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.