Monday, October 19, 2009

When The Stars Go Blue

I am blogging in my pajamas. Some could call me racy, although I doubt a pair of Victoria's Secret sweats and a Cleveland Cavs tee shirt could be called racy. Eh.

Sorry I've been away. Life has been hectic and chaotic, and I needed some time to sort out my mind and get back to the little bit of sanity I have. We can go into that later.

Hmmm...What is new? It snowed for the briefest moment on Friday, which sent me into a state of weather denial. Dude, it's October, and we haven't had a single day above 66 degrees. Where is my Indian summer? Where? It's been sunny and "warm" (meaning above 45) since yesterday, so maybe, just maybe there's a 70 degree day in my near future. I'm hoping it saves itself for Halloween. Nicky's going to be Optimus Prime (of Transformers fame), and he won't look cute with a bulky winter coat beneath his costume. I also bought my Lady GaGa costume over the weekend. I look like a fool in my GaGa wig, because I am naturally a brunette, and platinum blonde isn't too flattering on a chalky white brunette. I'm thinking some bronzer would work wonders. We'll see, but my costume is soooo kickass. I'm excited.

I was supposed to see Paranormal Activity this past weekend, but the tickets were sold out, so I settled on some tacos de papa at Mi Pueblo with Katherine instead. The tacos were definitely yummm. Nothing fixes missing a movie like Mexican cuisine.

I got a wisdom tooth pulled Wednesday. It didn't hurt too bad, just this annoying twinge every now and then. I think it's funny they call it pulling a tooth, when in my case they just pushed it out with this crazy metal shoehorn tooth thing. My dentist called it "liberating the tooth", like my tooth was an oppressed soul yearning to break free of its governmental chains. I have to get another one yanked in November--this one is impacted, so I have to have oral surgery. What a party that will be. I think after this is all said and done, I have earned myself a very yummy and very strong alcoholic beverage of some sort. I'm open to any suggestions.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Mountain And The Sea

It's Friday. Yay.

Today is Leif Erikson Day, a day dedicated to that crazy Viking guy who sailed over from Norway to America. I'd like to think he was slightly impressed with what he saw, though I do believe he landed in Newfoundland...I'm thinking he was like "Hmm...This looks a hell of a lot like Europe."

I even wrote a little ditty about his good old dad, Erik the Red. I want a cool name like that. Maybe Lashawn the Loud. Or Lashawn the Pasty. Something that would strike fear into the hearts of my fellow man. But anyway, the song goes a bit like this:

Erik the Red
Erik the Red

Dum dum dum

Sailing to Greenland in a Viking boat
In a Viking boat

Dum dum dum

Drinking mead
Drinking mead in a Viking boat

Dum dum dum

Erik the Red
Drinking mead in a Viking boat
With his kid

Dum dum dum

Leif Erikson
Was Erik's son

Dum dum dum

He sailed to America in a Viking boat
In a Viking boat

Dum dum dum

He made it to Canada
And he built a Viking settlement

Dum dum dum

Erik the Red
Didn't go to America

Dum dum dum

He stayed in Greenland instead
And by the time Leif got home
His ginger dad was dead

Dum dum dum

That is songwriting at its best, my friends. Not only is it a catchy tune, it is educational. Very educational. It makes Viking history fun. It also helps to kill time in a 10 hour workday.

Tonight is going to be a night rife with excitement. Nicky and I are going to Tricia's to paint pumpkins. Nicky is psyched. I'll post a picture of his pumpkin in my next entry.

And the whole apartment thing...I have decided to use that old adage, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." I'm just going to suck it up until I get my leftover grant money, and then after that I'm moving. I was told by a friend that there's like 2 or 3 apartments for rent, so I'm not worried. Every time I call the number on the apartment building, I get the dude's voicemail. I'm thinking the rent shouldn't be more than $600. I hope.

And I'm debating whether I should get the H1N1 vaccine for Nicky and myself. The side effects don't sound too bad, nothing unlike the regular flu shot...I'm thinking maybe we will, especially with the loopy parents in Head Start.

Saturday, October 3, 2009


Ah...I think I'll write about my current moving predicament today.

If you didn't read my last post about my David Beckham BFF dream, then you may not know that I was alerted to a wonderful apartment two buildings down from my job. You also may not know that my dad rivals Kim Jong-Il and Fidel Castro for the title of World's Most Uber-Evil Evil Dictator. My dad charges me $100 a week to live at home. I decide that I want to move into said apartment building because hey, I'm 23 and like 3/4 years old, I think it's about time for little Lashawn to spread her wings and leave the zany, aggravating nest. My son will be 5 years old in February, and I don't think he should have to share his mom's childhood bedroom. I've had the same bedroom since I was 10. It's pretty sad.

At first I thought this whole living-at-home thing was a good deal. Then I started thinking about it, and realized how evil my dad actually is. Our rent is $450 a month, and I pay them about $400 a month. All they have to do is add in $50 of their own money and the rent's covered. Only I don't think they do that. My dad has a gambling addiction, and plays the lottery like a horny teenage boy let loose in an all girls Catholic high school. I'm not retarded, I know that that's where my money is going.

So...I try to work out an agreement where I pay him like $50 a week so I can save up to move out. Mr. Evil Dictator won't budge. He calls my wanting to move out "bullshit" and says "he doesn't want to hear it". Ugh. We got into quite a nasty row after that one, and he's acting all stupid now.

But here's the thing I don't get: Why is me moving out being viewed as something as horrible as the French Revolution? I'm an adult, so what is the big deal? Most parents would be prepping for their "Thank God My Kid Is Moving Out" party. I already knew my parents were a strange bunch, but whose parents are normal?

I guess I have to wait til school in January, when I get my grant. Hopefully there'll be enough money left over for the rent and deposit. If not, I'll have to wait til income tax time. Either way, odds are that my dream apartment will be gone. Gah...My dad is so unreasonable, but this might be the most idiotic thing he's done--all I can think of is that he'll miss that $400 a month. Maybe he doesn't want me to move out, but this is a bad way to do it, especially when I want to do my own thing now.

My mom is trying to figure something out. She says if she gets this job she's applying for, then she's going to tell him that he can only take $25 a week. But we'll see. We'll see.

It just makes me want to scream...

Friday, October 2, 2009

If There's A Rocket Tie Me To It

It's raining. We had one day of sunshine this week, and not one day over 60. Gah. This is going to be a shitty fall. Sweet.

The other night I had a strange dream. I dreamt that I was best friends forever with none other than Mr. David Beckham of soccery fame. Mind you, I know very little about Senor Beckham. All I know is that he is 1.) married to Miss Skinny Posh Spice, 2.) plays soccer, 3.) had a movie made about him with Keira Knightly, and 4.) is not generally liked by the U.S. soccer fans because he failed to deliver when he played for the LA Galaxy.

But anyway. Me and Becks (that's what I called him) were BFFs, and it was kind of funny, in a weird '80s montage from a cheesy Brat Pack movie kind of way. He had that pretty careless hair and I had my insanely nutty hair and we drove around in a red Ferrari convertable. We hung out and drank Gatorade and vodka (it probably tastes gross in real life, but in my dream it was mine and Becks' drink of choice). Nicky played with his boys and he offered to teach Nicky how to play soccer. I think Little Poshie hated me, but I'm not sure because she always looked angry and hungry. He even sent me an email while I was at work. It went a bit like this:

Hello there best friend! How are you? I'm good, at home. God, Victoria is such a bitch! I'm reading your blog at the moment. Very funny stuff, mate.
As always, Becks

I don't really know what would cause me to have a weird David Beckham dream. I'm not a huge soccer enthusiast--I prefer basketball and American football. All I can think of is that I've been sick all week and I lost my voice Wednesday and I drank nothing but tea all day. Tea is from England, all that "tea time" stuff, so maybe all that tea led me to dreaming about Brits? That's what I'm going with.

And...Argent left me a question last week, but in the insanity of my naughty former high school music teacher and his inability to leave certain students (no, not me...thank god!) alone and my crazy weird cold that isn't really a cold but I'm sick nonetheless, I didn't blog. Here's the question:
If you could commit one crime with no chance of geting caught, what crime would you commit right now?

Good question. I'm dying to move out of my parents' house, but due to their unreasonable amounts of money I pay for rent, I cannot save up my money to get my dream apartment. It's two buildings from my job. It's perfect. Perfect.

My dad, however, rivals several evil dictators on our planet for the title of #1 Evil Dictator, and refuses to lower the amount I pay so I can save up and move into said dream apartment. He acts like me moving out at 23 is unheard of. I'll be 24 in December, and I'm just so frustrated with all of it, so I'd say I'd steal a huge diamond worth hundreds of millions of dollars. I'd move out and be happy.

And on a final note, it's still raining. And it's 48 degrees. XO