Why I can't walk today

Yesterday I helped my Army cousin move out of my uncle's house. She is going to college in the Winter and is ready to live on her own. She found an apartment near her base and it is perfect. Since we are the practical type of girls who only waste money on $10 drinks, not $20 U-hauls, we decided to only use my SUV and her mustang to move.

Somewhere between the second and third trip my cousin has the panic we all go through when moving from exhaustion and heat. Am I makng the right decision? What am I doing? We are sitting on couches in the my uncle's living room drinking our first beer. We look to the right and sitting right there is a bottle of KY, I guess to go with the red thong on the floor. Yes, yes, it is time to move on.

That and Tuesday when you can home and the front door was deadbolted. Better than a sock on the door except when its your dad and step-mom and you have a key...

What the?

Move over MJ, there is someone nuttier than you.

Plan B Please

Twat'zee! discusses babies

This weekend I visited home, also known as small-town, white suburbia. Yes, Twatzee!, who prefers her penises hail directly from any brown country, returned to where sunburns and Snow White were born to watch my college partner in crime commit publicly to an engineer with a house and a dog after 8 months of dating.

*Timing, my friends, is everything.

As I sit here on the plane returning to DC from this trip home, I stare out the window and wonder exactly how the term Thrust Reverser Actuation Access written on the wing would translate into the bedroom… and I think of how different this thought is from the thoughts of those I visited this weekend.

Let me start at the beginning…
I pulled into the driveway Thursday evening with my basket of aphrodisiacs as the bachelorette gift and entered the bride’s house to a mojito (if only every return home was met this way) and a dozen ‘bachelorettes’. I knew a few ladies from college and memories of free styling contests and stage dancing quickly returned until the bride brought me into her room to show me her pure white gown (Do you know why the tradition of a white gown is crap? White = Wealth … not purity) and her friends were very vividly discussing the positives and negatives of breast pumping. Now as someone always in awe of women and what they are capable of (as well as ALWAYS a fan of anything that has to do with stimulating nipples) I was fighting the urge to puke all over that white dress. I found myself wondering if I was at a bachelorette party or a soccer moms’ meeting.

The experience viewing the bride’s dress was followed closely by the casting of the evil eye when I won the wedding dress out of toilet paper contest. I had a Rock Star design which consisted solely of a mini skirt and two small sheets of toilet paper draped over the nipples of my model (I guess the bride still has a bit of that skanky soul that joined me in enough body shots to make me gag with the thought of tequila at age 27).

*But my true question from the events of my weekend is : when did girls’ night out turn into a PTA meeting?

When did visiting friends turn into a detailed discussion of how long you have to wait for 2 ounces of breast milk to turn into 2 ounces in a diaper (and then have to join a room full of people in listening for the sounds of this transition to finish)?

It’s bad enough that as a singleton I am required to work extra so my coworkers can take their children to the doctor or to have to spend tens of thousands of dollars on engagement gifts, bridesmaid dresses, wedding shower gifts, wedding gifts, house warming gifts, baby shower gifts then baby gifts (including gifts for the older siblings so they don’t feel left out) and that is only for ONE friend. Multiply that by the rest of the friends and family that feel obligated to invite me to these events (or maybe just know I’ll be guilted into buying them gifts) and you have the reason I don’t own property, drink bottom shelf and have a half completed tattoo on my back.

Now, it may be hard to see this, but I’m not actually complaining. I am completely aware that my priorities are different than other women my age and that doesn’t make me right. BUT must I listen as your baby screams on my plane (over my India Arie at top volume) or listen as you coo in that annoying voice and ask if your child has to use the potty?

What I wonder is, why do I pay for latex and Plan B if society pressures and requires me to settle down just so I’m not constantly annoyed by these things OR get a fair shot and be considered a successful woman? Why must I be careful while expertly showing my moonwalk (RIP MJ!) on the reception dance floor because Mommy has her 4 week old strapped to her belly? I respect the choice you made and sincerely believe you have the right to celebrate MJ’s life on the dance floor just as much as I do- but why the disgust when I bump you (or is it envy over the amount of vodka and diet tonic – all the quinine and none of the calories – I can drink because I am not currently breast feeding)?

The miracle of life – I respect it, enjoy it and will watch your miracle sleep while the room ohs and ahs about how cute she is, anytime – but why does me choosing latex and Plan B (over and over and over) make me less of a woman and less successful than you? Why does your wonder over cloth vs. disposable diapers trump my wonder over the use of the Thrust Reverser Actuation Access in the bedroom?

I’m just sayin’…

Love Always,
Twat'zee!

A day in the life of Maple

a blog post by Maple

Monday was the worst day in my dog life. Worse than the day my mom thought she had a dog walker and didn't and I didn't pee all day in the house. Worse than the day she got my brother the Boston Terrier who would attack me constantly. For the record Mom, No, I don't miss him. No, I don't want a cat. Stop asking. Worse than the day we moved in with the other pug. No we weren't friends. And the crazy beagle. I didn't like her at all.

Monday was bad. On Sunday night my Mom came home from dinner. She always goes to dinner on Sunday and always says she is going to take me and she never does. I always stay home. I'm happy that way, but the big guy always gives me food under the table when I go, so I kinda sometimes want to. She had to go to pee as soon as she came in and gave me treats. Actual real treats that don't taste like cardboard. Beef bones. Not that crap in cardboard boxes that taste like cardboard, but real treats. I swallowed it whole.

Then my mom started freaking out. She texted and called everyone. OMG....Am I going to be ok. I was fine! Leave me alone.

The next day she went to work and I thought I was fine. I liked the treat. Leave me alone. I want the bed to sleep. Then suddenly mid-morning my BFF's mom comes in. She swoops me up and we are in her car. AND THEN I'M AT THE VET!!! I hate my mom. The vet puts me in a stupid cage and won't let me sleep and then keeps putting crap on my belly to x-ray me. No. I don't like your "treats". They taste like cardboard and are vitamins.

I HATE MY MOM. She made me come here and now they are trimming my nails. Well, huh, I guess she thinks I will live. No shit. Leave me alone. Let me sleep.

Awesome! Mom is here. Now I am going home. Home where I get my own bed. And real treats like last night. What? What? What is going on. We are at my friends house. Ok, fine. We are here. I will play with the crazy Italians.

We enter through the gate. I am covered in smelly crap. Not paint. I get in my mom's paint a lot. What is this? Its sticky and black. And now the dirt is sticking to me. OMG. Mom, I'm hungry. And my BFF is here. And he sees me like this. Get me home. Now.

Three hours. I am outside for hours. No, mom. Its not like a park. I want to go home. I am sticky and my nails hurt and you made me sit in a cage all day.

What in the hell are you doing now???? You are shaving me? I'm a pug. I'm a pug. I love my fur. I am a pug. I don't know what tar is but leave me alone. You want to shave M.J. initials in my fur????? Just take it all off. It feels better in the summer. You stopped. You stopped shaving. You want me to look like a lion.

I hate you mom. You better give me good treats for this.

Fundraisers that are actually fun...

Include beer pong and pool. And $3 beer. And are in gay bars filled with straight rugby players. Which is even more of a beautiful thing when Twat'zee!, Fashionista, H$ and myself are the only women among 50 gorgie men. They also get you home at 2 a.m. on a Thursday. Nothing a little coffee won't fix. Thanks Twat'zee! for an actual entertaining fundraiser.

Support second base here.

179

A million years ago, or rather last Valentine's Day I went to a voodoo party at a bar with Palin. That night I met a guy. He was from Chicago and we talked, danced, drank, etc. We exchanged numbers and made some vague promise about getting together the next time he was in town. The next day he texted a few times, I wished him a good flight home and that was that.

Fast forward to Monday. Monday I get a random text from who we will call 179, asking me out to dinner on Wednesday because he will be in town. I agree, but the next day actually wonder if 179 is married with 3 kids and a dog in Chicago. He texts Tuesday morning confirming Wednesday dinner plans and I ask him. Indeed, he is married. I am not having dinner on Wednesday and tell him as much.

He proceeds to continue texting. A lot. Constantly. For the next 24 hours. He would text 20 times and I would reply once:

• No thanks.
• Unsubscribe
• Bad timing and you are married
• Leave me alone

He did not get the hint. The texts ranged from persistant to creepy to odd. The texts by Wednesday morning from him totaled 179. 179 texts in about a 36 hour period. I found out with Sprint that you can block people from texting you. Possibly the best tool I have ever heard of. I used it and yesterday I finally got silence. Until midnight-2 a.m. when he figured out he could just repeatedly call me--12 times.

Creepy.

Banana bread

Maybe a week and a couple days ago I made a couple loaves of banana pineapple bread. I gave one to my cousin on her first day back on R and R. The other one I ate about 1/2 of. I left it for my friend who was dogsitting to eat when she took my pug for me this weekend. She is sans carbs and didn't take it. I've been eating it all week. I was pissed at myself cause I thought I didn't mix the baking soda in well. I just looked down. I was very clearly eating chunks of mold.

Insomnia

I've had insomnia since I was a little kid. I can typically get to sleep, but I get up in the middle of the night wide awake, sometimes I go back to bed, sometimes I don't. I refuse to take meds and just kinda "go with it". The reduced hours of sleep don't usually bother me, so I guess technically I am not an insomniac.

Last night after watching my neighbor's dog try to play w/my fat and lazy pug and reading, I was done w/the day at 10:30 p.m. Going to bed that early is usually a sure sign I will be up at 3 a.m. I was, but that is not the point. My mom starts the sleep disruption at 10:45 pm.

Text from Mom: Hey princess, wat u doin?

Me: Sleeping.

Text from Mom: I say 'bull shit' u don't sleep. Call me.

I call back.

At midnight, a friend in current crisis texts. I text back and forth. Then fall back to sleep.

At 1 a.m. my neighbor calls, knows I don't sleep much, and wants to chat in person.

At 2 a.m. previous date from last weekend thinks it will be awesome to text me repeatedly.

At 3 a.m. I am wide awake.

God bless coffee.

Family Dinner

Sunday night family dinner at my uncle's house is a nearly every week occurance. Topics at dinner usually range from church service that morning to completely inappropiate to the very inappropiate. Like explaining to my auntie what jizz is. Coupled with a follow up story of my cousin's days at Starbucks giving skinny girls whole milk in their lattes.

My cousin is home on Rand R from Iraq. My favorite story from last night. We get into a discussion on illegal immigration. As the only liberal at the table I know this is not going to end well.

Me: So my friend we visited in Buffalo this weekend got married to a woman who was deported before he married her. In El Salvador. It will take him 2 years and $14,ooo to get her back to the U.S. legally.

Cousin: Yeah, I told him over beer that he was an idiot and I don't believe in illegal immigration. Then left for the bathroom.

Me: I don't understand how she can even come back to the U.S. after being deported.

Uncle: There is nothing stopping them.

Me: A fence.

Uncle: That they jump over or go over. We should shoot any person who jumps the fence.

Me: Why? They are people just looking for a better opportunity. At least they are working and contributing to society.

Uncle: And then shipping their money south.

Auntie: They are all criminals. (keep in mind she immigrated to the U.S. about 10 years ago).

Me: They are not all criminals. You would shot them for fun?

Uncle: Well, not for fun. For bounty.

Cousin (crying laughing): Fuck yeah! That would be great. This story is going back to Iraq with me.

Me: Fucking Christ. You all are insane.

That's really your theory on women?

So, Friday night I had a first date with a man that truly and utterly surprised me on every front. In fact, I have been pondering over and over in my head how this gentleman was raised. He will be called Frat.

Frat knows Maverick and as such I was thinking the date would be good and fun. It was not a blind date. I had met him several months before, but was dating Bills Fan at the time. I picked Frat up at his place. It is 2009. I will agree to do this. Plus, parking near the bar he picked is often difficult, so it made sense. While parking Frat was telling me about how is neighbor has no bathroom curtains and while walking his dog just prior to the date he got to see her shower. Odd and overly open. Ok, fair enough--I can be too.

We find seats at the bar and order beer. The conversation the entire night involved nothing but sex. He started the night with his theory on women that we as a gender are either pancakes or tight pussies. I was intrigued. A tight pussy is apparently a woman who you just bang that night. Such as the midget he had recently slept with following a match.com date. A pancake is wife material. I am so glad 3 billion people can be put into two categories of people. And that these two categories don't overlap?

Throughout the date he wanted me to flash him in the bar and kept begging to show me his balls. I'm certain no matter how much beer I drank, I could not drink enough to do this. By beer three. Yes, I stayed for beer three (more for blogging material than anything else) he was asking me to go to the bathroom with him. My favorite position. The weirdest places I have had sex. Every question he asked I answered either w/a joke or with too serious of a topic for a first date. Nothing would deter him.

At this point I was kicking myself in my red 4 inch heels for not meeting Twat'zee! out, or my stylist, or my BFF, or even wearing pajamas and watching True Blood with my pug.

We get the check to leave and I offer to pay half to ensure he does not get the wrong idea here. By now, he has started asking when he can see me again. Like tomorrow night, for dinner at his house. I just laugh. And say no. Repeatedly.

Being the completely nice person I am, I give him a ride home. By the time I get home and into bed with my dog and a book he has sent me 5 dirty texts. I am not replying. By the 6th obscene text, he apparently starts to think my phone is broke and calls 2 times. Phone gets turned off. The following day....3 more texts and another voicemail and an invite for dinner. I do not reply. Tuesday, keeping in mind we went out Friday for date 1, Frat leaves me this text:

"We ever hanging out again?"

Um, no. Next.