More weirdness

Its Friday night and I’m sitting home with the princess. Her brother, who’s fast approaching puberty, is staying the night at his cousins’ place like he does every weekend. The princess is playing with her new Polly Pockets she got for Christmas, explaining the game she’s playing with them. You know, the whole there’s one girl who’s unfashionable and not cute and then a girl who is cute and fashionable whom everyone calls the “Fashion Queen” game. Typical game for most 7 year old girls. I wasn’t like that. I was the tomboy in a frilly dress and mary janes or jellys climbing trees, playing marbles and fixing the neighborhood kids’ bikes. The princess is a girl through and through who plays with Barbies and my make-up.

So as we’re sitting in the living room I start thinking and ask her how she imagines herself when she gets older. “I don’t know,” she replies. When I was her age I can distinctly remember wanting to be pretty much how I am now, except I really wanted to be a model/actor and I wanted to have a vintage 1966 Dyna Glide Harley Davidson

. All my cousins thought I was weird. I don’t even know where I got all this from. Most of my family members were/are “cholos” and my parents are hippies. I did play the “chola” part when I was about 10-12, wearing men’s work pants with my Nike Cortezs’

, black eyeliner and bangs in a pomp. Yeah, I was cool. I even hung out with gang members around my best friend’s neighborhood and had my very own “chola name”. I can’t, however, remember it for the life of me. It had something to do with smiling or laughing or something. I still listened to the “alternative” radio station that played Jane’s Addiction and the Cure, but still knew all the words to all Salt n Pepa’s, Boyz 2 Men and Bel Biv Devoe’s songs.

The princess, however, likes to listen to Hannah Montana, wants to be a cheerleader and a veterinarian when she grows up. I mean, how else is she supposed to rebel against a mom like me. It’s crazy to watch them grow up before my very eyes into this weird little personality that you have very little control over. You never know what’s going to happen.

On a side note, I have a new boyfriend who’s a tattoo artist and I just have to queer out about it for a second and brag about it. If my 18 year old self could see me now, she’d think I’m the coolest.

A few things

1. Ok, so I had a few things I was going to talk about and I don't remember at all what that was. The whole point to me writing this 1st "thing" is to try and jog my memory as to what those topics were that prompted me to finally blog again. Ugh, I hate when this happens. It makes me a little more anxious at the thought of getting real old and senile. I guess I don't have much to worry about since that's, hopefully, 50 years away.

2. I've recently started learning how to do a hot shave with a straight razor, just like the barbers do. I've always wanted to learn, even though I constantly cut myself. At least I'm not ever a danger to my clients, just to myself. But I digress. So the barber at the tattoo shop I get my work done at is making comments blatantly hitting on my in a passive aggressive way as he's showing me how to do the shave. I just giggle and make sarcastic comments, as I often do, as a defense mechanism since I don't know how to take compliments. About 15 minutes after I leave the shop I get a text message about how he thinks I'm "a really hot piece of ass". I laugh to myself, because a. he's not my type (and I do not go out of my box anymore since the temporary lobotomy) and b. he's married. Which, besides the fact that mostly only married or girlfriended boys like me, this proves my theory that boys can sense when a girl's had sex recently. I've recently gone through a massive dry spell in which I couldn't pay a dude to hit on me. The second after I get laid, I've got a couple of boys wanting to "get to know me". Hey, I'm not complaining, just merely stating that I think there is some truth to the whole we-emit-pheromones-to-alert-the-opposite-sex-to-mating-possibilities theory. Though it could just be that the boys are just thinking, "She has a glow to her, like she just had sex. Hmm, I bet she's slutty. I'm going to try to bang her too." I believe the latter.

3. The genius just told me he was real excited about St. Nicholas Day, which he told me, is some legend where you leave a note by your shoes 20 days before Christmas with 5 things you would like and then you get them the next day. I don't know about that, but as he was putting the note by his shoes (he ain't getting any presents before x-mas), he proclaimed how excited he was...then he said he had to pee. "I always have to pee when I get excited!", he says as he runs to the bathroom. Now he's talking about legos and I have no idea what he's talking about. Kid-speak is like a completely different language I am NOT fluent in.

4. I need to go visit my dad. Oh, if only I didn't work all the time and have no money for a plane ticket. This is your cue to send me money people. Nah, just kidding...but seriously...

So nothing I had in mind to talk about came to mind when writing this and that is going to drive me crazy. Alzheimer's strikes again.

Trend alert

I've been noticing a new trend lately. It's something that I've noticed most recently pop up everywhere I look. Ready for it? I know you're excited. Fancy yard sale signs.

I don't know who started it, but why do people have to get so intense about peddling their wares. Laser printed on cardstock paper with bright, bold backgrounds to let the letters pop. Back in the day my mom would tell me to rip apart a box and write a couple of signs up for her in to hang around the neighborhood. I would get out my favorite black magic marker just write 'yard sale' in my 5th grade scrawl. Simple as Corky from Life Goes On.

How does that even become a trend?

I guess you've gotta spend money to make money.

The life and times

It's no secret that I never wanted to be a worker in the baby making business. All my plans got...postponed, for lack of a better word. It still blows my mind that I have been put in charge of two mini people to mold and shape to grow up to be a somewhat decent human being. I know, it's been a little over 11 years and I should be over it by now, as my sister likes to state. But I feel the whole situation, as I've said before, is way beyond my maturity level. So it still weirds me out.

I like to live a sort of double life. I have my pta mom life and my single almost 30 life. The latter in which I like to party, have casual sex with hot guys and sometimes get high. The pta mom life keeps me busy helping plan the school's Family Fun Festival night, making eggs & toast for breakfast and making sure they bathe regularly and brush their teeth. Most of my friends actually forget I even have kids and any boys, with the unfortunate exception of a couple, have not or never will meet them. So it always catches me by complete surprise when I catch myself checking on them multiple times in the night to make sure they're still breathing, staring lovingly down at them as they sleep peacefully, pushing hair behind their little ears and pulling the covers up to their chins. I think, "how amazing to have created that life." Then the sun rises and I'm stirred out of sleep by Shawn telling Naia that she's a big, fat gorilla head as she chucks the nearest object at him while calling him a *beep*, which is their way of cussing at each other. At which point I pull the covers over my head and wish I was on the beach in San Diego drinking a margarita with my friends and some hot dudes. Reality's a bitch.

Oh yeah, and...

The whole reason for me ranting about the little teenage drama queen was to mention that first off, how one client can just fuck my whole day, another client can make it all better. My client after was an Irish redhead with the accent of a southern black woman. She was hilarious. More importantly, someone else made me feel better. From time to time, I'll get comments on my blogger blog and they're always real nice. Saturday after work I got one from Kate telling me how once she read my blog she marked it as a favorite and that's just the bee's knees. I've gotten other similar comments, most of which are anonymous so I have no way of letting them know how I appreciate their words of kindness and the boost to my ego. Thanks to you all, you make my day after dealing with retards at work and I heart you guys. *The cheesy part is over.*

A few things

Just a little word about what's been going on in my salon, in my head and just all around me. Not necessarily in that order.

1. So Saturday, I'm having a good day. Non-stop clients, big tips, I was on my comedy game, when it happened. She walked in. Every stylist knows what I'm talking about. That girl. She was about 14 going to her first homecoming dance. And a cheerleader. I normally love styling hair, shit I practically do it every other weekend for Kendra. So anyway, she tells me what she wants done. Curled hair, half up with a pouf but not too formal. I can already tell she's going to be a pain because as I'm curling her hair, she keeps trying to look at herself in the mirror. You shouldn't move your head too much when someone has a 400 degree ceramic rod inches from your face. I'm getting more and more annoyed as her face gets more and more worried. I pride myself on my styling abilities, but there's always that one person that just fucks your world. Her two little friends that were with her were done, I'm trying to finish through her head turning and fidgeting when I just get to the point where I just don't give a shit anymore. Finally I'm done. I take one look at her in the mirror and her little brace face is scrunched up like she's about to cry. "You don't like it?" I say to her and all she can do is shake her head no. One of the moms hears me and comes over to tell her she's crazy since her hair looks great (duh), while she's still trying not to cry. I ask her what it is that she doesn't like about her hair and she doesn't answer me. At the point I'm just irritated. I'm pretty sure I'm pms'ing, my blood sugar was low and I was too tired to deal with a spoiled little brat who was being coddled by her friends. I contemplate charging her less since she wasn't satisfied, but decided against it since I knew she wouldn't tip me and for my pain and suffering. She leaves, I sit my ass down to eat something, anything, when I get another haircut. I just don't really want to do it. I ask to pass on it, but the stylist who it went to complained about it, so I said fuck it and agreed to take it. As I was cleaning my station getting ready, I could feel the tears coming on. I'm just pissed. I go to the bathroom to pull myself together. I hate crying, though I do it often, especially in front of people. Like I said, it just takes one person to fuck my whole world.

2. I happened to catch a show about women who collect life like baby dolls. This struck me as quite odd when I remembered a woman I'd met when I was about 18 and worked at a little thrift store in Mesa. She would come in carrying a doll, which upon first inspection looked like a real baby. She would buy an outfit or two for her (her name was Emily, by the way. the baby, not the woman), toys and actually drove with the "baby" in a baby carseat. Crazy or sad? It's hard to tell.

3. I totally forgot what my third point was. It's what happens when I'm writing and watching tv at the same time. Like my sister says, it was probably una mentira.

I should probably go to sleep now, I'm seriously sleep deprived and not so beautiful lately as a result. Man, closing in on your 30's and not enough sleep is real bad for the skin. And the mentality.

All about me

Being a procrastinator has stunted my search for fame. Why would I want to be famous, you ask? Not necessarily for the sake of recognition, although I get a secret high from being recognized on the street (doesn't happen often), but for the money. I'm not going to lie. I would so be that homeless guy on the street with the sign that says, "I'm not gunna lie, I'm going to buy marijuana with your money." So I won't lie now, i just want to be famous so I can actually pay my rent. That'd be pretty sweet.

Not that I do anything to try to be famous (let's see how many times I use the word 'famous'), I just hope that I'll just magically become famous. Like Tila Tequila, but you know, not skeazy or ugly. In my opinion she looks like a retarded asian midget. She literally just got big fake boobs and started making out with chicks in bikinis...then overnight she's famous and gets her own mtv show because a million retards friended her on the space. Wait, did I say retards? I meant wonderful, smart, sexy people (hey, if they like her, maybe they'll like me).

But since I don't wear bikinis, say I'm bi or have fake boobs, I'm going to have to try and make my own way. By make my own way, I mean try my hand at a reality show. I'm not on it yet, but I hope to be. It's a new show for hairstylists. I figure that even if I don't get far in the competion, I'm sure to win the hearts of home audience viewers with my charming personality, dry sardonicism and all around awesomeness. I mean, that's how I make money now.

Since I'm trying to get on the show, the first step is to send in a bio of myself. I seem to be having trouble writing the bio. They want "over-over the top personalities", and while I wouldn't say I'm totally over the top, I am loud, slightly unfiltered and sarcastic to a fault. How do I put that in writing so that the producers, or what have you, don't have a sudden case of the sleepies while reading my bio. Or worse yet, how do I keep them from not tossing it in the trash after reading the first sentence and deciding I'm boring?

This is just too much pressure. Among other things, I'm a big, fat pussy. I know I don't look it, but I am pretty bashful and not very forward. Though I am a real good bull-shitter. Which is how I hope to get through any of this, if I make it. We'll see, I guess if this is my meal ticket, it'll happen. My fingers are crossed.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

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I myself prefer the cold fusion method as it's the least damaging to your hair and look more natural.

Fusion is generally the preferred method as fused hair extensions can last up to three to four months with proper care. With fusion hair extensions, the extensions will be indistinguishable from your natural hair.

Fusion hair extensions can be applied in different ways: hot or cold fusion.

Hot fusion– (lasts 3-4 months) Hot fusion or bonding uses hot glue to attach extensions to your hair. This is the more traditional method. While it does have many happy followers, others say that the glue causes the extensions to feel stiff and unnatural. This method won't harm natural hair but doesn't have a lot of adhesive for holding power needed for extended wear. You generally loose about 3-4 strands throughout the period they are in. $125-150 full head.

Cold fusion- (last 3-4 months) this method uses no heat, it is good for all hair types. Uses a metal tube with a silicon lining and they are clamped over the real hair to attach extension hair. $125-150 full head.


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Wake up call

One of the best ways to wake up, in my opinion, is morning sex. One of the worst? Hearing your 11 year old boy scream like a little girl because there's a cockroach in the bathroom.

The only reason why I miss having a husband? Because he killed the roaches. I know, it sounds really girly for me to say this, but its true. I'm not a fan of the roaches, as is most of the populous, but i hate killing them even more. i think its the whole crunching thing. And the grossness factor.

So after being jarred awake by the girly scream and looking up to see the genius naked cupping his teeny peeny, I try to get him to kill the roach. "No I can't, I'm naked!", he yells to me. So with my blurred vision due to slept in contacts, i get up, slip on the geniuses 3 sizes bigger than mine shoes (did I mention he's 11?), and run over to squish it. Now its my turn to scream like a little girl. The roach won't die. And it was probably the size of my hand. No exaggeration, I have small hands. So I twisted and squished as hard as I could until I was sure it was dead. Now the harder part, for me anyway, to pick it up and toss it. I prevailed and got it in the trash then made the genius take the trash out for fear it would put itself back together and come crawling out for revenge. Eeesh, I did more this morning before 7 a.m. then most people do in a day. At least it felt that way. Call me a drama queen, I don't care, when it comes to roaches, I don't fuck around. Ick.

So as much as I love living alone, I don't like being alone when I almost impale myself trying to take a shower. Alright, I guess impale is a little strong a word, but I was close to impalement of some body part. Let me explain. Sunday, after a long arduous day at work trying to recover from a gnarly hangover and seeing a movie I didn't want to see with a boy I didn't want to see it with, I got home and wanted nothing more than to shower and go to bed. So I shower. But I got as far as stepping up to stand under the stream of water when my left foot slipped out from under me. I went flying into the shower door. Lucky for me, the door didn't break, merely fell off the track, and I didn't knock myself unconscious on the sink. I did, however, slam my right shoulder into the door rather hard. Well, really hard. It was an imperfect end to an imperfect day.

My shoulder's okay now. Though I could do with a really good massage, I'm not a total cripple anymore. I guess I bragged too much about how I hadn't hurt myself in a couple of weeks, because before the shower debacle, I fell in front of a client on Friday afternoon when I decided to actually wear heels. Guess I should have knocked on wood.

The weirdness

In about an hour, I am attending my first meeting as "parent liaison" for the princess' class. I've never done anything like this before without my crutch, aka the sister. She's usually the one that got me into volunteering and what not, but this time it was the smiley face of the princess that convinced me. I'm under the impression she wants me to be like a "normal mom". What she doesn't get is that I'm not a "normal" mom, under "normal" circumstances. What she also doesn't get is that 99% of the mean mommies at her school don't like me. I'm younger than most of them, have visible tattoos and piercings, and don't wear elastic waisted pants with practical shoes. Ok, so maybe I'm exaggerating on the less than stylish wardrobes of most of the moms...I'm just sayin'. ::sigh:: Here I go on yet another boring adventure.

Out and about in Horrorland

It’s been quite a while since I’ve written anything. I attribute it to my writer’s block…aka complete and total laziness. A lot of shit has been going on in my life lately, not much of it good, but not all of it bad.

I’m no longer at The Chop Shop barber and salon, it closed down due to a lack of business, which makes me sad. I am, however, gainfully employed now at Arizona Hair Company in Tempe and I love it. It’s actually busy, so I go home exhausted but excited about the days money made. Although some days there’s more money made than others. It sure does beat working two jobs though. Here’s where I do my shameless plug…If you need your hair done and want it done good, come see me at Arizona Hair Co., 1747 E. Broadway Rd., Tempe, AZ. 85281, 480.968.1954…I do color, cuts, waxing and styling…end plug.

In addition to my new job, I’ve just been hanging out with my new nephew, who’s the cutest little thing ever, and dealing with the conflicting emotions of hearing of my dad’s newest malady. After years of having had one leg amputated due to diabetes infused gangrene, his other leg has now had to come off. I found out about it through an e-mail my little sister sent me about two weeks ago where my head was thrown into a frenzy. I didn’t know what to think and I could hardly dial the phone without shaking, so I had a break down and made the ex drive me to my sisters’ place so we could call him together and I knew I’d have to be a little more composed being that the kids were there. Seeing my sister helped me a little and we spoke to our dad, but it was still sad. I canceled my trip to San Diego and hung out with some new friends. Now I’m making a photo album for him, I am not often considered the best daughter as I’m bad at keeping in touch as well as planning a road trip to my hometown El Paso for Thanksgiving. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve been down that way, so it will be nice to see my family.

Other than that things have been somewhat typical. I’m trying to lose weight (nothing really new), trying to deal with my looming 30’s and just basically trying to stay afloat. Notice the key word here, “trying”. In all honesty though, I can’t wait until this year is over. It has seemed like one flaming bag of dog shit since February and I’m sick of the stench.

I’m pretty sure that’s about it for now. A co-worker/new friend is on my ass to be a better blogger since we have a joint “hair blog” now, so we’ll see how she does to quash my laziness, I mean, writers block.

So, until the next tragedy, may my cynicism entertain you,

Malice
reporting live from Horrorland

Out of the mouths of babes

"Can I just get a nut off?"

As said by the princess to her dad when he wouldn't share his drumstick with her.

I. Couldn't. Stop. Laughing.

My entire life is filled with things way above my maturity level.

Updates not so vital

Living alone is fun. This is the first time, as I'm sure I've mentioned a million times already, that I've lived alone. And it rocks.

Today I got a new job at Az. Hair Company, so there should be more money for this honey.

I'm about to start reading my dad's book, so that's exciting.

The kiddos start school tomorrow. I can't believe I have a 6th grader. I'll never get over it.

My sister gave birth to my new nephew. I think he's the cutest so far.

My little sister is pregnant...again. Oh that little girl. And I mean that literally. She's just a child herself. It's like baby central in my family. My mom thinks I should have another one with the ex. You know, because we make such pretty babies. Apparently just one new baby in the family isn't enough.

I played rockband recently with my nephews and I rocked it to 'Wanted dead or alive". I'm the new Bon Jovi.

Um, I think that's enough for now. Nothing too exciting going on in my life right now. No new romances to speak of. However, there is the longest dry spell in the history of dry spells. At least it is in Mal time. I'm just getting more selective it seems in my old age. So, that's about it.

Adventures in Awesomeland

I'm not officially settled into my new apartment. There are still boxes everywhere since it is near to impossible to get anything done with the kids attached to my hip 24/7. I can't wait until school starts again. But I digress. My independance is going well and I've had my first houseguest this week. A friend from Boston has been visiting this week. It's fun. I like playing Suzy Homemaker.

The only drawback to this whole living on my own thing is the fact that I can't go out whenever I like as I did before when I had a live-in babysitter. Otherwise known as Nana. It definitely doesn't make it easier that I am since pelted with requests to go out by numerous friends, and when dejected, requests of "Just make Aaron watch them!" But, I'm a mean mommy and a firm believer in a strict schedule (believe it or not) so I don't much like switching out days with the ex so I can go drink. Change is so hard on the munchkins as it is.

Speaking of munchkins, my oldest is no longer one. A munchkin, that is. Well, I guess he bi-passed munchkiness (i just want to see how many times i can't write "munchkin" in one blog) when he shot up to almost my height. Now though, it's official. He just turned 11. I know I always talk about how it weirds me out that I have kids, but the older they get, the more weirded out I get. 11! This coming school year he will be in the 6th grade, which means I have to start looking at junior high schools because I want to keep them in a montessori type of education. Irregardless though of which school he goes to, I will have a junior higher when I'm 30. Still weird.

It was also my brother-in-law's, my sisters and the ex's birthdays, all in a row. July gets very expensive. And now, a fifth will be added to that list of special days. My sister will be induced and her baby will be born on Tuesday the 8th. Damn Cancers. I'm surrounded by them. Even my dad's a Cancer. But I guess I love those crabby little bastards all the same.

I think that's it as far as anything new going on. I haven't been able to expose myself on the net lately as I cannot find a wifi connection in my apartment, but i'm used to it now, surprisingly enough. Now I continue my adventures in Awesomeland.

Hot melty brains

Today officially marks the first day of summer. In Arizona, its not always a good thing.

As my insides melt and turn to mush while my glass plugs burn my earlobes the second I step outside, I can't help but hate this state. And everyone in it.

As good as life is finally going for me, I get the displeasure of dealing with people from all walks of life in my second, less lucrative retail job. From the hair neophytes to leather skinned, melon chested women studying the zen of the middle age crisis. The heat makes me cranky.

Hearing comments like, "You're so pretty, why would you do that to yourself", in regards to my multiple accoutrements...to which I usually reply, "I think I'm still pretty". Or my favorite, "I'll pray for you." Why is it that only the ignorami seem to be the ones to talk to me?

Another undesirable side effect of the heat: I don't make much sense. Good luck trying to decipher this weeks ramblings.

When the other shoe drops

I have recently come under a string of bad luck. I'm not talking the I-lost-my-keys-and-couldn't-find-my-car kind of bad luck. I'm talking the my-car-got-towed-twice-in-a-two and a half-week-period-and-it-took-all-my-money-both-times kind of bad luck. You may now call me Bad Luck Betty. No, no, not Blow Job Betty, since I seem to have developed the plague and can't get laid by even my most dependable fuck buddy's, but Bad Luck Betty. As in this-year-so-far-sux-and-I-have-the-worst Bad Luck Betty.

Let's start with a week and a half ago. I'm not even going to start with the beginning of the year since it would take me 3 hours to finish writing this blahg. But I digress. The first time my car got towed was a week and a half ago. Or maybe it was two and a half weeks ago. Its getting hard for me to tell, bad luck does that to you. Let's just say a title loan (the car is not in my name) was taken out on my car to pay some bills and what not and the payment was late, so Buckeye Title loans saw it fit to take my car away, without warning. The genius was home sick after having vomited all over everything the night before, so I planned to go to the store for some chicken soup and a sprite. My car was gone. I stood in my now empty parking spot in disbelief for about 3 minutes as I spun as if each time I completed my tiny circle my car would magically appear. $1,000 and four days later, I got my car back.

Fast forward to this last Tuesday. As I lay in bed trying to get up the motivation to start getting ready for work mi madre asked if she could borrow my car for a few minutes. She left about 8:30 a.m. At 9:00 a.m. her Halloween Michael Myers theme song ring tone went off and I answered the phone. "I got pulled over", she responded to my hello in Spanish. I half laughed and wished her luck since my tags were expired. 9:15 a.m. the eerie music went off again, but before I could say "Hello" she quickly informed me that my car was being towed. All I could do was laugh. What are the chances? Apparently her license was suspended, only to later find out it was all because after she paid the ticket from almost a year ago she had not taken the driving class because the letter informing her of the class was sent to some address in Chandler. We have never lived in Chandler. Ever. $363, two and a half hours in a hot car, 3 days and $2.50 borrowed from a complete stranger since they raised the price from $60 at eight in the morning to $73 that same afternoon later, I have my car back. But not before someone left my headlights on the entire time it was impounded so my battery was dead and before my phone died I had to call my assistant manager who had just left me to go home after we closed the store to come and jump my battery after she had lent me $10 for gas since I'd used the last of my gas money for the nazi raise in price to get my car back. Her and her husband are currently my heroes.

The day after my car was taken for the second time (who does that happen to? ever?) I went to Jupes to enjoy a few cold ones with Clint and the other regulars. I got home a few hours and about 4 pitchers later I stumbled into my room and noticed the a/c was turned off so I made my way to the window to let the beautiful weathers' fresh air in. My window was stuck. I tugged and tugged to no avail. Finally I won my battle with the glass and it opened, but fate likes to play a little game called 'Up yours Mal' and in my drunkenness my hand involuntarily slammed the window towards the shut position and right onto my right hand middle finger. Ouchie! I screamed out silently as the tears sprung forth, making my way to my bed. Let me just say it was a good thing I was drunk because I immediately passed out and forgot all about my finger until I woke up the next morning and felt a throbbing. Better yet, I didn't even look at my finger until later that afternoon, only to notice a swollen, distorted and crooked digit. As well as a tiny blood blister on the other side. Figures.

Now I sit here trying to type while not using my middle finger. Turns out, I use that finger quite a bit.

That's my story. Mind you, this is just the clusterfuck that has been the last two and a half weeks. The earlier part of the year was not that great either, with the exception of witnessing some of my friends' happier moments and the release of my dad's book, of course. The sad thing is that the year isn't even close to being over. The good thing is, after the first repossession of my car, all I can do is laugh when something bad happens. I have a feeling I'll be laughing a lot.

So as I sit here waiting for my percocet to kick in to take away the pain in my finger and my overly stressed out back, I can't help but wonder...When both shoes have proverbially dropped, what will go next?

A funny thing happened on the way to my life

It seems life has been throwing me some curve balls lately. And try as I might, I'm striking out left and right.

The saying goes, when life throws you lemons, make lemonade. What if the lemons are spoiled? Between all the balls and lemons, I'm not really sure what to do anymore, but sit back and watch from my lemonade stand while I get pelted by balls. And I'm not talking about the fun ones.

As this new year has been pretty shitty, I find myself obsessively thinking about, well, everything. In particular, my kids. It all started with a gravity bong and the movie Knocked Up. Between freakouts of the beauty and ickiness that is the miracle of birth, I kept thinking about how I did that. I created life. Now I am bound to that life. At least until the 18th birthday, which has been deemed to be an "adult" age.

The more I see them grow and mature, the more it weirds me out that one day they'll be my age and doing the things (hopefully not) that I do. You'd think I'd be used to the fact that I have kids by now, being that its been ten and a half years, but I'm not. I fear I will never feel "normal" about the whole situation. Especially the more pivotal events become as they get older. The genius is already talking about getting married and having children. It was in jest due to my consternation at becoming a grandmother before I'm 35. He's such a smart ass...I wonder where he gets it from.

Then this weekend I attended and was a part of my good friend Jessica's wedding. I teared up when they said their vows. I cried a little when the speeches were given. I sobbed when they had their first dance as husband and wife. But the thing, the main thing that got me was the mother/son dance. I couldn't contain myself. I just kept thinking that that was going to be me one day. Dancing with my son at his wedding, assuming he chooses that path. At that point, the weirdness hit me again. To think, we do this everyday. Give birth. Nurture that baby to childhood, their teens and then adulthood. The gravity of life is surreal as it is to me, add that to developing a self-sufficient, independent person and you've got a weirded out Mal.

Now as I sit here at almost 2 in the morning not sleeping and probably not making any sense, I guess what I'm trying to say is the gratification of helping to develop an individual does not outweigh the oddity that is real life. Maybe I could have said that in fewer, less confusing words, but then I wouldn't be able to regale you with my many eccentricities.

When does the surreal end and the conscious awareness begin?

When it rains, it pours

A lots been going on in my life lately, and not all of it good. I'd have to say I've been in a rut. Not to mention in the middle of a lot of chaos. But I'm glad to say that, for the most part, the downward spiral is done.

Sometimes you have to wonder at the fast balls life tends to throw at you. And there's always a decision you have to make to deal with whatever hardship. My decisions usually consist of me locking myself in my room for days at a time watching the Sex and the City series and feeling sorry for myself. Now I'm all better though. I've gotten most of my ducks in a row, so to speak, and have decided it is time to stand up straight again and get myself out of the rut that has me wanting to live someone else's life.

I am now on the search for a place to call my own. So that's giving me a little ray of hope. Currently I'm cleaning my room and looking through my 100 or so pairs of shoes for some fancy ones I can wear for my good friends' wedding I'm in this weekend since my troubles of the last week left me out $1,000. Also to get ready for the wedding I've perfected the french manicure on myself, something I've always thought too girly for me...oh and extensions in my too short hair. Yeah, the wedding is bringing out the girl in me. I've become a jane of all trades beauty edition. Next up is diy hair clips, garter and at-home waxing. I took a little break to eat some mac n' cheese, but I better get back to my tasks at hand before I lose my wind and decide to lay around some more. Something I'm very good at.

Judgey wudgey was a bear

What really cracks me up (and by cracks me up i mean annoys me) is when people have a certain perception of me. Usually that perception is that I'm this real tough, mean, crazy freak in bed. The truth is, I am far from crazy, I'm probably nicer than you and while I'm great in the sack, I am no where near "freaky". I guess I just look the part.

Which is funny since last time I checked my tattoos and assorted accoutrements were not acquired with the hopes of impressing someone or rebelling against something or proving anything. Besides "did that hurt", "is it/are they real" and "do you know you'll have those when you're old", one of the most asked questions is, "How long have you had those/that?" Why? Why do you, a complete stranger want to know how long I've had my assorted piercings. I just don't get it. Although my favorite one is the "do you know you'll have those when you're old" because I mean, really, I didn't know that and you telling me has completely opened my eyes. Thank you so much for enlightening me.

But I digress, I am not writing to rant. My point is that it amazes me how someone won't even know me in person, just through the world of myspace, and they know me...they know I'm "crazy"...or that I'm a beautiful person on the inside. Maybe its the pms in me talking, but after a while, that kind of shit does really get to me. You know, especially around this time of the month when I'm feeling sorry for myself. It happens.

So being judged by my outward appearance is sometimes not fun. Like poop.

Nutshell is full

Just a few things that have been filling up the nutshell that is my life. Here are a few tidbits:

1. Last night I was in the Miss Hair-azona 2008 competition. I didn't win. It was pretty much a beauty pageant without the cheesy opening number, bikini portion or talent competition. I didn't want to do it...not that I don't think I'm hot enough, but I'm not disillusioned as to what the majority of the male population likes, which is girls that look like the girls that were my competition. But I did it, and I got a lot of free drinks, maybe a little too much, and had fun nonetheless.

2. I'm still working 2 jobs, and still manage to never have money. Go figure. Speaking of work, on Saturday at job 2, which is Sally's, I have to dress like Paris Hilton. Man, the things I do for money. Let me elaborate. We started selling her synthetic, crappy hair "extensions" and Saturday is Paris Hilton day. I have to wear a pink shirt. I don't own a pink shirt. I kind of want to quit on integrity alone. Oh what a glamorous life I lead.

3. My dad has another book coming out this month. I'm super stoked about it. He may even be coming to AZ for a book signing. He is, after all, a literary icon.

4. My love life, or lack there of, has been, well, lacking to say the least. Not much fun for me.

5. I'm going to Vegas at the end of June for a hair show, and while I'm there, I'll be hitting up the Sin City tattoo convention. I couldn't be more excited to get out of dodge. I need a vacation real bad.

6. I may have sleep apnea, insomnia and narcolepsy. I'm not really surprised by the insomnia because I can't sleep ever, but the narcolepsy is surprising. I guess I should make a trip to the evil doctor and see what's up with all that nonsense.

7. I'm going to be a bridesmaid in my friend Jessica's wedding. This should be interesting. I've never been in a wedding before. Hey, did you hear? Bridesmaids always put out.

That's about it. Nothing really interesting going on. I just work and take care of the kiddos, and occasionally drink way too much alcohol. That's a day in the life of me, I guess.