Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Sometimes I Really Miss Dial Tones

So I'm not sure why, but for some reason no one has a key to my sister's house except the maid. (And before you start to judge, my sister isn't some crazy rich lady who has a maid.) (I mean, she has a maid, but only because the whole town rallied around and demanded she get one lest they condemn the house for too many unmade beds in a house that only houses two people. She's not dirty, my sister, she just doesn't like to clean.)

Anyway, so I've been using the spare key everyday to get into the house because no one seems to remember that there is such a thing as making more keys, so instead we just sort of live life on a whisper and a prayer that someone will have remembered to put the spare key back in it's hiding spot so we can get into the house. You never know if you'll be able to get in when you want to, which sort of makes me feel dangerous.

"Can I get in the house today for lunch? No one knows."

But yesterday I was at work at 6am and left at 6pm, and by the time I got home, I was so thrilled with myself for remembering to put the spare key back I hugged myself a little in the car. Then I practically ran to the key, then shoved it in with all the enthusiasm of a teenage boy about to do it for the first time, before it stopped cold and sort of bent against nature. Wrong hole. I tried the top lock - nothing.

This isn't funny.

I tried again, and again because I'm not a quitter, before I realized it . . . my rich, crazy sister's maid locked me out of the house.

Naturally I grabbed my cell phone to call my sister and find out when someone would be home, but I had been using the GPS app thing all day to walk around the block to see if it would work correctly (it did!) and my m.f.ing battery was dead!

I just stood there for like five minutes because I had no idea what to do. How do I call people without a cell phone? Pay phones? Do they even have those anymore? I know they have them in Baltimore in the projects, because that's how they catch drug dealers - but I haven't seen a pay phone in years!

Finally, I got in my time machine and took it to 1998, where there's a pay phone on every corner and hair spraying my bangs was still sort of passable as a look.

Actually, I took it to the gas station and there was a pay phone there! I was so shocked I jumped up and down a little then ran over to it and kissed it. Then I got AIDS.

No, I didn't. But it was sticky and weird, and I left my sister like seven voicemails screaming at the top of my voice like a lunatic, because I was worried she wouldn't be able to hear me through the tin-can-like pay phone, that was all crackly and had that background radio noise that landlines have, so I was all, "BECKY! THIS IS AMY! I DON'T KNOW IF YOU CAN HEAR ME. I'M IN A PAYPHONE. (I wasn't in one, but I was scared of the phone and not thinking right) CALL ME BACK HERE. I'M LOCKED OUT OF THE HOUSE. I'M! TALKING! TO! YOU! FROM! A! PAYPHONE! WHAT THE F*&K!"

Anyway, I got a hold of my mom, she called my sister and discovered no one would be home for a long time. So I was back to plan B. Break-in time.

Now, I've climbed through the window once before, but it was after my ten year High School reunion and I was hammered, and Gige was hammered, but she was there to help push my butt through the window, uncaring that I was about five seconds away from breaking my pelvis because for some reason all the windows in Becky's house only open to about six inches high. Like a prison.

It took like forty minutes, and a break to eat some Taco Bell after my reunion, so I was not looking forward to it. This is what it looked like the first time I did it:

It was uncomfortable, and I'm not even sure how my six foot one frame made it through an opening the size of a loaf of bread, except that the alcohol must have made my bones sort of Gumby-ish.

But somehow, magically, last night - after I'd braced myself for a broken bone or two - I made it in with absolutely no problem at all. It was like I'd Alice in Wonderlanded myself through the opening.

I almost wanted to go back out and do it again, just to prove I could, but I didn't want to risk it.

And then two seconds after I slid into the house the Math Teacher came home with the key.

Of course she did.

It was kind of nice though, having to use a pay phone, it was like when you were a kid and it was so fun to pretend to use those old fashioned phones you have to talk into one part that looks like a tulip and hold the other part to your ear while wearing a monocle.

I might just try it again. Get all hair-sprayed up and head to the gas station to make some phone calls. Only this time, I'm bringing some hand sanitizer with me. Because I love nostalgia, but just with less stranger goo.

Friday, November 19, 2010

Willow Smith, Hairography, and How I'm Going To Make Thanksgiving More Weird Than It Should Be

So I texted Gabi the other day and was like:

"I kinda love that song - I Whip My Hair Back And Forth"

and she was like:

"Yeah! It's catchy!"

and I was like:

"I know right!"

and then she was like:

"It's Willow Smith. Will Smith and Jada Pinkett-Smith's kid."

and I was like:

"What? That's a kid!"

That was as shocking as when I found out Justin Beiber was white.

and she was like:

"Yeah, she's got a good voice."

and I was like:


and she was like:

"Boys whip their hair back and forth?"

and I was like:

"If they grow it out. I'm not prejudice."

and she ignored me and was like:

"I can't wait to shake my booty to it in front of your family!"

and I was like:

"Me too! Get ready for some weird girl-on-girl dancing to a thirteen year old singing what I thought was a sexy hip hop song!"

and she was like:


and I was like:

"Your mom LMAO!"

and then we exploded into a SoCal, valley girl time bubble of giggles and hairspray because for some reason I can't talk to/about her without saying 'like' every five seconds as if I'm a thirteen year old trying to get out every emotion she can before third period bio class because she's just so teeming with hormones and bursting with love for Christian Slater she can't control it and if she doesn't say 'like' SHE'LL PROBABLY EXPLODE ALL OVER THE HALLWAY and be late for class because how can you keep stuff in when you're a thirteen year old girl? You can't. You have to get it out or you'll die, so as a place holder for actual words you say 'like', or your heart will stop beating.

Anyway, so I was feeling some sort of weird thirteen year old kinship with this Willow, when my sister sent me this, the video:

OK. Hold. Up.

That is one young looking thirteen year old. Where's her padded bra? Where's her. . . adult face? Why does she look like someone from my third grade class dressed up in her mom's makeup and grandma's clothes???

And what up with the lip bedazzling? What sort of high-class dancer dazzles their lips with fake little diamonds, and where the heck can I get some of those!

And then I figured it out:

She's nine.


Years old.

Not, nine years and four as they say in the olden days, when they added things in a really weird way instead of just saying the number outright. And not nine as in some sort of age code all the kids are using so that when you say nine what you really mean is 117 divided by 13 is 9, because they all talk in crazy computer algorithms now - but nine as in, she should be watching the Ninja Turtles, and asking her mom to leave the hallway light on when she goes to bed because she's afraid of the dark because she's nine.

Now I feel weird. If I'm gonna be grinding up on my sister or friends at a family function I want to be able to do it to a song that's not added an extra level of uncomfortable to the whole mess. Do you know what I mean? I mean, I'm a thirty year old who just used the word 'grinding', if that doesn't creep everyone out already, you . . . well, you might really enjoy the Willow/Jonbenet Ramsey type video.

To be fair, there are no real sexy lyrics, and she's not dressed that inappropriately, but I still feel weird dancing to it.

Is that gonna stop me once I get a half a glass of wine in me?

I doubt it. I highly, highly doubt it.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Why Do You Live - Because I Have Something Worth Living For

Ahhhhh! Stop talking all low and whispery to each other like that! MY NERVES CAN'T HANDLE IT.

Screw Bella and Edward (you too Jake, but not in that way) - you know what I just remembered is coming out in a week?!

Harry Motherfucking Potter!

(if I could make that font glitter I'd totally do it)

Harry Hogwarts Hermione Ron Snape Snape Severus Snape Potter! HP7 as they're calling it. I don't even care that they're whittling it down to a weird little acronym, I'd get that creepy, steely looking acronym tattooed on my bicep because the movie looks soooooo good!

Yeah, on the inside of my bicep, because I don't want to show it off all the time.

(Sometimes it's amazing I can lift a coffee cup to my lips. I've got to get back to the gym. At one point in my life I could bench press the barbell. Just the bar. With no weight on it. Don't be jealous. That sucker weighs like 8 . . . 10 pounds. Just kidding, I think it's 45 pounds. Forty five pounds of pure steel I could life over my head like some sort of Greek goddess! . . . Er, at least that's what I used to yell every time I made it more than one rep.)

The best thing about not having any sort of memory is that I don't have any sort of memory, so everything seems new to me. I've read all the books, most of them more than once, and I know for sure I loved the last one with all of my heart, but I cannot for the life of me remember what happens.

I was watching the trailer, and I started to get all excited and nervous, and I was like, "Oh my God! WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN!"

I mean, I know what the end-end is going to be, but I forget all of the middle section, so I just started shouting at my laptop, "Why is Harry with Voldemort so much? Oh my gosh Run! RUN FASTER! Hermione what are you doing? Who are you being so brave against, and why is Ron topless in a field of leaves?! Who just kissed? MORE Voldemort?! Where's Dumbledore? OH MY GOSH THAT'S RIGHT (*slight sobbing starts here*) Why does the panning across the landscape sort of look like the opening of the Twilights? This better not have a crossover or I'm gonna be pissed. (*now the sweating with nervousness starts*) And how come Harry looks like someone out of Lord of the Rings for a while? AND WHEN WAS THERE A LIGHT SABER STANDOFF AT THE END!?! Oh my god I'm so excited!"

Two parts my ass. Someone better leak that shit or I don't know what I'm going to do with myself.

I mean, just look at this.

J.K. Rowling, sometimes I wish you were my mom.

(just kidding mom, i love you)

Monday, November 08, 2010

Snow Running

I was just told this was an unattractive look:

Oh but I beg to differ sir! I'm about to run in the snow, I need to be warm. And also, right before I was told that I was looking at myself in the mirror thinking, "Oooh, this is kinda cute. Like sporty cute."



"No, it's not."

"Are you sure?"

" . . ."

And because I know myself and my sexual prowess, I stood strong and maintained it was not an unattractive look. Not at all. I know unattractive! And I knew that I wasn't done dressing.

Because then - then came this:

I'm not sure why I look drunk so early in the morning, nor why my hoodie/warm headband combo makes look like I'm about to go scuba dive, but it always does. For some reason, this particular hoodie is so fit, and tight around the head, it's less hood and more skull cap. Like something you put on to flatten your hair down before you put a wig on.

Needless to say, I was still thrilled with my look and the new snow when I got back from my run that I decided it was time to get James out into the cold. Time to let him get giddy with happiness at the pretty weather, and possibly up his cuteness level by a million by sticking his little kitty tongue out to gather snow flakes on it! HOW MUCH FUN WE WILL HAVE! I shouted as I picked him up and dragged him out into the snow with me.

He was not a fan.

He pretty much saw me heading for the door, looked up at me and said, "You've got to be shitting me."

"OH AM I?"

"You don't want to do this."

"OH DON'T I?!"

"I'm not kidding."


"Have you seen the way I can kill with my bare teeth and then devour a bird twice my size in a matter of seconds?"


". . . "

"I mean, I have. Yes. I have seen you do that. But c'mon! This will be fun!!! Yaaaaaaaaaaaay!"

And then, giddy with anticipation, and dressed for sexy I dragged my little sucker out into the first snowfall! Because I knew once he got out there he'd love it. He'd look up at me and be thrilled. He'd probably thank me; with a little kitty card he made by himself at his little kitty desk, signed: **pawprint** your James. (And then I'd cry).

Anyway, he didn't love it so much as he hated it. Hated it a lot. But that doesn't mean I didn't stay out long enough to take many, many pictures!!! (My kids are so gonna be the ones at the mall dressed in matching cowboy outfits, complete with fake guns, for their fake posed shootout at sundown, and they'll be all, "Mom this sucks." and I'll be all, "Just do it, you know you'll love it once that life size photo comes back and I hang it on your wall. Think of how cool your friends will think it is!" and they'll be all, "I don't want it on my wall. I'm eighteen. And I don't have friends anymore. Not after you jumped out of my birthday cake at school and sang Happy Birthday to me like Marilyn Monroe." and I'll be all, "But that was so fun for me!" and they'll be all, "Marilyn Monroe, Mom! For fuck's sake!" and I'll be all, "Ok that's it mister, for cussing at me you now have to wear that bandanna as a handkerchief around your mouth. You just got demoted to robber.")

(Click to enlarge/read)

Friday, November 05, 2010

Tuesday, November 02, 2010

Glee, Sex and the City, Rocky Horror, Topless Magic

I'm apparently waaaaay behind the times (with my movie and tv watching), because I just was scrolling through my Netflix and I was like, "Oh what's this. . . Damages? Glenn Close is in a tv show?" *An hour later* "Oh my god this show is amazing! I must tell everyone!" *Calls Becky*
"So there's this show. . . " *Becky lets me go on and on and then says* "Yeah, I think it came out in 2007."


Then I was wandering around Target the other day and I saw a display for Sex and the City II out on DVD and I was like, "Oh man. . . I thought I could still see it in theaters!" So, I went ahead and bought it. Not rented - but bought it - because I loved the first one so much, and thought, "What could go wrong?!"

Oh god. So much. So so much could go wrong.

I'm not gonna get into it, because you all saw it a year ago when you should have (or you didn't because you are smart), but I was so uncomfortable and slightly bored, and then - AND THEN - they got up and sang I Am Woman, at some underground karaoke thing, and I was so embarrassed for them I hid under my sweater and started sweating a little. Like I was mortified for them, looking around to make sure no one was suddenly in my house watching me/them sing so inappropriately. I haven't been that embarrassed for a character since Baby was learning to dance, and carried a watermelon.

I just got sweaty again.


I know that people who haven't seen Rocky Horror/weren't a total nerd in High School probably didn't appreciate that episode very much, but oh my shit it made me so happy I can't even stand it!

The only thing that was a little questionable was the word changes in Touch Me, to make it a little more FOX friendly - it pretty much undid every sexual fantasy I had between 1994-1998.

But then made up for it!!! Finn as Brad! Can you make me wish I was a transvestite any more? (Brad sleeps with Dr. Frank N. Furter in the movie. I think. Maybe I'm just wishing.) (No, he totally does. Tim Curry - Hot.) Meatloaf and Barry Bostwick guest starring! Uncle Jesse singing and motorcycle riding all over the place gaflaghaliuewrpjsldkfka! AHHHHHH! It's like they took all forms of happiness, shook them up in a snow globe and let it explode it's joy all over the world!

The only problem I have with this, is that I'm behind the times so I had to watch it on Hulu and sometimes my internet is slow and takes time to load like right in the middle of my heart spasming out of my brain with pure, weird bliss, so I get all antsy and, again, sweaty with joy. (Medical condition I should get looked at?) I get sweaty when I'm embarrassed and excited - it's a curse. I blame my mom. I also get sweaty more when I'm cold than when I'm hot. Don't ask me why, just know that it's making me rethink my refusal to move directly onto the equator.

Anyway, so as I was waiting for Hulu to load my Glee (which I have figured out how to hook up to my tv so I can pretend it's on in the middle of the day) (am technical genius!), I whipped off my shirt and ran to the kitchen to wash my armpits. (I have a system. It involves washing and reapplying. Don't judge me.) I'm not about to run to the bathroom because then I might miss some of the episode so I stand at the kitchen sink wetting my underarms and squirting some Dawn up on there, stealthily keeping an eye on the tv, and then I realize I don't keep my deodorant in the kitchen! So I start to panic, because this means I'll have to go in the bathroom, but panicking means more sweating, so I calm down and look from the TV to the bathroom. TV to the bathroom. Bathroom. TV. Bathroom. TV.

And then I run.

And I get back just in time, because the show has started again, and I'm singing, and thrilled, and multitasking by applying my deodorant, and singing some more, and then . . . out of the blue. . . I'm not kidding. . . The goddamn UPS guy shows up. AGAIN!

And the worst part is the TV is right next to these two, huge, sliding glass doors, so it's not even like I can duck down below the windowsill, because there is not windowsill! It's just huge glass panes of embarrassment, there to show off my glowing white goodies to all of the yard, and the UPS delivery guys who don't use the side door like they should.

I never order stuff from UPS. I'm not sure why suddenly he's coming to deliver stuff to me EVERYDAY at the worst possible time!!!

So, I'm standing there, topless, in pajama pants (again) in the middle of the day, the only thing making me feel better is the fact that I do not have a wine glass out.

And he just stands there.

As do I.


Hey . . .

Uhm. . . This looks weird.

Uh. . .

I was just . . . Glee is on.

And it makes me sweaty.

Oh . . . ok?

So . . . uh. . .

. . .

. . .

Ok, I'm just gonna leave this here.

Needless to say, he just dropped the package right there, didn't even have me sign for it, just sort of waved and backed up without turning around until we couldn't see each other anymore. I'm not sure why I just froze there, except that I think I kind of thought if I didn't move maybe he wouldn't think I was real.

If you look you can see James in the background, watching and judging. He stayed away until the guy left as if he was embarrassed, and didn't want strangers to know that this is where he gets his food. And the front shot of me - those bangs - that's what happens when I don't put on the headband. I look like I have a botched mullet. Too short in the front. Too much party in the back.

I don't know why my leg was up either, it's not like I was going to deodorize down there next, I think I was just too excited to be standing still, and I didn't even notice my leg was up until after the UPS guy had left and I had to forcibly put it down. Maybe I always do that? Like when girls put on mascara and they open their mouths? I'm gonna have to pay attention next time I use it. Which could be soon. Glee is on again tonight.