Tag Archives: friends

Hows ‘Bout a Cup A Tea, Gub-ner?

28 Jul

Do you know what you get when you put a bunch of drunk adults who are on vacation, camping, after having spent the entire day at the lake, their stomachs full, and the kids asleep? 

Besides a few who refuse to quit (quitting is for losers), and end up passed out on their camping chair with their mouths open, you get a bunch of drunkies who’ve reverted backed to their 16-year-old selves, and who think that tea bagging those poor passed out souls is hilaaaaaaaaarious.

Pinkies up, ladies and gents

 But, you also get the deep thinkers, like myself, who watch these drunken shenanigans and think, how can we make this better

I leaned over to my friend and in my completely inebriated state said:

Me:  Why do the guys get to have all of the fun?  I say we start meat curtaining people.

Friend:  HAHAHAHAHAH!  Right?!  Let’s do it.

Me:  Yeah, we can get a chair, stand behind them and position ourselves so all you see is a nose.

My friend and I must have been talking and laughing a bit too obnoxiously, because when Hubby heard the words “meat curtains” come out of my mouth, he immediately stopped what he was doing, calmly walked over to me, gently grabbed my arm, and sternly told me it was definitely time for bed. 
That’s it.  Party over.
Geez.   You’d think that he thought I might actually go through with it or something. 

There’s Definitely a Limit to My “Greenness”

12 May

I was sitting in class the other night, slamming my coffee, and struggling to keep my heightened level of annoyance in check when my classmate passed me this note:

Suicide Note

My heart immediately went out to her.  The only thing that could make this round of finals any worse would be f-in period cramps. *shudder*

As I frantically searched my backpack for a tampon my mind wandered (obviously) to a Google Search I once conducted entitled “green alternatives to feminine hygiene products”:

1.  The Diva Cup  is inserted into the vagina, collects the menstrual flow, and can be used up to 12 hours and then removed after being full. The menstrual cup is easily washed.

PERFECT!  I love to clean when I have my period! Although I would prefer to do everyone else’s dirty dishes (and laundry, and cleaning, and vacuuming) when Aunt Flo is in town, I would love to also have to wash my period cup!  Is it dishwasher safe? Do I use the pots and pan cycle?

2.  The Jade and Pearl Sea Sponge Tampon is a natural sponge from the ocean that is inserted like a regular tampon. They are highly absorbable and reusable so you can remove, wash it, and re-insert again many times.

Nice!  Having faint inducing cramps and feeling as inflated as a hot air balloon sparks my domestic goddess flame.  Wash my tampon for reuse?  AWESOME! (Pause for Sponge Bob Square Pants/Carrie visual.)

3.  The Sckoon Organic Cotton Cloth Menstrual Pads are reusable pads made of organic cotton that was not bleached or produced with the help of other harmful chemicals. They are also easy on your pocket because they can be used many times after proper washing and care.

Oh, pretty!  They come in such lovely patterns.  I’m sure they’ll look just like new after every wash.  Am I right, ladies?!

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a tampon for my friend.  But, I did share my Google search story which I thought was pretty funny. 

Her?  Not so much.

Equal Opportunity Brawler

3 May

My friend “A” called the other day to ask if I would be interested in seeing Def Leppard in concert this Summer (no, I’m not).  That reminded me of something.

One warm Summer night a few years ago, Hubby and I went with “A” and her boyfriend see a local reggae band.  I was particularly excited because I love the band, and because the bar served killer margaritas.  The combination of the weather, music, and fruity drinks is what Summer is all about for me. 

As the band played and the drinks went down, I noticed there was a woman standing directly in front of the stage.  There were about four empty beer bottles and a few empty margarita glasses on the table next to her.  She was very pretty and had this long straight dark hair that swayed back and forth with the beat of the music.  She struggled to maintain her balance. 

The band played the first few notes of “Three Little Birds” and “A” grabbed my arm and screamed “I LOVE THIS SONG!  LETS DANCE.”  She whisked me away toward the front of the crowd and we danced to the music.

Things were getting pretty tight on the dance floor.  As the crowd pushed us closer and closer to the stage I noticed we were also moving closer to Miss Sway-zee .   “A” accidentally bumped into her, and quickly apologized with a sincere “Sorry, hon.  It’s so crowded in here.”

But, Miss Sway-zee wasn’t having it.  She responded with a glare so cold I could see my breath.  “A” was taken aback, “Whatever”, “A” said as I pulled her away.

A few moments later I saw Miss Sway-zee leave her post and stumble towards us.  I immediately got the feeling that this wasn’t going to end well.  I slammed my margarita and prepared for the worse.

Sure enough, just as Miss Sway-zee passed us, she dropped her shoulder right into “A’s” causing “A” to spill her drink all over herself.


BB:  *blink, blink*

A:  You need to move along. 

BB:  *glassy-eyed stare*


BB:  *Sway. Stumble. Sway*

A:  You know what?!  You’re wasted.  Just get out of my face.

BB:  *Nothing*

A:  Are you deaf?!  I said get out of my face.

Then, it hit me.  The evening’s scenes played in a montage in my head-  M. Knight Shyamalan style.

  • Miss Sway-zee  had been glued to the front of the stage the entire night-  not even a  foot away from a huge speaker. 
  • When “A” apologized for bumping into her, Miss Sway-zee acted as though she hadn’t heard her. 
  • The verbal exchange that had just happened was literally falling on deaf ears. 

I grabbed “A’s” arm and slurred into her ear, “I’m pretty sure she is deaf.”

Just then a woman came flying across the room yelling, “Stop! ” The woman, who was a close friend to Miss Sway-zee, explained to us that her friend was indeed, deaf. 

“A” was immediately embarrassed.  She turned to apologize to Miss Sway-zee .  “I’m sorry”, she said.  At that moment, Miss Sway-zee grabbed “A’s” face and mouthed with 100% exaggeration and sarcasm,  “F&#K YOU”.

“A” is not proud of what happened next.  But, I can say that Miss Sway-zee didn’t get any special treatment that evening.  “A” is definitely an equal opportunity ass kicker.

Can You Hear the Love Blossom?

1 Apr

Remember that night you went out with your friends and got really, really wasted?  You met that really hot person who looked like a beautiful angel in a room full of carnies.  The only reason you had the nerve to approach that beautiful creature was because you had been drinking all night.

The two of you talked for a while, and even though it was super loud and you couldn’t hear a word that person was saying,  you were pretty sure you felt a connection.  At closing time the two of  you exchanged numbers.

On the way home you wouldn’t shut up about that person.  You kept annoying your friends by drunkenly and loudly proclaiming:

No you guys!  You don’t understand!  We had a chemistry.  You knooooooow?  A CONNECTION!

Before dropping you off  your most sober friend grabbed your arm and said something like:

Promise me you won’t call that person until tomorrow.  You’re really drunk.

You managed to slur:

Um hmmmm.  I praaaa *hiccup/burp* praaaaaaaaa mis.

You called anyway, didn’t you?

Nooooo.  It’s fine.  You didn’t sound stupid at all.

Bieber Fever, Explained.

17 Feb

*This post is dedicated to my good friend, R, who is giving birth to her daughter today.  I’m sure 12 years from now, R will be begging me to go with her to whatever teeny-bopper concert her daughter is dying to go to, and I will happily tag along.

I was at the movie theater with Hubby over the weekend, and there was a rather loud and chatty group of tweens lined up for the new Justin Bieber movie.   A group of young girls, all fired up about one thing, hormones raging, voices screeching, can be a bit intimidating.  For a second I thought about warning Hubby to take his glasses off for fear that one of the girls would shout an “OMG” so high-pitched, his glasses would crack.


The thing is, I totally get it.  You can say I was a bit of a New Kids On The Block fan back in the day.  I may have camped out for tickets, I may have stayed at the same hotel when they came into town, I may have even taken the service elevator to their floor and yelled “I LOVE YOU, JOEY!!!!” before the security guard came running down the hall, and I had to run down the stairs to escape.

It’s hard to explain to someone who has never been a teenage girl, but the craziness that washes over you when you’re completly obsessed with a Bieber-esque celebrity can be debilitating. These girls have no idea their love for The Beebs is completely irrational.  They can’t help themselves.  Yes, The Beebs looks a bit like a girl, but that’s part of the appeal.  He looks like a kid, someone these girls might go to school with.

The Beebs

Yes, his songs are written by someone else, and his entire image has been fabricated by a highly paid team of publicists, but it doesn’t matter.  He could stop signing tomorrow, and these girls would still write “Justin + Me= Fo-Eva” as their Facebook status. Justin makes them feel “funny”, and they love it.  “Bieber Fever” is real. These girls can’t help but go nuts. 

For example, the typical Bieber fan knows, even if it’s deep, deep down, that  The Beebs is not singing directly to her.  She knows it’s highly unlikely that Joey McIntyre Justin is going to walk into her school, find her class, grab her hand and say, “DMTF Baby, I love you, and I want you to go on tour with me.”  He’s not then going to tell your mom that she shouldn’t worry, because he really loves you, and he’s going to take good care of you.  There’s a tutor on the bus, and she and your sisters can come visit you whenever they want.  And, Joey Justin isn’t  going to hold a press conference announcing to the world that he’s finally found love in Near Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and he would appreciate if people would just accept that, and give him his privacy, because this is the real deal.  He definitely would not then turn to you, get down on one knee, slip a promise ring on your finger, and say he would do anything for you, and once you’re old enough he’s going to marry you, and the two of you will have a boy and a girl, two dogs, and a cat (Joey loves cats). 

When I was a youg and crazy NKOTB fan, I knew that scenarios like that were unlikely.  However, that didn’t stop me from fantasizing about giving my flower to Joey McIntire in a an expensive and dimly lit hotel room on a bed strewn with rose petals and “Please Don’t Go, Girl” playing in the background. 


The Perfect Parking Spot?

10 Feb


This post in no way condones or promotes drug use.  It is a parable about how having too much fun as a teenager can cause you to experience flashbacks, pimp slaps, and paranoia as an adult.

I was driving around the Target parking lot for about thirty minutes last night looking for the closest parking spot available because the arctic Wisconsin weather has chilled me to the bone.  I’m cold from the minute I wake up until I go to bed dressed in flannel pajamas, a hooded sweatshirt and wool socks.  I don’t know if it’s because I’m getting older or what, but lately I feel like this cold is literally kicking my a&&.   Every time I step outside it’s like Mother Nature pimp slaps me across the face, puts me in a headlock, punches me in the gut and then kicks me when I’m down while calmly asking “Why do you make me hurt you? ”  Then, I spit out my teeth as blood spatters all over the white snow.  It’s very dramatic.

Anyway, I was driving around the parking lot when I had a major flashback.  Does this happen to you?  It happens to me… a lot.  I can be sitting at work, driving in my car, or just watching T.V., and all of a sudden I’m thinking about an incident from my past, and I relive it all in my head in a matter of seconds.  I usually end up hysterically cracking up, for what appears to be no reason.  I’m sure I  look nuts. 

Yesterday, I flashed back to a warm Spring day in 1993.  I was with my good friend, B, in her tiny a&& Nissan, and I was wearing the standard jeans, t-shirt, flannel, Birkenstocks, black velvet choker necklace combo I was so fond of back then:

B and I had just smoked, and of course, we decided to make ourselves a spaghetti dinner.  We made a shopping list that I’m pretty sure was two pages long, and headed to the store.  The store parking lot was packed that day, and we couldn’t find a spot.  No problem!  We just drove around singing along at the top of our lungs to The Indigo Girls, and laughed….a lot.  After what felt like an hour, but I’m sure was only a couple of minutes, I looked over at B and with a stone (sorry) cold face said to her, “We’ve been driving around for like an hour.  People are starting to notice”.   Also, I was positive there was an undercover cop in the red minivan in front of us. (Paranoia Level Orange.)

It was time to get serious about finding a parking spot.  With the car still running, we sat at the end of  a row facing the store entrance,  turned down the music and scanned the lot for an open spot.  Our paranoia level continued to rise.  Could the lot be completely full?  In the middle of the day? We were sure people were screeching into the lot and purposely cutting in front of us to take every parking spot we saw, and then giving us the finger when they got out.   THEY WERE OUT TO GET US!!! (Paranoia Level Red).

We were just about to give up and walk home  (We couldn’t drive ourselves, because of the undercover cop in the red minivan watching us, remember?) when we both saw the “perfect parking spot”!  It was glorious!  We were saved and we’d be able to make our spaghetti dinner.  I whispered words of encouragement as B inched her tiny car ever so slowly toward the spot near the front of the store, “There you go, B.  Nice and easy.  Don’t go too fast.  You’re doing great.  We’re almost there.”  She pulled into the spot like a pro, and I allowed myself to get excited about the spaghetti dinner, again.  B turned off the car, and we took a minute to laugh about what had just happened. 

Before I opened my door I said a quick prayer,  “Jesus, please let us get the spaghetti and get out of here as soon as possible.  I promise to never smoke again.  Amen.”  Then, I tried to open my door, but it was as though Jesus himself was standing outside of it because I couldn’t open it.  I tried three times before I looked over at B.  She looked like she had just seen a ghost.  “We gotta get the hell out of here.  NOW!”, she yelled.  And then, with a shock to the heart, and my stomach on the car floor, I realized what she was freaking out about. 

The “perfect parking spot” was actually the cart return, and B had just parked her tiny a&& Nissan in it!

I took this particular flashback to be a sign, and left my shopping for another day.  (Paranoia Level Yellow). 

P.S.  This post is very picture-heavy, isn’t it?