on a break) to answer any question I may have. They were all cheery and so was I. "Where is gate 21F?" I inquire. They look puzzled and said they really didn't know. Am I sure it's 21F? Even though I was (sigh) I opened my purse to get my boarding pass. As I was doing this I realized... My seat was 21F. My gate, on the other hand, was 50B, and not at all difficult to find. They laughed, I laughed, and The Lion laughed.

Breakfast was imminent. The gate could wait.

That's PFCPB To You, Punk

The best/worst (take your pick, I'm exhausted) part of today was when I took my 34B self to Victoria's Secret to be fit for a new bra. I knew I needed a fitting so I just acted all bold. I walked right up and asked for one. But that guy really only wanted to buy something for his wife, go figure. So I asked some gal who works there. She was glad to do it. After measuring me, which is never awkward or humiliating, she gave me a whole box of bras to try on. Thank God I carry pony tail holders in my purse because after a few I was getting what I'm pretty sure are the hot flashes combined with a full-fledged panic attack. I keep having her come back to show her how my boobs are suffering some kind of elephant man syndrome in these things. I tell her my old bra is better than these.

After much examination of my person she decides I need to go up not just one cup size, but two. I give her the hairy eyeball and thrust my boobs up towards her with my hands and exclaim "These boobs are NOT 34Ds! Look at me!" She tries to talk me down by talking about how I have this thing called a "Full Cup" and I should celebrate it because it's why my boobs are so perky. I have to admit, it sort of worked when she started saying stuff like "Perky". In the end she helped me a lot and deserves way way wayyyyy more than they paid her today. I can promise you that much.

I bought a bra and she wrote down the other style that worked for me so I can order more brases online. I now have a love/hate relationship with her, though. It's because the pink/pink striped bra I wanted to buy just didn't work for me. I wanted something greatly fabulous and that was it. But I couldn't have it. I think it's a conspiracy against people with cute little freckles on their shoulders or perky breasts. Or both.

For spending so damn much money they gave me some Godiva chocolates and I AM NOT EVEN LYING. Godiva chocolates from Victoria's Secret! They're sucky because I'm picky about my chocolates but I'm going to be a good perky breasted sport and eat them anyway.

From now on I would liked to be addressed as Princess (Full Cup) Perky Breasts, okay?