Oh, Snap!

It’s funny how all of my married friends make me feel awfully old… but when I hang out with the friends with babies, I feel incredibly young.

Or maybe it’s just because I was hanging out with Rachel at her parents’ house, which is where I spent the majority of my adolescence (especially after curfew, because I could see the light in my parent’s room from her back porch).

Or maybe it’s because I spent most of the night singing in my patented chipmunk voices to little Miss Kylie Rose:

I hang with babies because they make me look tan:

However, if you’re hanging out with babies, don’t wear stretchy necklaces with big colorful beads. You’ll get whapped in the face, and then all you’ll feel is pain:

Babies are very good at snapping people back into reality.

I’m house-sitting again, so I get to practice the piano. I’ve been missing that a lot. I don’t like practicing when my dad is home, because unless I’m playing the Beatles or the Stones, he thinks he’s Lester Bangs. He especially hates it when I’m teaching myself random melodies, and he gets really confused when I’m plucking out my favorite eighties jams because he’s never heard of any of them.

Dad: What’s that one?

Me: ‘Rosanna’ by Toto. I’m going to play it for Tony.

Dad: Tonto?

Me: TOTO.

Dad: Can’t you look up the notes and THEN play it?

Me: I AM playing it. It only took a few tries; it’s not that hard.

Dad: Huh. That’s what it sounds like, then?

Me: (Plinkity-plinkplink) Yeah.

Dad: And it was a big song?

Me: (plinkplink, shrug) I guess.

Dad: Boooooo!!! Play some Skynard.

Yesterday I taught myself “The Promise” by When in Rome (the song that plays at the end of ‘Napoleon Dynamite’), and it was fun. I have tons of baby pictures of my brother and I “playing” that piano, which belonged to my Grandpa. So maybe that’s why I feel young. I don’t know.

Or maybe it’s because on the way to the party last night, I saw some kid at QT holding up a piece of cardboard that said “44 West to Schwaggstock”, and it brought back tons of memories of the other (now pregnant) Ra. Hitchhiking to the Schwagg. Ah, youth.

So I wasn’t gonna go to the party, but then Nick got off work and called me back, and I haven’t seen Nick in forever. There weren’t really 90 couples, that was just me being a drama queen (I’ll pause for the shock to sink in). It was just a few nice people who all left their significant others at home so it wasn’t so bad. Katie and Joe were the lone couple of the night, as well as King and Queen of Planet Awesome because they rock (and because it was their party, and plus that whole getting married thing).

Heebs was there and I got the usual cold shoulder, but when I told everyone that Vee sent me a text about Hasslehoff crying on American Idol, he laughed and practically talked to me. So that’s something.

And later, Nick let me sneak upstairs to their apartment so that I could kiss Miss Matilda on the forehead. I miss Miss Matilda.

The weird thing is (and I’m backing up here), when I was at my parent’s house, I didn’t go in my room at all, even though I went in the basement. I loved that room so much and I always felt so safe and happy there. But I don’t have much in common with the girl who lived there, and I had no desire to revisit that time at all. Sometimes it feels like my old room, and sometimes it’s just a room and nothing more. But this was the first time that I consciously didn’t want to go there. So that made me feel old.

My grandma says she feels 22. I suppose it’s all relative. But it’s nice to know that one way or the other, those feelings always balance themselves out.

P.S. Oh! I forgot to tell you! Hanging out with my sister-in-law the other day was actually really fun!

#*$%ing Married People

If you’re married or about to be married, then skip this entry.

This happens to be about 75 percent of my audience, but guess what? It’s my blog and you don’t get to have everything. Now get off the computer and go see “The Lake House” or something Married like that.

So for everyone else: don’t you hate married people?

Kidding. But married people are kind of bored and they love hearing about O.P.P., so they’re totally still reading this.

All right, fehyne. I warned you. So here’s a rundown of what I did yesterday:

• I listened to one of the graphic designers at my work talk about the great reception hall she’s renting for her wedding.
• Then Vee got her pictures back from HER wedding, so we sat in her cubicle cooing and giggling over her photo album.
• Then I checked my e-mail, and I found out that my old friends Emily and Ben just got engaged
• Then I checked flights to Florida for Liz and Andy #5’s wedding.
• Then on the way home from work, one of my friends called and I told him about how Ra eloped, and we talked about Ty’s wedding.
• Then I had to go to Target to buy Katie and Joe’s wedding present.
• The chick working by the registry recognized me because I have been there three times in two weeks.
• Then my cousin called to talk about her upcoming wedding, and I almost hung up on her.
• Then I had to pick out something to wear to a pre-wedding party, which will consist of 90 couples and a guy who hates me because I broke up with him.
• Then I was just plain pissed off and tired and sick of all this wedding bullshit. And all I wanted was to relax with my friends and have a few beers and laugh about life. And I met up with them, asked them what they’ve been up to, and one couple smiled and looked at each other and can you guess what they told me? CAN YOU GUESS?

I get really defensive when Ray makes fun of Missouri, but this time he’s right. What the fuck is wrong with you people? When did you decide to all get married at the same time? Did I miss a meeting or something? Is this why my mom yelled at me for skipping cotillion?

I called TSGoC because he feels that the institution of marriage is a pointless charade, and we had a nice conversation about everything else that matters in the world. And then I gave him the rundown of my day, and he said, “What the fuck is wrong with Missouri?” He’s right. I’m moving.

I used to be like everyone else, but it wasn’t my fault. I had a boyfriend who used to talk about getting married all the time. And he was always the one who brought it up, not me. I’d catch him staring at me, and he’d say shit like, “I was just thinking about what it will be like to start a family with you.”

“Awww,” said all the married people, who are still reading this. Then they leaned over and gave each other a kiss, because married people do shit like snuggle and read blogs together*.

But then he read some article that talked about the rising divorce rate, and how businessmen and musicians always cheat on their wives. And since divorce is his biggest fear and he’s going to be a musician/businessman, he became convinced that if he ever got married, to anyone ever, he would inevitably get a divorce. Ergo, no wedding.

Then he acted as though he was my savior, because this way I wouldn’t have to experience the heartache of a broken home. And also: “I just – I don’t want all this pressure.”

Me: “But I didn’t say anything, Einstein. It was your idea.”

But hey, if he’s right then technically I only have to be mad at 40 percent of you… you people.

Man, I remember how it used to be… the first time a friend of mine got married, it was so exciting. I spent a lot of time picking out the presents, housing friends from out of town, listening to all the details, etc.

Hell, even their one year anniversary was awesome. I slaved over a lump of clay for months making a Meatwad bowl, because I love my friends and I am so thrilled when good things happen to them.

See? See how happy I was for them? I wasn’t always like this.

So for the nine couples (Nine!! NINE couples, which equals EIGHTEEN of my friends) who have asked me to celebrate their special day with them this year: I do love you and I wish you the best, and I truly am very happy for you.

I’m just… tired. I’m too tired to get excited about that shit right now. I’m sorry. I don’t have that much clay. I don’t really have the time or the money either, but I’ll still be there because I love you. You’ll just be getting a nice set of bath towels, is all.

P.S. Because Jen and Ron got married before all of the insanity, the statue of limitations allows me to still be happy for them. They are my best friends, amazing people, and the least annoying couple I know. I love you guys.

P.P.S. And if you’re one of the newly engaged people who read this anyway, it’s not about you. No no no, not at all. It’s the other eight couples, I swear.

* I hate you guys.

Pounding pavement vs. pounding people

So when I wake up angry, I want to get rid of it immediately and the best way to do that is by running.

I haven’t woken up angry in months, so I haven’t run in a long time. But the past few days, for whatever reason, I’ve woken up pissed off so I’ve been running my ass off.

It’s great timing, because right now the sun begins to rise at the same time I do, and the sky is the perfect mix of pinks and blues and violets and marshmallow swirls. And there’s really no way you can stay mad when you’re staring at a sky like that.

And then on the way to work, I saw a family of deer run across the road.

And for the past two hours, I’ve been watching this big-ass turkey outside my window:

It’s a bad picture, but this thing is huge. And more importantly, the fuck? Why is there a turkey outside my window?

Thank You, Captain Obvious

For those of you who do not have a grown-up jobby-job yet, you should know that a “meeting” sounds more important and scary than it actually is. For example, here’s the Big Meeting I had today:

Me: So in this section of the eNews, I have to write about the two new sewing projects, right?

Marketing Assistant: Yes. Correct.

Me: Okay, I’ve seen pictures of the “Serged Quilt”, so I can describe that with no problem. But what are the “Anniversary Napkins”?

Marketing Assistant: Oh, you’d put those out for fancy dinners… and then your guests would use them to wipe their mouths [mimes holding a napkin, pats her lips].

Me: …

Marketing Assistant: What?

Me: I meant where can I find a picture… did you just show me how to use a napkin?

The Va Jay Jay Monologues

This is a filthy, filthy, dirty entry. So you should probably skip it.

Still here? I knew it. Sinner.

So this past weekend, we celebrated our friend’s upcoming wedding with separate bachelor/bachelorette parties. The girls were treated to an “Adult Novelty” party, and it was hysterical.

This was my first sex toy party, but I’m pretty sure there’s some sort of “code”, much like bachelor parties*. So I will not mention if anybody bought anything, who seemed the most interested, who top-secretly put icy-hot on their business, or anything like that. I’ll just write about my own observations:

They like to give you little samples of lotion and the such-and-such, so lots of weird stuff ends up squirted on your hands and wrists. Some moisture-activated lube ended up on my fingertips at some point. I thought I had wiped it off, but later on it activated with the condensation on my glass and I almost dropped my drink.

They demonstrated one kind of lube (which may or may not have been called “Anal Ease”) by having one girl make a fist and another girl stick her finger in it. I happened to be sitting in the middle of the couch, so I got tag-teamed by Jen and Niki. Jen’s new nickname for me is “Fingercuffs”.

We learned all about the Linus and the Lucy (or as our hostess awesomely called it, the Va Jay Jay). We even learned a little bit about boys and their Charlie Browns. Oh, hey boys? Apparently you all love anal. All of you. Love it.

The technology that goes into those toys is mind blowing: there are strobe lights, suction cups, alien tentacles, disco balls, animal figurines, and more. Some of those things move so fast that Steven Hawking could use them for time-traveling.

The famous “Rabbit Pearl” was cute, but the idea of having a little bunny foo-foo that close to my “doorbell” just feels wrong. I mean, make it a unicorn, or at least something that doesn’t hop by my window everyday at the office.

So passing around the stuff was funny, but then you have to go upstairs and make your selection. Now, I am not squeamish about this stuff at all (incredibly amused maybe, but not squeamish), so if I had bought a toy I would probably tell you and I wouldn’t be ashamed of it. But I didn’t buy one – I went upstairs and had the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had in my life, which I opened with:

“I want a penis cake pan.”

I’m going to be a Maid of Honor in October, so I figured it might come in handy. But seriously, when else will I ever say that? Okay, here’s the rest of my conversation:

Me: I want a penis cake pan.

Her: Oh. You’re not getting a toy?

Me: Um, no. I’m good. Thanks.

Her: Oh, honey. You need a toy.

Me: Um… can I just have the penis cake pan?

Her: Oh my god, you really need a toy. Oh my god. You don’t even know. What about the “Wall Banger”?

Me: … should I get the penis cupcake pans instead?

Her: Just tell me what toy you want.

Me: I’m… broke? I’m broke. Can’t. Sorry.

Her: So you might get one later? Oh my god. I’ll write down my number. I’ll give you a discount.

Me: [And I meant this the way a guy means it] I’ll… call you?

Her: Oh my god, here’s my number. Call me. CALL ME.

I find it really ironic that girls are taught to never talk about this stuff, ever – we’re supposed to feel really ashamed and embarrassed and dirty. And then suddenly, you end up marking your friend’s passage into womanhood by sitting in a room with a complete stranger, getting peer pressured to Do That Thing. That conversation was the most peer pressure I’ve experienced in my life, and that includes pressure to smoke cigarettes and buy Mary Kay make-up at work.

Is this what it felt like for all you boys – you know, during that one summer when you all hit puberty at the same time? Like, one second girls are grody and the next second boys have to be into them or else? It’s kind of like that, right? It was so weird. Even though I am blogging about this, I still feel really rushed into being allowed to be okay with it. I’ll stick with the rivers and the lakes (and the penis cake pans) that I’m used to… I know Party Lady has it her way or nothing at all, but I think we’re moving too fast.

Tony spent the whole weekend calling it a Sex Party: “Are you still at your sex party? How was the sex party?” We poured over the catalog later, and he picked out an inflatable sheep for Ty’s bachelor party. I love Tony.

*So if, as a completely random example, we had ended up in East St. Louis at 3 am, watching some chick at Roxy’s named “The Supersoaker”, I would not blog about it.