I'm Sick and I Sound Like Kim Carnes

***THIS JUST IN: I got in to see the doctor and begged for a penicillin shot. Yes, a mamby pamby measly lil MD is no match for Sickly Sassy! So he leaves me in the room, and in walks my nurse: a MALE nurse. So I had to drop 'em and lean over the table for my shot in the ass! After an what seemed like an eternity, he finally takes out the needle and starts to rub the injection site. Now ladies and gentlemen, you might think this is some kind of erotic interlude, but unfortunately the nurse looked like a 6 foot Howdy Doody...who was rubbing MY ass! Perhaps one day the sting of embarrassment will subside...***


This will have to be short. I'm sick, sick, sick. I'm sneezy, achy, sleepy, feverish, and bitchy. I kept telling myself and everyone around me on Friday that I was not sick. The only one who believed me was me and the Indian UPS guy. I've been taking all kinds of vitamin C, Theraflu, Halls cough drops, Nyquil, and none of it has made the gravel that has moved in at the back of my throat bust up and move on. My nose is sore from blowing (please, Dyckerson, I'm not in the mood), my throat is swollen, my body aches, I'm running a temperature, and I've slept more than Rip Van Winkle. Plus, I desperately need a shower...which I intend on having once I've finished here.

On an interesting note, however, I was watching television when this song came on that I liked. I thought I might sing it. What came out of my mouth shook the earth and sent my pups running for cover! I swear, it was frightening. Then I thought about that old "Bette Davis Eyes" song from my childhood (I'm in no mood for age jokes, people!) and decided to try that one. I might as well be Kim Carnes twin. Who knew? "Her hair is hollow gold...her lips are sweet surprise..."

Anywho, I'm sick, sick, sick. And I hate it. And I hate all you healthy people. And I hate all those brats who most assuredly breathed on me at work giving me this crud. I blame you all! I'm going to have a shower now.

*Of course I don't hate kids...I love kids...I'm just sick...and bitchy...and did I mention sick?

**I haven't seen Father Liam in a week! Do you think he misses me??

The Albino Behind Me

I'm of a "certain age", and while I've been many places and experienced many different things, I never thought my most recent trip to Walmart would yield me a new and somewhat creepy experience.

So, I had to visit Walmart for those most basic needs: food, drink, dog food, hairspray...you understand. I decided that since I was in my civilian clothes (no SpongeBob pants, mind you...I learned my lesson!), I could venture again to the local Walmart Neighborhood Market. All things considered, my shopping experience this time was very routine and nothing to write home about. Until I got in line at the checkout. As you might have pieced together by now, I tend to have some unusual experiences while waiting in lines. If you haven't pieced that together by now you are either new to this blog, or you're a complete fucking idiot. Take your pick.

Anywho, I was waiting in line perusing the latest rags that had either "Britney Spears Shocker! She wants another baby!" or "Thinner thighs and rock hard abs in 2 weeks!" headlines on them, when I heard someone roll up behind me. Being a curious and observant individual, I turned slightly to catch a glimpse of my newest linemate (I mean, it could be some hot guy who likes SpongeBob pants!). I was not, however, prepared for what I saw. The man behind me was a REAL LIVE ALBINO! Holy shit! I know I was staring, but I'd never really seen one up close and personal! I quickly turned back around and, heart racing, sent off a quick text about said albino to someone I knew who enjoyed the freakish and odd. Then try as I might, I could not help but to keep sneaking glances at him. I mean, the white hair, skin so light it was practically translucent (WAY whiter than yours truly, thank God!), the odd, red-rimmed eyes (but they weren't pink in color like albino rats or anything) that were surprisingly very dark. It was all too much to ignore!

Of course, when you are trying to be inconspicuous, you inevitably get caught. Dammit! So about the umpteenth time I snuck a glance, the unexpected happened: dreaded eye contact between me and my albino. Not one to be nervous in social situations, I was temporarily immobile. I just stared. Finally, after what felt like days of connection, I kinda just smiled. Then, he smiled in return, and the stuff of nightmares was born. His teeth were kind of a dull yellow, which contrasted sickly with his pasty complexion. I thought I might drop dead of a heart attack right there! I know, I know, it's sounds so mean, but what the fuck? This was uncharted territory for me!

So I quickly turned around and started clumsily putting my items on the belt thingy when it happened: I dropped my damn green tea carton! As I quickly bent down to pick it up, the white devil stooped down as well, and then we were face to face, only inches apart with our hands on my teabags! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I think I mumbled, "Thanks" and he replied, "No problem, sweetheart, " smiling his creepy smile. I think I flinched. Needless to say, I got out of there was quickly as I could. And I also did have nightmares about fanged albino killers!

Today though, I just feel shamed. I mean, he wasn't cruising the WNM for his next victim to cannibalize...as far as I could tell from his shopping cart, he was getting chips and beer for the football game. Why oh why had I reacted that way?? I'm sure he thought I was a complete batshit bitch who was off her meds.

When I went to see Father Liam this morning, I confessed my obvious prejudice, and he said, "We all fear what we do not know, Sassy. But he is also one of God's children. Being kind to those who are unlike us shows His grace." Motherfucker! Thanks for the guilt trip, Father Liam! And two Our Fathers included in my penance? Shit! He was an ALBINO for chrissakes!

*Father Liam may be leaving me! They may send him to a mission in Belize! BELIZE! How the hell am I going to deal with that? Do you know what it takes to break in a new priest?? I'm quite certain Father Liam already thinks I'm a little bit crazy, but he's not new to the priesthood and seems to be handling me quite well. Please God, don't send me an albino priest...I'll end up in hell in a handbasket for sure!

Another One Bites the Dust...and Can Bite Me While She's At It!

So I don't think I mentioned that there was this secretary in my office that totally tried to get me in trouble. She said I was "contributing to a hostile work environment" in a complaint to my old boss. Excuse me, bitch? Anyone who knows me or has worked with me would find this to be a completely ludicrous accusation! However, we had to go through the whole formal mess, but I was vindicated in the end. So since then, bitch secretary (BS) has had to be all nicey nicey to me. I've been professional and courteous but no longer warm and friendly with her after that ridiculous shit. Fuck her! I save my sunshine for people who deserve it!

So anywho, last Friday, the stupid BS turns in a resignation letter to both Big C and me. When we had a conversation with her, she cried around about not being happy with the job and that she just felt she had not been adequately trained...blah blah blah. Then she drops a bombshell: That stupid BS is over TWO MONTHS BEHIND in her work! Messing with average daily attendance (ADA), which is linked to state money for a school district, is a complete disaster! We are in noncompliance with state reporting regulations, and she took another day off today! WTF?? Now, this also means that she has also been LYING to me about truancy filings, 5-day absentee letters, and 10-day absentee letters! These are local policy requirements, which means I could be in trouble too! Stupid, lying, good for nothing sack of shit!

Today, I had a "pop in" impromptu meeting with one of the big bosses. And he was not happy. In fact, he grilled ME on why I allowed that stupid, fucking BS to get so far behind on such important reporting. Yes, I am the designated idiot stick in charge of overseeing attendance and residency on my campus. At first, I thought he must be out of his overpaid, motherfucking mind! Then, I had to spend the last half hour of the one hour ass chewing explaining how she refused to talk to me for nearly two weeks, and then continued to lie to me about having things done. I had to print out emails with directives I had sent to her regarding these issues, just so that he could see that my ass was covered! Needless to say, my day did not go well.

What I really want to know is how the fuck is this bitch's incompetency MY fault? I didn't hire her! It is not MY job to take, record, and verify attendance! That's what they've been paying her for! I simply make sure that we follow up on attendance issues..WHICH I FUCKING DID! I'm still not sure he isn't going to try to pin this on me, but in all fairness, he really can't do so. I just don't trust the slapdick Sheriff or his posse of accounting flunkies. Son of a bitch! I cannot wait to leave Mayberry behind!

But, that stupid BS bit the dust at least! I WON you stupid whore! Fuck you and your bullshit excuses! You just shot to the top of my shit list, and when Sassy ain't happy, ain't no one happy! Kiss my ass you sorry piece of shit!

*Father Liam will be seeing me this week, I'm afraid. Of course, he'll give me the whole "to forgive is the right thing" spiel. Fuck!

Well, DUH!

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So I know it's lame, but I'm busier than a lesbian at Lilith Fair right now! I got no time to write anything substantial. Besides, I'm sure you've heard about my legal troubles by now.

SpongeBob Might Get You Some Action (Unwanted, Of Course)

So I'm on the waning last days of my extended winter break until I have to return to Mayberry. Blegh. I always know that I've been off too long when I can't find enough stuff to do. Everyone else is at work, and you can only watch so much Lifetime TV (that sappy shit makes me bawl like a baby!). So when I got up this morning, I wanted to make pancakes. Pancakes and I have a rocky relationship...mostly because they are full of bad carbohydrates, and I get a little free with the syrup. Anywho, I love pancakes, but I only eat them maybe twice a year. But I digress. I got up and wanted to make pancakes, but I did not have the proper ingredients or any syrup. That meant a little jaunt to the Walmart Neighborhood Market. For those of you who don't have them, it's basically a Walmart supermarket only. Lucky for me, there's one just a short mile or so from the house. Now, I don't normally like to go out while still in my pajamas. And by pajamas, I mean SpongeBob Squarepants fleece bottoms (Christmas present from my cutie patootie 9 yr old nephew) and a Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt (please Lord, let them make the Superbowl this year). But I decided that this was an emergency. I wanted those fucking pancakes, and shitty McDonald's rubber disks were not going to satisfy my craving. So I put my hair up and threw on some shoes and a bra and headed out the door. It was 7:00 in the morning, so who would I really see, right?

As I walk into the WNM, I notice that one of the cart wranglers looks at me funny. I smile and say, "Woke up, needed pancakes." He replies, "I like those SpongeBob pants!" I nod and keep walking. Of course, I only went in for one or two things, but as everyone knows, Walmart always sucks you in, so I was there an hour...shopping....in my pajamas. However, I found it very strange that so many people were: A) in the WNM at 7am and B) felt compelled to talk about my pants. Men, women, and children of all ages seem to react to ole SpongeBob. By the time I was in there for 20 min, my reply to people's, "Hey! I like those pants!" was "You know, they like you too!" (Evidently, sometimes, Sassy says things that give the wrong impression.) While I was checking my egg carton for any breakage, an older guy in his 50s, I'd say, was doing the same near me. He looks over and says, "Those are some fancy pants!" I laugh and say, "Well, I like them!" He replies, "I like them too." My response: "You know, they like you too!" Hahaha. What happened next has NEVER EVER happened to me in all my life. This STRANGER reached down and rubbed my thigh and said, "And they are so soft too, huh?" I was dumbfounded! I kind of jumped back and said, "Excuse me?!" WTF?? Anyone who knows me is aware of my no touchy the Sassy rule if I don't know you. Talky: sure. Touchy: HELL NO! He goes on, " I was just admiring how soft they are. They must be very comfortable." I just continue looking at him in horror. "Listen, mister, you can't go around touching people's pants. It's creepy and weird!" His reply, "Well, you did say they liked me too. I was just being friendly." Wink Wink. I thought: Holy shit! I think Ted Bundy's brother is in my Walmart Neighborhood Market!! I couldn't say a word to that, so I practically ran to the checkout! Thank the heavens for those fucking self-checkout lanes! I must have checked and paid for my items in record time. As I was leaving, I saw TBB checking out, and HE SMILED AND WAVED as I passed. I ran to my car, threw my lil plastic Walmart bags into the trunk, not caring about my eggs and other breakables, and got the hell outta there.

How is it that I missed that maniacal gleam in his eye? Why am I a magnet for the weirdo shitbags? This just solidifies my resolve to NEVER EVER leave the house in my pajamas. SpongeBob attracts the creepy and odd. It's dangerous out there!

**I was just thinking about how uneventful my vacation has been, and so I thought I would have to wait to update the ole RofaSB next week since I'd be back at work and some crazy shit will happen for sure there. But I made my fucking pancakes! Yeah, those are the pants...

Rambling Reflection

I'm coming up on a New Year, and this is always the time I start really reflecting on what's happened the past year. I don't know that it's been all that exciting, save for one thing. But I won't talk about that. What I do want to talk about is what I hope for the new year. That's right, you bastards, this is not going to be funny or entertaining! It's going to be sappy and cryptic! Deal with it! Now join hands in a circle of love...

I hope that I do fewer things that compel me to go to confession (even though I do have a little crush on Father Liam). Shit, is that lust?! Damn! I'll get my keys...

I hope that I am a better friend to those of you that I've kind of neglected this year. You know who you are, and I'm sorry. I do love you. Now please stop laying a guilt trip on me every time we talk. It's not fair. I do have some semblance of a life of my own, you know. Bitches! (Sorry, just kidding...)

I hope that I can quell the restlessness that really grips me about every 2-3 years. I came "home" to stay, I thought. But home isn't as sweet as it used to be. (Hor, I'm coming to the Ghetto next! Maybe it's "sweet"?)

I hope that I'm not kidding myself about being restless, and that it's more about me being less happy than I think I am. That would totally suck.

I hope that I've met the last of those people who would manipulate and abuse me. I've worked in earnest to purge those people from my life the past few years. I need the peace. (Dyckerson, I said PEACE not PIECE!)

I hope peace finds those of you who desperately need it. (You know who you are!) I've heard everything you've said, and I care. Stop looking for the worst that is happening in your life this next year.

I hope that my tendency to take good care of others extends towards myself more in the new year. I just feel at my best when I'm taking care of someone else.

I hope that my grandfather truly knows how much I love him, even though my weekly visits have been haphazard lately, at best. It scares me how old he looks every time I see him.

I hope I can find the job that is right for me. I want the freedom to do what I know is right every day without always having to ask for permission. And I want a bigger office. And better pay. And more people to boss around. I'm not afraid to admit it.

I hope that I never see another Red Bull and Vodka. (Okay, maybe I don't REALLY hope that, but they are the devil, people!)

I hope I can finally make a decision on something that has been on my mind constantly. It just scares the living shit out of me.

Happy New Year! If you make resolutions, I hope you can stick to them. If you don't, I hope you know that other people don't think as much of you as you do of yourself. Everyone should have some kind of improvement plan for a new year! XOXO

PS-I also hope I don't have any injuries this next year. My torrid (albeit brief) affair with the physical therapist aside, I really thought it sucked to be on crutches and in a finger splint.

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

Sassy is not happy, you fat bastard! It's been quite a while since you brought me anything worth a shit! I've given up this "being good" business all year long in hopes that your ginormous ass might bring me something I actually asked for at Christmas. And while we're on that topic, who the hell died and made you the final decision on what is deemed naughty and what is deemed nice? That mean ass little shit Jimmy Turner tortured me in kindergarten, and he still got the fucking motherlode that Christmas while I got a black eye and scabby knees, courtesy of that "nice" little shitbag. Screw you and the sleigh you rode up on, you pathetic excuse for an elf!

And I'm putting you on notice: If you try to stuff your bloated, stocking-clad self down my chimney this year, be prepared for a crotch fire! And I really don't appreciate the reindeer shit you tracked in on your stripper boots last year, so if you are stupid enough to try the chimney even after my above warning, wipe those things off, or I'll shove them down your damn throat! Yeah, you heard me, you jolly, junk-tucking piece of shit! Stop trying to act like your "marriage" is for real. So, you know what it is I want for Christmas, and unless I see it on December 25th tied up with a nice red bow, just keep walking, mister! And stay out of my nog too! And don't try to sneak in here while I'm at my sister's either, like you did last year. Your stench lingered long after you had gone, and I noticed I was missing some panties. Remember: I'M watching YOU.

Love,

Sassy Blondie

Proud member of the NRA since 1996

*Just want to wish all of you non-Jews and believers a Merry Christmas! I hope you get what you want in your stocking and don't end up in the emergency room. Also, don't drink too much and throw up on your Aunt Gertrude's Christmas sweater...even though it would truly be a vast improvement to it. XOXO

Team Up! Whatever..

Big happenings today in Mayberry. My boss is leaving to take over another school and Big C got the interim job as Head Bitch. Now while I am sad to see my boss leave, I'm ecstatic at the things Big C and I can do now! She'll be fabulous! Onward and upward, right?

NOW. The title explanation: As I mentioned in some earlier writings, Mayberry got a new Sheriff this year, and he's really rocked the boat since his takeover. Heads have rolled and shit lists have been made. One thing the Sheriff has pushed this year is the idea of the "Administrative Team". His motto has been, "Team Up!" No more secrecy, no more warring factions, just one big happy team holding hands and singing Kumbaya. So today, 5 minutes before the big staff meeting to tell everyone of all the changes, I get the information. Yes, I fucking said 5 goddamn minutes (Yes, I'll be seeing Father Liam again this week!). Never mind that this decision had been made final at 8am this morning. Never mind that those fuckers had ALL DAY to let me in on this shit. My boss tells me at bus duty, "Sassy, I wanted to tell you before the meeting so that you wouldn't be surprised, but I'm going to the other school. I'm sorry that I couldn't' tell you before, but I was told I couldn't tell anyone. " Excuse me? I'm part of the motherfucking administrative team, aren't I? And if that wasn't bad enough, when giving his farewell speech to the staff, called me by someone else's name. The lady who was there before me. The lady whose fucking shadow I've been struggling to get out of for the past 2 fucking years because she was the goddamn Super Assistant! Everyone in the room jerked their heads at me when he did this, and he didn't even realize he'd done it. Huh? I know it was an emotional time for him, but it made me feel completely shitty, and I fucking despise the pity looks the staff gave me. Then when Big C spoke, she did say something really nice about me. (Thanks, Big C! I can't wait for us to get started after the holidays.) Later, she came to my office to tell me how horrible she felt that she wasn't allowed to tell me. Then she told me how hard it was to hear him call me by the other name yet again. I really appreciated that.

So it's yet another shakedown in Mayberry. I'm sad to see the boss move on, but I'm excited about the work I can do in what I hope is the last 6 months I am there. We have a great staff, and I know things can only get better. At least I know Big C won't hide out in her office.

Still, somebody find me another job. Mayberry needs to be my past in the very near future.

And a big middle finger to the Sheriff! Team up, eh? Whatever, you asswipe!

*I'm okay, I just hate hypocrisy.

Evidently, the Post Office Always Delivers Something

So I'm at the post office today after being sent home from work all sickly. I thought I might just be able to time it right so that I didn't have to wait in line. I mean, people still work at 1:00 in the afternoon, don't they? Apparently not. That bitch ass line was out the door! And it's colder than a witch's tit out today too! So I'm waiting in line with my package trying to fill out everything so that people don't get all shitty from the line when I make it up to a postal person, and the old guy with a cane behind me starts talking to me.

OGwC: What ya got there, sweetheart? Sending out some Christmas gifts?

Me: Well, I guess it's sorta like a Christmas gift, but it's cookies.

OGwC: Oh how delightful! Nothing says, "I love you" like homemade stuff.

Me: Umm...I wouldn't say that these are the "I love you" type of cookies! Ha ha

OGwC: Well darlin', you just remember that they can! Pretty girl like you should have a lover.

Me: Uh huh...well, thank you!

OGwC: You are a sweet girl! (Pats my arm and smiles warmly)

Me: Why thank you. (Smile warmly back at him)

Then I let the old guy in front of me because I was still trying to address my package. Then I drop my car keys. As I reach to pick them up, my head collides with a Good Samaritan who was also trying to pick them up for me. After the initial, "Doh!", I see that this is a tall kid of about 21 or so. Here's the conversation:

Me: Thank you so much! I'm so sorry that I knocked you in the head! Ha ha

Him: No problem! Ha ha It was my fault. My mother always said to help out a lady in need.

Me: You're mom is a smart lady. But really, thank you.

Him: You sure got your hands full there. Do you need some more help? (Winks at me)

Me: I'm fine, thank you again.

Him: You sure have pretty eyes. (He was more or less ogling my cleavage, however)

Me: Thank you. I had nothing to do with them. All my father's doing.(I turned back around)

Him: (Taps me on the shoulder) Are they real?

Me: No, they're glass. I'm blind.

Him: Ha ha! That's funny! I meant are they the real color?

Me: Yes.

Him: They sure are light.

Me: Uh huh. (still keep turning around after answering him)

Him: Does your boyfriend like them too? Do you have a boyfriend?

Me: Listen, Romeo. I'm at the post office so that I can get some things sent off. I'm not here trolling for some ass. I'm not sure where this conversation is going, but I do know it will not be having me as a passenger. Thank you again for helping me with my keys, but you're too young for me, and I'm out of patience.

Him: Uh...well...sorry. "Bitch...must be a lesbian" (under his breath)

Okay people, what the hell was that? The old guy, he was pleasant, and I'm normally okay being up for a chat. However, I don't need Grandpa Jones to tell me to find a lover. I have grandparents to remind me that I'm single again. Secondly, what was Junior thinking? Is the post office the new singles hot spot? What a freak! And to think that, in the beginning, I was thinking how nice it was that someone his age was a gentleman! I will never understand why not being interested makes one a lesbian. Surely you boys grow out of that?

Again with the little boys and old men!

Hey Junior, a little piece of advice: Don't be talking about a girl's eyes while speaking to her chest. Newsflash: They don't talk! Also, don't be running your game at the post office. I'm sure there are much more interesting places in which to proposition the ladies.

Do I just have a sign on my forehead? It's not like I'm super hot or anything. Jesus! Although I've had quite a run this past month or so, men don't regularly hit on me. At least, I don't think they do...not in any serious manner anways. Whatever...

*Yes, I know I shouldn't have gone to the post office if I was running a temperature, but I had shit to mail! And I never get off work soon enough to actually get to the post office, bitches!

**And I know I was rude, but I'm sick and tired. Give me a break!

Taking His Balls For A Ride

Really, gentlemen, what the hell is this:

I'm not sure if this phenomenon is catching on everywhere else, but this douchebag had a fake silver set of balls hanging off the rear of his truck. How did I notice this? Well, first of all, he was driving like 12 mph...just to annoy me, I think. Otherwise, ole Blondie here could not have had the time to search out her Crackberry and snap this little photo. What you can't tell from the crappy cell picture is that they are shiny and silver. Was this a Christmas statement? Silver Balls? Ha. Ha. You dumbass loser. Worse yet, when I passed his stupid ass, he had a pair of what looked like foam titties hanging from the mirror. I think I even threw up a little in my mouth. Classy.

Really, what the fuck? Is this supposed to make other men feel inadequate and the ladies swoon? What part of such an action would make sense? Has there been a staggering increase in douchebaggery in the last few years, or am I just getting old (Don't you DARE answer that, Dyckie!)? Am I supposed to see this tasteful display and drop my panties, panting with desire? What it really makes me want to do is take them and shove them down his shitbag throat! Better yet, grab my pistol and put the poor wanker out of his misery.

Gentlemen, a word of advice: if you have to advertise you have a pair on the backside of your truck, that's pretty much an indicator to us gals, and the gay parade as well, I'm sure, that you are afflicted with one or all of the following:

1. You evidently have no balls, so you bought some cheap ones at the Gas & Sip.

2. Your balls are indeed small and inadequate (along with your penis).

3. You are proud of your 5th grade edumacation.

4. You think you are incredibly cool and all the ladies love you...but you are still living with your mother and working the drive-thru.

5. You dropped your dick in the dirt, and now no chick wants your rotten, herp-afflicted ass. Therefore, you have to act like you are Jimmy Big Balls to save face.

Seriously. Just stop. You're embarrassing yourself. And stop popping your fucking collar while you're at it. Jesus....

*Where the hell would you get something like that? I shudder to think of the Google search phrase. Hor, I hope this isn't a hillbilly thing. If so, you should check the vehicles of all your male kin. ;)

A Dilemma: Short, Sweet, and To the Point

Well, it's just 29 more days until the New Year's Eve mess. Yes, I said mess. This is another time of the year where I have struggled the past couple of years. About this time, invitations and questions of what my plans are start to trickle in. What to do? Where to go? Take someone with me? There are so many decisions that go into navigating New Year's Eve. Do I accept and invitation to a party at a friend's house (did I mention married friend with ONLY married friends besides me and her husband's 65-yr old uncle Bert that will attend?). Do I risk my life and take the celebration to the street with other single party-goers and risk groping, drunk bitches spilling drinks on me, and certain death on the highways on the way home? Or do I sit through Dick Clark and that stupid little dick Ryan Seacrest here at homestead?

Decisions, decisions. I need some help, people. This is only the second occurrence of New Year's after the fiance's death (going on 3rd actual year). Last year I simply couldn't bring myself to do much of anything, and sadly went to bed prior to midnight. This year, however, I'm not feeling the same way. It's just been a long time since I have had anything other than standing plans for this event.

Got any suggestions? I'm listening...

*I know Christmas is next, but that's a family time. I'm a planner, and as such I need to get my plans in order well in advance.
**I would take this question to Father Liam, but I think we all know what he'd say.

Little Boys Love Me, Old Men Adore Me

Yes, I know that sounds creepy as shit, but it is true. I'm not quite sure why, but I offer up the following examples:

Example A: When I was teaching middle school, I was mostly well-liked by my students in general. I taught math, made it fun, and of course, my sassiness ropes most smartass teenagers in. However, there were many times that my little boys had, shall we say, strong and inappropriate feelings for me. My tutorials were full of boys, and it was not because they were struggling with math. They liked to hang out in my room and shoot the shit with me. At first I thought it was because I was knowledgeable about sports. I was raised by my father, and he never got much into Barbie and Ken, so I did a lot of boy stuff with my dad (except the lighting farts thing...I just don't get it guys!). We still do our NCAA basketball tournament brackets and bet a pounder of peanut M&M's on the championship. Anywho, I digress. So little boys were always hanging out, trying to give me hugs, and generally making the googly eyes at me. With 6th graders, they seemed more like innocent crushes, but with my 8th graders, it was as very different story. In my 12 yrs of teaching, 6 of them actually tried to kiss me! WTF? Several did a "boob graze" thinking I was unaware (of course I called their mommas!), and several also wrote me love letters in their math journals. Yes, they professed love between the lines that were supposed to be reserved for telling me what they did not understand about math and demonstrating what they did. Many times, I had to have schedules changed because some teen Lothario just wouldn't listen to my objections about unnecessarily touching me. Still creeps me out to think about it. My first year teaching, the high school brother of one of my 5th graders wrote me love letters and showed up at my school far too often until I finally had to call his parents in. And by love letters, I really mean filthy sex invites. I had to get a restraining order.

Example B: I think I just have a face that people feel comfortable talking to. Particularly old men people. I can be in the store, at work, or even on an airplane, and these grandpas start chatting me up (usually not in a lecherous way, but still). Of course, I'm a nice person (SHUT IT BITCHES!), and people in general tend to interest me, so I will converse with them. Recently, on the plane ride back from Denver, an older gentleman of 82 sat next to me on the plane. He was lovely, and I shared my iPod with him. It never fails that at the end of such exchanges with the old farts that they refer to me as "delightful" and "adorable". Not uncomplimentary, but I still don't understand how I end up in these conversations with men my grandfather's age instead of the hot backpack guy two rows up.

Example C: At my current job in Mayberry, I have a never ending stream of little boys wanting to see me. I can't walk down the hallway without several stopping me with, "Hi Ms. Sassy! Can I come and talk to you later?" or "I need to see you!" Do I appreciate the adoration of children? Absolutely. I love children. But today, one of the busiest and most hectic days for me in a long while, I had a steady stream of little boys vying for my attention. Some threw fits to get sent to see me...and told me so outright. Excuse me? That cannot be happening. I don't want anyone to think I'm some kind of little boy diddler! In this day and age, people are cutting eyes at educators who seem popular with today's youth (thanks for that, you stupid statutory bitches on TV!).

Now, I know you are thinking that I should really be grateful for such attention and devotion from boys and old guys, and on some level, I am flattered. BUT. Guess what? I'm not a little girl, and I'm not an old woman yet. Where the hell are all you bastards in between? I think we've established that I'm a sassy blonde that's more fun than a barrel full of fuckin' monkeys!

What gives? I want answers, and I want them now!

*I asked my priest what he thought while I was at confession. All I got from him was the "God has a plan for you, Sassy. Count your blessings!" Gee, thanks for nothing there, Father Liam.

**Shit! I just insulted my priest. Guess I'll see him again before the week's out. Being a Catholic is not easy, people.

Did My Pants Text You?

Well, I'm back home after a fantabulous week-long jaunt to the Rockies! I had a lot of fun, discovered yet again that, I should just never drink again, and that I miss my friend there more than I knew. While I've been relaxing by a fire here trying to get myself excited about going back to Mayberry tomorrow, I found myself starting to giggle about our pre-Thanksgiving night on the town.

So, my friend, ATown, and her sister, JLove, took me to this bar that boasts "The Biggest Pre-Thanksgiving Bash in the Country!!" on Wednesday night. Now, I'm not exaggerating when I say that people wait HOURS in the bitter cold to get into this bar on this night. It's fucking crazy! Last time I visited, we were the crazy fucks who waited 4 hours in the cold to get in! However, this year, I had flown into town a couple of days early, and so we got there without having to wait more than 15 minutes. First, I want to say that I think it's stupid and pretentious for bars to make people wait outside in some vain attempt to prove they've got the biggest dick in town. That shit is all over LA and NY, but Denver? Plus, I've never been one to frequent such places anyway. Get a few drinks in me though, and well...let's just say that it was a milder version of my wedding behavior. And, evidently my pants were texting like crazy!

Anywho, the three of us got in, and yours truly headed for the bar. I mean, if I'm going to have to be at a bar/dance club, I'm going to need to drink. I really detest crowds, particularly drunk and handsy ones, as a general rule. I told the girls, "Hey, I'm just going to stick with beer tonight. No need for me to get rowdy." Yeah. Right. So I had a few beers, met some interesting gentlemen who are correctional officers at "the prison" (hell if I know which prison they were referring to), and then had a few more beers. During this time, ATown met a hot engineer (I know! It sounds so much like an oxymoron) who whisked her away for a shot, and JLove and I took it to the dance floor with the prison boys. Or at least that's what I thought! As I shook it to my love, J. Timberlake, with Prison Boy, I looked to my slight right and saw some toothless moron all gangsta-ed out draped all over JLove like a dirty shirt. Now I know that this doesn't seem amusing or otherwise interesting, but JLove is not known for her dirty dancing...at least not to my knowledge. So, G-Money was behind her at first, and she was completely oblivious to his antics (or dry humping...it was a judgment call). But when she turned around, it got SO MUCH BETTER! He started by holding her waist with one arm and then just grinding on her so intensely that I started to wonder if he would start a fire. I swear that I smelled smoke! Then his arm left her waist, and he began to run his fingers through her hair and cup her cheeks (on her face, Dyckerson, you perv!)...all the while still getting the friction on below the waist. I thought I might literally wet my pants by this time because it was so fucking hilarious! As the spectacle continued, G-Money just disappeared from the vicinity of JLove, who starts looking around confusedly. It was like he was never there! I thought that I should've told JLove to check her pants for burn marks. If only I had thought to take pictures! ATown and I continued to laugh and ridicule JLove for days afterwards about her foray into the thug life.

Meanwhile, I had my cell in my pocket, and evidently my pants were texting random people from my address book as I shook my money maker. When I left the dance floor, my pants were buzzing with about 8 different, "Huh?" texts from friends. Plus, my sister texted me the following, "Tired and n bed. Is everything ok?" to which I responded "At bar dancing. Music is fkng gr8! Phone n pocket!" She texted back, "No shit, Sherlock! I just got a voicemail with the entire song, Holla Back on it! I think you've had enough, Blondie, when your pants start joining the party!" Now this information nearly did me in! Prison Boy returned with another Red Bull and vodka (umm, did I mention that somewhere during the course of the evening I broke my beer only policy?), and asked if I wanted to go upstairs for a bite (restaurant was upstairs you gutter minds!). I politely declined...and unfortunately had another couple of drinks before Prison Boy ran into me again, this time with a short, older Korean woman in tow. He gave me this look that said, "Please help me!", as the Korean midget said, "So are you REALLY his ex-wife?" Smoothly I replied, "Of course! We were together what, honey, 5 years? It was an amicable split." I think he kissed me out of deep and sincere gratitude. Then she asked, "Well why did you guys split up?" My reply: "Well, he wanted kids and I'm barren," delivered with a straight face and no emotion. She squeezed my arm with a look of pity and then walked away. Again, I thought I might wet my pants from laughing so hard after she left.

All in all, I had a good time that night...what I can remember of it. The next day, Thanksgiving, I woke up and could barely walk. All that dancing following a day where I was tortured at the local gym added up to my legs being unable to support the rest of my body in any normal fashion! Anywho, I'm thinking Denver looks like it could be a strong contender for the next residence for this Sassy Blonde. Who knows?

*Thanks for a wonderful time, ATown! You gotta come to Dallas next time! XOXO
**I don't recall the cab ride home, and I hope I didn't drunk dial.
***I'm going to confession very soon.

Does This Mean I Need An Intervention??

Lets101 Quizzes - Fun Quiz

So, okay...for the most part, Astrology is a bit out there. However, I feel they've hit the nail on the head here with their assessment of yours truly....except for the lying part. I detest liars and do my best not to tell a lie when the truth would serve me better.

XOXO

A Quickie Before I Go

Well, I'm leaving for my trip to Denver today (in about 7 hours! Woo Hoo!), and although I wasn't going to post anything, there's this song that I heard over two weeks ago, and it's stuck in my head. It's by a country artist named Miranda Lambert, and she just so happens to date another country artist, Blake Shelton, whom I've known since he was a bratty kid. I went to college with his bitch sister, was her dorm RA actually, and well...I forget where I'm going with this. Anywho, it's a connection that was unexpected. But it's a touching song of a woman waiting on her man to walk through the door...so she can blow his ass away. So, this is obviously a love song:

Gunpowder and Lead

County road 233, under my feet
Nothin' on this white rock but little ole me
I've got two miles till, he makes bail
And if I'm right we're headed straight for hell

I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight well now he's got one
And he ain't seen me crazy yet
He slap my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man?
I'm going to show him what a little girl's made of
Gunpowder and lead

It's half past ten, another six pack in
And I can feel the rumble like a cold black wind
He pulls in the drive, the gravel flies
He don't know what's waiting here this time

I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight well now he's got one
And he ain't seen me crazy yet
He slap my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man?
I'm going to show him what a little girl's made of
Gunpowder and lead

His fist is big but my gun's bigger
He'll find out when I pull the trigger

I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight well now he's got one
And he ain't seen me crazy yet
He slap my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man?
I'm going to show him what a little girl's made of

Gunpowder and lead

*Not what I'd call a lyrical masterpiece, but it's rockin' and rowdy...which I love. I'm not normally into pissed off girl songs unless it's old Alanis Morissette, but I like this Lambert chick's style! Plus, any man that would slap me around would get the end of my gun too.

**Stop bitching that it's country! Jeez! I have no patience for musical snobs! Just listen to it! Branch out and expand your narrow ass horizons...

***XOXO

No Mas, Por Favor!

Okay, people, I have to relate what happened on my drive home yesterday. I think I barely escaped with my life! I was almost killed by a drunken Mexican. Now, before you race baiters start flooding my inbox or sic LULAC and La Raza on me, I will explain why he will be referred to as the Drunken Mexican.

First, he had a"Viva Mexico!" sticker on the bumper of his 1960-something Ford Fury. (I really don't know when they made the Fury, but this car was definitely from the 60s in body style)

Next, there were 3 other indicators: blaring music from the Spanish-language radio channel, 2 Virgin Mary statues (one on the dash and the other in the back window), and a sticker in the back window that said, "Everybody loves a Mexican". He was brown of skin as well, although that proves nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Anywho, I commute 45 minutes to and from work, so by the time I'm closer to my house, I'm so ready to get there. So I'm driving down a busy road called Belt Line when I notice this old car weaving a bit. My first thought was that some fucker was on his cell phone trying to text while driving. I really hate that shit, and so as I continued to drive, I started noticing all the adornments to his vehicle. Then, the weaving got rather dramatic...so much so that I had to act quickly to avoid him swiping me. It was then that I had to make a decision: Speed up and risk a ticket from a bored city cop, or stay the course and let Jose Cuervo put me into the wall. Then we came up on a red light. He came to a quick stop...the kind that makes a little tire squeak. As I was thanking Jesus that there were no pedestrians in that crosswalk at that moment, the light turned green, and I hit the gas to get around him. Unfortunately, Johnny Bravo wasn't having it! He punched the gas and continued his drunken weaving along the road. I'm starting to panic because I really need to get over to take the right onto my street. As I continued to check my mirror and slowed down to look for an opening, I was momentarily struck dumb because the Holy Virgin toppled over and bounced out the back window! Holy SHIT! That right there almost caused a 5-car pile-up behind us! I finally regained my senses and slowed down to a crawl to try to get behind him so that I could turn on my street...which was answered by a furious cacophony of foreign and domestic car horns. When I finally did get over, I drove 10 miles under the speed limit to distance myself from the Drunken Mexican. Of course, this was viewed rather odiously by my fellow road travelers. I got 3 fingers and a loud, "Get the fuck out of the way, bitch!" My response was to point and sing. Finally, as I pulled into my garage and turned off the engine, I was sorry that I didn't get a chance to snap a photo. But it was a bit frightening, and so I thought I did the right thing by keeping both hands on the wheel. Who knows?

So, Drunken Mexican, wherever you are, I have just one thing to say: No mas, por favor! No mas!

*He's lucky I was listening to Sugarland and not my Metallica....that's all I'm going to say. And he better go to confession for both his drunken escapade and for throwing the Virgin Mary into traffic. God sees that shit, Drunken Mexican. God sees that shit.

A Little Sugarland Is Good for You

Folks, I went to an excellent concert last night: Sugarland. Yes, I know it's country, but you can't argue with true talent no matter what the genre. Magic Man got the tickets, and we were front and center for the concert. Anway, I can admit that I have a girl crush on Jennifer Nettles, the lead singer. I mean, just look at her...and she can wail! AND I got to meet her! Talk about a nice, down-to-earth person. She's from Georgia, so her accent is thicker than mine, but her voice is very low and throaty. (No, we didn't make out or anything...I'm just a fan, okay?) Plus, she said she loved my earrings (so glad I wore some since I almost NEVER do!), and we talked about having naturally wavy/curly hair. In girl world, it was pretty damn cool. Now you should know that I'm not one to get starstruck. Mostly because living in LA and working at the fancy school I met so many. But I'll admit it: I gushed a little once I got backstage...but just for a moment.

Anywho, they started the set off with a song called Speed of Life, did a version of Beyonce's Irreplaceable that was pretty cool, and finished out with a song called Sugarland. A kid named Jake Owen was the first opener, and I think I agree with the judgment that he's one to watch. Little Big Town came next, and they were amazing! I bought both of their CDs before we left, and they were so much fun backstage. But back to Sugarland: What I really love about this band is that they seem so normal. The show was not in what I would consider a small venue, but I felt like I was at a VH1's Storyteller gig. They made it much more intimate simply by the way they introduced each song. They also peppered the performance with songs from their first CD, which I LOVED. And I don't know if you caught the CMA's on Wednesday night, but they performed a song called Stay that left people looking dumbfounded and awestruck because it was so fucking brilliant. Well, I got to hear it live, and I was again awestruck. Everyone went crazy for Baby Girl and Settlin' as well. And okay, I admit I made out (not a big make out in public kind of girl) with Magic Man when Want To came on...I fucking love that song. Two thumbs up, people! If there was anything that one could criticize, it's that Jennifer just can't dance, and she sometimes (okay all the time) looks a bit awkward jumping around.

All in all, I had a great time. It was a concert with mostly grown ups, which was a twist from just about every other one I'd seen in the past, oh, 5 years. Even if you aren't a country music fan, you should check out Sugarland and Little Big Town. The songwriting alone is worth a visit to the websites.

**I broke it off with Magic Man last week, but he still took me to the concert. It's an amicable split, and we have plans for the Stars games too. Too bad I couldn't bring myself to tell him that he needs some help in the ole bedroom department. I tried, but the male ego can't take it. He's a good guy nonetheless.

What The Hell Is Wrong With You?

Listen up, people! Newsflash: I am a perky and happy morning person. I bounce out of bed at 4am each morning to get my workout on, hit the shower, and get myself beautified for work. I don't complain about your bitchy non-morning person asses, so don't shit on my sunshine day with your bad attitudes. Here are the comments I received this morning upon arriving at work:


Big C (colleague):What's up with you? You seem extra perky this morning. What the hell is wrong with you?

SB:I am normally perky, aren't I?

Big C-:Well yes, but you are extra annoying this morning just bouncing in here that way.

SB:Thanks! Have a good one! (exit her office)

**************************************************************************************
SB:Good morning, Head Cheese (boss)! Have a good weekend?

HC:I'm a bit tired. I spent the whole of the weekend working on..blah..blah..blah...project for my daughter and her lab group for Physics. What's up with you? You seem extra perky this morning! What's that about?

SB:Had a productive weekend, HC.

HC:Well okay then. You might want to stay away from Big C, she'll be annoyed more than usual with your morning self.

SB:Thanks! Have a good one! (exit his office)

****************************************************************************************


Secretary 1:What are you on this morning that you are so annoyingly happy and perky (that word again) on a Monday?

SB:I'm high on life, S1, high on life! lol How are you this fine morning?

S1:Get away from me.

SB:Thanks! Have a good one! (walk away from her)

***************************************************************************************

Ditzy Brunette:Someone seriously needs to give you some downers. I can't take all this pep and smile in the morning.

SB:Thanks! Have a good one! (walk away from her)

****************************************************************************************

Okay, so you can see why I returned to my office a bit deflated but not too much so. So then I hear Coach Pappy walking in (he's a loud talker but one of my favorite people):

CP:Glad you could make it! How's it going this morning?

SB:I'm fabulous, CP! How was your weekend?

CP:Well, I did a little deer hunting, but I didn't get me anything.

SB:Good! Leave the woodland creatures alone!

CP:You sure have a shine about you this morning...more so than last week!

SB:Thanks! I'm looking for it to be a good week! Plus, it's countdown until my trip to the Rockies, so I'm excited!

CP:Damn! You better tone it down, Blondie...it's Monday!

SB: Thanks! Have a good one! (he exits office)

**********************************************************************************************

What the fuck? Is it a crime to be a positive person? I was a bit tired last week, but it was a busy fucking week! Why do people feel the need to shit on my good humor? It's not like I'm some raging bitch all the time anyway. It just seemed today that I was "extra annoying" with my sunny disposition. Whatever! Since when did it become a crime to wish people a good morning? Luckily, the day picked up! No less than 8 people said these exact words to me:

"Girl! You are getting so skinny! What are doing?"

That trumped all the stupid shitbags that had some negative opinion of my "perkiness". Fuck all y'all! I've lost 30lbs since May (and none of it from my boobs!)!

See what a positive attitude can get you?

**I'm not really what you would call skinny and will most likely never be what is considered skinny, but hey, I can dream, right? I'll settle for "built like a brick shithouse" if I can get it. It beats the alternative of, "Girl! Your ass is getting HUGE! What the hell are you eating?"
See? I look for the positives in life.

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...