Musical Pockets

Hanging out with friends is something I don't get to do often. I've got workaholic, obsessive compulsive, perfectionistic qualities. Whew. What a mouthful. Chomp. Chomp. So when the opportunity came up to do it... There. So. I did. Tada! So I love when my friend wears this ridiculously useless, multi-pocket, parka vest. What the hell is that? Are you cold? Is it hot? How could you possibly be warm when your arms are protruding outside of your body. Exposed to that bone chilling cold. Ok, to be fair. It's so not cold here. No reindeer on my balcony. Really, it's never gets that old here. It's not snowing, I think someone just spit off the roof. It is the most confusing piece of outerwear one could own. And forget the fact that you put your phone in pocket A. Your notepad in Pocket B. And your car keys in pocket... Wait, how many pockets does one vest fucking need? Apparently, eighteen. What if you want your cash in one of the secret pockets (the ones inside the jacket.) Just kiss that cash goodbye because it will disappear into the black hole pocket. Star Date, Captain. It appears your cookie has turned to crumbles in the far off planet of pocketdom. Er, um.... Stupid parka pockets. 

Yuletide Fuckery

Ok. So yes, I put my Christmas tree up already. Thank you Hallmark Channel for the holiday movie marathons. Since October. You've inspired me. Or brain washed me. There's nothing under the festive evergreen. And, it's a month early. Don't judge me. It's also missing a leg... Somehow in all the moving around that we have done, the tragedy of the Christmas tree leg has come to light. Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree... How lovely are thou straggly branches. And missing parts. Everybody sing! 

Fine. It's a Charlie Brown yuletide birch; but hey, I put it up with love and tenderness. Mostly because, the damn aspen wouldn't stay up with with three legs and it was a freaking nightmare... But, with tenderness all the same. Never Mind  the whack against my fireplace. If it didn't bruise the mantle, it didn't happen. 

So what should take approximately 20 minutes to setup took about an hour and a half. This faux sapling is only about 5 feet tall and ...maybe 5 inches? My son can fling it around with one hand. And he's bigger than the tree. I'm not bigger than the tree. Im not bigger than most things. Now that I'm reminded of it. I'm a shrimp. Or an elf. But whatever. Everything is usually bigger than me and I've come to accept that. A little chickadee on a farm of bison. What? I don't know. Back to the tree. It's all set up and it keeps falling over. Timber! So, I came up with an idea to put my son's ankle weights on the back leg. He can't lose that much ankle muscle in a month. He can improvise. He can use soup cans. Or a jug of milk. He's not made of paper. Maybe that'll keep the beech from falling over. Timber! Hmmm. So I grab his free weights and add that to the front of the fir  where the leg is missing in action. Timber! What the heck. I've got about forty pounds on -and against- this plastic fiasco and it still keeps towering over.... Timber! 

Stop it. 

After much to do over this overgrown green bush... I think I got it. Tim- don't you dare -Ber! Keep laughing, my child, see if you find any presents under this bastard next month. Coal in the stocking! Order for one please Santa! I strategically arranged the weights to hold up the oak wannabe. It's catching a slight lean. But I think it's going to stay put this time. Now for the decorations... 

Timber! 

Sigh. 

Popsicle Jewels

Are you kidding me?!

Ok. So me and my girl are on the phone over the weekend. Yucking it up about business and friends. Shoes and bad hair cuts. It's true, bad hair cuts are a six month nightmare for a girl. BLAH, blah. Just shootin the shit. And then... we start talking about guys. So her dude is in the room. She can't talk. Because, clearly, she's going to talk about whatever stupid ass thing his goofy butt did in the last twenty-four hours. Last time he nailed his finger to a pound cake. Sigh. She tells me, it's 18 degrees outside and he's got the air conditioning on. You must be kidding me... Nope. Total boyfriend-girlfriend nonsense. What the... Who the hell puts on the air conditioning on when there's snow on the ground? Rhetorical, people. Don't answer that.  First order of business... Pick up some gloves from the Outdoor Store. 

Maybe he's just messing with you? Poke the sleeping mama bear. Why not? Death wishes might be your gig. I don't know. Maybe he has no circulation? Medical conditions are no laughing matter. Let's dump him on the wheelbarrow... He won't feel a thing.

Monty Python's: The Holy Grail

It's possible,  he doesn't feel pain… So.. maybe… he never gets… cold? I'm giving him too many excuses here. My apologies. Most likely, he just needs to be knocked out via frying pan so you can start up the fireplace… All I know is, if you're wearing a parka in the bathroom, it's time for some recon. 

Second order of business... Toss all pots and pans to enforce the commencement of the oven ceremony. You wanted eggs, my darling? Aw... We are all out of skillets. Looks like you'll have to bake  yourself a quiche. Golly. Gosh. Darn it. I'll be in the sofa, with every blanket we own, In between the cushions... with my earmuffs. This fool ain't gonna catch me the fucking pneumonia. I cleaned out Walmart's entire winter stock to bundle my ass up in.. Snow shoes. A beanie. An Inuit. Ooooo... I like that necklace. Oh hell, why not. I can be the prettiest frozen popsicle the morgue ever did see. 

HOUDINI POOFERY

With so much going on in my world right now, I wanted to give you all a short update today about my new song produced by Big Boi Beats in Atlanta. Hi BB. We are getting our plans together for a video. So in the meantime, enjoy the sounds! I wrote this as a homage to the boyfriends of dating past who decide to dump you without nary a peep. Did I just hear a cricket chirp? Your siting around months and months later thinking... Did he run away to the circus? Was he attacked by a gerbil? Uh, did we break up? So... I give thanks to those douche bags for inspiring me to dig deep into my soul and find that dark and desolate place that I was able to hopefully justify eloquently in this piece. It's true, sometimes I make tons of sense. Everyone, I imagine, has been treated this way at least once in your lives and no one seems to talk about it. Probably because she's still waiting by the phone wondering if antelope had run through the streets and ate him. Or in this case sing…

Closure is a gift we may not want; but, when if we can get that sucky gift, we should practice finding the gratitude in it. Or eat chocolate. Or hell, crack open some champagne. Have a great weekend! Love & Light! 

Mission: Bronze Goddess

 

So yes, I confess, I do go to the tanning bed from time to time to keep my tan going strong. Its totally like lifting weights, you know. Flesh exercise? But if I didn't, my Sicilian skin would look yellow and sickly. Doctor, I need Vitamin D, stat. And while I'm not on a crazy tanning mission to be a sultry orange... Translucency, is not my cup of tea. Oooo, tea sounds good right now. And there's a whole slew of tanned and toned bodies out here and I can't possibly be odd woman out. Although, I do see many pasty faces. And. Orange. Faces. Want some tea? Back to the point... So I thought I'd go lay down for that sexy glow for fifteen minutes. I don't know why but I always have this tiny fear that the thing is going to short circuit and fall on me. My legs hanging out of what would be... the tan sandwhich. One, Charred, Smoked Rita Club on plastic... Order up! Ding! Ding! 

Ok, so it didn't fall on me today. A total win. But I had another problem on my hands. Or rather... Bodily function. I had to tinkle. I knew I had to go potty when I talked to the -oh so ditzy girl -at the counter. Started my peepee dance as I walked to my designated room. Visions of golden waterfalls, dancing in my head, as i undressed. Instigating shivers down my spine as i slathered on the magic potion. And unadulterated bladder cramping... as I toast my tasty buns under the bulbs. Sizzle. Sizzle. Each minute passing by slower than the last. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Now, one would think, this girl was on a mission to bronze, how would we possibly have expected you to see the bathroom on your skip down the halls to the skin bakery? You are so right. There was a commode en route to my tanning room. Door open. Vacant. Fresh towels next to the sink. And yet, I chose to accomplish Mission: Bronze Goddess instead. Hello. Urinary Tract Infection. It's been too long... But I really needed to score that tan. 

Gum Buddies

I have been searching for my earbuds for two days. Maybe three... I didn't know where they went. Maybe they flew off to Tahiti? Everyone needs to vacation. I don't know. I had no clue if they grew legs and walked away. Like a polka dotted spider from the poconos. Hey, Anything's possible. It is a new mellinium. Thought maybe my kid swiped them from me. Or a warthog. Warthogs are a huge problem in LA, I can see them chomping up my earbuds now. As I run in slow motion, yelling noooooooooo...... Not. The. Ear. Buds. Just kidding. The only warthogs in LA, have two legs and pretend to be big time directors so they can get booty. Say no to the casting couch ladies.... 

Back to me. I had to use speaker phone. Can you believe that? I hate speaker phone. It's like I went back in time or something. Always sounds gurgled. It's either too loud or too quiet. And you can't hear a muffled voice in either situation. Welc-me to McDon-d's, doe t-at co-ete your order.? Ugh. Exactly. No one understands that shit. Did she get my fries? Guess it's a surprise gift bag now. Stupid speaker phone. 

So I dug into my closet and grabbed a backup pair. Somehow I've accumulated three backup pairs. Maybe I lose my earbuds often? Nah. Maybe I lose my earbuds often and buy new ones and then find the old ones in a pocket and it gets thrown to the backup pair pile? In a box. In the closet. Maybe I left them in the car. That's possible. I was on the phone with my mommy at the time. Now that I think about it, she ditched me for a TV show. Tisk Tisk Mother. They've gotta turn up somewhere...  inside that warthog. Chomp. Oink. Chomp. Oink. Chomp. 

Another day goes by and I needed to run some errands. Well low and behold... On the ground, what do I see?? Gum? No, ass. Next to my driver's side door... Gum. ...Seriously? No. My damn ear buds! And yes.. Gum. They're on the ground like they fell out of that magic pocket I don't have and... Stuck. In. Gum. Sigh. 

Car Wash Bark Bark

My vehicle looked bad. I mean, real bad. The, I don't think it's been washed for two months, kind of bad. So I decided to take my dirty car's butt to the car wash. Next to me was a woman who had twenty kids, ok fine... I'm exaggerating. Four. She had four kids. Maybe it was three. Either way, they were the sound of twenty. Wah. Mom. Can we? But why not? I was so happy they all sat down next to me. Yes, folks, sarcasm. She had two cute little dogs too. Caramel and fuzzy. Inquisitive little buggers. Are you done sniffing my boot? Ok thanks. Those little furballs were cute only until the fire trucks blaring their sirens drove by. 

What the hell?! Those little yap yaps started barking so much right next to my ear. Startled the crap out of me. She apologized for them barking a lot but then we got to talking about children and I mentioned to her that hers are at the fun stage. Mine doesn't need me anymore. Well actually, he acts like he does so maybe I did a good job? He still loves me... Yay! Whew. My little monkey. Stop being sappy. So, her being nice made me stop hating her. And her kids. And the annoying dogs. Just kidding, she was a really nice lady who was clearly over worked with that herd. I wondered where the husband/father was in hindsight. I don't know about her situation but if I had a hubby at home, I would've left his ass with all that mess and took my time drinking my latte while the car was getting detailed. Sorry, my darling hunny buns, I'm taking a mommy day... It would read like a novel. She was barely heard as the door slammed behind her, as she left the house. Husband never stood a chance to object. He ran to the door, and on their doorstep, a dust cloud. Where she might have stood. And the squealing of tires on the next block. 

Oh look, a magazine stand, I'll take the People Weekly, the Star gossip rag, and the Muscle & Fitness Hers... Oh and "find your peace now?" Yeah, I'll take the Oprah magazine too. 

Insomniac Attack

The thing I hate most about insomnia is sitting there, wide awake, with what I would call "ticks." Not the little bugs that suck your blood. Or vampires. Or involuntary shouts at strangers. But when you're laying down, staring at the ceiling, fondling your pants. Or blankets. Stop that. Get your minds out of the gutter. Not talking about that... This time.

 Twirling my hair, contemplating about getting up. But not getting up. Why is my tummy upset? Oh.. That's right. Stupid wine. Brain going around in circles. Two bongos and a monkey never gets boring. Since Mustering the energy to tinker at the piano has escaped me in the twilight hour, I'm so wide awake that it would make sense. Good thing I don't have any ghosts. Although, I'd have a buddy to chat with all night. Now that's just crazy talk. Cookoo. Cookoo. I would never get any sleep if I had a ghostly buddy. Gosh, when I think about it... There are so many things I could be doing. Like, sleeping. But I'm not. Since I thrive on being productive... I'm still just watching the ceiling mock me. Such a conundrum. Can you be quiet, ceiling... I'm trying to sleep. Go yuck it up with the chairs or something. Make yourself useful. Nobody cares about your popcorn covering. Feeling insecure much? Annnnnd, I'm still Not dreaming.... Juuussst thinking about it. 

And When did I get chapped lips? Ow. I don't like this. Gotta be the weather change. I love cold weather. So I don't like to put the horse cart in front of the monkey... Wait. That's not right. The hitch in front of the buggy? The tiger on the back of my.... Oh hell. Forget it. I'm laying still there and by this point I have to pee. And i don't want to get up because it is chilly. Not quite penguin chilly. Snuggle weather is the best. Rabid pillow smuggler. Total problem in these parts. Three chapters later into some chick literature... I'm yawning. Is there hope? Have I found the fountain of sleep? I exhale. Can I ask myself a thousand more questions.... Ugh. Nope. So I plop in front of the TV for some Everybody Loves Raymond reruns and hope this sitcom lullabye hits me like a freight train. Oh I love This episode where Ray tries to get Debra's splinter out of her finger. Dragging her across the floor... Screaming. Am I sleepy now? Nope. Ugh. Where's that damn Chapstick? Oooo... pretzels. 

Boardwalk Beauty

My 1920s Look

As Boardwalk Empire is in it's last season, I just wanted to point out -wait for it- that the producers missed out in a huge opportunity to really take this amazing show further. It's coming... Wait for it. How did they not see that it wouldn't go beyond five seasons without this pertinent character? You're going to love this idea... Wait for it. They've pretty much killed every one off in season four and need some new blood. Well, hello, I don't know my blood type but this new blood absolutely belongs as a guest star. I could be O+.... I don't know, probably not even vampire worthy… moving on. But hey HBO, you need me! Plus I like to play pranks on my cast mates, which couldn't be more annoying and distracting. Just a thought. Seriously, this time, moving on…

I could be Nucky Thomspon's new love interest. Go with me on this… A performer on the beach, who suddenly can't swim and Nucky jumps in with his fancy clothes to save me. I mean, who jumps in the ocean with a tight rope balancing stick anyway? Uh… this bitch! My character's name should be Marla. I don't know where that came from either but since it's set back in the 1920s, I imagine Marla is a good name. Spoiler alert. So Nucky is going to find out that Marla is really a spy, only, she is disguised -and introduced- as a beach performer. As everyone has warmed up to Nucky, now a reformed bootlegging mobster, Marla will be working with, What he will think, is an innocent unicyclist fawning for his attention; but really... She's working for the crooked cop guy who was busted down and his vengeance toward Nucky is futile. So Marla's gotta "off" Margaret's nosey butt, but instead sends her and her children away under false pretenses. Hey, I can't play a killer. I have a weak stomach. So, back to the secret spy part... So, she uses Nucky, to convince crooked cop guy, Van Alden, that she's just a girl wrapped up in a crazy scheme. And when the shit hits the fan… Everyone turns up dead or in jail and she shows up at the end of this final season on Arnold Rothstein's arm! What the hell?! Ohhhh yeah, edge of your seat writers... Arnold and Marla have been plotting all along to take over the East coast, knocking off every mobster and bootlegger in their wake. Remember when Rothstein was making these secret phone calls and trips in season 3? (I think it was season 3) well... It was him and Marla making a fail-proof plan to over take Jersey City. I know. I know. Now that I think about the twists and turns Marla will be doing to flip this show upside down, she's kind of a whore. Dammit… well, on the bright side, fans of Boardwalk Empire… You're welcome. 

Workout Breakdown

I've been back on my workouts now for a few days and I'm sore as all hell. My trainer is clearly ignoring my whining and keeps coming back to torture me. Something tells me he likes to incur pain. So, mom says to drink watermelon juice to ease the soreness. Always one for a natural solution, I promise her I would try it today. Right after my coffee. And another painful fitness session. And a meeting. And... Ah hell, I will get to it later. 

Funny thing is, I used to love working out and enjoying the sore muscles quotient. But now... It's a struggle to even think about spandex. That thought alone is exhausting. It's a jumping jack. Do one. Ugh, No. 

Ok so I will end up working out anyway because I have an overachiever complex. Ta-da! I can do do it all. Bom. Bom. Bom. But when my nervous breakdown comes just be sure to have tons of junk food on hand. And a baby elephant. I don't know... Who wouldn't want a baby elephant? No one. Ok fine. A baby elephant is excessive. And not a good workout buddy. And too big to house. Dammit. Anywhere. So potbelly piggy it is... I'm going to name him paperweight. That'll encourage me... Ah hell, forget it. I'm just going sit right here in my pajamas. 

Balcony Relief

Why is it... In every building I've ever lived... Is there that one asshole who is a chain smoker. And lives above ME. Do I have "hey Nasty smoker, move in above me" stamped on my forehead or something?! Ugh. And by the way, who freaking smokes for two hours straight? A grumpy hunchback bastard, that's who. And just curious... Isn't smoke supposed to rise? Nope. Not if you live above, I suppose. Criminy. I hid under blankets. Couldn't escape the smell. I hid in my room. Seemed stronger there. By night's end, I felt like I'd been in a forest fire. Inhaling so much of that crap that my allergies kicked up and I couldn't breathe. It was probably killing me from the inside out. Omg. I almost died. I think my neighbor is trying to kill me. I knew he was up to something. I will foil his plans. He won't get away with it. Everytime he smokes Im going to throw a bucket of water from my balcony onto his balcony. How Im going to do this without all the water getting on me... I haven't a clue. Picture this: Maybe if I swoop down, and around in a half moon shape up towards his general direction.... Like in a scooping motion? Hmmmm. This might be tricky. Trick-Or-Treat. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, be kind, smokers. Cough. Cough. There are others around you that aren't looking for emphysema. 

Watch Swag 101

I'm a fairly timely girl. Haha, what? I'm early for appointments. Says who? Says me. Zip it. I make sure projects make deadlines. Actually, I am good with that. And when I was little I would wear a watch constantly and check it as if I had minutes to live. Hypochondriac. That's what happens when your on tight schedules though I suppose. No, that's what happens when your a hypochondriac. But now, I don't wear a watch. I barely check my phone for the time. Sometimes I make plans and they change abruptly. Free-spirit.

So why the hell did I wear a watch when I went out last week? Uh... Who does that? No one who's sane.  I think if you're wearing a watch to be fashionable -grandpa- then it's cool. So, I thought I was being fashionable and it ended up becoming the butt of the joke. Hey Father Time! Fine. Doc, where's the Deloreon? Jokes on me. Are you the going to show up naked in the woods? Seeing yourself as a little kid? Then an old woman? Haha, I can take it. Time Traveler's Wife people, keep up.

Yuck it up, annoying friends of mine... The moment will come when I make fun of your style choices.... In the blog. Insert evil laugh here... Bwahaha!