Happy Twenty-ten!

It’s new year’s eve, and you know what I’m not going to do? I’m NOT gonna go out and party. Two years ago, I sat in my bed with a dog, a half empty bottle of champagne, and my best friend Jax. We watched as the tv faded behind our drunken conversation. I could see the shiny ball dropping through my drunken and glassed over eyes. Whenever I have too much to drink, you can tell because I start getting really really sleepy and my eyes become droopy and I can barely see. What a weird tradition too, New York city. A ball dropping? It sounds so wrong. Like everyone is watching a teens testicle descend into puberty as we ring in the new year. Strange. A lot of traditions are strange this time of year. New Year’s resolutions are something I don’t understand either. I’ve never really done that or understood why people do that. However, this year my mom said that her resolution was to drink more. There’s a plan I can get down with.

Anyways, two years ago,Jax raised her glass and clinked mine only to spill some champagne on the duvet cover. “To the new year!” She said. “May this one be a little less lonely than the last!” We laughed, the kind of nervous laugh you do when something is funny, but you’re also totally fucking serious. We weren’t kidding. When everyone else was downtown celebrating the reckless abandonment of their morals while sucking face with Ricky Random, Jax and I were getting slobbery kisses from the dog lying in my bed. Score.

This year, I’m a little less lonely. Okay, I’m not lonely at all. This past year I’ve had a wonderful boy in my life, dedicated readers of my blog, and amazing new people I’ve met through twitter. In fact, this blog is dedicated to one of those twitter folk, Michael Hills (@mjh81) who insisted I write a post in the next to days. He said it was critical and a matter of life or death. I hope this crappy spur of the moment blog post will suffice in sparing your life.

The boy said to me “Everything in LA sucks for new years. Every single club and restaurant features some DJ Jazzy Jams who will be spinning the top forty bull shit songs you know and hate.” I have to agree with him on that. So let me live vicariously through you all. What will you be doing for new years? Will you go out and partake in the drunken debauchery? Will you be out on the dance floor contracting herpes as you grind up on some douche bag hottie in an Ed Hardy Tee while listening to crappy music? Whatever you do, have a safe and happy new year…and if you must make a resolution, take a tip from my mother and resolve to drink more.

Christmas time is here!

I found this Christmas meme and thought that it might be fun to answer some of these questions. enjoy!

Wrapping paper or gift bags?

Gift bags for sure, I’m too lazy. My wrapping always looks like a deranged five year old wrapped it.

Real tree or artificial?

My apartment has a fake tree. It is tiny and pink. My parents get a real tree though. It’s sixteen feet tall and I am PISSED that my family decorated everything without me. Luckily my mom didn’t go too nuts with the garland this year though. Sometimes it looks like Christmas cheer got drunk on egg nog and threw up all over our home….but in a very tastefully overdone sort of way.

When do you put up the tree?

Ahem, physical labor? Do you know me? I don’t do that. I throw my little pink Christmas tree up in my room though when the first snow hits the ground.

When do you take the tree down?

Again, I don’t do that sort of thing.

Do you like egg nog?

Nope. Not really. Not even if it’s doused in rum.

Favorite gift received as a child?

Hmmm….. I got an American Girl Doll once when I was little and was really excited about that! I got Addy, the only black doll that was available. My mom thought it was strange that she was the one that I wanted, but she went with it anyways. I remember that a lot of my friends hassled me about having a black doll and a lot of those friends parents hassled my mom as well. She bought me the red haired doll the year later so I would have one that looked like me as well. I loved all the clothes they came with!

 Hardest person to by for?

The boy, of course. Anyone have any good ideas on what to get him?

Easiest person to buy for?

Myself, of course. Ok, just kidding. My friends are the easiest to buy for. I think girls in general are easy to buy for. We like sparkly things. That should be easy enough.

Do you have a nativity scene?

My parents have one. I like to set it up. I get really possessive when anyone plays with the figures or fucks up the positions I set them all up in.

Mail or Email Christmas cards?

Neither. We stopped sending Christmas cards awhile ago. My mom mails some out, but we never take a picture for the cards like we used to.

Favorite Christmas movies?

Elf, Charlie Brown Christmas, Muppets Christmas Carol, and of course, The Grinch!

When do you start Christmas shopping?

About five days before Christmas….seriously.

Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?

Yep. I’m a cheap ass.

Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?

I love gingerbread! Also, every year on Christmas eve, we get escargot. (snails) They are my favorite! I only get them once a year and I will stab you with the tiny snail fork if you so much as try to steal on little bite!

Lights on the tree?

Yes. Hundreds. Eff conserving on energy. It’s Christmas, mother fuckers. Light ‘em up! (the trees, I mean)

Favorite Christmas Song?

Until recently having snow dumped on me my favorite was “Let it snow,” but screw that noise.  I love “Baby it’s cold outside” and “Have yourself a merry little Christmas.”

Travel at Christmas or stay at home?

A little bit of both this year. I’ll be in Colorado and California this year. We used to travel to my Grandmas in Indiana when we were much younger and have Christmas with aunts and uncles and cousins. That was always fun.

Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer?

Yep. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen…and Rudolph!

Angel or Star tree topper?

A star! We always forget to stick it on top of the tree before putting the tree up so it becomes a big fiasco trying to get it to the top!

Open the presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?

Morning! We go out for dinner for Christmas Eve and more recently my younger brother and I have started a tradition of getting drunk with some friends after dinner. We then sleep in until my youngest brother can stand to wait no longer so he comes and wakes us up to open presents.

Most annoying thing about this time of year?

Every asshole flying home at the airport who thinks yelling at people “But I have to get home for Christmas!” will make the plane take off on time. Oh, and then those weird people who clap when the plane lands. What did you think it was gonna do?

Favorite ornament, theme, or color?

My favorite ornament was this little wax angel my mom had. I used to pick at it all the time because it was wax though and that always pissed my mom off. We still have the angel on our tree and you can totally see how I’ve picked and scraped at it when I was little.

Favorite Christmas tradition growing up?

Some nights after dinner we would get hot cocoa and cookies and get to eat them in the car while we drove around late at night looking for Christmas lights.

Favorite tradition now?

We don’t have many new traditions now, but I do take some kiddos I babysit for to the electrical safari at the zoo at Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado. The zoo gets all lit up and you can walk around, see the animals, drink hot cocoa, and even see Santa.

Favorite Christmas memory?

 Making gingerbread houses and setting up a Christmas tree. I guess I love being with family when the world seems so still and peaceful, but dammit, I love gingerbread too. Yum!
When my brothers and I were younger, our aunt would send us tons and tons of candy and trimmings to use on some pre-maid gingerbread she baked and sent to us. I always carefully tiled the roof with chex mix and lined the front lawn with gum drops. My brothers on the other hand could never get the gingerbread house to stand up correctly (they didn’t have the patience to hold it while the frosting dried) and so they would create a ginger bread war zone. Every Santa candy for himself. Red frosting blood was squirted everywhere. We lost a lot of good (ginger bread) men. The funny thing? We are all grown up now and we still head back to my moms house for our gingerbread making tradition…..and those assholes still make a gingerbread war zone and teach the kids how to do the same. I could kill them, but it kind of cracks me up too. Some things never change….and i love Christmas for that. Traditions live on…too bad the ginger bread people die.

I’m due for a good rant.

Really TLC? Really? Remember when you had normal shows like “A Wedding Story” and “A Baby Story?” I loved those. I loved the wedding story one because I have an unhealthy obsession with weddings. I loved the baby story because it scared me from ever wanting children (as did years of babysitting.) Nowadays, it seems as though TLC is trying to reach a narrower demographic. No more wedding bells and baby showers. The channel has become overloaded with weird pregnancy shows, huge families, and midgets (little people? What is the PC word for them? Oh, who cares.) How is there an entire freaking show called “I didn’t know I was pregnant?!” How is that possible? Some THING lives inside of you for nine months and you have no clue? It kicks and moves and makes you puke and pee every five seconds and gain weight and you haven’t the slightest idea that in nine months a freaking kid is gonna shove its way out of you? I. Don’t. Get. It. And how on earth were there enough women out there who didn’t know they were pregnant to make an entire series for television? That scares me.

Also, lets talk about this fascination with little people. In every single promo for a little person show they say “We’re just like everyone else.” Um, then why do you get your own freaking show!? Also, this new little person show about chocolate makers called “Chocolatiers?” Really TLC? You couldn’t find a family named “Keebler” that baked cookies in an oak tree? Way to promote funny stereotypes. 

I’m also kind of done with these huge families. Jon and Kate was fun back when they weren’t all over the tabloids, but the “Duggars 19 and Counting” and “Table for Twelve?” We get it, you don’t know how to use birth control. You like to just allow God to shower you with children. Here is the thing, God isn’t really just giving you children whenever he damn feels like it. If you hump like rabbits on the days that you are ovulating, you’re likely to get pregnant especially given your history as “Fertile Myrtle.” That’s not some “gift from God,” it’s called biology and “natural family planning.” Get with the program. You people are weirdos and the earth is already overpopulated. Think about the carbon footprint that you and your family alone are leaving on the earth. I feel like it’s a little selfish. Also, how do you manage to have 19 kids and feel like each and everyone of them gets enough love and attention? Having that many kids is not good for anyones body and I’m not just talking about the fact that you vagina can probably touch the floor and your stomach looks like something out of Aliens vs. Predators.

Stop with the huge families, stop with the little people, the little couple, the little chocolate makers, stop with the deranged five year old beauty queens and stop with the odd pregnancy stories. Please and thank you.

Love, Maddie.

Yes Virginia, There is such a thing as word vomit.

I totally forgot to type up this play by play between the pharmacist and me in one of my more recent blogs so, here it is. I told it to my best friend on the phone the other night and she was in just about as much awe of what I said as you readers probably will be. Oh well. Here it goes:

Pharmacist: What is your prescription under?

Me: um, “M”….Maddie

Pharmacist: aww, I have a daughter named Maddie also.

Me: It’s a common name.

Phamacist: What is your birthdate?

Me: 9-3-87

Pharmacist: Oh, well….my Maddie is a few years younger than you. The total is sixty-five dollars. Wow, that’s a lot! What are these? Birth control pills? Hmmm….

Me: Yea. Sixty-five dollars is a lot. Granted, it’s cheaper than a freaking kid!

Pharmacist: Don’t I know it! My daughter has a kid.

Me: Your daughter Maddie?

Pharmacist: Yep.

Me: The one who is a few years younger than me?

Pharmacist: Yep.

Me: Wow. Maybe you should have dished out that sixty-five dollars.

Dear Santa, for Christmas I would like a social filter.

And now I present: The Evolution of the Christmas Cookie Dough Consumption

This is my life. For realsies.

Finally! Wednesday is here which means my favorite tv shows are on and it’s a snow day! Classes got cancelled, which is always good. I needed a break from this week. If you follow me on twitter you would know how bad my Monday had gone. Last week I managed to trip and fall (over my own two feet, thank you very much) and I landed face first on my fan…while I was wearing my glasses. I managed to give my self a beautiful black eye and cut up my face a bit. It was lovely. I know, I know…I’m so graceful.

So, I woke up this Monday thinking that things might go a little bit more smoothly. Boy was I wrong. Monday morning came and dumped a ton of snow on us. It was one of those days too where you wake up early for no reason and then get pissed for not being able to fall back asleep. I got down to my car which is parked outside because I’ll be damned if I’m gonna pay 50 bucks a month to park in a garage and my windshield was covered with snow. It was then that I realized I had no idea where my ice scraper had gone. Great. I wiped the snow off my car with my mitten covered hands and then proceeded to crank the heat (and the Christmas music) in my car. I parked my car at the commuter lot so I could take the bus to campus. The commuter lot looked like a shit show. Whenever it snows, people suddenly become retarded and forget how to park in straight lines. I had to weave in and out of cars to try and find some semblance of a parking spot.

I was getting off the bus and slipped down the stairs of the bus and onto the curb….and into a puddle of snow and sand. Yea, we use sand here in Iowa instead of salt like intelligent people. So then what happened? I got to go to class with a wet sand covered ass. It totally looked like I pissed my pants. And what’s worse? I was late coming into class so pretty much everyone saw my soaked ass and to top it off, after I left class I left a lovely soaking wet spot on the seat. I. Am. Awesome. My butt was also pretty badly bruised from the fall and I really effed up my knee…which I should have gone to the doctor for. (I’m still thinking of going to the doctor for my knee, but I needed to shave my legs first. No shave November continued long into the month of December for me. Hot, I know you want some of this. What if I go to the doctor though and McDreamy works there? I can’t risk unshaved legs for that!)

Anyways, after classes I drove to the bank to take out forty bucks so I could buy groceries. I forgot my card and had to make the teller do extra work to find my account number by using my social…which she was none too pleased about. She then proceeded to tell me that I didn’t have forty dollars in my account. I told her that was fine and to just give me whatever money was left in the account at which point she turned to me with the biggest shit eating grin and dropped a whole sixty-five cents in front of me. “Have a great day!” she said. 

After that I went to the store and decided to write a bad check. I needed ice cream, dammit.

I called my mom on the phone to tell her about my day. She wasn’t very supportive. In fact, she asked me if I was drunk or just stupidly clumsy because I kept falling down. I decided to check out my bruise again.

Here is how the conversation went down.

Me: Awww man, this bruise has gotten even worse!

Mom: That’s typically what happens with bruises….wait….didn’t you say you had that bruise on your butt?

Me: Yep.

Mom: Well, how are you looking at your butt right now?

Me: In a mirror.

Mom: Is this what you do when you are on the phone with your mother? You stare at your butt in a mirror?

Me: Sometimes I stare at my…

Mom: Maddie!

Me: What?! I was totally gonna say pretty hair.

Check out the bruises for yourself: Here is the semi-black eye and the bruise as it appeared on Monday. Yes, you can see my butt crack. Ha. Ha.

Awesome. I look like I belong in the battered women’s shelter. Score! Just to clarify-my boyfriend doesn’t beat me.

My hormone are out of harmony.

So today I’d like to talk about something we all know and love. My vagina. Seriously though, I missed three days of my birth control pills which, when you consider the fact that my boyfriend lives hundreds of miles away and I should have just dealt with it, it doesn’t seem like such a big deal. I however am not good at keeping track of things or keeping on schedule….so what did I decide to do? Oh yes, kids. I popped three of those little suckers at once.

It’s funny how three pills that are collectively the weight of a single tic tac can fuck you up so ridiculously. It didn’t seem like a bad idea until I got home from class. Cut to a few hours later when I was sitting on the couch watching E! news. There was some special on about Beyonce (who I kind of dislike) and it was talking about how she had generously given money to create a youth center at her church. Now, before I tell you what happened next, let me just say that I am ashamed of my actions. ASHAMED, people. I started tearing up. Water was welling up in my eyes. I switched the channel. A stupid Kay Jewelers commercial was on and yet again, the  water works started. Awesome.

Seriously, I started crying about everything. It was like my whole freaking world was coming apart all because my hormone levels were out of fucking whack. I got to thinking about that stupid song “I enjoy being a girl.” I’m curious as to what is so enjoyable. Is it the sixty-five dollars a month I dish out to avoid getting knocked up? Is it the seven dollars I spend on a box of tampons so I can shove cotton wads up my cooch and stop from bleeding onto the expensive and itchy lace panties I buy? Is it the hours I spend straightening my hair and ruining it? Is it the rising levels of hormones raging through my blood stream right now that make me seem like that black hole in my chest is actually where a heart is? What is it people?! And don’t tell me dresses and heels because that just won’t cut it.

I’m pretty sure that whoever wrote that stupid song was a post-op transexual who won’t be needing to prepare for that “time of the month” anymore. Fuck you, hormones. I hate you.

All I want for Christmas is to not bounce my checks….

Going back to apartment life after being home for a week leaves little to look forward to. Irregular bowel movements and sleepless and drunken nights are now my life once again…oh, and studying….yea.

Seriously though, I really feel like the universe is playing a cruel trick on me. I fly back from Colorado where its gorgeous blue skies and mountains paint a scene out of a post card and I land back in Des Moines, Iowa where everything is grey and dead and about as welcoming and cheery as a funeral. Iowa makes my seasonal depression dreams come true. If I had to guess, we would be the state with the number one sales in Zoloft. 

As if coming back to a boring town where the cold weather bites you on the ass every morning weren’t bad enough, I had to pay NINETY-NINE dollars to park at the fucking airport. Ninety-nine dollars. I pulled up to the cashier who muttered the price and I responded with “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that right, it’s what ninety-nine?” As if she was going to tell me it was forty dollars and ninety-nine cents and she was all um, no bitch “That will be ninety-nine DOLLARS.” Seriously, eff my life.

Recently my accounts have taken quite a hit. I had to pay thirty dollars for new checkbooks and sixty-five dollars for a months worth of birth control pills. Do you know how many times per month I need to have sex in order to justify spending that much. Clearly my co-pay sucks. I talked to the boy and told him from now on we needed to have sex twice a day every day for a month just to make up for the cost. Granted, sixty-five bucks is cheaper than a fucking baby at this rate, but if I did get pregnant that would save me nine months of having to pay for the pill…which I don’t think is a very good trade off.

Also, I have a bone to pick with the birth control companies. I pay a pretty penny for this little pill and it would be nice if you threw in some extras. You know how sweaters sometimes come with extra buttons you can sew on in case you lose one? Well, birth control should come with a few extra “sorry I dropped this pill down the sink” pills. A few extras just in case. Wouldn’t that be nice? 

Anyways, back to my money issues. Between the parking, the checkbooks, and the birth control pills, I have managed to spend a grand total of $194.00 in the past two days….not to mention the dirty martinis I needed when I finally took a look at my account information. Needless to say, no one will be receiving Christmas presents this year. Might I interest you in a hand crafted card instead? I’ll put glitter on it!

 

 

I’m thankful…….

Here are some things in the year 2009 that I am thankful for:

I’m thankful that 2009 will be remembered as the year we elected our first black president…but more so as the year that a man who used to be black passed away-thanks, Michael Jackson

I’m thankful that now whenever something goes wrong there is an annoying Kanye West joke that people like to make.

I’m thankful for the fact that now when you run into a creepy person in an alley on the street, you can’t tell whether they are a mental patient or trying to copy the fashions of Lady Gaga.

I’m thankful that we finally found out Megan Fox’s flaw-her weird club thumbs.

I’m thankful that stars like Taylor Lautner and Justin Bieber have encouraged women in their twenties and even early thirties to throw pedophile charges to the wind.

I’m thankful that a certain clothing designer has made it that much easier to pin point who the douche bags are in the bar-thanks, Ed Hardy.

I’m thankful that the hype about Bristol Palin being a teen mom has blown over and now we can focus on more important things, like glorifying her baby daddy, Levi Johnston by having him pose for GQ.

I’m thankful that Perez Hilton made it ok for even the gayest of the gays to use the word “fag.” Good one, Perez.

I’m thankful that Heidi Montag and Carrie Prejean have shown us that you can still be a great christian by posing for playboy and making forty sex tapes.

I’m thankful that getting out of your limo and flashing your panty-less crotch is no longer the way to get attention in hollywood, banging Jon Gosselin or interning for David Letterman and sleeping with him however, is.

I’m thankful that TLC opens the publicity doors and caters to little people, eight Asian kids, and families who don’t know how to use birth control.

 

What are YOU thankful for?=)

Leavin’ on a jet plane

Lets talk about holiday flights for a minute. Flying for me is supposed to be zen and relaxing (although it never really is because I hate turbulence and I practically fight back tears or fear when the plane takes off). I’m either going to fall asleep from the Dramamine and vodka induced coma I concocted myself or I’m going to sit back and drink my early morning bloody mary and enjoy that new issue of Vogue that I bought at the overpriced gift and concession counter in the terminal. Neither of these scenarios ever really play out as intended though.

First of all, the Des Moines Airport is the tiniest airport I have ever encountered in my life. It’s boring as shit to be stuck there and out of the probably forty or so times I have flown out of there, never have I ever been at a different gate. Ever. I arrived at the airport in the same outfit I had gone out in last night because I’m classy like that. It was actually really convenient to just pass out in a simple shift dress and throw on some cute boots and a cardigan the next day. Clearly I’m an excellent planner. Lets get one thing clear though now, when you get onto a flight nowadays, EVERYONE knows you have to remove your shoes and you can’t carry any liquids onto the plane. Everyone that is except for the hot mess of a couple in front of me. Seriously, the guy was like thirty something years old and apparently couldn’t get it together to not wear his flannel pajamas to the airport. You’re not five years old, mother fucker. Dress yourself accordingly if your going to be out in public. His wife was just as bad. Apparently they hadn’t flown since 1992 because they looked shocked that you couldn’t take a water bottle onto the flight. So what did this woman do? Instead of just dumping out her huge nalgene bottle, she decided she will drink it….all. So I had to stand behind them in line and wait for her to chug her 20 ounces of water and then proceed to be dumfounded that she was unaware that you had to take all cell phones and change OUT of your pockets before walking through the metal detector. Seriously people. 

Once I got on the plane I thought I was safe, but I looked to my left  across the aisle and saw a four month old baby. “This is his first flight!” the mom said to me. Wonderful. I sat in the middle seat. The worst place to sit….ever. To my right was a 350 lb. man. Now, 350 pounds is fine for a baby elephant, but if you think you are going to squeeze your fat ass next to mine and then practically sit your thigh on top of my lap, I’m gonna request that maybe you buy two seats for that next flight you take. I don’t have a problem with your weight, I just have a problem that part of it is on top of me. If I was one of those girls who weighed as much as Nicole Ritchie, it would be fine, but I’m a curvy girl and although my hips and butt fit nicely into the seat, it’s not easy when someone who is very large sits next to me. And I understand that you are probably as annoyed with it as I am, but really, spend a little extra money and don’t fly economy class where we barely have room anyways. 

I was really hoping for a hot guy to sit on my other side or some normal college kid, but of course that didn’t happen. I sat next to some weirdo woman who wanted to tell me about her dream last night. Here’s the problem I have with that. I don’t like to hear about people’s dreams because every dream story starts off the same way. It goes like this “Oh my God, I had the WEIRDEST dream last night….” Of course it’s weird, that’s why it’s called a dream. 

In front of me was an elderly couple who when the woman would speak the man would just look up and say “Huh?” She finally yelled at him “You know, I wondered last night why we never talk at dinner so much and then I realized it’s because you can’t ever hear a damn thing!” It was nice to see true love at it’s finest.

The best part of the flight however was the miniature pain in the ass seated directly behind me. This little boy must have been about 5 or 6 and his way of entertaining himself was kicking my seat….as hard as he possibly could. Now, when I was a little kid, my parents made damn well sure that we were quiet and entertained on the plane and they certainly reserved the right to smack us if we consistently kicked the seat in front of us or bothered anyone. I was raised to be well behaved. I used an indoor voice and so did my brother. I’m not saying I was a perfect child, I’m just saying that my dad scared the shit out of my brother and I if we ever misbehaved.

I turned around and politely asked him to stop and then smiled at the mother. “He is just so excited about this flight!” She said to me. He continued kicking my seat. I could hear his snot nosed face sniveling behind me. Gross. He was one of those dirty children with bed head hair, sweat pants on, and breakfast still staining his face around his lips. Crusty, disgusting and full of germs, I’m sure.

He continued to kick my seat. I turned around and looked at him and made sure the mother saw me. Then came my golden moment. The captain turned off the seatbelt sign as we were in the air and I leaned my seat ALL the way back and squished his stubby little legs, preventing them from kicking me. I could hear him complain to his mom about the lack of leg room. I turned around and flashed him a smile. I sat back and enjoyed my Vogue and the large man next to me sufficed as cushion of warmth and a good person to talk to so I wouldn’t have to listen to the crazy lady next to me.