Second, I always feel like I need to write a post for all of those people out there in Internet Land. Because they know me. And that I like to drink. And that I’m one Jack and Coke away from landing in a gutter. Or naked in?someone’s front yard.

So yeah. I survived. For the most part. I’m sitting in the Phoenix airport waiting for our plane. Watching the Pats just make a mess of the Chargers. Which makes the Bears losing to them last week look?a lot worse.

Oh. And there is the lightning. Which is always good. For the flying.

But the weekend was awesome! Just how I thought it would be. I drank. A. Lot. I spent a lot of quality time with my friends. And it was just great to get away and continue to celebrate my birthday. For the like third weekend in a row. The Never Ending Birthday. Just how I like it.

I ate at all my favorite places. Got to hold a new baby. Experience Nintendo Wii. And am hooked. And maybe that would have been a better investment than the laptop. Because that can qualify as exercise.?You know, if you’re not getting your ass beat by a four year old.

But the plane is here. And I’m in group A. And I need to go pass the fuck out. Because I haven’t slept. In between all the drinking. And I get in at 1 AM. So Kristabella is going to be cranky tomorrow.

So stay tuned for more stories from the actual birthday. And photos. Complete with tiara.

What I DON’T like is spending about two hours this morning containing myself and NOT sending a shut-the-fuck-up email to Winky. Because Winky made it apparently clear today that he is 25 and a big fucking baby and the Salesboy Formerly Known As Winky (SFKAW) is so dead to me.

He’s pissed because he can’t stay at the hotel for the next conference. Because it’s in Chicago. And he lives in Chicago. And you can easily take the damn train or bus or drive. It will save the company loads of money.

And while SFKAW knows this was not MY decision because I have no say in the matter, it did not stop him from sending a rather immature email to me this morning. One where he threatened to not come to the extracurricular activities during this next conference because “I’m not going to go out and drink and then drive home.” (Wah. Let me wipe away my single tear.)

To which I responded that the point of this conference is to LEARN and not DRINK. I know it wasn’t made abundantly clear at the last conference, but it is why we spend the big bucks. Not on the booze.

And I also may have responded with “suck it up, take the train and take a damn cab home and expense it, you big fucking baby.” (OK, maybe I left out the big fucking baby part. But I was THINKING it.)

Which maybe isn’t the most professional. But also is a whole hell of a lot better than SHUT THE FUCK UP! Which was my initial reaction. Thank God I’ve learned not to send that email right away. Deep breaths. Count to 10. WAIT to send scathing emails. Words to live by.

But thankfully my day ended so awesomely! Want to know why? Do ya? Do ya do ya do ya???

Because I’m typing on my NEW LAPTOP! RIGHT NOW! ON MY COUCH! And I LOVE IT! It’s so shiny and has a big screen and is just 17,000 kinds of awesome!

(And I’m a total nerd because I planned the pick up this evening around when I could get home with enough time to take it out of the box, fire it up and still do the Top Chef open thread over at MamaPop Talk. Yes. Am BIG nerd.) (Although tonight’s episode kind of sucked.)

But I still have to pack and do everything before I leave tomorrow evening, and so wasn’t even going to write a post. But that’s how effing irritated SFKAW made me.

Actually, the plan for tonight’s post was to just let people know that I have re-posted the infamous post from March that got me fired. Sadly it doesn’t have the comments from the first time I posted it, because those were the best part of the post. And probably helped with the boot kicking of me out the door.

So check it out. And let me know here (or there) what you think. And if you think the CEO might have overreacted a wee bit.

And coming next week, when I have time, I’ll actually write THE post and tell you all how it went down. Because Down With Asshats, and all that!

And now I have to get the cats out of the suitcase so I can pack for Arizona. Because the K-Train is rolling into town tomorrow night! Lock your doors and keep the kids inside.

Because if that happened, you’d see a Kristabella cutout on his front door (a la Tom & Jerry) as I ran for the hills. Not, not The Hills. I hate Heidi and Spencer too much. Although, it is nice to see Heidi actually dressing like she’s going to work. And not the gentleman’s club down the street.

Actually, this post is about funny things kids say. My brother has recently told me some high-larious stories about things my almost-two-year old niece has said of late. And they are too damn funny to not share with the rest of the world.

My niece Skyler, she of walking around in just a diaper and Auntie’s flip flops, was a very early talker. And much like her Auntie, once she started, she has not shut up. Which makes it absolutely hysterical because she’s a damn parrot. She repeats just about everything. Everything within the realm of a two year old’s vocal capabilities.

At one point, her favorite movie was The Little Mermaid. (Which? Good choice.) So when you asked her about Ariel, she’d be all “Ahh, ahh, ahh. Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh.” Like that one song. I think you needed to hear it. It was funny. Take my damn word for it.

One weekend when I was over there, the oven was on and my sister-in-law told her to stay away because it was hot. And she was all “it’s hot.” Which then made me teach her to walk around saying “that’s hot.” (I also taught her to say “Awwwww, snap!”) (You parental types might want to keep me away from your chilluns.)

Like every kid in the freaking world, my niece and nephew have Crocs. (Which are also worn by adults, like Divorced Daddy, but don’t get me started on that.) But when she sys it, since she’s not yet two, it comes out sounding like “cocks.” And because she’s again just like her Auntie and doesn’t know any level besides LOUD, it always comes out as “COCKS!!!!”

So she’s in a store with my sister-in-law and they happen to pass some Crocs on display. And she just starts yelling “SKYLER’S COCKS! COCKS! NOAH’S COCKS! COCKS!!! COCKS!!” And it is clear as day what she’s saying.

Last week in church, during the Homily or sermon or whatever, the priest was talking about a story of a hermit crab and a rooster. And every time the priest say rooster, my niece, not so quietly, yelled in quite a high-pitched voice “cock-a-doodle-dooooooo!” Every. Time.

And then a few weeks ago, again in church, they were all sitting close to the front, pretty close to the priest. And the Father was doing his thing when he blesses the bread and the wine before Communion. (I have no idea what this is called. And I’m Catholic.) Anyway, those of you who are Catholic, know that this is a very quiet time. Everyone is waiting for the damn bread so they can skip out the door right after Communion.

Anyway, as the Priest says “Take this all of you and eat it…” my niece, the parrot, decides to yell loudly, “EAT IT!”

Which turns my brother and sister-in-law and quite a few others into Giggle Monsters.

I mean, how could you not? This is why I can not be a parent. I would so make it worse. When I get the giggles, I can. NOT. STOP. It is a good thing I wasn’t with them.

But she’s just so damn cute, it is freaking impossible to not encourage it.

I can has cuteness?

Whose me? Yes I are cute. Kthxbai.

Oh noes!!1! Mine shampain glas are emptee!

(And finally, on a completely unrelated note, I want to wish Rich a HAPPY 30TH BIRTHDAY! And this is your damn present.)

In all honesty, I knew it was coming (duh, it’s 3 days before my birthday) but it doesn’t occur to me until I look at my watch or see a calendar or see an email that says it was delivered on September 11.

I really can’t honestly believe that it was six years ago. Sometimes it feels like just yesterday. To think that my niece and nephew weren’t even born. That their life has always been one where we are worried about terrorist attacks. They’ve only ever known a country that is at war with Iraq. That is a crazy thought to me.

Thankfully, I did not lose anyone close to me on that fateful day. But I do know it was touch and go for a lot of people that day. Like Teri, who is a flight attendant and was actually on the East Coast, scheduled to be flying back to California that day. Or a guy in the PR department, whose Dad worked steps from the World Trade Center. That was enough for me to handle. I have no idea what it was like to be there. To know people who lost their lives. And I hope it is nothing I ever have to experience. And something we never experience again as a country.

The weirdest thing for me was that I worked for the National Football League. Tuesdays are the players’ day off. But it is a busy time for the coaches. That’s when they do all their planning. And it’s also when the advance person sometimes heads out to the opponent’s city to get to work on the hotel, bus, airport stuff.

That day in 2001, my boss was expected to fly to New Orleans. We were playing the Saints on Sunday. And the team was traveling there on Friday afternoon. And the sad thing? As those towers were falling, the show was still going on. Kirk was frantically trying to figure out how to get to Louisiana. We worked a full day. Yes, a lot of it was sitting and watching TV and just sitting there with our mouths open in complete and utter shock. (What’s FONY?) But those coaches were in their office, with their TVs on, doing what they do every other Tuesday – preparing the game plan and playbook for the Saints game.

The NFL didn’t cancel the games until Thursday afternoon. One day before the team was scheduled to fly to New Orleans. We still practiced and had a normal (well as normal as possible) schedule on Wednesday. It was business as usual.

When the word came down that the games were indeed cancelled, only the second time ever in the history of the NFL, Steve Mariucci, the head coach at the time and one of my all-time favorite people, organized a blood drive. For every single person. Players, coaches and staff. Every single person.

And they all did. I will never forget Julian Peterson freaking out. Big, Pro Bowl linebacker Julian Peterson. He does NOT like needles. Or giving blood. And he didn’t want to do it. But he’s from the Washington, D.C. area. And one of his parents worked at The Pentagon. They were okay, but he knew that there were others that weren’t.

I know its probably pretty cliche to write a “Where Were You?” September 11 post. Me and all other 3 million people with blogs. But as I was sitting here typing a post about my dislike of the national anthem, set to post on September 11, it made me realize that I tend to only be aware of this day on the day.

And while we shouldn’t live in fear and let the asshats win, we also can never forget.

/end soapbox

Plus it didn’t feel right to have a post about booze or Britney the Train Wreck on 9/11. I have a little class.

Which is why I just took out the trash. For the first time in over a week. And oh, yeah, it was full. The flies were really starting to bother me. (Yes. I’m kidding.) (Maybe.)

First, I need to just say something. Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

So back about a month or so ago, Miss Zoot decided to raise money for the MDA. And with a $20 donation, she’d do a blogger spotlight. And how can you turn that down? I mean, helping a good cause and getting more traffic. Pure freaking genius.

So I did it. Well, mostly because I’m a traffic whore. And because, well, I’d donate even without the blogger spotlight. Because I’m nice. Didn’t you hear?

I was actually a little worried. Because, well, I love Zoot. And want to be her friend. And what if she didn’t like me? I would then have to strangle myself with Red Ropes. Because then at least when I changed my mind, I’d just have to eat myself out. And it’s a tasty snack.

But she likes me!

OhmyGodpeopleZootlikesmeandtotallywantstohangoutwithme. Like for real! She like shouted it from the rooftops and told the entire internet! And I’m sure she just says those things because we are all like donating money to her cause. But whatever. We’re so going to be BFFs.

So if any of you bloggers want to be showcased, get your ass over to her site and donate!

In other inane news, I spent too much time partying in the last four days. Again. I think I mentioned I was going to the Cubs game on Thursday. And I did. And drank from noon to 11. Because apparently I’m trying to cram in all the drinking that I can before I actually turn 30.

It actually would have been a relatively early night. And maybe I could have done dishes or something productive. But I met a dude. He was at the game with us. He’s a friend of a friend of the VP at my company that took us to the game. So we went out after the game and then I joined him and his friends Thursday night to watch the Colts/Saints game at another bar.

And want to know the best part? And by best, I mean kind of crappy? He’s divorced and has a 3 1/2 year old daughter.

Now, the divorced thing doesn’t bother me. I am the child of a divorced marriage. Better to split than stay in an unhappy marriage.

And yes, I do love kids. Want some of my own some day. But what I can’t seem to be okay with is dealing with baby momma drama.

I know. I know. I’m getting ahead of myself. But I need to figure out where I stand with this before I get too far into it.

But we hung out on Saturday night. And we had a GREAT time. So I’m just going to leave it at that. For right now. Because at the very least, I found a new friend to watch football and baseball with.

Oh! Completely unrelated to anything! I also bought a laptop this weekend. To congratulate myself on making it almost 30 years. And really? The only reason was so I can blog from my couch. It makes those open threads at MamaPop a lot easier when you’re actually facing the damn TV.

And because my desk chair is really damn uncomfortable. And I’m starting to think a new chair would have hurt the pocket book a little less.

But at least the laptop will make me cool. At least a lot cooler than someone who fucking says pocket book.

Time for bed, Grandma.

P.S. Justin Timberlake, I love you. And Timbaland. Because you kids just brought the hizzouse down at the VMAs.

I won an award for mah blawg. Me. An award.

THE Hot Librarian thinks I’m nice. Isn’t she sweet? And so misinformed? She should talk to the coat girl.

Anyway, she decided to give me a Nice Matters Blogging Award. Or something.

It’s for those bloggers who are nice people (Who? Me?) and good blog friends – those who bring good feelings and inspiration (about booze?). Also for those who are a positive influence on our blogging world. (Like writing about booze?)

Anyway, thank you Hot Librarian. That was very nice of you. And I suppose to live up to this “label” you’ve slapped on me now, I should like return the favor or something. Right?

OK. Fine. Here are some more nice people.

1. Alyndabear – Because she’s cute and funny and is a teacher. So she must be nice. Because kids can be annoying. Especially in packs.
2. Marianne – She says all sorts of nice things to me. So much so, I want to carry her around in my purse. Plus, it’s not nice to upset a pregnant person.
3. The Hotfessional – Again, she says nice things about me. (Are we sensing a theme here? Say how awesome I am? And you win an award.) Plus, I’m mad jealous she was in The Big House for the UPSET OF THE CENTURY on Saturday. And she’s a Spartan like Winky.
4. Swishy – This girl can keep her cool even with the biggest idiots in the whole world. I am constantly in awe. Plus, we totally like the same bad reality TV shows.
5. Scarlet – One of my first internet friends, she deserves this because without her, I would have no one to text during boring sales training sessions when you just made an ass of yourself in front of the 25-year old salesboy.

Am I done now? Because this is enough nice for the rest of the damn year. My stomach hurts. And I don’t know how this award shit works. Which is why I’m probably never getting another one.

And now back to our regularly scheduled snark…

Guess what? I’m going to the Cubs game tomorrow! In the afternoon! Like the afternoon that would involve NOT being at work! And it’s not vacation! Because the VP invited me!

Too bad we’re going to get fucking poured on. Beats sitting at a damn desk, that’s for sure.

Because sitting at my desk would mean I would have to go to the cafeteria at lunch. Because am the world’s laziest person this week and DO NOT want to make my own lunch. (Don’t worry, I haven’t decided to fall off the deep end and eat burgers and fries every day. I’m still eating healthy. Ish.)

But going to the cafeteria means that you randomly run into Winky. Of course when you’re LEAST expecting it. You know when you’re back at work after yet another bender. And you have your back to him. And didn’t even see him walk in the damn place. Which means you don’t have time to prepare a witty remark. Or hide under the salad bar. But he calls out to you twice to tell you “to answer your question, yeah, it makes me really happy.”

To which you reply with a blank stare because WHY DID I HAVE TO RUN INTO YOU TODAY? And why didn’t I listen to Swishy and make sure I’m always looking hot in case I run into him? And then you finally say something along the lines of “it made my damn weekend” and walk away to pay for your stupid turkey wrap and Baked Lays.

But then you get back to your desk and think “awwww, he sought me out to give me an answer to the text I sent him over the weekend about Michigan losing. He so lurves me.”

And you vow never to hit the snooze button that many times again because that mess on top of your head? Cannot happen again.

Finally, we come to the People Are Idiots portion of our post. I have very rarely had a problem with doctors and billing and insurance and all that. I mean except for it not being 100% free and costing me nothing every time, I’m happy to not have to pay that all out of pocket. Well remember when I had the sore throat of death? Well, the stupid fucking urgent care place decided to take my NEW insurance information, COPY it, ASK me about it TWICE and the proceed to bill my OLD insurance. From a job from almost TWO years ago.

So I called them today and simply said. Fix this. You God damned idiots.

Because what the fuck? I’m a NICE person.

So yeah, 30th fake birthday party. Lots of drinks. No really hilarious stories.

Actually it was basically, booze, booze, booze, pizza, booze, wine, booze, booze, boat cruise, pictures, booze, sunny days, booze, Michigan lost, booze, booze, to a I-AA team, booze, 32 ounce special, booze, booze, booze, laughing, booze, booze, the other ASU, booze, booze, calculator, booze, booze, eight beers, booze, booze, fancy party dress, booze, booze, dancing, booze, booze, Cubs game, booze, booze, booze, Alphabet Game, booze, booze, laughing, booze, there’s no city named Queso?, booze, booze, Murphy’s, booze, booze, Sluggers, booze, booze, more dancing, booze, bagels, booze, cupcakes, booze, booze, napping because am old now, booze, booze, sexy toes, booze, Superbad is an AWESOME movie, booze, booze, tater tots, booze.

The End.

Surprisingly in an un-Kristabella like fashion, there weren’t too many crazy stories. There were many adult beverages had. There was lots of laughing. A dance floor full of sexy beeatches, including one lesbian, and a good time had by all.

But thankfully no one stepped on my foot without my remembering. I was not burned with any cigarettes. And I sent no inappropriate drunk texts.

My God! I’m turning into a fucking grown up! When the hell did that happen?

It was actually one of the best weekends of my life. And by far one of, if not the, best birthdays. And I have had some doozies.

Friday was actually pretty chill. I picked Julie up in the mess that is known as O’Hare Airport on a Friday night of a holiday weekend. Random of all random, Julie actually sat next to a guy on the plane who was best friends with the owner of the bar where I had mah partay. We were destined to have a good time. Fate (and Northwest Airlines) said so.

We just chilled at home on Friday night, resting our old bones for the weekend of drinking that was about to begin. Getting our drinking shoes all gussied up and ready to go. And if you believe that, you probably also believe that gullible isn’t in the dictionary.

We did stay at home. And we ordered pizza. And drank two bottles of wine.

Saturday I got us tickets for the Chicago River/Lake Michigan architecture boat cruise. If you’ve never taken this, I HIGHLY recommend it. I have gone on it twice and learned something every time. Chicago is just a great effing city!

Good thing the awesome skyline distracts from my fat arse and unwashed hair.

And the reason I love Julie and why she’s my BFF is because in an email exchange before she got here, she says “hey! College football starts this weekend! Let’s go sit in that bar in Millennium Park and drink beers and watch football.” Could there be a more perfect afternoon in September? No! Football? Good. Beer? Gooooooood.

AND! They had $9 32-ounce Bud Lights on special. Of which we had three. Before 5 PM. Which made us so drunk we had to get out the calculator on the cell phone to figure out how many beers we actually consumed. Because after 96 ounces of beer, simple math goes out the damn window.

EIGHT BEERS! In like TWO HOURS! And MICHIGAN LOST! To the OTHER ASU! A I-AA school! Could it be a more perfect afternoon?????

(By the way, that’s about how we were talking too. LOTS OF CAPS!!! LOTS OF EXCLAMATION POINTS!!! Lots of YELLING AT ANYONE IN A MICHIGAN SHIRT!!!)

So yeah, I was drunk before I got to my party. And it was my party, I’ll get drunk on 96 OUNCES if I want to. See?

I had an awesome time. Looked hot in my dress. (Not really. Could my face BE any fatter? Maybe I need to have surgery because I think I have the mumps or something. Maybe a full facial goiter. Jesus woman! Lay off the booze!)

And then apparently decided to flash the camera my bra at some point. Well it was a New Orleans type bar. And they did have beads. When in Rome.

We got kicked out of the upstairs around 11 and made it downstairs to realize they had a DJ. And that was all we needed to take over the make-shift dance floor. Which meant I decided to act 22 and drop it like it’s hot. And my old-lady legs are still recovering.

WineBook Club betches unite!

Apparently we’re practicing our best bend and snap! move.

Sthee? Wine turns my tongue purple. And wear some sunblock next time, jackass.

Sunday was the Cubs game and I had SO much fun. My brother and sister-in-law came out, sans kids, and we had a blast. I’ve never gone out or partied with them together. We’ve had a few drinks at their house, but never when they had no responsibilities. At least for the time being. You know, until they got back to Grandma’s and had to be adults again.

And boy did they party it up! It was so much fun! Kim ordered a Mai Tai (we’re Midwesterners. We don’t have many options besides light or regular for booze at baseball games.) And it was STRONG. She let it sit most of the game until the ice melted. And to get her to finish it, she and I played the Alphabet Game. You know, like the one from the Cosby Show? Where you have to name towns that start with each letter of the alphabet?

Yeah, sounds easier than you think. I’ve actually never played it while drinking. Your damn mind goes blank and all you can think of are state names or countries. Or in our case, you damn near convince yourself that there is a town called Queso and one called Xylophone City.

Or maybe we both just wanted to chug-a-lug. Drink ‘er down!

My brother. Who found the Alphabet Game highly entertaining. And also has made me never forget there is a town in Illinois named Quincy.

Monday was very low key. Julie headed back to the Land of 10,000 Lakes. And I hung out with Amber, who is a member of the National Champion Gaelic Football team. Congrats to the Seattle Gaels! And since we both tied one on on Sunday, it made for a very low-key Monday. Because we are both old now. And after walking to lunch and back, we were in desperate need of a nap.

And then we got wild and crazy! And went to see a movie! We saw Superbad. Which, I’m telling all of you, is like the funniest thing I have seen in a LONG time. Fucking hilarious! Go see it! Cause I said so!

And it really was the perfect ending to a perfect weekend. And I was so glad that she stayed the extra day to hang out.

And really, I should give up booze. You know, until the open bar on Saturday. And my real birthday in 10 days. Look out Arizona! Here comes the K Train!

All aboard?

Wanna know why?

1. Because tomorrow is Friday and the start of a long weekend!
2. This weekend is KJ Palooza! Celebrating my (almost) 30 years on this Earth. All. Weekend. Long.
3. Yes, more numbers.
4. I had a very, very nice flirty email exchange with Winky this afternoon. Giddyness ensued. He’s still got a bad case of KJ-itis.
5. My bestest biatch Julie is coming to town! For my birthday! And when the two of us get together, hijinks ensue.

So I thought I would show a photo collage of one of the last times she was in town and we decided to take in the White Sox/Twins game at Comiskey Park or the Cell or whatever the hell it is called these days.

See, all along the upper concourse of Sox park, there are photos and shit from the team’s history and yada, yada, yada, Go Cubs!

Well, when the two of us betches get together and alcohol is added to the equation, hilarity is the end result. KJ + JR + beer = hilarity.

Take a look.

Wanna share mah beer? Here. Have a sip.

Give us a kiss.

Get out! He said WHAT?!?

Coochie, Coochie, Coo.

Word, holmes. Nice play.

I’m sure all my internet friends are a little thankful they know me only through the computer. And not in person. Hell, I’m sure most of my friends right now wish they didn’t know me!

I will be watching the clock on Friday WAITING for the day to end. So the party can begin!

And don’t worry, there will be plenty of documentation from the weekend known as KJ Palooza. In case you have to miss out on the festivities. You’ll all be there in spirit!

She said some nice compliments, like pretty much everyone because they must be aware of my frail ego, but her big questions was “So, which one has more fun?”

And that got me thinking. Lightbulb! This could be a good social experiment. Which do have more fun? Blondes or Brunettes?

I’m here to break the news to the toe heads of the world. It’s brunettes. Well, when it comes to me, it’s brunette. By a freaking mile.

Ever since the drastic change, I have started to notice I’m getting a lot more attention. From the male persuasion.

Obviously it’s a lot more drastic to people who knew me as a blonde. But for everyone except my grandmother (who not so secretly told my mom she still hates my dark hair), they all LOVE IT! As do I.

I’ve noticed a lot more dudes checking me out. Like on the train, for instance. On my way down to the Bears game on Saturday, there was a guy I saw standing on the platform. Cute. Tall. Twelve. He was a good car length or more down the platform from me. And then crazy of all crazy, he ended up on MY car when the train finally came. And went in the same door. What ARE the odds?

And then Train Boy didn’t just follow me onto a train car, he full on stared at me. I’m not talking like make eye contact, look away. Full. On. Staring.

And I can’t say I didn’t like it. And thank jeebus for sunglasses, since I was staring right back.

After the game on Saturday night, my mom and I were hungry. And since there is like NOTHING around Soldier Field. And anything close is in the Loop, which freaking shuts down at 5 PM, we ended up walking a bit to a place we like that has good pizza. (Yes, I had PIZZA while I’m supposed to be on Weight Watchers. I figured mixed with the vat of wine it REALLY WASN’T GOING TO MATTER!)

We sat at the tables by the bar and were being helped by the weird looking waiter. Who was wearing sunglasses inside. At night. And had a ponytail. Anyway, he took quite a shine to ol’ KJ. Every time he came by, he rubbed my back. No. I’m dead serious. Every damn time. That never happened when I was blonde. I don’t know that that has ever happened.

The final piece of conclusive evidence was Sunday at lunch. After dress shopping. You know Sunday, when I didn’t shower and looked like I had been run over by a Mack Truck. Because I had just woken up from a six-day bender.

Anyway, Schwerer and I decided to hit up Red Robin for some chow. We had this cute 14-year old waiter. Really cute. We kept checking out his ass. He was all trying to be cutesy with me when I was ordering. Telling me that only girls in pink shirts (Schwerer) could order the Souper Sandwich combo. Har. Har. After ordering the ranch to come on the side, he asked “so you don’t want it on the sandwich?” And I responded “well, that’s usually what ‘on the side’ means.”

And I had him. Hook, line and sinker. He later came up, giving us his life story. (As if we ever asked. Just turn around Waiter Boy.) Asking us if we’ve ever been to Fridays (Rich just shot coke and rum out his nose). Because he had never been. Because they don’t have them in Alabama. (What?) And yada, yada, yada, he just moved here to go to a crappy community college. And Schaumburg scares him. And he hasn’t been to the city yet since he doesn’t turn 21 for a few more weeks. Sometime in September. Like me!

And then we dropped the bomb. We are 30. (Almost.)

And he said something that made me want to fold him up and put him in my purse for later. He said I look 20! Twenty! Two Zero. I’m sure he was looking for a good tip, but wow. He then backtracked (after we laughed in his face), and said more like 25. Which just led to more laughing. And then he cowered, with his tail between his legs, and gave us one last few of his cute arse.

So the results are in. It’s brunette all the way.

But maybe all the stares and attention might have something to do with always walking around with this face.

Because, yeah. I’d fucking stare at you too. CRAZY PERSON!

But you know what? It’s fucking hot. AGAIN. Yes, I’m sorry to all of you in other parts of the country where it is/was hot for-evah. And I should be thankful for the breaks we had and the rain. Holy fuck, the rain of the apocalypse. Where is Evan Almighty when you need him? We could have used an Ark.

And I think it was hot last week. Being drunk almost 24/7 makes me not remember. Oh, and all I can remember is that I thought we were all going to die in the STORMS! Storms that broke old, old trees in half. Nay, snapped in half. And sent it into someone’s second floor of the house. (I don’t lie. Happened across the street.) (Did I just say nay?)

Actually, I remember it being really hot at least two of the days. But I was staying in air conditioning, so I did not care. And now? Am back in my damn hot apartment. Must I remind you about the candles?

So instead of something thought provoking or funny and seemingly interesting, I’m just going to tell you the random things that go through my mind throughout the day. Because I write them down. Mostly because all the booze has made be all kinds of forgetful.

1. Ha! I switched it up from bullets to numbers. Fooled you!
2. I looked at my spam comments today and I got a lot of spam about fly fishing. Is that because I talked about Winky and how he likes to fish? Or is it the Akismet spam filter telling me that Winky and I are meant to be? Like, maybe it’s kismet or something?
3. OK, that was pretty witty. If I do say so myself.
4. Which I will. Because I can.
5. And now this is just thoughts of what is going on in my brain at this very second. It’s scary in here.
6. People. PEOPLE! (Just wanted to make sure you were still with me.) Why have we not discussed the magic that is ballet flats? And why I have revolted against said shoe for so many seasons? Because I like to shove my tallness in people’s faces with my heels? (Not really, heels are fun.) Dudes! It’s like wearing slippers to work. Until they allow flip flops, this will be the way to go. Am in love with these shoes.
7. They also help when you have a bruise on top of your foot and anything touching it makes it hurt. I’m talking hurt like the hurt of having your nipple in a vice. Like a bruise the size of Rhode Island. (I’m tall. I have big feet.) A bruise that you have NO idea how you got. For the love of Christ, it looks like someone stepped on me! With the weight of 1,328 elephants! Woman, how on Earth do you not remember someone stepping on your foot? (Anyone out with me on Friday who may know the answer to this question would provide very useful.)
8. It was probably Jenna York.
9. You know what else is a sign that you were far too drunk for an entire six days? You have not one, but two (TWO!!) cigarette burns on your elbow. Fucking inches from EACH OTHER.
10. I’m seriously considering rehab.
11. I do remember some old dude buying me a beer. Maybe he stepped on me and/or burnt me.
12. God, I’m easily bought off.
13. I think I like the numbers better.
14. Do any of the ladies out there (holla!) think it is so funny that we are all so apologetic. Like today, walking out of the bathroom, I opened the entry door (no, not the stall door) at the same time as someone was coming in. And we’re both all “I’m sorry. Excuse me.” Neither of us did anything wrong.
15. In college, we took a Women’s Studies class where the professor pointed this very thing out. And I told myself I would never be like that.
16. I say sorry to inanimate objects if I run into them.
17. That professor also told us it was very important to NEVER say sorry if/when you’re involved in any kind of accident, regardless of fault. Saying sorry assumes blame. Which is a good point. I don’t think it would hold up in court though.
18. My friend Ang actually got rear-ended by that professor in the Safeway parking lot a few years later. First words out of Prof’s mouth? Yep. I’m sorry.
19. That same professor also told us how bad your bladder squishes down to half its original size when you have babies. Which would explain why my mom has to go every 37 seconds. When she’s dehydrated.
20. And now I must be off. And this was just filler. Because I like even numbers.