Oy vey is right

My husband told me about an application on Facebook for playing Blackjack. I loooove playing Blackjack, so naturally I was all about it.

I picked an empty table to practice and see how all the bells and whistles worked. I had a few games under my belt when someone else joined me.

She didn't do anything at first. I continued to play.

Suddenly there was a message from her down on the chat function in the corner.

All it said was:

"jewish?"

My name is a slight bastardization of a Hebrew word. My father happens to have been raised a Jew before converting to Christianity as a young adult. When I was young, my family would sometimes light the menorah next to the Christmas tree (well, not right next to it--didn't want to burn the house down.) But my Mother is not Jewish, so none of this makes me "officially" Jewish.

More like Jew-ish.

"yeah," I typed back to my nosy table mate, "no one usually gets that from the name."

And as soon as she read it, she was gone.

Nazi bitch.

Playing Catchup

This weekend I went up to Chicago with my friend Travis to see a "band" named Girl Talk at the Metro. What a clusterfuck that was.

Don't get me wrong. I had a fabulous time. We stayed with one of his oldest friends and her husband and I couldn't have asked for better hosts. The evening was a late celebration of the husband half of our boarders.

They had a little get together before the show, and hired a limo to take our tipsy asses into the city.

Travis did my hair and makeup and the end product was stripperific. I loved it.

The show wasn't slated to start until 11pm, so I was leery that I was even going to make it there without falling asleep. When we got to the Metro, the line was wrapped around the block so we hit a nearby bar to kill some time.

Sometime after midnight I looked up at one of the television screens to see that Obama took South Carolina with 55 percent. Suddenly I caught my second wind. How amazing is that? I was positively giddy.

I was so excited that I nearly forgot that we still a show to attend.

At close to 1:30 in the motherfucking morning, we stepped foot into the show. I didn't really know what to expect. I'd never even heard of this "band" before, but it was a free ticket and a weekend getaway so who am I to complain?

That was a joke. I'm totally going to complain.

The show was basically a dude on stage with a DJ setup, playing his CD and pretending to spin records. I think.

I was so confused.

The music was fun. It was basically "mash ups" of intertwined riffs and samples of everything from Elton John and James Taylor to Britney Spears and--I swear to the babyjesus--a snippet of a Tones on Tail song. Crazy.

Travis and I agreed that the whole ordeal made us feel elderly, or "oldsters" as we lovingly referred to our posse for the night.

The people watching was amazing though. I am such a stare queen in situations like that, and I was not left hanging for a moment.

I will say that while I joke about feeling old, I know I'm not. I am however too old to deal with the shitastic bathroom situation at the Metro. It was gross the last time I was there (13 years ago. Mazzy Star.). The full magnitude of its gut wrenching nastiness is even more apparent now without a cloud of smoke to cover it up.

We didn't get back to our hosts' house until almost 4 in the morning. Christ, who do I think I am?

The whole night can pretty much be summed up by the mental image I have burned into my retinas of a girl and her friend parting the crowd just fast enough to puke at my feet.

But seriously, I had a great time. Next time though, I think I'll go to the early show.

Sad.

Such a shame. His poor little one.

Best.Birthday.Ever.

I had far too much fun at my slumber party. Probably more fun than a grown woman should legally be allowed to have.

No, fuck that. I did deserve it. And my wonderful friends deserved a night of drunken revelrie as well.

Photographic proof of our night. LOTS o' pictures.

Flowers from my husband before he got the hell outta' Dodge.


I made some pretty cupcakes:


Enough?


It started off innocently enough:
"Hmmm...do I start with bourbon or wine?"










Present from Travis. He thought I needed a new gym bag. Inside the gym bag were colorful cigarettes and vaginal wipes. I love him.



My husband HATES celery. Hates it with a burning passion. This one is for him.


Who's a Pretty Barbie Birthday Princess? I AM! Thanks to Meghan.


Things went downhill (in a good way) quickly. Soon we were drunk.

Apparently I thought something we really fucking hilarious. I wish I could remember what it was.




No pillow fights, but Rachel got smoochy.










Phil is mysterious.


My dogs wanted us to shut the fuck up and go to bed.


But I made Ichabod play some Wii.


Full contact Wii.




Me. 3AM drunk in three parts.







34 is gonna' be a good year.

I haven't written much this week...

It's been a slow week around here. And that's OK. That's great, actually.

There's something to be said for quiet.

AND...today is my birthday. I'm 34. How did that happen?

I was at the grocery store getting a few things, including beer, and the cashier asked for my ID. I happily handed it over to her and after she checked the birthday, she gave me a most incredulous look.

"I know," I said, "I can't believe it either."

I'd LIKE to assume she didn't think I looked my true age, but my response was more of a "Holy shit, am I really creeping up on 40?!".

Never fear, gentle readers. I refuse to act my age (whatever acting 34 means...).

Tonight I am celebrating my birthday in a way I haven't in 22 years.

I am having a slumber party. Insert filthy sexual innuendo here. (No, really. Please do. I like that sort of thing).

I was cutting my friend Meghan's hair about a month ago and she asked me what I had planned for my birthday, then suggested I have a slumber party. At first I laughed, but the more I thought about it the more it sounded like a perfect idea.

We had so much liquor left over from the NYE party that I didn't have to get more than a couple of six packs and a few mixers. I've invited my Girls and my Gays, and the party is ON.

Come Sunday (or Monday, depending on my hangover status), I'll be sure to post the photographic evidence of my welcoming of a new chronological age.

Seven things you don't know about me (a few a which you might wish you didn't)

I hate having my face touched--by anyone. It creeps me out to no end. A back-o-the neck grab while I'm making out is fine and dandy. Just don't touch my face. I don't even like it when my children touch my face (mostly because I know where their hands have been).

I love makeup. I love what it can do (and have learned over the years what it can't do). I have a "set" way I like to wear my makeup, but I change it up depending on my outfit and/or my mood. I'm sure no one notices, but I do and mine is the only opinion that matters in this arena.

I can't go underwater without plugging my nose. I have an unwavering aversion to even trying it. My mother told me that when I was an infant I could swim like a fish. I have no idea where or when I lost that ability.

I love being alone. I don't get a whole lot of time by myself, but when I do I cherish it. An afternoon alone without an agenda is the best gift anyone could give me.

I try to avoid crying in front of people at all costs. I don't know why. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I've shed tears (during my adult life) in front of anyone else. I'm not a robot. I do cry. I just don't like company when I do.

The first time I had sex was so awful and disappointing that I didn't do it again for another three years. Then I made up for lost time.

When I was pregnant with my first child, I read somewhere that some women poop while pushing the baby out. I told Jim about it and we laughed and laughed. He said that if I pooped, he was going to start dancing around the room singing, "YOU POOPED! YOU POOPED!". We laughed some more.

I did end up pooping on the delivery table. He did not sing.

A Friendly Reminder to the Fucktard Parents at After School Pickup

There is limited parking in front of the school. Please refrain from stopping your car three feet from the person in front of you instead of pulling up far enough to let another car in the line.

You are not special.

I'm looking at you BMW Bitch.

If you are driving a gaggle of children home from school--presumably other people's children in addition to your own--have enough seat belts and/or car seats for all of them.

Seeing a seven year with a toddler on her lap in the back seat makes me want to see how you'd like being thrown through a windshield face first.

Smoking on school property while waiting for your kid to come out is trashy.

...as is swearing into your cell phone in front of little kids.

That sign that says "Buses and Daycare Vans Only"? It applies to everyone--even you, Mr. Jesusfish Minivan.

Generally, and I'm just guessing here, it's not recommended to blast your stereo at full spleen-shattering volume with kids in the car.

That is all.

File this under: Bad Choice of Wording

From the obituaries in the local paper today:

Cory had a passion for the outdoors. He enjoyed climbing, scuba diving, biking and camping. His adventures took him all over the world where he enjoyed the creation that he cared so much for. Those he cared about will always remember his contagious smile and passion for life. He will be greatly missed by all who knew him. Please remember Cory smiling and forever blowing bubbles.

Oh, did I mention he is "presumed dead at sea" after a SCUBA DIVING accident?

The Salty Meat Family Gets Guitar Hero: Hilarity Ensues

The girls put on their princess gear and rocked the fuck out. Check it.

Regret meme

Katie tagged me with this one: You’ve just learned that tomorrow you will die at sunrise. Tell me the five things you regret and the five things you don’t.

The Don't Regrets:

1. I don't regret starting a blog. Though I was hesitant at first (who the fuck am I that anyone else wants to read about my take on stuff?), I'm glad I hopped on the bandwagon. It wasn't until I re-found Grant Miller digging around on the internets that I seriously considered it (read: you can blame him for this amalgam of whoosit).

I've since (both virtually and actually) met some new friends through it, and not one restraining order has since been filed. In two days, it will have been one full year since I started Better Living Through Bacon. And it's been delicious.

2. I don't regret having children. In my younger years, I honestly didn't think I would. I didn't think I had it in me to take on the responsibility and set aside my own selfish tendencies.

It's not perfect, and sometimes (all the time) I question my capabilities. Having children has tested my sanity in ways I never thought possible. If they weren't so damn cute, I'd have sold them to the gypsies years ago.

With the difficult however comes the amazing. The adoration that oozes from them all over my husband and I is payment enough for every sleepless night, every splatter of poop, and every puddle of puke (of course, they aren't teenagers yet).

Knowing that I have two mini-humans counting on me to keep my shit together gives me reason enough to try and be a better person.

3. I don't regret quitting my job as a hairstylist almost three years ago. I miss doing hair sometimes, but I don't miss hauling my kids around to get to work for a paycheck that was barely covering expenses incurred from working. How sad that it sometimes cost me money to go to work?

4. I don't regret being slutty in college. I would never buy a pair of shoes without trying them on first no matter how gorgeous or cheap they were. Some people learn by seeing or being shown. I learned by trying every pair of shoes in the shoe store.

Sure, I got my heart broken more times than I'd like to admit and maybe I should have listened to that inner voice a little more often. In the long run however, I can't say that I regret any of it (OK, maybe a couple of them).

5. I don't regret going on crazy pills. This is a recent development here in the land of salty meat, and not something I ever planned on talking about here, but there you have it.

I spent way too long ignoring the unignorable. I had myself convinced that everyone felt the way I did. They just didn't talk about it. I was wrong.

My only regret is that I didn't deal with it sooner.

The Do Regrets:

1. I regret never living alone. I went from living at home to the dorms to having roommates to getting married. I never got to enjoy the kind of freedom one has knowing a space is all one's own. I missed my opportunity to do it when I could, and until my kids move out and my husband decides to get a trophy wife, I'm SOL.

2. I regret not finishing college. I could always go back, but time and money don't grow on trees. It's always in the back of my mind though. Someday.

3. I regret not cutting poisonous people out of my life sooner. Whether it was a bitchy friend who never had anything positive to say or a loser boyfriend who couldn't tell the truth to save his life, I regret not having the balls to tell them where to go. I always seemed to fall into that trap of not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings even when the situation made me miserable. I know better now.

4. I regret not standing up for myself when I should have. I spent way too much time in my young adulthood not asking for what I wanted and/or needed. As hard and tough as I thought I was back then, that girl in her twenties would cower in front of the woman I have turned out to be.

5. I regret not owning my actions earlier in life. I also spent the better part of my 20's spending too much time blaming others for my own mistakes. With age has come the realization that I am responsible for my own choices and the fallout--and that that's not a bad thing. This to me is what led me to come to grips with my Atheism (after a whole life of being raised in a religious household).

I hope to look back on this post after a long while and not have anything to add to the bottom part of the list, but without regret what would spur us on to try new things and learn from our inevitable mistakes?

Un-regretfully yours,

The Bacon Lady

Had to do it

Bacon is magical, and don't you forget it.

(found this on Dooce today)

Huh?

I woke up at 3am this morning to find I had taken off my shirt in my sleep.

I guess I was hot.

One time I could have gone to jail

Back in college I partied a lot. Like a LOT a lot. It makes perfect sense that I never got my degree. I pretty much pushed the limits of my very being for a good four years.

But it's alright. I wouldn't take more than a handful of those experiences back, and everything turned out OK in the end. I mean, look at me now. I'm Suzy fucking Homemaker!

I was a bartender as one of my many jobs through college which meant that, on a busy night anyway, I didn't get the chance to get my personal drink on until after close at an after hours party.

Most of the bartenders went out together after close which was fun because I didn't have to be the only partially sober person walking into the mayhem of people who'd already been drinking for several hours.

One night my friend Alison and I went out after work with an old friend of hers, Pete, who was in town visiting. He was a nice guy and was game to join us for what I thought would be a few beers at a small gathering.

We got there and the party was outside. I remember it was a really warm night and everyone was sitting in the grass just chatting and laughing.

At one point I lost track of Alison. I was talking to Pete for a little bit when I looked up to see Alison in a very heated argument with some dumpy drunk guy.

Pete seemed a little apprehensive about the situation but we both knew Alison well. She could handle herself in just about any situation.

A few minutes later I could tell their conversation was getting heated...then physical. Pete and I looked at each other in disbelief. They weren't throwing punches. It was more like a very unfriendly wrestling match. It was so weird because they weren't making a whole lot of noise and it was pretty dark in the yard so no one was really paying attention.

At one point, Dumpy Drunk Dude had Alison pinned by the shoulders with his knees. He had his weight as a major advantage and I could tell Alison was stuck.

I looked at Pete, reached behind him and grabbed an empty beer bottle. I got up and silently walked over to the ruckus.

I calmly told DDD to "get the fuck off her" before smashing the bottle over his head.

I stood there for a good 5 seconds before I heard someone tell me to run. And I ran.

My boyfriend at the time (presently my husband) lived a few short blocks away and I sprinted just as fast as my short little legs could take me.

I burst into the apartment to find he and his roommate playing Tomb Raider, oblivious to my half crazed panting behind them.

"Holy shit!" I said trying to break Lara Croft's vice-like grip on their senses, "I just broke a bottle on some guy's head!"

Before I could get any reaction out of either of them, Alison and Pete came in.

"Holy shit!" Alison yelled, "You just broke a bottle on some guy's head!"

About a year later I was at the bar hanging out when some guy I didn't recognize walked up to me and told me I owed him a drink. It took me a minute to figure it out. Then, I couldn't help myself. I started laughing.

He tried to make me feel guilty about the fact that he needed a bunch of stitches that night, but I wasn't having it. I told him he deserved it, and walked away.

Well, it's pretty damn convenient for me

60 degrees in January? In Illinois?

I love it!

Pass the cigarettes and the motherfuckin' hairspray!

Wheeeee

Mike Huckabee can suck my caucus.

GO OBAMA!

Dream on

(NOTE: A friend and I started a "Blog Challenge" blog here to make each other write something every day this year. I'm cross posting this here because I liked it...and I'm being lazy. I'm sorry. I won't make a habit of it...or maybe I will. Get off my back.)


For my 8th graduation gift, my parents bought me my very own "stereo system". It was basically just a glorified boom box with detachable speakers. I was elated.

Growing up with super religious parents, I rarely got to hear much of the rock and or roll, save for slumber parties and noisy neighbors. My very own radio/tape deck/record player was my chance to venture into the land of music not signing the accolades of ourlordandsaviour.

The very first thing I did was beg for a ride to the mall to pick out a record of my very own. And the choice was obvious.

The summer between my 7th and 8th grade years was a tumultuous one. For reasons better discussed at a later date, my family moved from southern California to northwest Indiana to live with my Grandparents.

The only saving grace was that my cousin, a year older than me, lived there. Thankfully we got along famously.

She introduced me around to all her friends, reveling in the fact that I was her "cousin from California" as if I possessed some kind of magical power. I enjoyed to attention I got, especially when it came to a certain boy.

This kid was a grade A delinquent, and I was smitten. Like most stories in the treasure trove of my personal life, this one didn't end well. That didn't stop me from pining away for the rest of the summer and even after we moved to the Chicago suburbs that August.

When I first heard the song on the radio, it broke my fragile little 13 year old heart into a million pieces. In my mind, this was "our song", and I pretended that when he heard it, he thought the same thing.

After setting up my shiny new audio system and convincing my Mom I had to go buy a record right that minute, I used what was left of my graduation money to buy a 45 of "Angel" by Aerosmith.

I heard that song on the radio the other day and immediately cringed with embarrassment. The whole summer came flooding back in a wave of nauseated nostalgia.

The boy that I thought I was just dying to be with really was a juvenile delinquent, with a record to prove it. After I moved away, he was arrested for throwing a hammer at the conductor in a passing train.

I don't know what happened to the 45, but that boom box came with me when I went away to college.

Unfortunately, so did my taste for delinquents.

Oops

This morning, I "adjusted" the garage door.

My car sat out all night on New Year's Eve so we would have room in the garage for the smokers in attendance. We got a good bit of snow that night, so last night I asked him to bring the car back into the garage. I assumed he would get all the snow off first. Nope.

This is how it looked last night:





When I went to back my car out of the garage this morning to warm it up, I couldn't see out the back window and failed to remember that I had only opened the door halfway when I went out there to smoke a cigarette earlier.

I hate when I do stupid shit like that.

It's not just that I dented the bottom of the door (it's not even that bad). It's more about the fact that Jim now has free reign to give me shit, and there's not a goddamned thing I can do about it...except wait until he does something equally as stupid.

Happy New Year!

P.S. The gun was made of glass...and filled with tequila.