Good Mollie!

I just remembered why I like cocktails. Drinking is fun! I like fun. Part of my problem is that I seem to labor under the impression that I am entitled to be having fun all of the time. BUT, as with all things, the chickens have come home to roost. Cluck, cluck. Hey, I just said an "uck" word that didn't start with "f"! Time to tidy up the act, dry out the affected organs and get ready to take on all comers. And NO that was not a reference to my obsession with Gilberto, our local sanitation engineer. As I've said before, as much as I like drinkin', I also like not drinkin'. My husband sums me up in a nutshell by stating, "With Mollie, there's the gas and there's the brake.....there is no in between". No cruise control, I guess. And he's right. I'm missing the "middle-ground" chip. It's on or it's off. I do not understand the meaning of moderation. Well, I understand the concept. I'm just not capable of pulling it off. And that goes for anything, good or bad. Hey, check out my obsessive exercise habits! That's healthy, right? Anyway, right now the horrible behavior is off. I'm kinda sick of my liver hurting. I think I've even heard it sobbing and hatching plans to run off to somewhere safe when it thinks no one is listening. You're safe now, little liver. Mommy's here. I don't know who that horrible woman was that was being so mean to you and subjecting you to sweat-shop like conditions but she's gone now. At least until the weekend.

Crash

Because I was so addled by PMS yesterday, I neglected to mention that something funny actually happened at Costco while Jack was driving the cart. Because he's a kid and is not a professional shopper like my own bad self, he rather unceremoniously crashed into several things which was largely responsible for the spike in my blood pressure. It was made alright by the fact that every time he did it, he'd say, "Whooaaaa.......Tiger Woods.......". Funny boy. Let's just pray that crashing into things is the extent of his Tigerian experience. I hope he doesn't end up man-whoring about and then bellowing "Tiger Woods!!!!" which apparently means, "I SAID I'm sorrry......GEEZ!!!!". Uhhhhhhh.........

Meow

Today is a Sunday I actually like. It's the last Lion's game of the season!!!!! Which makes NEXT Sunday and every Sunday after that until September downright tolerable! Unless you have walked in my long suffering shoes, you do not understand the depth of misery that accompanies living in a household with Lion's fans. During the season my emotions run the gamut. I admit I buy into the hope that accompanies the beginning of the season. Hey, we had a promising young QB this year! I'll bite. But as it grinds on (and on), I go from genuine pity for these poor saps (Jack and Dave.....no pity for the Lions themselves) to outright hostility at being continually subjected to this sham. My husband is by all accounts a reasonably bright man. It boggles the mind that year after mind-numbing, soul crushing year he comes back for more. Willingly. Like a freakin' puppy. "Hi Lions!!! I'm here!!!! I'm here!!!!! I love ya!!!!! Do ya love me? Pant, pant, pant!!!!!!" I believe he thinks he's being loyal. Watching this shit cannot possibly be entertaining so that's the only logical explanation. I find it to be more tragic than anything. My opinion is that a true Lions fan would stand up and refuse to participate until they pull their crap together and actually put out a reasonable product. I grew up in Detroit. I was a Lion's fan. Another One Bites the Dust......Billy Sims......it was somewhat entertaining. They could still be considered an actual football team back then. It ceased to be so many, many Honolulu blue moons ago. Put it this way......my son will be 11 this year. He has never seen a winning Lion's team. ELEVEN. Sadly, that doesn't even scratch the surface. It's called tough love, Davey........you know that thing about if you love something set it free, blah, blah, blah???? Set. It. Free. And then do some skeet-shooting. I know, I know......from the victory belly-bumping going on upstairs I assume that something good must be going on in the Lions Lair. Guess what? Doesn't matter. Bump on boys. Bump on.

One Mo' Time......

Hey......the geniuses behind Deep Thoughts (er.....me......) just figured out how to post a link that actually works!!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6w5Y05f0Lig

See Bob. Drool. You, not Bob.

An alert reader pointed out that I should have a shared a link to the glory that is Bob.  Enjoy!!!!  You're welcome.  Back to taking down Christmas tree while watching the Lions and regretting my vow of sobriety.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6w5Y05f0Lig

A Tale of Two Guys with One Syllable Names

I used to labor under the impression that romance was kinda dorky and sappy. I don't do sappy. "Oh I love you sooooooo much". Gag. And I can't stand people that are all over each other in public. Take it inside, lovebirds. Nobody wants to see that so get your tongue out of her mouth and your hand out of his back pocket and move it along. Your hand is not a comb and this is not 1976. Grossity-gross-gross-gross. Well, anyway these sentiments were all from my pre-Bob era which ended some two months ago. I now love romance. And I love Bob. Bob is Bob Schneider. He is an Austin based singer-songwriter. He makes me swoon. The fact that he's totally hot helps but it's really his lyrics that convinced me to cross over from the dark side and turn into a simpering female fawning at the lyrically majestic feet of Bob. And I'd stick my hand in his pocket for sure. Don't panic.....Dave is aware of my love for Bob. Dave is not threatened. Dave should be. I'm joking. Sorta. In his song 40 Dogs (Romeo and Juliet), Bob says,

Well if I spell it out, if I get it out
Will you hear me when I tell you about
What I have to say, before it gets too late?
It's not as easy as I said it'd be,
But there's something right about you and me,
Something right about you and me.


Again with the swooning........


Well you're the color of a burning brook,
You're the color of a sideways look from an undercover cop in a comic book
You're the color of a storm in June,
You're the color of the night, that's right,
Color of a fight-you move me
You're the color of the colored part of the Wizard of Oz movie. 

Okay.......let me just stop right there. Any man that tells me I am the color of the colored part of the Wizard of Oz movie has me willingly enslaving myself for life. God. Seriously. Thy name is Bob. Oh, but it gets better. Bob goes on to further charm the pants off of the ladies with THIS:

All the boys taking you for granted,
Tell you what they want with their eyes all slanted.
I don't like the way they look at you,
I don't like the way they talk to you.
I wouldn't let 'em talk to you like that.

Bob is defending our honor!!!!!! Hyperventilating.......he's a white knight!

You take the high and I'll take the low,
We'll get there before you know.
We ain't got no time to waste,
We got too much life to taste.


We're like Romeo and Juliet,
And 40 Dogs Cigarettes,
We're like good times that haven't happened yet but will.
And I can tell you where we're gonna be 
When the whole world falls to the sea:
We'll be livin' ever after, happily.

Fanning myself with Christmas card from the Brainer-Frederickson's and Tiger Woods and attempting to calm self......

Sometimes you remind me of a moonbeam,
Or the ghost of a moonbeam out on the beach,
Down by the coast, slip into Manila,
Like the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Oh, and he says that last line like he means it too.......Bob......I'm on my way......

Come out tonight, come out with me baby.
We'll throw the careful into the crazy,
Turn the sky black into a sky blue,
Turn the close shave into a woo-hoo.
What I say is true , make a fire, gotta burn a few,
Make a fire, gotta burn a few,
We can do what we want to do.


Yes, yes we can Bob. I love you. So anyway, I now love love. And romance and moonbeams and Bob, Bob, Bob. In fact I think I'm gonna go find Dave and stick my hand in HIS back pocket. Or stick something somewhere. Oh wait.....not so fast.....last I checked, Dave was standing on a stage singing a song called "Community Property". He did not write this song. A band called Steel Panther did. This may be why we are still married. The fact that he performs it speaks volumes however.  A little sample?

I would give you the stars in the sky
But they're too far away
If you were a hooker, you know
I'd be happy to pay
If suddenly you were a guy
I'd be suddenly gay


'Cause my heart belongs to you
My love is pure and true
My heart belongs to you
But my cock is community property


Yep. That's my guy!

I wanna make it clear
So you retain it
My dick's a free spirit
And you can't restrain it
No, you just can't chain it down


I love you so much it hurts
From my head to my feet
I think of you and I can't
Help but fondle my meat
I see your face every time
That I go out and cheat.....

Need I go on? Nope. On stage. My husband. Guy I'm married to. Jack's dad. I cannot contain my pride. Think I may burst. On second thought, I think I'm going to just go listen to Bob and go to my happy place.

Think Pink

I am a person that for some reason gets off on doing exactly the opposite of what she's supposed to do. I think meeting expectations is pretty lame unless it's in regards to parenting, wherein I would like to think I at least attempt to go above and beyond as Jack is the one thing I would really like to not fuck up if at all possible. Perhaps this attitude is why I think my taste in wine is so funny and frankly ironic. I'm not supposed to like cheap wine. I'm supposed to be able to discuss legs and tannins and acidity and depth. Well, I can't. And a vertical tasting to me means I'm drinkin' while upright. Not that I haven't been known to drink horizontally as well, 'cause I have. Nothin' wrong with a good old fashioned horizontal wine tasting if you ask me. I actually really like that my Sutter Home White Zinfandel consumption is shocking both in volume and in complete and utter bad taste. The reaction amuses me. "She drinks WHAT?!???" Ha. I didn't mean to be a consumer of trailer trash jug wine. Truly I didn't. As has been established, I was not raised in a barn. I like to think that my aesthetics in most things are actually somewhat refined. I'm an interior designer for Christ's sake. I must have good taste! Well, I've seen some rather jarring examples of how very often that is not the case but trust me. I know what I'm doing. At least I think I do. Uh-oh. Anyway, I like good food and good liquor and think I have a healthy respect for and knowledge of the cultural arts. I was in college for nine years (I have two degrees, so don't jump to conclusions although some of those conclusions are perfectly legit.....Toga! Toga!) so I like to think I know a little about a lot. I think I'm a reasonably well-spoken chick and I can hold my own in most discussions or at least bullshit my way out of them. I can only conclude that the more appalling my penchant for the Zin became to those who are of the judging ilk, the more I embraced it. And now it's just too late as I'd look like the kind of poser I can't stand if all of a sudden I rolled up drinking the good stuff. I don't mind people who come by their love of wine honestly. That's cool. I just don't like people who are snobs about ANYTHING, wine included. Be passionate about it! Just don't think it makes you better than others 'cause honestly, that's fairly insufferable. If that's all you've got in your bag o' tricks to feel good about yourself, I salute you with my cheap-ass wine in a big ol' Waterford glass. Again with the irony. Cheers!