Here’s the photos I took during Manhattan Girls Do Dallas…as per usual, I didn’t take very many, especially not of the fun stuff, like Rock Band madness. Ah well, such is life. At least we’ll always have the memories (especially of me singing My Sharona after two bourbons).
Sooooo, I’m back from Dallas.
Well, sort of. My body is back, but my brain and heart keep wandering back to a place where there was zero snow and a pool in the backyard. Not to mention the place where I could play Rock Band until two in the morning AND get to sleep in the next day.
The trip was lovely. Full of fun and friends, a few days to remember who I was, am, and will always be. I think as parents and wives and working professionals, we sometimes forget the piece of us that we left behind in our younger, more naive days. And for me, there are a few wonderful people on this planet that can immediately take me back to my junior year of high school, a place where bad jokes still make me laugh until my stomach hurts and movie nights where the vodka and cuddles seem to go hand in hand. A few of those people were with me in Dallas (plus a new addition that I must say, blended in to our strange circle of friendship quite nicely), and I had forgotten how happy I am when I’m with them.
And how bad the hangover of leaving them always seems to be.
In two days I will leave the most ridiculous weather of Kansas (Blizzard? Really? ‘Eff you, Kansas?) and head south for my first vacation without Lulu since the day she was born.
Yes. She’s almost three. So what?
I’m road tripping down to Dallas with my dramatic friend Mara, where we will join our little Alabamian (Alabaman? ‘Bama native? Whatever.) Abbie at her in-laws’ castle. While there we plan on drinking beers, playing Rock Band, drinking wine, shopping at outlet malls, drinking bourbon, shopping at IKEA, drinking cocktails, sitting by the pool (also, rubbing aloe all over my sure-to-be sunburn), reading magazines, fighting about politics, and drinking Mike’s Hard Lemonade (Abbie, not me).
Also, we may do some drinking.
One of the best parts about this trip (besides the concert we’re seeing and the time I’ll get to snuggle Abbie’s 11-month-old baby and the beers and the meeting of Abbie’s Alabama friend, the most beautifully named, Megan) is that Mara and I will be stuck in a car together for seven hours. I cannot imagine the shenanigans that will ensue, but I’m sure they will be embarrassing (see: that one Twilight post from a few days ago). I can’t wait to stop at random diners in Oklahoma and hear Mara try to order something vegan (or vAAAAAY-gan, as they call it in Texas). I keep picturing those Pace Picante Sauce commercials from the 80s. Remember:
“NEW YORK CITY! Get a rope…”
Yep, I think it will be just like that. Only Mara’s more dramatic than most cowboys and will whine more. But she probably will call me Cookie. I promise, I’ll bring my video camera.
I’d like to tell you a story about the amazing weekend I had. How my weekend was full of art and theater and attempts at understanding astrophysics. How I woke up bright and early on Saturday morning, and then spent the day doing crafts with my daughter and making homemade pizza. I would like to tell you all of that.
Trouble is, I’d be lying.
My Saturday morning was full, alright. Full of groaning when my daughter woke up at 6 a.m. Full of getting her breakfast bars and turning on movies and then rolling back over and sleeping. Why, you may ask, was I so tired? Blame Mara.
On Friday night, Mara the Fantastic and Wonderful decided to come out to my house and visit her dear friend, because she missed me so very much and couldn’t imagine going another minute without seeing my smiling face.
Just kidding, she actually came out because one week previous I had forced her to watch the amazing awfulness of Moonlight, a television series about vampires that was cancelled by CBS after one season, but for some glorious reason is shown in reruns on the SciFi network. Turns out I’m not the only one without a life, and our evening was consumed with the trials of Mick St. John, Vampire Private Investigator. Yes, really.
After Mara realized how incredibly awesome it is to watch SciFi on a Friday night instead of, you know, having a life, she decided to rent the entire season of Moonlight. Because one cannot survive without knowing if Mick St. John, Vampire Private Detective and Beth Turner, the lady he saved from his vampire wife when she was a kid, but she doesn’t know it, are going to get together. Understandable.
Turns out Moonlight was such a television flop, you can’t rent it anywhere, only buy for a hefty pricetag that Mara was unwilling to pay. Although she apparently is willing to drive 30 minutes on a bum tire to watch it on my DVR. Yeah, I’m not sure of the logic involved either.
After putting the child to bed, Mara and I retreated to the basement to watch our second (or third, there’s always Angel from Buffy) favorite vampire solve a mystery while somehow hiding the fact that he eats people. And then. THE. HORROR.
Friday’s showing of Moonlight had been cancelled. By a Battlestar Gallatica marathon.
{Who just laughed out loud? You can’t make this stuff up!}
As Mara and I held each other and cried for our dear Mick St. John, we had an epiphany. Here’s a recap:
Me: Doesn’t Twilight come out on DVD tonight?
Her: Megan, I am not waiting in line to buy Twilight tonight!
Me: Of course not! I did that with the fifth Harry Potter book and I’m never doing that again.
Her: You’re a loser.
Me: True. But what if Twilight does come out on my cable’s OnDemand at midnight?!
Her: stares at me….starts to smile….proposes marriage
We then proceeded to spend the next two hours trying to find something to entertain us until midnight. I made her watch last week’s SNL with Tracy Morgan as the host (Seriously, is there anything funnier than Brian Fellow’s Safari Planet? I mean, “I don’t even want to go to your tea party, stuck up cow!” Now that’s comedy GOLD, people) and she made me re-watch last week’s episode of How I Met Your Mother (the one with the suit-jamas and nightshirt). We found a Twilight movie drinking game online and began crafting our own rules.
Then, at midnight, it began.
AND OME! THE SPARKLY GOODNESS WAS TOO MUCH TO HANDLE!
And at 2:30 a.m. it was over.
I must admit, I felt a little dirty and ashamed. And tired. Especially when my husband found we had purchased it and chastised the fact that I’d already seen it a few times (okay, three, SHUT UP!).
But I couldn’t help it, alright! Yes, I may be one of those weird, somewhat frightening moms that has a crush on a 17-year-old fictional vampire AAANNNDDD a 16-year-old fictional werewolf, but it’s endearing, right? And who can turn away from Edward’s sweaty (I mean sparkly. Yes! Sparkles!) face? Try, I dare you.
Annndddd BOOM. I just died.
Now, for those of you that just don’t get this whole Twilight phenomenon (you’re still reading this? really?) I’d recommend you go here for the most wonderful recap of the series that I’ve ever read, ever, ever. Here’s a taste of what you’ll find:
Twilight in Fifteen Minutes –
EDWARD: SAY MY NAME, BITCH
BELLA: EDWARD
EDWARD: NO, THE OTHER ONE
BELLA: ASSHOLE
EDWARD: NO, THE OTHER ONE
BELLA: VAMPIRE, OKAY? VAMPIRE
And also, you can get buddy icons like these, which I wish I had in printed form so I could just hand them to people instead of speaking to them:
Can you imagine?
“Megan, you are needed in the conference room.”
“I don’t know, sometimes I doubt your commitment to sparkle motion…”
And if you still doubt the absolute awesomeness of Twilight, you can read interviews from the stars of the movie to convince you of its supreme fabulocity:
“When you read the book,” says Pattinson, looking appropriately pallid and interesting even without makeup, “it’s like, ‘Edward Cullen was so beautiful I creamed myself.’ I mean, every line is like that. He’s the most ridiculous person who’s so amazing at everything. I think a lot of actors tried to play that aspect. I just couldn’t do that. And the more I read the script, the more I hated this guy, so that’s how I played him, as a manic-depressive who hates himself. Plus, he’s a 108-year-old virgin so he’s obviously got some issues there.”
And for that quote alone, RPattz is now officially added to My List, replacing either the ailing Steve Jobs or Harry, Prince of the Douchebags.
So, in conclusion:
Vampires are pretty.
Sparkles are fun.
Thank God I have friends that are as idiotic as I am.
And also…..
…….I’m now a cougar. RAWR.
Back when I first started writing on this site, there was a select group that read it on a daily basis (I think there were three people, total, including myself). My main commenters included my friend Mara, who pre-Facebook did not have an outlet for all of her insane stories, so she’d put them in the comments here, even when they did not relate to the post in any way. The other was a good buddy of Trent’s, someone who has with time morphed into Trent’s business partner/godfather of our child.
But back when he was less mature and probably way too open with his opinions, this particular guy and I had a lot in common. We both hated our jobs. We both were cynical assholes. We both thought our significant others were way to happy with their lives, so we’d make snarky comments to try and knock them down a notch (never worked, happy bastards). And he usually commented on my posts on this site.
I’m starting the process of redesigning the site again (blech, yuck, boo) and as I’m going through all my old content, I’ve been stumbling upon some relics of my past. In particular, the comments section of this site has diminished quite a bit. I guess we’re all more “mature” now and don’t leave snarky comments every day. But after reading some of these gems, you may want to rethink your position on oversharing.
From the mouth (or keyboard) of “//heath”, circa 2005-ish:
“That doesn’t diminish that fact that you used to be way cooler when you hated the world with me.”
“Booooo, booo, boo. Yes, I’m booing you.”
“Oh, snap.”
“I’ll be happier if you’re still miserable AT WORK, when the baby is born.”
“PS: Gettin’ silly with the 9 milli!!!”
“Last thing I remember is pointing the bottom of a gallon of W.L Wellers toward the sky.”
“I hate you, for not hating your job.”
“‘your’ indicates posession, ‘you’re’, as you should have used means ‘you are’; as in, you are funny. Invoice: $85.35”
“Trent’s hot”
“American hating Pinko Commie!!”
Ahhhh, the good ole’ days…………
