I Work Hard

The contents of my office trash can today:

1. Banana peel
2. 3 ripped open envelopes
3. 1 used napkin
4. 1/2 Hostess Chocolate Cupcake

Impressive.

One Way Or Another, I'm Gonna Dance Dance Dance On This Bar

I am a girl. This means it is basically my job to thoroughly enjoy and possibly even find meaning in some really shitty movies.

One of these mindless masterpieces is Coyote Ugly. Every time it's on tv I must watch. I even felt compelled to text Duck's Mom to let her know and she immediately set her TiVo to record it. At the time it came out, it caused me to constantly sing Can't Fight The Moonlight, and believe I could get away with wearing my leather pants way too often. (I lived in LA and my boyfriend in Palm Springs. Not ideal climates for leather)

Now that I'm a "grown up", my leather pants are packed away in a tub along with my bedazzled half shirts for my kids to make fun of. When I watched it last night, all I could think about was why, during the Fleet Week crazy busy time where all the drunken sailors are freaking out and people are trying to jump over the bar for drinks, aren't the girls just coming down to GET them their drinks instead of still dancing on the fucking bar?? I mean, that's just bad business. I appreciate associates around in Gap to help me find size 6 ballet flats, but if they're off folding $40 t shirts when I get to the register to pay, I'm gonna be annoyed. I mean, maybe the slutty blond one wouldn't have been practically sexually assaulted by a bunch of seamen if Lil had trained her staff better. Though, in turn, Jersey would not have had the chance to showcase her amazing vocal stylings along to the juke box. Which was playing Blondie. I mean, if she had wailed along to some Celine Dion, I would be impressed, but Blondie would never stop me from raping a pantyless bartender in a barely there leather skirt if I were a Naval officer on dry land for the first time in months.

Just sayin.

Fuck Me With A Rusty Chainsaw.

It was recently decided at my work that I would be moved to accounting. Accounting? A girl that literally had a class in college for people with "math anxiety" that used dittos for homework (all the basketball players were in this class as well). Ok, cool. Whatever. This is basically a suburb of Detroit down here, so I should take whatever full time I can get til I find a job in Chicago, right? Uh... fucking wrong.

I went in there yesterday afternoon for 3 hours of training and I could just feel my quality of life plummeting. Have you ever seen that part in Runaway Bride where Julia Roberts is walking down the isle, loses eye contact with Richard Gere, and realizes "wait, what the fuck am I doing here? I'm a hot redhead and he's old as hell." and starts to back up fast while shaking her head and finger no? That's what I felt like. For 3 hours straight. Unless you count the 10 seconds I actually fell asleep while in training.

It's not just the fact that I find numbers sorta useless and boring and that everyone knows bean counting is monotonous and lame, I have liked most jobs I've had, even the ones that weren't supposed to be enjoyable. It's the atmosphere in there. Apparently, the lady CFO runs the place like a GD concentration camp. It is pretty much completely silent aside for the frantic tapping of keyboards and the occasional hushed talking which I imagine goes something like "Sharon, when I go out for the organized smoke break at 3:30, I'm going to test the fences again. I'll send word back as soon as I can if we found a weakness". Oh yeah, there's organized breaks. As in, the smokers go 15 minutes before the non-smokers and this happens twice a day. Um... I'm a grown ass woman. I'll just work through the day and when I need a snack, I'll get one. When I need a drink, I'll get one. When I want to use the restroom, I will. Apparently even glancing in the direction of a cell phone is punishable by a noon hangin'. Let's talk about the giant bowls of candy and cookies everywhere. I'm not sure if this is to stay awake or fill the void that's caused by lack of communication with 3 dimensional people for 8+ hours straight, but that is NOT the direction I plan to head (outward in the ass region).

This is a real emergency, people. I'm not saying I have a problem with authority like 80's Beastie Boys or anything, but I don't believe in being told when I can look up from my monitor long enough to take a piss either. Let's not even discuss the part where I go from an office to a cubicle where I will be doing the same job as the girl who is currently training me, but making less than her. That's just the cherry on the shit sundae. Do I understand that in these times it's awesome to have any job at all? Yes. I do. And I'm going to try to pull through and do my best at this one. It will look good on my resume. BUT, I don't believe in suffering 5 days a week for a paycheck that isn't really big enough. Uh uh. No. No. Hell no.

Maybe I'm just what these ladies need. I know I refuse to just sink into my eggshell cubicle and resign myself to the fact that "welp, this is what I do now". I'm not trying to go out in some blaze of glory, but I'll go all sorts of Norma Rae on their asses before I become one of these poor robots. Maybe I'll inspire them to put down the cupcake and stand up for being able to go up to the vending machine and get a granola bar whenever they damn well feel like it. (Not that cupcakes aren't fucking delicious, but the shouldn't be a food group as I suspect they are in this case) Maybe it's like The Shire. And whispers of my magic will waft through the cubicles like a glittery mist of hope! When it gets to the all-seeing eye of the CFO, there will be an epic battle for middle accounting! Orrrr I'll just find a new job in Chicago, give zero notice and split. That would be ideal.

Let's just hope this doesn't turn me into the crazy person I fear it will. Like those guys that work totally normal bank jobs and then are serial killers at night. Or English teachers you find stripping after hours. Yeah, that was Varsity Blues, but still. What if I work in accounting all day and then... like.... kick bunnies at night? Shit... this is serious.

I just knew that some sort of job related karma would catch up with me after getting paid for years and years to run around with rock stars and laugh and party all day and night. Well played, God. Well played.

I Thought About That Bacon For Like 3 Days Straight.

Things I learned the weekend of my 34th Birthday.

1. Apparently, drinking Red Bull and vodka is "Lame! What are you, 21? If you're going to be a lush, at least drink something low cal!!". This is according to Duck's Mom and her sister, who we will call CML. That stands for Captain Morgan Lips. Which is what she gets when she drinks it. Yeah... spiced rum. Now that shit is classy.

2. Gay bars in Columbus do not make martinis the same way Bar Louie in Perrysburg does. They definitely put enough vodka in there for you to be able to enjoy anal. No matter which end of it you're on. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

3. Boys who wear glasses can have nice asses. Contrary to previous beliefs.

4. The thicker the bacon, the better.

5. When you wear a dress the night before, you won't wake up with pants. Don't panic. Everything will be ok. There's a Panera turkey sandwich in your future.

6. A complete walk of shame kit costs $34 and you can order it online

7. If you go to a bar with Sasha's friends, they will buy more drinks than your body can handle. Please... please do not try to consume them all "to be nice".

8. If there's 90's hip hop playing, by God, I'm gonna grind.

9. Cabs in the Short North are fucking assholes. They have their lights on when they're full of people. Yelling at them doesn't help. If you stand in the middle of the street flipping them off, you will either get flipped off back... or picked up. By one with it's light OFF. It's infuriating the next day. When someone reminds you of it happening.

10. Buy new lip gloss. You're gonna need a lot of it.

Duck Landing

You were born on a cold winter night (for me) and a normally warm night (for you) in a room with a beautiful view of the Hollywood Hills. I have been waiting almost 8 months, ever since I knew you existed, to hear if you are a boy or girl and know that you made your way safely into the world and what your Mother thinks of you. Let me tell you, when 8 months of waiting peaks in 24 hours of real waiting, I am about 10 times more of a spaz than usual. Here's how it went down.

Your Mom had previously decided that she would start or stop labor any time she felt like it depending on if your Dr had made it back into town or not. She succeeded, as she does at most things. She had been feeling "crampy" (in first stages of labor) for a few days, but decided to ignore that and go on with life because, you know, football was happening. She hiked and ate spicy food (my idea and based on zero science) and did everything else she could to coax you out. But, only at the right time. She had been in some form of labor probably since Saturday night, but didn't really know. Or refused to acknowledge it because she wanted to see the Black Eyed Peas half time show. Either way, her Dr made her leave a Superbowl party and go to the hospital.


I got the info Sunday night (right around 11pm my time). She was checking into the hospital. Shit got pretty real from there. We chatted through the night, she gave me all the updates on you. She sent me pictures of your heartbeats and contractions on the monitor and of your Dad trying to sleep. Her excitement came through plain as day, even in text form. I would try to sleep when she would sleep and I would stay awake and text when she was awake. When she was at the right point, they gave her drugs and she was "feeling great!!". I imagined her sitting there, all beautiful, with this pleasant smirk she gets on her face when she's not paying attention to anything around her but her Blackberry. I was trying to hang with her as best I could, but at 4:50am my time I sent a text that read "Lere are good with mrd?" that was supposed to be asking if your Dad was doing ok too. I came to hitting send. Anyway, at 5:04am my time, we let each other sleep until I woke up for work an hour and a half later.


Your Father took over from there. I texted her as soon as I woke up and he let me know she was sleeping. He hadn't much. He's just about as big a worrier as I am. He kept me updated all day long on Monday. Mostly telling me to stay calm or chill out. And that was impossible. I literally shook all day and had the focus of a hamster on meth. Waiting to hear if your best friend successfully had a healthy baby is like waiting for someone to tell you if you'll be able to keep the use of your arms or if you'll go through the rest of your life nudging things with just shoulder nubs. I know that births happen every single day all over the world, but I don't take anything for granted so worrying is my jam. Your Mom had her drugs way earlier and I didn't want them to wear off and for her to be in pain. She's not... good at it.


I made it through the work day, as did you. You held steady for quite some time, refusing to budge. I went home to wait. I tried to watch tv, but I kept having to rewind because I was so tired I was too dumb to understand Pretty Little Liars. Finally I gave up and perched on my bed. I sat there... and sat there.. and sat there. I listened to music that usually calms me and then resorted to watching Twilight, which is basically my catnip. Your Aunt told me when your Mom started to push and in true form I burst into tears. I had a pretty steady stream from that point on and was already dehydrated from a weekend bender, but that's neither here nor there. Aunt A refused to tell me what sex you were, she knew your parents would want to tell me, but she promised to tell me when you were safely into the world. She kept her promise. And getting that text was one of the best moments of my whole life. I knew that 2,200 miles away, you were here, with your parents and Grandparents and finally out under the same moon as me. (which I will remind you in the future, will always keep us close.) When I finally had enough, I demanded your Dad call me and fill me in....

Now for you.

You are a boy. You're a frickin boy! And not just any boy, you are NINE lbs, 13 oz. You are a total hoss. I guess you were listening every time I told you to Get Big, Get Big, Get Big! You have a ridiculously handsome face that is very round with a nose that matches your Mom's in the middle. So far, you remind me of your Uncle T, but once your Aunt A gets there and takes a thousand pictures of you, I'll be able to tell more. The important thing is that you are healthy. VERY healthy. And your Mom made it through just fine. Me, I'm still recovering from shot nerves. The day I was waiting for you to be born, I wore everything I possibly could to work that connected me to your Mom. Jeans that she picked out for me in the Valley, one of her sweaters, shoes she was with me when I bought, a locket she gave me with us in it and my hair long and wavy the way she likes it. You will learn soon enough that I'm incredibly sentimental. Annoyingly so.

I'm beyond excited to meet you, Duckybuns. For the rest of my life, I will be there when you need me. When your Dad is there to teach you about all the great cinematic achievements, I will be forwarding you clips from Stepbrothers and Ferris Bueller's Day Off. When your Mom is there to teach you about beautiful photography, I will be the one that explains to you that you must balance yourself on the sides of the photocopier when scanning your ass because you will eventually break the glass if you sit on it. You can call me and tell me all your wackiest daydreams and I'll tell you if they're dumb or not. That's what your Mom does with me. We can admire your Dad's hair and biting wit together. When your parents start to make out, we can roll our eyes and make gagging noises and yell "Get a room!". Don't come to me with a bad attitude that you want me to support, because negativity isn't my thing. I will always listen and do my best to turn it around though, and spin your bad times into something that helps you. I'm never going to judge you, but I'm going to tell you if I think you're wrong. I'm always going to encourage you in whatever you're into unless it's "doing nothing". I'm going to try to make you smile and laugh every single chance I get. As your Mom and Dad both know and make use of, I'm just always going to be there. Whatever you need, we'll tackle it (and most likely make jokes about it) together.

Adam Young, you are a very lucky little boy and I am so so so glad you are finally here. As I also tell your cousin, I love you from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. I apologize in advance for all the sobbing the first time I hold you.

Eat you up I love you so xoxox
Me

Um, There's A LINE For The Bathroom.

I need to do everything possible today to distract myself from a nervous breakdown. One of my favorite things to do on a Monday is blog about what drunken idiots my friends and I are. Instead of the usual telling of events, (because it's too long and sordid) I'm just going to post my favorite texts received and things said (that I had to record on my phone memo pad because I get too drunk to remember them AND now realize I should have added an explanation with each) because in a way.... it's even better. All times are, as always, just a guessing game.

Friday Night

8pm Becks to me: "Well, at least she fell because of ice. Not slut boots"

9pm Becks to all of us: "Girls just don't go for the dankest of reef smell. They go for treasures and riches."

9:15pm Travis to all of us: "I'm ditching my coat. I tend to get hot. I run hot."
Becks to all of us: "It's Patagonia. Don't be jealous of my 'Gonia."

11:00pm Sacha's friend to me: "Mouth pregnant? Uh, I say that all the time and it means something different than making out."

11:30pm Me to Sasha: "I need a rape whistle for all these Steelers jersey wearing dudes."

12:00am Me to Sasha: "He looks like a Disney prince! That... beats women."

2am Sasha to Travis: "You would get way better caliber of chicks if you didn't smoke. Because if she smokes, she pokes. But.. at least she pokes, you know?"

2:10am Me to Travis: "Remember where we left you? By the street meat? You should have stayed there!"

2:45 am Becks to Me: "Oh, do you need to feed your family?? Shut up, stripper!"

2:46am Travis to.... the cab driver?: "You don't pat me! Turn, cab driver! Take a right at the stop light. Stop sign!! Stop sign. No light. JUKE RIGHT!"

3:13am Travis to all of us: "Challenge is accepted!! That's why I accepted the challenge like 2 minutes ago!" (in reality, he had accepted said challenge like 30 minutes earlier, but who's counting. I'm no fact Nazi)

3:30am Becks to Sasha: "I don't like pepperoni the way you like to deep throat pepperoni. And to warm pizza is overachieving!.... I want all the Texas Toast and Jimmy Deans."

4:00am Sasha to me: "Please just take off your red shirt."
Me to Sasha: "Damn, anxious to get me naked much?"

That is the last thing I 'remember' of Friday. Saturday is even foggier and sketchier.

Adam H. Newman and I have a huge, hilarious text conversation beginning at 1:30am that stretches out to people at the other end of the country and back. I just typed it all out, then deleted it because it makes us both look like terrible, soulless, sharp-tongued skanks. Still super funny, but not printable. Maybe some day. Directly after said conversation, I slowly and carefully shove a girl by the face that was trying to cut in the bathroom line while still holding my phone in the other hand. Clearly, I was totally on point.

Only quote worth printing from Saturday:

4:15am BB to me: "Do you want some cookies? Peanut M&M's? Valentine's stuff? You should eat something. My Mom sent me all this. Try a cookie."
Me to BB: "No way. I'm actually disgusted. I can't. Well..... just one cookie."

Needless to say, it was another raging success of a grown up weekend for me. I'm obviously headed for a fairytale ending to life.

My favorite memo in my phone?? I have no idea when I put it in or who said it, but it reads:

"Our friendship was at like a T6 on the friendship tornado scale. For real."

Happy Friday. Grab A Towel And Get Your Scroll Button Ready.

Hot dudes. That's all. You're welcome

Armie Hammer
So hot, they used 2 of him in The Social Network




"Hey, I was thinking of rowing later if you wanted to come. Bring a life jacket, Kitten."

















"Hey... I don't make slicked hair loook douchey. Wanna make out?"




















I want him to sue me IN FEDERAL COURT!













Benny Feilhaber
I.... I want one





"How long before I can ditch this game and go get a burrito bowl?"
















"Can you throw me a towel? No? Ok."



















"I'm so tired, can you give me shoulder rub and make me a sandwich?"

No problem, Benny. No problem. You want mustard?



















Oh good, double hotness. I so wish was a photoshop whiz right now.










Alex Pettyfer (In case you didn't see it on the picture)

Not even old enough to buy me a drink. I don't fucking care. I'll buy my own. Get over here.




















"Do you think this look works for the Tarantino audition?"













"Can you help me with these... spark plugs? Don't worry, the dog's not mine"
















Jesus. He looks like a meth head white supremicist and I like it.

"Can you get me a pack of smokes? Let's watch Dog the Bounty Hunter tonight, babe."

















What I like in a man is his ability to look intensely good in a leather jacket while walking through a hail of sparks to make out with me.

"Pucker up and arch your back."

Happy Friday!!!