my apocalyptic tic

I was raised in a rather "interesting" church. We believed we were living in the so-called "End Times" and that, at some point in the near future, the apocalypse (whatever that meant) would happen and the world as we knew it would end.

Rational, yes?

It's a very odd mentality to grow up in as a child. I was convinced for years that I wouldn't live past my 21st birthday, because I'd been taught that the world would end WAY before I'd have time to grow up.

When I was about 10, my parents thankfully decided to attend a more conservative church. Although our beliefs mellowed out over the years, I couldn't quite shake an underlying, pervasive fear of the end of the world. Consequently, my fear shifted from being religion-based to having a more secular focus. If it even remotely smacked of global decimation, then I would find time to worry about it.

Bird flu! Zombies! Y2K! (<-- I might have called my mom and told her to hoard bottled water... you know, just in case...).

Even after graduate school, I found myself fretting (just a bit) about the whole Mayan calendar thing. I wasn't losing any sleep over it but, occasionally, I'd wonder if maybe it wouldn't be better to start a family until 2013 (you know, just in case...).

I'd spent some time researching it, and I understood that most experts see the calendar as cyclical in nature and, when it ends, it just resets (like an old Buick's odometer switching from 99,999 to 0). However, the very fact that I spent hours researching it proves my old childhood phobia was still alive and well.

The good news? I now have one less end-of-the-world scenario to worry about.

Just a few days ago, my best friend Adrienne (who knows all about my little apocalyptic neuroses) remarked offhandedly: "Oh, hey, did you hear about how the world isn't going to end in December?"

My curiosity was instantly piqued. "And?"

"Apparently they found a whole new hidden room with even MORE of the Mayan calendar in it, so I guess we can rest easy for another 7500 years or so."

Very good point...

I'm not going to lie; I felt an instant wave of relief wash over me. After all, it was comforting to hear that the world isn't going to end and ruin the 2012 holiday season.

The whole thing strikes me as rather hilarious; I worried all this time about a calendar that wasn't even complete? And some people just happened to stumble into a whole room full of information that would assuage my deepest fears?

You've got to be kidding me.


Found: The Oldest Maya Calendar (and No, the World's Still Not Ending

Oldest Mayan Calendar Revealed


The real question here is: what the hell am I going to fret about now? Global warming? Economic collapse? Chinese traffic jams? Snooki's pregnancy? I'll need to put a lot of careful thought into selecting my next ulcer-creating catastrophe du jour. 

Hm... what does the Internet say?

And "Jersey Shore" it is! 

Although... the Zombie Apocalypse may be coming sooner than expected, as evidenced by this recent news story.

So many things to worry about - so little time!

Exactly!

jewels of the interweb (volume 27)

Aw... he looks grumpy now.

Um, you have a little something... just... right there...

And, just in case those first two were two cutesy for you, here are some gnome nipples.

cherry sours and social discomfort

The other day, I stopped by the store to pick up kitty litter. As I was checking out, I noticed an alluring rack full of various candies: bags of salt water taffies, circus peanuts, gummy worms, etc. When I saw the cherry sours, I knew I had to buy them. I love cherry sours! And I haven't had candy in SO LONG (as in, a week or a couple days or something...)! So I decided to treat myself.

Mmmmm.... little shiny artifically-flavored sugar balls (aka kiddie crack). 

I waited in line, kitty litter in one hand and cherry sours in the other, behind some old dude with a full cart. A young store employee (we'll just call him "Jeb") leaned against the old dude's cart. I assumed Jeb was waiting to help the old dude carry out his purchases and load them in the car; it turned out he was just lollygagging around, making conversation.

Jeb was a teenage boy (extremely young, maybe 15?) with a pimply complexion and farm-boy haircut. He noticed the bag of cherry sours in my hand and lit up.

"Those things are awesome!" he said, a little too loudly. "Hey, Ashley, look! I told you those things are awesome!" He was talking to the cashier, a teenage girl with a pained expression on her face. She did her best to ignore him.

Jeb turned to me: "Those are even better than ones in other stores. Like, way better."

"Well, that's good to hear!" I replied. I have to admit, I was feeling pretty excited about the cherry sours myself.

"My brother has a special name for them," he continued, with a somewhat conspiratorial look on his face.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" I asked, immediately regretting my words. Premonition warned me that this was going to be awkward.

"Little orgasm balls!" Jeb crowed, extremely loudly. The cashier cringed and the old dude in front of me, blushing a deep maroon, shoved his cart past Jeb and made a beeline for the exit.

Not knowing what else to say, I found myself muttering: "Well, in that case, I should probably get two bags."

I wanted to give him a little coaching, along the lines of: "You  know, Jeb, you can't just say 'orgasm' to customers," because surely this is his first job and he just hasn't figured that out yet... but I couldn't get any other words to come out of my mouth.

As Jeb wandered off to make small talk with some other poor unsuspecting bastard, the cashier shook her head, sighing: "He never shuts up!"

I shrugged and grabbed a second bag of orgasm balls.

And you know what? The cherry sours aren't all Jeb's brother makes them out to be, but they'll do in a pinch.

jewels of the interweb (volume 26)

Also, a studio apartment in the Valley or a double-wide trailer.

my mother, the liar

My mother had me when she was 23, which just boggles my mind! When I was 23, I was still finishing my undergraduate degree, partying like a rock star, and pawning my stuff to pay the bills. Sure, expectations of women were different back then (even after the recent gender revolutions of the 60s and 70s), and there are plenty of capable mothers in their early 20s today, but... it just seems really young! Does anyone at that age actually know themselves well enough to be a parent? I guess if they don't, they figure it out pretty quickly! 

My mom was a natural - she was so much fun! She always had the best playtime ideas and wasn't afraid to act silly with me. 

Me and Mom, back in the day.

I love this photo because it proves that she totally liked me at one point in time (I did, after all, put her through all kinds of hell in my teenage years). And also because my hat is awesome.

I keep this picture on my fridge, and everyone who sees it thinks it's me. "Whose baby are you holding?" they ask, completely missing the fact that the late 70s/early 80s has exploded all over the background of this photo. And part of me loves to hear it... because it proves that we're alike (at least in appearance, if nothing else!).

My favorite memories of my mother involve all the pranks she used to play on us when we were kids. She'd hide under the bed and pop out at us, tell us all kinds of lies just to test how gullible we were, and just generally f*ck with us.

Example 1: When I was about 10 years old, Mom walked by as I was brushing my hair.

"Wow, is that all your hair?" she asked with concern, as I pulled excess hair from the brush bristles.

I looked down at the clump of hair in my hands, feeling worried. "Yes...?"

"Oh, no! Maybe you have that disease... you know, the one that makes all your hair fall out? You could be completely bald by your 11th birthday."

Panicked, I ran to a mirror and inspected my scalp for telltale bald spots. Then I saw Mom's reflection behind me and saw she was laughing. JERK!

Example 2: For the longest time, my sister and I thought our Uncle Scott was "weird" because Mom said he'd stuck a bobby pin into an electric socket as a toddler. According to Mom (his big sister), the voltage had fried his brain, and we should be careful because he could just FREAK OUT at any time. I was always a little scared of him because of this, and was also scared to touch him since he might still have some residual electricity left on him.

My sister and I only recently realized that a) Uncle Scott is not actually all that weird compared to the rest of us*, and b) the socket incident never happened.

Example 3: As a child, I used to be sneaky and read books after bedtime. This was, of course, against the rules, so Mom decided to catch me in the act. She hid under my bed and waited until I turned the ceiling light on and started reading. When I heard my dad's footsteps approaching (he was in on Mom's plan), I leapt out of bed, switched off the light, and ran back toward my bed so I could feign sleep when Dad opened the door.

Mom reached out from under the bed and grabbed my foot just as I was jumping back into bed. It literally scared the bejeebus out of me.

Can you imagine? Most kids are scared of the monster under the bed. In my house, that monster was my mother.

However, it's important to note that Mom was 8 months pregnant with my brother at the time. Because of her size, she got stuck under my bed and had a hard time getting back out. I couldn't help thinking that it served her right.

Example 4: Mom once convinced my sister Laine that she'd eaten bad mayonnaise and might have botulism. We had no idea what botulism was, but it sounded terrible! Laine started grabbing her stomach and complaining of pain until Mom finally came clean - after which, of course, Laine's "symptoms" immediately disappeared.

After a while, we grew a bit wiser. We could tell when Mom was being ornery by the sparkle in her eyes and the way she'd press her lips together to keep from smiling.

We realized: Our mother is a liar.**

At least it kept things interesting around the house! And now, when someone tries to prank me, I just raise an eyebrow and think: "Really? Amateurs!"

I think all Mom's pranks were part of a subconscious urge to toughen us up. She was orphaned at the age of 15 when her parents died in a plane wreck. She felt abandoned and had to learn to fend for herself too quickly. Because of this childhood trauma, she raised her own children to be independent, so we'd be able to survive without her no matter what. She made sure we had thick skins, and I'm grateful to her for it!

Now that Will and I are starting a family of our own, I can only hope to be as wonderful (and weird) a mother as my mom was. Did she make mistakes? Sure! All parents do. But she did SO many things right...

I can't wait to have kids of my own so I can mess with them too... watch out, suckers!

Happy Mother's Day!


*With the exception of that time he tried to throw me out of a moving roller coaster.
**Mom would like to add that she's not a liar per se; but, rather, a lively story-teller.

jewels of the interweb (volume 25)

"Oh, Benito... you're the only one who really understands me."

This is WAY better than seeing the Virgin Mary on your toast.

And this is how the Allies won WWII. 

my lifelong obsession with doing stupid sh*t

When I was a kid, I was something of an insomniac. I always had a ridiculously early bedtime, so I'd sit in bed every night, wide awake, with only my imagination to keep me company.

I'd imagine how awesome I was going to be as an adult. Well, actually, I'd imagine how awesome I was going to be when I was 16. For some reason, I didn't think very far past age 16. That was the age when it all came together: I'd be able to drive! I'd be able to take myself wherever I wanted; there'd be no stopping me!

My 10 year old self envisioned a future of me driving around in my dad's red Fiat convertible, impossibly beautiful and effortlessly cool. Oh yeah, and I was going to smoke cigarettes! Smoking and driving seemed very grown-up to me back then... I blame the tobacco companies and their enticing television ads.

Unfortunately, Dad decided to sell the car instead of giving it me... and we never spoke again (for about 5 minutes).

Although I couldn't drive yet, I was still determined to get around somehow. I brainstormed an idea for a go-cart powered by a converted lawn mower engine that ran, conveniently, on water. The only reason I picked water was because it was the only fuel source I could get my hands on back then... but I still maintain this proves that I was totally "green" as far back as 1990.

Unfortunately, as ambitious as the aforementioned plan sounds, I was NOT a child genius (far from it), and my plans never made it past the blueprint to the research & development phase. But think of what would have happened if I'd succeeded! Commuter highways would be crowded with hydrogen-powered go-cart/lawn mowers, there would be no such thing as global warming or lawn service companies, and I'd be richer than Mark Zuckerberg. Alas...

When I realized I had absolutely no talent for mechanics whatsoever and my go-cart plan was hopeless, I decided to simplify my strategy. I didn't need a lawn mower to get around! All I needed were WINGS. Duh! Who needed to drive when you could just fly?

I worked on a pair of makeshift wings by cutting them out of discarded cardboard boxes. I strapped them to my arms and decided to test them by jumping off the garage.

But... I never got to try them out because my LITTLE SISTER ratted me out!

She says it's because she was worried that I was going to kill myself and I wouldn't listen to reason, so she had no choice but to tattle.

I say she should have just trusted that I was about to accomplish something awesome.

A few days later, I was still convinced that I could fly somehow. So, I climbed up on the top of our 12-foot tall swingset, tied the monkey swing around my waist, and prepared to leap off.

This is a monkey swing. I hear it's not intended for flight.

Again, I was NOT a child genius. In my mind, I thought I would arc out and then swing back and forth gently. I didn't know anything about physics, and I had no idea that I would just drop straight down and possibly chop myself in half with the swing's rope.

My little sister, however, WAS a child genius and tattled on me. Again.

Thanks to my childhood antics, she knows a bad idea when she sees it (you're welcome, Laine!). I should probably thank her for saving my ass, over and over again. But I'm not going to, because I'm still mad at her for telling on me all the time.

When I got older, I finally got my fix. I went skydiving! But I'm wiser now, so I opted to be strapped to a professional.

Crappy photo; amazing experience.

Even though I'm not as bold (aka dumb) as I was in childhood, I'm still tempted to try this:

Good thing I didn't know about wingsuits when I was 10, huh?

Can you believe this actually works!?

My mother says that someday I'm going to have kids as stupid as I was; I can only hope, for their sake, that they have a sibling with a big mouth. It just might save their lives!

how Grandma crashed the bachelorette party...

My stepsister, Nichole, is getting married in 3 weeks! It's weird, because I still think of her as the tow-headed 8 year old I first met.

Back in 1995, our parents got engaged after only 3 weeks of dating, and were married 2 months later. They had a tumultuous (to say the least) marriage that ended in divorce. Later, they reconciled and remarried.

And... then they got divorced again. Awesome. 

Anyway, my stepmother has two sons and two daughters; my sister Laine and I were closest with the youngest son and daughter, Chris and Nichole. The four of us decided on our own to stay "family" with our step-siblings, regardless of our parents' marital status.

Now, Nichole is 24 and getting married to a great man who I totally approve of because he helped roof my house (and also because he's a nice guy and they're perfect for each other and all that stuff).

The bride-to-be, gettin' her hair did.

Laine and I drove down to Wichita to throw her a bachelorette party last weekend. I'll be honest: I'm not a huge fan of Wichita. I grew up just north of Wichita in a smaller town and, as a child, going to Wichita meant going to the big city! As a teenager, we called it the "belly button of the Midwest" but still thought it was way more exciting than our hometown. But now that I've travelled extensively and experienced real big cities (with things like diversity and culture?), Wichita just doesn't cut it.

Plus, it's sort of depressing. I don't know why, but it might have something to do with this picture:

Turbo-Christian McGruff might agree.

We picked up Heather (our eldest ex-ex-stepsister) at her house, and then drove to a hotel in Old Town. We dashed around like mad women trying to set up before Nichole arrived. We blew up balloons, arranged lolli-cocks, and hung the dick pinata. 

Lolli-cocks!

Pillow favors!

No bachelorette party is complete without a penis cake (mine was 3D!). Since Nichole's fiance is Mexican American, the head of the cake was intended to be decorated with the Mexican flag. Heather had to make the cake while surrounded by her 3 kids. After a barrage of questions, she finally convinced her inquisitive 10 year old son that it was an "airplane."

Somehow in the flurry of the deception, a key part of the Mexican flag was omitted. Apparently, there's supposed to be an eagle symbol in the white portion of the flag.

So technically this was an Italian flag penis cake. Oh, well! It was still delicious. 

Nichole and Krista showed up and the fun began. The girls got started on the penis jello and had a few rounds of celebratory shots.

Then we got a call:

"Grandma fell in the bathroom and I need help. No one else is available, someone needs to come over soon!" Grandpa was distraught; he had back troubles and couldn't lift her himself. 

It put a slight damper on the party, but only for a second. After all, I was the designated driver so a quick trip to Grandma's was not only plausible and safe, but also something of an adventure for a handful of drunk girls.

It was only a 15 minute drive, and Grandma was easily retrieved from the bathroom floor and deposited in her recliner. She was mortified that she'd interrupted our party and seemed really embarrassed, so we gave her a party favor and assured her she was now an honorary member of the bachelorette party. We gave her a lolli-cock and even took a few photos of her posing with it (unfortunately, those photos are not available for blogging purposes!). She was giggling with the rest of us while Grandpa stood around looking uncomfortable, and we were able to make her feel much better.

Then we went back to the hotel to resume the festivities. We had a truly epic night, even if most of the epic-ness (epicity?) occurred only in our imaginations. 

Later, Heather would take off her shirt and get in this fountain. Well, not really, but that's what we told our families. 

FYI - that dildo headband totally lights up.   

Me, kicking the penis pinata's ass.

Aftermath!

And then we set the hotel room on fire and walked away into the sunset like rock stars.* 

The End. 

*Or... got a good night's sleep and had a fantastic brunch in the morning... whichever is awesomest.

jewels of the interweb (volume 24)

And thine britches stick to thine thighs!

 I'd prefer a box full of money, and this is why I'm a shitty Buddhist. 

I'm pretty sure someone, somewhere out there has tried to do this. 

giant whoops!

That's basically been my whole week: a giant, pulsating mass of gelatinous whoops. Sounds delicious, right?

I swear a real post is coming soon, about Nichole's bachelorette party last weekend. Until then, I leave you with this:

Hint: I'm the one in green.

A quick summary of my life since Monday:

1. I slammed my head in the car door (for the third time in my life).
2. I cried (just a little bit) in my boss's office. <--- am I one of those people now???
3. I lost my sister's little frou-frou dog Webster (it's ok, I totally found him eventually).
4. I accidentally pocket-dialed 911 with my cell phone (although I do feel somewhat comforted by emergency service's response time...).

I'm afraid to go outside. Or move. Or blink, for fear of accidentally falling off the couch and triggering some nuclear bomb in North Korea. Does that seem a tad melodramatic?

After a week like this, you never know... it could happen!