Giant Milky Boobs

Due to the “controversy” over the cover of Baby Talk magazine, I’ve been inspired to repost something that I wrote on August 27, 2004. Apparently, women (WOMEN!) are “shocked”, “embarrassed”, and “offended” over the image of a “GIANT BREAST” on the cover.
The quote I found most shocking came from the mother of a 4 month old.
“Gross, I am sick of seeing a baby attached to a boob.”
Gross? Really? A baby drinking from it’s mothers breast is GROSS?
Right, because the true purpose of The Boobs is for men to drool over and suck on during sex. So, a baby using the breast for that HORRIFYING ACT of drinking the milk that sustains their life is DISGUSTING AND HOW IN THE HELL COULD THEY PUT THAT FILTH ON THE COVER OF A MAGAZINE THAT MA’MAN MIGHT SEE?
I have no tolerance for women with this kind of attitude towards breastfeeding. I suppose I can deep within myself and try to understand people feeling uncomfortable with breastfeeding. But to use words like “gross” and “horrified” when speaking of breastfeeding is shocking to me, ESPECIALLY coming from a woman. The fact that there are people out there who can’t get past the sexualization of the breasts and view them purely as a sexual object is more “disgusting” to me than a picture of a baby sucking the milk from the GIANT BREAST of it’s mother.
Speaking of GIANT BREASTS. I now give you the archived breastfeeding post (WITH PICTURES! OF A GIANT BREAST!)

A few minutes after Gabriella was born, the nurse handed her to me. I kissed her and decided to try to feed her. I unbuttoned my hospital gown and brought her to my breast. She latched on immediately. I’ll never forget that moment. There in my arms was my daughter and she looked right at me while she began to eat for the first time in her life from my breast, the milk that would sustain her for the first few months of her life. I couldn’t believe how easily she took to the breast. Both of my boys had trouble in the beginning, learning how to latch on and it was very frustrating. But not with my daughter, she figured it out right away and feeding her has never been frustrating.
Infact, words can not describe what an amazing and fufilling experience it is everytime I sit down to nurse her.

I love how her beautiful little eyes will focus on me while she’s eating and drifting off to sleep. I love the sounds she makes, the coos, the grunts, the gulping, hell, I even love the way she farts while she’s sucking away. It’s the funniest thing in the world.

The love, the sense of importance, the bond I feel when I’m nursing my daughter is one of the most precious gifts in my life.
And let’s be honest here, the fact that I can get out of the shower, run out of the bathroom and start squirting Tony with MILK is pretty damn cool too.

Two.

I couldn’t wait for Gabriella to wake up this morning. I wanted to take her picture first thing in the morning to capture exactly what she looked like on the morning of her second birthday.
Finally, at 8:30, I heard her sweet little voice. “Hi, mom.”
I jumped up, grabbed my camera and ran to her room.
“Goodmorning, Birthday Girl!”
She woke up and she was two.
That’s what she looked like the morning of the day that she turned two years old.
Two years.
The Birthday Girl.
And that is what she looked like as she tried so very hard to sing “Happy Birthday” along with me. You see, I started singing Happy Birthday to her a couple of weeks ago, because I wanted her to be able to sing it with everyone at her birthday party. I had high hopes that she’d learn by the time her party rolls around, but after hearing her sing it this morning, I’d say there’s still work to do. However, I have to say, not bad, G-Unit. Not bad at all.
Has it really been a year since I wrote her Happy First Birthday post? I find that hard to believe.
There are moments with her where it feels as though time freezes and the earth stops spinning as I watch her do something incredibly sweet. Like the other day, when I was leaving to go to Starbucks and as I was walking to the car, I heard her scream “MOMMY! MOMMY!” I turned around and saw her standing there wearing nothing but a diaper and a purse hanging from the same arm I carry my purse on.
“You want to go with mommy?” I asked.
She nodded her head. “Yes!”
“Ok, you can come with mommy.”
She squeeled as I lifted her into the air and as I held her close to me, I started to cry.
There in my arms, I held this beautiful little girl who looks up to me, who wants nothing more than to be just like me, and to be with me. Time stood still as I held my daughter close to me and revelled in the beauty of that moment.
But then, there are moments where it feels as though it’s all happening to fast. I wish I could stop time or at least make it slow down just a little bit.

When I found out that the unexpected third baby that was growing inside of me was a little girl, I felt overcome with fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of raising a daughter that wouldn’t hate me. I honestly believed that I could not mother a girl. I believved that with every fiber of my being.
I never would have imagined that I’d be the first one she’d call for in the morning, that I’d be the one she’d choose to be close to all day long, that I’d be the last one she’d want to kiss at night.
I never could have imagined that when I’d pick her up, she’d stroke my hair and say “Oh, mommy, I yuv you.” I never thought that she’d want to be like me, that she’d look up to me and mimic the little things I do.
You know, the girl is such a drama queen, with her tantrums and her screaming and her CLIMBING ON THE KITCHEN TABLE FIVE SECONDS AFTER I TELL HER NOT TO, but I can say in all honesty that my daughter is a beautiful, affectionate, loving, hilarious, polite little human being and whom I am extremely proud of.
Especially when she farts on command, because you’ve not lived until you’ve seen a precious little girl with pigtails grunt and turn purple from trying to push one out.
THAT’S MA’ GIRL.
I’ll never, for as long as I live, forget the very first moment I saw her. She had a head full of thick black hair, her face was scrunched up and she had the biggest mouth I had ever seen on a baby.
“She’s beautiful. When can I hold her? I want to hold her.”
It seemed like an eternity while the nurses checked her and got her ready for me. I couldn’t take it. I kept asking for my girl. “I want to hold her, please, give her to me.”
Finally, the moment they placed her in my arms, everything was right with the world. I instantly felt connected to her, I instantly loved her and didn’t understand how I had lived a day without her.

I still carry those feelings for her in my heart and soul two years later, only they are magnified a thousand times.
I love her. My God, I love her. And the greatest part about loving her? Is the way that she loves me right back.
She loves me. She really loves me.
Happy Birthday, Gabriella Mercedes.

Continue reading →

Part Two: The Interview

A few weeks before BlogHer, Leah had asked me if I’d be willing to do a video interview for Alpha Mom. I was excited, because no one EVER asks me for interviews (I mean, why would they? Seriously? What am I going to talk about? Aerobic Dancing?)
We tried to make plans to meet somewhere for the interview, but it never worked out, so I was all “Let’s do it at BlogHer!”
Next thing I know, I’m scheduled for a 3:30 interview in Leah’s hotel room.
I was nervous. Very nervous. For one, there’s the whole weight issue. (OMG! THE CAMERA ADDS 10 POUNDS!) Then, the fact that I spit when I talk whilst excited (Don’t believe me? Ask Amy! Also? I fart when overstimulated (Don’t believe me? Lassa or Jen how many times I excused myself to go “rip one” on the balcony.) But mostly, I was nervous about not having anything intelligent or insightful to say.
When I arrived at the hotel, I was met by Alpha Mom Herself, Isabel Kallman (Love.Her. FO FUH-KEENG!), a camera man whose name I forgot, Leah and Jesus!
Jesus, the makeup arteest.
I was shocked to find out that there would be a “professional makeup artist” taking care of my face painting needs. Knowing that my makeup would be done by a professional put me somewhat at ease because at least I’d look SMASHING if I accidently let one rip.
Jesus invited me to sit on the toilet (WHAT?! No chair with my name on it?!) so that he could make me pretty. As I sat there, talking with him, asking him for makeup tips (because LORD KNOWS I NEED THEM.) I have to admit that I felt so special.
And I wanted to cry.
Here’s an excerpt from an email I sent to Isabel yesterday.
(OMG! CHEESE ALERT! CHEESE ALERT! FOR IT IS CHEESY)
I’ve never felt very smart, I’ve always struggled with feelings of “not being good enough.” I often feel as though good things happen to everyone else and that good things don’t happen to me because I simply don’t deserve them.
Being apart of the interviews made me feel like I was part of something really special and my God, it felt good. I wanted to cry as I was sitting there having my makeup done because I felt so damn special.
I know it’s cheesy and that you may have just thrown up in your mouth a little when you read that, but that’s how I felt.
I BLAME JESUS. With his pretty eyelashes and soft hands. JESUS MADE ME CRY!
After the makeup was done, the camera man showed me how to put on my mic (OMG! I got to wear a mic! Just like the kids from The Real World do!)and I took my seat next to Leah. I was more terrified then ever because OH MY GOD I WAS WEARING A MIC! And there were lights! And a camera! And *pfffffffffrattata* YOU WANT ME TO GIVE YOU A HOT PARENTING TIP?
I’m not going to give away the questions, or the answers. You’ll have to wait to see them, BUT! I will tell you that at one point in the interview, Leah asked me about my Aerobic Dancing and I was overcome with so much excitement that my mouth started to water, I jumped up out of my seat, kicked the chairs out of the way and was all “WANT ME TO SHOW YOU THE MONKEY?”
I can’t blame “the liquor” because it was only 4 in the afternoon and I hadn’t even had a drink yet. That was ALL ME, people. I can’t help it, I’m obsessed (and perhaps, also posessed) with The Aerobic Dance.
The most akward part of the interview was when we had to stare at each other for the “fade out.” The first time, I looked away and they were all “We have to stare for the fade out.” And I was like “ARE YOU SERIOUS?”
They were totally serious.
Oh! Oh! And then? GET THIS! We had to do these “fake nod” shots. People! FAKE.NOD.SHOTS.
I’m pretty sure it went a little something (or quite possibly EXACTLY) like this.
Camera man: Give me a “Funny” nod
Me:
Camera man: Um, ok, now give me a “surprised nod”
Me:
Camera man: Now, give me a “serious” nod.
Me:
HA! HA! HA! HA! And also “OMG! This is going to be on Alpha mom!”
Had someone told me that I’d have to be doing a little bit of “acting”, I would have brushed up on my TOTALLY NON EXISTENT acting skills.
As soon as the interview is up, I’ll pass the link along to you, because you KNOW you can’t wait to see it.
(But, um, there’s always the chance that I’ll “forget” to tell you about it.)
Stay tuned for Part Three: The Accidental Drunk.

My Daughter. The Day Before “Two.”


My love for her is growing in leap and in bounds.
With each new word she utters. With each kiss she places on my cheek. With each smile she sends my way. With each giggle. With each time she takes my hand so we can walk together. With every tear she cries. With every “please” and “thank you”.
With each day that passes, my love for her multiplies a thousand times over again.
I love her.
I love her.
I love her.
Continue reading →

BlogHer: Part one of quite possibly 8 parts.

My husband never calls in sick for work. He’s an incredibily dedicated employee. (Unlike myself, whose sick time was in the NEGATIVE when I quit after 14 years of employment.) When suggested that he call in sick on Friday so that he could watch the kids for me while I was on my way to San Jose to “learn more about blogging”, he almost threw up.
After a little begging, he agreed to do it. Luckily, he got “severe cramps” and “felt like he had to poop.” I say “luckily” because he was feeling bad about himself for lying and the cramps and poop made him feel as though calling in sick was totally justified.
We woke G-Unit up, got her dressed, rushed out the door at 5:30 (IN THE MORNING!) and headed out to pick up Amy. You see, Amy was The Lucky One who got to fly to San Jose with me. And when I say “Lucky” I mean, totally not lucky at all because traveling with me is a horrifying experience. Horrifying because I freak the hell out about everything because I am paranoid because I always think bad things are going to happen because I always think that I lost something.
And then there’s the whole “I have to pee every 2 minutes” thing.
This is me, traveling.
“OH MY GOD! I THINK I FORGOT MY WALLET!”
“OH MY GOD! MY TICKET! I THINK I FORGOT IT!”
“OH MY GOD! I HAVE TO PEE AGAIN EVEN THOUGH I’VE ALREADY PEED 3 TIMES IN THE PAST 20 MINUTES BUT OMG! WHAT IF THEY START TO BOARD THE PLANE WHAT SHOULD I DO?!”
“OH MY GOD! I WANT A COFFEE, BUT THAT WILL MAKE ME HAVE TO PEE AND STUFF AND OMG! SHOULD I JUST DRINK TEA?”
“OH MY GOD, I THINK I LOST MY PHONE EVEN THOUGH I HAVE NO REASON TO THINK THAT OTHER THAN I HAVEN’T FREAKED OUT IN THE LAST 3 MINUTES AND I NEED SOMETHING TO FREAK OUT ABOUT.”
See? Lucky Amy, indeed!
I waited until we were on the plane to mention that I’m TERRIFIED of flying, but lucky for everyone on that plane, the flight was smooth and turbulence free. (For had it not been, I would have been forced to scream out “Oh Jesus please save us!” whilst bursting into “OMG! We’re going to die” tears of fear. And if you think I’m lying, you can ask my dad who once said that I become “very spiritual” on airplanes.)
(Apparently, I’m in love with the word “lucky” today. Lucky internet!)
Once we arrived in San Jose, we made a mad dash for the ground transportation area so that we could find the free hotel shuttle. (A free shuttle! Lucky us!) We waited for a few minutes when a minivan pulled up ready to take us to the hotel. However, on our way out of the airport, he made another stop to pick up another group of people.
I have a confession. The shuttle driver asked us to move to the back so that the people could get into the van and I ignored him because I was all “WE WERE HERE FIRST! WE GET DIBS ON THE SEAT AND I REFUSE TO MOVE TO THE BACK!” I got out so that he could lift the seats and the other people could hop on into the van.
The back of the van.
I heard one of the girls in the back say that she was here for a blogging convention.I whipped my head around and was all “So are we!” Then, I realized, to my horror, that the woman that I had made crawl into the back of the van was Motherhood Uncensored and I felt like the biggest asshole in the world because I MADE A PREGNANT LADY CRAWL INTO THE BACK OF THE VAN!
(That the first of many times that I’d feel like a giant asshole that weekend.)
(A minivan full of bloggers, LUCKY SHUTTLE DRIVER!)
Once we arrived at the hotel, I immediately began frantically scanning the place for bloggers and also friends. The first person I saw was Jen. I have no idea why, but I expected her to be loud and hyper, but strangely, she was quiet and calm. Unlike me, who was all “OMG! Jen! DANCE OFF BIOTCH.” (Because, you know how I get overly excited very easily? Yeah.) She was like “Yeah, um, can I get a room first and then we’ll talk about that dance off” (Only, she didn’t really say that, but I’m pretty sure she was thinking it.)
We made our way to our room at the GHETTO HOTEL, put our stuff down and decided to go back out and see if we couldn’t find some bloggers to hug and stuff.
We found the conference hall and I was immediately rushed by a bunch of screaming fans.
HA! HA! I’m lying! No one even knew who we were. We were all walking around like “Um, where do we go and where are all of the bloggers that we know and OMG! THERE ARE GIANT BAKE POTATOES AND ARE WE ALLOWED TO EAT THEM?”
Finally, I saw someone that I knew. OMG! JENN!, then OMG! ZOOT then OMG! Lisa Stone! then OMG! Lena! then “OMG! GRACE DAVIS!
It was insane. There was hugging and screaming and “OMG”ing and laughing and (silent farting because OMG! THE EXCITMENT!)
From the moment I had arrived at the hotel, I had been trying to call Amalah because she TOLD ME TO CALL HER to let her know when I arrived. She wasn’t answering and I was like “Oh hell no she isn’t going to ignore me.”
So, I kept calling and calling and she kept NOT answering and NOT answering. Then, this one time, there were all of these amazing women around me and we were talking and laughing and I tried calling again and as the phone was ringing, I felt someone brush up against me and I looked and it was Amalah standing right next to me and I was all “OMIGAWD! LOOK! I’M ON THE PHONE CALLING YOU! HOW CERAAAAZY IS THAT?”
Amy and I finally decided that we needed to eat because we were hungry and did I mention there were giant baked potatoes? Because there were giant baked potatoes.
And sourcream, and bacon and cheese and also? Fried chicken.
I have to admit, I felt completely self conscience about eating in front of all of these women who knew about my struggles with weight. I was like “If they see me eating a baked potato loaded with cheese and bacon, they’re going to be all ‘no wonder she’s still fat'” (And if you’ve seen the pictures, you know that I am still fat and that no! My stomach is NOT TONED NOR MUSCULAR.)
So, I cut the giant potato in half so as to not feel too bad about eating it, even though it killed me to watch the other half fall into the trash can.
(OMG! This is going to take forever, I haven’t even got to the part where we start drinking yet, I mean, I’m still writing about the first 20 minutes after arriving there! I am going to have to devide it into parts. This post will be part one. LUCKY YOU!)
As I was scarfing down my H-A-L-F of a baked potato, I got a text message that said these exact words “OMG. I saw you walk in but didn’t say hi.”
(I had only discovered that my cheap ass prepaid phone had text messaging capabilities and so I have to admit that the text messaging made me feel as though I was The Shit.)
I wrote back and was all “OMG, why didn’t you? And um, who’s this?”
It was HeatherB and so I freaked and was all “Where are you?” and she was all “by the pool.”
So, me and Amy left for the pool to find Heather. Once we got to the pool, I saw a group of women sitting by the pool and it struck me that I had NO IDEA what Heather looked like. So, because I am totally cool and know how to play things off, I stopped and pretended to be text messaging someone and I asked Amy if the women at the pool were looking at me. She was all “Um, I think so” and I was all “Crap, I have no idea what Heather looks like.” And I continued to pretend to be texting someone and she was all “Yeah, they’re looking at you.”
Then, I heard someone scream “YYYYYYVONNNNNNNEEEE.”
Next thing I know, Mir and Chris were running towards me. OMG! MIR! AND CHRIS! And, OMG! CARMEN!(Who did NOT AT ALL make me nuts, silly woman!)
I totally admitted that I was fake texting because I had no idea what Heather looked like and they’re all “NERD! Heather’s right there!”
Lucky for me, they knew her and I could stop the text messaging charade. (LUCKY!)
We stayed and chatted for a few minutes, then we had to head back to the room because I had been scheduled to do a video interview with Leah for Alpha Mom TV.
(Which. IMAGINE THAT. ME. DOING AN ON CAMERA INTERVIEW.)
I was extremely nervous about doing an on camera reason for many reasons.
a)My weight.
b)Um, gas.
c)I spit when I talk when I am excited. (Seriously, ask Amy. p.s. SORRY AMY.)
d)I am not very smart and um, what the hell do I know about anything really?
e)I do not know how to apply my makeup.
HOWEVER! When I got to the room, I was shocked to find out that my makeup was going to be PROFESSIONALLY DONE.
Me and Jesus.By a man named Jesus.
Jesus was pretty and he was gay and he thought I was cute. What more could I have asked for in a professional makeup artist? (Oh! I know! That he brush his teeth after he ate his lunch because I am sensitive to smell and I had to fight the urge to dry heave everytime he talked really close to my face.)
Now. The Interview. [Janice from friends voice]Oh.My.God[/Janice from friends voice.] People, I danced aerobically during the interview. Yeah.
I think I’ll make The Interview “Part Two” because a)I’m tired of typing b)G-unit woke up from her nap and is running around naked screaming c) I think my ass may explode any minute now (Which hahaha, wait til I tell you about the ass explotion in Amalahs hotel room.)
LUCKY AMY!

The packing. It is making me go crazy.


Look! My Target clothes!
Have I ever told you that I have extraordinarily small ears? Because I do, and I have been teased about them my entire life. Especially by my dad who used to blame my “disobedience” on the fact that I didn’t actually hear what he told me to do because haha! Get it? My ears are so small that I can not hear very well.

Why am I talking about my ears when there are clothes that need to be packed and big toes that need to be shaved and nails that need to be painted and eyebrows that need to be plucked?
Is it possible that I am avoiding the actual DOING of those things because I am nervous and have cramps?
I’ve shed a few tears over leaving my children. The boys will be fine, they’ve been away from me for long periods of time before (Andrew was gone with a friend in Palm Springs for 4 days last week. This week, they’ve both been gone all week with my sister.) They don’t need me in the ways that G-Unit does. I’m always with her, and she’s very attached to me. Like, so attached that Tony is often heard shouting “CUT THE UMBILICAL CORD, WOMAN.”
I know she’ll be fine with her daddy and brubbers, but I still can’t help but cry when I think of being away from her for THREE DAYS.
My God, I love my children. More than anything else, I love them.
Now, it’s time to shut this thing down, go to bed and get ready to board a plane in the morning. (OMG! A PLANE! I’M SCARED OF PLANES BUT HAVE BEEN TO NERVOUS ABOUT EXPOSING MY FATNESS LIVE AND IN PERSON TO EVEN THINK ABOUT THE PLANE BUT IT JUST HIT ME. AIRPLANE! COULD CRASH! AND DIE! HELP!)

Come home soon, sweet Aerobic Dance Instructor.

When my Aerobic Dance Instructor announced that she’d be leaving for Russia for the summer, I knew that I’d miss Aerobic Dance Class, but I had no idea just how much I’d miss it.
I hate “freestyling” at the gym. I hate it with a passion.
Machines are boring. One minute on the eliptical feels like 2 hours. I try everything to distract myself from the stupid little red timer in the hopes that it will go faster if I stop obsessing over each passing second. I put my towel over the timer, I read a magazine, I watch the TV with no sound, I think about people that I hate and how I’m going to kill them with my new muscular body, I think about Teh Sex and how I sure look forward to having it again someday when my husband finally decides to get his Shit Snipped, I think about my babies and ponies and rainbows and bloggers and…and…THEN I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE AND I LIFT UP THE TOWEL TO DISCOVER THAT ONLY 48 SECONDS HAS PASSED.
Not only are the machines boring, but they are dirty. I find myself dry heaving everytime I go to use a machine after a fellow gymmate has used it to find Sticky Ass Sweat lingering on the seat. HELLO? That is what the towel you are carrying around is for, you dirty pig.
Then there’s the issue of me being completely unable to control my gas whilst using any machine that involves the squeezing together of my legs. I try to be all “Yeah, I farted, SO WHAT?” about it, but honestly, farting at the gym amongst women who are walking around trying to prove that they are BETTER HUMAN BEING THAN YOU because they use 8 pound weights (as opposed to your lame little 5 pounders)makes me feel bad about myself.
Can we talk about the women who hog the machines now? Obviously, these are women who have no clue about the proper way to “work out” because everyone knows that 3 SETS OF 12 IS ENOUGH. Sitting there doing 100 leg presses isn’t going to win you a special place in Gym Heaven, so STEP OFF AND GIVE SOMEONE ELSE A TURN.
God.
I miss the days where I could just get to the gym early, to “stretch and get prepared to own the aerobic dance floor with my totally awesome moves and burn a buttload of calories in the process.
No wiping other people’s ass sweat, no waiting for stupid people to share the machines, no boringness. Just pure, sweet, calorie burning dancing.
I hope she plans on coming back. I do not know what I’ll do if I find out that she’s gone forever. Seriously.

A letter from The Boss.


Dear Internet,
I know you’re probably mad at my mommy for not answering your emails or leaving comments on your blog, but honestly? It’s not her fault.
I like to get into her things, especially her perfume and make up. Yesterday, I found her brand new bronzing powder and OMG! I went CERAZY with it because all of the pretty people are orange.
You think it looked beautiful on me? Well, you should have seen how AWESOME the sofa looked. And the carpet? It was so sparkly and shiny!
Daddy tells mommy that she should put her stuff away so that I can’t get into it, but daddy forgets that I know how to climb and how to make steps if I can’t reach things that I want. (Word to any toddlers out there listening: Plastic storage boxes make awesome steps! You can thank me the next time you’re able to reach your mommy’s makeup bag and you are able to make your face and the carpet shiny and orange like me!)
Anyways, mommy really wants to tell you about last night (something about having so much fun last night with some dude named Jay Mohr, I don’t know, I was pooping when she was telling daddy about it.) but, you know, there is makeup she must protect from my little hands, so you’ll have to wait until I crash for the night.
Peace out.
-G Unit.

Go ahead, you can roll your eyes at me.

Last Tuesday night, I sat at a table with Jay Mohr, Nikki Cox, Ralphie May, Bert and um, my cousin.
Talk about akward.
You see, Jay had invited me to see his show at The Improv. He was all “If you want to come, I’ll put you on the Almighty List.” And I was all “let me think about it YES PUT ME ON IT NOW OK THANK YOU.”
Tony didn’t want to go. I think he said something about it being a “weeknight” and having to “get up early” for “work” but I can not be sure because I was too busy planning out which “outfit” would make my boobs look the biggest to know for sure.
I invited my cousin, partly because I wanted to spend some time with her and partly because no one in my family believes that I know him (which is so lame because there is photographic evidence!) and having her there with me would put the doubts to rest once and for all.
We arrived at The Improv a few minutes before the show started. I walked up to the window and proudly announced “Hi, I’m on Jay’s list.” The girl looked up at me and said “ID please.” She checks the list, looks puzzled and says “um, one minute.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Yeah, you’re on the list for the 10:30 show. My manager is looking into it.”
The manager comes back a few minutes later and says “Ok, you can go in.”
We walk in and the manager tells the man who was going to seat us “They’re VIP.”
I admit it. I made sweet pee pee. Just a little bit. I’ve never been VIP anything before, well, unless you count that one week in Kindergarten when I got to talk about myself all week long and everyone in the class had to write a story about me. That was pretty sweet.
As soon as we turned the corner to make our way to “VIP” seating, I saw Jay. (eeeeeee! I know, I shouldn’t love him anymore. There are so many reasons not to and yet, I do. And I probably always will.) He walked over, gave me a very awesome hug and complimented me. I introduced him to my cousin, he shook her hand (haha! I got a hug, she got a handshake! I WIN!!) and then said “You’re sitting VIP tonight.”
I was all “Where’s VIP.”
He was all “You’re sitting at my table, with all of the comedians.”
I looked over and there was a table full of comedians + one very HOT Nikki Cox.
I pissed my pants again, but this time it was not sweet pee pee, for it was THE PEE OF FEAR.
I had met Nikki once before, but I do not KNOW Nikki. I had met Bert before, but I do not KNOW Bert (Also? Bert does not answer my MYSPACE MESSAGES and so I am pretty pissed off at him. I mean, he sends me a bunch of “bulletins” in which he tells me to “watch this video” or “come see him perform here” but BOB FORBID HE ANSWER MY MESSAGES.) I had never met Ralphie (although, I watched him on Last Comic Standing and thought he was heelarious.) I felt so out of place and very much like I may have to lay down and die from the fear.
We walked up to the table and everyone looked at me like “Who in THE HELL?”
“Hi, I’m Y from Joy Unexpected!”
Ha! Ha! I’m lying. I didn’t actually say that, but I was tempted to, to try to fit in, like “Yeah, I’m an entertainer just like you! Respect me? and like me? please?!”
“Hi, uh, I’m Y, Uh, Um, yeah, I’m a friend of Jay’s. Um, hahah yeah.”
(OH MY GOD! THIS STORY IS SO BORING! WHY AM I TELLING YOU THIS OTHER THAN TO BRAG THAT I WAS A VERY IMPORTANT PERSON?)
Blahblahblah, the show was hilarious, Jay is hot, Nikki has big boobs, Ralphie May made me spit my drink out, Bert made me fart (but I’m pretty sure no one heard it because the laughter was too loud.) blahblah. He invited me to go again tonight and I said yes. blahblahblahandalsohahahaha)
(That was totally one of those stories that is completely awesome to the person telling it, but totally lame to the people listening. So lame, that they’d rather stab themselves in the hand repeatedly with scissors than listen to it. Sorry about that.)
In more exciting news…
I got my electric bill today!

I just added that to the list of “Reasons That I Hate California With a Passion and Would Move Today Were it Not For the Fact That My Entire Family Lives Here.”
(But seriously, who needs a kidney?)