WHAT THE SHIT. No MORE OF THESE!

K and I no longer measure the length of time we've been together in years... we measure in Call of Duty releases. So far, we've survived Modern Warfare, World at War, Modern Warfare 2, Black Ops, several stupid map pack releases in between, and now MODERN WARFARE 3?

When I say survived, I mean HE survived. The wrath of me, when he stays up all night and comes to bed at 5am. 

K has strategically failed to mention the release of this new gem, probably with good reason. Have I mentioned I effing HATE call of duty? With the firey passion of a thousand burning suns.

I know there are plenty worse things he could be doing that I could be yelling about, but Call of Duty is a thorn in my SIDE. And I want to punch it in the face.

Maybe I'm really just mad at myself for joining K's dirty threesome, trying to learn how to play and subsequently being mocked by all of K's online gamer boyfriends.

It looks like it's going to be another stormy Call of Duty season. I'll batten down the hatches. And stock up on US Weeklys to keep myself entertained.

Google Maps Hates Abortions

While searching for a new doctor yesterday, I thought I'd check out the Google street view of each of the locations listed, to see if I liked the areas, what the buildings looked like, etc. And in one of the locations, this is what I found:

The office looks great, I like the area, and the sun is gleaming... right off the abortion protesters' signs.

Take a look. That's right, abortion protesters. What are the chances they would be outside of the office RIGHT as the google street car drove by? Pretty slim. And if they were there then, chances are even better that they're there often. And the last thing I want to deal with when I'm on my way for a pap smear is people yelling at my car, calling me a baby killer.

So... needless to say, I'm going to find a different doctor.

I'm deaf in the right ear.

I'm back, bitches. I'm sure you're all waiting with baited breath to hear how my trip down memory lane was this weekend.

It. Was. AWESOME.

I went back home to the mitten to visit my parents and my college roomie and BFF Kristin.

A short recap on why we are BFFs: we got put in blind freshman year in college. Due to overbooking, we had a third roommate who was supposed to stay in our room until something opened up. We kicked her out before we even met in person, when we decided we were soulmates after a phone conversation during which Kristin informed me that she once threw a refrigerator over a balcony on spring break. Insta-BFFs.

Fast forward 9 years (holy shit!) and we are inseperable, even though we live in different states.

Rockin' out with our 80s gear.

So I went to visit her and catch up. We found ourselves immediately at happy hour on Friday, drinking delicious beers and singing Justin Bieber songs at the top of our cougar lungs.

Saturday, we went to an 80s party that was ah-MAZING. Naturally, we dressed up in our hottest leg warmers and crimped side ponytails for the endeavor. The place had a cover band that played the best 80s songs EVER. We stood in the front row, right in front of a giant speaker--which explains why I still can't hear out of my right ear. Totally worth it.

Awesome 80s band & giant speaker that stole my hearing.

We had an awesome time this weekend, and it was so good to see my lady friend. I missed her terribly. There are some friends you lose touch with over the years, and some that stay stronger than ever. That you can sing Justin Bieber songs with. And wear side ponytails. I am so thankful for those friends.

Police Blotter Friday: Lost in the Wood.

April 16th - 10:05pm

Police were dispatched to Washington Street for a caller reporting a missing person. The officer then spoke with a woman who said her husband sent her a text message reporting being "lost in the wood." The officer had a dispatch 'ping' the phone and it showed the last time it had been used was in a neighboring town. 

It's super easy to get lost...you let go of your mom's hand at the mall and wander into the Toys-R-Us for a Tickle Me Elmo, and suddenly you turn around and realize you have no idea where you are. Terrifying. I'm sure that's just what happened. To a grown man. Who found himself lost in the woods.

Why a text message? If he had the ability to text, he certainly could have at the very least called his wife to have her mapquest him out of the wood. Or hopped on the interwebs and figured it out himself. Hey, they say the iPhone tracks you wherever you go anyways.

I can only imagine how that convo went:

Wife: Hey asshole, when are you coming home?

Husband: Don't know.

Wife: Why? Where the hell are you?
Husband: Lost in the wood.

And what exactly was he doing in the wood? In a neighboring town? Did he follow a white rabbit in a waistcoat? Shrink himself down with magic potion then run three miles giggling like a schoolgirl until he realized he was lost in the wood?

I sure hope he managed to click his red heels and make it home to his loving wife, who was obviously very worried about him. And sir, just a suggestion: maybe it's time to upgrade to a smart phone with GPS features? Or at the very least, a compass.

I am a HUGE asshole.

Okay, I am a HUGE asshole. I was at the airport (still am, as I type this), toting around a hugely overstuffed carryon since checking a bag for fucking $50 is out of the question, when I had to pee. I dragged my baggage into the ladies room, and it was empty.

Upon entering, I was faced with two choices. A choose your own adventure of the very best kind. Option A: drag my overpacked bag into a single stall and attempt to close the door on both of us. Option B: step into the luxury handicapped suite complete with double the square footage and a bonus handrail.

Naturally, I chose the latter.

I took my sweet time in there--it was quiet, free from the loud, anxiety-ridden chaos of the terminal. And since nobody else was in there, I thought I'd even pop out my cellular device and hop on the old facebook (so much for that hiatus, right?)

So I'm checking status updates, relaxing in my luxury suite when I hear somebody come into the bathroom, interrupting my peaceful zen.

"Would you like to leave the wheelchair out here, ma'am?"

Oh shit.

What are the fucking CHANCES that somebody who actually NEEDS the luxury suite comes into the bathroom while I'm in there??

I quickly shoved my phone into my bag, got myself together and sheepishly exited the suite, head hung in shame. The look the TSA agent assisting the handicapped woman gave me was nothing short of disapproving, I'm sure. I couldn't lift my head up to meet her eyes to confirm. I washed my hands, unflushed my cheeks and skedaddled the hell out of there to the sounds of a wheelchair banging against the sides of the stall.

Your clothes, give them to me!

Holy scandal, batman! By now, I'm sure you've heard that Maria Shriver left Ahnold because she discovered that he fathered a child with their housekeeper. 10 years ago.

Firstly, good for you, Maria. Secondly, I commend Ahnold for being forthcoming and owning up to his... uh, mistake. But the news brings several questions to mind:

Ten years ago? This child is not a baby. Does he/she know the Terminator is their dad?

Reports say the housekeeper was married at the time the child was conceived. I'm sure the husband could tell the baby wasn't his when he came out with a bionic arm and one red eye.

Good for Ahnold for sending cash monies to the kid for his entire life so far, but how was there no paper trail? And if he's sending money, is he (more importantly) playing an active role in the child's life? My guess is probs not.

I don't know about you, but guilt eats at me like battery acid. I can't eat, I can't sleep, it's all I can talk about. So how did Ahnold last 10 years?? And when exactly did he bear his soul to Maria and the kids?

What a crappy thing to have to go through, especially in the public eye. Maybe Ahnold and Tiger Woods can go grab a bite together, laugh about their indiscretions--and build a giant doghouse... for two.

First rule of yard sale: don't talk about yard sale.

The first rule of yard sale is: don't talk about yard sale. If you keep the uproar to a minimum, we may have a better chance of snagging the hot items. Like Nintendo cartridges. Or VHS tapes.

We had our town wide yard sale this weekend. K and I stumbled upon it last year by chance, driving home hungover from a night at a friend's house. It was early, my head hurt, and I was thirsty as hell, but the call of my neighbors' used items lured me with its siren song.

Yard sale is by far the best day of the year. It is like Christmas (minus the Santa), and I wake up with the excitement level appropriate for such an occasion. This usually calls for jumping on the bed in my PJs and making my stuffed pegasus repeatedly and vigorously hug a very sleepy K until he stirs out of slumber. 

The faux bear rug--a big hit with the kitties.

Last year, we scored our kitchen table and chairs for $40. Awesome, right? We also managed to make it home with a faux bear rug and a suit bag that we got for $1 each. SCORE. 

This year, we woke up a little late. But it was okay, because the weather was a little crappy anyways. We got dressed, drank some coffee, read the police blotter, and we were on our way. We walked around and found a few items that we loved--I got some candle holders for $3 and... a CAREBEAR! For 50 cents! Now THAT is a deal.

Nothing pleases me more than walking down the streets, waving to my neighbors. I am like the homecoming queen, and I would straight wear a tiara if I wouldn't be shunned from Yard Sale.

We learned a valuable lesson this year at Yard Sale, however. We found a coat rack that I was dying to have, it was only $2! And it was in pretty good shape. K insisted that we come back around and pick it up on our way back home since we didn't know how heavy it would be. When we came back around on our return trip, the coat rack was gone. Second rule of Yard Sale: grab 'em while the gettin' is good. Or cry yourself to sleep that night.

Candles I scored this year-- $3 for both!

And the real prize... Bedtime Bear! He lights up and EVERYTHING.