12 Days of Christmas Cruise (5,6,7)

7 questions from the spa technician **
6 quarts of sweat in Columbia
(me, "jeez, how hot is it??", john, "it's not the heat it's the humidity." me, "shut up.")
5 Tiiiiiinnnnyyyyy Speeeeeeddooooooossssss
(full body shudder....make it staaaaawp!)
4 losing games of bingo (but we won $2 on pull tabs!)
3 hours napping
2 laps around the the boat in the wrong direction (where's the fucking cabin??)
1 boy locked out of his room


** Tom and I went to the spa for a Foot Recuse!

Tom's gal, "oh, you have very nice feet."
Tom, "thanks"

My gal, "when was your last pedicure? uh, what happened here? And this is? The rough patches over here?? Did your nail tear off? Do you use any special moisturizers or oils? do you do a lot of walking?"
Me, "it's been a while....uh, not really....kinda of.....I don't usually wear socks.....yes, quite a bit of rubbing....no, not really.....not an exceptional amount of walking but when I do I always use these feet."
She could have summed up all of her questions with, "What the hell happened to your feet??"
I know I'm asking a lot of you so here's the deal;  I'll replace your callus files and creams, and if you develop any carpal tunnel injuries, I'll tip accordingly. deal? deal.

I kept picturing Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones.
"Old and busted. New, hotness"
"Old and busted. New, hotness"

12 Days of Christmas Cruise (3&4)

4 losing games of bingo (but we won $2 on pull tabs!)
3 hours napping
2 laps around the the boat in the wrong direction (where's the fucking cabin??)
1 boy locked out of his room

12 Days of Christmas Cruise (2)

2 laps around the the boat in the wrong direction (where's the fucking cabin??)
1 boy locked out of his room

The 12 Days of Christmas Cruise

1 boy locked out of his room.

Book Art

fucking sucks.  Honestly, who came up with this? Someone who grew tired of swallowing bees? This can't be a hobby...it's gotta be a prank.

So the library weeded out a bunch of books that were either out of date or never checked out and what do you do with a bunch of unused books?  Well, some were shipped to other folks but what about the ones that can't be used??  Oh, I know, let's use them for book art!  That'll be fun.

Wrong.

I tried to find tutorials on-line, for free, and didn't have much luck.  The one I did find was really long and I mean really long. I scrolled down to step 77 and said 'fuck this'.  I mean really, wasn't there several points where the instructions could have read, 'repeat lines 3&4 10 more times'?  Seriously people, who are you trying to impress? How many people are out there looking for a new hobby that involves 374 steps to complete?  Those are not people you want knowing your name. Or email address.

I ended up buying a book on Amazon.  'folded book art' by Clare Youngs. The title was in lower case letters because Clare is down-to-earth and relate-able.  Don't get me started on how both of her names are spelled wrong.  Don't get me wrong the book was beautiful.  Lovely pictures of finished works of art, clear and concise instructions with easy to follow diagrams.  Perfect.

Wrong.

Clare is a fucking bitch.  If I knew where Clare lived I would run her over with my car.  Then backup and run her over again.  And I'd recognize her immediate because, oh, I know her.  I've met her, I've worked with her and our kids go to the same schools.  She is always immaculately put together.  Her car has zero door dings. Her kids are always polite and respectful; even when no one is looking. She volunteers to help and, get this, always shows up and actually helps. She never brings store bought food to school functions even though everyone loves squishy white dinner rolls, Clare. Everyone. She's never sent her kid to school with a Lunchable. And the worst part?  The very worst part? She so fucking nice.  goooooooddddddd.  You know it's gotta be fake, right? They're all on Ritalin or they're really robots. Of course, deep down you know they're just really good people. God, I want to fucking hate her but I can't because she so fucking nice.

Anyway, I've got your number Ms. Clare Youngs.  Your beautiful book is filled with lies.

I picked out the one I wanted to make.

I mean, would you just look at that!

I got my used book, my quick drying glue, my xacto knife, and my chopsticks to help curl pages.  (I later realized the xacto knife was so you could slit your wrists. It really should not be listed as a necessary tool. That's just asking for trouble, especially if you live with other people) I followed all the steps and they were so easy. They really were.  Everything went perfectly until I finished and it looked nothing like the picture, Clare, NOTHING. 

Nailed It!

I don't even know what went wrong. I followed all the steps. Each one looked just like the helpfully provided diagrams.  Each One.  Then I looked at the picture again and.......heeeeeyyyyy.....that's not a book, Clare. It's not a book!  Books aren't made with card stock.  You used card stock, Clare! You used card stock and had the nerve to write in step #15 'with a piece of card stock fold a triangle, blah blah blah'...Like you hadn't be using card stock the entire time!  YOU FUCKING CHEATED, CLARE! I was right, it is all fake, you are a robot, you don't sleep so you spend all night cooking and training your dog and buffing out your van doors. You keep those kids locked up in cages, Clare!

So now I was on a mission. Fuck your instructions, Clare. I'm making my own heart book art. And screw you....and, well, I'll keep some of the instructions....but this is way harder because I'm using floppy, lightweight, wimpy, ACTUAL book pages.

So there, I win. And I'm never ever doing this again. and you're still a bitch.

It all makes me nostalgic for paper mache.

http://bplusmom.blogspot.com/2015/10/paper-mache-devils-art-form.html

Hunt for the Zodiac Killer

So John and I started watching this series. It follows a group of guys who are reexamining the case to see if they can identify the Zodiac Killer. In the introduction before each episode, it says something along the lines of "one group of retired law enforcement officers" blah blah blah "and a team of top cyprtographers working with the help of a Super Computer programmed to think like a killer!"

Oh, sure, 'cause what could go wrong with that!

And you named it Carmel?  Shouldn't we just start calling it SkyNet now. To avoid confusion after the robot uprising?

By episode four, it had started writing poetry. Not rainbows and flowers poetry but hiding the body parts poetry.  It was the most terrifying thing I've ever seen and they thought it was cute! No one hit the kill switch. Really? Really? Where's the button to torch the entire room? Oh my god, why are they all smiling??

I told this to Sam and he told me about an AI in another country that was shut down because it created it's own language.  fuuuuuuccckkkkkk

We've skipped past Artificial Intelligence and went straight to Artificial Psychosis.  Is it too much to ask for our robot overlords to be emotionless machines looking to use us as a cheap energy source? Do we really need creepy metal Norman Bates clapping their shiny Luke hands, "Oooohhhh, let's tear her legs off and put them in a jar?!?! do-tah-do-tah-do..."

Danger, Will Robinson, Fucking Danger

One Advantage of House Guests

My mom, "Do you have any Drano in the house? The shower in the boys' bathroom backs up when you use it."
Me, "Really?"
Sam walked in.
Me, "Sam, have you noticed that your shower isn't draining?"
Sam, "Yeah."
Me, "How long has that been going on?"
Sam, "I don't know. A couple years, maybe."
Me, <muttering> "oh my sweet jesus....."
Me, <in response to my mom> "'l'll get some Drano."

jeez.

Teenagers are Hilarious

So I was helping out with inventory in the library this week.  Among other things, we needed to weed through the literary sets; those are the 60-100 copies of the same book that are checked out to english classes. You know how you had to read Romeo and Juliet in High School and everyone was given their own copy? That's a Lit Set.

Some books were no longer taught, some were in really bad shape, and others.....well.....

We had to go through all the copies of The Good Earth by Pearl Buck.  The kids had gotten creative with the lettering on the book covers and spines. Covering letters or parts of letters. Turning around 30 copies of The Good Earth by Pearl Buck into The Good Fart by Pearl Fuck.

Don't Mess with the System

Every once in a while John will get on facebook to see what's going on in the world.  (And by world, I mean microcosms of people who haven't been in the same room in years and if they all lined up you'd be hard pressed to remember which one was Darren.) I'm the only one with an account so he uses mine.

John, "Hey, it's <so and so's> birthday this week."
Me, <noncommittal grunt>
John, "Want me to send a birthday wish?"
Me, "NO!"
John, <mild shock at my empathic reaction>
Me, "Don't! Sending birthday wishes is a trap. I'm not on facebook everyday so I'm bound to miss someone so some people will get birthday wishes and some people won't get birthday wishes and it'll inevitably be a family member so I'll have to start checking everyday to make sure that everyone gets a birthday wish and I just don't need that stress in my life so instead of sending Everyone birthday wishes, No One gets birthday wishes that way it's all fair and square."
John, "That's messed up."
Me, "Is it? Is it messed up or is it genius?"
John, "Pretty sure it's messed up. Mainly because nobody cares."
Me, "Ah, but you're assuming all of this is happening outside my head. Rookie mistake."

Jackpot!

So the boys and I went to Target.  I had a few things to return and they wanted to look at the video games.  After my quick stop at customer service I wandered over to check out the toys then caught up with the boys to let them know that I was ready to check out.  Sam wanted the keys to the car but I was like, jeez this is only going to take a few minutes so you can just wait and he acted like the whole thing was going to fucking kill him.

Anyway at the self-checkout I scanned my three items and,
<throwing my arms in the air like I just don't care> "Hey, look, look, look!!"
One of the boys, "what?"
Me, "I returned three items from $34.61 and bought three completely different items for $34.61!"
Boy, "mffht"
Me, <looking around for the flashing lights. The sirens. The confetti>"Come on!  Where's Bob Barker? I'm heading to the Showcase Showdown!!"
Boy, "Can I have the car keys?"

When I got home, I showed the two receipts to John.

Me,  <wildly shaking the papers> "Look!" (blah blah blah as I explained what had happened)."
John, "I thought you were just returning things, what did you buy?"

Sheez, I'm so under appreciated. I'm not sharing my showcase with any of you!

Happy Birthday to Me

So I had a birthday this week. Typically we don't do much other than have a cake and maybe a nice meal out. I prefer to age in peace; with silent tears rolling down my cheeks as I contemplate a life mostly over and slip steadily towards death.  <heavy heavy sigh>  But maybe that's a tad dramatic? I realize that having a birthday is preferable to the alternative but are these really the only choices?  Continue Aging or Die. What's behind door #3? Can I buy a vowel?

Anyway, this year my friends threw a surprise party for me.  Boy, was I surprised.  Gobsmacked, would be an appropriate term.  Suzanne built a cover story that was worthy of an espionage thriller.  Ben Affleck snuck those dudes out of Iran with weaker legends. It started a few months ago when she asked me to fill out this survey for her kid homework assignment.  I quickly obliged and only slightly wondered why her 4th grader would need to know my favorite movies.  Whatever... I started indoctrinating the boys at a much earlier age so that now I live with two 15 year olds who are eager to watch a Korean monster movie with subtitles. That kind of thing doesn't occur naturally; it requires delicate engineering.  Maybe she was getting a late start on Eric.

Then a few weeks ago, she needed the boys to babysit.  No problem there.  They've been babysitting for a while and it works out great.  I take them over.  John and I go out for dinner or catch a movie or something. They drive the boys back home when they're done.

There were others texts and conversations that occurred, requests for assistance, general griping,  but it all culminated with me standing in her living room, holding three different clutch purses, staring at a group of friends, and telling John, "I haven't even showered today." You know how sometimes you leave the house and something feels off so you run through a mental checklist, teeth brushed-check, bra on-check, wallet, phone, shoes....I stood there wondering, "What am I wearing? Is it clean? Does it match?" Luckily, I was dressed surprisingly well for a Saturday and I didn't smell.  Two thumbs up!

Then I saw the cake!  Suzanne has a cake lady.  If you do not have a person in your life that has a cake lady then you have a hole in your life that needs to be filled.  Immediately.  With cake.  So that's what the survey was for.  Here's my fucking awesome cake:

Yes, That is a 2 foot tall Wonder Woman, stirring a witch's cauldron with the God Slayer!

Look at her hair!!

There was even a Face Hugger attached to a severed Trump head! 

Close-up of the God Slayer.  That Cake Lady is Good!

There was a Marvin the Martian in the treasure chest.

Me, "There's Marvin the Martian!"

Suz, "I know!"

Me, "I love Marvin the Martian!"

Suz, "Yeah, I know."

Me, "How?"

Suz, "Let me get you a drink."

It was fabulous and my friends are better than your friends! Thanks, Suzanne, Chris, Carol, Kerstin, Kirsten and Tammy!! See, I bet you only have one friend named Kirsten; see mine are waaaaay better!

-----

On the actual day,

Suzanne, "Your boys are so thoughtful. Did they do anything special for you this morning?"

Me, "Well, when they came into the kitchen and started their usual bitching at each other, I said Can We Have JUST ONE MORNING WITHOUT YOU TWO SNIPING AT EACH OTHER. IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! 

They shut up and ignored each other until we left for school." 

So, yeah, they are very thoughtful.

Deconstruction

So this week the Librarians set up a Deconstruction Station where kids could come in and take apart different electronics and see what makes them tick.  Cool, right?  We had been collecting items for the last month or so.  What really helped were the 'special' garbage days when people could dump anything. I picked up a vacuum cleaner, a coffee pot, and an old computer monitor.  The monitor was especially exciting for the kids and they kept checking back to make sure they were really allowed to take it apart.  Like it could have been some type of Librarian trap, luring in unsuspecting kids and spitting them out in the front office for disciplinary proceeding. muhahahaha.

Things were going fine until a tech teacher came in.  Now my only experience with IT folk was in a corporate setting but it seems they're all punched from the same mold. "Did you save a copy?" "No, I didn't save a copy. Can you get it back?" Well, okay, those times were on me but it's the TONE. Ugh. Am I right?

So Copernicus comes in and says something to the effect of, "Oh you must enjoy electrocuting students.  You know those things can hold a charge?"

Naturally the Librarians were more than a little miffed because 1) thanks for pissing on our parade and 2) now they had to pull the monitor because this bozo came in and spilled stupid all over the floor.  

Unfortunately I was not present for this exchange and I sooooo wish I had been because, Sweetie Pie, ignoring the fact that it was unplugged in 1993, I've actually worked on those behemoths. You know what happened when you unplugged it? It turned off....that's it. Even if it did hold a charge somewhere in it's gargantuan guts, which it didn't, it couldn't have been much of charge because it took another 3 minutes to turn it back on. Don't get me started on the cpu that had to call up the mother ship every morning or the blue-screen of death lurking over your shoulder.  Why do you think we hung out at the water cooler? It wasn't just to talk about Friends. We were waiting for our fucking equipment to turn on.

So go on back to your computer lab with it's flat screens and ipads and automatic file saving and soft back lighting that is gentle on your precious eye sight. We need to set up next week's Electricity "Friend or Foe?" Station. It'll be over against a wall and everyone can stand in a bucket of water while sticking tools in the outlets. Who's first?

Happy Halloween part 2

Sam, "My (halloween costume) pants are too big. I can't wear them."
Me, "Yes, you can. I'll pin them up."
Sam, "With what?"
Me, <digging out safety pins>, Ta-dah. Safety pins."

Sam, "Safety pins? Safety pins? We need some Danger Pins!"

Happy Halloween

Sam, "AAAHHHHHHHHAAAA''

"TAKE IT DOWN!"

"NOW!"

Have You Seen This Dog

So Sam came home the other day and told me that there was a German Shepard puppy on campus. Ooooohhhhhhh.
There was a P.A. announcement asking if anyone had a new German Shepard puppy and please come to the office if you do.  Naturally Sam went to the office.  No, no we do not have a new or old German Shepard puppy.

Sam, "Is the puppy still here?"
Office Lady, "Yes, is it yours?"
Sam, "Can I see it?"
O.L., "We have a picture you can look at. Is it your dog?"
Sam, "No, but can I see it anyway?"
O.L., "Like I said, you can look at the picture. Do you know who the dog belongs to?"
Sam, "No. I just want to see the puppy."
O.L., "You're going to need to leave."
Sam, "How about a quick selfie?"
O.L., "Out!"

Words that need a Rebirth

I was helping out in the textbook room today and one of the books had those old slips that kids would write their names on back in the early 19th century.

We need to start using "Dandy" more.

No More BC Pills?

Sure that'll last...until several million middle-class white men have to get vasectomies.
Which, technically, should not be covered either.

It's all well and holy until someone starts cutting into your balls.

So this happened.....

The first email I've sent to the boys' high school principle:

From: John and Jennifer Moore  Subject: cafeteria Date: October 4, 2017 at 5:49 PM To: xxxxxxxxxxxx

So this is the strangest email I’ve sent in a while....FYI, someone in the cafeteria is putting the pepperonis on the pizzas in the shape of a penis. There. I said it. Now my kids and husband find this hilarious and frankly so do I but you may have other parents who will react differently. Best of luck dealing with this, and, boy, do you have an awesome job! Jennifer Moore

Since this was, as I wrote, the first email I've sent to her, I was pleased to discover that she has a fantastic sense of humor.  I'm not posting her response but here is my follow-up:

From: John and Jennifer Moore  Subjectmoore@: Re: cafeteria Date: October 5, 2017 at 9:42 AM To: xxxxxxxxxxxx

My husband has begun referring to it as Cockeroni Pizza. As in, “I can’t believe you narc’d out the cockeroni pizza kid.” I can not express how funny they think that is.

Hugh Hefner Cause of Death

Sky Diving?
Deep Sea Fishing?

He was 91.......
He died of being 91.

Perspective

So I've started volunteering in the library at the boys' high school and it's helped out quite a bit at home.  Volunteering at schools has always smoothed things over at home because it lowers my expectations dramatically.  After the first dozen or so dead stares, I'm reminded that all of these kids are morons, not just mine. The shear number that seem surprised that they need to provide an id or even just say their id number when checking out a book, is staggering.  "You're seventeen. You're honestly not going to start looking for your id until after I ask for it?" This is the 21st century version of pulling out your checkbook after you hear the total.  Everyone hates you, get comfortable with that.  Sometimes I'll just stare at them, not saying anything, waiting to see if it will dawn on them.  It's fun until I end up blinking first. And I always have to blink first. I tell myself that they realize what I'm doing and they're just better Owl players. But they're not. So I go home and wrap my arms around my own big dumb morons that need to be told to put spoons on the table when we're having chili for dinner.  "You're never moving out of my house, are you? "

I'm sure I've contributed to some of this but I'm only willing to take a small portion of the blame because I'm impatient as fuck and am far more likely to yell, "Oh My God. Figure it out!" than "Just a minute, sweetie, let me help you with that." I'm also lazy as fuck so when they were little and couldn't find a toy I would warn them "If I walk in there and find it, I'm keeping it!" This still works if you replace "Keeping it" with "Taking your ipad".

I blame society. Everything in my house has instructions.  Everything.  When I was a kid the only thing with instructions were the board games and we never read those. Instructions are for pussies. That's was our family motto. John will still pull out game instructions to prove that something is a Dawson rule. Not a rule rule! But why would you not want to put all the fines in the middle and whoever lands on Free Parking get them?

Everything has instructions and not just the important stuff like chain saws and pilot lights. Even the boxes tell you which end to open.  And this is information you really need to know.  If you go over to someone's house and all of their cereal boxes have been opened at the wrong end, maybe you don't want to be marrying them.  I'm just saying.  Sure it was funny the first time they asked how to use the washing machine but if they're still doing it after the fourth time, you may be heading towards a felony. These are important red flags.

So when we are on the last day of textbook checkouts and the Textbook Lady (that, by the way, is her official job title) has to tell the kids to line up on the left so the other kids can get back down the aisle to leave, I'm begging her to stop telling them that. They have six classes; this is the sixth time they've been through this process in a week and a half.  Just let them jam up and punch their way out.  How else will we be able to trust them to pick out a nice nursing home?

DMV part two

It was time once again to visit the DMV and attempt to get learner's permits for the boys. I refused to go back to their office in Pleasanton so I scheduled an appointment at the office a few towns over.  The day before I gathered up all my various types of id, proof of residence, forms, and the instruction sheet that was given to me at our last visit.  I say "instruction" sheet but it wasn't.  It was a full sheet of typing in 8 point font, 24 bullet points, from a copier in need of toner, on red paper.  Red.  When she handed it to me, I said, "You're joking, right?"  I don't care how young you are, no one can read this.  Who even stocks red paper? They had to make a special trip to Staples for this 'fuck you'.

Anyway, I handed everything to John and asked if he thought I had enough to advance past the first window.  He looked through everything, spent a fair amount of time, referring to both the "instruction" sheet and the DMV website, then said, "It looks to me like you're good." Then quickly added, "But I am in no way saying that it'll work."  Fair enough.

So wearing my "Nevertheless, She Persisted" t-shirt and armed with all of my documentation, plus a book to read while I was waiting (hope springs eternal), off we went.  We arrived in ample time for our appointment and there were only a couple other people in line - bonus.  We joined the line, behind the rope barrier.  As the next person advanced to the window, the DMV gal told us that we needed to be standing on the other side of the barrier and we all dutifully ducked under the rope. For no apparent reason. I can only assume she'd made a bet in the break room. Or maybe there was a running office pool.  Baaaah.

It only took a few minutes to reach the first window.  This time it was window #5.  Honestly, who is in charge of numbering the windows at the California state DMV and can we just let him go? Perhaps they could use one of those red sheets of paper to tape up a sign that reads "start here". While I started to get out all of my paperwork and gal took the DMV forms, looked them over and handed them back to each boy along with a deli-counter number slip. Then we sat down. Wha. Whaaa. What just happened there? I have all these pieces of paper......

(She also told each kid that when their number was called, they would need to do all the talking because I already had a license. This I very much appreciated and should be said to all teenagers. Or their parents. I would have left them to their own devices except I only had one copy of all my precious paperwork and I didn't trust them not to lose half of it before reaching the window.)

When the first kid was called, up we went. She took the form, his birth certificate, social security card, two pieces of proof of residence, and that's it. Nothing more. She did not ask me to provide any proof that I was the person listed on any of those forms.  There I was, based on my previous experience, armed with my birth certificate, marriage license to prove the Dawson on the BC is the Moore on my proof of residence, passport, driver's license (which I still refuse to believe is unacceptable) and my social security card. I also had the boys' passports and their student id's.  But no, she didn't want any of that. NOTHING.  Then the next kid was called to a window and I walked over and repeated the same process. how how how how. I just don't get it. Why didn't I start at this office? This one even had computers for folks to take their tests on.  The other one still used paper and pencil, and had a guy sitting at a little desk grading. (How do I get that job?) It was like night and day.

So I sat there stunned while the boys had their pictures taken and completed their tests.

They both flunked.

fuuuuuuuuuuuucccccckkkkkkkkkk

Burning Down the House

Earlier last month I decided to reclaim the formal living room.  When we moved in 7 years ago, we decided that it would be the boys' room and it would have a beach theme and was from then on referred to as the Beach Shack.  Now that the boys are older it's turned into a dumping ground for things "I'd rather not put away".  Substitute "I" with the name of any male member of the household.

I wanted to turn it into a museum of all my lovely pop culture collections but John said "au contraire".  He wanted to turn it into a home theater with risers and big ugly recliners but I said "hell no". So we compromised and it's going to be a home theater/display room.  I'd been calling it the 'theater' but I'm changing it to the "war room".  Why? Because every decision regarding this room from the color of the walls to the how many inches above the chair rail the t.v. will hang, has been a struggle.  The fight spectrum begins at Heated Discussion and goes all the way up to Knockdown Drag Out Fight and that's assuming one of the boy hasn't walked in and offered his opinion.  Then it goes up to 11; Why Would You Come in Here and Poke the Snake, You Stupid, Stupid Child?

So last weekend John and I were standing in the war room and he asked, "So what do you want to get done today?"
Me, "I'd really like to get those two shelves hung up."

We had hung shelves above the fireplace and I got two more to go above the two windows that flank the fireplace.

John, "Do we have then here?"
Me, "Yeah, they're laying over there." and we opened up one of the boxes.
John, "These are much deeper than the others."
Me, "Yeah, since they're going to be much higher up, I went with deeper. So if we could get the shelves hung then I can move the desk and bookcase back under the windows.  I've already moved them twice and don't want to move them a third time."

That furniture had to be moved so I could paint. I was using two different shades of purple so I painted the one color and then moved the furniture back because it was totally in the way. Then I pulled the furniture away from the wall for the second shade and once the shelves were up, everything could be put back into those corners and not be moved again. Ever.

John, "You know the deeper shelves would work well above the fireplace because they'd be lower and you could see more..."
Me, "but I only have two and we'd need three above the fireplace and that would be moving the furniture again and I really don't wan..."
John, "No, I wasn't suggesting we switch them out, just thinking out loud."
Me, "Okay. so, if we can just hang the shelves..."
John, <turning around and looking at where the t.v. will eventually hang> "We still need something to put the electronics in."
Me, "Yeah, but we don't need to do that now...."
John, "Didn't we find something we liked at Cost Plus?"
Me, "Yes, but you really didn't like the price."
John, "Oh yeah."
Me, "And we don't need to do that now. We've got tons of things around the house that we could use as a stop gap until we find something else and if we get the shelves hung we can move on from that side of the room."
John, "Yeah, uh-huh uh-huh, so want are you wanting to get done today?"
Me, "I WANT TO HANG THE SHELVES!"

ffffffuuuuuuuucccccckkkkkkkkkk

Top of the Lake

So I liked season 1 and season 2 is even better.  But, you know what I hate?  Nicole Kidman is in season 2 and they've got her in this kinda frizzy grey wig and a scattering of age spots on her face and  she's still fucking gorgeous.   fuuuuuuuuuckkkkk  I used to really like Nicole Kidman and now she's a demon.  A youth stealing demon.  She must be burned.

Sophomore Year is going....Okay

So, Sam had to make 5 (five) 'All about Me' posters at the start of the school year.  One for each class except p.e.  <sigh> <heavy, heavy sigh>  He kept this away from me because he knows, quite clearly, how I feel about scrap booking projects.

Anyway, he came up to me the other day after school because something odd had occurred in his geometry class. After everyone had presented their posters, the teacher approached him and asked which algebra teacher he had last year and what grade he received...

<interrupting> "she can find that out herself, why's she asking you?"

Sam, "I don't know." Then he continued his story, he told her the name of his previous teacher and that he didn't remember what his grade was exactly.

<interrupting again> The fact that he couldn't recall his grade did not bother me in the least.  There are far too many people in this town who can tell you the exact grade their child received in every class they've ever taken, and can further more explain exactly why the child did not receive an A+ and it's always the teacher's fault.  These people and their children are in for a hell of a shock when, after graduation, they realize that no one gives a shit what their gpa is. The world is run by C students.  In fact it is currently being run by a failing student whose father bought him a diploma and whose vocabulary is worse then KoKo the gorilla's but I digress.....

Sam, "Then she said, some of the projects are going to be good and some will be not so good."
Me, "What does that mean?"
Sam, "I don't know, but it didn't make me feel very good."
Me, "Well, what were the other posters like?" <I was not about to call a poster, a "project">
Sam, "Some were covered in picture, others only had a few.  Mine had a few but I typed up details about each picture."
Me, "Okay"
Sam, "They're all hanging around the classroom. She moved some of the good ones around to balance out the other not-so-good classes."

Oh, my sweet jesus. This is fucking high school. I can't believe I'm having this conversation.  So the teacher is concerned with the optics of her pasting-activity and how it reflects on her teaching abilities?  Is this what's going on here? Did I mention this is high school. And a MATH class.

Me, "Okay. Did anything else happen?"
Sam, "Well, a lot of kids talked about school; 'advanced at this' or 'highest score at that', blah, blah, blah but that's boring.  Who wants to hear about that?  I got laughs! Even the teacher laughed."

<third interruption> Now, I'm the wrong parent to tell that to; maybe John should have been fielding this.  In my opinion if you get laughs, then you win. John would probably have asked about the actual content. to-ma-to, to-mah-to

Me, "Well, maybe she thinks you're 'special'."
Sam, "That's not helping, Mom."

So we looked up his algebra grade from last year. It was a B.  Well, it was way too early in the school year to start wading into the "a B is a good grade' waters.  It's bad for my blood pressure.
<Deep Breath>

Me, "Why don't you send her an email and let her know what your grade was and then say something like 'let me know if you need anything else'. Then you've left the door open and she can say what she was getting at before.  If she wants to."

So he did and we haven't heard anything back so problem solved.  Right? Right. We can, now, move past the pasting issues and on to bigger things.....like penmanship or the fact that none of them can type. What are they going to fall back on if they can't type? Now that's an important question.....

I've never felt so old

standing in the laundry room, realizing that my iron is from the Reagan administration.

San Francisco is Awesome

So we read in the paper that there was going to be an Alt-Right rally last weekend and the counter protesters were going to be clowns, the SF gay men's choir and drag queens.  Both John and I were like, fuck yeah, we gotta go! Mainly for the signs.  Oh, do you think we could call someone to see if we can be in charge of the signs?

"CLOWN LIVES MATTER"

"I SHOULD HAVE CHANGED THAT STUPID LOCK. 

I SHOULD HAVE MADE YOU LEAVE YOUR KEY"

"ONE WORLD, ONE CAR"

We were sooooo disappointed when the rally was called off even though it was done for the best of reasons.  The Right group, whose name alludes me at the moment, was concerned about violence and they had no way of knowing/controlling who would show up. So bully for them but damn, the signs......

"THESE BOOTS ARE MADE FOR WALKING, ALL OVER YOUR FACE"

"HOLD MY LIPSTICK. I'VE GOT THIS"

Good Morning

So, Tom's at the fridge, holding a tub of cream cheese,

Tom, "Is this cream cheese?"
Me, "Yup." and I'm thinking sure, you can ask me, or you could just read the damn label, jeez.

Later, I pick up the tub and you know what? No where on it does it say 'cream cheese'. Nowhere.

                   

Clearly I don't read labels at the grocery store. I just wander around like a trained monkey, grabbing items that are the right color.

And then.....

John was leaving for a business trip and from the hall he said,
John, "My plane leaves around 1:00 so I won't be home before I leave. Back in the afternoon on Wednesday."
Me, "Okay, see you tomorrow."
Now I was only half listening because I was reading 'It' and it's really good and I'm on a deadline because I want to finish it before the movie comes out on the 8th.
Sam, <standing at the toaster, wearing head phones> "He's back on Thursday."
Me, "Huh?"
Sam, "He's not back tomorrow, but he'll be by this afternoon."
Me, "What? John, you're heading straight to the airport, right?"
John, "Yes."
Me, "And you're back tomorrow?"
John, "Yes."
Me, <talking to Sam> "You got everything wrong. And you're wearing headphones! Wha....how....why are you correc...."
Sam, <shrug> "Meh." and walks away.

These types of conversations happen several times a day.
God, I hope he listens better in class.

I don't know what your kid did last week.....

But a couple of mom's have won the bragging rights to their sons becoming the new faces of racism.

That's gonna be one hell of a Christmas letter.

"Gary finally retired and is spending more and more time fishing, and just loving it.  I finally converted that old den into the craft room of my dreams. And, oh yeah, Doug's a racist."

California is the Stupidest State

Yesterday, I took the boys to the DMV to get their learner's permits.  We had schedules appointments ahead of time and we were armed with all the forms and documentation necessary.  Oh so I thought.

First, hiccup, only one of the appointments showed up on the DMV's computer system.  The same system I used to schedule the appointments and the same system that send me a receipt with both names listed.  See, right there, both boys.  But that's okay, they can work around that. How gracious of you.

Second problem and where I completely lost my shit and why California is the stupidest state in the entire union.  I've gotten driver's licenses and registered cars in Washington, Oregon and Arizona and have never had problems like I've had here in California.

So, I was required to present two documents as proof of residency.  I had the registration document for one of the cars (complete with my name and address) and my California State Driver's License (with my name, address and a photo). I received that California State Driver's License from the vary office we were standing in and at that time I had to provide two documents as proof of residency in order to receive said California State Driver's License.

Me, <presenting my two documents as proof of residency> "Here ya go."
DMV Worker <whose poor life decisions have led her to her current position working a window at the fucking DMV, stay in school kids> "We can't accept a driver's license as proof of residency."
Me, "But....I got the license here. It's the license you gave me."
DMV Worker, "We can't accept a driver's license as proof of residency."
Me, "I had to provide proof of residency to GET this license. You guys accepted that proof and issued this license. You already have the proof of residency somewhere in all of those file cabinets <waving my hands at the area beyond Window #10 and please why in hell is the first window number 10?>"
DMV bitch, "We can't accept that."
Me, <my voice has been getting gradually louder and by now I'm quite heated> "So identification cards issued by your department are not recognized as identification by your department. That's ridiculous!
DMV asshat, "We can accept this" <holding up the car registration document>
Me, "This, this registration, <holding it up with one hand> also issued by this department, after presenting the same two residency documents that were used to issue this driver's license <holding it up with the other hand> that IS NOT ACCEPTABLE!?!? Whaaa....how the hell does that make any fucking sense?!?!"
DMV fucking cunt, "That language is really not necessary. We can accept a medical bill or electric bill with your name and address."
Me, "Two organizations that I provided this driver's license to after writing my street address on an intake form.  Sure, why not..."

And we stormed out. And I swore at the top of my lungs all the way across the parking lot.  It was a very proud moment. Mother of The Year, once again.  Really, I'm running out of room on my walls to hang all these plaques.

Spirit Animal

I picked up this card at Blue Moon Pottery, unaware that it would become my new Spirit Animal.

Currency Exchange

So for some reason, while we were in Canada, this kept happening:

I am partial to charm bracelets so while we were wandering around downtown Newfoundland, I ducked into a jewelry store to see what they had to offer.  There was one bracelet made with old Newfoundland coins that I really liked and I asked to see it.  The gal took it out of the display case and told me some details about it and said, "It's $880".  As I was hooking it around my wrist, I must have been concentrating really hard because all I heard were the 8's. Huh, $88, a little more than I was expecting but it's really cool. At this time, John walked in and joined me.  While I was admiring my new bracelet, John asked the price and she again said, "$880".  This time it sounded a little different. Huh, did she just say $88? It didn't sound like $88, it sounded like $880 but that's nuts. She continued explaining the features to John. "It's sterling silver" blah blah blah. Oh, sterling silver, that totally makes it worth $880.  And then I noticed that John was not moving, at all.  He was like totally frozen. And never in my life have I been so psychic. I could clearly hear his every thought. <Put down the bracelet. We Are Leaving.> Back out of the sidewalk, "You know I think that bracelet was $800." John, "Keep walking."

A few days later we went to a local comic book store.  I thought we could use a few board games, perhaps they had a Game of Thrones Clue.  It turned out to be a really great store and Sam and I ended up getting a little carried away.  Okay, I got a little carried away. Sam only picked out one comic.  I brought my treasures up to the register and the gal working started ringing everything up.  So I was standing there next to Sam, pleased as punch that they did have a Game of Thrones Clue, and the gal says, "That'll be $328."  I immediately turned to Sam to see if he thought that was as odd of a number as I did.  He just stood there with his mouth open.
Me, "Excuse me?"
Gal, "$328"
Me <still looking from her to Sam and back> "I'm sorry, what was that again?"
Gal, "$328"
Me, "Well, that's not going to happen. That's just insane."
Then I had her keep deleting items until the number got down to double digits. I've gotten carried away in a comic book store before but that was ridiculous.  It's like all the prices were in yen.

And lastly, John and I went to Blue Moon Pottery, located down on Jelly Bean Row.  Very picturesque little area of the Battery.

The store, which was on one floor of the owner's house, had a painting in the window that we both liked. We had been by the previous day but it was closed. We knew this because there was a sign on the door that read, "Closed".  John, who'd slipped fully into "down home Newfoundland, I knows yer mutter" mode, tried the door knob.
Me, "What are you doing?"
John, "It's not locked."
Me, "It's still closed."
John, <stepping into the doorway> "Hello!"
Me, "John, it's closed."
John, <another step inside> "HELLO! HELLO!"
After a couple more Hello's, an old lady in a house coat walked into the hallway.
John, "Hi, we were just wondering if you were open."
Lady, "No" <pointing to the 'closed' sign that just happened to be exactly at John's eye level> "We're closed."
So we returned the next day, when it was Open.  I walked over to the painting that I liked and noticed that there was another one along the same...theme?...is that right? Anyway, they'd look great hanging next to each other behind my couch. And would you look at that, they're only $1250, each. What the hell? Is this some kind of a prank? Has something gone wrong with decimals on this island? I'm done. No more shopping. I'm just going back to our room and read my book. $1200, my ass. grumble grumble grumble.....

I'M ON VACATION! Epilogue

Things I Forgot Earlier

Boston-Logan Airport, Air Canada Security Line:
The one that is in an actual doorway and has its line wrapping around and out another doorway and down a hallway. That one.  The line is manned with a tiny, angry woman who aggressively asks to see your ticket and then shouts you into the line you were already heading towards because it's the only reason any of us are even at that ass end of the airport.  She was a delight.
Also delightful were the two 20-something blonds who came around the corner and whined, "Uhh, isn't there a Pre-Check line?" "Yes! Yes, for you there is a special Pre-Check line down that corridor in Terminal C" C for, well, no that's too much, how about D for Dumb Ass.

Exit Rows:
On one flight, we somehow all ended up in the same row and it was an exit row. Extra leg room, hell yes! As we were sitting there, John told the boys, "This is an exit row. The flight attendant is going to ask some questions about helping in an emergency. It's just procedure. She needs a verbal response so when she asks a question say 'yes'. Okay?"
Both boys, "yeah, yeah, yeah, we know."
John, "If she doesn't think we can handle things she will move us and I want the extra leg room."
Boys, "We know."
John, "Just say 'yes'"
Boys, "Gawd, jeez, we get it."
Flight Attendant, "Do you realize that you are in an exit row and in the unlikely event of an emergency you may be asked to assist. Are you able to do this?"
John, "yes"
Me, "yes"
Tom, "yes"
Sam, "huh?"
Sweet Jesus.
John, "I'm going to kill him."

Customs:
The final time we went through US Customs somewhere around hour 68, we had a very thorough Customs Agent.  He held up each passport and visibly compared the photo to the person; looking from the photo to the person several times.  John had to take off his glasses. Each boy had to turn face-on to him.  By the time it was my turn I was ready; I was standing straight and looking directly at him.  And he threw me a curve ball. Up until this point, none of the customs agents, either US or Canadian, had asked me any questions.  This guy looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Jennifer, what are the last four digits of your social security number?"

Me, "Wait, what now? Are you fucking kidding me?  I have as good of a chance of coming up with YOUR social security number. I've worn the same pair of underwear for two days.  I don't know my middle name right now.  Did you say four numbers? Is it four? I think there's a seven. I'm definitely seeing a seven."

But I didn't say that, I said, "uuuuhhhh" <looking at John then back to the agent> "uuuuhhhhhh" <more looks towards John, honestly how are we not getting arrested at this point>.  I eventually rattle off four numbers which were apparently correct because we were passed through.

Half of Life is Paying Attention:
Neither boy is good at paying attention yet they excel at righteous indignation when they are told to "listen". I honestly don't know what angers me more.

I don't know about other folks but when we travel Day Three is always the tough day. Day Three is when everyone is pissed off at each other and we each have to retreat to a neutral corner and regroup.  This trip had two Day Threes.  Yippee. The first during the vacation portion of the program and the second during our return trip. So when we were walking out of the hotel and explaining that we were going to take the bus downtown, where we were going, etc, etc,  only to have each kid ask 30 seconds later what we were doing, I was over it. Again.
I turned to John and said, "I'm ready to give them each $50 and drop them downtown. They can find their own way back."
John, "It's not a bad idea."
Me, "If I felt, at all, that it wouldn't turn into Taken 4, Morons in Montreal. I'd totally do it."

I'M ON VACATION! part two

So, to recap, not so great trip to the vacation, then there was a vacation and then the trip back from the vacation. And this is were it gets good.

Remember this was the plan:

Return Route:
St. Johns Newfoundland --> Ottawa --> Boston (via Air Canada)
Boston --> L.A. --> Oakland (via Delta)
(The carriers will become important later on.)

Thursday:
Before we left St. Johns, John received a text that our flight from Ottawa to Boston had been cancelled but it didn't include the flight we had been rerouted on so he went up to the gate agent.

This, class, is the difference between socialism and capitalism.  Canada has one major airlines and they're the only game in town.

So John walks up to the gate agent and has the following conversation. I'm paraphrasing but this was the gist.

John, "My flight from Ottawa to Boston was cancelled."
Agent, "Uh huh."
John, "We need to get on another flight."
Agent, "Uh huh."
John, "Can you use the computer that you are standing in front of and get us on another flight."
Agent, "No."
John, "It is a real computer not one of those fake IKEA ones, right?"
Agent, "Yes."
John, "And you have the training and authority to use it, right?"
Agent, "Yes."
John, "But you won't?"
Agent. "Right. You'll have to find someone in Ottawa to do it."
John, "But you could if you weren't a jackass?
Agent, "Oh, sure. Now please fuck off."

Flight to Ottawa is delayed which really doesn't matter because we don't have a connection. In Ottawa, they put us on a 10:00 am flight to Toronto and put us up in a nice hotel downtown.  John gets a rental car on points and we regroup.

Friday:
The next morning, we are showered, refreshed and ready to face another day. As we are about to leave the room, our flight is cancelled.  Now we are on a 5:00 pm flight to Toronto and have a day to kill in Ottawa, luckily we have aforementioned rental car. We get to the airport and our flight to Toronto is cancelled. We are now on a later flight to Montreal. Note at this point in time we could have driven to Boston. And, we are no longer looking at spending a day in Boston, we are just hoping to make our connection out on Saturday. We eventually boarded the plane, the door closed and we pushed back only to have the pilot tell us that we'll be waiting on the tarmac for around an hour due to thunderstorms in Montreal. They were opening and closing the air space, like when you'd lock the car door just as your sister went to open it and then unlock so she thought she could get in but at the last minute you lock it again because it is just so damn funny. That was air traffic control in Montreal.

Since the flight to Montreal was delayed, we ended up running the entire length of the airport to catch our connection to Boston. Side note, when flying from Canada to the US, you clear customs in the Canadian airport and are considered to be in the US after that point.  So we cleared customs, got to the gate and the flight was cancelled. Here is how we learned this bit of information and it is my very favorite part of the trip:

Gate Agent, who had been making unpleasant announcements to angry passengers all day, got on the p.a. system and said this and I kid you not, "Madams and Messrs, Air Canada Flight......shit" followed by silence.  And the sound of laughter was once again heard in the Montreal-Trudeau International Airport.
Me,"Isn't she required to make all announcements in English and French? Where's the Merde?"
We didn't get a 'merde' because she left for a shift change and who could blame her.

Now we needed to go back through customs to 'enter' Canada.
Custom's Agent, "you been here 10 days."
John, "no, we just got here."
Agent,"But you've been in Canada for 10 days"
John, "yes, we were originally here for 10 days. We just left but our flight was cancelled so now we are back."
Agent, "What is the purpose of your trip?"
John, "jesus h christ"

Down to baggage claim.  So here something interesting.  Typically when claiming bags, you have arrived at your destination, i.e. Boston, and your  bags are marked Boston. In this case you are not in Boston but your bags are marked Boston, and some of the carousals are marked with arriving flights and others are marked with fantasy destinations and the only way to feel like you are most likely in the right place is by following the guy in the green sweater that you know was on your flight. When you lose track of him, you look for the two dutch guys with the blond girl. They were definitely on our flight, right? And you don't totally and fully lose your shit until you're told that you will not be able to get your bags so you'll have to come back in the morning for them. Unfortunately there is already a line of passengers waiting to take a piece out of that Air Canada employee so you have to make due with swearing loudly.

So we were in stuck in Montreal but we were in good company because along with our flight all other flights to the eastern seaboard were cancelled.  John spent around 30 minutes on the phone with Air Canada before saying 'fuck it' and called Delta.  There was no way to make our Boston flight so we had to scrap that.  Delta got us on a flight to Minneapolis on Sunday morning. That meant two nights, well one and a half because this night was almost over, in Montreal.  John managed to get us one of the last hotel rooms in Montreal but every single rental car in the province was booked and heading to the border.  Fine, the hotel had a shuttle so off we went.

And yet another interesting fact about the Montreal-Trudeau International Airport, the shuttle pick up is on the same level as the departures drop-off so people are trying to enter the airport at the same place that tired and angry people are trying to exit it. Furthermore all the signage is angled towards the people entering the airport so once you're outside you can't tell where the hell you're supposed to be. This was made clear the next day when we arrived back at the airport. "Oh, look, there's the sign for the shuttle pick-up." That seemed like a flaw in the system but what do I know.

Saturday:
Our last night in Canada was spent at the Marriott located At The Airport. The one attached to the airport and 100 yards from the ticket counters. Why? Because as my friend Suzanne says, "At a certain age, when a problem crops up, you just throw money at it." And we did. We got a big ass room, with room service and a view of all the planes flying away home. 'One day, boys, that will be us. Just work hard and keep dreaming.'

So by now, clean clothes were a thing of the past and the boys' suitcases smelt of feet.  Sam's suitcase took things one step further and decided to blow out the zipper.  We ended up taking the bus into the city and buying a new suitcase, clean t-shirts, and socks for Sam because he somehow managed to pack for a 10 day trip with only one pair of socks.

Sunday:
We made it to the United States and I want to make it absolutely clear that NO ONE is pouring over our borders. 

On the second leg of the flight, I used one of our drink vouchers for a white wine.
John, "Are you drinking wine?"
Me, "Yes."
John, "It's 10:30 in the morning."
Me, "No it's not. It's hour 76 1/2 of our return flight."
John, "Cheers"

Original flight plan:
St. Johns --> Ottawa --> Boston --> L.A. --> Oakland

Actual flight plan:
St. Johns --> Ottawa --> Toronto --> Toronto -->Montreal --> Boston --> Minneapolis --> Salt Lake City --> Oakland

And it only took 80 hours. Give or take.

I'M ON VACATION! part one

So we just got back from Newfoundland.  It was a 10 day trip to visit John's family. And yes, it was lovely, people were seen, places were visited and events were....uh....done...unfolded? whatever, let's talk about the trip itself.  For those of you how have never been to Newfoundland, take out your atlas, I'll wait, now find the page that reads "Middle of Nowhere, North Atlantic Section" and there you have it.  If the gods are smiling at you, you can find a flight with only one stopover for under $1000. If you're using air miles, it gets a little trickier.  The best route would take us through Boston; the boys have never been to Boston so John thought we'd send a day there on the return trip.  So our itinerary looked like this:

Oakland --> Salt Lake City --> Boston --> Halifax --> St. Johns Newfoundland

Return Route:
St. Johns Newfoundland --> Ottawa --> Boston (via Air Canada)
Boston --> L.A. --> Oakland (via Delta)
(The carriers will become important later on.)

So the flights out were uneventful once you get past the 6:00 am take-off out of Oakland. The problems started to emerge when we arrived at Boston Logan International Airport. Now I don't know what Canada did to piss off Mr. Logan of Boston but I suspect it had something to do with hockey.  The architects, engineers and city planners designed and built a beautiful airport then said, 'Oh shit, we forgot Air Canada. No worries, we'll stick it down here by the parking garage and call it Terminal B (B for bullshit) Oh, but wait, they'll have to exit security so we'll need another checkpoint. Okay, let's see, we'll put it in this doorway, throw up a partial wall and have them line up down the hallway. (I am completely serious.) Okay, okay, that'll work but it's a rather long walk should we put in a moving sidewalk? No, fuck em. In fact let's make them check in again at a ticket counter and we'll make the ticketing area really pretty so they'll think everything is okay but it's not because we'll have all three Air Canada gates shoved in a corner that really only accommodates one gate and we'll have five flights departing within 45 minutes of each other and, wait for it, one gate agent. Should we provide some type of food and beverage service? Jesus Christ, Jillian, you're such a bleeding heart, this is why we don't promote women. Fine, we'll give a couple of coolers and a sketchy guy at the register who keeps going in and out of the service closet for god knows what reason and hey, that will create another ill placed queue so well done, Jillian, well done.

Ladies and Gentleman, I give you Boston Logan's Air Canada Gates:

Note the pile of empty cardboard boxes and the saddest, dirtiest American Flag you've ever seen. Why is there an American Flag at the gate when no where else in the country are there flags at international gates? Because, fuck you, Canada.

The flight was, naturally, delayed so we arrived at the Halifax airport with very little time to make our connection and had to run from one end of the airport to the other. This became a recurring theme.  If there was a medal event for running the length of as many airports as possible during one vacation, we would be Team USA.

So we left Oakland at 6:00 am and arrived in Newfoundland at 2:00 am.  Bright and fresh and ready to start our vacation, with the in-laws.

Is it just me?

I really bothers me when cats walk on their back legs.  Reeeeeeally bothers me.  People are all worried about apes getting too smart and taking over the world or aliens landing but it's cats that we should worry about.

I mean look at this:

That just ain't right.  

You know what it's thinking?  I'll tell you what it's thinking. It's thinking, "As soon as I grow a thumb, I'm getting a knife."

C'mon, tell me they don't have a plan:

Comic Con Day #1

Me, "Do we have dinner reservations anywhere?"
John, "Yes, I found a place close by. It has hamburgers for $16."
Me, "I bought a water and yogurt for $14."
John, "I got 6 hot dogs and 3 waters for $45."
Me, "You win."

And my feet hurt.

Off to ComicCon!!!

Do I have everything?

Wonder Woman T-Shirt?  Check

Carry-on with newly ironed-on Wonder Woman patch?  Check

Zombie Apocalypse Bracelet?  Check

 Band-Aids?  Check

Wonder Woman and Neomorph Toddler talismans to keep the plane from crashing?  Check

Xanax so I don't care if it does?  Check

And last but not least, tickets?  CHECK!

LET'S GO!!

Game of Thrones

We have this conversation several times a year:

Sam, "Can I watch Game of Thrones?"
Me, "No."
Sam, "Why?"
Me, "Because it's incredibly inappropriate."
Sam, "When can I watch it?"
Me, "I don't know....When you're in college and paying for your own cable."
Sam, "But, it'll be over by then!"
Me, "Yes. So you won't have to wait to find out how it all ends."

Sam, <walks away in silence>
Me, "YOU'RE WELCOME"

Insult to Injury

So, let me get this straight.  The Senate Health Care vote is postponed because one senator, worth $21 million and married to a woman worth $100 million, is having surgery which, I can only assume, is fully covered by health insurance that he doesn't even need.

Happiness is....

When you walk into the bathroom and notice a whole new age spot developing on your forehead and as you're slipping into despondency, you realize it's just Nutella.

Cardinal

It's a show on Hulu.  The female lead just said the most awesome thing,

"Rule of thumb. If I ask a guy five questions before he asks one back, then he's a douche."

This should be added to all female middle school curriculum. I'm sure they could squeeze it into P.E. or science.

Wonder Woman

So we tried again.

Again, I was wearing my Wonder Woman shoes, and my Wonder Woman bracelet and carrying my Wonder Woman bag.

This time it was four of us in three different cars.  We all arrived at different times, all of us a few minutes after the start time.  Carol and I were the first to get there.  Carol got in line for water and I walked up the hall.  And Wonder Woman was showing in the same theater that we mistakenly walked into last week.

Wha?? Huh?? Is this some kind of joke? you gotta be fucking kidding me.

I stood there staring but no matter how long I stared at the sign, it still read "Wonder Woman".

Carol went in and sat down.  I went back to the lobby to wait for the others.  When Suzanne showed up, I tagged out and went into the cinema. Things seemed fine. After a few minutes Suzanne came in with Chris.

And we sat there.

Previews ran.

And we sat there.

Carol was confident but she wasn't there for the previous debacle.

The previews ended.

And we sat there.

The movie started with a intro included various Justice League figures.  I heard Suzanne whisper to Chris, "Well, this looks more promising then before."

I silently agreed.

And........Wonder Woman comes walking across the screen...modern day...wearing a totally gorgeous long red wrap or cape or something that I don't know the name of but I desperately want.

YES!

Naturally my Wonder Woman t-shirt didn't show up until the next morning.

Wonder Women?

So a couple girlfriends and I went out for dinner and a movie last week.  We were very excited to see Wonder Woman.  I'd seen it already but they hadn't. I was wearing my wonder woman shoes, my wonder woman bracelet and carrying my wonder woman bag.  I was set!

Dinner ran a little longer than we anticipated but we weren't worried because the theater was in the same complex and it was the fancy one with the recliners and assigned seats.  By the time we'd paid for the meal and finished our drinks, we scurried across the parking lot with minutes to spare.  Chris went straight to the refreshment counter for waters and Suzanne and I hurried to the bathroom.  We all got to the cinema door at the same time, like the well oiled machine that we are.  The lights were already off and the first of the movie trailers was just beginning. Perfect.

As I said, I'd already seen the movie and over dinner I told them, not as a spoiler or anything, but the movie starts during the present time and in the opening scene Gal Godot is wearing this gorgeous long red wrap or cape or something. I don't know what to call it but it was beautiful and I still think about it sometimes and I really want one.  I also want to be 6 feet tall and unbelievably gorgeous and walk with long striding steps to my swanky job at the Louver. But I'll settle for the coat.

Anyway, we're sitting there through all the previews, and jeez, they show more and more each time. Honestly there have been times I've forgotten what movie we're there for by the time all the trailers have finished. This time it seemed especially long but probably because I was so excited, Yea! Wonder Woman.  So as yet another preview is playing and holy shit it was talking forever and I hear Suzanne says something like, "I didn't know Scarlet Johannson was in this" and I'm thinking, "She's not" and I lean over to Chris and say, "This is the longest fucking preview I've every seen." and Chris says, "This isn't a preview. It's the movie."

Huh? But? Huh? and they're asking me, "Isn't this the movie?" and I'm saying "No" and it occurs to me that we just might possibly be in the wrong theater.  So being the problem solver that I am, I jump up, trot out into the hallway and sure enough the theater across the hall is showing Wonder Woman. I turn, trot back into our theater and down to our row to let them know that, "This is the wrong movie!"  And they're like "No shit, genius. Sit down."

At this point I would like to point out that not one of us was even close to being drunk enough for this to have happened. I honestly wish we had been.  Instead it was just three middle aged women so excited to be out of the house that not one of us bothered to look up to see what door we were walking through.  Once it would have been "It must have been all the body shots. WooHoo!"  Now it's more like "yeah, just distracted because well, I just really hate having to get up to pee in the middle of a movie...And my wonder woman shoes were still hurting my feet and we walked all the way across the parking lot...."

So we ended up watching Rough Night. Starring Scarlet Johannson. It was cute.

We're trying again tomorrow.  I suggested that we all dress as Wonder Woman.  That way, when we walk into the wrong theater someone will surely lean over and whisper, "You know this is Captain Underpants, don't you?"

Wish us luck!