I am THAT good in bed

As you may or may not know by now, my not the better half, half is in Vegas with da boys this weekend on quite the flamboyant bachelor party. There are private casino jets, amazing "Rain Man" suite at their disposal, topless women, strippers, cigars, lots of AL keY HoL and much gambling. THis is all thanks to a very nice dude who apparently wins (and loses too I am sure) in very large sums .

Jesus.

You do not get that playing the slots, let me tell you. I have tried. I haven't hit it yet. I guess I should be optimistic - but I prefer realistic. No no. The slots aren't gonna help me break into the Forbes 100.

Anyway - with all this glitz and glamour my hubby calls me up about 10 minutes ago just to say "hi" as he sips his precious Jim Beam and diet at the poolside. He calls me to tell me that though he is having fun - a blast actually, he still thinks that the times that just he and I go to Vegas alone as just a couple STILL are better than any time he is having right now.

Why? Why you ask?

I think the title says it all.

Freedom

The old ball and chain is heading to Vegas with his friends for a little "mancation" as it is called these days. Mancation. Evidently, it's the buzzword that has just started buzzing.

Like metro-sexual did 2 summers ago. Whatever. Consider it my gift to you. But I digress.

These men my husband will be going with. They are: Idiots, my old man included. They are going to a bachelor party. Caesars Palace is sending a private plane to pick them up.

They have scheduled a cabana at the topless pool at Caesars. To this I say - nincompoops.

Don't they know that there will be no one at the topless pool that they are gonna want to see without their tops? Unless they are hoping to catch a glimpse of fat old German women with arm pit hair and harsh accents who will be able to bench press any of the men in the posse?

Like THIS scary bitch?

Nincompoops.

All the while, I will be spending MY free weekend being topless at home. Watching Oprah and eating all the sushi I can stomach. Since he is a fucker and won't eat it. That's my husband. The non -sushi eating, Oprah hating fucker.

Sucker.

PS Is it nincompoop? Ninconpoop. Nin cun poop? Nan can't poop? What?

You make me angry Jared.

My beloved Jared Leto has forsaken me. He has unearthed feeling of distaste that I never thought I could have for anything other than bananas.

I cast you off Jared, like my untidy undies after a one tiny shot of tequila. Like said under roos, I have flung you across the room to land on a lamp/mirror frame/vertically resting sword. You and your hot face and inviting eyes are gone from my forethoughts and into the nether regions of my hate.

You have bad mouthed bloggers and I cannot stand for this. Even if it is correct. You can not utter it.

You cannot say it because it etches away at your sexiness. Your swavitude. Your eyelined tastiness/yumminess.

I slowly, angrily, forcefully wipe you from my mind like slutty red lipstick from my mouth to smear across my spiteful face.

You. Are. Gone. Prick.

PS.

Call me.

AHOY!

Avast me hearties! Shiver me timbers. Tis once again me favorite day of days. It has beena full year, GAT! Where can I find me a bottle o'rum?

National Talk Like a Pirate Day

I have perfected the sandwich

Eureka. Please mark down today - Sept. 18th 2006.

I have perfected the sandwich.

You all can stop trying to make sandwiches now. It's over for you. I have done it and your efforts are a waste. Pack up your bread and mayo - I have kicked all of your asses.

No, I shall not share my recipes with you.

Just sleep at night knowing that I have achieved sandwich nirvana and you wish you knew what it was like.

oh baby

Now I am no freak in the sack... I mean, I guess I am not. Who knows. I guess I will have to take a survey of past clients, uh, I mean boyfriends. See what the censuses is.

But until then, I think I will make sure this is not on my list of ways to create passion. Funny. I don't think of myself as a prude - but for some reason I think I would be preoccupied when doing this.

I may be afraid of growing a third boob or an extra finger - outta my shoulder or something. Concerned thoughts of radiation and something falling off in the long run would overwhelm me and make is pretty damn hard to get into the "moment" .

But then again, maybe I need to get out more.

a THOUSAND words

As you get older there are many things you mourn. The memories of drunken nights puking out in from of retail stores. Meeting boys/men that you would NEVER really want to get to know but flirting with them with super human force until they caved then walking away. Eating what ever you want when ever you want with out any fear of "carbs" or sugar content or calorie count or an ingredient that actually can be GROWN. Yum. My mouth is watering. Or is that my gag reflex?

Oh they joys of my youth. I read blogs of loved ones and strangers that sing the praises of the "next step" they have taken in life. Eh. Ok. If you insist. I suppose I can see how starting a family, buying a home, creating a 401k and going to book clubs makes you happy. Yes. I can see it. Reservedly, I can see it.

BUT.

You know why I am happy that I have moved on?

Because as you get older - the fucked up pictures you take of your friends end up being even MORE funny than they would be if we were 21.

Love. It.

9/11

Just wanted to print for all the world to see how grateful I am that I still have my husband. That he nor I did not wake up that fateful day 5 years ago, head off to work and drift off into gruesome history. I remember when he came home that night - I hugged him so hard and cried. I cried as much as when I lost my own brother a year earlier.

I gave him a big hug this morning.

I wish thousands of others had that luxury right now.

Sniff.

THANK GOD FOR THIS MAN

Recently I have been a little stressed out. Randomly, I have felt compelled to throw myself under a bus to ease the pressure.

Haven't gotten around to it yet. But in the meantime, this man has been a life saver. Really. He has taught me to find sanity in this crazy life. To ease myself into my inner peace. I consider him my personal yoga guru as he guides me to my very special place to help me find bliss and serenity.



Please feel free to watch him over and over. As I know you will. He really has his head screwed on straight. He's like a hot knife through butter right to the root of my insane life. Like a quiet, not crazy whatsoever glimps of sanity. I feel so happy and relaxed. Really.

Namaste.

No Labor Day

I did not labor this fine Labor Day weekend. It was WONDERFUL.

Instead, a friend of mine and I decided that we should actually DO something for Labor Day - meaning take a trip. When we promptly realized that schlepping over the California freeways on a 3 day weekend at the end of summer may not be the best way to spend our time.

So we decided the most cleverest of clever things.... we took a vacation to LA. This is our backyard. For her and her husband it is their front yard. They will be moving to NoWhereVille very soon and will not have the plethora of wonderful things that are located just outside their front door outside their front for much longer. SO the 4 of us decided to be grown ups in the not so grown up playground that can be Los Angeles with its many trendy bars and hot spot eateries and beaches.

It was in a nutshell, fun. From Friday to Monday we were cool, calm and collected. Drinking Greek wines, brunching on Sunday, relaxed at a spa, being "seen" at the Hotel Bel Air. We were so hip and so smooth.

Then we got home. And my husband turned into dorky, annoying man.

I love being married.

Yes, oh Yes...

For those of you who were wondering.

Yes.

I'm bringing sexy back.