Ok, so I’ve talked a little about my dating experiences thus far. And trust me there’s even more to be said on the subject. So much so that I don’t even know where to start.

And bcuz of everything that’s happened so far, I’ve adopted a new way of handling responses to my online profile. At least I can control that, right? RIGHT?

So here goes…

I look at the guy’s profile first. BEFORE I read his message.

And if his profile says that he’s looking for a relationship?

DELETE.

Yep. That’s it. End of the line. He doesn’t even get a courtesy read. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Hasta la vista baby.

Cuz really, what’s the point? He’s clearly lookin for something I’m not able to give. I mean, HELLO. My divorce has been final for A MONTH. Why start a conversation with him only to have to eventually tell him I’m just not in that kind of place right now?

Exactly.

And don’t even get me started on why they think it’s a good idea to even send me a message in the first place when my profile specifically says that I’m NOT LOOKING FOR ANYTHING SERIOUS.

But I digress.

So…

I get a new message today. And I almost click to read it.

But I stop just in time and click to view his profile instead. And it says that he’s looking for a relationship. Long-term. So yeah, no.

I go back to delete the message. But the subject line stops me. It’s totally different from the “Hi” or “Hello” I usually get. I think it can’t hurt to read the message.

So I read it.

He introduces himself and then asks if I have room for a new friend. Nothing creepy. Nothing stoopid.

And now I don’t know what to do.

Do I stick to my guns and delete the message? Or do I send a reply?

Any suggestions?

Saturday I went out with a bunch of friends to see The Spazmatics at Liquid Joe’s.

Never been to Liquid Joe’s before. And this is Utah, remember? So I am always leery of new places. Bar/club type places. Don’t ask me why.

Ok, go ahead and ask.

I guess I just feel that bars/clubs in mormon country are an incompatibility. So far, I’ve been proven wrong.

But, there’s always that chance. That one chance that the next bar/club will prove me right.

And you don’t blame me, right? That’s what I thought.

**********

Since The Spazmatics play 80′s & 90′s music, one of the girls had an idea of dressing 80′s style. I was stoked. THEME NIGHT. I know a lot of the crap amazingly awesome clothes we wore back then are totally coming back in style. What better reason to go shopping? So I decide on skinny jeans, slouch boots, and bangles. LOTS. OF. BANGLES. I represented the 80′s well without being, um, like, ohmahGAWD! Gag me with a spoon!

The band was A-MA-ZING. They played THE BEST songs. They played Goody Two Shoes and I nearly jumped on stage. And when they played Rebel Yell? I demonstrated my expert headbanging skillz. Trust me, I’m a pro. You would have been absolutely mortified totally impressed had you been there.

It was so funny how easily I fell back into the 80′s dancing style. The music just moved me. Back a couple decades apparently.

The band took a break from the 80′s to play Alice in Chains’ Man in the Box. And they were TEARIN. IT. UP. Until about halfway through the song when they dead stopped, said that was enough, and launched back into 80′s music again. FUCKERS.

Wha? I like that song!

But what forever sealed the band’s place in my heart was when they played my husband’s most famous song, Jessie’s Girl. Which also nearly got me banned from the bar, bcuz OBVIOUSLY. Bitch, don’t you be talkin about him like that or I will totally stab you. He’s my motherfucking husband! (Ok, so he’s my fantasy husband, but she didn’t know that.)

**********

Towards the end of the show, my hips were starting to hurt. I didn’t worry about it too much. We were all still havin so much fun. When it was time to go, though, I had trouble bending my leg to get in the car. I wish I could I say I was kidding. I finally managed to swing my straight leg into the car and then wiggle my ass to get it into the seat. Whew!

By the time I got home, I could barely get out of the car and walk to the front door.

When the hell did I get to be so old?

I quickly brushed my teeth, cuz it hurt to even do THAT. WTF? Actually, I think that was from going to the batting cages on Friday bcuz I needed to… umm… hit some balls.

Note: The girl at the batting cages counter looked at me really strangely when I asked if I was allowed to paste pictures to the balls that were going to my machine. Wha? I think having that as an option would boost business. STOP JUDGING ME.

Anyway…

I decided that raccoon eyes would be completely acceptable in the morning, since it would only be me and the cat. And she’s mentioned that she likes it when I have raccoon eyes. This would be the same cat that likes to try to lick my moisturizer off my face. Yeah, I don’t get it either. But whatever.

So I crawled into bed (after briefly considered flinging myself on the bed to keep from having to bend my legs) and passed out. Sorta. It was more like Ahhhhhh…ow…OW…OWIE!

Did I mention that I was stone cold sober?

Apparently, if I don’t drink? I’m in pain. So not fair.

Dinner with a friend tonite. YAY!

**********
I know y’all wanna join in the fun with us, so click here to get more info on Six Word Saturdays.

Have y’all heard of an AMF?

I see some of you sitting there nodding your heads going, “OH. HELL. YEAH.”

The rest of you? Do. Not. Know. What. You’re. Missing.

AMF stands for Adios Mother Fucker. And the name fits.

This drink, in a state of 3-2 beer, WILL fuck you up nicely.

You’re welcome.

***

I had 5 of these one night and could not talk afterwards (the Sake Bomb at dinner had NOTHING to do with that, I promise you). And I was completely aware of how badly I was slurring my words. So this drink offers you the best of both worlds. You get to BE the hilarious drunk girl/guy & you get to LAUGH AT the drunk girl/guy at the same time. SCORE.

I found the recipe for this awesome concoction and suggested an AMF night at my house to my friends. They jumped on that before I even finished the sentence. Cuz they know it will be full of teh awesome.

So, next Friday, there’s a party at my house. An AMF party. And you’re ALL invited.

Oh? You can’t make it? Well, that’s disappointing.

Honestly, though, you HAVE to try this, so I’ve included the recipe for y’all. Cuz I’m all about sharing. Except men. I don’t share men*. Or knives. Get your own.

*If you’ve heard anything to the contrary, it’s LIES. ALL. LIES. And I’ll stab whoever is spreading those viscous untruths. No wait. That doesn’t look right. Vicous. That looks wrong too. Vishus. FUCK. Just know that I’ll stab you. That’s enough.

P.S. Before I published this, I realized that it said gun instead of gin. I made sure to fix it for y’all though. Cuz I’m considerate that way. I don’t do guns and I don’t want anyone getting killed cuz I was too lazy to proofread my post.

P.P.S. You’re welcome.

I need help. No, other than the obvious help we ALL KNOW I need. I need hair help. And I’m turning to y’all for advice. Cuz I’m desperate I trust you.

My relationship with my hair is volatile. And cyclical. I grow it out, get fed up with it, chop some (or all) of it off, grow it out, get fed up with it, chop it off….. you get the picture. And often during one of these cycles I get a wild hair up my ass to change the color. And proceed to fuck it up beyond repair. How in the hell did I manage to not make it all fall out? Your guess is as good as mine. And now that I’ve said that, it will all fall out just to spite me. I can just hear it now:

Think you managed to dodge a bullet by not having me fall out from all the damage you’ve done to me? And just what do you think those hairs you find in the sink and all over your clothes ARE? That’s just the beginning if you don’t start respecting me BITCH!

Wow. Did you just get the chills? I did. I might be in serious trouble, so you need to HELP. ME. PLZ. And fast.

My most recent hair cycle has lasted over 3 years. Yep you read that right. I have not cut my hair (other than a trim here, an inch there) for 3 years. Now, don’t get all excited. You should know that my hair growth is sooper dooper SSSLLLOOOOOWWW. And after all that time, my hair doesn’t even reach my bra strap in back right now. Which might not be saying all that much since my boobs are migrating south for more than just the winter.

So, this is me today (or more accurately, yesterday):

It’s longer in the back, but I suck at taking pictures of my front, so I’m not going to even try to take pictures of my back. And I promise that nothing’s changed since yesterday. I did NOT go all hari kari on my hair in a fit of frustration last nite. But that totally sounds like something I would do, doesn’t it?

Anyway, I look at my hair &….. there’s just something off about it. It just looks WRONG. But I can’t pinpoint what the problem is. Is it too long? Should I part it differently? Does it just plain need a style overhaul? I have no idea.

I’ve fought with my hair for most of my adult life bcuz I was under the assumption that I have a round face shape. Lately, I’m not so sure that I really do have a round face. I’m starting to wonder if I don’t just have a fat oval face shape (which is great cuz like I need ANOTHER part of me to be fat *SIGH*). And this is one aspect where I could use a second (or a hundredth) opinion. Help!

There is one thing I should get outta the way. Short hair is not an option. I repeat, SHORT HAIR IS NOT AN OPTION. I fought every urge I had to shave my head over the past 3 years, bcuz of this:

I hate this picture. And don’t tell me I look good, cuz I know better. And this would not be one of the important times when I need you to lie to me.

So, here’s where I turn to you and ask, “What are your thoughts?” Good or bad, I wanna know. Really.

No, REALLY.

BUT, before you decide whether you want to help this crazy person, here are some helpful hints:

• My hair is fine. Not fine as in good, cuz I just got thru telling you the exact opposite. Fine, as in baby hair fine thankyouverymuchmomanddad. It has a mind of its own too. If I want it to curl one way, it will curl the other way, or not at all. And I swear I can hear laughing while all that’s going on.
• I like easy hairstyles. Styles that don’t require me to spend an hour in the bathroom with a flat iron, curling iron, and every hair product under the sun to achieve the perfect coif. I like styles that are as close to blow-dry-and-out-the-door as possible (which I’m sure I’ll have to abandon once I get outta Utah’s dry climate).
• My hair does NOT like to hold a curl. And bcuz of this, any curling iron larger than 1″ is outta the question. I have to use a 1″ curling iron or smaller to get curls that look like they came from big velcro rollers or large-barrel curling irons. And those curls? Last about 2 hours. If I’m lucky.
• I have the best stylist. EVER. She has hair just like mine, so she knows all about my frustrations. She also does exactly what I ask. And I love her for that.

So, think you can help me out? I would be ETERNALLY grateful.

And I’m not opposed to bribing you with alcohol. Or sexual favors.

I am in my last week of work. Four more days until I am officially laid off. Is it bad to say that I already wish it was over?

I received my separation packet last Friday. I was totally fine while the HR rep went over the agreement. That was until he thanked me for my professionalism regarding the lay off. Which made me start thinking, “Well HELL how am I supposed to act it’s not like I didn’t know this was coming for a YEAR NOW and can we just get this over with, cuz I don’t wanna have to think about this right now I have to go deal with my daughter’s first weekend visitation with her father and I HAVE to be home right now and OMG I’m gonna be without a job and divorced and what the FUCK am I gonna do I’ll be an outta work divorcee student with a daughter at home who will be hitting puberty soon enough and I’M TOTALLY FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW BUT I REFUSE TO LET YOU SEE ME CRY MOTHERFUCKER!”

Yeah, he really doesn’t have a clue how close he came to being stabbed right then. Prolly for the best.

**********

It’s been a week since I made the husband move out. How am I doing? Well, I’m handling it. That’s all I can do right now. Take each day as it comes, knowing that some days will be better than others. School will keep me busy, especially starting next week when I won’t be going to work anymore. And I have a long to do list that I plan to make a huge dent in. Finally.

I’m staying strong for my daughter. Even though she is dealing with it fairly well so far, I know this is hard for her. She was understandably upset when her father moved out. And she was sad after her first visitation with him bcuz she felt she didn’t get to spend enough time with him. I completely understand that. I tell her that it’s okay for her to feel sad, angry, etc. about the situation. I tell her that none of this is her fault and that her father and I love her VERY MUCH. I tell her that I’m here for her to talk to about anything. Anytime.

I am amazed with the changes in me I have already seen. The past two years I was hiding more and more at home. Hiding from the tension. Hiding from being hurt. Hiding from him. And I was losing myself in the process. I feel I am coming back now, though, and it feels really good. I know I will stumble occasionally, but I am definitely moving forward. Forward is good.

**********

Friday was the Elton John/Billy Joel concert at the Energy Solutions Arena (which I don’t care what you say, it will ALWAYS be the Delta Center to me). The concert was originally scheduled in November, but had to be postponed bcuz of illness (Damn old men, WTH? Never mind we partied it up big time anyway WITHOUT YOU. So there!).

The show? Well, it was AWESOME!!!!!

We started out in nosebleed seats. They were totally fine cuz the sound was great and they had a screen set up above them so you could see a little better on that when they showed them. But then, Sarah’s dad got us down on the floor. YAY SARAH’S DAD! Y’all are jealous now. I know. Billy played one of my favs of his songs, Allentown, and the two of them played one of my fav Elton songs, The Bitch is Back (which means more than they will ever know right now ). Michelle and I sang pretty much all the songs (loudly of course) and it was a blast. And I will never forget Billy Joel talking about how he always wanted to “mess up” Marie Osmond when he once used the Osmond studio for rehearsals. And if you’re thinking oh no he di’int? Oh yes he did. LOL

I haven’t gone through all the pictures yet, but here’s one of Billy and Elton together on the screen.

Did I mention that the concert was just plain AWESOME? Yeah, well, it’s worth repeating. Trust me.

**********

So. I’ve been hit with a lot of spam comments on my blog for almost a week now. I know I’ll never come close to dooce or The Bloggess, but does this mean I’m getting closer to being in the big leagues?

No? Oh, ok. I’ll keep working on it then. j/k

I’m not really sure how it came about, but this morning I started thinking about nicknames I have had over the years. And I have actually had quite a few. Most of them came about during (or shortly after) high school, which could totally mean something. Maybe. Anyway, I thought I’d share some of them with you.

Happy Cat – A (guy) friend of mine started calling me this out of the blue one day. I found out he started it bcuz he thought I was happy. All. The. Time. And that was when the commercials for Happy Cat cat food were on the air. So, there you have it. I got named after cat food. And it stuck. My graduation mug has my name as HC Stacey. True story.

J.B.T. – Decisions. Decisions. Do I tell you what it stands for? Or not? I can start off by telling you a GUY gave me this one. You’ll totally understand in a minute. And one day he just started saying, “Hey J.B.T.!” But he refused to tell me what it meant. He wanted me to guess. I never could figure it out on my own, though. So a friend who had been let in on the ‘joke’ told me that the first part was a type of food. No help there dood. He then went on to tell me, “Jelly…Bean…”, and I tried to punch him. Which did me no good cuz he was on the wrestling team, and well, you know. Then I made the mistake of telling someone else about it (another guy) and he never let me forget it. But that’s ok, cuz his nickname was Hot Rocks due to a little Ben Gay ‘incident’ at band camp one year (I didn’t do it!), so payback’s a bitch.

Did you get it yet? Lemme help ya. Jelly Bean Tits. Yeah, high school guys are SO mature. *eyeroll*

Weenie – Tanya gave me this one. We met at band camp the summer before my senior year. (Are you sensing a trend yet? Ya should.) And I cannot for the life of me remember why she gave this to me. But she still calls me by it. Tanya? I’m getting old! Can you remind me? Again?

Phone Sex Girl – I JUST remembered this one as I was writing this post. No, it doesn’t mean what you THINK it means. Perverts. A friend decided that my voice was perfect for phone sex. When I was 18. But then he got called a ‘girl’ when a group of us got caught by the cops hanging out at Ladd’s Marina, so I totally think we’re even now.

Puddy Cat – The husband gave me this one. And I hated it. So it wasn’t just sent to the nickname cemetery. It was sent to the nickname crematorium, NEVER to be heard from again.

Utah Hostage – Tanya’s responsible for this one too, although it isn’t really a nickname, per se. But…I do actually know how this one came about. YAY ME! I’ve been in Utah for the past 7 years, but it was only supposed to be a temporary move. Thus the birth of the Utah Hostage. It IS a little anti-climactic, isn’t it? I know, you were thinking it would be something sexual, weren’t you? WEREN’T YOU???

The funniest/most embarrassing nickname that I ever received, though, is really what this post is about.

I was a band geek in high school. I might have mentioned it. And I loved being in band. Our band was awesome. TOTALLY awesome. Hand on the Bible, right hand raised, “I solemly swear to…” awesome. No joke. Our band director was a little nazi-ish, but the ends totally justified the means. Sometimes. Sometimes it just caused us to let off a little steam.

Letting off steam often times involved practical jokes. We were notorious for them. Let’s put it this way, you were taking your life (and at times your face) in your own hands if you fell asleep on the bus to a band review. Especially the guys. I put pink lipstick on our teddy bear of a tuba player, who came after me when he found out that I did it. Another guy ended up with a complete makeover, including WATERPROOF mascara (not my doing I SWEAR!). Remember the Ben Gay incident I mentioned before? All I’m gonna say is: Ben Gay + underwear = Hot Rocks. Nuff said. Yeah, nothing was safe in our group. NOTHING.

One night, another band member talked me into writing on her boyfriend’s windshield with lipstick. Yeah…I know…twist my arm, right? While we were in the middle of it, we were caught by his friend (yet another band member) and ratted out. We couldn’t let him get away with that, so what did we do? Put soap in his trombone mouthpiece. I know! We were merciless! Unfortunately, we were ratted out AGAIN. WTH? Can’t we catch a break?

Now, mind you, I was not the mastermind for either of these pranks. I was just along for the ride. The fact that I was all, “Yeah! Let’s DO IT!” does not in any way imply MY guilt.

We had after-school marching band practice the next day. I headed to the locker room to get my flute. As I came out, I noticed some of the guys grouped around the piano, but didn’t think anything of it. I SO should have known something was up. I went over to the other side of the band room to get ready. I opened my flute case. It didn’t look right. There was something YELLOW in there. This can’t be MY case. And in a split second, it clicked. Someone put a condom on my flute!!!!! I immediately slammed the case shut and ran out of the band room, half laughing (cuz it really was fucking funny as hell!) and half crying. I don’t even remember if I took my case with me or not.  I know those assholes were still in the band room rolling on the floor laughing cuz they got me. And they did. They got me good.

I seriously considered going home. Right then. The after-school practices were required as part of the class grade, but I didn’t care. I was ready to just say, “Screw you guys. I’m going home.” (The guys from South Park totally stole this from me and I have yet to be paid for it. Assholes.) A friend came out, though, and calmed me down. I went back inside, got ready, and headed out to the field for practice.

But they weren’t through with me yet. Not by a long shot. Out on the field, I got the rest of it. I got my new nickname.

You ready for it?…..

Rubbermaid

No, I am NOT kidding.

And it stuck. Like duct tape stuck. For 3 MONTHS!

**********

So, now here is where I put it out there to you. What funny/weird/hated/embarrassing/awesome nicknames have you been given? Can you beat Rubbermaid? Can you come close? I desperately need someone to commiserate laugh with right now until I start drinking again and forget all about this.

A year’s worth of plans, emails, phone calls, and even a few boo-boos here and there finally came to fruition. To say I was excited? Yeah, doesn’t even BEGIN to cover it.

Leaving SLC
My flight was at 7 am. UGH.

I set my alarm for 4:30 am. Stacey doesn’t DO 4:30 am. That is unless it’s 4:30 am because I’ve been up all night playing Guitar Hero and singing ’80′s songs. Then it’s NO PROBLEM. I might as well have stayed up all night since I was up until after midnight finishing my homework and packing anyway. And I figured I would sleep on the plane, which kills two birds with one stone. I had no idea how wrong I was.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

By the time I actually woke up, the clock said 4:40. Yeah, you might be saying, “Wow! 10 whole minutes!” But this is me. Not a morning person. It’s hard for me to get up (I can be down right bitchy) and I need every minute to get ready with none to spare. I tore outta bed and everything became a blur from then until we left for the airport.

One GOOD thing about having a 7 am flight? There is NO ONE on the road. One BAD thing?  No breakfast and NO STARBUCKS! I was cranky, freezing my ass off (cuz I was already dressed for Miami, or cuz I was stupid – take your pick), starving, and badly in need of caffeine.

Got to the airport, checked in with Sky Cap (and was pleasantly surprised to find out that I only had to pay $15 for my bag since we had booked our trip so far in advance), and headed inside. The line for security was AWFUL. I figured I was gonna be there until I turned 50. But then a TSA Agent directed ‘seasoned’ passengers to another line. If it got me in a shorter line, HELL YEAH. I think I was through security in about 20 min. SCORE!

I flew out of SLC on American. Do you know what airline SLC is a hub for? Delta. Not American. D-E-L-T-A. Where are the majority of the vendors in SLC? In the B gates. Which are for? Delta. Where was I departing from? The A gates. Cuz I wasn’t on Delta. Do you see a pattern here? Cranky, freezing, starving, and in need of caffeine, with nothing except a damn Quiznos in sight! And it was almost time to board the plane. *sigh* I was not a happy camper.

I boarded the plane and found my seat. A window seat. I prayed to the airplane gods and thanked them for my window seat. I would be ok. Well, sorta ok. Lemme back up a bit. Those who know me really well, know that I don’t fly well. At all. I HATE to fly. I give white knucklers a bad name. Don’t believe me? Let’s take a flight together sometime. I guarantee you will never fly with me again. I once had a flight attendant watch me VERY closely on a flight from Austin to Chicago, bcuz I was about to break off the armrests. True story.

The plane was fairly empty, we were pretty close to our departure time, and I had my window seat. All was good. And then? A family with a young girl and an infant came to the back of the plane and sat…behind me. And where did they put the young girl? RIGHT BEHIND ME. What did she do the entire flight? Kicked my seat. The parents? Were comin due for a couple of bitch slaps. Seriously? One of the things I drilled into my kids over and over again was about showing others courtesy and respect. I would have done a HELL of a lot more than just saying (in a voice with no authority whatsoever), ”Don’t put your feet on the seat. It’s not nice.” I would be all, “Get your gawd damned feet down RIGHT NOW!” But that’s me.

I almost fell asleep once with my head against the side of the plane, only to have her kick the seat which shoved my head into the window frame. I nearly went over that seat and duct taped that kid’s legs above her head. But then I remembered I left my duct tape at home. I really have to learn to remember that stuff. You just never know when it will come in handy.

Needless to say I couldn’t get off the plane fast enough.

Layover in O’Hare
I totally lucked out. My flight from SLC arrived at one gate, and my flight to Miami departed from the gate right next to it. And what do I see as I get off the jetway? STARBUCKS! I think I might have drooled a little. But then my stomach chimed in with, “Um…HELLO? You haven’t given me anything in like…5 DAYS. ME FIRST!” And then my bladder jumped in to the conversation with, “Well I can make things really embarrassing for you REALLY FAST HERE.” So bladder trumped stomach, bcuz OBVIOUSLY. And then stomach stomped all over my mocha frappuccino craving, so no Starbucks for me.

My friend Michele’s layover was in DFW. Have you ever been to that airport? It’s a hub for American, so I bet you have at some point. Ok, so raise your hands if you EVER had to get off at one gate only to have your connecting flight depart from a gate on the other damn side of the terminal, or better yet, ANOTHER FREAKIN TERMINAL ALTOGETHER? Come on, GET YOUR DAMN HANDS UP! You know you have. Well, this was what she had to deal with. I was calmly waiting for my flight to Miami, while getting texts that my friend might not make her connecting flight. I was crossing fingers, legs, eyes, ANYTHING I could think of to send good vibes her way so that she would make her flight. Which she did. Cuz I haz GOOD JUJU.

Arrival in Miami
The flight from Chicago to Miami was pretty uneventful. I managed to keep my anxiety to a minimum and even chatted a bit with the nice lady sitting next to me. As soon as we landed, Michele and I started texting. Yes I KNEW that we were gonna see each other in just a few minutes, but it took FOREVER to taxi to the gate. And then I didn’t know which gate I was arriving at, so I couldn’t even tell her where to meet me. We finally found each other & set off to take care of priorities (bathroom, food, drink – & not necessarily in that order, except the bathroom. DUH.).

Got our bags, caught the shuttle to the hotel, and met up with the rest of our group. By now my stomach was rebelling. And not from lack of food. We were finally in the promised land. And my stomach wanted something with liquor in it. Now. A shot of 1800 & a Sam Adams plz thankyouverymuch!

Ok. Time for food. Holly wanted Cuban food since we’re in Miami, and we were all up for that. The hotel recommended Mojitos Cuban Restaurant in Dolphin Mall, which is (just what you’re thinking) a mall. (And I had to actually look up the name of the restaurant cuz I totally forgot it. OOPS!) The food was really good and the Sangria was AWESOME!

After dinner, Holly found us a cab that would take us to get alcohol for the ship. Two stops later, we had wine and liquor. We were SET! It was back to the hotel and an early night cuz the next day we were all gonna be sufficiently drowning our livers. No need to overdo it on the first night, right?

To be continued…

I’m posting my fav pic from my camera for each day of the trip (except the last one bcuz I didn’t take a single pic that day, go figure) For day 1, here is the group at dinner in Miami:

Mojitos in the front. Sangria in the back. Does anyone else notice how my boobs are on the table?

A week after my birthday, I had a local bash at Keys on Main to celebrate with my friends here in Utah. Can I just say I love that place? No, really. I. LOVE. THAT. PLACE.

Yes, I hear that group of you in the back going, “Wh-WHAT? What happened to the cruise? WE WANNA HEAR ABOUT THE CRUISE!” I am writing it, I promise. But there is a lot to write about (I don’t wanna leave out anything) and it will prolly be in stages. So for now, bear with me. This story’s good too.

Six of the friends I invited came (Jenn, Michelle, and Sarah aka the girls; plus Roxanne, Gina, and Juan). And some of them brought friends (Cat, Katie, Jenna, and Mark). Some I knew. Some I didn’t. Long ago, that would have freaked me out. Ask anyone that knew me in the ’80′s (and even part of the ’90′s EGAD!). I. Was. Shy. If I didn’t know you, I kept to myself, which might have come across as me being a snobby bitch.  But, I’m a much more social person than I used to be. Now, you’ll KNOW that I’m a snobby bitch cuz I’m totally open about it. Just kidding. Life’s too short for me to be a snobby bitch and I never know who I might meet on any given day.

But I digress.

Gina’s goal for the night was to get me fucked up. I dare say she managed to achieve that goal long before the night was over. Oh my. I KNOW. I am SUCH a lush! I do remember having:

• a shot of Patron
• a Blue Moon
• 3 AMF’s
• a Jager Bomb (Michelle said I better not puke after I drank that. I didn’t. Think I’m finally getting this whole drinking thing down. WOOT!)
• Sips of other drinks (I think EVERYONE had jumped on the fuck Stacey up bandwagon by then. And I had the hangover the next day to prove it.)

The girls SWEAR that I had 5 AMF’s. FIVE. They said they counted how many I actually had, but I think they’re just trying to boost the ego of my inner alcoholic. Gotta love those girls. THEY ROCK!

Note: The last time I had a shit load of AMF’s, I couldn’t walk OR talk afterward. It may have something to do with the Sake Bombs we did beforehand, though. Maybe. And after all that, I didn’t pass out and I didn’t puke. YAY ME!

The girls decided to get me in the limelight early. Kendrick told me to get my ass on stage RIGHT NOW. Well, okay then. I went up there with my blinking tiara and boa (a present from the girls that I wore pretty much all night, when it wasn’t falling off my head. No I wasn’t drinking, I swear!) Kendrick told me (along with the rest of the bar thankyouverymuch!) that I didn’t look 40 and to get on the piano. Hmmm. Lemme think this through. I’ve been drinking. I’m in heels. And I’m supposed to hump my ass on top of a piano? Yeah, I’m kinda thinkin…NO. So I commented that I really shouldn’t get up there cuz it would NOT BE PRETTY. And of course Kendrick responded that he doubted that. That’s when I KNEW he was trying to get in my pants. So we were good. And then he serenaded me with “You’ve got the 60 and I’ve got the 9.” And I’m thinking, not only is this piano player HAWT, but he’s trying to get in my pants, AND he’s a MINDREADER? Yeah, I’m screwed.

Did I ever mention that I can get a little slutty when I drink? No? Well, then just forget that I EVER MENTIONED IT.

When the piano players rotated, we got Jordan closest to us. What a character! I’ve got lots of entertaining pics of him (including one where he was showing me his ass. For the camera. On purpose. THAT’S MY KIND OF MAN! WOOT!)

Oh! I totally forgot about the cones! I GOTTA talk about the cones! The gals that I took the cruise with decorated our cabin (think BLACK) and brought these orange cones to decorate the table on my birthday. The cones were forgotten that night, cuz we were too busy remembering our make-out session with the dolphins earlier in the day. But that’s for another post. Be patient.

The cones say “40-YEAR OLD SENIOR MOMENT”. And they are hilarious. I just couldn’t let them go to waste, so they tagged along for the ride. And became props throughout the night as the group became more and more trashed (think Madonna & you might get an idea of what I mean). I really am thinking of having them bronzed. If anyone can tell me where I can get that done, I will buy you booze. Hey, I figure I’m not the only one who can be bribed. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just THAT easy.

There were lots of pics taken that night. Most of them I totally remember taking or having taken. And then there are the others… There are pics where Juan is wearing my tiara and boa, but I have NO MEMORY OF IT HAPPENING. None. I can remember the cone ‘props’, but I can’t remember THAT? That might mean something. Which might explain A LOT.

The pics Sarah took are WAY better than mine. That’s because I am still learning my new camera was too drunk to do anything more than sing very loudly off key just plain suck at taking pics of anything but boobs and lap dances. And even then I STILL suck cuz I’m too busy ENJOYING said boobs and lap dances to take a decent picture.

*sigh*

The six of us that stayed to the end of the night are below (I’m the one in the tiara. I know you weren’t sure, so I thought I’d help you out a bit. Cuz I’m ALL about helping others.). What a fun group! If you look in the middle, you can even see the cones, which should prolly go down in history. Cuz they are just The Awesome. Or maybe they should just be burned.

Thanks everyone! I had the most amazing time. We need to do this again VERY soon.

Tomorrow works for me.

It’s almost over. Four more weeks is all that remains. And I couldn’t be happier about it. I think.

I’m talking about the end of my job, which I have mentioned before here, here, and here. The end date set for me and my boss is the end of February. The rest of my department that’s being let go? Their end date is tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

There’s no hiding from it anymore. Not like I was hiding from it anyway. But still. I know tomorrow will be slapping me in the face yelling, “WAKE UP DUMBASS! THIS WILL BE YOU IN A MONTH!”

*eyeroll*

I’m actually ready to be laid off. My to do list is gargantuan at this point and I’m sure as hell not getting anything done sitting on my ass at work surfing porn sites the Internet. I am able to get my homework done at work, though, but there is only so much homework to do. Most days, I’m sitting on my hands to avoid IM’ing people in the office to keep me entertained, bcuz they actually do have work to do!

But by saying I’m ready to be laid off, I don’t mean that I’m always ok with it. I am ok with having some time off to go to school while I’m still being paid. I am ok with being able to catch up on that massive to do list I have. And maybe clean & organize my house some. Maybe. But not having a job throws a wrench in my plans to move forward. That I’m not ok with. And I will miss people in my department. And I will miss people in the company. Some more than others.

Wanna hear something funny? I actually flip off the TV when commercials for my ‘new’ company come on. Usually accompanied with some colorful words like, “THANKS A LOT MOTHERFUCKERS!” But I’m not telling you who the company is, cuz I think it’s better to keep my occasional moments of planning to bomb the building pettiness bitterness to myself. (As I’ve mentioned before, though, I can be bribed with booze. Nuff said.)

It’s gonna get awfully quiet around here. Fast.