Ahem - 3 Days Later...

So, Miss Veronica at GrownupTanrums and I are struggling through a 30 Day Blog Challenge.


We have both missed days and then caught up, but we are still slogging through.


At the outset, we promised and predicted social media shaming and shit talking.


But, we both have lives and are doing the best we can.  Which is, literally, all you can expect from anyone, EVER.




I actually thought I was 2 days behind, but realized, from checking my stats (HELLLLOOOO, Germany, you have out-paced Russia on blog reads, Tausend Dank!!) I am THREE DAYS BEHIND!!  



So, here we go:

I loved them growing up...as adults - all of us - not so much!

Day 13:  A Book You Like, A Book You Don't.
Easy-peasy.
A Book I Like - To Kill A Mockingbird.  Harper Lee's Magnum Opus. 
Scout, Jem, Atticus, Dill, Boo, Aunt Alexandra, Uncle Jack, CALPURINA.
This book, which was pretty much required reading for the youth of America for decades is AMAZING.  Beautiful, funny, heartbreaking, romantic..FAIR.
I grew up in the whitest county in California.  I did not know any POC when I read it, but I had a heart and a brain and read the newspapers.
This book made me angry at the assumption that a POC was wrong simply because of the color of their skin -- be it black or Albino white.
This book made me relish my countrified childhood.
I loved Dill, that 'pocket Merlin', because my head was too full of fancy as well.


I loved that book.  I still love it.
I read it every fall, because the penultimate conflicts happen in late summer and after a Halloween (Harvest) carnival.

 Book I Don't - To Set A Watchman, the sequel to Harper Lee's Magnum Opus.
Or the prequel..I don't care.
It SUCKED.
It was boring.
It was awful.
And Atticus was a fucking closet racist....
I never finished it, even though I started it about 48,000 times.
I probably will never finish it, and I don't even care.
No Jem, no Cal, no Hero Atticus.  Even Scout lost her flavor....gone was the girl brawling in the play yard and fighting boys,
UGH!!
I hate sequels and re-makes.
I loathe that every generation tries to re-do or re-make what came before.

WHY CAN'T YOU JUST APPRECIATE WHAT WAS BEFORE YOU AND CREATE YOUR OWN SHIT???

Dirty Dancing, Havana Nights??  Barf.
Ben Asshat as Batman -- STFU!!!
Clash of The Titans without that clockwork owl and Claymation Calibos?  Go.  Away.
New humans, please create your own art, movies, and music and leave the classics alone.
KThanksBye.

Day 14: Something You Struggle With.
INSOMNIA.
In.Saw.MMMM.Kneee.AHHH
About 3 out of every 7 days I wake up anywhere from 1:30-3:30 and cannot go back to sleep.
Which sucks.
BIG TIME.
Lack of sleep is a killer.  Literally.
I am too tired to link any of the studies, but trust me, they are real.
I have hallucinated when I have been awake for more than 48 hours.
If I stay awake for over 24 hours, I have a remarked tendency to cry at ...oh, everything.
When I can't sleep, I look up conspiracy theories on the Internet --

did you know Stephen King killed John Lennon??  No?  GTS!!

Did you know Katy Perry is actually John-Benet Ramsay (or Ramsey, too lazy to GTS)

Did you know the earth is flat or  9/11 was done by the Jews, the Russians, or the ...um whoever??  Anyone but radical goat-fucking Islamists, though....because that is TOO EASY!  

Everything has a back-story that includes collusion, the Rockefeller's, the Rothschild's, and those damn lizard people that seeded the earth with humans like we plant potatoes in Idaho.

I can never drift into sleep after spiking my consciousness with this ridiculous crap.
I literally pass out 5 minutes before my alarm goes off, and then wake up in a gritty-eyed, thin-sour-sweaty-haze.  It sucks.
I am never very productive at work, post-insomnia.
I am never a very good mom to my not-a-morning-person-child, post-insomnia.
I am never patient, tolerant, kind, or pleasant on the post-insomnia days.

I have TRIED.

Melatonin, Epsom-Salt baths, warm milk (haha, KIDDING, I am not a baby goat, so BARF!!), Sleepytime Tea, positive visualization, booze...nothing helps.
I sincerely hope this doesn't go on much longer, but since this has been a thing for me since I can consciously remember, I can only hope I get another fallow period (I have had multiple, lasting YEARS), where I sleep through the night, sometime soon...because the last 18 months have been kicking my ass.
And I am tired (of it).
So tired.

Day 15: Something You Are Currently Worrying About.
Easy-peasy.
Fucking Everything.
If I even began to list what worries me today, I would end up in an asylum, so I am going to try to keep this lighthearted and not at all connected to the things that actually cause me to wake up in a sweat (see above).

I worry that I know who all the dudes in One Direction are, and that I actually have a favorite.
Up until about a month ago, I only know 1 single OD song, because it was about my beloved JR (KJ), whose boyfriend would play it for her every time she showed up at one of his gigs (at least that's how I saw it).
A couple of months ago, after I realized I was an inadvertent Justin Bieber fan, I found a new jam...
It was not a Bieber song, but it was by a dude from OD and I LOVED it.  I thought it was by the cute, blond one....but it wasn't.  So I had to GTS and try to get them all sorted out, because I was super confused about who was singing what and I didn't have a scorecard.  When I got it all sorted, I decided it was all Quavo's fault, as he sings in the Bieber song I like, and the song that is not-by-Niall-Horan-but-thought-it-was.

I know he is, like 19, but CAN YOU BLAME ME???  

Fucking Quavo. (although, I must admit, he is the shit!)

Anyway, I fell asleep at 6 this morning, having re-set all of my alarms to 6:30 and had a very weird jumbly dream in which my sis was knocked up AGAIN (my perfect little sis, not the other one), I was eating porcelain coffee cups and spitting them on the ground, even though I had no shoes on, and eventually, wound up at a holiday bazaar in which OD showed up and I tried to take a selfie next to my 'favorite', but ended up to Harry Styles' secret lover instead (that's another conspiracy theory, BTW!).
I am 42 and have no business having a favorite (former) OD member, or even knowing their names....but I do.  (barf)

I worry that somewhere, somehow, someone thought Blake Fucking Shelton is the Sexiest Man Alive.

WTF???

Blake Shelton???

That Mofo has LITERALLY sported a mullet this century.

As in...sometime AFTER 1987, sometime AFTER they stopped making Pontiac Thunderbirds, sometime AFTER it stopped being okay for dudes to wear T-shirts where they cut the sleeves off in a huge loop from waist to shoulder, that dude was 'business in the front and party in the back' and meant it!!!
With absolutely no irony.

Excuse me, People Magazine, but have you met Jason Momoa???

Sexiest Man Alive.  Because that is a BRAID, not a MULLET.  Also, because he is JASON MOMOA.  And you are not, Blake Shelton!

HAVE YOU????

Obviously not.  

That headline this morning was a sign that 2017 has officially flushed itself down the toilet.

Which is fine.
But I am too tired to hold my breath for 6 weeks.

So, ya'll better get your shit in order right quick.

Cheers, and now I am caught up with no sign of Ryan Gosling.

Because. Jason. Fucking. Momoa.

I Literally DO NOT Belieb(er) This Sh!t.

I need to open by saying that I absolutely loathe that Despacito song that is on, everywhere all the time.

Loathe. It.

LOATHE.

So, it was super fun to drive down to CA, not listening to the radio, but jamming out (and singing along dreadfully) to a bunch of music that I really love.

I was assaulted by the Despacito song only 2 times over the weekend -- on Saturday while in Suckhole, CA (Chico), trying desperately to GTFO of that weird town, and the second time was as I was somewhere near Eugene on Monday night, and decided to turn the radio on.

Twice. Not bad; I could soooooo get used to that.

Anyway, back to my trip to CA. I got there around 1:00 on Saturday afternoon, and I was WIPED!!! I hadn't slept since I woke up Friday morning at 5:00 am, and I had just driven eleventy-billion miles, had a harrowing detour through Suckhole, CA (Chico), and it was hoooooootttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt!

I decided to swing by my former place of employment, because I had thoughtfully and generously bought some Voodoo Donuts to share with my compadres. If you don't know what Voodoo Donuts are, you can do a Google.

They are magic.

 YES, they are donuts, which means fat and sugar and gluten and alllllllll the bad things.

But they are bomb AF, and you should eat the ODB (Old Dirty Bastard -crushed Oreo's and peanut butter drizzle), the Oh Captain, My Captain (white frosting and CRUNCH BERRY CEREAL on top), and the maple bacon (nuff said) bar TODAY.

EAT THEM, I TELL YOU!!!

This is the ODB!!  My only joy in life.

Anyway, the last time I had dropped Voodoo off to the homies was in TWO THOUSAND AND FOURTEEN.

Three friggin' years ago.

So, it's not like I made it a daily, weekly, monthly, or even an annual habit. I actually thought I was being the fun former work person who comes from out of state to bestow magical Pacific Northwest treats, like some benevolent, benign sugar fairy.
LOLZ.

NOPE.

I was, in fact, dropping off a box of death and destruction and am clearly just not a good person as a result of my attempt to poison the innocent do-gooders I left the Death Circles for.

One of the people that was duped into eating the garbage that I brought down, posted a pic of them and made a funny little post thanking me for ruining his diet.

All funny, all good, right?

Not so much. Within hours, this saber-toothed tiger broad (it's when you are too old to be a cougar...so, basically me in about 5 effing minutes) was all up on the Facebook going on and on about how this dude shouldn't eat the donuts and how bad they were, blah, blah, blah.  "Oh, people mean well, but...you know, she is clearly trying to kill you."

I was like, jeez, bitch, calm your tits! IT WAS A FUCKING DONUT, NOT THE BAG OF METH I HAD IN THE CAR!!! (kidding! I swear!)

I didn't say anything, though, although I ALMOST did when I saw that she was, like, “I didn't want to say anything since they were a gift, but ohmygodyouwillfuckingdieofeatingtheglutendeathcircleandhowcouldthathorriblepersonwhoclaimstobeyourfrienddothattoyouyoupoorsexythingnowwhydontyoucomeoverandletmerubyourbackandyourjunkuntilyouareoverit”

Or something like that.

Anyway, I was super pissed. Like, lady, if you want to bone the kid, just tell him so, and don't try to bond with him by slagging off another one of his friends about some frickin' donuts.

Whatevs.

You know me, food not feelings, so I decided, rather than respond and be an angry FB bitch, I would eat an entire pizza because CARBS ARE EVERYTHING.

I went to Mama's Pizza in North San Juan and ordered what was probably the second best margherita pizza I have ever had in my entire life, and I ate HALF of it in about 5 minutes. And this place doesn't do "sizes".  Allll the pizzas are large.  Every one.  Seriously, though, it was that good. Crust was amazing, crispy, doughy, and chewy, they have the BEST sauce in the world, and fresh-fresh, fragrant basil with fantastic farm tomatoes and gooey mozzarella. That pizza was AMAZING!!

Seriously, if you are ever in Nevada City and you feel like pizza and you have some free time, GO TO MAMA's. But call first, as they have some really weird hours that aren't necessarily the same ones posted on their FB page.

Anyway, I decided to write what ended up being yesterday's blog, as my fever of rage over the Suckhole, CA (Chico) incident was still fresh in my mind, not to mention Mrs. Robinson's attack on what I thought was kind of a fun gesture.

I took a scalding hot shower, climbed onto one of the fluffiest, coziest beds ever, and popped open my laptop, with the pizza box from Mama's next to it on a towel. I inhaled 2 more pieces of pizza while my computer was turning on, I opened my blogger page and started typing.....ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

At 5;00 Sunday morning, I woke up from one of the most blissful sleeps I have ever had in my life, face imprinted from the laptop's keyboard, denuded pizza crust in my left hand, and open pizza box with only 2 basil-ly fragrant pieces left.

I felt almost as fabulous as I had the last time I had sex, and even the fact that I had failed to brush my teeth before passing out, thus leaving my mouth feeling like an empty can of tomato sauce, did not affect my general sense of well-being.

MAN, I love carbs.

Anyway, I got up, took another fabulous shower, brushed my teeth for, like, infinity, and then went downstairs to an AMAZING breakfast of blueberry pancakes, fresh fruit, hot coffee, amazing sausage links, and icy OJ on tap.

Let me pause here and tell you that Milano's Inn is, LITERALLY, the only place you should consider sleeping if you are in the Nevada City-Grass Valley area. Gorgeous themed rooms with fresh, crisp linens, boiling hot water on demand, fluffy pillows, and delectably firm mattresses. Breakfast, with the AMAZING proprietors, is always locally sourced eggs, meats, and fruits and veggies, plus delicious coffee with fresh cream. For $80 a night, there is nothing better in the area. NOTHING.

Gorgeous, inside and out.  Basically, the opposite of me.

Anyway, after I handled my business in Nevada County, I headed home – a scant 48 hours after my arrival.

Carefully avoiding Suckhole, CA (Chico), I made my way home, rocking out to my preselected jams.

When I got near Eugene, I turned on the radio, only to be attacked by that flippin' “Despacito” song, and quickly hit 'SCAN'.

Suddenly, there it was.

MY JAM.

“I'm The One”

Delicious jam, and I was KILLING IT with my Carpool Disco moves.

My new favorite song, ever.

I was JAMMIN' (Bob Marley Jammin) to this song. I hit 'scan', and there it was again. And again.

And. Again.

Damn, this song is the shit!!!

Soooooo, I got home, passed out for 4 unsatisfactory hours, woke up, went to work – yes, on the 4^th of July!! – and did a bit of a Google, only to find out that my new favorite song EVAH is, in fact, a MOTHER EFFING JUSTIN BIEBER SONG!!!

WTF?

So, this is who I am now.

Evil, dangerous purveyor of deadly gluten/fat/sugar death circles, and a JUSTIN BIEBER fan.

No wonder I can't get a boyfriend.....

Oh, well, as long as there are Ryan Gosling photos on tap on the interwebs, I guess I am OK.

*Sigh*