Mommy & Me

21 Jun

My mom is quite the character. I feel I need to share with the world some of her quirkiness. Enjoy.

* I told her I saw Hangover II and that it was more or less the same plot as the first one, just in Bangkok this time. “Oh…because of the play on words?” she asked. No mom…and don’t make me think about you saying ‘cock’ ever again.

* One time, I went to my parents house after work. I got there to find my mother (who should have still been working) sitting on the couch in her pajamas, holding an ice pack to her cheek. “Mom…what happened?” I asked. I was hoping for a good bar fight story for a second before remembering this was my almost 60-year-old mother who hasn’t sauntered into a drinking establishment since at least 9 months prior to my birth in 1983. Still, I was expecting a decent story, since something had obviously happened and I hadn’t gotten a frantic phone call. “Oh you know, I just decided to make an appointment to get that molar extracted and didn’t want to make anyone worry, so I didn’t tell anyone. It does hurt a lot now though. They told me they were supposed to put me under anesthesia, but since I went alone they could only use Novocaine. So I basically felt the whole thing. I’m fine though.” She then proceeded to tell me that she “hadn’t thought about” the fact that she wouldn’t be able to eat for at least a day after this ordeal and had only eaten a yogurt all day. Way to plan ahead, Mom.
Lessons learned here: If you are having oral surgery, you need to plan a decent ‘Last Supper’ (which in my case would totally include ice cream, fried chicken, and nachos- don’t judge me- it could be days before the pain subsides!), and also a DD for when the doctor knocks your fat ass out.


Prom Reflections

26 May

The new movie, ever so ingeniously titled “Prom”, based on….wait for it….a high school prom, got me thinking about the horrific mess which was my own high school last hurrah. After watching the trailer of this new flick, I was anything but surprised to see that the main guy and main girl end up together in the end. I wouldn’t have been less surprised to see this ending if alligators started falling from the sky.

Now for most 17 and 18-year-olds, Prom turns into a veritable “Prom Season”, including months of preparation. New clothes, tanning, professionally coifed hair, and last but not least the making yourself sick trying to get the right date. Don’t get me wrong, I had quite a few friends in high school and a very active social life.  However my lack of skills in the boys’ category quickly left me in the dust behind most of my flirty and confidant friends.  With prom in the air, they all quickly claimed their territory with their boyfriend or crush-of-the-month. With my negative attitude about school functions running side by side with my complete lack of flirting ability, I was left to my own solo defenses.

Luckily, thanks to my penchant for weekend partying, I had made acquaintances in a few different social circles. A couple months before the big night, I schemed to play it cool with the “popular girls” who apparently thought they were too good for the stupid high school boys we were stuck with and had decided to all go stag. After a few weeknight hangouts which were heavy on the schmoozing, I was able to wedge myself right into their plan of party bussing to the local event facility (ok, so maybe they were planning on taking a ‘96 Honda Civic…but you get the picture).

When the week of prom rolled around, I was a nervous wreck due to my ever-present neurosis and thoughts that the whole thing would obviously somehow become a huge disaster. In doubtful preparation, I managed to fry my redhead skin in a tanning bed and spend the amount of a down payment on a starter home getting my hair done and buying a dress and jewelry that I would never wear again. I vowed to myself that if this really turned out as bad as I assumed it would, at least I would look the part.

When doom day arrived, I literally almost backed out last minute. In a last ditch effort to get it together, I locked myself in my bedroom for a private pep talk. I then proceeded to tell myself that if I didn’t go I would forever regret not attending this dance which was supposed to be the best night of my high school days. Also, there was a very big chance I would meet the man (boy) of my dreams there and fall madly in love in front of the chocolate fountain. Ok, so maybe not a BIG chance- seeing that there were only 144 kids in my graduating class and I had known every one of them since the age of 5. There was actually about a negative five percent chance of this happening, but hey- can’t a girl be delusional? I pulled it together and arrived at the red carpet in 2-door Honda coupe style.

Forty five minutes in, I came to the conclusion that the popular girls were just not my style any more than the Prom itself was. It was stupid to fake it any longer so I flitted around like a tardy Cinderella looking for my real friends. This resulted in me remembering why I didn’t go with them in the first place- they were all so attached at the hip with their guy-of-the-minute that they couldn’t even manage a conversation. Slow dancing and strobe lights were making me dizzy. Basically at this point I had spent the better part of an hour walking around alone like a loser. I threw in the towel and called my mom to pick me up, leaving in the lime light that only a Subaru wagon can bring.

However, as I previously mentioned, I did enjoy the occasional weekend fiesta, so I had brilliantly managed to get my friends to promise to call me with details of after parties. When I got home, I changed into normal person garb and waited for the phone to ring while thinking about how I was going to be single and lonely for the rest of my life. At this point, both my parents felt bad because I was sitting home on Prom night, so they gave me a one night only offer where I could go out with no questioning or curfews. Five minutes later a friend picked me up and we proceeded to bounce from party to party all over town. Now as any high school student with no curfew, I thought it would be a great idea to drink about half my body weight in vodka and fruit punch for the next few hours in a vain attempt to make up for the lack of enjoyment Prom had thrown my way. It actually was pretty great- until I began throwing up hot pink Kool-Aid on my white sneakers by midnight. And then at one. Then again at two. I slept in the car all the way home and most of the next day.

When I was able to muster up the strength to open my eyes that bleak Saturday, I decided I needed to make some serious life changes. First of all, I was never drinking again (lie). Secondly, I needed to turn a new leaf and somehow metamorphosis into a flirty, confidant girl who would never sulk about being home alone on a Friday night after prom (delusional lie). I was me and I needed to deal with it.

Looking back on this mess of a time in my life, I realize I am now still slightly neurotic, still single, and still have a fondness for vodka. On the other hand, I also have gained mass amounts of confidence since my high school days and actually have a pretty decent relationship with myself nowadays. I realize that if I had just stayed home that Prom night like I had wanted to, I really wouldn’t have missed much. After a week, everyone had forgotten all about it anyway, and really, what are you going to do with the 16 rolls of film your mom took of you and your date in the backyard? Probably the same thing I did with my pictures of fruit punch infused white sneaker pictures. HIDE THEM.

Spray me down, Scotty!

28 Jan

In preparation for my upcoming tropical getaway, I have been working out like a maniac, cutting back on the booze intake, and making an effort to eat when I am hungry and not every 15 minutes like I would like to. All this has gotten me to thinking about the irony of what we do in preparation for vacations. Working out and trying to lose weigh are two obvious things, since you will probably be sporting a bathing suit at some point. In my case, I am whiter than an albino at a 50 cent concert, and therefore also need to consider my tanning options.

I could always just go as is,  but then I would look like a ghost and scare all the dark people of Jamaica. Another option is to self tan. Now I have used just about every brand/type there is. They do actually work pretty well, but blotchiness is risky and application involves a lot of upkeep- not to mention is about impossible to allow to dry when you are on vacation where it is well over 90 degrees and humid. There is always fake baking, but since I am a natural redhead and DO NOT TAN (I know this because I have spent a decent amount of time and money in tanning beds trying anyway) this is a colossal fail. Which leaves me with stripping down and letting a stranger spray freezing cold bronzing dye all over my body. With the exception of getting naked in front of someone who only knows my name because I booked an appointment, this is totally my favorite way to be as tan as I wish I could actually get. Only downfall for this one is that you leave the salon looking like Snooki and have to leave it on for like 12 hours or something ridiculous before you can shower and look like a normal tan person. This process means that you need to either request a day off work before your vacation, or book your flight around your pre-tanning rituals. Not great.

In conclusion, I think it’s really funny how everyone (everyone, right? I can’t be the only crazy person out there) tries to loose weight, look tan, buy new clothes…for what? Your friends and family that you go with who already know what you really look like? Or are you trying to impress the natives of your island of the day? Maybe they will kidnap you and keep you in the hotel as the token American worker. Totally my goal.

In post-conclusion….my overall vacation goal is to be drunk the majority of the time…we’ll all soon forget what we look like anyway. Cheers!


17 Dec

What is it about work holiday parties that make you feel a complete obligation to go? If I don’t regularly see out outside of work, it’s probably because I don’t like you that much and think that already spending the obligatory 40 hours a week with you is about 39 1/2 hours too many. And what is the deal with $10 gift swaps? Seriously, what can you actually buy for $10 that anyone would want? You then end up with 40 $10 Dunkin Donuts gift cards. Everyone enjoy- since we all got the same thing, this coffee is actually on you! The only good part could be if your boss has the intelligence to make the party during work hours so employees can leave. However, in some cases I actually think sitting at my desk traipsing around google and is much more appealing than spending the last 2 hours of my Thursday at my boss’s home eating taco dip and making small talk about all the gift wrapping and shopping that still needs to be done. At least I feel pretty confident this year that my boss will not be dressing up in full Santa attire and asking the staff what they want for Christmas. But you never really know what to expect at these parties. The window of opportunity for craziness to ensue is blown wide open as soon as the invites go out. My game plan for this year: get in, get gift card, get out. G-G-G-lorious.

Canada Dry is my FAV!

8 Nov

If you are sick and come to work anyway, I would appreciate it if you just lie to me and tell me you feel like a million bucks. I do feel bad if you are behind on your work, or if you have no more personal time off, but that really isn’t my problem.  I am possibly the most SUPER paranoid person around when it comes to sickness and if you tell me that Ginger Ale just happens to be your favorite new soda, or that you are simply trying out a new green-tinted face moisturizer, I would really appreciate it. In the end, you will too. Because trust me, if I know you are sitting less that a foot away from me and are not acting in your normal rude, condesending way because you don’t feel good, I will go on nothing short of a WW3 rampage right in the office. So whip it back around and skedaddle right back home. Thanks.

Little people, big stupid words

2 Nov

I really, really cannot stand when people use huge, ridiculous words when trying to sounds important and/or intelligent. In some cases, you can totally pull this off- like if you own Microsoft, or work for a dictionary company.  However, if I already know you and also already know that you are a big talker and really not that smart- PLEASE lay off the palaver (this means ’empty talk’ for you “smarties”)! Just because you throw around words with 19 syllabyls does not give you street-cred in the world of people who are smarter than you. Go grab a thesaurus and get back to talking at your normal 3rd grade level.




14 Oct

My co-worker is currently crunching on something very, very loudly.  Thank God for cubicle walls. Sometimes I picture myself climbing over the top of said wall like an animal and grabbing the array of crunchy, “green”, organic foods from her grip and then crawling back to my side to dispose of them. Although, since she only eats things “from the earth”, with my luck, whatever I throw away will grow back ten fold in my trash can and come back to haunt me. In the meantime, I will continue to listen to my ipod and eat my jumbo size bag of Jolly Ranchers. Rock on, Red.