And the Prickles

After a typical Friday night consisting of binge drinking and board games, I woke up surprisingly early (and perky) on Saturday morning. I decided that I could no longer stand the sight of the weeds that were taking over our front yard. I hauled out the weeding tools, the mini wheel barrow, and the gardening gloves and sat down amongst the shrubbery and rocks and began to curse as I pulled the first ugly weeds from my yard.

After clearing out about a pound of unnecessary out of control grass, I also realized that it wasn't just the weeds that I hated, but the bushes as well. Especially the monster cacti-like things that lived in the corner that just looked evil. They were evil. I'd try to pull the weeds from around them and I'd end up looking like a cutter because I'd have tons of mini pricks and scratches all the way up my arms until about elbow-height. And that shit hurts, just FYI. So I'd end up all pissed off and sweaty and wondering why anyone in their right mind would ever plant such a horrendous "plant." Devil plant.

So I grabbed ahold of two of the larger "leaves" or whatever the fuck grows off of these painful things and pulled as hard as I could. It came out of the ground rather easily. So I moved on to the next one, which apparently had a giant family of worms that lived beneath it. Sorry worms. I had to seek out the assistance of my husband to pull out the mother cactus that lived between the two smaller ones. That thing was giant. And quite the bitch to get out of the ground. We cussed a lot. I bet our neighbors hate us... We finally got the damn things out of the ground and stuffed into paper bags that could easily hold a human and called it quits.

Well, called it quits momentarily. I then decided that I also hated these little wussy leafy shrubs that were in the flower bed area. I took a shovel to them and added them to the paper bag.

I apparently forgot to think ahead and actually plan for what I was going to do after I ripped these stupid bushes out of my yard. So now, I just have these massive holes in beds of mulch. And needless to say, we now own a "how to landscape" book. I have no idea what I've signed up for but I can tell you one thing, I sure as hell won't be buying any damn cacti.

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

For a good 20 years of my life I was scared to death of guns. Like, I couldn't be in a room with one. They made my heart pound. When I was about 21 I finally sat down next to one and held it. Then I placed it neatly back into its little bag and didn't look at another one for a couple of years. Gave me the heebie jeebies.

Well Dave has since gotten me more familiar with them. And it just so happens that I've been raging mad for the past few weeks so the unanimous decision was for me to learn how to finally shoot one of these bastards. Wait, I mean, learn to shoot a gun. Not shoot a person.
And if you care to know why I'm so pissed off these days it's because I'm completely sick of men treating me with complete disrespect because they think they are "older and wiser" than me. Wow, I don't know how much longer I can bite my tongue but if one more person makes a comment about how getting married young is a terrible decision or decides they are going to "shoo" they're hands at me and tell me to "go do my little HR stuff" I'll probably pull my hair out. I mean, did people never learn the phrase "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all?" Ugh.

So we went to the gun range. I picked up a 9 MM, fumbled around with the bullets, which by the way, is the hardest part about guns - trying to get them into the little holder is extremely difficult, and then I made sure my giant ear headphones were on and my cool yellow protective eyewear were on my face right and then I aimed at the paper target and freakin pulled the trigger.

I shook. It was CRAZY! Like, I'll never forget that moment in my life. I fired the gun and I managed to hit the paper target guy that I had strung up. I put the gun down and waited for my hands to stop shaking and then I decided that I liked it. So I tried again. And again and again and again. I realized that I couldn't keep my eyes open when I was shooting because it was so damn loud. So I practiced trying to keep my eyes open and I tried out different ways to stand and I basically thought I was a total bad ass.

After getting more comfortable with the freaking weapon that I was holding, I remembered just how mad I'd been for the past few weeks and took aim at the target's face. I shot a round of bullets and brought the target back to me to inspect my damage. Yeah, hi, I shot a line of 4-5 bullets in straight vertical line down the guy's face. Apparently I'm a good shot, so we've learned. My catch phrase of the day: I'll shoot you in the face!! And my husband's response: I should have known she'd be good at this... she's Italian.

So needless to say, I'm glad I got over my fear of guns. I'm pretty sure it's the best form of stress relief I've found. Visiting the shooting range is like my new favorite thing. Oh, and PS: they have pink guns. I'm not even kidding.

No, He Didn't Buy Me Pearls!

Bah. So, we successfully celebrated Emily’s 25th birthday Saturday night. Oy. A group of us, including two of our favorite HHS girls, Brooke and Laura Beth, went out to Tsunami to begin the festivities. "Begin" means to order 4 carafes of sake immediately and see how many times you can slam your shot glass down, turn your head back, swallow and then shiver in disgust. Perfect beginning. I’m pretty sure the sushi was good too.
We paraded down to Pearlz, which was supposed to be our first stop of the night, but turned into our last stop also. We took over the corner of the bar, which is basically the perfect spot for shot buying if you ask me. Amongst the drinking, I continually called DeAnne (on Liz’s phone, mind you, as De does not believe in owning a phone) to tell them to come meet us at Pearlz. Somewhere along the way or somewhere in between the grain alcohol slushies, DeAnne someone turned my message of "meet us at Pearlz" to "Dave bought Nicole a new pearl necklace." Needless to say, our Cola friends never met up with us, but I heard they opted to carry around barstools and sit down when necessary during their stay at Wet Willies. Hey, works for me.
Okay so somehow I got conned into the Oyster Shot. Okay and for the record, that is basically the most disgusting shot ever. Which is why I had two. It’s like a train wreck, you know you should look away and not gawk and stare, but instead you say yes when some random hand shoves a disgusting thick reddish shot in your direction. Yep, just like a train wreck. Later into the evening, the shots continued to be shoved in my general direction, as well as everyone else’s direction, really, and we managed to get the bartender involved in the shot shoving. Turns out this cool ass bartender was the same one who was working the night that Dave and I had to drag Megan’s stupid ass out of there... you know, the night she pissed in our guest room... the night I kicked her out of our wedding the weekend before we got married. Yeah, that night. Well, we thanked him for being cool as shit and not giving us a hard time and for actually making fun of how drunk she was. PS: Someone please tell her this. She should really know. Okay, so after he learned that I "broke up" with her, he bought us a delicious round of Macintosh apple shots, which for the record, are basically the most not-disgusting shots ever. Basically the opposite of the oyster.
After the round of Goldschlager things started to run together. I know that Dave face-raped Emily, someone fell out of a chair, Emily and I exchanged birthday cards (in which, may it be noted, that Emily considers me "the jagerbomb of her life"), and things were just funny and fun and wonderful. I really can’t tell you the last time I had that much fun downtown. Obviously I got carried away and accidentally spent well over $100. DeAnne’s response, "What the hell did you buy? The bar?" Yeah, pretty much. Doh. I guess it’s financially a good thing that I don’t typically have that much fun downtown... pretty sure we’d be broke. Ha.
So we of course made it home and I turned into Betty Crocker/Martha Stewart as usual and served up some amazing grilled cheese sandwiches, cooked to everyone’s request, and made sure to stock everyone with water bottles and clean jammies. Then I cloroxed the kitchen and passed out.
And that, my friends, is how you celebrate a birthday.

Happy Hour(s)

So I never really mean for happy hour to turn into happy "event" but more times than not it always seems to end up that way. Someone really needs to explain to me that 9 hours of drinking really isn't the most genius idea ever...


Dave, Amanda and I met at Wild Wing at 5:00. I was drunk by beer 3 which occurred somewhere around the 6:30 hour. I'm pretty sure that all I did was talk with a lisp and try to embarrass Amanda and sometimes I combined the two for maximum fun. Eventually Miss Lara met up with us and so did Adrian and Jules. Excellent. ::tapping fingers::

So we proceeded to get drunk. Which really was my only goal I set for myself yesterday. I'm a high-striver... speaking of hyphenated things to be, Amanda is a pot-stirrer... always brewin' up some trouble, which always means there will be a good gossip-filled story to come after the stirring. Oh how I love other people's drama.

Some how we ended up at this crap bar called Sapphires. It's neon signed gave me high hopes as it instinctively reminded me of a strip club. No. Wrong. Bust. The only thing good about that place was some shot called Fire on your Tire. Or maybe it was Flat Tire, or maybe it had nothing to do with nonworking car parts. It was green and delicious. Who the fuck cares what it's name was. We had 2. I then pouted until Dave drove us home to get glammed up and go downtown to Mad River. PS: Lara is a make-up artist. Yay for friends with talents. We all bust in up in Mad River sporting an article of clothing from my closet and some form of tacky Nicole jewelry, well Dave refrained from the tacky jewelry... we just shook our asses for 2 hours until they kicked us out. I particularly enjoyed the part where I screamed every single word of Ice Ice Baby. I really don't know why I have friends. I'm really a dork. Or even a dorkasaur. Rawr. I also enjoyed weighing the pros and cons of dancing on one of the 4 foot tables. I really did drown out the conversation around me and make a list in my head about the goods and bads of staying on the floor vs. climbing onto an unsturdy table with about 10 drinks in my system. ::insert R. Kelly's song "my mind's tellin me noooo, but my body...my body's telling me yessssss...":: I refrained from table dancing. You know, it's probably really good that I didn't have friends who encouraged stripping. Something tells me I could have easily gone down quite the wrong path in life since every time I get some alcohol in me I want to immediately become the center of attention by standing on platforms or swinging around poles or using articles of clothing like g-string strings and sunglasses and ties as props. So thanks friends for encouraging a lifestyles that promotes clothing. Appreciate it.

Okay so like I said, we stayed until we got kicked out. Well, so did the guy who literally got kicked out. Like got kicked out so hard he flew out of his shoes and landed face first on the rain-soaked sidewalk unconscious. That was way scary to walk out of a bar all giggly and silly and see someone's shoes on the steps and then see that someone knocked out cold 3 feet in front of his shoes. Dave and Lara both have medical experience so they made sure the dude was breathing and not dead. Amanda and I stood there holding each other as it rained. Again, an appropriate time for th R. Kelly song... Oh! Speaking of R Kelly songs, Dave and I continued to reference the South Park episode where he and Tom Cruise continue to get in the closet. "Now Tom Cruise is in the closet. Now I'm in the closet too."

WTF with the R. Kelly? Seriously.
Okay so, knocked-out guy... I mean really, who pisses off someone so bad that they punch you out of your own shoes? Drama...

So Dave and I got home and sat in the tub because we still swear that we always smell like smoke even though downtown in smoke-free. Whatever. I woke up with my pretty eye make-up smeared across my face over to my ear. So much for the sexy, smoky eyes. I'm now still drunk, haven't even made it to the hangover phase yet. Oh God and we don't have any milk in the house! Dilemma!!. My chest is all shaky. And I'm very curious to learn how Amanda is going to get through a session with her personal trainer in 30 minutes. Good luck. Now someone go make me some drunk breakfast! Mmm, hangover days.

Blog (Again)

As of lately DeAnne and I have become email buddies, it's basically the 2000s version of pen pals and we write to each other like 5 times a day. For those of you who are unaware, DeAnne and I are part of the "ex-girlfriends" club along with Catherine. All 3 of us managed to end up with this 7 foot tall doof at some point in our lives, he told all of us that the other ones were crazy, and all 3 of us investigated and found out that he was actually the crazy one.
So 4 years later, us 3 girls are all good friends and he's out of our lives. Well, in discussing how we know each other, DeAnne brought up my old blog - in which I deemed her a stalker. I mean, she was, but so was I and so was Catherine, so my old theory that "stalkers don't make friends" has been proved false and in all actuality, stalkers do make friends.
So... having a discussion about my old blog really made me miss it. I actually made a bound copy for Joe last year. It was 2.5 years of debauchery printed on approximately 200 pieces of paper. Ridiculous. Needless to say, I miss that crap. Granted, I may not have quite the stories that I used to have, but I still have equally ridiculous friends and we seem to wind up in crazy situations so I might as well still keep track of this crap. So I'm vowing to myself and to you maniacs that actually keep up with this shit that I promise to do a better job of putting my life on "paper."

Ready.Set.Blog (again).

Say What You Need To Say

So there's this John Mayer song called "Say." And it basically just says "say what you need to say." And as simple as that is to say that little phrase, do you have any idea how difficult it can be to actually just do that?! I think we should say things that drive us crazy, even if it makes our hands sweat and makes our stomach hurt and makes us just want to shut our eyes and cover our ears because we're afraid of what we might hear in response.
I definitely have things that I've kept in me for months, years even, and its about time for this shit to come out. What's the point of holding it in and having nightmares about it and making yourself sick about it? Not to say that I have like a list of people that I need to cuss out. Not at all, actually. But there is at least one person that hasn't heard everything I need to say. I realize I have a lot of anger in me about the way I was treated and how I had to make these terrible decisions in my life when I shouldn't have been thinking about anything bad. I should haven't to have friendship-ending conversations the weekend before my wedding...
Needless to say, I'm just glad that I've found it in myself to actually speak up. And I know that sooner than later I'll get the perfect opportunity to let her know just how I feel about her.
So there's this John Mayer song called "Say." And it basically just says "say what you need to say." And as simple as that is to say that little phrase, do you have any idea how difficult it can be to actually just do that?! I think we should say things that drive us crazy, even if it makes our hands sweat and makes our stomach hurt and makes us just want to shut our eyes and cover our ears because we're afraid of what we might hear in response.
I definitely have things that I've kept in me for months, years even, and its about time for this shit to come out. What's the point of holding it in and having nightmares about it and making yourself sick about it? Not to say that I have like a list of people that I need to cuss out. Not at all, actually. But there is at least one person that hasn't heard everything I need to say. I realize I have a lot of anger in me about the way I was treated and how I had to make these terrible decisions in my life when I shouldn't have been thinking about anything bad. I should haven't to have friendship-ending conversations the weekend before my wedding...
Needless to say, I'm just glad that I've found it in myself to actually speak up. And I know that sooner than later I'll get the perfect opportunity to let her know just how I feel about her.