The trusty-dusty cameraphone

I got an email today from one of my girls, and it had random cameraphone images on it. This prompted me to download from my phone the images I had. OMG, memories. I will add them with some explanations.



My daughter at the beach. Apparently it's hard to text with boys in the sun.



When the tap is empty (in this case I had cleared the bar of all their Fat Tire), a sumo gets it up the ass.



How about we do this year's final number to....the "pechanga"?



wow.



OMG. This is what happens when little boys fight in the park and Carol is around. She didn't even know him!



Bad picture. But have you EVER seen an elevator so cavernous?!?!



Midget in the grocery store carrying a bag of dog food that was as big as him.



Stevie Wonder at the Maggie's.



Yes. That's a PIANO built into the wall. I could find no access to tune it.



My brother's hairy back mole.



My son at the ortho.



The bear lake beast. Anna said I had to put this one up.



Photographic evidence that my son was disobeying mother's orders and NOT wearing his coat. And no, I'm not a pedophile. I'm just a mother trying to prove a point by taking pictures from her car outside the school playground.



le f**k sin? Why would you f*&* sin? I embrace it! I love it!




Hot girl at a USANA concert standing on her chair.



Twins.



Superman!



Old man with a glow necklace in the car behind us.




Yep. That's right. Four aces with a deuce kicker. That one brings tears to my eyes!



Miles at a soccer game. He's bored.



Michael Jackson? Is that you? I didn't know there was enough plastic surgery in the world for TWO of them.



My brother came home. He thought he was hot. And yes, his tank is lime green netting.



My youngest's first roller coaster ride.



Chickens chasing tail.



Pussy on the bar. Only in SF.



Moose on a rampage.



And this was after they backed up a little. Yes, the railroad crossing arm is in fact ON the car.



I would have called it a honey pot.



My girls.



The groom was so proud he had the date of his wedding shaved into his head.



And here's the bride. Yes. They are AT THE BAR. ON THEIR WEDDING NIGHT. Can you say "class"? Yeah, I choked on it too.



The "joserbeast". I thought it was because the biker's name was Joe? Who knows, but it's mouth was painted red.



This random girl peeing standing up off Dead Horse Point. She should be arrested.



This is a picture of me. I took it for my friend Anna. To show her what I looked like in class the day after I had to go pick her drunk ass up in Sandy at one in the morning. And then take her back to her car at seven in the morning.





Kula wants to bag a cock.



Hello. He was flirtin' with Lixie.



Butt Bling.



My dog thinks she's human. She uses a booster seat cuz she's under five.



My daughter riding a pretend horse. That's also my older sister next to her. Ride 'em cowgirls. HA!


That's all for now. I think that's plenty.

The Recap

One of the best parts about hanging out with friends is the next day. Particularly if you were drinking and have fuzzy (if not black) spots in your memory. I am going to share with you a few words or phrases that you really will not understand, unless you were there. Even if you were there you may not get the reference. This will serve as the journal log for the 2008 back to school barbecue.

-jager pump

-mustaches and tattoos

-hosed tramps

-random new neighbors

-marshmallows

-bandaid brigade

-live barbecue chicken

-the bedroom break-in

-fireworks

-the melted utensil peepshow

-hiding handbags

-post-coital blank stare

-the token asian

-consuela!

-faking

-hooha on parade

-smoke bombing cars

-cabbage

-written instructions for mike

-christmas jammies

-forehead tapping

-"you promised to take me to work and you promised not to hate me"...."i hate you"

I think that's probably about it. Feel free to comment if you think of something else.

Nothing is more healing than hanging out with the girls.

My brother once wisely told me two things. One, girls wear makeup and perfume because they’re ugly and they stink. Two, this was his response when I told him maybe I should be done dating boys and start dating girls, “why the hell would you do that? Girls are crazy!”

I would never ever argue that girls aren’t crazy. I’ve long contended that all girls are crazy, it’s just to what extent do they allow you to see it. Or in laymen’s terms, how well they hide it. I’ve been privy, if not the strategist, to some pretty crazy covert operations. But, I do not want to incriminate myself at this time. Once I’m properly hitched, I’ll let all my skeletons out of the closet. Like I said, it’s how much of my craziness will I give away? Ha!

The best part about finding yourself in the midst of a gaggle of girls is that you can let your hair down, and know that you are in the company of like-minded souls. You can laugh at nothing. You can laugh until you pee your pants. You can laugh until you find yourself crying. Conversely, you can cry with no shame. You can mourn and lament stupid, inconsequential trials or people. And you know that your girlies may not be able to solve your problems, but they most certainly will distract you from your pain. Love you with no shame. And no matter what, they will have something rude to say about your enemy.

I love my girls. Sometimes we get so boy crazy, we forget to look back to what’s really important. But at the end of this lifetime, women outlive the men, so who’s going to be there to collect cats with you? Who’s going to be there when you pee your pants at Nordstrom in the shoe department and laugh with you until she pees herself too? Who’s going to sit up all afternoon at the slots with you in your jazzy chairs?

Your girls. That’s who.

Why I like to dance with old men.

My girlfriends like to make fun. What they don’t understand is that time’s awastin’ and it won’t be long before all the dancing men are dead and gone. Well, obviously with the exception of the gays. And I suppose the Latins as well. It will be a sad day.

There was a time, (I will clarify RIGHT NOW this section is my romantic view of the world as it used to be. There is NO basis of actual fact, this is merely my assumption based on my own current experiences). Anyway, there was a time where men knew how to lead a woman on the dance floor and actually DANCE with her. He would ask a woman to dance, and he would take the lead and guide her through steps, twirls, dips. The girl would need to be able to read his cues, the nuances of the hand positioning, the gentle taps on the shoulder or side, and in this manner the two would connect. As opposed to grinding up against each other in a form of “dance” I call foreplay. Not that I don’t mind dancing this way once in awhile. Okay, let’s be honest. I actually enjoy it at times. But have you ever watched the faces of a man and woman who are actually dancing?

I doubt that you have. We all get annoyed at the bar when some older couple goes out on the tiny floor and monopolizes all the space. They have no regard for the people around them. It is typically our opinion that they are rude and have no right. Frankly, we are rude for wanting to deny them this opportunity to actually enjoy each other and the music. So what if we can’t jump up and down, or make sure all the boys are watching while we girls grind up against each other. This couple doesn’t have much time left! His hips are going to go out. Or his knees. Or the arthritis in his shoulder will make leading impossible. I say, LET THEM DANCE.

For just one moment, think about the skill this requires of him. The time he has spent learning how to lead the woman. Making sure he catches her when she stumbles a little (that would be me, btw), or that he communicates to her what’s next. He has to THINK. It’s his gift to her to let her just enjoy the music and the closeness and roll with the rhythm.

As a society we are letting this ritual get away from us. Oh, sure, we have the groom learn ahead of the wedding one dance so he doesn’t make an ass out of himself, but that’s about the extent of it. The women are forgetting how to listen to the man (okay this applies in a very broad spectrum) and what it’s like to enjoy being lead.

So. I dance with old men. I stand at the edge of the dance floor and watch the frustration on his face as he takes one girl after another onto the floor that cannot read his lead. Then I ask HIM to dance. I receive the gift of his generation, and treasure those three minutes with a total stranger. Where he talks to me without words. AND I LISTEN.