Nutcase 101

One Snuggie at a time.

So, I got my Snuggie this past week and was not as excited after Jocelyn told me about her fabulous experience with the $14.99 airport blanket of the cursed.

BUT!

I have found a purpose for the Snuggie and it’s cheap flannel material: a new source of electricity. As soon as I removed the yards and yards of material from the box, sparks started flying. There was no rubbing the material on carpet or touching anything but the cardboard box, the static was shooting out every which way. I got a nice jolt simply trying to put the large mess of fabric back in to the box.

If every man, woman and child had a Snuggie and hook up electrodes to collect the electricity, we’d never have to worry about coal, nuclear power, or other sources to generate power. Or maybe sew a ton of Snuggies together to make one GINORMOUS super power that would probably keep a small town going for five-to-six minutes.

So, bottom line, it looks like Snuggie will be staying in the box for a while now. I’m afraid that if I do use it, I’ll be on the evening news for the first death by Snuggie electrocution.

(Jocelyn and anyone with fashion taste, I recommend you leave now. Or feel free to mock me in the comments.)

Here in Texas there is this big ball in the sky that appears in the morning and goes away at night. It’s bright and you can’t look right at it or you’ll cause your eyeballs to revolt out of your head.

You may have heard about it, it’s called THE SUN!

I know, after thirty years on this planet, I’ve just discovered this great big ball of gas. And it’s all the sun’s fault that I did what I had to do. See, that sun thing causes heat. A FUCKING AMOUNT OF HEAT. And I am delicate. A precious flower of modern livingness and I can’t get hot because I start to sweat and get icky without my permission. Now, if I sweat due to working out, that’s fine. It’s sweat with a purpose.

Sweating against my will due it simply being daytime and FUCKING HOT (that’s the only true way to describe the heat here), me no likey. Yes, I’m a big whiny baby.

Anyway.

So, I’m driven to being indoors where I can layer up the clothes if the air conditioning is too cold. Only there is a problem. At one of my work locations, our home, the A/C regulates everything beautifully. Except for one spot.

My desk.

Unfortunately, the AC vent, which refuses to relocate itself, blows directly on me. Now because I can’t move my PC and all the plugs, wires and the leasing office won’t let me knock down a wall, there isn’t another place I can move my electronic mecca. Now, when the air is not running, I’m great. Fine. Hunky Dory.

But, when it blows…oh baby, you’d think that Old Man Winter moved in and decided that I needed to be the Queen of his icicle world. So, I bought it.

I’ve tried throws, that get thrown off but my upper body remains behind to suffer. I’ve even put my robe on backwards but the arm holes aren’t the right way. It’s the irony people. I get away from the heat for the cold and then the A/C freeze out occurs. I can’t win.

Now, if you need me. I’ll be the person looking like I’m about to join a cult and drink some kool aid. But I’ll be warm (but not FUCKING HOT!).

I was looking over old posts that I have stored away and forgotten. Those half-assed written tid-bits that just weren’t worthy of meeting the internets. Well, during my clean up of those junkers (and hoping for inspiration for a new post), I came across this gem of a paragraph:

“We hit the hotel room for a quick refresh and a clean bathroom, because you know that the stops at the Gas N’Go were only to cop a squat and hover your ass over the toilet (due to the fact that the last time Lysol had seen the inside of that potty chamber was ummmmm NEVER). I only went when I was at the point where my bladder would burst and there was a chance of ruining the interior of the car. (I know, the story took a pee derailment, but potty stories are always welcomed.)”

How did I ever let that piece of writing get pushed to the wayside?

But there is a campaign going on!

Ladies and Gentlemen (of drinking age), lend me your wine glasses! There is a job up for grabs and my friend Nina is the perfect person to fill this opening.

Why?

Glad you asked. She likes to drink wine. Good wine. Wine that makes you go back for three or four pours. Wine that makes you steal the bottle from your hostess and tell her, “I think that was empty…” when she inquires. (Not that I would ever do that. No. Never. Not me.)

So, go ahead and click on this great campaign logo, watch the video and be amused. Then show your support for Nina by putting your email address into the box to the right of her video. Don’t let other people take away your power to get a really good spokesperson for Murphy Goode Wines!

I know that you have some issues: torn disc, unpronounceable genetic condition, pressing on nerves, full blown arthritis in the hips. Yeah, it sucks. But guess what you attention whore pain addict, you’re not the only pretty, pretty princess demanding of my time. So, shut the fuck on your whining. Yes, I’m working you out harder but in a safe way to make you stronger so that you’re pain will hopefully diminish.

But, until that whole exercise thing starts working, you need to stop being a bitch and hanging out with insomnia. Insomnia is a bad dude that’s only using you to get to me. He doesn’t want you lower back, he wants to make me miserable by telling you look pretty and that you should act out like a 13 year-old girl tying to impress the hot Senior on campus. Stop it. You’re much more than that.

Now, I love you but get back in line and stand straight and pain free spine. And, hips, you’re next so you better be reading this as well.

Regards,

The owner of the body.

Do you know where you’re Nutcase is?

Typically, you can find me watching Be The Marriage with Will and Nina.

But two Saturday nights ago, I got to be ON THE SHOW. And some of you, my lovelies, were either there with me and B or were watching. I’m sorry you had to hear my nasally voice. But, I will say, it was a ton of fun.

I was uberly-nervous meeting Will and Nina because I didn’t think my cool quotient was high enough to play in their realm but they were welcoming, down-to-earth and just damn awesome. Of course, we totally bribed them to like us with liquor.

After the show we got to meet Lisa and Ed at 8 Oz, (Kae was there as well - of course). Fabulousity levels were HIGH in that sector of L.A., as the drinks and conversation flowed. People like these are a key reason to move to Los Angeles.

B and I can’t wait to cross their paths again.

P.S. For the male readers (VCM), yes, I got to have a moment with Nina and it was phenomenal.

I totally was going to write a post about California. Seriously. I have many waxes to be poetic over Will and Nina (yeah, I absolutely know that makes no sense).

But then my mom called.

(For those of you who want to skip ahead, the following paragraph is going to end with I believe in prayer.)

I was raised with a mixed up view of religion. My parents were holiday pew warmers until we moved to Florida when my parents decided the non-denominational, sorta-Baptist worship was in their heart and Catholicism was in their wallets. We all gave our hearts to Jesus and Jesus told us everything was bad. Now, I promise I’m not knocking people who are whole-hearted bible believers but my own spiritual walk is not one where there is preaching on Sundays. I like think that I believe in more of a direct connect method, without the Verizon guy standing behind me.

But lately, I hadn’t put a lot of my strength, faith, whatever in God. And there is a saying that there is a lot more believers in a high power on bad days than good. I personally believe that God is with me with every step but that I’m more aware of my abilities versus his when the shit hits the fan.

Somebody released the shit.

(You can start reading again.)

My mom’s voice didn’t waver, nor did she seem upset, but I think she was a lot more calm that she would’ve been because my nephew, her grandson, was cuddling with her when she called and delivered the message: My grandmother has internal bleeding of an unknown source and she’s been hospitalized.

Grandma is awesome and the toughest old New York bird you’ll ever meet. She’s the mom to six kids, was divorced in her late thirties, put herself through nursing school and kicked life’s ass whenever it tried to put her down. Hell, in the last two years she’s had two strokes, a heart attack and malignant cancer. She’s won every single battle. But, I know she’s getting tired. It was in her voice when we last spoke (which was way too long ago now that I type that sentence, I can’t recall when that conversation happened). She’s still fighting some of the lingering effects of the stroke and the radiation/surgery. She’s losing weight and forgets simple things.

It’s breaking my heart knowing she has to keep fighting getting old and having a body that needs a major overhaul but it’s hard to know that her time on Earth is finite. She’s so far away. If I had known, Los Angeles would’ve waited and New York would’ve been the destination. One of my favorite vacations was to spend a week with Grandma after I graduated college. I had her all to myself and she shared stories and recipes and herself.

It is selfish to want Grandma to get better. For me. My mom. My whole family. For Grandma, so that she can keep on enjoying loving life, as much as we enjoy and love her.

That’s what I’ll be praying for tonight.

Three hundred and sixty-five days ago, you gave me your everything forever.

And I’m still in awe that I get to be called your wife.

I love you B!

And mice getting to second base.

We landed in California on Thursday afternoon, gorged on In-And-Out Burger with Kae and got into our rental to head out towards Anaheim. We had decided to rent a GPS with the vehicle because we knew that the iPhone GPS could be spotty. HAHAHAHA. Yeah. The rental GPS was kind enough to try and take us through the Los Angeles ‘hood. Thankfully, we were able to find a nice, safe (HA!) interestate and got to our hotel safely - and Xanax helped too.

Anyway, on to the good parts.

Friday morning, we woke up around 10 am our time, 8 am in California so we were out the door and in line for the Haunted Mansion around 9:05 am. We did have time to get ears (Bride and Groom because we were supposed to have gone a couple months after we got married but Hurricane Ike had other plans.)

By 11 am, we were waiting to Find Nemo because that fish can’t stay still and working on our fifth ride of the day. B had never been to a Disney park and I had never been to Disneyland but we were able to negotiate the park just fine. Until “It’s a Small World!”.

Both B and I believe that anyone working that ride needs to have an incredibly strong mental acumen. Or get paid hazard pay. If I worked on that ride, I’d either need an acid hit on a regular basis or there would be doll heads flying at one point. Though, as the boat went around the different countries and the squawking changed languages, B and I took delight in finding all the fucked up dolls (heads backwards, legs twitching, mouths in odd configurations) and trying to get pictures. But since we were trying to be respectful of the kids, we did it in loud whispers and lots of tweenage giggling. I did try to take pictures of these anomalies but we’d get distracted and all of the pics were blurry.

I wonder why.

Then there was food eaten and on search out my man, Mickey. First we had to get by his forever gal, Minnie. This woman has a large fan club and the line was about thirty minutes long. I felt more sorry for the person in the suit than those of us suckered into getting photos with a costume and large plastic head. When it was finally our turn, she cuddled up to B and I. She promptly put her hand on my ass and then as we turned to exit, she brushed her oversized gloves over the boob area. I didn’t even get dinner from her first.

After the glove handling, we went on to see Minnie’s man who was in residence next door. Again, another line but this time they had private group visits with Mr. Mouse. Only about eight of us in the room at a time and we got to take a couple poses with Mickey. As we got up to get into place, Mickey pulled the same stunt as Minnie. I’m now curious if those in the costume have good timing or are my boobies just in the way of Disney mice? Now, I’m not going to sue for Costumed Character Sexual Harrassment. But, it was completely ironic that I got a lot of action at the “happiest place on Earth!”

To say that was excited to go to California is understating the term excited. I’m pretty sure I went into my past and grabbed my two year-old self and announced to the world, at every opportunity, that I was going to go to California.

And California, let me tell you, you didn’t let me down.

Even before we left Houston, the world let us know that California wanted to meet us just as much by having the airline give us an upgrade to First Class. But, fate did have it’s foot out for a small trip in the plans of flying in the front: my body. A few weeks before my vacation started, some bacteria decided that my body was going to be it’s summer resort. Said bacteria decided that I was such a great Hamptons, that it decided to replicate in mass and make their presence known. I’ll spare you the details but it was ugly people, really ugly. Tests were run to determine exactly which organism I was hosting and the results were read to the world on Friday before the first day of vacay. Fine. No biggie. Antibiotic prescribed.

Wrong.

It was the antibiotic from hell. Three times a day for ten days, I’d take the pill where it was instantly like I was licking a rusty car, swallowing the rust along with razorblades and then would be regurgitate itself for the next two hours. But that wasn’t even the worse part. Not close.

No drinking.

Now, neither B or I are big drinkers. We have beer in our fridge from NOVEMBER. But, we’ve been upgraded to first class and I can’t imbibe in free, semi-palatable champagne. We’re going to meet Will and Nina, who are infamous for their ability to make a mean Manhattan. I’d only be good for indulging in maraschino cherries and I leave that to Will and B.

So, I was the constantly lost designated driver but I will say that more is to come about California. Probably after I’ve downed a few tomorrow evening.