We Can Dance If We Want To

Remember that one time Finn told me his pecs were getting to be about the size of my boobs, but like sort of hesitated halfway through his sentence because he realized the look that was forming on my face was one that is just before the one I give when I want to stab? He was in the middle of working out (shirtless, because that's how I like him) and he said, "This right here," grabs his chest. "It's getting close to . . . the size of. . . " he knows he's going to probably not get made out with after this but can't stop himself because that would be even more acknowledgement that he meant - Hey! I'm a boy but could wear a bigger bra size! And not in a man-boob way, but in a muscle-y sort of a way.

Ok, so it was a dream, but it felt real.

I'm not the only person in the world to wake up pissed at someone because of a dream that had absolutely no truth in reality. One of my ex-boyfriend's wouldn't talk to me for an entire day because I called him fat in his dream and then made out with Albert Einstein right in front of him. Didn't matter that Albert Einstein had been dead for about fifty years - it seemed real in the dream, thus, I must secretly want to make out with Albert Einstein instead of him. (I did, but how would he know that?!)

Anyway, since I was dream-pissed at Finn, it didn't really bother me that he only had one line in this week's Glee, and no songs. Serves him right for having gigantic, muscular chest muscles, that do a little dance to Wanna Be Starting Something when he's trying to show off. Plus it left room for two of the greatest things on TV.

1. Jane Lynch and Neil Patrick Harris discussing how they're going to have Anger Sex.

and

2. The little lesson that love can cure paralysis. (Well, duh.)

(ok, again, this turns out to just be a dream, but that doesn't mean it didn't feel real to Artie.)

Coffee Drinking

I'm fairly familiar with the rules of the coffee pot and coffee drinking in general. You can put certain things in your coffee depending on how you like it - cream, milk, soy milk, Bailey's, that fake powder stuff that's not milk or cream, but is just a chemical concoction made to be cream-like that I loooooooove but is probably giving me cheek cancer or something - but that's about it. Thems the rules of coffee drinking.

However, James decided to say f*&k the rules. "I don't need rules, I'm a cat. You ever see me wash my hands after I go to the bathroom? No. Because I'm a cat who hates rules. I just do my business and then walk all over your pillow. You got a problem with that?"

"Well, a little bit."

"What? I couldn't hear you I was too busy licking the spot where one of my nipples shows through my fur."

"Yeah I sorta wish you would wipe your feet or something before you walked all over a place where I put my face."

"Maybe you should put your face somewhere else."

"I . . . what?"

"You heard me."

"Ok, whatever, it's coffee time."

"Oh good. Now, allow me to show you how cats spice up their coffee:"

And then he proceeded to dip his right paw into my coffee cup and hold it there for a good three seconds. Then calmly took it out and shook it off while I stared at him like a mother staring at her baby who just lit up a cigarette. But he wasn't done. He took his left paw, dipped it in, held it there for a good amount of time, took it out and shook it off while I stared at him even harder. Like a mother looking at her baby who just lit a fresh cigarette with the butt of her old one. (chain smoking baby would be the creepiest thing since they invented those dolls whose eyes open and close when you tilt them. like a demon.)

He just kinda sat there and stared at me after that, watching to see if I would drink his cat-paw coffee and I almost felt threatened. Like - if I don't take a sip of this, is he gonna beat me up?

So, I pretended to take a sip while he watched me, and then I promptly dumped it out and poured myself a new cup. Because I'm all for breaking rules when you need to, but not with coffee. Coffee is too good for change.

Dear Tuesday, Will You Marry Me? (*editor's note: this was written for last Tuesday, not this Tuesday. Stupid flash back episode.)

And have a long happy life with me? No kids, we'll just be like one of those couples who says, "Our dogs are our kids." And we'll say things to each other like, "Have the kids eaten today?"

"I forgot to feed them."

"Honey!"

"I'm just joshin' you. Of course I didn't forget to feed our sons. I love them more than I love these fancy velcro shoes."

"You can get them on and off in a hurry!"

"Did you update our sons' facebook pages?"

"I did! They posted a photo journal of their bath time! Complete with a modesty bar!"

"A modesty bar! That's rich honey. Real rich."

"Mosey even photo shopped a shower cap on Goober's head."

"A shower cap?! STOP."

"We're so lucky to have each other Tuesday."

"We sure are honey. Us and the boys."

"We should take our Christmas photo with all of us in the tub! What do you say?"

"All of us? In the tub?!"

"Yeah!"

"Hot dog that's a good idea!"

"I'll get the modesty bars ready."



And then we'll get punched in the face by total strangers for being RIDICULOUS(ly in love), but seriously Tuesday? You're rocking my world.

Lost is back - check.

Glee steps it up and resumes kicking tv ass - check.

Lakers win - check.


And there you have it, the tv trifecta of PERFECT.

I know not everyone watches Glee or Lost, and you don't have to - Lost is almost over and I still have no f*cking clue - but Glee? Stop thinking it's gonna turn you into a Nancy boy and start watching! I guarantee you tell a girl you watched Glee last night and sang along to the library version of Can't Touch This, and you're gonna get so much geeky, innocent, you-wanna-put-it-where ass you won't even know what to do with it!!!

(Not sure why I'm directing this one at the fellas, but I am. And you're welcome.)

Not since Old School has Total Eclipse of the Heart been so good. I actually can't hear the song without singing it like the Dan Band does, which is still so funny to me, even after the four millionth time I've seen it (Turn around, bright eyes! F*ucking every now and then I fall apart!)(I'm crying from laughing as I type this)


But oh my gosh I love this! Oh, Finn, in your flannel you look so forlorn and heartbroken I just want to make you pie, and eat it while you sing to me. And new dude - I can't remember your name because I'm trying not to get attached to you because I know you're bad. You're from the rival school - but that last line at the end - yeah I want to make you pie too, and then make you spoon me.





Bonus. Because it rocks.

Mother's Day

Sunday was my one day to sleep in and I was so excited about it I purposely stayed up way past my normal 10 o'clock bedtime just so I could sleep in extra long and make it feel TOTALLY awesome!

Ok, fine, I stayed up past my normal 9 o'clock bedtime. I get sleepy early! I'm thirty now! (My sister gets ready to go out to bars at like 9pm and she hasn't even left before I'm all sleepy on the couch, my head bobbing up and down, until my nose dips into my wine glass and I snort myself awake and shake it off, because I want to stay awake to see if the girl says yes to the dress, and James needs to be walked on his kitty leash before bed because otherwise he'll be standing on my butt at 2am meow-ing his head off so that I'll wake up and throw the ball with him (might be a dog), and I'll have to get up in the middle of the night and throw things for him to fetch until I pass out at the edge of my bed clutching my blanket over my head so I can't hear him yell at me anymore, at which point he takes to digging like no one has ever dug before in his litter box, as if he buried some sort of treasure in there and if he doesn't find it, his bookie is gonna be piiiiiiiiissed.)


Anyway, I was sleeping in. And what's the last thing you want to hear at six am on a Sunday when you had planned to sleep in until at least 10am?

Your phone ringing.

And your grandma's voice on the other end asking you to go to Marie Callendar's to get whip cream, and then the Mexican restaurant to get a bag of ice, and the donut shop for coffee filters.

Most people do their shopping at a grocery store but my family shops for their refrigerator goods at various restaurants.

I'm not really even sure why. I think she's sort of convinced things taste better if it's horribly embarrassing to get them. No one refuses an old lady her berries, it doesn't matter that they're a McDonalds, if she wants berries, the woman is getting berries. Also, she things things taste better if they come from a restaurant's kitchen, as if they have some super secret connection to the food world that grocery stores don't have.

"I'm not buying peanut butter from Vons. Anyone can just go to Vons and get peanut butter. I want the good peanut butter."

"You know that when Polly's Diner is giving you peanut butter it's just Skippy? It's actually the same as the ones in the store."

"No it's not."

"It's not?"

"Do you even have taste buds?"

Clearly - no. No I don't.

And really, how can you argue with that? How can you tell your grandma on mother's day that you won't go get her the good ice at the Mexican Restaurant?

You don't. You just wake your sister up and drag her along with you. And when you tell her where you're going and what the plan is, she just shrugs and says fine. Because it's mother's day. And you don't question it, because you want to make all the mother's in the world happy.

Shoot, you'll even stop at Olive Garden to buy some of their flowers on the way over. You know why? Because they're worth it.

Irrational Fears

...that my mom refuses to acknowledge, which I believe she thinks will make it seem as if my fears are irrational and ridiculous, and because she's ignoring them, then I'll decide they're not that important and ignore them myself.

(This is 100% not the case. Instead, I typically think she's ignoring and/or blowing them off because she knows they're true, and cannot stand the thought of various things happening to her favorite daughter. It would crush her. Thus, she ignores and soldiers on. And while she remains brave, so very brave, I continue into an even further freak out.)

Irrational fear #1

The fear that my eye will pop out.

"Mom, I have this horrible sharp pain behind my right eye. It's really bad. It's not like a normal headache, it's like a sharp pointing pain." **demonstrates sharp pointy pain by poking finger by the side of the head** **sees reflection and notices demonstration looks more like a tentacle coming out of my brow than it does sharp eye pain** **switches to pointing at eye very curtly**

"Do you need Advil?"

"Yes please. What if my eye pops out? Or explodes in the socket or something?"

"I don't think that's going to happen."

"What if it does and that's why the pain is so sharp, and stationary?"

"The chances aren't very likely."

"It feels like - remember that movie with Meg Ryan's husband?"

"..."

"Dennis Quaid! And he gets shrunken down til he's super little and he floats around inside Martin Short, and to see he has to plug into Martin's eye." **resumes demonstration of sharp eye poke**

"I don't know that movie."

"Yes you do. I had nightmares for like four years. And Dennis Quaid needs to get inside his ex-girlfriend and in order to do that Martin Short has to make out with her, and Dennis is transferred through the saliva into her, and while he's floating around he makes it to the womb and sees she's pregnant (with his baby!) because there's this huge fetus floating around trying to catch his little space craft he uses to hover around inside people?!"

". . . "

"What the heck is that movie called?"

"I have definitely NEVER seen that movie."



Irrational fear #2

That when I accidentally point the remote control the wrong way and push the buttons, the signal is going to be sent straight at my brain/uterus where it will inevitably cause a brain tumor, or a mutant baby to be grown. Even if I'm not with child, I still think somehow magically there is a phantom baby in there, like an energy wave baby, and the remote control waves will somehow heat it to start growing, and it will form, and then I will birth it, and it will have wings, and talons, and a set of teeth to rival all teeth. Sharp and jagged, and snaggley.

"You are not going to have a microwave baby for God's sake."

"What about a brain tumor."

"We might already be too late for that."



Irrational Fear #3

Andie MacDowell getting overrun with ticks. In her hair.

"I thought you were afraid of ticks in your hair."

"I am, but she actually had one in her head once, and she didn't seem concerned, and so now I'm afraid she'll just go about getting ticks, and not caring, and then she'll be like a crazy tick-head lady and I will never allow myself to be in the same state as her! No! The same hemisphere!"

"That's gonna be hard to do."

"I know! HENCE, the fear!"

So Similar Yet So Different

The other day I came home from work and the Math Teacher greeted me at the door with a moony gaze, and a smokey, "Hi there baby."

"Oh, hi honey," I said. "I'm so glad you got here before Becky. This way she'll never know about our love."

And then her eyes actually made that camera zooming in and zooming out sound while she refocused, and allowed her brain to process that even though she thought I was her girlfriend, I was in fact, not her girlfriend. Worse. I was her girlfriend's sister.

Dun dun dun.

Next on General Hospital, the Buchannan family realizes Crystal isn't only the dog - she's the dog with their dead grandpa's brain! She's - grandpa dog! And only she knows where the family fortune is buried. . . and who's been sleeping with it.

After about five solid seconds of both of us frozen into place, the Math Teacher burst out into gravely, slightly embarrassed laughter, and I checked myself to make sure I didn't look as gay as she thought I did, and then started laughing so hard at her laughing so hard she fell over the back of the couch and made a slow roll to the floor, where she continued laughing on the floor, curled up into a fetal position, and somehow I ended up cry-laughing, and sitting on top of the kitchen table. Like, we needed to share the moment, but we needed to do it on completely different surfaces, because if we had both been standing on the carpet, it would be dirty.

Also, Becky and I:

We're not twins!

(To each other!)

But for some reason even our lovers can't tell us apart. The other day I saw John Krasinski walk into Becky's room "accidentally" while she was "changing" and now she's pregnant.

Anyway, the Math Teacher was watching TV when I walked in so she claims she was distracted and the way the shadow from the tree fell on my chest it gave the illusion of cleavage when I walked up the walk so that's why she thought I was Becky.

It's an honest mistake.

But if she thinks this is going to make climb into bed with her while she sings Glee songs and I try to pull my ninety five pound, adult-sized poodle into bed with us only to have the dog freak out and stand above us dutifully shaking paw-to-hand for a half an hour so someone will please, please, please help her off the bed and back onto her pillow bed on the floor where she belongs, while the Math Teacher continues singing Like A Virgin in a voice that can only be described as Kathleen Turner swaddled in marzipan - she's got another thing coming!

People On The Streets

Is there anything sexier than the sound of David Bowie and Freddie Mercury's voices blended together?




I DIDN'T THINK SO.


Ok, fine. Maybe Richard Alpert pouring wine on my stomach and then sucking it off while Family Guy plays in the background. But that's a close second.

In other news, my family is sad they read this once again.

But that's fine, considering the conversation I had with my mother yesterday. I don't care about ick-ing her out right now because when I asked her if she could see my muffin top in these pants, instead of lying like she should have, she just nodded and gave a what-are-you-gonna-do-face.

"Yeah honey. I see it."

"Mom!"

"What? You asked."

"Why can't you lie to me like normal people?"

"That's how people get fat. People lying to them."

(Ok, she didn't say that last part. But that's what she was thinking.)

"What about when I do this?" I asked hiking up my pants so they came just to under my boobs.

"Nope, now I can't see it at all."

"THANK YOU. Was that so hard?"

"Can I go back to work now? This little fashion show is getting weird."

"It's gonna get even weirder now that I have to walk around all day with my pants like Uncle Zeke."

"Or you could just pull them down like a normal person and let your muffin top show."

"MOM!"

"Sorry, you totally unnoticeable muffin top."

"Thank you."


Lying: It's not in her vocabulary. Much to the detriment of my self-esteem. Ever see me with my hair up? No. And you know why? My ears stick out. You know who taught me that?

It's wasn't my dad I'll tell you that much!


**I'm totally joking - I mean, I'm not joking about my mom and my pants, and my mom and my ears sticking out - but I am joking about being upset by it. The woman couldn't be more supportive if she just carried me around all day on her back, in a large adult-baby-carrier thing, waving a little flag that says:

My daughter rocks!
(and boy is she heavy)

Holly And The Suitor

So, last night I was sitting in bed working on my new cross-stitch of Holly Hobbie, watching Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2, taking little breaks to spoon-feed my cat some of my ice cream, when it dawned on me. . .


I'm sitting in my bed doing a cross-stitch of Holly Hobbie, watching Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2, and taking little breaks to spoon-feed my cat some of my ice cream!!!

There are two ways this can end:

1. The only thing missing is the impending crew of Hoarding to come busting through my door in a preemptive strike against what my mother is afraid I will eventually become*, a girl surrounded by piles of stuff, and needle-art (I just learned that term yesterday looking for some cross-stitch as my thirtieth birthday present from my sister.)(I mean, what? I asked for a motorcycle, not something only grandma's and ladies who think Aqua Net is god's gift to hair, do.)(Anyway - Needle Art! What are your hobbies? Oh, you know, hiking, surfing, needle arts. I'm actually a brown belt in the art of needling. It took me years to perfect a closing knot. - And that's how I ended up single FOREVER.)


(*to be fair, my mom thinks saving anything for more than a year makes you a hoarder. Thus Becky and I have no idea what our childhood paintings look like, or cute little baby clothes leftover, or you know, photos from 5th birthday parties - because our mom hates memories. And clutter.)

or

2. I maintain cross-stitching is awesome. It's the Pants movie and spoon-feeding my cat that may need to take a backseat.

May, I said. I'm not kicking it out of my bed just yet. Plus, it's fun to play with my Mom's emotions a little. If she can't worry that her daughter will end up alone, not giving her grandchildren that aren't feline, and on a tv show where people's homes are seconds away from being condemned, what can she worry about!