5,000 and 1989

Unless you all suddenly decide to desert me this post will mean my blog has been visited more than 5,000 times. I'd like to think that was 5,000 people but I know it is probably only about 50 people checking back sporadically and a bunch of spam bots.

In this momentous post you are going to get two random things.

One.

Part of the awesomeness of not drinking is I don't fear the police.

Out to dinner with some Gym Rats the other night we were called into the parking lot because hooligans had broken into one of our ladies cars and stolen her gym bag.

I won't go into why this was an epically stupid idea. Is there a black market for smelly sneakers and sweaty towels?

It was obvious from the police man's questions and the time of night that while the officer was trying to investigate the crime he was also trying to make sure anyone that was going to be driving could do so safely.

In case you weren't aware I'm pretty obnoxious. I don't turn this off in the presence of the law because I never have anything to fear.

Side note: As responsible adults there were enough DD's to take care of anyone that wanted to indulge.

If you've had one drink you tend to behave in front of the police because while you know you are under the limit you never want to push your luck.  I don't care. I make jokes and laugh loudly. I even tripped over my own shoes. (Not intentionally I'm just uncoordinated.)

Should he have deemed me a concern there was no fear on my part that I wouldn't pass a field sobriety test so I got to be me. Over the top. Loud and obnoxious.

IT WAS AWESOME.

Two.

The subject of twitter came up at the above mentioned dinner and I admitted that I tweet. (Even I hate the way that sounds.)

I was told I needed to follow Richard Marx. You remember him. Singer from the 80's.

So I checked him out and hit the big green follow button. Then this awesomeness happened.

@IamtherealVD Yeah, you need to dump that friend. Welcome aboard...:)
— Richard Marx (@richardmarx) June 29, 2013

If this was 1989 I would be fangirl freaking out. It's still pretty awesome in 2013.

I Got Nothing

Really nothing. But I've never let that stop me before so here we go.

Random thoughts are about to spew forth from my head.

As soon as I can think of something random.

I tried trolling the blog idea sites but they aren't really up my alley.

Does anyone come here for product reviews? I don't think so.

How about my political opinion? Yup, that's what I thought.

Want to hear a list of things I love? Didn't I already do that?

This is what Summer does to you. It's all, stay up late and veg at the pool. There is no intelligent conversation or problem solving. Unless you count what's for dinner. (I don't)

I need a book. Something that isn't Twillight. UGH! Seriously I read them all, cover to cover and still hated them.

I could go on for days about why I hated those books so much. At one point I was praying for Bella to die. Or at the very least be struck mute so I wouldn't have to listen to her complain anymore. 'oh I love this guy but I'm going to mess with this guy and lead him on and then he's going to be fated to my demon baby.' seriously WTF?


There wasn't even a good sex scene. Just torn up pillows. I read three books and you skip the juicy part? I get why teenage girls loved the books but grown women confuse me.  (today I saw a 40 something woman driving a large SUV with a Twilight sticker on it)

Give me a Sandra Brown or Sherrilyn Kenyon any day of the week.



So what we learned today was that when I have nothing else to write about I will bash Twilight. That isn't necessarily a bad thing. Most of the internet spends a good portion of their time doing just that. I guess I'm in good company.

Father's Day, Batman's Least Favorite Holiday

It's Father's Day.

So far the kids have made Triple S bacon and eggs, bacon sandwiches and bacon cupcakes. (Okay we didn't make the last one but I thought about it.)

He was given presents of golf balls and Zombie books. You know, the usual presents dads ask for on their day. Now he is sitting on the couch playing Modern Warfare with Colin. (it might be World at War or some other such shooting game. I can't tell them apart.)

Basically it is a perfect Father's day.

That, of course, isn't what this post is about though because that would be normal and I'm a lot of things, but normal isn't one of them.

This post is about superheroes.

Man of Steel is out this weekend so it seemed appropriate.

I'm thinking about becoming a superhero. Like Batman without the billions or maybe Hawkeye (I have recently learned to shoot a bow.). There's also Spiderman, Green Lantern, Superman, Luke Skywalker, Hit Girl, Captain Kirk. I'm sure I could go on for quite some time.

Don't cry Batman!

Point being my parents are dead like all of the above mentioned people. (I'm not looking for sympathy. Seriously, don't try it. I get all weird. It confuses me when people are nice. Plus they've been gone for a while.)

I already have crazy ninja skills and I'm a pretty good shot. I just need to practice my roof top running and come up with a cool name and then criminals BEWARE.

Oh and I need a costume. No spandex though, trust me on that!

Based on this I am totally getting a movie. Who wants to be my sidekick?

I love you Internet. You too History!

I have no words for how awesome this is.

Would it be weird to get this framed and put it in my office? Because I want to. Vintage is big right now, right? That's what I keep hearing and this is certainly vintage. Plus it has a boat so it would totally fit in with the rest of the house.

What about this one? Not quite as vague. Certainly gets the point across.

Does VD make you green? Is that what was wrong with the wicked witch? Maybe this is just talking about actual gambling. I do have a mean poker face.

This is the best double entendre ever! More so because I am always loaded and a hell of a shot if I do say so myself. I really feel like they made these posters just for me.

War propaganda isn't usually this cool.

I'm going to talk to Triple S but I can't see any scenario where these don't end up on the office walls.

Okay just more more because I can't help myself. And PS there is plenty of medicine for regret although maybe it didn't exist during WWII?







Last but not least a silly story.

I have gone by Ronnie most of my life. Veronica was reserved for a few select family members and filling out paperwork, so when Triple S and I got married I never really thought about what I was doing to myself.

About a month into out union we were sitting with the wedding photographer going over our album. He had numerous samples for us to look at. One had a lovely black cover with the bride and groom's initials engraved.

I liked it immediately and was all set to get it until he started filling out the paperwork. As he put the letters down onto paper he glanced at me. A nervous look on his face, while I realized what I had just agreed to put on my wedding album.

"Never mind. Let's just get the date."

He visibly relaxed and Triple S and I laughed till we cried after the poor man left. Part of me wanted to put the initials on there just to see what he would say. 



CAbi (now I know what it stands for)

Last night I went to one of those home shows. You know, like a Tupperware party only for nice clothes.

They were seriously nice.

Classy even.

The consultant did a great job showing us all the pieces and putting them together in different ways while we made her job a challenge by calling out obnoxious things about the names or the sizes. (seriously there was a pair of jeans called the "baby boot" and a shirt called "keys please" it had keys on it.)

Before I continue and my snark comes out in full force I want to say how great almost everything was. (Except for the fuzzy vest. But hey, they can't all be winners.)

To their credit they didn't have the striped pants.

 Seriously if I was richer, skinnier, cooler, (insert your own excuse) I would have bought a lot of stuff.

As is usually the case with woman and wine we got louder and louder as the night went on. Niceties went out the window and everyone was some form of street walker. Or lady of the night, if your prefer. 

I tried on anything and everything I could squeeze into. Some of it looked nice while others ..... Hmm what's the word I'm looking for?

Redonkulous. Thank you Urban Dictionary.

I might have mentioned that I am exercising and trying to be a healthier person since we moved South. In total I've lost almost 80 pounds, which is awesome. High five for me!

seriously? Does someone need a diagram for this?

That doesn't change the fact that I am a "busty" girl. A real challenge in the dressing department. Some of you might remember the great bathing suit debacle of 2012?

If you too are a "busty" gal then you know there are rules to what you can and cannot where. In general anything with ruffles on the front is bad. It make your big bust look ridiculously large.

I tried to be understanding when the less endowed ladies suggested certain items. I played along and tried them on. In general I think you should never rule out anything until you've tried it on. You really never know. But by the time you are over 30, (cough cough, we don't need to talk about how much over) you should have some sort or general idea on what looks good on you and what doesn't.

I wasn't wrong.

I was however ridiculous. Sorry there will be no photos of my trying on things that I shouldn't have. Although I was fine with having the ladies laugh with me I'm not so confidant as to expose myself to the hundreds (okay dozens) of people that read this blog. Not to mention my Russian followers have very sharp tongues.

One last thing.

I have never been one to buy something based on size. If it fits, great.

This was the first time I wanted to buy a pair of pants just because of the tag. They were too tight, too plaid, and I have absolutely no need for them but they were two sizes smaller than the pants I was wearing.

Two whole sizes!

Apparently despite all my claims to be not normal I have some pretty normal girl moments occasional.

I'm gonna go do something weird to balance this out. Any suggestions?

It's Summer! and Frogs pee.

Summer had officially started in our house.

For us that means the kids are out of school and I'm not working. (This teacher thing is AWESOME!)

I'm not going to bore you with our exciting plans this year. I'm not that evil and they're not that exciting.

Instead I want to bore you with stories about my kids. I meant regale. Yeah regale. That's a fancy word!

Today we went to the pool. (see exciting.)

In the span of a few hours my kids talked to everyone. I mean everyone. They don't care how old you are, what you look like, if you are trying to sleep. They will tell you who they are, how old they are, where they were yesterday. Random details about their lives.

The funniest one today was about peeing frogs.

WHAT? That's weird right?


So the pool attracts frogs. The kids find them in the filters and pull them out. Releasing them into the wild while I sing Born Free, (as free as the wind freeeeeeeeee).

Some teenage girls were not as keen to touch them as my kids and there was some squealing as Natalie walked by to release the 4th frog she had found.

Laughing she smiled at them. "Once a frog peed on my mom." She must have thought the subsequent looks were strange as she thought that was one of the coolest things to ever happen.

They didn't.The glanced at me with nervous eyes like frog pee might be contagious.



In total they found 10 frogs today. Colin and Natalie took turns naming them.

See, frog pee and awesome kids.

You should regale your friends with this story.

Warriors Unite!

So remember back when I did the Spartan Race?

Apparently this is my new thing. I go to the gym. I drink protein shakes and I run obstacle races.

Weird. Really weird, but that's nothing new.

So this past weekend was another race.  The Warrior Dash.

Please note the AWESOME t shirts Triple S made for us.

 So early Saturday morning my ladies and I (plus one 'little' brother) got in the pedophile van* and headed to the race. There was singing and laughing and ridiculous antics. We played the radio loud and giggled like school girls. Not a one of us under 35, all of us mothers, all of us normal, responsible adults.

But underneath all those years is still that ridiculous girl that danced silly and sang loudly with her friends.

You give us some matching shirts and a chance to get dirty and we might as well be 15 again.

Plus the Warrior Dash is like the Spartan lite. All of the fun with none of the bruises.

Hell we didn't even get dirty until the last 15 yards.

There was fire

I'm the one that looks the most graceful. (2nd from the right)

and ropes.

That's my pink butt half way down the rope.

 So we ran together. We cheered for each other. We walked a bit. We climbed, balanced and crawled over cars together. Basically the ultimate girls day.

Then we got dirty. That's me in the upper right hand corner trying to pull some poor lady out of the mud. In the middle it was so thick people were getting stuck. (My inner nerd kept repeating the phrase Super Saturated. Because that is what nerds think about when other people get stuck in quicksand like mud.)

Then we got VIKING HATS! seriously. We all got one of these, plus a t shirt and a medal. I'm beginning to see why people sign up for these. FREE STUFF!

Plus after we got dirty there was a guy with a fire hose that cleaned us off like we were in a political riot.

It was a lot like this but with smiles.

So the next race is the Hero's Rush and then The Dirty Girl.

It's a sickness. Just do one they say. It's fun they say.

I might need an intervention. I'll let you know in October.

** sorry but it isn't really a pedophile van. It's just a giant blue van but it looks like it might have been on 'to catch a predator'.

Memory is Weird

***warning***

This post contains almost no humor.
Mostly it is a late anniversary present to Triple S.

Proceed at your own risk.


There are certain things that always trigger a memory. Sights, sounds, smells. Memory is much more than just pictures. For me, my easiest trigger is music.

I've forgotten most of my high school days. (I'm old, Remember?) I don't remember who I had for Sophomore math or who taught me what a monologue was. I can't remember who sat next to me in homeroom or who my locker was next to.

I can remember walking home from a party and singing "More Than Words" by Extreme with a girlfriend.

I remember playing the cassette single for Lisa Loeb until I knew every word in my little blue Ford Tempo.

I'm taking this horrible musical trip down memory lane because my new car has Satellite Radio. A wonderful luxury that I am enjoying to the fullest.

The decades channels are making me smile with every horrible song that plays.

Who could forget the adorable guy in Art who introduced me to Mathew Sweet?

It doesn't stop with High School though.

There are songs that I so totally identify with people it's like they wrote the songs themselves. Sometimes because we shared a memory with music as the soundtrack or because at the time I thought the song was so perfect for them or our relationship or just because I thought they would like it.

Right now though, this post is about my husband.

Sitting at a friends house the other day, enjoying a great girls night, music was playing softly in the background. At one point an Eagles song came on.

I was in college when this CD came out. I remember buying it and loving it. I remember there was a song called "Get Over It" that I loved because it was such a kick in the ass to complainers. (Something I was never a fan of.)

I remember finding this song just as Triple S and I started to get serious. I loved this song and I was quickly falling in love with him. I thought it was perfect.

I don't remember why it wasn't our wedding song (we chose Harry Connick jr's version of "It Had To Be You") but it is the song that makes me think of my husband. The song that reminds me what those first few months felt like. The song that triggers memory's that leave me smiling until my face aches.

Sadly this isn't Funny.

Heard this on the radio this afternoon.

Apparently Macklemore and Ryan Lewis didn't get the Snoop Dog Memo. (Or Snoop Lion. Maybe this is a P Ditty name change thing?) Rap will never embrace gay people.

If I were gay I wouldn't lose too much sleep over this. They haven't been 'embracing' the female population either. Unless you like being called a ho in which case your welcome.

I don't say this to bad mouth rap. I grew up in the 80s and the 90s. At one point I knew all of the words to 'Nuthin' but a "G" Thang' and I love the Beasties Boys. (I'm singing Sabotage in my head right now.)

You can of course argue that none of that is rap but that isn't really the point.

I think he's wrong.

Time is the universal equalizer.

Things that were so forbidden that we couldn't even talk about them are common place 100 years later.

I hope Gay rights don't take that long but in the mean time it's always nice to see someone say F U with a smile and say how they feel. Even if their 'peers' might not agree.

Love is Love is Love is Love. 

Update 6/26/2013

So the supreme court got rid of DOMA. I'd like to think after a millions papers written about equal rites and marches and protests and people standing up against unbelievable odds it was all thanks to my blog.

Okay, that's a tiny bit silly. I'll take like %75 of the credit.

Congratulations to humanity for taking one step closer to equality for all.