It's like Tuesdays with Morrie without all the wisdom
Posts tagged alcohol
It’s April!
4April 15, 2009
April is just a month full of celebrating around here. Well, celebrating and saying things like, “Really? Is this how old we are? Do we have kids who are going to be 10 years old on Friday? And did we just celebrate our 13th anniversary on Monday? There must be something wrong with the maths.”
The maths are wrong, baby, cuz your hotness is rockin’!
Easter was lovely, except it needs to last much longer so my family can stay much longer and we can have, like, an 8-day feast instead of a weekend binge where we drink and eat too much and hurt ourselves. If we knew it would last longer, we could pace ourselves. I promise we would pace ourselves. My sister and I discovered that it doesn’t really matter what kind of wine a person drinks. If that person drinks too much of it, that person’s belly gets mad at them and punishes them. In other words, it’s not the quality, it’s the quantity. My sister-in-law is wise and she knew that already. She and my brother and brother-in-law, along with Bryan, were able to go to the Ohio Deli (as seen on Man vs Food!) and eat and eat on Saturday, while my sister and my mom and I stayed with the kids. Well, my mom stayed with the kids. Tracey and I just laid around and said, “Shhhh!” But now we know. Damn.
My Columbus friends were able to meet my family and that was lovely. I felt like I should be more nervous about it for some reason, but I wasn’t because Kristen, Dawn and Lynne are just Ohio versions of me, my sister and my sister-in-law. I don’t branch out much in my friendships. And the husbands? All of the husbands are beaten down by perfect matches for their loud and lovely wives, so we love all of them, too. Even my brother. I never found the bellybutton lint he hid here, but I have a feeling he hid it on my pillow. Just thinking about it gives me chills. Or, maybe he unscrewed the screen on the showerhead and put it in there so I shower in lint leavings every morning. Ew!
With that, I’ll leave you with another disturbing image. Everybody knows that My L1ttle Ponies love Easter. I just didn’t know how much they love it until I walked in the bathroom and found this little filly enjoying Maya’s Easter basket. In front of the mirror. Seriously, H@sbro, who designs your baskets*?
*I didn’t buy this basket. My mother-in-law bought it for Maya 2 or 3 years ago. I didn’t even notice what the little pony was doing until I saw her watching herself in the mirror with that look in her eye.
P.S. Don’t ask me what Maya’s basket was doing in the bathroom. Nobody wants to know.
General, Inoffensive Seasonal Wishes!
4December 22, 2008
We’re going to Chesaning to roll around in snow drifts with our family for the holidays. I hope we don’t have to be pulled out of a snow-drifted ditch, but if we do, we know lots of people who will pull us out. That’s nice. And that’s why we return again and again.
I’m sure life will go on as usual around here while we’re reveling, but whatever.
If I were the sort who sent out Christmas cards, I would totally send you one. But I’m not anymore because, for me, it’s all about the kid picture and my kids are all over the internets between here, Kids Know Stuff, and our Flickr page, so I don’t even bother anymore unless you’re an old person who doesn’t have the internet. Then you get one. If you got one and you didn’t know you were old, now you know.
I do like to give my brother and sister a holiday card, though, so I went to someecards.com and made one for them. It was inspired by true events. I’ll share it with you:
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We laugh, my family and I. And we laugh more when we drink. And we drink more when we laugh. It’s a vicious circle. Or a vicious cycle, depending on who you ask. Or whom. Whatever. I should be packing.
If I were a good person, I would have written something more like this, which when I found it in my inbox today from my friend Melissa, made me cry a little. So you all should watch this and pretend I wrote something like it for you. Because I would have. If only I had a soul.
I Don’t Like it.
7December 1, 2008
I can’t get it out of my head that people died while shopping at Toys R Us, or working at Wal-Mart. I don’t like that.
We’re in Chesaning right now, so I haven’t had time to really think about a post or anything, but every once in a while my brain goes, “How in the hell do we trample a Wal-Mart worker on Black Friday?”
I’ll admit my bias here: I worked retail for 5 years and, since then, I’ve never set foot in a store on the day after Thanksgiving. To me, there’s no sale worth that hell. I feel so strongly about this that I really believe that if it came down to Black Friday sales being the only way Christmas could happen in the Aldrich house, then Christmas would have to wait. I don’t like it. I don’t like that they advertise a super-huge deal on something fancy and then only stock 4 of them. That makes people want to kill each other, so maybe we shouldn’t do that. I don’t know.
Anyway, my brother-in-law’s dad died the day before Thanksgiving so we’re up here for his funeral today. And the snow is all piled up. Incidentally, piled-up snow is another thing I don’t like. Feeling curmudgeonly today, apparently.
Something I do like: Going to Dave’s Bar with my sister and brother-in-law and reminiscing about his dad. My brother-in-law is the youngest in his family, so he’s definitely more like an older brother to a couple of his of-age nephews who were at the bar, too. It was lovely to hear these men speak with such affection and, at times, derision (in a good way) about the family patriarch. Rolly will be missed, but he has most definitely left an enduring legacy of humor and sweetness that can be seen in all of his grandkids. Especially my sister’s kids. I’m super biased like that. I wish they were old enough to hang out at the bar with us. I told my sister they could because I used to when I was little and nothing’s wrong with me, but for some reason, she laughed at that. It wasn’t really a laugh, it was more of a “HA!” I don’t get it.
Two More Days Until I Can Stop Hating Christmas Music
7
I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving for lots of reasons, but my number one happy reason is because, after it’s all over, then I can stop screaming obscenities at my car radio every time I inadvertently come across one of the stations that plays all Christmas music, all the time. It started on November 1st and I’m too lazy to re-set my pre-sets, so I keep stumbling upon effing Christmas music. Since the day after Halloween. It’s not right. And I will stab somebody. I know I should be thinking about effing Christmas. I know I have to buy people stuff. I know, I know, I know. I don’t need stupid songs to remind me. Kids Know Stuff is backfiring for me because, while I’m getting good gift ideas for my kids, my kids already have the stuff because they had to review it. I should’ve thought this through a little better. It works out well for you, though, because you could win a bunch of cool DVDs from my kids. You’re so selfish. I would try to win them, too, but my kids already have them. I can’t even re-wrap them for Christmas because that might be a touch meaner than usual.
This Thanksgiving, I’ll be running the Turkey Trot 5-miler for the 3rd year in a row. This year is different, though, because Mechelle won’t be here (boo!), and my husband is running it with me (yay!) Bryan is a natural sprinter; he does not “try to kill himself” by running more than a few miles at a time at super-sonic speed. The one time he tried to run with me, he had to shorten up his stride so much in order to stay slow that he got injured. I’m slow and short, with no competitive edge, enabling me to run long(ish) distances without ever having a heart attack. He’s fast, tall, competitive, and generally has ants in his pants, so it’s hard for him to pace himself. This should be interesting. The best part is, I don’t have to use my endorphins as energy for cooking Thanksgiving dinner because Kristen is doing that! Isn’t she sweet? That means I’ll be able to use that energy high for things like drinking. And pouring drinks. Should be fun. Also, Kristen‘s husband and son are running with Bryan and me. I hope they remember to wait for me when it’s over. And I hope Bryan doesn’t weep because he doesn’t come in first. The last time he ran races regularly, he usually came in first and colleges watched him and sent him letters promising money to him for the pleasure of enjoying his long, lean legs and his powerful stride. Or something like that.
That’s him winning. *sigh*
Our Parents Are Old
10November 20, 2008
And it’s a little bit freaky. Because they’ll die and then we’re next.
Bryan’s dad turned 59 on Monday and Bryan and I talked all night about how that’s almost 60 and we remember when our parenst were 33 and 34 and weren’t they old? Yeah, but we’re not old, right? Nah! And our kids will be doing this when they’re in their 30s and they’ll talk about us like we’re about to die and that’s not cool! Those kids are mean! Let’s wake them up and beat them, thus proving our youthfulness. They’ll remember that, I bet!
My parents will be 60 in January and April. They’ve never seemed old before, but 60? It seems kind of old. Not because they’re old, but because I’m too young to have parents in their 60s. It’s about me! My parents were 26 when I was born, which is pretty young, so if they’re old, I’m old. It’s only logical.
Speaking of my parents, do you know that I still know the phone numbers to all of the bars in Chesaning, even the ones that are closed now (I’m looking at you Rathskellar and Farmers Inn) and the golf course? And of course Dave’s Bar, which has outlasted them all. I do. Because I used to call them a lot when I was a little girl. (No, not to order stuff, but if you know me in real life, I can see how you would think that). I’m not judging, but I can’t imagine a scenario in which my kids regularly had to call me or my husband at the bar. My parent shame would be unbearable and my wife rage would be, well, extremely unpleasant. Like the kind of unpleasant where you say, “Wow, this gunshot wound is extremely unpleasant.” But I guess if our kids had to call us at the bar, they would just call our cell phones and it wouldn’t suddenly hit them in adulthood that they know all of the phone numbers to the bars where they grew up. I guess that means we should go to the bar more often. Then we can forget about all of this oldness nonsense. Problem solved.
Adding to the oldness problem is a little theory that Bryan and I have. We believe that if you had kids before you turned 30, then you have to add the age of your oldest child to your actual calendar age and that gives you your true, social age. So we’re not 33 and 34. We’re 42 and 43, socially. It’s true. When we hang out with real 33 and 34 year olds, we have no idea what we’re doing. None. They talk differently. They drink differently. They care about different things. If they have children at all, they probably only have one so they’re still operating under the illusion that their child is interesting to other people. And it’s awkward when we laugh at them when they tell us their 18 month old is gifted. Because we think they’re joking, but they’re not. And then they think we’re mean, which we are, but that isn’t the point. The point is, we’re way older than everybody our age. And we’re all going to die. And now I have to take pictures again.
