It's good to have girlfriends

My friend came over to bring Carlie home after school. Of course, I had to show her my ziplock full of gallstones and my cyborg drain in my gut and my cool bag of bile. Because I am cool like that.

When she finished gagging a little bit in her mouth, her comment:

"At least it doesn't smell like poo."

So you see there? There's always a bright side. Yes, I have two nasty bags of disgust hanging on my right hip. But neither one of them smells like poo.

I win! Yay!

Deal Breaker

I went to the movie with a newish friend. And it turns out? She talks. During movies.

Uh, no.

Which got me to thinking. There are *some things* that I just can't tolerate in a friend. Wherein *some things* = OMG I AM HIGH MAINTENANCE AND WHY WOULD ANYONE EVEN WANT TO BE MY FRIEND TO BEGIN WITH?

A few examples...

I don't hang out with people with bratty assed kids. Being a parent of extremely obnoxious children myself, I do not hold other parents in judgment. But I can't handle being exposed to it. I might accidentally spank someone not related to me, which is not cool.

I don't hang out with people who put on airs. I don't even know what put on airs means, but my mom used to say it. But basically, if you are snobbier than me? You've got a problem.

I ended a friendship once with someone who went out and got her hair cut EXACTLY like mine. EXACTLY. And then came over to show me and say, LOOK, I GOT MY HAIR CUT EXACTLY LIKE YOURS. Um... creepy.

I have ended at least one friendships because the friend married an asshole. Even after me pointing out that she was marrying an asshole. Okay. So maybe technically in that instance she ended the friendship. But still.

I have cancelled a play date at the library when I realized the other mom was saying "li-barry."

And apparently? I can't hang with movie talkers. Who knew.

Do you have a deal breaker? Is there something you just cannot tolerate, that can make or break a friendship? And I don't mean, like, "I don't hang with psycho killers." Because, duh, *most* of us don't *knowingly* hang with psycho killers. I mean something more like the kind of thing that makes me look like less of a bitch right now because I am not returning movie talker's phone calls.

My Endless Love, Redux

"But I didn't even know why I bothered. I was horrible at this *friends* thing. I said all the wrong things except when I was busy saying all the mean ones. And in the end, I hated everybody and everything." - Augusten Burroughs, "You Better Not Cry"

I didn't stand in line to make a lame-assed comment (Oh, I don't have a question, I just lurve you! Can I have a hug?)

I did get a signed copy of his new book, but did not get his signature on my arm for a tattoo.

I did get to share the same space with his humble brilliance, as well as hang with some of my most favorite ladies evah.

All of this, over a week ago, and I haven't even said a word about it! I hate it when life gets in the way of my blogging.

Thanks for hanging, homegirls.

Holly

Stephanie

Lisa

Amy

To Friend, or Not To Friend

Regretsy... how I love thee

I'm in bed, day two, semi-sick. I say semi-sick because I am, at this point, feeling pretty much fine. Unless I make any sudden moves. I'm having a revisit of the labrythitis that I had at this same time last year. Freaky, no?

Yesterday, the room was spinning and I ran into the door frame every time I got out of bed. Today, nothing is spinning as long as I make no sudden moves. I did see the doctor yesterday, got an Rx refill, and the good news is I pretty much am not going to die. So yay!

24 hours spent in bed in a lovely/horrible/lovely thing. I did a lot of Internet goofing around. And a lot of OH MY GOD, I HAVE SO MUCH TO DO, I CANNOT JUST LAY HERE FOR ONE SECOND LONGER. And then I'd attempt to get up and do something, and the floor would drop out from under me, and my stomach would have that feeling that you get at the tiptop of the highest plummet on a roller coaster as you start to shoot straight down, and, yeah, back to bed and the Internet. Also, OH MY GOD, I MISS CABLE TV. There, I said it.

My most fabulous Internet discover was the website Regretsy. It's all of the most horrible things available on Etsy, with snarky commentary that is hysterical, wherein hysterical = seriously fucked up hilarity at the expense of others. Just what the doctor ordered!

My second most interesting Internet discovery is the contact information for a former best friend who totally broke up with me without saying a word a couple of years ago and I've never gotten over it. This was a friend made in adulthood, and we were very close. We spent a lot of time together, she was beloved by my entire family, and all of the things that the term "best friend" implies, like shopping, and girls' weekends, and dinners and drinks and movies and sharing the past histories of every boyfriend either of us had ever had. You know, best friends.

And then one day she disappeared. I mean seriously dis-a-fucking-eared. Moved into a new apartment with a new roommate and did not return phone calls. I knew she was not abducted or missing because we had some friends in common that would see her here or there. But she absolutely refused to respond to any contact from me.

One rumor floated was that she had joined AA and I was a bad influence, what with my glass of wine with dinner and beer with pizza heavy partying lifestyle.

I got mad, stopped reaching out, assumed that whatever was going on with her, she needed to work it out on her own. I heard a rumor that she'd moved out of town. We haven't spoken since I'm guessing about 2005.

So I randomly came across the web site for her new business in a town about an hour away from here. Apparently she's moved. I'm tempted to try to get in touch, but don't know if I should or if I should let it go.

Maybe I'll go back to Regretsty and send her a nice gift. Maybe I'll shoot her an email. Maybe I'll friend her on Facebook. Maybe I won't.

WWTBD? (What would the blogosphere do?)

Is this rude? Or not?

If I were clever and had time, I'd put a link here to my post from January (or February) about going paperless in the kitchen, to set the stage for this post and this question. But in January we went paperless in the kitchen... no more paper towels or paper napkins. And I haven't said much about it because, honestly, it's been kind of a non-issue transition. We use dish towels and cloth napkins and have a little hamper in the pantry to toss them in for laundering. It's had pretty much zero impact on our laundry process because, really, how hard is it to throw a little hamper of kitchen towels in with the bath towels? Answer: not hard. At all.

The only *issue* has been my friend, who does not read this blog, so I am safe to talk about this. But my friend HATES the fact that I have no paper towels. It drives her nuts.

This is a good friend, who is very comfortable in my home and comes over a lot. We eat dinner here a lot and she knows her way around my kitchen.

So she came over this weekend with a six-pack of paper towels and tossed them in my pantry. I laughed and didn't make an issue of it. She did it in a half-joking way, but I KNOW that she is irked by me never having paper towels in the kitchen when she comes over.

So you tell me... rude? Not rude?

Really? I've got nothing

I had a couple of friends over under the guise of volunteer related stuff, but basically to drink wine and shoot the shit. Being the hostess with the mostess, I had thoughtfully opened the bottle of wine and taken a small sample, you know, to ensure it was tasty. I set out the bottle and three glasses. Our wine glasses don't match because, well, have you met me? To say that our household style is eclectic would be a nice way of saying garage sale chic.

My friends arrived, and one of them went to the kitchen to get a wine glass. And I said, hey, I've already got glasses out here. And she said, I saw that, but I want my favorite wine glass.

That's my whole story. It just cracked me up that my friend has a favorite wine glass at my house. I don't know why. Something about that just made me feel good.

Let's see, what else is going on. My efforts to cyberstalk Augusten Burrows continue to be lame and ill-thought out. He REFUSES to enter his web chat room when I am there. He refuses to acknowledge my HILARIOUS Twitter direct messages. I, on the other hand, continue to nurture our BFF-ship and am very supportive of his efforts to get a pet goat.

In news unrelated to me being a stalker, I planted a third garden bed. This whole gardening thing is way more involved than I initially thought. Apparently you have to pull out weeds and spray water on the plants. I swear, it's like having a baby all over again. I dug up what *appear* to be strawberry plants from another part of the yard and planted them in the bed with the other strawberries. Or? Maybe I transplanted weeds from one part of the yard to another. Only time will tell.

Oh, and Mother's Day. Let's see... got up at crack-o-dawn, went on an eight mile group run. Did not die, so I'm calling it a success. Came home and took a long hot bath, then ate crepes with Carlie Belle at Mon Ami. Then she and I and a couple of besties hit the Doc Marten warehouse sale, where I scored four pair of awesome shoes for myself and one for Carlie... for $10 PER PAIR. That's right. My child size foot affords me the $15 child rate, but $5 off per pair for Mother's Day. BEST MOTHER'S DAY EVER! Oh, and obligatory phone calls from the big kids, of course, which was sweet. I had money riding on the fact that I would not hear from my son (Taylor, age 20), only to get a call from him Monday or Tuesday saying, wow, I didn't even know it was Mother's Day, sorry. But no, he was Johnny on the spot.

In grown up kid news, my oldest daughter, Maggy, turned 22 yesterday. It seems completely impossible to me that I have a child who is 22 years old. I am surely not old enough for that?

On that note, it's time for my geriatric self to go to work. All day depos in a swank office downtown with overpriced yet conveniently located parking. Can't win 'em all, I suppose. (I wrote this post this morning but forgot to post it, so, heh, been there, done that.)

When good things happen to so-so people

After my cautionary tale of do-goodery gone awry, I thought I'd toss out two good things that happened this week. To me. Even though my do-good level is only so-so.

Home from New Orleans Tuesday. Back to real life Wednesday. Back to real life included work for me and school for Carlie. But Carlie? Had a tummy ache and couldn't go to school. We discovered this in the hallway of said school at drop off time when she refused to go into her classroom.

As I am exiting the school WITH A CHILD, everyone is exiting the school WITHOUT CHILDREN, because, um, it's drop off time. (ASIDE: we have no buses. Every kid gets dropped off by a parent. And most parents park and walk the kids in as opposed to using the drop off lane.) I was obviously dressed for work (as opposed to in pajama pants or sweats, which would be my not going to work drop off attire). Where was I going with this? Oh. Two separate friends, who were leaving the school KID FREE for the day, offered to take my THREATENING TO VOMIT RIGHT NOW kid home with them so I could go to work. How nice is that? Seriously? I can barely handle my own THREATENING TO VOMIT child, much less a friend's sick child. Which makes both of those moms much better and kinder human beings than I, and I am thankful that I have friends like that.

Second nice thing that happened this week. After working Wednesday and Thursday, and not unpacking yet, and delivering girl scout cookies and not buying any groceries, we were effectively OUT OF EDIBLE FOOD in this house. Thursday 5:30 p.m. I am lamenting my foodlessness via text to a friend, along the lines of "argh! nothing for dinner! shit! do not want to go to store-am in pajama pants. shit!" And that friend? Came over and dropped off enchiladas for us for dinner. Just because she is swell like that and could see that I was in dinner-distress. Plus probably because she didn't want my child to starve, because she is also a good mother.

So even though there are wife-beating freaks amongst us, there are some groovy cool people out there too. And I am so lucky that so many of them are my friends.

PS: Thanks again, Kathy, for the enchies!

PPS: Um, no, I have not yet gone to the grocery store, but I am halfway unpacked.

The right place at the right time

I met a friend for coffee this morning. I am not a huge coffee drinker, but I love our local coffee shop. And a mocha was sounding really good to me this morning. A crepe was sounding even better, but I am ON A NOT A DIET. Just going to put a little more effort into eating clean for the month of January. And one way for me to do this is to EAT AT HOME MORE TIMES THAN I EAT OUT. Sounds simple, huh? But for me, not so much.

And yes, going out for coffee is counterintuitive to eating clean, but I am not trying to cleanse myself of caffeine. I'm just trying to cleanse myself of junk food. So there.

Anyway, my favorite barista is in a barista competition this weekend in Tacoma, WA and needed to practice her mad skills. When my coffee with a friend became a table of four (this is what happens when you live in Small Town, USA), we became the barista challenge guinea pigs. 

We started with an espresso, which I could not handle. Like I said, I am not a big coffee drinker, and the espresso was called HAIR BENDER. And they weren't joking. But those who like espresso gave it big kudos, so I am sure it was delicious. Then we were treated to a cappuccino which was heavenly. And frothy. And warm your gullet good.

The final shot was I don't know what. An after dinner type coffee infused with orange zest and hazel nut and other unbelievably good things that was DIVINE. This is the barista's specialty for the competition. They have 15 minutes to prepare, describe and serve the judges three drinks: an espresso, a cappuccino and their specialty drink.

Our barista did a divine job. I have a feeling she's going to nail this competition. And for setting out to meet a friend for coffee and chat before running errands, this was a major score! Talk about the right place at the right time!

This day is starting out much better than the weekend from hell. I guess I'll give 2009 another chance.

*I wish I had thought to take a photo of our final coffee drink, served in a little martini glass shaped shot glass with a heart-shaped swirl in the froth on top and a garnish of orange zest. It was so lovely! This coffee porn courtesy of google images.

*************************************

I am now off to the grocery store to fulfill Taylor's grocery list. Since he has so much extra time on his hands lately, he is now in charge of evening meal prep for the family two nights per week and kitchen cleaning duty. If that doesn't motivate him to get a job and find an apartment, I really don't know what will.

Stupid real life interfering with getting my blog on

Quite the dilemma: I have an AWESOME story that I want to tell, but it involves someone else, who I know in real life (go figure!) and who reads my blog (and is puking about now thinking I am about to tell the story!) and I CAN'T TELL because she thinks she will die if I tell it. 

I just want you to know, real life friend, if I ever get really desperate for entertaining blog fodder, I will totally throw you under the bus.

Plus, since it happened to you IN FRONT OF ME, doesn't that really make it my story anyway?

My mom likes to party all the time, party all the time, party all the time

When I was a kid and my mom was an old lady of, oh, probably 35 or so, I thought I was extremely clever when I dubbed her Oil of Olay "Oil of Old Lady." What a hoot was I! Actually, maybe it was my sister who came up with that one, but either way, man, were we hilarious. Of course, now I slather myself not only with Oil of Old Lady every morning, but I use the one with SPF and can literally feel the melanoma growing in my cells if I go out into the harsh Pacific Northwest sunlight (hahahahahahaha) unprotected.

I have turned into an old lady who uses skin products and wears a hat in the sun and thinks about my footwear if I know I'm going to be on my feet during whatever event. I've even been known to bring a pair of comfortable shoes along when I am wearing heels, just in case. 

Case in point... I had a True Blood marathon date with my friend Lisa last night. She and I are both too cheap to actually have Showtime or HBO or whatever channel it comes on, but her 24-yro daughter does, so she DVRs the show for us and we converge on her house to watch it, even though the kids feel compelled to fast forward over the sex scenes while we are there. The joys of adult children, but that's a post for another day.

Anyway, plan was 5 pm we head to the daughter's house so we can watch three episodes and be finished by 8 pm, because we feel the need to be home by 8 pm on a Sunday night. (In my own defense, I also have a 9 year old to get ready for bed at 8 pm, so that is part of my excuse for having an early curfew.)

So it's 4:45 and we are sitting on my couch, leafing through the new issue of Woman's Day (no lie) looking at fun Halloween recipes (no lie) and WAITING for 5 pm and the phone call saying, ok, come on over. 5 pm comes and and goes and no phone call, so we start calling the daughter to say here we come, but she's not home. Apparently, starting your evening at 5 pm somewhat cramps the style of the 20-somethings... go figure!

So FINALLY at 5:15 she calls and we are all like YEAH BABY and jumping in the car to head over there, with our bottles of wine and pan of lasagna. We get to the house, plant our asses on the couch with plates of lasagna and a bottle of wine, and start watching TV... and we are, like, in heaven.  This is our idea of  GOOD TIME and this is how we PAR-TAY.  Uh-huh.

Then we are watching this completely campy, sex-filled program with over the top acting and horrible southern accents and LOVING IT and the four 20-somethings are as interested in watching us watch the show as they are in watching the show and quietly mocking our lameness because we are so easily amused.

And at 8 pm when I am home, putting my child to bed, I am thinking about how I used to take a nap at 8 pm to get ready to go out at 11 pm, and I'd be putting on my makeup at 10 pm instead of turning on my heating blanket and plumping my pillows, I kind of miss those days of being young and spontaneous and not tired.  (But only in a wistful "those were the days" missing kind of way, and not in a real "I want to recapture that," because, oh, hell no, not really. Because I have a single friend, who desperately does not want to be single anymore and, jeez, would I never ever ever want to be her.)

Some days I am like "this is my life" and all teary eyed and thankful and in amazement that I have a great home, a fab husband, healthy/clever/good kids and wonderful friends. Sometimes it just hits me that I have it SO GOOD and I can hardly believe it. And then some days I am like "this is my life?" and I'm all WTF? What happened? I was totally going to be somebody VERY VERY important making important decisions about important world affairs, and instead I am contemplating how best to arrange the pantry to make sure the lunch-prep food is easily accessible for morning sack lunch prep.

Tonight I'll be cleaning out old food from the fridge and finishing off the giant mound of laundry.  Par-tay!

Diet? What diet?

Shall we recount the horror of my intake this evening?  Let's start with the high octane hot chocolate.

Then we moved on to Happy Hour at 1220 Main.  Can you say Y U M ?  Two beers, artichoke and spinach dip, hummus, andouille sausage with hot mustard and blue cheese and chicken croquettes.  Hello, cholesterol, my old friend.  It's nice to dine with you again.

What can make this delish meal even better?  Heated discussion about politics, the bail out, our education system, tall shoes that make your legs look HOT and upcoming birthday celebrations.

Life is good, no?