Life is funny, right? Like, how does it work that my kids get older and I get younger? Yes, I’m cute but totally fucking delusional.
My middle son turned 22-years-old a few days ago (and I’m only 26… see? Weird, right?) and we wanted to totally embarrass him on his special day. How do you do that? You take him out to Montana’s restaurant! The employees like to sing to you and clap their hands and this? is something 22-year-olds hate. But? He got a free cookie. So, worth it.
Below, son is smiling but dying inside. The middle kid is my youngest son – yes, his hair is LONG. He’s a future rock star. And the girl on the end, is my 9-year-old daughter, who thinks she’s 23. Missing, is my oldest son. He’s busy being a grown-up(ish).
It was a nice dinner… and I think the waiter wanted to hang with us. I mean, yeah, of course, because we brings the awesome, but dude, get some friends.
Son loves having his photo taken. Evident.
Didn’t get drunk at Montanas (although photo evidence shows otherwise). May or may not have gotten drunk at a party the night before. He admits to nothing.
He said he’s gonna rock 22. I rocked 22 when I was 22… just four years ago. *cough*
Damn straight, my kids know how to bring da cheese. They learned it from the master:
We gifted son with iTunes card, an American Express card and a grocery store card. All as good as cash, and that makes son happysauce.
Note: Giving your kids what they want will ensure they will not put you in a home years down the road. I’m always thinking ahead. Just sayin’.
And other lies I might tell you. (The whole I got a boob job got you here, didn’t it?… Might as well pull up a chair and read the rest… providing you’re bored to tears and don’t have a life on Saturday night). And, now, technically, it’s Sunday. Oh.My.God. I might finish this post by Monday. Maybe.
I didn’t really get a boob job, but I’m not ruling it out. Just so you know. I have a very strong desire to tell you random crap that I’m thinking and/or feeling and since I believe in following strong desires, I’m just gonna do it. If I bore you, you’re obviously reading this wrong and really, that’s not my problem. Get help. That’s all I’m sayin’.
So, random stuff:
I bought this new necklace last night and it’s gorgeous. I wore it todayyesterday two days ago and it’s all shiny and sparkly and all kinds of awesomeness, except, now that it’s almost midnight, I’d like to remove it from around my neck. Only one problem: I can’t get the sucker off. The clasp is nailed shut apparently. Not opening. I guess I’ll just have to look fabulous in bed. (Yeah, PS. It’s not almost midnight, because um, I’m lame-o and started this on Thursday night and it’s now Saturday evening . It’s now Sunday. And me? I suck).
TGIF. It’s now 12:01 as I type this and could be 2:05 p.m. before I finish it. Just depends on what the hell my brain will allow. (And um, PS again… it’s not Friday, it’s Saturday as I’ve already mentioned. And? I suck, again). <—Nope, not Saturday now either, it’s Sunday, at nearly 3 a.m. Scratch that. It’s now Sunday at 5 pm. Holy fuck. Monday is looking good right about now.
Pictured: My daughter and her best friend (not the birthday girl), who is the daughter of one of my best friends.
Went to a roller rink today for my girlfriend’s daughter’s party and the kids all looked so cute skating around, disco lights flashing and music booming. Did I skate? Um no. That would have been horrifying. Not for me, but for the people watching. I could not do that to another human being. People were laughing, having fun, being joyous and seeing me on roller skates? Would have definitely ruined the happy atmosphere. I was not going to be responsible for that pain. OK, sure, I may have looked cute, but as far as performance? That shit would have been awful.
If I had a brownie right now, I’d lick it and then eat it. Some dude on Twitter (won’t mention any names) was – I won’t say torturing me (but he totally was) – teasing me STRONGLY with his, Oh I have brownies with fudge and they’re so good, blah blah blah. Is that not cruel? Sure, I could make brownies (even though I suck in the kitchen… correction: suck at cooking in the kitchen) and hell, I could even buy them but that’s not the point. What is my point? Oh, yeah, I want someone to MAKE them for me. Or buy them for me. Whatever works. Sad fact is, I have no brownies. And I want one. Or eight.
I might watch a movie tonight. Not sure what movie, yet, but I’m in the mood to watch something scary and be, um, scared. I like being scared – to a point. You throw spiders at me, and I’ll be so scared, I’ll drop dead. I don’t mean that much scariness, just some. Like sitting on the edge of your seat kind of scary. Nail-biting scary (I don’t bite my nails though). That’s the kind of scary I want. I also want to fall asleep listening to Pink. I’m so bloody tired, and I love Pink’s voice, and can’t think of a better way to drift off. Well, sure, there are probably a few better ways to fall asleep, but right now? That one sounds like heaven. Since this is also an update post because I sucked at getting this finished in a timely manner (because yeah, it’s riveting), I didn’t watch a movie BUT I did fall asleep last night listening to Pink. Had some good dreams.
It’s windy here. And that’s all I have to say about that. And since it’s now Sunday at suppertime, it’s not windy. Why didn’t I just scrap this post all together? Because that would mean starting over. And? I’m much too lazy and tired for that shit.
I gambled for the first time last weekend. Went to Yuk Yuks comedy club (the three comedians were so flippin’ funny, which is a plus seeing as they’re comedians and people paid good money to see them, be funny), which is upstairs from the casino and we had an hour to kill before the show, decided to play the slot machines. We each took a $20 bill which gives you 80 credits. Well, after 25 minutes or so of pushing a button (MY GOD, SERIOUSLY, HOW CAN PEOPLE SIT THERE FOR HOURS AND PLAY THOSE THINGS?) and winning 10 credits here and there, I was getting down to my last 30, so went big and bet 3 credits at a time. Well, things were getting down to the wire, and with the next push of that button, I won two hundred credits which was equal to $55.25. Not quite the jackpot but hey, it was more than I had come with. I’m a winner! Winner!
I went shopping today and made a few purchases. Bought some shirts, which I might model for you later, depending on my mood and if I’m still wanting to wear clothes. I might be walking around nudish. Sure, my kids hate that shit, but so what. It’s my house and I”ll do what I want. Gah. I’m such a rebel. Hey, if Lady Gaga – or as I like to call her Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta (’cause we be tight) - can walk around pantless, I can walk around topless.
OK, listen, I’ve bored you long enough. If you stayed to read this far, you are either really desperate for something to read, just released from a mental institution and don’t know any better, high and/or drunk or love me enough to put up with this shit. Whatever the case, thank you: