Monday, July 31, 2017
Sunday, July 30, 2017
Friday, July 28, 2017
Thursday, July 27, 2017
Monday, July 24, 2017
I am so good at playing with kids. No joke, I am a pro! We play hard-core - wait - that came out all wrong. I will tire your child out. No....still not right. Hmmm. I am a giant child myself and enjoy playing games as much as they do. There, I think I got it right that time, yes? I prefer spending time with little humans rather than their full-sized counterparts.
You can also totally count on me to never ever leave your little one in a hot car either; learned my lesson the hard way that time in Tucson. That El Camino still smells "off."
I'm good about feeding children wholesome snacks too. Pizza and beer have been at the top of my food pyramid but I know better these days. Pb&j is ok (unless your kid has allergies) and coca-cola and flaming Cheetos are probably a bad idea.
I will have your tiny tike tuckered out and calling me Aunt Tina by the time I drop them back off - in one piece I might add. Score! Why then might it not be advisable to leave them in my care??? If you've gotten this far, it should already be abundantly clear, but in case you're extra dense; I'll lay out a few bullet points as to why I'm unfit.
- Your child is likely to come back with song lyric knowledge well beyond their maturity level
- Beastie Boys License to Ill
- Your child is likely to return with a few new choice words added to their budding vocabulary like: douchebag, asshat, dick nose etc
- They WILL return with a host of coping skills you did not anticipate and do not want them having (full list available upon request)
- "Mom, can we get a dog? Aunt Tina said we should ask for a dog, we were really good today!"
Friday, July 21, 2017
Watching people out in public makes me think I would rather be alone. It also depresses me and makes me think I'd rather not be around to age; I'm not a fine cheese and I'm certainly not vintage ANYTHING. Who says aging is natural? Did some asshole write it down somewhere that it's a progression that is mandated, necessary and required? Am I going to jail if I decide not to adhere to this holy scripture? What if I feel natural kicking my own bucket over at 65? Maybe I'm having a good run and decide to push my luck to 70. Shouldn't that be my choice? Maybe I don't want to spend the last few years of my life arguing the merits of one brand of adult diaper vs. another with an orderly who is likely to be wearing headphones to drown out my voice in an over-priced "assisted living" development. Like maybe one year I just decide I'm tired of the hassle that Curran must have with worrying about what's he's gonna do with my wrinkled ass in my old age. Let's face it, I'm not having more kids so my geriatric bed sore riddled ass falls in his lap. Reality bro! Who wants that responsibility?? Nope, I reserve the right to Thelma and Louise my still pristine ass right off a cliff wearing something fabulous with a piece of cake in hand and good tunes on the radio...
I'll keep this brief as the hour is late and honestly I think I just scared the piss out of myself.
As I was sifting through my friends list on Facebook, like a 13 yr old deciding who was "cool enough" to invite to 'like' my brand new shiny blog page, I ran across an old friend. Don't get excited, about your own invitation, I invited a dead guy. At first there were people that I thought "I might piss them off" and passed them by, but not this dead guy. That's saying something. I never even met this man, but he held a place in my heart. Still does. Always will. There are days that I still think of him - like today. As I type this, I imagine that he would be ever so proud of me. I can see him sitting at his desk in front of his little computer too, staring out that window and watching the planes go by. Fuck LA. Randal, I miss our talks; even if I was hammered and pissed you off. I miss you bitching at me about what the fuck I was going to do with myself and then asking me to edit your shit. I miss your telling me what to do for stomach aches then telling to "straighten up and get my shit together." I may not have my shit together, but I'm straightening up and I invited you to the show.
All you other twats got invited too, but only because the Facebook assistant told me it was a good idea. I'll play nicer next time, my heart just hurts a little right now....
So this individual and I got to talking…no we didn’t, because no one talks to one another. We were texting, and they sent me a picture of a Dali painting. The melting clock. My immediate response was. “That is an actual representation of my uterus only the Crypt Keeper is missing. He