Sunday, November 27, 2011
Dear Christmas Hippo,
Well, looks like she asked and she did receive. She wanted you and only you would do, and now you sit in her garage. If I may ask, how often are you getting your promised massage? I bet not often, right? She can barely do her weekly chores of trash emptying and Grandma time. Gee whiz, buddy--I am sorry.
Listen, I heard about the chimney incident on Christmas Eve. That little child said Santa wouldn't mind, but we both know from the scars on your tummy that he minded alright. Not only did he mind, but that old man struggled! He had no choice but to enter through that dirty chimney hole! He's Santa! That's his thing! I know you're a Hippo, but let's talk logic here. It's hard to stuff a fat animal down a chimney! Yes, I called you fat. You are a fat water dinosaur! You belong in the water, not in a moderatly sized claw foot tub in a suburban two-car garage! You're a water dinosaur! DINOSAUR! OF THE WATER!
Chins up, Christmas Hippo. It will get better for you. Here's the plan. When that selfish little bratty girl goes to sleep this Christmas Eve, I'm going to break into her room, verbally shame her as she sleeps, grab a Fresca from the kitchen, find the garage key, enjoy the Fresca, open the garage, empty your tub, get another Fresca from the kitchen, enjoy half of the second Fresca, and get you the heck out of that 2-car garage. Meet me by the Hello Kitty bike Santa brought that selfish little bratty girl last Christmas that she never touched after she saw you standing there. I'll be the girl holding the two cans of Fresca!
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Oh, hi. Yup, I'm back at the blog! Crazy to be back. Ha. Ya. Funny. (awkward silence) You well? Well, that's good, I guess. Me too. Right. Ok. Well. Hmmm...Alright.
....Are you mad at me? Are we in a fight? Mmmk, well I'm not even going to insult you with an apology this time. Summer happened. I was enjoying it. People drift apart. It happens. It doesn't mean I don't care about you. No really! Look, I know you're upset. All I can do is promise that it won't happen again...until next summer, or until I get really busy again. You understand, right?
....can we hug? Please? (Hug your computer. Do it. Do it RIGHT NOW!).....Wow, I know I feel better. Do you?
I love you. Keep reading. I'm not the girl who cried Blog, je promise.
Now, who's ready to hear my skewed perspective on the world?? Let's dive in!
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
When I was 5 my Mother’s cousin flew the whole family out to Seattle to attend her extremely lavish and gigantic fairytale wedding. As the flower girls, my sister and I wore matching white dresses that complimented our matching bowl cuts quite nicely. 5-year old Madde thought this wedding was fabulous because her dress was soaked in sparkles and she got a McDonald’s Happy Meal on the flight home. 23-year old Madde has evolved into think that this wedding and most weddings are pretty redic.
You see when I turned 23 there was a definite gigantic shift in my life. Suddenly, without warning, my friends started getting engaged and popping out real, live babies! WHAAAT? Because my childhood bowl haircut screwed with my oxygen-intake levels, I have been left incredibly self-involved, and subsequently I can’t help but wonder what this whole wedding business says about me. Here I am at age 23, in what I’ve liked to dub my “Second Puberty,” being distracted by cute boys and playing the field, while my dear childhood friends have found their soul mates and are starting their families. It seemed like just yesterday the same friends were dressing like hussies and flaunting their foobs (future boobs) for any boy who has just sprouted 2 chest hairs. What happened?? When did we stop being little girls and start becoming women?
(....Alright, let’s talk about the elephant in the room....Yes, I just nearly quoted a Britney Spears song, but stay with me on this one!)
Weddings are a big deal, I hear. Upon reflection, I realized that my 5-year old fabulous wedding experience was the only significant wedding I had ever attended, and the extent of my wedding knowledge stems from years of extensive Romantic Comedy viewing, and seeing “Bridesmaids”...Twice.
My dear sister, with whom I shared the darling matching bowl cut, will be getting married this September, and the fam and I are beyond excited for her new marriage! We really like the boy, we really like her, we really like this wedding. She’s 4 years older than I and I still think...”Woah! You’re a baby! How are you getting married right now?” I had what Oprah likes to call an “Ah-ha! Moment” recently. A major “Ah-ha! Moment” that changed everything...for now.
"Ah-ha" with me for a moment...
With weddings come Maid-of-Honor duties, gift buying anxiety, brushing up on the Chicken Dance pressure, and looking appropriate/ showering responsibilities. There are multiple levels of anxiety when it comes to wedding talk with my friends and fam.
Insane pressure that this one day has to be ultimate perfection, and all involved are responsible for facilitating the success of this event. This is the level in which you feel like the ultimate wedding planner and imagine reality TV show crews following you around and capturing all this high-stress drama.
Bizarre self-involved stress time in which you linger for a moment and wonder if YOU will ever get married yourself. I'm assuming this is a self-soothing mechanism that is the only thing that prevents level 1 from making your head shoot off from the stress of the flower arrangements.
The level where you try to explain to your family and pals just exactly WHY you are NOT bringing a “plus one” to the wedding. At some point they will get this weird look on their faces and then say, “Don’t you have a fun gay bestie you could bring! You guys could wear matching outfits!” After crying from the judgement factor, you then consider bringing an actual straight man, but opt out of it because you’re not ready to explain to other guests how he’s NOT your boyfriend, just a friend, and then they proceed through the buffet line and talk about how they always figured you were a lesbian, and how someone had heard you were moving to Iowa very soon with your life-partner, Janet Thunderpaws.
The most selfish of all the levels. Here is where you wonder if your dear friends or family will still have time for you in their lives after they get married and become an old maid or father-like man. :) This level requires faith and trust that no matter how fabulous their new husband or wife is, you remain even MORE fabulous. And yes, it is a competition.
At the end of the day weddings force me to put aside my cynical side for a day and really believe in everlasting love and adoration between two people who love each other. It’s easy to make jokes and be a Debbie Downer when it comes to love. Hell! I’ve devoted over 200 blogs to this very topic (excluding my recent blog about my belly button...you can’t love a belly button...or can you??? I bet Janet Thunderpaws loves hers), but weddings are a time for optimism and the celebration of love. So, with the impending weddings of my dear love ones, I make this promise: I will celebrate all love.
If my extensive RomCom watching research has taught me anything it would be this,
You can’t truly love someone else if you don’t truly believe it exists.
Friday, June 17, 2011
(Warning: I am about to over-share.)
I'm not sure if I was nibbled on by a bug or what happened, but my belly button has been giving me some grief lately. Yes, my belly button. It upsets me. To deal with the angst, I offer you a very special blog entry....
On Ode To My Belly Button
Hey there little button man.
Hi. Hello. Bonjour.
Look at how you sit there and stare at me with your little button eye.
Staring. With. Your. Button. Eye.
Yes, I'm looking at you in a mirror.
That is the only way I can see you face to face.
Like. A. Man. Button.
When I stare down at you from up here, it is like I am a bird.
Flutter. Flutter. Fly. Fly.
A bird that stares at belly buttons as she soars on by.
Don't worry. I'm a friend, not a foe.
I shall not try to eat you like a tree mouse.
Chompy. Chomp. Crunch party.
Belly button, you have always been there for me.
I mean, where else would you be?
Belly. Button. Convention. In. Santa. Fe.
I'm assuming someone I know tied you to me when I was born.
Twisty. Twisty. Tie, tie.
Thank you for staying around for the party.
Enjoy. The. Punch.
I know sometimes I hide you from the public.
Sensible tshirts and legging tops have kept you my little secret.
I wanted it that way.
Secret. Belly. Button. Spy.
I don't think poorly of you.
You're a great pal.
Always there to give me a squeeze.
Belly. Button. Squeeze. Party.
If I could squeeze you like a navel orange...and make juice...
I keep you lint free as a gift to you from me.
I don't want you feeling like you're some type of second-rate citizen.
You're important, just like all the other buttons.
Staples. Easy. Button. Ain't. Got. Nothin. On. You
Never leave my tummy belly button.
Stay with me forever.
We'll get through this.
Promise. Promise. Pinky swear.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Dear Dogs Hanging Out of Car Windows,
Nothing, I repeat, NOTHING can make me happier than seeing you guys hangin' out of the window of a speeding automobile. Tongues flappin' in the breeze, fur flying with wild abandon, a single doggie ear slapping against the car door frame. This is the picture of summer joy.
I love how much you love that highway wind. I do worry about flying objects sometimes, but not for long. Why? Because when you hang out of that car window you give me all sorts of hope. And my biggest hope is that a semi doesn't fly by and smack your little dog head off, but that won't happen, right?? Give me hope, doggies. Give me hope.
Sure, would I like you guys strapped in safe in the back seat of the car?
Maybe. But if we held you down, how would you bring me so much joy on the highway? HOW WOULD YOU DO THAT?
Keep pokin' your heads out of those cars, gang! I can't promise I won't run into you with my car because I'm so distracted by the adorability factor of the situation, but if I do run into you, forgive me, and when you get back from the vet, don't stop highway head pokin' outin'!