Oh What a Night

The after effects of my alcohol consumption are spanking me like a disobedient kindergartner right now. Strangely I did not awake with a headache or even dehydration. It is now 3:15 pm and my head feels like ass. Man that sucks donkey dick.

Sultan and I went out with his sister, Yasmin, and her husband, Tarik, who have been visiting from Saudi Arabia for the past few weeks. My brother, Andy, and his wife, Keisha, also joined us. When in doubt for a good time and great food, sushi is always my first pick. The whole vibe of Sushi Samba Rio is the shit. We have been there several times over the past few years. We sucked down caprahinas (think Brazilian mojitos) and a big bottle of cold sake like it was our job and we were going to get promotions for being boozehounds. You can tell when I get a little booze in me because I am super friendly with people around me. Sultan and I were at the far end of the table, adjacent to the next table of people. We were chatting it up, offering sips of our sake right from the bottle. These girls had to be all of 21, maybe if their ID's weren't fake. They thought we were the shit. The next table that was seated there did not act so friendly. Fuck you, I say to them. Sultan felt awkward after saying hello to them. I suggested he make it all better by touching my boobies. Yes, at the table in a very crowded restaurant. That's how I roll--inappropriate at every turn. The Loser Table was slack-jawed in disbelief at my audacity. So we had to do it like three more times. Go big or go home, I always say.

In the back of my mind I though, "You know, Sweet Tits, you sort of wanted to ride your bike early tomorrow. Maybe you should lay off the booze or you will be hurting!" But alcohol impairs my listening skills when it comes to that Voice of Reason. Fast forward one coconut lime mojito, some crazy fruity shot, and an Effen Black Cherry vodka and soda later. Uggghhhh. Was that it or am I forgetting something? We were at Martini Park, a bar loaded with at least four bachelorette and one or two bachelor parties. One of the bachelorette parties ended up hating us because let's face it, we were three HOT couples. And do you know what they were? COWS. When you're "Bride-To-Be" sash is tugging across your size 18 t-shirt from Torrid, well it is plain gross. We sort of made fun of how it would be to dance with her and some of the equally tub-o-tronic bridesmaids saw us. Whoops. They shot us dirty fat looks all night. Hey, anyone can join a gym or buy a treadmill and skip McDonald's for dinner four times a week. I'm just saying...

We danced to a decent cover band but there choices in music blasted me back to the eighties, and the not the part I wanted to remember. I was more into the alternative music scene in a time when hair bands rules. I don't care who I offend by my honesty.... I do not like nor have I ever liked Bon Jovi, Poison, Motley Crue, Def Leppard, Whitesnake, or any of their kind. Sorry. I heard some Poison last night. I was clearly inebriated enough to feel the need to move. Maybe that's why my head hurts still. I need Advil and a Depeche Mode Greatest Hits album....

Genius!!

I would like to give a few shout-outs to some people who have affected me mentally or physically in the past week. Here goes....

To the very dark-skinned black man who was wearing a black velour track suit, walking IN THE STREET, in the oncoming traffic lane, I thank you for making my heart nearly explode as I almost pummeled you with my Jeep. You would have been velvety roadkill, like a skunk without the stink, had I not swerved to avoid your ignorant ass. Did you think you were getting better traction on the street versus the GOD DAMNED SIDEWALK which was two feet away at 9:30pm?!! Genius....

To the fat-assed fellows who organized the bike ride I did last weekend who were too large to ride themselves, thank you for not marking the resting points for shit. There is nothing that keeps your motivation going on your first "century ride" than when you pass by a stop to replenish and ride for 40 plus miles like a douche bag. Who needs food and water anyways? I really WANTED to stop and drink from a farmer's hose had my friends not come upon me at a stop sign. I would have enjoyed your luscious fruit assortments, Gatorade, Port-A-Johns, and trail mix that you were probably snarfing down. Next time buy another can of spray paint and slap a few more arrows down on the road, Porky Pig...

To the asphalt company who took a long-ass time to resurface the gym parking lot, thank you for being so disorganized and lazy. I watched you stand around as more than half the lot was blocked off, causing gym patrons to park on the damn grass, in the hotel lot across the street, or just fucking walk from home. You didn't figure out how exactly you would paint your smelly hot mess onto the asphalt until about 2pm, when I was trying to lie poolside. That smell is so intoxicating, like manure on a hot day. Mmmmm, delicious.

To my dog, Pierre, who keeps pissing on my carpet. Hey, you missed a few spots! Seriously, if you pee in about 3 more square feet my carpet will be an entirely different color. Is the grass too scratchy for your diva ass? Does your wee wee not LIKE the temperature of the outside elements? Do you have some fetish for seeing me curse and get down on all fours to clean up your mess? Freak. Stop pissing or I will give you a puppy perm and make you wear miniature thong leotards and take doggie kickboxing. Who's the bitch now, huh???

To Walgreen's, who faithfully fills my family's many prescriptions. Thank you for also faithfully being sold out of every size of skim milk every damn time I go. Aren't you considered a "convenience store"? Well it is highly INCONVENIENT for me to not have the milk I like on my Kashi Autumn Harvest cereal I eat every damn morning for as long as I can recall. Do you have a sale on skim milk when you see my Jeep turning into your lot? Do you hide it? Who the fuck needs ten different sizes of whole milk anyways? Stock up, bitches, Momma's thirsty.

Swedish for "Piece of Shit"

I have officially transcended from thinking Ikea is hip and trendy to noting everything there is truly disposable. OF COURSE you will be charging me 10 cents per plastic bag in order to reduce waste for the environment. All your plywood bullshit furniture is loading landfills as we speak. Just like Evian water spells "naive" backwards, we are getting fucked, Swedish-style, with Ikea's crap.

Once you wander into an Ikea store, you are in awe of all the bright colors, bizarre shapes, and funky combinations of furniture they slap together in floor displays. How could you ever have survived till now without a glocken-schtoopen couch and ocksen-yooperswag area rug!!!! I think they pump some funky shit in the air to make you HAVE to buy oodles of crap before you leave the big yellow and blue doors.

Today I spent 35 minutes disassembling a medium-sized metal frame to simply place a colorful poster inside and try to hang on Sophie's wall. Have you seen the asswipe directions they include with their shit? It might as well be written in Chinese jive. I don't get it. There is a cartoon fat man with a screwdriver which resembles a narrow, pointy dildo. There is a rudimentary diagram of how to assemble your masterpiece drawn by someone having a grand mal seizure. Good luck, folks! You're in for a treat!! It's a bitch to unscrew the pieces which need to come a part, even worse to screw them back into place. Then when you get the whole fucker together you realize you did it wrong and have to start over. You know how well I deal with stress like this. How do you say "mother fucker" in Swedish?

I encountered similar frustration upon trying to move Sophie's "Hemnes" dresser. Now Ikea sells many versions of "Hemnes" furniture for your bedroom. Clearly you will be getting screwed when you buy it so it only stands to reason. When painting a room full of Ikea furniture, you do not have the option of removing it to gain space. When carried past the threshold of a different room, Ikea furniture disintegrates quicker than Kim Kardashian's moral values when a video camera is present. So I had not choice but to shift the bed, dresser, and nightstand around to give me room for my ladder. The painting went off without a hitch, albeit several globs of paint dripped onto the carpet. Nothing an Ikea fake bearskin rug can't cover! I believe it's called a Juurgen-Muffin.... I shoved the "Hemnes" dresser back into place and noticed the drawers seemed askew. By about an inch and a half. Well fuck me gently with Swedish meatball spoon. This bastard-wipe, which cost close to $300, now has jacked up drawers. It looks like I picked this piece of crap up from a Salvation Army bargain sale. I think I need to unload the clothes, turn the fucker on its side, and gently hammer the living shit out of it to get the pegs jointed back into place. I look forward to this like I would shitting a watermelon.

Do not attempt to move your Ikea furniture. I killed a coffee table by merely vacuuming. I guess people in Sweden only sweep, not vacuum, or maybe they would have figured this slight glitch out already. I suppose it would only be logical to assume a $200 coffee table made of plywood, glue (probably made with goat jiz), and 349 small wooden pegs could not sustain a 1 foot horizontal shift across my area rug. But I am not logical. And I don't speak Swedish. Ikea means "Screw you, dumb consumer sucker!", that's all I have figured out so far. And I didn't even need an instruction sheet for it.

Psycho?

Conversation a few days ago....

Me: "I think I am going to try to ride 100 miles on my bike this Sunday."
Friend "WHY?! Why would you want to do that?!"
Me: "Because I can."

Maybe that sounds bitchy or self-righteous but why would you ask me that? I would never say that to someone who wants to run a marathon or do a triathalon. Seriously, it might seem daunting but can't you just be encouraging about it? Are you jealous you don't have the balls to try it? Or are you just fat, lazy, and bitter?

At this stage of my life I am really into physical fitness. I don't know why now and not 10 years ago, I just am. It is highly addictive to me and I am a full-fledged junkie. Today I rode a long, long ride, called the Psycho Century. It ended up being 105 miles. With the four sanctioned rest stops it took 6 hours. Not too shabby. Of course I feel like I am peeing shards of red-hot glass every time I take a piss but that's okay. As the hours pass since I finished I am getting more and more sore. I might have to crawl up to bed. I forgot suntan lotion so my shoulders are burned as hell. And I'm already wondering when the next "century ride" will be. I am proud, not arrogant. I think this is a nice little accomplishment for me. So congratulate me, don't ask me "WHY?!" Or I will make you ride with me on a dirt bike with half-inflated tires next time. And I won't be sharing my Gatorade, beeotch.

Poor Mascots

Why do mascots always have to be shamed into wearing a ridiculously large head or goonball smiling mega-mouth or neon tights? We went to Red Robin, one of my kids' favorite restaurants, for dinner the other night. The food was decent, the service was great. But then in wandered Red, as in THE robin, led by a woman who kept the mascot from running into tables, knocking over onion ring towers, because with his giant head he was officially blind. Judging from the size of Red's legs, I'm guessing the masquerading fool is either a young gay teenage boy with a penchant for yellow tights or an anorexic goth chic who is hard up for cash to run the meth lab in her basement. But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself with my generalizations here...When I say yellow tights, I am talking about the itchy double-knit kind we sometimes had to wear as kids with our Catholic plaid. Nothing sleek about these puppies, they have little elasticity. And where in Christ's name do you, or WHY would you, choose MUSTARD YELLOW?! Cruel and unusual punishment folks, that's all I'm saying.

Have you ever seen one of those relays races where a bunch of giant-headed mascots run around a football field? It should be called, "I'm a Douche With a Giant Foam Mullet Melon----Let's Race!!" These freaks run around, falling down without their guides to keep them from tripping. It is actually quite a hilarious sight. I get off on seeing other people trip or injure themselves due to personal clumsiness. Will Ferrell does an excellent job at this. I also enjoy vulgar, inappropriate humor. The 15-second belch in the movie, Elf, makes my sides hurt from laughter every time.

My sadness for the mascot reminds me of the Dane Cook bit where he refers to the Kool-Aid man, as a "glass bitch with tights". Again with the damn tights?!! Okay, I admit I enjoy tights. But they are a camouflaging tool, a device used to make the eye of the beholder THINK I might be a size 4. They suck me in in places I need. I wasn't even born a size 4 so I assure you these Spandex puppies are part of my "smoke and mirrors" effect. I kind of doubt that Red, the Robin, enjoys tights, at least not for the reasons I do. I'm guessing his/her favorite part of the costume is the giant foam head. This is the camouflage effect this poor soul needs to remain anonymous. Who would admit to that shit??? "Yeah, Jenny, I totally rock my mustard yellow tights when I go to work!" Hellz-NOOOOO!! Smoke, mirrors, and a seeing eye server to avoid those onion ring towers. THAT is worth minimum wage, my mascot friend in bad tights.

Top this one...

There is some pretty nasty shit that can happen to you and completely ruin an experience. My friend, Gigi, once found a cockroach in a breakfast burrito from a pretty infamous Chicago restaurant. (If you know Gigi you will understand the total irony because she is a tad germaphobic. I think they don't even sell Purell gel in big enough containers for her at Costco, she has to go industrial size right from the company.) Suffice to say she has spread the word of their sanitary habits to friends and family.

Finding anything in your food, whether it is a staple or a bug or a toenail, is enough to turn your stomach. It reminds me of when I see a man wearing a thong. Yes, I have actually witnessed it. It was like Borat, all florescent yellow Spandex up the saggy ass, pasty white cheeks flailing about in the wind like two discarded Swedish pancakes from the IKEA cafeteria. You are compelled to stare. As hard as you try to look away and as much as it makes you vomit a bit on your mouth, it is strangely mesmerizing. Gross..

Another gross thing that happens from time to time is when you are wearing lip gloss and shit sticks to your mouth like fly paper. if you are going really fast on your bike and happen to puff through a cloud of teensy flies, they pepper your lips like confetti. And it's not like you can wipe them off because your hands are clinging for dear life to those handlebars. Hey, I watched Survivor, bugs have some protein, right? Sorry, Gigi, I had no choice...

I will preface the remainder of my experience with a short story. When Sultan and I were in Paris last year, we had great fun watching all the international television in our hotel room before bed at night. There was some bizarre shit going on, most of which without subtitles so we couldn't even guess what they were saying. Sultan found an old Russ Meyer (a.k.a. The Breastman) movie playing. It was classic cheesy 70's porn. The women all had giant, floppy boobs and their boy toys were young, probably gay, men with uber-short shorts and tube socks. This particular seductress had, aside from her big ol' ta-tas, an enormous afro. The panned the camera down and her bush was just as grandiose, like a freshly shorn boxwood bush trimmed for the cover of Martha Stewart Magazine. The crazy hooch was actually fluffing out her pube fro with a pick. She'd alternate between her hair and her pussy pouf. Classic. Attention to detail is what made this movie stellar... But back to my story. I am pretty sure that actress was at my very pool, maybe even picking her pubic fro poolside.
The nastiest of nasties happened today. It was an innocent enough day at our pool. The kids played in the water while I watched them, catching some rays from my chair. A slight breeze blew as I reclined languidly on my lounge chair. I had freshly applied gloss on my pout when some particle blew onto my bottom lip, sticking quickly. I honestly thought it was one of those tiny flies, because it felt lifelike and about that size. Upon fishing off the offending particle I was aghast. We are talking a 2-inch BLACK PUBE. ON MY FUCKING LIP. Pardon me, but don't must of us ladies keep any pubes we may have INSIDE the bathing suit trunks, thank you very much? And if your bush has hair that long, shame on you. Obviously you don't have a husband who likes to go "downtown" and I don't blame him. He would clearly need a machete, flashlight, and a rescue crew to pull him out from your hairy pussy cavern. Trim that shit up, bitch. Clean and short (or bald if you dare) is the trend. This is not a Russ Meyer movie being shot at the Lifetime Pool so kindly tuck that pussy fro back up in there. It's adult swim, not Sasquatch Poonani Swim. I have to go shave my shit right now I am so disgusted....

So I Was Thinking

of so much random shit today on my bike ride. Like, how do people come up with the most fucked up names for their kids? It's as if they go out of their way to be a pain in the ass so their kids will go through life waiting for the day they are old enough to legally change their name. And what do you SAY to someone who says, "Meet my beautiful baby twins, Effervescence and Mr. Pibb!" Now what the fuck do you say to that? That's only hypothetical, I just thought that would be hilarious..

Why is Knight Rider back on TV? Without the Hoff I don't know if it will have it's wacky mullet-poof appeal. And 90210 is back, too?? I will wholeheartedly admit I was totally into that shit back in the day. The new one will not hold up. It will be a glorified version of The Hills. And who the hell is Audrina Patridge, or however the hell you spell it? She was on my lover, Chelsea Handler's, show he other night. What a dumb-ass bitch.

Why are so many feminist bitches all up in arms over the women's beach volleyball team wearing bikinis? I know the guys probably would look hot without their shirts but who cares? Move on.. Will some orthodontist PLEASE offer Michael Phelps some free braces? He cannot talk because his teeth are so jacked. Sure, his body is unreal with his abs, arms, and dolphin-like thrusting under the water but the BOY CAN'T TALK!!! Why were the Chinese military who marched in at the opening of the Olympics wearing peach lip gloss?

Why does saying FUCK or MOTHER FUCKER or I FUCKING HATE YOU or FUCK ME/YOU always make a frustrating situation tolerable? I was cursing up a Tourette's Syndrome quantity of F-bombs on my bike ride as the pack I was with became further and further away. I assumed I was last because in the second leg, probably about mile 40 or so, I was fucking dying. In fact, I uttered, "I am fucking DYING here!" I also yelled to the wind, "I fucking hate you! Slow the fuck down! This fucking sucks!!" Then I realized there WAS another rider behind me who not only heard my profane mouth but might have gotten a backdraft on a few ladylike snot rockets I had to blow because my arms were paralyzed into their cramped position, gripping my handlebars.( I can't reach for a Kleenex in the back of my bike jersey because I will surely topple over in the gravel. ) This guy was really kind and said he did not hear me cursing. Fast forward 10 miles and I realize his three kids will be attending my kids' new school, which is not big so he will undoubtedly see me at various school events. And you know he will offer me a Kleenex.

Off to bed. I am tired as shit. Even though I finished 64 miles today, I will probably drag myself to the gym tomorrow because it is my drug of choice. That and swearing. My mouth is in fucking great shape, it is bad-ass as hell.

Dickwad Cat

I am currently painting Sophie's bedroom. We have chosen pale turquoise on top and waves of darker turquoise on the bottom. It is a sea theme and will have glittery whitecaps on the waves, seashells, and Hawaiian decals of surfboards, palm trees, and more. I promised we would do this project over the summer and seeing we have one week till school starts, I guess it's about time. So my friend at Home Depot hooked me up with all I need to paint. Primer, paint colors, brushes, tape, rollers, stirrers, and canvas to cover my floor. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

I have completed a coat of primer (dude told me two but screw him. I'm pretty sure he's on meth so it's EASY for him to do 10 coats of paint..). I did two coats of pale turquoise and one coat of darker turquoise on the bottom. Sophie has been so eager to help. I spread the canvas on the ground for a very small section of wall, only about 3 feet wide. I still grew impatient as she slowly dipped her brush and spread the paint in strokes on the wall. I heard a faint "Meow" as I realized my orange tabby cat, Issey, had ventured into the room. He likes attention and will resort to annoying tactics to get it. Before I knew why he had come to make his presence known, the little bitch-ass stretched himself in a full stride, paws resting up on my freshly painted wall. God damn. I figured this out only AFTER I saw his telltale turquoise pawprints trailing down the carpet in the hall. Grrrr. I was pissed. Thank God it was wet so I could clean it up. This damn animal is almost 13 years old but will clearly live to be 22 just to spite me with his ass licking, hairball projection yacking, and general annoyance factor. Does anyone need an orange fur pelt for winter?

I Love Michigan

I spent the last weekend in Michigan. I had an absolute riot, spending time with friends and family. In the first picture is my former dance company, The Grand Rapids Ballet. My awesome friend, Lisa, and I decided it was high time to get these crazy bitches together for a little raucous reminiscing. We had a hilarious evening capped off with mojitos and DVD's of ballet performances. As teens we spent hours together 5 or six days a week in leotards. Some of us are still involved in the dance world, some of us have recurring nightmares about a certain teacher who wore green Spandex jazz pants and said inappropriate shit, and some of us have rekindled our love affair with the leotard. I fall into all of those categories, in case you wondered.

The second pic is of me and my Uncle John, my mom's brother. He is a bad-ass cyclist and quickly puts my skills to shame. BUT he was kind enough to take me on a rather hill-laden trek in Grand Rapids. We rode 35 miles on our bikes and I even did that on three hours of sleep (post reunion). The terrain in Michigan makes Illinois look like Kiddie Land for bike riders. God damn, when Uncle John said, "Oh there are some rolling hills." he meant to say "There are some hills that will kick your sissy ass and make you curse worse than you do when you can't find your keys." Thank God he rode ahead of me to let the wind muffle my f-bombs.

The last pic is of me and my best friend, Sara. We have known each other since we were 8 years-old and have been through a lot of shit on our lives together. Her sister, Emily, is in between us. Lord, we all used to play with our Cabbage Patch Dolls together. I got to spend the day at lake Michigan with Sara and my kids. So nice. I am obsessed with Lake Michigan. It feels like home to me.

Along with these adventures I enjoyed a girly night, a very sassy mani/pedi with Lisa, LOTS of laughs (someone I know even pissed herself because I made her laugh so hard. There is no better compliment than that.), time away from my kids (that is not selfish or mean. For Gods sake, they rode on a paddle boat, went fishing several times, went to a nearby farm and pet baby animals, picked their own vegetables, and got to sleep in late. They were fine.), and some nice relaxing meals and wine with my mom. It makes me sad I can't visit more often, with my teaching and the kids 101 activities starting next week. I will enjoy my memories of Michigan until I visit the mitten state again. I don't know about you but Mommy is READY for school to start!!!!!

Hunka' Hunka' Burnin' Love

Here we are in Vegas getting our vows renewed......by Elvis. Gold lame' Elvis. I had to promise to not step on Sultan's blue suede shoes. We had to wear gold Elvis sunglasses and slow dance to "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You" in the middle of the ceremony. It was fricking hilarious. Our friend, Jimmy, was dying at the insanity of the whole thing. (He acted as man of honor and best man.) Good times...

Disco is Back, Baby

All I have to say about my dress is "You Can Ring My Bell". We tore that shit UP on the dance floor at Mike and Christen's wedding. When are Pussycat Girls try-outs? Do they have a suburban mom touring group?