We Have Some Catching Up To Do

No excuses about not blogging. Some of you have probably seen some of my status messages on messenger so you already know my job is out of control. There have been more days than usual lately where I wonder how could bring home the same amount of money but make coffee for a living.
Some of you have probably seen other messages counting down to the big day - graduation is less than one month away. Serious concentration issues with my homework since I only have four weeks to go. The flip side to that is four years ago I never, never, never thought I would have already finished a Bachelor's degree and be within a month of finishing a Master's.
I am seven weeks into softball season. Our teams sucks because we don't practice, but it's a lot of fun. Except for last week when the ball blended into the big, giant, orange ball of sunshine and I got whacked in the head. Sat out the rest of that game.

Still going strong with mr.mojito. We've been out a couple more times since Kenny. I'm working on not puking after every date. What can I say... I get nervous when I really like someone and then my stomach gets all topsy turvy. Maybe it is a test???
He passes 9 out of 10 Check Yes or No questions. I'll let ya'll guess which question we haven't answered yet. Hint: it's not the one you probably think it is.

This past weekend was a 'kid free' weekend. Saw Indiana Jones with mr.mojito Friday night. He had a wedding to go to on Saturday. But mr.redbull called and said 'hey, you want to grab a bite to eat.' Why not? We hit Joe's Crab Shack where they have the awesomest (if that's even a word I can legitimately use in 2008) drink menu which includes a Pop Rocks Margarita.
From there, we went to a complete dive karaoke bar on Columbia. This was the worst karaoke bar I have ever been in. Most karaoke bars have at least a couple of decent singers or a planted good singer to get the crowd enthused. Not so much. Everybody sucked big time.
And the most fabulous fashion flub of the evening, the fake crocs paired with sweats to detract from the one-piece swimsuit that also apparently doubles as a top.

I Heart Kenny!!!

Tuesday night I went to see Kenny Chesney - from the 5th row!!!

I made life long friends with the two excessively drunk ladies in front of me who kindly shared their flask of Vanilla Stoli with us. I had snuck in some special beverages of my own as well - a little Bacardi to add to my Coke. I don't dare give away my secret on how I accomplished this.

Sidebar: the guy I was trying to find a nickname for a couple of posts back... I decided I should follow the same naming convention as when naming mr.redbull. When other creative forces fail me, your nickname is assigned based on what you drink.

I had won two tickets, and my other ticket went to mr.mojito. He took me to dinner before the concert, he drove us up there, I snuck in the Bacardi. We were so close to the stage, I could actually tell how short Kenny really is. Kenny puts on a great show and I'm fairly certain it would have been fabulous no matter where we were at.

My alternate title for this post was "This Was Only A Test". When the concert was over, and we hiked the 10 miles out to the car, and begin the interminable wait to leave the Amphitheatre, the alcohol hit me upside the head. I finished my cigarette and sat back down in the passenger seat. I promptly reopened the door and threw up. Classy, huh?

Anyone else who has been to the Amphitheatre knows it takes for EVER to get out after an event. We finally made our way into a lane of traffic that was actually moving, only to find out we had to take I-5 North. Given we needed to get back to Portland this was not OK. And given that I'm suffering through dry mouth and forcing myself to not puke again, it really wasn't OK. We turned around at the next exit and I closed my eyes to keep from getting dizzy. Next thing I remember, we're on the I-5 bridge and mr.mojito tells me that I'm cute when I'm asleep. We walk in the house, I throw up in the kitchen sink. Impressive, huh? At least he offered to hold my hair back though.

To clarify, I did go brush my teeth after. Apparently that was sufficient for none of this to bother him that much since I can answer the all important question now - boxers.

Not Quite NASCAR

Thanks to some friends I had passes to the races at PIR today. Initially I wasn't sure if M would be into the racing scene, but she seemed interested so we went to the track today. We live close enough to the track we hear the cars and the motorcycles almost all summer long. The great thing about PIR is there really aren't huge restrictions on where you can walk through. We walked all through the infield pit area. We stopped by my friends' pit area. M got pictures taken sitting in the driver's seat of a real Porsche race car.
One of the most entertaining things about a real NASCAR race is the audience. PIR didn't quite rival my NASCAR experience, however, there was definitely a stand out. Part of the lack of questionable fashion choices probably had something to do with the overcast skies and chilly weather. One bleach blonde bimbo must not have checked the weather report. I'm all for supporting the drivers and getting into race mode, but the checkered flag pattern mini-skirt is one step too far. Could maybe have gone along with the skirt, but the neon pink shirt with neon pink wedge Wal-Mart plastic flip flops and the black & pink "Hustler" sweatshirt drew a caution flag from the Fashion Police.

M noticed Ms Hustler today. I'm quite proud of her for beginning to grasp the finer points of socially acceptable dress. Now I just need help her be a little more quiet about it. Although a well placed "Mom, look at her" might do the world some good.

Yesterday at the nail salon M noticed another fashion atrocity. This lady, and I use that word extremely loosely, bent down to look at some of the nail polish. When she does this, the zipper down the back of her pants unzips about halfway. Most people notice when their zipper is no longer all the way zipped. This lady's pants were so tight, that even with the zipper coming down they were bursting at the seams. M quietly whispers "Mom, look - her underwear are showing." Really, this was an instance where I would have loved for M to say that at full 7 year old volume. And as if I don't think this 40-something lady is a complete skank already, her cell phone rings with Shakira "Hips Don't Lie."
If you're over 40, you should have to get your kids permission to download any song by an artist that has a song "Feat. Timbaland" or "Feat. T-Pain."