I'm With The Band

UPDATE***Got a call this afternoon from the bride and groom. Seems they are home now and watching the wedding video and looking at the pictures. I asked them quite earnestly (Okay, I begged!) if they might consider "editing" the reception portion of the wedding. All I got on the line was hysterical laughter. They did report, however, that it was apparent that my performance was a high point of the reception even before my "almost flash". I assured them this was a once in a blue moon kind of deal.***

So I mentioned in my last post that I had quite the time at a recent wedding on the East Coast. I was quite the lush most of the time, so of course, all that alcohol kept me straight-laced and well-behaved. Sure. However, it seems I made quite a splash (this was before the skinny-dipping incident) at the reception. But now for a little background:

The couple that got married are old friends who were together for nearly a decade before deciding to put the government's seal of approval on their union. I actually introduced them eons ago. The lingerie shower, bachelorette party, and rehearsal dinner were mostly my responsibility as the maid of honor. Without trying to explain my greatness at planning these superfabulous events, none of them matched the wedding and reception (And that's saying A LOT considering my bachelorette party extravaganza in NYC). The wedding was lit only by a gazillion candles, and I must say, if I ever do find a man that thinks he might love me enough to marry me, I think I'm going to steal the candlelight ceremony idea. Partly because it was really cool, but mostly because I look pretty damn hot by candlelight.

However, after careful review, all parties involved decided that the reception was probably the most fun of the week. There was a light buffet, an ocean of champagne, and a live band. Now, I'm not a fan of the wedding band (ha..that's not really a pun), but the band in question was made up of some friends and fueled by alcohol. Perhaps I should mention at this juncture that I have not been classically trained as a singer. I can carry a tune, I'm just thinking it's not any tune most people want to hear. It's one thing to sing and point in my car, but a professional singer that does not make. Evidently, after about 42 glasses of champagne, I'm quite the songstress. So anyway, I decided about halfway through the reception that I needed to join the band for a few numbers. Okay, so maybe it was a whole set. Yes, I turned the wedding reception into Sassy's Karaoke Night. WTF was I thinking? Anywho, the guy who was the lead actually called me up to the stage (old friend, briefly old boyfriend) to sing a little back up. I'd done it before. What could possibly be wrong with that? He obviously didn't remember that I'm more of a front and center kind of gal. So the last half of the night, I sang with the band. The sad part is that I was about 30 sheets to the wind, wearing a rather clingy and plunging halter-type bridesmaid dress, and on a crash course with unending embarrassment. Right now I'm thinking you are envisioning an American Idol reject (that pissant Simon, what does he know??), and you wouldn't be too far off the mark. However, these people kept asking for more, and so I felt it was only right to oblige my fans, inserting random shit into songs where I drew a blank and couldn't remember the words (just like Jessica Simpson! Wow! I'm better than I thought!). We all laughed, some cried, and I even played some bass. Did I mention I don't really know how to play the bass? And of course, there was the champagne. But I digress. At the end of the evening, the guys and I were finishing up "Something to Talk About", and I casually (or drunkenly... you decide) realized that I was showing an excess of boob. Yes, folks, nipple was very nearly in the building! I was obviously rating my performance a D...cup. That's the problem with those halter dresses...no bra required. Unfortunately, I'm certain part or all of my stage show was caught on video. The best I can recall, people were throwing dollar bills at us all evening (I counted the next morning and it seems I made $50!). I just thought it was for my singing, but I'm now thinking they must have thought I was going for skin to win. It didn't stop me though. I finished out with a more recent song, "Bubbly" to close us out...we felt it was the best way to thank our friend that brought us together for one night only (did I mention I love champagne?). Here's hoping all the music moguls out there will give me a moment's rest after this. I mean, the telephoto lens of fame is not for everyone.

Long story short, a fun time was had by all. I followed up my performance that night by making out with the groom's 25 yr old brother (XOXO lil Mike) and the now infamous skinny-dipping incident. Go big or go home, right?

*Believe it or not, the biggest hit at the reception was the bride's 62 yr old mother who not only was drunker than me (and everyone else in the room) and sang with us, but she "pantsed" the lead guitar guy. It was a full frontal reception, courtesy of Momma Ruth. This is why I should never drink again.

**With this trip, I also remembered that I'm one hell of a good time! It's nice to recall how much fun you really are, and that you aren't the only one who thinks so.

I'm Outta Control!

Yes, I think I've lost my mind! My behavior is clearly that of a disturbed woman. Okay, so maybe I'm analyzing my own actions a little too much lately, I've been doing some rather uncharacteristic things of late. Here's the rundown:

1. I completely blew off my boss and my boss's boss. (Listen pervs, not one part of that is sexual, got it?!) For a gal who always does the right thing, this was VERY uncharacteristic of me.

2. I made out in the movie theater with a man nearly 10 years younger than me. (So okay, there's really nothing wrong with that, but I am stymied by the age difference at this point. I rarely date men younger than I am...particularly that much younger.)

3. I flirted shamelessly with the married best man at my friend's wedding. (I'd like to blame the champagne, but the fact of the matter is that I have never liked his bitch of a wife and find him infinitely charming...plus I've known him forever, and he certainly didn't seem to mind too much. BUT it's despicable nonetheless. AND I apologized to her (hating every minute of it) for having drank too much and taken liberties with her husband. I don't know if she was mad mostly at me or more at him.)

4. I danced on the table at an uptown NYC bar like nobody's business, which means I only paid for one of my many drinks. (Bachelorette parties put the music in me)

5. I went to a strip club and actually put money in some chick's thong, and the girls and I took a turn on the pole...fully clothed of course. (This was a first because I have strong opinions about women showing up at a man's playground and vice versa)

6. I totally grabbed a strange man's ass on the subway because, dammit, he had a nice ass! (Unfortunately, I think he was unsure as whether to be scared or flattered...I like to think he was both. The odd part of it is that if he'd done it to me, I would have punched him, very hard, in the softer areas because I detest strangers touching me in any intimate fashion.)

7. I went skinny-dipping at the hotel (and a fancy one at that) pool with friends and strangers alike...and got caught by hotel security. Took damn near an hour before things were straightened out. (Sorry Julie!) I hit my knees this morning to pray that there were no cell phone cameras snapping. My humiliation would know no bounds...

Now, many of you might think this could be normal for lil ole me, but I can tell you that I stopped engaging in these types of behaviors in my twenties. I grew up pretty responsible and proper. These kinds of things may seem funny and expected in a girl of 20-something, but I am thinking it might be more than pathetic in a woman that is 30-something.

Frankly, I'm in a panic about my fucking birthday in November. I'm getting OLD, my friends...OLD! Yes, I know...I can pass for about 10 yrs younger. It's true, not a brag, and just the luck of the gene pool. All my people look younger than they are. But that does not erase the number that I am or will be on November 16th. Why is it that we fixate on numbers? I'm not changing decades again just yet. It's silly, I know, and really more self-indulgent than anything on my part. The thing is, I know more about the world, about myself, than I did at 20-something, and I'm so grateful for it.

I just wish we didn't measure things in years sometimes. I wish people didn't die unexpectedly on me. And I also wish I already had a kid by now because then I wouldn't be so worried I'm reaching the point where the window for having one is getting smaller and smaller. Most of all, I wish I weren't freaking out so much right now about a stupid number. It's silly, I know.

Well, if wishes were horses...(whatever that fuck that means. My granny used to say that all the time...I wish I would have asked her what the hell she meant!)

**The wedding shit I've been attending in the great Ridgewood, NJ area has kept me a bit tipsy since I landed on Wednesday. Sometimes being the maid of honor does have its perks. At least we spent a wild night in NYC (of which I have a tasty story to blog about later). Thank God I'm heading back to Big D in an hour. Home sweet home...

Wave of Destruction Part One

Having lived in California prior to my return to Texas almost 3 years ago, I still have a lot of affinity for the crazy place. I got my masters degree at Pepperdine University (Go Waves!), drove the Pacific Coast Highway as far south and almost as far north as it goes, and was given the opportunity to rub elbows with Hollywood stars. I worked in West LA, but I lived in the San Fernando Valley just one block from the famed Ventura Blvd because dammit, I could afford more there. I've been on the phone pretty much daily with friends and college cohorts getting the best in person updates on the areas I know best. Anywho, I'm both horrified yet strangely not surprised by these devastating fires along the Southland, as it's called. But I'm equally horrified by what is yet to come once the rains make it back there. It's annual that there are large fires in Southern California each year. Normally, these fires tend to hit their worst in late summer. Then the rains come, and all hell breaks loose because the fires destroyed anything that might deter the mudslides. That's what's next, folks. Mountains of mud coming down as fast and hard as a tidal wave leaving nothing standing or uninjured in its wake. As if it wasn't bad enough for the people who lost their homes and/or lives in the fires, those who were spared now have the added worry of when the rains come. Of course, God may take some pity on these poor folks, and it may not rain for months. However, that just lulls them into a false sense of security. Plus it's difficult to get any kind of fire or other type of insurance if you live in the canyons because the likelihood of such events is a constant risk. When you see people on television speaking to the fact that they have lost everything, believe it. FEMA won't be able to give them what they need to rebuild because they have no insurance to supplement that at all.

I'm very concerned about friends I have that live in Vista, California (not far from San Diego). They have a toddler and several animals that could make it difficult for them to get out of their house if they haven't already. I can't reach them, so I'm hoping they decided to pack up to visit her mother here in the Lone Star State, and I will be hearing from them shortly.

In speaking with a friend last night, there is some optimism and humor through all of the anxiety and chaos. When I asked her how she was doing, she said, "Well SB, we now have 4 more people in the house because my family in San Diego had to evacuate. While I'm glad they are safe, I want to beat their unruly children. To say they are a spoiled lot is an understatement! Ugh! But on a brighter note, I think the smoke from those fires has improved the air quality in Los Angeles. "

*In case you live under a rock and don't know, Los Angeles has the WORST air quality in the country (with Houston coming in closely behind, I think!). I didn't meet one person there in 4 years that didn't have some kind of allergy or sinus problem, and 90% of the kids I taught had asthma.

**That picture is the "Wave" mascot. I know...don't get me started!

Drug Resistant Shit

I'm sure all of you have heard about this drug resistant strain of staph, right? It's been all over the news and even showed up in my ASCD (education organization) Smartbrief. First, I just have to say: NASTY! However, I do wonder just how come these kids are getting it. I played sports my whole life, showered in the locker room, snapped towels at my teammates, etc. Yet not once did I contract anything, particularly staph. I also coached a great deal of my adult life, yet none of my players ever contracted staph. So my question is this: Who the hell is in charge of keeping these areas sterilized and sanitized? But still, now that shit has mutated and can't be treated with "traditional antibiotics"? Come on, drug companies, give me a break! Surely you have been working on some overpriced new drug that will cause mild to moderate nausea, dry eyes, and in rare cases, anal leakage? You have fucking meds for made up illnesses/conditions (RLS anyone?), but you don't have any needed new antibiotics in the works? Shame. Just shame on you.

I mean, there have been dirty kids since the beginning of time. Kids were warned not to share hairbrushes for fear of head lice, but they always have. I remember having to lecture my girls about sharing deodorant. I even washed our boys coaches' football stuff when I washed my girls' stuff simply to avoid what those guys referred to as "the boils". I didn't know who was messing around with whom under the bleachers, so I didn't want my girls to catch "the boils" from one of their nasty ass lil punks. Gross, gentleman, really gross. And parents, if your kid is taking towels and gym clothes to school, please insist they bring it home every day. Show them how to use the freakin' Whirlpool for the love of Mike! Obviously, their gym teacher is Coach Rottencrotch. Who do you think needs to be responsible for your child's health?

Seriously, I'm not making fun of this issue. It's frightening to think teens are dying from what used to be just a simple skin rash. And I work in a school, and I don't want some kid with shady hygiene giving me the death rash. Sorry, but I believe in looking out for numero uno too!

Wash up everyone! AND...I'd think twice about shaking hands or playing footsie anymore...

I'm Tasteless and Obscene (How Embarrassing)

So I tried to access my blog address from work to test our new filter system. What I got was the following message:

Access Denied: Tasteless and Obscene Material

Well, I never! I actually had our network administrator hanging over my shoulder, and he asked me whose blog it was. Now I know I should have just gone balls out and told him it was mine, but WTF, I don't want to lose my job. This guy is new, and I haven't had enough time to figure out it he's at all cool.

So I told him it was my sister's! LOLOLOL She's going to be so fucking pissed! If you're reading this, Sister, don't worry. They think I'm an angel, and they think you are a foul-mouthed truck stop whore with a Harry Potter fetish. I won't lie, I love that they think that! :)

Speaking of foul-mouthed truck stop whores, you should check out Dyckerson. No one is a bigger shit than him (Or should I say no one takes a bigger shit than him?)

I'll have a real post at some point. I've been so busy that I'm fucking exhausted. Maybe I'll get a nice MM massage after my hockey game...

Fear and Loathing at the Barnes & Noble

So I had another hectic week this last week, full of bastards, shitbag problems, and raging bitches...but enough about work. My most interesting story this past week isn't really all about me, but more about a situation that I walked into.

It was Tuesday, and I took a half-day absence because I had to complete a training that I had started a few weeks ago. The training completion lasted only about an hour, and so I found myself free at 1:00 in the afternoon, midweek, and totally fanfuckingtastically FREE. No work, no bus duty, no useless meetings....NOTHING but FREE. So,I thought I might hit the ole Barnes and Noble bookstore since I love to read and seem to pretty well an expert at it. I'm pretty smart that way, for a blonde. So I stopped at new mall-type center on my way home from the center where I completed my training exercise and walked through the doors of a relatively new B&N. First, I LOVE bookstores. I love the smell of them (even before Starbitches put themselves in them), and that day was no different. I noticed the new releases, the current bestsellers, and of course I browsed the clearance racks. When I go to the bookstore, I walk through every section, stop and look through at least one piece of crap (usually this is located in the Science Fiction/Fantasy and Self-Help aisles), and move on to my favorite section: Children's Books. Now I know what you are thinking, so just STOP it! I am not some kind of weirdo perv lying in wait for innocents to ask me to get a book off the top shelf so that I can jump on them. I'll leave that to Dyckerson. What I am is a huge fan of children's books. Mostly because I would love to write one that was even close to being tolerable, and partly because they are so happy and colorful. How come adult books have lost the idea that illustrations are important (and by adult I don't mean the kind of books that Alan keeps lying around his place)?

Anywho, as I walked into the section, I heard what I thought was a couple of kids fighting near the bean bags. So, being the responsible person and long-time educator that I am, I started to walk to the back of the section where the bean bags were to diffuse the situation. Unruly children are completely unacceptable in public, in my opinion. I don't mean little ones that say hello and such...I love kids. I'm talking about the bad seeds out there that have developed due to permissive parenting.

And all of you fucking hippie parents better shut your pieholes about their right to self-expression. Me and all the other patrons in public places have a right to some peace and a chance to enjoy ourselves without your ill-behaved devil spawn spilling, spitting, hitting, screaming, or otherwise molesting us because you don't want to "crush their spirit". Fuck you, tie dye! Go smoke out and hug a tree, you idiot sack.

But I digress... Where was I? Oh yes, I was making my way to the back of the section ready to use my best teacher voice as I rounded the shelves when what I saw stopped me in my tracks. There behind the bean bags were two young men, probably about 19-20 yrs old, GETTING IT ON! WTF???? My eyes! My eyes!! One was actually sitting on the lap of the other...moaning and writhing...again:MY EYES! MY EYES! Now listen, I'm really not someone who cares about the sexuality issue. I lived in NYC and LA, have some wonderful friends in CT who are civil partners, and truly, one of my dearest friends is a raging lesbian (she used to call herself that! LOL). But I would take great issue with ANYONE who thought the children's book section in the Barnes & Noble was the right place to get some quality time. Frankly, it's vile and disgusting. Go to the damn Philosophy section...or better yet the Economics section. There's hardly anyone ever in those sections in my experience. Spice those sections up, pervs!

Anywho, I think I said, "OH. MY. GOD. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod..." as they jumped up rather hastily and said (yes, you guessed it), "Wait! It's not what you think, lady!" Then I must have been saying it rather loudly because they started with the "Shhh!!" Excuse me fuckwad? You are shushing me when you and the Boy Wonder were having a go behind the bean bags and next to the giant stuffed Clifford the Big Red Dog? I know you are thinking, "Sassy, you are totally making this up! I mean, COME ON! That did not happen, and you did not catch them in the act!" Sadly, I'm not making this up. So I finally got my shock under control and found my outrage. I think I channeled some 50s sitcom mom because the first thing that came out of my mouth was, "You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves! What the hell were you thinking? Of all the sections in the store, you had to pick the children's section? Why not take it to the bathroom, George Michael style? Oh my GOD!" They

both opened their mouths to say something, stopped, and then hauled ass out of there. I asked to see a manager and told him the story. He shut down the children's section and hopefully called Stanley Steemer to clean and sterilize. And I certainly pray that he threw the bean bags in the dumpster behind the store. Oh, and I had to give descriptions of the happy humpers to the police. Nice. Thanks for that, boys.

Listen, I'm really not a prude, but this kind of crap is just getting out of hand. I don't give a rat's ass what people do on their own time in their own domain, but I draw the line and get all bent out of shape when they think it is "exciting" or " funny" to engage in such behavior where young children might happen upon them or bear the risk of what is left behind in such encounters. Bad form, guys. Bad form. Blegh.

I guess next time I have a free afternoon I'll go get a pedicure or something. No risk of running into dirty bookstore sex there. Alas, the bookstore will never be the same for me again. Thanks for that, shitbags. I hope you got crabs and festering blisters on your weenies.

*When I related this story to Magic Man, he didn't believe me. This is not a good sign. I think I may have scared him a little.

**Sorry about the sailor mouth. It was a really hectic week, and I won't see Magic Man with his magic hands until later today.