This blog is to give all you Starrtrippers something to be thankful for this year, and to make some of you (Megan and Megan) quit your bitching about needing a blog to read while you drink. BY THE WAY, I HOPE YOU'VE BEEN DRINKING EVEN WITHOUT MY BLOG BECAUSE IT HAS BEEN 6 MONTHS SINCE I BLOGGED AND THAT'S A LONG DAMN TIME TO BE ON THE WAGON. Just sayin'.
THINGS FOR WHICH I AM THANKFUL THIS YEAR:
1. The airplane is OUTTA MY GARAGE. Yep. After 4+ years of being known in North Suffolk as "the house with the airplane in the garage," we rolled it out, loaded it up, and shipped that bitch to South Carolina last night in the covered trailer of a very nice couple named Sarah and Drew. It took a little manuevering, seeing as how it IS A FULL SIZED AIRPLANE WITH FULL-SIZED FUCKING WINGS, but eventually (lots of straps and packing quilts later) it all worked out. Note that the top photo is what I saw (along with the rest of the world) every time my garage door was open (which was always, because my son is seemingly incapable of remembering to ever close the garage door-- yes, I realize it looks like a junkyard, but I'M FROM TENNESSEE, MOTHERFUCKERS, SO IT'S NORMAL). The second photo is of the fully loaded plane in the trailer, with the wings covered in quilts and hanging from the sides of the trailer. Now, looks closely at the third photo. Does anything look weird to you?
2. Hannah the Hamster, R.I.P.~ Hannah the hamster was never OUR hamster. In fact, I had never met Hannah until one fine October day when I decided to return a large glass cup shaped like a trophy and full of ping-pong balls (this is the kind of thing people leave at my house, y'all) to my friends Paul and Leslie. When I got to their house, I saw them both through the open front door, standing over a cage and looking concerned. The first question they asked me was "Hey, do you know the best way to euthanize a hamster?" WELL, OF COURSE I DO. I GET THAT QUESTION ALL THE TIME. Apparently, Hannah had taken very ill during the night and had spent the morning stumbling drunkenly around her cage, refusing to eat and breathing sporadically. After a phone conversation with the vet, Leslie had learned that the hamster was not likely to recover and needed to be put down, and put down STAT as their daughter (and Hannah's owner) would be home from school soon. NOW, a NORMAL person (which none of the three of us are) would have taken the hamster to a vet to have it euthanized. However, that seemed like a bad choice as the hamster was obviously suffering every second it was alive, Leslie was near tears, and Lily was going to be home very soon. Paul suggested we put it in a box, use a vacuum hose, and then car exhaust to gas it. (It was actually slightly terrifying how excited he was about this idea and just how well it had all been thought out.) I, however, being the friend-group druggie (after gently mentioning to Leslie that her husband might be a sociopath because EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT'S HOW SOCIOPATHS ALL START OUT, KILLING CATS AND HAMSTERS AND SHIT), suggested we dope it up with some of the Xanax I had in my car. I mean, if half of one knocks my ass out for 8 hours, wouldn't a whole one surely put a 1-pound hamster to sleep forever? ONE WOULD THINK SO. I got the Xanax, Paul dissolved it into a syringe, and Hannah slurped it down faster than I've been known to drink vodka on Spring Break. Then the wait began. At first, Hannah settled down. We started high-fiving-- this was good-- it looked like Hannah was going to slip right into the BIG SLEEP. Until she didn't. It wasn't but a few minutes later that the Xanax seemed to REVIVE Hannah. She started running around her cage. Then eating. Then doing these weird things that kind of looked like push-ups (and led to Paul suggesting we mount a tiny knife in her cage so when she dipped down in her push-ups she would inadvertently stab herself to death, thus relieving us of the burden of being murderers-- like I said, RUN, LESLIE, RUN). Anyway. So it turns out Xanax revives nearly dead hamsters. I won't go into the rest of the story, other than to say that we DID try to smother it with a pillow, and that turned out even worse than the Xanax and was also unsuccessful. By the time I left, I felt like a huge failure because Hannah was still alive. I'm told she later passed peacefully though, and I didn't ask any questions. I have a feeling "peacefully" might have been an exaggeration (meaning A BIG FUCKING LIE) and that Paul might have had a hand in the passing (MY HOUSE IS A SAFE HOUSE, LESLIE). R.I.P. Hannah.
3. I'm so fancy~ And I want this pillow for Christmas.
4. Thinking positively~ I am not an optimist. I am the GIRL WHO HOPES FOR THE BEST BUT KNOWS THE FUCKING WORST POSSIBLE SCENARIO IS GOING TO HAPPEN so I should be prepared because that's how my universe rolls, yo. If I'm making a green shake, I'm going to catch the blender on fire (thanks for the new Ninja, B). If I move into a new house, I'm going to end up with a snake in my kitchen and an airplane in my garage. If I try to visit a friend, I may end up helping euthanize their pet. THAT IS MY LIFE. So I'm trying here lately to AT LEAST focus on the positive. For example, I am moving out of Virginia after a decade into a big, brand-new, super-fancy house in Georgia. While I myself, am FANCY AS FUCK (please refer to the pillow), I have some trepidation about the new house because we are closing on it on Friday, and our house here hasn't sold yet. The reason for this is because B has already been gone so long already, and we just couldn't live apart any longer. So B found an amazing house, and we just up and bought it. I know we're good, and it's fine that this one hasn't sold yet, but it's still stressful to me. But instead of focusing on the STRESS of having two lovely houses that I adore this holiday season, I am trying to focus on the BLESSING of it. The fact is that lots of people don't have ANY house. So I am lucky. I am twice as lucky as many people, and much, much luckier than I deserve to be.
5. Being a Weirdo Magnet~ All of my close friends are psycho as all hell, as you have probably deduced if you have read my previous blogs. It's because I attract weird people, and I only like to hang out with people who appreciate my OWN brand of crazy, so I tend to gravitate towards people I meet who are obviously as fucked up as I am, even if they don't appear to be when you first meet them. THESE ARE MY PEOPLE, DUDE. I LOVE THEM. When B and I realized we needed to put the house on the market, it was already time for him to leave for the new job, so I was left here to TAKE CARE OF SHIT (which is kind of what I do anyway, so it's cool). Knowing that we needed some curb appeal, I mentioned to my friends Heather and Jess that I had ten million yard work related things to do, and out of the kindness of their hearts, both bitches showed up to help. Heather came first, bringing her new baby along. It was a sunny day and Heather found me with all my porch furniture in my front yard, sitting in an Adirondack chair, staring at my house (with the garage door open and the plane on display). She took a seat, and we immediately started talking about our favorite topic-- wine. I went into the house and got a couple of bottles that I had picked up and wanted to get her opinion on, and when I came out, she was nursing her baby. So we sat, bottles of wine scattered around us, and chatted while she nursed. Then Jess showed up, with a bunch of tools and she and I started chopping up some ENORMOUS FUCKING SHRUBS THAT HAVE BEEN HERE SINCE WE BOUGHT THE HOUSE AND THAT WERE UGLY AS FUCKING SIN with axes (because Jess is a badass), then Heather painted my door frame (with a baby), and people started slowing down as they drove by. I don't know if it was the plane, the boobs on display along with the booze, or the fact that Jess and I were going all Paul Bunyan on my shrubbery, but we got a lot of attention. And this was perfectly normal to the three of us, because THESE ARE MY PEOPLE, DUDE. I LOVE THEM.
6. With Age Come Awesome~ I am 37 years old. I have carried two children, had two emergency c-sections, and have the scars to prove it, along with hysterectomy scars. I have a filling in one tooth where I had a cavity once when I was a little kid. I have some crow's feet, major lines in my forehead (I tend to scrunch it a lot when I'm thinking), and my wrists won't bend completely flat because they never healed properly from being broken. I swear A LOT, even in front of my kids (who have been trained that they are not allowed to talk that way), and I drink wine every day. I still cry all the time when I think of my Dad. I love doing intense workouts, but it's because I love feeling like a badass, not because I'm trying to lose weight. I hate popcorn and chocolate ice cream. I regularly shower three times a day. AND I GIVE ZERO FUCKS WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT ME. There is a lot of shit I don't care for about myself. There is a lot of shit I probably need to change. But I love the feeling of freedom that comes from not caring what anybody else thinks of me (except B-- I will admit that he is the exception to that, although luckily he is very non-judgmental of me and everyone else). It's fun. It's cathartic. It's like flying. GO OUT IN THE WORLD AND BE YOUR RIDICULOUS SELF. GIVE ZERO FUCKS. I GOT YOUR BACK. (Unless I don't like you, then I will tell you I don't like you because I don't care if you know.) That's why I am not afraid to show you these photos, taken two days apart. Me, pre and post- yoga, feeling all awesome, and then me on a day I had been crying and stressing all day, and took solace in trying on hats in Burlington Coat Factory to cheer myself up, and then, realizing how fabulous I looked, had to take a selfie to send to B in South Carolina to cheer HIM up because THAT'S HOW FUCKING AWESOME OF A WIFE I AM. I TAKE SELFIES IN BURLINGTON COAT FACTORY WITH HATS AND NO MAKEUP EXCEPT SOME LEFTOVER EYELINER FROM THE DAY BEFORE THAT HADN'T COME OFF IN ONE OF THE SIX PREVIOUS SHOWERS I HAD TAKEN.
I'm pretty fucking fabulous in all three.
7. My utterly ridiculous family~