happy. thanks. giving.

I love the fact that I'm not at work...it's 1:30 in the afternoon, and my wine is so good. I'm allowed to do this. I'm on "vacation"...it's my "holiday". Now, if I were doing this on a regular day, not so cool. 

Here's my thing. It's the day after Thanksgiving and it's 84 degrees outside. This makes it very hard for me to want to put up a Christmas tree. I know you understand. I'm sitting here, in a tank top and flip flops and can't find it in me to get the tree out. 

I just had a realization: I don't rant enough. Why? Nobody really reads this. Picklo, I love you. But really. Who is reading this? It sits in space...I "feel" better that I've vomited my thoughts....but realistically, what the hell? 

Ladonna, if you're here...thank you! I heart you mucho.

I need to catch up with my Alzheimer's.

Why is it that I cannot, for the life of me, remember what I did last week, wore, drove, etc. BUT I can remember what I did on May 1, 1987 at 3:37 p.m.? (wait, that would make me in 2nd grade, probably waiting in the school bus line OR getting dropped off on good ol' Sagemill. I think I was wearing red glasses and Converse tennies that day. I was such a boy)...

But really. What happens to us and our brains? Our memories? When I am 50, will I remember being 29 like it was yesterday, because I don't really think so. I don't remember my 20's very well. Maybe because I don't want to. 6 years spent in college (which is a whole other topic) and what did I actually gain out of it? Ok, so I can spell some "words" and I know what Dante's Inferno is, but what else? I do know this: I drank and drove a WHOLE SHIT LOT and nothing ever happened to me. Now I work for an attorney and deal with DWI peeps and my God, it's amazing that I never had to be one of "them". 

Thank you, Jesus. Speaking of Jesus...

I sat Jezek down for dinner last night, some Shrek shaped soup and a Hi-C. Remember the metal cans that Hi-C used to come in? You had to use a friggin' bottle opener to punch triangle holes in 2 sides to get the shit to come out. Fun! Anyway, I put the bib on Jez and he says to me "mommy, we now say a prayer".

I was speechless and realized at THAT moment that he did NOT learn that from me (which is bad) and that I didn't know how to say it with him (which is even worse). Thank "God" for school. What has happened? I'm not one to speak about religion or politics openly, because A) it bores me and B) I just don't care. But when you're 2 1/2 year old learned about the Bible and says a prayer before eating and they did not learn it from you, you think "what a horrible parent I am"...there's nothing like your toddler looking at you like "why the hell don't you know this, mommy?"

Nice. Parenting. Hey, he loves. That's all that matters.

I watched countless hours of bad tv yesterday. Just layed on the bed, and flipped back and forth between "Clueless" and "National Lampoons Van Wilder"...the best part about "Clueless" was the abundant amount of Radiohead songs and a dash of Counting Crows. Wow...I miss my youth. Again. Only for a fleeting moment. 

Dude, again with the calls asking for free legal advice.

Stop. It. 

Happy Thanksgiving...I haven't even ordered Christmas cards yet. I suck. 

I'm old...or getting there, anyway.

I was at Panera Bread last week. Standing in line. Wishing I was lying supine on an island somewhere. My peripheral vision picked up the most hideous sight. 

There was a girl, very long legged, with what appeared to be panty-sized shorts on with these crocheted knee-high sock things that went from her knees to about mid foot so she could STILL wear flip flops. She had bad hair and worse make-up. Then I heard the conversation.

Girl: "omg...I'm still working at Hollister, it's sooo easy, I can soooo get you a job there if you want"

Other girl: "well, I'm pretty happy at my dr.'s office, but it sounds like you're having fun"

Girl: "I don't do anything, it's so easy, and look at my cool clothes"

I wanted to barf. For many, many reasons. Perhaps it was the smell of onion soup wafting past my nose at the same time I heard this conversation, or perhaps I realized how old I really am. But you know what? I wouldn't change being almost 30 for anything. You just don't seem to know the same shit at 18 that you do at 29. I like to think I know shit.

That poor girl. She has no idea and probably an even dumber boyfriend. 

cheers with my Ziegen Bock.