Ouch, Stop! That's My Kidney!

I know this really big crazy dude. His name is, get this... Life. Horrible name, right? His mother obviously HATES him. She took one look at his big headed, ugly mug and was all, "well isn't that just life?"

Life kinds of stomps around and has tattoos. He wears big heavy combat boots and says things like "I'm loco, esse." Which is weird, I think he listened to too much Cypress Hill and House of Pain in the 90's.

Life is kind of cool, because you know, you can hang with Life at parties and drink a 40. Life picks on you and gives you noogies that jack your hair all up, but the second someone else picks on you, Life does one of two things:

A) He either comes back and punches that bitch in the lady box

or

B) He turns around and punches you in your lady box and tells you to suck it up and quit being such a fucking titty baby

Life? Well, he's kind of a dick. And if you don't have a lady box then watch your nuts. He's a crazy swinger.

Currently he and his friend, Coincidence, are taking turns kicking me in just one of my kidneys. The other they are saving for when they are drunk and angry. They think of me as kind of a little biological punching back.

Life and Coincidence totally, and I mean completely, underestimate me. Because guess what I just did?

I waited until they passed out and then? I tied them up in their bedsheets and beat the crap out of them with a baseball bat and then I yelled, "suck it!" I also airpunched, but that is neither here nor there.

Life and Coincidence may never respect me, but that is fine. Because I'm gonna kick their bitch asses.

Me and this big set of balls I just grew are gonna go and swing them around and pretend like we own the joint now.

Mostly because somebody just lit a fire under them. My balls that is.

This was weird.

Subtlety Was Never My Strong Suit And Do I Have Excess Spit Or What?

As I promised, here is video of me awkward talking. Things you might notice in this video:
1) You can see the really cool combination of flat and fuzzy that my hair takes on when I've been standing out in the misty rain because my car wouldn't start.

2) I seem to have some kind of a salivating problem because I swallow an awful lot.

3) I just said swallow an awful lot.

4) I'm obviously NOT a hipster. Mostly, because I drive a foreign four-door sedan and then because there is a car seat in the back seat. Also? I only drink PBR when it's a dollar at the local bar. Oh and I hate righteous microbrews and look horrible in skinny pants. I do wear Chuck Taylors but I've done that since I was 14. My hair is never artfully messy and if I look glazed over it's because I might not be very bright. Bleach has evidently done something to my brains and made my insides a dark, dark place. And that's okay.

It's okay because I don't act righteous and then go around getting all up in everyone's face and making comments about how hateful people below the Mason Dixon line are. I love my Southern buddies. Also? I don't go around telling people how awesome I am and exactly why they should pay me, nor do I keep everyone else to a standard I can't seem to maintain myself. Oh and I talk about finger banging so you know, it's got to be interesting at least.

Because Sometimes My Email Is As Freaky A Place As My Mind

I'm all frisky this morning just like my five pound Yorkie Poo after she gets groomed. Probably because my hair is nearly the lightest shade of platinum I could muster without turning it blue (actually it was blue for a moment), and I'm back to my awesome bangs. I couldn't handle that side swept, get a hair cut already, bullshit I was sporting.

What I'm saying is my ass is wagging around like I just found a ball I totally forgot about under the couch and it's the coolest shit EVER!

Also, I came into some fantastic email love from Miss Yvonne and sometimes you realize you can touch someone's life even if the entire state of Oklahoma separates you from them. Check it:

Depeche Mode came on XM this morning on my way to work and it made me think of you, and then right after that Billie Idol's Dancing with Myself came on. For reals. I was air punching the shit out of my drive today. It was like you were there, except you weren't and I was by myself shoving my fist into the air and curling my lip and then the lawn guys at my office saw me and started laughing and I was all "fuck you, lawn guys! You don't even know how cool I am...I'm Miss Yvonne, assholes!" and then I did a double air punch just to spite them.

And, you know that touches me in a special place I call my heart. It's like feeding little hungry children and shaking hands with lepers. Only the kids are still hungry and there isn't enough hand sanitizer in the world to make me touch those zombie freaks.

It's okay, lepers don't have feelings so don't get all crazy on me.

Inside of the little oasis that is known as my email is also an email exchange I had with the Dirty Pirate Hooker, in which I offer up some fantastic parenting advice she in no way actually asked for:

DPH: Omg, my kid is Hitler this morning. I refuse to sieg heil.

Me: Well you should, or she's probably going to rape you and throw you in the gas chamber and that would be all kinds of wrong.

DPH: I'd take a violent rape and gas chamber over her attitude today.

Me: Holy shit. What the fuck is the matter with you?

DPH: I don't know. I haven't had enough coffee yet.

Me: Well apparently. You're kid is a tool of the devil. Pretend like you don't even notice.

DPH: I wish I could video her rants in the morning and show her why I'm a drunk in 10 years.

Me: Can't you just get her up from bed at like 10:00 at night and show her that you're a drunk now?

Oh you said show her WHY! My bad.

And that is why I'm watching episodes of In Treatment lately. I need to brush up on listening/advice giving skills.

The moral of today's story. If you send me an email, it might just make it to my blog. Actually, more than likely it will. My life is a little on the slow side. And, if we're all not careful, our kids are going to get video of us looking like David Hasselhoff with a cheeseburger.

I Did That Thing Where You Tell Someone About Your Blog And Then They Have To Read It

I do this thing when I get drunk and tell people about my blog. And then I always regret it the next day. The good news is THIS TIME, I don't regret it at all. My friend Tiffany is going to be reading and I'm sure SHE will regret that shit soon.

But I know her husband and I know that she has a lot more to regret in life than this.

However, she's probably going to be confused about a few things.

Let me provide a little key to reading my blog. I write about a few things a lot.

Zombies - I have a weird fascination with zombies. She'll understand, she knows Mr. Boom's when he's been drinking.

Robots - They are crazy cool and when they take over the world I want to be on their good side.

Shivs - When robots take over the world, or I end up in prison because of something Jason has done, I will want to be as schooled on shivs as possible. So I talk about those a lot. I'm still not down with how to keister stash one though.

Joaquin Phoenix - I don't know. He's just really weird and cool. That's all.

Teen Wolf - Teen Wolf will be saving the world when the robots take over. It's the only explanation for why Teen Wolf has had a resurgence and this is the Year of Teen Wolf.

Air-punching - It's the universal signal for kicking fucking ass. Who doesn't get this?

Being a rail riding, breakdancing hobo who is a master of skullfuckery - Wow, that's kind of a long story.

Billy Idol - The king of air-punching.

Saying things about Jesus that are bad.

Other random things:

Kenny Rogers
Foreigner
Journey
Wolf Nuggets
Monster Squad
Nards
Mr. T

You know, looking over this list I now realize there is no real help for me. My mind is a strange and dark place. Which is mostly okay by me, but if you're reading my blog and enjoying it, you are screwed.

Nefarious Acts Committed Under The Cover of Darkness

I now present you with a dramatically drawn hypothetical reenactment of alleged activities, supposedly committed under the cover of darkness, theoretically.



[Close Scene]

I Crushing Your Head Because Lassos and Invisible Jets Are Played Out

I lay in bed, working and stretching out all of the kinks that always work themselves up overnight and hang around until my medicine kicks in about an hour later. So I stretched and did the very same thing I've done every morning since I was a little girl.

I reached my arm out and took my fingers and did the "I crushing your head" move to something across the room.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, well... You need to check your freaking life. You've fucked up somewhere along the way.

So I lay there and I do things like pull my drawers open from across the room. And I pick up things that are on the shelf, way over in the bathroom. I even do it with my foot and kick imaginary holes in the wall. I can actually see the sheet rock crumbling.

And that's when I realized that this? THIS? Would be the most awesome super power EVER!

I just don't know what to call it when I finally get asked what super power I'd liked to be assigned. I kind of think I just made it up.

I am, however, absolutely positive that if a hipster was going to have a super power, this would be the one, because you haven't seen this before. And if you say that you have? You are a fucking liar. Or you spent a lot of time in Europe, whatever.

I Don't Know, Why Did I Call You A Douche? Opening Day Part 2

Beer in hand, Jason looked at me with a glimmer in his eye. I see the same glimmer in my son's eye, usually right before he guns his ball into my face. I shook my head at Jason. Don't you dare, just don't even.

He looked at me, looked at his beer, looked at Jeter. I think I saw fear in the eyes of our Yankee seat neighbors. Jason conceded. Jeter missed the Bud Light blood bath. Settling into our seats, Jason started yelling at Andy Pettite instead. "Cheater! You're a cheater!" Our mild mannered, Nebraska born seat mates looked shocked. I apologized again.

But soon, Johnny Damon was up to bat. I jumped up out of my seat, "How does it feel to shave your face for the devil, Johnny?" At that, the Yankees fans laughed at me and looked proud that Yankees have to be clean cut. I looked proud about my taunt.

The seat neighbors to the other side of us got up to head over to the party deck. We called my sister and told them to head over to the seats. More beer and jalapeno laden nachos magically appeared. My sister and I scrambled for the jalapenos and took huge scoops of something they claim is cheese. I say it's delicious. When the peno's and most of the cheese was gone, we passed them back to the guys.

Before we knew it, the party deck goers came back. So we decided to roam the stadium. We checked out the kid's park, with their mini-soft pretzels. We marveled at the carousel and then jumped up and down on the soft material surrounding the jungle gym.

Soon we found our way to the outside of the new bar. But how to get in? Simply enough, I ducked under the rope. I was still half dangle-crouching under the rope when the cop grabbed my arm. He insisted we had to use the front entrance. However, he had a back and he had to turn it towards me eventually. When he did, I made my move, right in front of the bar employee, my sister and I swooped under the rope. Of course, my sister and her fiance know someone at the bar, right? Then Jason made his way under the rope. The only person left was Kurt, my future-bro-inlaw. Being over 6'5", it wasn't so easy to get him past the cop's backside.

A little finagling and the promise of phone numbers that belong to eighteen year old cheerleaders my sister coaches and soon the 19-year old bar employee was releasing the rope for Kurt.

We are all standing around, loud, drinking, being hilarious and suddenly these words are leaving my mouth, "that guy looks like a complete douche." Next thing I know the douche as has turned around and asked, "What did she just say?"

*This is where I have to stop and tell you this. We are obviously serious fans. When girls come to the games wearing mini-skirts, halters and stilettos, my sister and I laugh, hard. Because have you seen those girls navigate the stands? Right. They look at the games as magical husband finding land. The guy who just walked near me? Looking for those girls. I saw his hair before.... on Simon LeBon in 1986. His pink polo shirt and it's popped collar peeked out from beneath a brown blazer. No one had told this guy, he was at a baseball game.*

He looks at Jason and DanTim, who we had just met, "Did she just call me a douche?" Jason replies, "Why yes sir, I think she did!" He looks at me, "Why did you call me that?" I cannot help it, I laugh, "I don't know, why would I do that?" I look at my beer (you asshole beer). The guy still looks shocked, "No, really, why?" "Uh, actually I was talking to your shirt." He looks at Jason, "What?" "I think she's saying, your pink shirt and brown jacket belong to some douche that is at a baseball game." DanTim steps behind Jason, ready to back him up and defend him against douche shirt and Simon LeBon's hair. Simon Douche looks at Jason, looks at me, shrugs and moves on.

I don't think he knew. Good thing I told him.

At this point? I could regale you with the names of local sports celebrities that we came in contact with, but it would mean nothing if you don't live in KC. We watched the post game show, doing our best to distract the on-camera talent. And we did. Taking pictures with every part of the stadium that would stand still, we soon realized we were the last people in the stadium that didn't work there. On our way out, I realized I didn't have my camera. Back to the outfield side we raced, Jason coercing our way back into the bar, no cop to dodge this time, I made my staggering way to the bathroom to find my camera, that was no doubt, sitting on the counter. All of our Yankee hating memories sitting within that camera.



Out of the bathroom I came, camera in hand (because who would want to lose this gem?). Jason asked if it was in the bathroom, "Sure" I nodded. Out to the car we went to head to the neighborhood bar for beers and a Nacho pulling competition.

It was on the way to the bar that I revealed the camera had been in my pocket the whole time.

It's probably best to end it by telling you that I passed out talking to my mom at our kitchen table and got up to a doggy bag of nachos for breakfast and salsa all over the second jersey I wore that comprised my 6 layers of shirts for game day.

I'm Pretty Sure Billy Idol Knows Who I Am And Probably Thinks I'm Awesome

Sometimes when you profess your love for air-punching gods you get noticed. My righteousness is now a part of Billy Idol's history.

Billy? I'll be expecting a phone call.

And a signed picture.

Oh and lessons in air-punching.

I know this isn't a real post, but I'm sitting at home with a sick kid, watching the other guy who calls me his muse, Bruce Campbell, waiting for Joaquin Phoenix to call and tell me that he wrote the best hip-hop song that a hairy white-guy who has no business even saying the words hip and hop in the same breath has ever written and it is about me. And probably buying whole foods in bulk and firing his housekeeper because what else would he write about? Except maybe being a train jumping, breakdancing hobo. He's totally got that going for him.

My musiness knows no bounds.

Also? My kid has wiped his nose on every flat surface of the house this morning. So you know, I have that going for me.

Dancing With Myself AND Complete Abandon

I have absolutely no idea what it means when you find yourself air-punching with abandon, tears flowing from your eyes, dancing with yourself, letting the soulful sounds of Billy Idol flow over your entire being without care during Monday morning rush hour traffic, but that was exactly the situation I found myself in this morning and I liked it.

It was like the father of all that is air-punching crept into the back seat of my car and said, "Do it. Let yourself go!" And I did. I was air-punching and swaying. I was truly dancing with myself and I didn't care who saw me or what they thought. Drive on stuffed shirts, with your blue-tooths and crazy long to-do lists, it's just me and Billy in this car and we are making big things happen!

It felt reckless and dangerous and holy and religious all at the same time. I was in the temple of Billy and all that is Billy.

Last week I found myself in the Cradle of Love. After I was Dancing With Myself this morning, I was cruising the stations, trying to find something that would bring back what I had only just found. I found a moment of solace with Siouxsie Sioux and her Banshees going all Peek-a-boo on me and then it happened. Billy and I were having our White Wedding.

So here's to you Mr. Idol. You are victorious. You are all that is right in this world. You are truly the king of air-punching. Without you, my Monday morning would be just that. Another Monday morning.

Rock on, Billy. Rock on!

Sweat, sweat, sweat, sweat - AAAAAAAHHHHH!


PS Billy - If I ever find out you are locking love slaves in your house ala Rick James and Boy George, I will be highly freaking disappointed in you!

Milking It

And I know you were wondering what has sent me flipping and flopping over the deep end.

I'm not ready!

I'M NOT FREAKING READY!!!!

I Feel Weird...

Recently I've realized that I've been feeling really strange. Some of you might call it "manic" and still some of you may have referred to the fact that I might be "cracking the fuck up."

Whatever. You guys can be so mean.

But truly, I have been feeling weird and suddenly as I was driving back to my office from lunch with Jason today, it hit me.

I was sitting behind the wheel and I was all, "Wait, what is that? Is that what I think it is? Is that happiness? Yes, Yes, I think it is."

When I laugh, I'm feeling it on the inside rather than just laughing because it's what I'm supposed to do.

Suddenly it feels like there is life inside of me again. I don't feel like the soft underbelly of a raw nerve ending.

I feel alive.

And, I haven't felt this way in nearly 4 years. Not since Jadon died.

Much to my husband's chagrin, we suddenly remembered why everyone used to say that I reminded them of Dharma or Dharma reminded them of me, and let it be said that Jason is definitely the Greg to my Dharma.

So what appears to be me cracking up, is actually the first time I've been "normal" in so very long.

To celebrate this feeling, I have put together the BEST DRAWING EVER!

That's right, I went there.



Say it with me now! TADOW!

From The Legal Department

While checking my blog stats and referrals recently, I noticed this very nice lady gave me a ringing endorsement. And because "crazy" is not synonymous with uncaring, I instantly became worried for her and then for myself. Because sometimes crazy is a tad selfish.

I mean, here she is telling the world to read me all willy nilly. Has she thought about the implications of this? The potential law suits. The corruption and mayhem that could ensue?

So, because I was all wrought with worry for anyone linking to me, I consulted my legal team (me and a Sharpie) and we put together this warning or disclaimer, if you will. I encourage anyone who sends readers this way to think about posting this warning. If not for me then for the children. I'm not exactly sure which children I'm referring to, but children seem to need a lot of attention. And causes. People like causes for children. Especially hungry ones.

I get off on a little bit of a tangent about air-punching, which seems sort of extravagant AND I use the word twat and maybe even incorporate a zombie, but I'm pretty sure this will cover your ass in any court of law. And it's two pages because legal documents are supposed to be long. It makes them seem more important.




Notice the few places that I edited as well. Because editing happens in legal documents all the time. I even "borrowed" some language from those I consider to be brighter than me.

Oh and the "her" mentioned at the end is me. My husband calls me that.