The best of today.

Because sometimes you just have to take the pulse of your Twitter followers. while you’re drunk and curious about what the best part of their day was and try not to laugh when people say things like “I didn’t crap my pants.”

I asked:

Which, I fully acknowledge, is a total ripoff from Dora the Explorer. But I PROMISE I won’t ask your kids a question in a minute, and then tell them that I want them to say the answer LOUDER.

(What a cunt! Who authorized that in a children’s show? As if I need my kid saying ANYTHING LOUDER.)

Ahem.

I thought you might like to see the responses I got…

Holy.Shit.

Can I just say, it’s really freaktasting hard to do all those damn image captures and links when you’re drunk? Because, um, yeah.

I’m not even going to tell you how many times I had to correct the typos in that last sentence. The first time I typed it, it said something about fromage crimpage when I’m stank.  Or something of that nature.

During my quest to find out what the everyone’s favorire part of their day was, @undomesticdiva queried the same back at me. My asnwer was:

It’s true. And it works pretty much any time you try it, in case you’re wondering.

What was your favorite part of today?

How do you follow penis train tracks? Well.

I kind of screwed myself by posting the most awesome Thanksgiving Day post EVER last year.

I mean, now that you’ve seen penis train tracks, you’re back this year to see what I have for you this time, aren’t you? Of course you are. I bet you sat up all night wondering. Have you been refreshing my page over and over again? Well, I mean, even more than usual?

(Your Thanksgiving present to me is that you pretend that’s true instead of reminding me that you only check here about once every 6 months, and only to see if I’ve died a comically tragic death yet in a horrible (but hilarious) accident involving a staple gun, a bungee cord and a day-glo green thong.)

So how do you follow penis train tracks? Like this.

Bewbs trump wieners every time, my friends.

And yes, that is Percy at the station.  Or, as my son might say, “Pussy is wooking weally hawd today!”

Happy Thanksgiving, Ya’ll. May all your train tracks be bewbies.

I don’t even know how to find a witchdoctor, but I bet Google does.

You know what’s fun? Walking. Walking is awesome.

In fact, I think I want to start walking a lot. To all kinds of places. Like the gym and the grocery store and, well, pretty much anywhere I want to go.

And I think to make it more awesome than it is inherently, which, in case you didn’t know, is really freaking awesome, I think I’ll carry Braden strapped to my back, everywhere I go. You know, WALKING. Everywhere.

You know, the gym, the grocery store, the pool, downtown, the library, special events, you know PRETTY MUCH ANYWHERE I WANT TO GO.

Do you know WHY?

Because I freaking love walking.

Oh, and it might have just a little bit to do with the fact that on Sunday our car decided to die a horrible death. As in, the engine had a myocardial infarction and its soul has risen to Engine Heaven.

We do not have the funds to remedy this kick in the ass by The Universe.*

Because we are stupid and don’t save our money properly awesome.

I mean, walking is a nice thing to do for exercise or window shopping and all but DAMMIT it’s TEXAS out there people, as in 105 degrees, and my ass isn’t walking ANYWHERE awesome.

And I’m going to do it. A lot.

Please kill me now.

PS: The only thing I hold onto that makes this all okay is that the day that our car decided to give up and leave us stranded like the selfish son of a bitch it clearly is, I pulled out my phone to search for something and it suggested I choose from the closest wireless networks.  And either this person is supposed to be my best friend EVER (something just suggests to me that we’d think the same things are funny) or the dickhead was totally serious and did some black magic on our car.

Yeah, that’s right. I’m talking about jackie1.

I’m on to you, Jackie.  We’re either going to be blood sisters, or I’m contacting a crazy voodoo witchdoctor to help me send your soul to hell for eternity.

*Post which documents previous signs that The Universe is a dickhead.

Because it’s been far too long since you questioned my sanity.

<rambling post of awesomeness>

I have had way too much fun lately. In fact, I told John that I was pretty sure I’m going to die soon and this is The Universe’s way of saying, “Oh, hey, sorry about that…” ahead of time. A lot of times The Universe is a total dickhead, but I can imagine that maybe sometimes it gets bummed out about what a shit it is and tries to be cool to you to make up for it.

It’s kind of like how I pretend to be nice to John every once in a while when I realize I’ve been a total hole for months on end. Cause, you know, a few hours of not actually saying anything derogatory and smiling a lot can make up for endless weeks of torture and passive aggressive quips blended with just out and out aggressive combativeness and demanding, controlling, and manipulative domestic behavior.

God help him if he complains though; then I’m all, “DO YOU NOT REMEMBER THE TIME THAT I HANDED YOU A NAPKIN WHEN YOUR FACE WAS DIRTY? I BLEED FOR YOU, INGRATE.”

Or something. But, basically, I know not to push The Universe and all, because it’s just doing the best it can, damnit. Ya dig?

So. Yeah. The Universe is clearly trying to be nice to me because it feels bad about my impending doom.

Either that or it is going to plan such a fiery, explosive and painful ending for me that getting me all complacent and mellow first will make things that much funnier for the bastard when it all goes down.  The Universe is probably sitting in a dark room rubbing his hands together, and he’s all, “This stupid bitch has NO IDEA what’s in store for her, man.  It.is.going.to.be.EPIC.  I am totally going to photograph the look on her face and Twitpic it when she gets hers. MUAHAHAHAH.”

Um. Wow, The Universe just went from being a maybe, kind-of dickhead to a completely sadistic psychopath in my mind. I can’t say I’m surprised. I’ve been into the caffeine again. Also the wine. Maybe a little of the blow powdered sugar.

What the hell was the point of this post? Oh, yeah. I’ve been having fun lately – making new friends in our neighborhood, going out with girls I actually like, and generally, well, not being locked in my house like a socially inept, loser ho-bag.

That is, I’ve been pretending I’m not a socially inept, loser ho-bag, and nobody is on to the deception yet, so clearly I am up for the next Academy Award. (note to self: do not marry Jesse James any time soon)

Last Wednesday, in another installment of Happy Fun Times I Should Feel Guilty About (don’t worry, I got mine) I went to an Open House at Beleza Medspa with some lady friends: Blythe (Aka @Bejewell) and Leigh. We needed to learn about ways you can change what nature does to your body, and instead, make it all fake and HOT.

Apparently, Blythe and Leigh were getting drunk for free while they were waiting for me to arrive late (people start drinking to cope with the fact that they miss me, I’m that awesome) (either that or they drink to cope with the fact that I’m about to arrive) and once I got there, we went to a back room to find out about the process of having your facial skin turned from haggarific to Goddess Sheen of Awesometasticness.

This process is also known, to lesser degree, as Let’s Burn Your Ugly Face Off. You’ll only have to hide in a cave for about 4-6 days while all the skin flakes off as if you have some horrible and contagious disease. But after that? YOU WILL BE BEAUTIFUL. It’s a metamorphosis. You have to let your inner butterfly out… by KILLING THE SHIT OUT OF THAT CATERPILLAR we like to call your real face.

I kind of started getting scared as we were led down a hallway to a back room. Partly because we were walking in the opposite direction of the free wine, but also because I was worried about what was really about to happen. What if we ended up in a deep well being told “it puts the lotion on its skin?” IS THIS HOW THEY REALLY GET THE NEW SKIN THEY PROMISE TO PEOPLE?

It turns out we were just going to hang out with Nathan in a small room, drink, act like complete morons and listen to him tell us about all the products he could sell to us that are totally made of Fairy Dust and Unicorn Shit, and will therefore MAGICALLY MAKE YOU PRETTY. The before and after photos were really impressive, especially the one where the woman was definitely dead in the before photo and was just about to receive the crown for Miss America in the after photo.

What I’m saying is that this stuff that comes in a 1oz bottle and costs only slightly more than a new car (okay, maybe I’m exaggerating JUST A LITTLE BIT) will totally bring you back from the dead.

I bet Jesus used it. I mean, have you seen photos of him? His skin was far too lovely for a 30 something who was out in the raging sun without SPF all the time. Also, you know damn well that he was wearing color contacts – blue eyes, MY ASS. Easter should really be celebrated by rubbing expensive liquid shit on your face. (Or hiding colored eggs, maybe, because we all understand how that has anything to do with Jesus.)

*blank stare*

After we annoyed Nathan for some time by making sex jokes, asking if he could just make us pretty and skip all the intelligent, scientific explanations and photos, and just all around being obnoxiously hilarious, Nathan rubbed random products on us. I’m not sure exactly why, maybe to prove that it wouldn’t melt our skin on contact? We giggled a lot and then smelled it. Don’t you smell everything that a strange man rubs on your skin in the back room of a place where they ply you with alcohol and ask you for your personal information the moment you arrive? No?

Well, I don’t get you at all.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure that we were the most awesome people who were there that night, as evidenced by:

• our inability to just listen to Nathan, rather, interrupting every few seconds to make drunken jokes
• Blythe making her fingers kiss and say “I do” when Nathan put eye cream on them
• Leigh commenting about the hookers we were going to pick up later (what?)
• my responding to Nathan’s question about our lifestyle habits by saying (in a very charming manner, I’ll have you know) “I don’t smoke, my diet is good, I use SPF, but I drink LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER!!!, is that bad?”
• the fact that we considered just shoving the product in our purses and RUNNING LIKE HELL
• our inability to get more than 2 feet away from the place without loudly proclaiming over the Size XXL lips on Mega Procedures Woman (I may have thrown up in my mouth a little. I mean, really, your lips are NEVER SUPPOSED TO BE LARGER THAN YOUR ASS.)

Of course, then we went to a restaurant and ordered more drinks, because we were clearly far too sober to exist and more alcohol was necessary. Of course, just as we were all having the best time EVER I got this image as a text message from John:

at which time I immediately starting crying right into the nachos and possibly Blythe’s Margarita as well. There may have been snot on the fried green beans when it was all over. In case you were wondering, being notified of your child bashing his head apart all over your favorite Chik-Fil-A is just about the best way you can SOBER YOUR ASS RIGHT UP.

Leigh was all, “Uh, uh, I have to go pee!” and almost knocked the table over as she ran uncomfortably away, and Blythe was mostly like, “OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH. MY. GOD.” Later, we all decided that John was a total shit for sending me that image with no text attached, and we all plotted his death.

[Watch your back, dude. These bitches don't play.]

Have I mentioned that I love Blythe and Leigh? No? Well, I do. They’re beyond awesome.

As we were leaving the restaurant, Blythe was all “I know you bitches are tipsy, neither of you has any kind of sense of direction, and you don’t really know where you are, but I hope you get home somehow, love ya, mean it” and dumped us in the parking lot and took off laughing. I was totally feeling like I might want to marry her right in that moment, and I’m sure you can understand those deep feelings.

And when Leigh was taking me home and suddenly said, “OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT, A PEACOCK?!” I knew that she is just classy enough to be my new crush. (But yes, it was a fucking peacock. Have I not told you about the peacocks that live right by us? No? Well, guess what. Peacocks. Right across the street. And they are LOUD. There. Now you know.)

I am a little pissed off, in retrospect, because the whole reason I went to Burn Your Facial Skin Off So You Can Be Prettier Palace was so I could learn about having lasers shot at my armpits and vaginal area. And NOBODY TOLD ME ABOUT LASER BOMBING MY HAYHAY.

Totally robbed.

So, in summation:

• The Universe is a dick but at least it throws you a bone every now and then.
• The Universe is a dick and it will smash your kid’s head in while you’re having fun.
• Your lips should never be larger than your ass. NO, REALLY. (If they are, I DEMAND you start sitting on your face.)
• My cooter is still in need of laser action.
• Jesus wore color contacts and used skin care products.
• My blood is probably at least 90 Proof.
• John should really be sleeping with his pistol under his pillow.
• Blythe and Leigh = awesome and I might have sex with them some day while a peacock watches.

So, how have you all been lately?

</rambling post of awesomeness>

photo credit: Dan Kamminga / CC2.0

It’s been real, Nashville. Peace out.

The next time you see me here, I’ll be back where I left my heart years ago.

This is what I was bursting with in this post, and what made me smirky in the photo here.

Heading back to live in Austin, my friends.  With a huge grin plastered across my face.

I’m sure I’ll be tweeting all along the way there, so if you’re interested in coming along, follow me on Twitter!

I am so, so, so happy.

Here Comes The Sun

Oh the roads we have traveled.  And oh, those we have yet to travel!  They stretch out before me in my mind.  They’re sometimes long and winding, but more often, lately, so straight and fast that I can see the endpoint like a sudden, bracing hug and it takes my breath away.  That place on the horizon where the road blisses out is bursting with warm sun, calling me.

There is so much going on right now, a flurry of to dos and plans and please let this work outs, that I can’t even begin to tell you about it all.  I want to tell you.  Of course, I will.  In just a little while.  My thoughts are racing along so far and so fast, ahead of me on that straight-shot road, being drawn to the place where my heart lies in wait.  When it all snaps together just right, I’ll calm down, take a deep breath, and let my fingers do the work of spilling the proverbial beans here.

For now, my feet are getting tangled under me as I dart this way and that in nervous anticipation and fervent getting readiness.  It’s quite a dervish of a whirlwind that’s whipping me around currently.

Luckily, in the breaks between spinning and racing and running around with far too much to think about and much, too much, to do, Braden and I have private dance parties to the music of The Beatles in our living room.  There is generally an abundance of giggling.  (You can dance really stupidly when there’s no one but a 3 year old watching, and it doesn’t matter.)  Often, there is falling down on the floor silliness to be had, as well.  And sharing a moment or two of just being.

Life, contrary to what you may have heard, is good.

Yeah, that’s my horn you’re hearing.

Essss-cuse me while I toot it.  I’m going to have some of my content syndicated at Blogher in the next couple months (SQUEEE!) and today I have a post up over there – if you’re interested in showing me/my piece some love with a comment, you can see it by clicking: My Child Wouldn’t Nap: The Day I Learned Perspective.  (You know you want to “show my piece some love.”)

Okay, I have to put my horn down for a little while now. It’s throwing me off while I do this here booty shakin’ dance.

The elevator to nowhere.

Do you hear that?  Yeah, that’s muzak.  Muzak plays in my head sometimes when the words won’t come.  Most of the songs have no name that I can conjure, even though I recognize the melodies, and I could hum a few bars ahead if you asked me to.  But you probably wouldn’t.  Would you like to do a really lame, mellow hip shake and head bob with me? No?  Suit yourself.

I was vegetating, just now, staring at a blinking cursor for so long that my tongue dried up and got stuck to the roof of my mouth and a weird “glick” sound came out of me when they separated suddenly.  That’s when I realized I was just sitting here with my mouth hanging open like a moron.  You know the expression – you’d never be caught dead with that expression on your face in the presence of anyone you respect in the least.

Of course, that’s why you usually end up realizing you’re doing it when you’re in the room with someone you idolize and/or adore.  Maybe lust.  Fortunately, this time, it’s just me and the laptop and a bunch of unfolded laundry.  And unless Keifer Sutherland is hiding in the hamper, I think it’s safe to say I got lucky this time.  (Or not.)

Sometimes I have so many things I need to say that I literally have a handful of posts, in varying stages of completion, open on my desktop at the same time.  Right now, I want to write about something, and my brain just feels, well, dry… like my mouth.

I want to complete a writing challenge, but my heart isn’t in it.  I want to tell a funny story, but the words won’t come.  It’s not that I’m in a bad mood, or sad.  I’m not stressed out, distracted, or overly tired.  I’m not depressed, anxious, or tense about anything.  But I know when it’s not right, because I feel like I’m forcing something.  When it’s good, and real, the words flow onto the screen, and I can’t stop them.

But tonight, I’m just doomed to step on the elevator to nowhere.  The lift operator has on one of those funny hats and he won’t even smile at me.  He’s kind of cute, though, and it looks like there’s a guitar case propped in the corner behind him.  Maybe halfway up, I’ll goose him and see what happens.

I think “The Girl from Ipanema” is playing now.  I always liked that one.