CJ: Is it just me or would house arrest be really awesome? Botched record aside.
Ashley: For our domestically inclined souls? HELLLLS yes.
CJ: Toootally. I knew you’d understand. All this Lohan nonsense and I’m all, YES PLZ.
Ashley: WE COULD CLEAN ALL THE THINGS
Alison Bechdel’s The Essential Dykes To Watch Out For has been in my purse, my car, my desk and my bathroom for the last month or so. I’ve kept it close by and given it my full attention whenever possible because it’s fucking awesome. It’s a collection of excellent comics that I never wanted to put down. It’s The L Word with better, more intelligent and diverse characters in book form.
Sadly I finished it today so I’m paying more attention to my School Bag book, David Cross’ I Drink For a Reason. There has to be a book at hand, wherever I may roam.
Some hilarious excerpts from the latter:
Perhaps you have just had a huge fight over something trivial that got blown way out of proportion and turned into something else together?
Examples:
Why don’t you like the color purple?
…well then, YOU fucking drive!!
I didn’t know there wouldn’t be any hot water left! It’s not a fucking conspiracy!
You used to fuck a magician?!
You really honestly believe that the Spin Doctors were underrated?Dumped seems like it should only apply to relationships lasting a year or less. After that the word should be something like killed or temporarily deaded.
I dog-eared two other passages that aren’t nearly as funny when I’m sober. Regardless, this shit is laugh out loud funny so far.
What are you reading?
-CJ
ps:
On this lovely Friday evening, when I left the office after what felt like a long, long week, I should have felt lighter. Carefree. But I was weighed down by my pillowcase sized pursebag (I have to always carry ALL THE THINGS*) and my laptop bag and one overflowing bag of my co-workers’ generous food donations. When my arms regained their feeling, I took a deep breath for the first time in days. Work is so overwhelming in its quantity. School feels like a chore (one! more! week!) and my kid is making me crazy.
*I can’t even talk about going to the bank without saying it exactly like this, and yes, I do a voice.
When I got home, the bathroom reeked of an awful mildew.
From when the toilet overflowed. Twice.
Again.
And so I cracked a beer and got back to work on my laptop, this time in my long basketball shorts and a baggy MMA thermal, hijacked from Josh. (Athletes must be so COMFY all the time.) Two hours of OT didn’t dent the stack of papers I brought home. The stack that Lucy decided looked like a good place to lay upon. We all know I did not stop her.
Kiddo has taken to lying. A lot. For silly, nonsensical reasons that will not benefit her. Except by the time she realizes it won’t benefit her, she’s stared me in the eye and said with conviction that she lost her lunch money.
Er, spent it on charity candy.
Um, bought cheap breakable toys at Santa’s Workshop, where the kids can buy inexpensive presents for their family with a couple dollars.
She’s admittedly thrown responsibility to the wind. When it comes to bringing home her jacket or lunch box, or turning in important papers, or listening to at least ONE of the words we say to her, the kid could not be paid to give a chocolate dipped fuck.
In the car last night, I told Josh, “You realize… she’ll be a teenager one day.”
“And she’ll have her lunch money outside the liquor store…”
“Begging for booze and cigarettes…
“Coming home with tracks marks and saying, ‘Mo did it!’
“And we’ll be like, ‘Mo’s been dead for five years!”
I reiterated some portion of this to my mom in a woe is me and parenting stinks phone call. Surely she rolled her eyes and laughed maniacally when he hung up but before that, she reminded me, “This is parenting. Being able to laugh about it.”
dramatic sigh.
I GUESS.
Wouldn’t you want to trust this face?
Is it any wonder where the blue eyes came from? This is my (incredibly handsome, yes?) dad.
-CJ
I’ve been conducting a refresher course on The Juliana Theory’s Emotion is Dead album. I snagged a ticket months ago for their upcoming show.
PLUS. Reel Big Fish in a month. Doug Stanhope the following week.
And this weekend? My good lookin’ and I were invited to join one of the PR teams for the Red Bull Flugtag event. Someone said ‘open bar’ and I said ‘YESPLEASE.’
Without things to look forward to, I may crumble.
-CJ
The man (the one I fuck, not the one I damn) and I made the most of the two different worlds we live in this weekend. At 25 and 28, we still like to stay up late and wake up with regrets, bruises and a tangible drinker’s remorse. As parents we endure enjoy a number of domestic duties as well. (I do consider drunken shenanigans a duty, ps. Where else would I get the fodder?)
Friday night we hit the freeway with two friends for a unique type of double date. The kind where the goal is to create real friendships out of forced and mandatory ones… because you used to screw one half of the other date. It was very fun and not forced at all. There was good food and much, much laughter at the Laugh Factory in Long Beach. Every sixty or so days, I give away my O Negative and sometimes the Red Cross gives me free VIP tickets to a comedy show for it.
Do check out Darren Carter. I just downloaded his album, That Ginger’s Crazy, on iTunes.
You know when you ascend the levels of drunk from ‘buzzed’ to ‘code red’ to ‘oh fuck’? By the time we hit a dueling piano bar after the show, Washington Apple in hand, I realized I’d gone overboard. But in alcohol there’s no Ctrl+Z so I threw it back anyway.
Saturday was a strange day for a hangover. We had 1st, 2nd and 3rd birthdays to attend. We stocked up on Pillow Pets (best toy EVAR) and hit the road:
The first and third birthdays were for the adorable daughters of boyfriend’s (okay, his name is Josh) friend, Charlie. We wore festive leis and all was merry.
The 2nd birthday party was for my girl Kristine’s little lady. The day she was born I had one hand on Kristine’s left foot as she pushed and pushed and total tunnel vision. Birth is beautiful… but not pretty. It’s incredible to see the little blonde cutiepants running around and high fiving and baby talking at two years old now. All full circle and shit.
This morning we were up early so Josh could make an appointment at a sensory deprivation… place. While he floated and went to mental places that scare the absolute shit outta me, Kiddo and I played in the sand and bought more handmade jewelry than we’ll ever need.
I could personally boost the ecomony in Venice with contribution to the crafts on the boardwalk. I am such a sucker. Although I was not having all seventy-seven street musicians pushing their headphones at my face, all CHECK OUT MAH SHIT AND GIMMIE MONEY!*
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Heh. I can see that.”
“Seriously, dude? No.”
*I respect the art and straight-to-the-people marketing. It’s the pushiness.
We made it home and realized we were completely fucking wiped out. I plan to spend the rest of this Sunday in a sedentary state, at some point moving to shovel Josh’s awesome jumbalaya in my mouth.
That is so not a euphemism.
-CJ
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