Indiana Makes me Random

I think Beyonce’s new album drops this week or sometime v. soon. It’s called B’Day, pronounced “Bee Day.” But you wanna know how I would pronounce it, were I to see it and not really know the context? “Bidet.” You know, like the European posterior-cleaner. Because that’s really how it looks, phonetically speaking. Do you think she gave this any thought? Apparently not. I think this is quite an unfortunate album name, but I guess my opinion doesn’t so much count.

B/c, as you can see by the picture, I have poor judgment anyway. No, the side ponytail is really just a function of having been back in Indiana over the weekend. Ok! I’m kidding again! They don’t even wear the side pony in IN, I’m totally pulling your chain. Regardless, that’s Bethy there, the one in the wedding dress. She’s currently en route to Hawaii, and I’m currently sitting at my damn desk. Can someone hurry up and marry me already so I can go on a honeymoon? I’m a catch, I swear, I really am.

Ok, so, the wedding was lovely, was back in the company of my high school friends, drinking champagne (nectar of the Gods) and dancing with young boys. Yes, most of the men were attached, and therefore the only ones that invited me to dance were Bethy’s 21-year old brother and his friend. It’s cool though, I totally jive with the youngsters. Post-wedding we hit up Broadripple, of course, and combed our favorite establishments, Bleeker Street, Tavern, in search of old high school friends, and after turning up only a group of guys who were frat brother of my HS ex and our friend Cally and her bf, we gave up and headed to La Bamba’s for burritos as big as your head. They aren’t REALLY as big as your head, but that’s their little tagline, so I’ll give them that.

But, I have to say, something really big this weekend happened. I fell in love. Totally head over heels. The kind of love that you think only happens in the Notebook. I let my new lover chew on my hair and bite my wrists all night long, and I don’t even care that his biggest accomplishments in life involve going poopy. He’s like 1 foot tall, like 20 pounds, even has lots of body hair which many of you know I despise. Hmm, it’s not funny anymore is it? Ok, anyway, I obvi finally met little Jack Bauer. I don’t care who the f your dog is, our new dog kicks your dog’s ass. He is nearly pure white, and he has the most precious face on earth, and he has this silly little waggly walk and he treats you like a human chew toy, and I so wanted to steal him, take him home, and rename him Kirby.

And dude, everyone loves this dog. We took him for a walk on Friday and everyone who drove past stopped to say hi and gawk. He’s that cute, I swear. My mom told me several times about how these neighbor kids, Anna and Luke (4&6) are obsessed with him, and I’m like whatever. But we’re walking right, and then Anna and Luke are with their mom like way down the street walking toward us, and they start clapping and yelling and run toward Jack. They are all about him, and their mom is like, ok, time to go, and they’re like, no we don’t want to leave Jack. So my mom is like you can come walk him home. So their mom heads home and the kids come back with us to our house b/c they refuse to leave Jack.

I love kids, btw. Love them. They are so f’in honest. We get to our house, and we go in, and they quickly lose interest in the dog, and they’re like, “umm, we’re hungry. Can we have a snack?” And my mom is like, sure… And they’re like, “we’d like Doritos.” We didn’t have any, but they were cool w/ the Oreos my mom offered. And then they’re like, “we’re thirsty. Do you have juice?” Seriously, kids don’t fool around. You go over to a neighbor’s house, and if they offer a snack you’ll take whatever they give you. We’re not talking about your best friend’s house here, we are talking about total random neighbor. Like you go over to drop off a neighbor’s package you picked up. You would never be like, “hey, um, got any Doritos?” But kids do. I love it.

The only thing that worries me is how big kids are these days. Ok, maybe it’s just that I’m really short. But whatever. The fact remains that this six year old girl was not really much smaller than me. And I’m sure that when she’s 10 she’ll probably be my height. This worries me, b/c I fear I’ll have no authority with my munchkins. Like, I’ll tell my kids to make their beds or eat their broccoli or whatever, and they’ll be like, “Umm, mom, I’m taller than you. So you’re not the boss of me.” I kind of think I might be screwed like that.

Well, I just re-read this, and it’s a pretty retarded little entry. I sound like that child in that old cell phone commercial that lays on the dining room floor in his swimsuit and fins and just talks about one million different things that don’t have any connection. So I guess I’ll stop now. The end.