Um...What??

Yes, This Post Actually Has The Jonas Brothers In It (I Should Probably Just Delete Entire Blog Now) (Also: HI MOM!)

Last week, two very important people celebrated their birthdays:

This guy:                                                      And this little cutie:
                                                   

The guy on left is Nick Jonas. (You: Who?? Me: Exactly.) He is, apparently, who all the teenage girls are swooning over these days. Which of course makes me wonder what the hell has happened to teenage girls over the past 20 years.

Because hello???

THIS is who we swooned over when I was a teenage girl!

 

 

Who, by the way, looks like this now and I THINK I NEED A MOMENT.

Oh! Sorry!

I'm getting way off track here from my original point.

There's something that never happens always happens every single post.

 

 

And the cute little short-stack on the right? That's my mom. (HI MOM!) Isn't she adorable? I picked that particular photo to post for a few reasons. Because it's always been one of my favorite pictures of her. Because even though she's just a little girl, her face is still so recognizable to me as the first face I knew in life. The first love I knew. The first memories I made. The place I grew my deepest roots. Home. I also picked it because she looks so happy just to be, and that's a feeling I always associate with her and one she always worked so hard to instill in me – something that remains the source of the resiliency and determination I have today. And, oh yeah: I also picked it because there's NO WAY she can call me later and tell me she doesn't like the picture because she thinks she looks too old in it. (HI MOM!)

So my mom's birthday was this past Friday, and Nick Jonas's was Tuesday. The only reason I know anything about Nick's birthday is because I accidentally came across this story. As if I even need to clarify the "accidentally" part because who would read that kind of thing on purpose? Anyway, this news story is basically the lone source of ALL of my knowledge about Nick Jonas, including the fact that he's one of three Jonas brothers when I thought there were only two – although when I took the time to think this is beyond me – and they seem to be very into layering their clothing. After they're done stealing it from Billy Joel and Prince Charles:

      

 

 

 

 

 

Hello?

So, Nick just turned 16 (Big deal! I did that once), and for that incredible accomplishment – and because he's some kind of a heartthrob* and he gets special heartthrob* treatment where treatment equals many, many, many families with young girls give him their money – Nick got to celebrate his birthday at Dodger Stadium.

*Um...no and no:

Hello??

This guy can have MY money.

You know, if I had any.

I'm not giving him any pants though. Because, well, DUH.

 

 

According to the news story, Nick and his brothers rented out Dodger Stadium for two and a half hours so they could play some baseball with their friends. Awwww. Baseball. With their friends. Isn't that cute?? NOT WHEN THOSE TWO AND A HALF HOURS COST $30,000, IT ISN'T. $30,000? For a 16-year-old's birthday party?

Look. I'm just as in favor of kids having fun birthday parties as the next guy. Yayyyyy kids!! (Honestly, I don't really care. I'm just trying to keep all the mommy bloggers from hating me.) But this story disturbs me on several levels, the most obvious being why do these marginally-talented kids have so much money while people like teachers and nurses struggle to make ends meet in today's economy? (Okay, I admit I've never heard their music and am just assuming about the marginally talented thing. So I could be totally wrong in that they could actually have no talent whatsoever.)

And where are their parents in all of this? Do they talk to them about the value of money? Do they remind them that most people would love to have an extra $30,000 so they could do things like buy that new mattress they need (ME) or finally replace their 10-year-old couch (ME) or pay off their credit card bill (ME) or just stop scrimping so much (ME). (ME, ME, ME, ME, MAKE THE CHECK OUT TO ME.) I mean honestly: $30,000 to rent out an entire stadium? And did I mention they also invited only 15 of their friends?? (Which all other things aside is pretty impressive as I certainly don't have 15 friends. Do I even know 15 people? God, I hope not.) That few people? In a gigantic stadium? For less than three hours? For $30,000??

Hey, twit Nick Jonas! If you just want to play some baseball, they have these really cool things all over the place called PARKS, and guess what? THEY'RE FREE. Butthead But if you insist on going the whole stadium route, maybe you could also do something a little more meaningful while you're at it? Like inviting a whole bunch of sick or needy kids in desperate need of some fun to come on out and throw the ball around, too? (CHARITY!) Or maybe have some kind of a contest where you let a bunch of your fans come out with you as there's room for tens of thousands of them anyway? (KINDA CHARITY?) Since, if we want to get technical, it's pretty much their money that funded your little b-ball, b-day shindig. Or maybe you could just, you know, WRITE A CHECK TO CHARITY INSTEAD? You do know we've had some hurricanes and whatnot...right? You don't, do you?

But what also bothers me about such a display is this: My mother did NOT have her birthday celebration at Dodger Stadium. My selfless, loving, amazing, beautiful-inside-and-out mother who has been a Dodgers fan for 49 years did not get such a gift. My mom lives and breathes Dodgers baseball. She bleeds blue. She knows all of the rules of the game of baseball. The stats. The history. The teams. The players. She gets depressed come the end of a season when there are so many months before spring training. My mom loves Dodger Stadium. I swear I think it might be her happiest place on earth. (Disneyland can suck it!) No one I know deserves a fancy, $30,000 Dodgers Baseball Birthday Party more than my lovely mom.

But did she get that? No. Why? Because she didn't have an extra 30 grand lying around, and neither did I. She and my dad poured all their money into taking care of their daughter for so many years. My mom always put herself last so I didn't have to want for things. She made sure I got a college education so I could graduate and someday go on to WRITE A BLOG LIKE THIS THAT DOESN'T PAY ME EVEN ONE CENT OF REVENUE. (HI MOM!!)

And how did I pay her back? By not becoming a pop singing sensation-slash-heartthrob, that's how. By not making anyone swoon over my Musical Stylings and Stage Presence and therefore not having an extra $30,000 lying around so I could gift my mom in the manner she deserves. Yes, I know: I could've become a doctor or investment banker or something too, but that has nothing to do with the theme of this post, now does it? Please try to follow along.

Mom? In short? I suck.

What I wouldn't give to be able to throw my mom a party at Dodgers stadium. And if I did, you can bet it would last longer than two and a half hours and would include ACTUAL DODGERS PLAYERS doing things like serving her drinks and rubbing her feet. Throughout my life she's fulfilled so many of the desires of my heart – what I wouldn't give to be able to just once return the favor in totally grand style. But I know that no matter what I do, I could never repay all the invaluable gifts she's given to me over the years: Security. A defined sense of self. Strength. Confidence. The belief that as a woman, I could do anything. The belief that as her daughter, I could do anything. The freedom to fail. The tools to succeed. At once, both roots and wings.

Sigh.

Damn you, Nick Jonas!

But my mom does have one thing going for her on her birthday that little Nicky Jonas doesn't: Her birthday - September 19th – is also National Speak Like A Pirate Day! Avast, mateys!! Walk the plank, Jonas Brothers. And in honor of THAT, I have made my mom THIS:

Here? She also looks young! But in addition? PIRATEY.

Mom?

You are welcome. And I love you. A lot.

And one more thing to the person who wrote that little article:  It's DODGER Stadium - not Dodgers Stadium. The team name has an "s" but the stadium name doesn't.

Hello?? It's called a fact checker.

You are welcome, too.

 

This Post Contains More Miracles! (But No Burning Bush, So You Could End Up TOTALLY DISAPPOINTED)

My apparent run of miracles (Think: Bloggess!) has continued as Friday brought me yet two more of them! In that one day! (Yes, Friday. Yes, today is Monday. "Um...What?" is nothing if not timely.)

Miracle #1: A friend I thought was gone from me forever was suddenly, surprisingly, totally, completely, this-ly and that-ly back in my life. And for the record (those of you who remember this post), for once I wasn't the one doing the scrapheaping. He was. Except that he wasn't. I just thought he was. While he was thinking I was. Because it was a big misunderstanding brought on by the fact that communicating by e-mail can sometimes be dangerous (due to the lack of body language and tone of voice to help clarify the words themselves) and the other fact that A LARGE PORTION OF THE TIME I AM RATHER AN IDIOT.

I mean we did hit a fairly major snag in our friendship – the kind of snag the two of us just never had. But we were working through it and getting ourselves out to the other side. Then? I sent him an e-mail where after days on end of heavy-duty-major-poopy I was trying to lighten things up by attempting to be super-duper-jokey-casual. Sounds good, right? OF COURSE NOT. It sounds like what it was – idiotic. Total Lack of Sensitivity FAIL. And the e-mail set off a chain reaction of one idiotic thing after another where he thought that I thought that he thought...and I thought that he thought that I thought...and are you following all of this so far? Me neither. But before I knew it I was looking back across an entire year of my not following any of it. An entire year of the lines of communication – after months of their being completely shot to sh*t – just going profoundly dark. Communication COLD CASE. No clues, no trails, no answers...no fair.

But now he's back and all the things I wouldn't let myself think about as being so wrong in the situation (being busy and whatnot with thinking about ALL THE ENTIRE REST OF MY LIFE BEING ALL FLOOPING SCREWED UP AND WRONG) have been set right again. Yes, it was that easy. Yes, we picked up right where we left off. Yes, life can still surprise me. And yes, I'm going to do my best to carry this mindset into my other situation. Life can still surprise you, girl. Keep on keeping on.

Miracle #2: And if the symbolic reattachment of a missing limb isn't miraculous enough for you, when Maureen and I met after work for dinner and martinis at our favorite haunt, Salt Creek (Swooon! Best dirty martinis in town!*), the waitress actually carded us. And by "waitress" I mean "obviously legally blind person." Never mind that it was night and we were sitting outside in the partial dark and never mind that we're kinda almost just a few years from legal drinking age times two, all I know is that somebody thought we should be drinking Shirley Temples and if I ever meet any of you for the first time, we're totally hooking up at Salt Creek outside at night where upon seeing me you'll marvel at how a 16-year-old manages to write worse than a five-year-old such a mature and insightful blog. (HAHA RIGHT! Would type in Crayola Crayon font if Typepad had such a thing.)

Miracles #3 - 4 (and possibly 5-6?): And oh yeah – I'm not quite done yet: Over the course of the rest of the weekend? "Um...What??" gained a few more people fooled into clicking over here readers!!! Including Bossy. And by "Bossy" I mean "NO THAT IS NOT A TYPO." Holy crap – Bossy was here. (Ssshhh. I think she's kind of quiet about these things.) And – AND?! – Maggie of Okay. Fine. Dammit. and THIS IS NOT A TYPO EITHER. What the HELL?? If I didn't believe in miracles I'd be starting to wonder right about now if maybe I'm stuck in some kind of bizarro world? Where only opposite-from-normal things happen? Like maybe soon I'll also get windfall of big bags of money and maybe Pamela Anderson-type tan??

Burning bushes are for amateurs.

*******************************************

*Mom:  "Soooo. What are you eating for dinner? Olives?" (Mocked by OWN MOTHER.)

I Love Birthdays That Aren't Mine! (Or: USE THE FORCE, MO)

On this date in history many, many important people were born. Like:

Geoffrey Plantagenet: Who? I have absolutely no earthly idea either. But Wikipedia says he was a duke, also called "The Handsome," who did many important things I am sure, not the least of which was the conquering of Normandy in 1144. This seems impressive. Unfortunately, this happened before the invention of pretty much...everything, so no picture is available. This means we're also unable to judge the accuracy of the nickname.

Cal Ripken, Jr.: Shortstop for the Baltimore Orioles from 1981 to 2001. A 19-time all-star, he earned the nickname "Iron Man" by continuously refusing to let injuries knock him out of the lineup. He went on to play a record 2,632 games in a row. Holy crap. This is way more impressive than that Plantagenet dude. Play 2,632 baseball games in a row? Conquer some region/territory thingie once? Exactly.

Hi, cute butt!
 

                                    
Kenny Baker: British actor who played R2-D2 in the greatest movies ever made and oh my god, can you even believe there was actually a real live person in there? Kenny is 3' 8" tall and that is all the size he needs to kick Ripken/Plantagenet butt! I don't care what kind of athletic prowess you may have or how many nations you may have lorded over, if you were in Star Wars? YOU WIN.

            

Yasser Arafat: Late Palestinian leader and winner of the Nobel Prize for, I don't know, something or other. Who cares? My point is he was NOT IN STAR WARS so I'm only vaguely interested at best. Although, apparently, many found him evil along the lines of Darth Vader, so he does have THAT going for himself.

And on the subject of Star Wars, am I the only one who didn't know about this??? Awesome.   

       
      
          
         

But enough with all these people I don't actually know. Who cares?? I can't even call to wish them a happy birthday, since two are dead and I'm fairly sure the other two wouldn't take my calls, so screw them what's the point? And anyway: On this day in history, someone else – someone far, far more important – was born:

That's right!

Maureen!

Could she be any cuter? Could my photography skills be any more Annie Liebowitz-introspective-portrait-like?

That's Mo's husband in the background. He's not totally comfortable with putting himself out onto the internet, so instead of posting his actual photo, I have drawn a reasonable facsimile. And before you start sending in your e-mails, no he isn't related to Jack, and no you cannot get complimentary Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers.

Step aside nation conquerors (YAWN) and home run hitters (I'M BORED) and Nobel Prize winners (NEXT) and droid character actors (BIG DEAL MO IS PRETTY TINY AND I BET SHE COULD HAVE FIT INTO THAT BUCKET TOO) and make room for Southern California's 4' 11" biggest force of nature! Today is the anniversary of the birth of my best girlfriend Maureen and if that isn't a reason to make August 24th a national holiday, then why do we even HAVE national holidays? HMMN??

So what words could I possibly write to illustrate how special and unique and lovely and funny and feisty and spirited this girl is? While I'm sure I could come up with at least 50 gagillion of them myself (because I can come up with way too many frickin' words the perfect amount of words for any occasion...I swear it is just like verbal diarrhea poetry), it occurred to me it would actually be better to use her words!

So on that note, I bring you the Mo Montage – a collection of excerpts of things she's e-mailed to me that I put together for her a while back, reprinted here in this special Get To Know Mo (!) Birthday Post:

 

I'm dying here. UGH. Can't get three seconds with His Vinceness.
I haven't been able to get near Vince for anything. Ugh.
I was hoping that would bump up the ad count, making Mr. Cranky Pants happier.

I'm on the Pasta is Bad Because It Makes My Ass Fat(ter) Diet
Moo!
Mooooo! Must graze in the field.
He was talking about how full he was and I made some comment about feeling like a cow, so he called me Mad Cow!
Oink.

Hey! Don't make fun of our trickle.
Drooling is tres sexy!
Aaaaaagggggggghhhhhhhhh!
They should all bow to my beautifully clad feet.

Pee NOW!!!
I've already peed!

The only thing that bugs me is that you have M&Ms and I don't.
I'm just going to attach my candy bag to my face like the feed bag it is!
I'M WORKING HARD OVER HERE, PEOPLE. STOP MAKING FUN OF ME!!!!!!!

Coffee?
Is this today's coffee or old coffee? There's a difference in the level of scuzz.
Where do you want to eat?
Lunch is good. Where?

Hey! I'm [hicup] trying to work over here [hicup]. I don't know what you ladies
(and I use that word loosely) are talking about [hicup].

This is insane. Amateur hour!
God damn! This is INSANE!
It's insane. I'm so over it because it's picky shit.
Ariel just went to Vince to argue. This is insane.
Ugh. Crashed again. This is INSANE.
This is total insanity. I have never felt so disorganized in my life. I think I'll stay home on Monday.

There is NOTHING in here that says these had to go out last night! If you weren't so obsessed with how full you were, you might have warned us!

I am not at all inspired by the approximately 6,528 e-mails that my e-mail has generated.

It's my fault that now every person who speaks to you in person is going to be drawn to your boob (more than they usually are).

You KNOW I have no self-control when it comes to french fries.
I eat whatever I want and just stick my finger down my throat.
I have no self-control. Can I have more popcorn??
MMMMMMmmmmmmm carbs!
Good thing it's leg day; I'll be able to burn off that cinnamon bun!!

Burning CDs, protruding hipbones.

"Hi! my name is Maureen and I'm a shopaholic. I have no self-control!"
Am I game to go to the Gap? Is the pope Catholic? Duh!
Bad day? Buy shoes! Great day? Buy shoes! Too many shoes in the closet? Buy more!
I woke up this morning all excited because I knew we'd be going shopping! I think that speaks volumes about my shallowness!
I'm saving all of my energy for shopping (uh, shipping?)

Yee-haw!
Woo-hoo!
Woo!
Boo-hoo!
Hee-hee-hee!!
Hee-hee snort!
Ahhhh!
Ack!
UUUUGh.
Bah!
Pfffft.
Grrr.

I'm about to go into the art department and sneeze on Ariel for sport!

HUNGRY!
EAT!!! NOW!!!!!!!!
Yeah, I can feel the grease starting to ooze out of my skin.

Notice my lame attempt to be hip?

This place is a total loony bin.
Sigh. Everyone is nuts (except you and me!).
Must be a full moon around here. Everyone is crazy.
They're all lunatics!

Ugh. I'm dying here. No one will help me.
Sigh. I have to do EVERYTHING around here.

Really? You must be immune to me!

Look at you stirring up all kinds of shit. Who do you think you are? ME?

From one icky, cranky, strung-out stressball of a wench to another...
Yeah, but I'm wearing a thong, so I'm really cranky.

SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
SHUT Up!

Just me and the fat girl. Sigh.
I have a pile of pages on my desk. Sigh.
I guess I need a shaker too. Sigh.
Chocolate Cake??????? Sigh.

I am the Queen of the Meltdown!
Do you freak out? Are you totally unable to handle anything? Cool. Welcome to our magazine.

That's all the motivation I need to get my fat ass into the gym tonight!

Sorry, though, no floss. You're just gonna have to stick a piece of paper or something in there.

Oh Lord!
Oh! My! God!
Dear god.
Oh for the love of GOD.

* * * * * * * * *

And finally, here's an actual illustration of Maureen in the form of the only video I have of the two of us together. This is from about five years ago and I can assure you we are only completely cuter and totally younger looking today. Notice how you can't understand anything we're talking about? Yeah. This is pretty much the case with every conversation we've ever had within earshot of just about anyone:

 

(Garbled, pointless Incredibly riveting video clip.)

So happy birthday, my funny, beautiful friend. It's not been the easiest year to be friends with me and you have been unyieldingly heroic. Steadfast. Loyal. Supportive. Wise. You're the duct tape holding me together in the moments I think I'm falling apart. You're my Yoda, imparting quiet wisdom in the times I can't tell my eyeball from my a$$hole. You're my daily dose of calm in what sometimes feels like seemingly endless chaos. You're the best girlfriend I've ever had and I can't imagine my life without you. How much do I love you? I LOVE YOU MORE THAN STAR WARS* and that, my friend? Is a whole hell of a lot of love.

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*It should be noted that Maureen HATES all science fiction, so naturally I have chosen a running Star Wars theme for her special birthday post. Because I am THAT much of a self-centered asshat good of a friend.

Sailing My Dinghy of Mediocrity On A Sea Of Excellence

This is my friend Lori on her horse, Pino. I mean I realize I might sound sort of biased since she is my friend and all, but look at her! Can YOU do that??? I wouldn't even begin to know how to haul my butt up onto a horse, let alone figure out how to get him to jump over things. "Heyyyy. Soooo. Wanna go over there? And maybe jump over that? No? Okay. We'll just sit here then. Nice horsey." Plus, could you rock a hat like that and still look like such a sex bomb? Lori can!

She sent this shot to me last week and I was struck by how many years of hard work and how many countless days of getting up at an ungodly hour and how much time sacrificed with family and friends and how many big bags full of money must go into making it look that easy. Because don't they look effortlessly gorgeous together? To me, it doesn't even matter what the end result is. (Because for all I know they totally bit it in the next frame.) (Except for that THEY DIDN'T.) It's the quest itself that matters – the effort to be great. It's in the training and the hard work and the dedication to your particular passion – whatever it may be – that excellence lies. And excellence in general? Gets me all saucy. And that kind of excellence from my friends? Well, it just makes me think really deep, profound thoughts like HOLY CRAP, I AM A KICKASS FRIEND PICKER. Because you can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but okay this seriously has nothing to do with anything I'm talking about right now.

Then I got to thinking about how many of my friends have these different, wonderful talents and how I'm just like that too except for the way that I have NONE. Lori has her horses. Mo could gourmet-cook Martha Stewart's uppity ass right out of her own kitchen. (Although maybe she could just cook Martha Stewart. Martha STEW-art. MMmm. Because then? Martha would have to just SHUT IT and wouldn't that be awesome?) Unfortunately, I can't find any pictures of Mo actually cooking, so instead here is a really, really incredibly rare shot of us drinking:

(It's true I will only drink things that match whatever shirt I'm wearing.)

Mo could also Home Improvement Project the hell out of any part of your house. And I'm not talking about sissy girl crap like stenciling or throwing around pillows, either. I mean using actual power tools. (I own a hammer. For putting up pictures.)

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Chris is an artist. Besides conceptualizing very brilliant layouts and photoshoots day in and day out for his job, he also creates these amazing, vibrant illustrations.

See?

This one is kinda scary though. Run, meatball, run!

Hello? Is anyone else hungry here?

Plus, He is also really good at Going To The Gym. See here.

And my friend Tuna? He paints.

See?

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And takes amazing photographs.

See?

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He also makes stained glass art. Stained glass. And it's beautiful.

See??

Who do you know who can do THIS? Although really, Tuna? This many skills all for one person? A slight bit selfish, no???

Honestly though. I don't know why these people even talk to me. But they do. Somehow, I've managed to secretly infiltrate all their overtly extreme excellence with my undercover rampant mediocrity. I can't ride a horse. I can't cook. I can't install your kitchen cabinets. I can't even draw a square that incorporates any actual right angles. And stained glass? That doesn't involve three-day old Seagram's 7 crusted in the bottom of a highball in my sink? Durrr.

So then I got to thinking about how these things are actually no small feats, right? They involve specific and definite talents – a lot of which are God-given, if you ask me. So should I feel badly just because I don't possess them? Sure! Why not!? Feeling badly: IT'S WHAT I DO. Plus, I can expend even more energy feeling badly over all of the regular things I can't do either! Like:

I can't ride a bike. That's right. I said it. Two wheels? I don't get it, because that's about six wheels too few. Rollerskating was my thing as a kid, so I could never be bothered with bicycles. Consequently, that skill ended up getting by me. Of course there's not really much of a call for rollerskating these days. Except maybe for the Roller Derby. But I'm far too fond of my own teeth for that. I do have a lot of inner rage, though, and that seems to come in handy in the sport. I also think I'd look pretty awesome in the helmet, but not as good as Lori would, and that would just make me jealous. I could also maybe qualify for a job at A&W, but leaving me unsupervised for any length of time around burgers and fries would only result in the jumbo-sizing of my ass. HAHA! Okay, anyone who's been paying any kind of attention here knows we've already covered the fact that this will NEVER happen, regardless of HOW many burgers I may stuff into my yap. The ass? Is destined for eternal flatness.

I can't drive a stick shift. I have no idea how common or uncommon this is, but I think I'm the only person I know who can't. So if you drive a stick and I'm a passenger in your car and you have a heart attack or are rendered some other form of life-threatening unconscious and we have no cell reception which means I can't dial 911 and instead must Drive You Immediately To The Hospital Myself, well I am very sorry, BUT YOU ARE GOING TO DIE.

I can't sew on a button. We've already established I can't cook. So maybe I can sew?!! HAHA! Full-on sewing aside (Because wouldn't that be great? I could make a little blankie for Lori's horse, or an apron for Mo to cook in or maybe a camera cozy for Tuna?), I can't even sew on a button. Pathetic! Sometimes I have to try though, so I just do that thing where you loop and loop and loop and loop the thread until it makes a big overblown thread blob and you can't see the actual button under it anymore but that's strictly secondary because at least the button won't fall off. You know, until the thread eventually works itself loose because I also can't figure out how to tie it off right. And I never have thread in a color that matches, either. Which has nothing to do with anything except for furthering the ugliness.

I can't blow my nose while standing up. I swear to God, I will BLACK OUT.

I can't parallel park. I have little need to ever do this in my life, though I doubt any amount of practice would likely make much of a difference. So, If I had to parallel park in order to go to a party at your house where Dwayne Johnson and Mike Piazza and Vincent D'Onofrio were all attending AND handing out gift cards to Sephora in between rounds of fist-fighting over who gets to make out with me first (well, Dwayne would be hitting people over the head with a folding chair because once The Rock, always The Rock), I would just have to go back home. And if your life depended on my successfully parallel parking? Well, MORE DYING FOR YOU.

As for all the OTHER things I can't do that aren't even listed here? Well, this is enough for now because none of us has that kind of time, and seriously: Why are you even still reading this?? (Can't balance my checkbook, but it's called online banking, HELLO?; can't keep a potted plant alive, can't ever clean a mirror without leaving big streaks and anyway, I don't think ANYONE can do this last thing.) But if there's any truth to the idea that you can judge someone by the company they keep, well I'm doing pretty well for myself. I am Excellent By Association and I'm okay with that.

And also? I have a really excellent rack.

Which, all things considered, probably doesn't hurt.

Happy Birthday, Ho! (No, Not That Kind of Ho)

Despite what this picture may seem to indicate,
Chris is slightly older than "one" today.

Today my friend Chris (aka Ho) is having a birthday (same age as me). I'm not sure he'd want me to put the actual number down (40-1) so I'll refrain (almost as old as dirt).

I've known Chris for...what is it? Seven years now? He relocated to So Cal from Halifax because he fell in love with a wonderful girl down here who he wanted to marry – and subsequently did! I've known him since right before he proposed to Kristi, and they now have two gorgeous little daughters together, the youngest of which was just born last month. His wedding was one of the most fun affairs I've ever attended, and I'm sure this has nothing to do with the fact Mo and I got our tequila on at the reception in A Very Serious Fashion. (We each weigh about 100 pounds soaking wet but can drink all your sorry butts under the table.)

I like the way Chris calls all three of his girls "darlin'" with a subtle hint of cute southern twang as if he's from Louisiana instead of Canada. I like the way he calls me "chickie" and the way he calls people who annoy him "jagoffs." I like the way he knows more about American politics than most Americans do and I like how no matter how crappy his day is, he's still never unpleasant to be around. Unlike me. (VERY unlike me.) I like how he calls his soda "pop" and how he's like a math savant. The man can glance at the lunch bill and split it five ways plus figure each of our parts of the tip in about 2.5 seconds. It amazes me. And freaks me out, frankly. Forest. Chris used to have a pretty heavy Canadian accent; now, I can barely catch traces of it anymore, and I like that I've been friends with him long enough to recognize the difference. I like how he's "ripshit" when he's mad...but so infrequently ever mad.

I like the way Chris works so hard at everything in his life – at being a dad and being a husband and being the creative director of three national magazines. I like how despite how busy he is, I can ALWAYS reach him. (Blackberrys and iPhones are beautiful things.) I like the way he's proud of his accomplishments but never brags. I like how talented he is and how when he's excited over something he's working on...it can be downright infectious.

I like how he has a flat butt just like mine – we have an unofficial "FLAT ASS CLUB" but no treehouse* or anything – and how despite this, we both remain Extremely Smokin' Hot.

I like all the things about Chris that make him uniquely Chris: His love of horror movies (I don't get it), his love of the kind of ear-shredding metal music that confuses and disorients most people (seriously, dude: How do you WORK to that noise?), his love of comic books and science fiction, his really cool tattoos. I like how I've discovered over the years that under that seemingly, non-emotional, non-sentimental, typically GUY exterior, beats the heart of a pretty sensitive and caring man. He would just prefer it if most people never figured that out.

In short? I just like Chris. And that's a pretty cool thing.

So happy (who can count that high?) birthday, my friend! Today I celebrate your extreme excellence. Vince Neil? Is SO not the biggest rock star in this picture. Although he is, apparently, the shortest.

**************************************

* No Bubble Butts Allowed!

 

Billion Dollar Bill

Ladies, if we're really lucky in this life, we manage to find ourselves that one special girlfriend who comes along and makes all our weird, somewhat dysfunctional parts make sense. You know the one: She's more like a sister than a friend. She knows your history and all your stories and all your secrets so you never have to catch her up before you tell her something new. With her? Your life is always in context. She's fascinated by even your mundane chatter ("I just had a soda out of the machine." "You DID? Diet Coke? Did you drink it out of the can or put it in one of those paper cups?") and she pays attention to – and remembers – all of your details. With her you can just let it all hang out; you can be exactly who you are with no hiding, no apologies and no explanations. She doesn't overlook your issues and your shortcomings, but instead looks right into them, accepts them and chooses to love you anyway. ("Yeahhhh. I kinda suck sometimes." "I knowwww. Come on in and have some coffee.") When something happens to you, it hasn't actually happened to you until you tell her all about it. (So Mo? It'll be like this post isn't even published until you log on and eyeball it.)

And what if this girlfriend is married? Well, if we're really, really lucky, she has that exceptional kind of husband who is not only accepting of the tight friendship we share with his wife, but fully supportive and even encouraging of it, too. Because if you're like family to his wife? You're like family to him, too. That's just the way it is; no questions asked.

And this is where Bill comes in. Bill is my best girlfriend Mo's husband. It's his birthday today, and this fact has gotten me thinking about all of this. Because Bill? Is exactly this kind of a guy. For all the years Mo and I have been friends, he's never been anything less than totally supportive of our friendship, always remaining such a good sport about the way I'm always swirling around in his wife's orbit. (Here I am! It's me! Me again! Hi!) Because sometimes? I just need my Mo. I need to spend some time with her over coffee or martinis, dissect the happenings in our weeks, maybe lean on her a little bit if I've had a particularly tough one. Bill gives us the time and room two girlfriends need to hang out and connect, and he'll even go so far as to scoot up close to Mo and let me lean on him too if I might need it. I haven't often, but just knowing he'd be there, too, is comfort enough. Because who among us doesn't appreciate having our own support system?

Just like his lovely wife, Bill has had an active role in looking out for me over the years, always making sure I'm okay and taken care of. And as a chronically sort-of-single woman (NO, Dirty Minds, the "sort of" is nothing salacious but IS a subject for a totally different post) (or 14,000 of them), Bill has let me crash WAY more dates with his wife than most men in their right minds ever would.

Bill (to Mo at dinner): Baby, it's so nice to be here with you after such a long week at work. (Pause.) You know, and you too, uh, Lesley.

Me: I KNOW!!! ISN'T IT SO ROMANTIC?!!

And as if this wasn't heroic enough, sometimes the invitations are HIS idea. (Okay, seriously? Did Mo build this guy in a LAB?) And????? He picks up the tab. Every time. Never lets me pay for myself. Talk about a class act. He's even pulled some strings to get Mo and me tickets to some really cool things like the finale of the first season of American Idol (YEAH I VOTED FOR JUSTIN AND I'D DO IT AGAIN SO WHAT?) and the suh-weeeeetest John Legend concert anyone's ears could ever behold.

So, Happy Birthday, Bill! (Because yes, he DOES read this. Because as the aforementioned exceptional husband? Bill reads not only his wife's blog, but his wife's friends blogs. Take THAT, Average Man!) I raise my extra dirty martini to you – although I know you'd prefer a glass of Scotch yourself – in honor of this day and in thanks to you for being so good to Mo and, by extension, so good to me. You're pretty heroic in my book, and as far as I'm concerned, we should ALL be honoring you! How about your face on some currency? (Bill! On the "Bill"ion dollar bill!) Or on a bunch or stamps? Carved into a mountain? Slapped on the side of all our city's commuter buses? ("Ride Bill!") (Um...yeah.)

Cheers!

You Are Now Free to Move About Your Big, Scary Life

"In the unlikely event of an emergency (or, in this case, THE COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY LIKELY EVENT), your seat cushion friends will double as a flotation device."

And these two? Probably have no idea how much they do on a daily basis to keep afloat my sometimes sad sack of a self. Just by being around. Just by being who they are. They are a constant reminder to me that – no matter what it may seem like – all is not lost. (You know, until IT IS.)

Mo's my best girlfriend, my confidant, my soul sister. We're alike in so many ways that, despite how many years we've been friends, this sameness can still amaze me. She understands me, and there is great comfort and reassurance in being understood. Ho (Chris) is my comic relief, my calming influence, the guy who helps me get through the daily grind of a life that's currently way too heavy on the grind part. (He's also apparently really cool in any fire-related crisis!) We probably couldn't be more different, yet he lets me hang around anyway.

Thanks for always keeping me out of a tailspin, guys. I owe you one (GAGILLION-TRILLION-BILLION).

Miracles DO Happen (Or: *BURP*)

Today, my friend Chris and I had hot dogs for lunch.

Honestly, I have no idea how this happened except to point out the obvious fact that it's CHRIS'S FAULT (as most things are). Furthermore, I have no idea how that side of mac n' cheese got on my plate either. Hot dogs? Macaroni and cheese? What is this? My last meal before they strap me to the chair? (No, because THAT meal would also involve OREOS.)

And if all this food wasn't an impressive enough display of my own bravery, I also ate this meal while wearing a Pristine White Tank Top. "Yes, I'll take the Fully Loaded Dog with extra mustard and pickle relish for wearing on my top later. Oh, and a Diet Coke. OH! Plus some minced onions to hang from my hair in a decorative manner."  (Because food in my hair? Is one of my trademarks.)

Knowing me as I do, I went straight to the napkin dispenser after we ordered and took 143 napkins out of it. (I'm just kidding.) (I took the whole dispenser to the table.) I would have also asked for a spit shield for Chris to protect him from my aforementioned eating habits, but they didn't have one since WE WEREN'T AT A SALAD BAR. (Although, really? A wiser lunch choice. Especially because they usually have pudding at those things! And cookies the size of the steering wheel on a tractor trailer!)

But somehow, through the miracle of modern napkin dispensing and my complete and total disregard for the environment (using 297 paper napkins in one sitting isn't THAT bad, right??), both myself and my white tank top made it through this experience unscathed. So, for those of you who don't believe in miracles, I offer up my lunch today as proof positive they DO exist. Not to mention the fact that eating like this enough times might actually result in My Ass Being Less Flat...which, let's be frank, is a miracle right up there along the lines of parting the Red Sea or feeding the masses with the loaves and the fish.

Too bad they couldn't have hot dogs.

Navigating the Depths

My best girlfriend Maureen is in the Cayman Islands right now. (Vacationing, not money laundering.) Today, she's going diving. She's tried this once before but unfortunately it culminated in a mini panic-attack where she practically gave herself the bends trying to get back up to the surface. You know, if you could actually get the bends from 40 feet down. But, God love her, she wants to face her fears so today she's going to give it another try. This is one of the things I've always loved about her: The girl is tough.

I know a little something about facing fears. Because the place my life is at right now? I'm afraid allll the time. I'm afraid of what's happening. What could be happening at any given moment that I'm not aware of. (That's a big one.) What might never happen. What might happen someday. Good grief. Ridiculous. I mean it's a wonder I function as well as I do.

But all of these worries stem from the one thing that seems to freak me out the most: a total lack of control. I lovvvvvve control. Control is the foundation of my sanity! To control, handle, manage, micromanage, oversee, overlook, direct...these are all concepts that make me feel very warm and fuzzy inside. If I can control what's happening to me, then I will be okay because I have always trusted myself and my own abilities to handle things. But if you take the control out of my hands – as life has done right now – well then HOLY CRAP WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?? HELLO?? Because really? It's as if the universe said, "Oh yeah, Control Freak? Take this!!" and HAHA the joke's on me!

Some days are better than others. Some days I can accept the lack of control and view it as more of a challenge. ("Bring it on, you lilly-livered..." you know...whomever it is I think I'm talking to, I just like "lilly-livered.") Other days, it makes me various levels of not-my-best ranging from cranky – like today...approach at your own risk! – to heartbroken and whatever else you can imagine in between.

Unfortunately, I haven't yet figured out which mindset equates to my really facing what's scaring me. If I'm handling things better am I facing my fears or just in denial?  (Although it should be noted that denial is nothing to spit at. On the rare occasion I can manage to turn off my head, denial has warded off copious amounts of despair and a nuclear level tantrum or two.) If I'm having a bad day am I just letting things get the best of me, or am I being courageous enough to actually feel and go with what's happening? 

And yes, that's right: Be glad you don't live inside my head or in close proximity to it. Because these are the kinds of ongoing, daily discussions I have with myself...and the poor, unfortunate yet wonderful people who revolve closely around me. Our diving girl, Maureen? She has to listen ennnndlessly to this crap. Now you know what she's on vacation from!

My only saving grace right now is that figuring out everything isn't what's most important. What matters today – in this moment – is just breathing. Maureen into her regulator; me in and out into space. Continual deep breaths paired with the ongoing effort to move forward. One step – or one stroke of a swim fin – at a time.