Friday, July 30, 2010
So, the owner's of Dave's kickass real estate office (word up, Live Urban!!!!) took all of their employees and their families to the Rockies game yesterday. I didn't think I was going to be able to go but at the last minute was able to pull it off. We went and grabbed some lunch at a tragically hip NW Denver Mexican joint before the game and as I'm sipping my margarita I said to Dave (delightedly), "Oooooh!!!!!! I feel like I'm playing hooky!!!!". He turns and looks at me and says, "From WHAT?????" Uhhhhhh........I do lots of stuff!!!!! Like, like.......go to Pilates! Take THAT!!!!! I go for lots of walks too. It takes a lot of work to hold your shit together at my advanced age. And I go to the pool and I go grocery shopping and I......I......well, I do stuff. Like this here blog. I do THAT!!!!! But I missed yesterday. 'Cause I was playing hooky. Sorry. Oh, and I also TAKE CARE OF A CHILD?????!!!!!!! Well, kind of. He's eleven and doesn't require a ton of supervision. And he's gone half the time anyway. But HE CAN'T DRIVE now, can he????? NO. So I drive his ass around. That's something I do. I'm an excellent driver. SO THERE, DAVE CHRISTIE. HAAAAAAA!!!!!!!! How you like me NOW??????? But now, after a day of respite, it's back to reality. Back to the ol' grind. The ol' salt mine. Yep. See ya at the pool.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
'Kay, so we're laying in bed this morning, kid in between us dog jumping all over the place and we're gathering ourselves for the day to come. As is our habit we were watching Good Morning America. That Sam Champion. What a scamp. I see a crawl that says, "Study finds that alcohol reduces painful symptoms of rheumatoid arthritis". Gee. Maybe I should be a scientist as I could have told you that! "Hellooooooo, everybody!!!!! Look at me!!!!! I'm drunk as a skunk and I feel like a million freakin' bucks!!!!!! WHEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!" What a concept. A mind-numbing depressant eases pain! Shit, I fell out of a (fortunately parked) car last Friday and didn't feel a thing. Popped right back up, I did! My back looks like I was run over but that's another matter altogether. Didn't hurt one bit at the time. Why do you think old timey cowboys drank a shot of whiskey before they had some random limb cut off out in a field? It's not called a "bracing shot" for nuttin'. Alcohol makes you funnier! It makes your friends funnier! And waaaaayyyyyyy more attractive. I'm drunk right now and I'm freakin' hilarious!!!! *MOM. I AM NOT ACTUALLY DRUNK. IT IS 10:30 IN THE MORNING. CALM YOURSELF* It also apparently helps your heart. It is a miracle panacea for all things, it appears. Alcohol for President! It certainly makes parties more fun. I remember being pregnant at a party and thinking, "Every single person I know is a freaking idiot". I was actually thinking about quitting until I saw this report this morning. It would be totally irresponsible to quit at this time as surely I have some crippling arthritis in my future. I already have it in my knee. I think what my doctor said was, "Be sure to stay drunk most of the time". Alrighty then! Doctors orders.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Nope. This one is not about me. I'm more of a "Hornitos Girl". Actually I'm a "Water Girl" right now as I am on a temporary booze hiatus. When your liver starts hurting it's time to wave the white flag. No mas tequila por favor. No mas booze. Let me start by saying that I am all for strip clubs. I even think that prostitution should be legalized. I am clearly not a prude and am obviously somewhat inappropriate. Or at least I'm told. That being said, I've got an issue on my mind and I freely welcome feedback on this. Our club (let's just call it "American Country Club") had it's big "Member/Guest" tournament this past weekend. It's like a Thursday, Friday, Saturday thing. The guys apparently party it up and it's popular event. Didn't hear anything too terribly crazy about this one. Typical shit. I was at the pool (shocker I know) yesterday and somebody said, "Did they have those GIRLS there this year???" A couple of years back they apparently had some of those scantily clad "Coors Light Girls" or some such thing and there were some people that were none too happy about this. I said that I really didn't think they did that this year. Oh. But I was wrong. Apparently they had the "Cuervo Girls" there. They were serving tacos (touche) and margaritas outside of the two bathrooms we have on the course. 'Cause, you know......bathrooms and food go together like peanut butter and jelly. Normally this would be a "whatever" for me. Men like boobs. Shit, I like boobs. I like mine just fine. Boobs are a beautiful thing. Let me state for the record that I did not see these girls. For all I know they may have been wearing Burqas and that there was not a glimpse of cleavage in sight. Somehow I don't think so. But I'm just sayin' that I didn't see 'em. I am assuming however that there was some display of flesh as I heard that they were attracting a crowd. I don't think it's because of the delicious tacos. Or maybe it was. Here's my deal: if you want the T & A, don't do it in the middle of the day where people are walking and driving around and kids are riding their bikes. Both of these locations were smack in the middle of our neighborhood. Not deep on the golf course. And frankly, I think it's kind of tacky. If you're going to a strip club, you're going to see naked women. Everybody there is looking for that. At a private country club, I don't think that you expect to see scantily clad girls unless they're on the tennis court. Shit man, I've received dirty looks from old bags because my fucking GOLF SKIRT was too short. I'm sure they'd just love the Cuervo Girls. I think there's a time and a place and I'm not positive that this was the right one. I think you expect this at a muni-tournament but not at a private club. As my dad said, if it's a Men-only club, that's cool but when you've got women and kids milling about it's just kinda declassse. Says the girl that drinks and swears. Opinions please.
Monday, July 26, 2010
So I'm at the pool and a couple of my friends were discussing where to go for an upcoming 40th birthday party. Sounded like the birthday girl was not looking for something totally obvious like Vegas. Can't say I blame her. I freaking HATE Vegas with the flaming passion of my race. You know what they say about those fiery Scots/Irish!!!!! Actually we're probably more likely to puke on your shoes than fly into a passionate rage but that's another issue altogether. Anyway, these girls somehow came up with wine country. Wine country is cool if you're looking for a mellow celebration. I get this. What I don't get is Bed and Breakfasts, which was brought up as a possible form of accommodation. I would rather be forced to sit through Siegfried and Roy with a group of conventioneers in a continual loop than stay in a Bed and Breakfast. I would rather be trapped in the fucking Carousel of Progress in Disney World. Wait. That actually happened. Okay, it's a toss-up between the Bed and Breakfast and the Carousel. First of all, the sort of people that decide to open B and B's attract the sort of people that want to stay in them. I do not get any of them. Unless they're gay men and then we can hang. I love me my gays. We're talking the tea drinking, chintz decorating, straw hat wearing ilk. That like to chat. I don't think so. When I'm on vacation, I want a nice, private room. I don't want a brass bed, I don't want doilies, I don't want tea and I don't want to talk to you. Which means I REALLY, REALLY do not want to have breakfast with you. What if I was at some resort, enjoying my freshly squeezed orange juice and oh.....THE PEOPLE I CHOSE TO VACATION WITH and the manager comes up and pops a squat and wants to start chatting about his family? I DON'T CARE AND I WANT YOU TO GO AWAY. Half the time I don't like talking to people I DO know so being forced to make idle chit-chat with complete strangers I will (hopefully) never see again is SO not on my bucket list. Shouldn't any self-respecting vacationer be too hungover to come downstairs (in some strangers house no less) freshly showered and wearing a nice pair of freshly pressed dockers (with shirt tucked in) or some permanent press (perfect for travel!) sundress? I'm more of the "Jesus H. Christ, what happened last night" kinda gal. That's how my vacations roll. Just say "no" to the B and B. For me.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
It occurred to me recently that just as every neighborhood has its share of Peytonian drama, every village also has an idiot. Or idiots as the case may be. I think you have all heard about "Speedbump Alley" which is the only form of access/egress to my neighborhood. The folks that purchased real estate on either side of this main thoroughfare did so willingly, I think. I doubt the real estate broker had a bunch of sod and prancing wildlife installed for the showing and then had it all rolled back up as soon as the ink on the closing docs was dry. It is a ROAD, people. Cars. Vroom, vroom!!!!! Anyway, the existing speed bumps were apparently not sufficient to satisfy the fist-shaking, dirty look hurling homeowners. Nope! They contracted a cracker-jack paving company to not just repave the road but make the speed bumps bigger!!!!! Several broken windshields and jacked suspensions later, summer was once again upon us. And the road started melting. Literally. Oozing, really. Bring on the paving company! To throw gravel all over it! So that now you can't see the speed bumps at all! My out of town visitors arriving today are going to be in for a big-ass surprise when they are ejected from the seats of their rental car. So anyway, I realized while up north that Speed Bump Alley has a sister city of sorts. It's what is known in my family as the "Cone Zone". The Cone Zone is a part of the lake wherein the cottages are separated from their lake frontage by, drumroll please, a ROAD!!!!! This road was not constructed so that your inbred offspring could sit in the middle of it with their grubby little fingers up their respective nostrils. I'm pretty sure it was for CARS!!!!! These folks have all manner of cones, little hat wearing, flag bearing plastic yellow people admonishing us to "SLOW DOWN", etc., etc., placed all over the road. For the record let me state that it is virtually impossible to travel over the posted 25 mph speed limit. This road is barely wide enough for one car to pass let alone two. Therefore I particularly resent it when somebody is giving me the stink-eye for doing what I need to do to get home, which is dare to drive on the public road they chose to live on. Strangely, I'm somewhat of a rule-follower and really do drive slowly. I don't want a "Coney" in my grill. Strangely, my mother, who looks all sweet and innocent, is a bit of a rebel soul. She has gone so far as to attempt to not just run over the cones but boisterously encourages passengers to open their doors as they pass to knock the shit out of the little flag people. She has also been the ringleader in planned (but never executed......as far as YOU know) late night missions to to deface and or toss all offending conery into the lake. That Grandma.......what a cheeky monkey!!!! Anyway, the bottom line is that these muthascratchas need to take responsibilty for their decisions. I live on a golf course. I know there is a chance my house may be pelted by golf balls. I live in Colorado. I know that it will snow. You live on a busy road. There will be cars. So quit your bitchin'.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
I live in a neighborhood in the foothills West of Denver. To protect the innocent, I will not name it. If you live here, you know where you are. At least I hope you do. Sometimes I'm not completely sure but that's another issue altogether. If you don't, use your imaginations. According to my mother, however, there are no innocents in the immediate vicinity. Mom: "Goobie!!!!! I wish you would move!!!! Your neighborhood is like Peyton Place!!!!!" First of all Mom, even if I wanted to up and leave, I've got uh.....TWO houses here???? One of which I have rented out for two more years??? AND then there's the whole selling at the bottom of the market thing. Shit there are people trying to GIVE things away and there aren't any takers. Not to mention that I've got just about every penny I have wrapped up in these places. Second is the fact that I LIKE LIVING HERE. I HAVE LIVED HERE FOR TEN YEARS. MY SON DOESN'T REMEMBER LIVING ANYWHERE ELSE. He has friends he's had since he was less than two years old. They hang out at the pool together. They come over and knock on the door and ask him to play. People know who he is and look out for him. Just like we all look out for one another's kids. It's an awesome neighborhood. Red rock formations, a golf course, people I like. Sure, there are people I don't like and some that don't like me. It's essentially a small town. With all of the accompanying drama. And yes, some of it involves me. Which may be part of the equation. That being said, there are little dramas and "Peyton Places" in every neighborhood you can imagine. It's called "human nature". There is no economic barrier to drama and rascally antics. Inner city? Drama. Multi-million dollar country club neighborhood? Drama. Particularly if you are not standing on the sidelines. I am not a sideline kinda chick. I'm out there and in the mix. Alternately being helpful and causing trouble. I'm all about the balance. Throw a match on an incendiary situation and run? Balanced by my collection of good works. In fact, I think such things as "Peyton Place" are so ingrained in us as human beings that it keeps coming up in our popular culture, which is usually an aggrandized or exaggerated snapshot of reality. "Wisteria Lane" ring a bell with anybody? Thought so. Maybe we don't have a Nicolette Sheridan sort running around seducing all of the menfolk.......oh wait......maybe we do. But you know what I'm getting at. You can't escape this stuff. You put it out there and some shit is going to hit the fan. I'd rather live life to the fullest and take my lumps as they come. I'm a work in progress and I don't think where I live has any bearing on the things that happen to me 'cause they'd probably happen no matter where I was. I could probably attract trouble in a refrigerator box. So, God willin' and the creek don't rise. I'm staying put. On Peyton Place. Or Wisteria Lane. Now I'm going to find Susan and Bree and drink some wine and kibbitz about our neighbors.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
While rooting around in my utensil drawer for the pizza cutter (I am rather OCD and will eat only Subway or a Lean Cuisine pizza for lunch) I came across a set of measuring spoons and was reminded of a story I meant to share but it got lost somewhere in the madness that is my life. Some of you may recall that I went to a wedding in Arizona last month. Great time, my boob popped out of my shirt, blah, blah, blah. A typical Friday night, right? So, the next day, the family of the bride hosted a brunch for the families. They had a girl there singing that was one of those, "dude, how are you not famous" types. Amazing but completely beside the point. The point is, we're sitting on the patio with the quite literally glowing bride and my mother-in-law (Mother Bradford to those of you in the know) says, "Oh, you look so happy.......you're in for a big let-down". We all about choked. And the poor bride got these huge eyes and had a look of general shock about her person. It's like, MB......WE all know that life becomes a living hell in the long-run of married life but part of being in the Secret Society is that YOU DON'T LET THE NEWBIES IN ON IT. Otherwise, we'd be a dying breed!!!!! It's the same reason I didn't watch the childbirth videos. I would have never had sex! There are certain things ya just don't talk about. So anyway, back to the utensils in question. The newlyweds gave us all these really cute little silver, heart-shaped measuring spoons as a favor. They say things like "a pinch of happiness" and "heaping spoonful of love". My brother-in-law Skippy and I took one look at them and almost fell out of the car as we were driving away.......they should say "a pinch of doom", "a heaping spoonful of resentment", "a dash of I hate you" and "a sprinkle of YOU RUINED MY LIFE". But that's okay. We'll let them be hopeful. Sssshhhhhhh.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Yikes.....I haven't posted since June 21st, huh? And don't think I haven't been yelled at. My dad, my best friend, my husband are all pissed because I lose readership when I don't post. Imagine that. And friends I haven't seen in 20 years have written to say that surely Jack or Grady have done something entertaining in recent days. Well of course they have. I've been on vacation and while I haven't been writing, I've been thinking. Deep Thoughts is pretty frustrating because it gets pretty crazy readership (not that you guys are crazy.....although I'm sure some of you are slightly off balance) but crazy from a numbers standpoint. My issue is how to take it to the next level. So I've spent the last couple o' weeks pondering that very fact. There will be some changes made in the coming weeks and months that I hope will take my ramblings to a wider audience. But you guys can say you were first. Yay, you. And I promise I will start posting once a day again, you will get WTF for dinner on Thursday (I may actually start working on a cook book for the boozy.....I mean busy.....mom about town) and you may see some added features if I am too addled to come up with 'em. So thanks for your patience, peeps! I genuinely appreciate you visiting. Keep it up and tell your friends. Okay, now some snippets from my vacation Up North with Jack at my parents cottage:
Dad, when discussing the blog: "You know, I think you're making a BIG mistake by having that God Damn bag on your head. You're a decent looking person". Me: "Gee thanks, Dad......what a compliment!!!!" Dad: "What am I going to say? You're my daughter." Ummmm, I'm still not sure how to take that one other than that I should probably call the chick from Napoleon Dynamite that does the glamour shots.
Rainy Day Incident: Mom and I grow weary of the inclement weather "I'm bored! I'm bored" (wait.......that might have been me......maybe it was mom that had grown weary) and dispatched ourselves to the local bowling alley with Jack. The "Northern Lights Recreation Center" is over in Harbor Springs. It's not really your conventional bowling alley but it works. The problem is that there aren't that many lanes and apparently the whining was rampant throughout Northwestern Michigan and everybody had the same idea. We were told that it would be about 45-minutes for a lane. Alrighty then. Fortunately there's an arcade. My mom gave Jack ten bucks, nine of which he immediately dumped into the bane of my arcade existence, the freakin' CLAW MACHINE. I hate those things. For $9 he came up with a lead-laden 3-inch penguin with scary eyes and a bow tie. Joy. So having exhausted that minor amusement inside of ten minutes, we ventured outside of the arcade. Fortunately in the interim, Grandma had produced two vodka and tonics from the adjoining "Sassy Loon Saloon". Yay, Grandma. Oh, and some popcorn. We set ourselves up at a little table and pondered our next move. Oh look! There's a punching bag game! Grandma produces another couple of bucks and Jack and I saunter over. Jack inserts the money. We cannot, rocket surgeons that we are, figure out to start the fucker. I'm looking at the directions and it says, "Press Start". Okay, fine dumbass but WHERE IS START?????? Wait.....wait......this might be it........and I press a button. The punching back, which was on an arm and remains in a raised position until engaged (by pushing start, natch) comes downs AND.......hits Jack squarely in the face. I was laughing so hard that I couldn't even determine if he was okay for the first few seconds. As it turned out, he too was laughing. My mom was practically on the ground as were many other passersby. God.
Michigan Militia: Those of you who are my facebook friends likely saw the pictures of my mother with the gun. We're sitting out on the patio having cocktails and playing Mexican Train when my mom, freshly home from golf at the club and attired as such says, "BILL!!!!! Where's your gun??????" Inexplicably he tells her (it's just a pellet gun......my family is smart enough to know that we shouldn't be trusted with the real deal.....the pellet gun probably poses danger enough) and she starts shooting into a tree. Seems some birds were causing her consternation and she wanted to scare them off. There's just something strangely disturbing about a sixty-something woman in golf clothes looking down the cross-hairs of a gun and letting her rip. Go, mommy......go.
Adventure at Sea: My very oldest friend came up with her kids for an evening over one weekend. The kids, being kids, wanted to go tubing. It was pretty cute......her 13-year old son and 11-year old daughter and Jack, all on one big tube. My dad was giving 'em a pretty good ride......Jack was bounced off a couple of times and I think Alex went flying once. Well, they didn't seem to be showing much fatigue and wanted to keep going. So la, la, la.......tube, tube, tube, CLUNK. My dad and I look at each other kinda wide-eyed. WTF? NO, we did not run out of gas. Something is seriously wrong with the boat. Shit. Get the kids in. Double shit. We're almost out of beer. Swimming for shore was ruled out as there was a great deal of boat traffic that day and the chance of being chopped into chum by a boat engine was looking good. Okay, so that's out. Dad suggested that eventually we would be blown home. Looked in the cooler. "Eventually" was not an option given our "supplies". Jack starts bellowing, "EVERYBODY PANIC!!!!! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE". Yeah......probably Jack. I can see both the house and the country club from where we floated. It's not like we were in the vast Bearing Sea. But then I started bellowing, "EVERBODY PANIC!!!!!!!! WE'RE OUT OF BOOZE!!!!". As things were starting to look pretty serious, we started waving down other boaters. "NO, dumbass.......we are NOT saying 'hi'. We need help!!!!!" At a certain point I offered to take off my shirt (as long as my dad turned around) but was informed that we didn't want to scare people away. Waaaaahhhhh. FINALLY, a little fishing boat with an outboard motor, a shirtless fisherman and his wife came to our rescue. I somehow made it from our boat onto theirs without losing my dignity and they delivered me over to our dock wherein I was yelled at by mom for not having brought my phone as that would have saved us alot of trouble. Well, duh. So, mom comes down and maneuvers the little Whaler skillfully to the big boat and we somehow get it tied up a tow it in. Grandma saves the day!!!!!! Having been sufficiently rattled by our brush with death, I believe we all retreated to the safety of the porch and enjoyed some bracing cocktails. That was a squeaker.
Well, readers, lots more happened that I'll share with ya but that's about enough for today. Shit, things have happened even since I've been back in the hood. I'll start putting 'em out there as they happen. At least the things I'm allowed to talk about. Stupid people and their bizarre need for discretion! Whassup with THAT?