Weekend Update

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We’re back from Camp Spooner and, surprisingly, no one lost a limb or any brain functions that are essential for human existance. This weekend was one of those strange weekends where although fun was had by all, there was a certain amount of uncomfortable squirming.

After a good Friday night out, Trent and I drug our hungover, slightly stanky behinds out of bed and hopped in the car for a trip to good ole’ Council Grove, Kansas, population 7. My parents run their global empire of home shopping networks and space station experiments from their cabin at Council Grove city lake. Because of our affinity for drinking HEAVILY, we were a wee bit late, but damnit, we had to go on a beer run BEFORE SURRENDURING TO THE HORROR OF THE PARENTS. Just to keep everyone up to speed, Trent & I drank a total of 20 Bud Lites, 12 Boulevard Wheats and 4 fruity Segrams drinks during our 23 hours at the lake. But to be fair, my dad drank at least 4 of our drinks (I would’ve said beers, but I definetly saw him drinking a Segrams), so it’s really not as bad as it sounds.

Other than the fact that my parents think we’re raging alcoholics now, the trip was mostly a success. Trent narrowly dodged the dreaded “marriage question” from my dad, and my mother was, very much to our amazement, funny and nice to both of us. Seriously. We even got her to watch 2 episodes of Penn & Tellers Bullshit. Granted, she talked through most of it and winced in extreme pain everytime the word FUCK was uttered, but that is to be expected. We made it through the ENTIRE WEEKEND without a mention of how much they want to disown me. Incredibly. Of course, my brother’s antics as of late probably have convinced them their daughter “living in sin” isn’t that big of a deal. Hey, at least I have a job, right? And, as of this moment, I have yet to be arrested. Reach for the stars, kids.

Now we are returned home, to jobs and a mountain of laundry that I’ve been putting off for about 10 weeks. So instead of catching up on housework while Trent (who has been Mr. Wonderful lately, doing all sorts of chores while I lay on my ass watching Friends reruns) is out getting groceries, going to the hardware store, and basically being an all-around bad-ass, I’m drinking a vodka and OJ (70% to 30%) while I update my blog. Do you see what I do for YOU PEOPLE?!

I have to go. Nanny 911 is on.

In your eyes…

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The boy bought me flowers. He’s a nice boy. I think I’ll keep him.

I just had to post this to show how much of an attention whore the dog is. “Can I be in the picture? Please? I won’t eat a tampon for a month! I promise!”

He also cleaned the ENTIRE HOUSE! It is rare that you can actually see the top of this table. I figure nothing’s real until you share it with all of your closest friends on the Internet. So here it is, Internet! The top of my coffee table. Trent is hereby considered the Best Boyfriend with a Beard in the Kansas City metro area! And possibly, all of the KCTV 5 broadcast region!

Amber’s worst fear.

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“Ummmm, Jake? Hi. There is a hairy man trying to lick me. Yes. Yes, I know it’s weird. Well, what do you want me to do?! I feel very uncomfortable here. I think I may have to use my taser gun.”

I Miss the Crazy Pills

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I am one lazy piece of crap.

I don’t know how else to put it.

I swear, I didn’t used to be this way. I used to be psychotic about what I had to do, and when I had to do it, and I had to be 15 minutes early or I would never get the job, and I had to get straight A’s or I would never get into college, and I had to be a leader on campus or no one would ever offer me more money to stay in college, and I had to be skinny or no boy would ever look at me, and, and, AND!!! Then I met Trent, stopped popping the crazy pills, and realized, MY GOD! No one really gives a shit what I’m doing or how I’m doing it.

Trent is the exact opposite of me in this way. He is one of those people that can give the smallest amount of effort, and succeed. He’s Clinton, I’m Hilary. He’s Sonny, I’m Cher. OK, bad analogies, since Clinton was almost impeached and Sonny ran his ass into a tree and died, but you get my meaning. Trent’s so god damn smart he can sleep in until 10 in the morning and come home at 3 in the afternoon and still get a raise, a bonus, a personal note from the CEO and a swift smack on the ass. I, on the other hand, give WAY TOO MUCH OF A SHIT what others think of me, so I work my ass off, only to get absolutely NOTHING in return.

For example, yesterday The Bearded Wonder returned reaking of NY funk and stale airplane air. He wasn’t feeling too hot, so he napped all afternoon. I wasn’t feeling to hot either. I have one of those “God Damn Colds That Shouldn’t Exist Because It’s Fucking Summer And No One Should Have Colds In The Summer” colds, which is making me sleepy, grumpy, and an all around asshole.

*Small sidenote: I just spilled an entire can of Diet Coke with Lime down my shirt. I am now royally pissed and I look like I’m secreting Diet Coke from my breasts. This post will only become more of a rant from here on out.*

Moving on, I was a grumpy piece of crap, but instead of calling in sick for the afternoon and cuddling with my two hairballs (including Molly) I went back to work. Why? I DON’T FUCKING KNOW WHY!!! Could they fire me for not coming back? Yes, but Friday’s my last day anyway. Could they say they won’t give me my earned vacation pay? Oh, wait, THEY ALREADY DID! Would they not like me anymore? DING, DING, DING! We have our answer folks, thanks for playing.

Today, same senario. Woke up feeling like my throat had been sanded down and painted with scary toxic paint. Nose considerably stuffed, drool marks covering pillows from breathing through my mouth all night. Lips chapped. And adding on to my misery was the fact that not only do we have no water pressure in our shower, now there is no hot water either! But did I call in sick? Guess? What did you guess? Seriously, what? OK, I won’t tease you anymore. Let’s just say, the only time I’ve been writing on this page lately is when I have nothing to do AT WORK. Gee, it’s a good thing I came in today.

At least I’m getting back at the system by not showering in the freezing water two days in a row, now causing my office to smell like a subway station. Damn the man!

*Another small sidenote: I realize that the above post makes me sound like a giant-ass grumpy bitch who is extremely selfish and an all around pain in the rump. True. But if you read closer you’ll understand that in all other facets of my life I have to be “Super-Crazy Nice Please Let Me Help Girl” and this is my only escape. So deal with it! Or stop reading. But if you send me hate mail I will send my vicious Rottweiler to eat your children. Or she may just ask you to rub her nipples.*

Rant Again.

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When you see a girl wearing capris (or guy, we don’t descriminate), please don’t say, “Oh, it looks like your pants shrunk.” It’s not funny. Seriously. Not at all funny.

Please stop cowaring in fear everytime I come home because you did something you know you weren’t supposed to do. Just stay out of the bathroom trash and stop chewing on the rugs, dog! And you absolutely must stop peeing when you see that I see that you’ve done something wrong. Peeing will not make me forgive you any faster!

When your giant german shepherd runs up to my dog at the park growling and trying to fight with her (as she rolls over and shouts, “Look, I have huge nipples! Please don’t hurt me!), don’t say, “Oh, he always does that to Rottweilers. It must be a defense mechanism. Get them before they get you.” Does it look like my dog is going to attack yours. Maybe after she wets herself and passes out.

Put your shirt back on. Seriously, no one wants to see that. No, I mean it. Put it back on or I’m leaving.

Yes, I am blond. Yes, I look nice today. No, you cannot touch my boob.

If you tell everybody stories about me peeing in the car whilst intoxicated, you better not be bitching about me telling the world you’re having a LAN party. It’s who you are! Be proud! I am a geek and my girlfriend can pee in a cup! I am not ashamed!

If I ever have a bachelorette party, nobody, and I mean FUCKING NOBODY, better make me wear any sort of veil made of streamers or tell anyone I’m getting married soon. How am I supposed to make out with the bartender if everyone knows I’m getting hitched?

My car’s oil should be changed automatically. And whoever broke into my car at the dog park should be drug out into the street and shot. But next time buddy, make sure you look in the envelope with the $100, then remove the cash, then leave, instead of just throwing shit around and emptying my swim bag.

A special shout-out to Matt Lauer for circumcising Tom Cruise on the Today show.

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