Facebook is showing us our “Year in Review” today. You can click the image above to view mine – see friends I added, things I “Liked” and various photos I’ve been tagged in. (There’s a photo of Trey Ratcliff in it so I count that as a win.) Maybe they thought they had to go ahead and get it out there today, considering the world will cease to exist tomorrow. So live it up. Go check out your year in review while you still have time, people. But be warned, you’ll have to provide your own appropriate theme music. I think I’ll go look at mine again and queue up this one.
You know, sometimes it’s frustrating to try to work from home at the same time as parenting.
But then there are moments where Katy Perry’s Firework comes on iTunes and Braden runs into the room and is all “ZOMG THAT IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE SONGS EVAR” and then I’m all “NO. FREAKING. WAY. Do you wanna bust a move with me to it?” and he’s all “ARE YOU KIDDING? YESSSSSS.” And then that happens.
I’m not sure what my willingness to show it to you anyway says about me as a mother. But let’s not dwell on that. Instead, let’s spend some time in your life that you will NEVER GET BACK together, shall we?
Braden and I like to have “Elaine Benes” dance parties together. Nobody on this earth is allowed to see what we do when we crank the music. Not even my husband. If some poor, unsuspecting person happened upon us… well. I would say that I’d have to kill that person, but I’m sure they’d find the nearest cliff to jump off of themselves, unable to bear living with the mental images of what they’ve seen.
Today Braden started busting a move and then perfected it and began repeating it over and over again, and really, what is a dedicated, tech-savvy, camera obsessed mom supposed to do? Film that shit, suckas. I was not disappointed with my decision. I did have trouble trying not to laugh, which just resulted in a squeaky, half-assed muted laugh. All in all, this video is the worst video you might ever decide to watch.
Day 21 – Future Self.
Imagine yourself five years from now. What advice would you give your current self for the year ahead?
Bonus: Write a note to yourself 10 years ago. What would you tell your younger self?
(Prompt Author: Jenny Blake)
Dear Year 2011 Lotus:
I have this writing prompt, and I’m supposed to write you a letter from the past giving you advice, after I think about us five yeas from now. This is all kind of weird, because I have no idea what we will be like in five years.
I kind of don’t want to know… isn’t the fun in the journey? And what good does it do to know the end before the actions? It seems more important to take action without knowing the exact outcome; let’s just travel the path, you know?
Maybe this is part of my problem, though. I think this might be an insight into my poor planning and life goal issues. You think? Nah, me either.
Anyway, you are only about 11 days away from already BEING. Writing you a letter with advice is WEIRD.
But I’m a good sport, you know? (You totally know.) So I sat here and daydreamed for a little while about our flying car and the robot who will obviously be cleaning our house. (Isn’t that what happens in the future?) Basically, I just had my head in the clouds about us having our head in the clouds.
So I guess what I want to tell you is that you probably only have, like, 4 more yeas of boring road driving left before you take to the air in 2015.
Wait. Technically you are in the future, too, aren’t you? Whoa. Wait, WAIT. That means in 11 days (when you will be born) FLYING CARS WILL BE AVAILABLE.
I am so excited I could shit.
See you soon! I hope you know how to fly a car.
Lotus 2010 (squee! omg so excited!)
Crap. I just re-read the prompt and it totally didn’t tell me to write you a letter at all. It told me to give MY CURRENT SELF advice about the year ahead.
Please burn the previous letter I sent you. And have fun in your flying car without me.
(You could have written me a letter to the past and invited me for a ride in your damn fancy flying car. Don’t worry, I know why you didn’t. It still hurts.)
Highly Disappointed Year 2010 Lotus
Dear Year 2000 Lotus:
I just got this writing assignment where I’m supposed to draft a letter to you. (Yes, writing assignments. Still.) But I know better. I’ve seen too many movies and shows that outilne, detail, and show explicit examples of the folly of talking to anyone from the past, especially oneself! I am thinking, perhaps, that the author of this prompt is unaware of the DANGER that lies in constructing notes to the past, or having any contact with it at all, and that makes me sad.
Somebody hasn’t seen Back to the Future.
So, basically, I refuse to tell you anything, but don’t worry. Everything will turn out the way it’s supposed to. And you will become the you that is me now. (Duh.) Which really isn’t so bad, anyway.
There are hurts to come, sure. But isn’t that, well, life? And all the good and the bad have had equal hand in making you the you that is me, and the one that will be us later, too.
I’m going with the idea that it’s going to be okay in the end. Remember all the pretty and ugly things come together to make the what is, and we can’t do much better than just appreciating that fabulous dichotomy.
PS: It’s better to look to the future anyway. I hear cars will fly there. (Shit, forget I said that!)
Reverb 10 is an annual event and online initiative to
reflect on your year and manifest what’s next.
Use the end of your year as an opportunity to
reflect on what’s happened, and to send out
reverberations for the year ahead.
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.
It’s that time of year, my friends. Oh, yes.
I’m calling the bewbs out to play.
(see below for details.)
It’s time for BEWB Fest 10!
Bewb Fest ’10 is waiting in the wings, just around the corner, and that means you need to dress up those tatas in their best ‘ready for my close-up’ threads and send me a photo.
Confused? Visit the Bewbs Page on my website and scroll down to the links about Bewb Fest. There you can ogle all the fantastic photos read up on the history of Bewb Fest.
Last year, a separate MEWBs Category was added and this tradition will continue. What are MEWBS? Man Boobs, Pecs, Male Chest… get the idea? As long as I get at least 3 entries for MEWBs, we’ll have this category again.
All sizes and types of BEWBs/MEWBs are welcome and appreciated here.
That means don’t you dare say yours aren’t good/large/whatever enough.
Yes. They. Are.
So get out your camera and photograph your dirty pillows, ladies. Shine up that lens and snap a good one of your pec area, dudes.
And then send those suckas to me via email@example.com
Rules for Photo Submission:
1. BEWBs need to be tastefully covered in some way. This ain’t no nipple show, ladies. Sorry.
2. Yes, it is okay to send a breastfeeding photo, if you still fall within all the other rules. Bewbs are hawt AND functional, and there needn’t be a separation in those instances.
3. MEWBs can be covered or uncovered. Yes, we are all about double standards here at BEWB Fest. Deal with it or #suckit.
4. Please send me only ONE photo of your BEWBs/MEWBs. I know you are a gifted photographer, and your chestal area looks awesome from many angles. Choose your favorite and send me that one.
5. Please make sure your photograph is no larger than 550px wide, and no smaller than 300px wide. Please, good quality.
6. No text anywhere on the photo, please!
7. I’m sure your face is what dreams are made of. Let us dream. NO CONTESTANT FACES IN PHOTOS!
8. Your email to firstname.lastname@example.org should include: your photo, your preferred name/screen identity, your blog name and URL (if you have one)
9. No submissions accepted after July 10, 2010. Don’t put it off until the last minute!
Oh, and are you wondering what the winners of this year’s Bewb/Mewb Fest will be receiving as a prize for their hard work willingness to let us have a gander? You’re probably dying to know. Well…
Lingerie.com, Bare Necessities, and Eden Fantasys are sponsoring Bewb Fest ’10 – click over to the Sponsors/Prizes Page to find out the awesome details!
And because bewbies are not only fun to look at, but also attached to women we’d all like to save (so that we can look at their bewbies some more because everyone deserves a chance to live as long as they possibly can), all Blogher ad revenue for the month of July will be donated to Susan G. Komen for the Cure®, “the world’s largest grassroots network of breast cancer survivors and activists.” It doesn’t have to be October for us to make donations, so if you can spare some dollah-dollahs, it’s a good cause to support in June or July, too. Please consider donating.
I will take photo submissions through July 10, 2010. Voting will open on July 12, 2010 and run through July 21st. The winners will be announced on July 22nd, 2010.
Now go go go, photograph those bewbies/mewbies!
And remember to tell your friends.
Still have questions? Email me at email@example.com
Just in case any of you didn’t REALLY believe that I moved back to Texas.
<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.)
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.
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>