Half Baked and Half Naked

Archive for August 2007

There, I have said it. She is my best friend, and she fucking rocks my socks off.

A little over a week ago the company I work for decided to move my desk out of the cushy office in the corner I was sitting in, into the general area also known as “The Bullpen”. This means I am now back in the public eye, rather than hiding in my little corner. This has caused so much disruption in my work day.

Normal tasks have not been affected, it is just the way I do these tasks that has been affected, and I hate having to change the way I get things done.

Normally, when I was back in the “corner”, I could check my email casually throughout the day, read some of my favorite blogs, go look at top headlines on news websites (yes, I call TMZ a “news” website – I have to know what Britney did this time), check MySpace if I wanted to.

When I performed mind-numbing tasks I was able to put my iPod on shuffle and listen to the sounds of Tool, Foo Fighters, Neil Young, and other great musicians that could break the monotony of typing in 600 UPCs for that dress maker in New York who charges $600 for a “Purple Halter Dress”.

But alas, the good old days are over.

Now I am stuck out here with no music, no TMZ, no Pretty Lush; nothing. My entertainment level has dropped down to zero.

Some of you may be asking why I complain when I don’t get paid to fuck around on the internet all day. Well, my answer is this: “Because if not I get bored”. I am way too smart for this job, and I know it; as does everyone who works with me.

The woman I replaced was a complete moron (no, really, she was a fucking idiot); she had knitting pattern programs downloaded to her computer so that she could knit on her break, and she was very into desktop themes, she had about 200 saved to the hard drive. Clearly she spent more time with her themes and knitting than doing her job. I had to reconcile so many of her mistakes when I took over; what was really sad about it was that I got all of that work done within the first week.

Now, I am not only caught up, I am just trying to keep busy. I am stuck in the public eye, twiddling my fucking thumbs so much that when I get handed a project someone else deems “difficult”, I get it finished within an hour and beg for more work.

I want to go back into my corner and get paid to surf the net all day, dammit.

K

I cannot get that song by Paramore out of my head; here is an acoustic version of it for ya’ll to enjoy.

The girl can wail, and she is only 19.

In awe,

This weekend is going to be spent with My Favorite Drinking Buddy; getting “screwed, blued, and tattooed.” (If anyone else actually knows the movie that line is from, mad props.) It has been a long awaited weekend for both of us; what with my recent brush with the law, and her just needing some time, we haven’t been able to take a break.

Tonight I think we are going to a bar with Sexy Nicole and some of Lushs new friends, which is always good with me – especially since I can get loaded now and not have to worry about driving (hahaha, at least I can make fun of myself). We will be holed up at her place with a lot of liquor, a tattoo artist, and the UFC fight all day Saturday. So yes, there will most likely be naked girls running around her house.

I will be sure to update with any good stories, as soon as I come out of my drunken coma.

Ready to Party,

K

My ex-husband is getting re-married this weekend. Woo Fucking Hoo!!! To that I say: “Good luck Christmas Carol, he couldn’t grow a brain to be with me, maybe he can for you.” At least I know he makes good looking kids, but then again she does have half my DNA, and she is my spitting image.

I have known for the last seven months that he was getting married, because he actually took our daughter to the store to buy the engagement ring. Ever since that day, my child has been talking about how she is going to be the flower girl in her Daddies wedding; she gets to wear a purple dress and walk on the beach. She is so fucking excited, you would think she was getting married. Of course up until today, it has been “questionable” about the truth of this. He cannot seem to figure out if his daughter is in the wedding; and as of today, apparently she won’t be. Guess who won’t even grow enough balls to tell his five year old daughter this tidbit of information? Yup, exactly.

I just got off the phone with this man who I never speak to for more than two minutes at a time (by choice), and after ten minutes of me yelling at him, nothing was resolved. I did find out that he is still sad about “our” situation though. Like, come on, we broke up well over four and a half years ago, why cant you move the fuck on? Oh wait though, you did; you’re getting re-married, and you have “found Jesus” (he actually got baptised for this new girl). But, does she know that you and your new found belief in the Holy Ghost are still harboring “sad, regretful” feelings about the way things went down between us (also known as “still not over you, K”)?

Doubt it.

What you do know is that you can only spend time with your child when you have a convenient time slot; when you have a day off that hasn’t already been dedicated to your buddies, or your fiance. When you haven’t made plans to go on a family cruise to Alaska without even considering taking your daughter (because it is too expensive); or that Family Reunion in Chicago that you forgot to mention. But, at least you had me as a reliable baby sitter for your vacations.

You do know that I pay for all of her medical expenses, clothes, shoes, food, and any other incidentals. You pay for her school, and not even completely at that – I have a bill for the two weeks you are past due, and instead of just paying the money you owe, I have to fight with the child care center to get a statement so that I can reconcile the bill, and then hope you will be so kind as to help pay it. I guess your money is better spent on your fiance’s engagement ring, than on your daughters schooling/child care.

Last month you had the nerve to ask if I would consider giving you full custody, because you were getting married and are going to be able to provide a “steady family unit”. This month, you want nothing to do with her because you dont want her in the way of your wedding. Never mind that you could try including her, just expect me to get her dressed and ready, so that you can then pawn her off on another family member and you can go to your bachelor party the night before, and ignore her the day of the wedding until it comes time to say good bye to her.

Father of the Year Nominee right here everyone.

I am questioning my choice in sperm donors (again), but I am so thankful I got the best of him no matter what. 

My Gorgeous Mini-Me

Tired of doing it all by myself,

K

1. People who cannot spell or use decent grammar when typing/emailing/blogging.

2. Those little, rich “OC” kids. You know the ones; they drive a Lexus their daddy bought them, and use their Daddy’s credit card to shop at Gucci and Prada.

3. Shitty drivers that get in front of me on the road.

4. Guys that think I don’t see through their bullshit; I know what you want when you buy me drinks, just be forward and I might talk to you after I get my drink.

5. People who cannot speak English, the ones who come up and ask for something in Spanish and then look at me like I am crazy when I don’t know what the hell they are saying. Like I owe it to them to learn Spanish – hahahahaha funny.

Annoyed (could you tell),

K

I got cuffed, and not in the pleasurable way.

Wow, so Wednesday night, my best friend Pretty Lush and I decided to go out to the House of Blues in Anaheim for a concert full of tribute bands. We had a friggen blast; good drinks, good music, and cute boys – what more could we ask for (side note, I even made out with a chick, actually I de-virginized her to girl-on-girl kissing)? Not a normal Wednesday for us, as we are usually too tired or too broke to actually go on an adventure during the middle of the week; let alone the day before our pay day.

So, after a good night of fun, we get back to her house around 1am, where we are promptly pulled out of my car by a rookie sherriff and his “well aged” trainer. The fact that I am the driver automatically means that I am going to be running the gauntlet of field sobriety tests. First off though, I am begging to be allowed to pee, because if not, I am going to have an accident in my pants. This ended up being a lot longer wait then I thought, because protocol calls for a female officer to accompany me to the restroom to make sure I am not flushing the heroin down the toilet (I didn’t, I hid it under the sink, in the tampon box). Never the less, I was able to piss a river for literally a minute in front of the lady cop.

After waiting while the rookie destroys the inside of my car, both of our purses are turned inside out (because thats where we hide the crack), both Lush and I are searched like two gangsters after they jacked a car. We had to take off our socks, shoes, take my hair out of the ponytail, and let them put their hands in places we only allow our doctors to put them; then they decided to give me the field sobriety test.

I counted to thirty, I walked nine steps heel-to-toe and turned around, I followed the pen with my eyes, I even asked if they were going to make me say the alphabet backwards (I was hoping for a yes, since I can actually do it). The officer was dumbfounded, because I passed every one. All he could say was “Well, your eyes are a little glassy”. I was not drunk, and I know that, but you gotta love California penal code, because even if you pass, they can still take you in if they think you are drunk.

After being handcuffed for the first time ever (with the exception of whenever I beg Lush to do it in bed, haha), I was driven to tears at the fact that my best friend had to watch me be taken to jail; and that I wouldnt be able to just go home and sleep in my own bed, and hug my daughter good night. I was even upset that I would have to call in sick to work (what the hell is wrong with me, a day off and I am sad about it). My best friend is an amazing woman, she came over and took the piercing out of my tongue and got all full of my spit, and even wiped the snot off my nose. The police were nice enough to let me leave my nipple piercings in, although they were really interested in seeing them, I could tell.

At the station, I was told that I was either going to have to piss in a cup or have my blood drawn, and I really couldn’t give a rats ass. I told them that I wouldn’t be able to pee for a while, having released the contents of my bladder (and everyone elses for that matter) when I got into the bathroom at Lush’s house. After waiting for around an hour in the holding cell, I was taken out to have my picture taken (how I wish I could have a copy of my mug shot to post here) and my fingerprints done. Then they wanted me to piss, which I did. After that, I was given a blanket that came up to my belly button, and a sheet; and put into a regular cell with a roomie who was passed the fuck out. I laid there, wide awake for 6 hours, and was released.

Lush was there within 20 minutes, thankfully, because all I wanted was a damn cigarrette and a Mountain Dew. She truly made everything alright, helping me see the humor in it. I realized that regardless of the circumstances, I still feel like the entire night was worth it. My girl and I had a blast, and frankly, even the experience with those asshole cops was not all that bad.

Yes, it could have been better; we could have pulled into the driveway, gone inside, and walked to the back yard and smoked a joint or two. But hey, shit happens, ya know? Here is a picture of Lush and I before we got our drink on. We were so unsuspecting of what would happen that night.

Lush and I before the drama. 

Been Better,

K