Well THAT'S Exciting!

I got tickets for me and Rocky to see a concert in May!!! Woo hoo!!! Who's excited? Me! (And Rocky, I hope!) We're going to see The Fray at Red Rocks and it's going to be awesome! I love having something to be excited about and something to look forward to, and getting to spend time with Rocky alone almost never happens, so...yay. Yeah, yay!

Check out the pics of this awesome place...







And...a song The Fray is famous for...how can you not love these guys?

Nope!

So I haven't written in this thang for a minute. I've been in a "nope" kinda mood. I'd like to thank a good friend for introducing me to "nope'ing." It's been a hoot, lemme tell ya! It doesn't matter what the question is, the answer is always NOPE! Wanna go see a movie? NOPE! Shovel snow? NOPE! Flush the toilet? NOPE! Whatever you want me to do...NOPE! Don't wanna do it! Everytime I start to write a blog post I get hung up on...is that too much information? Do people really wanna read about boys and breakups and bad skin and all the whining that goes along with it? Yeah, not really. So since I can't write anything worthwhile, read the following blog post from one of my favorite blog writers about adventures in depression. If you can't relate to it, gosh, ya know, I don't know if we can be friends. NOPE!

http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2011/10/adventures-in-depression.html

It All Started With The Popcorn...

...and quickly went downhill after that. If you've spent any time reading these ding dangity pages, you probably already know that my life is one little train wreck after another, in which the heroine, meeeeeee, always comes out on top...or somewhere squished in the middle of the dogpile of life.

This week is really no different. It started out with the movie popcorn...which I left overnight in my sweet ride. Opening the door on that fine September morning I realized day old popcorn smells like wet cardboard soaked in skunk piss and was not likely something I'd be consuming later. Who the hell takes a doggie bag of popcorn home? Yeah...me...and oh yeah, in a desperate attempt to get salt into my system, I did indeed eat said popcorn later during a dark and lonely night while watching netflix. I WAS DESPERATE, OK???????

Stinky popcorn, really...no big deal, however, the fact that I have water trays in my freezer is turning out to be a HUGE deal. Water trays? What's that, you say? Well that's what mother effing ice trays turn into inside a brand new (used-new to me) freezer. My favorite part...god, I love this...is when the ice bucket completely thaws and then re-freezes into one HUGE SOLID CHUNK OF ICE. That shit don't fit in your water bottle real nice, no it don't, honey. Did I mention I stole $500 from my ex husband to buy this stellar piece of shit refrigerator? Did I mention that? Because, if I didn't, well now I am. No, I'm not a thief...well, not a thief ON PURPOSE...but when your old joint account checkbook (lavendar, hee hee) looks IDENTICAL to your "I'm-divorced-now-and-this-checking-account-contains-all-my-money-and-not-yours-ya-rat-bastard" checkbook, well, let's just say that a girl shouldn't be judged too harshly when she grabs the wrong one to frantically pay Alberto the fridge guy. Don't you judge me!

As if a stinky car, a broken fridge and stolen money weren't enough to bitch about...I got a ticket in the mail the other day. This is significant because I gave up one of my favorite past times a few months ago. Speeding. Ohhhh, how I looooved to speed, here and there and everywhere. It wasn't until I had gotten pulled over about six times in one month that I realized I had a problem. A problem worthy of SA-Speeder's Anonymous. I was so lucky that each time I got pulled over, I knew the cop! And this was great for me, ya know, because I didn't have to flash mah boobs or nothin! Because, really, at 36, the old boobies aren't what they used to be. Shoot, the way they lookin' now, I wouldn't be surprised if the cop didn't double the fine.

Anyway, back on track...the ticket was for running a red light...one of those rude-ass red light cameras that takes the WORST picture as you're running the stop light. Did I really look that bad driving? Do I always look so damn ugly in the car? Shoot, that's probably why nobody ever lets me merge! This is crap, seriously...there's no reason I should look THAT shitty while driving. Should be a crime! Haha! Wait, maybe it is! The sad part, is that I've been practicing being a good driver since the self intervention, I really have. I go the speed limit, I don't pass EVERY-FREAKING-BODY...I drive like...my DAD. What's even sadder, is that I have no memory of running a red light. And THAT, my friends, is the very definition of a bad driver. When you run the stop lights so frequently that it doesn't even occur to you anymore that it's the wrong thing to do. Slap my label on, folks. I suck at driving. And have the ticket to prove it.

...And the drama continues...over the past few months it's become clear that the neighbors of my cul-de-sac are no fans of mine. You see, I have the pleasure of being the single mom of the 'hood and folks don't take too kindly to that 'round these parts. I had gotten the impression that I wasn't welcome pretty much right away...the first day I mowed my lawn and apparently it was a spectator event. As I looked around the houses I noticed that after a few minutes of mowing, 5 of the 7 houses had their occupants firmly planted outside looking on at the anomaly that was occurring in their very own neighborhood. A WOMAN was cutting the grass. A WOMAN? Gasp! It cannot be, but it was. I, Ginger (last name here), was indeed breaking allll the rules and revving that engine all by my little old self.

And ya know...if it had stopped there, I wouldn't have minded so much...but one week, Ms. Single Mom over here got about 25 hours worth of overtime dumped into her lap and, well, as I am a good little worker bee, I went off to work in the wee hours of the night and did not return again until the sun was beating down on my tired face the next day all seven days of the week. Exhausted was an understatement. I should have known something was up when I saw my next door neighbor...we'll call her "I-don't-work-because-my-husband-does-that-for-me," or IDWBMHDTFM, for short, outside as I was leaving for work one evening. I was wearing my ugly ass work issued polo along with my work ID when she asked in her scrunched up "I'm totally judging you right now" face, "what do you dooooooo???" I replied with a big smile, "I'm a 9-1-1 dispatcher, ma'am." She turned on her heel and started back into her house, calling over her shoulder, "well, THAT must be very interesting!" Well shit yeah it is! Fuckin' A right, lady! Mystifying exchange, it was, but I had no time to dwell on it, until the next day when I was desperately begging the sleep Gods for a small blessing, just a few hours of that delightful unconsciousness I so badly needed.

The phone rang. The fucking phone ALWAYS rings when you work nights. It was the property management company. Yay! It's always good news when THEY call! NOT! I was politely informed that I had not cut the grass that week. Oh, and there's a brown spot you single mom whore, did ya notice that? Did ya? The neeeiiiigbors are complaining! Something must be done, NOW!!!! As my foggy brain tried to process this information, all I could think was, wahhhh, I JUST fell asleep. You ASSHOLE! But, being threatened with all things scary, such as fines, eviction and neighborhood ostracization, I did what any sensible tenant would do. I fucking got up. I put some fucking clothes on. I opened the fucking garage. And I mowed the fucking grass. I also said the f word to myself as I did it. And because I know the people on my special little circle like me so much, I danced to the tune of my iPod. Yes. I did. And it was RAPPPPPPP music. Oh Heavens no! And ya know what else I did? I watered the shit out of the brown spot. For three days in a row. I'm actually pretty proud of that...raised my water bill by a good 20 bucks, yes I did!

Oh how the property management company loved that. They loved it so much, they even gave me a note on my door with a sweet little smiley face that said, "Thanks! Good job!" Awww...I feel so accomplished now. I did a good job...this week. Over the next week to two weeks, work wreaked havoc on my life again. The grass...well you know where this is going, don't you? Sadly, the grass grew again. I KNOW! I couldn't believe it myself. Fucking traitor ass grass! If you guessed that I got another phone call from the yard police with some more nasty threats...well ding ding ding, you guessed right. And the process repeated itself. Drag tired ass out of bed...cut stupid piece of shit asshole grass...make scrowly face while doing it...all this occurred. It was epic. Neighbors placated. Property management company issues smiley face #2, blah blah blah.

After too many weeks from hell at work, life gets a little more normal. Grass cutting 101 commences. Weekly grass cutting. No bitching from neighbors. Life is good. Until I got the notice. The city...gosh that sounds scary...anyway, the city says that the big ass dead tree in my yard MUST come down because there have been complaints from surrounding neighbors. Hmmm...IDWBMHDTFM must have made a phone call to the CITY. So...my grass is green and purty now we have to complain about the tree. Nice. The owners hired some dudes to chop the tree down, that mo fo was big. Like supa fly big, y'all. They must have been thirsty tree choppers, because when I came home, I found empty water bottles littered all over my yard. What a nice bunch of assholes they must have been. Ya wanna know what else I found in my yard? A giant huge ass bigger than yo mama big fucking pile of wood chips. See picture that follows...

Yeah...it's been there almost a week. It's killing the green grass I so lovingly watered the shit out of. The property management folks don't know whennnnnn they are going to remove the wood chips, but they better fucking do it soon because I don't know about you, but I'm a little afraid of IDWBMHDTFM...I'm sure she's already been on the phone whining about Mount tree-sa over there. (That was a play on words there, did ya get it? Like the leaning tower of Pisa? Except with Mount and tree? Haha)

Sweet Revenge
I am not a vengeful person...if you don't believe me, please see previous posts, re: divorce, where I did not, in fact, sugar anyone's gas tank, key any cars, or burn down any houses. However, when I woke up one morning to find my tire flattened to hell and gone, I could never have guessed what sweet revenge the universe would bestow upon me. Ahhh, I like to smile now as I look back on the lovely scene that played itself out right in front of my very eyes. Do you remember IDWBMHDTFM? Do you remember her? She doesn't like me. I know this. I have accepted it. Anyway, there I was, minding my own business, waiting for my friend to rescue me from the misery that is a flat tire, when IDWBMHDTFM's HUSBAND crossed over to my side of the driveway and said, "Excuse me, I notice you have a flat tire, would you like some help?" I nearly passed out but had the wits about me to gladly accept his kind offer. I did what any smart woman would do in a situation such as this. I offered to help fix my own tire, to hand over a tool or two, but the man helping would have none of it, because he was saving the day. It's some primal thing, I don't really get it and I genuinely do feel guilty when people help me...but nothing made me smile bigger than when IDWBMHDTFM came outside and saw her husband changing MY tire. I think the sun shone a little brighter on me that day, and I have to be honest, I really had a hard time not rubbing it in. I may have winked a little when I thanked her for letting me borrow her husband. I couldn't help it...it was just so...magical. I really shouldn't be so gleeful about such a thing, but I was downright giddy. And of course, appropriately thankful. I know I will pay for this with some other complaint...but for now I will relish in that moment.

I'll have to wrap this up because I fear my tales of woe will begin to be unbelievable. Such as the $1,000 bill I just got for the ONE college class I'm taking through my job that is supposed to be FREE, or the fact that I've been accidentally paying 40 extra dollars a month for rent...or that my rent is being raised by 45 dollars if I renew my lease. They have me by the balls. Surely insomnia is believable. I haven't slept more than 2 hours a night for 5 days. I push my head as hard as I can into the pillow, hoping that will do the trick, but sadly, I am just tired and have a sore neck.

I'm going to take my sorry ass off to bed, where I will dream of chocolate frosted donuts, cool weather and more smiley faces. After all, winter will be here soon and I'm sure I'll get a good job sticker if I shovel my snow. I can just FEEL it!

Dancing Danika

The adorable child in the back dancing to the beat of her own drummer is Danika. Nice work in dance class, little lady!




To watch the video in full screen, click the icon on the bottom right of the video that has four arrows.

A Quick Observation...

Raisins are not food. What lazy ass S.O.B. let grapes sit around until they were all dry and wrinkly and then said... "Hey! I think I'll eat these!" No. Just no. That's gross.



The man who covered them in chocolate? Fuckin' genius.



That is all. Carry on with your day.

P.S. Raisin is a funny looking word. The more I look at it the more I don't believe that raisin means "raisin."

"Home" Is Where All Your Old Crap Is

Every so often I make it back home for a visit. I'm all grown up now, all busy and shit, so these visits don't happen too often. You really can't go back too regularly, because as soon as you cross the threshold of your childhood home you're instantly twelve years old. It's true. When I walk into my parents home, I drop my suitcase just inside the door and I forget EVERYTHING. Suddenly I'm a kid again and I call my parents Mommy and Daddy and I want to stay up late and eat ALL of the ice cream and I think every time the phone rings, it must be for meeeee!

Everything at "home" is so familiar. I like that I can walk into the kitchen and find the plates exactly where they were 25 years ago. At home there is always a never ending supply of tea bags and sweet n low, toilet paper and salad. Apparently these are the essentials in life. The joke is that if my Mom, (Mop...that's what I call her) gets down to one case of toilet paper, she has to make an emergency trip to Sam's Club to stock up. The woman has a great fear of running out of toilet paper. I guess she likes a clean ass or something. Weird. If I'm lucky enough to be home for longer than a few days I might get to see my Dad's infamous bill face. This mysterious face only comes out once a month and it's a toss up on whether or not you really want to see it. Entertaining to watch, but ohhhh soooo serious. For the record, the bill face does not speak while it's in use. When I was a kid, before I recognized the bill face, I would ask my Dad, "Whatcha doin', Pop?" And he'd answer without thinking and with a big sigh, "The Bills." Oh. Hmmm...that didn't sound very fun and not something a kid could do, so I'd scamper off to play fashion plates or homemade karaoke until the bill face and the bill drawer went back to their hiding places.



By far, my favorite thing to do at home is to go to my bedroom and look at my old stuff. I know what's there, I left it behind almost 17 years ago. On purpose. There's a comfort in knowing that somewhere in this world there is a place that contains my stuff. Physical memories of the past, a simpler time when all I had to think about was if my science homework was done or how many pennies were in my piggie bank or what weekend the all-night skate would be down at the skating rink. Late at night after my parents have gone to bed, I start digging through my drawers where I come across old rings and necklaces, a random pair of socks, notes written by my best friend in middle school, all folded up in that awesome middle school way. After I've inspected everything in my drawers, I head for the hope chest. I gently open the cedar box, so large it reminds me of a coffin. The smell of cedar fills my nostrils and more memories fill my head. Stacked neatly inside are my senior high school pictures. I can't help but laugh at them...I have that dreamy far away look on my face, bright red lipstick and totally 80's hair. I'm not sure if the seventeen year old girl in that picture knew where her life would lead her, so far it's been a good ride but I think 17 year old Ginger wanted a little more than 35 year old Ginger has now. But for a moment it's fun to flip through the old pictures, pick up the trophies and remember all the fun times I had. I like to keep in touch with the 13 year old me, say hello to her every now and then and remember how much fun it was to blow off the day and lay around at the beach. There needs to be more of that when you grow up!



Last but not least is my closet....ohhhh my closet. It's now filled with half of Mop's wardrobe, but buried deep within I find my poofy red prom dress. Truth be told, it's the best dress I EVER had! In an unusual turn of events, my Dad was the one to take me shopping for that dress and I remember when I walked out of the dressing room he instantly said, "that's the dress!" And it was...bright red, a little poofy, a little scrunchy, but just right for my senior prom. Oh how many memories a prom dress can bring. I spent all day getting ready for prom, getting my hair done with half a can of aqua net, painting my nails and waiting for my date to pick me up. We headed off to my Grandma's house so she could see me all dressed up. She was sick with lung cancer and the visit was the hilight of her night, I loved having her be a part of that day as much as she loved being a part of it. Once we departed Grandma's house, we stopped by McDonald's for dinner where I ate chicken nuggets and answered the many questions from the other patrons about my plans for the night. "PROM, of course," I said...and oh, by the way, my date is a cheap bastard. I'll never forget walking out of the bathroom at the dance with the back of my dress trapped in my pantyhose. MORTIFYING...except I felt the breeze before anyone saw my hiney. Phew! Also left at home was my Army dress uniform. It hasn't fit me for years but I love to look at it, still pressed from the last time I wore it, medals adorn the chest, my name tag still in place. I can't even begin to recount my short time in the Army, but suffice it to say, it was fun, scary, hard, annoying, and invigorating all at once.



As my visit home comes to a close I contemplate packing up all my old stuff and taking it with me. And every time that thought crosses my mind I veto the idea completely. My old things don't hold the same meaning in my house. They belong back "home" where the 6 year old me still lives. The kid with curlers in her hair eating homemade popsicles and petting a cat named Precious.

Bridesmaids-A Movie Review

Tuesday morning...I woke up and decided I was going to see a movie tonight. This is unusual for me because I'm generally known as a movie hater, but I felt compelled to see this particular movie because I'd heard it was FUNNY. And...well...I like funny. Funny makes me laugh and feel all happyyyyyyyy inside. Watching movies usually makes me crazy. I'm trapped. For two whole hours. In the same seat. My mind doesn't stop...I think about EVERYTHING...I have to pee. Am I hungry? Should I get my nose pierced? How about a tattoo today, that might be fun. Random sporadic thinking that cannot be contained. In preparation for my big night out I texted 11 friends...yes, ELEVEN friends, to see if anyone wanted to go with me. If you're still reading this story, you can probably guess by now that I went to see Bridesmaids alone. And you might also be thinking...wow...that's kind of pathetic. And I can see why you might be thinking that, but I swear, it was anything but.



I arrived at the theater with 15 minutes to spare. I was excited. It's date night, after all. I take MYSELF out, and the only person I have to worry about is meeeee!!! One ticket for the movie in hand and it's off to the snack bar. Large popcorn and a large drink? Yes, please! I made my way over to the ticket guy and looked at him in desperation as I realized my all important movie ticket was buried somewhere within my wallet, keys, cell phone, popcorn and coke. As it turns out I really DO only have two hands. I sheepishly grinned at the 16 year old movie ticket taker boy and said, "Wow, it's really hard to carry all this by yourself!" He was not amused...so I did what any rational middle aged woman would do...I pointed to the ticket with my nose...and said, "It's there, under the popcorn...no...left hand...if you want it, you're going to have to take it!" And he did and he tossed the stub on top of the popcorn...and then I realized I needed to pee. Well this is going to be inconvenient. I quickly shuffled to the women's bathroom and shoved the door open with my butt. I commandeered the handicapped stall and gently disengaged myself from the popcorn and giant coke while I pulled down the diaper changing table with my knee, all the time praying there wouldn't be any poop smears on it. Score! No poop. And then I...wait...do we need to hear the details of this part? No, probably not. I was in the bathroom. I did bathroom-type things...including a good bit of handwashing. Moving on...



As I entered the theater, I realized that I can sit wherever I want. I'm ONE person. I don't have to make sure there is enough room for my brood. No asking someone else, "Where do you want to sit?" I don't have to automatically go to the front of the theater as I had in years past because today it's just me and I shall sit in the middle! Feeling a little uneasy as I was the first to arrive, I nervously looked around wondering if they'd cancel the movie if I was the only one. They can't do that, can they? Well, I suppose anything can happen, but I'm really looking forward to the next two hours, so bring on the entertainment! As I'm waiting, I decide to make myself comfortable. Loud jingly keys, wallet and cell phone on the floor, popcorn in my lap, drink at my side, feet up and I'm a happy girl.

The previews start and I think I'm home free. And then it happened. To my left, three college girls set up camp, complete with whispering and giggling, but hey, at least they left a fag seat. (You don't know what a fag seat is? Too bad! Figure it out!) I'm happily shoving fistfuls of greasy popcorn in my face when I spot the freaking family reunion walking in mid-way through the previews. It's dark and the three women look directly at me and my prime movie watching spot and make a beeline for me. Really, y'all? Really? There are like 22 people in the entire theater and...yup...you guessed it, Miss "I'm-drenched-in-Cinnabar perfume-and-you-WILL-smell-me-from a-mile-away" perched her perfect little hiney directly next to mine. Ok, I didn't actually SEE her hiney...being dark and all, but she was a petite little thang, wearing a pencil skirt and a pretty flowing blouse, expertly coiffed hair, dangly gold earrings, Tammy Faye Baker makeup and that GOD-AWFUL perfume. Fuckin' kill me now! My nostrils have been invaded. As she sat down, I realized my wallet and phone were directly under her legs, so I quickly reached down and promptly found myself with a handful of foot! I say the first thing that comes to mind, "Oh my gosh, I TOTALLY did not mean to grab your foot!" I uttered this semi-apology while I still had her piggies in my grasp. Finally able to let go, I floundered around on the floor til I could locate my wallet and phone. Ms. Perfect seemed totally unfazed by the foot grabbing incident, so I allowed myself to relax and wait for the feature presentation.

WARNING!!! If you are planning to see Bridesmaids, the movie, you may not want to read further as I plan to spoil the shit out of this movie for you. Ok, not really, but I gotta tell some-freaking-body about the funny parts of this movie. You've been warned...your spoiler alert has been thusly posted.



The movie begins with an awkward bedroom scene...you know the kind...you're sitting next to your MOTHER in the theater wondering why in the hell you brought her to this movie and why didn't you check the online reviews first to find out what naughty little bits might be in this flick that you absolutely do NOT wish to see with your mother! But hey, ya know, I'm not here with my mama, so I am not wishing the floor would open up and swallow me. The girl two seats down from me, however, is not so lucky. The 30'ish year old girl is there with her Grandmother and Mother (aforementioned perfume head.) Grandma is loudlyyyyy whispering, "Oh my gosh! This is really NOT necessary! Why do they show such things in movies these days?" Oh good lord, Grandma, don't get your panties in a twist, k? It's just sex, it ain't gonna kill ya, and if my calculations are correct, I believe you engaged in "such things" and created the stench to my right some years ago! Hee hee! No...I did not say these things with my out loud voice. But I swear, I should have!

I decide early on that this movie is quite entertaining and I will do my absolute best to NOT make any superfluous trips to the john. Also I will be taking notes, mental notes, of all the life lessons being offered up for a mere five dollars and fifty cents. First life lesson: (Taken from awkward bedroom scene)

Douchey male: "Ohhhh, this is soooo awkward...I really want you to leave, but I don't want to sound like a dick."

Life Lesson #1: Any man that says this IS a dick and is not worth your time. Also, you should call him a dick to his face, it'll make you feel better. I promise.

As the movie progresses I am feeling less and less alone. As you can guess, a movie entitled, "Bridesmaids," attracts a predominantly female audience and tonight the theater is packed full of us lady-types. And ONE man. We're having a great time together, almost laughing on cue all together in a happy little chorus of lady laughs. I am thoroughly enjoying my "alone" time with these 20 ladies. Even stinky McGee's perfume has stopped annoying me. I like the female bonding. Yes I do.

The next scene shows the main character, Annie, hanging out at a coffee shop with her best friend, the bride. They are discussing Annie's booty call from the night before. I can't properly describe how damn funny it is when Annie contorts her body and closes one eye to do an impression of a penis. Nothing short of hilarious. She even uses her arms to look like the...um...well...you know...there are two of them...whatever, you get it! They catch up like only best friends can do, reading each other's minds with just a look.

Life Lesson #2: You need a best friend that you can laugh about penises with. It's a requirement for sanity.

As the movie progresses it becomes more apparent that Annie is a little lost and trying to find her way. She's a lonely single gal, always the bridesmaid and never the bride, and I can totally identify with "the cupcake scene." Poor thing goes home and spends a good amount of time elaborately preparing a beautiful cupcake. She makes just enough batter for the single cupcake, bakes it, frosts it, decorates it and places it on the counter. All that work for one cupcake that no one else will see. She stares at the cupcake for a while looking forlorn and then she does what any sensible woman should do. She picked the fuckin' thing up and shoved it in her face looking almost victorious and defeated all at the same time.

Life Lesson #3: Eat the cupcake. EAT THE FUCKING CUPCAKE!

Picking out the bridesmaids dresses...this obligatory task can be a great bonding time for the girls or it can be a disastrous miserable nightmare. In this case...total nightmare. The girls ate some baaaaaaad meat and the results in this all white dress shop were not pretty. Everyone dashes off to the bathroom...and...well...diarrhea is just funny. The plus sized bridesmaid, Megan, hops up onto the sink, hikes up her pretty pink dress and goes to town. That sink will never be the same. When the food poisoning finally hits the bride, she starts to run across the street to find an empty bathroom and makes it about halfway before she starts sinking to the ground yelling, "Oh God, it's happening...it's happening...I'm shitting in the street. I'm shitting IN.THE.STREET." Annie is looking out the door of the bridal shop at her street shitting friend with a really defeated look on her face mumbling, "You're really doing it, you're really shitting in the street."

Life Lesson #4: If the toilet is occupied, the sink is a good second choice. Followed closely by the middle of the street.

Ok...here's the deal. I can't write anymore...my fingers are bleeding, man! You HAVE to see this movie. That's it, there's really no other choice. It'll make you laugh. It'll make you cry. It'll make you want to eat some freaking wedding cake. Also...there's a really cute cop in this movie and he has a great accent...which brings me to my final life lesson.



Life Lesson #5: Guys with accents are hot. They can't even help it.

So there ya go, that's my big Tuesday night out. I think I was a pretty good date. I bought the popcorn, I paid for the movie, heck, I even gave myself a goodnight kiss. I do believe I'll be calling myself for a second date.