Back in the day, my brother and I used to play opposite day. Basically the game consisted of saying something that was the opposite of true.
Yes, it got old quick.
Since I had grand plans for this past weekend, none of which included my sweet-ass dustbuster (unless I used it naked, per Laef), I thought I’d recap our super exciting weekend.
The bad news: I did not eat 7-11 Nachos.
The good news: I stayed up past 1 a.m.
On Friday night Laef and I went to our friend Allie and Greg’s for dinner. Allie is pregnant and Greg is an Oregon grad who pretty much only wants to discuss Oregon football. He and Laef also share an affinity for watching Dave Chappelle DVDs, so the night started off with fish tacos and Chappelle show archives. Don’t get me wrong, it’s some funny stuff, but Me+Full Belly+Vodka+Comfy Couch+TV=Sleeping within 5 minutes.
Greg yelled at me every two minutes about how lame I was, so I rallied. It was kind of like when the tennis instructor told me I was lazy. I hit my next forehand as hard as I could and aimed for his balls. Greg telling me I was lame, flipped the switch.
Then we stayed up until 1 a.m. watching Oregon football highlight videos (that sounds a lot lamer than it really is). Laef set a PR for Bud Lites so we walked home arguing about who the best Oregon quarterback of all time is.
TOOLS.
The next morning things were a little fuzzy. But since my tolerance level is that of a 21-year-old slut, I was up and at ‘em by 9 a.m. By 10 a.m., I hadn’t heard a peep from Laef, so I went to check on him.
Me: “Do you want pancakes?”
Laef: “Ugh. No.”
Me: “Coffee?”
Laef: “Not yet.”
Me: “Water?”
Laef: “Ugh.”
And just like that, it was opposite day in our house. I was hoping Laef could rally so we could go to the beach, but for some reason sitting in the blazing sun with a wicked headache was at the bottom of his to-do list.
I will admit that we mopped the floor on Sunday morning, but then we went to the beach and walked around Santa Monica as opposed to sitting at home marveling at how cute Sanch is and how he looks cute on the balcony.
The other day someone said that my blog is boring. They said they used to read it, but then I got married.
And then I realized it: If I was to do a weekend recap about last weekend, I would have told this story about how I bought a Dyson Dustbuster (which, by the way, is fucking awesome) and went to the Getty Center to look at art.
10 years ago, it would have been a blog about how I was drunk and ended up at some random dude’s house before realizing that he wasn’t even that cute, and I never should have gone, at which point I decide to walk 3 miles to Amy Longeteig’s house, stopping at 7-11 on the way to get some Nachos with a huge heaping pile of “chili”, only to arrive on their doorstep and realize that it’s 2 a.m., and of course they are not awake, but luckily they’ve left their front door unlocked so I just let myself in while their watchdog Stella greeted me with kisses and then curled up next to me by the couch.
Seriously. The dog didn’t even bark when someone entered the home at 2 a.m.
Also, the only people who eat 7-11 nachos are me and these two.
Now I’m totally refined. My drunk food is left over marinated flank steak with a side of Gruyère cheese and Wheat Thins. And usually I’m eating drunk food at 10 p.m. before passing out at 10:12 p.m.
What in the cliche fuck happened to me?
I do not want to be Lester Burnam. Jerking off in the shower alone at 7 a.m. can not be the highlight of my day. Getting yelled at over using staples as opposed to paper clips can not define my career. Walking around the house obsessing about how to annihilate any form of cat hair should not be my lot in life.
For real though. I wander around with this thing like Natalie Portman in The Professional. Do you see what they’ve done to dustbusters?
But this is totally NOT a blog about vacuum cleaners. This is a blog about how there is a 7-11 down the street from our house, and how I am making it my mission to stumble over there this weekend and eat Nachos.
Basically, what I am saying is that you don’t need your publisher to front you the money to do your own little Eat, Pray, Love type of thing. You can Eat, Pray, Love for about $1.99. First, you eat 7-11 nachos. Then you pray that your husband still finds you attractive (honestly, have you ever watched someone eat “chili”? It might look like a scene from 2 girls, 1 cup, so unless your husband is a total FREAK, he may not be feeling your “chili” lips), and then you love it up old-school style (i.e. you don’t complain about how tired you are. You also don’t say anything about ovulating, or how you need to be positioned a certain way or it won’t work.)
It’s Friday, and I’m on a mission for a super fun, NON boring weekend. Yay!
At some point during her 5th birthday party this weekend, my niece Sophie and her cousin Avery slipped away to make an audition tape for Shear Genius. I knew that they were into painting their nails, putting on eye shadow and dressing up in princess attire. You know, things that can wash off or be taken off. So when the two of them disappeared for an unspecified amount of time on Saturday, there was no reason to be alarmed.
My sister told me that she did become a little concerned when she realized it was just too damn quiet.
Apparently, it was so quiet because Sophie was focusing very, very hard on her client, Avery. Specifically, she was trying to make sure to get Avery’s bangs into a perfect V just in time for school to start next month! I’ve been told that Sophie’s cut is actually worse, but you can’t see it here. She’s apparently got a giant bald spot on the back of her head.
This is probably more funny for me, and for my mom, because we don’t have to send those kids to school. We aren’t those parents. We aren’t the kids who have to hit up school on the first day with jacked hair. I can just hear Sophie now, “Avery, sit here quietly while I make you so beautiful. Your hair is definitely NOT going to be a hot mess!”
And then my memory started coming back to me. I didn’t have the heart to tell my mom (after she proudly proclaimed, “None of you guys ever did that”) that while she was away working and providing for her kids, a lot of shit went down that’s probably better left unsaid (i.e. light matches on the side of the house, playing with firecrackers, snooping through Christmas presents). One of the things that went down (a lot) was me using my brother as my muse.
Now, this could be a softball muse (i.e. he catches while I learn to pitch), refining my eye-shadow applying skills, having him test out the giant hill with his big wheel before I go down it with mine, making him take the lead role on doorbell ditch, and most importantly, practicing my beautician skills.
Sidenote: Taking the lead role in doorbell ditch basically meant that he walked up to the house across the street, rang the doorbell, and had to run away fast enough to hide. All while I watched safely from our living room window.
Sidenote 2: I definitely made him let me put make up on him. A lot.
Sidenote 3: If it makes everyone feel better, I once took my bike down a steep trail and flipped over my handle bars, which led to a huge fat lip. He didn’t always get the short end of the stick.
Sidenote 4: I wrote my brother a really nice card about 15 years ago apologizing for an enormous list of things I did to him (including stealing all of his money during monopoly and eating all of the fruit roll ups before he could have any).
Sidenote 5: Fuck, I still feel really guilty about all this.
ANYWAY, while I was thinking about Avery and Sophie going to school with those bangs, I remembered something. I once cut my brother’s hair for picture day. I do not know a) why I was allowed to do this and b) why it wasn’t fixed before the photo.
So, yeah, hopefully Mike can talk to Avery and tell her how pimp it is to go to school with sweet bangs. Because, truthfully, I’m starting to think that this kind of debauchery runs in the family. Laef doesn’t seem to remember going through any sort of hair-cutting scandal with his sister. I have checked with co-workers, and they both deny ever being in such a predicament.
When I was younger, it was hard for me to not take scissors to my hair. If I wanted layers, then I would simply just try to give myself layers.
Exhibit A (Before):
Dude. Perfect hair. Perfect bangs. But, noooooooooooo, I had to get my layer on before picture day.
Exhibit B (After):
Damn. Apparently I was that kid.
So, yeah, Avery and Sophie are just following in a long line of Ross traditions. And maybe someday Avery will be lucky enough to have Brady write a blog about her and put super cute pictures of her for the whole world to see!
Geez. You think this is a blog for young people who laugh at words like balls and fart? Well, it’s not. This is a blog for old people. Like me.
Last week I celebrated another birthday, and inched my way slightly closer to 40. No big thing, really. I even bragged on my Facebook page that I stayed up until 1 a.m. on Friday night celebrating. Then I celebrated all day on Saturday. I was totally patting myself on the back all day Sunday. Feeling like a cool kid after staying up past 9 p.m. TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW!
Apparently, I was feeling so good on Sunday, that Laef and I decided to go play tennis. By play tennis, I mean hit two balls over the giant 50-foot fence within 5 minutes and try as hard as we could to have a rally that reached 5.
This ain’t table tennis, yo.
After a while it became clear that this was the first time Laef had ever played tennis. So, I pretty much dominated him with my sick back hand and my wicked serve (I’m testing him here to see what it will take for him to comment on the blog). He tried to make me run back and forth all over the court, but I just kept yelling, “Marathon, Bitch! I can run all day!”
Nothing will make you feel more youthful than dominating your 20-something husband on the court.
However, everything starting going downhill midway through our tennis “match”. Honestly, we were the youngest people at the courts by at least 70 years. And while we were struggling to rally, these freaking pension-livers were playing like they just swam with alien Cocoon’s. Seriously. It was embarrassing. I mean, the courts are HUGE, the fences around the courts are HUGE, and yet we somehow managed to hit balls onto their court in the middle of their super-intense match time and time again.
So, we are now signed up for tennis lessons, and I shit you not, the age group on the web site says: 18-100. And, I bet there will be some 100-year old there to remind me that, I am in fact, playing a sport that old people can play (and play well).
Later that night, Laef and I went to the movies to see Iron Man 2. Nothing makes me want to stab myself more than sitting in movies with teenagers. I’m thinking that makes me old.
I won’t even tell you how old I felt when I watched the MTV Movie Awards. My favorite part of the night was Sandra Bullock, and she’s well into her 40s. Kristen Stewart is the most awkward person ever, and I have absolutely no idea why anyone would want to put their mouth on Robert Pattinson or Taylor Lautner. But right there in front of my eyes was Tom Cruise and J-Lo doing what they had to do to stay relevant: booty shake it for the kids who weren’t even alive when Top Gun came out. They know that the Twilight generation is running things now, and they wanted to impress them. I sure do miss Jenny from the Block, though.
ANYWAY, I went to bed Sunday still trying to think that I was young and cool.
And then Monday morning BITCH-slapped me.
I am definitely not able to bounce back after so many weekend drinks activities.
The blog is suffering. I guess I can attribute it to writers block. There’s also a small part of me that rebelled after finishing the marathon. For months, I had to be diligent about running. The training became another thing in a never-ending to-do list.
Blogging is not necessarily a “to-do”. Obviously, if I don’t want to write, no one makes me. But, I do feel a little guilty when I leave it for weeks on end. Like I’m letting the domain go to waste. I mean, what is the point of owning the domain or having a blog if you never write on it?
This past weekend, Laef and I drove to the Bay Area to visit my family. If nothing else, I wanted to put something up for my sister and Art, who claim to check everyday.
So, here’s a brief history of what’s been going on post-marathon.
The weekend after the race, I went to San Diego for a girls night with Erin, Debbie and Kristen. It was exactly what I needed to get me out of my funk. I hadn’t been able to run the whole week, and I definitely felt “off”. Maybe it’s because my feet looked like they went through the woodchipper Fargo style. Seriously, my feet were a hot mess, and my girl Erin either didn’t want to be seen with me in flip flops, or she’s just a sweet girl (all signs point to all of the above) so she treated me to a pedicure in San Diego before the start of girls night.
It is amazing how far a little pampering can go. I didn’t even know my toes could look that cute. I ventured way out of my comfort zone (I’m usually a black nail polish kind of girl) and got bright pink toes with little white flowers. Again. WHO am I? It was so fun to sit with a friend, read trashy magazines and have my feet rubbed.
Debbie sent us a message the morning of girls night and warned “Make sure you carb load for lunch. You’re going to need a solid base for tonight.”
Erin and I decided that wine and sushi were a perfectly acceptable base.
Girls night was, um, goofy. Pictures have been deleted to protect everyone. You know, in the event they decide to run for public office. Let’s just say that there were multiple costume changes, wigs, sunglasses, bright red lipstick, and a lot of vodka. We capped the evening by watching Betty White on SNL. I may or may not have passed out on the couch in full makeup and a sparkly blue tank top I stole out of Kristen’s closet. (I wanted my girls night clothes to be as cute as Debbie’s, and felt very un-girly in my UCLA sweatshirt).
This past weekend, Laef and I headed North to visit family. What it boiled down to was the usual – my sister and Neil did a lot of cooking (I made the mimosas so I did contribute something); my sister stole from her younger baby brother; I dominated everyone at Wii table tennis (wakeboarding is a totally different story); Laef, Neil and Mike actually combined to drink 5 beers; I somehow convinced Neil to allow the TV to be on collegiate softball; I gave Sophie candy at 10 a.m. which is apparently a big no-no for kids; and I left my cell phone sitting on a park bench only to realize it once we made it all the way back home. (Surprisingly, it was still sitting there when I went back. Damn. Kind of wanted an excuse for an iPhone).
Hanging out with the family is complete and total chaos BLISS. I actually love the madness and wouldn’t have it any other way. On Sunday before Laef and I headed back home, I took Sophie to a yogurt shop that lets you do everything by yourself. You serve your yogurt and then you get to put whatever toppings on that you see fit. In the end, you are charged by weight. Of course, being the aunty (and being that I got to leave before her sugar high hit), I let Sophie get whatever toppings she wanted. I can tell you that she opted for: Gummy worms, chocolate sprinkles, Reeses Pieces, Reeses peanut butter cups, chocolate syrup and M&Ms. All on top of rasberry yogurt. Who would of thought chocolate syrup and gummy worms go together?
We are back home now, and because I don’t have running to keep me occupied, I am focusing my time on moving. Sadly, we will be vacating our little beach bungalow in July. It is definitely bittersweet as we have so many great memories from living in Manhattan Beach. However, we have outgrown the place and are tired of commuting to work everyday. So, on the bright side, we will be living closer to UCLA to avoid the madness of the 405 freeway, and we will finally have a guest bedroom!
Because of my excitement re: more space, I may or may not have already starting packing. This type of behavior makes Laef insane. I’m just trying to avoid one of those 13-hour moving days where you do everything in one day – pack, load the car, unpack. Those days SUCK. I’m pretty sure I will see the Longeteig’s on my doorstep in July since I think I’ve helped them move once. Or 9 times.
Blog-neglect happens to everyone. And this is totally not going to be a post about how I’ve been neglecting the blog.
However, I figured I should put something up to bury that stupid Office Max Blog. You know, the one where I thought I was soooo creative with the headline? Sometimes I think I’m super funny and/or witty only to find out years (and, sometimes days) later that I was, in actuality, a giant tool.
So, anyway, since I last wrote that post, not much has happened. I thought about writing a post chronicling the shower dialogue between Laef and I, but I figured it’d make people super gaggy. But, we can not be the only ones who draw hearts with random hair on the shower wall.
Or can we?
Laef took it to a new level last week, stringing together many of his fallin’ brethren to draw an entire face with a giant smile (not a good sign for the top of Laef’s head.) Then this morning I got in the shower and noticed that Laef had gone even further. He drew a penis. With balls. And pubes.
All I can tell you is this: When it’s 6:30 a.m., and you are fucking pissed off at your alarm clock and the cat who meows from 6 a.m.-6:30 a.m., NOTHING will make your morning more than seeing a giant penis drawn with hair on the shower wall. I cracked up. I can’t remember the last time I laughed at 6:30 a.m. on a work day.
The pressure is now on me to draw something for Laef’s enjoyment.
I guess I don’t care if you get gaggy or not. At least I didn’t include pictures of the hearts or the “Hi!” or the .
Then I thought writing a post about marathon training, and how I am on the home stretch in a sense. However, I don’t want to jinx it. I have one long run left – 19 miles this weekend – and can then begin to taper a bit. Next weekend, my long run will be 8 miles, and I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but: 8 miles at this stage is a cakewalk*. The marathon is 2 weeks from Sunday. UNREAL. Can’t wait. There’s not much more to blog about the training – it’s kind of shitty, and if not for the help of some great friends (Angie, Erin), it would have been a lot worse. It’s draining physically and mentally, but I know the payoff is going to be WELL worth it. So, I am very excited for race day.
Other than that, there’s not much to tell. Laef is completely dialed into the Cardinals baseball season, so I just sit back and watch him swear at the TV or look doey-eyed at Albert Pujols every time is up to bat. I am completely dialed into the Real Housewives of New York City so Laef sits back and yells obscenities to me while pretending not to watch (he actually asked me yesterday if Jill and Bettheny were friends yet).
TGIF!
*Please don’t let me eat shit or get hurt on this run because I called it easy. Please.
Laef hates it when I watch 16 and Pregnant on MTV.
Now that I think about it, he actually hates when I watch anything on MTV.
He thinks that by me watching, and thus giving it ratings, I am somehow encouraging other 16-year-olds to get pregnant.
I guess he has a point.
Because what 16-year-old doesn’t want to be on MTV?
Anyway, it should be noted that because of Laef’s strong objection (as opposed to his mild objection of Real World), I don’t actually watch this show with any regularity. However, I noticed that the reunion/catch up show was on the other day so I watched.
Dr. Drew totally tries to justify all of it by raising awareness. He mentions things like “protection” and “adoption”.
Shit that would have gone right over my head when I was 16.
But, now that I’m 35 and have stopped taking my birth control pills, his words actually resonated with me.
I stopped taking birth control pills because we are beginning to have the “baby” talk. But we don’t want said baby to grace us with it’s presence for at least a year, if not longer. And we don’t even want to think about said baby for at least 6 months.
My solution was quite simple and it had something to do with being born-again virgin.
Laef did not like this idea at all.
And then reality set in: We can’t just hope.
On Friday, after a little dinner date night, we went to target for Tampons (WHEW), condoms and cat food.
We were totally trying to act all cool and grown up, but we were acting totally dorky and sketchy while perusing the different brands, and I SWEAR like 22 people came on that aisle while we there.
After Laef (in his LOUDEST voice ever) made sure I knew that “Target doesn’t carry XXXXL so I guess these XXL will have to do”, we headed towards the checkout counter.
At that point, I noticed a familiar dude in the line – some guy that works with Laef at UCLA. I made some excuse that I wanted to go look at greeting cards and bailed before Laef ever knew what happened.
I left Laef at the check out counter with Tampons, Condoms and Cat Food. I know, I am totally mature like a 16-year old chick.
After feeling somewhat guilty, I made my way back to the checkout counter where Laef’s coworker was still standing, chatting about “our exciting Friday at Target”.
Whatever, dick.
We got condoms.
And we giggled like super mature teenagers the whole way home.
As I think about starting a new decade, I can’t help but think about all of the wonderful things that happened to me over the last 10 years. In short, I became an auntie four times over, I got married, I worked a wonderful job that allowed me to travel to Hawaii, Chicago, Miami and many places in between. I graduated from college.
I turned 30.
I lost some of my baggage.
And, I had a great group of friends who have been with me since the beginning of that decade.
That means, 10 years of memories. 10 years of good times and bad times. Many times of them holding my hand as I try to stagger home from Rennies. Many times of them wiping my tears while I cried over a broken relationship. Many times of tolerating my good sides and my bad sides.
Despite babies, weddings, moving, jobs and life’s general chaos, we have all remained in each others’ life.
So, it was the most perfect timing that the Oregon football team played in the Rose Bowl this year. A year that I happened to live in LA, and can actually afford to be a part of it. A year that doesn’t require me to buy a plane ticket anywhere, and where I can offer a small space in my tiny house for people who may not be able to come if hotel rooms were part of their travel expenses.
A year that allowed us to be together for the end of a decade that saw us through so many things together.
My last day of work was Friday, December 18. The very next night I was part of Lady Gaga’s little monster crew with my friend Annett in San Diego. I can’t think of a better way to start a two-week vacation than to scream every single Lady Gaga song while escaping from my reality for two hours. I dreamt of a life that was guided solely by my loves and inspirations. A life in which I could make a living doing things that I love.
Aside from inspiring me to sing Speechless at the top of my lungs for three days straight, she truly inspired me to think about what exactly it is that I love to do and trying to figure out a way to make that my reality.
I was still doing the little monster hand greeting as Laef and I headed up north to visit my family for Christmas. Thankfully, my nieces know what is up and actually enjoy dancing to Poker Face instead of whatever bullshit Miley Cyrus is putting out these days. (OK, I admit, I do secretly sing to Party in the U.S.A. if I hear it, but I can’t take her pole dancing and short black biker shorts).
After a few days with family, I headed back home to regroup and get ready for the Oregon peeps to arrive in LA for the Rose Bowl.
Even though our little house can barely handle Laef, Sanch and I, we had Chris and Alissa Hansen, my brother, and Amy Detwiler staying with us for a few days.
The Hansen’s were the first to arrive, coming in on Dec. 30. We took them downtown to Ercules in Manhattan Beach where we also met up with Michelle and Jeff Eberhart, Angie Sit and The McNamara’s.
For some reason Michelle kept saying that all she wanted was to be in the blog. But, I don’t know how to best explain to her that being in the blog usually means I make fun of you.
So this is what I will say about Michelle: She is the only grandma I know who wears knee-high boots with tassels. And, she is the craziest, most-fun 41-year 29-year old I know.
But, the line of the night goes to Chris Hansen.
I was talking about how I used to have a crush on this guy. And, it has recently been brought to my attention that said guy is “fat and bald”. I could barely contain my excitement over this new development when Chris said:
“So. He is fat? And bald? I am trying to figure out what is so wrong with that.”
We finished the night with some food and shots of Patron at Hennessey’s. It was a great way to start off the weekend.
The next day, New Year’s Eve, (OK, I need a minute. That seems like 4,980,343 brain cells ago) …
Ah, yes.
Chris, Alissa and I went to the UCLA men’s basketball to watch Laef in action. We tried to get him to do the “O” hand signal from the bench, but all we got was an eye roll. UCLA ended up holding on for a 2-point win over Arizona State so it was a good game to watch.
We raced back home to lay on the couch and watch The Hangover while re-energizing our already tired bodies. It’s amazing how two days of activities become much more difficult as life presses on.
Once Laef got home, the four of us headed to Sashi for our NYE dinner. It’s hard to put into words how amazing the meal was. The presentation of everything was so beautiful. The flavors were overwhelmingly good. Every bite seemed to have some larger purporse that left us baffled and wondering, “Exactly how does one come up with a Kobe Beef Cone thingy?” Or, “How do you make a red pepper ribbon?”
So, we not only ate, but we talked about food and took pictures and marveled at how decedent everything was.
Amy Detwiler and my brother arrived that night, and we decided to stay home so that we could be up early for the Rose Bowl. We sat around the table and played the dice game. That was until a car crashed into a utility pole near our house and the power went out.
What else to do but stand on the corner in sweatpants, with the neighbors, watching a car explode?
And, that my friends, is how we rang in 2010.
Seeing as the power was out, Laef and I were unable to inflate the air mattress that we were going to sleep on. So, we slept on a deflated air mattress with as many blankets as we could muster, and did not feel a day over 84 when we woke up.
It didn’t really matter because it was ROSE BOWL DAY!!!
I am not going to lie. I might have taken tailgating very seriously. I might have had one of the best days ever.
The game, as you might know, was a bummer. It wasn’t the Oregon offense we had seen for most of the year. It was frustrating to say the least.
I won’t say that it was a moral victory just being there. But, I will say, win or lose, I was taking in every bit of the experience in spite of fumbles, missed field goals and lack of possession time.
I met all sorts of people. The vibe was very pleasant. Duck fans seemed happy. OSU fans were very nice.
It was an amazing day.
It was the perfect end to a decade of memories with my peeps.
The weather is finally starting to seem summer-like. There is nothing better than a weekend of sun, chilling at home, drinking Sangria and eating guacamole.
It seems like Laef and I have been all over the place each and every weekend, so I was definitely excited to be home for a change. I had grand plans of doing some major spring cleaning on Saturday, but I sort of realized that I should also take a moment to just finally chill the fuck out and enjoy the day.
We have decided to let the Sanch venture outside a bit. We’re going to limit it to only during the day when we’re home so we can see what he’s up to while roaming free. As cool as I would like to think I am, I spent a big part of the day on Saturday sitting in the back yard watching my cat.
Whatever. I am easily entertained.
Sanch met the neighbor kitty Buddy. Buddy did his absolute best to hiss as loud as possible and try to intimidate The Sanch. But, after being locked inside for the past year, The Sanch did not give a flying fuck about Buddy’s hissing. He was determined to make a friend no matter what.
So, despite Buddy’s meanest noises, The Sanch just kept following him around the yard. Eventually, Buddy gave up, found a spot in the shade and set up camp. The Sanch followed him over and kept a fairly safe distance, but nonetheless, he was hanging with another cat! STOKED. He was probably like, fuck, finally. Someone who gets me.
Then Buddy threw up for some unknown reason and took off. Sanch stayed back to investigate. I was thinking it was some kind of initiation thing where if Sanch ate Buddy’s puke they’d be puke brothers, but Sanch was dainty and buried it.
Later that night, the Detwiler twins rolled into town to celebrate their 27th birthday. We grilled some food, ate some Sprinkles cupcakes and drank yummy summer drinks.
We then decided to visit Beaches to get our dance on.
It is safe to say that it was a success on many levels.
1. Laef Danced.
2. The played Lady GaGa
3. The Twins Were Popular With the Locals
On Sunday morning, my weekend took a somewhat bizarre turn as I was dog-sitting the neighbors dog, who decided to launch an all out attack on another dog while we were on a walk. Let me tell you what is not fun: SCARY DOG FIGHTS. Especially when you are helpless and can only watch as a dog (not yours) basically tries to kill someone elses dog by biting its neck in a furry.
In an effort to end the weekend on more positive note and mellow my nerves, Laef and I spent the afternoon at the beach.
It was that kind of Bridal Luncheon. The kind with cute flowery invitations, champagne, gourmet cheese, seafood quiche.
And cock rings.
I don’t know why I ever thought I was the Bridal Luncheon kind of girl. Because let’s face it. My mother smoked a cigarette INSIDE the airport within five minutes of meeting two of my bridesmaids, my sister got me a cock ring and Amy wrapped up some garter thing in a pretty pink box.
Oh, and there were boys at my luncheon.
And basketball.
All I can say is thank goodness for Angie Sit. She brings the girliness to my party. Not that Annett, Amy and Missy aren’t super girly. After all, I am pretty sure Amy and Annett could have done without basketball and Missy wore four-inch-bright-red skank heels (which she used to kick me directly up my asshole, bruising me in a way that only a stripper could understand).
So, anyway, I arrived in Portland on Friday to find a text from Amy.
“Your mom is a hoot.”
If I had any Xanax, I would have taken eight right then.
“My mom is a hoot” can mean about a billion things.
I found Amy and my mom in the Portland airport bar and we ordered some wine while we waited for Annett. My mom was gracious enough to buy Amy and I our wine, but asked that we leave the tip. No problem, I say. But, I only have a ten dollar bill. So, I hand my mom the 10 and ask her to trade me for two fives.
She hands me one five.
Mom: “Oh! This is perfect! You give me a 10 and I give you a 5.” Amy: … Me: “How is this perfect?” Mom: “It’s the first five you’ve ever given me!” Me: “I’m on a budget and I am pretty sure getting one five for a 10 was not part of the budget.”
Such is the story with my mom. I can’t wait to read the comment she leaves on the blog.
After picking up Annett and dropping my mom off with my sister, we hit the town for some drinks. It was standard operating procedure: acting ree ree with my most favorite peeps.
We downed some late night pizza and a shot of patron before heading back to the Longeteig’s to sit in the hot tub. For some reason, we thought it was a smashing idea to drink two bottles of wine while sitting in the hot tub. Which led to a huge grilled cheese session.
Amy Longeteig can be blackout fucking wasted and make a grilled cheese sandwich that will make your head spin. OK, so it might have been the 12 glasses of wine combined with the hot tub, but my head was spinning while eating my grilled cheese.
At almost 3 a.m. I snuck away to rest my eyes for a minute.
Next thing I knew I was at the shower eating brie and drinking champagne.
We played games. I realized I shouldn’t have let the boys play. They won cheated.
All joking aside, the shower was amazing. The whole weekend was filled with all of the people that I love, eating, drinking, laughing, being highly immature and generally having a blast. Even my mom brought her 23-year-old game and had a blast.
It made me realize how special the whole wedding thing is and how excited I am to spend time with my friends.
Real life is not nearly as much fun as bridal weekends.
Heart.
Tons.
P.S. I have not tried the cock ring. But, I can assure you that it is by far the best wedding gift we have received thus far. According to Laef.
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