Kindred Spirits

I had cocktails with My Girls tonight. A pre-holiday mixer, if you will. I'd missed the last two and Tk was determined she was going to have a martini with myself & Lo Lo, and she wasn't takin' No for an answer!
(She's so bossy sometimes.....!)

Lo had the day off so she was at the bar early to get us "our table" in the back. Tk arrived about a minute before me, and I found her staring at a gift bag shakin' her head. There was only seat left at the table for three (see why it's our table?) and that seat had a gift bag on it as well.

What the hell is this shit?, I say as I eighty-six the bag to the floor with my purse, and haul my fat ass up and into the bar stool type seat.

That's what I'm sayin'!, quips Tk, still shakin her head.

I got you guys a little something....that's all. It's Christmas!, squeaks Lo with a big smile on her face.

Well, I didn't know "we" were doing this...... says Trace, clearly disgusted that she didn't think of it first cuz she's the Social Coordinator and this be her domain!

I didn't know "we" were doing this either.........I say all dejected....... So it's a good thing I came prepared!, I yell as I whip out two lip gloss tubes from my purse.

Tk is now really displeased and shoots me her: I'M SO NOT PLEASED WITH YOU! look.

I turn over the lip gloss so I can read their labels and say........ "Pink Lady" for my pink lady, Sister!, and hand Leah her gloss. She squeals and instantly applies the gloss to her lips. Is it sparkle-y?, she asks. FROSTY and sparkle-y, Babe!, I say. And she smiles so wide her eyes crinkle.

I turn to Trace, hand over her gloss and say, "Life Preserver"......for my life preserver. Really?, she asks. Really, Trace. I chose the gloss for the names. It's a fkn bonus that the colors happen to match the both of you! Tk shines her lips with her new gloss; turns to Leah so they both can admire one anothers mouths and then she turns back to me and says in her "you are still in trouble tone": You and me....we're picking up the tab.

Yeah..... your look established that a few paces back!

90 minutes with My Girls....bitchin' about work; hypothesizing over the latest gossip (so juicy!); lamenting Christmas gifts (when is enough?), and just enjoying each other's company.

Classic Moments. I can always count on these two having at least one during any period of time we are together.

Leah's came at the beginning of cocktail hour, after Tk & I had ordered our martinis. The waiter apparently thought he was excused and tried to walk away when Lo Lo piped up and said she'd like to order a few appetizers. We all agree that's a good idea and Lo says she'd like the Spinach Artichoke Dip. Tk & I concur that's a great choice and Trace looks to me for another option, and I wave her off because we tend to gravitate towards the same thing so she says, And an order of the Pom Freets.

I'm guessing I gave her a quizzical look, cuz in my head I was thinking "Pomme Frites"......"pretty sure the tes is silent.... more like free" to which Trace says aloud, Pom Free?; to which the waiter says, "Pom Free? Yes...." ; to which Lo Lo snaps: THE FRENCH FRIES! We'll take the french fries!

To which the waiter says: Exactly......, and scoots along. We all bust out laughing as Leah snarks, For fks sake...... I go hungry while you two try to figure out how to pronounce it!

Tk wrapped our evening with her moment. She & I are splitting the tab and I ask her how much she's tipping cuz I ain't gonna be the cheap one at the table, and she tosses out her number which was the number I was thinking was fair, so I nod I agree and go back to signing my credit card slip. I can't recall how the topic of our waiter came up; perhaps I said I thought he was a good server....but whatever was said prompted Tk to gripe in a voice that was dripping with both sarcasm and entitlement: Yeah...about that. We come here for the upscale atmosphere and high priced cocktails which can all be justified when we are SERVED by a 23 year old hottie! Which, I might add, was sorely lacking at this table. Present company excluded, I feel totally gyped by our experience and I'm pretty sure I'm speaking to a manager about it. I want to be SERVED by a boy I can imagine tying me to a chair and making me do and say bad, bad things......not by a someone who looks likely to be studying podiatry!

Insert all of us erupting into a fit of laughter, Tk so hard she's got a few tears in her eyes.....because as she & I prove to the world on a daily basis: we are our best audience!

And here's where I make my point:
It's such a small gesture, making time for your friends; but the rewards are monumental. I always walk away from time with my girlfriends feeling invigorated. Like being near their energy somehow re- inflates my spirit. I feel like this after a stolen Sunday with Lyndie; or an hour with Kristin during our IM dates. Our personalities are unique and yet there are enough similarities that we just gel. This inner circle of mine.....these girls whom I let in; who know the real me.....and still love me. They are a gift.

Merry Christmas to ME!

(Orange and) Black & Blue

Today was PAINFUL.

And I'm not just talking about my back!

My family left me at 7:30 a.m. to head to Beaver Nation, leaving me standing in the big window of my living room, crying as I waved goodbye. I was born and raised in Beaver Nation. I bleed orange and black. And to miss this game with my family was hard.

Oh who am I kidding? I hate going to football games! I spent my entire high school career warming up under the bleachers during the first half of games;performing at half time on the field and cheering for our team the second half. I've spent enough time at Parker Stadium (No. I will not call it Reeser Stadium. I have been known to call it "Potato Salad Bowl"; but I refuse to call it Reeser!); this chubby girl doesn't need to watch a live game. I much prefer to head to Beaver Nation with the fam; enjoy breakfast at my Mom's house and then drop off Mark & the kids at the field.

Where do I go?

I GO TO TK'S!

She hosts an annual Civil War Party that kicks ass! Tv's in every room, including the garage (because everyone needs to be able to watch the game while getting beer from the keg!); a table that is covered in food of every size, shape and color; and jello shots.

J-E-L-L-O SHOTS!

But I had to miss it all courtesy of my sacrum situation.

So there I was, in the throws of a really big pity party; wearing my I HATE YOUR DUCKS tee shirt; clapping and yelling at the tv all by myself today. I jarred my back yelling SUCK IT! and doing a fist pump after Quizz scored the first touchdown; I'd lost my voice by half time; and by the third quarter, after I screamed at Katz (OSU's quarterback): YOU ARE FIRED!, I texted Kristin and said: That's it. I'm done. Fkn Ducks and their stupid, fkn fairy feathers!!!!! KB's response: It's painful.

No shit. And I'd had enough.

(And, No. I will not say "OS". The OSU beavers play at Parker Stadium!)

So I came upstairs and decided I was going to tackle the Christmas tree......that has fallen over twice! It might be a perfect tree, but it refuses to stay perfectly erect! Marky put the lights on last night for me....a job I usually do myself......you know, on account of me being a control freak! But I couldn't reach above my head, so he did it. I thought for a fleeting moment about fixing all the spots that are driving me completely bat shit crazy!, but ultimately thought better of it. I have to learn to let people help me. Baby steps.

Baby steps straight to the liquor cabinet where I poured myself a stiff cocktail and downed it immediately! Now that I'm circling the tree and drinking my second cocktail, the fact that the lights aren't perfect is bothering me less. I can do this.

Music. That's what the Snarky Brunette needs! Get me in the mood. I chose a Christmas mix my sister gave me last year. I got through 1/4 of Sheryl Crow's rendition of There is a Star that Shines Tonight and said to Benelli: Hello? You failed to remind me I can't stand Sheryl! Benelli lifted her head from her doggie bed, rolled away from me and farted.

Exactly.

Flipping through my box of Christmas cds, I found it. The perfect cd for my perfect tree: Andrea~ Boccelli's My Christmas. Classic Christmas songs sung by an angel himself!

I've gone through the cd once and just re-started it. I did have to skip his duet with Reba McIntyre as the sound of her voice makes me throw up in my mouth. And while it is a tough call, I've decided that "Santa Claus is coming to Town" is my favorite song on the cd. It's bouncy and he's accompanied by a children's choir and this song alone brings a big, fat smile to my face!

My back still hurts; my Beav's still lost & I'm still wearing my I HATE YOUR DUCKS shirt; but my mood has improved remarkably! So much so that I'm off to pour my third cocktail, slather my lips in Zumba Kiss and pummel this Christmas business like the Beavs should have pummeled the Ducks.

And their fkn fairy feathers!

Squeeze Play

Guess who went to her dentist appointment this morning and threw out her back?

That'd be me.

Naturally, I take absolutely no responsibility for this debacle! I blame the hygienist; who had me tipped so far backwards in that goddamn chair, I was practically standing my head! I felt fine the entire time, until she began to raise the chair back. I got about half way up and felt the pressure building in my sacrum. This would be when I turned to Rebecca, my waif of a hygienist, and said: You're going to need at least three more of you to haul me out of this chair, Sister.

Perhaps I should have mentioned my recent back injury in July when Rebecca asked me if I'd recently suffered any physical ailments and/or injuries?

Yes? I should have?

Oh.

My bad.

I made it to work but the 20 minute ride in the car; followed by hauling my fat ass up three flights of stairs apparently did nothing to alleviate my sacrum situation. By the time I got to my desk and signed onto my computer, I was in tears from the pain. It literally takes your breath away.......and because I can't hold myself upright, I find myself holding my breath.......an apparent attempt to "puff myself up"-right.

I made it to noon and then called it quits. My 30 minute commute home was torture, what with the not breathing and all. At one point, a semi truck threw a HUGE rock into my windshield. The sound was unbelievably loud and not expecting it, I jumped in my seat....which jarred my back. Which made me start to cry......which left me yelling Goddamnit! aloud. Once home, I shuffled myself into the house much like Tim Conway's character "The Old Man" from the Carol Burnett Show.
(Seriously, one of the greatest television shows of all time.....Coo coo, pigeon!)

Thursdays are Mark's short days. He walked through the front door about 45 minutes after I shuffled in and found me on the couch. Sitting ramrod straight and icing my back.
(And swilling vodka whilst downing Advil.)

Mark: How's My Girl?
Me: Broken.
Mark: Whatcha doin?
Me: Becoming the poster child for alcohol and drug dependency.
Mark: I'll join you!
Me: Before you do, I called Soapy Paws and if you take Benelli right now, she can have her usual wash & blow dry......... (insert me clasping my hands in front of my face whilst giving Mark the doe-eyed look)

Without batting an eyelash, Mark says "C'mon Bitch", to which Benelli JUMPS up from the floor and heads for the door.

Upon his return and after Mark settles in next to me, I broach the subject of Perhaps you'd like to go pick out a Christmas tree before you pick up the kids since I just happened to have found what looks like a really nice, local tree farm not 5 miles from us.....?

After some minor discussion as to the pros and cons of this idea; directions to the tree farm; and me taking an oath that I would not be pissed if he picks out a tree I end up hating; Mark sets off to find the perfect Xmas tree.

And comes back 10 minutes later without said tree but with our kids. Whom he decided should help in the tree picking process (thus spreading out the blame should they all fail in picking out a Christmas tree!). Insert kids changing clothes and shoes and promises of finding the best tree ever!

I retire to the bedroom with my cocktail where it takes me 10 minutes to get on the bed and into a comfortable position. I have no idea where the remote is and there is no fkn way I'm going to move in order to find it, so I proceed to stare at the wall.

And feel sorry for myself.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember the room was dark and I can hear my kids stomping up the stairs screaming: WE FOUND IT! WE FOUND THE PERFECT TREE!!!!
I'm told to "wait until Daddy gets it in the stand, and then come down to see." Considering it took me 10 minutes to get IN the bed, I'm confident it will take twice as long to get OUT of it, so against my children's orders I begin my struggle to stand upright.

When I get the signal from my Monsters, I make my way down the stairs where I come face to face with the prettiest Noble tree, ever. It's exactly how I like them: not symmetrical, but thinner at the top and gradually becoming thicker at the bottom. Sturdy branches to hold my heavy ornaments, with clearly tiered spacing throughout the tree. It was, indeed, perfect.

Somewhere in the middle of me admiring the tree and the kids carrying in my many, many boxes of Christmas decorations, their Dad slipped out to run another errand for me. Only this time, his errand wasn't my idea. Or suggestion.

Marky came home with a Frank Sinatra Christmas cd & a half gallon of Rum. Said he was pretty sure His Girl could use a little of both.

So here I am......on my second round of Advil; sitting ramrod straight while icing my back; with Frank singing to me whilst I swill Hot Butter Rum and stare at my perfect tree.

And here's what I know:

The fact that I am one big control freak-pain in the ass most of time is not lost on me. Thankfully, I've got a husband who can appreciate my need to organize, delegate and plan......even when I'm on the injured reserve list.

The fact that I've managed to injure myself while sitting......(twice now!), just adds insult to my injury. But look at how productive the day turned out to be!

My Sister gave me major props for relinquishing my need to control everything and handing over the Christmas tree task. It's amazing the rewards one can reap when you aren't squeezing the life out of......well.......Life.

Peppermint This.

What's one of my most favorite-est things, ever?

Peppermint.

I love the smell. And the taste.

I love peppermint shampoo.
(It makes your scalp all tingly.......refreshing!)

I love peppermint tea.
(Tea. I know, right?!)

I love peppermint ice cream.
(I must be monitored when eating it because I will eat the whole carton.)
(Seriously.)
(I'm so not kidding.....)

I love peppermint. But other than those swirly, hard candies- peppermint isn't easy to find.

What's one of the things I H-A-T-E the most?

Christmas decorations visually displayed anywhere prior to November 26th.

HATE it.

I was walking through J.C. Penney's the last week of October and they had already hung their Christmas swags & garlands from the rafters.

WTF?

If you will, please picture The Snarky Brunette, dressed to the nines as she's just come from work; clomp! clomp! clomping! through the store; on a mission to find orange tights for her daughter's Halloween costume, when she rounds the corner and comes face to face with (stupid) Sales People hanging CHRISTMAS RIFF RAFF!

It literally stopped me in my clomping tracks! Dumbfounded, I stood in the middle of the designated walk way, mouth agape, staring at the CHRISTMAS RIFF RAFF! I didn't snap out of it until the Sales People sang out to me: Can you believe it? It's that time again!

What I wanted to say (read: SCREAM!) was: If by "time again" you mean HALLOWEEN, then you folks are clearly needing some help with your seasonal decorations!

What I did was simply walk away.

While muttering to myself: Who I got to kill to make Christmas go away?!

Now, I'm seeing Christmas everywhere! Decorated trees are in window displays. Target had an end cap of ORNAMENTS in their card section. My co-worker was playing Christmas music in the office YESTERDAY.

(I may or may not have snapped and demanded that she TURN THAT SHIT OFF!)

Tonight, as the Monsters and I were hustling through Fred Meyer (Hannie, you grab the pizza....Mommy needs some Diet Tonic and a lime!), I walked past an end cap and abruptly stopped. And then backed up.....because The Snarky Brunette spied PEPPERMINT LIP BALM!

On the top shelf, next to the PEPPERMINT soy candle and PEPPERMINT Goat's Milk soap; there it was: as big as a glue stick! The red & white swirled packaging caught my keen eye; the yummified scent, so potent I could smell it before I actually picked up the balm.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!

I may or may not have completely lost my mind in all things peppermint. I may or may not have impulsively purchased $12 worth of peppermint goodies, including the over-sized lip balm (which I'm wearing right now! Totally makes my lips all glossy!): Zumba Kiss.

And in my peppermint induced high, I may or may not be willing to concede that Christmas ain't all that bad. I mean really, it is the only holiday that guarantees I will have peppermint whatever at my disposal and for my every whim. That makes me happy. So I've decided me and my Zumba Kiss are going to meet Christmas head on..... and in the end, all the lame ass decorations & elevator inspired Muzak we are going to be subjected to over the next 2 1/2 months can SUCK IT!

That's not to say I won't bitch and piss and moan about being subjected to it, though.............that's what I do.

And you guys should totally know that by now!

Trick or Prophylactic?

So me & my stiff Salty Dog logged on tonight, feeling like we wanted to write........

But we just sat here and stared at the blank page for what seemed like forever........

The blinking cursor totally mocking us & our un-inspired state.

Shit.

With my creative sap not flowing, I clicked over to my homepage to see if perhaps some world and local news might do the trick.

B-I-N-G-O!

Seems a couple in Silverton, OREGON handed out condoms to kids on Halloween.

And the parent of one teenager was both "offended" and found it "inappropriate to give them without the parents' consent."

Hmmmmmm.....where to begin?

A good place to start would be for me to stop laughing my ass off!
(Said ass is really quite large these days, so this could take awhile.......)

Really? "Offended"? If the parents answered their door in black face; that's something to be offended about. If the parents handed out religious materials, whether it was anti or pro; that's something to be offended about. But a condom? To a 14 year old? Get over yourself, Parent. You live in a town that continues to elect a transvestite as its Mayor.

(Something which, for the record, I totally applaud. Said cross dressing Mayor, however, needs a complete fashion make-over. I'm just sayin'......)

The argument regarding how appropriate it was to pass out condoms....... I will concede: Parent, you've got me there. But not because I find it inappropriate. It's because these parents are simply setting themselves up for ridicule, lots 'o judgments to be passed aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand, in this day and age of "sue-happy" individuals- the potential for a lawsuit.

And if they lived in Linn County, I am sure, the potential for criminal charges!

These parents simply suffer from poor judgment. There intent was good, in theory. Promote safe sex and the health and well being of young people, and at the same time educate. Their platform, however, was completely misguided.......you know...... since the majority of the teenagers landing on their doorstep are clearly misguided as well SINCE EVERYONE KNOWS THAT YOU STOP TRICK OR TREATING WHEN YOU'RE TWELVE!

And that's not the kids fault- that's poor parenting.

And here's how we come full circle: you've got a 14 year old trick or treating, who gets a condom as a "treat" and HER parent is offended.

Seriously? I'm more offended at the parent who allows their 14 year old to Trick or Treat than I am offended at the Condom Giving, Halloween Celebrating, Thinking I'm Gonna Educate parent!

FFS. Offended Parent needs to count his blessings that his kid escaped Condom Giving's "normal practice." See........ Condom Giving parent freely admits giving the 14 year old a condom "was a mistake". Her "usual practice is to ask teens if they're 16 years or older and to give them a speech on safe sex."

Hmmmmmmm........ lemme see? Free condom that any parent can confiscate and ultimately use for themselves OR having to explain to your kid what was sure to be a completely condescending and whacked out personal philosophy on safe sex from a stranger.......?

I hate stupid people.

The Wisdom Of An Almost 4 Year Old

So my sister sent me a text Monday and I've been crackin' up over it all week. It came through as I was leaving my office for the day. Struggling into my coat while trying to hold on to my umbrella and balance my Dooney on my left arm and my lunch sack in my right hand.

Hell no, I'm not putting any of it down! Do you know how long it takes to grab that shit up?

I'm heading out the door, and cursing the day I've had, when I hear my cell. Normally I would ignore it, but for whatever reason, I shifted the umbrella to my left hand, swung my Dooney off my shoulder and to the crook of my arm and reached into the front pocket for my cell.

1 New Message: Gina

IT'S FROM MY SISTER!! WHOOP! WHOOP!

Gina always brings a smile to my face and instantly makes me hate people less. It's her Free Spirit, Mother Earth vibe. I make fun of it and yet it's soothing.

Like tea!

Mondays, for me, are hell. I am in court all day; I rarely get a break and I'm always surrounded by idiots. When I took this job 8 months ago, I had high hopes of whipping this docket into shape. It was out of control & there was no sign of anyone being in charge. Enter The Snarky Brunette. In her 4 inch heels and super big hair. Able to bark orders at attorneys in a single breath! With stealth like precision she has the ability to organize wayward attorneys (much like herding cats!) into single file rows. She has the technology. She can re-build this docket.
(If you are hearing the theme from the Bionic Woman....that is sooooooo totally what I was aiming for!)

Did she re-build the docket?

Ummmmm, not so much.

The defense attorneys now know to check in with me if they want to get out of court in a timely manner. I did manage to convince them that I do hold the key to their freedom. We are still working on the whole When I say we do not have time for sentencings, WE DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR SENTENCINGS! issue. And my Judge still drives me insane with his asking of my opinion; promptly setting aside my opinion; and proceeding to critique my opinion. He's also fond of arguing my own words back to me and telling me he's pretty sure we are in agreement.

WHAT?

For the most part, I have an abundance of ideas on how to streamline and improve this court and no one wants to listen to me. Or, they listen and then promptly do the opposite. And then when the outcome is as shitty as I SAID IT WOULD BE, they want to know why I didn't say anything beforehand.

BANG HEAD HERE!

So. I hate Mondays. I'm always incredibly wound up by the end of the day; incredibly frustrated; and the sheer number of stupid people I have to deal with never ceases to amaze me. Tk pulled me aside two weeks ago and gave me a seriously stern talking to.....all about my job is not worth my health and I've got to stop taking every set back as my own personal failure and everyone knows I'm the best thing that happened to this docket so stop trying to hold it all together for everyone and let them all fall on their faces.

Snarky: Wait.....you mean give up control?

Tk: Yes.

Snarky: But I love control!

Tk: I know you do, Babe..... and that's your problem.

Snarky: But I'm not sure I know how to give up control.....?

Tk: Let's role play. I'm the Judge and I say we're going to set 4 files for sentencing in a 15 minute slot, right before a jury trial at 9a. Now what do you say?

Snarky: I say: Hell no, you're not setting 4 files for sentencing before a jury trial! You can't even do a 1 file sentencing in 15 minutes!!

(Insert Tk crossing her arms and looking down at me whilst shaking her head no.....)

Snarky: What? What do I say?!

Tk: You say: If that's what you'd like to do, Your Honor. And then set the goddamn files for sentencing!

OY! Now I hate Mondays even more than usual! Do you know how hard it is to just sit there and let the village idiots run amok?

So hard.

Every Monday Tk meets me in the hall before Court and gives me her little pep talk reminder. It's actually kinda funny now.....

Tk: Ok, Sister...... who are you?

Snarky: I'm a professional!

Tk: And what are you gonna do?

Snarky: I'm going to sit in my chair and smile and agree with everyone!

Tk: Good girl! What do we say?

Snarky: Yes, Sir!

Tk: And?

Snarky: Super!

Tk: And?

Snarky: Whatever you'd like to do!

And then we high five and dissolve into a fit of giggles.

KB even sends me little reminder emails on Mondays now. Perky little emails like: Chin up, Sweet Pea....don't forget to smile! You are the master of the doe eyed, tilt your head, Mmmmm Hmmmmm look!

I always start off strong but by the end of the day, I'm worn thin. I think I managed to only correct someone once this week. And I'm pretty sure I didn't blurt out "Noooooooooooooo" at all. Sigh................. I hate Mondays. Now matter how hard I try, I always walk away feeling like I've stepped in a big pile of crap.

But then I got Gina's text. With a smile on my face, I slide my cell open to read it.

"Me: why did u run thru the backyard after i asked you not to?
Jack: cuz i wanted 2 surprise u with dog poop on my shoe!"

I burst out laughing..... laughing so hard, no sound was coming out of my mouth! I had to sit down on the bench outside my office door because I was afraid I'd fall over from laughing so hard! That and my Dooney shifted and totally knocked me off balance!

I was on the bench for at least a minute.....my laughter slowly dissolving away. I had to wipe tears from my eyes; I had laughed that hard. When I'd finally composed myself, I replied:
Jack is the perfect ending to my shitty day! :)

Served

Bored with my usual cocktails, I took to the Bible last night to find a new refreshment.

The Bartender's Bible.

Please.....my hypocrisy has limits.......

The Bartender's Bible was a gift from my father on my 21st birthday. It's inscribed with a love note from my Daddy & has his favorite recipe written by his own hand on the inside cover. "The Perfect Margarita".

Hell no, I'm not sharing. Hello?

I am a bartender's daughter. My father held many jobs throughout my formative years, but the one he always kept coming back to was bartending. I have vivid memories of being smuggled behind the bar so he could finalize the shift schedule or meet with distributors or divide the tips from the night before. He bartended for the biggest bar in the town I grew up in. His clientele ran the spectrum from Judges to criminals. And according to my Daddy, sometimes they sat right next one another at the bar!

My father has some amazing stories from his time behind the bar. My favorite being when he caught the Phantom Pisser. This story requires a blog of its own..... but I bet you get the gist.

My father had a few Cardinal Rules when it came to "pouring". The first being, that you actually POUR the fkn drink. His distaste for "automated bartending" (meaning everything is measured through a gun) has been passed on to me. This is not bartending. It's pressing a fkn button and is so not impressive. His second rule was "deliver the cocktail in a timely manner". This rule is directly related to the movie "Cocktail". My Daddy could mix and pour three separate cocktails while blindfolded and send all three drinks down the length of the bar without spilling a drop. So please, dispense with the tossing of bottles behind your back and throwing shakers to one another. Only stupid people find this remotely entertaining. The majority of patrons in the bar JUST WANT THEIR GODDAMN DRINK. NOW! The third rule, and probably the most crucial, and could therefore be argued as the number 1 rule, is:

DO NOT TAP THE BAR TO SIGNAL THE BARTENDER.

Why?

1. YOU are not more important than the bartender himself.
2. While I'm serving you, I am not your servant.
3. Because if you do, your ass just became last.

I love the fact that I was raised by a bartender. It has served me well in a crowded bar when surrounded by idiots and bimbos. Case in point: when I celebrated my 4oth in Vegas with my girls, LoLo and I were the last two standing on one of our first nights in town. She and I were standing in line at the bar of Studio 54 in the MGM. We were given free drink passes (cuz we're so pretty!) and LoLo was determined to get every ounce of Vodka coming to her! It was my turn to pay, so I'm waiting in line and behind a Yuppified Douche Bag who is ordering 4 cocktails. Talking about substitute this and do you know how to that....and the bartender is getting all sorts of irritated with this idiot. He keeps looking at me like he needs a mercy killing. I've had a couple and my patience is thin; and I've got LoLo off my shoulder all sorts of wound up over HOW FKN LONG DOES IT TAKE TO ORDER A DRINK? Douche Bag finishes his order and steps off to the side. I sidle up with a smirk plastered alllllllllllllllllllllll over my face. He says: Whaddaya want, Doll? I deadpan: I'd like for that fkn guy to get his ass kicked. The bartender smiles wide. I say: Vodka tonic. Two. And my man behind the bar proceeds to pour me DOUBLES.

That's what I'm talking about!

And, he poured my doubles BEFORE he poured Douche Bag's.

Respect the bartender, People.

And reap the rewards.

You're welcome.

So.

Bored with my cocktail stand-bys, I consulted my Bible last night and was rewarded.

Behold! The Brazen Hussy:

Equal parts vodka & triple sec. 1/2 oz lemon juice. Shake and pour over ice.

A few thoughts from the Snarky Brunette:

1. I don't much care for sweet drinks, so I've modified:
2 oz Vodka
1 1/4 oz Triple Sec
1/2 oz lemon juice. Shake that cocktail til your shaker has a nice ice crust. Serve over ice. YUMMIFIED.

2. The name itself sold me. I'd have tried it even if it wasn't vodka!

3. I've got a full house tomorrow; celebrating my sister's birthday. My house is still a disaster. I should totally be cleaning it like a good Type A, Slightly OCD brunette would..........

Instead, I'm off to pour my third Brazen Hussy and fire orders at my children from my favorite chair.

Shameful.

My Life As Seen Through Barf

Here's what I know:

It's been so long since my last post, my blog is covered in cobwebs.

All of you whiners who keep pestering me about this, to you I say: Hello? How sweet is my timing since Halloween is just around the corner and cobwebs are the perfect decoration?!

My house is a disaster. Seriously. If the Department of Human Services were to make an unannounced "knock & talk", my shit would be weak. They'd wanna place my kids in foster care and cite me for child neglect.

To which I'd be all: Pfffffffffffffffffffffffft! People please. I just spent the better part of four FKNG days scouring the bedrooms of my children. Sure, my house as a whole looks like a twister blew up in it; all sorts of hap-hazard and shit, but you could eat off their bedroom floors and see your reflection in their windows!

Perhaps this week I'll get to the rest of my house......?

So I was home the later part of the week, caring for sick Monsters. I'm not sure which is worse: two Monsters sick at the same time or one falling first with the other falling immediately after?!
I can tell you that their Barf Fest is what kicked my Psychotic Cleaning Frenzy into overdrive....because if you're going to wash all the fkn bedding in the room, why not just wipe down walls and wash baseboards and windows too? And if you do it for one Monster, hell yes you're gonna do it for the other. Exactly 24 hours later.

OY.

I'm hoping my PCF carries into this week and into every room of my house. Because Sweet Jesus, every room in this house needs a deep clean. And please, don't tsk! tsk! at me, People.....hiring a cleaning agency is not within my confines as a Type A, Slightly OCD brunette. I'd spend just as much time cleaning before the cleaning people came as I would if I'd just do the shit myself......so, Hello?

Rubber gloves and hot, soapy bleach water are now my new BFF's!

But if I sound like I'm bitching (shut up, Lynda!), let me be clear: so am not bitching. As I just told Mark a few minutes ago: the last 4 days have been extremely stressful what with caring for sick Monsters and firing orders about, "Samuel, please.............. one does not need a broken pencil sharpener just because it has Optimus Prime on it. THROW IT AWAY!"; and just generally letting myself go in order to accomplish the task at hand (my hair hasn't seen shampoo in three days....... shameful. I feel dirty!). But I've loved every minute of it. Being at home reminded me what I used to have before I went back to work full time: TIME. Time spent reading with my kids in my bed; time spent playing cards and getting my ass KICKED by my son in a game of Checkers. Time for all of us to take a nap together. I took all of that for granted when I was home; and now that I'm not home, I miss it the most.

Even the board game ass kicking!

So, my house is a disaster. I'm tired as hell. And I've got mountains of laundry left to do. But this long weekend has been a slice of heaven. Quality time with my kids (barf and all!) during the day, and leisurely evenings with Marky at night.

Who, by the way, has taken up the guitar. I believe it's every woman's dream to be serenaded at night with a little pong, pang! pong, pang! pong, pang!

Don't hate me cuz I've got it so damn good......!

It's Been A Looooooong Day.

My drunk is wearing off.......


I totally blame KB.

To tell the truth, she's to blame for my drunk in the first place.


She texted me earlier today informing me that she was at a water park with her kids; she hated people and newsflash to Big Daddy- she would so be drinking tonight!


My response: We shud have IM cocktail hour!


Our date was set for 6:30 p.m. BoHo time.


Because my sister has now taken it upon herself to find my wee dog for me, I was already on line at 6:15 p.m. (BoHo time) looking at a Papillon Gina had sent me from a Craig's List post. KB had sent me an email at 5:03 p.m. asking me if I was ready.


My response: What part of 6:30 your time do you not understand....Drunk?


And we were off! She with a bottle of wine; me with a stiff Salty Dog.


First up: Kristin taking me to task for my non-obsession with blogging.

It's hard, I whined. And I was about to launch a full scale assault on just how hard it was for me to be witty & clever and have something meaningful to say 24/7, when it became apparent that Kristin had already moved on.


KB: this will piss you off- Big Daddy has lost 8 lbs in 2 wks!


Snarky Brunette: Are you fkn kidding me? Men......... Marky can lose 10 lbs in a week if he cuts sugar and booze from his diet. Who the fk wants to do that?


Which brought us into a discussion of our current & respective weights. Apparently, as long as KB's bra still fits-her number doesn't worry her. My number, on the other hand, is beyond tragic. I've finally reached the number I said I'd never go back to. I have not been this heavy in 6 years.


And I have only myself to blame.
(Myself and vodka.......)


I am: Jabba the Hutt.
(Two "T's". It's shameful that I know that.....)


And since I'm flying to BoHo next week to see KB, I informed her that she is forbidden from gasping in horror when she meets me at the plane....."I'm fragile", I said.


I'm flying to BoHo because it's Kristin's 6th annual Martini Madness party. She hosts an all-girl cocktail party that features signature Martinis that she (and sometimes WE!) discover through out the year. This year's theme: Saddle Up! for Martini Madness.


Cowboys.

Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Haw!


We segued from my weight (which she totally glossed over) to Martini Madness and what we were wearing. Kristin is going Daisy Duke style (a look she perfected last year in Vegas. We spent many, many hours on-line and texting to pull off her look for the UNLV v. Boise State football game): short, shorts with her black cowboy boots & her newly acquired, "girl huggin" (read: shows boobies off nicely!), Western lookin, smock.


My response: In my head, I'm going for Rodeo Bunny or Country Bar Chic- Black Stetson over my big, massive wave of curls; wide legged jeans with the biggest belt & buckle I can find; beat up cowboy boots & a black Wife Beater, layered over a white one. I hope I'm not too fat to pull this off.......

Again, she totally glosses this over and launches into a recap of her awful water park adventures today and her son's new BFF which has potentially created a new friend for her: BFF's mom. And she'll be at Martini Madness and I'll get to meet her and blah blah blah and I interrupt her IM to yell:

"HEY! DID YOU MISS THE PART ABOUT ME BEING FRAGILE AND I AM, QUITE POSSIBLY, TURNING INTO ONE OF THOSE 'SUCH A PRETTY FACE GIRLS'???"


Kristin's response: I caught the fragile, Babe. And I still love ya.


And that, right there, is why I love KB. She allows me to drown in my pity parties for only so long. My fingers poised over my lap tap, I briefly considered telling her how fabulous she is and how much I love her....... but I opted to go with:


Yeah! A new friend for you....... don't fk it up with you second guessing yourself!


Is there anything more warm and fuzzy than two Girlfriends who love one another?


We were on-line for almost 90 minutes. KB consumed a bottle and a half of wine; I was pouring my 4th Salty Dog when we ended. We covered topics that ranged from wee dogs (who names a male Pomeranian "Honey"?) to Men (they are idiots) to Children (ingrates) to Facebook.


FACEBOOK?


Kristin wanted to know my thoughts on this topic, given that her children are just minutes away from asking "can we"? Should she get some exposure under her belt before her kids become a part of it?


My response went something like this:


FaceBook is the DEVIL! No no no no!!!! I cannot express to you how much I looooooooooathe FB! Ok, it's the concept of FB I loathe. "Join and reconnect!" Pfffffffffft! Who the fk wants to reconnect with high school people you hated 20 years ago? It's ridiculous...... I will make fun of you if you join. Lynda & Gina regularly tag team me under the guise of "you could reach a wider audience for your blog if you had a Facebook page." No. Fkn. Way. I do not want idiots "friending" me.......it would do nothing but force me to deny them my friendship and I'd look like an even bigger bitch than I already am!


KB: So I just get my kids' passwords & ID's.......glad we're on the same page.


Do you people see why Kristin & I are friends?

I had just given KB a "5 minute warning" in the middle of reminiscing about our Vegas trip when Gmail went down and our Drunk IM-ing Experience came crashing to a halt. My drunk ass finally figured this out when the big , red "KRISTIN DID NOT RECEIVE YOUR CHAT" message appeared on my lap top screen.

I picked up my tiny phone and fired off a text: Gmail is telling me we're down...you?

KB: Was waiting on you...... go help with dinner. I can make it until I see you next week. THANK YOU.

Snarky Brunette: Fk that....we gotta set up a Drunk IM-ing schedule. 2x a week. I LOVE YOU!

KB: Luv U 2.

I wandered into my kitchen to begin helping with dinner prep, a gigantic smile on my face. I'd spent 90 minutes talking with one of the most important people in my life. We stay connected through daily emails and texts. And the occasional Drunk IM-ing Experience. Our lives are busy, and they are hundreds of miles apart. With kids, and jobs, and pets, and husbands- our days are long. And yet, not a day goes by when one of us doesn't make the time to reach out for the other.

Who needs Facebook when you are blessed with real friendships?

Happy Tails.

So I'm obsessed with two things right now:

1. Little dogs (as in finding one to adopt).
2. Craig's List.

I'll deal with each obsession separately, but in the end, you'll see how they come together to bring about a one happy ending.

Little dogs.

As in wee sized; a four legged companion. I possess a need to have one that is akin to my biological clock going off in Costco when I was 27. I was standing in the check out line with Marky while watching a baby who was sitting on her mother's lap in the food court. Said baby was dressed in pink, had big fat cheeks and a mouth so precious her lips looked like a rosebud. She was about 6 months old, drooling and had one tooth sprouting from her lower gum. And every time she and I would make eye contact, she'd squeal with delight and kick her chubby legs. After about 2 minutes of this, I burst into tears. I was convinced my internal clock was ticking so loudly someone was going to mistake me for a time bomb and I was completely incensed that my husband was oblivious.
(I may or may not have wailed: I WANT A BABY!! )

Our daughter was born the following July.

I've wanted a wee dog for years now.....about 4 to be exact. Which is precisely the age of our dog Benelli. Coincidence? Only in my dreams. I threw a hissy fit over wanting a dog and argued that I worked part time so I'd be home more than the dog would be left alone; having a dog would be a great way to teach our kids (then 6 & 4) responsibility and since we were not adding anymore 2 legged Monsters to our family, lets add a four legged one; one that could sit in our laps and lick our faces and just love us.

Mark finally agreed and we commenced to finding our forever dog.

Only someone forgot that I specifically said no puppies; no large breeds; and for god's sake can we pick a goddamn dog that doesn't shed?; so what we ended up with was an 8 week old, (red) Golden Retriever that everyone mistakes for an Irish Setter. She is the sole contributor to the tufts o' dog hair that are constantly a blowin' through my house!

Benelli was intended to be my husband's bird dog but she quickly became the family dog and has ultimately ended up being my son's best friend. They go everywhere together, sleep together, and Samuel is her staunchest supporter. He gets very upset when I refer to Benelli as a "dumb dog" and he wailed for hours when I said I was going to turn the dog into a rug after she chewed up my black, pointy toed mules (that screamed Sex in the City chic!). Benelli spent the first two years of her life in a constant battle with me over who was going to be the Alpha Bitch in this family. I prevailed the winner and I'm pretty sure it had something to do with Mark telling the dog that I am the biggest bitch she'll ever meet; and considering the fact that I can hold a grudge longer than anyone he's ever met, her recent "incident" with my favorite pair of heels did not bode well for her. Benelli's "puppy stage" lasted 3 1/2 years and consisted of shoe devouring, submissive peeing (on my hard wood floors), and an uncontrollable need to jump on people as they enter the house. Thankfully, she's grown up and learned some manners. But it took a lot of patience (of which I have little to spare), a lot of love and a firm belief in the fact that Benelli was, and is, a wonderful dog. She has imprinted on all of us. She is pack driven and if something separates her from her pack, she literally goes bat shit crazy. She's like a super-nosey Tween: sister has got to be in the middle of every one's business all the time! She loves her family and I have absolutely no doubt that if she perceived a danger, she would give up her life to protect us.

And yet I still bitch and piss and moan about all the shedding, and her stinky carcass which requires a trip to the beauty shop every 4 weeks, and her summer allergies to grass which give her "doggie hot spots" and require a trip to the vet for a Cortisone shot in her ass, and the fact that she has more emotional food issues than I do!

And I'm the dumb ass that wants another a dog. Specifically a little dog. Why? Part of it stems from the fact that I grew up with little dogs. I find them comforting; they make me all warm and fuzzy. And frankly, at 84 lbs, Benelli is too goddamn big to sit in my lap! I think KB said it best when she said: Who doesn't want something of our own; and who wants nothing from us other than to be with us and love us.

And then she made me swear that I would not dress the wee dog in sweaters of any kind!

The Monsters are on board, so long as I promise we are not getting rid of Benelli. And Mark has finally.......acquiesced. With a few stipulations. He & I need to agree on the dog and it needs to be healthy. This last caveat stems from me showing him pictures of Tilly, the one-eyed terrier (she and her one eye were adorable!) and dragging the entire family down to meet Scotter the Pomeranian, who, upon further investigation, suffered from a condition that caused his knee to "blow out" periodically (Really, what's the big deal there? You just pop it back into place!).

So. I'm looking for an agreeable little dog, who is healthy and who is also NOT a puppy. I give up when it comes to the shedding........sigh. I would prefer an older dog, 5-7 yrs, and I'd like to rescue said dog because it's positively sickening and sad that there are so many unwanted dogs in this world.

With my quest for a wee dog officially underway, I spend all my spare time trolling the local Humane Societies, Petfinder and........

Craig's List.

CL is like Facebook, but without the "friending" and "farming" (shut up, Lynda!). People can post their wares in the specific categories of CL for sale or trade; you can seek employment opportunities; seek a mate or seek out a discussion in the forum section. I'm a newcomer to the CL phenomenon and still consider myself a novice at navigating my way around it. Because of my Wee Dog Quest, I stick mostly to the Pets section.

Until last week, I was limiting myself to just the Salem CL postings for Pets. I cannot recall what prompted me to navigate to the CL Oregon page other than the thought: If I'm trolling Humane Societies and Petfinder for multiple counties and cities, why not CL? So I cruised through all the towns my family and I are familiar with and ended my troll in Portland.

On that particular day, there were over 3oo pet postings. 300! In a DAY. Lost dogs; found dogs; cats & kittens to re-home; particular animal breeds being sought. It was overwhelming. So I limited myself to only opening the posts if they included a picture of the dog. But then some of the post titles became too intriguing....such as "For the idiot who can't spell mosquito". Or, "Thanks for ruining my life re: lost dog". Apparently, there was an idiot who could not spell mosquito and this particular Craig's Lister was taking that individual to task for it and their misrepresentation about some kind of exotic fish. Whoa. The individual who's life was ruined was absolutely FIRED UP over a CL post being "flagged" and ultimately removed from the site. Because the post was taken down, he could no longer contact the people who found his lost dog. Who he'd had for 6 years...and without said dog, his life was ruined. This particular post launched a wave of consecutive posts from fellow irate Craig's Listers, all of whom are convinced that "the CL Police" are a posse of "fat women, who have no man in their lives, and have nothing better to do than to sit at home and read other people's post and 'flag' those that they don't approve of."

I'm not kidding.

And I was dying laughing.

As in hysterically.

In edition to the hostile "forums" (read: rants), there is a beavy of Craig's Listers who simply cannot spell. This not only irritates me (it's female. Not "femel".) it just furthers my belief that the notion of "It Takes a Village" to raise our children does us absolutely no fkn good when the village is a bunch of village idiots.
(Webster's. Invest in one!)

So while I have not yet found my wee dog, I have found a daily (and endless) source of entertainment for myself!

Which brings me to the Happy Ending.
(People say: Finally!)

Last night, after cruising through the Humane Societies & Petfinder, I began to troll Craig's List, saving the best (entertainment) for last. While logged into the Salem Pets, and in between a contentious dialogue on Pit Bulls as a breed, I spy this: FOUND: medium sized dog- Scio area. It went on to give a description of the dog and that it had only a collar, please call to identify collar.

That's sad. No tag or chip........ what are the odds this doggie is gonna get back to his or her owner? And Scio is in Linn County; and Salem is Marion County and so why post in Salem? That post should be in the Corvallis/Albany section.......Hmmmmmmm. Finding nothing that fit my wee dog requirements, I clicked over to the Corvallis/Albany section and there it was at the top: DOG LOST from Scio. This post gave an eerily similar description of the dog and identified the collar (blue with bubbles) and said her name was Maggie. Her people were desperate to find her, please call.

My Momma Bear instincts, coupled with my love for playing Dick Tracy, kicked into high gear and I fired off an email to both the Finders & the Losties, copying and pasting each of their posts into my email with the message: Perhaps you folks are talking about the same dog? Hope this is a happy pet reunion.

Within 10 minutes the Finder emailed me back and said the dog she'd found was indeed wearing a blue collar with bubbles and when she said "Maggie" the dog went crazy; she was calling the Losties "right now" and she thanked me for putting two and two together. I emailed her back and said I hoped it all worked out.

I looked down at Benelli, who was asleep at my feet, and thought about how even though there are days when I feel like she's more work than she's worth, her love and loyalty to this family is priceless. If something ever happened to her, my children would be devastated. And so would I. She's our constant companion, our giver of unwavering love (even when we all yell "BAD DOG!" upon discovering she's inhaled yet another loaf of bread!). I went to bed with the hope that Maggie would be reunited with her family.

This morning at 10 a.m., the Finder emailed me: "I just wanted to let you know that the post you sent me was from Maggie's owners. She will be reunited with them this afternoon. Thank you for making the effort for Maggie."

Yeah. The Snarky Brunette cried.
(Step off, Haters...... I really do have a heart!)

And then I got to thinking: Good doggie Karma..... I put it out there.....and it will eventually come full circle, and back to me........

Wee dog style!

Johnny Tyler

Do you know how hard it is to craft a post whilst being constantly interupted by wee folk?

This should paint the picture for you:
(500 Snarky Points if you know what movie I'm quoting)

"I swear, it's like I'm playin cards with my brother's kids or somethin.....you nerve-wrackin' sons-a-bitches!"


Don't judge.....and stay tuned......

Shark Attack

My Sister & Jack came to visit me last Friday. It had been a long while since we'd gathered for a visit. It's camping season, don't you know? And their family takes camping very seriously. (Whereas I......do not. Unless of course by "camping" you mean hotel and/or resort.)

Jack came in bearing gifts as they had missed the Monster's Annual Birthday Party & Family BBQ in July. I was too busy paying attention to Jack, who was attempting to carry two gift bags which equaled the size of him, so I completely missed the fact that my Sister was carrying a large rectangular box. I have only 2 Monsters, so I played coy: "Who is that adorable box for?", I ask whilst pointing to the box wrapped in red paper with white polka dots (Polka dots! I love polka dots!)

"It's for you, Sisso! Haaaaaaappy Birthdaaaaaaay!", Gina whines in her best Fran Drescher.

"I love presents!", I yell as I'm thinking to myself: my birthday is in June; I began celebrating in May; it's now August.....I've managed to stretch my birthday out 4 months.....I'm a genius! As I begin to rip into my gift Gina says: "Now wait........ you're either going to love this present or think I've completely lost my mind....... but I was wracking my brain about what to get you...... and I wanted it to be useful and I was wandering about in Tuesday Morning- you know how much I love that store! Anyway....... this just said your name....."

Now, I should tell you that my Sister and I do not share the same taste. She dresses like she just stepped from the pages of Eddie Bauer (Fall & Winter editions) and J. Crew (Summer catalog). I don't believe her foot has ever been in a high heel (she wore sparkle-y flip flops under her wedding gown....) & Chapstick is the new lipstick in Gina's world. I am Talbots to her Eddie Bauer. If I could garden in heels, I would. And in my world, the right shade of lipstick makes said world a better place (Seriously, orange-red lipstick should be outlawed!).

With this being said, and apart from the shameful hat-scarf combo incident (See.....it's a hat and a scarf.....and it has dingle balls attached to the bottom of it! People say, What?), Gina picks out the best gifts for me. Ready to be dazzled, I rip into the box and I'm greeted with these words emblazoned on the side of said box: SHARK.

No. Way.

I look over at Gina who has pressed her thin lips into a straight line and is now sitting on the edge of my couch. "DID YOU BUY ME A VACUUM?", I yell. "Cordless", she squeaks.

"I. LOVE. IT!", I scream.

Insert Gina launching herself off the couch and jumping around whilst saying: "Oh My Gaaaaaaaawd....I was hoping you'd love it.......cause you're always talking about the dog hair blowing through your house like tumble weeds and with your back, it's gotta be a drag lugging that canister vac around....and three floors! Jesus! So when I saw this I just thought you could really use something for every day (to which I look at her like, Fkn right I vacuum every day!)......or you know.........every other day.......AND IT'S PINK!"

Oh yeah it is! Behold: what every 40 year old Diva needs!

I just took my pink Shark out for her first spin and I'm in love!

-Cordless, which means me & my Shark can go anywhere.

-Bagless, which means after we spin through Benelli's main

territory all I have to do is empty the dust cup.

-Hands-free button allows me to dump disgusting dust cup
contents directly into the trash. Best. Feature. EVER!

-And folding handle not only allows for easy storage, but

my Shark can bend so that it goes directly under furniture
and it turns at 90* angles to get between chairs (and other objects I'm too lazy to move).

My Shark is a little slice of domestic heaven.

And the fact that it scares the shit out of my dog?
Bonus!

30 Days To Review Forty

In the words of my Sister:
(who couldn't be less gangsta if she tried)

Word up......YO!

It actually took me 10 minutes to come up with that........sigh. Perhaps now ya'll will cut me some slack for not bloggin'!
(KB- my finger is pointing at YOU!)

I've been vacillating on what the hell I was going to write about......it's been over a month, for god's sake! And certainly, I've got things to say.....because, hello? When am I ever lost for words? But my plate is full. And I feel incredibly pressed for time. And I'm Type A, so if I'm going to do this, I gotta do it right.......which means I refuse to log on and blog about nothing. And by nothing I mean boring shit that no one with a brain would give a rats ass about!

Like my dog, who has more emotional issues with food than I do; and who repeatedly wolfs down entire loaves of bread. Apparently, because she can. It's abundantly clear from the evidence she leaves behind- the bread sack is literally torn to shreds & can be found strewn about the kitchen- when she's been a bad girl. And no amount of verbal assault seems to assuage her from this behavior. One would think that after spending the rest of her day laying on her side; bloated & moaning, and occasionally passing some seriously foul gas, that she would learn her lesson.........

She has not. And when she raises her head from the floor and looks at me as if to say: Sister, you feel my pain, right? I reply in my sweetest, doggie num num voice: You are one dumb bitch.....yes you are!

So. Where to begin? Perhaps I should pick up where I left off........

THE SNARKY BRUNETTE IS 40!

And this year I managed to drag my birthday out for two months! I started it off in May with a trip to Vegas with my Girls (Holla! if you're certified......Whoop! Whoop!); followed by a joint birthday gathering for myself & Apple Face with our Work Crew (Gem Twins stick together!). In mid June I managed to high-jack my own surprise birthday party and with Tk & Marky's help, pulled off one hell of a gathering. Too much good food;Tk's Master Mixologist skills behind the bar & cooperative weather made for the perfect party. But what really made the day so great was being surrounded by my friends & family. I may project a lot of self confidence, but I spent alot of time worried that no one would show up. Wow. It was both overwhelming and completely self -satisfying to see that many beautiful faces in one place; and all for me.

I may or may not have required them all to tell me how fabulous I look.........

Mark spent the majority of the party making me pull my hair back so he could show off my birthday present: diamond earrings! Total weight: just over a carat. Cut: Brilliant. Clarity: VSI. Color: TWINKLY, SPARKLY! The diamonds are nearly flawless and literally blinding in the sun. They are so clear they look bigger than their actual size. They are simply gorgeous. And were a total surprise. It's a toss up over which one of us was more excited: me to get them or Mark to give them! He saved for three years and was determined that I have them for my 40th.

(Totally makes up for his constant reminders about what a dumb ass I am!)

I closed out my birthday month with a family reunion just outside of Leavenworth, WA. Or as Samuel calls it: Lemon Drop. We spent 4 days with 40 + of Mark's family and made quite the impression on the tiny town of Plain. By the end of our time there, EVERYONE knew us. I am convinced it's because of our stellar personalities and that our family- all 40 + of us!- completely charmed the towns folk. Mark says its because we looked like idiots walking around in matching shirts that said: Albert Family Reunion: "Party at the Ponderosa 2010".

To sum up: 40 has been fabulous.

With the exception of the constant reminders from Kristin that I need to update my Blogger Profile because 1) I am 40 and 2) I am old. These constant reminders are in addition to her random reminders that she hates people; the precise hour as to when cocktail hour begins and my personal favorite: what the current temperature is in BoHo. She's relentless. With the exception of her 2+ weeks in Germany, I have received a text or email (or both!) EVERYDAY telling me to change your goddamn profile, already! They started out as funny reminders; became agitated reminders (on account of her OCD issues) and are now gravitating towards hostile. I fear that if the number 39 in my Profile continues to mock her, she will hack into my account and change it for me!

I'll get around to it.

When I'm inspired.

So......given my track record for April, May and June...........in about 30 days!

High Hopes

On the eve of my fortieth birthday, I feel.......... nostalgic.

Aside from baking & frosting 44 cupcakes tonight, what have I accomplished? On the Road To Find Out, what have I learned? What does The Snarky Brunette know?

I know that when I was 18, I was bullet proof. I knew everything there was to know about whatever, and I had absolutely no filter. My world was black or white, and there was no in between.

At 40, I have learned that life's experiences can literally take the wind out of your sails and leave you free falling. I have learned that there is more of a blurring of the lines between black & white. And I am acutely aware that unlike the Me of 18; this Me knows nothing.

At 18, I could name all 50 states and their capitols.
At 40, I can nail the West; name 1/2 of the Eastern seaboard and really? Who gives a shit about everything in between?

At 18, I worked 3 jobs; was never late to any of them and survived on Coke Classic & pizza. I also weighed 120 lbs.
At 40, I work 2 jobs; I'm consistently running late to both of them and if I survived on Coke Classic & pizza I would weigh TWO HUNDRED 20 lbs!

At 18: I questioned nothing when it came to my own decisions; confident that I was, indeed, right.
At 40: I question all of my decisions.

Sigh....... on paper it appears that I've regressed. But this nostalgic exercise in reflection makes me realize that perhaps on my road to find out, I'm just coming full circle. My 20's were full of hopes and dreams and new beginnings realized with college graduation, marriage and my first child. My 30's kicked my ass: the loss of our baby and the grief that followed left me hollow and empty. Two years later Hannie came along and the hole in my heart didn't feel a mile wide. Two more years later, and Samuel arrived. And my entire existence became my love for them. You can lose yourself in your children; in your marriage; in your work. I did. I would look in the mirror and think: Who is that girl? Who are you? I had no answer.........until around three years ago, at age 37. I began to get glimpses of the Me before life knocked me around a bit. My Sister was a driving force in reuniting me with myself. Her "Since when do you care what other's think?" and "You used to be funny" speeches were finally sinking in.

So here I am...... on the brink of 40 and I think I'm getting ready to lap the Me of 18. I've always held her in high regard; and for years I thought she was the best version of me. But now..... I don't think that's the case. She's cute enough; and she's certainly thinner. She had smarts; but she had no common sense. And while she possessed a boat load of self esteem, she lacked the intellect to know how to handle herself with grace.

As I look into the mirror and see the Me of 40, I have high hopes. I hope that this decade brings me closer to peace within myself. My look is unique; I hope that I can finally embrace it and quit comparing myself to others. I hope that I can finally accept that I really can't control everything and that perhaps if I lightened up just a skoosh, I really could be cool as a cucumber. I hope that at 40, I have not missed my chance; whatever that may be. And I hope that if it comes along and the timing is right, that I'll recognize it and jump.

Because at 40, I'm smart enough. I'm good enough. And gosh darn it, who gives a shit if people like me?!

post script: For Gina. I love you for loving me........and Stuart Smalley!

Coulda Been a Conten'da!

As far as holiday weekends go, this one has blown.

For numerous reasons............which really? Who cares! It's nearly over.

I can tell you that Lynda & I have been in a quasi competition over who has had the shittier weekend.

Lynda won.

She always wins. If winning the title wasn't so pathetic, it would be awesome!

Her weekend included big boobs; rubber balls; ungrateful children; self loathing and dog shit.

Mine paled in comparison. Although I have been working on a seriously awesome Pity Party complex today. It's taken up so much of my time, Marky has run circles of accomplishments around me. Which, of course, just led me to sink farther into said Party out of sheer guilt for not accomplishing anything.

Let's recap:

I did manage to put the toilet cleaner in the toilet bowl.
(I just couldn't get motivated to actually follow up with that chore and scrub the toilet.......)

I pissed away 2 hours on iTunes, uploading new music and downloading some cds that I own. I did, however, manage to find my new theme song for work - DMX's "Party Up". Considering all I do at work of late is yell at attorneys and seriously question why I took this job, the tag line of this song is perfect: Ya'll go make me loose my mind, loose my mind, loose my mind! Ya'll go make me loose my mind, up in here! Up in here!

Hmmmmmm......considering how AWESOME it will be to play this song every time I walk out of court; the sheer joy it will bring me as I listen to the words as they wash over me....... I think this qualifies as an accomplishment.
(Totally self-serving.......but, whatever!)

I did manage to sort all of the laundry today and I've done nothing but move it from basket to washer; washer to dryer; and dryer to basket........... hey look?! That totally counts as "doing" something!

I am currently wearing the $43 flip flops I bought in Vegas- convinced I'd NEVER wear them again.......because really? Where does one wear gold lame~ flip flops, embellished with sparkly leather flowers (flowers so big they belong on a swim cap, circa 1964!)? Apparently, one wears them while waiting for One's toes to dry.

Holy hell! Three more accomplishments!
1. Wearing (shameful) Vegas flip flops (and getting my goddamn monies worth!)
2. Taking the (shamefully) chipped polish off my toes.
3. Applying new, smokin' hot, Opi, Got the Blues for Red polish on!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand, I just finished my first cocktail- vodka tonic w/ fresh blueberries. This accomplishment alone makes my day complete!

(Still doesn't trump rubber balls and dog shit, though........!)

Whuuuuump! There it is!

I've taken to bed, People.....

With a cocktail.

FINE. With my third cocktail.

So I've taken to bed, with my third cocktail....... and a broken wing.

FINE! A smashed finger.....whatever!

So I've taken to bed, with my third cocktail, a smashed finger, my lap top and a movie.

I'm not sure which is throbbing more: my smashed finger or my head-from having to listen to the Idol finale (Part Two- cause Part One wasn't torture enough?!) that my family is listening to so loudly, it's wafting through the heating vents and into my room! How the hell am I supposed to find sanctuary and comfort when I can hear some tween singing the Bee Gees through my heat vent?

THE BEE GEES!

NO ONE can sing the Bee Gees but the Bee Gees. Hello?
(Favorite Bee Gees song? I'm going to have to go with Tragedy. I can't even say it without instantly singing it: When the feelings gone and you can't go on...it's Tragedy......When you lose control and you got no soul...it's Tragedy!)

(On a Bee Gees related note: one of the BG's recorded a song with Michael Buble~ and it's amazing in its own right. How Can You Mend A Broken Heart.......check it out. It won't disappoint.)

Wait........where was I?
(Michael does that to me........sigh.......)

Right....my finger. Smashed. My left, pointer (How convenient that I fly the International Bird using my right hand? Waaaaaaay convenient!), which I smashed today in the heavy, mahogany filing cabinet in my Judge's office. It's one of those cabinets that roll really slow until the end; then it shuts with a big whuuuuuuump! My finger got caught in the whuuuuump! Which prompted me to yelp, which prompted my Judge to say: Shit! That's gotta hurt.

If the wind had not been knocked out of me, I would have concurred with a hearty F-bomb. Instead, I just mouthed the word.....huge tears welling in my eyes. Apparently I was holding my breath for I can surmise no other reason for my Judge to say: BREATHE.........! So I inhaled deeply and did my best to limit the amount of tears rolling down my cheeks.

Over lunch I iced my finger (read: ate my salad with my right hand while soaking my left pointer in a glass of ice water). Then I put a compression bandage on it (cause I knew that's what Marky would tell me to do) but after 30 minutes my entire hand felt numb and I couldn't type for fear of all the digits on my left hand shattering with each keystroke! So I eighty-sixed the bandage and iced my finger again (read: chicken pecked the keyboard with my right hand while soaking my left pointer in a glass of ice water).

Do you know how hard it is to type with only ONE hand? I managed to fk up every single letter of dictation....one of them three times! I finally sent my Judge home at 3:45p. Apparently just the sight of me, in my pathetic state, was enough for him to begin cocktail hour an hour early!

As I was leaving for the day, I ran into one of my friends. We were catching up on our respective days and I showed off my smashed finger (the nail bed a lovely shade of bluish-grey, with a big ol', black blood blister that ran under the nail, from side to side). I was immediately incensed over the fact that said friend declared my finger "not so bad" and then asked if I'd be "doing a little blogging".

My response: First of all, you should be fawning all over me, telling me how brave I am for having endured such a clearly painful event; and second of all, do you know how fkn hard it is to type with one hand?

Friend: (trying really hard to stifle laughter......at me!) I'm saying, it looks good. It's a compliment to you........Geeeeez! (I may or may not have stuck my tongue out at this point.........) So? Blogging?

To which I replied: Hello? I'm injured here....... I'm totally going to drink!

Insert Friend dissolving into fit of laughter (at me!) and saying: Pfffffffffffffffft! Like you need an excuse?!

Whatever. I totally take comfort in the fact that I'm so predictable.........!

Me, Myself & Moi~

Guess who had a game tonight and said game was rained out (again)?
Me!

Guess who's drinking?
Me!

Guess who made fun of the American Idol finale and got her ass ejected from the tv room?
That'd be...........Me!

Guess who planned that outcome perfectly and should now be referred to as The Puppet Master?
Ummmmm.....M-E!

Guess who's going to take her drink and her lap top and retire to bed so that she can watch When Harry Met Sally for the millionth time; in peace and quiet, whilst eating wee-sized Reese's peanut butter cups?

Wait for iiiiiiiiiiiiit....................:

Moi!

Well played, Snarky Brunette.......well played.

Mixed Bag

It's been 20 days since my last post.

Where the hell have I been?

Last week, when I was not hating my job & yelling at attorneys, I was recovering from my week in Vegas with KB, Tk & Lo Lo.
(Read: still hungover & utterly sleepwalking.)

The week prior to that, I was IN Vegas engaging in all sorts of Girl's Getaway Shenanigans.
(Girl Friends + Vegas + Alcohol=Shenanigans!)

The week before that, I was running around trying to get ready for my trip to Vegas.....while hating my job, yelling at attorneys & playing baseball.

(Why is it that when you are leaving for vacation, you suddenly become obsessed with the state of your unders and thusly overwhelmed by the need to purchase all new undergarments? And the more match-y match-y, the better?!

Really? No one? It's just me?!)

So given that the last three weeks have been consumed with either being IN or planning FOR or recuperating AFTER Vegas, you'd think that is what I've logged on to talk about.......

Wrong.

Have you been following People.com? Sweet Lord, Baby Jesus! Let's get to it!

First up: LOST.
The series finale aired last night and people are all sorts of wound up over it! I'd like to take this opportunity to assert that I NEVER WATCHED THIS SHOW. And given the fact that in the end, everyone on the show WAS DEAD the entire time (or some shit like that), I'm so freakin' happy I was smart enough to not waste 6 years of my TV viewing life on this fkn show.

I have one word for all the "Losties" out there.........PSYCH!

2. Bret Michaels won Celebrity Apprentice.
This fkn guy was the long shot from day one (I blame his hair extensions....they are shameful!), but week after week, he just kept "a rockin' " (I also blame his vocabulary...... Uh, Bret? This ain't the 80's and you're a grown man.....hello?).

Then, he undergoes an emergency appendectomy.

Followed by a brain hemorrhage (Ouch.).

Only to make a miraculous recovery (while wearing his hair extensions and rockin' a bandana!).....and then suffer a stroke.

Did I mention the poor bastard has a hole in his heart?

This guy puts his ass on a plane, flies to New York, limps into the finale and kicks Holly Robinson- Peete's ass all over Manhattan. All for his charity, the American Diabetes Foundation.

Cuz not only does he have no appendix; is the current owner of a hole-y heart;had his brain explode; and can now identify the signs of stroke onset- Bret Michaels has suffered from Type 1 diabetes his whole life.

Well played, Mr. Michaels.......well played.

3. Simon Monjack is dead.
(People say: Who?)

Simon was the British born, onetime screenwriter, husband of the late actress Brittany Murphy
(Lynda, FFS.....stop crying. She died, like five months ago!). He was also overweight, had a penchant for prescription drugs and rumored to be romantically involved with his mother in law.

a. Eeeeeeewwwwww!
b. Really? No one else saw this guy's demise coming?
(RIP, Simon......I gots love for the Brits.......)

4. Jesse James "wanted" to get caught cheating, but didn't want to hurt his wife.
A few thoughts:
a. Mighta kept those gems to yourself, Jess.....
b. If those were your goals, you're score is 50/50. And you failed that test.
c. You are, however, awarded some bonus points for recognizing that, indeed, you are the most hated man in the world.

I'll end on this note: Duh!, Shocker!, & Nobody Fkn Cares, Kids!
a. Miley Cyrus has announced she's not going to college.
b. Kim Kardashian admits to Botox use.
c. Joe Jonas & Demi Lovato have split.

And to think there are critics out there that actually believe People.com doesn't showcase real journalism...........Pfffffffffffffffffffft!

Who's on First?

Here's what I know:

1. I haven't had a cocktail since last Friday. And prior to that, I hadn't had a cocktail in a week!
(People say, "Whaaaaaaaat?")

That particular cocktail knocked me on my ass.

FINE! It's was five cocktails.

And I totally blame KB.
(IM-ing and sharing cocktail hour with KB apparently makes me DRUNK!)

2. We won our third game tonight. It took an inning or two for our players to settle down, but once they got in the groove, they were on fire! And speaking of fire, this Coach almost lit one under the opposing team's field coach.

Who called my player out.

Even tho he was safe by like........... a mile!

I turned to my Score Keeper to make sure I wasn't just A Chick Who Don't Know Ball, and I got the Kid was Safe nod. Which prompted me to yell: TIE GOES TO THE RUNNER, COACH!, as I'm heading out of the dugout. Which prompted Mark to give me The Look.

I hate The Look. It means I'm supposed to simmer down; or shut my yap. Or both.

In this particular instance it meant both. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand, it was a reminder that we promote Good Sportsmanship and I had 9 players with their eyes on me.

(insert me doing my best Napoleon Dynamite impression:) Uuuuuuuuuuuugh!

So I called my player off first.

And then I whipped out my tiny phone and fired off a text to Mark, who was standing on the pitcher's mound: These Coaches are LOONS! Are you kidding me with that call?

Mark's response: Our own Coach called him out.....that's why I waved you off......

To which I yelled from the dugout: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

The Snarky Brunette gets major points for the following:
1. Not pouring myself a cocktail the minute I got home from the game.
2. Not kicking the ass of my own Coach.
3. Practicing the art of Sportsmanship, even though at times......... it totally blows!

(Wish I was) High Roller

Guess who, after spending the majority of her day doing laundry & vacuuming tufts of dog hair the size of tumbleweeds, decides it would be a swell idea to wash her car at 8 pm?

Yep. ME!

Cuz that's how I roll.
(And no.....I was not drunk.)

Guess who wakes up on a Saturday morning; knowing that half her day is already blown with baseball, but still says Yes when asked this question by her husband: Hey, you wanna tear out all the carpet in the basement today?

Um.....that'd be me.

Seven hours later we have: absolutely NO flooring surface in the basement save the original 4x4 white linoleum tiles that are so frail from being glued to the cement foundation for the last 40 years, a mild sneeze will send the nearest tile airborne! On the upside, our handiwork left us with freshly scrubbed walls & windows and I managed to wash and re-hang the drapes.

Did I mention we have no flooring?

Cuz that's how we roll!

And in case there was any doubt in your mind: Guess who starts her Sunday off with a trip to the dump?

Holla! M-E!

We'd packed our truck bed with carpet & padding the night before, but for good measure we added the two HUGE arborvitae bushes that Mark had cut down last week. Once beautiful and gracefully flanking our driveway, these poor bastards never recovered from the last ice storm and were quickly put out of their misery courtesy of Poulan. With our bevy of garbage securely tied down; we were off!

To the dump.

Looking a lot like the Clampetts.

Cuz that's how we roll.

Hindsight is 20/20. Here's what I know:

1) While this weekend was highly productive, I am confident it would have been more enjoyable if I'd been drinking. Of course, then it probably wouldn't have been so productive........
Vicious circle......!

2) Perhaps one should have new flooring in the wings before tearing out one's old flooring......?

Note to self.

A Worthy Opponent

Oh Snap!

And snarrrrrrrrrky to boot!

And the bottom line is: Whether it was a question or a statement; rhetorical or not. My Plus One is funny!

Well played, D...........welllllllll played.

(And yes. In my head, not only am I The Snarky Brunette, I am Queen Snarkilicious and seriously? It goes without saying that everyone should be bowing down to me!)

(I should also be wearing a crown covered in twink-ly & spark-ly jewels. )

insert my Mother & Sister rolling their eyes and and saying in Jew-y unison: Could you be more full of yourself........? Oy!

(Yes. I really could be....................)

All about "V".....

V is for Victory!
We won our first Little League game. As Coaches, Mark & I strive to make the season FUN for the kids; teach the fundamentals of the game & emphasize the practice of good sportsmanship both on and off the field.
(And in the quiet comfort of our garage, while unloading our baseball gear, you would never find the two of us doing the "chest bump" and yelling: That team can SUCK IT!")

V is for Validation.
Or as I like to call it: Ask and you shall receive! The question: Where's Dana? The Answer: Havin' way more fun than just sittin' around reading my blog........DOH!

But see.....? Now I know. And not only do I know where she's been; I know she's still around AND she's still out there.....with me, The Snarky Brunette.
(And the fact that she ended her comment with a snarky jab at my Sister- that just proves she gets ME. And it's always about me!)


V is for Vindication.
This is the sweetest V of all given my Sister threw my ass under the bus without having all the facts first; followed by me sending her an even snarkier text than my last post (!) where I may or may not have told her she was dead to me if she didn't go back and re-read my post since it was clear from her comment SHE DIDN'T GET IT! Her immediate response was: blah blah blah, I'm a dork.

Because I am her older Sister, I felt I should take the high road and so I immediately forgave her with this loving reply: YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, YOU ARE!

And finally, V is for Vengeance.

Or rather, it could be.

If it wasn't for Kristin telling me to walk away............

Two thoughts immediately come to mind:
1. Killjoy.
2. Practicing good Sportsmanship both on & off the field will do nothing but serve you well in all areas of your life.

postscript: love you more than words, KB!

Drink to Unwind......or just drink!

Strap in, People.

I've had a shitty day; my buzz is wearing off and I have no filter.


First up: Dana.....Where TF are you?
(For those of you who don't remember {Shame......}, Dana is my Plus One. The inspiration for my post "Sally Field". My first stranger comment.)

You've been MIA for months, and frankly, my ego can't take it! I'm opening myself up to potential ridicule (What if she doesn't like me anymore? And what if she responds to this and tells everyone else how much she doesn't like me....? Shit.), but I gotta know.

What are the odds Dana's fallen and she can't get up? And it has nothing to do with me?

Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft! Who the fk am I kidding.....everything has to do with me!

Alright......next!

KB sent me the latest trailer for Sex & the City 2. Gotta say- didn't really love the first trailer. All about the Girls traipsing around the fkn desert. Who gives a shit? The show (and movie!) is called Sex AND THE CITY! But this new trailer......... that's what I'm talking about! Spoon feed me the continuing saga of 4 female relationships; toss in a few vignettes of Mr. Big (Oooooooooh, Baby. I do loves me some Mister BIG!) and suddenly the desert doesn't concern me so much.

EXCEPT AIDEN IS BACK!

I hate Aiden! (Shut up, Lynda. Seriously. Shut. UP!) Furniture making; in touch with your male feelings proclaiming; all for the love of a good woman professing; overall wearing; dog loving WEENIE! I've got two words for Aiden: Nut. Up.
(And, your name is gay. And not in the way that I admire or want to be a part of!)

Which, of course, means my ass will be planted in a theater seat, Opening Day; sporting my sexiest heels and holding the hand of Lynda. And in my perfect world, KB would be there too. Holding my other hand. Squealing right along side me!

And speaking of squealing......ok, it's more like wailing- I'm being held hostage by American Idol. Marky loves this show. And he is currently in control of the remote......and I'm apparently to fkn lazy to remove myself from the room.

I hate this show. I hate all reality shows. But this show in particular, Hate. It. Why? Usually (Carrie Underwood & Kelly Clarkson would be the exceptions), the winner has no business being called an Idol. Case in point: Fantasia.

Or, Ruben Studdard.
(Where's this fkn guy?)

Or, last season's winner......... who I remember nothing about other than he was white, married and played the guitar.

It's not about talent, but popularity. And misguided votes. And stupid ass teenagers with unlimited texting plans; who have no parental supervision and nothing better to do than text
1 800 IDOL a gazillion times in one evening.

And yet here I am. In front of the TV, critiquing the Idol hopefuls and getting all sorts of wound up over the judging. Shameful.

(I blame Mark. And the cocktails I've consumed this evening!)

And speaking of cocktails- I've been such a Good Girl these past 2 weeks.....what with my NOT drinking during the work week. Funny how the combination of a shitty day, hormones being completely whacked out (Thank You, Seasonique!) and no sense of self control can just, Poof! Throw all your hard work right out the window!

The downside would be obvious: now I gotta start all over again.
(Good thing I'm not in AA, I'd totally have to give my chip back!)

The upside would be: Booze always makes for better writing.
(Or maybe that's just the booze talking?)

Whatever.

At this point: sober living blows.

And finally, I'm beginning to question my skills as a parent. Case in point: my son, Sam. He's 7. He loves me, his dog and his weiner. In that order.

He's also really into music. He loves all genres; from Classical to Grunge. Pop to Classic Rock. He feels it; just as I do. It moves him. And, apparently, the lyrics are not lost on him either. As I'm heading downstairs, and past Sam's room; getting ready to leave for work, I hear AC/DC's "Girls Got Rhythm" coming from his room. I call out: Dude. Momma's leaving! He pokes his head out and says: Bye, Momma! I say: Best AC/DC song ever, Sam. At this moment, my son exits his room and comes to stand directly in front of me, wearing nothing but his Transformer butt huggers. With his hands on his hips and his eyebrow raised (just like his Dad!), he says out of the side of his mouth: No it's not. So I say: What are you talking about? YES. It is. And Samuel says while grabbing his crotch: Got You By The Balls, Mom! That's the best AC/DC song!

And my Mother questions my drinking..................

Keep Your Unders & Your Self, to Yourself

Just so we're clear:
Michael Buble~ is worth every penny.

And then some!

For a guy who wears a suit, owns a huge voice and is accompanied by an orchestra, he embodies the word Showman. From the moment the curtain dropped and he began the opening note of Cry Me a River, to the final song that closed his show (A Song for You)- he was a non-stop dynamo! All over the stage: singing, dancing, cracking jokes, engaging his audience members with small talk and making the near capacity crowd feel like we were part of an intimate show.

(Which, of course, just proves what a Master Entertainer he is because, Hello? He was singing to me. And only ME!)

(Ok, fine! Aaaaaaaand Lynda.)

Who, by the way, was positively adorable. Sitting in her chair, swaying to the music- she'd periodically burst into squeals of excitement if Michael happened to be addressing our side of the Garden. She would clap her hands and her face would light up with pure joy. She was the picture of serenity. Enjoying the moment.

And then there was me.

SCREAMING at the top of my lungs, either Michael's name or just in appreciation for whatever song he would sing next. SINGING (read: yelling) the words to EVERY song that was sung. CLAPPING my hands together so hard and for so long that by the time the show as over they were numb. And (I'm sure this was Lynda's favorite part) GRIPPING Lynda's arm and SCREAMING: OMG! I LOVE THIS SONG! at about every third song that was sung!

Picture of "Serenity"?
Helllllllll, no!

Picture of "That Chick is Having a Great Time!"?
Whooop , Whoop!!

I'll spare you my entire Michael Buble~ Review. And I'll refrain from posting his entire set list (this is taking some major effort on my part........You're Welcome!). But I will say this: his opening act Naturally 7 was amazing. Seven extremely gifted, African American artists who not only sing beautifully, but create the sound of music (as in the musical instruments) with their mouths. If Mike wasn't such a Master Entertainer, his opening act would have blew him outta the water! They were that good. You.Tube them, People.

You're Welcome. Again!

Finally, as my parting gift to you, I'll let you in on a few things Lynda & I learned from our MB experience:

1. Next time, we are getting seats on the floor! Two reasons. One-you have no chance of laying hands on Michael if you're in Level 2 seating, and Two- Mike encourages everyone to stand up, sing and DANCE but only those that are on the floor really do it. Why? Cuz those of us in the stands get told to sit down by the assholes seated behind us. Note to Assholes: You're at a live concert. If your lame ass is unaffected by the energy in the room, you should have stayed home!

2. If you're lucky enough to actually lay hands on Michael, don't actually lay on Michael. One chick in the Floor Section learned this lesson the hard way. The very hard way, when her ass was literally plucked from the back of Michael Buble~ and tossed aside like a rag doll into a row of empty chairs, courtesy of the GYNORMOUS bodyguard who was always 2 steps behind Mike. (Another reason MB is a Master Entertainer- his voice never wavered; and even though he is a class act, Mike has the ability to bring the excitement of The Springer Show for us all to enjoy!)

3. Michael is an engaged man. To a beautiful Argentinian actress whose name is about a 1/2 mile long and therefore, I will not be typing it. In her culture, when two people become engaged both the man & the woman wear rings. I know this because Mike shared this piece of trivia with us all last night; showed off his ring and succinctly dashed the hopes of all the Hoochies in the House who came to the show convinced they'd make it backstage and make it with Michael Buble~. (From the pink sparkly tops paired with zebra print stilettos emblazoned with a "coordinating" pink stitching; to the numerous "little black dress" numbers that were nothing more than recycled prom dresses, circa 1992.......Ladies. Your visual displays of both boobies and clothing were shameful!)

4. If you were a Hooch and didn't quite understand what Mike was telling you with the whole "I'm engaged, here look at my ring" exchange, lets hope you learned your lesson when you tossed your large, black, strapless bra onto the stage only to watch Michael punt it ten rows back and make a face that read: There's one in every crowd. (For the record, Lynda & I were highly entertained by this and it only solidified that I'd made the right choice in keeping my unders to myself!)

5. If there was a gay man in the house, he was nowhere near Level 2, Section 218! The Snarky Brunette was surrounded by a large number of Geriatric Couples; many, many That Poor Bastard was drug here Kickin' & Screamin' Couples; a few That Guy brought his Girl in the Hopes of Getting Laid tonight Couples; and the rest of the crowd was made up of alot of Girls Night Out.

...........Sigh.......... I'm never gonna find myself a 'Mo to love!

The best part of the show came at the end. In the closing refrain of A Song for You, the curtain was raised to cover the orchestra and the house lights began to come up. It was then that the spotlight found Michael at center stage, about two feet from the microphone. He'd taken his ear pieces off and unplugged his amplifier so that when he began to sing, it was a cappella and only the bigness of his natural voice was being used to carry his voice across the Garden. EVERYONE fell silent. EVERYONE was still, to hear him croon: We were alone, and I was singing this song for you...... Singing my song, I'm singing my song for you.

Fade to black and EVERYONE went bat shit crazy! The lights came back up to find Michael blowing kisses to the crowd, bowing to the center and each side of the stage; pointing to the rafters and waving goodbye to everyone. When he exited the stage, Lynda turned to look at me and found me with huge tears in my eyes. She burst into laughter, her HUGE smile making me smile in return and she said: Sister.......there is no one else who I would want to share this moment with.

Seeing my Bestest, dearest Dearest so happy- the joy radiating from her beautiful face. It was priceless. Damn.......Mike was good. But that. That was the best part of the show.