Cancellation feels pretty darn good.

I canceled my MySpace account today.

Let me say, though, that I probably hadn't logged in or used the thing since February, at least. I would have probably canceled sooner, but I couldn't remember my password. It came to me in a flash of brilliance and short-term memory this morning, so I took the plunge.

I know there are probably some friends that I only communicate with that way, which probably means I haven't talked to them in nearly a year. So I guess maybe we weren't very good friends, eh?

Canceling my MySpace account feels like permanently closing a door on a past I no longer care to contemplate. It's not about you, MySpace friends. I assure you. If I remember who you are, I'm sure I love you dearly.

I would say you should look me up on Facebook, but I barely use that. What can I say? Follow me on Twitter. Occasionally, my head finds its way out of my ass and I tweet something. Sometimes it's even funny. No promises, though.

So long MySpace. I doubt I'll miss you.

Oh, and Princess and I went to see Bob Saget on Saturday night. He wasn't really as funny as I might have hoped. And I love Bob Saget. The problem, I think, is that he's Bob effing Saget, so he doesn't have to bother to write material any more. He just says whatever comes to mind, with a healthy dose of curse words and a foul mouth. My thought for a good half of his act? I'm funnier than that (okay, maybe not today, shut up)...

That's not a good sign, Bob. Pull it together.

It didn't help that the people sitting in the row with us each individually climbed over us to take a piss/get a drink/smoke/have sex in the bathroom three to four times (there were four of them). The rows at House of Blues are so tiny that there's literally no way to get out of the way without standing up. So every five to ten minutes, we were having to stand up to let these people by. Until the fourth or so time...then we just sat there and let them struggle. And seriously...DON'T touch me. If you can't hold your pee for an hour and a half, I have no sympathy for you. None. And if you know you have a bladder problem or are just completely obnoxious and rude, please...get an aisle seat.

The guy who opened up for Bob, though? He had me doubled over and unable to breathe in all the right ways. Ryan Stout? Call me.

You look great, but I? Am a fat cow.*

I just had possibly one of the best weekends ever. Aside from falling off a step trying to get Thai takeout and busting my knee. Which originally looked like this:



And now, looks like this:



You're welcome. And just to further gross you out, it won't stop oozing. It oozed in my bed last night and when I woke up this morning, the hairs that I had shed in my bed were all crusted in the ooze (What? It's TMI Monday!). Yummy.

Friday night was amazing. Inglorious Basterds was truly glorious (and seeing it with Graygrrrl made it that much better! A serious case of the giggles had by all). As of right now, it is my new favorite Tarantino movie. Brad Pitt was fucking genius. GENIUS. It was bloody and gutsy and just the right amount of random, useless, over-the-top violence. Then I met @gaveupthefight and friends (Really, too many to name. She is one popular woman) at the club for some booty shakin'. And booty shake we did. Only got better when the Pretty Bitch (she loves it when I call her this, I swear! Maybe), @nataliecottrell showed up. She may be gorgeous, but man is she hilarious. We danced until our clothes were soaked.

Saturday I met up with @mouthful, Little Ring, and Chihuahua Balls for rock climbing and hot wings. Also, 34 ounces of everclear lemonade. Such a great idea, considering I was going on a HUGE pubcrawl later that day. Here are the rocks I climbed. I was considering getting some action shots, but it's just awkward to keep up with a camera while climbing. You'll just have to trust me that my ass is MAGIC in my climbing harness (this is a lie).




Saturday evening, I attended the Dallas Becomes Chicago Pub Crawl. I had a fan-fucking-tastic time with @beckbee, @mikerehyer and about 200 or so other people. No really, there were at least 200 people there. The whole thing is public transportation-based. I can only imagine how the regular patrons of the DART rail felt about 200 people in matching Tshirts flooding the train all night.



One of our stops was Lee Harvey's. A great little bar with a huge outdoor area where people can bring dogs and stuff. Barb found a hoola hoop and went to town. The picture's a little blurry, but I think it captures the essence.



We all messed with our shirts at the second bar, to customize them. Mine turned out like this:



With the help of some lovely ladies.

It was a ton of fun and I'm hoping to get to do it again next year.

When I got home on Sunday morning, I. Could. Not. Move. For about five hours. I finally picked myself up off the couch (at 12:30 pm) and went to get Thai food take-out. I missed the step on my way out of the restaurant, which is why my knee looks vaguely like hamburger. My legs just wouldn't hold me up.

I pulled my ass together, though, to make it to @gaveupthefight's pool party. Where everyone promptly said, "Good god, woman, what the hell happened to your knee?!?"

My response? "There was a step."

Signature drink of the day? Brandy's Tall Paul. It was DELICIOUS. I saw it on her blog and I've been wanting to try it ever since. It was a huge hit and everyone loved it. Thanks, Brandy!

Needless to say, I couldn't really get in the pool. Motorboater made an appearance and felt the need to apologize for his behavior last Saturday. Can someone please just let him know that saying nothing is better than being a dick and apologizing later? I've had enough. Also the fact that I jumped six feet in the air when he touched my back should probably have been some kind of indication that I'm particularly interested in him being anywhere near me.

The second pool party of the day was also a blast. However, I learned that beer pong? Not so fun to watch. And it takes a really long time.

And today? I'm exhausted.

*This is in reference to one of the skinniest girls I know taking diet pills because she's decided she's fat. Seriously, at least complain about it to a skinny person. I don't want to hear it. Your waist is the size of my thigh. And said girl is GORGEOUS anyway. I might have to slap her. Then we probably won't be friends, and I love her too much for that already.

It's time for a break.

Well, folks, it's about that time. Like everyone else on these here internets, I'm going to be taking a break. I'm just not sure where this blog is...

Just kidding.

I am going on vacation next week, though, so posting will probably be sporadic at best (And you said I couldn't learn something by watching Clueless! Use it in a sentence today.)

The good news is that I will be in at least three different states. And you know what that means! Opportunity for out of town crazies.

I just realized I never told you about the crazy I met in the airport on my way to Nashville, because I was so caught up in the breast situation.

For some unknown reason, my flight was canceled on the way to Nashville. Of course, I was already on my way to the airport when I found out. The next flight out was completely booked, so I ended up on an evening flight, with about five hours to spare in the airport.

I found the nearest bar, pulled up a stool and ordered a nice, cold, tall beer and geared myself up for some serious people watching. And boy did I get my money's worth.

From across the aisle, I see this man. Have you seen Spaceballs? If not, stop reading and go watch it. Seriously. What's wrong with you? If you have, do you remember Jim. J. Bullock as Prince Valium?



Now that we're all on the same page, I can tell you that this man in the airport totally had Prince Valium's haircut, but with bright orange hair. Well, and without the hat, unfortunately. He was wearing a purple velvet jacket, though.

He was walking toward my bar (like I own the place) with a cane and it appeared that someone had beaten the everloving shit out of him. He had cuts and scrapes all over his face, several bruises, and he was walking with a serious limp. He was also holding a Crown Royal bag.

He walked into the bar, and I could see the two men on either side of the only remaining seat thinking, "Please don't sit here, please don't sit here, please don't -- oh shit. He sat here."

He put his Crown Royal bag on the bar and propped his cane up on his stool and ordered a beer. The entire bar was nearly silent, as we all stared at this man. The bartender brought him his beer and he sipped it and sat there like no one was looking at him.

We all sort of went back about our business. I was staring out the window at passersby when I heard a loud, "KKKKCHHCHCHSSSHHHH!"

I turned to see the strange man looking dejectedly at the ground. Everyone was just staring, so I got up and walked over to see what happened. As I rounded the corner, all I could see all over the floor were nickels. See, in his Crown Royal bag? He had his entire life savings in nickels, apparently.

I got down on the floor and started gathering nickels. He was shaking like a little leaf and just sort of in shock. He had also dropped several bottles of pills. I scooped up the nickels and he held the Crown Royal bag open for me, as I dropped them inside. We got the mess all cleaned up and I handed him his meds and he sat back down.

The bar was completely silent. Also, I'm pretty sure the bartender was thinking, "Please don't pay me in nickels, please don't pay me in nickels."

I went back to my seat after I made sure he was secure on his stool. The noise level rose and everyone went about their business until, "KKKKCHHCHCHSSSHHHH!"

He dropped the nickels again. Once again, I helped him pick them up while most everyone else just stared. We repeated the process about twice more while he was still in the bar. He couldn't seem to hold on to anything.

After he paid his tab (I'm assuming not in nickels), he got up and limped his way out of the bar. Again, the bar was silent. Until I caught the eye of one of the guys who had been sitting next to the man and said, "Wonder who kicked his ass?" We all sort of started talking about it, like a bunch of strangers who have all been involved in a traumatic event.

I looked out the window and saw him slowly limping his way across the aisle to the gate when, "KKKKCHHCHCHSSSHHHH!" He dropped his bag of nickels again. In the middle of the walkway. Nickels are rolling everywhere, his medicine is on the ground. He dropped to his knees in a panic, meanwhile people all around him are slipping and swerving to get around him. He almost got beaned with at least one suitcase.

I rushed out in the aisle to help him out. His hands were too shaky to really do any good. We gathered up the change and his meds and I walked him over to the gate. He looked at me with these sad eyes and said, "Thank you. I want you to have this." And he handed me a nickel. A NICKEL. I almost burst out laughing on the spot, but instead I solemnly thanked him and went back to the bar.

He dropped his nickels two more times before they finally sat him down in a wheelchair. I felt like I had done my god Samaritan deeds for...the YEAR, so I let someone else handle it. I really wish I had asked him what happened to his face. It's probably better to just make up stories in my head.

What good deeds have you done for crazies?

[Author's Note: This story is 100% true. I promise. I couldn't make this kind of crap up. I'm not that creative.]

I went to the Denver Zoo!

See?



The giraffe didn't even try to molest me. Even though I've clearly gotten my lips injected with butt fat or whatever they put in your lips these days. And I think I'm smoking. That's probably what kept him from sticking his head in my enormous boobs (Thanks Joanna!).

Also, I need supervision. Like all the time. Any takers?

Be warned, I probably won't like you very much if you try to supervise me all the time despite the fact that I've said I need it.

Oh oh! And I promised I'd share my sad, lame attempt at a comic in MS Paint with you guys, so here it is: (seriously, it's lame, don't look!)



Get it? No? I didn't think so. I'm not sure I do either.

Touched by a Breast-Feeder

I completely forgot that I promised Fransen my story about breast-feeding. He works at some online mommy something and hears all kinds of stories about all things mommy, but my story warranted taking to the water cooler. So here it is.

Last month, I went to Nashville to visit my family. You'll remember the stories about my grandmother and granddaddy, I'm sure.

I can't remember if I mentioned, but this trip was originally planned as a trip for my ex-boyfriend to meet my family (and run the Music City half-marathon, no he's not the one who had a heart-attack and died). The phone call to explain that no, he wasn't coming, and no, we weren't dating any more was plenty humiliating. Thanks again, asshat!

We were supposed to be flying back home together, and he was supposed to give me a ride home. As you can imagine, that would have been pretty awkward, but at some point when we were still speaking to each other, he informed me that he wasn't on my flight any more. He was taking an earlier flight.

When I got to the airport, I wasn't even concerned about any of that, because he said he wouldn't be there. Why would anyone bother to lie about that? But there he was. I thought he was a chick at first.

I was pretty unhappy about this development, so I walked over and said, "What are you doing here? I thought you were taking a different flight?"

He pretty much refused to even look at me. Because, ya know, I'm the bad guy here. "That didn't work out."

Seriously? Why tell me you're not on my flight if you're actually not sure? "You're not still...SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO ME FOR THE TWO-HOUR FLIGHT, right? Because I will go talk to the flight attendant. Right now. And try the truth this time."

He had managed to switch his seat, and I went and talked to the cute guy from LA who was standing behind me in the security line earlier.

The problem was, I was still stuck with a middle seat. I hate sitting in the middle (like everyone else). So when I got on the plane and the guy sitting in the aisle seat said, "Hey do you want an aisle seat instead?" I said, "Uh, yeah!" without really contemplating the consequences.

His wife was sitting a few rows up on the aisle and they wanted to sit next to each other. So I traded with her. I sat down in my aisle seat feeling pretty darn good about myself. And then I looked up and saw it.

A youngish woman coming down the aisle looking right at me...holding a baby.

Now even on the best of days I'm not hugely fond of children or babies. But I was exhausted, overwhelmed by conservative BS, and I had run into the asshat. It was not a good day to sit next to a baby on the plane.

I was tempted to go back to the woman in my seat and say, "Thanks, but no thanks. You can't fool me! You knew this would happen! Now I will sit next to your husband for two hours and accidentally fall asleep on his shoulder and he'll be so intoxicated by the smell of my hair you'll have to change your shampoo!"

But I didn't. I politely got up, so the baby holder momma person could sit down. And hold her baby. In the middle seat. That takes up a lot of room, by the way.

Right about the time the plane took off, the baby (of course) started screaming. Screaming. And more screaming. So she did what any sensible woman would do in her situation and yanked out a boob.

Here's the thing. I'm totally all about women being able to breast-feed in public. I don't care. Whip your boob out if you need to, but maybe cover it up with something. I mean, none of the rest of us get to whip our boobs out when we need to. And I'm all for equal-opportunities. So cover it up. Or don't be surprised that I'm staring at it. Or both.

But all this woman had was a huge, heavy, fleece airplane blanket, because she's the only mom on the planet who didn't think it was a good idea to pack a blanket for the baby in her carry-on.

Well, Mr. Screamy Pants Baby was having none of that blanket. He couldn't breathe. I assume. Maybe he was just cranky and wouldn't have even wanted a hot fudge sundae in his face.

So she's just hanging out, trying to get him to shut up, for which I was grateful. I wasn't even looking. And then I felt something graze the side of my arm. Which was sort of on the edge of the shared armrest between us.

Yeah, in trying to get Mr. Screamy Pants Baby to shut it, she had turned toward me and her naked boob rubbed down my arm. Complete with slobber. And breast milk. I'm guessing. There was definitely something wet and sticky.

And did she apologize? Or even seem embarrassed? No. Lady, you just got your fluids on me on a public airplane. The dude who gizzed on that chick's hair while she was sleeping on the airplane got arrested. AND YOUR FLUIDS ARE ON MY SKIN.