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!