Now that it is finally Wednesday and my laundry is done, apartment clean, and I am officially overdue to be blogging about my weekend events, I think I’ll tell you about my weekend events. Never one to actually retell a story in a timely manner, you know. PSHAW! How pedestrian. Procrastination is way cooler.

This past weekend was my dad’s big 5-0 birthday. That’s right, my dad is a pup. Both my parents are pups, but my dad is younger than my mom (making her a Cougar, duh) so he is especially puppish, juvenile and eat-your-shoes annoying. Especially when he suspects that there will be a surprise party in his honor, which was HELLO, the very reason Stockton and I were flying our butts from Arizona to Indiana for 3 days.  He sniffed and sniffed and damn near drove my mom to the looney bin trying to figure out what was going on prior to the big day.  After some explosive arguments, from what I hear out here in AZ (no, literally, I could hear them screaming all the way from Indiana to Arizona), the secret appeared to be out, Dad knew and Mom was pissed. Woh wohhhh (anybody have any insight as to how to phonetically spell the noise that Charlie Brown’s teacher makes?!? Wah? Woh? Wohn?).

After the football game on Saturday (GO IRISH!) which was merely an all-day decoy for my dad so that Mom could put some finishing touches on the party, Dad arrived home with Stockton, Rob, Maddie + a friend, and I.

 

SCENE: Mom is standing inside the garage door with her hands on her hips. Looking uber bitchy. Feeling demonic and smug.

Mom: “Well, come on down, I have something to show you.” (Refering to the basement, which, long story short, is the root of all arguing in this scenario because thanks to some not-so-discreet furniture rearranging, Dad found out about the party. Durr.)

Dad: “Hold on, I have to unload my trunk.” (OMG! You are such a pain in the ass! You know there is something in that house for you and you would rather organize your garage!!!!!! AJ:JHL:GHK:DJHG:KHJG).

Finally finding their ways down the stairs to an empty basement, the scene continues.

Mom: “Well, this is what you get when you find out about your surprise party and tell me to bag the whole thing. Nothing but a bartender, because I was able to call all the guests and cancel, but the bartender was on contract, so we MIGHT AS WELL DRINK!” (O. M. W. Like, psycho, crazed, birthday-hater, beeyotch action right there).

Dad reluctantly reaches out to retrieve the scotch being handed to him by the bartender.  Looking around, his smirk of suspicion turns into a look of sadness and disappointment. And then. Then, these words came out of his mouth.

“You’re really weird.”

I ABOUT LOST ALL MY MARBLES RIGHT THEN AND THERE! For those of you who know my dad, you know that he has an arsenal full of one-liners that FAR surpass “You’re really weird” but thanks to the presence of the bartender and Maddie’s friend, he was able to stay g-rated.  But HOOOOOOO boy was it good for a stifled-don’t-give-anything-away-choke-on-your-beer laugh.

Mom: “Well, you might as well head upstairs and shower because we are still going out to dinner with our family.”

Dad, taking stairs 3 at a time, which epitomizes the feeling of PISSED OFF murmurs something equally g-rated and hilarious, and finds his way to the top of the stairs.

Fumble through a few more exchanges (all g-rated, thank god, he had clients there for goodness sakes) and Dad arrives at the mouth of the living room where 50 people are there to wish him a happy birthday.

Dad’s face said it all. He was a mixture of pissed/happy/coulda cried/dopey, as he often is when he reaches a certain point of deliriousness/50.  He looked 50, but only because there were that many people there with greeting cards about sagging butts and missing teeth with his name on them. And Dad, it couldn’t have been a better celebration.

Happy Birthday, Pup.  Our next segment of training with you in your new half century focuses on obedience.

Last Saturday, I experienced my very first taste of an Oktoberfest… celebration? Drinkebration? Boozebration?? You get my point.

We went to Tempe Town Lake (which is really more of a thirsty looking pit with some flies buzzing over stagnant puddles) with two of Mr. Aerobats friends, and drank the obligatory “Oktoberfest Brew Beer” and I officially ate my first brat with sauerkraut. Not as bad as I ever thought it would be.  But all I really wanted was one of those damn chicken stumps that look like the thigh of a Bedrock Dino-Chicken a la the Flintstones (ok they’re turkey drums, but Chicken Stump is a much more effective name when, as a two beer queer, you have reached your limit of German brews and your hunger is getting the best of you at a festival).  A festival where THEY DIDN’T EVEN HAVE ELEPHANT EARS, might I add!! Dumb Germans.

In an effort to continue the Boozebration, we headed up Mill Avenue, which is supposedly the hot spot for Arizonans looking to continue the Boozebration (on any given night, German festival notwithstanding) and HOOOO boy I haven’t seen that many freaks since my grandpa and dad took me to Key West when I was 18 and that guy with 16 nipple rings (on two nipples, he wasn’t THAT freaky) walked across a burning tight rope while coaching his girlfriend through a water-birth in a feeding trough right there in Mallory Square.

The good news is, thanks to Oktoberfest and Mill Avenue, I can officially cross ‘Listen to an African American Flautist Play Eagles Covers Dressed in Skin Tight Head to Toe Camouflage’ off my bucket list. And thank goodness, because I knew that would be a hard one to check off.

Some of you know that I own and operate my own business in the children’s textile manufacturing business.  In an attempt to come up with a fantastic Christmas charity that will bring hope to possibly thousands of individuals this Christmas, I have just launched the announcement of what I am called Operation Warm Christmas 2010.

Please click on the link to see what the mission is all about and how to participate, and feel free to share it with friends! If you, or someone you know, has been affected by a still birth or a premature birth, contact me to become an advocate for this project.  You will be sent print materials that you can distribute to friends, family, and acquaintances in the Preemie community.  If you are a nurse or hospital employee connected to a NICU that is in need of support this holiday season through our charity efforts, please contact me so I can add your hospital to our list of recipients.  If you are a blogger who would like to share the mission on your own blog, contact me and I will work with you to create a guest post for your audience.  If you just like pretty things or know someone with a baby or toddler who would enjoy a receiving blanket or play mat this holiday season, head on over to the website and purchase a blanket to make a donation possible.  With your help, we can make a difference this Christmas.

Remember: everyone deserves to be warm on Christmas, no matter their size or prognosis.

“I tell you the truth – whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me”  -Matthew 25:40

Taking votes! All in favor of adding bangs to my bob, say AYE!

AYYYEEE!!!!!

Last night was the worst night of my human existence.  To put it mildly.

The past several nights I have slept like crap due to what I assumed was just new-climate allergies or a mild cold.  Whatever the cause, I was tossing and turning each night for about 3 nights.  Last night confirmed what all the other nights were leading up to and what I will have confirmed by a certified physician in about 45 minutes: I think I have a sinus infection.
Not one to be melodramatic about things, I’ll shoot you straight. I thought my effing cheekbones were conspiring against me in a competition to see which one could detach itself from my face the fastest.  My forehead caught wind of the friendly competition and joined in, creating a trifecta of misery in my facial cavity.

Add to that waking up (from a 30 minute NAP at 3 am because, let’s be real, there wasn’t a WHOLE lot of sleeping going on between writhing and crying and waking Mr. Aerobat up to be miserable right along with me because WHAT IS MARRIAGE FOR IF NOT TO SHARE YOUR MISERY WITH YOUR HEALTHY SPOUSE!? But I digress) with a cold and slimy body, because what is a good illness without a sweat-caking fever to boot?? And hoooo boy, it was the most action our marriage bed has seen EVER!

Ever heard the joke “Does your face hurt, CAUSE IT’S KILLING ME!”? Well… I give you carte blanche to make face-killing comments to this post. In fact, consider that a challenge. Who can come up with the best face-killing joke, because I could use a laugh right about now!

*Please note: Do not, ever, under any circumstances (even while trying to find the perfect picture for your blog to truly emphasize your point) google the phrase “face exploding” in the images category. That’s free advice, but worth so, so much.*

This dress (found here) is titled the “Blog Writer’s Dress”.  For reasons unknown to me, this is the new uniform for all of us unemployed writers who have to resort to .wordpress accounts to be heard (er…. read).

Part of me can appreciate this dress and envision it with some cute grey leggings and these new flats I just got ON SALE {la-tee-da} at Nordstrom.

The other part of me is screaming obscenities at the WTFness that is this frumpy muumuu.  Are all blog writers pregnant?? I mean, I get the whole Mommy Blogger conspiracy, but why the shapeless hospital gown, ModCloth, WHY!?!?!?

Clearly I’m torn. What are YOUR thoughts?

I LOVE this Kate Spade bracelet! I just found it while perusing the Piperlime website because, duh, it’s the last day of 15% off everything and I still haven’t purchased my riding boots for this season, and I think it’s positively delectable.

Bracelet reads: “This year I will read the classics, conquer the souffle, learn to cha-cha, take up the trumpet, fall head over heels”

To get yours (for 15% off!!), click here.

If I were a cool individual with fantastic bone structure, some balls, and an ounce of fashion (oh, and weighing 98 pounds probably wouldn’t hurt), I would totally own the Pixie.

How beautiful is Posh?!? She looks killer no matter what her hair is doing, and I often fall victim to her tresses’ charms. I think in this particular instance, however, my husband might rush out and buy me a wig if I came home like this.  BUT I COULD BE THE NEW POSH OF THE WILD WILD WEST!!!!!

Isn’t it hilarious that people think if they take in a photo of some sexy bombshell of a fashion icon for a “hairstyle” that they will come out looking like that person, lock, stock and sexy body? Isn’t it hilarious that I do that very thing just about once every six weeks?!

Let’s see, I’ve gone through Jennifer Aniston phases at several various points, I have gone through (obviously) Posh phases, I’m currently trying to force Mr. Aerobat into a David Beckham phase (because DUH if I’m going to base my physical identity off Victoria, we have to complete the PERFECT PAIR!). It’s a never ending cycle.

If anyone out there has balls, please cut your hair like this and post a photo as a comment. I need to live vicariously through someone on this one.

WOW who would’ve thought starting out your first post on your new blog would take 20 minutes just to find the proper opening line and that ultimately the opening line would be “WOW who would’ve thought starting out your first post on your new blog would take 20 minutes just to find the proper opening line”?  HOW UTTERLY CATCHING!  Don’t you want to read more of this tantalizing literary delight?!

I hope you do choose to read more, because I have lots to say!  Sometimes pertaining to life’s daily happenings, often pertaining to my love/hate relationship with my hair, and periodically involving Mr. Aerobat (my high-flyin’ hubby) when he deems my blog content “internet appropriate”.  This would be because I often lack a filter, and yes, we have had that conversation where I wanted to blog about something (that may or may not have had something to do with him and a male habit involving scratching) which he abruptly put the kabosh on and taught me a thing or two about what should be published on Facebook and what is really better handled in the privacy of a real life adult conversation.  At the time, publishing my annoyance in a Facebook status update seemed like such an obvious choice to remedy the problem. NO I AM NOT PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE!  I’m learning, but I’ve only been married 6 weeks, so I get a flub period wherein I inadvertently piss him off and pick myself up and become a better wife.  So you may hear about the hubs, but only the awesome things, of which there are mucho many. And I promise to work on my filter, but only to the extent that the content of this site is still delectable and humorous.  So hubs, I can’t promise that I won’t rat you out for some of your delightful quirks.

Thanks for joining me in the sphere-o-blogs.  I promise not to disappoint!

Cupcakes and High Fives,

Coco

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