So Many WTFs...

What's this?

Ewww...right?

Is that a...a...um??

NO! NO! NO! FARRAH GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!!!!

Surprise!  It's just a blow up elephant bouncy house.  A totally innocent elephant with a dick for a trunk.  What kid doesn't love to play in something a little unknowingly pornographic?

This thing was at the Apple Blossom Festival.  This erotic elephant with its eyes rolling back in its head was chosen ON PURPOSE to be one of the many fun toys for kids to play in.  I took one look at it and thought...where's my damn phone...I HAVE to take a picture of this!!!  Keeping my ears open, I heard every adult around giggling and wondering...um, what the fuck?  It was rad.  I turned to a couple and said, "Are you seeing this?"  We were all laughing.  One lady said, "WHY A PURPLE TRUNK AND PINK END?!!!  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"  It was so awesome.  While she didn't know why she was taking my picture, Farrah took a great one of me.  I knew the moment I saw the "exit" that this thing was getting on my page immediately.  Here's the thing...It obviously looks like a penis.  However, it also looks like a vagina.  It is a hot mess of sexuality on a children's toy.  It's a little like Disney artists who get a little bored and simply say, "Yeah, I'm going to stick a dick riiiiiight there!  They won't notice until I've long retired and it'll be too late.  Muahahahaha!"  

So, I looked at it and thought each child that exited the "tip" were a representation of the sperm that made it.  Hooray!!  Then some would come out and they'd open the exit real wide and I'd think of childbirth.  It was a rebirth!  Sometimes, it got frightening because some of those children came out in the breach position.  That's scary.  

In any case, the maker of this "blow-up-elephant-doll" is either a humorous genius, a bored genius, or some completely messed up pedophile.  Did he run out of grey fabric?  Even that would be disturbing, but I honestly feel there was a lot of thought put into this monster dick.  But even better?  The people who ordered this for Apple Blossom thought, "Yay!  Perfect!  We'll order that one for the little kids to play in because it is simply adorable and innocent.  It is free of weird looking beastiality because we would totally not be okay with that."

Well, folks who ordered that thing for the Apple Blossom Festival...you had several young children playing in and on a giant dick.  Well done.  Next time when planning things out, go through your personal "toy" drawer and if anything looks remotely close to any of those things...make sure you choose a different thing for the young children to play on.  If YOU want to play with it, fine.  Just don't expose our kids to that shit just yet, thanks.

I recall hollering to Farrah to hurry up and get the hell out of there!  WHERE WAS THE HAND SANITIZER?!!  

Gewww.

Unreasonable Fear of Water

Back when I was in my teens, my friend, Jen, and I would go out to the Puget Sound and lay out on air mattresses and float and sometimes go swimming in the ridiculously frigid water.  We always had a good time doing this...until one fateful day.  The Puget Sound water is very dark and therefore, you cannot see a damn thing.  Sometimes, you can't even see your feet when looking straight down.  It's not because you're out swimming in crude oil, it's because there is a pretty big drop off out there.  This one day, Jen and I were out swimming in the coldness when I used some of my best acting skills to date, "Holy shit!! SOMETHING TOUCHED ME!!! WHAT WAS THAT?!!!"

Whoops.

Jen proceded to crawl on top of my head to save her own ass from the nothingness that had just not touched me.  She certainly proved to me that day...that I could go fuck myself.  She was going to live while she pushed my body down further into the mouth and throat of whatever was trying to attack us so she could get away while it choked on my body.  Did I mention we were best friends?  Yeah.  That moment always made me question the validity of that title.

The movie "Ghoulies".  One of the ghoulies was a water monster.  A scene from the movie during a teenage party (always, right?) the ghoulies came out to torment and of course, eat and murder people.  Well, the water-ghoulie popped it's head out of a toilet.  I was pretty young when I saw that.  You can imagine the thrill of using toilets after that.  Have a seat and hope to god a weird green monster didn't bite my ass off.  (That visualization could go in so many gross directions, but feel free to use your own imagination there.)

Swimming pools and sharks.  Why not?  Sharks swim in pools, right?  No, they don't.  But in my mind, they do.  They still do if I am in a pool by myself and there is a deep end.  The good news about the fear of sharks in a pool?  It makes you swim VERY fast!  Always helped when racing.

Lakes.  I have been in many lakes in my life and one of the things that pops in my mind from time to time is..."How many dead bodies are at the bottom of this lake?"  The answer...A LOT.  Of course there is!  In my own lifetime, I've heard of this person who drowned, that person who drowned, bodies found, bodies not found, blah, blah, blah.  However, the lakes have been around for a very long time and at the bottom of those very big and very deep lakes are very dead bodies or at least, bones. SO, when out on a Jet Ski or a ski boat and somehow I've managed to "fall" into the water, I'm wondering if and when a skeletal hand is going to reach up and pull me down.  I do not want that to happen to me.  Not just that, I think about things like, oh...the Lochness Monster, or even better...WHALES!  Which makes sense, of course, because everyone knows whales live in lakes and attack people everyday.  If I've ever been in the water, I've often thought about whatever evil is lurking below me and creepily watching for the perfect opportunity to eat the bottom half of my body.  I think that would suck.

This Guy...

...is sitting right next to me.

Have you ever been around someone who can't just sit still when seated?  This person's leg is in constant shaking and tapping motion like they're listening to music with a crazy-fast beat to it (only they're not listening to anything at all)?  This person always looks like they've got a lot to say and are thinking way too hard how to formulate a sentence.  This person gets up an unnecessary amount of times to walk to the restroom.

This person?  Yeah, we all know him or her and we want to tell them politely, to put the straw away and save the cocaine for another time when they're nowhere near us.  At least that's me.  Settle the fuck down and stop with the crazy leg action!

It could be some nervous behavior he has, but still.  There was a day that I was walking out and as my feet were heading for the door, I was presented with an interview that I was not prepared for.  Question after question and I fired back with my answers as fast as I could in order to escape.  I had my keys in my hand and all my shit packed up and hanging off my body, but he didn't read this as a sign of "I gotta go".

Plus, it makes me nervous if he's sitting near me (which is all the time) if I don't have my headphones on, I'm going to get trapped in a conversation when I've got shit to do.  Also, it feels like a mini earthquake is happening all around me and I'm not sure if I should duck and cover or get up and shove him off his stool.  Option B sounds best.

I know a lot like him.  Some, it's not as annoying as others and it is somewhat tolerable.  Others, I want to punch in the throat.  The ones that can't sit still when you are having a meeting and all you can read in their face is they can hardly wait for whoever is speaking to shut up so they can have their turn.  That's a good indicator that the bouncy leg person wasn't listening at all.  These are the ones that drive me crazy.

Really...put down the straw, in fact, throw it away.  The cocaine induced ideas are probably not that good.

Pocket Full of Sunshine...

Sometimes people simply fascinate me.  The good and the bad.  But, honestly it's the poops-in-the-pants people that are the most intriguing.  I don't know why, though.  I guess it's because I look at life as just...life.  It happens.  Good and bad.  It is up to us as to how we intend to deal or not deal with the life we have, the cards we've been dealt, and people and circumstances that are a part of us whether we like it or not.  Twice today, I have been seated by women that look at the world as a place that everyone but them, have taken a huge dump on.  Life is shit.  Life is shit...because everyone else shits on it.  No, ladies, you're shitting on your own life.
My poo-poo platter is over flowing onto side dishes, soup bowls, bread plates, and even into my coffee cup.  Gross.  But, guess what I do?  Not what these women do.  If I did what these women did, I would be in such a sick place in my life and close to being on my death bed just like one of them is.  One of the ladies that I've been listening to is ill.  She's not well at all and my heart goes out to her...until she speaks.  What she has is sucking the life out of her...but so is her behavior.  Everything that she has talked about for the past 2 hours has been about how she plans to "tear a new one into so-and-so" and  she's going to "sue this person and that person" and "how dare they treat me like this" and I could keep going but I don't want to catch what she has, nor do I want you to.

The irony?  As soon as this woman's friend left, she turned around to face me while I was typing about her as if she sensed it, she reached out her hand to introduce herself, and she took a seat at my table.  Umm..did this actually happen?  It did.  It did happen.  So, the conversation she had been having with her friend started up with me.  While I bitch about people's poor behaviors, I do try to take an opportunity like I had with this one and turn the tables on her.  She went on and on about her illness, her "horrible" ex-husband, the judge that handled her case (10 years ago, mind you), and how there's a conspiracy where people are out to get her and ruin her life.

The one question I asked to get her to stop talking for even a second:  "Is there anything you're happy about?"
"Of course!! I'm happy to be alive!!" but this was answered with such cynicism, it was as if she wasn't really happy to be alive.
I tried again:  "I get that you're happy to be alive, isn't everyone?  But WHY are you happy to be alive?  What brings you joy everyday?  What makes you smile?  What brings you butterflies each day?"
(Obviously, I was trying to get this lady to dig deep inside herself and stop pointing her sick finger at everyone else)
This question made her breakdown crying.  I felt bad for only a second.  She proceeded to tell me the things that made her truly happy and even though she cried while telling me, she was also smiling.  First time I'd seen this woman smile since she sat down.  I pointed out that she should be able to feel her own energy shift in a happier "feel-better" place when she focuses on that stuff rather than all the other bullshit.  That's all that it is.  Bullshit.

Sorry.  I know she has a rough go of it and times are tough for her and in her opinion, she needs to get revenge on any and all people that have fucked her over and they ALL have it coming.  Really?  Do they?  She's sick.  Not even knowing this lady, I felt like I was her fucking therapist of the obvious.  Did she really think her time was best spent going after her ex, the old judge, the doctors, her neighbors, and anyone else who's done her wrong??  How about spend quality time with her kids?  That sounds better.  How about doing anything that makes her happy and brings GOOD excitement in her life?  She was intrigued by me because she saw I was writing a book.  She was too!  Well...not really.  She has a title.  And...it's going to be non-fiction based on her life.
I did the one thing you don't do to writers...I gave my opinion.  I know better, but...I know better.  I told her the beauty of writing a book that is Fiction is you can take your own personal life experiences and put them into a story and give them to a character that is NOT YOU so you don't have to relive your own piece of crap life.  That's how you write a great story.  Take real life situations and twist it into someone else's life and make it about them and not you.  It is also a release.
I asked, "Do you journal?"
"Well, of course I do."
"Do you burn it later?"
"No. Why would I do that?"
"If what you're writing about is awful shit that isn't something you want to relive by going back and reading it a week from now, a month from now, or even a year from now...burn the damn thing.  Let it go!"

Here's the thing...I am not a therapist.  I do not walk around thinking my life is perfect, because I know it's not.  And when it comes to this kind of crap, I am not a know-it-all.  However, I REFUSE to let go of who I am which is the person who will forever look at the bright side of everything regardless of the current situation.  That being said, I will also use the healthy therapy of losing my shit and breaking down crying hard when it is very necessary (and very private).  And when I'm done doing that...I'm done.  Back to life.  Do I want revenge on people that have fucked me over?  Sometimes.  But do I want to waste even parts of my life doing that?  Fuck, no.  I just want to LIVE my life.  I don't like to dump my shit on others and try to make them as miserable as I might be in that moment like that woman did.  It was weird.  Even faking it is healthier and can even feel better!  So, my hopes for that woman is that maybe she heard me.  Just a little.  However, hearing how the ugliness and hateful words escaped her mouth...she is doomed.  She will not get healthy.  She will lose her battles with all these "evil" people.  And most important, the things that made her cry because they brought her so much joy will be forgotten and she will miss out on LIFE.
Whatever shit we're going through in our own private little lives, we should never let it consume us or define us.
Fucking fake it if you have to!  It's so much better to be around that than being around a true Debbie-Downer.  I mean...she was a professional of unhappiness, bitterness, hatefulness, and misery.

She probably needed a hug...but I didn't want to be further exposed and end up catching her "Hate".  

Totally Inappropriate

I've been working out since I was 15.  When I began, it was at my high school and the only opening they had was with all the football players.  The class was filled with about 25 guys totally juiced up with natural testosterone and me with two other girls.  This was not your typical weight lifting class.  The beauty of it, though, was the fact that the guys in the class took their lifting very serious.  Loved that.  So, at the time, I learned along with my small group of girls how to push it hard.  Since the weight lifting coach was also the football coach, there was no room for a bunch of pussies.  The one day we had our "max" day was where we would lift once as heavy as we could with perfect form.  It also included max pull-ups, dips, bench press, etc.  I remember benching my own weight and having 8 guys  around me saying, "GO! GO! GO! DO IT!! PUSH THROUGH IT!!!"  It was rad.  I was one of them.  I also held the record for most dips for the school ever.  (I had freaky big triceps).  Again, I had the encouragement behind me the whole time.

Well, since those glory days of radness in high school and true support of my friends (guys and girls) who had the same goals - staying fit and getting stronger - I've continued that path ever since.  While I've always worked out since, the last 2-3 weeks I've decided to really physically push myself by incorporating more cardio, lifting heavier, and trying out new things I've never done before.  I've stepped it up a bit.  Lifting, and lifting heavy, is a bit of therapy and it is something I can see if I'm just kidding myself or if I'm truly giving it my all.  I know I can curl the 15s with ease and perfect form, but can I push it up to the 17.5s?  Perhaps the 20s?  I'll only know if I dig deep beyond my tiredness and desire to simply wrap it up and fucking go for it.  And I do.  I'll throw extra plates on when benching, I'll do Burpees and incorporate a push-up in the process making it more difficult, I'll make it a daily regiment to do the kettle bell swing to keep my butt tight, lower back strong, and shoulders defined.  I'm taking care of ME.  I need this right now because it is a part of my life that I absolutely love and am passionate about.

I've never competed, but the thought enters my mind from time to time.  Way too late for the Emerald Cup, but maybe another show.  The men and women who compete have a grueling regiment that they have to do every day.  It includes crazy workouts, incredible dieting, and ridiculous amounts of water and protein and vitamins.  It is a lifestyle I am quite familiar with whether I participated on stage or not...I have lived it.  Part of living it is looking for and at the physical results.

I know I now live in a very conservative town...but c'mon.  I've been working hard enough to feel comfortable to wear a sports bra as my top to be able to see the results with my abs, obliques, and back.  I wore it today.  I have three others - black, red, white.  I'm not stupid.  The white one is too much boobage and it truly isn't serving the purpose of wearing a sports bra anyway.  I'd be too busy looking at my own boobs making sure I didn't have a wardrobe malfunction.  However, the other ones I have, I have worn for quite some time.  Again, the purpose is to see what the hell I'm doing and if it is working.  I'm not one to walk into the locker room and pull up my shirt and pose in front of the mirror. But again, in the bodybuilding world it isn't unheard of for a guy to pull his shorts up as high as they'll go to see how shredded their quads are, take off their tank tops to see their pecs, deltoids, abs, etc.  While others would view it as odd...it is a fucking sport!  I'm not 100% sure that I wouldn't compete, but I'm going to have my body in rockin' shape for this spring and summer, dammit.  I need that for me.

So...I wore a black sports bra today and workout pants.  I worked my ass off today.  I needed to get things out of my system and it came in the form of pushing myself hard and watching as my abs got tighter and tighter.  Tight abs on a chick are rad, I think!  So, during my workout that honestly, was NO DIFFERENT than any other as far as interactions with people and the intensity level I was going...I was suddenly approached by a Gold's employee.  I knew exactly what he was going to say and where it was coming from.  "We've been receiving some complaints about your attire and you need to know the dress code is t-shirts.  Sorry to be the bearer of bad news."  And he was sincere, but probably more uncomfortable when I asked, "Who has been complaining?  Men or women?"  "Women."  My response was, "Of course it is.  Whatever."

I worked out at my old gym constantly in sports bras/tops all the time.  The most shit I'd ever get was being told, "Kathy, are you just walking around flexing?  You look stupid." (Thanks, Gavin.)  But that's it!  NEVER did I encounter issues with other women.  Several others wore similar things, too.  I'd never experienced cattiness from women.  And here's my thought, right or wrong.  Keep in mind...if you don't like what I'm about to say, sorry.  You chose to read this after reading the disclaimer.  If you're unsure, then go back and read it again:

Why on earth would I wear that?  BECAUSE I CAN AND I EARNED IT!!!  The fact that a handful of women saw me working out and decided it was "inappropriate" and "distracting", then they don't know what the hell they are doing or why they're there.  "Oh my god, look at what she's wearing.  Jesus, she's doing an exercise that is so difficult to do and wearing that?!!  I can't even sit on this machine I'm not even using any longer.  She makes me sick.  I feel it is my civil duty to complain about her top!"  When I workout there, I don't shake my ass.  I don't shimmy my shoulders to make my boobs bounce around.  I NEVER stretch or do exercises that are where I'm horribly on display if anything I'm doing could be looked at as being even remotely provocative.  That just simply isn't my style.

Did it make those women feel better to tattle on my top?  Did it improve their workout skills?  Did it make it so their difficult areas were suddenly gone?  If I worked out in a bikini, I could see how that might be inappropriate and distracting.  Duh.  However, the clothes I wore were specifically developed for what I was doing!!  Otherwise, what's the god damn point that Nike, Reebok, REI, Adidas, Russel, or any other athletic company would make these?  Let's see what makes sense here...

Good

EXACTLY what I wore today, only the top was black.

Normal workout attire...why else is it made?

Um...uh uh.

No, no, no.

Nay!

So, there it is.  Not everyone is built the same way and not everyone can wear the same clothes, but give me a damn break.  If these women worked out at my gym, do I get to say something to the front desk about how my eyes are burning?  Sure I can.  But would I?  Hell no!!!  They are comfortable in what they are wearing...so they are left alone.  As I should be, too!  Whatever...gonna buy a few sheer tank tops to go over my sports bra tops.  They say one word...I just might flip out.  And by flip out, I mean I'll do cartwheels all the way from one side of the gym to the other...then they can complain about how I'm "distracting" or acting "inappropriate".

Burnt Roasted Turkey Drippings

Mmmm...roasted turkey.  Sounds delicious, huh?  Not if it's in your coffee.  Today, I killed my legs at the gym.  I pushed myself to the point of choking back my gag reflexes.  At least an hour past my workout I was coughing because my lungs were wanting to jump out of my throat for the abuse I had just done to my body.  My normal daily routine consists of dropping off Farrah, hitting the gym while guzzling water and apple juice on leg day, protein shake, then off to Mela for coffee and writing.  Well, it was so intense and incorporated massive cardio along with the lifting (anyone who knows me, knows cardio is my nemesis), that I just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep.  That is not an option as it is not part of my day.

Instead of my usual mocha, I went for tea.  I had a feeling if I went for the rich snickers breve, puke was on its way to the carpet at my feet.  I'm an excellent customer and wouldn't want to have that happen.  And if it did, I already told Justin I'd leave it there and take off pretending it didn't just happen.  Public puking is embarrassing!  So, tea it was.

Here's the thing.  There isn't as much caffeine in tea as there is in coffee.  So, I've been nodding off here and there.  I can't do shit when all I want to do is lay my head down and sleep.  Not cool.  So, I went up to the front counter and whined to Justin about what the hell I could do (I was hoping he was going to tell me they sold that 5 hour energy shot).  What he offered me was something I'd never had in my life in all the years I've either worked as a barista, running a coffee shop, or simply drinking coffee for forever.  Taking a shot of espresso.  He made it and handed it to me.  "What do I do with it?  Do I add sugar or something?"  He just shrugged his shoulders and said, "Just throw it back and chase it with your tea."

What?

Did he just give me tequila?

I did as he suggested.  I had no idea how completely disgusting and rancid shots of espresso were.  No idea at all.  See the title of this post?  Yeah.  That is exactly what the flavor of the shot was.  I'm curious if one of the roasted beans they sell is titled "Burnt Thanksgiving Dinner" or "No Gravy Because the Drippings Are All Ash".  Sick, sick, sick and never again.  Am I awake?  Yes, yes I am.  I will give them that.  The task to remain awake was accomplished and here I am typing away about a shitty shot of espresso.  Because that's so important.  Alright, back to work.

I wonder if that shot had the power to give me a bleeding ulcer...I'll find out later.

Getting a Word in Edgewise

I've learned some things over the years that are important life lessons...

One of which is I used to be notorious for interrupting.  I'm not saying I've mastered the skill of keeping my mouth shut and my mind focused on the conversation taking place in front of me 100%, however, I do get to say that I'm much, much better.  I have learned to ask myself if what it is that I want to interrupt with is truly that important and is it important enough to make the other person feel like shit for a few minutes while I throw in my own opinion?  Yeah...not usually.  Unfortunately, others have yet to learn this skill.  Not just learn it...but throw in a little bit of effort to implement it in their daily routine.

Have you ever had a conversation with someone...a totally benign conversation that you want to actually participate in and find that you're listening to a monologue instead...so you try to add a little something to make it a dialogue resulting in a louder volume from the other person?  Yes?  Do you unknowingly find yourself getting louder in the process?  Yes?  Then it's time to just throw in the damn towel.  You will not be a part of this conversation, I have learned.  I get talked at rather than talked with.  Just nod at the person with a smile on your face and remind yourself that whatever fun facts you were planning on sharing are stored nice and neatly in your brain and it's just too bad they didn't zip it for a second and let you interject with some really great stuff.  Given that I like to talk, to communicate, to tell stories, to learn things and debate things...I am the sort of person that requires that dialogue, not monologue.

I did catch myself last night with my brother, being the interrupter.  I had actually listened to what he was saying and what he was talking about, but in my opinion it wasn't flowing with the subject matter at hand.  We were discussing Lithium batteries.  Riveting subject, right?  I was sharing about information that I'd learned to prolong the life of the Lithium battery and he started in about something that was invented by students at WSU.  Of course, I interjected because I felt what I had to say trumped his silly comment of the WSU students and it halted at, "Are you seriously going to interrupt me and not let me even finish what I'm saying?"  Well, holy shit!  Nope. Not interrupting.  Please continue, brother of mine.
He proceeded to tell me about the invention and whatnot, and then I requested permission to piggyback on his topic.  And I still trumped his topic. BAM!!!  Kidding...his info was rad and mine was equally rad and if you put the two rad ideas together, it would be full of epic radness.

Then there are the times when someone is talking and talking and talking and talking and you just want to say a little something, but all you manage to get out is, "Bu...", "I think...", "Um...", "How di...", "Hey...", but all you truly get out is a "son of a bitch mother fucker" under your breath.  They don't hear it of course, because you're polite...just like me.  I've also caught myself pulling at my own hair and throwing myself onto the nearest couch, bed, or board of rusty nails when this happens.  It truly drives me crazy.

So, as I continue to grow and learn....I find that my skills in not interrupting are getting better and I choose to just listen and nod.  Besides, honestly, to be a great communicator, you must be a great listener.  But that goes both ways folks.

P.S.  Not directed to anyone....just reflecting. :)

Mind Blown

Farrah is smart.  I mean...reeeeeeally smart.  In fact, she just read what I wrote.  Just now.  And then just now, again.  And she's laughing while she reads this out loud.  I'm going to have to make her stop reading this so I can keep typing.  (She just asked me, "Why?")

Okay, so obviously she can read... with very little to no help.  She can do her homework and read the directions to herself, she'll grab books and read to herself when she goes to bed, and she can even read a book silently while riding in the car (without getting car-sick!)  We'd been working together on reading the classic Dick and Jane books for a few years.  The school she goes to has worked very hard with her since she started attending, and helped her harness her skills even more.
With her reading, comes writing.  She's learning to spell words and write sentences on her own.  That's two different abilities that come hand in hand.  The fact that she knows how to spell the words and formulate a complete sentence freaks me out!!

Um...she's 6.

Math.  She can freakin' do math!  Not the basic 1+1=2, but 10+4+5=19.  What?!!  And 10-4=6!  Holy shit!! Are you kidding me?!!
I told her I was going to probably stay in Issaquah while she's on her spring break.
Farrah:  "Where's Issaquah?"
Me:       "It's near Seattle."
Farrah:  "Oh, Seattle is in North America."
Me:       "And it's in Washington."
Farrah:  "Washington is next to the Pacific Ocean."

What the hell?!!  Why?!!

Yeah, she's still only 6.

For the longest time, Farrah has wanted to be a paleontologist.  Her desire to know more about dinosaurs and fossils hasn't so much faded as it has simply been put on pause as she puts her focus on living and breathing animals.  She now wants to be a zoologist or ethologist.  Essentially, they're very much the same.  But why the hell do we know that?  Because she wanted to know!  She doesn't like telling people that she simply wants to "study animals and their environment" but what that title of occupation would actually be called.  I mean, what 6 year old wants to sound silly when being asked what they want to be when they grow up?

Most don't care if they sound silly...because it's not silly.

Farrah has memorized pretty much every episode of Wild Kratts from PBS.  She's learned everything from colossal squids to the basilisk lizards.  She and I have watched several shows on animals from NOVA, Discovery, and National Geographic.  Why?  Because she wants to.  She has watched shows on Tigers and has been extremely upset when learning that they are endangered.  When her class spent time learning about them, she interjected and provided more information that her teachers didn't have.  Mind you, her teachers don't hold back with their teaching styles.  When learning about bears, they don't talk about them like they're cuddly little brown bears that like to eat honey, but rather about their habitat, what they hunt and eat, and the dangers they face such as poachers.  Why?  Because they do.
Tonight, Farrah turned to me and out of the blue said, "Did you know that cheetahs can run up to 70 MILES PER HOUR?!!"  Yes, I did know that, but how the hell does she know that?

She's 6!!!

Not only is she learning about these things...she's retaining the information.  It's fucking weird to me!  Awesome as hell, but weird too!  She tells me stuff and I'll say, "YOU'RE FREAKIN' ME OUT!!!" and she'll just laugh at me.  She corrects me when I pronounce an animal wrong. Sorrrrry!  When getting ready in the morning, it takes twice as long now because she's sharing about something she's recently learned about...like planets, a country, a type of tree, an animal and it's lifespan, why the damn sky is blue, how to spell her favorite words, math problems, the difference between mass and liquid, and all the other stuff that has been crammed into her brain.  Oh, and she speaks Spanish, too.

Still only 6.

I'm not bragging (well, yes...yes I am), because she isn't the only child attending this school.  It is a small school so the curriculum is strong with only 12 students in her class.  I'm just floored every time she opens her mouth and something brilliant comes out.  And then...I laugh!  I laugh at her!  Not because I'm making fun of her, but because it's blowing my damn mind!  She just shouted down the stairs something about termites and how important they are and Africa and blah, blah, blah...I have no idea what she's talking about.  However, I trust that whatever she just said was correct information being shared.

The funnest part about her being a smarty-pants is her maturity level is pretty high for her age, making her absolutely rad to be around.  She understands jokes that would go over most kids' heads.  Other than the shows she learns from, she loves the same shows as me.  Not because she wants to like what I like, but she'll watch and actually laugh at the same comedy I watch.  When we laugh at the same time when watching a show, my heart feels like it's going to blow up with pride.  I love that my girl has an incredible sense of humor that she and I can actually shoot the breeze and make each other laugh until we cry because we're enjoying each other's company so much.  We have fun!  There is yet to be a day or night that she and I haven't been in stitches from laughing hysterically with each other.  How freakin' cool is that?  So cool.

Her latest trick?  She gives me directions to places.  She's paying attention enough that I'll let her tell me how to get home, how to get to her school, and how to get to the store.  All I can do is shake my head and smile.  I'm so grateful for such an amazing little person in my life who happens to be my favorite person in the world.

Just now...

Farrah:  "Do you like lions?"
Me:       "Yes, why?"
Farrah:  "Well, people say that lions are nasty, but they're just trying to survive and feed their cubs."
Me:       "Okay."

I love my rad kid.

Awwwwkward

I am doing some research for my book.  Part of that research requires me to look up pictures of men or women who may give me inspiration for a character's "look".  I like to drag a picture or two of the beautiful people out there and put them in a file on my desktop with the character's name on it.  That way, I'm able to go back from time to time and know where some ideas originated from and to provide me with new and fresh ones, too.  Well, since I do most (if not all) my writing at a very public coffee shop, it's very likely someone could walk by and see what is on my computer screen.

Did you know if you looked up "strong male models" you get a whole lot of "naked"?  In many of the pictures, the models are discreet enough to hide their goods, but anyone walking by has to be wondering why on earth I decided to look up porn while here.  I can see that the man business is covered for the most part, but if some passer-byer glimpses at my computer they have to be thinking "Dirty, dirty slut." Maybe not, but that's what I'd be thinking and I just assume everyone thinks the way I do.  Mind you, there is a post in here when I was doing a search for 3" pens and what popped up was a whole bunch of 3" penises.  My computer was not in viewing range at that time...but, still.  Awkward.

So, I've been looking at a whole bunch of half naked or almost completely naked men while in public and SOLELY for research purpose.  And I have found some that have been useful.  However, I look like some filthy perv that is mischievously hunched over and hovering over their computer trying to hide the screen from looky-loo eyes checking me out checking out hot half naked men worth checking out.  It's actually funny how guilty I feel when I'm looking at this, but I am WORKING!  Believe me, I know which sites to visit if I really want to take a peak.  What I'm looking at is not even close to any of those sites.

Now, I am writing my blog to appear that I am "working" on something rather than gawking at the bodies on my screen.  I HAVE to get back to looking at these pictures and I hope no one looks over my shoulder.  Then again, whatever.  So what if I'm looking at nakedness.  I'm not a naive prude.  The point is I don't look at that shit in a coffee shop...that's for the library.

Just kidding!!!  I don't go to the library.

Helping Out at School

Today, I came to Farrah's school to put together a class project for them.  Farrah asks me on a daily basis the following:
Farrah:  "When is spring?!!"
Me:  "It's March 20th."
Farrah:  "How many days until spring?!!"
Me:  "Let's count how many days until...MARCH 20TH."
Farrah:  "WHEN IS THE SNOW GOING TO MELT?!!  WHEN WILL IT BE SPRING, MAMA?!!"
Me:  "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD...SOON!!!"

So, I came up with the idea of having the kids in her class each color two flower petals about the size of their hand.  Each day, one of the kids will take a petal and add it to the outer lining of the center of the flower (which has all their little signatures on it) until they reach March 20th.  At this point, they will see how close they are getting to spring...and the questions will stop.  This was possibly a selfish move on my part to get the questions to go away and stay at school, but at the same time ended up being educational, too.

When I was there, I had to go over the reasons why were doing it and ask the kids questions:

Me:  "What does it mean when it's finally Spring?  What happens?"
Child 1:  "Flowers bloom."
Me:  "That's right!  What else?"
Child 2:  "Flowers start to come out."
Me:  "Yep. That's right. Anything else?"
Child 3:  "Flowers on trees start to show up."
Me:  "Yeah, everything starts to blossom.  You want to know what else happens in spring?  Bears come out of hibernation!"
Everyone:  "GASP!"
Me:  "Oh, and bees start to fly around!"
Everyone:  "GASP!"

Hahahaha...I'm awful.  But shit, c'mon.  These kids need to know that they could be leaning over to smell a flower and notice that there is a bee getting it's pollen and has its stinger pointed right at their nose at the same moment they look up and see a black bear charging for them.  They must be prepared!

Anyway, the project was a huge hit and it will assist in getting the kids ready to actually be excited for upcoming outdoor activities.

Twig's Problem

Twig has a problem that I am not okay with.  Excited pisser.  I love dogs, but I HATE the surprises that come along with them.  I don't like walking into a home that smells like dog pee or cat pee.  Oh shit, does mine smell like that?  How would I know?!!

My conversation with Twig this evening:

Me:  Twig, this, uh, "problem" you have?  I don't like it, and quite frankly I am getting sick of it.

Twig:

Me:  Don't act so surprised, Twig.  This has been going on for a while.  I've had it!

Twig:

Me:  Dammit, Twig!! Look at me when I'm talking to you!!!

Twig:

Me:  That's better.  Now listen up!  I curled up in a blanket this afternoon and it smelled super wonderful like Downy.  It was awesome.  And then I pulled it closer to my face, and guess what I smelled, Twig.  Guess.  Yeah, your nervous dog piss.  At some point you got excited and had an "accident" on purpose on my fucking blanket.  So, what do you suppose I should do about this other than wash the damn thing again?  Huh?  Why can't you answer me?!!  Anyway, I think you got the point.  You should be ashamed of yourself and learn to control this problem of yours better than you are.  It's like you're not even trying.  Sometimes...I think you do it just to get me mad.  Bad dog.

Twig:

End scene.

People Skills

There is a young man that walks up and down Wenatchee Avenue everyday.  He's tall, a little lanky, has an attractive face, a nice smile, and is friendly...when he comes up and asks for "spare change".  Um...really?  Really?



Really??

He knows better than to ask me anymore because I just laugh at him.  "Do you have any spare change?"  Nope!  (Actually, I do and it would probably make my purse lighter, but c'mon.)  When he sees me coming up the hill, he just chuckles and goes to the next customer.  And to his credit, he has managed to convince people to give him money.  AND he hasn't had to expand on his location.  There's something there.  Potential, perhaps?  Yes, I believe so.  I've wondered if I should just scoop him up and take him into the coffee shop, sit him down and ask him what his deal is.  Is he incapable of getting a job?  Can he not move to an area that might have more opportunities?  Is he retarded?  What the hell?  As far as what I can tell, he seems to have excellent people skills and sales abilities.  He could be very useful in any business that required a sales associate or someone in customer service.  However...maybe the pan handling IS his job!  Maybe he's so damn good at this...I should be taking advice from him??

I've often thought what the result would be if I got dressed in one of my "once I was a real estate agent" outfits, great heels, have my hair and makeup all done and stood on the corner of a somewhat busy intersection with a sign that read:  "Don't feel like working."
Might as well be honest about it, right?  I mean, really, who doesn't like someone to cut through the bullshit and just come out with it?  "I don't want to work anymore."  "Lattes are expensive."  "These awesome shoes hurt my feet and I need to get a better pair, but they MUST come from Nordstrom." "I'm saving for a trip to Bora Bora."

I swear to god...I want to do this so bad.  Not even joking.  Why?  Why the hell not?  Is there a rule?  Do I have to look like shit to beg for money.  Okay, wait.  I wouldn't beg.  That's not me.  I wouldn't even ask.  If a car stopped, I'd just put my hand out and say, "Money."  See, no bullshit, no pleading, no unnecessary story telling.  Just the facts.  My hand is out waiting for money to be placed in it.  And no way would I go spend my pan handling money on booze.  That's trashy.  I'd go get my daily mocha because I'm classy like that.

Grandma Virginia

Saturday, January 26th, my Grandma Virginia passed away after a beautiful and long life.  She was a big influence on my life in so many ways that I may not have begun to truly recognize until the end came closer.  I'd always called her "Gramma".  I always had the silly notion that she'd always be around.  She was like my second mother so it seemed natural to believe that.  As her health began to deteriorate, I began to do things that I can honestly say I'm proud that I did.  The book I'm writing...she's in it.  I'd asked her permission when I first started the book, far before she was ill and her only request was that I didn't make her "a lady of the night".  Gross!  Of course not!  But her role in the story is important and I'm so happy she's in it.  I didn't just use her name...it's her.
When she began to grow more and more tired, I took her to her room and brought my computer with me.  I have only shared my story with one person.  I sat with her and essentially read my Gramma asleep as I read her the prologue to my book.  She gasped at moments and let out an, "Oh!" here and there.  I took that as a sign that it was either good...or horrific.  I don't know.  However, knowing Gramma, she liked it.  I also proceeded to tell her the premise of the story and the direction it was going to take.  It was a proud moment for me to be able to share something with her that was quite personal and dear to my heart.

My Grandmother, Virginia Kochrian, was an amazing woman.  Her heart was big, her hugs were strong, and her kisses and "I love yous" were given all the time.  The memories that I have of her are truly endless.  The legacy that she leaves behind is a great one and I can truly say I feel blessed to have had the honor of being one of her many grandchildren.  Gramma was a tough woman with an unbreakable spirit.  When my grandfather passed away, she knew she had her family to pull her through.  And though there was a loss that left a large hole in her heart, the love of everyone in her family pulled her through the tough times.

Grandma Virginia was one of the last "true" grandmothers.  She did things that grandmothers simply don't do anymore.

The wonderful things I remember of my Gramma...

Knitting blankets for every grandchild
Teaching me to knit when I was very young (but it only ever turned out to be a short scarf or small oven mitt)
Laying on Gramma's lap for back rubs while she talked to mom and dad.  If she stopped, I'd jerk my back to remind her I was still there.  This was a constant thing for us.
Candy for when we walked through the door for all of us grandchildren.  Mostly Andes chocolate mints.
Dinner almost every Sunday with Gramma and Grampa.
Gotta finish everything on our plate...if we did, "Good job!" even in my 30s. But always encouraged to eat more, of course.
The beautiful garden she and Grampa tended.
The pink bathroom with green wall paper that always smelt like roses.
The guest room that I'd always stay in if I was sick as a child or needing to get away as an adult...the furniture belonging to my Great Grandma Ruth.
MARINERS!
SEAHAWKS!
COUGARS!
STOCK MARKET!
The wood stove...Don't touch it!  It's hot!  (Why was it where people always had to walk by?)
Lover of gambling, slots were her favorite.
Dancer
Strawberry blonde hair
Our drive to California and talking the entire drive.  We didn't turn the radio on even once.  I learned so much about family history.  We had a plantation?!!  Wow!
Gramma and WebTV and the discovery of Col. Fribley from the Civil War on the internet.
Her chair and Grampa's chair.
Me choking on an ice cube while she and mom ran around frantically trying to get me warm water. I got out myself.
Her humming along to her music.
Her locket with Grampa's ashes placed inside.
Gramma sneaking into the delivery room thinking I wouldn't notice...I did.  No way I was kicking her out when she wanted to see the birth of one of her great grandchildren.
Farrah and Gramma sharing moments for years with her locket. Farrah was so fascinated by it.
Remembering Grampa's reaction to the locket when Dianne said how much it was (for their anniversary)...I thought he was going to have a heart attack right then.
After Grampa passed away, Gramma and I still had the tradition of calling each other...she'd wish me a happy birthday and I'd wish her a happy anniversary.  It was a special date we shared.  We never stopped doing it.  (Not sure who I'm calling this year...)
Rhubarb sauce
My favorite cookies she'd bake (one had potato chips in it!)
Spending hours going through photo albums with her.  She'd tell stories about her friends that I didn't know, but I always listened because she loved her friends so much and always wanted to share stories.
The light-up globe and always looking it over.
The wooden blocks.
The arc.
Falling from the yellow stool to hit my cheek on the corner of one of the wooden chairs, leaving a permanent scar on my right cheek bone.  I love it!  I curled up on the couch, on the pea green pillow, wrapped up in one of her knit blankets until mom could rush me out to the dr.
Holidays!  Christmas and Easter were always so special.
Dinah!
Cherry pies, Boisenberry pies, Peach pies
Making jams
Flodda mornings
She looooved sweet pickles.  I wasn't a fan, but I indulged with her.
The awesome sandwiches she'd make because I stopped by and she figured I must be hungry.  Last favorite sandwich was a pork sandwich made from Chinese pork slices, spicy mustard, and lettuce.  So good!
Newspaper clippings.
Romance novels.
Polished rocks.
Mirrors in her bedroom that made it look like I was part of the Rockets...I'd dance and kick my legs on her bed and my several reflections followed suit.  We were a fantastic group of dancers!
Sitting out on the back patio under her giant fuscias.
Strawberry milk.
Vacations to Hawaii.
The trip to Maui with just me and Breann.

My list can go on forever, and who knows, I might come in from time to time and add to it.

But my very favorite memory of her and Grampa was when Breann and I went to Maui with them, and Grampa chased Gramma around the condo pinching her butt.  I was 12 and remember thinking...I want that in my life.  This is the type of love I want to have.  Forever love.  They were two people that I looked at and could feel their love for one another no matter what.

Gramma, I will miss you dearly.  However, knowing that you are joining Grampa warms my heart and comforts me.  I have more memories than many people have of their grandmothers, and I truly feel blessed for that.  You were an awesome woman, strong willed, and compassionate.  Your qualities and strengths are ones I hold onto and hope I inherited.

I love you forever.

I will miss you, Gramma.

Fumes...

Oh God.
Oh no.

I'm just sitting here trying to enjoy a delightfully unhealthy raspberry muffin and two ladies walked in and sat by me smelling of every flower, plant, tree, weed, and probably fertilizer known and unknown to mankind.
Cough! Cough!  Hack! Hack!
Holy shit.  I'm suffocating.  I can taste their perfume!  It's tastes a tad like what I imagine Windex to taste like.  You know, poisonous.
Should I call poison control?  Have I inhaled too much?  Is this going to cause permanent damage?  Dammit, every time they make any movements it wafts over to me.  I'm sure it's getting into the muffin. Should I stop eating it?  But I'm fucking starving.
Cough! Cough!  Hack! Hack!
It doesn't even smell good.  You know, I can handle strong perfumes to a point, but when it's this strong and directly 3 feet away from my nostrils...it is almost impossible.  It reminds me of a woman who was in my culinary arts class who was a raging alcoholic and tried to "hide" the leftover stink with half a bottle of cheap-ass rose scented perfume.  Horrific memories just relived, without the gin.

Hey ladies, go take a shower with an SOS pad and burn your clothes.  Don't come in here smelling like that shit again.  Quality, not quantity.  You failed...twice.

What Am I 12 Or Something?

I looooove music.  Love it.  Music has found a way to get me through some rough times, it has helped inspire me to do really cool things, and it has given me energy when I've been completely drained.  But lately, my taste in music has...I don't know...changed?  I'm not sure how, though.  I enjoy listening to Pandora.  I listen everyday when I write and when I take Farrah to school.  Different stations, mind you.  My writing requires music that is current, but has a smooth and sexy sound to it.  When I'm with Farrah or at home needing that extra energy boost, then it's the up beat, dance-my-ass-off music.  However, I've found a pattern along the way that has suddenly come to my attention no matter what station on Pandora I'm listening to.

Oh, wow, I love this song!  I'm going to give it a "thumbs up".  I'm going to download it from iTunes!  Who is this?
One Direction?
What?  Who is that?  A boy band.  Hmmm.  Okay.

Oooo, another great song!  The lyrics are pretty good and sweet.  Who is this?
One Direction?  Again?  Okay.  Download.

Wow! This song is so fun and upbeat and it makes me feel like dancing like a maniac.  Who is this?
One Direction?  What the fuck?  Okay.  Download.

Aw, I'm having a sad day, but something about this song is making me feel so much better.  Who is this?
Wait...let me guess.  One Direction.  Jesus H. Christ, what's happening to me?!!  Okay.  Download.

Ummm...these are boys.  Young boys.  Is it even legal for me to enjoy songs by them when they're singing about some other dude screwing their ex-girlfriend. (I assume they share her because they're all singing about the same girl in the same song).  Luckily, I've seen that they are of legal age to be screwing a girlfriend or the same girlfriend, or whatever.

It's just a little weird to me that I truly do enjoy their music, but there's a piece of me that wonders if I'm not just trying to relive my past a bit...

Yeah.  I think that is a good possibility.

Distracted

When is it difficult to write a book?  When you're sitting next to a group of old ladies discussing...a book.  I'd seen the one woman start moving tables and chairs together and I knew what was coming next.  More old women to join her...right next to my table.  A book club.  And since they can't hear well, they talk loud.  Like, real loud.  I saw an open table clear across the coffee shop and started to gather my stuff in desperation to quickly move so I could actually get some work done without this distraction.  No such luck.  Another lady had walked in and took it.  In fact, she made eye contact with me when I looked at her with my computer and cord in hand and then she pretended like she didn't just totally steal my table to save me from the book club next to me.  Real nice.  I should've taken the crumbs from the scone I just ate and made a trail away from the table to lure her away from my table, but I figured that might have been going over the top and I could find a way to survive this.
And here I sit, blogging instead of writing my book because I am distracted.  The women are talking about the book, one of their daughters' wedding coming up, how to email, and their lunch.  During all of this, there is loud music playing today and I am directly under a speaker.  So, to drown it all out I have my earbuds in and the volume up with Coldplay vibrating against my eardrums.
All of this is a mix of not-gonna-get-shit-doneness.  I'll attempt it again, but I'm concerned what I've worked so hard on will suddenly seem like an eight year old wrote it.  It might already be like that, but I'm just sayin'.

Ladies, please wrap it up so I can, too.

Dinner...

I went to a local little drive-thru 50s style restaurant for dinner this evening.  Fine dining for me and Farrah!  I ordered our meals and we pulled up to wait...and wait, and wait, and wait.

Farrah:  What's taking so long?  This is sooooo boring!

Me:  Honey, I ordered the fish sandwich so they had to send someone out to the river to catch it, gut it, and clean it.  They're on their way back now to cook it.  (All with a straight face)

Farrah:  But...wait...what? What???  Huh??

Me:  Everything is fresh here, Farrah, so we just have to wait.  (Now starting to laugh a little at myself)

Farrah:  Mom, are you serious?  You're not serious, are you?  You're laughing.

Then I burst out laughing hysterically.  I kept picturing some guy walking back from the river with a fishing pole and the "catch of the day" and her believing every word.  It's just too easy sometimes...and I can be very convincing when telling her stories.

Dayum!

How do you not laugh when a child swears?  Really.  We're playing Wii bowling, I got a spare, and Farrah says, "DAMN RIGHT YOU DID!!!"

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing."

"Seriously, I need to know so I can correct it.  Did you just say damn?"

"I think...um...yeah."

"Well, don't say that."

That's how I went about "correcting" it and proceeded to laugh with her asking me not to laugh at her.

Damn, she's hilarious!

What's-Her-Name's Wedding Shower

I'm 95% positive I've never written about this, and I am utterly disappointed with my lack of awareness of such an important story.  Mind you, there's still that 5%.  I may have written about it...but I doubt it.

This is not a story about my wedding shower, but rather someone else's.  Years ago, when we joined Gold's Gym in Smokey Point, Mike made a friend that he worked out with from time to time.  They became buddies and decided that maybe the women should meet.  Excellent idea.  We had dinner at our house and it was awkward but fine.  We were later invited to a 4th of July neighborhood party at their place by the guy.  Their neighbors were dicks.  One told us a story about how his cat had pissed him off so he grabbed it by the tail, swung it around and through it outside.  Everyone there thought this was hilarious...HAHAHAHAHA!  Idiot.  Though, I'm not one for confrontation (especially a complete stranger who's patio I was sitting on), I had to educate him in front of everyone.

"Did you know when you grab a cat by its tail, you're grabbing his spine?  So when you flung your cat out the door by his tail, you were actually doing so with a part of his anatomy that keeps him alive and moving."

It got quiet annnnnnd a little awkward after that.  I had already decided about 5 minutes in, I would probably never see these losers again anyway, so who cared?  I remember going in with what's-her-name (Mike's friend's fiancé) to discuss drinks or something stupid like that.  She seemed very socially retarded.  The dumb fireworks were done and we were heading home.  Mike had been invited by his friend to go golfing for the bachelor party.  The day before that, I got a call from what's-her-name (see, not even important enough for me to remember) also inviting me to her wedding shower.  What?  Why?

Ugh.  I even remember hearing the obligation in her voice when she was inviting me...which only made me want to go more!  Hell yes I was going to go to her wedding shower that she actually didn't want me to go to!  Then she hit me with this:
What's-her-name:  "Well, it's a naughty themed wedding shower that my girlfriends wanted to put together."
Me:  "So, what, like playful or dirty stuff?"
What's-her-name:  "Hahaha! Yeah, like that.  Sorry, I know we don't know each other well, but I wanted you to at least know the theme so you didn't feel left out."
Me:  "Oh thank you!  That could've been weird. Haha!  See you tomorrow!"

Next day...
I went to Lover's Package (back when it was still called that) and it took me forever to pick out anything.  I didn't know this girl!!  I didn't know her friends!!  If it were up to me, she'd get some weird vibrator along with some whips and chains, but I didn't know shit about her.  Not even her damn name!!  I went for some candles, lotions, kuma sutra book, and a handful of condoms to decorate part of the outside of the gift bag with.
Got to the party and immediately regretted my decision to be spontaneous and go to this chick's place.  Everyone there was her mother, mother-in-law to be, grandmothers, aunts, cousins, older sisters, and a handful of younger girls about my age.

Oh shit...what was the theme of this "party" again?

I mingled to the best of my ability.  I actually sat next to a girl who asked me how well I knew What's-her-name, and I told her how well and she started to chuckle.  She told me she had only just met her about a month prior and had no clue why she was there.  What?  Was this girl like some wedding shower gift whore?  Terrible.

Present time!!!  As the presents started to get opened, my panic attack started to set in just as it should have.  I turned to the other unexpected guest and asked her what the hell was going on and that I'd been told it was a "naughty" party.  She looked just as uncomfortable as me and said she'd been told the same thing, but played it safe.  DAMMIT!  One after another:  aprons, appliances, dish towels, new glassware, etc were being opened.  I could feel myself getting sweatier and sweatier (and I don't sweat).  There it was.  Amongst the flowery gift bags with pink ruffly ribbons, was my BLACK scandalous gift bag with black and purple ribbon with condom packets mischievously dangling off the sides...and it was next.

And here's where I got pissed...
What's-her-name:  "Um...is this going to be appropriate for me to open in front of my family?" in a tone that was full of Mean Girl-ism.  I wanted to punch her in the throat.
Me:  "I guess we'll see, hmm.  I know what type of party I was told this would be so I hope you like what I got you!"

It was innocent enough and it worked out fine for me, because her dumb friends' gifts were last and were only a little worse than mine...but they KNEW her.  Well, ready to go home.  Wait.  I was blocked in.  And horribly so.  I didn't want to be a pain in the ass, so I accepted the bullshit wedding shower prison I was in...for about 5 minutes when I thought I was just going to hop in my car and drive over the grass and through the rose garden to get the hell out of there.  I announced I needed to go and unfortunately for everyone else, it required several of them to get off their asses and rearrange the parking so I could get the eff out.

I never saw her again.  And good god damn riddance.  She was a total douche bag.  And sorry, I was not going to waste one more second on this person that was breathing the same air as me.  Needless to say since we bought them a gift, we were invited to the wedding...which we respectfully declined.

Not my best work...but I was distracted by mentally reliving that nightmare.

Scumbag Santa

I have to rant a bit about Santa this year...or rather, one of Santa's helpers.  I felt the need to put this entry off...just in case the real Santa found this to not be "nice".
This year, we put off seeing Santa with Farrah for reasons I still don't understand...laziness perhaps?  That sounds about right.
Anyway, while on the dark side of the mountains, I decided to take her to my favorite Santa.  The Santa at the Alderwood Mall.  He is SO real!  I saw him when I was pregnant with Farrah and he was the Santa Farrah saw for the first time.  We'd never gone back simply because it was always so far out of the way and because the line to see him made me think I was in line for the Mr. Toad ride at Disneyland...the ride no one wants to go on.
This year, we went the morning of Christmas Eve (which by the way, is the best time to go do your last minute shopping because no one is there and everything is on sale).  We got in line which was crazy short, and Farrah and I began to discuss what she was going to ask Santa for Christmas and I had reminded her to let him know how good she'd been this year.  As we made our way around a corner, one of the Elf "helpers" came up and asked Farrah what she was going to ask Santa for.
"I want an iPad!"
"Oh, I don't know if we'll be able to help you with that.  We only make toys."
Uhhh...what the hell did she just say?  I figured I'd let it slide because she must have been drunk.
We began to make our way up closer to Santa, and Farrah was getting more and more eager.  I kept asking her to keep her list going so she was sure not to forget anything she wanted to share with the jolly old man.  Also, I reminded her again of how very good she was this year and she should be proud to tell him that.
It was our turn next.
Farrah sat with Santa who looked about as perfect and wonderful as you would expect him to be like he was the last times I saw him.  Simply the best Santa.
But then...he blew it.
Santa:  What would you like for Christmas?
Farrah:  I would like to have my very own iPad.
Santa:  Well, I only make toys so I'm not sure I can do anything there. (in a bored voice, mind you)

What. The. Fuck?  In my mind, the thoughts of "I will kill you Santa! KILL YOU UNTIL YOU ARE DEAD!!!" kept going through my mind.  In the very least, I wanted to kick him in the God Damn shin.

Farrah:  I'd also like to have real dinosaur bones!
Santa:  Uhhh, I don't know how I'll be able to help you.

Hey Santa!  Why don't you go sit on a giant candy cane and spin on it!!!  Yes, this is ugly, but I swear my daughter will NEVER see that jackass EVER again.

So, am I to assume that when a child asks this Santa to help make his dying brother with cancer better, his response will be, "Sorry, we only make toys.  Good luck with that!"
Or, "My dad is fighting in Afghanistan, please bring him home soon."  He'll be sure to say, "You'll need to ask for toys.  I only make toys!"
Screw you fake asshole Santa!
You may not be able to make every kid's request a reality, but it is your fucking duty to fake that shit and make those kids feel special and filled with a little bit of hope.  Even if it is for something as silly as an iPad.  It wasn't silly to Farrah and neither were her dinosaur bones.

In the future, she will not be subjected to the evil lies that come out of the Alderwood Mall Santa's stupid face.  In his old age, he has become awnry, crotchety, Grinchy, and a ruiner of Christmas for any child that asked for, heaven forbid, anything more than a toy truck or a doll.  An absolute dream killer.

Do NOT ever see this guy.  He's crusher of Christmas joy!

See what I mean?

In the end...the real Santa made good by our little girl.  YES she got her iPad!  Not only that, her Uncle Steve and Auntie Bree bought Farrah fossils.  Did she have a wonderful Christmas? Yes she did!  I KNOW she let what came out of Fake Santa's mouth pass from one ear out the other because she knew what she wanted.  She's proof that even at that age, you can still dream and still believe.  She did and she got what she asked for.  Merry Christmas Farrah!  

P.S.  

Dear crappy asshole fake Santa:  I think it's time to hang up your own stockings and retire.  You're so done.