The One Where I'm Too Old For This Shit

My brother is 8 years younger than me.

Also, he does not have a bunch of health problems.

So being a younger thirtysomething, he goes out.  Like, at night.  When other people are out, also. Apparently, it's a "thing".

I vaguely remember this type of activity from when I was younger.

He came to town for Thanksgiving, and wanted to go see a cover band that we love:  The Spazmatics.  They are an 80's cover band dressed as nerds. We have seen them live locally quite a few times, and my bro has seen them TONS of times.  It's a good show, I know all the songs, the guys are funny, so I enjoy going out to see them. Or at least, I USED TO enjoy going out to see them.

But being 40 has put a damper on my swag.  Also, having health problems that make sleeping elusive, being on a strict meds and detox schedule, and being tired constantly has put a kink in my tail.  My feet hurt too much to stand or dance for long (thank you, Bartonella), so when I hear, "live band", my first concern is whether there will be comfortable seating.  40, going on 80.

So I was hesitant to say "yes".  But like the awesome Big Sis I am, I sucked it up, and went.  Even as a Designated Driver.

We drove.  And drove and drove and drove.  Because they were playing at an Indian Casino, Cache Creek.  So the location was almost an hour and a half away.  We left right around my normal bedtime.  I felt like a little girl that got to stay up late for something special, like a drive-in movie, or an all-night drive to Disneyland.

Stifling yawns, I warned my passengers (after we were on the road and I had control over the vehicle) that I would maybe stay for the first half. They were happy to have a sober ride with a badass minivan, so they did not argue.

We got there, with 3 minutes before the show was set to begin.

Things do not start on time in the world of Nightlife.  I guess because they have had all day to get behind.  So this meant that I had some time to convince the Blackjack dealers I needed new tires for the Swagger Wagon.  I worked that table like a stripper with 9 kids to feed.  When I was up half a Michelin, I meandered over to the comfy chairs in  the lounge.  Did I mention the chairs were cushy?  Comfy?  Gloriously soft and accepting of my tired ass?  :::swoon:::

I got a beverage to blend in with the cool kids----a Seabreeze.  Except that I'm old, and no one knows how to make a Seabreeze any more.  You'd think I was Don Draper, asking for a damned Old Fashioned.  IT'S VODKA, CRAN, AND GRAPEFRUIT, PEOPLE!  Instead, I sipped a VERY RED vodka-cran-with-lyme.  Which is fine, because it was more cranberry than vodka, so it was practically medicinal.  No UTIs for me.

And then, I danced!  I brought back my GoGos dance moves. Which fit in better than I expected.  It didn't even have to be "ironic". 

But Sky King was worried about me. Being out with Normal Adults At Night, and all.  We texted for a bit:

SK: Took you long enough to get there.

Me: It's DEEP!

SK:  Obvs.  Have fun, keep your bro out of trouble.

Me: I will do my best.


Hey, Progress!!!  You trust ME to not get into a fight!

SK: Yeah, Fun Aimee seems to be shelved, so I worry less.

:::this is the part where I feel responsible, and sorry for myself, missing Fun Aimee and all the potential altercations and hangovers that go with her:::

So I sang til my throat ached, and danced 3 whole songs.  In between, I worked on my kids' college funds.  UPDATE:  Things AREN'T looking good for college.  Maybe a scholarship for sarcasm will be en vogue by then.

I forgot the types that go out late at night, hammer-drunk, dancing in public.

There are the Drunk Chicks. They tend to congregate in large groups.  Herds, if you will.  They yell, "WooHoo!!!" a lot, and make you dance with them.  They are persistent.  And they feel accomplished if they can remember your name, song to song.  It goes like this:

(all caps because it's too fucking loud there)

DRUNK CHICKS: COME DANCE WITH US!  IT'S "COME ON EILEEN!"

ME:  NO, I'M GOOD.

DC:  IT'LL BE FUN.  AIMEE, RIGHT?   C'MON, AIMEE!!!! DANCE WITH US!!!!

Fortunately, I did NOT have to drink a drink bought by him.  But likely only because I left by midnight.  I was not wanting to be in his cologne orbit. is went on.  All night. I relented once in a while. They tried to give me their tequilla shots bought by some stranger.  Either they were close to puking, or wanted to make sure they hadn't been roofied. Even though I hear that Roofies help with sleep issues, I declined.

Meanwhile, to my right, there was a man with more gold chains than hair.  Originally, I was all, "Dude, who's the creepy old guy?".  Then, I decided, "Man, forty looks awful on some people".  it was a sad revelation.  In a sea of sad revelations.

Finally, there was Side Pony Chick.  This chick has issues, which seem to be solved with kitten sweatshirts and Mudslides.  She dances like she has nothing to lose. And her hair is a testament to her desire to put out the "I don't care about life anymore" vibes.  Don't be fooled by her smiles.  Always remember you are still in a bar in an Indian Casino. This chick will give you diseases that have been mostly eradicated through better hygiene and life choices----smallpox, The Plague, scurvy.

I finally escaped the night with less than a $40 loss at the tables (sorry, Harvard) and up two drunks.  We meandered down the road til fuller bladders prevailed, and found respite at the haven of all Drunk Havens, Denny's.

Only drunk people could possibly order this

Then, we finally pulled into the driveway.  I was home!  I survived!  The kids were still alive!  (Can I just say how glorious it is, to have a 13 year old, that will feed and water the 8 year old?  GLORIOUS.)

Princess left me a sweet note:

 

It says, "Avery loves you mom and dad. O and sarah you still o me ten dollers babie sitting chicoe"

Apparently, she said she had babysat the dog, Chico.  And she concluded that babysitters get paid.  Ten dollars seemed fair.  

All in all, she might not need college. 

Which works out well for everyone.

The One Where I KNEW He Was "The One"

I have always strongly suspected that Sky King was the best guy for me.  He has shown me, so many many times.  he looks out for my back fat, he has read my blog and booked amazing hotel rooms overlooking Union Square in San Francisco just to please me despite his aversion to crowds of snotty people, and generally been by my side through thick, thicker, and thickest.

But last night, late Thanksgiving Evening, after turkey, gravy and pie, he had my back, yet again.  This was our text convo:

Me: Shit's getting REAL at the Target. Someone just cut.  It got ugly.  Please go to Home Depot, we need tarps, a shovel, and 50 lbs of Lyme.

SK: On my way

Me: I always knew you had my back.  You *might* want to grab my passport too, just in case.

SK: Go bag already packed, along with the emergency cash. We are good to go.

Me:  I LOVE YOU BABY!!  (ala Natural Born Killers)

Me, and Sky King.  180 pounds ago.  Mostly mine.

See?  I heart him, SO DAMN HARD.

Epiphanies, Vol 1

You know when you are going through life, blissfully ignorant, and then you have some MAJOR revelation that leads you to see the world differently than you ever have before, and it skews the way you will look at life forever?

Well, that happened to me, just the other day.

We were watching Billy the Exterminator, on A&E. Maybe because they are crazy.  Maybe because of our recent problems with skunks. I dunno.  But I am drawn.

I realized something profound.  Big Bill and Donnie are not his parents.  It must have been some sort of strange adoption process, I gotta admit.  But, through my keen observational skills, I have deduced who his natural parents are.

PLUS

EQUALS

 

Oh.  And I have a sneaking suspicion that the sunglasses are there to disguise the fact that he is reading cue cards. Poorly.  Always. 

Billy---way to turn a shit job into a show.  You probably get tons of tail because of your exposure.  And, I bet some of that tail is female.  Maybe even human.  Kudos, Bro.

Mom Of The Year

Many of you already know what an amazing compilation of fabulous parenting decisions I embody.  You all marvel at my ability to avoid swear words until they ignore my request to get in the car the 5th time.  (Truly, I have the patience of a saint.) Many of you frequently stop me in the street, to ask why I don't begin drinking earlier in the day.  And you all look at the wonderful children I have produced and raised to perfection, not unlike people marvel at the Sistine Chapel.  I get it----I rock.

But did you know that I also bring a wealth of daily practical knowledge to my children, that they just don't get in school? I also encourage communication and social development, through a wide range of methodologies.

Here, let me show you:

A few days back, I was a helper in my daughter's class.  That morning, she needed a water bottle to take to school.  The cabinet we keep them in was bare, so I looked to the sink.  There I found the collapsible ones (you know, the ones that could double as flasks that are light, collapsible and contain nothing that sets off metal detectors at stadiums?) that we had taken to Maui (we had used them for Mai Tais at the beach) and I noticed they seemed to be sand-free.  This, to the untrained, implied that the cleanliness level of the water bottle was acceptable.I filled that sucker up with water, being an awesome mom that wanted her beautiful daughter to be hydrated.

Later that day, I sauntered into my child's Montessori classroom, with bags of goodies for their class party.

Princess sought me out immediately, with big hugs, as she usually does.  I, of course, relished the moment.

She looked up at me with her earnest big brown eyes, and said, "Mommy?  My water tastes like wine.  Next time, could you give me a water bottle that doesn't have alcohol in it?"

Fortunately, only 3 teachers and 2 other parents heard.  And some kids.  Frankly, I'm glad I missed "share time" that morning.

Later, when we didn't have any way to open the sparkling cider bottles, everyone knew to come to me.  My car?  Fully stocked with all the beverage-opening implements you could imagine.

It's like I'm a Girl Scout for alcoholics---always prepared for a party.

Mall Jail, Part 3

 For part 1, click here

For part 2, click here

So, here's the boys' perspective:

The boys were minding their own business, when they were hankering for a corn dog.  Who could blame them? The sweet, corn-y goodness that Hotdog on a Stick churns out? Could make angels cry. Seriously.

But, they were drunk.  Shitfaced on Bacardi 151, slurped from an Aquafina bottle or two.  in a mall, where impressionable children hang, with their corndog-buying mommies.  Oh, and sexist jokes about women?   Not appreciated.

So after they were ejected?  P realized he would not be meeting up with the ladies, as planned.  And we are some scary bitches.  So, he left SK on the curb outside the mall, and went back in real quick to buy a sucking-up gift to please his lady, that is going to be pissed when they pull a no-show.

SK?  He thought the best place for him was in P's Jeep.  So he staggered through the parking lot, moving from bumper to bumper, looking for a Jeep to crawl into.  Dear God, WHY wasn't YouTube invented yet?  Can you even IMAGINE some drunk motherfucker, barely able to walk, bumper surfing?  And then, what if he had FOUND a Jeep?  Who knows where he could have ended up.

He finds his way back to the front of the Mall, and sits on a curb, hoping someone with upright capability will find him.

But then, the tummy gets to gurglin.  It also may have been, oh, 110 degrees.  In the Midwest.   So, SK does the only smart thing---he leans back, and very discreetly begins to vomit into a hedge.

At some point, the retching gets so involved, he has to completely abandon decorum.  He is open legged, resting his elbows on his knees, vomiting on his own shoes.  Repeatedly.  Soon, he feels a presence.  he looks up, and there are about 8 Mall Cops, shading the sun.

Just then, P comes out of the Mall, with a peace offering for his lady.  The Mall Cops say, "Hey! Aren't you the guy we just kicked out of the Mall?"

Things, obviously, went downhill, culminating with their Mall Jail Experience.

Tulsa PD had them in detention, with the Mall Cops chomping at the bit for serious charges.  P was scathing, spewing profanities towards the Mall Cops, but the model of respect toward TPD.

The Mall Cops had gotten their Mall Cop Supervisor involved, and he was trying to get to the bottom of this mess.  He had two twenty-somethings, handcuffed, shitfaced, in his office.  One was actively barfing into a metal wastebasket. After a spell, he spoke to SK.

"Boy, I am sick and tired of talking to a waste basket.  Sit up!"

SK slowly pulled his head out of the bucket, did a self-assessment.  He was acutely aware that the little demons spinning his brain inside his head at an alarming rate worked exponentially faster when he was upright.  So with dramatic pause, SK uttered, "this ain't happenin'"  and back into the bucket he went, until it was time to be released.

Meanwhile, TPD took over, while the Mall Cops swished their flashlights in the hallway.

Seems they were telling some jokes, of the sexist variety, in the Food Court.  Either the Lemonade Girl got huffy, or a mom with kids snitched.  Either way, security was called, and the boys were ushered to the nearest exit.

:::Mall Jail, both boys handcuffed. SK's head in wastebasket:::

TPD: So, what was the joke you told, that got you in so much trouble?
P: As you can see, sir, we are in quite a bit of trouble, I'd rather not repeat it
TPD: C'mon now, son.  I like a good joke as much as the next guy.  And I just can't imagine what you said, that started all this trouble.
P: Sir, as I have said before, I would much rather not share, and avoid additional trouble.
TPD:  Tell you what-I won't hold it against you.

:::sigh:::

P:  Okay.  "what's the useless piece of skin around the vagina?"  "The woman".

(TPD about lost his damn mind, laughing so hard.  You see, he was a bit put off being dragged out to the Mall, along with 7 or 8 or his buddies, all for a couple drunk and disorderlies. So his patience with the Mall Cops?  Thinner than a comb-over in the wind. But, the Mall Cops were so pissed with P's mouth, TPD felt they had to do SOMETHING. At this point, TPD was trying to figure out how to get these two drunks home, without having to drag them to real jail, while still placating a bunch of underpaid over-important flashlight holders.)

Once all the details were hammered out, both boys signed off on trespassing, as well as a 6 month Mall ban.  (Really?  Banning two men from a Mall?  Seriously?  The only people that hurt was me, and S. And maybe future corndog sales.)

The boys were released to me and S, and we schlepped their asses back to the house, for MOST of us to get ready for work.  P was the bartender----that's what they do best, work shitfaced.  But SK?  He was done. DONE.  As in, lay him on the sofa with a towel below his mouth, face down, so he doesn't aspirate on his own vomit kind of done. Then, send a barely functioning drunk by the house a few times, to make sure he's still breathing.

P wasn't done being belligerent, yet.   Here's the deal.  While we were driving back to the place to get ready for work, I was less than thrilled with Mr. Almost-blew-his-education.  I had not been joking when I mentioned that an alcohol violation would ruin his career. It would end it. Airlines do not hire pilots with alcohol offenses.  At all. So, our entire time in Tulsa, far from family and friends?  Would have been a waste.  Combined with HUGE student loans.  I was, shall I say, non-plussed.  And P chastised me for my lack of support of my man.

P: Why are you being such a bitch??? You should learn to be supportive, to stand by your man, when he needs you.
Me: Are you fucking kidding me right now?  I am VERY supportive, I called his work, told them he was too busy vomiting in the Mall Security Office to call in sick to work, and NO, I did not mention that his particular brand of food poisoning was Bacardi-inspired.  I did NOT mention that, instead of getting ready for work, he was narrowly avoiding arrest.  And you're questioning my ability to stand by my man?  IF he survives this day, it will be because I was too busy working two jobs to support his ass instead of choking his damn neck, while he is passed out on your couch rather than contributing to our bills.  So, the next time you want to question my devotion, my dedication?  Go fuck yourself, instead.

It kept going, the entire time we were getting ready for work, mostly yelling from room to room, him questioning my dedication to my man, me explaining in vivid detail how incredibly stupid I thought they both were.

SK distinctly remembers one very small point of this day.  He remembers hearing P chastise me.  He remembers thinking, "Dude, you rock.  Thanks for standing by me.  But P?  You're gonna lose."

Me?  I got the perfect revenge: I married SK. And, I started this blog.  Next time you see him? Ask if he wants a shot of 151.

Mall Jail, Part 2

For Part 1, click here


So there we are, thumbing through this giant book, trying to figure out what in God's name the Mall Security area would be listed under. We finally figure it out, and this is what they say:

Mall Cops: Yes, they are here.  They are in custody and TPD* is on the way.  You might wanna hurry.

*TPD= Tulsa Police Department.  Not good.

We jump in S's new car, and haul ass over to the Mall.

Now, this is Tulsa's biggest Mall.  It's huge-there's like, 5 anchor stores.  When we zoomed off, we had no idea where in the hell we were headed. We entered the vast parking lot, not sure where to begin. Fortunately, the Mall Cops had their lights in full Panic Mode.

We zeroed in on the quite large congregation of people.  Before S could fully stop, I jump out of the car, swinging my 25 pound purse like a medieval flail. (I'll wait while you look that one up.)

As I walk up, I see that there are roughly 10 Mall Cops, surrounding one loud guy (P) and one pathetic guy, standing in a puddle of his own vomit.  All I hear is P spouting off:
"Here come our wives, and they're gonna kick ALL your asses".

I walk up, apparently exuding enough heat that I get everyone's attention really quickly.  All heads turn toward me.  I say:
You, (to P), you need to shut the fuck up.  You all (to the Mall Cops, and now a few members of TPD) need to be patient while I work this shit out.  You (SK), I can't even fucking look at you.  You are a mess.

At this point, they seem to assign a 500 pound Tulsa's Finest to corral the crazy.  

By this time, S has joined up with us, and the Mall Cops are arguing what to do with SK. Standing has not been kind to him, and the Boys in Blue were getting sick of being his legs.  There was some talk of EMSA (the guys that give very generous $400 trips to the ER).  I spoke up pretty damn quick: "Umm, no, he's fine.  SK, get your shit together, you have no insurance. You are poor.  You need to stand."  This seems to help matters.  The convo turns to how to get SK into their designated Mall Jail.  No one really wants to take responsibility for the drunk puker, for obvious reasons.
 
"Well, he can't walk through the mall, he can't hardly walk.  And, I don't want him puking inside the mall".
"I'm not putting him in my car, I just washed it".
"He can't go in mine, either."
"I guess we could put him in the back of the Bronco".

So there is Sky King, loaded, handcuffed, into the back of a Bronco, being driven around to the Mall Jail access.

That's right.  They have a Mall Jail.  Apparently, this type of stuff happens enough that they have a place for it.  Color me relieved, that we are dealing with Mall Felon Professionals.

We follow them around the mall, and the boys are ushered in.  We are left outside with a few of the TPD guys, who chat us up.

I'm waxing poetic on the merits of being with a juvenile delinquent that finds getting shitty at the Mall socially acceptable behavior.  I must have really been gaining some serious steam.  At one point, a very large, very tall cop says to me, "it's not that big a deal, you should calm down." Umm, regardless of the amount of ammo on your hip?  Don't tell me to calm down.  I counter with, "Calm down?  Are you fucking kidding me?  He's 23, in flight school, living in Tulsa ONLY to go to school to become a pilot, and he gets so shitfaced he offends an entire goddamn mall, and ANY alcohol violation ends the career he's spending $50,000 trying to obtain? And you want me to calm down?  You're high."  Then, I went back to swearing and pacing, pacing and swearing.  Also, trying to figure out what to do about the job SK won't be showing up at.

He saw WAY more humor in this whole situation than I did.

And it was touch and go, given the amount of trouble they caused.  Turns out, they were charged with trespassing, and the Mall Cops wanted even more charges brought up.

Tip of the Day:  When people have detained you and handcuffed you, do not be rude.  Do not tell them your girlfriend/wife could kick your ass, and don't sign your violations with a flourish-y "fuck you".  Turns out, they get a bit sensitive.  And, they piss and moan to the Real Cops, to press charges.

Meanwhile, I had to call his work.  Not because I'm thoughtful.  Fuck that---rent was due.  I didn't need Sky King blowing his job over this.  So, being awesome, I called them, and said, "SK is at the Mall, and got sick.  He threw up all over, and is now in Mall Security.  He won't be making his shift tonight".  This was met with, "He will need to call in, himself".  I responded with, "Listen, I'm trying to be awesome, telling you he won't be in.  He won't be calling you, until he has left security.  I will give him your message."

See?  I wasn't going to lie.  BUT, I wasn't going to throw his golden-egg laying ass under the bus, either.  (Golden egg? Who am I kidding? We were scraping by, already with huge student loan payments, and he was a part-time server.  More like, Golden Nit).

Want the boys' perspective?

Stay tuned.

Mall Jail, Part 1

NOTE: Those of you in RL maybe already know this story.  Or, if you don't, you TOTALLY SHOULD.  It's like, classic FFW and Sky King.  

Those of you that read me for my funny banter, and hijinks?  You will totally crush on me even more than you do already.  

Those of you that read me for health stuff?  You get a break today.  You're welcome.  And, I mention proper positioning for someone who you fear might aspirate their own vomit, which is kind of health-related, so there's that.

It all began, way back when, in a wonderful little town called Tulsa OK.

Sky King had left me, to pursue a career in aviation-he wanted to become a pilot.  And, instead of waiting for me to finish college so we could adventure off together, he broke my heart, left me for the Midwest, and told me we "should see other people". THAT is for another post, and maybe an ABC After-school Special. 

I was undeterred. Being a fully committed stalker even at the ripe young age of 23, I finished my degree a year later, and had to choose between the Bible Belt, and a whirlwind trip through Europe with a friend.  I did what any 23 year old would do.  I used the information as a weapon. 

I thought about how amazing it would be to start in Greece, working our way through Europe, following the growing seasons from January through Fall, I even went so far as to go to a bookstore and buy a book* on how to live as a cute young thing, travelling through Europe, working as little as possible.  Lemme tell ya, it was looking good.  I was spunky and outgoing, with a nice rack.  Things were going to go WELL in Europe.

*Note: this was way back when it took 33 minutes to download one pornographic image, so Waldenbooks was The Place To Be.

I called Sky King, who was (supposedly) totally cool with our "seeing other people" arrangement:

Me: Hey!  How are things?  Seeing anyone?
Him: Not really. 
Me:  Cool.  Me neither, too much.
Him: Yeah.  What's up?
Me: Oh, that's right, I have totally exciting news!  Michelle and I, you know that chick from work?  We are thinking about going to Europe, right after I graduate, and work our way around, following the harvest seasons.  We will start in Greece, and then move north when the weather clears up.  It's going to be totally amazing!!!
Him:  Oh.  That sounds......cool, I guess.
Me: Yep!  And I will send you postcards from all over, with pics from all the places I've been!!

:::two days later:::

Him:  Hey.  I was thinking, would you like to move to Tulsa after graduation?  And, from now on, be exclusive?  Like, NOT see other people?
Me:  OK....Sounds great!


So to recap:  Sky King, scared to death I was going to be wined and dined, and romanced by droves of European awesomeness, complete with sexy accents. He did what the average American male tends to do-he panicked.  Me?  I just merely presented him with my exciting new after-graduation plan.

:::fast-forward about a year and a half:::

We are living together, in Tulsa.  I have graduated with a degree that is borderline useless, leading me to a life of wiping babies' asses for all eternity.  But being all badass and smart and shit, I took a job as a social worker with the State of Oklahoma.  However, I also needed to eat, so I took a night job, serving cocktails at a local pool hall (truly, it sounds seedier than it was.  We wore tuxedo shirts, I swear).

Anywho, we all hung out at that pool hall after-hours.  Sky King worked as a food server at a local seafood restaurant, and all the servers would come over to the pool hall til closing. Then we would sop up the liquor in our stomachs with grease, at the local diner, conveniently open at 3 am.

Some days, we even started the day off at the bar.  We would hang out early, have a few drinks.

This one particular day, we were hanging out at the bar, drinking beers and doing shooters (rattlesnakes, if I'm not mistaken). Someone said, "Hey! Let's go to the mall!"  Which of course, is a brilliant idea.

The girls jumped in S's new car, the boys said something about heading to the State store, and were off in P's jeep.

For those of you that live in less restrictive, less depraved states, the "State store" meant "State-run Liquor Store".  In Oklahoma, you buy all your liquor, including the really crazy shit like Everclear and Bacardi 151, at the State store.  Being from California, where we can buy liquor at the same place we get our porn, I didn't really pay attention to that comment.  I wish I had.

So we all head over to the mall, planning to meet up with the boys outside of the Food Court, with plenty of time to head to P & S's place to get ready for work.

You may be thinking, "why are they at a bar, drinking, when they have to work?"  The answer to that is, don't worry. We were drinking at like, 10 am, and no one had to be at work til at least 6 pm that night.  We had PLENTY of time to work that shit out.  I thought.

The girls and I, we meandered and perused, probably bought shit we have since not paid off, I can't really remember.  Because the rest of the day was about to get REAL.

We headed toward the food court---No boys.  Except Mike. He was there.  He had been with P and SK, and he did not look well.  He looked concerned.

Us: what's up? Where are the boys?
Mike:  All I know is, I was on my way out of GameStop, and Mall Security was on their way in.
Me:  Why?  Is that bad?  What happened?

Mike:  :::shuffling of feet, as he realizes that S and I are some scary bitches:::
Well, you see, they might have been just a little drunk.  And there was a situation at Hotdog On A Stick.  They were asked to leave.
Us:  Wait, they only had a beer and a shot each.  How did they get so drunk?
Mike: Well, before we got to the Mall, we hit the State store, and filled an Aquafina bottle with 151. Maybe two bottles.  I dunno.  But anyways, they were pretty trashed, and they were telling jokes and making fun of the Hotdog On A Stick girls' hats.

From here, we booked out of the food court, looking for our guys.  We really had no idea where to go, so we wandered aimlessly.  But apparently frantically enough to garner the attention of a security guard.  He came up to us, asking if we needed help.

Mall Cop Dude: Can I help you?

Us: We need help. We lost some people.
MCD:  :::concerned::: What are their ages?
Us: 23, and 25.

MCD:  OH.  They went that way, after we kicked them out of the Mall. :::walking away, disgusted:::

We booked it toward the exit he gestured toward.  Nothing, nada.

This is when we realize it is coming up on the time we should be getting ready for work, so we head back to P and S's, thinking the guys are there, getting ready.

We were wrong.

Did you know it is incredibly difficult to get a hold of the people that would actually handle Mall security issues?  Did you also know that Malls have little min-jails, to keep people that need keeping?  We didn't, either.

Stay tuned for more!

Dr. Google And Me

Hey.

Do you do that thing, where something goes wrong, and you Google your symptoms?

Then you come across a website that maybe puts all those symptoms into a list of conditions to read about, and you go through each one, reading them over to see what fits, what might be your deal?

Then, you come across something you don't like, like the phrase, "can lead to death", or "may result in renal failure" or some other horrible shitstorm you want no part of, so you click away really fast, certain that that is not what you have, possibly living in denial?

Or, alternately, you go on your merry way, oblivious of the fact that you have become a symptom-obsessed nutjob, living online, diagnosing shit you have no business diagnosing, when you should be out, enjoying the life you have left?



No?


Yeah, me neither.

A MAJOR Admission

I have always been very honest with you all, and I want you to know that you all mean so very much to me.  That is why I feel the need to be completely honest, to get some serious shit off my chest.


:::deep breath:::


I LOVE the Khardashians. Keeping Up With The Khardashians, the whole lot of 'em.


I mean, REALLY.  I love them, their show (s).

I think they are so cute, sweet, and hilarious.  Non-ironically.

I know, I know.

Other people like Jersey Shore, though.  It's like that.  But with more eyeliner and ass. And less drunken whores.

Please forgive me.