Thursday, August 27, 2009

I need to post more. I need to post more. I need to post more. I need to.. Wait, I've got it! Val Kilmer, Nipples & Pervy Grandmas!

So I always have these great ideas for blog posts. When I'm brushing my teeth or driving or anywhere far, far away from a pencil, paper, or laptop. Like the blog post about that hilarious time I... Wait, no. Nothing.... I suck at this.

I need the little recorder that Michael Keaton had in Night Shift. Something about tuna and mayo already in the can ---- Hilarious. And speaking of Michael Keaton. Mr. Mom was also hilarious. When did he stop being funny? Was he the Batman with nipples on his Batsuit (because that was NOT funny) or was that Val Kilmer with the nipples? I sound like a pervy jewish grandma. That Val Kilmer with the nipples!! Oi!

And speaking of Val Kilmer, I heard the only door he has been opening lately has been the Refrigerator Door. You could always tell he had the Fat Gene. Some men just show early on that they are going look like walruses (walrusi?) when they age. Alec Baldwin - Fat Gene. George Cloony - No Fat Gene. He is sticking right where he is in the weight department (thankyouverymuchGoerge) (P.S.Georgepleasestaysingle). Brad Pitt - Tentatively placed in the Fat Gene Club. Sorry, but I think Mr. Jolie is heading for the Husky department at Gucci. It is something about their necks, although the dude from Boston Legal shocked me when he ended up as the Freaking President of the Fat Gene Club!

Oh God. I need to write the good stuff down. If you see a Hyundai Tuscon swerving all over I-77 in South Carolina - that's me trying desparately put a coherent thought down on a G*# D#@* piece of paper.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Blogher is going to the Big Apple

I have never been to Blogher. I read a lot of blogs by some amazing people that do go and they write posts all about the Sparkles and Love and Girl Power and Unicorns!!! I would love to be able to write half as well as these fly ladies. Just to be able to comment with a clever quip is usually beyond me. I truly don't know if I have what it takes to write well enough for someone else to want to read what I have to say. But practice makes perfect right? My husband says that to me at opportune moments in the Booooodwaaaar but boy am I digressing now.

What I DO know, though, is NEW YORK CITY Baby! I lived and worked and partied like it was 1999 for almost all of my twenties and most of my thirties. I was in fact in freaking Times Square for the Millenium. It does not matter that I was cold and bored and my feet hurt and we ran home and passed out right afterwards because we were exhausted from standing around in our New York Police Department Pen for 8 hours. That is a blog for another day.

In 2004 I married my English studmuffin and hopped across the pond for a while. I was a jetsetter! I wore Prada and "took" meetings in London and New York!!! I rocked the London fundraising world. For about 5 minutes. Then I went home to the deep south for a family visit and something strange happened. I am still not sure but I think my mother may have put something in my vinegar based bbq sauce or sprinkled it on the deep fried turkey but I LOST MY MIND and my husband LOST HIS MIND and joined me on our great Southern Adventure!

So under the influence of some drug or another, we moved to the middle of nowhere in South Carolina and then my husband went to work for his Father-In-Law. Basically this has not been Unicorns and Rainbows and Sunshine. Although it is mother-effing HOT here all the time. He's English, he loves the heat! I grew up here so the Heat for me - Not So Much. I miss New York Winters and London Fog.

I will say that many good things did come from our trek and we know we can survive one of the top marriage deal breakers - the overseas move. I would be the perfect tour guide for New York. Maybe next year I will take the plunge and give Blogher a shot. In the meantime, I will practice my pithy comments.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Past or Presents????

Tomorrow is my 43rd birthday. I feel alternately 14 and 400. I spent over $200 today covering the gray and letting a tiny young blond thing sell me hair products that will keep the gray covered for longer. My list of aches and pains is growing and my list of athletic abilities is diminishing, like the law of returns. Speaking of returns, I need to return the old lady jeans I bought the other day because wtf, "OLD LADY JEANS????" They looked right on the hanger at the bargain store but highwaisted is not even close. I could wade the Rio Grand and keep my belt buckle dry.

I recently missed my 25th High School reunion and I am sad when I see the photos on facebook but my cool years were LONG after 1981-1984. I was way cooler in my thirties hanging out with tv stars and politicians in New York.

I hope I will have another cool period soon. The new hairdo should help!

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Worst. Idea. Ever. Of the weekend anyway.

I spent last Saturday night at a South Carolina Dirt Track watching the cars race around a clay mud track over and over and over again. And over and over and over again. That pretty much sums up the suckage that was my Saturday Night, doesn't it? Oh and the only alcohol was Natural Light beer. And the girl next to me was suffering from some weird swelling disease and had a wound on her leg. Yay! Those two things combined to create a situation in which she was continually drinking the above mentioned Natural Light and asking for a napkin to staunch the weird liquid oozing down her leg below the bandaid she had slapped on her injury that I am sure was a knife wound or tatoo gone wrong.

We had to attend because a customer had been inviting my husband and I every week and we dodged it several times over the summer but finally could not say no again. We already felt guilty for using a couple of creative white lies to excuse our lack of attendance at the previous Saturday Night Speedway Smackdowns and true to our Cosmic form our luck ran out, in a big way. Karma Kneivel showed up during the first of many "Hot Laps" and she (the bitch) decided we deserved a spankin' for all those times we bailed on her and the Fastest Dirt Track in the south.

We sat there on those concrete bleachers with the redneck mafia surrounding us for eleventy billion hours. Every race featured a wreck or a stalled car that made the crowd groan and at least one driver raise the occasional half hearted fist but honestly, it was too hot for them to do more than flip each other the bird and shout insults at each other every the the caution light came on, which was every. single. lap. I appear to only be able to write in incredibly long sentences today, for some unexplained reason.

I think that sums up the wasted hours that was the Saturday Evening Dirt Track experience. I was planning on writing 30 more paragraphs describing the tube tops, ten year old's with tattoos and blowsy blond banana clip updos just so you can all live moments with me, but I have to go lie down now.