All posts in Letting Me Out of the House

The WOOT Girl

You know the whole concept of the “perfect storm”?

Well tonight, I’m hours, maybe minutes, away from getting my shark week early, AGAIN, and we’ve been to a family funeral this week and driven a whole lot of miles and I’m tired and then tonight I took Current Husband to see Martin Sexton (and if you haven’t seen him , SERIOUSLY, what the hell, he is amazingballs) for his Valentine’s Day gift, except that he didn’t drink and I did and then I was the WOOT girl, who goes WOOT during every song and makes it about her, and at one point I was clapping and he made me stop because he said I was clapping waaaayyy off rhythm, and our friends were all laughing at me but I don’t care because I was having THEBESTTIMEEVERSOMUCHFUN.

Perfect storm. Happy I didn’t get arrested. And I had a designated driver.

Here is a video of Martin Sexton singing my fave song of his, Can’t Stop Thinkin’ Bout You, with John Mayer:

And now I’m home.

And it’s 11:11 p.m. (make a wish!) and I have to get up at 6:15 to make lunches and get everyone off to orchestra and student council and get to work, and ouch is that ever going to hurt.

And then?

IOWA STATE PLAYS UCONN TOMORROW NIGHT.

Here is Fred Hoiberg dancing to New York State of Mind.Because he is awesome like that. And still maintains his “Punching Man” like a 20-year-old:

Here is a small video about how awesome Iowa State is and why you should send your kids there:


And I will be at Buffalo Wild Wings at 5:20 to hold down a table for 12 for our group of crazies, many of whom witnessed me being the WOOT girl tonight, so we can cheer our Cyclones on to Huskie dream-killing.

GO CYCLONES!

AND LISTEN TO MARTIN SEXTON. Because he is amazingballs. Said it twice in a post. Thus concludes my use of that word forever.
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Help! I Need Somebody!

Not just anybody.

You know I need someone.

HELP!

When I was younger, so much younger than today, I had nothing but spare time and I realize now that I completely wasted it. Had I realized that today I would spend my days at my job and all of the time after that driving around until bedtime, I would’ve gotten serious about writing my book back then. And buying stock in Apple with my drinking money. Now I’m pretty much just relying on someone to invent a time machine. I love seeing my kids on stage, on the court, playing their instrument, etc. I love our high school right down to my permed hair, ESPRIT sweater and penny loafers. But since I’m not very good at math, I didn’t realize that for every 10 minutes you see your kid involved in an activity, you have to put in 10 hours of volunteer time and/or driving and/or prep time. It’s basic algebra, people. And thank God my kids can rise above my absolute lack of organization or discipline, or we’d all be screwed.

In other words, sorry I’m down to being a once-a-week blogger. This insanity might possibly last until April 13, when the high school musical and basketball is over.

SO. Last week, as part of my commitment to our fine arts boosters at the high school, I said I would help with an event called Liverpool Legends, which is a faux Beatles tribute band. Louise Harrison, George Harrison’s sister, runs the thing, and she is a spark plug. I wasn’t in charge of it or anything, but I still showed up with a lasagne at about 4:45 and didn’t leave until 10 p.m., so I can’t even imagine the time the real organizers put in. It was totally worth it. And? I fed the Beatles.

lennon2

Me, geeking out with Louise Harrison. I want to put her in my pocket and take her home. But security stopped me, yelling “Let Her Be!”

I am a lifelong psychotic Beatles fan – recognize the blog name? Read more…

Keeping Austin Weird

Another Throwback Post about my trip to Austin two years ago with my high school besties – because I’m with them RIGHT NOW in the same house in Texas. Yee-effing-haw! Catch you Monday or Tuesday!

Last Thursday, I went to work for a few hours (MISTAKE!) and then boarded a plane for Austin, TX to see my women.  This was around noon, and I celebrated with some “Alone/Contemplation Time” at the airport bar.

Just me, George Washington, and some Blue Moon.
But then they announced boarding and I had to slam it.
And then I realized a neighbor was sitting behind me
and watched me slam a beer by myself in the bar,
and then boarded the plane with me.
All class, all the time, People.

Away we went to Dallas, and then to another flight in Austin. I don’t mind takeoffs, but I just cringe at every landing. I hate that moment when the tires hit the runway, because I always picture them breaking off and then I’m in a fiery crash and I’m trying to grab my purse to exit the plane, because even in a fiery crash I’m probably going to take my purse. Do you know what a pain it is to get a new driver’s license?

(By the way, I KNOW this text is all caddywompus, and I’m trying to get Blogger to change it and it won’t, and I’m very tired and I’m not going to even bother pursuing the left-alignment any more. Please make a note of it.)

I found my girls.

Soon, an obliging bar table looked like this.
Our friend Liz arrived, late because her car broke down on the way to her flight in Denver, so she missed it, and got a later flight because she cried at the counter. Then she met a fellow on the plane, “Jim”, who made sure she got to our bar okay. Hello Liz. Goodbye Jim. Better luck next flight.

Our next order of business was to get to a grocery store to stock up on food and liquor for the weekend. Instead, we ended up making faces and posing in the store, and went home with little food.

But a good start on the liquor.

We rent houses because we would get kicked out of hotels. We were lucky that our friend Paige has a colleague with a $3 million dollar house that he only uses a couple of months out of the year in Austin, so here was Home Sweet Home, RENT FREE no less, for the next few days:

We spent LOTS of time in that little hot tub on the pool.
Since the house only has three bedrooms, one person was bed-free.  I would have taken the couch or one of the reclining chairs in the theater, but Dee had the short straw that night and she CHOSE to sleep on the floor, which is fun when you’re 13 and a real pain in the ass when you are over 40.  But when you’re a little tipsy, anything will do.  Here is what Dee’s Princess Bed was made of, no shit:
  • A ”Congrats Wendy” graduation blanket
  • A slightly stained quilt that said “To Robert Love Dad”
  • A Texas Longhorns blanket
  • An inflatable alligator
You’ve got a purdy mouth, Alligator.

 

Keep in mind that Dee ended up with Bacon Cat at the spa when we were in Scottsdale, so there is a history of her getting short-shafted with animal products. She might want to reconsider her friend circles. We all know she’s too polite to say anything.

The next morning, we discovered the house was attractive to these:

 

Actual dead scorpion on the floor.

I killed one with a rubber squeegee in the garage.
We also discovered that in the light, you could see into the stone entryway, and that in said entryway there was a little Casita, which in Spanish translates to “You bitches made your friend sleep on the floor with Wendy’s blanket and the homoerotic alligator when she could have been in the nicest bed with a private bath in the house”. 

But then again, my Spanish is a little rusty.

The Casita is on the right. Oops.
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Throwback Thursday – Club 40 in Austin

For Throwback Thursday, I’ll go back to the future – I left yesterday for my bi-annual high school girlfriend reunion! Right now, I’m in Austin, Texas, hopefully in the sun, having a nice, cold drink with my girlies. They are the ones I wrote my skin tag story about in “You Have Lipstick On Your Teeth.” In honor of them, Throwback Thursday is from the day I left for our trip in 2011, and Friday will be my recap blog from that trip. I love a lot of people in my life, and I’ve been blessed with some wonderful friends over the years who really put up with my occasional neurotic bullshit, but these girls? They are my heart.

 Club 40 in Austin, Texas – Wednesday, November 2, 2011 

In about 11 hours, I will abandon my children.
In about 15 hours, I will leave my husband.
In about 20 hours, I will be kissing a woman.
In about 24 hours, I will likely be drunk.
It will all be documented.  But most of it NEVER shared.

These are my women:

Skinny, pretty bitches, aren’t they? 
And this is after about 6 hours of drinking.
But I love them in spite of it.

My high school posse of seven gets together every couple of years, and honestly, it’s one of the most precious, important things to me.  We travel from Iowa and Nebraska and Minnesota and Colorado and Montana and Idaho.  They are smart, terrifically talented and multi-faceted people, and when we get together we aren’t people’s moms or wives or employees or bosses or doctors or designers or marketers or artists or corporate brass.  We are Julie and Paige and Meem and Dee and Steph and Liz and Jen.  People with histories and victories and tragedies.  I know every one of these chickas has my back, and I have theirs.  And they know EVERYTHING about me, which makes you feel a little sorry for them, no?  Do you want to know how much I love them?  Do you?

I would poop in front of them.

That’s right.  Go ahead and cringe.  But if you are a woman, you KNOW that’s a big deal.

Here we are re-living what was probably a middle school slumber party move:

Since I’m the tallest person, I’m always the heaviest too, so I spared them all the ER visit and didn’t get on the top of the pyramid.  You’re welcome, girls.  This was taken two years ago when we last met in a gorgeous house in Scotsdale, Arizona.  That weekend was such total and complete bliss, and we all cried when it was time to leave.  I’ve been so effing busy at work and with the kids and our basement renovation that I haven’t even had time to think about this trip much until tonight, and I’m finally starting to get so excited.  It’s the oasis in the desert.  With tequila.

Since my air travel experience wasn’t fantastic last time, I’m sure to load up on reading material.  These are the two books I’m lugging along for my drinking reunion weekend:

That George Washington book is a bigun.  It is making me rethink my aversion to a Kindle.  There is just SOMETHING about opening that book and turning the pages and feeling the heft of it in my hands.  I’m a little old school about it.  But a Kindle would be a dream for the trip.  Maybe in Large Print.

I briefly considered taking Todd “Hot Nuts” Epstein with me for the trip, because that cheeky squirrel is always up for a party, but if airport security took him away for any reason, I would just die.  I wouldn’t get on the plane.  It nearly killed me that they took my forgotten mini Swiss Army knife out of my makeup bag.  I begged them to let me keep the tweezers, because with the Chia Brow I need to pluck every 3-5 hours.  I’m taking my muffin top because I have nowhere else I can put it.  I’m taking a camera and swimsuit and Prilosec and Aleve, and the rest doesn’t matter.  Which is good because it is now nearly 9 p.m. and I haven’t packed yet.

Au revoir, Wifers!  Have a great weekend, and I’ll be back all full of verboten tales on Monday.  Or Tuesday.

UPDATE:  Oh bloody hell.  I got sucked into Property Brothers on HGTV, and now it’s 11 p.m. and still no packing.  Up at 6:30 to get kids to school, still have to pop in at work for a couple of hours, flight at 1 p.m., what was I thinking?

Damn you, Property Brothers and your stylish renovations.  Damn you to hell.