Making out, why Google chat is awesome and morning tweets

My new favorite conversation from my very dear friend (you may want to sit down... this one's a doosey):

Gretchen: oh! and my morning tweet (I thought you would appreciate): Ah, coffee. The warm hug everyone deserves in the morning. Except you, Brett Favre. You're still an asshole.

Kristy: LOL

Gretchen: since you're not on twitter I feel the need to share

Kristy: love it

absolutely

Gretchen: and this not drinking thing really makes me clever in the morning

weird

Kristy: haha, i wouldn't know!

Gretchen: I don't really recommend it. It was simply an observation.

Kristy: i love you!!!!!

Gretchen: haha I love you too!!!!!!!!

wanna make out?

lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala

Kristy: lalalalalalalalallala

Gretchen: oh my god. I love us

Kristy: ME TOO!

And that's how The Awesome does it.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do. So's Your Mom.

Dear Cyber-Universe,

Have you ever had to break up with someone you still love, someone you can't imagine living without, someone you've been with for a long time, because you know waaaay down deep inside that in the long run, it's better that you two go your separate ways? Because I just did that. Here I am... less than 6 months from 30, in the middle of the healthiest, most fun, hottest relationship of my life, and I decide that it's time to end it. And I still stand by my decision, but I have people all around me telling me what a good guy he is, how wonderful he treated me, how much he still loves me (these are MY friends... jerks), which I'm left to sit there, feeling like the jerk who broke a good heart.

It's one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but I know I HAD to do it. We're trying to remain friends. What are the odds that we'll both still want to be friends after a while?

Sometimes the only thing that gets me though is the thought that this HAS to be the worst of it. It simply must get better.

Any advice out there? Kind words? Hell, even call me an asshole... you wouldn't be the first.

No... Thank YOU, Charlie Sheen, you lion-blooded Warlock, you

Everyone always says to not fall down the Rabbit Hole. But, man, does Charlie Sheen make it look like a bucket of AWESOME. Below are a few choice quotes that I intend to meld into my daily ramblings as often as possible.

• "I’m not bi-polar, I’m bi-winning. I win here and I win there."
• "The last time I used? What do you mean? I used my toaster this morning."
• "I am on a drug. It’s called Charlie Sheen."
• "Most of the time — and this includes naps —I’m an F-18."
• "I closed my eyes and in a nanosecond I cured myself."

Remember when he really started losing it this time? (this time... man, it would be awesome to be a celebrity) When he beat up Brooke Mueller in Aspen? Well, I was home, visiting my mom in my tiny little town just outside Aspen when that happened. And just like when Michael Jackson died... no one there gave a shit about it.

True story:
Me to my older rancher friend with a fu manchu mustache: Did you hear?! Michael Jackson died!

Fu manchu: I should give a fuck? And that affects me, how?

(not related... but, because I didn't know how to spell "fu manchu," I had to look it up. And I'll be DAMNED if Wikipedia told me that he didn't have a fu manchu mustache at all... he had a horseshoe (or "biker") mustache. All this time, I've been living a lie.)

Horseshoe (or "Biker")

Fu Manchu

Also, Charlie Sheen needs his own network. Not JUST a show... a damn network. I think he should go use his Warlock powers to take Oprah and her ass-network out and turn it into the CSN, Charlie Sheen Network. You'd watch it, you know you would. It's like the real version of the Truman Show. Fuck. Yes. Win.

Also, in the battle of Lion Blood and Unicorn Blood, who would win?

Three years and forever counting...

Valentines Day marked three years since I've seen my brother. Tomorrow marks three years since he died. At 21 years old. Of a burst aneurysm in his heart. It's amazing how many feelings come flooding back this time of year. Anger. Desperation. Gut wrenching pain. Sadness. Depression. Bitterness. Helplessness. And the calming feeling that all these things I've been worried about lately, really don't matter at all.

I went to therapy after he died because I stopped taking care of myself and landed in the emergency room (of dehydration... nothing too serious, but it was enough to knock some sense into me). I only lasted two sessions in therapy, but one thing my theropist had me do was write Derek a letter. It wasn't for anyone else to read, I wasn't going to send it to anyone... she just told me to write. So I wrote. It's not a long letter. There's more humor than sadness. More hope than depression. I read it at least once a year. And I cry every time. But it's what gets me through some of those toughest times.

There are certain things I can't do without thinking about him... certain songs that still get me... certain people that are still hard to be around... but it's getting better.

I'm not going to share the letter I wrote to him, but one sentence from it reads:

Your boys are leaving for Iraq once again in a few short days. What I wouldn't give for you to be going with them. I know they would do anything for you to be there with them. Spending time with them, getting to know them and seeing the pain in their eyes proved what a wonderful friend, son, boyfriend and brother you were... and without even trying.

So here's to you , Derek. I know you're out there, with a shit-eating grin on your face, looking down and looking after all of us. I love you. Ooo-Rah!

Sunrise, Boozy Lobsters and Crazy People

This is what it looks like when you get up at dark-thirty to catch a flight. Kinda makes it worthwhile.

Between furlough days, the holidays, and travel days, I've been pretty busy. The pic above is from the window of my flight leaving Santa Barbara going to Los Angeles on my way to Tahoe for Christmas. (Jesus that makes me sound like a snob)

This lobster is hammied.

I've been drinking. A lot. And it's fun. This lobster was guarding my champagne at a local seafood restaurant during happy hour a few days before New Years.

It's no wonder I drink so much...

Then, it was time to go back to work, and deal with all the crazies. No wonder I drink. Sweet baby Jesus, please find me a new job.

It was a good Holiday Season. I went a little crazy, but that tends to happen. I'm lucky to still have friends and JD to support me and pull me out of my crazyhead when I need them too. More pics to come, and petty posts, I promise.

Laundry vs Booze

Tomorrow is my first day of being furloughed. I have high hopes for the additional weekend day. My tentative plan: wake up at the same time I would if I were actually going to work. Work out for at least 45 minutes. Make a healthy breakfast. Do the 16 loads of laundry I have been avoiding but now must take care of because I'm out of underwear and I can't afford to go buy more since I'm furloughed. Play Frisbee golf. Go to Happy Hour (after all, it is still Friday).

What will most likely happen: wake up at 11 hungover because even though last night was Thursday, it's like Friday since I don't have to work the next day so I should drink as much as possible, crawl to the kitchen to inhale a banana. Take a nap on the couch. Throw up said banana. Take another nap. Watch reruns of America's Next Top Model. Make a real breakfast (with cream cheese and lots of carbs) around 2pm. Watch more America's Next Top Model. Go frolfing. Meet friend(s) at happy hour (what?! It's Friday!) to start the cycle over again.

Anyone want to lay down some bets? Over/Under?

I'm trying so hard to be an adult, but sometimes it's just so boring and predictable. That, and I really like booze. And cheese. And unicorns.

Friends who are kocked up, Disneyland and Furlough

Well hello there! It's been so long! First I must apologize for leaving that horrific post of my disgusting food up for so long. It made ME not want to visit my blog. My stomach still turns just thinking about it.

So, I must be honest... the goings on recently have not been very exciting. I have quit all of my extracurricular activities (although, as the boyfriend, JD, pointed out this morning while I was in the shower poking at my foopah -- that lower belly fat that simply doesn't go away -- commenting on how I miss drinking beer and "being active" since I quit everything... he claims I never quit... I simply retired. Semantics, my friend, semantics). And although I may not be doing too many active things other than working out my thumb via rapid-clicker-fire on the couch... many of my friends have bee gettin' busy... in the dirty sense. I know this because HOLYSHITTHEYAREALLKNOCKEDUP. All of them. Knocked up. Like little Mormon kids.

Some have already had their first kid and are on to their second, some are just going in for the first helping, some are married, some are living in sin preparing to raise a bunch of heathens... I don't judge... I don't care... just stop making me buy you presents and then forcing me to watch you open every. single. one. I'll buy you a present to take home and open. If I have to watch you open it in front of me, I'm going to run up screaming, snatch it back, and run away. Far, far away.

I promise you this: When I get knocked up and have a shower were I invite everyone I've ever met so I can get all kinds of free shit (half of which I won't know what to do with because oh my god, I put that WHERE? and WHHHHYYYYYY?) I will NOT sit there and open every single present, admire it, get up to thank the gift giver, admire again, and comment on the cuteness, or practical-ness, or thoughtfulness of the gift. And don't waste your money on a card. Write who it's from on the freaking bag in sharpie and put that money toward the gift. Or toward yourself. I don't care. But I don't like to read. It's going to be a civilized party, like a wedding, where you get to open and comment on your gifts in the privacy of your own home, which allows you to be completely honest and return things at will. And everyone gets drunk. You're welcome.

Now, I usually don't mind buying gifts for people who are crossing off one of those items on life's to-do list. However, we're in a recession. And I just got furloughed. That's right. The government makes the official announcement that we are no longer in a recession, and I get freaking furloughed. 20% across the board. Friday's off, and one day less pay a week. All I have to say is: ouch. My problem with getting paid less, or going on a budget, is that I always tend to go out and totally blow my wad in one foul swoop the day after I start anything official.

In unrelated news, I'm going to Disneyland this weekend.