Zoe Rights

More complaining- I'm almost done. I swear.

2010-09-06T10:12:00.000-07:00

The landlords have bought the house next door. Sighhhhh!

Believe you and me that wasn't just a sigh from my lungs, that was the kind of sigh your teens do when you tell them they're going on a two week car ride across country to visit mean aunt Mildred.

photo by flickr user Rich_Lem

Sorry let me back up. So a little over five years ago I bought a 1930's Craftsman Bungalow. Great foundation, crack house interior. I spent two years and more than a few thousand of dollars beautifully restoring this piece of California charm to it's original glory. Then the bottom fell out of the market. Then I lost my job. I looked at my beautiful home which would take approximately 10 to 15 years to appreciate enough for me to break-even, looked at my beautiful children who would leaving me in the next three years and looked towards the open road with whom I'd like to explore some options here in the next five years and thought...Ding, Ding, Ding easy decision.

I haven't rented in awhile. I forgot what it's like. Made worse by the fact my landlords have no concept of personal boundaries. Yes- I understand this is your house but it's my home.

Stop dropping by. Seriously.

Stop driving by. Seriously! It's creepy.

Now they've bought the house next door. Ughhhhh! Not to live in, thank jesus, joseph, mary, buddah, shiva, and anyone else to whom I owe buckets of gratitude but to remodel and rent. Which in some ways is just as bad.

My brother was sitting in the backyard the other day, waiting for me to get home. He was on the cellphone when the landlord decided to pop his head over the fence and start talking to him. Yeah, fantastic.

Look I work at a job where I have to be business-like and conservative all day. I go to a school where I have to be business-like and conservative three nights a week. I work a second job where people lie to me EVERY SINGLE time they open their mouth. I want to come home, take off my bra and make-up and forget human-kind is outside my door.

But I love ya'all really I do. Because you are not a representation of who I deal with on a daily basis. You are my people. My homies.

This morning I did the walk of shame- only driving. Clothes from last night, no bra, just got out of bed, haven't showered or brushed my teeth, club stamp on my wrist, five hours of sleep, not hung-over- cause that would have been the kicker. Only to tumble out of the car and see who sitting in the driveway next door. Of course, the landlord.

Yeah.

One hour later, showered, hair wet and wearing a bra, jam out to get a mocha. Five workman next door all going through the trash, pulling out and separating what was usable. While I applaud their reduce-reuse-recycle mentality- the timing wasn't so hot.

Bottom line- living in the suburbs is like working in a cubicle farm. Sure the walls are only six feet tall and you can hear every single time your neighbor sneezes. But common courtesy dictates you pretend you don't know all about your co-worker's yeast infection or the fact that Bob from shipping likes Asian porn. In other words you don't pop your head over the fence like some 50's sitcom.

Geez how do those people on Big Love do it?

Really, God, Really?

2010-09-03T06:07:00.000-07:00

Dear Ex-boyfriend,

Hey, how ya doing? It was super awesome fun to see you the other day. What's it been 3, 4 years? I know, time flies. Seems like it was just yesterday. What an odd place to run into you. Of all places, the Costco membership counter on a random Saturday. And me being my usual entertaining (annoying) self, bantering with our "Membership Specialist." But really Costco why don't you carry livestock? You have everything else.

So extra special running into you right after my visit to the hairdresser. Texas High, Aqua Net'd, over large, teased curls- no, no not really a look I go for everyday. Sure hairdresser- you're bored, why not play with my hair, after all I'm only going to get my eyebrows waxed after this and go straight home. No big deal. Oh, you remember getting waxed makes me cry, must be why I wasn't wearing any make-up.

Hey, so nice of you to not turn around and say hi. Not even that cheesy, How ya doing? You look great. So nice to see you prattle most adults engage in when they run into someone they haven't seen for a while. The must keep my back turned and jaw clenched, deliberately not look at someone while catching them out of the corner of my eye thing you did- so much better.

Well at least I didn't have to meet your new girlfriend, although I sure got quite the look at her. Particularly as she all but broke her back in getting the best look at me she could. Between the pointing and the "That's Her!!!!" I can see how you might have missed me.

By the way great job- picking me again. Must have made the choosing process so much easier to walk into a bar and run through the checklist. Blonde hair. Check. Short. Check. Hourglass figure. check. Pale skin. check.-And she looks to be the same age I was when we first got together. Yeah for you. She probably won't casually mention after ten years of dating, maybe the two of you should think about getting married.

I'm also pretty sure she won't suggest, after having you spend the night, every single night for TWO years, that maybe you should move in together. I know how important having your own space is. (Even though when you finally moved in we could do so in one car load considering everything you owed was ALREADY at my place.)

Oh, what? Sorry, sorry where was I?

Since we're here, I justed wanted to take a second to thank you, whole hearted. Every single morning I drive by Scandinavian Designs on my way to work and I think of you. Every single morning. I think of how much fun it was to run into you in the parking lot, two weeks before Christmas, when you told me you were out buying Christmas presents.

I was so excited to see you. Come look at this table, don't you think it would work perfectly right next to the bed we'd been sharing for the last ten years. You're always complaining how you don't have anyplace to put a glass.

Only to have to drag your feet and glance back to the Christmas Tree lot right next door. Christmas Tree Lot- well that's odd. We got a Christmas Tree two....weeks.....ago.

What a fantastic way for me to find out you had a new girlfriend. Oh yeah, sorry she wasn't your girlfriend, just someone from work who needed to use your truck. ...and who called you babe. Whose house you promptly moved into.

I should have bought that table. 75% off. Maple. Clean lines.

Anywho we shouldn't let so much time pass this time.

Great to see you.

Love,
Zoe

A little drop here and a little drop there

2010-08-28T17:33:00.000-07:00

Yes Internet, I had a much better week, thank you for asking. Well except for being visited by the water police. What? The water police? You don't have them in your area? Yes, the neighbor called the water police on me.

To be generous I did kinda deserve it. This is the first year I've been in a house with automatic sprinklers. Well automatic sprinklers I was responsible for.

You know that handy dandy little book that comes with the sprinklers? Well, it's just not all that handy. So I experimented. I am a college educated woman. I will figure it out.

OK, what happens when I push this button and this one, and how about this one? Let it run for awhile. Leave to go to the store. Forget the sprinklers are on.

The only problem the developer in my little suburb didn't factor in something important, like gee I don't know- grading. So all the water, instead of sinking into the ground where it belongs, making my grass beautiful and green flows right into the neighbor's pool, which is concidentally happens to lie below ground. Like below, below ground.

Hence the visit by the water police. They suggested rather firmly that I make an appointment with a water conservationist. OR ELSE. I took a morning off work. Which kinda turned out to be a plus. I got to sit in my empty house sipping coffee till they showed. Then they set the system for me. Yeah!!!! Win-win for me. Green grass and the neighbor will no longer have an excuse to lob flaming dog poop over the fence.

Well at least for that reason.

NO one ever said I was a good parent

2010-08-27T05:32:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about this lately- why don't they have tranquillizer's for children, well teens in particular?

They have them for other animals who aren't even half as scary, like stampeding rhinos or elephants, sharks.

Come on you can't tell me you don't wish for it sometimes? The little angels act perfectly normal and then the asshole button gets pushed. A quick phhfft, shot in the butt and instant time out. Think about it.

Not every discipline technique will work for every child. Some kids (Sorry Parents Magazine) only respond to spankings, some only respond to the threat of being spanked, some to their phone taken away. My kid was the King of the Corner. Ten minutes in the corner and he was a changed kid. Now approaching manhood, no longer is is appropriate to make him stick his nose in the corner but oh who daddy, would I like to sometimes.

So see my solution, a quick tranquillizer dart to the butt. They get a nap in which makes them feel better. I get time to get over the feeling of wanting to push them down the stairs.

See it's a win, win for everyone.

Cocktail, Stat!

2010-08-25T06:42:00.000-07:00

Jesus, Joseph and Mary Internet, I might have have had the most awful day in the existence of bad days. Ever!

Between picking up a piece of metal in my tire, to having to go to the dentist and then off to fix said damaged tire and then to court all the while drooling and swollen and maybe just a tiny weeny bit dopey on the pain meds the dentist insisted on, it just, the day just, the day...the day....wait let me catch my breath for just a moment.

Okay, I'm calm.

Let me back up and start at the beginning. I arrive home after dropping my little darlings off at that place that keeps them out of my hair for upwards of 6 to 8 hours a day, (God bless modern government and it's whole the masses must be educated decree) only to find a long shiny piece of metal sticking out of my tire. As I'm a spoiled suburban mom, I call a perfectly nice gentleman to come and change my tire. Yes, I know I'm a feminist and really ought to know how but, but...I have no excuse.After a quick 20 minutes (all of which I spent here chatting with you lovely people) bing, bang, bam, done, changed. No muss, no fuss. Insurance covered, so no charge.

I then have to go to the dentist. I've broken my tooth clean in half towards the back, thank you Jesus. Of course the other half must come out. I carefully explain to the darling roly poly Japanese man- I'm a teeny, tiny bit afraid of the dentist. He pats my hand. I make a small Valium joke. He laughs. I whimper. He tells me it'll be fine. Just 5 minutes and a temporary and I'll be on my way. I tear up just a little. No, no I wasn't kidding. Really.Kinda scared, seriously. I got the quit being a baby look.

Well let me tell you Internet, .he's not laughing now. Oh no, next time I make a Valium joke I dare say he might take me just a bit more seriously. He almost cried. He had to excuse himself and leave the room for an entire 10 minutes after my procedure to and I quote "get a grip" before he could come back and pop in a temporary. As for me? I may have had 10 minutes of hysterics in the safety of my car after but really no one saw right?

Then off to get the old tire fixed. Although the tire has a shiny silver object protruding from it's depths, THEY FIXED IT! I tell you, I'm going to have to write one of those Les Schwab is amazing, the king of all tire companies because truly- they are my hero. I bet they would have given me Valium. But anywho I digress. They fixed my tire AT NO CHARGE. Just like they rotate my tires every 5000 miles at no charge. I love this company very, very much and not just because the Vicodin is starting to kick in.

Why is it when doctors/dentists say this isn't going to hurt a bit, it always does?

Then I grab a panicked call from work. Where are you? they cry. Just a clue. I'm not there. At least they cared enough to call even if it was only so I could tell someone how to do something. I've been in that office a little over a month y'all. A month and I'm the go-to-girl. How, just how?

Then off to court. 2 hours of waiting for 5 minutes in front of the judge. Drooling and slurring my words. Thank heavens I wasn't in for a DUI charge.

I have a friend who always says we have these kinds of days so we enjoy the days when everything goes smoothly.

Yes I punched her in the mouth, just for you Internets. Just for you.

Dot...dot...dot...dot...dot

2010-08-23T23:24:00.000-07:00

You've been to a comedy club so you know how the routine goes. If you want even half a chance at a decent seat/don't want to sit in the front row and be heckled by the comedian all night you have stand in line for at least an hour before you even hit the doors.

Which, if you think about it, is the perfect first date. Forget about watching how the other party treats the waitress...put someone in heels and make them stand still for an hour, you'll have a pretty good idea as to how he'll treat your mother.

But anywhoo...we stood in line for an hour all decked out in our going-out finery. Nothing quite like the evening look at 3:30 on a Sunday afternoon, false eyelashes and cleavage flying. But it was OK- that area has a serious prostitution problem, so I got offered a fifty to just 'watch' while standing in line to use the bathroom at Starbucks.

I still got it, yeah! Wooo, wooo. Arms in the air, waving like I just don't care.

So we're standing in line and all the sudden something occurs to me. There's an awful lot of little people mulling around. No, not TLC little people but what the hell are you doing in a comedy club little people. I was trying to be extra careful but in the bathroom I had to give my friend the look. You know the look- like what the hell kinda parent are you to take your kid into a comedy club look?

I love me some kids just as much as the next person (no, I don't. I'm totally lying) but a comedy club? Even the people on stage are a little taken aback. They look out a little confused Oh...well...kids...hmmm...at....a... comedy club...okay... there goes my joke about a nun, three chipmunks and a jar of nutella.

I'm exaggerating (color you surprised) all three did great. Nary a curse word escaped the bunch. But enough about inappropriate places to take your kids.

When you go to a comedy club- you're never sure how the first two acts are going to go but I have to tell you I haven't laughed that hard in a while. Tears streaming down my face laughter.

I've tried to find YouTube of these guys but this was all I could find. Thank God he's cut his hair, much cuter now.

I love comedy clubs. I saw Greg Behrendt do a skit about cake that made me pee my pants back before he hated all women and destroyed their hopes and dreams with his stupid book.

Sometimes you have to do this kinda thing, escape with the girls and just have a great time.

So Freakin' Excited

2010-08-22T09:33:00.000-07:00

Really kinda stoked. It's my BFF's birthday tonight and to celebrate we are going to see Anjelah Johnson at Punchline. She is sooooo funny. Best known for this act.

Tell you all about it tomorrow.

Just this once....

2010-08-17T22:29:00.000-07:00

I try to stay away from a couple topics on this blog. Two really ...religion and politics. It's not that I don't have set ideals and philosophies about each. It's not that I can't clearly articulate my personal beliefs. Believe me, I can articulate. I can articulate up and down and all around. Wow, that just went to a scary place fast didn't it?

It's just... it never goes well. I'm not going to convince you of anything. I really don't care to try. What you think is what you think. Plus, lean in...I'm going to tell you a secret. Closer....closer...CLOSER I SAID.

politics are boring.

There I said it. I admit it. I'm an (overly) educated middle class white woman and I said it. Politics are boooorrrrrring. Talking about politics is boring.

It just is.

But crazy things have been going on lately so I'm going have to say it.

As a born and raised Californian I only feel I have to apologize for my state's actions every once in a while. However this whole gay marriage thing. I swear to god I have more white guilt over this prop 8 thing than I ever did over the whole so we kidnapped your great-grandparents, threw them onto boats, and forced them to work for ...wait, HOLD THE BUS. not my great-grandparents. My great-grandparents were starving in Russia. Whew. Nothing to feel guilty about there.

I feel as though I should walk up to every same sex couple I know and apologize. I'm sorry my state sucks. We aren't all closed-minded bigots. I swear.

I cannot believe we are even discussing this in this day and age.This should be a no-brainer.

Love is hard to find. To find someone you love enough to share the remote with- that's even harder. Who are you to stand in their way? Who I am?

Is a little inspiration too much to ask for?

2010-08-13T22:43:00.000-07:00

Going back to work in an actual office has been a real wake-up call for me. A wake-up call as to how kick-ass easy my life was as an at-home worker. The truth of the matter is I’m out of the habit. Not just putting clothes on AND brushing my teeth before beginning actual work but the social interaction of it all (that’s a whole different post). Most of all I’m out of the habit of rush, rush, rush, rush everywhere to do everything. All the time. From the moment I get up in the morning to the moment I go to bed.

As a side note I have to say traffic makes me want to put a sharpened spork in someone’s eye.

Just saying.

My Muse-she doesn’t not like this pace. The rushing, the doing. My Muse, she’s a luxurious kinda creature. A bubble bath having, bon, bon eating, soft cotton pajamas wearing gal.

Nine pm rolls around. I roll up my sleeves. Sitting at the computer ready, willing and able. I tap, tap, tap. Ok- Muse, let’s get to work.

She raises herself sleepily from her silk sheets, lazily opens one eye and wordlessly shakes her head. No way Jose, not having it...no words of inspiration are coming from her magic fingertips.

Come on, Muse. It doesn’t even have to be roll in the aisles funny.

She burrows back under the covers. Still shaking her head.

Muse! I MEAN IT. A quick post about how our dad has now figured out how to “like” different things on facebook and it's driving us crazy…look I'm all set with pictures and everything...

She rolls over and pulls the covers over her head.

Muse. I shake her. Muse.

It’s hopeless.

My Muse- she's on vacation. Even if I'm not.

Z-O-E R-I-G-H-T-E-R's

2010-08-11T20:50:00.000-07:00

Oh Wyoming, see I knew you wouldn't be able to resist me forever.

Welcome to the cool kids club Wyoming! See you get a cool kids crown and everything. Sorry for the black eye. You gotta watch out for that New Jersey.

Communication is the key to any healthy relationship

2010-08-07T09:58:00.001-07:00

Dear Work Crush,

I maybe, just might, kinda want to lick you on your cheek. Don't be afraid.

Faithfully yours,
Zoe

P.S. I'm not a stalker. I swear.

The very last acceptable sin

2010-08-03T07:36:00.000-07:00

The packages are leaping from my arms like they were on a mission to get every last person in the splash zone at Sea World. Literally three packages and I can't keep them in my arms long enough to make it the ten feet to the post office door. Finally I stack them on the counter next to me at the back of the line and surreptitiously wipe the sweat from my brow. From behind I hear, "I saw you struggling with those packages."

I don't even know what prompts me to say what I said next...was it my basic assholeness?My need to be a smart-ass at every turn? Was it because I'd had one of those days? You know- the kind of day where you miss the last step coming down the stairs at five in the morning and somehow complete a 180 degree turn to land flat on your back, where you then spend the entire 60 minute strength training class wondering if that pain and burning you feel is the workout or if your spleen is exploding from the impact of your tailbone hitting the hard tile floor.

The kind of day where you splatter seven drops of gas across your shoe before work. Seven drops which might as well be a thousand. So glad I spent ten minutes applying a virtual cornucopia of products to ensure I don't somehow, someway offend anyone's delicate sensibilities in the enclosed cattle run they call an office. Deodorant under the arms, lotion on the arms and legs, baby powder on the boobs (it's summer), a splash of vanilla perfume. Wasted by the Gas Girl. (By the way there is a guy in my office that I swear to the heavens smells exactly like Oreo cookies.)

The kind of day where you ever so carefully pour your pomegranate juice into a big ass Rubio's cup so you don't risk getting any on your blinding white tank top only to have a small splatter land right on your nipple. YOUR NIPPLE. WHERE PEOPLE STARE ALL DAY. First at the small purple eraser sized stain, then the giant water stain where you tried unsuccessfully try to ice the stain out and then the green pea sized stain the juice has somehow morphed into.

{Photo Credit}

So yeah in line you somehow think it's a good idea to open your mouth, laugh, and say..."Yeah, and did you hear me cursing at them all the way into the door." Only to have the man raise himself into a posture perfect position, look down his nose at you and proclaim haughtily, "No, I'M a Christian."

Emmmmmm, Kay. How do I even begin to respond? Do I have my melt down right there in the post office? Do I raise my arms into a V and shout out to the heavens? Oh, MY FREAKING GAWD. Are you freaking kidding me here?

No, you politely and kindly nod, grit your teeth, turn back around and plot his death all the way to the front of the line.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree

2010-08-01T00:09:00.000-07:00

SuperGirls's Closet...

It's a sickness I think.

Heart of the Sea

2010-07-31T12:04:00.000-07:00

So I didn't get my period this month and it's freaking me out.

Hell no, I'm not pregnant. Yes, I know for sure I'm not pregnant. How?

1. Mary, Mother of Jesus and I look nothing alike and
2. I had a little snip, snip procedure at 23. I know it's not possible

I got all the symptoms of having a period, increased interest in sex, bloaty, bitchy, headache, etc.

Then...nada.

I've been carrying around a pad in my purse for two weeks, thinking any day now.

Speaking of which, I'm at Togo's yesterday at lunch paying for my sandwich and of course I had to damn near pull everything out of my purse. What falls at my feet and I don't even notice? Of course- the pad- wrapped in it's own pale green protective wrapper but still. So some man ma'am's me to call attention to the fact that I have indeed let loose a feminine product on the floor. Yeah, great, fabulous....

Made even better is the fact he works with me. Seven desks over. Just why?

I've decided I'm not even going to be embarrassed.

So back to the no period thing... I did what any normal American woman would do. I went on Google and apparently I'm either dying, shriveling up or it's nothing. I can't even believe I'm saying this...but come on cramps. Come on hating the world and everyone in it. Come on- prolonged heavy bleeding. Please. I'm not ready for option one or two yet.

On a side-note: I finally introduced myself to the work crush yesterday. Jason. Yum!

Say, would someone mind checking the ratings? I seem to have an audience of two.

2010-07-27T19:26:00.000-07:00

The television was out in the Right household last night. Some cable snafu. Not a big deal- nothing good on Monday nights anyway, although SuperGirl would disagree. However I think missing one night of teenage girls getting knocked up on the Christian channel isn’t going to kill us. Or girls sleeping with their teachers or girls sleeping with other girls. Geez, teenage TV is a little more graphic than when I was a disaster waiting to happen. We just had was General Hospital.

Look, it’s not to say we watch a lot but we are not a television on in the background kinda family- if the TV is on, we’re collapsed on the couch watching it. Not sitting, not resting, collapsed. Made worse is the fact we have five TV’s in the house. I have no idea how the hell this happened.

Replace a TV- move the old into a bedroom. Hey, want a TV? Sure. Move it into the bedroom. No grandma, I do not want your old TV. It weighs 200 pounds, comes in its own wooden case and the screen is green. Yes, even though it was top of the line when you bought it. In 1962.

I do have to admit, having a TV in my room has been a godsend as of late.

Man-child “modded” the X-Box on the TV in the living room. I have no idea what modded means nor do I know the legalities of such an action but I’m taking the what you don’t know won’t kill you stance on this one or better known as “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff” Parenting Philosophy aka the no sex, no drugs, no booze, be polite and take your own dishes to the sink method of parenting.

All I do know is my house now sounds like a war zone. I’m not sure if you knew this but sirens we designed to be loud and obnoxious. So loud you can’t ignore them even when you’re rocking out to Fat Boy Slim in the car. Thank you video manufacturers for adding that extra bit of realism into your video games. Because there is nothing like having sirens go off in your house every 30 seconds. Combine sirens with bombs and screams and SuperGirl and I are hitting the deck on a regular basis.

I do have to say it’s amazing the amount of chores we knocked out last night. One night of no TV and our house fairly gleamed. As the obsessive compulsive my children love, Truly, I insisted all clothes actually get put away, instead of their current method of leaving them in the laundry basket sitting on their floor until they’ve amassed enough dirty clothes to rotate the clothes into the laundry room. Starting the process all over again. I swear I wash the same clean clothes over and over again.

I helped SuperGirl hang her clothes until she yelled at me one too many times about shirts facing the right way. Obviously the branch doesn’t fall far from the anal tree. (Rereading that last sentence, thinking about changing the wording, letting it stand…you know that’s not what I meant, you perv. Although come on the visual imagery is rich, isn’t it?)

We probably should go without TV more often.

Ummmm, or not.

Hot fudge sundae with whipped cream, cherries and sprinkles

2010-07-24T07:13:00.000-07:00

Attraction is a funny thing.

Cute guy, after cute guy, after cute guy can walk by and nothing. All of the suddenly a certain someone flashes you a totally inappropriate grin and WHAMO- right in the solar plexus. Pretty soon you’re walking around with a goofy smile on your face and the hormones are awake and singing. “Hello, Hello, this one!”

It's kinda like purse shopping. Men- I give you all permission to zone out for a moment.

In the hierarchy of accessories shopping, purses are pretty high up there. Falling somewhere between earrings and shoes. Now shoes- shoes are that hot guy that totally makes your insides clench up whenever you see him but really can only stand to be around every once in a while. Too much and either will cause severe damage. Earrings- diamond studs, for example, are like marriage, dependable, classic but sometimes just a little bit boring. Purses- purses are your boyfriend. Steady and fun but also exciting.

Sure you can walk in a store and convince yourself that an over-sized hobo sling is exactly what you need or you'll use that tiny little clutch all the time (or that buttoned up white collar guy from accounting.) But eventually over time, you'll hate it. Like Goldilocks it's too big or too small, never quite right.

However when you let go and let attraction happen, you pick up a little number like this one. Ummm.

Sorry where was I? Anyway...

I work in an office full of men, nary a one over 45. A virtual sea of men. Some married, some single, some, well who knows what team they're playing for but men, none the less. Some are attractive. Some are hideous, Most are your average button up shirt, pressed jean guy. I look around and feel....Nothing. Nada. Ho Hum. Sure one or two are cute and would probably be great guys to take home and introduce to the friends. Could work.

Then a week ago this guy looms over my cube(he's driving a lift, flashes me a completely inappropriate grin and scoots on by. Ummm.

Sorry where was I?

Best reason for going to work everyday. Mid-30's, a little under 6', great body. Best smile ever. Looks for me everywhere. Walks by my cube- 20 times a day. Black bag- MUST COME HOME WITH ME.

For the past two days he's worked on a different part of the building, electrical something or another. Has had his upper body in the false ceiling. I'm bereft. Sad. Must stop stalking. Then yesterday- he's back out. All is well in my world once more.

Attraction, it's a funny thing.

Boys are Gross

2010-07-22T19:58:00.000-07:00

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this…my brother moved in a couple of years ago- about the time the man-child hit that ever lovely boundary between legos and if you don’t watch me carefully I’m going to light the house on fire/knock-up my girlfriend/develop a drinking problem/wreck five cars/generally turn into a hateful, angry teenager- phase of life. Seemed like a good idea to call in reinforcements, seeing as how I could not longer hold him down in time-out until he snapped the hell out of whatever misbehavior he seemed intent on perpetrating.

Plus it’s never a good idea to leave teenagers alone for any length of time. At all. Need proof? Watch any of the new shows on ABC Family.

My brother, bless his heart totally stepped up. He moved in with us and it works… for the most part.

He gets the Master bedroom downstairs- THE MANCAVE, so he’s has his own space and we have the entire upstairs. So we have our own space.

But…

I do have to say- I don’t even know how you married people do it. He’s my brother and I love and appreciate the sacrifices he’s made to be there for his nephew but I seriously want to kneecap him like twice a day. You don’t even realize the irritating little habits you train out of your children until you see them present in someone else.

Little things, like chewing with your mouth closed. Or picking up your feet when walking. Or not leaving dirty dishes in the sink when the dishwasher is empty. Or sucking your teeth- whatta ya an eighty year old man? Just for example

Claiming the front television. I have to claim time on the living room TV- like I’m a teenager again.

Clean your room- it smells like dirty sweat socks and wet dog- which makes the entire downstairs smell like dirty socks and wet dog. There is no Febreeze high enough.

Small little things that set your teeth on edge.

If he goes missing- I have no idea what happened to him. Do not look in the trunk of my car- FBI.

P.S- Man-child didn't do any of those things. I'm just saying in general.

It's High School Gym All Over Again

2010-07-19T19:10:00.000-07:00

I had this great post planned about how I'm totally stalking this cute guy at work (except he smiles at me all the time so maybe it's mutual stalking) but then I saw this....

Apparently people in Wyoming just don't read me. Ever. What the hell Wyoming? Look, look, the people in California love me. LUV me. Don't you wanna be cool like California?

Wade Hampton- The artist!

2010-07-17T06:28:00.000-07:00

So Wade, bless his heart, totally pretended he wasn't terrified, hiding from me at the back of his closet, like Kermit from Miss Piggy. Oh My God, Crazy Lady if I answer your stupid questions will you go away and leave me in peace?

I'm just kidding- he was really, really nice. Although I may need to rethink my whole art crush though - Posh-Wade, Posh? Being the crackshot journalist (snort) I am I asked the burning questions I know you, my readers, want to know. Important questions. Keep reading...

How did you start?
Like everyone else, as a kid. I then went to College and studied design... but, it wasn't making me feel like an Artist. It wasn't until I was about 25 years old that I went back to college and took one painting class. That changed everything. I shortly after that, formed an Artist collective, called "Famous Dead Artists". I then started to realize what the possibilities were, when it came to self expression.

What are your goals as an artist?
Basically what I'm doing now. I have a well paying day job as a graphic designer, and I am slowly growing as an artist, filmmaker, etc... on my own time.

Are you available for commercial work?
I rarely do any freelance anymore.

Let’s say someone (like a beautiful blonde goddess just for example) has fallen in love with one of your pieces. Is it available for purchase?
Not right now, I'm kicking around the idea of making some of my digital pieces available online.

What is your favorite body of water and why?
I like little streams. They are peaceful and soothing to me.

What, if anything, do you consistently draw inspiration from?
David Lynch, DEVO, Flaming Lips... anything rooted in "art".

If you could swap vocal cords with one Spice Girl who would it be?
Posh.

How much of your day is spent drawing when you have a deadline project, and does that affect your personal life?
I make art in bursts. I have to have deadlines. I'm mostly doing filmmaking right now. See my latest film, "GOODING: No One Gets Out Alive" (which we debuted last week) on the front page of my film site: www.artbrutfilm.com

In a battle between Batman, the Transformers, and GI Joe who would win?
Always bet on Batman.

(Based on your Logos) You've worked with lots of companies, do you have a favorite and why?
I got the pleasure of doing the official logo/mascot for Wichita State University, our local university that I went to... his name is WuShock. I was honored.

How many marshmallows can you fit in you mouth?
I don't like marshmallows... I could probably fit 4 or 5 Funyuns in there, though.

Who is your favorite artist? Why?
Overall, it's David Lynch, because he does everything and it always fantastic. My favorite painter is Karel Appel... his stuff is so free form and mind blowing.

What is something you’d want people to know about you?
I worship T.V.

Thanks Wade for being such a good sport!

Want to check out more? Go to Art Brut Film.

Artists I Love more than Buhdda: Part Three

2010-07-16T06:48:00.000-07:00

One day my delightful darling turned to me and said..."Mommy, I love you more than bunnies." To which I responded, "Well, I love you more than butter. ...but not as much as Belgium chocolate." (After all, one must have standards) Well these are the artists I love more than Belgium chocolate.

Wade Hampton

Not too much is known about ole Wade. I totally stalked him on Facebook and twitter and his site and nada..

It amazing what's perfectly acceptable in this day and age. Ten years ago this amount of stalking would have landed me in jail. Now we can say the words Oh yeah, I totally stalk him on Facebook and it's perfectly fine. Well, amongst your computer friends. Everyone else still looks at you a little weird. You know, yesterday I had someone at work totally extol the virtues of Facebook, how much fun it is, how he posts something and 30 of his friends reply. It's just amazing. Guy, my age, working for a technology company. Crazy. Facebook- hmmm, think I might have heard of that.

Anyhoodle, so I've been lurking around the Internet trying to dig the dirt on this guy when I finally gave up and sent him some interview questions. But he's finally onto the fact I'm a total stalker or the questions might have put him off a little bit or ya know he has a life (maybe I shouldn't have asked him about his love life in quite that way) and hasn't had a chance to get back to me yet. So maybe someday I may get to do a follow-up. Whoo HOOO!

I love this artist... never mind his site is just a work of art in and amongst itself- utter simplicity. Go check out Captain Booger and Dr. Snot.

Just a few of my favorite pieces.

I was like a kid in the candy store. One after another after another.

But then I found the mother lode and it was all over for me.

You know that scene in Indecent Proposal when Demi Moore climbs into the bed and just rolls all over that huge pile of money...that's what I want to do with this painting.

Okay- that was a little weird.

Chuck Norris is boss like applesauce but someone else sucks snot.

2010-07-15T09:03:00.000-07:00

As ya'all know I turned 36 this year and I just have to say it.

Mother Nature is a fucking cow.

Seriously.

I don't know what the difference is between 35 and 36 but apparently in the terms of aging- it's huge. I've always been blessed. Never looked my age. If the spawn aren't with me...I'll get 31, 32. If they are with me, people give me the dog look...head tilt, confused expression as they try to do the math. 18- I was 18 ok. Yes, I could have been one of those stupid broads on MTV (if they did that sort of thing back then.)

I stay out of the sun. Wear my sun screen. Rub lotions and potions on my face every night. Where the hell are these lines coming from? Around the eyes- faint but there.

NOSE WRINKLES! What the Hell?

I think I miss the boobs the most. I had a great rack. Perfect really. Portioned correctly. Not too much, not too little. Just enough cleavage. They stood proud. Happy even.

Now they're sad.

...and there is nothing I can do about it.

Sure, surgery. I've seen the shows, I know all about the keyhole but then you get this gnarly scar.

They are just never perfect again.

I miss you boobs. Maybe we should have a farewell bash. A celebrate the boob party but not all creepy weird where women take pictures of their cleavage and post it online. Those bitches- they always suck me in. Click here and support such and such cause. Next thing you know I've clicked through 15 pages of boobs before I even realize what I'm doing. Then I have to slap myself on the forehead. But where was I?

This thing is not like the others, this thing just isn't the same

2010-07-14T06:50:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to the birthday party of a close friend. The first among us to turn forty. Poor baby.

Dinner was served poolside. (well, doesn't that sound fancy) Actually the party was fancy-ish. Thank god I came straight from work and looked like a semi-respectable person instead of the usual thrown together- tank top and flip flop summer uniform.

No pants- it's summer.

As I looked around at all the tables, about 6, maybe 12 people at each, the sesame street song started to play in my head. Goddammit I'd done it again. I, somehow, stumbled into a couple's party. (If this were a sitcom you'd suddenly hear the DUH-DUH music).

Ugh- a goddamn couple's party.

Look- parties in the burb aren't like parties elsewhere. The menfolk and the womenfolk don't separate. The women don't wander into the kitchen to talk about women stuff. The men don't gather in groups to talk about the latest game or race or hot chick at work. The couples stick together. The WHOLE TIME.. They sip their wine and wander- like conjoined twins. It's positively horrifying.

It's not the man part. I'm not itching to pull Betsy aside and talk to her about the latest and greatest in feminine hygiene. I love men- men are fantastic creatures. I could talk to you all day. Women- ditto. But the couple is a difficult animal to swallow.

Nothing says- you're a lonely 30-something spinster like the couple. And who are you with tonight? No one. Don't worry your time will come. You won't be single forever. Maybe. Don't you want to get married again? Yeah I want get married-someday. Are you dating anyone? Then they launch into the horrible dates stories and isn't it fabulous they found x, as they gaze adoringly up/down at their respective partner.

As if that wasn't enough...oh you have to meet my cousin y. Oh- you mean the separated man who just found his wife in bed with another woman? Then she left him for that woman. That cousin? No, he's not going to be bitter. Not at all. He'll be a delightful date I'm sure.

So how about those (insert team name here)?

Another Day in the Life

2010-07-13T07:37:00.000-07:00

Man-child: "I love crack. It's how I learned our cat is an asshole and how babies are prejudiced."

Me: "You love crack?"

Man-child: "No, Cracked."

Me: "You are cracked."

Universal Quirks

2010-07-10T22:43:00.000-07:00

What is it about an accent that ratchets up a guy's hotness factor by about twenty thousand? Seriously- take the biggest schloby troll and slap on Aussie accent on the hairy freak and suddenly he's the bad boy. Hot, hot, hot.

I sat across from this guy in a meeting the other day- hairy, short, lean, hand on his crotch, a shift here and a shift there. Jesus, was something moving in there? My lip curled in disgust and then he spoke. Gorgeously beautiful accent...Australian? English? Irish? Does it matter, really?

I could clearly picture us on the back of a bike- doing things, things that might very well be illegal in thirty-nine of the fifty states. "Isn't that true Ms. Right?" "What, what...we'll have beautiful children, I mean the numbers indicate a sharp increase..."

Just talk to me baby.

Classy Lady, Who's that Lady?

2010-07-09T06:05:00.000-07:00

Look we've all seen the signs.Don't flush the feminine products. Don't flush baby diapers. Do you need to exchange your needles? Go to Joe's needle exchange for all your needle exchange needs.

Seriously this needs to be said? Who the hell stands up, straightens their clothing and looks back at the toilet and thinks eh, not today?

Totally dig the clip art. But this is the best part....

Can you picture some women sitting at her computer typing 'toilet' into the search function?