On the off chance you’re still stalking, er, um, reading this. . .

I’ve moved on to bigger and better things,  Internet.  That’s not to say I won’t be back here.  I have really good intentions of getting back into this blog . . . mostly because my memories live here and it’s a whole hell of a lot easier to dump my brain onto a blog and go back to remember things. . . than to actually use my brain to remember those things.  Seriously.

In case you can’t stand my posting frequency of once every 6 weeks or so, you might consider stalking following me on Twitter.

I’m also a huge Facebook whore, using status updates for my own personal passive aggressive attacks, posting more photos than is really necessary.  Ever.  For anyone.  Ever., participating in completely ridiculous dialogue with people who have the mental and emotional capacity for 3 year old behavior, and overall being a complete dork.

You can keep up with me there, and you’ll probably be much happier about it than you are here, honestly.

Good try.

I had every intention of meeting Bob out last night.  So, I got dressed, put on my make up, yada yada.  At 8:30pm, I hadn’t heard from her, so I figured I’d just go grab a drink with my fascinating, amazing business partner while I waited for the location announcement from Bob.

*downward spiral*

One drink turned into two. 

I don’t drink anymore so two drinks = me drunk.

It became a series of ridiculous, non-sensical, inappropriate events from that point forward.

By the time I finally heard from Bob, I was not going to be able to drive downtown.  Furthermore, it would have been stupid late by the time I got there, and it would not have been worth it.

So, instead of participating in SXSW fun, I created and sent a slew of idiotic mass texts.

Texts like, “Cleo knows how to high-five!!!”.

Cleo is my pug dog.  And, she does know how to high-five.  But, why would that have been of any relevance whatsoever to any of the 15 people who received that text?  Seriously.

Lucky for me, I have super awesome, ridiculous, clueless friends.  Because the responses I got were even better.  My favorite was, “Dreams do come true”.

It disintegrated from that point, and included notification that my button kept getting stuck in my chair.  That the chair won, and I lost the button.  And, that I found the button.  All things that people DEFINITELY needed to know.

The very best part was, as I later realized, that the network was jacked up, so texts were being received ooooh, an hour or so later than they were sent.  So, my cute 12:30am texts, were likely waking people up at 1:30am.  He he.  Oops?

It’s ok, though.  Some of those jackasses got me back by responding at 7am. 

It’s Wednesday.

And, Jumpee has already warned us that we may not hear from him today.

Join me for a chorus of “boooooooooo”s.

I don’t have anything to blog about.  I’m not allowed to blog about anything.

Well, unless you want to hear about the event I’m going to Friday!  And, how ridiculously overdressed I’m going to be!  And, how TALL I’ll be with my 4″ heels!  And, how I’ll probably fall down the grand staircase at some point as a result of the 4″ heels and the super long dress!  And, won’t that be fun!?  EVEN MORE FUN will be when the dress comes off entirely as I fall down the stairs because it has no straps! 

That’s not even funny.  Mr. Universe always says that the universe will bring whatever you put out there.  So.  If the above actually happens, it’s totally all my fault for saying it would.

I lucked out.  I somehow managed to sucker a man into going to the event with me.  *cue maniacal laughter*  So, at least I’ll have someone to entertain me with his beautiful abs.  I do think, however, that it would be a stretch to hope he’d help keep me out of trouble.  If I recall correctly, he was pouring tequila down my throat the last time I saw him. . .  *ahem*

Anyway.  I’m swamped this week with business and socializing and all sorts of random crap that I have to get in order before Italy – WHICH IS IN TWO WEEKS!!!  So, sorry if I’m not funny enough.  Maybe I’ll get some of my funny back in Italy!

I wasn’t going to say anything.

But, I had a rough weekend.  Not even a rough weekend, just a rough Friday night that I’m still trying to recover from.  At what point did I become unable to tolerate a night out?  It must have been when I hit 30.  *shakes fist in air*  DAMN 30!!!

So, here it is, Monday afternoon, and I’m going to have to go for coffee.  I’ve been trying to survive without, but it’s just not going to happen.  Even though I slept until 3pm Saturday. . . and until 11am Sunday, I’m still about 3 inches from death.

I don’t know how many times I have to tell you people that I can’t handle tequila.

Friday night was nothing short of NUTS.  I think I saw EVERYONE I’ve ever met in my life.  And, none of it was planned.  And, actually, I think I would have been fine, even after the tequila, if I hadn’t then been force fed 32 Jack & Cokes. 

Upon some reflection, and the uncontrollable disappointed shake of my head when I think about the events that transpired post-Jumpee portion of the night, I’ve decided I’m going to pretend like I went home after I lost Jumpee.  I’m going to pretend like nothing else even happened!  I’m going to pretend like the night ended with Jumpee calling some poor sap a hobbit, making some big scene about a ring, throwing his ring on the ground, screaming about the hobbit trying to steal his ring, putting his ring on, claiming to be invisible, taking it off, claiming to be visible, putting it on, being invisible, taking it off, being visible, etc.  I wasn’t drunk at that point, and I hadn’t said or done anything mean or inappropriate (like. . . “people really think you’re a bitch” . . . or “it’s because you’re such a jackass”. . .).  So, we’ll just pretend like it ended there and nothing else happened. 

That’s the beauty of being me.  When the reality is inconvenient, I just create a new reality and go with it.

Today’s reality is going to involve a lot of coffee. 

Shuffled Priorities

Here’s what happened.

I moved to Austin solely for business.  I became an instant psuedo-mommy to one 4 year old child as I pulled out of the driveway of my house in Indianapolis.  So, I got here and had to quickly learn to manage instant motherhood and launching a new business.

I grew into a pretty solid routine that balanced everything remarkably well.  Business was good, I was working hard, and I was spending tons of quality time with Miss Fred.  I was burning it at both ends, but everything was getting done, and I was feeling really good about it.

Then Miss Fred went away unexpectedly, and in that single moment, my entire life was shaken to the core.  Instead of stepping back, re-balancing, and getting back on track, I said “screw it” A LOT.  I forged ahead, without taking the very necessary time to regroup, and I have the rest of 2006 to show for it.

Business went by the wayside.  My mindset went from pure business focus to about 80% social focus with the new justification that I could very well become a mother permanently at any given time, and I needed to go ahead and have some carefree, wild, crazy time while I still had the chance so that I wouldn’t resent missing out if I wound up with the kids.  That’s what 2006 became.  It was the year of good times.  I have never been as crazy, fun, and drunk as I was in 2006. 

Do not get me wrong, 2006 was by many, many measures, the best year of my life.  I LOVED 2006.  Even with all of the bad that found it’s way into to the year, the good was enough to put it at the top.

As much as I loved the good times, I also realize I can’t live that way forever. . . and that’s a sobering realization, as well as a bit of a sad one.  But, as a 30 year old adult, it’s kinda time I start prioritizing differently.  That being said, 2007 is gonna need to be less party, more business.  That, among other things, is what I concluded during my little period of solitude.

I have come to the realization this week that several people took my recent absence personally.  I’m pretty irritated by that being as it was about ME.  That’s what the whole SOLITUDE thing was about.  I needed to get ME back on track.  To find, later, that I’m expected to offer apologies or explanations, honestly, is shocking to me.  Any of my friends should know enough to understand that I juggle a lot of pretty serious pressures at any given time.  That it finally all fell down around me, and that I needed some space to regroup is not something I expect to have to justify.  If you’re taking it personally, we’re probably going to have some problems in the future, because I don’t intend to make apologies for any of the times I will continue to need some space to get my own life back under control.  If you expect apologies, you’re going to be disappointed.

Further, as I make this shift of priority from largely social to largely business, you’re probably going to notice that I’m not partying as much as I used to.  I don’t intend to cease all social functioning, but I will be limiting it greatly.  I won’t make apologies for that, either, because it’s not something that anyone should be taking personally.

The bottom line of 2007 is that this is the year that makes it or breaks it for me in this business.  I either bust my ass and take over the world, or I sell out and get a real job.  Why?  Because all of the other huge balls I’m juggling require some sort of stability.  At any given time, any one of those balls could drop, and when it does, I need to be able to catch it.  In order to do so, I’m gonna need to be stable, living above poverty level, and able to adjust my lifestyle swiftly. 

I am asking my friends to understand and support me in this.  I’m asking you to also know that this is about what I have to do to get where I’m going.  It’s not about you, it’s about me, and it’s about this being the time in my life where I sincerely feel like it’s do or die. 

2007:  THE BUSINESS YEAR

Welcome to my new mantra.

Inappropriate, as usual

I’m still trying to recover from last night.  It was, as anyone who knows my fascinating, amazing business partner and me would expect, very good times.

The night started innocently enough.  I had to have her come over to lace up my corset.  She tied it so tight I couldn’t take a deep breath, and I couldn’t bend from my hips up.  I took a few minutes to decide whether or not I could make it through the night breathing only shallow breaths, and we were on our way. 

Our first stop was a holiday party thrown by a friend of mine who I keep not having time to hang out with.  We HAD to stop by because I haven’t seen him forever.  Little did I know, this party was all shi-shi-la complete with soft opera music in the background, fine china, champagne, and fanciness.  Right.  Go back and look at what I chose to wear last night.  I walked into his fancy party looking like a porn star.  His mother was there.  Men were wearing ties.  I wanted to run out back and drown myself in his pool. 

Somehow, because looking like a high priced call girl at an upscale party wasn’t enough, I managed to force the host to explain to me that his dog has bone cancer and is going to die soon.  Because I’m all about good times!  Hey!  Is this a party or what, y’all?! 

We stayed for an excrutiatingly uncomfortable 45 minutes.  I have never felt so wildly inappropriately dressed in all of my life.  Thank God for the champagne (and the almond stuffed dates wrapped in bacon!  Mmm!).

From there, we made our way downtown.  We met up with Jumpee, who appeared to be relatively intoxicated upon our arrival.  I present to you, Jumpee, your resident Wednesday guest blogger:

Look how much I love him for taking over Wednesdays (note, cell phone in hand, ready for texting):

I don’t remember much at the first bar except for the dude with the ROCKIN’ mullet.  I’m talking the mullet to end all mullets.  It was cla-ha-ssy.  We talked about cornering him for a photo, but I clearly hadn’t had enough to drink being as I chickened out of asking him.  Jumpee, however, did manage to shout out “business in the front, party in the back!” as he walked by.  That was awesome. 

Not sure what was happening here:

I was busy coordinating meeting spots with Jerkface via text.  Off we went to meet him.

The highlight of our evening had to be the walk from Molotov to the Belmont.  Easily.

Here’s what we now know:
Jumpee likes being jumped, but needs to be warned first.  And, barrelling towards him from 10 feet away does not count as warning.  Should you fail to provide appropriate warning, he very well could stumble into the street and drop you into oncoming traffic.  It sounds like all of this is hypothetical, but it’s not. 

When he is prepared, it goes something like this:

I’m thinking about running & jumping. . .

Ok, FINE.  I’ll run & jump.

Alright, so I ran & jumped. . . now what?

PS – when I blog about something exceedingly silly that I’ve done and you say, “That sounds fun!  Be that ridiculous to me!”, I will be that ridiculous to you.  Every time I see you.  And, you will start to be annoyed by it.

People do not like when you think their dog is a pot bellied pig.  Either that, or “Merry Fucking Christmas” has become an appropriate way to greet strangers on the street.  Jumpee loves when people say “Merry Fucking Christmas” to him.  I know this because he picked me up and spun me around in circles for hours.  Wheeeeeeeeeee!  That was fun!  And, totally made up for almost killing me 7 minutes earlier.

The Belmont was l.a.m.e.  We, being the rock star partiers that we are, spent most of that time texting.  Sometimes texting each other, sometimes texting other people.  You know, whatever.  We had to have looked like The Biggest Nerds.  Yes, capitalization is required. 

In standard Jerkface fashion, Jerkface disappeared, not to be seen again.  Some of us are starting to grow accustomed to this ridiculous behavior.  Others are starting to grow bored with it.  Especially when the other available options are far more attentive.

We wandered around, stumbled upon a little group of Longhorn Nation folks, said hello, wandered off into the night to find my car, escorted by one very gentlemanly Jumpee, and made our ways home to sleep it off. 

Today, I’m suffering the consequences of drunk emailing.  But, hey!  At least I didn’t do any random drunk texting!  Yay me!

The most amazing part of this whole thing is that I spent approximately 237 hours getting ready to go out, wore a corset, put on 34 lbs. of makeup, and still didn’t manage to take one good photo. 

Maybe I should quit.

Last night started with such promise of some form of drama.  Any number of exceptionally uncomfortable or scandalous or unpleasant things had great probability of occuring.  I drank heavily, and quickly, in hopes of getting drunk enough that I would find any of the aforementioned potential scenarios humorous, should they present themselves.

Here’s the problem:  No matter how much I drank, I could not get drunk to save my life.  Seriously.  Let me just tell you what I drank that did not make me drunk.

1 Midori Sour
1 Tuaca Lemon Drop
2 Jagerbombs
1 Cosmopolitan
2 Jack & Cokes

Normally, I’d have been silly after the Midori & Tuaca.  The Jagerbombs are usually not even a question.  ONE Jagerbomb generally knocks me on my ass.  Two totally should have laid me out.  Nope.  I was like a damn superhero last night.  I was more sober when I was done than when I started.  Tell me how that works.  Really.

Furthermore!  None of the drama that I had so carefully attempted to prepare myself for occured.  I sat on the edge of my seat all night, anxiously awaiting the humiliation.  Nada.  Not a damn thing happened.  In fact, it was a bit of a boring night.  Which is seriously curious given the nature of the party!  12 bars!  12 drinks!  150 people!  But, whatever.

I should be thankful I didn’t wind up doing anything that would haunt me in the morning.  But, mostly, I’m thinking I should perhaps quit the circuit now because maybe all of the fun things that could happen have happened and there just isn’t anymore blog material to be had?

Right.  So, my fascinating, amazing business partner and I are going to tear it up next weekend.  I bet we’ll have stories to tell. . .

Who has time to blog?

Not me!  Not when my Bob just got back in town and definitely not when the 12 Bars of Christmas awaits my thirsty head!

Last night = drunken ridiculousness

Tonight = worse

I don’t remember anything of remarkable substance happening last night. . . except that we successfully averted participation in an orgy full of strange people, which, given our collective level of drunkenness, is pretty exceptional. 

I know you’re pouting, wishing there was anything half as cool as the 12 Bars of Christmas in your life, and I almost feel sorry for you.  Except for that part where I was a boring, prudish, designated driver LOSER for 28 solid years while you lived like a regular person, drinking and galavanting your way through your 20s.  So, kinda, me having the 12 Bars of Christmas while you have nothing of comparable coolness is evening us all out a little bit.

I guarantee you, I will fall down tonight.  Mostly because I believe the 3rd drink in is a mother loving Jagerbomb, and if you don’t remember, I’ve been known to behave questionably under the influence of anything that involves Jager & Red Bull. 

I will also likely make out with someone, you know, given that every boy I’ve dated in the past 6 months is on the invite list to this event and when I get drunk, I tend to forget the whole part where you became undesirable to me and we stopped dating.  Let’s all cross our fingers and hope nothing of substantial humilation happens tonight.  Or, if it does, that it doesn’t have lasting effects.  Or, that it happens to someone other than me, but close enough to me that it warrants a blog entry.

I may still be drunk from last night.

Dating without drama

I wish you could’ve seen me, Internet, when I saw that someone landed here due to a search on “dating without drama”.  HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!  Talk about a bad, bad, bad search result!  All this blog IS is stories about how much drama there is in my dating!  Oh, my tummy, it hurts! 

Is dating without drama even an option?  I just assumed those two things went hand in hand.  Where there is dating, there is drama.  At least, that’s how it looks from where I’m standing. 

Hmmm.  But maybe that’s because I create drama?  *thinks*

Anyway, so have I ever mentioned how much my fascinating, amazing, wonderful business partner never gets to go out?  But, when she does get to go out, we go crazy?  That’s what happened this weekend.  She pulls off drunk very, very gracefully.  I had no idea she was as drunk as she was until she spent all of the next day vomitting.  Thank you, Lord, for my ability to drink myself into oblivion without getting sick.  I guess I should probably also thank my dad.  Though Mom claims I get it from her.  Tough call. 

So, we went out and met up with my super fun guy friend and drank our heads off.  We were so happy.  See?  This is us proving that we can be super happy despite all the bullshit we tolerate!

We made it to a few bars, and wound up at The Belmont because this super fun guy?  Lives there.  Well, he should.  He’s there ALL OF THE TIME.  And, if he’s somewhere else, he’ll whine until we wind up at The Belmont.

For some reason unbeknownst to me, at The Belmont, there is a moat that you walk over as you enter.  It’s pretty noticeable, being as it’s a gigantic hole full of water and you walk over a bridge to get past it.  But, I guess sometimes people are dense because this guy walked directly into the moat.  Dude, it’s like 3 feet deep and the water is only like 1 foot deep, so you have to step 2 feet below the level that your other foot is standing before you even hit water.  Wouldn’t you possibly notice that something’s wrong before you get to the water and soak your foot and pants?  I thought so, but that just made this guy madder.

He didn’t think it was funny.  As we took this photo, he was yelling to his friend that we thought it was funny that he fell in the moat.  And, then he went on about how stupid it is to have a moat in the middle of a bar where people are drinking.  Good point.

I’m going backwards here, but this is me seeing him fall into the moat.  If he would’ve been paying attention to me, he would’ve known something was wrong.  Also, so much for a cute photo with my super fun guy friend.

Naturally, because I had way too much to drink, the night concluded with the ritualistic licking of everyone present.  *sigh*  I know, I know.  I’ve got to stop doing that. 

Do you see how she’s rolling her eyes?  That’ll be the last time I lick her.  Ungrateful bitch.

Right, so I drove to Houston and back. . .

That’s 6 hours of driving, in case you’re counting.  I went into the trip with a pretty piss poor attitude.  One that sounded a little like, “Waaaah.  This blooooows.  Driving to Houston and back all by myself seriously suck ass.  Waaaaah waaah wah”.  Only even more annoying than you think. 

Then I got to driving.  And, you know how, when you do something repeatedly during a really great time in your life and then you do that same thing randomly years later and your memory doesn’t necessarily let you know why, but you feel just as awesome as you did back when you used to do that thing?  Stay with me here.  Back in the day, when I was in love with that guy I married, we spent 3 years navigating that relationship long distance.  The distance got greater every year . . . until we were 4 hours apart that third year.  He never had reliable transportation, so I spent every other weekend, and sometimes more, driving to see him.  So, for three solid years, I was road trippin’ solo for 26+ weekends out of the year.   We were so happy then it would make you puke.  So, those times were good times. . . I’d say they were the best years we had (go figure, the years we rarely saw each other were the best *scratches head*).  Today, as I’m driving, and the sun is shining, and the temperature is perfect, and the radio is blaring, I couldn’t help but feel really, really good. 

I always used those road trips to clear my mind, which is probably why I’m so well adjusted now (pshhht.  Shut it!).  You spend 3 years taking relatively extensive amounts of time thinking about your life and coming to terms with everything and everyone you’ve ever encountered, and you’ll come out pretty solid, I think.  I never thought twice about making those long drives.  I was in love, and when you’re in love, you’ll walk to the ends of the earth if that’s what it takes. 

I realized early into my trip today that it wasn’t going to suck as bad as I thought.  It gave me the opportunity to sit with myself for 6 hours and just think.  And sing.  Loud.  Really loud.  To music I wouldn’t be caught dead listening to around people.  Country music.  Which is a whole other sensory memory thing.  I was forced to listen to country music at my job at the pizza place all through high school.  I hated country music.  But, take four years of country music at that pizza place, add some of the best friends you’ve ever had, toss in some of the hardest laughter you’ve ever laughed, and you’re going to wind up with fond memories of country music.

I came to a pretty eye opening realization during my drive.  I’ve always been an open book.  I’m pretty candid here and in person.  I don’t have secrets.  Ask and I’ll tell (unless it invades someone else’s privacy).  I’ve always struggled to understand why other people aren’t that way (particularly as relates to this blog).  I realized today that I’m cool with it because I’m not judgmental.  You can tell me damn near anything about yourself and it won’t make me think you’re any better or worse person.  I don’t pressume to know the right way to live, so I don’t run around passing judgment on how you choose to live.  Because that’s my nature, I just expect that that’s what comes naturally for everyone.  I expect that most people don’t judge.  So, I don’t think twice about throwing all of my personal business out there for the world to read.  I realized today that the people who aren’t comfortable sharing their personal business with the everyone just know better.  It’s very naive of me to think that no one is judging me.  Most of you aren’t so naive.  That explains a lot. 

I also realized that coming to that conclusion isn’t going to change how I operate.  I really don’t care if you’re judging me.  If you are, we likely wouldn’t be friends anyway, so judge me all you want.  If we’re not friends, I really don’t care what you think about me! 

Another thing I realized is that when the local radio station’s “Old School Jam” is Fantastic Voyage and you crank up the radio and sing because you know all the words. . . you’re officially old.  Sorry if this is news.  I remember, in high school, thinking, “God, it must suck if you were growing up when all of the music on the oldies stations was out because when they call the music the oldies, they’re also calling you an oldie.  There’s no way there will ever be 80s station.  I’m so glad I’m not old”.  *blink, blink*

I received several phone calls during my trip (mostly because I left several voicemails  begging people to call and entertain me/make sure I was still awake).  One was from a relatively new friend that I’ve spent relatively little time with.  We’ve spent some time talking about some life stuff lately.  No big deal to me.  That’s what friends do.  *shrugs*  So, when he thanked me, sincerely, for being a good friend and listening, my heart warmed.  He said he’s always the one listening and giving advice and our talks are the first time someone has listened and offered him advice.  When we got off the phone, I thought about all of the like compliments I’ve received in recent months.  It doesn’t necessarily make everything even, but I know I’ve spent a lot of time leaning on my friends, so it makes me feel good to know that I’m giving some of that back. . . and that it’s appreciated.

If you’re one of those people I leaned on, and you know who you are, in case I haven’t thanked you enough, thank you.  I wouldn’t have made it through a lot of the stuff I was going through without you. 

I know I keep blogging about how much I love my life, but that’s new to me, so I’m going to keep telling you about it.  I am genuinely very, very happy with my life.  Even though I bitch about the details, this is just about the best I’ve ever felt.  Do you think it’s a coincidence that there’s no man here to fuck it all up?

Hollyweird Party

I remember my senior prom very clearly.  I cried at that prom.  But, don’t worry, I went to 5 proms, so crying at one wasn’t really that big of a deal.  4 of them were really good. 

I remember after that prom thinking that I would probably never, ever have an excuse to get that dressed up ever again in my life unless I managed to befriend every bride I ever encountered.  And, that made me sad.  That’s not what I was crying about at prom, by the way, but that’s beside the point.

For the 10 years after high school, I was right.  I didn’t have a single ocassion to wear a fancy dress.  Not one.  Ever. 

Then I moved to this magical place they call Texas.  And, in Texas, everyone wears fancy dresses every day!  And, the sun is always shining right until you want to go to bed, and it never rains, and there are leprechauns and pixies, and we all dance and sing all day long! 

I mean, duh, it’s not that magical.  But, it’s magical enough that I get to go to some fancy event every time I turn around. 

Tonight, we went an anniversary party for a production studio – and it was themed Hollyweird.  Talk about FUN!  We got all snazzied up in our red dresses, caked on the make up, and strutted our stuff.  Bob was wicked clever and fancied our name tags with celebrity names.  She was Denise Richards, I was Heather Locklear, poor Mr. Bob was David Spade.  I’m telling you, we’re some good times!

We went ahead and committed to the whole thing by having a catfight in the parking lot.  The photo turned out fuzzy, but what can you expect from a man photographing a catfight?

We made our way from the party to a bar. . . and then another. . . and then everyone crapped out early because I’m friends with a bunch of LIGHTWEIGHT LOSERS.  But, that’s ok.  We looked cute.

Photos I’ve hoarded until now

We’ll start with more photos from the events following the Networking Extravaganza. . .

You’ll notice I am not participating in the tearing off of anyone’s clothes here.

I am, however, holding the three of us together with my leg.  Don’t ask me how this made sense.  It probably had something to do with my friends Jack & Coke.

Sometimes, I wonder why I suffer these fools. . . and then they sing for me, and well, how can you not love it?

Right, like I said before. . . this is my “Why do I suffer these fools?” face.  I’m pretty sure the thoughts running through my head were something like:  “Seriously.  How did I get here.  With these people.  Again.  Put the mother fucking camera down and get me a drink”.

I love when the Bobs are spontaneously simultaneously adorable.  It’s hard to get a good photo of the two of them because Bob will generally make a stupid face and argue that she looks stupid whether she tries or not, so she may as well try.  I love this photo.  So, ha!

Camera magic here!  NO – the boobs are REAL.  That is NOT the magic.  The magic is that he is certainly most definitely not actually licking my breast.  If he had been, I would have punched him square in the jaw.  I don’t know who actually took this photo, but I appreciate that my face was left out. . . you know, because we don’t need absolute confirmation that I was walking around with my chest on display like that.  Especially not in this here blog that my mom reads. 

This was a random photo from the last night of kickball.  I just think it’s funny. 

Uuuum, and this here’s our final Team Ramrod photo.  Those there are Incredibles masks and I’m not sure why that was such a great idea, but it was.  Except that you can’t “wiggle your eyes” (a Mr. Bobism) with those masks on.  Go ahead, try to wiggle your eyes.  10 points if you can tell me how one wiggles one’s eyes.  That Mr. Bob, sometimes he’s as adorable as a small child. 

I’m just posting this one because I took it and I think it’s pretty damn cool and also, if you ever meat meet this guy, you should ask him to take his shirt off.  When he refuses, you should rip it off him.  I promise, the reward is worth the risk.  One time, I climbed straight up this guy’s back (he’d stolen my cell and I needed to retrieve it, and he kept turning so that his back was to me).  He’s like a mountain.  I like knowing men who can stand completely still whilst a 145 lb. woman climbs up their back.  I’m not sure how often that would necessarily come in handy, but it’s good to know, just in case.

PS – I wish Mr. Bob would give me the photos he took at the charity event, and the Rolling Stones photos.  I really wanna post Rolling Stones photos.  Really, really.