Thursday, February 24, 2011

Birthdays and Centerfolds

My husband's birthday is tomorrow.  He'll be 37.  For his 40th birthday I have Fantasy Baseball Camp with the Boston Red Sox planned for him and his twin brother.  Or a week at Spring Training.  So excited!  I want to go, too.

But back to the present.  I haven't purchased a gift as of yet.  He didn't ask for anything, nor does he really need anything right now.  I was going to get him a Wii, an iPad, or triplets on a trapeze.  All seemed superfulous at this point.  We hardly use the Original Nintendo/Super Nintendo, we both have fully functional computers, and he never has time to fuck me stupid, let alone the triplets I might supply.

I had the greatest idea to be a Playboy Centerfold.  Now I've come up with the most scathingly brilliant idea of making a faux volume!  Dated on his birthday, with articles and jokes written by friends, advertisments that are all inside jokes  And even those annoying little postcard "subscription" papers that fall out of a magazine.

Not sure where this is all leading, but now I have to figure out a new plan.  I have to come up with something fantastic, for my equally fantastic soulmate.  He deserves the Moon.  I'm always more prepared than this.  It's not fair to him.  I'll sleep on it.  I have all day tomorrow to come up with something.

Until then, I have birthday candles and Playboy Centerfolds to dream about.



Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Wine, weed, and whining.

I have been flying on civilian airplanes since I was 18 months old.  All shapes, sizes, models.  Fixed wing, prop. You name it.  When I was around 8 years old, Mumah and I went to visit my Grandparents in Florida.  On the way home, there was a terrible storm that the pilot tried to avoid, but did not succeed.  It was an awful flight, and I never forgot it.
I absolutely LOVE to travel.  I love driving anywhere and everywhere.  "Push the pedal down, watch the world around fly by us".  I've been to California, Canada, the Bahamas, and everywhere in between.  I'm the dog with it's head out the window wanting to see and experience everything the world has to offer.  I adore the Travel Channel and want to be the female version of Anthony Bourdain.  He's my hero, and in my honest opinion, the second coming of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson himself.

After that particular flight, I've always had trepidation about flying.  But I always enjoy the excitment of getting on an airplane.  I actually love to fly, but the whole fear of not being in control rattles my brain.

This brings me to the topic at hand:  An impromptu trip to Amsterdam.

I'm excited, in a holy-crap-I'm-going-abroad-for-the-first-time-in-my-life kind of way.  Amsterdam would not have been my first choice of European cities to visit.  France, London, Rome.  YES.  Amsterdam has this haze (yes, puns a go-go) of strange press for it's tolerance of marajuana use.  I'm not even interested in the weed, space cakes, mushrooms, or any other drug laden edible that can be thrown at me.  I am interested in the food, the canals, the beautiful architecture, and the culture.  Mostly, how Europeans exist and live.

I'm terrified to get on an airplane for that long, over the "Pond", and to another Continent.  This should be a time of great excitment.  But my brain cannot shut off about the "what ifs".  I know, very deep down in my soul, that it is not my destiny to be ended in an airplane crash.  But I will always worry, as a dog worries a bone.

In order to be forward thinking, embrace the chance of a lifetime, and just stop worrying about what is out of my control, I should drink some wine, smoke some weed, and quit whining about the "what ifs", and be grateful for a once in a lifetime experience.



Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Fading away.

This is where it all begins to fade. No one knows exactly where or when it all began to fall apart. But this is the moment. Right now. Right here. I snap my fingers and it's begun.



Friday, February 4, 2011

Pavlova and Turtles.

I keep thinking about it.  Keep wondering and making myself a maniac about it.  Why do we have to get old?  There are breeds of turtles that can live over 300 years.  But humans, if we're lucky, crank out 60 really good years.  Because honestly when you think about it, we don't start "living" and appreciating life until MAYBE high school/college.  Then the years at the end of our lives are not so great, depending upon the genes you get dealt.  Shitting your pants, memory loss, broken bones, etc.

So, starting at age (insert your "start age" here) what kind of life have you had?  Will you have?  Now this does not apply to everyone, OBVIOUSLY.  I have a Great Aunt at age 98.  My Father is going to be 75 this year and is in great shape.  Save the cancer.  Twice.  Broken hip, dislocated shoulder, screw driver up the nose, catching his nuts on a flagpole cleat while trying to catch the flag before it hit the ground, both knees replaced, and light one kidney.  And now potentially an issue with his bladder.  Other than that, he is on point!  Sharp.  Funny.  Quick.  And one of the most brilliant you will ever encounter.  Not only by his intelligence, but a human soul.  An artist.  A great beacon if you will.

Whilst on Staten Island today, driving along Richmond Avenue, my mom pointed out that the snow had this sheen to it.  That nothing could get through it but a jack hammer from all the snow/ice/melt/refreeze.  I told her it reminded me of meringue.  A Pavlova dessert, all glossy and pretty with fruit.  The snow did have the perfect sheen to it though.  Maybe humans could be preserved, or at least live a little longer, and make like a turtle.