Holy crap. The last few weeks have been INSANE. Jay’s birthday was the 17th and we decided we’d go to Vegas and do his bday in style. I took that entire week off, and did a few things about the house, but really just ended up sort of chilling for most of the week.
Jay ended up working until Wednesday afternoon, and then Thursday we flew out. A few weeks ago, I reached out to the peeps at his office and let them know his 40th was coming up. I was told all sorts of craziness would ensue, and that they’d ensure he was thoroughly embarrassed. Jay walked into the office on Wednesday, and instead of having signs that said 40 all over the place, they hung up signs that said ‘Happy 50th’. He was mortified. Everytime he tried to correct someone they’d be all ‘Ahhhh, Jay! You’re funny!” They had me sneak him out of the office around lunch time, they removed all the furniture from his office, laid a tarp on the floor…and brought in a goat. In panties.
Jay said the goat was freaking cute, so sweet, and just terribly adorable. (It was a pet of one of his guys). He also said he was so freaking glad they put hte tarp down, because the goat both peed AND pooped on the floor while in his office. Good times. Anyway- they gave him horrible shit all day long, and then capped it off with a goat. This could only happen to my spouse. Oh, and then they made him ‘undress’ said goat. I cannot believe that not only did he takes it’s clothes off, but he also allowed himself to be photographed undressing said goat. I showed him the draft of this post just now, and his face was displeased. Somehow, this makes me even more pleased.
Anyway, Thursday morning, his actual birthday, came around and the day started busy as hell. We hopped out of bed, and ran the dogs to the park, in order to wear them out before we took off. We hoped it would make them tired enough so that Stella and Duncan would refrain from eating my home. Yeah right. Anyhoo, we hopped onto the plane and off to Vegas we went.
We landed, dumped our crap at our hotel, and went DIRECTLY to our favorite hangout in Vegas– “Parasol Down”. Parasol down actually consists of 2 separate bars. One inside, pictured below:
As well as an outside bar, which features a beautiful blue pool and waterfall.
We come to this bar every single time we go to Vegas. In fact, we spend MOST of our time at this bar when we are in Vegas. We enjoy cocktails and just relax outside, as the waterfall helps keep the patio cool and lovely, and at night they put on these fantastic 3 minute shows every 30 minutes using the waterfall as a backdrop. It’s really just fantastic and is a must-see for us. Thursday evening, we went to Jay’s favorite restaurant, which is SW Steakhouse. It so happens that SW Steakhouse is located adjacent to Parasol Down, and if one chooses to sit on the patio and dine there, you’ll be able to enjoy the view of the pool, as well as the water shows I mentioned earlier.
The food here is fantastic, but pricey (as is everything in Vegas). This was our second time to eat there, and it was just as fabulous this time as it was before. I had crab legs, and it was truly just fabulous. Anyway, we ended up hanging out at Parasol Down after dinner and then crashed about 10pm (Hey! It was 12am our time, and we are OLD! lol). The next morning, we woke up and had the buffet at the Wynn, which this time was not impressive. We did some shopping in which I scored a pair of Louboutins and a pair of Tory Burch flats, and Jay got a fabulous pair of Tom Ford sunglasses. When we were done, we ended up BACK at Parasol Down.
We had a FANTASTIC waitress for both days, who I ended up exchanging contact info with. She was one of those people you never expect to find in a place like a casino in Las Vegas. We were lucky enough to be able to hang out with her Thursday afternoon and evening, and all day long Friday. If you end up going to Vegas and hang out at the Wynn, stop by Parasol Down and see if Charissa is there. She’ll take fantastic care of you, and you won’t be sorry. Tell her Charity sent you, and have her order you a strawberry daiquiri.
Friday evening, we had tickets to see La Reve. I can’t even get into explaining it here, but if you have the chance to see it, I HIGHLY recommend you do so. It was just absolutely incredible…
It was an absolutely perfect vacation. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss my dogs, though. And the kids.
The last few weeks have been crazy busy around Casa de Inappropriate. We’ve had my MIL come down to close on her house, some serious spring cleaning and de-cluttering, a rash of new car purchases, and of course generally fuckery. Some of the fuckery involves a couple of new handgun purchases. At some point not that long ago, Jay bought me a handgun. I can’t remember what it was, but it was too big, too much, and frankly, I was afraid of it. I ended up selling it and losing interest in shooting.
A few weeks ago, we got on the discussion of handguns again, and I mentioned how much I’d like to have something smaller and less terrifying than the Sig I’d had before. After experimenting with a couple of choices, I ended up with a Sig Sauer P238 Pink Pearl. I’ve gone out to the range about 3 times since I got it, and I have to say that I LOVE shooting this gun. I’m so comfortable, in fact, that I’ve agreed to take the CHL class with Jay. I was hesitant before, because I wasn’t comfortable with my other gun– but I’m confident and sure with this one, so I’m in.
The other day, we took Hunter with us to shoot, and brought along my Sig, Jay’s 45, his Glock, and the AR. When we came home, Jay had his two pistols to clean as well as the rifle. I cleaned mine and when I was finished, Jay asked me to help him by cleaning his. I made him take his pistols apart and then proceeded to clean them for him. At some point, I finished and began to reassemble his gun. I was putting the top (whatever it’s called…) on the gun, and had to have my hands just so, in order to slide the top on the gun. I pulled the gun towards me, closer to my chest, just so I could exert the pressure I needed to slide the top into place, when all of a sudden that fucker snapped. I felt a sharp pinch in my boob and heard a clatter as I dropped the pistol on the table. Jay looked up in alarm, and after ensuring I’d not shot myself (Or him. Or the dogs.) gave me the ‘wtf?’ face. Somehow, while sliding the top onto the gun, and holding it near my chest, I somehow PINCHED a piece of my skin IN MY GUN. It was so hard, in fact, that I had a perfect half moon mark on my boob, where the skin had been pinched in the gun. Ya’ll. Honestly….in what universe does a person actually PINCH their boob skin in their handgun?? This shit only happens to me.
Which brings me to my next story. I’ve had this clusterfuck of wires under my desk for the last 18 months. Since I’m going on vacation next week, I’ve been trying to finish up a thousand little projects here at the office before I leave. The cords were making me nuts, so I ended up grabbing an extra powerstrip, so that I could set it on TOP of my desk, for those million little things you need to plug in from time to time. After I got on the floor, I realized that there were cords plugged into the outlet strips that went to nothing. I spent about 20 minutes trying to straighten it all out, and when I was done realized that about 1/3 of the shit on my desk wasn’t working anymore. I checked the strips to make sure they were on, I was checking to ensure everything was plugged in and ready to go when my IT dude walks in. He gets down on the floor and is looking around. About five minutes later he’s inspecting my raggedy ass daisy chain that I’ve got going on with my powerstrips and he points out the issue.
I’d plugged one of the powerstrips into itself. Fail.
Ya’ll, I have to tell you guys something that is going to make all of you VERY jealous. It’s a secret all of you will uncover for yourselves in a good 10+ years (some of you a little less, some of you a little more), but you will all uncover it. Are you ready?
When your children finally get the hell out of your house, everything stays so TIDY!
I’m not trying to say your children are little filth tornadoes (they are), or that your house is dirty (it may not be ‘dirty’, but I bet that bitch looks like it had a tangle with a Category 5 hurricane about 4 days a week), or that MY house is some sort of mystical wonder-world of cleanliness, because it most certainly is not (at this very moment, I can assure you that my Great Dane is probably having her way with my home– and her way is always damaging and expensive…)
In the few months it’s been since my kids each got their own place, and during this time I’ve found within myself an even greater love for order. The blanket I toss across the arm of the couch stays there, artfully draped. The kitchen stays tidy. The bathrooms have only to be wiped down quickly, as the doors remain closed and they are basically unused. The bedrooms upstairs are neat and tidy, with the exception of one, which is neat enough for a stranger to walk in, but really is just storage. It also reminds me that our house is probably too big for just the two of us. A couple of weeks ago we moved our office from the downstairs study, to upstairs in our big gameroom. This is well and good, except it left yet another unused room in our house, so I decided to make a ‘playroom’ for the dogs. Not to lock them in or anything, or force them to stay in there, but more as a room to hold her gigantic crate and her toys. That room also is a bonus because it contains her chaise lounge, which she used to lay on when we were on our computers in there. These days she can lay there while we are gone (she used to have to wait till we were home and she was ‘allowed’ in the room before getting to hang out in there. This way, she’s got access to the windows to see out, a whole room in which I can store her crap, and the bonus of looking super cute. It’s not finished yet, but it’s coming along nicely:
Anyway, order is much more easily achieved when one no longer has children (even adult children) in the home. It’s so much faster and easier to keep tidy and neat. Hell, even when the dogs do make a mess, it’s not even that annoying, because they’re dogs– of course they are untidy. My children, however, can come into a house and cause an explosion of mass proportions, and I don’t even know how it happens. The good news, is I love them a whole lot, and am always more than excited to see them, I just try to steal myself for the explosion in advance. You can bet your butt that one of them will rile up one dog or another and before you know it, madness will erupt in the house. Madness mixed with laughter. <3
They’ve grown up to be two pretty cool people. I’m damn lucky to be their mom.
Ya’ll have a great holiday weekend!
I can remember a set of neighbors I had growing up whom I almost never saw leave their home. They were a very private family, and public opinion pretty much labeled them as ‘weird’. There were all sorts of stories about that family, and much conjecture about what went on in that home. It has occurred to us recently, that our neighbors consider *us* the weird neighbors. Though I write here, as well as several other websites, the truth is, Jay and I are pretty private people in ‘real life’. We don’t get involved in all the neighborhood political drama, though there is more than enough of it. One of our neighbors hosts the weekly party in their front yard/garage. Sometimes they party all three weekend nights, their garage open wide, and neighbors flitting in and out all night. We see them all from time to time, but it’s mainly only as we are going in and out of our home. We talk to the people who live behind us, and the man right next door, but that’s about it. I’m convinced we only speak to them so they don’t call Animal Control on Stella for being a freaking pest. They always watch us go in and out of the house, and we can always see them whisper under their breath when we drive by. I don’t think they realize we hide in our house playing video games and being bossed around by our dogs.
I cannot imagine what all those people think about us. We are for sure those creepy, weird neighbors who never speak to anyone and do ‘weird stuff’ (gaming) inside all the time.
A few weeks ago, Jay and I were in a pretty nasty car wreck. We were coming home from the gun range, and were at a red light, minding our business. It was fairly early in the day, and we were talking about stopping by Sonic on the way home, and getting a cherry limeade. The light turned green, and Jay let off the brake and went forward. We weren’t in any hurry, so it’s not like he was gunning the gas or something, but as we were moving through the intersection I glanced up, and saw movement from the corner of my eye. I saw a guy in a giant Tahoe coming and he was *not* stopping. At that point, I pointed and may have screeched something along the lines of, ‘HE’S NOT STOPPING!’. Jay then looked over and it was just about at that point that the guy realized he was running the red light and was going to hit us. He swerved in an attempt to avoid the collision, but it was too late by that point. When I realized the impact was imminent, I did exactly what one isn’t supposed to do, and I braced myself and squeezed my eyes shut, mainly because I have heard that airbags hurt like a MOTHERFUCKER.
The aftermath of the collision was a bit surreal. Jay and I engaged in a round of ‘Are you ok? Yeah. Are you ok? Yeah.’ about 42 times, back and forth, before we were both convinced the other was fine. The car was smoking, and I was absolutely convinced it was going to explode, so I made him exit the car. Strangely, none of our airbags went off. When we were coming to a stop, I opened my eyes and looked back and the guy who hit us was also sliding to a stop, but all his airbags had deployed. He sort of fell out of his truck, and ran over to us asking if we were all right. At exactly that point, a cop rolled up behind us (happenstance) and before I could even blink cops/firetrucks/tow trucks were there.
The truth is, we got really, really lucky. Jay’s car was totaled out and insurance paid us off in less than 7 days. It was so crazy. It also had that ‘count your lucky stars’ effect, because we found ourselves saying “Holy shit, we were SOO DAMN LUCKY” about 9343 times. To be in such a horrible wreck, and to be able to step out of your vehicle without a scratch on you…that, my friends, is pure luck.
That moment before impact, though…the moment I was closing my eyes, I thought of my kids. That night we were taking Alea and Hunter to Truluck’s celebrate her 21st birthday. I briefly thought about how sucky it would be for such an exciting birthday to be ruined because your parents died. I thought of the last interactions I’d had with them. I thought of the kind of life I’d had with them. I thought of how proud they’d made me. I thought of how much I loved them. Then I felt the impact and opened my eyes. And I walked away scott free. Not everyone is so fortunate.
What is my advice to you? Tell the ones you love how much you love them, every day. Take a split second to check both ways before crossing the intersection. Always wear your safety belt.
Have you ever had a close call? I’d love to hear about it!
We recently started a Facebook group with a few friends called ‘Shopwrecked’. We’ve got ladies of all ages, shapes, sizes and figures. We’ve got gals with huge clothes budgets and gals with almost none. First time moms and empty nesters. We’ve got alternatives, preps, geeks, and ladies with the most elegant of styles. What do we do? Glad you asked. We share lots of fabulous finds. We share our Outfits of the Day with each other. We talk about clothes, shoes and make up. It’s a place of love, encouragement and positivity. It’s a place for chicks who love to shop.
Interested? Click here
Ya’ll, Jay’s a dick.
I’m not even kidding a tiny bit. I’m about to share with you why my spouse is King of the Dickdom. Please note that I don’t *really* think Jay’s a dick, (he’s a total dick) but sometimes, he makes me crazy. With the kids moving out in the coming months, I find that I have a whole…HOUSE that I own, which I’ll be able to fix up and decorate as I see fit. I don’t have to worry about the kids spilling, ripping, tearing, ruining whatever it is I want buy…
BECAUSE THEY WON’T BE LIVING IN MY HOUSE ANYMORE!
Anyway, we have a furniture problem. Jay and I own no decent bedroom furniture, and our children also have no decent bedroom furniture. That being said, I’m leery of tossing out my Ikea dresser, because:
- 1) he won’t replace it with a cheap dresser
- 2) he also won’t replace it with a nice dresser
I decided that I’d just fucking fix that shit a la pinterest, and make it work.
“You want to do what to the Ikea dresser?”
Well, I’d had every intention ripping the drawers out (you can’t put anything in them, because the bottoms are all jacked up), so I figured I’d have some plywood cut to fit, and then just use adorable baskets. See below:
I mean, sure, we aren’t talking some super fine furniture here, but the truth is the shit could be cute and functional. Unfortunately, my husband mocked it. Ya’ll want to know the funniest thing? He mocked and laughed last night. I showed him the pic above a few minutes ago, and he doesn’t think it looks half bad. <3
He’s the anti-pinterester.
Things have been…strange in the Inappropriate household of late. My youngest graduated from High School in May of 2013, and with that began the changes I knew were coming, yet somehow also didn’t expect. I’m a young mom, as all of you know. I got my start a bit before I should have. As a matter of fact, when Alea was born, I was the same age my son is right now. That’s so…weird. It takes an act of God to get the child to take out the garbage, I can’t imagine him being wholly responsible for another human being at this stage in his life. That being said, though neither child will fully understand until they are much older (if ever), the one gift we have been able to give them that makes me the happiest, is the gift of growing up just a smidge slower than I did. Not that my children haven’t had their share of bullshit, that’s for sure. They got a bit of a shitty start on life, but Jay swooped in to save the day when they were 6 and 8. Since then, they’ve led a pretty charmed life, all things considered.
The fact is, Alea is about to be 21 years old. She’s a college student, she’s a manager at the retail chain where she’s been employed since she was 16 years old. She’s as prepared and ready to be on her own as she possibly could be. And of course, her father and I have her back. She’s ready to move on and experience life without mom watching over her shoulder. She’s ready to make those mistakes that only SHE can make. I’m happy for her, and yet, also terrified.
More than anything, it’s a little bittersweet. I prepared her the best I could for real life. And yet, when I was an 18 year old kid, I carried her around in my belly for damn near a year. For the last 21 years, she’s been one of the few constants in my every day life. I made so many mistakes. So many crucial errors as her mom. So many things I did that I wish desperately I could take back. And yet– all of those things combined help form the lovely young adult who is about to embark on one of the most exciting journeys of her life. Alea and I grew up together.
I don’t know how I’ll handle myself, to be frank. It’s already making me a little mental. Jay apologized to the dogs on my behalf, because I’m already half crazy, and I’m sure I’m going to smother them to damn death.
I spent the last 21 years ensuring I did everything I could to prepare my children for the real world. Trying to find a balance between coddling them to death and restricting them to death. They are now about to step into that world, and I’ll be forced to watch from the sidelines. Not in the huddle anymore, but instead, sitting in the stands. Cheering them on. Hoping with every fibre in my body that the lessons I wanted to teach are in fact the lessons they learned.
I’m going to have to find some hobbies, I think. It’s probably time I dusted off the manuscript I’ve been working on with my best friend for the last 4 years. IT’s time to start playing games again. It’s time I read some new books.
It’s time to let go.
I don’t know about you guys, but every time I walk into the nail salon, I find myself wanting to kick my own ass. I have a conversation with myself about it every time I go to one. I don’t get tips, or fake nails or anything like that, and haven’t in a decade. When I go to get my ‘nails done’, I end up getting them painted and that’s about it. I pay for a ‘manicure’, but there are parts of it I hate so much that I don’t allow them to do it. I don’t let them use the exfoliant crap on my legs and I also bypass the ‘massage’ part. Gross. Just, gross. When I ask them to skip the massage, they normally stare at me like I’m insane.
< pull up to nail shop >
This is so stupid.
< park car and walk up to shop >
I can’t believe I’m going to waste $$ on this
< be greeted by super friendly staff >
He’s asked me if I wanted a wax twice. Jesus.
< sit down in spa chair. refrain from dropping phone>
Why can’t I paint my own nails?
This conversation sort of continues in a never-ending circle jerk. The answer to the question is ‘no’. No, I’m not completely unable to paint my own nails, but the truth is when they do it, it always looks so much better. I generally watch what they’re doing, trying to see if I can pick up tips– and I’ve learned a few. But the truth is, of late I only even go to get the gel paint done. There is just nothing as good as getting a gel manicure done. The gel paint stays on FOREVER before it chips. It’s completely amazing and quickly dries to a hard, glossy finish.
I’d sort of been toying with the idea of getting one of those little lamps they use at the nail salons and just buy the paint myself, when Alea invited me to an afternoon of shopping at Ulta. While I’d originally planned on getting a more expensive, professional machine, I saw this Sally Hansen Gel Polish Starter Kit. It looked simple enough and it was on sale for like 39 dollars or something. It came with a paint color, which was a rich red (and a color I generally choose for myself), so I figured I’d give it a go. Alea came up to inspect my treasures and mentioned that it got really good reviews. I was pretty stoked.
My assessment: This thing is awesome. It’s fast, it’s easy, it’s inexpensive, and best of all, the end result is spectacular. I made a few blunders along the way and hacked my way through a fix, but I’ll do better next time.
Get one of these, ladies! You won’t be sorry!
About 999 years ago, I wrote this post about how excited I was to go see Garth Brooks. If you want to know the truth, I only had 2 people to see on my concert ‘bucket list’. My bucket list is for sure long, but the concert part? Not so much. I am not a big fan of concerts, in general. I don’t like to be hot, I don’t like strangers being so close they can touch me, and I am slightly claustrophobic, and having people so close in a crowd is just awful. However, this weekend we went and saw The Black Crowes, and I must admit, the venue was pretty cool. The concert was held at ACL Live, which is a fabulous venue, fairly small, with plenty of places to get away from all the peeps, and yet still see all the action.
So anyway, the whole Black Crowes thing came up because it’s one of Jay’s favorite live acts, and he and Alea are concert buddies. They go to several concerts a year together, and I generally stay home and do girl stuff (shop), but this time, I wanted to go. Jay and Alea both told me the venue (Austin City Limits aka ACL) was amazing, and since it’s small, I knew I’d like it better. We stood in General Admission for some time but then Jay and I went outside to the tables by the door, and they were piping the music through the speaker system. It was AMAZING! Now, seeing The Black Crowes was NOT the concert that will allow me to die a happy woman. But, when I was printing out the Crowes tickets, I noticed this on the side:
Sir Elton John
I immediately pinged my husband, fussing at my luck. But then, a few minutes later, he posted this on FB:
I am going to see Elton John. I had two people on my concert ‘bucket list’ and I’m about to see the second one in just 16 days. The best part? I won’t be in the mosh pit of general admission! The one sort of downer is that this is a charity gala for the Andy Roddick Foundation, and that means I still need a dress. Best. Husband. Ever.
*good to see you bitches again, too!