It was a pimp grabbing, tank top wearing, rip roaring good time. Lets see if I can do it again this year...

WARNING! This is long. I ramble on for a while so perhaps you would like to take this time to grab a snack or use the bathroom before you begin. I'll wait.

And now, on with the show (blog? story?).

I am generally a non confrontational person. I try my hardest to avoid conflict. I have never been in a physical fight. But apparently the mixture of a biker rally, booze, and one camera toting pimp brings out my hostile side. Thank God that combination rarely occurs in nature.

Last year I went to Street Vibrations in Reno, Nevada. Once a year for a week or so every single biker in North America makes a stop in Reno for a little bit of partying. Naturally I was itching to throw myself directly in the middle of that. I went with a group of girlfriends, Shellee, Rose, and Alicia.

We made matching tank tops for the occasion (Yes, you read that correctly. Matching. Tank. Tops.). It was an inside joke amongst the group of us. They were teal with silver glitter letters directly across our boobs that read "Grand Gals" with rhinestone martini glasses on the lower left side and a rhinestone high heel on the back directly between our shoulder blades.

We're Grand and we're Gals, don't hate.

Basically the meaning of the shirts was a combination of slang we all use. Allow me to clarify......

"Gal" because:
We do not refer to each other by name, girl, friend, lady, or hey you, we call each other Gal. Like "Hey Gal, check this out:... or "Gal, I'm serious, you need to open the bottle of wine.".

"Grand" because:

Nothing is simply great, wonderful, fantastic, awesome, tubular...you get the point. It is "Grand". If used correctly a phrase using "grand" would look like this...."Gal, look at the guy over there, he is grand." (notice the use of "grand" and "gal" in the same breath) or " This wine is grand. Pour another glass."

We wore the shirts all day and night. The first half of the day several people stopped us asking what "Grand Gals" were. At first we told the truth. We explained that it was an inside joke. But as the day progressed and our alcohol intake increased we started making up stories. Eventually the standard story we gave people was that we are all patients of a plastic surgeon by the name of Doctor Grand. We all met in the waiting room of his office. We had the act down. People either belived us completely or they were too polite to point out that none of us looked like plastic surgery after photos. It was a lot of fun and it was a great conversation starter. Again I feel the need to clarify: Normally I would not wear a shirt that matched my group of friends however given the event, it was appropriate. Venders come from all over and set up shop promoting whatever it is they are selling. All the while wearing identical tops advertising their product, or bike shop, or tattoo parlor, yada yada. Essentially we looked like a group of girls promoting one of those things or our boobs as the shirts would suggest.

Look Ma! No hands!

For the most part the evening went really well. Drinking, laughing, talking. Just generally having a good time. Alicia pushed her limits on alcohol consumption and it was starting to affect her so we stepped out of the bar that we were currently gracing with out presence. Rose and Shellee decided to stay inside. While Alicia and I were taking a breather her stomach decided to protest and she ran to a neighboring doorway and proceeded to get sick. I was holding her hair back when I see a guy with a video camera cross the street and walk directly up to Alicia and begins to roll tape. Alicia is otherwise engaged at the moment and unable to express her distaste at being captured on video at this exact moment, so I step up. This is when "the guy" who is wearing a faux fur jacket in the middle of the summer, opens his mouth to narrate what he is filming.

::caution, explicit language.::

Me: Hey asshole. Turn the mother fucking camera off. (as I grab his arm and turn him the other direction)
Guy: Fuck you, keep your hands off me
Me: Well turn the camera off and I would not have to touch you.
Guy: Don't ever put your hands on me.
Me: Move it along fuck face. And turn the mother fucking camera off.
Guy: Bitch, don't touch me.

There are a few more rounds of conversation that sounds a lot like that...but then he busts out with this gem:

Guy: Do you like dick?

I pause not sure what to say. As I do not have any objection to the part of the male anatomy he is refering to, but somehow I didn't think it would work in my favor to express that.

Guy: There is a bowl of dick right there bitch, eat it.

I'm silent because at that point I honestly have nothing to say to that. Words have escaped me. Insult me, curse at me, shove me a little. But A. Bowl. Of. Dicks. How the hell do you follow that? At this point is when some haggard looking girl walks up and starts also yelling about a bowl of dicks. She even goes so far as to point to the ground where I guess she believes there to be a "blow of dicks". Still I am quiet and turn back to Alicia to make sure she is still okay.

He turns and walks the other way. Girl follows in tow. It was then that the group of scary looking biker guys walk up (mucho thanks for standing there watching this sweet looking "Grand Gal" confront the scary looking Reno local) and say that the guy was a pimp and that was one of his "hoes". To which I respond "Whatever, but why fake fur. If you own women you should own real fur."

The rest of the night was met with more fun, a KISS cover band and an obvious lack of faux fur wearing pimps. Good times.

My jugular is dangerously close to being ripped out by this guy, but notice that my drink is well out of harms way. Eminent death is no excuse for spillage.

I would like to say that I'm sorry for the profuse cursing in this entry but really I am not sure I could have made my point using a bunch of "screw yous" and "butt heads".

Was I that annoying?

Yesterday I was very good. I jumped on the tread mil after work and increased my speed from 3.0 to 3.1. That sounded like a small increase however at an incline of 6 I could really feel the burn.

To burn a few more calories I went to Alicia's to swim. We walk down to her pool and there were already people in it. We were more then slightly perturbed. But seeing as it is a community pool people from the community are technically allowed to be there. It does not matter how many times we call dibs.

Normally I would turn right around and wait until the occupants leave. But it was already after 9pm and I wanted to get to bed at a decent hour. So in we walk. The people in the pool consisted of a group of kids. But not kids like in the 6 to 10 year range. They were probably about 14. It was three girls and two boys. It took about two seconds of marinating in the hot tub to know that swimming was going to be an exercise in futility.

Tell me if this is a phenomenon that that you experienced as an adolescent girl, before you mastered the art of flirting? 80 percent of the time you were a normal human being scouring the latest issue of Big Bopper for pictures of your most recent heart throb and subsequently erecting a shrine to him in your bedroom. But as soon as you were faced with an actual real boy, a boy that you were to have social interaction with you lost your damn mind. All of a sudden you felt the urge to prance around, be as loud as you possibly could, and laugh at EVERYTHING. But I digress....

Well the three girls that were swimming last night were exactly like that only they cursed a lot more. And by "a lot" I literally mean every other word was the F bomb peppered with the N word every few seconds. I guess the saying is true you do in fact "learn something new everyday". I learned last night that you can have an entire conversation using only racial epithets.

Alicia and I did try to swim a few laps however that lasted all of about 5 minutes. Alicia was almost landed on when a cannon ball went a little hay-wire and I am fairly positive I was called "white bitch". Yes, I could have taken offense to that however the girl who said it was also white (not that it should make a difference, but I honestly did not know how to respond). I chose to take my "white bitch" ass out of the pool area before I was forced to drown a 6th grader.

I have plans to swim tonight and I am not afraid to pull the "I will tell your mother" card.

Monday again?

I was sick this weekend. I hate it when that happens. I am fairly certain that I had a summer cold. I am feeling better today, just in time for Monday, whatever stupid cold.

Recap for the weekend:

Friday night I went swimming with Alicia an Rose. Was drained of all energy by 9pm.

Saturday my parents brought me the entertainment center that had been sitting in their garage for two weeks. I was exhausted by the time they left and had to take a two hour nap. Rose woke me up and invited me to diner and a movie with a group of her friends. We saw 1408. It was a good movie, at least the little bit I actually saw. I'm not good with scary movies and spent the majority of the time with my fingers jammed in my ears and my eyes closed. So yes I paid $10 to sit in a theatre with a bunch of strangers to not watch a movie. But hey this accomplished two things 1) I got out of the house on a Saturday night and 2) I tried the TGIFridays Mint Mojito. It was hard to resist having more than one. But my sense of responsibility got the better of me.::sigh:: After the movie I was drained and went home to bed and slept until almost noon on Sunday.

That never happens. I feel like I've wasted half the day if I wake up at 9. I made it through most of the day but had to take a two hour nap at 4. I forced myself out of bed into the living room where I watched John Tucker Must Die and then went back to bed after taking two shots of Nyquil.

Goals for the week:

Work and swim all 5 days.

and

Not to watch The Simple Life Goes to Camp. I cannot help myself. I have watched every single episode this season. All it does is serve to piss me the hell off. Nicole is the only mildly entertaining thing on the show. And that is only because she taught 6 year old girls to throw up the middle finger.

Graduation

Awww look at the happy graduate posing with the Mayor of San Ramon (town her high school is located). And yes I do wish she would have trimmed her bangs a little, or removed her lip piercing or not stretched her ear lobes, BUT at least she has a high school diploma and no visible tattoos

I made it back folks....but I guess more importantly I made it out of the office on Wednesday without hurling a paperweight or a stapler. I did not even pelt anyone with paperclips as I bobbed and weaved towards the front door. (anticlimactic...I know)

My sister's graduation went off without a hitch. The drive down to my parents was a little perilous as I was petrified that one of my tires would blow out. However that did not keep me from doing 80 the whole way. I lost the battle with fast food and stopped for crispy chicken something or other that I ate while driving way too fast on very nearly bald tires.

Yesterday my father woke me up asking where my car keys were. This is not abnormal as my dad usually checks my oil and tops off my gas tank when I visit. My dad so rocks! But when he came home there was a brand new set of shiny black tires on my car! They are so pretty and will go with absolutely everything. Apparently my father and mother do not think that its acceptable to drive on tires without tread. They do not know the thrill a girl gets from the not knowing if one or all of her tires will blow out in the fast lane on I-5. My parents bought me the tires as an early birthday gift. I can honestly say that they could not have picked out a more perfect present.

After the unveiling of my tires my mother and I decided to take a little jog on the trail that is behind their house. My mother apparently has been training for some marathon and not told me about it. Because seriously she kicked my ass. My mother ran for miles and had to circle back around to make sure that her out of shape daughter had not collapsed. Realizing that my mother was in better shape than me brought up some mixed emotions. I was happy for my mother who, in her..um..er...well I won't reveal her age, has the endurance to run like that. I was sad for myself that I could not keep up. I just had to remind myself that I am working on it and getting in better shape. The tread mill and the swimming is paying off. I am losing weight and toning up. So eventually I'll be able to hold my own.

Peace out, yo!

I have a short day at work today. I get to leave at noon. My youngest sister is graduating from high school this evening. I'll be making the two hour journey to the San Francisco Bay area to watch her walk across the stage and get her diploma. I have to say that I am more that a little relieved. For a while it had looked like a high school diploma was not in her future. But she somehow got her act together and did it. Thank sweet baby Jesus! (I'm generally not religious but I am not afraid to give credit where credit is due)

I also took Thursday off so that I could start work on refurbishing an old entertainment center. It was given to me by one of my sister's boyfriend's parents (whose cousin is twice removed from....blah, blah, blah more complicated six degrees of Kevin Bacon crap). Its totally not my style but with a little sanding, spackle, and paint I think it will look like something I would actually consider purchasing if I had not already gotten it for free.

Well I had better get started on actual work as I some how have to cram 8 hours of paperwork into 4. I have no doubt that I will heave a paperweight at an attorney by 10.

I can't think of a title.

Last night I had the pleasure of reading Stephen King's newest short story, "Gingerbread Girl". If you are at all a fan of King then I suggest picking up the July issue of Esquire. I guess Esquire is trying something new or whatever. I don't know, I can't say that I have ever purchased an Esquire before. At first glance its a lot like Cosmo for men....only less dumbed down (I think Cosmo is a waste of money, I mean honestly how many times can you publish the Karma Sutra? Get new material for crying out loud.).

Prior to reading "Gingerbread Girl" last night I had to make the long drive home from work (its two stop lights, so don't pity me too much) and its a funny thing that all of the bitching and moaning I do about my car makes me forget the stuff I like about it. (I drive a 2003 VW Beetle) The perfect example occurred when I pulled into my complex and there was a group of about 6 children returning from the pool. When one of the kids saw my car turned to one of the others in the group and punched him square in the arm. Then it was a free for all, they all started hitting each other over and over again. All the while screaming "slug bug" at the top of their lungs. Watching children beat the crap out of each other has renewed the love I have for my car. Thank you children.

Monday again.....damnit.

This weekend was boring. Not even worth a recap. However I do need to get this out of my system::::: STUPID STUPID FUCKING CAR!! IT SUCKED $400 OUT OF MY MOST RECENT PAYCHECK KEEPING ME FROM PARTYING WITH JOHNNY KNOXVILLE!!!! SON OF A BITCH! I DON'T EVEN LIKE JOHNNY KNOXVILLE, BUT THAT IS NOT THE POINT!!! STUPID STUPID FUCKING CAR!:::::

Whew, I feel a little better. I am done with the bitterness at my car. I promise I will suffer the burden in silence from this point on.

I was supposed to go to Reno this weekend but couldn't for reasons that I promised not to mention and of course my friend who was able to go got to party with Johnny Knoxville. Noting cool ever happens when I go to Reno the only accomplishment is that my tolerance level for White Trash is raised (lowered?). Or I almost come to blows with a pimp wearing faux fur in the middle of the summer. (That is a story for another day.) The one time I don't go, there are B list celebrities ready to drink and whoop it up. Oh well, again I will swallow my jealousy and move along.

In other news (good I swear) I have lost 9 pounds! I have been dieting and exercising (read: swimming) for three weeks. I turn 27 at the end of August. I would like to be 39 pounds lighter by then. That leaves me 10 weeks to lose the remaining 30 pounds. Everyone cross your fingers for me and send me happy weight loss thoughts.

I did have one mishap over the weekend. I have been so good about kicking the junk food habit and eating healthy organic foods that it did not dawn on me until it was too late that croutons taste better than potato chips.

List of things no longer allowed in my house:

1. Cheese Puffs
2. Ice Cream
3. Delia's catalogs (not for dieting reasons, but I am powerless against things like this. And no one over the age of 16 needs that or should wear that)
4. Frosting

and now

5. Croutons (did you know that an entire bag of croutons (consumed in one sitting, PMS anyone) has 700 calories and 30 grams of fat?

Escaping the clutches of death yet again

This morning I took my car to the VW dealer to start the $800 in repairs that they told me were needed back in April. Of course I have this weird unsubstantiated need to keep a roof over my head and food in my cat's bowl so I can only authorize $400 in repairs. The guy behind the counter was very understanding when he also told me that I was due for a new set of tires. So tack on another $300 for that. Stupid, stupid car. I actually knew before hand that I need new tires but still....stupid, stupid car.

The real adventure started when I boarded the dealer provided shuttle that would take me to work. The driver was a shady looking character. He was a tweaker at one point in his life I can feel it. He has the skin that sags making him look older than he really is, the raspy voice from years of freebasing and that twitchy can't hold still body language. I hesitate before climbing in, as I would like to demand a piss test before I let this guy take me anywhere. But I have already been at this place for 45 minutes, I throw caution to the wind and flop myself in the very back of the van. Its decided that the most efficient way to deliver the van load of people is to start at the opposite end of town from my office, leaving me to be the last person in the van. Freaking Great.

I hate situations like this. I never know what to say to strangers. Its like being on an airplane. The only thing that you have in common with the person sitting next to you is that you are, well, sitting next to them. How do you break the ice? "So you have a VW. Did you know that Hitler created the Volkswagen Company?" I choose to say nothing and look out the window.

Upon pulling out the the dealer's driveway the first thing I notice is that our driver is a tail gaiter. I loathe tail gaiters. Its bad enough when you are the one being tail gated but being a passenger when the driver is tailgating is worse. Generally I would offer driving tips in a situation like this. As I know mister crack head would benefit from my perfect driving record (the first person to utter "back seat driver" gets bitch slapped). Since I am in the very back of the van, yelling over the heads of three people might be misinterpreted as rude. Again I choose to keep my mouth shut and stare out the window while I grip my arm rest so tightly that my knuckles turn white. Crack Head weaves in and out of morning traffic. Eventually every one is delivered to their respective office buildings. Now we can start the LONG journey to my office. I am alone with Crack Head....he does not attempt conversation which is smart on his part as I am poised with my pepper spray if he even so much as reaches for his stash that I am sure is hidden somewhere in the van.

Crack Head is a man on a mission he tail gates more and cuts people off with every lane change. All I want to do is apologize to the poor motorists that are subjected to this guy. If not for me he would be miles away cooking rock on a spoon. Instead here he is driving me to work because of my stupid, stupid car. Finally Crack Head drops me at my office and I stumble in the front door. I am thrilled its Friday and I am looking forward to the weekend. Lets hope that I make it through this weekend and not die of heat stroke. Its like 102 in Sac right now.

Weekend recap

Yet another thrilling heart stopping weekend in Sacramento.

Friday night was bunco. I didn't win anything but thats nothing new. I have never been lucky with dice. After bunco Alicia, Rose and I went to Alicia's for our evening swim. Rose had work to do tying bows on menus for some big event at her place of employment. Alicia and I swam, while Rose tied. Around 11pm Rose blurted out that 300 of the invitations had to be completed by the next day. As "the event" was happening then. Alicia and I jumped into action after pouring rather large glasses of wine. Two hours later the three of us are spread out on Alicia's living room floor tying bows like our lives depended on it. Then there was a knock on the door. A rather loud demanding sort of knock. It was Alicia's neighbor who wanted to very combatively explain to her that her air conditioning unit was making a ruckus and disturbing her. Bitch. Alicia was cordial and nodded her head and smiled. After the door was closed she walked over to her thermostat and turned the AC up higher. She threw blankets at Rose and I and told us to bundle up she was going to give the snatch something to complain about. But don't think ill of Alicia. She has made an appointment with a repair guy this week. And the C U Next Tuesday neighbor did pound on the door at one in the morning.

Saturday was almost completely consumed with watching the entire first and second seasons of WEEDS on Showtime. Its such an addicting (no pun intended) show. It almost made me wish I smoked weed so I could have a dealer just like Nancy. Saturday night Alicia and I went on yet another swim. But this time we brought some keg cups full of wine to pool. I tell you swimming laps half buzzed is fun. We only paused for like half an hour to practice doing hand stands.

Sunday I broke down and went to the mall. I have a generous gift card to Nordstrom's that I have been saving. I purchased this. My face feels like a baby's ass. (That sounded better in my head.) But if you don't believe me please feel free to come over and rub my face.

UPDATE: As for John (the 25 year old house party throwing loser) this is the bulletin that he posted on Myspace inviting people to his party. (WARNING: Be prepared to throw up a little)

"Party tonight at my house, the house is empty, the dog is in the garage, and I have a feeling chicks will be gettin' it on!Give me a call if you got it, or shoot me a message on here. There will be BBQ as well, but for the most part it's BYOB."

I am not sure what happened to the keg he promised in the email that he sent me and I am not sure which girls were supposed to be "gettin it on" but all in all I am thrilled that I spent my Friday night tying bows on menus instead of standing around waiting for some girls to start making out.

Swimming really is fun

It has been YEARS since I have stepped foot in a pool. When I was a kid I practically spent entire summers in a pool, chlorine burning my eyes and blonde hair turned green due also to chlorine. But then I got a little older and got a lot self conscience of my body and avoided being in a bathing suit like my life depended on it. However in the last week I have been swimming no less that THREE TIMES. Of course its been after the sun has set and the pool area is poorly lit and surrounded by hedges taller than me. Suffice it to say the outside world would have a hard time catching a glimpse of my bikini clad body.

In the three times that I have been swimming this week there are two things that I have noticed:

1) Chlorine really does thrash your hair. (deep conditioning is needed, I make a vow here and now to be more vigilant on my hair care)
2) Swimming makes a person hungry. By the time I am done with my 20 laps I am starving to the point where the neighborhood cats are looking tempting.

I have not noticed a difference in how my cloths fit or the number on the scale. I know that it has not been enough time to drop weight or a pant size. But I do feel like I have more energy. I have plans to go again tonight and then I will go again after bunco on Friday. London 2012 here I come! I wonder if they have an event for the Doggy Paddle? It probably falls between the synchronized swimming and the back stroke.

Sometimes you have to stop and appreciate the weirdness.

I got to thinking today. (I'll pause for a moment while you collect yourself from the shock)

I sent this email to Rose this morning.

"Good morning!

What have you been up to? Anything thrilling? Nothing much going on here. The point of the email is to tell you two things: ( I know you are a busy woman so I broke this down into numbered paragraphs just in case you have to read this in shifts)

1) ( possibly most important) I would like to include you in a routine that you, me , and Alicia started. Soak in Hot tub followed by swimming. Yesterday I went to Alicia's and true to our routine (est. Last weekend) we drank your Wild Vines (sorry, I'll totally give you a buck fifty) and we got in the hot tub and then swam 18 laps in the pool. Sure we nearly drowned and there were a couple of creepy by standers (I'm sure wondering how their Easter Ham learned to swim). But it was a good work out. And I thought you would like to come and join the festivities. We will be going again tonight.

and

2) (possibly the lamest thing ever....no maybe the second lamest thing ever, the first being my love life) John sent me an email today. He invited me to a kegger that he is having at his house while his parents are gone. Seriously, he is 25. He still lives at home AND he is hosting house parties, that I'd bet dollars to doughnuts involve keg stands. So lame. The lameness is just unfathomable. I was almost rendered speechless by the level of lame. Just to be clear.... He. Is. Lame.

::sigh:: better get back to work.

Licks,
Em"


After hitting "send" I paused and thought for a second.

First I thought about how I got to the point where I am now so buoyant in water that drowning is close to impossible. Yes that would be an advantage if I'm ever on a sinking cruise ship. But not so helpful when trying on jeans. My ass and the broad side of a barn are virtually indistinguishable if you squint your eyes.

The second thing I thought was....at what point does living with your parents change from an economical choice to being an immature momma's boy? If I had to venture a guess I would say 24 and a half years old. For no particular reason other than it just feels like the level of loser increases on the 25th birthday. John and I dated when he was 21 and I was 23 he had just moved from the East Coast. But that (like most of my relationships) crashed and burned in big, dramatic, expletive slinging public scenes. Although every once in a while he sends me an unexpected email or calls out of the blue. I think its his way of reminding me why we never married and had children...or you know, went on a third date.

That is all, carry on.