Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Yes, kid, you do rock me like a hurricane.

It has been snowing like crazy here this week. The upside is I have worked from home for three days without any of the guilt I normally feel when I stay in my pajamas all day. The downside is that, as I have blogged before, snow makes the people here become complete freakin' idiots before the first flake hits the ground. I went to get my coffee this morning and it was like entering the Seventh Circle of Hell. You know the Circle I am talking about - it's the one where Musak and Chuck E. Cheese were invented.

Speaking of complete freakin' idiots and Hell we have these neighbors (who Eric and I lovingly refer to as the Clampetts) renting a house in our cul-de-sac and I hate them. HATE....THEM....with something close to a burning passion. These people push all my buttons. Some of them more than once. They have a constant party going on. Constant. To add insult to injury their parties are like a redneck convention with lots of big 4X4s and shouting on the front lawn at 3 am. Every now and then you get a faint "Yee-Haw" or a "Get along little doggies." I don't even want to know what they are up to because I am not sure my fragile psyche could take it.

There are never fewer than 5 cars and they park end-to-end out to the center of the cul-de-sac. IT.MAKES.ME.CRAZY. A good portion of the time they are even parked in front of my house and even though I don't actually own the street I OWN the street because it is in front of MY house that I BOUGHT and therefore it is mine so just back the f*ck up you sucky renter bee-otches.


Oh yeah - did I mention the snow? We had at least 6 inches in our driveway and while Eric worked on removing it via snowshovel Drew worked on removing it via consumption. To quote Eric, who is a very wise man, "At least it isn't yellow snow."

And another thing -

Drew isn't quite dexterous enough to play Guitar Hero, but that doesn't stop him from unleashing his inner rock star. I know these pictures are cute and all, but I have to point out that at the time these were taken Drew had been singing two lines from "Rock You Like a Hurricane" for about an hour straight. He only knows two lines so he just repeats them over and over and over. He does shake it up a bit though. Sometimes it is: "HERE I am. Rock you like a hurriCANE."

And the next time: "Here I am. ROCK you like a HURricane."

And then: "Here I am. Rock YOU like a hurricane."

Sometimes he is loud. Sometimes he is on key. Sometimes he is just shouting at the top of his lungs. But, no matter how he is singing it he has that crazy guitar and he is working the crowd like a pro. Granted - Eric and I are generally the "crowd" and we are only half listening because we have been listening to it for HOURS, but he doesn't care. I think the kid has a future in show business.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

I should start researching independent living facilities. Immediately.

I have been trying to post - I swear I have! I just haven't been able to think of anything interesting to say. I know I have been busy (excuses, excuses), but I can't seem to remember what the heck I have been busy doing.

Oh! I know! I have been busy figuring out that I am old. How, you ask? Well, let me count the many ways:

1. A bunch of us went to a hockey game Friday night. We had seats that were right behind the home net and directly above the ramp where the zamboni drives in. It just so happens that a cameraman stands down there and films the game and the crowd. I was on the jumbo screen doing the chicken dance. Yes, you heard me, THE CHICKEN DANCE. And you know what? I wasn't even embarrassed. I laughed and waved because me? I. Am. Old. and I no longer care if the "pretty people" think I am cool or not. I already know I'm not. Because? I'm old. That's why.

2. Eric and I went, at the last minute, to a small party on Saturday night. We were all talking and laughing and having a great time. I wasn't really paying attention to how much I was drinking. Eric wasn't really paying attention to how much I was drinking. I didn't think it was all that bad until I woke up on Sunday. You know? Old people? They get hangovers. Really bad ones where the sun cranks up the bright factor and everything is at a volume intended for the neighbors to know, the neighbors IN CHINA.

3. Monday we enjoyed the holiday by going ice skating. I am not a very good skater and Drew and Eric skated circles around me giggling while I held on to the edge and tried to skate. Slowly. With wobbling. And some screaming. There were these three teenage boys that were proudly wearing their hockey gloves so as to show everyone in the rink that they are Hockey Players and are, of course (DUH), far cooler than anyone else in the rink and we should all just freakin' respect their ice since they are all, like, letting us losers use it and all. Sheesh. They were zipping around and doing that quick stop thing and on many occassions knocked down unsuspecting victims. I took it upon myself to tell them to "cut it out before someone gets hurt" and I SHOOK.MY.FINGER. Seriously? Finger-shaking? Eek.

4. The ice skating? Threw my back out. Eric says it's because I was so tense and was using muscles I don't normally use. I hobbled around all night hunched over. I groaned a lot. And whined. And complained. Then I went to bed with a heat wrap around my waist. To add insult to injury - the heat wrap was too tight and it cut off circulation to my legs. Thank you Mr. Heat Wrap for reminding me that I need to eat less and exercise more. I'll get right on that. Just as soon as I can stand upright.

I suppose I am being a bit melodramatic, but I swear everyday I am one step closer to standing on my porch, shaking my fist and yelling at the little kids in the neighborhood to get off my lawn.

Monday, January 14, 2008

If you are looking for an actual topic just keep on movin'...

I was thinking - why doesn't Britney Spears just move to Canada? I mean, no one really cares what happens in Canada so odds are the paparazzi wouldn't follow her. I'm just sayin'.

Oh, and as an aside, I think the girl is batshit crazy, but deserves a medal for not having run over all the stalkerazzi with her Mercedes. I mean, seriously? If 42 people with cameras surrounded my car and started snapping pictures of me and my kid I would just floor it. If you aren't quick enough to get outta my way then that's just too f'ing bad. Losers.

Moving on...

Eric and I went out on Saturday night and met up with a bunch of friends to go dancing. Our favorite dance club is a gay bar. See how open-minded and accepting we are? Actually, we're just covering all the bases. I've seen pictures of God. He wears long, white flowing robes. There is a 50/50 chance he's a cross-dresser and is batting for the other team. I'm not takin' any chances.

Anyway, it got all hot and smokey in the bar so I went out on the balcony to cool off. The only place to sit was at a table with a bunch of gay boys. Seeing how I was having some difficulty with vertical I chose to invite myself to sit with them. They were quite welcoming. Well, until I asked "THE QUESTION." I have wondered this for quite some time. Unfortunately none of the gay boys would give me an answer. If any of you out there have an answer please, please respond. It's making me almost as batshit crazy as Britney.

If gay boys like boys then why do they dress up like girls to attract other gay boys? AND...if gay girls like girls then why do they dress up like boys to attract other gay girls?

I know! I don't get it either!

OH - and for the record - don't get all pissy about the God is a cross-dresser thing. Seriously? You haven't met him either so just get over it already.

OH - and for the other record - I could care less about your sexual orientation. I just wonder about that whole drag/butch thing.

Moving on again...

Do you know what is funnier/sadder/scarier than Eric playing World of Warcraft all night? Listening to him talk to other gamers on the "chat channel" while he plays and getting undeniable proof that there is truly an unlimited number of geeks that play World of Warcraft all night. Seriously people? It's called a life. Some people really like having one.

Oh wait. I blog. Regularly. Could it be? That? I? Don't? Have? A? Life? Either?

No. Nah....I think Sunday's hangover proves that I have a life. It may end with my pickled liver reaching up into my esophagus and choking me until I find myself lying at the feet of an angry, non-cross-dressing God, but at least it was a life. Of sorts.

Oh yeah - some folks were asking for a picture of my wrist tattoo so here it is. This is an actual tattoo and not a brand or a scar. It was done in a tattoo parlor, with a tattoo needle and WHITE tattoo ink. It is on the inside of my right wrist.

And - to end my post on a happy, joy, joy note. Here are a few new pictures of the greatest kid on the planet...

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Deportation with a side o' grape

OK - so I have this rule where I never, ever blog about work. It's sacred. It's protected. It''s the way I pay my mortgage so I figure it's probably best to keep my deviantly sarcastic side far, far away from the possibility of my (gasp) boss reading it. Today, however, I will be blogging about work.

Deep breath.


So I went to Seattle on Tuesday to meet with one of my clients. It was a scheduled trip and I go fairly regularly so my expectation was a nice meeting, some business discussion and a fabulous dinner. This particular client is a blast to hang out with and dinner is quickly reduced to too much wine and a fair amount of giggling.

The problem with this trip is that it also had a serving of deportation, a heaping helping of legelese and a dash of ghetto somalier. The upside was the fact that I got to wash it down with a big ole' glass of grape.

Let's see if I can explain without really to frame story without admitting fault...WAIT! I got it! Pretend I am talking to my husband about lack of funds in bank account...

My company has a business relationship with an individual from Holland who has been helping us with a client in Seattle. After much legal advice seeking we bring said business person into US and he begins his consultination/consultivities/consultyness and all is right with the world. Flash forward to last returns to US from holiday in Holland only to be detained at US customs. I get phone call. Panic and much frantic drinking ensues. Monday arrives - many calls to attorney. One attorney becomes two attorneys. Attorneys disagree. Chose to listen to attorney who seems most lucid - granted that means he is also most likely more expensive, but throw caution (and yearly budget) to the wind due to feelings of guilt.

Fly to Seattle. Passportless Consultinator kindly picks me up at airport. Go directly to Starbucks. Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200 (even though I could really use the money to pay for upcoming lawyer bills). Conference call with Consultinator and new, lucid attorney. Get informed that halting deportation is impossible. Scan room for nearest door. Remember I don't have car. Resign self to fate. Pray for alcohol. Angry Consultinator unceremoniously drops me at client offices 3 hours early for client meeting. Sit in lobby with no internet connection playing FreeCell on laptop in attempt to self-medicate.

Meeting time arrives. Discuss business. Shake hands. Meeting over. Meet car and driver (oddly enough WAY cheaper than cab) for ride to hotel. Get in backseat, put on earphones, close eyes for short trip to downtown Seattle. Open eyes in Everett. Inform driver he just drove half an hour in the wrong direction. Close eyes.

Check into hotel. Check email. Raid mini-fridge. Change for dinner.

The client picked the Metropolitan Grill for dinner. It is a fabulous steak house and I am very excited because I haven't actually gotten to eat there. We get our table and are promptly greeted by our waiter. He looks like Vin Diesel. Only heavier. With a beard. And a Brooklyn accent.

"Welcome to The Met. What can I getcha to drink?"

ME: "Wine. I need wine."
CLIENT: "She really needs wine."

"Whatcha celebratin'?"

ME: "I got somebody deported today."
CLIENT: "She's not kidding."

"Really? Just one?

ME: "Day ain't over yet."

At this point I ask about a particular wine and our waiter informs us that he will need to get the somalier to answer our questions. Let me pause at this point to insert the descriptive commentary from one of my fabulous co-workers. It really sets the stage well:

"Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about. A NICE dinner. As she’s telling me this story, I envision a thin man with a pensive look in black turtleneck, black jacket. You may think of a European woman who’s been in the back listening to Zazie. I could go so far as to even conjure up a Hemingway-look with a hint of pipe."

OK - you know - a SOMALIER. These guys are slick and polished and...well...FRENCH or something.

Nope. Not MY somalier. Here's how it goes:

S: "You have questions about the wine?"

ME: "Um...yeah. Can you tell me about the Wolf Blass Shiraz?"

S: "Oooohhh. Ah man, dat's a good one. Yeah. It's all, like, fruity."

ME: "Fruity?" I am SOOOOO dubious at this point. "Is it spicy?"

S: "Naw. It ain't all dat spicy. You'll like it. You can taste it. Let me getchyoo sum. It's off the hook." (Somalier exits stage left)

I look at client. Client looks at me.

ME: "That didn't exactly go the way I envisioned."

CLIENT: "No. Not so much."

ME: "Look like we gonna be poppin' the cork and bustin' up wit sum grape up in here. Yo." (Throw gang sign)

As a sidebar - the wine was very good. Full bodied. Not too spicy. Went GREAT with both the filet AND the molten chocolatey thing we ordered for dessert.

Sunday, January 6, 2008

Yeah - Elmo scares the crap out of me, too.

I don't know what I did wrong in the last 5 years, but my 5-year old's favorite television show isn't Winnie the Pooh or Sesame Street. Nope. That would be too...well...NORMAL.

No. Not my kid. Not in THIS family. This family? We don't do normal. So, in an effort to continue with the family tradition of not so much with the normal - my kid's favorite television show is Ghost Hunters.

So, as I type this we are watching a marathon of Ghost Hunters episodes that we Tivo'd over the last few weeks. Eric and I are sitting in our recliners and Drew is sitting in my lap. About two episodes in he fell asleep in my arms so Eric carefully moved him to the couch.

Now - this is the part where I give you a short description of our house layout. You enter the garage, through a door and into the laundry room. The laundry room opens to a hallway with a bedroom to your right and a bathroom to the left. That short hallway leads directly into the living room. From the couch you can see down the hallway to the backdoor.

I tell you that to tell you this:

The minute Drew is moved to the couch he wakes up. He sits up, looks at me with those enormous brown eyes and says, "Mom, I don't like sitting on the couch when we watch Ghost Hunters."

"Oh Drew. I can reach out and touch you from where I am sitting. You are fine. Just lay still and try to go back to sleep."

"But Mom. When we watch Ghost Hunters that hallway freaks me out."

I suppose I should make him watch Sesame Street instead, but that Big Bird character is WAY scarier than ghosts. It might just make things worse.

As a side note: Drew isn't afraid of Big Bird so much. His nightmare nemesis? Elmo.

I think it's all the giggling.