Can we talk about cash for a minute?

 

Can we talk about the ginormous lottery jackpots that people win?

 

Can we play fantasy and pretend it's all ours to spend?

 

Last week someone won $300 million in Powerball. Last night there was $250 million up for grabs in MA, and no one won, which means some lucky duck will clear about $300 if they win on Friday. I can't even fathom that amount of cash. It's disgusting. I wish the lottery would split big pots like that so instead of $300 mil you now have a chance to win one of three $100 million pots.

 

But anyways.

 

I play the lottery...I put out about five bucks a week here and there. I've worked out a pretty solid plan for when (yes, WHEN) I win (positive thinking y'all!). Let's say I win the jackpot on Friday. After the shock of a worry-free future passes maybe the Man and I go out for some ridiculous meal and toast our giddyness. We walk on clouds for the rest of the weekend. When next week approaches we contact a lawyer-dude for advice, we contact the lottery headquarters and ask how to claim it anonymously (seriously- why do people splash their identities everywhere under the heading WE JUST WON BIG MONEY?), we get the bucks, and we're OUT!

 

Automatically I would set some aside for charity, because if you have it I believe you should share it. Our phones would be shut down, we would temporarily move into a hotel with the birdies, and start our new life. My co-worker and I have a 15% share plan, meaning if (when) one of us wins the other gets that percentage. I have a handful of other co-workers that I would free from their cubicles so they could go find the work that would make them really happy. We would show the love to family and treasured friends, and after that it's selfish time.

 

A yacht is in order - a year hitting different ports and enjoying their shopping and restaurants would be a blast before settling down in some ridiculously beautiful manor. The Man would probably channel Trump and start investing in real estate. I would love to start breeding parrots, and with the money to afford the best of the best I would have the coolest aviary. I would also love to follow the Red Sox for a season, in some huge custom-built airstream-winnebago-type travel vehicle, just swing around the states and drink a beer in every ballpark, that would be a good time. Watching the Pats play from the best seats every Sunday? Always being at the Superbowl? All fun. There's cars to be purchased and pimped, there would be a personal chef in our kitchen, and a million other little luxuries to be played with. Best of all, knowing that you never need to worry about money again, what a freeing feeling. 

 

I'm sure there's a dark side to all of it. You have to stay anonymous for as long as possible, but if words leaks I'm sure there are people at your door all day long asking for 'just a little bit', and 'why don't you invest in this'. They say money is the root of all evil, and I've seen the articles of past lottery winners that just couldn't handle it and ended up with nothing. Zero. That's a depressing thought. Would it strain a relationship? Would it tear families apart? Sure, I guess, greed does wacky things to people.

 

What's that saying...be careful what you wish for?

 

 

Um...

 

 

 

Now if we could only get Lindsay Lohan tossed in there with you. And Paris. And the rest of these idiot girls...

 

A note on road rage. Last night on our way home we were on the highway. We both noticed this little silver honda appear, he weaved into the fast lane, noticed they weren't going fast enough for him, and slid into the middle lane, and then the right lane. In the right lane he got caught up again behind a driver and slid back into the middle lane - barely missing a black volkswagon. I don't even know how he made the lane switch without touching bumpers - it was ridiculous, and the Man and I were just shaking our heads. The honda, with nowhere to go, went back into the right lane and sped up; the volkswagon driver, after apparently trying to decide, slid into the right lane and gave chase. We watched the VW put his brights on and he stayed on the honda's ass as they went into the middle lane, and finally into the fast lane. The honda was stuck behind a driver and the VW was RIGHT on his tail, with his brights on, and I was both pissed and nervous at the same time. Pissed because we were at our exit and I wouldn't be able to see how it ended..and nevous, because those things always end badly and it makes me think about my own driving...not that I would pull nonsense like the honda, but still - everyone gets aggravated on the road - but you never know who you're going to piss off.

 

I was on the highway a few years ago, just driving my drive, and I switched from the fast lane to the middle lane. As I switched a guy did the same thing from the right lane to the middle - but he was a half second slower, so I completed my switch and he had to adjust. He got PISSED like I cut him off and was on my ass for the next 20 minutes. I continued to drive my normal drive, switching lanes when I wanted, and keeping my speed, all the while watching him go NUTS in his car....hand gestures, spitting and yelling, the whole nine. We came to a highway merge, and I went to my route and he followed. I was about four exits away and at this point I started to wonder if he was going to follow me the entire way home. I was still doing my thing - I easily could have thrown him a brake job or two- but as he was already fired up I didn't want to aggravate the situation any further...being just a chick and all. I called the Man, who's brother was over our place at the time, and told him that I had a jackass on my tail and if he came into the condo with me I needed both of them outside waiting. Fortunately when I took my exit the guy didn't follow and I got home with no issues....and pretty much popped a beer the minute I walked in.

 

Has anyone else had any nonsense like that? Does it change your driving?

 

 

So, yeah, three weeks ago our little Lucy popped out egg #2. Thankfully this one came out while she was in her cage instead of over a hardwood floor, so she was able to care for it properly instead of watching it crash on the floor like egg #1.

 

Sadly, it's not fertilized. Well, that's not really sad - because she wasn't 'trying'. It's more awkward, because she's been sitting on it night and day since it arrived, and there ain't nothin' coming out of it. Except breakfast.

 

Kidding.

 

And gagging a little.

 

Anyways, 'they' say ('they' being the random bird know-it-alls who live in the computer) that you should let the bird do what they naturally do for about three weeks or so, and then remove the egg. Unless you're one of the lucky owners and your bird has already lost interest. Ours hasn't, and I'm a little nervous to take her downstairs for fun playtime while really we're just getting her out of the way so we can steal the egg. I don't want to watch her come back in the cage, look for it, and get confused, because I'll cry. I'm a big softie when it comes to animals.

 

So, for the meantime I'm letting her stay with the egg. Maybe one more week. And because everyone likes bird photos....(cue the big !YES WE DO! from bloggers everywhere) here is little Lucy with the egg nestled under her chest feathers:

 

                            

 

She's a cutie, but she's also starting to get the 'how long do I sit on this fcking thing for?' face. I don't blame her.

 

 

The carpet on our stairs is worn, and it would look awesome if we ripped it out and put hardwood stairs in.

 

But all I keep imagining is me trotting down the stairs, slipping on the wood in my socks, and ending up in a crumpled heap on the bottom. Unable to limp to my cellphone. I have to pee. Also in this scenario the Man is gone. Probably for many hours. What a sad picture.

 

Am I the only person with these wooden stairs fears?

 

 

 

Grabbing the ice tray on the top for some frozen cubes, and realizing too late that the particular tray you grabbed was just filled and put in there, which immediately explains the not-cold water that splashed down your front and is currently pooling by your feet.

 

Losing your grip on your mascara wand while in the midst of a rushed have-to-be-out-of-the-house-NOW morning, feeling it hit your eyelid and seeing the dark black splotch that just covered your already-applied eyeshadow and realizing you now have to waste more precious minutes to clean and correct this nonsense.

 

Having absolutely NO idea where you left your car keys the night before; you tell yourself they're always dropped by the door when you come in but maybe you had them when you said hi to the Man in the living room or possibly when you went all the way upstairs to see the birds and no, they're not in either room and where where where are they because you're starting to bead with frustration and you're all ready to go and be only 10 minutes late but really where the FUCK are those keys!!!

 

Getting your favorite meal together to eat on the couch while you get ready to watch one of your favorite shows and when you find it on the DVR menu and click play there's just a blank screen, why is there a blank screen where So You Think You Can Dance should be - then you see the message pop up that FOX has put it on another FOX affiliate station for NO GOOD REASON and now you're out a good show and your tasty meal is wasted while you flip impatiently through all the channels just praying for something good to show up and make you forget your plans to call FOX and bitch them out for screwing you during week 3 of the competition.

 

Receiving a call at 4:45PM from a co-worker who needs something done before you go, and you know you can't even put it off until the next day because it's actually something that needs to be done - and of course it's on the day you actually HAD to be out at 5 and as you grit your teeth and imagine what the co-worker would look like after you grate his face on an uneven concrete slab you try to fire through the task as quickly as possible while trying to stifle the rage.

 

Watching your team blow two should-have-won-but-choked games thanks to your newly acquired 'awesome' pitcher from Texas whose last name starts with GAG and who has YET to prove himself but really needs to start because all of a sudden the SPANKEES have woken up and are actually starting to win games and threaten our first place lead in the American league.

 

Spilling your drink on your keyboard at work. So annoying I don't even have to elaborate.

 

Trying to get more than two squares at a time of toilet paper off the roll in your work restroom but you can't because the roll doesn't turn all the way it stops three quarters of the way around each time and even though you realize this is on purpose to try and stop the waste of paper you don't care about that at the moment because you're just fucking sitting there snapping off two squares, and watching it not turn, snapping off two squares, and watching it not turn, snapping off two squares, and watching it not turn...

 

Experiencing joy that the minivan driver in front of you who has been torturing you by driving five miles under the speed limit for the past ten minutes had started to blink left, meaning she's leaving the road! and then realizing that she's slowing just before the turn why? why? oh that's right, because she's letting the FUCKING LUMBER TRUCK pull out on the road IN MY LANE before she turns and if I thought my commute was painful before it's now practically unbearable as I slow to a ridiculous speed and WISH I could climb back up to five miles under the speed limit and the whole time I wonder if that was payback from her to me for tailgating her ass but I have to stop those thoughts because they are getting in the way of my psychic message that I'm desperately sending to the lumber truck driver to TURN TURN PLEASE TURN PUT YOUR BLINKER ON YOU HAVE TO TURN JUST TURN JUST MAKE A TURN LEAVE THE ROAD AND TURN PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!

 

 

When I was in third grade I won a spelling bee with the word 'blossom'.

 

I consider myself a great speller.

 

I can't spell half the words in the National Spelling Bee, so I won't say I'm an amazing speller.

 

But generally, I'm pretty good.

 

So imagine my recent surprise when I found out I've been spelling a word wrong.

 

The word is 'refrigerator'.

 

Or as I used to spell it, 'refridgerator', with a 'd'.

 

I based this on the abbreviated term 'fridge', which is spelled with a 'd'.

 

And I figured this 'd' translated to the spelling of the full word.

 

It doesn't.

 

And now I know.

 

 

 It's almost 9pm, and we just called Papa Gino for a delivery of some tasty italian food. I know, big deal right? Until I tell you that it will be the second trip to our pad for Papa Gino today, as I'm still digesting the pizza they brought us a few short hours ago.

 

Kudos to the dude who just took our most recent order for not mocking me with 'Weren't we there this afternoon?'.

 

Our defense for this piggish behavior? We're wicked hungover. We pulled out a big 80's card last night.

 

Yesterday we were bumming around the house trying to figure out what we wanted to do for the evening...maybe dinner out? A movie? I was watching the end of Thelma & Louise upstairs around 4-ish when I remembered that Def Leppard was playing near us last night, with Foreigner and Styx. The Man had nixed the concert earlier this summer as we saw both Styx and Def (am I cool when I call them simply 'Def'?) last year. However when I slinked downstairs after watching Geena and Susan clasp hands while driving off the cliff I said 'wanna go see Def Leppard tonight?' to which the Man said 'you know what? That would be a good time!'

 

We live near where they were playing and we called up the arena to find out the only tix they had left were sucky. The Man called his ticket guy buddy and scored two tickets about twelve rows from the front, in the center section - Sweet! We both showered up, I slapped on a random outfit pulled from the folded pile of laundry that permanently resides on the bedroom floor (as I hate putting it away), and we left house; me with wet hair, no make-up, and only my wedding rings.

 

We got to the concert place about 5:30, found the ticket guy, and waited in line to get inside. Once in we found some food and got our drink on.

 

Nine beers (for me) and equal amount Rum drinks (the Man) later we were deaf from the music, hoarse from screaming the words, and giddy that all three bands played only the songs that the sold-out crowd wanted to hear. It rocked solid, and I'm pretty sure when Joe Elliot finished with 'Thank you Boston we'll be back next year!!!' that he heard me yell 'Yeah Joe - see you then!!!!' in my best I-have-a-huge-beer-buzz-here's-a-WOO!-to-prove-it girl scream.

 

After stopping to pee in the cleanest porta-potty I think I've ever seen we sat in the parking lot for about 40 minutes before finally escaping and headed to a chinese restaurant for some late night food. After gorging on pot stickers, crab rangoons, and chow mein we headed home where I stumbled through the process of covering the bird cages before shutting my eyes for the night.

 

We both woke up with spinning heads and have pretty much been stuck to the couches all day today. I had big plans today that included laundry and cleaning, predictably those went out the window the minute we bought tickets to the show.

 

We don't stock salty or sweet junk in the house as neither one of us can handle knowing such tasty items exist in our cupboards. We sipped coffee and I heated up some crab rangoons earlier today, but the call for pizza was hard to ignore and we finally gave in. A little while ago we were both digging through our cupboards hoping to find some sort of sugar-laden snack hiding in the depths, but we didn't and the second Bring Us Food Please call went out just minutes ago.

 

As we wait for the delivery I've already mentally planned my outfit for tomorrow morning. I expect to feel huge and bloated and have a pair of fat-pants waiting for me in the aforementioned pile of clothes upstairs.

 

Woo!

 

Do you think the delivery guy will trade new food for empty pizza boxes and toss them in the dumpster on his way out?

 

 

A few months ago I was watching some mindless TV when an ad came on for an exercise tape, Core Rhythms. It showed hot in-shape dancers strutting through some salsa and other latin dance moves, while breaking every few seconds for a statement from 'someone who used the tape and totally toned their body!'. I absolutely love to dance to any type of music; latin music especially. In St. Thomas I would often turn the satellite radio to salsa beats and rock out for an afternoon. So for someone with a lazy ass but a love for latin dance this exercise tape sparked my interest.

 

I went online and researched their website - which was pretty sparse of information. I then Googled them and found a website full of people bitching about the company. Apparently when you buy online or call their 800 # they charge your card for more than you initally thought, then excuse the charge by explaining you're really buying into a new lifestyle with exercise coaches, and more DVDs etc. I guess if you choose to cancel it takes forever, and the whole time they call you endlessly with more offers. Should you try and call them back it's near impossible to get someone live and the whole process left all of these people red with fury.

 

With all of this new knowledge I went to Ebay, found the one DVD I wanted, and purchased it for about 10 bucks. It came in the mail about, oh, a couple of months ago, and it's been collecting dust until I finally opened it this past Wednesday night.

 

Forty-five hot, sweaty minutes later my abs were sore, my legs were sore, my arms were sore; I was red faced and LOVING it. What a cool workout! The moves were all about your waist and hips and I was feeling it all day yesterday, and I LOVE when your muscles have that 'Thanks for working us' feeling. It made me feel energized.

 

So, the moral of this small Friday story?

 

A- Do your research online before you buy ANYthing, and always remember your friend EBAY.

 

B- I played tennis twice last week, and will be rocking through my exercise tape for the second time today, which means I have broken the workout seal and am now In The Zone. Which rocks. Because I love feeling like I'm doing good for my body.

 

C- This has nothing to do with anything, but please remember only YOU can prevent forest fires.

 

Enjoy your weekend!

 

 

I almost hit you this morning, and as I swerved to miss you I saw you throw your hands up in disgust at our close call. That's interesting, because instead of fuming and scowling you should be thanking your lucky stars I didn't sqeal to a stop, get out of my car, and give you a proper speaking to.

 

Let's review the events that led up to this shall we?

 

I was the last car in a row of nine, all rolling along at about 40, perhaps 43 mph. I'm behind a big maroon van, and because I know he's also behind people and can't control our speed I'm not tailgating (for once); instead I'm almost two (Mini) car lengths behind him.

 

As the lake replaces the houses on our left we all slow to under 40 to navigate the curvy stretch of road. The road winds to the left and I notice the maroon van slide over the yellow line as he drives around the curve. Believing he's just driving lazy I remain on my side of the road as I enter the curve, only to notice you appear in my vision to the immediate right of my car once the van has passed you.

 

'Shit!' I exclaim, as my mind immediately realizes why maroon van crossed the line. I quickly swerve to the left as I pass you and the moment is over.

 

Reasons you deserve a beat down:

 

- Ignoring the fact that there is a sidewalk you are jogging IN THE ROAD! Your equally old buddy is safely on the sidewalk, why aren't you? Is it so you can jog next to each other? And chat over the 2 feet of grass that separates the Safe Sidewalk from the Unsafe Road? MORON.

 

- It's POURING rain, which means A) our visibility is somewhat depleted B) I have my wipers slapping back and forth further interrupting my vision C) You have most likely been splashed by the 9 cars ahead of maroon van and I, and yet you remain on the road. That's just stupid.

 

- I don't care WHO you are, when you are biking or jogging on a CURVY road with vehicles swishing by you and you see a big van (maroon or otherwise) coming towards you please have the common sense to realize that whoever is behind the big van may not have a clue you're there and GET YOUR SAGGY OLD ASS OFF THE ROAD! There is an exception to this, and forgive me if I don't realize that you're the one person with the ability to see through metal, in which case you did see me. However, on the off chance that you do not possess the power of x-ray vision I'm going to have to stick with my first thought, and call you a MORON.

 

- As we roll into the road by the lake the width of the road shrinks substantially, meaning if there was a line of traffic coming the other way it would quicky turn into a circus as we would have to slow and speed up in order to squeak by you while trying not to hit cars on the other side. Do you even realize this? Perhaps it will take a fender-bender and some road rage for your aged brain to realize that when you are presented with a sidewalk you should be ON it, not PARALLEL with it.

 

 

 

 

 

We met on the internet just a couple of months ago. I remember it well, although I'm not sure you do. You're metal and paint you see, without the capability of thought.

 

But I digress.

 

I was instantly smitten with your pocket-size body and cute pimp options, sadly I didn't know if we would have a future. You came with something I had never worked with; five gears that I would have to push you through. Manually. 'Ouch!' I thought to myself, 'she's too sweet and tiny, surely I will grind her into the cement with my rookie shifting!'

 

The Man was also a big fan of you. During the day while I was at work he would play with you on the internet, fixing you up with pretty stripes and rally lights. When I came home he would show me what he had done with you, and I sighed with desire. We called up the people you were with and told them we wanted to bring you home.

 

We had driving lessons. I didn't do well. The Man was hopeful. I cried. The Man gritted his teeth. I cried some more. The Man told me he was going to send you to someone else. I dug my heels in and gave myself a stern talking to. And finally I learned the steps I would need to rock and roll you. The Man grinned. As did I.

 

The Man came to pick you up and bring you home. As you pulled into your new spot I came out to greet you, and was instantly in love all over again. You were so much more cuter in person! So brightly colored and ready to show yourself off to the world! The Man zipped us to an empty parking lot and as I slid into the driver's seat I curled my fingers around your perky gear shift for the first time. It felt just right. To me.

 

You, of course, likely felt none of this.

 

And so I present you with a small list of Why I  You:

 

- You are a peppy chick and like to move as much as I do

 

- Although I've stuttered through my few stalls you've stayed by my gear-ignorancy and trusted that I would finally find the right one

 

- Your top comes off in under three minutes, slower than your typical spring breaker, but still fast enough for me

 

- You've been patient while we decorated you with the Union Jack flag, bonnet stripes, and various 'chrome' peel and stick accessories

 

- The boot in your cheeky little ass has just enough space for my stuff

 

- The fact that you weigh about 3000lbs makes me feel better about your tiny size

 

- Speaking of your tiny-ness, we do enjoy slinking in and out of traffic don't we

 

In closing, Miss Bridget, I expect you and I will enjoy a very long relationship.

 

I'll see you tomorrow morning for our drive to work. Try and keep your top on until I get outside.

 

 

Love,

 

Yo Mama

 

 

i just had a whole entry posted when i saw a news report on the bridge collapse in minneapolis.

 

almost immediately the crap i wrote looked like ridiculous fluff.

 

i'm now consumed with what it must have felt like to be on a bridge that disappears from underneath your car with zero warning.

 

what the fuck is that about.