Cartography, an amateur sport

Haven't done this in a bit. Guess I'll go ahead and switch the style up for a minute......

You take your first breath on the day you were born. That doesn't mean that's when your life begins. That happens when your first breath is taken away. Sometimes going through the motions becomes such a brilliant fallacy that existing complacent becomes the ideal. Likely remaining in this type of situation will allow for a life of mediocrity, pseudo happiness perpetuated by the acceptance given as you've finally conceded to taking the road more traveled. Just because that's the route which supposedly leads you to your destination, doesn't mean that destination is home. I can't tell you how many times I have allowed myself to rely on the Garmin only to drive aimlessly on roads that don't exist because of software updates that never happened. I end up finding my way. Nothing will ever update the software of the life map. Find your own fucking way. How easy it must be to embrace the puppet in you, allowing others to pull the strings. Find. Your own. Fucking way. Maps are fantastic. GPS has saved me more time, miles and gas than I can calculate. I am always lost. Fantastic advances in navigation; however, if your destination wasn't recognized in the GPS or didn't show up on a map, would you just give up and not go there? If your answer is yes, either keep that quiet or please extract yourself from my life ;-) find your own fucking way. There are people and events and experiences that will help facilitate the mapping of your life, but ultimately it's you who has to take the wheel and follow the path laid out for you. Stay on it for a while, because odds are it's what's best initially. And you don't know any better. But eventually, find your own fucking way. I did. I'm grateful for the foundation that was laid for me, because of the momentum, but I'm so happy that I decided to recalculate the route as now it seems my destination is abundantly clear.

College football seems to inspire a stream of conscious, huh? I'll lighten up next time. I'm thinkin' either the upcoming election or the ongoing question of starburst vs. Swedish fish? (don't think I've actually ever heard this, but seriously, which one?).

I spell job, a-m-a-z-i-n-g.......

Now I know I’ve advertised this blog as being a light-hearted day-to-day look at my life. I never promised everything would be humorous. Life isn’t always funny. Life is made up of too much to laugh all the time. Moments, places, feelings, people- these are a fraction, albeit an important one, they are entities that makeup this experience we were afforded called life. You must allow yourself to find appreciation in every one of the colors and brush strokes that create this big picture. Personally, I chose to allow people to be the foundation that makes my experience withstand the storms.

Now I have a career, where the day to day goings on are typically on an entirely different level of funny. I started this job just 9 short months ago completely blind to the impact this time would have on me. I was happy to have been given the opportunity of employment; however, I was in no way thrilled when I found out that due to my fellowship status, schools would be the primary worksite for me. I’ve never been luckier. September of 2011 marked the time when a group keystone people came into my life. I see 160 kids, each of whom inhabit their very own place in my heart. A few stand out more than others, while none are irrelevant. I see some patients at their homes, which the thought of was initially quite intimidating. The first home patient I saw changed my mind and my life forever.

I remember the first time I arrived at the household, not knowing what to expect, but well aware that something was about to happen that I would never forget. The patient was not quick to take a liking to me, but during that first hour session, I was able to read her and knew a short story about a Busch Gardens trip and a bodily function of an elephant may be just the ticket to building the rapport I would need to be an effective therapist and fixture in her life. Nine months later, and she has been an effective therapist and fixture in my life. I am inspired and humbled every minute I am in her presence. I am her speech therapist, but she is the one who has taught me. I've taken her through the steps to maintain focus, verbalize based on her feelings and make steps toward intentional communication. Mind you, she is unable to speak a word, but fully capable off telling you so much. She not only inspires me, but also makes me love what I do more than I ever imagined possible.

I never would have imagined that I could be the catalyst in helping young adults transition through some of the most difficult times of their lives. I never thought, that because of how cruel kids can be, that I would be the only thing they look forward to about coming to school every day. Ultimately I really never would have believed that THEY are the thing that I look forward to about going to work every day.

The positive attitude and tenacity I have seen in so many whom have been dealt some of the most difficult hands I can imagine, is so incredibly humbling and inspiring. There have been infinite amounts of moments this year that have made me laugh, cry, think, upset, anxious and an array of other emotions. 

These moments, which happen during what some may call a job, but I regard a privilege, are what help keep me grounded. Every goal and objective whether on the IEP or in life, that I assist them in reaching, is subsequently an accomplishment in my own life. I will stop at nothing to help these amazing people continue to improve, as they have never stopped in improving me.

Last week one of my students asked a nurse on a field trip learning about blood types: “so what blood type is HIV positive?”. That was funny, right? Ok, then I’m back. 

Cinco de make you thinko

It is a rare and infrequent occasion, "drinking holiday" events coinciding...... Oh wait, Cinco de Mayo and Kentucky Derby? No. Not at all. Saturday. In May. That's it. It's spring and a Saturday. So that means shirts should get prepared to be custom designed. Holy eff. This sounds like just any other night doesn't it? Well it could very well have been, but something was missing. Something was afforded to me last weekend that is quite a rarity. In no way could I ever have the audacity to claim that my day today isn't filthmazing; however, last weekend took the babiar fondant cake. Move on, Megz. It's a day to celebrate your......er......others' Mexican heritage ok fine. I shall rock this sombrero. I will venture out to this block party and ensure the block is indeed hot. The block kept up its end of the deal. It was warm to quite warm. We rocked the coronas AND the finger mustaches. I guess the destination of this story is not the celebrations that occurred, but the lessons that were learned. Optimistically speaking, I hope were. Sometimes no matter where you try to interject yourself, and how persistent you are in your attempts to adjust and recreate your fate, some things are just destined to remain the same. The awe-same. If you were a bettin', man you'd have put all your chips on us ending up at cheap. You fucking win. You fucker. We venture off the beaten path in a feeble attempt to make known our insatiable thirst for change, for something to differentiate us from what you have always known we always had been. Is it even possible? I like to think so..... When I can prove myself wrong, that'll be the time when I can justify being so condescending to the rest of you. I'm afraid of change. Are you? I would have to assume so; however, my assumptions tend to be what get me in trouble. I had a great night. I always do when I am complacent in my situation. In no way is this intended to be negative. Simply insightful. This holiday was just another fantastic display of of my life's twists and turns. And turn right on the on ramp of interstate phenomenal it always has. Nothing is meant to last forever. So before this Eden in which you live, allows someone to take a big old bite of the proverbial apple, alter the ending. Choose your own adventure. Make it the best ending you possibly can. Disney this life isn't, but luckily for me I live within driving distance from that world. Come see me. It'll be great. Mickey is here, but more importantly so are the non-fictional characters whom have oiled the gears to make my world go 'round so efficiently. Thanks, y'all.

And now, in the right corner, weighing in at 1.5 pounds standing 8 inches off the ground.....

He's buckets of fun, just put your balls in his top and out of his mouth they will pop, KEN MR. BUCKET MUUUUUUDIIIIIEEEEE!!!!!!!

Megz mouth, the opening of Tampa Bay.

This past weekend I was graced with the presence of a very good friend of mine, Ryan von Steinen aka the manatee hammer. Him, Megz, and I were all reunited after an awesome, yet short lived Christmas vacation. We pretty much wrecked this place, from Riverview, Apollo beach, Siesta Key, and to filthy seaweed rich comfort of Indian rocks. The experiences of laughter, story telling, filthy pink stink burgers, are far above the unthinkable. I was fortunate enough to be let off the hook by uncle Matt for not mowing the grass, so him, Megz, Ryan and I could enjoy a day together filled with superior fellowship at siesta key. It was amazing, we had piss tubes, air hammers, salt n vinegar chips, and natty light by the dozens. I applaud uncle Matt for being the soft spoken, loud hearted individual that hopefully will adopt me someday. He's really good at volleyball, it's like watching a ballerina dancing on glass. Quite a majestic site. The level of Tom foolery, Bally hoo, and arbitrary filth we share is unprecedented. This past weekend probably could never be matched, at least not in my lifetime. I thank God every day for my friends that I've met and have known through the years of my priceless existence. It's not often I find or meet people on my level, maybe that's why Ryan and I were born less than 24 hours apart and the same hospital, Megz father was my principal, and uncle Matt, well he's just a pure bad ass. Thanks guys for being way more than a friend, y'all are family to this guy. Period. Mr Bucket, outsky


Ok ok, so Ken filtered his as well. Trust me y'all, it's better this way. We look forward to more guest blogs in the future, Mr. Bucket......

Surprises aren't typically my jam....

Call it an issue with lack of control, or perhaps it is a deep seeded fear of my untimely demise due to over-exertion of the heart. Either way, you can imagine my apprehension when one of my most valued associates (someone who exists on the same level of awesome as yours truly), discloses his intentions to venture to the ‘view this past Friday with a surprise in tow. The wheels in my brain (which are closer to the shape of an ellipsis than round, semantics), started turning at mach speed. I immediately called my mother in a panic, “what could it be mom?!?!?” She immediately came up with a likely conjecture, Ken finally had enough of living with Leo and he was delivering him to Hillsborough county under the guise of a fun surprise. This had me worried. Then a light bulb went off, MR. BUCKET! He bought me Mr. Bucket!!!!! Now I’m excited. Well I had days and days to run over these situations in my head before the big unveiling. Finally, Friday rolls around. I wrap up my work day and head to Mellow Mushroom (as Ken determined that a Bells beer was mandatory). I arrive and immediately start venting about my day. 5 minutes into my diatribe, a 3rd person comes and sits at our table, I don’t skip a beat, 2 more minutes of tirade. Wait, I know this person…..not in this context…..RJs, yeah, that’s it, LLT…..Kzoo…..OH FUCK, IT’S RYAN! The point of realization was the exact same point I conceded to a weekend of zero productivity and complete debauchery. Luckily, Ken and Ryan were on the same page, and that page just happened to be page 83 in the McGraw-Hill school dictionary, the page where Awesome is defined (awkward happens to be on that same page, who knew).

Well, since I’ve made the conscious decision to go balls to the wall this weekend, may as well get it started now. Let’s take Ryan everywhere……except South Tampa if at all possible. First stop, Circles for the Tigers game. A nice relaxing dinner on the water inevitably lead to a night cap (x10) at Linksters and an inappropriately late night on the Duv back porch hitting the…….books, yeah, the books. I made sure to stop at Walgreens this evening in order to purchase a souvenir Apollo Beach manatee-shirt for Ryan, obviously. The only thing missing was Molly, but timing wasn’t on our side as she was sailing the 7 seas in search of love. The show must go on. Ryan knows all too well, there are many sea in the fish, Molly should succeed.

Where would we decide to venture on a beautiful, 85 degree Saturday? If you said an underage female sex addict recovery meeting, then you obviously know Ken far too well, but not today folks, not today. Siesta Key, and in no way did it live up to it’s name. Rest was not on the agenda, but beer, food, sun and a “12 inch air hammer was. Siesta led to a stop at Woody’s on the river en route back to Riverview. Ryan and Ken dropped the bomb on me that they were to return to St. Pete that evening, to my horror. Well shit, it’s Saturday, fuck it I’ll go. Now this may not sound like such a risky thing to do, but if you know the three of us, and now we will be left to our own devices without the responsible, watchful eye of uncle Matt over us, this is going straight to shit and Ken is driving the shit bus. I almost for a fraction of a second, regretted my decision when I boarded said shit bus, aka Ken’s BMW which I’m quite sure was the first one…….ever manufactured. No wipers, no radio, no A/C, shall I continue? Don’t be such a little bitch, Meg, it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey, which would have been far more relevant had we been blasting “Don’t Stop Believing” in the car on the ride…….see earlier description. Quick pep talk, a cig and a rockstar beverage, I’m fresh to death and ready to fuckin roll. It dawns on me, this is my maiden voyage to the Feather Sound crib, and Leo will surely be waiting to greet me with licks on the face following his chugging water from Ken’s toilet. You can’t even imagine the mixed emotions I was feeling. Well, as I may have guessed, it ended up being a Saturday night from outer fucking space. Ryan rocked his Manatee-shirt to MJ/Tobs house and all around DTSP that night, and let me tell you, it was a hit. Ken’s biggest secret was finally discovered, he has many balls, many many balls. It was pretty nonstop, but the three of us decided we needed to cut out early to go hit……the books again. We have all been studying very hard for our living green certification exams, trying to build greenhouses and shit, don’t worry about it. The night didn’t end there, but in the interest of this blog, it did. I’m the “pupet master” of this, so lay off.

Sunday funday? I fucking hate that term, so a new one was coined, not appropriate to repeat, either way, let’s go to the beach. Clam Jam 2012 doesn’t stop just because it’s a day of rest, c’mon now. After another long day at the beach, Ken finally decided it was ok for Ryan to see a little bit of South Tampa, I mean what is a weekend without the obligatory Cheap visit to see D!?!?!?! Ken agreed because D is one of the few people on his level when it comes to Tigers baseball, and she is insanely quick to refill our drinks, and she fucking rules. We hit Macs and Yard for some life-sized Jenga (our roundhouse kicking the life sized Jenga tower in my case)………you know what, I think I just need to stop here. This is definitely one of my weaker entries…….

The weekend was bad ass, I’m not sure how many times I can repeat, my friends are the best, and these two dudes are so far above most when it comes to making me laugh, nonstop, for 4 days straight (luckily I had those Depends Molly and I bought a while back), it’s not even fair to try and put it into words. We did; however, write a song about Ken’s car, so keep your ears peeled for that hot joint. It’s going to be a tough weekend to beat, lucky for me, my forearms are gigantic, so beating things comes easy to me.

In the interest of full disclosure, I assured Ken that I wouldn’t filter this entry, but if I included even a tiny fraction of the banter between Ken, Ryan and I from the weekend, I wouldn’t be typing anymore, because I’d be in a straight jacket…….what can I say, we bring out the filthy in each other, not that it’s hard to do. Since I’m being such a vag and filtering this so heavily, I’ve decided to do something different. I’ve asked for a guest blogger to give a little more explicit look at the goings on…….so please stay tuned for the first outside point of view on the Maliblog…….

My spring is NOT broken......

Every year, come March, I find myself declaring "this is likely my LAST year to have a measurable amount of time off". OK, so it just happens to be in the spring, and I just happen to be afforded the opportunity to spend this time at a condo on the beach, and there just so happen to be stores within walking distance where one may procure airbrush t-shirts.  This isn't spring break.....I'm 28 years old......

Well, as goes for a spring, as well any other functioning part, it deserves to be severed if not flat out broken.  Why hello again, Spring Break.

It's more than likely you are not handed the torch of inappropriateness of a week-long spring break as this Olympian has been, but surely, you have taken full advantage of a day or two during this, the season of new beginnings, to misplace your face and put a stop payment on reality for a bit. If you haven't, well never-fucking-mind, no fucking chance those people would be reading this.

I threw my ball into the final cup in the grand prize game.  Lie down, Bozo, Malibu wins. As a smelly homeless man is given a penny into his cup, I was again, handed a spring break. Luckily, I've had many years experience with this privilege and I will not take it for granted. No, for I, Malibu, will use this week to sleep in until 10am, sit on the beach all day and consume countless plastic cups of beer by night......wait.......this sounds hauntingly similar to the "Spring Break" I spent 10 years ago.  OH YEAH!, shit doesn't change.

I had a fucking blast.  I spent the entire time with my creators. I went to a Tigers game, drank at 10 am, met a fucking Captain Jack Sparrow impersonator, saw sponges on a dock, reunited with old friends, witnessed coeds frolic, paddle board failed, Mr. Bucket, ate amazing food, failed to remember 99% of what awesomeness transpired over the past week....yup, it was that awesome.  My life is hands down fucking 12 inches......yeah, it rules.

This brings me to today, St. Pattys......whatever, I fucking rocked that shit.  Starting the day at the Undertow beach bar, with my best friend Lisa.....via Yoda-esque texts.....watching my love play vball, Green beer at Crabby's, celebrating Joey D's bday with a very special crew, and finally, deciding that I've found my new calling......and it's not what you may think.....I know many of you have been anticipating my career switch to sushi chef and/or stunt pilot......but that's incorrect......I think I'd like to try my hand at something different.....and if you are reading this and/or are genuinely interested, just ask me.......

Spring may have been broken, but it's definitely been repaired and poised to be broken again soon......

Not just a master of GL, but a master of baiting as well......

Many types of entertainment exist, television shows capture an audience utilizing a vast array of techniques.  A soap opera, for example, moves at the pace of a snail, updating ever so slowly, each and every day. Does that keep you hooked? Maybe. Do you need to watch it every day to keep abreast of the most relevant story line? No effing way. There are movies, with entertainment value that is immeasurable, and they either leave you voracious, or tempt you into believing a sequel is impending. Welcome to Maliblog, the antithesis of the Soap Opera. I've baited this hook with the human equivalent to catnip. Just when you thought I was going to keep a daily narrative of the ironic comedy that is my life, I go off the grid. How you like me now? Well, as you were just made aware of the Gasparilla debauchery, you now are aware of my re-emergence into the land of mundane life detail internet publication. Oh, hello there.

Gasparilla happened, in a big way. Luckily nobody lost an eye, so all the patches I bought were in vain. A progression of weekends believed to be insurmountable were born following that particular holiday. James Cameron I am not. Albeit Titanic at the time, retrospectively, perhaps not so much, so I will not subject you to every detail of these weekly holidays.

Shana had a birthday party, Boogie Nights, I realized another phobia of mine, roller skates.  I didn't fall, Molly did. Drew and Shelly vacationed in FL, rented a huge house on the beach. We had a weekend full of booze, bonfires, starfish wishes and sandcastle dreams. I had a SoHo outing with surprise Jazz bands/jazz hands, a Seth and Joey D reunion, complete with a call to Seth Rogen with Lisa Love. I made my way back to the beach. Hit some old haunts with Mollz, didn't fare so well. Returned to the beach, dominated the Tigers game. Commenced a completely inappropriate Spring Break, at 28 years old.......like sands through the hour glass, so are the days of our lives.......

Celebrating the Holidays: Always Remembarrrrgh the Reason for the Season....

My feeble attempt at convincing Jakedogg to attend......

I'd like to help you answer an age old question.  I will consider this blog to be in the writing style of "persuasive". The question to be answered: Pirates or ninjas? My position: please read on folks.

I've always been a big proponent of holidays and festivals.  I was able to experience a part of a SATX festival, Fiesta, last year.  This "fiesta" is a 10 day celebration of Mexican culture, tradition and heritage.  It's a nonstop list of fun things to do as well as a culturally enlightening expereince.  Well, Tampa Bay has a similar tradition, one that I've been celebrating now for seven years strong.  This festival is called "Gasparilla"  It's a month long celebration of the culture, tradition and heritage of.....pirates. Now, it's very important to understand this culture, especially if you come from pirate lineage.  For this reason, I celebrate Gasparilla.  And I do it with all possible effort I am able to afford.  It's always fun to be responsible for de-flowering a Gasparilla virgin.  This year we had a few who lost their G-card.  Miriam being one.  Because of the number of non-Floridians in attendance, the main 'rilla weekend is always approximately 4 days long.  This year we had kick off on Thursday night, at, where else?  CHEAP! DUH! Thursday being a school night, Miriam and I were going to head in as soon as our Midget, Candice arrived after being re-routed through Nashville.  As we were waiting for her, we indulged in a supper club box of treats and re-wrote the entire "Group of Huge Girls" script (will be explained later). Candice arrived, shots were consumed, and Miriam and I split back to the 'View (not before a halt in the street, questioned about the box I was carrying clearly marked "pizza", if it were chocolate chip, what. the. dick). I needed ample rest so my girl T and I could scoop my most valued associate, Jakedogg from the airport in the AM. We collect our precious cargo, Jake the next morning after much build up and anticipation.  Toya is not disappointed. Jake is everything I've described him as and more, and as T stated "Megan in male form". Friday, we may or may not have started the night lost on Bayshore in search of a certain Asian's birthday party, and ended the night back at Cheap.....so?

Dang straight that's how we roll.......matching shirts like a GD family reunion 

The real action doesn't begin until Saturday morning, right? I had set my alarm for 8am as instructed by LisaLove, AKA the Gasparilla drill sergeant.  Yeah fucking right, I didn't need that shit.  This is better than Christmas gang raped by Disney World and Elvis.  I'm up and at 'em dancing around the house in an attempt to rally the troops. Once we finally board the Altima and embark on our SoHo bound journey, I am over the moon with excitement. Mind you, we are running approximately 2 hours behind our pre-determined arrival time of 9am; however, this works in our favor as it allows anticipation of our entrance to the tailgate to reach a record high. Our arrival is met with much excitement and elation and booze of course. The next few hours goes as follows: drink, eat, Andre champs chugging with my spring break crew, bean bags, flip cup, drink, eat, music, drink and in preparation to depart for the parade, an obligatory tandem bathroom trip (me on the toilet, Pas in the bathtub- results= Pas falling ass first, miraculously hitting the water to on position, subsequently soaking herself and her pirate attire). Fast forward, walk to parade, Seth and Meg Busta Rhymes walk to Outkast "Slump". Arrive at parade. Someone buys illicit drugs from a 12 year old, Mollz challenges shirtless man to sword fight, wins, I save a few lives, bite Kens corn dog, watch parade, get a hickey, walk home. Somehow I find myself separated from the 5+ people I started the day with and I only have T and Mollz. Now the three of us are the creative types, so we decided to make a game of our walk. Rules: declare "happy stepchild" to all passers-by and whoever can get a "happy stepchild" response gets a point. Now this was very amusing until a certain redhead with a "fiery" temper decided that we were targeting only her. Molly's invitation to come to our party to dye our hair red didn't help. Somehow make it back to Lisa's, back to Riverview, get a bit out of hand with Casper, Dizzle and Jakedogg playing ping pong......invent a more time efficient way of travel from Michigan via a hummus luge and pita suit.......wake up, go to Waffle House.......BOOM, where did that weekend go? Holy balls, there was a multitude of other amazingness that transpired, I can't remember for the life of me.  Thank Jack Sparrow this shit happens annually.  Until next year, pirates.  Better luck next time, Ninjas.......

Our reenactment of the Ninja Turtle Face....

So many requests for me to blog, I must please the masses.....so what I'mma do is....

Blog tomorrow.

Untouchablog.......in search of the 5th wife

This is how our minds work,
and we are unapologetic.

When you hear the word "lifetime", it may evoke thoughts of inspiration, accomplishments, the duration of one's existence and how limited and fleeting it is.  Perhaps this word makes you pensive, and longing for days of the past so that you may have an opportunity to change the course of your own life, as there is only, in fact, a limited time in which to live it.  Lifetime can also instill fear of the unknown, as when this lifetime ends, then what?

Well in my world, Lifetime will never end as long as it keeps producing ratings gold mines like "Untouchable: the Drew Peterson Story". That's right, on Planet Megz, the word Lifetime immediately sparks thoughts of a cable TV station overflowing with made for TV movies which are underestimated by so much of the population.  While "Sexting in Suburbia" was a game-changer indeed, the one that really touched me, ironically enough, was Untouchable. One Miss Molly Reade determined the atrociousness that was the lack of marketing and hype that went into promoting this movie.  Being the creative problem-solver (a MacGyver of parties if you will) that she is, decided to host a movie premiere party for this once in a "Lifetime" cinematic adventure. I choose to refer to my group of friends as "shirt people". I don't mean that we always wear shirts, because if you've ever knocked on Mollz' door in the middle of her nap, you know this to be untrue. What I intend to communicate to you is that we really get off on making shirts for any and every occasion we possibly can. What better time for a theme shirt than a Lifetime movie starring Rob Lowe? That is a rhetorical question, so refrain from seeking answers, obvi. A trip to Walmart yielded all the necessary supplies: blank shirts, iron on transfers, a printer and of course ninja turtle pants. This particular evening I explored a new career path, graphic design for t-shirts, amateur level of course. I took such pride in my work; Rob Lowe portraying Drew Peterson in full police uniform on the front of the shirt, various quotes from the movie including, but not limited to, "I like chocolate, and I like being married", "he has a right to know why they call me big daddy", "I'm fine, Drew just threw me into the TV, let's go make some more margaritas" and a multitude of other one-line gems. Mollz and I were lucky to have been able to commission ironing assistance from one of my most domestically gifted friends, Shad. After a minor struggle with the transfers, we proceeded to get our iron on. All transfers had been printed, so you can imagine my horror when I came to the realization that I had failed to utilize the "mirror printing" option, so all words on the t-shirts were, that's right, backwards. Fuck it, so are we, so it's fitting right? Well, fitting is a stretch for CJ, no pun intended. The solo Y chromosome in our cohort (a football player, mind you) was lucky enough to receive a shirt, a very tight, very inappropriately sized shirt. After the viewing of what I would consider to be an award-winning display of artistic reenactment of true events, we decided to wander down to our favorite watering hole, Cheap. Adorned with Rob Lowe's face and words that could only be read in a mirror (and only on your own shirt if you had the neck of an owl), we packed up our roll of tickets (which served to be quite the source of confusion to all at Cheap, employees and patrons alike) and hit the bar......well most of us, Carla decided to hit something else......the South Howard asphalt, hard. A night of celebrating the lesser-known homicidal Peterson went off without a hitch. Another successful, seemingly meaningless (to the general population) party was in the books. Now if you know us, you know the night certainly didn't end at Cheap.  It ended where it began, with the addition of a few associates to include our favorite bartender/enabler, D. But, anything that happens after 3 am is relegated to exist only in our minds, definitely not on the interwebs. 

Now, a final thought, I hope this blog entry has allowed you to become a bit more open-minded when it comes to word definitions and how you interpret them. I want you to have a takeaway lesson here.  The next time someone offers you, perhaps, "an opportunity of a lifetime", and prefaces it with the aforementioned figure of speech, I hope it immediately conjures images, not of a successful life endeavor, or a Eurotrip rivaled by none, or a phobia-combating skydiving adventure. No, I hope when you are approached with "an opportunity of a lifetime", your mind immediately pulls up images of Rob Lowe and when the offerer of said opportunity asks you if it's something you may be interested in, please respond simply with, "I'm untouchable, bitch". 

Please exercise extreme caution when approaching 

Drew Peterson......or CJ

What are the tickets for?

A proud moment for all of us......

Birthdays we get thirstaaaay

TWO birthdays were celebrated this weekend.  After the amazingness of Trimble's Friday celebration, who thought I could go for round 2? Surprises, they're not just for birthdays anymore. Tucked away in a corner of Hyde Park, is a little Irish pub called the Dubliner. On peaceful, sunny, temperate days of the lord, places like this are host to a multitude of sinners and saints. Lucky for me, apropos of last weeks' NFL playoff game, I no longer associate with anyone who still utilizes "saint" as part of their vocabulary. (totally j/k D, Marc and CJ). So I only come into contact with the sinners of this joint. The reason why I find myself here. And I'm not mad at this realization. Good friends are hard to come by. I came by them, so step the fuck off they're mine. We throw birthday parties, ok? We utilize glow sticks. Even during daylight hours. It's ok, know why? If you can't see the glow of our sticks, our personalities will shine far brighter, day or night. And also, we have ring pops, and tiaras. either way, we are "those" people. The people you want to be hanging out with, or the people who's sanity you question. Both, I hope. Surprises, planned for weeks, go off without a hitch. Houdini acts, by yours truly, to witness another good friend wreck and/or permanently disable the mic, go only temporarily recognized. But the triumphant return of aforementioned associate, still receives accolades. (In regards to the Temp show, simply awesome Caro, and also awesome to spend some QT with Joey D and Seeeeejh, these times are too infrequent fellas). Misunderstandings of no rhyme or reason are ironed out better than Jeffery could for Master Will, aka. the Fresh Prince. If one piece of advice could be given for the night, it would be to allow me to give you more than one piece of advice. Wear a shirt with one or more superheroes on it. That's not the advice. Be kind to everyone and apologize for mistakes that may have hurt someone inadvertently, but make sure they are willing to accept the apology before trying to walk on water facilitating the impossible. Take plenty of pictures, and videos if you're brave. Always carry a koozie and beer salt.  Keep an air mattress in your car. Give your family regular updates as to your well-being. Make sure you live within an easy drive of a Dollar Tree, they sell the best glow sticks.  If you're anything like me, buy stock in glow sticks. Give compliments, genuine ones, as often as you are able. Support everyone's decisions in every aspect of their lives, their choose your own adventure isn't yours, it's not supposed to be. Allow yourself to accept their support as well. You will need it. Someday.

My friends (and family, when I get the opportunity to see them), throw killer parties.  My friends (and family) care about their friends (and family), that's amazing.  My friends love glow sticks and super heros, even more amazing.  I wish I would have written this all in Dragon Dictation because it would have been so awesome to attempt to translate.  Maybe next time.  Until that next time, I'd like to make a request that everyone I know change their birthday to Leap Day, because is it just me, or do we celebrate like two birthdays a week? MUAH! Love you all who were there Sunday, and those of you who I would love to see every Sunday and don't(aka Mom, Dad, Drew, Shell).

Friends, fried food and the BCS....I will let you decide what it stands for.

If you're wondering what happens when a group of close friends go out to watch the #1 and #2 teams battle it out for the BCS title, you should just stop. Nothing good comes of it. And I am in no way referring to the game, because I am comfortable with that outcome. My husband made a valid point when he stated "They are so even yet miles ahead of everybody else. These kids would have beat NFL teams 30 years ago." I digress. This isn't actually about the game. It's about the hands down best group of friends on the planet. And our possible need to enter some sort of texting/social networking rehab facility. Not a moment of the game went unseen, especially by D; however, many moments were spent looking at the TV and a phone simultaneously. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say a minimum of 300 collective texts/Facebook posts were exchanged by the small group of us. Who were sitting within 3 feet of each other. I feel as if I should be embarrassed by these occurrences, but if you knew us, and were privy to even a small percentage of the iBanter, nothing about it sucked. I went into the evening an Alabama supporter and fully aware that I was meeting a good friend who is a die hard LSU fan. So I wore a Green Lantern shirt. You can't go wrong supporting a super hero. And no, a superhero Honey Badger is not. As the evening progressed, it was brought to Pas' attention that 'Bama is the Crimson Tide. She took great pleasure in dubbing UA "Pas' Period" for some time, to be followed by the revelation that they are called that because "an elephants period is so heavy it may be compared to a tidal wave". This progressed into an entirely different and inappropriate Twilight conversation. I'll let you use your imagination. She also put tabasco sauce on her salad and exclaimed "this salad is hot, not unlike the block!" and had a mimosa for dessert. You do the math. We left the Brickhouse, our initial site of spectatorship, and decided to live dangerously by stopping by the hot zone of recent terrorist activity, Macdintons. This is where the social exchanges took a downturn, if there was any further down to turn. The resident speak and spell, Molly, after a few notable spelling mistakes, determined that she was only good at math and a three letter activity that shall not be named on this post. A pic text attachment attack from Pas, following one simple SWAG picture was what really made me realize how ridiculous my friends are. And if you look up the definition for ridiculous in the megtionary, it will sate: amazingly hilarious, funmazing, supportive, intelligent, beautiful inside and out, awesome and rivaled by none. My friends are scarecrows. Outstanding in their field.

In-what? Oh yeah, Inspiration......

Dubs and Malibu, obviously so hood before our time.....

Middle School friends......STILL friends, tight like vice grips

The Parker girls and Woodrow kids on Spring Break, also still friends!

A little yearbook sig from Jakedogg, yep, talking about GL.

Ok ok, so I know I said the blog was going to be present/future-centric from now on, I fucking lied. Honesty was NOT a part of my new years resolution, so I DGAF. Inspiration is the fuel that feeds the human soul and it can come in so many different forms. Without inspiration, what would push you to get out of bed in the morning.  Are you inspired to make money, to find love and happiness, to change the course of humanity as a whole, or simply change the life of one other person, to make someone proud, to have no regrets, to eat food (that's a big yes for me), it doesn't really matter what it is, everything you do every second is perpetuated by inspiration for an accomplishment small or large, hopefully something better, an improvement on the current situation. As a bad ass party rapper and truly incredible lyricist, possibly the most influential of our time (please note the overt sarcasm), I find inspiration for my writing in so many things, mostly Gun Lake obvi. In the interest of full disclosure on the reason for this "blog", which I know seems pretty friggin lame and ridiculous, let me give you some idea for the inspiration. Back to my MI trip. One cold day during my vacation, I decided to take a trip (and I mean like, two fucking checked bags long ass trip) down memory lane. Let me tell you, I turned my childhood house upside down looking for relics from my past to include pictures, yearbooks, old notes and Christmas cards. I laughed, cried, smiled, got mad and longed for days past. Then, I found a diary. One word, YIKES. I was embarrassed for myself reading the crap that went into that thing, but holy shit was it so fun to have in physical form play by plays from middle and high school. I was so happy to have preserved (well happy that my parents, love them so dearly, preserved) so much of my past, but also disappointed that there was a gap, right smack dab where college was. I decided that despite bad decisions and regrets, I want to remember everything. So here we are, watching Thor and blogging. 17 years from now I will read this and be embarrassed once again, but you know what? I DGAF. 

Well, if the Mayans are right, might as well try something new for 2012

GL Masters, sooooo eccentric 

GL Masters NYE Show

Goodbye Mate :-(