This Is Why I'm Hot

In case you needed further evidence to support the theory that I'm both extremely well-mannered and not slobby or tacky in any way, allow me to present you with the following exhibits.

Exhibit A:

Last week was The Jam's birthday. I took her a box of raspberry cream cheese bear claws as a gift, stayed and visited with her for a few minutes, at which time she insisted I try one of the bear claws. I proceeded to inhale a bear claw, barely pausing to wipe the jelly from my chin in the process.

Yesterday, I stopped by to visit with The Jam and was informed that last week when I'd been there, devouring said tasty pastries, I'd dropped a glob of jelly onto the back of her dog, Rosie; and it wasn't discovered until hours later. The image of me shoving pastry into my mouth at such a rapid pace that I didn't notice the huge globs dropping out of my mouth kept playing over and over in my head. Hot, I know.

Exhibit B:

Last night, Yanaj's brother and his family came over for dinner. His wife cooked an amazing dinner consisting of rich foods that I hadn't eaten for a very long time: fettuccine with alfredo sauce, chicken topped with grilled veggies and cheese, garlic cheese bread, and strawberry cake. About an hour after I'd finished gorging myself on carbs, the crew had left and I was sitting around visiting with Yanaj and Nicole. Please to enjoy a transcript of the conversation that took place:

Bone Junior: So the message he left was pretty rude (pauses momentarily to let a huge one rip) Ugh, sorry guys, that one really stinks. Phew! Ugh! I'm really sorry you have to smell that! Anyway, I thought it was really funny that I'd made such an effort to be polite to him (pauses again, lifting butt cheek slightly to let another one rip, followed by a stunned look of shock on my face) Oh! I think I just pooped myself! (Jumps up and runs to nearest bathroom whilst roommates are rolling on the floor with laughter.)

Luckily, I hadn't pooped myself, but it was a really close call.

Exhibit C:

My birthday is in one week, and I registered myself at Target. Yes, really. I'm just that tacky. It's more of a joke than anything else, although it has to be said that Target.com has some freaking awesome Elvis stuff.

Conclusion: Nothing is too embarrassing for me to blog about.

Sacramento: Where All Your Wildest Dreams Come True

Ok maybe not where all my wildest dreams come true, because if that were the case, I would've been swimming in a kiddie pool full of mayonnaise with Dominic Purcell all weekend, but close enough.

I got to Sac Town late Friday night after flying FIRST class...up in the sky, drinking CHAMpagne, hum huh huh hum, GLAMOROUS GLAMOROUS, something like that. And the madness ensued.

I felt pressure to be awesome and hilarious all weekend, because most of G's friends are readers of my blog but have never met me; so I felt like I had a serious reputation to live up to. I was worried that they'd all be disappointed when they finally met me in the flesh because I'm not nearly as interesting in real life as I am on the dot com machine. It's kind of like how I feel when I go home and meet all the dental student housewives.

I think I have two choices when it comes to these situations. A) Preface my introduction by saying, "I apologize in advance for not being as clever, witty, and hilarious as I am on my blog;" or B) Show up everywhere wearing big floppy shoes and a red nose because what's not hilarious about that?

Back to the weekend. G's friends and younger sister Heidi were a blast to hang out with: Seriously, how cute is she! I really loved Heidi because she had no qualms whatsoever about letting me be her puppet master. In fact, she jumped at the opportunity; hence the reason I have this picture of her doing...I don't remember what I told her to do, but it was funny.This is a picture of when I told Heidi to see how many
mini-muffins she could fit in her mouth at once. G didn't seem to be stressed at all, although it's possible that she was really stressed out and I just didn't notice because I was too busy shoving chocolate-chocolate-chip muffins into my mouth. She descended the stairs looking like something out of a freaking Broadway musical.
I will never have the grace and charm to pull off an entrance like that.
And here we have the happy couple.

While the family pictures were being taken, Erin and I took our own pictures. Here we have our feet, which are wearing the same shoes. In the left background, you can see the E.T. toe on my other foot. Look at how that sucker almost hangs off the end of my shoe. Hot, I know.

I call this one Cascade of Brunette Hair.

I call this one All Up Ons My Grill.

Me with my new friends and two old friends.

G's wedding reception was fun and beautiful, G was glowing and beautiful, and I apologize G, because I accidentally poked a hole in your wedding cake with my finger. Hey, that's what you get when you ask me to help arrange fresh flowers and ribbons on the cake, ok? Not my fault. But I'm still sorry. Although I think I did a good job of covering up the hole with a flower, so you probably didn't even notice.

After:

Before, when I was trying to press flowers into the fondant and
instead pushed my finger through the cake:

Me and my new friends. You should be able to spot me fairly easily, given the light colored background and whatnot. I also have to apologize to the girl on the far right because I never once got her name right the whole weekend. Her name is Jylare (pronounced Jill-air) and I kept calling her Bel-Aire or Gel Ann, like she was some kind of shoe insert. I am sorry.

It was a whirlwind weekend, and I wish I could've spent more time there. I had an absolute blast and sent G off to become a changed woman. But nothing tops the moment when G's parents were leaving and we were standing on the front steps waving goodbye to them, and as they drove away, G's mom leaned out the window and yelled, "Bye, douche bags!"

There's no way I can top that.

Super Ultra Fantastic Wish Time

You know what's super awesome? When you spend three hours on Wednesday afternoon helping to lay out a house, and although your skin is already nicely olive-toned, it is exposed to direct sunlight for the first time in almost five months, and you're wearing a zip-up sweatshirt over your tank top, and your hair is in a ponytail and you're wearing sunglasses, and when you get home, you look in the mirror and see the fruits of your labors in the sun:

You know what's even more awesome? The fact that my face and chest really do look like that today (and of course the bosom is drawn with perfect accuracy) and I leave tonight for Sacramento for G's wedding, so I'm going to be forever frozen in time in her wedding pictures as that girl with the horrible tan lines.

I Don't Care; I'm Still Going to Spend My Entire Summer By the Pool

So yesterday, I was standing in line at a gas station, trying my best not to be annoyed by three little Hispanic children that were running rampant around the store. They were chirping to each other in Spanish and grabbing fistfuls of candy off the shelves. The smallest one ran just behind me with the other two following closely, and he slipped and fell next to the "Caution: Wet Floor" sign and smacked his face on the floor. His fistfuls of candy went flying, but he wasn't crying or anything; he just looked stunned.

Being the jerk that I am, I had to cover my mouth to stifle the laughter. I'm sorry, but seeing someone slip and fall, especially with fistfuls of candy, is hilarious to me. Plus he wasn't bleeding or anything. Plus he'd been running wild around the store like a banchee.

This was all very funny to me until the woman in front of me in line turned to me and sneered, "You should really learn to control your children in public."

Blink. Blink.

I stared back at the woman as different things about her statement began to occur to me, and I started to work it out like a geometry proof in my head.

If this snooty woman with tragically limp hair assumes that the wild, unsupervised Hispanic children were spawned of my womb, then the following assumptions are also implied about me:

1. I am Hispanic;

2. I am old enough to have birthed not one, not two, but THREE children; the oldest of which was probably eight;

3. I am the kind of mother who would allow her children to run screaming through a store and then not help my youngest when he slipped on the floor and smacked his face, but instead would stand by laughing as he gathered up his strewn candy;

4. I am Hispanic.

These assumptions led me to the following conclusions:

1. I spend far too much time in the sun;

2. I need Botox;

3. I should stop laughing at small children when they fall, no matter how funny I think it is when their Skittles go flying in all directions.

Now, all of these things processed through my mind at an incredible rate of speed, so luckily I wasn't staring at the snooty woman for very long before I responded.

I shifted my weight to my left hip, crossed my arms over my chest, cocked my head to the side, and stared that snooty woman right in the eye before letting out an irritated sigh and pointedly saying, "Those are not my children. I don't even speak Spanish!"

I paid for my Diet Pepsi, feeling confident that I'd made my point.

Then I got in my car and cried.

My How the Tables Have Turned

You know what makes your bad, pissy mood completely turn around in a matter of seconds?

Turning on the car radio and hearing "Good Vibrations" by Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch, singing along to "Come on come on! Feel it feel it!", and remembering how you and your sister got into a fight when you were younger about the lyrics to the song; you swore up and down that the words were "It's such a good vibration! It's such a sweet sensation!", and she swore up and down that the words were "It's such a good vibration! It's such a sweet lipstick shine!" and you were right.

T.T.P.M.O.T.: Things That Piss Me Off Thursday

A pessimistic revision of Tarable's T.I.L.T., which I plan on doing on a Thursday when I'm not pissy.

Things That Piss Me Off Thursday:

- Rainy, cold, gloomy days like today.

- This guy I work with who, every time he walks past my desk, locks my three-hole puncher so that the next time I go to use it, I have to spend ten minutes wrestling with the stupid lock. That pisses me off.

- Having my boss ask me, first thing in the gloomy morning, "Who are you dating now?"

- When you shoot nasal spray up your nose and it runs down the back of your throat and you choke on it.

- The nasty taste of nasal spray.

- When one of your ears won't pop and you spend ridiculous amounts of time yawning and pinching your nostrils and blowing out in an effort to make that bitch pop.

- Trying to hock a loogie in the parking lot and instead you hock too vigorously and the loogie dribbles out onto your chin and shirt and the two guys nearby start laughing at you.

- When you reach into your coat pocket after you accidentally hock a loogie onto yourself, and instead of finding a tissue, you find a fake plastic spider which causes you to let out a low, manly wail; which causes the two guys nearby to laugh even harder.

- The realization that your birthday is in three weeks and it's the first birthday in your life that you actually feel old.

When Even the Most Awesome Intentions Don't Make Up For Just Plain Stupid

Warning: This is a spoiler alert for Bone Senior.

I made a t-shirt for my nephew this weekend. I painstakingly cut out and lined up the letters, and I had to make my own N out of half an M and part of an L because I'd used all the other N's. I was completely thrilled with the Frankenstein N and thought it worked pretty well.

Unfortunately, my reverse spatial reasoning is a bit off.Maybe no one will notice...

101 Ways to Put Your Foot in Your Mouth While Trying to Prove to a Subcontractor That You're Professional and You Know What You're Doing

Bone Junior: Hey, subcontractor, sorry to keep calling and bugging you about this, but I just wanted to touch base about getting your bid in. You know how Mitch is; he just really wants me to stay on top of you guys.

Chirp chirp.

Subcontractor: Awkward pause. Nervous laugh. Um, sure, I know how Mitch is.

Same conversation, moments later. Here's what I was meaning to say, and if I could turn back time, I'd give it all to you. No, wait, that's Cher. But if I could turn back time, this is what I would've said...

Bone Junior: Yeah, so, again, sorry to keep bugging you about it but it'd be great if you could give Mitch a call; that way we could get this ball rolling.

...as opposed to what I actually said...

Bone Junior: Yeah, so, again, sorry to keep bugging you about it but it'd be great if you could give Mall a call; that way we could get this bitch rolling.

Sigh.

Fat the Magic Dragon, or I Might Be Sleeping With a Posessed Stuffed Animal

This is Fat Dragon; or as I affectionately call him, Fatty. He is one of my favorite purchases from the past year, and I think you can see why:How cute is he? He's really soft and his nostrils aren't just little stitches on his nose - those suckers are at least a finger length deep. I know because I've stuck my fingers in his nostrils.

I love Fatty because he's purple, chubby, and flawed. His horns are bent and his teeth are wonky, but he is the perfect cuddle buddy, and I sleep with him every night. Until recently.

This is Fatty's usual sleeping place: Sometimes I use him as a pillow:

Sometimes I use his butt as a pillow:

Aside from the fact that I look totally and completely peaceful and natural when I "sleep", my point is that Fatty always sleeps in the bed. Always. And we have a routine in the morning. I awake to the sounds of "Milkshake", hit the snooze button, roll over and wrap my arms around Fatty, burying my face in his soft chubby goodness, and go back to sleep.

However, last week, Fatty somehow bucked the system. I woke up as usual, hit the snooze, rolled over, but there was no Fatty. I flailed my arm around until it became apparent that he wasn't anywhere in the bed. I peered over both sides of the bed to see if I'd kicked him onto the floor during the night, but Fatty was nowhere to be found.

Until I looked across the room and saw this:I sat up in bed and just stared at him as I tried to process the situation through my foggy early morning haze. And he just stared right back, mocking me.
As you can see, the chair is far enough from my bed that there's no way I could've knocked him off the bed into the chair during the night. Somehow, someway, Fatty had made his way from my bed to the chair, and I have no idea how. Bone Senior and I did, however, come up with a theory. Prepare to be wowed by our combined intelligence.

Fatty is the only stuffed animal that I own. Actually, that's not true - I have an "Ask Me Eeyore" in a box in the garage. He's like a talking Magic 8 Ball, except he's equal parts Debbie Downer and fortune teller. He was banned to the garage after I repeatedly asked him "Will my boobs ever get bigger?" and his response was always "Outcome does not look good." Forget you, Eeyore. You are dead to me now.

Anyway, Fatty doesn't have anyone except me to keep him company. Bone Senior and I believe that Fatty waits until he sees visions of sugarplum fairies dancing in my head, and then he sneaks out of bed and explores the house. He probably tries on my shoes and uses my cold cream. Maybe he spritzes his wrist with my perfume and admires himself in my mirror. Only Fatty truly knows what happens in the wee hours of the night.

On the morning of "the encounter", I assume he didn't have time to make it back into bed before I woke up, and he froze in place on my chair. Hence the creepy staring contest that ensued. And hence the reason I haven't slept with him since.

Disirregardless of Fatty's nightime shenanigans and tom foolery, I truly hope he's enjoying himself whilst I slumber. And I hope he appreciates my shoes as much as I do.

You May Have Caught Me On a Bad Day

Caller: Hello, Bone Junior? This is such and such from I'm Going to Make You Feel Bad About Yourself travel agency. We're offering a promotion of two round trip airline tickets and three free nights in a resort. All you have to do is come listen to a presentation about our resorts and the trip is yours. Are you at least twenty-five years old?

Bone Junior: Yes. Almost twenty-six.

Caller: (Sounding wonderfully delighted). Wonderful! And do you make at least x amount of dollars per year?

Bone Junior: Yes.

Caller: (Sounding even more wonderfully delighted). Wonderful! And are you part of a couple?

Bone Junior: A couple?

Caller: Yes; are you married, engaged, or living with a significant other?

Bone Junior: Blink blink. Takes deep breath. Firmly sets jaw, squares shoulders, adjusts boobs, and clenches fist. No; no I'm not. I'm very happily single, and you know what? Utah is the only place in the world where I'm viewed as being a spinster because I'm single at the age of twenty five almost twenty six. Do you know how many of my friends outside of Utah are my age and single? ALL OF THEM. AND THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT!

Caller: Thank you for your time, but I'm sorry; you don't qualify for our promotion.

Bone Junior: Your FACE doesn't qualify for your promotion!

Caller: I'm sorry?

Bone Junior: Click.