Tuesday, January 24, 2012

It's Like Christmas All Over Again!!!!

Guess what guys??  Not only do I have a couple of blog awards to pass on, but our favorite local business owner Dustin has stumbled upon my dark little corner of the internet.  I knew he still had feelings for me!  This being my blog, it's always going to be rather narcissistic and prejudiced.  So to be fair, he should get to have his say as well.  You can read his comment here.  And while I know I have the very best, most hilarious and wittiest commenters out there, I do ask that if you comment after Dusty, please don't be inordinately rude.  It would appear he already has a rather fragile ego and I would hate for him to take any of this bloggery fun to heart.  I'm beginning to think the fun is one-sided.
Now on to another kind of fun.  The infamous Pickleope is a big vinegar soaked cheater and passed along this ironic little gem:

Funny.  Reallllllll funny Pickleope.

The perfectly lipsticked and perfectly Caffeinated OC Mommy passed this one along:

Because I'm one of those consistently inconsistent people who only post when they feel like it, I don't remember what the rules are.  So here are the rules that sound good to me.  I list 5 random, inane facts and then pass these along to five awesome blogs that I love.  

Inanity #1. I'm still afraid of Bloody Mary.  I never turn on the light if I have to pee in the middle of the night.  While washing my hands before going back to bed, I refuse to look up into the mirror.  You know...just in case.

Inanity #2.  I cried on Saturday while watching the re-run of A Very Glee Christmas.  I know.  You don't have to say it.  I'm hanging my head in shame while typing this.

Inanity #3.  I hate seafood and while visiting my Gram over the summers in Nova Scotia when I was little, would hide my scallops and clams under the rug so I wouldn't have to eat them.

Did I say five facts?  Ehhh lets cut that down by two for the sake of laziness.

But I'm sticking with five awesome blogs.  You all get both awards and I fully expect a full FIVE facts.  No trying to skate by with three you lazy bastards.

Padded Cell Confessions.  She really is sweet AND charming AND funny.  Yeah, I hate her too.

Mayor Gia.  She's pretty much insane and what's not to love about that?  Oh, and perverted.  In the awesome, non-creeper kinda way.  I've laughed out loud numerous times reading her stuff.

TexaGermaFinlaNadian.   Effing HELL that's a mouthful.  As you can tell by the name, she gets around. (But not in the Beastie Boy kinda way) She's married to a hockey player and shares the curiosities she finds living in different countries. 

Lucy The Valiant.   Just like the Lucy of Narnia, she makes you want to be a better person.  She's a school teacher and for Christmas, picked out a book specifically for each student taking into consideration their individual personalities.  How incredibly awesome is that?  Very.  The answer is very.

Dawn at Lighten Up!   To begin with, her name is Dawn so you immediately know she's gonna be one of the coolest people ever.  And she really is.  Her posts never fail to get me to giggle.

Uhh...is that five??  One..two..Yep.  Good.  My work here is done.

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Napa Paul. And oh, did I mention I'm an asshole?

A little over 10 years ago, I met Napa Paul.  I was serving a mission for the LDS (Mormons people.  The Mormons) church (please keep the audible gasps to a minimum) and was teaching his sister-in-law, Becca, one of the coolest people in existence.  She and her husband Jeff (Napa Paul's little brother) were always my favorite people to visit and I looked forward to the lessons with them.  With one little exception.  The days when Napa Paul was there.  For one simple reason.

He was an asshole.

Which, normally wouldn't be a problem.  I can handle assholes.  However, my usual way of dealing with them was no longer applicable.  I was a sister missionary representing the church.  I wore a name tag with my name next to Jesus Christ's.  I was expected to act with quiet dignity.

I spent a lot of time around Napa Paul biting my tongue and smiling through gritted teeth.  He and his family were already members of the church so he understood the importance of what my companion and I were there for.  I couldn't understand why he constantly felt the need to act like a dick.  I still have trouble putting myself in others shoes to try to understand what they're going through.  I've found it's always easier to make snap judgements which include a lot of name calling in my head.  It's easier AND more fun.  
Fast forward to now..ish.  I don't even remember how it happened but Napa Paul and I are now friends.  I'd like to think it's because he's grown up and made a lot of changes (which he has) but realistically, I think it's because I'm a bigger asshole than he is now.

He has family in Salt Lake so when he came out last winter to visit them, he suggested I take him snowboarding while he was here.  That suggestion was followed up with a lot of shit talking about how he was gonna ride circles around me yadda yadda.  Not gonna lie, I was beginning to feel a little apprehensive.  I can hold my own on the blue runs and a few tree runs, well, if the trail is wider than my shoulders, but black diamonds are another story.  I tend to side slip my way down those while praying the trees will stay out of my path.  I avoid them if I can.

I worked as a liftie at one of the ski resorts for a season so I could get the free season pass.  I decided to take him there since I was familiar with the resort and knew which runs led to the treacherous terrain I needed to avoid in order to not look like a total ass.

Little did I know I needn't have worried.  Why?  Because.


It literally took us 30 minutes to get in one run down that 1% incline, ski school infested, lame ass little hill.  I spent the majority of the day on my butt in the snow waiting for Napa Paul to make his way down.  It was about noon when I was freezing, patience nowhere to be found and hungry.  Napa had just made it to the bottom and was coasting on FLAT GROUND when he caught an edge and ate it.  He conked his head.  Hard.  If I hadn't already known him before this fiasco, I would have thought he had incurred some mild brain damage.

I needed a break and seeing as how Napa had probably just concussed himself, so did he.  And by needed a break, I mean I needed a drink.  We ate, I had a couple of beers and felt a little less like punching him in the throat.  He insisted he was fine to keep going so I pointed out the next hill we were going to try.  I warned him the initial hill would look intimidating but it leveled off right after that.

We take the lift up.  He eats shit getting off.  I stifle a groan.  We get to the edge.  He looks down and declares he's not going.  I don't recall at this moment what he said.  Probably something about his concussion.  I vaguely remember staring at him through my goggles for a moment trying to decide if he's serious.  Not going down?  He has to.  What is talking about?  I pull my goggles up and look at him.  He's serious.  He's not going down.

I tell him to take his board off, tell the liftie and I'll meet him at the bottom.  I just paid $70 for this.  My friend has a possible concussion and I'm leaving him for the liftie to deal with so I can get at least one real run in.  Because I'm an asshole.

I get to the bottom and no Napa Paul.  I wait for about 10 minutes then take the lift back up.  What the hell could he possibly be doing?  I get to the top and realize what the hold up is.  The liftie is busy helping out with someone else at the moment.  Some wanker has gone and hurt themselves and ski patrol is bundling them up burrito style to get the poor sap down the mountain.  That sucks but that doesn't explain where Napa has run off to.

Oh.  But wait.  Two.  Plus two.  Equals...

I head over for a closer look.  Are you EFFING KIDDING ME???  Yep.  Napa Paul is getting bundled in for his ride down the mountain.  I took pictures.

Because I'm an asshole.

I really don't even know what to say about this.

I wonder what was going on in his head at this point?

I would have walked down the damn mountain.

Okay, sure it LOOKS like a steep drop off over the dude's shoulder but it really did level off.

Ski Patrol let me know where to meet them and headed off towing Napa behind them.  And I got one more run in.

I went to get the jeep, stripped off my snow gear, threw on my flip flops and went to collect Napa Paul.  Ski Patrol warned me about the possible signs of concussion to watch for and Napa wanted one last picture.

This is what I look like when I smile through gritted teeth.  Ten years later, some things with Napa Paul never change.

My left arm was in perfect position for a throat punch.

Saturday, January 7, 2012

Five Totally Reasonable Poo Related Requests

Where to even begin with this post?  I had an amazing Christmas in Bishop, Ca with E2.  Celebrated again with the fam when we returned, then enjoyed New Year's with some old friends and made a few new ones.  It was all super duper great but do I feel like posting about any of it?  Nope.  Another day.  Right now, it's snowing outside and I'm warm and snuggy in the horrific pajamas my parents gave me for Christmas.  Bright pink with a print of little green frogs in their bath towels with their rubber ducky's.  They're super sexy and E2 can't keep his hands off me when I wear them...or something.

I don't feel like sharing about any of that right now because I'm feeling a smidge demented, irritable and twisty.  I recently went climbing and was excited because I was doing so well.  Better than I had in quite awhile.  In my mildly over-zealous (and maybe slightly intoxicated) state,  I didn't realize it was probably time to quit.  So I didn't.  Until I peeled my fingers off. 

This was after a couple of days with band-aids and neosporin.  Still gross.
They're much better now but while I was still in recovery, I was working on the laptop while E2 was out.  Deep in concentration, (facebook requires an intense focus to really understand the deeper meaning of certain status updates like "enjoying the great weather!") I was startled by an agonizing hacking noise coming from E2's cat.  I look up just in time to see her sharing her lunch with the hardwood floor.

You bet your ass I took a picture of it!

After recovering from my initial horror, I had a number of thoughts run through my head. 

1. There is no fucking way I'm cleaning this up.  I have open wounds on my hand.  Nasty cat bacteria will get in them and I'll end up with elephantiasis of the hands.

2. If I take my laptop to the back room I can pretend I've been back there the whole time and had no idea Kitten just regurgitated her organs on the living room floor and then E2 will have to clean it up since it IS his cat.

3. Maybe I can stare Kitten down and hypnotize her into eating it.  Dogs do it all the time.  She won't be hungry and I won't have to clean.  A win/win!

In the end, I acted like a grown up.  I put my band-aids on, put on some gloves and only gagged once while scooping and scrubbing.

Which brings us to an even bigger abhorrence.  The 5th floor women's rest room at my office.  I've managed to live for 35 years with the misconception that women's bathrooms are cleaner than the men's.  This illusion has recently been shattered and I fear my innocence has been irrevocably lost.

There is an unwritten rule in the office that if your ass feels the urge to purge, you go to the fourth floor.  There are only 6 women who work on that floor so the chances are good the repercussions of your anal explosions will have had time to dissipate before the next person ventures in.

There are, however, some people, or person, who is either unaware of this rule or purposely disregarding it.  I had the misfortune to stumble unwittingly into the 5th floor bathroom only to realize it had been horribly, frighteningly, and passionately compromised.

Exhibit A as in assholes shouldn't do this. 

Exhibit B. as in brown smudges don't belong in women's bathrooms.

Exhibit C. Call the authorities.
Exhibit D. Don't.  Just.  Don't.

I also feel it imperative that I mention these were not all taken on the same day.  This is a repeat offender we're dealing with and it needs to stop.  And the quality of the photo's really doesn't do justice to the revulsion and horror suffered.  I got as close as I dared and was already at risk of having the crabs that were inevitably hanging out on the seats jump up and latch onto my eyebrows.  But I felt my personal peril was worth it in order to have this documented.

And so.  I would like to institute a set of regulations that I insist the women of the 5th floor not only abide by, but embrace with the very fiber of their beings. 

Rule #1.  Go to the 4th floor for all poo related needs.

Rule #2.  Even if you use the restroom simply to fix your hair, wash your mother hugging hands.  With SOAP AND HOT WATER.

Rule #3.  If, for some unfathomable reason, you ignore rule #1 and insist on sharing your anal blight with the rest of us, do NOT, for the love, spray that horrific vanilla frosting scented air freshener.  There are few things in my daily life as offensive as walking into the restroom only to get a face full of air that reeks of shit flavored cup cakes. 

Rule #4.  Again, if you decide to ignore rule #1, please don't use the toilet seat as your personal toilet paper and butt scraper.  Plan ahead.  Take a shoe horn in there if necessary and scrape away to your hearts content.  Just don't leave it on the seat for the next person.

Rule #5.  Whether in the 4th floor or the 5th, if you decide to completely annihilate and ruin the stall while using your colon to spray paint the bowl and tiles, then please.  Please, I beg of you.  Clean it up.  This is the sort of thing that leaves me dazed and cowering in the safety of my cubicle for the rest of the day.  A simple, totally reasonable request.  Just clean it up. 

Welp.  Still feeling a smidge demented but perhaps a little less twisty.  Perhaps I'll leave the house today after all.