Accept the Nice

I have trouble accepting kindness directed my way. Generosity, compliments and all the normal kind stuff freak me out.

Chiquita tells me I need to “accept the nice.”

I think I must be defective, from the Island of Misfit Toys or something.

Here’s an example…it was said to me this week, “You look so pretty.” My brain goes, “Oh my God, what the hell does THAT mean? Is that sarcastic? Is this a trick? It’s probably a trick. It’s usually a trick. Pretty much always. Be a jerk about it. Shrug it off.”

Another example: “I’m going to figure you out.” And my brain goes, “The hell you are!” And alarms are sounding, battle stations are manned, it’s chaos, high alert.

I will work on accepting the nice, but for a little while, I’ll only accept it warily, like a feral cat accepts scraps: hesitant, on alert, then with intense focus.

Street Fighting in Charlotte

So I met up with the Steinster in Charlotte yesterday. 

She said, “Why ya in my town, beeotch?”

I said, “Wahlberg.  Donnie Wahlberg.”

She said, “He’s a wuss.”

The Steinster  was frozen to the core by the icy stare I gave her as I said through clenched teeth, “You did not just disrespect a Wahlberg in front of me.”

And then it was on, street fighting right there on Trade Street.

I went all ninja on the Steinster for talking smack about my favorite New Kid.  I flew through the air sideways and kicked her in the head with both feet.  She recovered quickly and brought a roundhouse kick to my spleen.   I barfed my peanut M&Ms on her suede boots and hurled throwing stars at her in rapid-fire succession.  The Steinster was swift and cat-like, dodging the stars, catching the last one in her teeth and spitting it back at me…I ducked, rolled and kicked her feet out from under her just as the throwing star hit my Donnie Wahlberg in the rattail, killing him not quite instantly…he did have time to whisper to me as I cradled him in my arms right there in front of Baskin Robbins, “Kat, I’ll be lovin’ you forever, ’cause you got the right stuff, love the way you turn me on, cover girl” before he went to join the great boy band in the sky, disappearing into the ether in a cloud of bubble gum scented smoke, leaving behind only a black jelly bracelet on the sidewalk.

I slipped on the bracelet, then wiped a tear from my cheek.  I turned to the Steinster and said, “The world has lost a cultural icon and I have lost my reason to stay on the right side of the law.  I’ll be back for you when you least expect it.”

As I strode off into the sunset, I knew that Step By Step, I had to keep Hangin’ Tough.



(ok, so that’s not really what happened exactly and precisely.  no wahlbergs were harmed, thank goodness!  chiquita and i did see the steinster and her man friend in charlotte and we had some very very small food and it was fun!  i was there to see donnie wahlberg, that much was true, i came to see him shake his moneymaker and indeed he did, oh yes he did,  and all is right in the world.  but i could go ninja on you at any time, so keep your anti-wahlberg talk to yourselves, folks)

Hanging My Head Out the Car Window

Generally speaking, I can drink vast, huge, ridiculous amounts of alcohol without getting sick or hungover.  This is not bragging, it just is one of those things.  Consider what I drank for my birthday this year for example–wasn’t sick the next day, was up and at ’em quite bright and early in fact.  Was chatting with someone today and the subject of drinking copious amounts came up…and I said I seldom get sick or anything like that…but that reminded me of hanging my head out Chiquita’s car window!!!

Travel back in time with me to that fateful night!  You know what, Chiquita?  It’s been more than TEN years!  REALLY! Because I was getting my computer programming degree and Minime was just a speck, so like TEN WHOLE FREAKIN YEARS!  Anyhoooooooo, so Chiquita and I were out and about doing what we do with the Ninja and Some Guy, and someone decides (probably me, I have been known to be a total dumbass) that we should be drinking Everclear and Tang.  I believe the venue we were frequenting called that little number an OrangaTang. 

Tang is probably super if you’re in outer space.  I really don’t want to encourage anyone to mix their alcoholic drinks with it, even if they are orbiting our planet and are fresh out of sensible mixers.

Anyhoo, I drank this concoction in quantity quickly; my companions gave up on it (smart, smart people!).  And then, here’s the part that made the world go blurry, we decide to all start swapping drinks.  Drink, swap, drink, swap, the four of us sliding drinks around and around the table until they were all empty.  That was a very, very bad idea on top of the Tang and Everclear.

But I distinctly recall being absolutely 100% fine…until I stood up and really there was no solid floor under my feet, I was walking an imaginary tightrope, all wobbly and out of my mind.  Fast forward to the part where we need to leave because I’m convinced death is eminent.  My stomach was agitating like a Maytag, my head was swirling.

You ever felt so sick to your stomach, whether from drinking or stomach flu or whatever, that you find yourself praying you’ll throw up soon?  Because you know if you can get the evil out of your body, you will feel better.  I was in that zone.  I wanted the vile mix of I-don’t-even-know-what-everyone-else-was-drinking and Tang out of me and anywhere else.  I got hot, so freakin’ hot, and swimmy.  Chiquita was driving me home, and I was so hot I thought I was going to melt courtesy of the bubbling cauldron in my gut, so the only thing that made sense to do was hang my head out the car window most of the way home.  It made sense at the time.  I don’t think I barfed, but I remember that I wanted to very much, and the only thing holding me together was hanging my head out that car window like a dog…a drunk on Tang and who know’s what the hell else dog.

I’m older and wiser now, and I steer away from Tang at all costs these days.  Because I stay away from the Tang, I don’t have to stick my head out of a moving vehicle anymore.  So that’s the morale, maybe, I dunno: if you’re going to drink, don’t drink Tang unless you’re an astronaut.  Which I am not.  Amen.

Further poonanny thoughts…

If you use your poonanny too much, it will fall out–Chiquita and I decided that earlier this week.  After much thought on my behalf, I also determined that if you don’t use it at all, it will dry up, turn to dust and blow away.  “Oh wow, it’s been a really bad pollen season, look at the coating of dust on everything!”  Noooooooooooooooo, it’s been a really bad frigid bitch season; that’s the residue from dried up poonannies!

Use it or lose it, but don’t dare abuse it!

The things we come up with…

Chiquita and I have been friends a longass time now, to the point that sometimes our conversations make no sense at all…but this evening, our conversation took a deep, meaningful turn, like a public service announcement or an ABC Afterschool Special starring Scott Baio and Kristy McNichol.  Here’s what Chiquita and I need you to know:

Ladies, be good to your poonanny.  If you abuse your poonanny by behaving like a trollop, jezebel and/or common roadwhore, your poonanny will just fall out.  One day, I’ll be driving down the road, and Chiquita will point out the smushed shape on the asphalt and say, Ooooo poor possum.  I’ll have to shake my head and say No, Chiquita, I’m afraid that’s no possum.  That’s Lolita’s poonanny.  It fell out.  I tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen, and her poonanny up and fell out her drawers.  What a sad day that would be, ladies!  So please, treat yourself and your poonanny with respect, and try to avoid behaviors that would land you on Maury or Jerry Springer as a repeat guest.  We, and your poonanny, thank you.

Tomorrow is Chiquita’s Birthday

To celebrate Chiquita’s birthday, there will be fireworks everywhere!!!

Given the recent health scares (no more dying, geez!), I’m super grateful that Chiquita’s around to celebrate this bday at all.  I’m glad my fearless wingman is doing well (despite the curse of the crushed turtle, but blame the ninja for that) and that I can go back to being the center of attention like I’m supposed to be!!

Happy Birthday, Chiquita! (remember when you tanned yourself into another ethnicity, omg! or the wayne’s world ride! or love shack karaoke?!  here’s to a million more remember whens!)

Wingman Knows Best

Today I have to stop and thank my fearless wingman, the one and only Chiquita, for her profound wisdom bestowed upon me during our road trip.  Had she not been insistent, I would have missed out on something abso-freakin-lutely awesome! Woohoo!  So today, I must publicly praise her Royal Chiquitaness. Amen.

Chiquita Womb Watch Update

For those of you on womb watch with me, Chiquita and her Ninja are having a boy!  We saw boy parts on the ultrasound screen this morning, and Aunt KittyKat is beside herself with glee!  (and we’ll pause for just a moment to say: I told you so, I told you it was a boy!)  I’m super excited for them as they start a nifty new chapter in their lives.  I’ll teach him to play soccer and give him mosh pit etiquette tips!

In unrelated news, either Angelina Jolie is pregnant again or she’s smuggling orphans under that gigantic sack dress she was wearing at the Screen Actors Guild awards…