Monday, November 29, 2010

I'm a bargain hunter now that I'm 30

So, it's Cyber Monday, and I am taking FULL advantage.  Drinking coffee, cat on my lap, and shopping for Christmas.

I'm also getting money back because I'm using ebate.

Basically, you sign up in literally 5 seconds, and then you can browse your favorite online stores (like eBay, Borders, and my new favorite, Discovery Channel) and when you go to their site, ebates hooks you up with a referral code.  Then you shop.  And after you shop, you get a percentage back on your purchase.  And they send you a check.  In the mail.  Mail that ISN'T a bill?!  (I know, right?!)

And for today, % back is DOUBLED for most stores.

Also, if you sign up with this link ---> EBATE  I get $5 per person who signs up.  (And being an unemployed, single mom, that really helps...a ton.)

So, you know...check it out guys.  Seriously.  I'm trying to be a financially responsible 30-year-old here.  :)

I love discovering bargains!  Makes me feel like a kid on...

...well, on Christmas. 

Monday, November 15, 2010

My Son Hates Socks: A Lesson in Parenting

If you're a parent, I'm sure you can relate to those times when your kids just won't listen to reason.

If you're not a parent--well, maybe someday you will be, maybe you won't. But chances are you probably know a kid who won't listen to reason. More accurately, you probably know a few adults who won't either. And I would argue, this applies to them too.

This is my current uphill battle.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

When boredom turns to random creativity

Did a photo shoot with my good friend today.  When I got home, I was inspired to be creative.  So, I made this.  It's just silliness.  Random silliness.

The knees are the first to go...

Back in high school, I was a cheerleader.


















Although, don't get me wrong...I was not a cool cheerleader, as I also did shit like this:



















Apparently southwestern shirts, tye-dye bean bag chairs and wearing a Frisbee on my head was my idea of awesome.

And this:



















Hypercolor!  What what!

Um, this:



















A few things: a mouth full of gum, a dollhouse in my room at 14, tapered jeans, and a Central Perk shirt a la "Friends"


And also (OMG WTF Glamour Shots?! Yes.) this:



















Yes, that is seriously just some pink sparkly paper wrapped around my shoulders.

One might also argue that Nelson was actually triplets, not twins...and I was the third sibling:

Nelson:



















Me in 1994:



















But even so, my high school allowed me to remain a cheerleader, until my senior year when my "I need to be unique and abnormal so I will dye my hair purple and pink, wear glittery eye shadow and black eyeliner, and don't get me started on my bomber jacket and combat boots" phase came through at full force.

The cheerleading committee literally put rules in the rule book based on ME.

How's that for damning The Man?

Unfortunately, even if I did remain my innocent, albeit odd, self, I probably wouldn't have been able to cheer my senior year anyway.  Because that year, I started having hip problems.

And during my first year of college, after stumbling around the halls like an old woman---while sober---my parents took me to the doctor during a break, where I was told I had bursitis in my hips.

Likely caused from all the jumping and splits.  (Okay, I could never do the splits.  I still can't.  But dammit if I didn't try all those years.)

Now, many years later I would have expected that my hip issues would be the first thing I'd notice about getting older.  And honestly, I'd assumed that they wouldn't even start popping back up until at least 35.  Sure, I like yoga and ab workouts, but I'm not the  most athletic or active human being on the planet.

But no.  Over the past couple days I've noticed something completely different:  my knees fucking hate me.

That's right.  My bursitis-ridden hips are just fine.  But my knees have decided they no longer want to function properly.

And by that I mean they no longer care to be bended.  Or, more truthfully, they can tolerate bending...it's the unbending they are currently protesting.

I know I joke a lot about being "old" now that I'm 30, but honestly that's not how I feel.  As a matter of fact, I actually adore this new decade.

(Even if there are moments where I'm slapped in the face by reality when cute 20 somethings walk in the door and I realize I will never be one of them again.  But it quickly passes when I realize I'm now a cute 30 something.  And I will kick their collective asses with my maturity, wit, and whatever else I can say I learned in my 20s, should they give me guff.)

However, my knees have not gotten the memo apparently.  They ache.  They creak.  And when I attempt to unbend them, they cause my vocal chords to create sounds akin to those of whales in search of a mate.

And I just want to reach down, pat them lovingly, and say to them, "Listen assbags.  You've got a whole HELL of a long time to keep working.  So quit your bitching and bend like you were born to.  And thank your pretty little caps that I stopped wearing high heels regularly 4 years ago."

Instead, I'll take the advice of a friend and treat them to ice packs and ibuprofen.  

I wonder if Nelson went through the same thing.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Improv: This Thing I Totally Love

So, I'm an improviser. I could tell you that I've been improvising for two years, but the truth is, it's been in me since the day I was born. I was just unaware of it until 2 years ago. And honestly, at this point I don't know what my life would be like without improv. I can't even remember what my life was like before improv.

I love it very, very much.

Now that we're past the mushy stuff, here's something fun.
Below is video (in parts because it was too big to upload at once) of a show I was in on Sunday. Our 5B class has a run until sometime in December, and I am lucky enough to get to play with this group of insanely talented people.

Enjoy!

Part 1:




Part 2:



Part 3:



Part 4:



Part 5:



Part 6:

A Moment with My Cats: Episode 3 - I Don't Like It When You Read

Clio likes bedtime. Clio does not like bedtime stories.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

A Moment with My Cats: Episode 2 - Open lines of communication are important

Clio has been acting very needy. I thought we should have a talk to find out what's been on her mind.

Turns out, she's not as open as she should be.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Thoughts from My 20s: Episode 1 - They'll Haunt You FOREVER!!!

Even though I'm 30 now, my 20s will forever be lurking in the shadows...ready to judge, taunt, and tease my now older self.

Meet My 20s. She's a real scream.

Recipe for an Outstanding 30th Birthday

I was a little bummed that this would be the first birthday that didn't include a cake.

Silly? Yes. But it's tradition. (And I could really have used a birthday wish.)

However, my 30th birthday celebration ended up being spectacular. And because of that, I'd like to share my
Recipe for an Outstanding 30th Birthday*

Ingredients:

1 Person celebrating her 30th birthday
1 Killer party outfit (play around with this; be comfortable and adorbs.)
A handful of friends (feel free to combine old and new)
1 Package 30th birthday hats and other paraphernalia
2 to 5 favorite beverages (I chose vodka sodas with lime juice)
1 to 3 birthday shots (Stoli Blueberry works well)
1 Improv Jam
3 rounds of “Sex with Me is like...” where you're the “Me” (It's an improv game. Get your mind out of the gutter.
1 Taxi cab backing into your car
1 couple composed of a female from Chicago in Ugg Boots and a male from Minnesota who just met
1 random dude on the street
1 drive home at 5:30 in the morning.

Instructions:

Take person celebrating her 30th birthday and combine with killer party outfit. Feel free to check and change until just right.

Combine 30th birthday girl and outfit with the handful of friends. Laugh loudly and laugh often.

Randomly put on and take off different “It's my 30th!” paraphernalia items throughout the evening.

Introduce the favorite beverages and birthday shots periodically throughout the evening.

Throw birthday girl into the Improv Jam and top off with “Sex with Me is Like...” making sure she's in a chair on stage, basically getting roasted (to perfection of course. A little burn here and there never hurt either.)

Move birthday girl to another bar, make sure to fold in a minor collision with an angry cab driver (not too rough, don't leave any damage.)

Leave last location, stir in one couple made of one woman from Chicago and one man from Minnesota. Don't stir too quickly as the two should not combine, although the woman should introduce the man initially as, “This my baby!”

Toss in one random guy walking down the street to make sure Miss Chicago separates from Mr. Minnesota. Watch that pair walk away down the street.

Laugh some more.

After a total of 5 hours, the birthday celebration should be complete, in need only of a drive back home at 5:30 in the morning.


*Birthday cake completely optional and unnecessary.

For added fun, start of with an appetizer of doing something you've never done before. Performing a choreographed dance routine for a video shoot is highly recommended.

A Moment with My Cats: Episode 1 - Why it takes so long to update my blog posts.

I realize it's been 2 weeks since I last updated. Well, it's with good reason.

It's also a great segue into a regular feature of Bye Bye Twenties called, "A Moment with My Cats."

Enjoy this first installment which explains why it takes so long for me to type anything:

Friday, October 22, 2010

Twas the Night Before 30: Vlog

The sound at the beginning is a little low (shitty old microphone from the late 90s).  I recommend headphones.

However, the sound in the second half is a-ok.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Pre-prologue

This isn't an official post. Consider it a test. More truthfully, it's something I wanted to share but wouldn't fit in my Facebook status or a Tweet.

My 10-year-old is not embarrassed (yet) by my inability to change out of my pajamas when I take him to school. Typically, this is how I leave the house:


  
However, I learned yesterday the dangers in being seen this way, when an attractive carpenter pulled up out front to fix something on my neighbor's roof.

For 25 minutes, I was a prisoner to my Bug, waiting for a moment I could sneak past this glorious specimen of man working magic with huge pieces of wood and power tools. 

As I walked up my steps, I refused to look in his direction.  It was that preschool mentality of "If I can't see you, I'm invisible."  But when his hammering stopped, I'd realized I'd been caught.  I could hear his inner thoughts:

 "What the FUCK is THAT?!"

"I am never having sex again."


"Maybe I should take my hammer and put that poor old lady out of her misery."


"I don't think this woman can see."


 I opened my front door, and went inside...covered in a thick dusting of shame, embarrassment, and the coffee I had spilled on myself hours before.

So today I decided to at least make myself somewhat presentable. 

I wore ACTUAL pants.  

I covered the fact that I refuse to put on a bra this early in the morning by wearing a fleece.  And even though there was a small stain on the right boob area, the contents of which I cannot decipher---could be chocolate, could be coffee, could be the vitamin paste for my geriatric cat---all in all, it was an outfit that I could have even entered the grocery store in.  

As a matter of fact, I felt dressed enough to stop in the 7-11 for a pumpkin spice coffee and a breakfast sammich. (And it was delicious.  I'm trying to try to quit smoking.  You're supposed to eat protein for breakfast.  Sausage, egg, and cheese is protein.  Nevermind that pack of cigarettes I also purchased...)

So when the carpenter pulled his van up this morning, I sat in my car finishing up my cigarette, unafraid to walk to my door and maybe even make eye contact.

What happened next was not only mortifying, but a metaphor for my thoughts on turning 30 in the next couple weeks.

As I walked up the front steps, I fumbled around for my house key.  I couldn't find it, so I had to stop.  At precisely the same moment, the carpenter stopped his hammering.  

And without hesitation, the loudest, longest, most disturbing gas demon escaped from the hell-mouth of my ass.  

It wasn't even something I could remotely control.  It just snuck up on me and unleashed its fury without my even having a chance to reign it in until I was ready. 

To me, that's 30.  It's going to happen regardless of what I say or do and there's just no stopping it.  And it might even offend some people around me.

I just pretended it didn't even happen.  For all the carpenter knows, I'm blind and deaf and didn't see him there.  

I do know I felt a lot better as I walked into the house.  

I'm scared for the neighborhood though.  That fiery ass banshee is now roaming block to block...surely destroying everything in its wake.