Boys will be boys

It was mentioned to me that my last post was too long, to which I replied, "Did you at least watch the shoessssssss video??? Because THAT is magical."

But, because I'm a people pleaser, I'll keep it short today, and in staying with the short theme, I would like to talk about the short people (or Gremlins) that live with me.

Here they are! Aren't they precious with their matching trucks?

My parents like to shop at antique stores and I always ask if these rusted metal trucks come with a tetanus shot. But of course, the boys love them and they are among the distinguished few items that they have not destroyed. This list of items that they HAVE demolished include most of their plastic toys and also many many things that belong to me that they were never supposed to touch. And I don't like people messing with my stuff. Just ask Brock what happened the last time he borrowed my shoes.....

So today, I went to turn on my hose so that I could water my flowers. Yes, it is March. But I'm in Colorado. You may have heard about the giant and devastating forest fire?

So I grab my watering nozzle thingamajiggy and this happens:

Um.... I think we might be missing a part. I wonder who removed it......

And now I need to buy a new sprayer. Let's add that to the list of 'things Johi needs to replace'. By the way, My Brain is on that list somewhere....
So there it is- only one of the many reasons that I drink wine from a box.

That is sheer and utter DELIGHT on my face.

The end.

How's that for short, Miss Kate?

Peace out mother truckers,
Johi

What a woman really wants to hear.....

When I was young and available, the only men that approached me were lacking teeth and usually wasted. This in no way gave me a complex.

Okay, of course it gave me a complex. I was an impressionable young woman who was impatiently awaiting her boobs to "come in".

My boobs never came in. Instead I got myself a Victoria's Secret credit card and tried to distract attention away from my boobs by talking nonstop and wearing super cute shoes.

Shoes.

Anyway, as I "aged", I began to become a bit more....er.... interesting? to the opposite sex. But not really. There is still a laundry list of toothless idiots that thought they stood a chance and not nearly enough (or any) men that looked like (or were) Hugh Jackman.
Note to men: WOMEN LIKE TEETH. That whole "toothless dream date" is only a one way street.

One of my favorite things that a man said to me was, "Can I buy you a drink or would you rather have the $5?" I was already dating this person for obvious reasons, and it wasn't his baldness, his obesity or his back hair, but the fact that he made me laugh and he had the most beautiful straight white teeth that I have ever seen. Plus he cooked for me and built me stuff and my "love language" is totally Acts of Service, so there was that. It still wasn't a match made in heaven. For instance, every time he said things like "I seen them guys the other day" I would die a little on the inside. Plus, he was sweet and I'm not. So, like any good Christian gal, I lied and squirmed and cheated on him to make myself feel better about ending the relationship. Because I'm pretty much awesome like that.

Anyway, it seems that now that I am married, sporting a wedding ring, still flat chested and usually have two carpet monkeys (and their bodily fluids) attached to me, I am finally attracting the opposite sex. Brock knows about this and is fine with it because it seems to be scoring me free stuff and we have bills to pay. I have recently been the target of some awkward attempts at flirting (i.e. I informed the man that I was married and he asked if I was happy. It was all I could do not to give him a percentage instead a yes.) I also have been the happy recipient of some delicious martinis and a novel (books and booze are totally the way to my heart, but Brock already has is.... 86% of the time). But today took the "most coveted" flirtation prize.

Today I ventured into public. *gasps of shock and awe inserted here* I was dressed like a cheap groupie in my $20 Target dress, equally priced handbag and my thrift store jean jacket. But I was wearing the pistol earrings that Bex just sent my for my birthday and some super cute wedges. I was also marching in my own little blonde parade with the Things. I walked into my personal heaven, DSW.

*the angelic voices of a heavenly choir inserted here*

Shoes.

MMMMMMM.

OMG! Look at those! No, I love THOSE! shoes shoes shoes
OMG! I almost forgot about the shoes video (not work or child appropriate)

Sorry, I was momentarily distracted.

So I walked into DSW to ask an employee about how their point system works (because I'm a serious shoe shopper, yo). A male employee intercepted me, asked if I needed help (if he only knew) and complimented my fabulous pistol earrings. I gushed about my friend from New Zealand that sent them to me and thanked him.

Bang Bang! Love you Bex!

Then I was all business as I asked him about the double points and what days they honor said points. He looked at me like it was a conspiracy and I said in a hushed tone, "Oh, those are random and unannounced, aren't they?" He nodded and then told me "They have a double points coupon at the register, tell them C_____ (I'm not protecting his identity, I'm just horrible with names, hence calling my children Things) sent you." Then he added, "Because you're pretty."

Whoa. Hold the train.
First of all: C____ is a dude working at a shoe store and he's not GAY? Whaaaaat?
Secondly: I'm an old married hag who birthed two kids, whom were with me at that moment.
Thirdly: That was hands down the BEST flirtation device EVER used. DOUBLE POINTS at DSW? Gay or straight, C____ probably gets a lot of tail.
Lastly: I'm wearing those earrings EVERYWHERE from now on....

So, I smiled and said, "Well, thank goodness I showered this morning!", because I really have no idea how to take compliments from random strangers, and then I took my kids to the restroom where Thing 1 and I had a delightful conversation about the smell of the hand soap.

Do I really need to tell you how shoe shopping with two kids in tow went? Let's just say unsuccessful and leave it at that.

And no, I did not ugly cry hot tears in the truck on the drive home for missing out on C____'s generous offer of double points.

So what I have learned is, men don't care if you are flat chested or married or snarky. As long as you are wearing good shoes, pistol earrings, and you can stand there and smile (without ruining their fantasy by speaking, thus being snarky), you will get a shit ton of free stuff and awesome coupons. Of course, I can't do that for more than 5 minutes because I start to get all sweaty and anxious as the words are forming in my throat and I am trembling and trying to hold them back until they flow out like a raging river- or explosive vomit. Either way, this is a phase/relationship with men that was doomed from the start.

However, my relationship with shoes continues to grow every day.

Shoes.

God Bless shoes.

Peace, Love and Double Points at DSW,
Johi

P.S. Here is a picture of my outfit today, because I know you all were dying to see it. Do you like my shoes? I got double points when I bought them. Bang bang!

Say what?

Since Thing 2's speaking is a blend of mostly unintelligible beeps and boops (think Beaker from the Muppets), this post is all about the glorious things that have been falling out of Thing 1's mouth.

To give Thing 2 a little more credit, he does yell "TOE!" (toast), "BAPPLE!" (apple), "NANANANANANANANA!" (banana), "NIGH NIGH" (Goodnight), "POOOOOOO!" (poop) and "DAH-DEEeEEE!" (Brock, the chosen one).

Thing 1, on the other hand, has a fairly decent vocabulary and had been known to tell me exactly what his little brother cannot. Also, he pinches said little brother when he thinks that I'm not looking.

When will they figure out that I see EVERYTHING? I sleep with one eye open boys. Get used to it (or better at being sneaky).

Here are some of typical conversations that I have had with my 4 year old Thing 1 as of late.

............................................................................
Thing 1, who loves running around barefoot,  "Why can't I take off my shoes and socks at school?"

Me, "Because it is a public place, and we always keep our shoes on in public places."

Thing 1, "Why?"

Me, "Because people wear their dirty shoes around and step in gross things, like pee on the floor of bathrooms."

Thing 1, who has exceptional aim, "Why do people pee on the floor in bathrooms?"

Me, "I'm not sure. Maybe they have bad aim...."

Thing 1, with great seriousness,"Or maybe they are stupid?"

Me, nodding sagely, "Probably."

.........................................................

The next day......

Thing 1, from the bathroom, "Hey DADDY! I just farted and some poop just JUMPED out of my butt and landed on the floor!"

Me, laughing , "That's why we wear SHOES!"

I was so happy that he called Dad in for that one.

..........................................................

Thing 1, "Why are girls not big and strong like guys?"

Me, "Don't underestimate the strength of girls, dude."

Thing 1, "Well, why are you not big and strong like Daddy?"

Me, "I have a bad back. Go play. Mommy needs to finish reading her book while she gets a tan."

Thing 1, "Well, why don't you like Transformers and guns? Because I like Transformers and guns!"

Me, "I know you do. Let's talk about them both some more.....later."

..................................................................


Thing 1, "Why...............blahblahblahblahblah?"
Thing 1, "Why...............blahblahblahblahblah?"
Thing 1, "Why...............blahblahblahblahblah?"
Thing 1, "Why...............blahblahblahblahblah?"
Thing 1, "Why...............blahblahblahblahblah?"
Thing 1, "Why...............blahblahblahblahblah?"
Thing 1, "Why...............blahblahblahblahblah?"

Me, "Why do you think that is?"

....................................................................

*he comes out of his room wearing THIS outfit*

I'm going to say that he gets his fashion sense from his father....

Me, "Wow! That's quite the outfit!"

Thing 1, "What? It's just a Toy Story shirt. Don't YOU want a Toy Story shirt?"

Me, "Of course I do. Who doesn't want a Toy Story shirt?"

.................................................

Thing 1, while playing with Thing 2, "My brother and I are working hard, building stuff..... just like our fodder (i.e. father)."

My cup runneth over.

Peace, Love and Adorable Little People,
Johi

Why I have been absent....

I apologize for not being present on my blog or any of yours lately. But I've been super busy. And I have photographic evidence.

We went to a parade. A St. Patty's Day one. It was awesome for me, because: 1) I happen to be part Irish 2) I love green and 3) Brock went with and held Thing 2 the entire time, thus giving my back a break from 23 pounds of wiggly, screaming, yet adorable toddler and 4) Sarah joined us and together we watched her 3 year old break dance. He was wearing a shirt that Sarah made for him that said "Sham Rocker" and his hair was in a mohawk. It pretty much made my week, but wait! I did more awesome stuff!

 

Then we gave all the animals baths. Smelly Cat got a tooth lodged in Brock's thumb. I probably laughed. But I also treated the wound so I get points for that.... right? And the animals were fresh and clean for about 30 minutes. Black Dog and Smelly Cat have both since rolled in whatthef&^%isTHAT?
It was sunny all week so I spent a lot of time here...

doing this....

I really want a bow and some explosive arrows now...

Because of the beautiful weather, I also pulled my summer clothes from the attic. My sad pathetic old summer clothes. Then I decided I probably need to do some more shopping, but instead I painted my nails hooker pink and I put on my slut shoes and had a girl's night out.

Jessica Simpson knows how to make a great shoe.
I laughed because these are called "Edith".
I would have named them "Candi with an 'I'".

 

Now I will share a tip with all you women who secretly love hoochie clothes: Only 20% of your clothing can be hoochie- NO MORE. I wore these shoes with dark skinny jeans and a dolmen sleeve sweater, which made it okay. If I would have put these on with a minuscule skirt and a tube top, someone would have asked me "How much?" and Misty would have posted my picture on her blog. Instead, I confused people and got free drinks.
I must admit, I kind of wished that I wasn't wearing the stripper shoes when the host asked "How many are in your group?" and I said "At least three, but maybe more. It depends on how friendly we are tonight." (I was not referring to be friendly with the opposite sex, but he didn't know that.) I really shouldn't be allowed to talk..... or go into public unsupervised.....

After that I played it safe and watched some daytime TV, where I learned about Superman planking, how all woman deserve an orgasm (fist pump!) and how to eat in the morning. I hate eating in the morning. I don't want anything but coffee, but I know that food is important and yadda yadda blah blah blah.... And worse than the actual eating is the thinking about what to eat. Also known as MEAL PLANNING. *shudder*
So I tried this recipe. It is wheat and dairy free and packed full of protein (apparently you are supposed to have 30 grams of protein within the first 30 minutes of your day). Also it is low in sugar (apparently you are supposed to eat less than 15 grams a day for overall health and to reduce belly fat).

 

Dr. Oz: Skinny Muffins

1. Jorge’s Skinny Muffins
IngredientsMakes one serving
1/4 cup ground flax
1 tsp baking powder
2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp coconut oil
1 egg
1 packet stevia
Directions
Mix all ingredients together in a mug and microwave for 50 seconds. Allow to cool to a safe temperature and enjoy!

Because this is picture day-here is a picture of the ingredients and the finished product:

I used a measuring cup instead of a mug because I have an
irrational fear of mugs exploding in the microwave.

And I have successfully consumed my daily allowance of brown
food all before 8:30 a.m.! Winning!

And I even fed it to the Things (with a tiny bit of apple butter):

You can't go wrong with TWO thumbs up and big trucks on the table!

And lastly, I pulled down the Easter decorations from the attic. I have some cute things....

And then there is...... THE GIANT CREEPY BUNNY

He is always watching..... knowing....plotting....
and he may eat us all while we sleep.

Off to give the ponies baths! Wish me luck.

Peace, Love and Microwavable Health Food,
Johi

But I drive so well!

I've been in denial, but it is time to face the facts.

I can't park for shit.

Image from haphappy.com

I'm not sure when this happened, because I used to be able to park just fine*.

*Except for that one time when I backed into a giant rock wall and dented my shiny new bumper.

I started noticing it at preschool. We park every other space because almost all of us are hauling multiple children out of the back seat. It is kind of an unspoken code. The same unspoken code that makes it okay for the daycare lady in the giant van to park in the handicap spot. She has something like 78 kids in that van. If that's not a handicap, I don't know what is. And spare me your wheelchair lecture. Anyway, every time I would get out of my truck after pulling (diagonally no less) into a space, I would discover that I was almost a foot over to the right.

So I started trying harder to park better.

I still failed every time, yet these times felt worse because I was making a conscious effort.

Image from blog.carhelp.com

Then the real test came.

SPOILER ALERT: Johi fails and feels like a giant asshole.

It was last Thursday, also known as Girl's Night Out. I offered to be DD because I was out of money to spend on booze I'm a responsible adult, so I picked up my home girl Sarah. We entered Old Town, which tends to lack parking, and I immediately saw what appeared to be a very generous parallel parking space. I whipped my big ass truck into it only to discover that it was not a generous as it initially appeared. There was no traffic coming in the two lanes going north, so I pulled forward into the street and prepared to back into the spot properly, just like I learned in Driver's Ed when I was 14, just like I have done A THOUSAND TIMES BEFORE, and put on my turn signal. All of a sudden, there was a douche canoe in a tiny car sitting right up my ass. There was still no one coming and all he had to do was pull around me into the next lane which was EMPTY. Did he do that? NO. Instead, he sat there, jammed up my bumper (the same one with the teeny tiny dent on it from the giant rock wall that I ran into so many years ago) and He Raised Both Hands Up In The Air, as if he was eternally confused as to why I was sitting directly in front of a parallel parking space with my turn signal on and my reverse lights illuminated.

Normally, I would be able to shrug this off, potentially even ever so slightly backing up into him with my giant truck until his choices were clearly: A) Stay put and watch as my bumper strips all the paint and most of the metal from the hood of your car or B) BACK the FUCK UP. But that night, I chose my other coping mechanism. I started sweating profusely and I panicked. Probably because Sarah was sitting in the passenger seat, wheezing for air and crying in that wonderful mix of pain and delight that can only be caused from laughing your ass off at someone. Then I jammed my truck into the space and ended up with one tire up, not just on the curb, but over the curb and onto the grass.

Home run.

Even though Sarah was guffawing so hard that she could hardly breathe, she somehow managed to find her angelic voice with which she told me all about her superior parking abilities.

Then she admitted that she is a horrible driver, which didn't make me feel better because she has picked up my child from preschool on more than one occasion and driven him all over town.

Then I successfully moved my truck to the giant empty lot (screw those threatening tow signs)at Perkin's (and I put it between the lines, like I am supposed to) and I proclaimed, "Well, I'm a great driver, I just suck at parking!"

Except for that time that I hawked a disgusting chest wad out of the window but it instead landed on my arm and I freaked out at my own phlegm there was a bee in my car and I drove my jeep straight into the ditch with a 6 foot drop off. Less than a mile from my parent's house. Then God himself (it would only make sense) drove up in a beat up truck and towed my little jeep back to safety. And I continued into town and ran my errand.....

Oh, and the time that I served to miss an elk and I slid on the ice and drove my Ford Exploder into a fence and the front tires were dangling off a sheer rock face that dropped about 12 feet below solid ground....

Oh yeah.... and the time.... look....THE DEER RAN INTO ME! And it was FINE!

Fuck it. Someone get me a team of angry biting mules and a buckboard.  I'll drive and park that shit where ever they I want.


~~Are there any every day tasks that make you feel like crawling into a hole because of your glaring deficiencies?  Or are you all perfect, like Sarah?

Get Bex to the USA!

Everyone knows that I ADORE my friends. One of the greatest things that has come from this blog is ALL OF YOU PEOPLE. I love you guys. I feel like we have a connection. I feel like we "get" each other.

Recently my brilliant and hilarious friend Becky (author of I'm Just a Girl and I've Had it up to Here) from New Zealand was denied a Visa to stop over in the US en route to here destination of Cancun. She won the trip and was taking her husband and HER MOTHER IN LAW. If taking your MIL on a trip to Mexico doesn't make you the world's best person, I really don't know what does. But because of a past charge, her Visa was denied. You can read all about her story here and here.

Isn't she lovely? She can sing and play guitar too!

This pains me for multiple reasons. First of all, Becky is "balls awesome", and balls awesome people should be allowed to spread their awesomeness throughout the planet. Secondly, Becky not only turned herself in for her offense, but she also paid for her crime. She made amends and rehabilitated herself. Then she spoke about it openly to all of us right here on the Internets. Then she paid $200 to the consulate for an "interview", which ended up being about three questions, with no time for her to even talk about her reform. The ultimate kicker is that she promised to visit me and to wear this horse head, while I wore this unicorn head, and together we would wild stride through the neighborhood.

Johi

Becky

If it is not obvious to all of you that this needs to happen, then I don't know what is....



So I know that you are wondering, "But WHAT can I do to help Becky?"

First:
I have created a group called VISA for Bex! on facebook. Join the group to show your support. Tell your friends the story and encourage them to do the same!

Second: Jen has posted about Becky's journey here and Misty posted about it here. Please consider writing a letter to the U.S. Consulate- or just use this one that Misty has composed! Thanks Misty!!!!

Embassy of the United States of America
P.O. Box 1190,
Wellington,
New Zealand

mailto:wellington.arc@state.gov

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing on behalf of my friend, Becky Delport (nee Rebecca Brooks). She recently applied for and was subsequently denied a travel visa to be used for her impending trip to Cancun, Mexico, by way of Los Angelos, CA. I am an American citizen and am writing to request that our Embassy in New Zealand review and reassess this decision.

Becky is a wonderful person. A wonderful person, who like many, made a mistake in her youth. She had a gambling addiction which resulted in her poor decision to steal an amount of money. At her darkest moment, when she realized her need for outside assistance, she did something that I would I consider very brave and mature. She turned her own self into the police so that she could be stopped and get the help she needed. She has not gambled since, and paid for her crime committed at that time. Her arrest was many years ago. In the subsequent years, she has turned her life around, has a very good job, a husband, and family and friends who love and support her. She hardly resembles the person who made those mistakes years ago. There is no good reason she should be denied the opportunity to visit this country of ours, a country based on freedom and equality, because of a mistake made years ago. She is not an immoral or dangerous person. She is a fine upstanding individual.

Her account of the visa denial shows a cursory review of her case and an out of hand dismissal of her that is reprehensible. The individual who spoke to her reviewed her record, asked why she wanted to come to America, then asked her how much she stole. When she told him, he stamped her application as denied and sent her on her way without any further inquiry. She had brought with her an abundance of proof of her current status in society, and she was not allowed to show him any of those documents. Not even allowed to argue her case. It was not a fair or even close to comprehensive review of her case or whether she was fit to visit the country.

I am requesting that her case be reopened and reviewed. She can once again appear to discuss these matters and show you any documentation you need to satisfy you of what I am sure of . . . her status as a remarkable and decent person who should not be denied the opportunity to visit this wonderful country of ours.

Thank you for your time and consideration in this matter. I hope you do the decent and right thing for my friend Becky,

Yours,

(your name here)

“Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes.”
- Mahatma Gandhi

Thank you all for your time and attention to this matter!

Love you Bex!

Peace, Love and Unicorns,
Johi

That wasn't me. But thanks for thinking that it was.....

I received a call yesterday. My caller ID displayed the number of my parent's travel phone. I knew it must be important so I picked it up, even though I was eating.

Okay, I'm always eating when I'm on the phone.

Probably because I'm ALWAYS EATING.



My mom was already giggling. She was having trouble forming a sentence.

Mom, composing herself: Do you remember when I washed out your mouth with soap?

Me: No. Because you washed out Jessi's, not mine. Remember her? The chosen one?

Mom, laughing: Why did I do it?

Me: She was lying. Do you remember when she was in her lying stage????

Mom, after a moment of silence: No.

Me: Well SHE WAS. And I NEVER lied! PLUS, she was stealing change out of Dad's naked lady cup. The change that he used to put in our accounts
........
She probably owes me money.

Mom: .....

Me: PLUS, I remember it because I was leaning on the sink, in her face, resting my chin in my hands, watching her closely while she did it. It was fascinating.

Mom: Your dad said that his Grandmother made him take a bite of soap once.

*Much laughter from me*

Then Dad takes over the travel phone: My grandmother made me eat soap once.

Me: Ewe. I'll bet it was Lye soap.

Dad: Yep. I had to take a bite.

Me: What did you do that she made you eat soap?

Dad: Nothing yet. She did it in case I was thinking about doing something.

Me, laughing: Awesome.

THE END.

And that is how to defend your honor on a travel phone.

Did anyone ever make you eat soap? Did it foam up after you drank water to try and wash it from your mouth? And have you ever read a book in which every single effing character annoyed the p#ss out of you? Just wondering.....

P.S. Later in the day I talked with my grandmother (my dad's momma) on the phone and she insisted that her mother never made any of her grandchildren eat soap. Nor did she use lye soap. Sounds like my dad may need to learn a little lesson about storytelling. May I suggest the eating of lye soap?

Book Titles and a Giveaway.

I am thinking of writing a book but am unsure of the title. I would love to hear suggestions from you all. To answer your question, no, I don't know what the book is about at this point in time. I just like to make plans.

I also plan on napping after I post this.

This is what I have thus far:

How to be an Asshole and still make friends.

There are two types of people in this world: Those who think 'namaste, motherfuckers' is funny, and those who do not.

The mostly true confessions of a corn fed girl... who is probably allergic to corn.

Do you want to feel better about yourself? Start here by reading my book!

How to justify yourself, even when you shouldn't.

Free stuff and how to get it (I have no idea how to do this, I am just trying to attract like-minded people)

Crap, all the good titles are taken. I guess I'll call this "Why is there a hair THERE???"

No, I do not want to play Thomas the Tank Engine with you. Thanks for asking.

I used to be a goddess and now I stand around with boogers on my shirt holding half eaten apples.

He did not accept that I was yelling at him. Novice.

Adventures in Losing my Sh*t and then Finding it Again.


Who's Screaming? Is that my kid?

Please leave thoughts, suggestions and/or new ideas in the comment box. The winning title will receive a free copy of this book (that has yet to be written or published). Until that time, my giveaway will consist of this advice: Just say no to any sort of bouncy castle indoor play area. Can those places ever really be properly cleaned? Always say no. I have two kids with RSV at home to prove my point. Thing 1 actually had to spend the night in the hospital last Thursday.
Also, don't wear your pants so low that your underwear or crack shows to God and everyone. I can't speak for God, but the rest of us aren't interested in seeing either of them.

That is all.

Peace, Love and Unicorns,
Johi

Cougar? Oh HELL no.

I own a leopard print scarf. You see, I secretly LOVE animal prints, but I feel that women who also have facial wrinkles, stretch marks and permanent tan lines on their left ring fingers have to be very cautious with said animal prints, lest we make every man that we come into contact with feel like cougar bait.

She is undeniably beautiful, but the animal
print takes the class down a few notches and
raises the desperation a few meters... don't you think?
image from: http://stupidcelebrities.net/2008/08/19/cougar-sharon-stone-chase-dreyfous-photos/

me-rawr

So, there I was at the grocery store today, when I bumped into a friend (Hi K, if you are reading this!). We chatted for a moment about the goings on in our lives and discussed the gratefulness/need for sunshine. I disclosed that I had a slight sunburn from yesterday as we had mega sunshine (74 degrees in the shade at my house) here in Colorado and I am now the proud owner of a super sexy v-neck sunburn, as well as the entire left side of my face. Hawt. Today, however, it is grey and snowing. Welcome to the west.

So, 1) It is cold and 2) I am wearing my leopard print scarf, because it is cold and snowing and it matches my brand-new-to-me orange thrift store coat.

I think the orange wool coat and the fact that I am showing
no skin makes this animal print okay.
What do you all think? Do you want to hide
your teenage sons from me?
Don't answer that.

When my friend walked away, a man that was standing with his hands in meat, organizing the cooler (let's call him Chicken Fingers) was looking at me. He said "Is that why you are wearing that scarf? To cover up your sunburn on your chest?"

......

I looked at Chicken Fingers and said "No, it is so that everyone will know that I'm a cougar."



Okay, I didn't actually SAY that, but it was the very first thought that ran through my head. You see, every once in a great  while, I actually edit myself when I go into public.

I believe I mumbled something about fashion and warmth, smiled bitterly sweetly at Chicken Fingers and walked away.

But about 10 minutes earlier, I failed to hit the edit button when I picked up the potted clover and asked the flower lady if it came with a leprechaun. She laughed and said it did not, because they were hard to find. I told her that I spotted them all the time, but they usually weren't very happy with me when I announced their leprechaun-i-ness to them.

This is seriously one of my favorite pictures EVER.
I will probably post it every day until St. Patrick's Day.

And for the record, I spent a solid five minutes inspecting my pot of clover and found zero four-leaf clovers. What. The. Hell?

Peace, love and "What? He said that he was 18!",
Johi

I think that you care more about those boots than you do about me.

I went away to be "refreshed" this past weekend. And no, I was not committed. Thanks for wondering.

Fine, I'll give you a hint.

You see, I haven't been writing on this here blog lately because I am now a woman of leisure and I was busy traveling to and around San Francisco.

My bestie bought me a ticket to fly out and visit him for my birthday. It was the perfect gift! It was warm and sunny there and I got to be around some of my favorite people, because not only does my bestie live there, but so does my cousin! And we had FUN. But apparently "rested" is not one of my looks.

I walked out of the bedroom this morning and Brock looked at me and said, with alarm, "Are you okay? You look like you just slept for a month in a cave!"

AAAAAANNND.... welcome home!
*He mopped the entire house before I came home, I'll let this one slide.


The weekend consisted of many things, including but not limited to: bumping into an old friend at the airport AND being on the same flight, a seedy Irish Bar in the Spanish district (naturally), a gay martini bar (naturally), the beach, Muir Woods, Sausalito, lots of laughter, shoes, sunshine, my San Francisco zit (the same one that was on my chin 3 years ago in San Francisco), great food, attractive people,  not-so-attractive people, the phrase "I'm not going to be your ex boyfriend's cunty ghost!" which cued more laughter, cute dog sightings, some magic and very little sleep. It was just what the doctor ordered.

Ahhhh. Sunshine, you make my heart smile. Did I mention that it was green there and things were blooming???? Double AHHHHH.

I spent DAYS packing for my trip. I planned outfits. I bought a new dress. I had my beloved boots stitched. I was READY for the CITY. Then I had a dream that I was mugged, so I then strategized how to carry my money and how to get to said money when it was in my boots, with skinny jeans tucked inside. Hmmm. I thought a lot about the potential mugging. It was not working with my outfits. Then I called Sarah and told her about my anti-mugging plan and confessed that I was considering leaving my wedding ring at home. She said, "Now you are just being a stupid, scared, small town girl." I laughed and thanked her for virtually slapping me back into reality over the the cell phone. I wore my ring and vowed to kick any potential mugger in the groin with my newly stitched badass boots. Done.

So anyway.... I was never mugged. Probably because I blended in so well with the locals by attaching my camera to my face and snapping pictures of EVERYTHING. 145 to be exact.

But I only took relevant and artistic pictures, like these:

I call this "a mural" while my bestie said it was graffiti.
We agreed to disagree.
I say "Trust No Hoe"is a "Mural" of Wisdom.

This is just how I roll. Most people are used to it by now...

Later, we kicked off our shoes and walked through the sand so that I could meet up with my cousin and her new boyfriend. He is a ship g e n i u s. We decided that if you say genius slowly, it is hilarious. Or maybe I decided that. I also found it funny how much the sound of the ocean waves on the beach resembled the ocean setting on my sound machine. I was almost lulled to sleep, but instead I chose to stay awake, talk incessantly and make crude jokes. I like for my first impression on people to be truthful.

Cuz I'm a g e n i u s like that.

My cousin and her main squeeze.....
also known as "the cuteness".

Oh mah Gawd! Then I saw actual flowers that were growing out of the ground and had my friend snap my picture by them. I later looked at the picture and almost was struck blind. I had no idea that human flesh could be that white. Mama needs some Vitamin D.

Are your retinas burned yet?

We later ate at a lovely restaurant near the beach and watched the sun set over the water. It was just horrible scenery.

Blech. It was awful. But I ate flour less chocolate cake and overcame....

The next day, we went to the enchanted Muir Woods where I spent hours searching for a four-leaf clover. You see, the fact that I have yet to find one is clearly a mistake, as I am something like 1/8 Irish . Turns out I spent my time staring at sorrel, not clover, and it also turns out that I may be 1/2 mentally defective.

I did, however, spot the rare and elusive leprechaun.

Look! That one lives in the trunk!

There's one! Peeking through the trees!

And in case you are not a believer~ can anyone but a leprechaun do THIS?

Jump back, Michael Flatly!

I did notice an extreme lack of children in the city and I was feeling baffled, but then my bestie explained it to me: "There aren't a lot of children here because half of the population doesn't reproduce." Palm to forehead. Doi.


I experienced the ultimate San Francisco finishing touch when I was exiting the BART subway to get on the air train at SFO. I walked up the stairs and saw that the designer of the space had decorated the entire stairwell with these dangly, shiny round sequins. It was perfectly San Francisco, as it was explained to me, "Everything is a little magical here because the fairies run around and sprinkle fairy dust everywhere."

I love fairies.