excuse the bitchin', i can't complain

So....yesterday...I was a bit of a bit----....grump, shall we say? Last night I ended up going to Mother's with Jeff, singing karaoke and enjoying birthday toasts with him and Matty, and even seeing an old live band karaoke friend who I haven't seen in years.

Of course, I've also learned that at 28, my body can't tolerate 3 Tom Collins, a Jagerbomb, Chambord and pineapple shot, and a BJ shot. In other words, my liver be painin' today.

Also, after waking up this morning I had:

• About 10 calls from Max wishing me a happy birthday.
• An inbox full of happy Birthday emails.
• A card from Brynn on my chair at work
• Said card had a button on it that reads," Another Year Sexier!" which I plan to wear all day.
• A birthday work email, informing everyone that I also share my birthday with "Weird" Al Yankovic, among others...
  
  And, as I was getting ready, I was listening to the radio when Poison's "Nothing but a Good Time" came on.
  

First of all, that's just a great song to hear on your birthday (or any day) in general, but second, and most important, that was my dear friend Lewis's jam. We all sang it at his Live Band Karaoke memorial right after he passed. And when I heard it this morning, it was like he was sending me his birthday wish. Maybe that's mushy, but it meant a lot to me, and it made me realize that it's not about the parties or the celebrations---it's about the people you care about and who care about you.

And apparently, I'm fortunate enough to have a shit-ton of them. Love you guys!

for future reference...

Please, if I ever...EVER...discuss my birthday again, in terms of plans, parties, celebrations, etc., remind me to stop. Also remind me to not plan or get excited for said birthday because it tends to only blow up in my aging face and upset me for no reason, ruining an otherwise normal, yet decent day, and turning it into a day of self-pity and overall upsettedness.

I was doing so well, too. I guess I could measure some small amount of success in the fact that I didn't give a damn about my birthday until 3 days before. Usually I'm excited and planning for weeks. Unfortunately, I decided last minute to cram that excitement in anyhow, and, alas...here I am, questioning myself, pitying myself, and just feeling plain old.

But as it draws nearer (like, 12:22am tomorrow---which is almost still like a part of today...), it just gets worse and worse and I don't know whether to laugh or to cry. Last night I, of course, chose the latter.

Hell, I won't even be celebrating my usual Pioneer Tap birthday party. I won't even be going to the Tap tonight. Nope, I will be sitting on my almost-28-year-old ass, alone, watching TV, watching the clock strike 12:22am (that is, unless, I have fallen asleep as has been the case over the past few months), thinking, "It's my birthday. Whooptie-freakin-do. No one cares. I wish there was a damned new episode of Rock of Love Charm School on right now...but that's not til Sunday. Gosh, Tiff, you are getting old. 28? 28?! Really? Where the fuck did that time go? Holy shit. Old and sitting alone on a couch. On your birthday."

Who knows, maybe at that moment I'll let out a hilarious fart or something to shake me from the thoughts that will have, at that point, no doubt invaded my 2-years-away-from-30-sitting-alone-on-a-freaking-couch-on-my-birthday mind.

Let's see, a little under 7 hours to go.

(And that doesn't even count my birthday "party" on Friday...which at this point consists of 3 guests...one of them being myself. But I guess that's my fault for delaying the inevitable by trying to avoid celebrating my birthday in the first place and sending the invite only 3 days before the party. I can't freaking win, can I?)

@@!$%^@!#%^@#*^#@!!!!!!!!!

Aw, fartknocker, dick hammer, douche bag, Muesli, banana nut bread, fermented olive loaf, monkey tail, whale taint, bunyon muffin, cracked egg, jelly skunk, rat fluffer, pudding wrench, starfish, pucker face, bicycle peddle, toot horn, frog nuts, spunk monkey, tractor breath, oat bran, fish Walter, funk drawer, butt rocket, crotch gun, mint nose, pineapple papaya, Dirk Diggler, poo poo beard, potty head, poot face, swamp sock, dick feed, jerky beefer, rank moldy toaster, Boxcar children, fruity tart, lacy poop, urine luck, potty cake potty cake bake this in your freakin' pan!!!!!! Argh.

...yes, I'm a little distressed at the moment.

got mah' hair cutted

Fringe-y bangs---which work wonders for masking forehead breakouts...and lots of layers---keeping my length while cutting off a majority of my crunchy ends.

I love it. Tricoci does an amazing job with my hair every time, and the stylist I see charges a reasonable price, especially for the caliber of work she does. Not once have I ever walked out of that place disappointed when she's cut my hair. And I'm pretty picky about my coif. (Hey when your mom accidentally gives you a mullet your sophomore year in high school? Well, you become a little gun shy with your hair after that. Talk about traumatic...)

It was a little blustery out last night though, so I ended up hailing a cab right after I walked out of 900 N. Michigan. Usually I sit in front of the 4th Presbyterian Church (or, as I call it, "my pretty church") and watch people walking by. I'm not Presbyterian...heck, I'm not even what you'd consider religious, but there is something so beautiful and peaceful about that church that when I go to that neck of the woods, I feel I must sit and absorb it all in.

I guess I'm I'm a little sad I didn't get to do that this time.

However, I think the cab driver thinks that I work as a stripper. I left my car at work and caught a cab downtown to Tricoci. So, on the way back the cab driver asked where I needed to go. I told him the address, and he said, "Oh, you live by the horse barn."

I told him, "No, I don't live there, it's actually right next to where I work."

Then he got silent.

Then it hit me.

Next door to the horse barn is V.I.P.'s strip club. This is, of course, not where I work. But in that cabbie's mind? I'm sure it is.

odd

So, Facebook is kind of a weird thing, right? I mean, you find people that you haven't seen/heard from/talked to in ages, add them to your list of friends, and then after a few small opening pleasantries, you don't really talk to them any more than you did before you found them on Facebook.

It's like you're keeping them in your back pocket, just in case you want to say hi, or see what's going on in their lives.

Of course, this isn't the only use of Facebook. I have plenty of friends that I do see on a regular basis that are also Facebook friends...and there's Word Twist. (Which, by the way, needs some sort of 12-step program add-on app.)

But back to that first use...you see, I was checking my Facebook, as I so often do, when I saw that my good friend in high school and her husband (a guy I had dated for about 2 weeks back in high school), just had a baby boy. I am incredibly happy for them. Absolutely so.

However, it was also kind of weird. Probably because I've technically lost touch with them. But also because I'm beginning to feel how much time has passed since I was a teenager and we just talked about these kinds of things in our futures. Now, those things are actually happening.

Well, sort of. I mean, yes, I have a son. (An 8-year-old son...holy cat turds...eight?! Wow.) And yes, I was married...once...a long time ago...for a short time. But those things happened in my life when my friends were still just predicting those things in their futures.

I kind of feel like I'm in this odd place. Here I am, a pretty seasoned parenting veteran...at least in terms of baby and toddlerhood...those teenager years scare the shit out of me more and more as they draw nearer...

but I have no close friends getting married, already married, with kids, expecting kids. Heck, I don't even understand that crazy mom-talk when I attend a party with other moms who've been leading, say, a more traditional life. It's like, I'm one half mommy and one half cosmopolitan. And I actually like that. You will never find me huddled in the kitchen with the other hens, talking about curtains, casseroles, or cat litter.

But at the same time, I guess I have this curiosity about what it's like to have friends my age with families. I mean, I have great friends and I love all of them. And this is not some sort of strange plea for them to all get hitched and pop out a couple of loin-fruits A.S.A.P.

Not at all. But when I see an old high school friend and her husband taking that next step in their lives, I find myself one part choked up, one part happy for them, and one part completely confused and weirded out.

Also, have I mentioned that I turn 28 next week? I feel like this could be the root of this particular issue...

...like, am I where I'm supposed to be at 2 years til 30?

I guess so, because if not, then I'd be somewhere else...right?

Right.

report cards and a head in the clouds

(Sorry I couldn't find a better version of this classic clip! Keep in mind, his teacher isn't like this lady. But listen to the part when John Candy responds to her calling his niece a "dreamer" and a "sillyheart." Also, I love, "I'm Buck Melanoma, Moley Russell's Wart." Ha! Ha!)

So, Max's dad calls me this morning to let me know that Max got his first report card for the third grade. It's also his first report card with actual grades on it. In other words? Pretty exciting times for all.

The basic run down was all A's, with a B in English and a B+ in Art. What's more? The kid made the freaking Honor Roll. Dude, I didn't make the Honor Roll until 5th grade, and here's my flesh and blood doing it on the first try. Amazing.

But it's not all fun and games at the House of Randonimity. You see, Max's teacher made a few comments on Max's overall behavior, attitude, performance, etc., over the first quarter.

He got high accolades for his behavior, but then she went on to write, "Maxwell needs to stop his constant daydreaming and forgetfulness. Does he have a regular bed time?"

Time the heck out. He made the freaking Honor Roll. He received A's and B's. And I'll have you know, he's not forgetful. He just tends to be a little like me when it comes to recalling things. It's not that he forgets something, he just doesn't feel like getting into it at the moment. So, his common response to most questions about his day or whatnot is, "I don't remember." He's freaking 8. And when he's ready, he'll be happy to talk about whatever you asked about.

But what gets my goat more is the daydreaming bit. Again...he's 8! He's got a head full of whimsical things. He's got ideas. He's got dreams. And guess what? Sometimes he gets lost in them. And he STILL gets A's and B's...even when his mind is up in the clouds.

I think his daydreaming is a good thing, and I'm not about to tell him to stop. In a world like this, sometimes all you have are your daydreams to keep you sane, and to keep you from falling into a rut. I'm proud that he knows that he can get lost in his thoughts when he feels the need to do so and take care of the important things---at the same time. That's not a boon to his education. It's a lesson in multitasking, dammit.

So, I say keep dreamin', little man. And keep doing what you're doing in your classes.

Also, he does have a set bedtime. But, again, he's 8. There are, of course, plenty of nights when he comes downstairs for his umpteenth glass of water, or an extra hug, or a re-do on the tucking in.

Thinking that an 8-year-old just falls asleep as soon as you tuck him in---every single night?

All I have to say is....who's the dreamer now, Teach?

quick bloggy about non-existent accents

I just got off the phone with my cousin Melissa and something occurred to me: for the past, oh, I don't know fifteen years or so, when talking to each other, we tend to talk with this strange made-up accent.

I can't really explain it. It sounds like we come from some conglomerate made up of places in Eastern Europe, Asia, Mexico, and Jupiter. It's kind of E.T.-like, but it has that definite ESOL touch. It's weird.

What's even weirder?

I don't think we realize we do it. I mean, until now that is. But I wonder how many times we've been somewhere when the other one calls, only to answer the phone like, "Heeeeello. Howwww are youuuuuuuuuu. Oh no no. Dat's okaey. Okaey. Byeeee-byeee." (As you can tell, it's really hard to type a made-up accent and make it fly.)

Perhaps I'll record a sample and let you guys be the judge on where this accent is possibly from.

Either that or just come up to me and ask me to do it for you. Because I totally will. Even if it means making a complete ass of myself...

...especially if it means making a complete ass of myself.

hooplah!

Finally busted out my hoop last night. It's been way too long, and I'm a little rusty, but it felt good. It's amazing the workout you get with 20 to 30 minutes of hooping.

Sorry about the abundance of video effects, it's been a while since I've played with any editing software as well. I went a little overboard.

I especially like when the room looks like it's turned into the set of an 80's music video (back when there were still music videos...played on a regular basis...uninterrupted by episodes of My Super Sweet Sixteen and Next), almost like Dire Straits "Money for Nothing." (It's at about :47.)

And don't mind the outfit...it was a workout...I have the right to look slobulous.

who...

...spent over an hour creating this?


Yours truly.

Hey, gotta represent, right?

Right.

Here are all of the pumpkins Max and I carved today. (And by we, I mean, I did the dirty work and Max carved out a single pumpkin eye. But he had fun, and really, I did too.)





What's more? As I sat on my porch enjoying this unseasonable weather, some neighbors walked by, commenting and complimenting my pumpkins...before they even realized I was sitting out there.

Then their dog started to crap on my lawn.

Which is totally fine.

sixteen days til my 28th birthday...

These are going on the wishlist...self-designed and cute as heck:






I'm just sayin...

hangin' tough

Just got back from the New Kids show/Pioneer Tap after-party.

What a night.

Pictures and proper blogging will commence soon.

Right now, I need some sleep. (Also, I think the 40,000 or whatever, screaming females blew out my left ear drum. Small price to pay for some smokin' hot [and all grown up, I might add] New Kids.)