NFL Tickets

B: That famous football player I work for that you can't mention by name on your blog bought me tickets to the Patriots - Chargers game!

A: He did?!

B: Yeah you want to go?

A: Are you kidding?

B: No. I mean, ok, honestly I asked a few people first, but you were like third on my list.

A: What?

B: Third behind five other people I asked before those three.

A: That's not what I mean - although thanks for boosting my self-esteem - I mean, he gave you tickets? Himself?

B: Yeah. And then he said I could make out with his hot wife.

A: No he didn't.

B: No, dang it, he didn't. But he did give me tickets to the NFL.

A: Well, not the whole NFL.

B: You can't say it like that?

A: No, I think you're just supposed to say, "He gave me tickets to the game." Tickets to the NFL, is like saying, "He gave me tickets to the NBA."

B: Well, that's stupid.

A: I know. So he just gave you tickets? Does he know your name even?

B: Uh, he totally knows my name! Maybe.

A: You should make out with his cleft chin for that!

B: Well, maybe someone has to remind him what my name is, but he got our whole project team tickets, and there's only a handful of us, so I like to pretend he knows my name.

A: And doodles it in his playbook during pep talks.

B: Gross.

A: Seriously, you need to make out with that chin.

B: So anyway, do you want to go? Because my offer expires soon.

A: Of course I want to go!

B: Oh . . .

A: Oh?

B: I thought you were going to say no.

A: BECKY!

B: What! I already asked Beth and so now I have to take her!

A: Well, lucky for you I can't go.

B: What! You just said you wanted to go!

A: Well, I want to but I can't.

B: I knew it.

A: Thanks for thinking of me though.

B: You're welcome.

A: How many people did you really ask before you asked me?

B: I can't even remember.

A: I love you too.

Starbucks and Tony Soprano

One of my really good friends, Starbucks, is pregnant. (That's not her real name, that's her code name. It was between that and Ice Man, but then I remembered I'm saving that one for when I date Stefan from Vampire Diaries - because he looks like a weird cross between Val Kilmer and Willem Dafoe to me.)

Anyway, Starbucks is pregnant, and the other night she wanted to go to the Lomita Fair, and since she's pregnant I pretty much do whatever she says because I'm slightly afraid of pregnant women - like they hold this weird supernatural power because they're growing humans inside of them like some sort of alien-witchy woman who can do spells and CREATE LIFE.

(The angle of this picture sort of looks like she had an affair with a Lego man, doesn't it?)

Optional wedding photo:

Have you ever told a pregnant woman no? I once thought about telling Gige I didn't want ice cream one night when she was pregnant, and she glared at me so hard right after I thought it, that I'm fairly certain she used her pregnant voodoo to climb into my dreams and see every bad thought I've ever had. I didn't even say anything out loud, I just let the thought drift into my head and I'm pretty sure if I didn't throw some Double Stuf Oreos at her right at that moment she would have used her pregnant mind-power to make the steak knives lift out of the drawers and come flying at my head.

She said she was just having some indigestion when I asked her why she was looking at me like that, but I know better.

So, when Starbucks asked me to go to the fair I said yes. Despite the fact you have to walk through a metal detector just to get into the fair, and then be patted down before you go into any of the haunted houses. The fish toss didn't even have fish (or water for that matter) in the little bowls. It was just empty bowls lined up by angry carnie.

Starbucks tried to convince me she wanted us to ride this roller coaster:

And then it got stuck there. Which didn't dissuade her at all, because Starbucks loves danger. Pregnant danger. But luckily I was able to distract her with funnel cake and art.

I've been looking for an oil painting of fictional mob bosses from six different stories all in one!

I mean, who hasn't?

My favorite part is that Tony Soprano is in there twice. Once just wasn't enough.

My other favorite part of this is that this is the second time we went to the fair in one day. When a pregnant lady tells you she wants to go back and get more funnel cake, you turn the m.f.ing car around and prepare yourself to be wanded again, because they have little humans growing inside of them, feeding off their blood and nutrients and stuff. I don't even have a virus right now, so I have no say.

But that's not all! Once they birth them - they feed them with their boobs!

Sometimes talking about the cycle of human life is sort of like describing an 80's movie starring Anthony Michael Hall.

Which is why when Starbucks's kid asks me where babies come from I'm going to pop in Weird Science and let John Hughes do aaaaallll the explaining.

And if that doesn't work I'll just point to the oil painting of mob bosses above the fireplace. It might not explain anything, but at least it'll confuse the kid for a while.

Feathers Are Not So Pretty When You Know Where They Came From

So, normally I would be just horrified by the fact that James brought a bird into my bedroom at 6am this morning, let it go so that it could fly into the wall, crash, and then be TOTALLY AND COMPLETELY EATEN by James right in front of me like some sort of crunching, horrible, early-morning soul torture.

But not today. Today I just sighed, poured myself some coffee and leaned against the counter to wait and let the caffeine kick in before I got into bird-feather-clean-up mode.

(Oh, and a slight beak-clean-up, because he could eat the talons, but not the beak. Of course.)

This laid back attitude toward my murderous cat is only because the last two days of work have been so rough and long, that I could pretty much handle it if James brought a baby deer into the house and rode it around from room to room, before mud wrestling with it in my bathtub.

They've been so stressful in fact that at about 3pm on the first day I glanced at the wine bottle on the counter and realized it was going to be my only savior. Just a few calming sips - and you can all stop with your intervention plans - I don't even have a glass a night anymore, so back up off - if you worked for family You'd Be Sipping On Something Alcoholic On Your Lunch Break Too.

So of course, the one time I do this the Fed Ex guy shows up. The last thing you want when you're sneaking wine in the middle of the day is to be caught by someone bringing you a gift you bought for yourself.

The next last thing you want is for it to happen again the next day.

And the third last thing you want is for all of this to happen when you're dressed like either a) a homeless hippie who somehow spilled ranch dressing all down her chest a week ago and hasn't washed her sweatshirt yet; or b) some sort of slutty P.E. coach gone terribly wrong, and still in a ranch stained sweatshirt.

Since I didn't have the foresight to photograph myself because I was too busy trying to convince a stranger I wasn't as off as I looked, I recreated it for you here. Enjoy.

First day. Homeless-hippie-looking me, tries to hide day-drinking, and talk about Jersey Shore in an effort to distract Fed Ex guy:

Second day. P.E. coach gone wrong me is now so over pretending to be something she's not, that she is flaunting wine glass. Sometimes it's better to just be honest with the Fed Ex guy.

And now I have to go finish vacuuming up feathers.

And put some actual clothes on. Just in case UPS comes by. I don't need another round of this.

In Love With

Have I ever mentioned that when I tell people what I do for a living it stops the conversation in it's tracks, kills it, and leaves it for dead on the side of the road? It's really the weirdest thing I've ever seen. I know I don't have an exciting job, but I've never in my life seen three more powerful words in the world.


I'm an accountant.

Cut to the person I'm talking to immediately glaze over and all people within a five mile radius die inside a little of boredom, and have no idea why. Like they're just minding their business, walking down the street all relaxed-like and suddenly they can't feel part of their soul because I sucked it out when I started talking about taxes, and they don't know why, but they go home that night and yell at their wife for making brownies too gooey, confused about why they're doing it, but powerless to stop the creeping soul-death that has entered them all because they happened to be in the vicinity of my job-talk.

"They're too gooey bitch!"

Blank stare. "What? Since when are brownies too gooey?"

"I don't know?"

"Fine. Stop being weird, and eat them."

"Fuck you!"

"What?"

"I don't know what's happening to me!"


I'm like a dementor.



So, anyway, that's why I'm going to spare you all my work stories right now and just show you how I cope:

(Well, I just discovered I can't show you, because my Dad reads this and no one wants to see me in a bathtub full of red wine less than he does.)

When the bath gets cold I turn this up on repeat and try to figure out how to marry it.


In love.

They Don't Sharpen Themselves

So, I just shoved a huge Hershey's Pure Dark Chocolate bar into my mouth and actually moaned out loud it tasted so heavenly.

In other news: I'm working 12 hour days again, and my co-workers couldn't care less about the moaning. Just so long as it's not stabbing.

Other side effects of working so much:

1. Horrible right eye twitch is back, making me look like I have winking turrets.

2. Sparkletts guy enjoys eye twitch.

3. Falling asleep at a red light, only to be awoken by an angry driver honking his A off.

4. I screamed, "Stop honking your A off!" and continued to sit at green light much to the amusement of the driver next to me.

5. "A. off?" overly friendly driver next to me said.

6. "WHAT." (aka, Bring it.)

7. Eye twitch is of course no where to be found at time like this when it would come in handy.

8. "Jeeze. Sorry."

9. Totally feel bad for yelling at stranger.

10. "If it makes you feel better I threw a pencil away today."

11. Not sure why I told him this.

12. "I'm not sure why you just told me that."

13. Is very bright stranger.

14. Before I can explain his light is green and he's gone. I am still sitting at my light which has, of course, turned red for a hundred years.


So, I'm so out of it I threw a pencil away today because it was out of lead. Where - out of lead - means it was an old fashioned sharpening pencil, the lead broke and I couldn't figure out what to do with it in two seconds, so I threw it away and opened a box of new ones only to discover They're All, All Out Of Lead!



What in the devil!

Just as I marched up to the front to tell them they had spent hard earned money on broken pencils, my brain joined me and I slowly started walking backwards out of the room, hoping no one had seen me mutter to myself, "Why don't any of these pencils have lead??"

"They do have lead you know?" the new girl said to me. She's 18, and very cheery.

"What? Oh, I know. I didn't mean lead, I meant sticking out lead." Ok, apparently my brain hasn't totally joined me yet.

"Do you mean, sharpened?"

"Sharpened?" Of course I mean sharpened! I'M TIRED.

"Want my pencil?" she said handing me her pencil because this was as far as she was going to take me in the learning process.

"No, I figured out how these work."

"Good honey," she said patting me on the arm and leaving to spread her cheer and knowledge elsewhere.

"Honey? You're 18. I'm old enough to be your mother!"


Her twelve year old mother but still. In some cultures that's normal. Don't honey me, honey. If anyone can call anyone honey it's me to you - older to younger - or same age to same age - or girlfriend to boyfriend - and you're sure as hell not my girlfriend, honey. That spot is reserved for Adam Lambert.

Or Halle Berry. (Because of course if I turn gay it will totally happen that Halle will turn too and we will obviously fall in love.)

They Don't Have Enough Pills In The World To Stop This Kind Of Love

Once one of my High School teachers called my mom in for a private meeting so he could bang her talk about some issues he was concerned about.

Those being mainly that he was concerned about my attention span, and thought perhaps I should get tested for ADD (that's back before they added the H) and should maybe go on drugs.

(Am totally kidding about the bang-her-line-thru thing, I just learned how to do that. Am computer genius! Can Html like a third grader!)

Her response?

"Amy, Mr. Cannon thinks you can't concentrate."

"Why?"

"Because it took you a week to fill out the months on his desk calendar."

(pause)

"How long is it supposed to take?"

"I'm guessing five, six minutes."

"Well. . .huh. He might have a point."

"Do you want to be tested for ADD?"

"No, I don't have ADD, I just hate office work."

"What were you doing instead?"

"Imagining what life would be like if My Little Pony were actual live moving ponies. And then choosing which one I would get."

"We don't have a big enough yard for a horse."

"No, it's a My Little Pony. They're little."

"Amy . . . "

"But wait - see I would make this sign in wood shop that says "Dream Valley", because that's where the ponies live, and I would hang it up over the garage where we'd keep our real life My Little Pony. And I would get somebody to sculpt little goblins and other magical creatures to get all up in Dream Valley because the ponies didn't live alone if you remember. They had magic buddies."

"You cannot nail a sign up on the garage that says Dream Valley."

"Are you sure?"

"Very."

"Do I have to be a Teacher's Assistant again next semester?"

"Not if we ever have to have a conversation like this one again."

"Deal."

Anyway, my point is - there's been a lot of talk about how I get can't focus for a long time on one specific thing. But maybe it's not attention deficient people, maybe it's just the fact that I like lots of different things. Some people call it worldly.

And I ask you - if you could love both of these men at the same time, wouldn't you also be impressed with yourself?

Brett Dennen.

Ian Somerhaljdfalsdhf.

(yes it's the same picture as yesterday. I don't care.)

(ooh just looked it up - it's Ian Somerhalder. Same thing.)

I mean - look at those two. Gorgeous.

Before you judge you need to listen to these two things. Preferably while crying. Alone. In a bathtub. With a picture of your ex-boyfriend/girlfriend just out of reach. (even if it doesn't make you sad, it might just make you mad, but it's just out of reach, and that makes you sad.) And a bottle of wine opened and floating in the new little float-y thing you bought for the bathtub. (go out and get one right now.) Ok, maybe you just need a picture of your old dog that died just out of reach. - Turn on the song. Let the beauty wash over you. Thank me with oral your smile.

The Vampire Diaries: Filling the Twilight-Sized Hole in my Heart And Then Slapping Me In The Face And Reminding Me I Never Liked Twilight In The First

Place, But Still Love Vampires Due To A Weird Obsession With Anne Rice When I Was 12, So This Magical Little Piece of Television Programming Is Actually Filling The Lestat-Sized Hole That Was Left In My Heart When Anne Rice Decided To Focus On Religion Instead Of Fictional Blood-Sucking Creatures - Not That There's Anything Wrong With That, It's Just Not What I Would Have Done

I haven't blogged in a long time because I went ahead and did something really stupid.

Heroin.

Ok, not really, but it felt just as wonderful and bad as I imagine heavy IV drug use must. I really didn't want to try it. I held off, said no as politely yet firmly as I could, and changed the subject, or just said, "No, that's ok. I don't want to. But please, you go ahead. I don't mind if you do it. I just don't want to be a part of it," and then I'd catch a glimpse of something awesome as I walked past the room and I could feel myself start to give in. Or I'd hear the gasps and the ohmygods, and I'd peer over my shoulder to see what they were gasping about. Finally they just all looked so satisfied and happy in ways I didn't know because I wasn't doing it with them - ways that I decided I needed to know about, even if it went against everything I stand for.*

(*who am I kidding? Everything I stand for blah blah blah. I love pappy crap more than my own mother.)

(that's totally not true Mom, I'm just trying to make a point.)

So, because I love giving into peer pressure even though I'm thirty now and have a cat of my own, I downloaded Season 1 of The Vampire Diaries and lost two weeks of my life.

Seriously . . . SERIOUSLY. . . It's soooooooo bad and good! Like I could not stop watching. I went to bed at night with my computer running on all cylinders, downloading the four episodes I allowed myself to watch a day (to show my computer I have restraint)(he judges) because God forbid I have to wake up and eat my Cheerios without an episode of the Vampires to watch. One day my internet shut down for about two hours and I almost cried I was so desperate to find out what was going to happen with Elena and Stephan and Damon.

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention why I love it?

Vampire brothers. In love with the same girl. They're both totally sexy and murderous. LOVE TRIANGLE. One has to resist feeding on human blood to remain human-ish in demeanor because he loves her so, and the other just doesn't give a shit because he's all, "I'm a Vampire yo. I'm not here to be nice, I'm here to be sexy. Now step back while I take off my shirt and bite into this reporter dude." (Why the abs have to come out for eating and fights? I don't know. Maybe it ups their power. Mama doesn't care. You can be shirtless at my wedding for all I care.)

I wouldn't even answer my phone last week because I had three episodes left, and I wanted to do all my crying in private.

Here's the thing - it's a totally teenager show. It's on the CW for goodness sake. But it's by the same guy who did Dawson's Creek, so it's sort of like he realized all of us who were 14 when that show was on, are now 30 and need something a little heavier so he gave us Vampire Diaries.

Then passed me my Otter Pop, and told me if I didn't get asked to prom he'd take me; but just as friends.

Oh, and did I mention Boone is in it. Oh yeah. I'm pretty sure he didn't die on the island, he just was converted by the smoke monster into a Vampire, and then left to reside in a less confusing place, far, far away from Jack.

Hi.