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Saturday, November 17, 2012

Share and share alike

Last night, girls night, we went to a bar called Dan's in Walnut Creek.  (I call this place The Scene of The Crime, but that's a story for another day.)  We managed to secure ourselves a table so we'd have somewhere to sit when we needed a break from dancing.  During one such break, a stumbly drunk red headed dude approached our table.  He introduced himself, asked our names and shook our hands.  His girlfriend was standing a few feet away and struck up a conversation with me.

Girlfriend:  Sorry.  He's so drunk!
Me:  Oh, no worries.
Girlfriend:  Hey, your hair is amazing!  It's red, right?  Sorry, it's dark in here.
Me:  Yes, it is, thank you!
Girlfriend:  He's (referring to her boyfriend, the stumbly drunk) the first ginger I've ever had.  We've been together 2 1/2 years.  We LOVE redheads!
Me (inner monologue on account of the speechlessness): Wait, what?
Me (out loud):  It's self inflicted, I dye it.
Girlfriend:  It's beautiful!
Me:  Thanks.
Girlfriend:  I don't want to sound weird, but you have a great rack!
Me: Oh, uh, haha, thanks, that's just Victoria's Secret!
Girlfriend:  Hey, me too!

At this point she says something to her ginger boyfriend and he introduces himself to me - again -  and shakes my hand - again.  I say, "We already met!"  He just stares at me blankly, still shaking my hand.  And I'm pretty sure the girlfriend is playing with my hair.  Yep, she's playing with my hair!  And he just smelled my hair!  I do my best to ignore all of that and with my free hand, pull my caged hand out of the ginger's and swap it with the girlfriend's free hand.  So now they're holding hands and she has stopped playing with my hair.  Then they leave.

I turn to my friends who all say some version of, "What the hell was that?!"  I relay the conversation I had with the girlfriend and say, "Um, I think they wanted to have sex with me!"  They never actually asked, but I'm thinking when I took my hand away and put their two hands together, instead of, I don't know, wrapping their hands around mine threesome style, it must have been the international sign for, "No, I do not want to have sex with you, couple."

Take note.  It could happen to you.

Monday, October 29, 2012

Grandmas say the darndest things: another batch of crazy

Grandma got some tests done and it's official: she has frontal lobe dementia.  Apparently it's a pretty difficult form of dementia and often times the "signs" aren't recognized for many years.  In other words, before you call your grandma a bat-shit crazy bitch, take her to have her brain x-rayed.  Or whatever it is they do.  Anyway, here are some more of the stories she's made up:

The house she's living in is going to be divided into 2 pieces (no, it's not).  In one half will be the old people who can't take care of themselves, you know, the kind that need help walking and wiping their own ass (people like her). In the other half will be my sister's ex-ex-boyfriend and a few of his police officer buddies, because they're going to help take care of said old people.  Not her, of course, she's going to have to move out because...wait for it...she's getting married!

Yep, she and Laurie (if you recall, Laurie is her first love and the 90-something year old man I'm trying to steal from her) are getting married!  When, you ask?  Well, when is the party?  What party, you ask?  The one my mom is throwing for her (she's not throwing a party for her) on Sunday, that's what the party is for, after all!  (Hey mom, remember that mystery party you're throwing for grandma?  It's her wedding!  You're gonna have a new daddy!  It's important that you remember that just because she loves Laurie, it doesn't mean she doesn't still love you).  Which Sunday, you ask?  She doesn't know, it's whatever Sunday comes after she moves out of the house (you know, after it gets divided into 2 pieces.  You gotta remember the details if you're gonna keep up.  If you're having trouble remembering the details you might want to have you brain x-rayed.  If this conversation made you dizzy, welcome to our world).

My favorite new story of hers is, of course, about The Ex.  You see, The Ex has been chanting my name in the middle of the night (possible, but not likely) and his new wife didn't take too kindly to that behavior, so...she shot him.  Now, I'm not saying that my Grandma's stories are premonitions, but she has always been a little clairvoyant.  Just sayin'.

Saturday, October 13, 2012

The ugly, lame, cliche dork date

            A few months ago I went on my first date in a long time.  If you haven’t heard of a free and popular dating website called Plenty of Fish, then you’re not missing anything.  I have found all manner of freaks, weirdoes, (this is how spell check wants me to spell weirdos), perverts and yes, one time, a vampire on this site.  I mean; this pool of fish has been seriously peed in.
            So when a seemingly normal, human guy emails me, I tend to give him a few moments of my attention out of pure suspicion.  I inspect his profile for grammar errors and douchbaggery, rifle through his photos waiting to find pictures of his dog, truck, boat, partial profiles of ex-girlfriends’ faces that have been poorly cropped out, and, of course, the obligatory jet ski photo that I think every guy has stolen from somewhere on the internet.
            I’m not sure who these guys think they’re fooling with these pictures.  It’s like, here’s a picture of my dog because I’m sensitive, here’s a picture of my truck because I’m macho, here’s a picture of all the cool places I’ve been because I’m well rounded, here’s a picture of me rock climbing because I’m adventurous, and here’s one tiny picture of my face 50 feet away because, well, I’m ugly.  Guys, just so you know, that’s what you’re telling us with those 11 annoying pictures of landscapes.
            But I digress.
            The seemingly normal guy was very nerdy looking.  Typically, after one look, I would ignore his email and log out.  But he had seen me at a piano bar and then recognized me on the site.  I didn’t remember seeing him at all (which was probably my first warning) but I loved the idea that someone had noticed me that I hadn’t noticed and then found me on a dating site and couldn’t pass up his chance to meet me a second time.  It was all very Nicholas Sparks.  So I let the voices in my head (thanks mom and sisters) that say stupid stuff like, “people get better looking when you get to know them, he could have a great personality, you need to give the guy a chance,” rule my decision to respond and agree to meet him in real life.  Letting those voices have a say should have been my second warning and seen as a sign of desperation.  I learned years ago after my very first post-divorce date that one should never go on a date just to go on a date but, unfortunately, I have a loud family and their three voices drowned out my one.
            We agreed to meet at a wine bar.  Casual.  Not as big a commitment as dinner, but not as lame as coffee (I don’t consider coffee to be a date, anyway.  Buy me a real drink, jackass).  I kept trying to forget that he wasn’t attractive at all in his pictures and telling myself that maybe he’s just not photogenic.  Partly because it made me feel superficial to care so much about what he looked like and partly because…well, let’s be honest, I just didn’t want to feel superficial; regardless of whether or not I was slash am.
            As soon as I walked in the door I wanted to run back out.  He was uglier (apparently spell check doesn’t recognize that as a word) than his pictures and nerdy had changed to dorky.  Nerdy can be cute, sometimes sexy, because nerds are smart.  Even geeks, with their real life video game battles have potential when they’re in costume, but dorks are just…dorks!  There’s no helping them.
            I didn’t run away.  He could see me.  I may be an asshole, but I do my best to limit my assholish acts to those I could stand having done back to me.  I would never want someone to take one look at me and run while in my path of vision.  So I powered through.  As I walked up to him he got up from his seat, flung one arm out for a half hug and said, “Happy hump day!”  I wanted to punch myself in the face.  Why had I agreed to this stupid date!  You know why?  Because I’m a lunatic!  When I hadn’t been on a date in several months and was feeling desperately low and insecure, I let the voices talk me into this date when I knew it was a bad idea.  Now that I was on the date, I was highly overconfident and couldn’t stop wondering how someone as beautiful and overall fantastic as I could be on a date with such an ugly, lame, cliché dork.  Yeah, I like to call it “passionate” not “crazy.”
            He continued to dig himself deeper by saying stupid shit, like, “I thought the Lollipop Guild was a club in San Francisco for midgets.”  Yes.  He actually said those words.  I was flabbergasted; caught between hoping he was messing with me and scared that he wasn’t.  My response went something like this, “You…the...what?...that’s…it’s…the Lollipop Guild is from The Wizard of Oz!  And I don’t think you’re supposed to say midget.”  I don’t know what my face was doing during this stammer but I don’t have a very good poker face, so it couldn’t have been kind.  He said, “Well, I know that now because I actually offended someone once asking if it was a club in San Francisco.”  Oh.  My.  Gosh.  I may have said that, I may have just stared at him like he was an idiot.  I may have done both.  Sometimes I have no filter and sometimes I’m shocked into silence.  Finally, I just laughed at him and then apologized for laughing at him and he said, “No, you should be laughing, it’s funny, that’s why I told you.”  That was when I knew he wasn’t messing with me - he didn’t realize that I was laughing at him, not with him.
            It didn’t get any better after that and I managed to get out of the date early (I scheduled the date before dance class so I had an excuse to leave if it sucked. Which it did.  I’m a genius.  You can learn a lot from me).  I didn’t let him pay for my champagne flight or walk me to my car and he was wise enough not to call me ever again.
            Later, when I told my sister the story, I said, “He just kept saying stupid, annoying shit like,
            “What’s your gig?” 
            “Um, my gig?” 
            “Yeah, what do you do?” 
            “Oh.  I have a really dumb job, I’m a receptionist.” 
            “That’s not a dumb job, I’m a babysitter.” 
            “You’re a babysitter?” 
            “Yeah, I babysit all the salespeople who work under me.”  
You know, because he’s so important that he has people who work under him.  Way to work that into the conversation.  I seriously think guys only ask us what we do so they can tell us what they do.  But anyway, I just kept looking at him and thinking, all the shit you’re saying maybe wouldn’t sound so stupid and annoying, might even sound cute and funny, if you had a different face.  Ya know, just get a different face?”

            And that is the ugly truth, my friends.  Pun intended.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Chapter 24, or The Lovely Liotta

            My name change had gone through almost exactly a year after The Ex left [June 2009], so I felt that such auspicious timing should be rewarded with a party.  Are you shocked?  I had what I called my Name Change Party (there’s no such thing as a bad party title).   I sent out an Evite saying this:
Hello, my name is Jen Liotta.  Would you like to come to my party and meet the new me?  I'll have snacks and drinks, games, karaoke, or we can go bar hopping if that tickles your fancy (we have bars in Chino Hills now!).  Whatever we do it'll be awesome because I'm a Liotta again!
I went to Costco and Bevmo to get snacks and mixers for cocktails.  My plan was to name everything after me (an all about me party, I’m a genius).  I put place cards by all the appetizers.  I had pesto and liotta Brie, chipotle liotta mini tacos, beef and cheese quesadiliottas, and sweet liotta cakes.  I made two signature cocktails, one that represented me and one that represented The Ex.  For his drink I wanted to make some version of an Adios Mother Fucker.  Appropriate, no?  I called it the Death to The Ex.  And for my drink I wanted something dainty and delicious, just like me (what, I don’t come across as dainty?).  I called it the Lovely Liotta.
            The day of the party I sent an email to everyone I knew saying this:
Okay family and friends, I finally got myself a new email address!  Drum roll please.........


     No more lame “The Ex” email address, and the Name Change Party is tonight!!!  Featuring two drinks: The Lovely Liotta, and the Death to The Ex!  Don’t be jealous that I’m totally creative.
     If you want to send me an email telling me how awesome you think I am, please do not reply to this one.  Use the fantastic new address above!


My dad responded with this:  
Awesome party drink names.  What is in them?  Let me suggest that the Lovely Liotta be a sweet, tasty, and caring drink that will make you feel good, while the Death to The Ex should be just fun enough to try, containing the latest mix of rebellious booze that will leave its taste in you for several years, and then suddenly leave without reason.  Love you, Dad.
I almost peed my pants laughing.  I decided to write those descriptions on note cards and place them in front of the punch bowls.  The description of the Death to The Ex was the hit of the party.
I made my friends in attendance wear name tags that said, “Hello, my name is” and then their first name followed by my last name.  Midway through the party I made them all take out their cell phones and change my last name.  Then it was time to play games.  We broke out the Wii and everyone laughed at me while I kicked ass at Dance Dance Revolution.  I guess I looked funny Dance Dancing in a dress, but not as funny as I looked playing Twister in a dress.  I tried to go change into shorts but my friends would not have that.  They were like hell no, you’re playing in that dress and we’re going to take pictures.  So I was like, fine.  They’re the ones that had to stare at my fat ass.

                              In case you can't tell, my ass is in my friend's face.  Ha to the ha.

          I am thankful to my friends for celebrating my new slash old name like they were ringing in a new year.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Annoying encounters: 2

I had a date night with my sister recently and towards the end of the evening I got hit on.  She went to the bathroom and a man who looked about 70 years old (I'll admit he couldn't have been 70, but he looked a lot older than my dad, who is 64) took her seat.

Me:  (Practically throwing myself on her chair before he can) Oh, sorry, this seat is taken.

Old Man:  (As he sits in the chair) It's okay, don't panic.

Me:  (With a slightly annoyed smile) My sister is sitting there, see - this is her stuff, she's just in the bathroom.

Old Man:  (Not deterred) I know, I saw her go to the bathroom.  That's why I came over here to talk to you.  I had to tell you, I think you're beautiful.

Me:  I think you look like my grandpa!

Old Man:  (laughing)  I probably do!

Me:  And you smell like him, too!  What is it about old dudes that they all smell the same?

Old Man:  Well, if you can smell it, that's a good thing!

Me:  (What the fuck does that mean?)  Uh, ha ha ha.

Old Man:  Don't worry, I'm harmless.

Me:  (laughing) Oh, I'm pretty sure I could take you down like that (snap my fingers)!

Old Man:  (returned laughter) My 83 year old mother could take me down like that!

Me:  (courtesy laughter while hoping we're finally done)  Oh, there's my sister!  Nice meeting you.

He could've walked by, tapped me on the shoulder, said, "Hey, you're beautiful" and then went on his way like sweet old men do, but he actually waited for my sister to leave and then sat down and made himself comfortable!  A behavior more suited to creepy old men.  He had balls, though.  Gotta give him that.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Grandmas say the darndest things

So, my grandma has officially lost her marbles.  She has left the building.  Literally, in fact, because she now requires 24 hour care.  She poops almost uncontrollably, talks to people who aren't there (and some who don't actually exist) and has been diagnosed with the big D - Dementia.  Being the kind of person who would rather look for the funny than dwell on the sad, I'd like to highlight some of her more humorous rantings.

Here are some of the ideas Grandma has gotten into her head lately:

1.  My sisters are having a double wedding (one sister is engaged, one is single - Grandma didn't tell us who the single sister is marrying and I'm sure said sister would like to know).
2.  My older sister is pregnant (she's not so much pregnant as she is NOT pregnant).
3.  My dad died.  He had heart surgery and didn't make it (he's alive and kicking so, naturally, now we tease him about his tiny dried up little heart).
4.  (And this is the best one) The Ex died and I needed to make money so I moved to LA and became a prostitute (To semi-quote Chelsea Handler: I'm not a prostitute - I don't charge people!).  And as if that wasn't enough?
              4a.  I brought my sister's ex-boyfriend with me to LA because he needed to make money, too.
              4b.  I am trying to steal her boyfriend.  She's been talking a lot about her first love (one day my uncle found her with a packed suitcase and when he asked where she was going, she said, "Laurie is coming to pick me up.  We're going to Vegas."  Did I mention that she's 92 years old?) so once, when I was visiting her, I asked for his last name and suggested we look him up and find him (the Nicholas Sparks romantic in me wanted to see her reunited with her first love 70 or so years later), to which she responded, "Oh, he's here.  He could be under this table right now, but no one will bring him to me."  Then, after I left, she told my aunt, "That Jennifer Liotta, she's after Laurie."  (Well, I am in the market for a man in his 90s.)

I read something somewhere that said, statistically, a husband will die six to 18 months after his wife dies.  I couldn't find anything that said how long a wife would survive after the death of her husband, but my Grandpa died 10 years ago and Grams is still kicking and screaming.  Literally.  She told one of the nurses (who she thinks is her maid/butler/cook), "I'm going to tell my son to fire you!  I don't need you here and if you don't leave me alone I'm gonna punch you in the face!"  Can you blame her?  It's so hard to find good help to wipe your ass these days.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Dumb Detox, Day 28!

I did it!  28 days no refined sugar, no gluten, no red meat, no dairy, no ALCOHOL!

At work today, people kept asking me what I'm going to do now.  As if I just won the Superbowl.  I don't plan on changing much dietary-wise.  But come Friday night, I am retoxing cocktail-wise.  

With the exception of Parmesan withdrawals the first couple times I ate rice pasta and the high probability of eating my own arm if I hadn't gotten to eat chicken when I did, I really didn't have any cravings.  I put all my forbidden foods on the top shelf of my refrigerator with the intent to take them to my parent's house.  Of course, my lazy ass never ended up doing that, so it all just sat there.  Eggs, four different kinds of cheese, 9 grain sourdough bread, turkey bacon...and I never even noticed them!  Never got tempted.  My hippie sister says it's because eating the foods causes the cravings - so if you don't eat them, your brain no longer thinks it wants them.  

I was told a long time ago (by one of those emails my mom forwarded to me) that if you're craving chocolate it means your body needs Magnesium, so you should eat an apple instead.  I was like, yeah, my body may want magnesium, but my mouth wants chocolate.  And you know what doesn't taste like chocolate?  A fucking apple!  My hippie sister laughed at me when I told her that I haven't craved chocolate at all during this 28 day process and, coincidentally, I have been eating apples on the regular. 

I ate quite often, filled up fast, found I wasn't as hungry as usual and lost 9 pounds total.  Hippie sister was like, "Isn't it amazing how different your body reacts when you give it food it can actually digest?"  Alright, I think I've rebelled long enough.  There might be something to this healthy eating business.

Here are some dumb lessons I learned on this dumb detox:

1.  You do have to drink to have fun - if  you go to a bar.
2.  You'd be surprised the things you can do - or not do - when you're afraid your hippie sister is going to get even more skinny than you.
3.  Detoxing makes you poop a lot.  And I already poop a lot.
4.  After being miserably bloated, you do get that burst of energy that people talk about - and it turns you into an asshole who says the kind of annoying, positive, motivational shit you used to enjoy making fun of.
5.  Rice bread tastes like cake...if cake tastes like cardboard.

28 down, 0 to go!

Thanks for taking this journey with me!  I hope you enjoyed a few cocktails while reading.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Dumb Detox, Days 25-27

On the eve of the final day of this dumb detox, I can't help but think that in about 27 hours...I can have WINE again!  I want to pour wine in my food and in my mouth.  (I may not even take the time to use a glass.)  I want to take a wine shower and wash my hair with drinkable wine shampoo.  I want to sit in a bathtub full of wine while sipping a glass of wine.  I would have wine for breakfast on Thursday morning if I didn't have to go to work.  Hmm, maybe I should call in sick.

27 down, 1 to go!

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Dumb Detox, Days 22-24

This weekend I met some friends at the local piano bar.  I couldn't eat (or drink) there, so I had to plan ahead.

Since I can't have beef yet and I'm not sure if bison (Buffalo...Buff...Tatonka) counts as a game meat, I thought I would be clever and make a meat loaf out of ground chicken.  It was not clever.  I couldn't put eggs, bread crumbs or wine in it, and chicken is not very fatty, so it ended up tasting mostly like cardboard with a hint of garlic.  Note to self: don't try to be clever with ground chicken. And don't buy ground chicken.

Anyway, when my friend asked if I'd like to go I was like, sure!  I can't drink, but I can still be awesome!  The thing is, a bar is a very different place when you don't get to drink.  I mean, even when you're the designated driver you can have a drink or two early in the night and be fine to drive home by the time 2am rolls around; and you have something to hold and sip throughout the night.  When you can't drink you just sit there, disdainfully watching all the drunk idiots, wishing you were a drunk idiot, too.

The one thing that doesn't change is the people watching.  Drunk or sober, it is always entertaining to watch cougars pretend they are not dancing that way (you know what way I mean - hips shifting slowly side to side, one arm up, the other holding a drink, head gently nodding to the music and busting out a WOO! every now and again) for the male twenty-something audience.  The sad thing is, there's a strong possibility that will be me in the not too distant future.  I mean, let's face it, I'm not getting any less single.  Here's what I've learned about how to be a cougar:

1.  Your face doesn't have to be all that pretty, you just have to wear enough make up that it looks pretty from across the bar (I believe this is know as the full on Monet, the 50 yard fake out, and/or the butterface).
2.  You must have a rockin' 25 year old bod that doesn't go with your obviously 45 year old face.
3.  You must dress like a 25 year old to go with your rockin' 25 year old bod that doesn't go with your obviously 45 year old face.
4.  You must dance like you're in a sorority.

I'm working on the healthy rockin' bod first.  24 down, 4 to go!

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Dumb Detox, Days 19-21

I've been so excited about getting to add meat back into my diet that for the last 3 days I've been maybe - possibly - deliriously - happy.

Happy Meatday!  Chicken in my salad!  Chick, chick, chick chicken in my salad!  Ground turkey in my marinara!  Ground turk, turk, turkey in my marinara!  It's a B-E-A-Utiful day, isn't?

Is Bison considered a game meat?  Or does it not count because it's red?  Although, lamb is red and it counts.

(sister) Excellent question, you can eat lamb and really how different are lamb and bison?! ha!

I know, lamb and buffalo are practically synonymous!  Well, and it says all "game meats," doesn't that mean all the weird shit like lamb?  Maybe I'll wait, just in case.  They have lamb shanks and lamb loins...I wouldn't know what to do with either of those.  How cute, you can buy AH loin!  I don't even own AH loin, let alone many loins that would necessitate an entire lamb.  What am I gonna do with a lamb loin?

Hey, let's go to Sprouts to get the ingredients for the chick pea - sweet potato hippie burgers.  Then I can get some gluten free hippie bread and taste free hippie snacks!

Dude, seriously?  I think chicken gives me gas!  I put 3oz in my salad and I'm tootin' like a MoFo!  Hoping they're residual vegetable toots.  Don't want to give up chicken!  But ya know, where's the logic in that, anyway?  No one would ever say, "Vegetables give you rich, stinky gas and turn your shit green?  You should probably stop eating those!"  Although, I wish someone would.  Oh, le foof.

21 down, 7 to go!

Monday, August 20, 2012

Dumb Detox, Days 16-18

We got to add back nuts* and beans (or legumes - if you're feeling fancy).  This weekend was all about nuts* for me.  And because I have the sense of humor of a 12 year old boy, every time I say the word 'nuts'* I think of male genitalia.  And I laugh like Beavis and Butthead.

I brought apples, celery and almond butter with me to work on Friday for my snacks and then carried on the tradition Saturday and Sunday.  I didn't really explore the bean department - not when I had so many delicious nuts* around!

When I eat the almond butter, I have to keep a tablespoon on hand (I even brought one to work) so I am sure to measure my servings.  I need that kind of control.  Otherwise, my apple wedges and celery stalks become edible spoons for to shovel almond butter into my face hole.

So far, I'm not having any bad reactions.  I don't think I'm allergic to nuts*.  Unless we are talking about male genitalia, in which case I will definitely say I'm allergic to nuts* if it means I have to keep my face far away from them.

18 down, 10 to go!

*hehe, nuts

Friday, August 17, 2012

Dumb Detox, Days 14 & 15

The ass flush week is over and we get to add things back to our diet now - starting with gluten free breads, cereals and starches and dairy-free dairy products (made from rice - not soy).

Day 14:

I am such a happy camper today!  I had a half serving of oatmeal for breakfast with my shake (wasn't hungry enough for a whole serving!) and brought a salad and rice pasta with marinara to work.  I made the marinara last night and it was really had not to put wine in it - or MEAT for that matter - but it's still pretty damn good if I do say so myself.  It could use some Parmesan...ahh cheese...Anyway, I blended avocados into the salad dressing (The Magic Bullet - best purchase ever) to make it all creamy.  I'm so creative!

Oh em gee.  I couldn't finish my pasta.  Not because it didn't taste good.  But because I am FULL.  What?  Huh?  Yeah!  I'm full!  Okay, so maybe I served myself 2 portions of pasta and I only ate 1 and a half...but where I come from, that's called PROGRESS, sister!  I would please like a medal or reward of some kind?  K, thx.

I couldn't finish my dinner pasta either!  I have an extra serving for tomorrow!  This is totally whack.  Sup with the whack detox, sup!

Day 15:

I added arugula to my salad today.  Totally spiced it up.  And I have a new way of cooking broccoli and green beans.  I kinda copied the idea from Buca.  I saute them in olive oil and lemon juice with garlic and a little salt.  They're crunchy (said like Giada with a strong R) and delicious!

Can't wait for tomorrow - we get to add back nuts and beans!  Wow, that may be the dumbest thing I've ever been excited about.  Well, probably not, but let's not go there.

15 down, 13 to go!

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Dumb Detox, Days 11-13

This string of texts is what happens when you go an entire week eating only fruits, vegetables and rice:

Me:  Dude, yesterday was painful.  I think my rice went bad.  It had a weird sour taste.  And my roasted vegetables turned out nasty.  I tried just Italian seasoning like you did, but instead of tasting delicious like yours it tasted like dirt and sticks were sprinkled on my veggies.  I clearly didn't drown them in enough oil so when I go home I sauteed them with garlic.  They only got a little better, not a lot.  Sad face.  I need meat!  Both kinds, if ya know what I mean.  This full body detox is really putting a damper on my slutty urges.

Sister:  haha, that is awesome!  I mean it's not but it is.  I made more dumb vegetables last night but I also made some dumb broccoli so at least I'll have a different dumb flavor in my dumb mouth!

Me:  hahahaha!  I had already added dumb broccoli to my dumb vegetables.  I jumped the dumb gun!

Me:  P.S.  I did not enjoy my turnip.  I don't know if I picked a bad one or cut it wrong or maybe it was parsnip I liked last time because my turnip tastes like sour ass.  How's yours?

Sister:  I'm worried about the turnip.  I didn't like the way it smelled when I cut it yesterday...I'm nervous about it.  I'll let you know in a bit when I eat it.

Me:  It's interesting.  I am extremely hungry right now, my stomach was growling a moment ago, but as soon as I start to fork up some salad I become painfully full.  I'm beginning to think vegetables are  the devil.  Maybe I need to start drinking my veggies like the guy in that documentary.
       Yep.  Just took a bite and it activated my gag reflex.  Wretched micro-nutrient rich foods!

Sister (regarding turnip):  It tastes like butt cauliflower to me.

Me:  Butt cauliflower?  As opposed to foot cauliflower?  Or fart cauliflower?

Sister:  haha, as opposed to regular cauliflower.

Me:  Gross.  That's the worst kind!  haha

Yes, these are the kinds of conversations we have.  Sometimes it's like we're drunk, except neither of us has had a drop of alcohol in over 2 weeks.  

Tomorrow we get to add back things like rice crackers, rice pasta, rice cakes, oatmeal and other gluten free, bland starches/bread/cereals.  I'm pretty impressed that I made it through days 7-13 without getting fired from work/friends/family or life in general.

13 down, 15 to go!

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Dumb Detox, Days 8-10

Day 8:
(On dressing up to see Les Miserables) 
How come I'm thinner than I was when I bought this dress, yet it feels tighter than it used to around my waist?  Oh, right, because I'm bloated.  Stupid fiber!

Day 9:
(On my private dance lesson)
We're doing cha cha today?  I don't know if that's a good idea.  I'm rockin' a major fiber baby right now and I can't be responsible for what might come out if I shake it too much.  Damn fiber!

Day 10:
(On existing)
This morning I weighed myself.  Then, an hour and a half later, I pooped and weighed myself again.  I pooped a pound!*  A whole pound!  And yet, I'm so bloated that if I was in a plane and we had to prepare for an emergency water landing, I could use myself as the floatation device.  I'm a bloatation device!  F*ck you, fiber!

10 down, 18 to go!

*I'm such a delicate flower.  It's weird I'm still single.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Dumb Detox, Days 3-7

Days 3 through 6 whizzed by.  I pushed through the weekend like a rock star.  My Aunt and Uncle had a going away party and I brought my own food and a Nalgene full of water that I refilled about seven times throughout the evening.  I think I peed at least that many times. 

I made one of the soups from a recipe provided by The Almighty Detox (that's the name I made up for the imaginary soul behind this dumb detox) and brought it to work with me on Monday.  It was bland and disgusting and it kinda looked like vomit.  I had more to bring with me on Tuesday, but I fed it to my garbage disposal and brought rice cakes with almond butter instead - which was delicious aaaaand nutritious.

With the exception of feeling a kind of bloated I have never known before, and looking mildly pregnant due to said bloating, this dumb detox hasn't been so bad.

Today is day 7.  I think it can be best described through this series of text messages to my sister:

Just sent you an email with a recipe for gluten free rice crackers.  But they don't have rice in them.  Don't know why they're called rice crackers.  Anyway, how's day 7 going for you so far?  I made a giant batch of rice this morning.  And by giant, I mean I could probably feed China.  I think I might hate rice after this week.

Sister's response: Let's make them!  This weekend we can shop at Sprouts and make rice crackers from scratch!  Hey, I got a question...when did we turn into hippies?!

Seriously, we need to stop washing our hair, start rubbing crystal rocks on our pits and wear clothes made from hemp.

For lunch today I have a salad of lettuce, tomato, avocado, green beans and boring "healthy" salad dressing accompanied by rice with avocado.  So far, so good.  I can totally do this for 7 days.  Because I'm a rockstar.  And because I'm not creative enough to think of another meal using only vegetables, fruits and rice.  And because I'd rather be hungry than fat.

Dinner was a smoothie of dumb detox powder, strawberries, blueberries and banana, a plate of rice with avocado, and roasted vegetables...except I got full before I could eat the roasted vegetables.

My stomach hurts.  I'm hungry and full at the same time.  I hate rice, I hate vegetables and I hate, I hate, I HATE salad dressing!  6 more days of this?  I might scratch my face right off of my face.

7 down, 21 to go!

Friday, August 3, 2012

Dumb Detox, Day 2

Oatmeal was better today.  I added a teeny bit of vanilla rice milk and heated the bananas in the oatmeal so they got all mushy.  I'm calling it cinnamon banana oatmeal deluxe.  I'm sure no one has ever thought of doing that.  I'm so creative.  I could totally be a chef.

Apparently my hummus and rice cracker lunch wasn't enough to keep the cranky down.  I was ranting about a customer to three of my coworkers when suddenly one interrupts me and says to the other two, "Wait a minute - just so everybody knows - she's detoxing!"  It was hilarious.

Added chicken to the pasta and beans tonight.  It was good but it wasn't cheese.  Throughout my entire meal I had to make a conscious effort to believe I didn't want cheese.  But I did.  A whole lot.  I think alcohol may not be the hardest thing for me to go without for 28 days.  I think it might be cheese. 

Oh yeah, tried Trader Joe's almond butter with flax seeds.  After stirring it for what seemed like half an hour, and getting a much-needed arm workout, I discovered it was quite delicious!  But I don't get why it's better for me than peanut butter.  Same amount of calories per serving, same amount of fat, same everything!  What do they got that peanuts ain't got (besides courage)?

The courage remark was a reference to the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz.  And the answer to my question was that peanuts cause inflammation...which results from white blood cells dying off to heal the body...which are needed to defend the body from toxins...which explains the point of a dumb detox.  See how things come round full circle?

2 down, 26 to go!

Dumb Detox, Day 1

Throughout my first day (yesterday) of this dumb detox/cleanse thing, I sent my sister (who is my dumb detox team mate) a series of text messages:

Day 1: So far, so good.  Altho, I need sweetener for my oatmeal.  Cinnamon is about as sweet as my shoe.  Do you recommend Stevia or brown rice syrup...or something else?

Now that you mention it, I remember the one time I tried Stevia I wanted to scratch the top layer of my tongue off to remove that nasty flavor. Can one purchase Truvia at a grocery store?

So, the rice crackers aren't the worst thing I've ever had in my mouth!  I was  pretty impressed.  They make hummus with tomato and avocado slices seem like a meal!  Trader Joe's garlic hummus is not the best.  Good thing I put olive oil* and balsamic vinegar in it.  I still ate almost the entire container and I have 735 calories** left for dinner and a shake.  So far I'm rockin' day 1!

The pasta and beans wasn't half bad!  Of course, it could have used a little wine (as could have my mouth) and I wanted to pour cheese on top of it so badly it made my face hurt.  But I powered through like a champ!

Day 1 ended with dance class, so I was extra successful on accounta eating healthy and exercising in the same day.  1 down, 27 to go!

*Yes, olive oil is one of the acceptable fats
**I'm not required to count calories, I'm doing it partly out of habit and partly out of curiosity.

Thursday, August 2, 2012


I have decided to do one of those dumb detox/cleanse things with my sister.  Originally, I was going to opt for 10 days of hunger and crankiness, but then I remembered that I was very popular in June and July and along with the lovely memories, I packed on five big ones.  So, I decided to dive in and go for 28 days of hunger and crankiness.  (I know these dumb detox/cleanse things aren't designed for weight loss, but let's face it, nobody puts themselves through that kind of misery without losing weight.)

No refined sugar, no dairy, no red meat, no gluten, no alcohol.  I know what you're thinking:  what CAN you eat?  Well, I'll tell you.  Healthy stuff.  Again, I know what you're thinking:  what's healthy stuff?  Well, I'll tell you...good question.  Luckily this program comes with a list of acceptable foods.

I went to my local Trader Joe's - my health food store of choice.  There's a Whole Foods closer to my apartment, but I'm afraid of the people who shop at Whole Foods.  They can smell the cheese made from cow's milk, and not soy, on me from a mile away.  They look at me like I'm a human pesticide sprinkling my sin all over their organic Garden of Eden - and stood in the produce section, like a dummy, with the list.

The thing is, I eat fruits and vegetables on the regular.  But for some reason, probably because I'm limited to a list and have to follow a bunch of rules, I felt like I'd never bought food before.  I was like, what is this?  Frewit?  Oh, it's pronounced "froot"?  So the "I" is silent.  Tricky.  Vegetables, huh?  They're mostly water, right?  So, I'd probably need to eat, like, a bucket of them before I get full?  Do you sell them by the bucket?  How about by the barrel?

The no gluten part is the most fun.  Everything has to be made from rice.  Rice milk, rice pasta, rice bread, rice crackers, rice cakes (which, as we all know, are not actually cakes. That name is very deceiving).  So I'm trying to find all these rice products (and I look like I'm lost in a library - head up, mouth open, eyes wide, gazing like I have a purpose but, really, I don't know what the hell I'm doing and cursing the Dewey decimal system) when I come across circles of cardboard wrapped in plastic.  Oh, those are rice cakes?  You eat those?  You don't use them as a shim under a table that's standing on an uneven surface?  Interesting.  I am learning so much today! 

One hour and $111 later, I had all kinds of healthy crap that will hopefully last me more than a week.

28 days.  Wish me luck!  Be supportive, not honest.  Unless your honesty is supportive.  I hope you're ready to take this journey with me!

Monday, July 23, 2012

Chapter 23, or Name change process, part 2

 It's been a while since I threw a chapter from the book in here, so let's go back in time again...

            When my social security card arrived with my new slash old name, I handled it surprisingly well.  It helped that my roommate was there and fixed me up with a big glass of wine.  I took out a pad of paper and practiced writing my new slash old name about one hundred times before attempting to sign my new social security card.  When I started to get teary, she’d yell at me and gave me more wine.  We are nothing without our girlfriends.
            A couple days later I took my new social security card, my old driver’s license and my divorce decree with me to the DMV (See, you can do something old, something new, and something blue for divorces, too).  I decided to try the same trick I used with the Social Security office and get there a half hour before it closed.  My plan worked, I only had to wait about twenty minutes.  The lady told me I’d receive my new license in about a week. 
            When I got home I made a list of all the companies with whom I needed to change my name.  There were my utilities, Bank of America, Chase, and my passport.
I also needed to change my name with my car insurance, health insurance (and I needed to get my own health insurance), and because I got the house in the divorce, I needed to change my name on the homeowner’s insurance, the deed and the loan.  The only name changing I could do without my new license was with the utilities, credit card and bank accounts.  I ended up getting a new credit card and closing out the old one.  I always wanted a credit card that earned me Disney dollars and The Ex never let me get one, so that was the first thing I did.
            When I got my new license I was able to change my name and policy on my car insurance and I ended up getting health insurance later through my roommate.  The biggest pain in my ass was the house stuff.  I had to change my name on the deed before I could change it on the insurance or the loan.  To change the deed I had to go to the courthouse in San Bernardino on a certain day between certain hours.  The whole idea of the process gave me a headache.  And then one day I was explaining it all to my Attorney’s paralegal and she said, “Oh, do you want us to take care of that for you?”  Uh, yes please.
            After that was completed (two weeks later) I could submit a copy of the new deed, the divorce decree, the settlement agreement (saying the house is mine) and my social security card to my homeowners insurance so they could change my name and remove The Ex’s name.  After that was completed I could submit all the same paperwork plus the new homeowner’s insurance (and some money) to Bank of America to have them change my name on the loan. 
            The whole house stuff process took several months, actually, and there were times I wished I had made The Ex keep the house.  He sent me a few angry emails when he was impatient with the process.  As if I wasn’t impatient with the process?  I had been working on making the necessary changes for months.  Every week I was dealing with social security offices or DMVs or lawyers or insurance agents or loan agents or any other kinds of agents you can imagine.  Every week I was reminded that I was divorced.  Every week my life turned upside down.  Every week at some point, I cried.  And what was he doing?  He was fucking his girlfriend.  It must have been a really rough time for HIM.  I can’t imagine the pain HE must have gone through.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Nonline dating: where subtlety goes to die

The following is a text conversation I had this morning with a guy I met on

Him:  How goes the ballroom dancing?

Me:  It goes well.  How goes the telling me whose number this is? :)

Him:  Drew (Yes, that's his real name.  Because fuck him.)

Me:  Ah, I suspected.  8am on a Sunday?  We need to work on your timing :)

Him:  Sorry.  Hungover?

Me:  Haha, nope.  It's just my last day to sleep in for five more days because of that dumb "real job".

Him:  What's that?  So no drinks and bad decisions soon?  Lol

Me:  It's super dumb is what it is!  It's totally ruining my life - except for the being able to pay rent and buy stuff part.  And haha, not so much!

Him:  Boo. :(

Me to myself:  Did he say boo because I said not so much in response to no drinks and bad decisions soon?  Surely he isn't propositioning sex in our first text messaging session - on a Sunday morning.

Me to him:  I think you're on the wrong site if that's what you're looking for.  Or maybe you're on the right site, you just picked the wrong girl.  Sorry.

No response.

Apparently, he was propositioning sex in our first text messaging session on a Sunday morning.  Impressive.  More impressive than his looks and height, that's for sure.  He's the kind of average that doesn't go with that kind of audacity.  And, come on, if you want me to surrender my vagina this early in the game, have some class and get me drunk first.  Jeez.

Ladies out there on, watch out for BacktoCA12.  He just wants to get laid.  Unless, of course, you also just want to get laid.  In which case, look up BacktoCA12.  Be sure to tell him I sent you and I'm expecting a finder's fee.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Practically poorfect in every way

Today I deposited my very last alimony check.

My 3 ½ years of alimony are over.  Am I where I thought I’d be in 3 ½ years?  No.  But to be fair - did I have a plan of where I was going to be in 3 ½ years?  No.  I’ve had a lot of ideas.  I’ve had a lot of big dreams.  But, a plan?  Not so much.  (I’m pretty sure I need to get one of those.  Can you shop for those online?)
On this day, which I shall forever dub as The Day I Became Poor, I don’t have hateful and hurtful things to say to The Ex.  Surprisingly, I don’t have feelings of anger or sadness (well, maybe a little sadness about being poor) or victimization.  Instead, I feel thankful.  So, unlike the many other letters I have wanted to write to The Ex, here is a letter of gratitude:
Dear The Ex,

When you left, a part of me died.  But a new part came to life.  In a way, I owe a lot of who I am to you.  If you hadn't left, I might not have learned what I'm made of.  I am one tough ass broad.  And I'm resilient.  And capable.  And crazy and wonderful.  I'm like a human burrito - full of good things and bad.  And when you take a bite it's damn delicious.  Thank you for leaving me so I could discover that I'm delicious!

Peace out*,


*Yeah.  I said peace out.  That's the gangsta part of my burrito.  Or, the Napoleon Dynamite's brother part of my burrito.  Whatever.  Either way - take it.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Cliches in the membrane, cliches in the brain

I know I've ranted about my Real Job already, but I have a few new bones to pick with this system.  What is the deal with the 9-5er jargon?  On Fridays everybody says stuff like, "Happy Friday!" and, "We made it!"  On Mondays the response to, "How are you?" is always, "Not bad for a Monday."  Followed by a nod of agreement from the questioneer.  (What?  That's a word.)  And if anyone makes a mistake any day of the week it is necessary to say some variation of, "Is it Monday?"  And then laugh like a ding dong.

I'm surrounded by working drones and cheesy cliches and I'm becoming one of them!  I even call Thursday "Friday Eve"!  Just once, when someone says, "Happy Friday!"  I'd like to say, "Not for hookers.  They have a pretty serious work week ahead of them."  And I'd love to respond to, "How are you?" on Monday with, "Well, I'm hung over as shit and I'm pretty tender from being slammed like a screen door last night."

But, alas, I'm a lady (ish), and I just stick with the usual cliches.  One of these days, though.  One. of. these. days.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Someday is for bitches

I have this friend who is in a shit-or-get-off-the-pot situation with her boyfriend.  (No, this friend is not me.  If I had a boyfriend the whole damn world would have known about it long before there was a problem.  And if I had a boyfriend, you'd be reading a post called "Hell just froze over.") 

Anyway, he just can't seem to pull the trigger.  He says he wants to marry her and he wants to have kids...someday.  Someday?  I'm insulted and he's not even my damn boyfriend.  He's been saying "someday" for two years.  What about now?  When will someday be now?  It won't be.  You know why?  Because "someday" is just a polite way of saying "never".

Bleh, someday.  It's the twin brother of sometime.  As a single girl, I hear a lot of sometimes.  "I'll call you sometime."  "Let's do it again sometime."  Jeez, if you don't want to see me again just say, "It was nice to meet you," and be on  your way.  If you do want to see me again suggest now, tomorrow, next week.  Don't bother me with "sometime".

Guys, let me say this in words you'll understand.  You want to hang out again "sometime"?  Well, I want to give you a blowjob..."sometime".  On board with "now" yet?

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

What to expect when the ex is expecting

You can expect to feel like someone just wiped their ass with you.  At least, that's how I feel.

The man who threw in my face upon leaving me that he never wanted to get married - didn't believe in it - got remarried.  The man who said he didn't want to have kids - because he didn't want to contribute to the human race that is destroying itself - is expecting twins.

It feels less like he didn't believe in marriage and more like he didn't believe in marriage to me.  It feels less like he didn't want to procreate and more like he didn't want to procreate with me.  It feels less like "he did that to me, he'll do it to her" and more like he only did that to me.  It feels less like he made the biggest mistake of his life leaving me and more like I was the biggest mistake of his life.

I feel like everything I told myself to explain why he left isn't true anymore.

I feel like the practice wife, the starter wife, the wife that was thrown away.

I feel like he's not a guy who leaves, he's a guy who just leaves me.

So, now, my fake eyelashes have fallen off (waterproof glue, my ass) and my eyeshadow and mascara have blended together to form what looks Hollywood style black eyes while I cry this bitch out and try to come up with new reasons why he's a giant douche bag fucktard, they're destined to be unhappy with ugly kids, and I'm a perfect and beautiful victim of disaster.

What else did you expect?

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Annoying encounters

(Well, this post is just about one encounter...but there will be more.  Sadly.)

For my friend's birthday, I took her to a local bar I frequent.  It is the weirdest place with a mixture of singles from 25 to 65 (great for people watching).  As soon as we walked in a very nice, very skinny little nerd started talking to my friend.  So, naturally, his old ghetto friend started talking to me.  Why?  Why always the ghetto dudes?  I know what my close friends and family would say: because of my ghetto booty.  But still!  It irritates me to know end.  Know your league, men.  And stay in it.  Here is a reenactment of the encounter:

Him: Hey.
Me: (Half smile mixed with slight annoyance) Hey.
Him: So, what do you do for a living?
Me: Do you really want to know what I do for a living?
Him: No.
Me: Then why did you ask?
Him: It's a conversation starter.
Me:  I realize that, I just feel like you can come up with something more interesting to ask.
Him: Well, what do you do to make money?
Me: What are you, a girl? You want to know how much money I make or something?
Him: Wow, you're really tense. It's Friday night.  (Gesturing towards some bar stools) Why don't you sit down and relax.
Me: No that's okay, I don't want...
Him: (Interrupting) Just because you sit down with me it doesn't mean you're with me.
Me:  Oh, I know that.  (With a wave of my hand across the bar) But I don't want everyone else to think I'm with you.
Him: Wow, you're wound up really tight.
Me: Yeah, I kinda am.
Him: You don't get out much do you?
Me: I really don't.  It's my friend's birthday and she made me come out.  I very rarely leave the house.
Him: Well you should try to relax and have fun.
Me: Yeah, okay, I'll do that.

He finally left, but after some time passed he popped back up.

Him: Do you like baseball?
Me: Sure.
Him: Do you like going to baseball games?
Me: More so than I like watching them on TV.
Him: It's just that I work with people that have a lot of money and they get good tickets.
Me: Wow, I'm really impressed that you know people with money.  Good for you.
Him: Well, I was gonna see if you wanted to go to a game with me, but...(his words drift off)
Me: Oh, too bad. (Shrug and smirk)

It became clear to me that the reason he kept asking what I do was because he wanted me to ask him what he does so he could talk about whatever job he has that surrounds him with people who make a lot of money.  I can't speak for other women, but in my opinion, you have to be a bit more impressive all around for me to give a damn about your money...or your coworkers' money.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Chapter 22, or 21/31/35 and no, those are not my measurements...the 5th and final part

                    **Be sure to read parts 1-4 first**

               Polite Aussie, Irish guy and Kinda Hot Aussie congratulated us on making it in the picture.  They were all going to dinner and said that we should probably hang back but they would meet up with us after.  We were okay with that; we had already exceeded our expectations for the day.  Rochelle and Jade stayed for dinner and we had cake for Rochelle’s birthday, but they decided not to wait for the Aussies to get back.   
            My family had gone out to dinner so it was just me and my laptop on the lanai.  It was a gorgeous, romantic night.  All the tiki torches were lit because it was after sunset and there was barely a breeze.  If it were a movie, Kinda Hot Aussie would show up and we would kiss. 
            I was watching for the Aussies to come back while trying not to look like I was watching, and as it happens, one of the times I wasn’t watching, I heard my name.  It was Kinda Hot Aussie.  I guess every once in a while, movie-like things happen.  He took a seat on the low wall outside the villa. 
            I walked up to him as sexily as I could (which probably looked more like regular walking and less like slow motion walking with a fan blowing my hair) and casually said, “Hi.  How was dinner?” 
            He said, “It was great. What have you girls been doing?”  I told him about dinner and cake for Rochelle’s birthday and that they left.  He said, “That’s too bad, Polite Aussie was pretty taken with Jade.” 
            I said, “Most guys are.” 
            He said, “I think she’s bad news for him.  She seems like a bad girl.  Are you a bad girl?” 
            I said, “Nah, I’m a good girl.” 
            He put his hand on my hip and pulled me towards him and said, “Well then, come over here and do something bad.”  Pretty cheesy, but you have to understand, everything he says is in an Australian accent!  He could’ve said, “I like to fart through a tube” and I would've gushed a little.
            While we were kissing, my family came back from dinner.  Kinda Hot Aussie suggested we go for a walk on the beach.  I told the fam where I was going and walked with him to the beach.  Our version of going for a walk was finding a secluded place on the beach and making out.  There is nothing like having sweet nothings whispered in your ear in an Australian accent.  And I’ll tell you something ladies, what they say about Australian men is true.  Even if we had condoms I don’t think I could’ve had sex with him.  He would’ve ripped me in half.  Plus, I’ve done some slutty stuff, but sleeping with a random guy the day after sleeping with another random guy is not yet on my list.
            When we decided we had to stop, he walked me back to my villa and got my email address.  I thought that was sweet even though we both knew we weren’t going to become pen pals. 
            I have since decided that I want my next husband to be from Australia.  Or New Zealand.  Or England.  So if you know anyone, set me up, I’m probably still single.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Chapter 22, or 21/31/35 and no, those are not my measurements...part 4 of 5

                  **Be sure to read parts 1-3 first**

            We put on our dresses and fluffed our hair and prepared some cocktails.  The wedding was happening right outside the villa so we could see when people were arriving.  Even though we had been invited we didn’t know what to do.  Should we stand in the background?  Should we sit with the wedding guests?  We waited until we saw the familiar Aussies.  They greeted us and offered us beer, which we accepted.  Polite Aussie and the Irish guy hadn’t met the girls yet so we did introductions and then they went to greet more of the real wedding guests.  (Oh, and I found out the name of Kinda Hot Aussie and that he was 35.)  We still weren’t sure what to do with ourselves so we stood in the background and had my mom take pictures of us to document the occasion.
            The ceremony started and finished and we were still standing in the background giggling like idiots not knowing what to do when we saw Polite Aussie, Kinda Hot Aussie and the Irish guy wave at us and gesture to join them.  We walked towards the crowd of real wedding guests and were greeted by a man with a tray full of champagne glasses.  It would’ve been rude not to accept, right?  We took a few more pictures of ourselves drinking champagne and pretending to be wedding guests when we noticed that the real wedding guests were lining up to receive leis from the bride and groom. 
            We asked Polite Aussie and the Irish guy, “Should we get in line?” 
            They said, “Absolutely, go shake their hands and wish them well.” 
            Jade had disappeared so Rochelle and I got in line.  We waited until we noticed that everyone else either was in line or had been in line, so as not to take a lei from an actual friend or family member.  When we got to the front of the line the groom laughed and said, “Oh my gosh, you!” then turned to his bride and said, “This is the girl from the cricket game.”  She smiled and laughed too, and they gave us both hugs and leis.

                                 yep, I am totally supposed to be here.

           Jade reappeared and we were telling her the story behind our leis when an older woman approached us, pointed to an older man and asked if we would take a picture with him.  Of course, we said yes.  He was probably about 72, but that didn’t stop him from trying to goose each of us.  I don’t know if the woman taking the picture was his wife or relative or friend, but she was getting a huge kick out of posing us with the Old Aussie.  I think he was getting a kick out of it too, if you know what I mean.
            The next thing that happened was quite possibly my favorite part.  The photographers started gathering everyone together for a group picture.  We stood back as they placed everyone so they would all fit in the shot.  Then Polite Aussie, Irish guy and Kinda Hot Aussie all called to us to join them.  Old Aussie gestured for us to stand by him.  He got down on one knee and Jade sat on it and Rochelle and I stood behind them.  Then, click, we are in the picture!  For the rest of their lives when they look at their group wedding photo there will be three American girls that they may or may not remember on the left side of the picture all up on somebody’s grandpa.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Chapter 22, or 21/31/35 and no, those are not my measurements...part 3 of 5

               **Be sure to read part 1 & 2 first**

           The highlight of the trip was the part I like to call “Crashing the Aussie Wedding”.  A couple days after we arrived we noticed a large group of men playing some foreign sport.  We decided it was Cricket because my sister said there was a group of Australians staying at the villas for a wedding.  My Aunt said, “Jen, you should go over there and talk to them.  Ask them what they’re playing.  Get yourself an Aussie!”  Then she straightened my dress, fluffed my hair, handed me a Mai Tai and sent me off while my Uncle started singing, “She’s going oooutbaaack tonight!”
            I walked towards them casually and asked the nearest guy, “So, what is this game?” and gestured towards the players (I totally knew what game it was).  In an Australian accent (I was going to say a sexy Australian accent, but realized that would be redundant) he said, “It’s Cricket.” 
            At that moment a few other guys noticed me and one said, “Come on over and play!” 
            I said, “Can I play in a dress?” 
            The guy said, “No, you’ll have to take it off!” 
            I laughed adorably and they told me to come on over.  When I joined them, I realized they were all a bunch of fifty-yard fake outs.  Not a hot one among them.  Well, maybe that one guy over there was kind of hot but he was the only one not talking to me.
            A very Polite Aussie offered me a drink, then introduced me to everyone and explained who they were (the groom to be, his brother, their cousin, etc.), I noticed there were no women around. 
            I asked Polite Aussie, “Where are the women?” 
            He said, “Women aren’t allowed to play Cricket.  It’s a man’s game.” 
            I said, “But you invited me to play.” 
            And he said, “That was just to get you over here.” 
            Well played, Aussie.  Well played.
            I don’t know how many games of Cricket they played or if it was just one really long one, but I had been there for a long time when Polite Aussie and his Irish friend told me I should come to the wedding the next day.  I wasn’t sure if they were serious but I said, “Maybe I will!”
            The next day, Rochelle decided to continue her birthday celebration at Turtle Bay.  Her friend Jade came too, and we spent most of the afternoon laying by the pool or floating in it.  (Yes, I prefer the pool to the beach because I don’t like to get sand in my crevices.)  After I was sufficiently browned I left the girls at the pool to take a shower and wash my hair.  (I wanted to be beautified for the wedding.)  Before I left, I noticed one of the Aussies standing on his balcony.  It was the kind of hot one that had not talked to me yesterday.  I waved and said hello and introduced him to Rochelle and Jade and then I went inside.  A little while later they came in and told me he had invited them to the wedding, too.  Oh, we were going to have so much fun!