For Crying Out Loud

That’s What Sisters are for: Birthday Edition

Peanut — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 21:57:20 +0000

Last Sunday night we celebrated my sister’s birthday. My memory is hazy. It was one of those nights where you inadvertently store mementos for your sober self. Like in the movie Memento, when you drink enough your brain stops creating new memories but unlike the movie, instead of actually trying to assist the protagonist these mementos only serve to baffle. Exhibit A:

What are you trying to tell me little palm tree?

It’s an air-freshener. Why did I steal an air-freshener from my sister’s friend Nugget’s car? I’ve no idea. I found it in my purse the next day and had a forehead slapping moment.

Nugget and his roommate went into Rite Aid after we left the bar and I waited in the back seat of the car with my sister and her boyfriend Robbie when something prompted me to climb to the front seat–I can only guess it was to shut off the headlights, blinker or music because there’s no way I went up there just to steal his air freshener though I’ve stolen worthless objects while drunk before so who knows! Once I did whatever I went up there to do, I took the air freshener and ejected the CD (as requested by Jen). The guys returned none the wiser and as we drove out of the parking lot, Nugget said, “what happened to my CD?” I’m pretty sure this made my sister and I giggle. I can’t remember exactly but if I know us at all, we giggled.

Many other things happened. Baby goats ate grains out of my hand, crazy hats were worn, Tiki mugs were stolen, stories of a stolen headstone were told, my sister made a piece of art with napkins, straws and a cocktail glass . . .

Jenny's cocktail art.

My night ended when Jenny and Robby drove me home. We hung out with the dogs for a bit before I went to bed (I cannot stress how much fun it is to play with your dogs when you are drunk).

My dear sister once said, “if you wake up with dirt under your nails, you know you had a good night.” I woke up covered in bug bites and a used air-freshener so I think I had a good night.

This is pretty much how I remember my night.

It Never Fails . . .

Peanut — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 04:22:04 +0000

I always run out of Tapatio. I never write it on my grocery list or think twice about walking down the condiments aisle. I make trips to the grocery store, liquor store, gas station, what have you, for the sole purpose of purchasing Tapatio because somehow I never anticipate when I’ll be craving it next or say “hmm… running low on Tapatio, better pick some up next time I’m at the store.” It’s just always supposed to be in the fridge. It’s not like when you make a sandwich and check to make sure you have bread. When I’m making a late night quesadilla or Ramen, I expect that the Tapatio will be there, half-full (because I’m an optimist) like always, so when I go to open the fridge and it’s ~~not there~~ there but with about two drops left, I don’t even want my snack anymore because it’s too late to go to the grocery store and I didn’t make this particular Tapatio friendly-food because I’m craving that, I made it because I’m craving Tapatio! I eat my snack anyway but I pout and I slouch and I do not laugh at the funny parts of whatever show I’m watching. Stupid show. Stupid, plain non-spicy snack.

Work Files: The bathroom

Peanut — Thu, 21 Jul 2011 22:48:46 +0000

I work in a fairly small two story building with a clean multi-stall bathroom that is shared with the other tenants. I often have the bathroom to myself and can’t complain about the instrumental easy listening music in the background. Unfortunately it’s all about timing and when my timing is off, there’s at least one, if not two other people with whom I share my bathroom time all day. It’s on those days that I can’t help but notice some of the different types of bathroom users.

Note:

1. The Horse Peer (There’s nothing wrong with this, it’s healthy. I’m just impressed, I guess.)

2. The Let Looser (Nothing wrong with this either. I’m impressed by your tenacity but it’s distracting.)

3. The Heavy breather (You are a very audible breather. I can hear how focused you are on what you’re doing and I think you should get your sinuses checked out, I’m concerned.)

I usually kinda sit and hang out to avoid washing my hands at the same time as the people who fall into these categories because it takes effort not to think “horse peer, horse peer, you pee like a horse, did you just empty a jug of water in there?” the whole time. Plus I want to give them their anonymity. Granted not everyone is as self-conscious as I am, clearly, but the sounds and smells don’t need a face. I know someone did it but I don’t need to know who because when I pass them in the hall or parking lot, that will be the only point of reference I have for these people that I know nothing about but see almost everyday. I also don’t need to know about their pooing habits, health or lack thereof–though I’m sure everyone knows about mine because I’m usually in the first stall where shoes are visible upon entering the bathroom and I’m probably the only person in the building who wears Vans to work.

Adorable Manstincts Update

Peanut — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 06:59:23 +0000

B is on the verge of being a sleepwalker. There are a handful of times I suspect that it’s a defense mechanism in his military blood, to look awake and alert to scare off intruders without actually being awake. It scares me, that’s for sure.

I’m like, “what is it? Are we being invaded? Is it a cockroach!”

It even inspired a lengthy blog about how adorable it was that he threw his arm and torso over me in the middle of the night as if he was having a dream that I was in danger and he had to protect me! He does this often and every time it’s just as confusing and I’m even less sure why his body needs to physically act out his dreams.

More recently, he did some kind of summer salt/flip where he ended up with a knee on the foot of the bed and opposite foot on the floor. As I was awoken by the rapid fire movements going on next to me, I stared down at him with my sheets pulled up to my chin, afraid per usual, until I realized he was dreaming and thought, “hm that’s funny, kinda just looked like he was trying to do a skate trick in his sleep.” Then sudden awareness.

“Are you sleep-skating?” I asked.

No reply. He was still asleep.

When I asked him about it the next morning, he said he does NOT sleep-skate. Discussion over. But my argument is that he can never remember what he’s dreaming about anyway. What else could it possibly be? Muscle memory indeed.

I think from now on when I’m awoken in the middle of the night, I’ll say, “What is it? Cockroach? Skate tricks? Did you land it? Sweet.” Then I’ll role over and go back to sleep.

Camping with Bikers

Peanut — Thu, 07 Jul 2011 01:37:11 +0000

I attended this event. I don’t have too many complete sentences to describe the weekend this event is pertaining to. Some words that come to mind are: motorcycles, choppers, bikers, camping, campfire, s’mores, Irvine, cold and beer.

Also, here are some interesting facts I learned and memorable quotes from that weekend.

Facts

When you share a campsite with a bunch of guys, you will laugh and you will be kept awake later then you want to be because they are still up laughing.

When you’re camping 12:00am feels like 3:00am.

When you have 3G service at your campsite that you share with a bunch of guys, you will learn about interesting you tube links :

(It’s hypnotizing)

When guys drink lots of beer in outdoor places, they pee everywhere.

When you’re camping you can hear everything acutely from your tent, even when the person in the tent near you farts.

“Facts”

If you say “I hate rabbits” very quickly over and over again it will change the direction of the smoke from the campfire. This was demonstrated.

Pee scares snakes away (there are snakes in O’Neil Regional Park) and probably other animals who mark their territory with pee.

Memorable Quotes

“You ever want to kill your dog–not because you hate it, but because you love it so much you just want to squeeze it?”

“Hey we’re having a rock war! You want to get in on this?!”

“You’re peeing too close to our tent.” (Me)

“I’m scaring the snakes away.” (B in response to me)

“I woke up covered in ants because I had a snack in the middle of the night and got crumbs everywhere.”

“S’morgasm.”

Also, photos:

Campfire

Sleepy and cold

Photos B Smith!

End Story.

Grandmas and Statues

Peanut — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 07:28:59 +0000

I’m willing to bet money that sitting near the front entrance of your grandmother’s home, or in her garden, or in any empty corner of her home, is some sort of statue with a face– be it animal, mythical creature or religious deity. It’s just what they do. I think once you reach a certain age, you no longer feel the need to maintain a hip and stylish home and just fill it with things that make you smile like garden gnomes or big Jesus statues with all seeing judgmental eyes to watch over you while you eat and sleep. Case in point:

Jebus, why do you always look so sad?

I’ve never really given it much thought before. To me it was as normal to see religious statues in my grandmother’s home as it was to see electrical appliances. It wasn’t until I visited B’s family in Kentucky for his Opa’s 80th birthday celebration recently that I began to question the sociological significance of statues and matriarchs. I was very warmly welcomed by his family and after a few drinks did I also begin to feel welcomed by the many hand painted elves and collectible dolls and numerous other figurines with unidentifiable facial expressions, like they were mid sentence with their neighboring elf and someone walked by so they had to freeze-frame (lest the humans learn of their existence!). Maybe making you feel welcome (or unwelcome) is the purpose? I recently read about an experiment conducted on Halloween where the outcome showed that children were less likely to be greedy with an unattended bowl of candy when confronted with themselves in a mirror (see #3 of Cracked article) and I wonder if simply sensing that two pairs of eyes (real or not) are watching you might have a similar effect. It’s like your conscious is taking the form of anything with a face even if it’s a caricature of Shakespeare with a giant head or a tissue dispenser with the likeness of Dolly Parton’s head (thank you for this visual J-boss).

"I'll always know what you did that one time you stayed with us for the weekend..."

I can only wonder what sort of unusual statues that I’ll find necessary to creep out my grandchildren when I’m 80. I really hope that it’ll be something awesome like a storm trooper, a giant Buddha (the skinny version) or smiling Jesus or best of all a disapproving Homer Simpson, but it’ll probably just be something lame like an angel holding bunnies (I actually already received this as a gift. It’s just a small ornament and I love it but will not display it until I’m at least 70).

Waiting for her moment (in 42 years)

As long as I’m thinking about it now, I might as well start saving for a real piece of art. I’m thinking a modern TV art installation of someone like a young Yoko Ono doing something awesome (pg13 though), as long as it makes my hypothetical future grandchildren feel watched and judged. I won’t judge them, I will love and accept them but there’s no reason my art has to do that too.

Do it, Yoko!

My birthday weekend

Peanut — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 19:52:18 +0000

Friday Night

The mantra of the night that I quickly forgot with my first shot of Tequila: slow and steady wins the race (sorry Gab). I did not win, neither did Alicia. My sister showed up for a minute but I was already dancing my way down a dangerously steep slope to blacking out forcing her to go into protective sister mode (sorry Sister). She was around for like an hour at the most and then sent me home in a taxi and specific instructions for B to take care of me….which he did, ending his night early (sorry B). I woke up the next morning to a giant glass of water, Advil and saltine crackers and in my PJs which B changed me into but not before taking this picture and sending it to my friends.

Touché my love, touché.

Saturday

This is at brunch the next day. I’m the boobs in the blue v-neck. My hungover, make-up less face is thankfully hidden.

Saturday night was the boys’ skate premiere, more reasons to party but my stomach was still crippled from Tequila so it was mellow for me.

Monday was my actual birthday. I came home and saw this cute little set up on the table. The card says: To my princess Leah. It’s a Star Wars reference and a way to my heart.

Dog Portraits

Peanut — Fri, 17 Jun 2011 21:38:50 +0000

Roxy, age 8

Essentially my mom’s dog but she helped fill the gaping hole in my heart for my beloved childhood dog, Minnie. She sometimes reminds me of an Ewok.

Bella, age 6

The manifestation of my childhood wishes for my fluffy, cuddly, stuffed dog to come to life. Also, not unlike a Wookie.

Lulu, age 2

My sister’s dog and a rescue. She will sniff your face like she can’t believe you’re real and that having a family and being loved is just some wonderful dream that she might wake up from soon.

And to stay on the Star Wars theme, she could probably pass for Yoda.

My boyfriend blades: the white suite video

Peanut — Wed, 25 May 2011 00:21:59 +0000

I remember the first time my boyfriend showed me this skate video of him from 2003 opening with him sitting in a limo in a white suite and sipping champagne in between skate tricks. It blew my mind. Until that point, I just thought it was something he liked to do on the side but turns out he’s really good, one of the best really in the small but significant and growing industry that is blading.

We’ve been together two years now and with the release of his newest section in Valo4Life (see below), I’ve thought about that first video a lot recently. Mainly, I’ve thought about how frickin’ adorable he would be in a modern version of that white suit à la Shia Labeouff from some GQ article below.

But the chances of ever getting this man and his grizzly beard into anything dressier then a button up from Target is about as likely as convincing the birther conspirorists of our president’s citizenship. It’s just never going to happen. My only chances of this include being his date to a formal event with a strict dress code for which he must attend which happens never or that someone would have the amazing idea to do a modern white suite video!

My attempt to non-nonchalantly pitch this idea to a couple of B’s filming buddies (one being the creator of the original video) quickly turned into amateur day. I was like hey, wouldn’t that be such a great idea! People always like to see modern versions of their favorite old movies. Look at True Grit! Why wouldn’t it work for skate videos? My enthusiasm was politely acknowledged but not reciprocated and I realized it was never going to happen. Nobody cares about seeing B in a modern version of his white suit video as much as I do, nor do they appreciate (I imagine) me trying to convince them to spend their time and money to produce a modern version just so I can drool over my skinny boyfriend in a white fitted suit. Because look at him:

Yes he’s adorable as is. There’s absolutely nothing I would change about him… but can’t you just picture it?

Pigeon Roommates

Peanut — Tue, 17 May 2011 21:05:02 +0000

Last week as I got ready for work, I heard the panicked flapping of wings in the hallway outside my 3rd story apartment door and cautiously peaked outside to discover two pigeons; I named them Jay and Bob. Jay was desperately trying to return through the small entrance he got in from while Bob just perched himself on the iron rails of the stairway. I decided I would make their day and open the glass doors that led to the fire escape so they could escape with ease. And I believed they would fly out those doors as soon as I went back into my apartment, but when I checked later they were still there (see photo), with the addition of feathers and bird poop mapping out their trail of stupidity. I rolled my eyes and closed the door.

Jay & Bob

When I was just about ready for work I decided to grab a broom and gently shoo them in the right direction but they flew to every point except the open door making a bigger mess in the process. If they couldn’t sense a giant escape route directly in front of them, then there was no way I could help them. Plus I could tell they were winded after 30 seconds of trying to escape my broom. Another 30 seconds and they both would have suffered heart attacks. I tried once and was over it so I went back inside. Far be it for me to force unwanted exercise on overweight pigeons.

As I locked my door to leave for work, I heard something hit the carpet. I looked over my right shoulder to survey the floor for a fresh white spot and looked directly above it to the guilty pigeon, Jay, chillin’ on some water pipes, who upon making eye contact with me, quickly looked to his right at Bob as if to blame him. I laughed. I couldn’t stay mad.

When I got home at the end of the day, they were gone. No idea how they got out but I’ll miss them. Jay was always blaming Bob for everything and Bob would just sit there, he didn’t care. They were the odd couple of pigeons.