I find people on their cell phones checking their email every five minutes to be TOTALLY ANNOYING. Being all, "Oh hey guys, look at my new app." and then they spend forty minutes showing you how they can ask their phone questions like a Magic 8 ball, and fog it up like a steamy window then draw things in the steam. Because seriously, I'm right here. Can't we just talk face to face instead of app-ing each other things like we're in some sort of annoying Sci-Fi movie where nothing scary happens, just really boring clicking? ("Hey dude, did you see the new Sigourney Weaver movie?" "Oh yeah the one about the future?" "Yeah where the computers send stuff **blahblahblah-boring-stuff-I-don't-get-because-it's-all-programming-computer-speak-and-nothing-explodes-or-catches-on-fire-when-internet-stuff-happens-you-just-have-to-BELIEVE-it'll-work-because-seriously-ones-and-zeros-is-doing-all-this-shit. . . I DON'T GET IT-ones-and-zeros-and-electrical-currents-my-ass-as-far-as-I'm-concerned-the-internet-is-pure-fucking-magic-and-if-this-were-the-1600s-Steve-Jobs-and-all-those-dudes-would-be-burned-alive-in-the-town-square-by-a-bunch-of-rabid-men-in-skirts** and then the screen shifted direction so you can read it the long way?" "Yeah I love that movie." "Me too.")
Correction:
I found them to be totally annoying. Then I got a Droid X (or Incredible. I can't remember. All I know is it's shiny, and new, and I had to be on a waiting list) Now, I just want to join them and be the best checker of my email on my cell phone ever!
Do you know what all those apps can do?? ME EITHER but I'm totally gonna waste years finding out! That Magic 8 Ball app? I've used it to figure out my life for the last 8 hours. Should I take a shower? Answer: Not likely. SO BE IT.
I'm gonna join all the people with the fancy phones and then work my way up in the ranks at lightening speed, and ultimately lead them as . . . their leader. . . to all kinds of glory, and world domination, and . . . glory. . . and I'm not even worried that I can't think of new words right now because I bet there's an app on my new phone that will think of words for me!
And I got this "Retro Camera" app that I've been using all day to photograph piles of laundry and my cat because it all looks like a Fiona Apple video and if that isn't the most thrilling thing you've ever seen it's probably because you don't spend 10 hours a day by yourself in front of a computer accounting for people! Sure I could pick up a real retro camera, but that's not fun. That's work.
And when my kids lose their phone down the toilet (because they'll be mine, and that's what we do in my family) I'll just go, "Come here my lovelies. Watch Mommy." And then I'll steam up the mirror with my own breath and wipe it away and they will be so amazed they'll think I'm some sort of wizard-y genius! "Mommy! How did you learn to work like my Droid 9000?" "Oh honey, Mommy is part cell phone." Cut to screaming and nightmares for the rest of their lives.
Look at how cool this Retro Camera app thing is though:
Well, it looks cool. I kinda look like there's a dinosaur behind me and I'm totally freaked out but don't want it to know I'm freaked out, so I'm sort of grinning because I think if I smile the dinosaur won't know I'm freaked out.
But then I remember that I actually love dinosaurs!
And we fall madly in love.
The end.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go program Family Guy sound clips as my ringer for all of my friends, and then see if I can get my phone to tell me where I am, because I'm pretty sure it can do that! I could just look around but I don't want to waste time.
So I went to Target today with the understanding that I was NOT going to be spending my money frivolously on things like t-shirts with shiny gold tigers on them, or wicker baskets in four different sizes that I don't know what to do with and so they'll just sit on my bedroom floor for half a year until one day when I accidentally trip on the arm hole of my shiny gold tiger t-shirt laying on the floor and direct my fall into the wicker baskets for cushion, thus crushing them into oblivion, and actually making the fall a whole lot more painful than if I had just fallen into the carpet like a normal person.
And I was doing so good, "Cat food. You're only here for cat food." I'd say to myself after stopping in the kitchen section, which is far away from the wicker baskets, but unfortunately contains things I want to buy like cupcake shaped cupcake pans (which is so amazingly ridiculous - cupcakes don't need to have the tops resemble a 2-D cupcakes - that's like pickles having an imprint of a pickle on them)(oh my god I would totally buy pickles with a pickle stamp on them!), and I kept saying no to things like this, which I always add up in my head like:
"Ok, that cupcake pan was $17.99 so added to the other things I haven't bought, that's like $156.99 - Ooooh but that purple spatula is so rubbery. . . no! I don't want that either! Ok, so cupcake pan $17.99, purple awesomely rubbery spatula $9.99, that's $166.98 that I'VE SAVED TODAY! I am such an amazing saver."
And that's how I ended up with $30 worth of lip gloss.
Because in my head-logic not buying things means I've saved hundreds of dollars which means, hey, I can spend $10 on lip gloss. I deserve lip gloss after all that frugal shopping I just did, even though all I really needed to do was come in and spend $7 on cat food in the first place.
Plus buying lip gloss is so confusing and enthralling at the same time because they all look so pretty and shiny, but you have no idea what they're going to actually look like on your lips, and nine times out of ten I end up buying the one that makes me look like I just caught the flu during a bout of hypothermia. Unless you're one of those people that tries lip glosses on in the store in which case, you probably just got AIDS. Enjoy.
So, I only picked up on lip gloss and was going to leave but then I saw it had tingling, plumping action in it. I'm sorry, what? Tingling plumping? If I wanted my lips to tingle I'd be handing out blow jobs at the Pier to toothless men with the prefix 'Little' or 'Big' followed by just an initial or an adjective as their name. Seriously, the thought of something I purposely put on my lips that has an action it preforms while it's there that's not prescribed by a doctor freaks me out.
So, I threw the tingling one back and grabbed three others, and walked out of the store spending only 37 dollars more than I thought I would, which is awesome, because that means I really saved like 130 dollars.
Now I just have to figure out what I'm going to spend all that extra money on.
(Just as a quick reinforcement - that is not me in the post below with the stripper. Am I that unrecognizable people?! In that case, here's another picture of me:
my new haircut makes me look way more latina.)
So, I'm in Fresno right now because Gige's baby is one year old and so smart she's doing my homework for me. Seriously, this baby is like scary smart. If you sing If You're Happy And You Know It - and she's not happy, she doesn't clap her hands. I mean, if that's not genius staring you in the face I don't know what is.
Here she is testing the stability of the table:
And then she danced up on it.
So, I'll be in the pool all day trying to convince the Gige's to have seven more babies because look how chubby!!!
So, it's true - there was a time in my life when I wasn't always this smooth:
. . . but that was a long time ago and I don't like to think about it. I just like to think about how well-poised I am now, and how well it comes off on camera.
(Ok that's not actually me. It's just some girl who looks like me when she's upside down and paying someone to give her a lap dance. Me? I get my lap dances for FREE damnit. And repetitively! "Keep that shit on repeat" I yell when I like what I'm seeing. And then I turn up the Dion real loud. Because when I get danced on I want it to be to Celine Dion making love to my ears while a half naked Jake Gyllenhaal licks whip cream off his own nipples.)
Anyway. . .
I just came across that picture of a stranger being very suave (I honestly have no idea who she is - but I know for sure it's not me, a) because she's wearing a silk top and a skirt and I only wear jeans at the strip club, and b) because I took the picture.) and seeing that picture reminded me of this picture down here:
Wherein I confront the waiter about the horror that is Gabi's hideous, shiny pink purse. I think I shouted something like, "EXHIBIT A!"
(shouting "exhibit a" is suave. lawyers do it aaaaall the time.)
Then proceeded to ask if he approved, and would he want to be seen with this glinting off of anything that has even the dimmest of a glow, because I'm pretty sure it melted a piece of the carpet when I winked at it.
He shook his head no, and spilled that water on me. He was so terrified of that purse his hands shook when he was trying to wipe up the spill because it was staring at him.
Making the waiter spill and feel totally uncomfortable while doing his job?
Not so suave.
But now I'm older, and smoother, and I can control myself around servers and just strangers in general. I don't take pictures of them in strip clubs (anymore) and I don't make embarrassing conversation to all those involved.
Unless I go to the local Subway by myself and there's no one to stop me.
Subway: You want lettuce?
Me: 'Course.
Subway: (talking to her co-worker) You see Mad Men?
Me: Ooh I love that show.
Subway: (ignoring me) That show about the mens from the 40's.
Me: I think it's the 50s.
Subway2: Yeah I saw it. I like that main guy.
Subway: Oh hell yeah, what's his name? You want olives?
Me: I love olives.
Subway: Mia Hamm or something.
Subway2: Mia Hamm is a girl.
Subway: Hamm something.
Subway2: Jon?
Subway: Yeah. Mayo?
Me: No thanks. He's so sexy.
Subway: . . .
Subway2:. . .
Me: I wanna get him pregnant.
Subway: . . .
Subway2: . . . .
Me: I can't do that. I don't know why I said that. He's a boy. I didn't mean, I meant I want to make out with him.
Subway: . . .
Subway2:. . .
Me: Not him-him, but his character-him.
Subway: . . .
Subway2: . . . .
Me: I'll get the meal please.
Why's it so hard to make friends when you're an adult?
So I need a co-eater when I go out to avoid things like this. For the sake of my friend's embarrassment levels at the very least.
You know how sometimes having an overactive imagination is a bad thing?
Like when you decide you can make your own pogo stick with a two branches and a mattress coil? Or when you're sixteen (thirty) and still afraid of the dark? (God made street lamps for a reason people) Or when you see a cute haircut on a famous person and your imagination fires off like a gernade in a swimming pool, drenching you and everyone around you with your horrible, blow-up-y idea to get the same haircut because you have somehow convinced yourself that yes, you do look just like Halle Berry, you certainly are looking blacker these days, and by God yes you have her boobs, your imagination just told you so!
Well. . . luckily I'm well-versed enough with my terrible imagination to know that I don't actually look like Halle Berry, but that I would probably look really great with bangs like Jennifer Garner/Aniston! No, I don't look like them either but clearly they look good in bangs so I must too! Because we all have longish, brownish hair and so I SHOULD HAVE BANGS TOO! Yay lots and lots of bangs! And then I'll look like Halle Berry! (my logic takes a dip into crazy-town when I get on a haircut-roll)
Do you know anyone with curly hair who has bangs? No. Because curly haired people don't have bangs. They have short hair in the front, but they're not bangs. Bangs are straight and lovely. People with curly hair don't do straight and lovely, so they get sticky up-y short forehead hair.
But do I remember this when I march into the salon on Saturday? No sir. I tell her to bang me and then I sit back and wait for the magic to happen.
It turned out ok until she chopped off about five inches more of my hair than I wanted, and then when I said "Oh thanks that's perfect", she feathered my bangs.
Like I'm a guy in a hair band from the 80's that never made it.
It wasn't that bad when she styled it:
But then of course when I tried to style it myself I made it four hundred times worse than she did because it's totally impossible to ever, in the history of man, style your hair the same way the hairdresser does it because before you leave they curse you with black magic and the plague.
Here it is the next day:
You'll note I drew a face over mine (complete with an eye patch so people won't know it's me) because for some reason I'm smiling with joy in the picture.
I look like my cousins from the 80's.
(they're still my cousins, it's not like I got rid of them in the 80's, I just mean - these are what they looked like back then. Now they look. . . well, pretty much the same just with less hairspray.)
How AWESOME are they????
I wanted to be them soooooooooooo bad when I was 8 and they looked like this. And now I'm starting to look like them. Which is totally going to be awesome because the 80's are back right? This is what they meant? Skinny jeans and bangs?
Right?
Please.
(If not I can always straighten my hair and play the Hi-My-Name-Is-Becky game, because apparently the hair was the only thing setting us apart, because at the wedding I got called Becky so many times I just started going along with it. Becky - if someone named Jeff calls and says he's willing to donate his stuff so you can have children, just go with it.)
Once the medical crew treating me realizes I don't just have a fever - but instead have a serious life-threatening medical condition brought on by something mysterious yet household-y that can only be solved by a guy with a limp, a sassy attitude, and a crew of misfits.
No, I'm not sick with something jungle-y but I expect to be within the week due to an alarming number of animals and insects and possibly fish that have taken up residence in my house.
How did they all get there you ask? I'll give you the same answer I got this morning while I screamed in terror, "WHY ARE THERE SEVEN MOTHS FLYING AROUND ME WHILE I'M TRYING TO SHOWER?!"
"Five letters!"
"What?"
"Five letters!"
"I can't hear you!"
"Forget it."
"What? Gah! One just flew INTO MY HAIR! Is it still in my hair??? GET IT OUT OF MY HAIR!"
Several minutes and re-washing of hair later just to make sure there were no moths in there:
"Why is the bathroom a moth sanctuary?"
"Five letters."
"James."
"Bingo."
"Bingo?"
"No, it's James, I just meant - Bingo you're right, it's James."
"Bongo."
"No - bingo."
"Yeah I know, Bongo is what you say after Bingo. I was just finishing it."
"Bingo Bongo?"
"Bingo."
". . . "
"Do it."
"No."
"Say it."
"No."
"Bongo."
"There you said it."
"Yeah but you were supposed to, and now I just feel dirty."
Anyway, I leave the window open for James so he can climb in and out at will thus making him the happiest cat alive, and me the happiest cat owner alive. Because if you've ever heard a cat wail in boredom and agony of said boredom you know that it's just as powerful as a new mom hearing a baby cry in the grocery store and then leaking through her new tank top. It's HEART-WRENCHING.
Buuuuuut, because I leave the window open the neighborhood militia has taken it upon themselves to move on in and dominate.
I kill at least four spiders before breakfast, several more before I go to the bathroom - which, as I mentioned before is the new moth habitat - and on top of that dead, and/or half mutilated birds and mice are often wriggling around my living room floor, office floor, computer desk, kitchen counter, and my recent favorite - the couch.
And then I went to throw the trash away and this was trying to slither into the house:
Not on my watch!
No, instead of freaking out girlish-ly and screaming 'Snaaaaake!', I stood my ground, kicked out at the air above it and screamed:
"Shaaaaaaark!"
Much better.
Shark? That's just confusing and disorienting. There is clearly not a shark on my patio, and maybe I was thinking that I would throw it off by calling out the wrong thing and the snake would look around and say, "What? A shark? WHERE!" and then flee for his life into the bushes and someone else's yard where he belongs.
But it didn't work. And really I just could not figure out what the word for snake was and I just kept repeating 'Shark' over and over in my head, complete with fin-images even though I knew I wasn't looking at a shark. Is this a sign of some sort of degenerative illness? Mixing up scary animal names? Because if so then the spiders already got me and Dr. House will need to know this.
I snapped out of it and caught my breath and instead of calling out the right thing I said:
"Is the dog in the house?"
"What?"
"Is the dog in the house?" (Because clearly I think the dog will die if it sees a snake.)
"Can you stop shouting at me from the other room?"
And because this is an insane request due to the amount of life-threatening things I'm trying to deal with right now I just open my eyes real wide, connect big-eyed-serious-eye-contact and point to the dreaded shark-snake.
"Oh."
"He's not inside." (I like to point out the obvious in scary situations so that no one else freaks out)
"Ok."
"Look how he's right next to the doormat." (See, there's nothing to fear.)
"Uh huh."
"And wrapped around the chair." (This is normal. Sometimes I wrap around the chair. Do not be frightened.)
"Great."
"Do you think he'll kill me?"
"Probably not."
"Do you think he'll crawl on my face? I do not want a snake on my face."
"No, I don't think he'll crawl on your face."
"WHERE'S HE GOING?" I scream because he's suddenly slithering toward the corner of the house and disappearing into the wall like some sort of weird disappearing-into-brick-walls-Harry-Potter-platform-train-catching snake. Also I scream this as if I'm going to get an actual answer: Oh don't worry Amy, he's just going to check on his pound cake and make sure it hasn't fallen yet. To which I would reply: Pound cake doesn't fall. WHERE'S HE REALLY GOING?
Again, I love my cat. I have to keep telling myself that because for now it's worth the wild animal/insect infestation, but pretty soon it won't be. Pretty soon the window is getting shut and James is just going to have to learn to take a set of keys with him. Because I will not stand for this shit.
A: Oh yeah, that too. (she didn't really say rapists, but I don't want to divulge her issues all out in the open and I figure rapists is a good substitute. Everyone can have an issue with a rapist.)
B: Wait, what?
A: Nothing. Tell me about rape.
B: You were just agreeing wildly that I have issues? In general?
A: As a joke.
B: Very funny Mrs. OCD Touches Her Knuckles Every Time She Has A Bad Thought And Can't Find Wood To Knock On.
A: I do not do that.
B: The other day when we were driving in the car you all of a sudden started fake cracking your knuckles. And I know you hate cracking your knuckles, so what you were really doing was some sort of weird prayer-knock-on-wood-crazy combo because I'm assuming your mind drifted off to something sad.
A: Whatever.
B: What were you thinking?
A: Nothing! I didn't do that!
B: Amy. . .
A: I was thinking about my kid getting kidnapped.
B: See. . . what?
A: And then buried in the woods.
B: You don't have a kid.
A: Not yet.
B: . . .
A: . . .
B: Are you knocking on wood again?
A: What, you think I should just let them get kidnapped and buried in the woods???
B: Knocking on wood doesn't actually stop things you know that ri- ALSO you don't have a kid!
A: You'll thank me later when I do the same thing for your kids.
(Blurry photo of me showing how big my boobs used to be)
Well, it's official. Everything they ever told me was a lie.
#1 "Adults can do whatever they want."
Uh, not with my student loan payments, no they can't. Unless doing whatever I want involves writing a check for more than my rent money every month to someone named Sallie, and her evil little friend Mae.
Or maybe they weren't lying, maybe they were just leaving out the footnotes:
"Adults can do whatever they want.*
*provided they don't get a degree in something art-y. Jesus God don't do that."
(Ok, well this one sort of backfires on me because writing checks for school is sort of exactly what I want to be doing because I love/d school so I'll pay for it until I bleed tears.)
(Also, I think a fellow child told me this so, it's totally stricken from the record, but the rest are valid!)
#2 "Put some soda water on that it'll come right out."
Never. Never in the world has a stain come out because of soda water.
#3 "We'll never get divorced."
Thanks for ruining my life Brad and Jennifer!
#4 "You'll get boobs, don't worry about it."
Wait, seriously . . . didn't you think Brad and Jen were going to make it, and then that crazy ass Angelina Jolie got in the way and all the fairy tales in the world got re-written and suddenly Rapunzel can't get out of the tower because turns out she has lice and has to get her hair chopped off and Sleeping Beauty O.D.s on Ambien?
No?
Just me?
I swear to God if Katie and Tom don't make it I'll never believe in love again.
#4 Sorry, back to number four. "Boobs. They're coming"
Oh, really? When I'm seventy? Because I have news for you, that's gonna be TOO LATE. You know who has their boobs out when they're seventy? Grandmas who wear their hair in a beehive, and chain smoke menthol Virginia Slims, and apply blue eyeshadow like it's gonna help them see better, while talking with their mouths full of cottage cheese they have to eat to help keep their girlish figure for the lads at the Indian Casino she visits twice a week and plays the penny slots while sipping on her Diet Tab and Malibu because it's the only place in the world that still serves DIET TAB.
They're actually getting smaller I think. My boobs that is. Because I bought this dress for a wedding I have to go to this weekend, and when I bought it, it fit, and I just tried it on and it now fits everywhere but in the chestal region. What up with that?
I took another non-blurry photo so you wouldn't think I was exaggerating.
That's me grabbing a handful of dress fabric that should be hugging something someone told me I would get when I grew up. Well, I'm grown up. I have bills to pay. I have a family to take care of (James). Where mah boobs at??
Mom, a word please?
How come Bub looks like this?
And I look like this?
Just wondering.
Anyway, now that I've thoroughly embarrassed anyone related to me, I have to go to Target and return a dress.
