Spring Break. Why MTV Cameras Don't Film Mine Is Beyond Me.

Once again, I lied to all of you. I cannot be trusted. When are you gonna learn?

I said I was gonna write more about Mexico this week, but that's gonna have to wait until next week. And I'm probably gonna have to make it all up because at this point I really don't remember much. And you know what the interesting thing about me is? When I make stuff up it's not nearly as good as the real stuff. I'm the kind of person who doesn't really need to make stuff up because weird crap just happens in my vicinity. Sometimes I am involved and sometimes I am not. But it happens.

Anyway....this week was Spring Break week for us. And because my child is gifted and not at all clumsy, just like me, he went and Spring Broke his arm. But at least he broke it by falling out of a tree this time, and not from falling off a couch, like he did last time. Falling out of a tree is much more manly than falling 12 inches. And this time he got a waterproof cast. Which is totally rocking my world. When you have a regular old cast on a 4th grade boy, I assume things get pretty dirty and stinky pretty damn fast. I shudder to think about it.  So 2 days after the ER visit, we went to my Carpal Tunnel/Bone Spur Shoulder F@cktastrophe Doctor (more on that another time) and he walked in the room and saw Ethan, then me, and was like, WTF? So I told him I like coming in to see him so much that I am now just breaking the bones of my family members so I can see him more often. He laughed, yet looked slightly frightened. And there was a poster on the wall of a hip and Ethan asked if he had a bomb in his hip  like the person on the poster does:

Totally looks like a hip bomb. And I probably have one. Cuz that's just how effed up I am.

And since we got the world rockin' waterproof cast, we got to go to 6 Flags and he got to get drenched on all the water rides. And while I waited for the boys to ride things that I wasn't into, I met lots of interesting people. Which is one of my favorite things to do at theme parks. Or anywhere, really. Once when the boys were in a line for over an hour, I got the life stories of about 5 people. One of the worst things that ever happened to me was when we went to Disneyland a few years ago when I had just lost my voice from that stupid a-hole Dr. who paralyzed my cord, and I saw hundreds of interesting people and couldn't talk to any of them. I almost needed sedating.

This is Ethan, me, and TJ (the nephew) at 6 Flags. Still dry.

And we got home late last night. And I was tired. I am too old for theme parks. On the way out of the park I saw Tweety Bird and I didn't even try to P-Hug him. Or her. I never could figure that situation out. If I see a person in a furry costume and I do not attempt a P-Hug, you know that things just aren't right. (If you are a newbie and clueless about P-Hugs, you can either consider yourself lucky, or you can click here.)

And I'm super duper tired today. It's 8 o'clock and I'm pretty much done for. But even though I was exhausted all day I still went to Pilates and Physical Therapy. And I really didn't even whine too much. And I was still chatty. Cuz it takes a lot to kill my chattiness. And when I got home I even cleaned my closet. And believe me you guys....THAT is a chore. When I was done, Ethan gave me this snack because, and I quote, "You've been working so hard cleaning your closet that I thought you could use a nice snack for energy."

How cute is that?

So basically, I've been busy this week. And most of the people I know are gone anyway. So I'd be writing about Mexico for nothing. And I know this is all totally boring, but it is what it is people. Some people go to Cancun and drink too much and sleep with strangers and maybe get on some Girls Gone Wild videos. Me? I go to 6 Flags and clean my closet. I'm wild like that.

Anyway, before I go I want to share photos of a few gifts I got this week:

Thank you Cathy AND Anne, who both got me these awesome mustaches. Now I have enough for two weeks of extreme sexiness. Plus, never again will I get confused and wear The Sherrif on a Monday cuz I now know Monday is for Heroes.

Thank you Jeanette, for these awesome chip clips. They are amazing. But they're making me fat, because I now can't stay away from the chips!

And recently my friend Shari gave me a mustache beer glass and a container of mustache bandages. Now I can fill my mustache glass with beer, get drunk, fall down, hurt myself, and bandage myself up with mustaches. My life is now complete. For reals. I'm so lucky to have such nice friends and readers who spend their hard earned money getting me weird stuff. And then there's Melissa, who posted on my FB today that she saw some cool mustaches yesterday and thought of me. To which I replied "Thanks for buying them for me, you Jackwagon." Buy me something or don't buy me something. But don't tell me about the awesome thing that you didn't buy me. That's such a Steve-goes-to-Australia-and-doesn't-buy-me-the-whiz kinda move.

ADHD Has Totally Invaded My Brain. Oh...And I'm Kinda Like Snow White. But Can't Remember The Words To Any of Her Songs.

Yesterday was an ADHD day for me. I got NOTHING done. Well, except Pilates. And Physical Therapy. And lunch with Melissa. Who went and got herself knocked up. Not at lunch. And not by me. By someone else. A few months ago. I assume it was her husband, but she really hasn't said. And it's not something I would ever ask someone, since, you know, I have such decorum and shit. So I just use my blog to insinuate these things. Cuz that's how I roll. And if you're my friend then you totally expect it. But I'm all cranky with Melissa because we had plans to go to the Roller Derby and the drag bar and now she's with child and she can't do fun things. And she doesn't seem to want me to go to the Roller Derby without her, but I said hey...I'm not the one who got herself all knocked up. I know all about birth control. Not. My. Problem.

I didn't mean to write about all that. It was not pre-meditated, Melissa. And I suppose I could go back and change her name to protect her identity, but (a) I'm too lazy, and (b) she has pregnancy brain and will forget this ever happened. But she also has pregnancy hormones so before she forgets about it she will probably cry. Good luck with that episode, Melissa's husband.

Anyway, I am writing to tell you guys that I will continue my Mexico stuff next week. I've had trouble concentrating this week. I've still got Mexico brain. But I had 15 minutes to kill so I thought I'd write something. Even if it is lame. It so is.

My friend Cathy and I went on a walk this morning and I thought for sure that I saw a a monkey crossing the street at me. I would not be surprised at all if that a-hole followed me home from Mexico (more on him next week), and so I was frightened for a minute. Then I realized (actually, Cathy realized. Cuz I was too scared to deduce) that it was a squirrel with a monkey tail. Totally weird. And totally Mother Nature effing with me. So I decided he was cute and I here squirrely here squirrely'd him and he came to me. And he got on my shoe and looked at me and made little monkey-tailed squirrel noises. Then he went to climb a tree. And I followed him. And I tried capture him before he got too high. And Cathy was saying "You are NOT taking a squirrel home!" Like she's the boss of me. And she seemed frightened yet impressed with my animal prowess. And I told her that I'm exactly like Snow White. Except more whorey. And I don't have a bunch of midget slaves. Which sucks for me. Then she said her stomach hurt. I think it was from laughing at me but she may have been periody. I didn't ask. (Decorum)

So I called The Hub to tell him about the squirrel and how I can talk to animals like that dog whisperer talks to dogs. Which I can also do. Ask Anne. One time, when her dog was digging holes in the yard I talked to him for her. He still dug the holes. But that's because he's an a-hole and not because he didn't hear me and totally get what I was saying. But anyway, I called Steve and he said what was wrong with me? Did I want to get rabies? And I said that the squirrel-monkey looked very young and not at all rabied and was too young to have them yet. And he said they get them from their mom's when they're born. Like he's a squirrel-monkey expert or something. Like he knows anything about rodent/primates. And I said what...do they get them from the vaginal canal like a herpes baby? And is it really fair to assume this particular squirrel-monkey's mom was the rodent/primate equivalent of a herpes whore? No. No it's not. And I'm thinking that if this squirrel-monkey was born by c-section then he's totally rabies free. Which is possible. Cuz you guys, we don't know what's going on their world. Think about it.

Ok...so while I was writing that paragraph, The Boy came home and asked for a snack. So I went into the kitchen and HOLY CRAP BALLS there was a freakin' Tarantula in my kitchen. I am not kidding. I have not seen a spider that big in years. The last time was at our old house when I was home alone and this alien spider got in and I put an upside down tupperware bowl over it and stacked about a hundred books on top. Then sat on the kitchen island and stared at it. For about an hour. Until The Hub got home. That's normal, right? I'm not gonna go killing anything that big because it's like squishing a mouse. It's just gross. So anyway, there was one of these d-bags in my kitchen just standing there like he owns it, and I admittedly lost my shit. And thank god The Boy was here because he came running, and I pointed at it like a catatonic freak, and he said "Don't worry. I got this loaded." And he grabbed a shoe and took care of it. But it took 3 hits. Because it was enormous. And while screaming, I scooped it into a dustpan and dumped it in the toilet. And here is a picture of it:

This is the spider in my toilet. Which is only clean because my housekeeper was just here. And he's squished and shriveled. So remember that he was much bigger before The Boy went into attack mode.  And I've added some pictures to help you get some perspective and see just how big he was pre-attack/death. These are all quite accurate. Trust me on this.

I gave birth to a terminator. So I pretty much rock. But I think that being a Snow White animal magnet sucks if it's gonna go magnetizing big ass spiders to my vicinity.

So I Went To Mexico. I Also Gained 6 Pounds. Even In Paradise Margaritas Have A Buttload Of Calories.

Ok, so like I told you guys, I was on vacation last week. And I sat it that chair all day. And I didn't announce it on here beforehand, because (a) The Hub got mad that I recently announced that he was out of the country and invited murderers to come and have a drink with me and get all murdery on me, and (b) I wasn't sure that his parents (who were watching the boy) could really handle themselves against murderers or kidnappers if it came down to that. They're just really nice, and I really don't think that they possess my extreme ass-kicking skillz. So I just refrained from talking about my trip on here. And it was hard. Because I like to blab about everything. EVERYTHING. So this was really something huge, you guys. The fact that I didn't tell you. Also, I thought if I told you then some of you would want to tag along. And while I would have enjoyed that, The Hub probably wouldn't. And he's the one who's paying. So anyway, now you all know that I can keep a secret. So feel free to tell me some. Please. And I promise I (probably) won't write about it. Unless, you know, it's really, really juicy.

Anyway, if you are a friend of mine, then you know all about a wonderful creature called "Vacation Steve". This is a magical creature more rare than a unicorn, although not quite as amazing, due to the fact that Vacation Steve is a person and not an awesome white horse with a horn and a rainbow mane (yes, my dream unicorn has a rainbow mane. And wears a crown. And can dance. And also talks in a british accent). But he's still pretty great. "Vacation Steve" rocks my world. He is super-relaxed. Super-agreeable. Super patient with all of my antics. He seems to think that almost everything I do or say is cute. Vacation Steve doesn't really comprehend money, and is not able to do the maths. He even asked me to do some maths. ME! Vacation Steve is also kinda clueless. Vacation Steve really, really, REALLY sucks at scrabble (I kicked his ass multiple times, even after many margaritas, and even though he would not accept the word "weenieflaw" thereby costing me 30 points...Dude, let's say someone's weenie has a scar or something -I don't know how or why someone would have a scar on there, maybe because they denied their wife her rightful Scrabble points, I don't know, but let's say they do- THAT would be called a weenieflaw. Duh). Vacation Steve is the perfect man. And by the time we were in the air on the way to Mexico, I had Vacation Steve all to myself.

The first day at our resort, we had a few (too many?) drinks and then went back to our room, where Vacation Steve made me the happiest woman in the whole world. Get your minds outta the gutter, people. He made me happy by trying to sexily swagger into the room and walking straight into the glass sliding door. Hard. With me on the other side, witnessing the smackdown up close. One second he looked sexy, then the next second he slammed his face into the glass, then looked confused, then angry at the nerve of the door for being in his way. And I literally fell down and laughed harder than I think I've ever laughed. Sure, I guess my reaction made him feel like I didn't care, because he kept saying "Don't worry, I'm OK. Thanks for asking." But holy crap you guys, that was one of the funniest things that I have ever seen in my life. And every time I thought about it last week, I laughed so hard I cried. Literally. So... Thank You, Vacation Steve. Best. Thing. Ever. Oh...and I'm glad you're ok.

I told Vacation Steve that if we chatted up any fellow vacationers (which is usually my main thing to do on vacation),  I was to be referred to as "Striker". Striker is a pro-bowler (due to the carpal tunnel wrist thing I have to wear looking like a bowlers wrist thing, according to my friend Stephanie) who gave birth to 10 children for the sole purpose of being able to use them as human pins so she could practice at home, thereby saving money on bowling alley use.  Cuz duh....Striker has 12 mouths to feed and not a lot of extra cash to waste. I asked Steve what his story was, and he said he was a mute/catatonic, I suppose because he is not a chatty kinda guy. Even when he's Vacation Steve. Bo-ring. But unfortunately, the fellow resorters were not chatty. At all. And Steve found it somewhat disturbing and out of character for me that I was not talking to everyone in my path. And so did I. But these people gave a definite "Don't talk to me" vibe. Which usually makes me wanna talk to them even more, but since they all looked very coupley and honeymoony, I decided to leave them alone. Which Steve also found surprising, since I really don't have any boundaries or respect for other peoples boundaries. Even though I was dying, DYING to know their stories, I refrained from invading their space, and instead I just made stories up. Which is fine with me.  But they may have come off better with the truth than they did with what my imagination told me. Oh well. Their loss.

We had two women at our resort (mother and daughter, we think) who liked to go topless. Which was interesting. And hard not to look at. And this gave me an amazing amount of entertainment every day. Especially after I finished my book and had nothing to do while Steve read his. Vacation Steve is very relaxey, but he'll still shoot you a death glare if you try to talk to him while he tries to read. And since Vacation Steve is not super smart, it takes more concentration for him to read. I totally get it. So I entertained myself for days by laying in my beach chair and watching men walk by, and seeing how long it took for them to notice that there were naked boobies on full display. I would narrate (what I believed to be) their thoughts as they made the amazing discovery. It generally went something like this: "Oh, what a beautiful day! Boy, I'm having a nice stroll! Look at those waves. Amazing. And this sand! It's so white and....Boobies! Boobies! Boobies! Two sets of boobies! That's four whole boobies! Boobies! Boobies! Now look back at the ocean so the wife doesn't know you're looking at the boobies. The fantastically naked boobies. Now smile at the wife so she thinks you're thinking about her. Ok. She bought it. Now turn back to the right...Boobies! Boobies! Boobies! I! Love! Boobies!" So basically, you guys, in case you didn't know...men like boobies. A lot. And you know what? I like watching men discover boobies. It's like watching a child open a Christmas gift that they really, really wanted. Watching tons of men, one by one, discover these naked boobies...well, it brought me joy. They've been looking at the same old boobies for God knows how many years, and here were some surprise beach boobies. Like a gift from Heaven. The joy was contagious. But I will tell you one thing that I learned about boobies: Naked beach boobies and water shoes don't mix. Walking topless across a beach with big rubber water shoes on is NOT sexy. They're like clown shoes. And a naked clown in clown shoes would look ridiculous. Although there's probably someone out there who thinks that would be hot. But they're stupid.

So I have more vacation stuff to talk about, but I just realized this is really long and my stupid carpal tunnel is acting up. So I will continue later, and just leave you with 2 more photos:

This is me at THE BEST BAR EVER! Drinking beer + swinging = happiness in my book. Plus, when people really get their drink on it has got to be amazing to watch. Cuz what could possibly go wrong combining swings and drunk people?

And this picture looks weird because I took it in the dark and had to adjust the colors and crap so you guys could see it. But basically, it's Steve thinking about killing me. With that knife. This was near the end when I think he'd had about enough of me. I took this photo for proof. Just in case I disappeared. But of course he'd try to hide it. So after I took this with my iphone, I sent it to my friend so there'd be proof. I'm always one step ahead, so he'd better watch his ass.

I'm Not Dead. But I Spent Most Of The Past Week Horizontal, Half-Naked, and Bloated.

Don't worry you guys....I am bloated from beer and guacamole, but I am alive, relaxed, and well.

I know some of you thought I died. My FB friends were wondering where I went, since they can always count on me to post something stupid at least once a day. And after the quarantine week from hell, I can understand how some of you could think that I maybe ran away from home. Well, I did. I went to here:

And I laid in a chair and looked at this all day:

Don't hate me. I would have taken you all with me if I could. True story.

I missed you guys and I missed being online for a week. Believe me. I felt really out of touch. One morning Steve said something along the lines of "I feel like I don't know what's going on in the world", and I said "Yeah, me too! I wonder who won the Oscar's, and I wonder how James Franco did with the hosting. I bet he sang something. And probably danced. Because that guy does everything. He's nominated for a freakin' Academy Award! He's really smart. He's getting graduate degrees at two Universities. And he films movies in between classes. He's a published author. He paints. He's on General Hospital, just for fun. When he doesn't have that mustache, he pretty much rocks." And Steve said "I was thinking more about what was happening in Egypt or in the stock market. But your stuff is probably more important."

Still, we survived 5 days together. 

So anyway, I'm back. And within the next few days I will get my ass in gear and tell you about my trip. Preview: A monkey sat on my shoulder. And I think we both enjoyed it for about 15 seconds. Then he had to go and be an a-hole.

Ghosts, Zombies, Tacos, Hoovers, and Things You Pee In.

So The Hub was gone almost the entire month of February. That's a long time. He came back for a few days last week and then left again. For those few days he was back I felt like a Super Model. Or a steak. Or a cold beer on a hot day. Things like that. He was staring at me a lot. Following me around a lot. Touching my butt a lot. And then The Boy got sick. And then The Hub left. Again. And you all know what happened next because I bitched about it all week. Thankfully The Universe finally took pity on me and The Boy went back to school on Wednesday. I. Was. Happy. I missed Pilates. I missed my time alone. I missed going out in public.

Four days alone...totally alone....with ANYONE is a lot of days. The difficulty is amplified when the person you are alone with wants you to wait on them hand and foot and touch their booger rags and rub their feet. There are lots of people in this world that I like. Really, really like. But even after 4 days I would be sick of most of them. I think that the only way 4 straight days alone is do-able is if (a) pot and alcohol are involved, or (b) you are the opposite sex, attracted to each other, and nude.

Anyway, this post is just a weekly wrap up of totally random crap that I am too burned out to expand into multiple posts. Key word: Random. And I'm writing it super-fast while I make dinner. And I'm not even gonna proof-read it. So it's probably gonna suck pretty hard. Anyway....

When The Hub was gone for the first 10 days, I'm pretty sure there was a ghost in my house. Like, 99% sure. I heard voices. I walked around the house for long periods of time trying to locate them and they seemed to be coming from the attic. So I went downstairs and tried to forget about it. Then The Cat has to go and get a all freaky and growl at things and look at nothing with her big bug eyes and totally freak my shit out. Ghosts freak me out. And you know what you guys? They're real. The Hub can shut up. They're real. They freak me out because if they're mean I can't kick their asses. You can't kick an invisible ass. Unless you have special invisibility/ghost seeing goggles or something. It's just Science. If they're nice, they can live all up in here. I'm completely cool with that. So anyway, the morning after the attic voices night, I got up and this was in the corner of my bedroom:

This is The Boy's Penguin. And he's standing in the corner like that dude at the end of Blair Witch. And I do not approve. Not one freaking bit.

The Boy said he didn't put it there. But I think he's bullshitting a bullshitter. At least that is what I'm going with.

And I am afraid of Zombies too. Well, not really afraid. I feel totally prepared to survive any impending Zombiepocalypse thrown my way. I suppose that I'm just afraid of the initial surprise of them. Like, there's that moment when the world is fine and you are just going about your normal business, then there's that next moment when..... Holy mother freaking crap! My lawn guy is a Zombie! But at least with Zombies you can see them. So you have a fighting chance. Especially if you watch every Zombie movie like I do. The Hub won't usually watch them with me, so he is probably screwed. It's research, dude. Zombie Apocalypse Preparedness. Duh. Anyway, this is a bedside table I found online that is specifically for the killing of Zombies, but could also be used for regular humany murderers as well as husband's who are trying to get some when you have a headache, and kids who are trying to wake you up too damn early in the morning:

And speaking of Zombies, I saw an amazing movie called "Zombie Strippers" that taught me a lot about Zombies. (a) Some of them strip, (b) Some of them are whores, and (c) sometimes Zombie Strippers fight each other by inserting pool balls into their privates and shooting them at the other zombies. I am gonna stick with the Zombie Killing Nightstand. But now you have that info if you ever need it. But as my Pilates friend John "Don't use my last name" pointed out while we were discussing this today, this newfound vaginal Zombie killing technique is not possible for men. So basically, men are dead meat.

Also, when The Hub came home from Australia (Yes, the bastard got to go to Australia. A place where everyone's accent makes you want to have sex with them. Or maybe that's just me? I was jealous, but I told him to have fun and see the sights, but if he saw a mother-effing koala bear I would kick his ass), he says to me "I was gonna buy you something but it was $30.00 so I just brought you the brochure instead." Which, let's face it, is a really crappy way to preface the handing over of a piece of paper that is not an actual present, but a picture of the present that it is not. And you know what? I'm totally pissed (no pun intended) because I would really like to get my hands on one of these:

This is called "The Whiz", you guys. It is a "petal shaped" urination device for women. You know, so we can pee standing up. Or into bottles. Whichever toots your horn. The brochure says it is good for "visitors to music festivals, women at the magnetic north pole (The Hub is gonna have to explain that one to me because I am stupid. And all I know of the magnetic north pole is that I once asked Steve if that meant polar bears were magnetic and if so that it would be a good idea to stick one to your refrigerator so that it would try to kill you if you tried to go off your diet. I have great ideas, you guys.), women at the summit of K2, women walking the dog or just walking, women on long car trips, etc" And the brochure also said "Never use against the wind." Just FYI. It even comes with a carrying pouch. Cuz after you pee into something you totally want to stick it into your purse. I think the real reason he didn't buy this for me is not the fact that it was $30.00 and he's cheap, but because he knows that on our next car trip I would totally pull this baby outta my purse and pee in a bottle. I so would. As a matter of fact I can think of a million places I would pull that baby out, just to see what people would say. Thanks for ruining my chance to offend people with public urination, Husband.

So while The Hub was gone, I bought a new vacuum. And because I'm lazy, I left the box in the kitchen for two days, during which I kept talking to it because I thought it was The Boy. Because I get easily confused. And I drink wine. Anyway, after talking on FB about how I've been talking to it, my cousin Mindy and my friend Jenny suggested I give him a 'stache and a top hat. So I did. And I named him Colonel Hooverstache:

This is a Colonel Hooverstache collage. The Colonel is from Big Knockerstown, UK. He loves to say "Tally Ho." It's always "Tally Ho" this, and "Tally Ho" that. He calls his top hat Sir Headsworth. He says he can't see without his monacle, but I think he just thinks it makes him look fancy. His first name is Alistair. But do not call him that, because it makes him violent. It took 2 days for The Boy to even notice The Colonel. One morning I put C.H. on the sofa next to him, but he was so into his DS that he didn't even notice. But by dinner time that night, The Colonel had taken The Hub's place in the family.

And one night The Boy wanted tacos so I bought some shells and this was on the box:

Thank you, Old Elpaso.

And on Valentine's Day, (ok.... 4 days after Valentine's Day because I lost it for awhile) The Boy gave The Hub this card. And he drew the 'stache on Garfield all on his own:

Son, I've trained you well.

Ok. Now I am exhausted. Here is a frog that I want to be friends with. We could sit on fence posts together and just gossip the day away. But I would make little pants for him, because, dude, that's a little vulgar: