Tag Archives: hungover

One giant fart…

9 Apr

So I get a text message from Suz yesterday morning at 6am. She lives in Oklahoma and possibly forgot that the left coast wasn’t up yet. Or maybe she just wanted to be my alarm clock. After all, she knew I was at the cabin with T-bomb so maybe she just wanted to find out how hungover we were. Apparently she read my previous post and figured we were fucked up when we wrote it. She was right 😦

In any event, after wishing me a Happy Easter, she tells me her house smells like one giant fart.  I had to think about that for a while. At first, I thought she was complaining about her teenage son. Then I thought maybe she ate too much broccoli. Then I realized she was hard-boiling eggs. Or so I hoped.

Does it sound wrong that I miss coloring Easter eggs and eating jelly beans or that I wish I had a cute spring dress and white Mary Jane’s? Even though I have no kids…?

Should I be mocking myself now or will you do this for me?

Pffft. *Giggle*

Thought for the day: Never hold your farts in. They travel up your spine, into your brain, and there is where all the shitty ideas come from… You’re welcome.


Vodka gets me in trouble…

19 Mar

Here’s the deal. I like my martini dirty (light on the dirty – maybe we call it a naughty martini). Either way, the root cause of all evil is wheat. I can prove it.

It all started when the Maynards invited us to join them for the Northern California Special Olympics celebrity ski event at Incline Village the other weekend. As soon as we arrive at the ski resort, we perch our asses pointing at the north shore and begin our ritual – you know, starting off the ski day by getting warm – ala some dirty mary’s.

Nice ass.

Properly revved up on napalm mary’s we ski’d for a bit then on to other fun activities – we head to the banquet. One word: Mayhem.

You see, Brad Kinney was manning the turntable and of course I had to go say hi. After all, we went to HS and are facebook friends and all. Such a small, small world. I clickity clacked my way over and said “Hi Brad!” and we chit chatted and maybe there was some flirt on my part. I mean, he’s BRAD!

Meanwhile, over at our table, dubbed Team Vodka (coincidence? I think not) we had one of K‘s colleagues, a very nice Russian man named Dmitriy. He’s been at these celebrity events before and knew everyone. I mean e-v-e-r-y-o-n-e.

He and I quickly hit it off, drinking shots of Russian Standard and talking in a thick Russian accent. My accent is a hot mess but Dmitiriy’s is real – which totally worked!! So after a few of these fire shots, me and my big girl shoes are dancing and whooping it up. I don’t need much of an excuse you know.

However, I have NO idea who I’m dancing with at this point. And it totally doesn’t matter. I think at one point I was bootie popping with Juliet Goodrich from CBS News. She saw one of my tattoos and became my new dance BFF.

Then, Dmitriy gets me in a gang-dance. I don’t know what else to call it. There were three of them and one of me. And outta nowhere, I find myself hoisted up on top of a dinner table to dance with Ryan Merriman (Pretty Little Liars) and Thyme Davis (Days of our Lives). No shit. Earlier that day, after skiing, we met up with them in the bar. Ryan showed me a picture on his iPhone. It was him – shredding at the terrain park.

But up on the table – dancing with Ryan and Thyme – this was well, both surreal and to be expected I guess. I mean, for those that know me. THIS. IS. NOT. UNCOMMON. FOR. ME.

Thanks Brad! The hat is smashing!

As the party goes on, out come the cute pink cowboy hats with tiaras (thanks Brad for giving me one first!). We continue drinking vodka, and I realize I’m a gonna pay dearly for this later.

And I do. Can barely walk the next day and I have to check my texts and tweets for too much sass. And then apologize. A lot.

Like a half-off shoe sale at Nordstrom’s, I love my vodka but it gets me in all sorts of trouble.

A new dawn, a new day

1 Jan

And I’m feeling good. Except for this screeching headache. And lack of sleep.

As I ponder the death of 2010, I reflect back on the year that went down fighting. When 2010 first arrived, she brought with her a shitload of baggage, wearing her support hose and thunder-wear so I knew she was in for the long haul. She moved right on in never asking, never apologizing. 2010 was like the zit I had before Prom – big, red, and fugly.

While 2010 was a wily bitch, never directly insulting me – she was  absolutely mocking me (ME!) and sniggering while I was all akimbo. As I look back now, I wish I had been more Duke Nukem and less Patty Duke when 2010 started punking me.

So as the new year knocks on my door, insisting 2010 move her crap out, I realize I have some choices about how long I’ll put up with 2011’s antics. I can either sit down and take it like a wuss; stand up and take it like a man; or channel my inner Xena and throw a weapon at the problem.

I like the latter the best. And I’ll take any opportunity to rock a warrior princess costume. As long as it comes with 4″ gladiator heels that is.

I could sooooo wear this outfit!

Morning breath

11 Sep

Well that was pleasant guys. Thanks.

The hubby is by now done with tailgating at Psi Delta Upsilon or whatever the name of that frat is at Cal. He and his buddies have doing this for years. I went once – it was not what I expected for tailgating before a football game.

You see, tailgating at a frat is something entirely different. Yes, they still set up the BBQ and grill their meat, but they also do some fancy finger foods and drink champagne. For today’s tasty tidbits, the hubby decided on two different bites. Bite #1 is a mini biscuit with sausage gravy and Bite #2 is mock BLT – bacon and tomato on a crostini with hollandaise sauce and arugula.

My only contribtution – other than sampling – was to bake the crostini this morning for him. They’d just cooled enough for me to start packing them up when my yippy yappy canine doorbells charmingly barked the arrival of my hubby’s buddies at 8:15a this morning. Early. 15 mnutes early. Super – I had planned to hide in the bedroom when the boys got there. Now I’d have no escape.

I’m slightly hungover from last night, my hair is pulled up into a most unattractive bun like thing and I’m wearing PJs – but they’ve seen me looking worse so I sigh and open the door.

Oh howdy all you new people. Why is there a caravan in my driveway? Who are you people and no, no, don’t get our of your SUVs – stop! Oh gawd, I haven’t brushed my teeth. Shit.

Muttering under my oh-so-pleasant-coffee-infused-morning breath, “Hi, nice to meet you”, shook some hands, laughed at the awkwardness of it all.

“Yes those are Koi”… “How many?”… “Oh {clears throat} about 40 or so”… “unh huh…”

They are all duded up with their Go Bear wear, blue and gold jackets, sweatshirts, hats, and was that a foam finger I saw in the back seat of SUV #2?Everyone was happy and smiling and ready to cheer their team on. I, on the other hand, was just ready to cheer them out the door so I could check the mirror for pepper in my teeth and to confirm how bad I think I really looked.

They were only there for maybe 5 minutes, and after they left my suspicions were confirmed. Hair from my bun escaped and was sticking straight up, there was a crumble of I don’t even know what on my cheek, my PJs looked like well, I had slept in them, and yes, my breath was a bit rank.

Good gawd, why didn’t I at least gargle? Would it have killed me to put on some real clothes? Why a bun thingy and not a pony tail? Why do I have to be such a slob?

As I berated myself for my lack of chick-ness this morning, I decided the best way to cheer myself up was to go shopping. For shoes.

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