Waters All Around

Water: delicious and free

When we went to a restaurant as a kid, my dad always said the same thing to the waitress as she'd approach the table with her notepad in hand, "We'll have 7 waters."
My proclivity to save money the same way my dad does, extra frugal, has led me to generally order water when were out (and reuse ziplock bags).
So after I married a beverage orderer it took some getting used to. I die inside when we go out to breakfast and the waitress asks for our drink order, and he says, "I'll take a chamomile tea, and orange juice."
"Really, you need two drinks!"
Then she asks, "fresh squeezed?"
I'm shaking my head, "don't do it..."
"Of course!" he says.
The spinning wheels totaling up our check are going a hundred rounds per minute, and eventually stop at $75. After she leaves I can't help myself, "Why do you need to spend ten bucks on non-alcoholic beverages? Fresh squeezed? Just eat an orange when we get home."
"Have you tried that other stuff? It's not real orange juice." he points out.
"Its Tampico or Sunny D, both of which are delicious, a fine orange juice substitute."

The couple dollar splurge on Diet Coke always requires brainstorming, but I never had any problem shelling out cash to buy five back-to-back pints of beer. The restaurant up charge on beer is perfectly acceptable because its an experience. Currently I'm on drinking hiatus because I can't control myself, and that doesn't mix well with little ones. Plus, I don't need a case built up against me and amended to a legal zoom.
Instead of having a cute drinking habit with gals pals, it turned into a messy party for one where I was last woman standing, celebrating life in a very destructive way. Social media is the worst thing that could happen to someone who becomes unhinged when they drink, so when I post a selfie with the tagline, #this-bitch-loves-to-get-drunk, it doesn't go over as well as I intended, which was to demonstrate my sophisticated beer palate enjoying the nuances a fine ale provides.

I finished Catastrophe season 2 on Amazon. Sadly, I gobbled up all 6 episodes in one night, and now it's over. I suppose I'll just have to watch it again. My favorite part was when Rob tells Sharon he's thought about drinking again, after he's really rich, in his sixties, and can hire a babysitter to follow him around. I've told my sister that before! I just need to hire a babysitter, who will throw me over their shoulder and put me in bed when I turn into Alicia Hyde.

There's a goal. And until I'm at that point, it's just more money in the bank because I'll be ordering water, and if I'm really feeling crazy, orange juice substitute.

The Pantless Pirate

What arrr you looking' at? Me booty?

Kiki has this toy she calls The Pantless Pirate because the girl looks like she's not wearing pants, or chonies, just a belted pirate blouse and her swashbuckler boots. She is smiling because she has a treasure map, and who needs pants when they're going to be rich as fuck? (side note: I have got to check my lotto tickets!)

Season 8 of the Real Housewives of New York started this week, and so far so good. It was a lot of Ramona and Bethany. They don't care what comes out of their mouth, so their ramblings set the stage for the upcoming season. It seems two story lines will be hit hard this season, alcoholism and anorexia. Bethany outs Dorinda as being a sloppy-ass drunk over the summer, and then Ramona claims she can't go prowling for ass with Sonja because she makes her look bad, shamelessly flirting and being belligerent.
Bethany does another hair flip of judgement, after remarking that the new gal, Jules Wainstein, is anorexic and it makes her uncomfortable. First of all, Bethany's entire brand is based on making women want to get skinny as fuck, eating her two calorie granola bars or drinking watered down wine, so you'd think she'd appreciate a walking skeleton when she sees one. Maybe she's just jealous because someone with a pulse is skinnier than her.
Jules is frighteningly skinny. The night after watching the show, I had a weird dream my knees were so knobby they knocked each other with every step I took, and I think it was because in Jules's intro I was taken aback by her so-skinny-she-looks-bow-legged-physique.
I'm sad to say, I foresee the demise of Carole's romance with the sexy twenty-something. I think there was major foreshadowing by her commenting on Romona's diarrhea mouth, that she should talk less and smile more when in the company of men. Come on Carole! It made her look like she's not being herself, and will be a pile of sniveling cries by the end of the season when there is a "I'm not coming back from Namibia" note in the mail.

After just writing that sentence, I realized there aren't any lesbians on the Real Housewives. Why are they Chick-Fil-A-ing? I've come to a reckoning with Chick-Fil-A. Tonight, we went because of the rain, and George fell in the play area and split open his lip. It was terribly sad, and sent my cortisol levels off the charts. At first, I looked at his mouth full of blood, dripping down his chin, and thought he knocked a tooth out. He is so tough, and didn't cry that much. After he calmed down, he started meowing, which was funny. Kiki said he was her cat, and she needed to get him home to take care of him. He asked us to call him Meow, and we obliged, telling him he will soon have a bath and saucer of milk.
Backing out of the Chick-Fil-A boycott for milkshakes, wi-fi and a clean play area was selfish, and it might seem convenient I'm rejoining the cause, because my kids are getting to an age where they can both sit at the table acting civilized, or because George might cry if he sees the giant Chick-Fil-A cow come towards him again, or because I'm sick of eating $30 worth of fast food because the kids are too excited to eat their portion.
For it being fast-food, that shit is not cheap. I once saw a woman come into the restaurant, led her kids into the play area with a bag of McDonalds, and she ordered herself a coke, abusing the free refills, while she read her phone for an hour. Thats a way to stick it to them. After George's fall, I should have called Bob Loblaw and cashed in a golden ticket. Goodbye Chick-Fil-A and goodbye pants, a treasure is upon us.

Drive Thru

The West Was Not Won On Salad

This morning we woke up at eight. A very rare occurrence, thats happened maybe three times in the last couple years. I was ecstatic, but couldn't help stressing a bit about why George is still asleep. My mind went in the worst direction. I thought about him walking around with dental floss yesterday, and I didn't know where it ended up, and how floss would be a terrible strangulation hazard.
As I pondered him possibly taking the floss with him to bed, tangling himself up in it, leading to our sleeping in, I weighed it against me going to his room and checking on him, accidentally waking him up, and possibly disrupting a great new sleep schedule. While assessing the pros and cons, I heard him stir. I let out a sigh of relief. And then relaxed while I milked a couple extra minutes thinking about stuff.
Yesterday I saw a bumper sticker when I was driving to Taco Bell with George. It read, "Warning: keep your dick beaters off my bronco," there was a drawing of a hand with an x over it. The car was an OJ Simpson white bronco. It had other stickers, but they were hardly as amusing, like "Fuck Cancer" with birthdate and death dates underneath it. When we were in the drive thru a small car in front of us had a sticker that read, "Eat Beef, the west wasn't won on salad." I just don't get it. Maybe there is a historical joke linked to it, and I'm uninformed, so I'm outside the joke, or maybe the joke is literal, that salad is for weaklings, but constipation is no joke.
Remember in Lethal Weapon 2 when Joe Pesci rants about how they always fuck you in the drive thru? I had one of those moments yesterday because I ordered a large diet coke. The lady asked if Diet Pepsi was ok, and I said yes. As I drove away, I took a sip, and was hit with the taste of real sugar. "What the fuck! Is this diet?"
I don't order Diet Dr. Pepper in drive thrus because it's impossible to tell the difference between diet and regular, so a 700 calorie soda is being tallied up as zero in my mind. I ended up drinking the possible regular Pepsi because I couldn't keep my dick beaters off of it.

The other day when I was at work, I started chatting with the guy who frequently sits across from me. I found out he's an Adjunct English professor. I asked him if he's a writer, and he said, "I am, but I mainly write screenplays."
In my head, I said, "No shit!" and then let him know I'm working on a screenplay. We talked about writing, books about screen writing, and our past careers. He worked at a small film studio in LA, and then as an agent for screen writers and directors. The moment was serendipitous for sure. He said he'd love to read what I wrote and give feedback. I'm beyond excited for this opportunity. Its a bit like being handed a soda from the drive thru, unsure if it's the real deal, but having to drink it because it's impossible not to grab at the dangling carrot. For some people, that carrot is a chance encounter with an industry expert, and for others, its a white Bronco from 1990.

Togetherness

Put my finger on it

Last night I finished season two of Togetherness. Well, I didn't really finish it because episode eight is not on HBO Go. My internet research isn't turning up any information, but I'm still working on it. So I don't know if Michelle wins the mom battle for the charter school, and I don't know if she decides to stay single or regularly bump uglies with David.
Amanda Peet's character is my favorite. I'd like to see her get a spin off show. Bret Pierson is a disturbing dude. I watched a bit of behind the scenes with the Duplass brothers and they describe Bret's unique reaction to the affair as a result of being so intellectual. I would call it something else, a Dune obsession and desire to bunk up with his best friend is unusual for sure, but I'd hardly call it intellectual, more like blissfully ignorant. Bret reminds me of someone, and I just can't put my finger on it.

Anyways, the show had me thinking of charter schools, since it's the least cerebral storyline. Most of the other stories are about people grappling with inner troubles, a tad indulgent, sure, but in these modern times, lacking physical connectivity, people turn inwards to create drama.
Michelle's new friend comes in and tries to orchestrate a charter school coo, wasting Michelle's assumed hard work. I say assumed because her efforts are highlighted by shuffling papers and buying bagels. When the blonde lady with a husky voice states the school curriculum; French immersion, montessori with Singapore math, I worried my kid doesn't have the cut throat charter school advocate she needs. No offense to Michelle, but she cries a lot, and she should have just dumped her husband before stirring up the silt. So I'm leaning toward the villain being victorious in overthrowing Michelle from the charter school because it does seem like she will do a better job. 

I want my kids to attend a German immersion school, but there aren't any in Sacramento. Luckily, California still supports it's Charters, unlike New York, thats decided to close charters for highlighting public school's incompetence. I found a German immersion charter school in LA, so I put an application in the lottery on a whim, but the chances are slim since Kiki has the lowest weight, being out of LAUSD. I want the kids to learn German. This always makes people ask, "Why?" And I feel like I'm passing on a great nugget of information, "Oh, you haven't heard? University is free in Germany." What a relief it will be to send them abroad, and stuff their pockets with enough coin for beer, sausage, and rent, and not worry about the added cost of tuition, a cost on par with a small house, on a lake, with a boat.

In addition to German they need to learn Spanish. I took Spanish for seven years, and I can't write a proper sentence, but I can understand when I hear it, and if I'm drunk enough, I can speak it. (See Happy Endings.) If the German immersion school doesn't offer Spanish curriculum, then I'll make them watch El Gordo y la Flaca instead of Disney jr. They'll pick it up quick. That way they will be able to weekend in Ibiza with ease. Sending them abroad to save money might backfire.

Togetherness is a great show, and I'm sad to hear it didn't get renewed. After I watch the series finale, I'll be happy to learn if Amanda Peet's character gets knocked up with her craved baby and if Michelle gracefully bows out to the power-hungry charter school stealer. Good lord, it sounds so stupid to say. Maybe building a school is as easy as it looks on TV. I'm going to look into that, after I finish my next series, Catastrophe, which is sure to offer up more laughs and less over-the-top hipster style. I already know I will like Catastrophe more, which means I'll have a lot less to say about it.

Way of the Buffalo

My friend came over this weekend, and after we went through hellos, how do you dos, and acclimating the kids to play time, she said, "I have news."
I was expecting her to say, "I'm pregnant," and prepped to say, "yay!" while doing a tiny clap, happy for the news, but knowing she'd go the way of the buffalo for a year after her bundle arrives.
"I'm moving." she said.
"What? I was expecting you to say you were pregnant." I said.
"No! Were done with that. I'm moving back to my hometown." She said.
"Wow! Thats great! Right?" I asked.
"Yes, definitely. I want to be around my parents now because they're older. The kids can grow up around their family..." She gave her reasons, that all made perfect sense to me, and I said congratulations. Although she wants to move, she is sad because she likes her Sacramento life, and giving her goodbyes will be hard.
I was jealous, to be honest. The thought of packing up the good stuff, throwing out everything else, and moving to a new place sounds refreshing. Maybe it's from moving around so much as a kid, but I don't shed tears when I move away, and I find the people I'm meant to stay in touch with are still in touch. We can go years in between catch ups, but that only means we have much more things to talk about.

I reactivated my Facebook account this week. I need it for marketing my blog (total user). After a two year hiatus I'm stepping right back into the world I left. All the babies are now toddlers, a lot of people got married, the funny people are still funny, and April 4th is a very popular birthday (still not the most common.)
I learned a good friend of mine got married and had a baby in the last two years. It was very exciting. "Some friend!" you might be thinking, since I had no idea someone who I consider close had a baby, something that takes almost an entire year to happen. Thats just what happens from moving around a lot; I go way of the buffalo, but unlike the buffalo, I come back, so I guess it's better described as the way of the pregnant lady.

Clowns

This morning I ran on the treadmill next to the same lady I ran next to yesterday. When I run I spontaneously sing along to my music. Just a short note or word, I can't control it. The word blurts out of my mouth before I realize I'm in public. This seemed to affect the woman next to me. After my outburst, she'd turn her head 90 degrees and look directly at me, holding the stare down for a couple seconds. I didn't turn my head to look at her, but I felt her eyes on me. To play ignorant, I looked in the other direction, toward a flat screen TV playing Fixer Upper.
Yesterday, after I worked up a glistening sweat, I started to notice I smelled like an onion. Again, I had to act oblivious, rather than call any attention to the fact that I smelled like a Gilroy Garlic Festival dumpster. There was no way to smother the smell, since putting a sweatshirt on would result in fainting from overheating. I worried my treadmill neighbor's penetrating stare was a way to inform me she finds my singing and stench offensive. To continue my position of ignorance, I switched screens and fixated on Michael and Kelly. I don't usually watch "day time" TV because The Real Housewives aren't up that early (too much skinny girl dinner, wine.)

Watching Michael and Kelly without any sound seems like a laugh factory. Michael laughs, then Kelly laughs, then someone else laughs, then they all laugh together. I was having a great time in my head, thinking of a very funny scenario where a morning talk show host's fake laugh becomes increasingly belligerent. As she introduces each new segment she looks more and more disheveled. In the end, the woman, who looks a lot like Kelly Ripa, laughs and cries as she paws over her co-host who looks just like Michael Strahan. By the end of the hour she is stumbling around, exposed bra, yelling about injustices and sexually harassing Michael. An assistant comes over with water, and she bats him away, "Who gave me wine. I weigh eighty fucking pounds. Two sips and I black out!" She ends up at craft services, stuffing food in her face, and repeating, "I forgot how good food tastes."

My daydream ended when my arm pulled the earbuds cord, and my iPhone flung out of the cup holder. I yelped, leapt like a gazelle, straddled the treadmill and back stepped to get my phone. As I reattached it to the earphones, I looked up, blushing by having showed  fear in public. The thought of tripping on a treadmill makes me cringe, and I'm not about to make America's Funniest Home Videos after loosing all my teeth by smashing my face on a conveyer belt, that flings me against a wall.

This morning, I didn't have powerful BO to act oblivious to, but I still had involuntary blurts of singing, and I'd look away to avoid her penetrating gaze. Then I felt her looking at me for no reason. I couldn't understand why, then I smelt it. She farted. I had the decency to not stare at her. I didn't even get to feel righteous because I pulled the iPhone out of the cup holder again, did my screech, and retrieved the phone that flung from the machine. I looked up as I was putting the cord into the phone, and the lady looked over at me and smiled. Laughing along.
After my run I hurriedly took a shower, and got the kids from the kids club so we could power grocery shop then go to a birthday party. As I was heading into the locker room there was man sitting solo in the hot tub. His eyes were closed, he had ear buds in and he was singing loudly. I had to look at him for a couple seconds because he was having such a great time, party-for-one, and I wondered, what's he thinking?

My Ride

Ghost Writer font

This morning I wished everyone happy April fools then checked email. I opened an email from Hot Topic and saw an ad for their new Golden Girls collection. It was so ridiculous, and as a Golden Girls fan, I was offended by the model's short silver-haired wig. A picture of a green pants suit sent my curiosity over the edge. I clicked the ad, and went to Hot Topic's Website where a big "April Fools Sucka" greeted me. I laughed, tilted my head and shook my finger at the website, saying, "You got me!"

Why does a thirty-something woman, whose not a Potter, Star Wars or Tim Burton fangirl, get emails from Hot Topic? Because aside from their movie and book memorabilia, Hot Topic is busting at the seams with cute crap that seems like the best idea at the time, a one-in-a-million treasure, but ends up lost in my sock drawer a couple days later.
Whenever you're in the mood to buy a keychain of a zebra that burps when you squeeze it, or suspenders decorated with mustaches and unicorns, then it's the perfect store to browse. I've spent twenty minutes deliberating the purchase of a bumper sticker that says, "My other car is a broomstick." I stood at the sticker rack, cackling at the thought of this great little joke affixed to the back of my car, and the good cheer I'd be spreading at every stoplight.
I would have bought the sticker if it said "My Chris Hemsworth is in the shop, so now I'm riding this heap."
April Fools! Of course I bought it! Then I made a Chris Hemsworth version for the back window.