During the giant summer project from hell, I’ve come across many an entertaining picture… my dad and his first girlfriend (oo la la, but my momma is WAY cuter), my grandma in a swimsuit (with a note from my grandpa on the back that reads “you broke the camera” 🙂 ) and oh look, it’s me!
Block parties are fun little morsels of drunken goodness.
Particularly when EVERYBODY gets tanked and you spend a good twenty minutes debating if him and her and him (who snuck out for a few minutes) came back stoned. Unanimous decision: yep.
So J made white sangria and another friend of ours made (according to her, lol) coocoo juice. The one was insanely alcoholic with triple sec and wine and peach schnapps and drunk fruit, while the other was more alcoholic and loaded with coconut rum. Favorite drink? Mixing them together… ahhh. Soooo tasty.
I have a headache this morning.
But getting drunk and having an adorable little college student hit on you is a really, really great way to spend a Sunday. 🙂
Several weeks ago I dropped my cellphone for the, oh, say, 30th time, and a little part broke off. It was a small piece of gray plastic that holds the battery in. Fortunately, I was able to shove the two halves back in and voila! the battery stayed on.
I dropped it again on Monday in Texas. On concrete. Which was gray.
My sister and I spent several minutes looking at the ground until we realized it was futile and gave up.
I now have a phone where I have to wrap a hairband around it to keep the battery on.
Stylish, no?
I checked with my ::coughevilsatanicbastardcough:: phone company and it turns out that I get an upgrade to a new phone (presumably for free, but what is ever actually free..) at the end of this month.
So I’ll be ghettoing it up for the next month.
If you call and you’re suddenly disconnected, it’s because I needed to put my hair up.
🙂
My cousin called to ask why I haven’t blogged lately… and I told her the truth.
“Well, nothing’s going on, lol.”
Generally my day revolves around going to the beach, responding to emails and phone calls and going to interviews.
I’m so tan I seriously look like I am Mediterranean. (J and I debated if I could put “ethnic” on job applications… hehehe.)
Anywho, now I’m heading out to drink and watch some band.
Entertaining, no?
Oh, but good books I’ve read lately include The Falls by Joyce Carol Oates, The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger and The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri.
I’ve actually had the last two for several months, but between work and being sick, I never got around to them. All three are fantastic. I love Oates and have most of her books, but this one, I think, is one of her best.
So that’s your end of summer reading list… get going.
We escaped this morning, and have spent the past couple of hours here at the airport.
Drinking.
We all got doubles… but not on purpose. Apparently my dad meant to order a Corona with a lime… a slip of the tongue resulted in a double Cuervo and a Corona… with four slices of lime.
It’s been a long few days.
My parents and sister boarded their plane about 20 minutes ago. It’s a nonstop and they should be home by five. I, on the other hand, get to change planes in Detroit—after a two hour layover—so I won’t be home until 11 or 12. Lovely.
And then I have to unpack the box that’s coming home with me.
Box, you say? Why do you have a box?
Oh, well you see, the family (my dad’s) wants to scan old pictures in and make sure everyone has copies (a very good idea, yes). Originally one of my crazy ass uncles was going to do it, but everyone was afraid it’d never get done… so my dad volunteered me. Uh huh. Which is technically fine, ’cause originally it was a small bag of pictures—maybe 100 in all.
Then we went to the warehouse last night, the last giant stockpile of my grandparents’ stuff, and lo and behold, it’s now a huge ass box filled with pictures and papers and medals.
That I get to scan, date, arrange in date order and then burn onto discs for all five siblings and their families.
Yeah.
I need another drink.
It took me 35 minutes to get from my house to sitting at the gate on Saturday—parked, checked in, through security and with a cup of coffee.
I LOVE my little airport.
I’ve been in TX for a couple of days. We had a military burial this morning and it was really… nice. The flag folding was particularly hard for everyone I think, and it’s always tough to see my dad cry. Understandable, but sad.
Most of my relatives out here are nuts. And by nuts, I mean completely tapped in the brain. Oh and my one aunt keeps the messiest, dirtiest house I’ve ever been in. It’s just… there really and truly are NO WORDS to describe how positively foul it is.
Did I mention it, as well as the hotel and the funeral home, are located in a dry country… whereby there are NO liquor stores? No? I didn’t? I didn’t say how positively ballistic my sister and I were going since we couldn’t be tanked to deal with our insane relatives? Yeah. Bad.
My sister and I constantly found ourselves grabbing our parents and telling them how thankful we were that we got them. The other options are way too scary to imagine.
We head home tomorrow, away from the land of cockroaches, 100 degree heatwaves, lunatic relatives and no liquor.
We had a ridiculous summer storm last night, filled with lightning and gushing rain… for five hours.
My bedroom has a drainpipe right outside the window. Grrr…. hence the reason I know it started aroun 10ish and continued until past 3AM. Damn rain.
To make matters even more fun, my crazy ass neighbors (who, according to my landlord who knows their landlord, never pay rent and are delinquents) decided to spend the entire time on their porch, drinking and (probably doing acid) cheering every time lightning snaked across the sky.
At about 2AM, just as I decided that not a jury in the damn world would convict me, I heard our other neighbor start yelling.
(Bear in mind, this is a really nice, quiet little neighborhood with lots of retirees and only that one apartment filled with annoyances.)
“If you don’t take your loud, foul-mouthed (seriously who says that) selves inside that door I’m going to call the police and have you evicted from this property. This is a nice family neighborhood and I won’t have any young hooligans turning it into some downtown bar.”
Surprisingly, I think the hooligans went inside. I didn’t hear any gunshots and my neighbor is a rather large construction-worker type, so my guess is they made a hasty retreat.
It’s like watching Law and Order from my living room window, lol.
My mom’s dad died when she was young, so I’ve only ever known three of my grandparents.
My nana (my mom’s mom), who was one of my closest friends, died three years ago this month.
My dad’s mom died last May.
This morning my dad’s dad passed away in his sleep.
It’s weird knowing that my parents are now the oldest living relatives I have. And they’re only in their early fifties.
My grandfather.
In my family, good looks and the need for a gun are very prevalent. 😉
I could sing an ode to Cape Cod. It’d be all boats and quiet inlets and FANTASTIC fish and crab and oh yeah, fruity drinks. Mmmm.. Goose Juice.
If you’ve never had fresh squeezed grapefruit juice and Grey Goose, on the rocks, get thee to a juicer, because that stuff is phenomenal.
J and I laid on the beach and tanned our tushes off while her brother and boyfriend got tanked while out “fishing.” (A euphemism for driving around on the boat and drinking a case of beer.) Later we sat on the deck of a local restaurant, drinking the Juice Drinks (we’re handy with naming things.. can you tell?) and debating dinner plans.
It was still early, so we grabbed more beer and headed out on the boat, cruising around the Kerry’s Island and swimming in a deep cove for a few hours.
We’re tan, J’s boyfriend looks like a freaking lobster because he FORGOT to put on sunscreen (after we reminded him five times) and I’m pretty sure there wasn’t an inch of this weekend where we weren’t tanked or on our way there.
So far unemployment isn’t too bad. 😉
Sometimes I find myself completely devoid of interesting content, and it’s those times that I think to blog would be pointless.
Then there are other times when so many different things hit me all at once and I find myself craving an outlet and yet completely stumped.
Should I write about… no, I should… no, I mean I just did… wait, who reads this again? Argh, that’s a bitch. Sigh.
Kat and I were having this discussion the other night (over Singhas and extremely spicy Thai food—for me, tame stuff for her, lol), that once you start being less anonymous to friends and family, you really tend to find yourself curbing what you want to say. Or rather, I do, probably more so than her.
I find it hard to talk openly about why I left my job… I won’t discuss conversations I have with my sister or how I feel about her boyfriend… I refuse to comment on dates I have and people I’ve met who interest me… and why? Why? Because.
Because they read this. Who? They. Them. Some who matter, some who don’t… but always someone. There’s always someone who could read this and who I could hurt or insult… or who could hurt me, depending on what I say. And that’s a tough pill to swallow.
So I stay safe and I don’t write about getting screwed by my job, or that I don’t like her boyfriend, or that I might’ve met someone who interests me.
Instead?
I am addicted, just freaking ADDICTED, to Project Runway. These people are bloody insane and it’s fantastic.
I love the Tide commercial with Kelly Ripa and her husband. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, I always smile. I think she has that effect on most people.
The two interviews this week went so well that I’m afraid I’m going to have to choose. At the same time, I don’t want to jinx it, so I refuse to talk about it or think about it. (Yeah, well done huh?) 😛
And oh yeah, this post has taken an hour to write, simply because I’ve had two IM conversations going on and I’m watching the premiere of Runway.
Highly nuts, eh?