At Least Here, There's Only Two Months A Year I Need Sunscreen

I'm about to have a new scar. I'm calling it the, "they took the baby from the wrong side scar" because it's about the size of a C-Section scar but on my back. Or maybe the, "they took my kidney and left me in a bathtub of ice, but at least they taped that phone to my hand scar", or my personal favorite, "scar? what scar? that's a stretch mark, oh so now I'm fat? scar".

It's actually from having my melanoma removed. Thanks Southern California!

Actually, I probably should have listened when Gige told me two years ago to have that thing checked out. You all should have that thing checked out. Even if it's not a thing yet, maybe it's just a weird little freckle you've had since you were 4, or even if you don't even have anything and you're just showing your doctor a perfectly spotless piece of skin and he's like, "Uh, there's nothing there." and you're like, "Dude, are you sure? What if it turns into something?" and he's like, "But it's just your belly button." and you're like, "Is it a cancer belly button!?!"

The plastic surgeon they brought in to do my top layer of stitches (oh yeah, two layers cause I like mah stitches like I like mah men, deep and made from animal intestines) told me I was too young to have melanoma. I told him I was 28 and asked how old he was. "How old do I look?" he said. "I don't know," I replied. "I'm face down on this table with half a pillow in my mouth, I can't see you." He laughed which was nice except for the part where I didn't necessarily need his hands shaking right at that moment. When he was done I heard him snap off his gloves and say, "It was a pleasure stitching you up." I removed some sanitary pillow covering from my mouth and said, "Yeah, I loved getting them. I was gonna spend the morning watching that sassy Veronica Mars, but this was fun too."

Anyway, now it's gone and everything is fine. And thanks everyone for pushing me to get it looked at. And thanks for the well-wishings, and biopsy presents (tb), demanding drunk phone calls at midnight that you're flying out immediately to be there for me (bub), apology phone calls the next morning for waking me up (bub), and all that stuff.

It's Like Buffy But With A Latino Biker Gang Instead of Vampires

Note to self: Take off glasses before you try to wash your face.

Oh, also - stop watching Veronica Mars because you're so distracted by it you just put both contacts in the same eye and then couldn't figure out why you were having a hard time seeing.

Warning! This Post Contains Pictures of Gross Bloody Things.

As some of you may know I like to run, and coincidentally I'm sort of clumsy. Now, up until today I had managed to avoid falling or tripping (ok, so I trip a lot. but not dangerous tripping, just oops who put that curb there tripping) for the last several years. It could be because I'm not very fast, actually I'm frequently (read: always) passed up by all kinds of different runners, and occasionally a few swift walkers.

So, I managed to go the entire Chicago winter, running on black ice without eating it. I managed to train for a marathon where I would sometimes be running for four or five hours at a time, without falling to the pavement. I managed to run up the gd hills of the San Francisco Marathon without spilling over. (Yes, I fell on the Golden Gate Bridge just five miles into it, but I don't count that because that Venezuelan woman tripped me - ON PURPOSE - or maybe not on purpose but she wasn't sorry about it at all) But then today . . . TODAY I go for a slow, three mile run and two blocks into it I trip over a crack in the sidewalk and skid along the concrete for about a mile. I was only going like 4.5 miles an hour, and I'm pretty sure I managed to scream several cuss words out before I actually hit the ground but for some reason that seemed to be enough to do this:



This is going to look incredibly attractive in a tank top. If you need me, I'll be the girl wearing long sleeves in the 85 degree weather watching every little step she takes*, and possibly jogging with a walker for safety next time.



















*you will be there.

It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia...

...is replacing Lost for the time being. Until I run out of episodes and have to actually do things, like work, or read.

Chance are if you've been near me or on the phone with me in the last five days you've heard me sing Day Man. "Sing" is a little overconfident of me. It's probably much more like shouting/hysterically laughing.
Only two out of the 10,000 people I've mentioned it to knew what I was talking about (because they're awesome) so I am putting it here because I want you (Tiana and Carrie) to be able to watch it so you can say, "Oooooooh. That's the noise she was trying to make."
The last ten seconds are the best part. Becky has seen me do that dance every morning since I've been home.

Reasons I Need To Start Carrying A Smaller Purse or Maybe Just Stop Being A Weirdo

1. I was bummed out this morning when I realized I was all out of creamer for my coffee until I remembered I had a ziploc bag in my purse filled with non-dairy creamer I carried around the island with me. Score!

2. While searching for said ziploc bag I found a spoon I'd put in my purse after Gige was done eating some yogurt about two weeks ago.

3. There are four bottles of advil in there. Everytime I went to get some I couldn't find it so I end up buying a new one, but apparently I wasn't out of advil, it was just hiding under my sweat pants.

4. I'm pretty sure Jeremy Benthem is secretly hiding out in the lining until they all get their asses back to the island.

He Worked The Night Shift

James has been in my bed all day. I think he might be depressed. I went in around noon to see if maybe he forgot he was supposed to be following me from room to room and clawing at my bare legs, but when I lifted up the covers and started petting him he just yawned, purred and stared at me like, “Woman, I love you but let me sleep.” I know this is normal catlike behavior, sleeping all day, but I’m not used to him being normal. That would be like if my grandma suddenly started offering us cookies and telling us how much she loves us. Sure it sounds nice, but something is obviously not right.

But doesn’t he look so comfortable?

No, I Was Not Drunk

Yesterday I wore a knee length flowing skirt. It was flow-y and lovely, and it showed off my scabbed, bruised legs and ankles (I ran 17 miles in 3 hours! Fuck yeah! I may never walk again though). I rarely get to wear skirts since it just started to warm up in Chicago, and 20 degrees doesn't lend itself to being pretty very well. Anyway, I apparently forgot how to wear this type of clothing because I pretty much (unintentionally) flashed Beth every time she was around, and then. . . and then, while Sarah was visiting - I PEED ON MY SKIRT.

Yeah.

I immediately freaked out and totally forgot Becky's new roommate was right outside the door and yelled, "Oh my god I just peed on my skirt! How old am I???" ripped it off and came out in just my underwear. Welcome to the Stern house!

It got washed an dried and is now fine and pee free, so all is well and calm again. Amen.



Oh, P.S. Did I mention it was Becky's favorite skirt? She's so damn glad I'm back.

As If There's Any Other Way To Eat It

I've been back in California for less than 24 hours and already I'm sitting at work wearing a sweater with built in shoulder pads, and have just read a note in a client's file that said "hot egg salad!". That's it. That's all it said.

*sigh*

It's good to be back.

I Put His Toy Mouse In My Mouth, It Wasn't The Same And It Tasted Like Carpet

I woke up this morning to see James walking around with my bra in his mouth. He was just marching it around the room, like he was so proud of it. I've never seen him so happy.

I wish I had that much confidence in my bras.

I went to buy some new under things the other day and (as always) had a slightly uncomfortable confrontation with the sales lady. I'm shocked more people don't swat and run at the sales people since they COME AT YOU WITH A TAPE MEASURE!

Her: Hi.
Me: Hi. (shit)
Her: Can I-
Me: No.
Her: I was just going to-
Me: No, thanks.
Her: Today we have a-
Me: Please don't get near me with that.
Her: I just wanted to see what size you were.
Me: I'm fine.
Her: What size are you looking for?
Me: I don't know.
Her: You don't know? Well then let me just help-
Me: Medium! I'm a medium!
Her: . . . (looking me up and down)
Me: . . . (uncomfortably shifting)
Her: Ok. "Medium".
Me: Uh, what?
Her: (walking away) Sure, you're a medium. I'm gonna go help someone else.
Me: Good.
Her: Fine.
(long silence)
Me: I am a medium!

Reason #374 Why We Need To Stop Texting Each Other

Alex just told me (via text) that she thought it was a little weird that my va-jayge smelled like sunshine.

"Not if you like happiness and joy it's not."

The Spears Solution

I'm not going to talk about the fact that my heater is still coming on even though IT'S DAYS AWAY FROM JUNE! Chicago has decided to skip summer this year and set some sort of ridiculous record to see how many grown people it can make cry in a year by having the winter that wouldn't die.

To distract myself I've been talking to my sister a lot and all of a sudden she's got a really odd take on how to handle things. To be fair, she's usually drunk when I talk to her (yay maternal genes!) but every time I've discussed some issue with her she has one specific remedy:

Example 1
A: James likes to knead my back at 4am 'til I wake up and play with him.
B: You know what you should do? Shave his head.
A: Uh...
B: That'll teach him because he'll be all, 'Hey I shouldn't wake Amy up because now my head is shaved.'
A: I don't think he'll really think th-
B: Do it. You'll thank me.

Example 2 (10 minutes later)
A: So, then Mom said she thought it was 'groovy'. Groovy? Are you kidding me? Where's my mother?
B: What?! You know what you should do? Shave part of her head when she's not looking. That'll teach her to say 'groovy'.
A: What?


This actually went on for quite some time and for no apparent reason. She wasn't even giggling about it which was the weird part. Thank god she doesn't own clippers.

Yeah, They're Called Doctors.

This little pretty princess just graduated!!!!



AND I COULD NOT BE MORE PROUD!

Despite the 187 degree heat (yes, that was the actual temperature taken at the time), I still had enough water on my person to start bawling when Bubby walked in the tent in her cap and gown. Three hours later however, I was deliriously mocking every speaker, and taking turns being held back by, and then holding back Alex, as we both were pretty sure we had to kill this blond girl sitting in front of us. When we talked about it later we decided the only reason we could really come up with for our angst against her was that "she looked like a bitch". That would not have held up in court, so I'm really glad we were too hot to peel ourselves off our chairs and into little miss blond girl's face.

After the sweltering ceremony we spent a fun three hours with my grandma and mom driving them three blocks to their parking garage, only to have it end with us dropping them off in the middle of traffic and having my mother scream to her mother, "Get out of the car! Go! Go!" as Alex slowly continued to drive down the 110.

A big night of partying was planned. Big. Huge. But then we napped til 7pm and woke up when one of us started snoring (Alex). After we rally-ed majorly (put pants on) and made our way to a fancy dinner (Marmalade Cafe), we realized, leaving the house is overrated. Beds are at home! And tivo! And a phone to order food to be brought to your door! But it was Bub's graduation so we thought going out was the right thing to do.

There was no one at the restaurant, but for some reason our busboy acted as though we just stabbed his mom and then asked him to do our laundry. After about 30 minutes and no snapping of fingers (thanks for toning it down A!) the lad with the bread and butter marched over to us, threw our bread basket, and then slammed our butter down so hard it broke the ceramic, as he yelled, "WHAT?" and walked away.

It may be my favorite restaurant moment ever.

Needless to say it was not the big bang blowout night I'd wanted to celebrate the 8 years of hard work my baby sister has put into this, but the next day was amazing (and like four more posts in itself)! Plus I have all summer to celebrate with her. She's gonna wish she started prepping her liver earlier.

Congrats Rebecca Leigh! I'm so proud of you!!!

Our Relationship Has Reached A Whole New Level

I'm sorry, this is not gonna turn into an all-cat blog, I promise. This is the last one, it's just that THE DUDE GETS IN THE SHOWER WITH ME.

He doesn't even care that he's a cat and he hates water, he climbs in silently while I'm soaping up my face or something and then waits for me to scream uncontrollably/almost have a heart attack, because, dude, THERE'S A CAT IN THE SHOWER WITH ME!

Unfortunately my screams and efforts to cover myself up (lest I taint him?), did not dissuade him. He simply sat there being lightly sprayed by the shower, staring up at me with a look that says, "I do not like this water touching me whatsoever. But I'm afraid when I can't see you, you'll never be able to pet me again and I needs me some love, so hurry this 'washing' stuff up. Oh and you missed a spot."

My Cat Killed My Homework

This is how I found James just now:



He was so intent/freaked out about the printer that he sat there for a good twenty minutes like that, most likely thinking, "This sonofabitch has got to start up again, and when it does I'll be ready. Do you hear that? I'll. Be. Ready."

When I did print something he attacked it as if it were trying to rape him. If it hadn't been so goddamn cute and funny I would have been really pissed that he just clawed the short story (and the only printer paper I have left) I'm supposed to turn in today, to shreds.

Also, I've now officially watched Euro Trip about fifty times in five days, and it's still funny. *sigh* I need to get out more.

Obviously You Should Never Take A Mixed CD I Make For You

I typically mock, laugh at, and otherwise older-sister my mouth off at Bubby for her choice in music. When I inherited her laptop, complete with a full iTunes, I had to sift through about a million Avril Lavigne and Fall Out Boy songs to find anything decent to listen to (decent ended up being Chris Brown - my standards are getting weird).

Fighting about what music is going to be on has been an ongoing battle since birth. She pretty much came out screaming, "I want to listen to Rick Dees!" and then I threw up for about four years. It got to be such a problem that my Mom had to institute an every-other-song rule when we were in the car, so right after I had us listen to Cherish for the hundredth time, Bub would put on Hanson.

Now that we're adults we don't have that rule. We just don't ride together.

This being said, occasionally my emo-boy-band-lovin sister hits gold and shares it with me. And I'm quick to admit whenever she's right. So, now I am ridiculously OB-SESSED with these two videos. Not so much the songs, but the videos makes me happy in ways I can't really describe. Especially the first one.

Enjoy!

Only 93 Days Til Catalina

We're having a snow storm. AGAIN. If you need me I'll be the girl cutting myself in the corner.

Also, this whole 'protest to winter thing' where I don't wear a coat or boots out of spite (stupidity), is really not all that bad (I'm freezing to death). After a while 30 degrees feels not so bad (except where it sucks), and I'm starting to really think spring is right around the corner (it's never coming. never.)

Now Clean From The Waist Down!

Today, after hours of cursing and about $75 worth of Drano, I finally took a shower where I wasn't knee deep in ice cold water. I had grown so accustomed to standing in a pool of water when I shower that it took me a good five minutes to figure out why my feet felt weird. Oh! It's because they're not being immersed in your dirty shower water from yesterday! Happy Birthday!

I'm pretty sure my apartment is managed by some sort of Eastern European mafia so if it takes them a week and a half to get to my shower issue I don't really complain because I like my ears right where they are. Remember that homeless man who likes to camp out on my doorstep? I talked to my landlady about it and she said:
"I know. He make me so mad."
Then she leaned in conspiratorially, taking an unnecessarily strong grip on my shoulder:
"Don't worry. I handle. I take care of. You know what I mean?"
"I kind of hope not."
"Good. Between us."

Something tells me that's not the first time she's said that.

Jameson

So, on my birthday I went to kitty town (I'm not kidding that's what it's called) and thought I'd just look around, but then this handsome devil followed me around wherever I went and kept saying, "Take me home! I won't climb on your furniture, I just want you to sing to me and feed me grapes!"





So far he's pretty awesome, and he tries to eat my chocolate covered oreos which pretty much proves we were made for each other.

In other news I'm almost thirty now. And I just got a cat. Oh god.

Palmer for President in 2012!

That girl in the picture with me. . . yeah, that one on the right, she. is. here.



She got her just after 11pm and arrived to find me making her a quesadilla and pouring her a glass of wine in an attempt to lull her to sleep with a full belly so that I would not be brain dead waking up for class this morning. It worked, she went straight to bed without putting her dishes in any place that would be appropriate (note to Bub: window ledge is not appropriate dish place), but I was up from about 2am to 5am anyway. I heard a coughing noise which woke me up and I was immediately convinced there was someone outside my door, and that this person - upon hearing any slight movement from inside my apartment - would break down the door and try to stab and/or otherwise murder me and my baby sister. I was so freaked out I didn't move (or breathe) for a solid hour. Then I got up and, I kid you not, took ten minutes walking the five steps to my front door where I held my breath and cautiously peeked out my peep hole. (ha peep. hole.) After three hours of this I realized 'overactive imagination' doesn't even cover it, and that at some point I was gonna have to stop watching 24 right before going to bed. Either that or I'm gonna need more martial arts training.

Under Protest

I'm pretty logical most times. (Stop laughing) I mean, yes I kinda (read: absolutely) believe that when I knock on wood with all of my knuckles I'm maybe preventing something bad from happening. But that's not illogical, that's slight ocd. I mean I'm logical in that I turn my homework in on time so that I'll get a good grade, I go to the dentist twice a year, and I don't get in the middle of two people screaming at Tito's Tacos about how they're going to the car to get 'their backup'.

But . . . buuuuuuuuut, something about FIVE STRAIGHT MONTHS of snow and having to wear fifteen pieces of clothing at once has really started to fuck with me. Last week I decided that if I dressed for different weather, maybe different weather would appear. So I've stopped wearing boots and a coat as some sort of insane protest to Mr. Weather. So far it's not working, but I refuse to give in. It's mid-March for the love of God! I should be walking around in some dress that's way too short for me!

I told Bubby that if she brought me 80 degree weather when she comes out this weekend I would pay her a hundred bucks . . . and I mean it. And you know what's crazy? Part of me actually believes she can. Because she's just that awesome.